Chapter Text
adsuesco assuesco : to grow accustomed to, used to, make familiar.
The thought that Sirena would be sending a musician to appease him was almost laughable.
Almost.
The king of Alba, Mitsuki Izumi, did not find it amusing in the slightest that the ruler of Sirena thought that a meager flutist could do anything to warm his cold heart. The fact that the amateur ruler actually believed that was more amusing than anything. But he would entertain them. Or, rather, allow this musician named “Yamato, Bard of the 12 Seas” to entertain him.
He could try.
After all, if Sirena thought that they were getting the upper hand here, they were sorely mistaken. Everything would fall into place soon enough.
Sitting on his amethyst throne, the king’s lavish cape draped around him, the tassels dangling like icicles dripping from his icy being. His cold eyes fixated on the door, waiting for guests to arrive. The surrounding atmosphere around him was darkness, barely lit by a few gothic candelabras on the walls. From the ceiling hung a black diamond chandelier, each candle flickering with small purple flames.
Leading up to the throne was a long dull gold carpet, with intricate purple swirls patterning the fabric. As much as Mitsuki put up a disdainful front, he did appreciate his subjects who took care of his castle and throne room with such immaculate care. Distracting him from his thoughts, the door creaked open, echoing through the large room that seemed to swallow the sounds whole.
Heeled boots clicked across the floor, a certain confidence in the way that they stepped. Mitsuki suddenly couldn’t stand the sound of the marble floors he had so indignantly demanded to replace the previous wooden one his father had in place. The king looked up momentarily, looking at his proud, handsome features. Glasses were perched on the bard’s face. His expression was confident, yet not arrogant. However, the simple swagger in his step made the king’s eyebrow twitch.
Yes, wood would’ve allowed him to rub splinters in the smug man’s face beneath his boot.
Mitsuki found himself smirking before realizing the object of his mental punishment was kneeling before him.
“Your Highness, it’s an honor to meet you.”
Mitsuki resisted the urge to scoff and waved a small motion with his hand.
“Rise, entertainer. Abandon the pleasantries and present to me your lack of talent, so you can be on your way.”
“Are you so sure you want your servants to see you weep, Your Magnitude?” Yamato rose to his feet and couldn’t resist the smirk that was painted across his face. A few of the guards visibly tensed at the sheer audacity. Mitsuki’s nails clamped onto around his scepter.
No one spoke to him like that.
“Leave us.” Mitsuki said simply to his servants, his eye twitching ever so slightly with annoyance. They quickly left the area, with only Yamato and Mitsuki in the large throne room.
“Well?” Mitsuki smirked, leaning back in his chair. “With such a cocky mouth, I would’ve expected you to start already.”
The musician seemed unphased, his glasses reflecting with the low lighting of the room.
Starting off slowly, Yamato moved into position and played a low tuning note, before the flute glided into a high note. He swayed as he played, his body moving with the ebbing and flowing melody.
Mitsuki could immediately feel himself being drawn into the intensity of the man’s playing, passion ringing through with each measure. He was mesmerized by the way his lithe fingers slid across the instrument. Elegant. Graceful. Skilled. It reminded him of his late mother, who had often played music for him and his younger brother… Despite long since swearing that those memories would remain sealed, he found himself forced to remember. Iori, his estranged brother, resting comfortably on his chest. His mother, with her dark hair like his brother’s, would play them a lullaby, her legs crossed as she sat on their bed. Her two sons rested next to her, and she played, from memory, the songs of her people.
However, the more he listened to the song, the more he realized that his memories were resurfacing for a reason. It was a melody that his mother had played. One of her favorites, actually. Mitsuki’s mind drifted away from this moment, suddenly being back in his childhood bedroom. Iori’s gentle heartbeat. His mother’s warm and comforting presence. His happiness. The period of peace before he was made into the cold, sadistic king he is now. With each measure, Mitsuki felt himself trembling more, his body filled with painful memories from long ago. His emotional state had been compromised. A pang of desire and want for the past clung to his heart.
No matter how much he tried to force the feelings away, it seemed as if the bard’s notes had burrowed into his heart, digging up those precious, painful memories. The feeling was unrelenting. It refused to stop. His hand reached up to clutch at his chest, almost as if he could tear the memories from the flesh that reminded him how agonizingly human he was.
The king didn’t even realize that Yamato had finished until he was painfully aware of the silence.
“Your Grace?”
Mitsuki didn’t want the all-too-knowing look of pity that was written all over Yamato’s face. He turned his head and attempted to subtly wipe away the traitorous wetness that had spilled over his cheeks. The scepter in his hand glowed faintly, reminding Mitsuki of who he was now. To forget the past. To never betray his current goals for the complacency of long ago. Sighing, he leaned back into his chair, quiet, and contemplative. If he had the bard slaughtered it wouldn’t bode well for the diplomatic relations between Alba and Sirena…
“If you’re debating on killing me for what I just saw, you don’t have to worry, King Izumi. I won’t speak a word. I’ll swear on the Star Jewel if you’d like.” Yamato spoke seriously, bowing his head slightly.
“You knew.”
Mitsuki’s voice was cold and Yamato’s expression quickly twisted in a panic.
“Milord, I just thought it would be an appropriate choice--”
“To choose a children’s lullaby of Bestia? I don’t believe this was coincidental.” Mitsuki surged forward and grabbed onto Yamato’s scarf, pulling them face to face. If anyone knew his secret, this kingdom, his empire, would be done for.
