Chapter Text
Catriona
Like most little girls, I dreamed of growing up and marrying a handsome prince. But ever since I learned that I was in Poromiel’s line of succession, my dreams began to center less on the prince, and more on the crown. With a crown, I could change history, and hopefully be revered for it, but I knew I likely wouldn’t wear one on my country’s throne. Becoming Queen of Poromiel was a long shot for both Syrena and I, but especially for me. No one expected Queen Maraya to pass before she turned 60, but regardless, with my Uncle as her heir, any chance of Syrena reaching the throne wouldn’t be likely until we were older. And I didn’t dare to think of the circumstances that would lead to me ascending the throne.
Since the Poromish crown wouldn’t rest on my head until after Syrena wore it, I started obsessing over making my dream into a reality the old fashioned way: marriage. To a prince, obviously, hopefully handsome, but maybe not. I didn’t care that it would likely be an arranged marriage, I believed that love could grow over time. My only stipulation was that my parents not betroth me to someone more than 5 years older than me, and they agreed that was reasonable.
When our fathers signed the betrothal contract between Xaden and me, I hoped that we could go from friends to lovers before getting married. I thought that maybe love could even bloom before my twentieth birthday, when the marriage clause was due to kick in. And while we did become lovers…there was no love involved.
I didn’t love Xaden. It was all lust, and obsession…a lot of unhealthy obsession if I’m being honest, mainly over his title and the possibility of a crown. Clearly, he didn’t love me either. But Trager…that was love, and it was mutual. We weren’t together long, but had been friends for years, and I’d been so caught up in trying to get Xaden back that I didn’t notice him slowly falling for me. Once I dug my head out of my ass and saw how much he wanted me for me, not my lineage, it didn’t take me long to fall in love with him too.
For the first time in my life, I considered what my future could look like if it didn’t include a crown, how fulfilling a life of laughter and happiness with him could be. I would have given up a crown for that, for him, in a heartbeat. Now that I’ve felt what love truly feels like, I don’t know if I want to settle for less. Even if that “less” comes with a throne.
The Monday after we return to Basgiath, a vellum envelope bearing my Uncle’s seal arrives, containing an invitation to his coronation. The coronation has been scheduled for the upcoming Sunday, with a gala to take place directly afterwards. I do the math. It’s a two day flight from Basgiath to Cordyn, and Kira would absolutely need to take a break. It would make the most sense to take that break in Aretia, where there are still wards, for now at least. I’m sitting on a bench in the rotunda, pondering if Maren would fly to Aretia with me, when Aaric takes a seat next to me. He motions to the invitation in my hand.
“Trying to figure out how to make this work?” He asks, as he flashes his own invitation.
I sigh, and nod. “Maren’s brothers are still in Aretia, staying with Rhiannon’s family. I’m debating whether or not she’d be up for making the trip, considering we’ll be there for our Aretian rotation in a matter of weeks.”
Aaric taps my invitation with his. “If you want travel buddies, Molvic and I are available.”
“It might be beneficial to have the Prince and his dragon with us, as long as they don’t mind slowing down to match our speed.” Kira remarks.
As I consider it, I’m inclined to agree with her. Kira can hold her own decently well against a variety of opponents, but the Aretian wards are failing. If we end up ambushed by multiple wyvern, we’re in trouble, especially if their creator is close by. There’s definitely safety in numbers, especially if those numbers include a dragon.
“I think we might take you up on that offer, Aaric.” I give him a grateful smile, and he returns it, then runs a hand through his hair.
“Cat, I…” He looks down, and I have a sneaking suspicion I know where this is going next. He takes a deep breath and then looks at me hesitantly. “I’m not asking due to purely altruistic motives. And I’d prefer to run this by you now, rather than spring it on you once we get to Cordyn.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Aaric look as reticent as he looks right now, so I decide to take pity on him and give him some help.
“Let me guess, you want to ask if I’d be willing to go to the gala with you?” I probe gently.
He looks at me with a semi-shocked, but also admiring look. “How did you…you didn’t use your-”
I chuckle softly and roll my eyes. “No, Aaric. That’s not how my gift works, I’m not an inntinnsic. I’m just good at reading body language and utilizing context clues.”
