Chapter Text
Lance stared at Keith with wide eyes, confused as quiznack. His hands were still shaking, heart pounding as he edged away from the other prince. Said prince merely huffed, crossed his arms, and looked away. Eyebrows furrowed, Lance threw one hand into the air.
“You can’t just drag me into some shoddy little sitting room and then brood off into the distance! Explain yourself! What the quiznack is this?” Lance all but exploded, both arms flying out to the sides in exasperation. Sure, he was still terrified, but Lance was nothing if not a great actor to cover up his actual feelings.
“It’s a sitting room. You just said that” the Galra said, a very much ‘duh’ tone in his voice that Lance did not appreciate at all.
“No shit! I meant what are we doing here?! Are you stupid?” If Lance’s voice cracked, neither of them mentioned it.
“We’re supposed to... you know, bond,” Keith responded. Did he seem... meek? Like, actually unsure about it. It could’ve been cute if Lance didn’t already know he was an asshole. Assholes weren’t cute. They were full of shit, just like this guy. Furry, stupid, full of shit Prince Keith Of Daibazaal. Even his name was stupid.
“You think I’m gonna sit and bond with you? After- after making me marry you? Against my will? Nuh-uh, not gonna happen, pal,” Lance spat out, glaring at Keith before going to the door and yanking on the handle. It didn’t budge.
Lance pulled again. Nothing.
Throwing himself backwards and on to the sofa, Lance yelled. “Stupid door is locked!” He was a prisoner once again. This time, it wasn’t even in his own home. God, he’d only been here a day, and Lance wanted to go home. There was no care for his meticulously styled hair or the clothes that probably cost more than a kidney. Lance sprawled across the couch in a huff, glaring at the ceiling, because... well, what else could he do?
“Yeah. We’re only allowed out in a varga, for the reception.” Once again, Keith spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Clearly, it wasn’t, since Lance didn’t know. Maybe he should’ve paid more attention to his tutors, sure, but it wasn’t a normal thing to do, right? Lock two people in a room together for a whole ass varga to ‘bond’. Ugh—he was locked in a room for an entire varga with Prince Asshole over there.
Keith leaned against the wall by the door, arms still crossed and the same grumpy expression on his stupid face. Stupid grumpy, stupid purple face. Was it bad that Lance still found that attractive?
No! Bad Lance! He lifted his head and let it drop heavily back on the sofa, reprimanding himself. There was absolutely, completely, 100 per cent nothing (nothing!) attractive about the stupid brooding, angry asshole that was Price Asshole. Nothing. Nada.
Five ticks passed. Then ten. Then thirty. After an entirely soul-draining two doboshes of awkwardly tense silence, Lance groaned. Loudly. Lifting his arms just to let them flop back down next to him.
“Why’d I even have to bond with you?!”
Keith probably rolled his eyes. Lance was too busy glaring at the ceiling and trying to calm his racing heart to notice. “Because we just got married, dumbass.”
“I’m not a dumbass, you are! I didn’t want to get married! I’m not even 18, but you’re an ass, so you’re probably into the ‘underage’ thing anyway!”
“What?! I’m barely 18 myself, idiot. And I didn’t want to marry you either! I never agreed to this!”
“Yeah, well neither did I, dirtbag! Stupid purple mullet-head idiot!” Lance’s words were laced with poison, but that was okay. Keith’s were too.
The silence dragged on once again. Keith was dragged into this just as Lance had been. His own father had been the one to cause it, too. That had to hurt. Somewhere in the back of Lance’s mind, it made sense why Keith was such a dick. His father had been the sole person responsible for their wedding. They were both pawns, Keith to his own family. That wasn’t fair.
“I bet you’re enjoying this.” Lance just couldn’t help himself, could he? Digging himself a deeper and deeper hole as the moments went on. But he was angry and bitter and scared and resentful and Keith was the only one there to take his frustrations out on. So, taunting it was.
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, that’s right. I bet you’re enjoying seeing an Altean all miserable, forced into one of your evil Galra schemes.”