“Who told you to play this song?”
“...I heard it. In a vision. I hear the future more than I see it. I heard myself performing the song, and saw you moved to tears. That is all I know.” he said nervously, trying to force his voice not to tremble as Mitsuki harshly breathed against his face.
“Come, then.” Mitsuki released him, sitting back down on the cushion. Yamato took slow and measured steps before kneeling directly in front of the ornate throne.
There was a real possibility that Yamato would return to Sirena, and he would report back to King Kujo, revealing how the cold leader had wept for a lullaby of Bestia. However, Mitsuki needed to keep control over the situation, his mind quickly navigating his options. Manipulating one’s mind was one thing, but having control over the body was another. Keeping Yamato trapped here until he could be absolutely certain his secrets would not be betrayed was the only option. This bard may have the upper hand with his music, but he idly wondered what other uses that pretty mouth could be put to?
He lifted Yamato’s bowed head with his foot, the tip of his boot raising his chin.
“I now see your appeal, Yamato, Bard of the 12 Seas.” Mitsuki purred, the smirk on his face only growing as he noticed the blush on Yamato’s cheeks. He suddenly was at the mercy of the king, and despite being used to his own ruler treating him this way, there was something different about allowing the king of Alba having his way with him.
“Thank you, Your Highness. I’m not worthy of your praise.” The tone was almost sarcastic, but Mitsuki would allow his disrespect to slide for now.
“Perhaps you aren’t.” Mitsuki scoffed, moving his foot away. “However, there is plenty of time for you to prove that to me this evening.”
Yamato’s cheeks flushed beautifully under the dim light of the candles, and he quirked a brow, almost as if he didn’t understand. He could feel the heat that had rushed to his cheeks. He had to save face for the sake of Sirena. For the sake of his own honor. (Whatever was left of it.)
“Was my music not to your liking, my lord?” The cocky lilt of his voice only further irritated Mitsuki. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance. “Perhaps I could perform something else for you--”
“Come.” The king rose from his throne and stepped behind it. “My quarters will be much more suitable for your performance.”
The bard was rendered unusually speechless, his feet having no choice but to follow behind the short-statured king.
Unlocking the door with his loud, clinking set of keys, it revealed a hallway that led to the king’s quarters. A place few had access to. He saw his guard standing at the end of the hall, and gave him a curt smile.
“You’re relieved of your duty for the evening, Tamaki.”
Despite the king being unable to see his expression from behind the mask, his frown was apparent.
“With all due respect King Izumi…” Tamaki hesitated, usually not expressing his feelings-- but doing so anyway, “Really? This...peasant?”
A dark expression crossed the king’s face and Tamaki bowed immediately, quickly walking away without apologizing for his commentary. He roughly brushed his shoulder against the bard's, and left the hall. Mitsuki sighed, unlocking the door and opening it to lead Yamato inside.
“Don't mind him. He's...protective. As my knight, it's to be expected.”
“I had no idea the king would have jealous lovers.”
Mitsuki shoved Yamato inside, pressing him against the door and gripping Yamato’s chin with a gloved hand. The flute clattered to the floor.
“Pick that up when I’m done with you, won’t you, Yamato?”
Yamato’s resistance was futile as the smaller man feverishly pressed his lips against his, his teeth biting and drawing blood. Mitsuki relished the bitter taste, his tongue sweeping across the wound. Seeing the bard’s face twist in confusion made it all the more satisfying.
“Oh? So you didn’t hear this coming?” he taunted him, shoving him towards the massive bed.
“If I heard this , I sure as hell would’ve prepared myself a bit more. My clairvoyant ears can only do so much.”
Yamato refused to look up at Mitsuki as he watched the young king undress. The blush he tried to hide wasn’t hard for Mitsuki to miss.
“The plan was for peace. Nothing more, nothing less--”
“Silence.” Mitsuki’s expression grew bored, and he turned and unzipped his pants and dropped them around his ankles. Yamato licked his lips, his eyes drawing lines up the back of Mitsuki’s calves to the curve of his--
“You aren’t going to help? Gods, what do they teach in Sirena?”
Yamato quickly moved to Mitsuki’s side, helping to strip him of his coat and royal dressings. He resisted touching the shorter man’s taut muscles, the king much leaner than he expected. His eyes lingered over his back muscles. Admiring the way his shoulders curved.
“Staring, bard?”
“Hah...Forgive me, milord.”
“My robe.”
Yamato was quick to retrieve the robe hanging near the king’s vanity, and as soon as he pulled it around Mitsuki’s shoulders, the king demanded he turn away.
“Allow the king to have some semblance of privacy, you disrespectful knave.”
Yamato turned as he was told, though he snuck a quick glance in the mirror, only to see a sight in the mirror he didn’t expect.
Two tiny orange ears perched on the King’s head.
Mitsuki pulled the hood over his head before clearing his throat and sitting on the bed. “You may turn around.”
Yamato was unsure if the king knew what he saw. His relaxed expression seemed to say otherwise.
“Now pick up your flute. And play it again.”
“Again?”
“Are you hard of hearing, idiot? ” Mitsuki scathed. “Play it again. A king needs his beauty rest. This'll be the best sleep I’ve had in a decade.” The small king crawled further into his bed, and pulled the blankets up to his chin.
“Go on.”
Yamato Nikaido quickly learned that the monarch of darkness was much less terrifying when in a deep, peaceful slumber.