“Ah. Well, you got it in one guess. My father intends to…improve diplomatic relations between Navarre and Poromiel. Naturally, he would prefer to do so in a spectacularly public fashion.”
“Naturally.” I parrot back, snarkily. “The two of us attending the gala together would demonstrate a willingness to be amicable. But you feel guilty about asking because of Trager?”
He winces, but nods. “I hate to ask this of you, Cat, especially considering I don’t really want to go myself. Parties are more Halden’s scene than mine.”
I laugh at that, and he smirks, already looking more comfortable than he did a couple of minutes ago. “Unfortunately,” he continues, “the invitation was offered with the expectation that I’d be attending both the coronation and the gala. I’m assuming it was the same for you, maybe even more so since the King is your Uncle.”
“I’d say that’s an accurate assumption. However, I do tend to enjoy my Uncle’s parties, so attending the gala isn’t really an imposition for me.” I shrug, then add, “especially since I’m hoping that Syrena will be there.”
“That’s fair,” Aaric replies. “You can absolutely feel free to say no, we can just go separately and I won’t ask again. But I’d feel a lot less alone if I had an actual ally next to me.”
“Is your father going to be making an appearance at the gala, or does he leave socializing and mingling to his children too, in addition to diplomatic negotiations?” I inquire, curious.
“Actually, I think both my parents will be making appearances.” Aaric admits. “There hasn’t been a coronation in over ten years, so my mother will be thrilled to be able to pull out the regalia.”
I can’t say I blame her, honestly. Syrena and I don’t have tiaras, or any form of regalia, considering we weren’t direct heirs of Queen Maraya. If we did, though, I would have jumped at the opportunity to wear it. A small petty part inside of me imagines walking into the gala on Aaric’s arm, and wiping the semi-permanent sneer Halden Tauri has whenever he sees me off of his stupid face.
I don’t know if he looks down on me because I’m Poromish, or because I’m a woman in the line of succession, or some combination of the two. But he moaned and bitched about “the injustice of it all” the entire flight to Cordyn…which took over 36 hours since we stopped at Athebyne to rest along the way. He never thanked Kira for being benevolent enough to carry his stupid fucking basket for all that time, and I’m still holding a grudge about that. Kira is more gracious than I am, but even she was offended by his atrocious manners. So, yeah, I am absolutely petty enough to go to the gala with Aaric and make Halden regret his condescension. That small petty part reminds me that I’ve forgotten to ask an important question.
“If I accompanied you, what would my expected role be? In what capacity would I be there?”
Aaric’s face sets in a determined expression. “As my friend,” he says.
I really want to ask him to expound upon that. Because it seems like there’s a lot there that he isn’t saying, some context that I’m missing. I’m itching to use my gift and parse through his emotions, but Kira, my voice of reason, pipes up.
“He’s your friend. Friends communicate, they don’t infringe upon their psyches. If you think he’s lying, ask him.”
I send a pulse of gratitude through our bond to let her know that I appreciate her, and that she’s right. I should just ask him. I know it has to be done tactfully though, so I take a moment to think before I speak.
“Cat?” Aaric nudges me, and I realize I’ve been quiet for far too long.
“Shit, so sorry, Aaric. I heard you. I just…” I pause, realizing I still have no fucking idea how to phrase my question without sounding like a preteen asking their crush ‘do you like me? Check yes or no.’
I settle on simply asking, “Are we friends, and that’s all?”
Aaric closes his eyes and sighs deeply. I touch him on the shoulder gently to reassure him, and he initially flinches, but then relaxes. When he opens his eyes, they lock on mine.
“If anything, after Quest Squad, I would hope that we’re friends.” His eyes flash with what looks like apprehension. “I respect you, Catriona. And I genuinely like you as a person. You’re tenacious, bold, and insanely clever.”
“I see.” I say tersely, and remove my hand from his shoulder.I’m surprised that I’m disappointed by his response. I don’t know what I expected, but being thrown straight into the friend zone was not it, considering I’m usually the one putting people there.
“We’re royalty, Cat. When it comes to thrones and crowns, what we want is immaterial.” He winces. “For Amari’s sake, why is this so difficult?” He stands up and paces a few steps.