“You- What?”
“You don’t even have a comeback. Just proves that you’re stupid.”
“You’re not making any sense, idiot.”
“Yeah, well, at least I’m making!”
“What?!”
The argument was better than silence. It was mind-numbing and just what Lance needed to avoid another panic attack. No thinking meant no time for panic.
The rest of the varga went something like that, with neither backing down. Silence didn’t last, but by the time the door unlocked, Keith was fuming and Lance was internally screaming. A great way to start a marriage!
***
A... servant? A servant opened the door after the varga was up, and Lance sprang to his feet. Rushing to the door to be let out. But, he was forced back as more servants filed in. Lance heard Keith click his tongue in annoyance, and he sent a glare in his direction.
“What’s going on?” The Altean Prince asked, eyebrows furrowing. Couldn’t they leave? There was supposed to be a reception, right? Why... oh. Right. As he was being forced on to a stool, he watched in disdain as Keith was too. Hands were on him, touching up his makeup and hair. Making sure he was the picture of perfection. On the other hand, Keith was more or less left alone. Lance couldn’t help but wonder, bitterly, if he’d look less like he had a stick up his ass if they actually tried to make him presentable.
Maybe Lance shouldn’t have so quickly made enemies with his husband slash the son of the Emperor trying to annihilate any and all other nations, but... you win some, you lose some. As long as they remained married, Zarkon couldn’t touch Altea. His family were safe.
Flash forward twenty doboshes, Lance was waiting behind heavy doors once again. This time, he wasn’t alone as they opened. Somehow, it was worse. The tall, dark purple doors opened to a room of oppressive silence. Important Galra stood around tables, with Zarkon in his throne. Sat. Like a dick. Gulping, Lance’s hand reached out and clasped Keith’s, who watched him with a bewildered expression. Eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed. Lance merely looked over the staring crowd, knuckles turning white as he clenched Keith’s hand. Rather that than shaking hands, right? The warmth was a comfort to the sickness in his stomach.
Stepping into the reception room, Lance didn’t know why he’d thought this would be any better than the rest of the day. It was a party, sure, but it was a Galra party, and Lance was a firm believer that the Galra dictionary didn’t even know what the word meant.
Their footsteps were the only sound echoing through the hall, and Lance remembered why he wanted to cry.
Keith led them to a long table to the left of Zarkon’s throne. Sitting, Lance knew he must’ve looked as terrified as a field mouse in the claws of a cat. More, perhaps. Maybe in the claws of a hawk instead. Dead and done for.
Still, the silence stretched on. Zarkon raised a hand and everyone sat. Lance didn’t see, too busy staring at the table and forcing steady breaths. His hand still in Keith’s and holding on for dear life; dangling over the cliff and dangerously close to slipping.
This was worse than the ceremony. He could’ve just got himself worked up (maybe arguing with his now-husband really hadn’t been the way to go) but Lance didn’t care. It was done, now. He’d handed his life over to the Galra—to Zarkon—and now he lived with the consequences.
Lance’s father was obsessed with consequences. Namely, Lance learning that his actions had them. Though not unforeseen, he’d always been able to get out of them. This was probably Karma’s way of getting him back after all his years of pissing her off.
Food came after a few short words from Zarkon—and by short, Lance meant short. ‘Let’s eat’, to be specific. No words of celebration, no bullshit about it being the start of a new era of peace or whatever Lance thought he might have expected. Just... ‘Let’s eat.’
That should’ve been the first clue. But then again, who would question such a simple sentiment?
The Galra had terrible taste in food. Lance wasn’t even sure he’d be able to digest it. The answer came later on that night when Lance found himself puking up what meagre sustenance he’d consumed that day. He hadn’t danced with Keith. No first dance, no cringe-worthy disco, no cutting of the cake. Ceremony, food, bed. Done and dusted, just like that.
Keith might’ve muttered something about changing the meal plan, but Lance was too busy being sick as a dog to care.