I could make this a little easier for him, but I’ve never been one to shy away from provocation. “Are the Princes of Navarre so used to having girls throw themselves at their feet that you never learned how to properly ask out a girl?” He turns to give me an incredulous look and I smirk at him.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I watch the corners of his mouth twitch upward as he fights a smile.
“Immensely.” I grin at him, one of the first real smiles I think I’ve given anyone in the past three weeks.
He shakes his head and runs his hand over his mouth. “Might as well just be blunt, then. Here’s the deal, Cat. My father wants to propose a betrothal contract to your uncle.” I wish this came as a surprise to me, but it doesn’t.
“Between the two of us, I’m assuming? Not me and Halden?” I clarify, trying not to balk at the possibility of being betrothed to his older brother.
“Of course. I would never allow my brother to marry one of my friends. And I might even have some reservations about leaving my worst enemy to that fate.” Aaric shudders at the thought.
“Not even one of the venin Mavens?” I remark glibly. “I doubt that betrothal would be conducive to constructing any kind of peace treaty. Or at least, not a lasting one.”
Aaric barks out a laugh. “That wouldn’t even last a week. They’d drain him just to shut him up.”
I join him in laughing at the ridiculous scenario.
“On the upside,” I say as I nudge him with my elbow, “you’d be the heir, and Navarre would be better off for it.”
Aaric considers that, and his smile drops. “I’ve already lost one brother though.” He says quietly, as he sits back down next to me. “Halden’s an absolute asshole, but I don’t particularly want him dead.”
I nod somberly, then try to lighten the mood. “Honestly, I might be slightly concerned for the state of your soul if you said that you did want him dead.”
“Only slightly?” He questions, with an amused look in his eyes.
“I mean, we established the other day that my relationship with Syrena is much healthier than your relationship with Halden.” I drawl.
Aaric smirks at me, then replies, “And with Halden gone, that would put you one step closer to being Queen.”
I raise my eyebrows, and try not to shiver as a slight feeling of dread washes over me. “I don’t recall accepting or agreeing to this betrothal. That’s awfully presumptive of you, Aaric Graycastle.”
Aaric goes wholly still beside me. “Shit. You’re right, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”
I cut him off and put my hand on his lower arm. “Aaric. I was teasing.”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, I shouldn’t have assumed, regardless. You have the option to say no, Cat. It’s important to me that you know that.”
“Do I really, though?” I counter, and inch my hand closer to his.
“We’re both adults, of course you have a choice.” He looks slightly bewildered, as if he never expected personal autonomy to not be a guarantee. It’s honestly very endearing.
“That’s really honorable of you, and I appreciate it, but you and I both know that once the Kings get involved, it’s a foregone conclusion.” I try to keep my tone gentle, and not sound condescending. “Honestly, it might be just what the Continent needs.”
Aaric nods. “Maybe, but nonetheless, I don’t want to be inconsiderate. Trager just died, and it seems unfair to ask this of you so soon.”
“This whole discussion has been considerate, Aaric.” I insist. “Someone less considerate would be making demands, not giving me options, and definitely not the option to refuse the offer altogether.”
Aaric’s head is inclined, listening, so I continue. “An advantageous betrothal and resulting political marriage is what I’ve been prepped for my entire life. When Xaden ended our betrothal, my uncle had more pressing issues to deal with than my marital prospects. I’m lucky that I even got the chance to date someone of my own choosing. But now it’s time for me to do my duty.”
Aaric’s look is quizzical, as if he can’t quite figure out my feelings on this situation. “Cat…are you saying that you’re willing to just begrudgingly accept this as your lot in life? Because I don’t want that for you.” He hesitates, then adds, “I don’t want that for myself either.”
I still don’t know what Aaric wants, and it’s starting to frustrate me. I can feel him getting antsy, so I put my hand on his thigh to keep him from getting up and pacing again. “If we’re going to do this, we both need to be up front about what we want from this…arrangement.” Relationship didn’t quite seem like the right word for what we were tentatively agreeing to do.
Aaric looks down at where my hand is on his thigh, then back up at my face. “I want a partner. Not just a consort to parade around and eventually have children with.” He blushes, and it’s adorable. “Someone to confer with, who wants to be present in every part of my life, and not just support me, but complement me.”
I swallow. “I want that, too.” And I mean every word.
Our eyes meet, and he nods. “We’re agreed then.”