Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ships were definitely Galran. Of that, Lance could be sure.

Despite how patiently the two ships waited outside Altea’s shield barrier, external lights switched from their usual red to pure white in the universal sign for ceasefire, they still retained the same sharp silhouettes the rest of the Galran fleet carried. Those spiked tips atop and below the main body were unmistakable. As were the quadruple-layered wings that were thrown into even sharper relief than usual by their bright, white glow. The only thing missing was the intimidating support of an entire fleet behind them. And, in a way, the complete absence of a fleet behind these two ships was just as intimidating as if the entire Galran army was present, if not more so.

At least, with an army, the Galrans were predictable.

This, however, was not. And it set Lance on edge.

“It could be a trap,” Allura said from across the room. She crossed her arms and glared up at the image of the two fighter jets on the control tower’s large screen, clearly unhappy with the entire situation. “You know how the Galrans are. It’s win or die trying for them. They would never request a truce without an ulterior motive.”

She wasn’t entirely wrong. They had been at war with the Galra Empire for centuries— since before Lance, or Allura, or any of the current members of the royal family were born— but never had the Galran army retreated from battle or asked for a ceasefire. Not even when the battle had clearly turned against them. And yet now there were two Galran fighter jets, not even a month after Galra’s latest victory, bearing the color of peace. It was no wonder his cousin was so suspicious.

Lance shared her misgivings. “It is out of character,” he agreed, cocking his head to the side. Very out of character. Which didn’t exactly inspire confidence in the intentions of this temporary truce. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at the screen, fingers fiddling with one of his silver earrings as he considered their options.

There weren’t many, and all of them carried an element of danger Lance didn’t like dealing with. He knew accepting the ships into their realm without question was risky and would make them appear weak in Galra’s eyes. But turning the ships away without explanation would possibly be worse, and would only extend the conflict. If this was genuine, if this really was a request for peace, they couldn’t just turn it away.

“We should be cautious,” he said. “Maybe we should hail the ships and find out why they’re here before we send them away.”

“I can set up a communication channel for you, if you’d like, Princess,” Pidge, their resident technology expert, offered. “We can keep the barrier up and everything, so the risk factor would be low.”

Allura took a moment to think that over. She walked across the room to the control panel, where Pidge was sitting, and stared at the image on screen. Lance could tell she was wary. Beneath her long, blue cape, she kept her arms wrapped around her like some sort of shield, while her shoulders remained tense and her expression became pinched, brows furrowed together and mouth pressed into a thin line as she observed the Galran fighters.

Lance was glad at least to see she was weighing her options. He knew his cousin well, knew how much she hated the Galrans and how tempted she’d be to just tell the fighters to leave without giving them a chance to explain. Usually King Alfor would be able to curb that impulse and remind her how much depended on her decisions, how much power her words and choices held as heir to the Altean throne, but his uncle was off reviewing their troops on the other side of the planet today and so was unavailable for advice. This decision was entirely in Allura’s hands.

She drummed her fingers against her arms, considering it all. Lance watched her with more than a little nervousness. He’d follow Allura’s directions, no matter what she chose, but he hoped she’d settle on an option that gave them at least some hope for peace. Some chance to negotiate a ceasefire long enough for their planet to rest and recover, at the very least.

“Let’s hail them, as Lance suggested,” she finally said. “If nothing else, we’ll gain insight into their motives.”

Pidge nodded and turned back to the controls. Curious, Lance crossed the room to stand beside Allura, glancing over Pidge’s shoulder as she flipped a few switches and sent a signal to the two ships beyond their barrier. Their frequency appeared as a blue wave on the control panel, rising and falling in steady rhythm as it waited for the Galran ships to latch onto and synchronize with it. That is if the Galran ships accepted their signal at all.

Lance watched the screen in silent anticipation, stomach roiling and rolling just like the waves of their frequency. What if the Galrans didn’t answer their hail? What if they weren’t as open to the idea of peace as Lance and Allura? What if this really was just a trap?

There was a soft beep as the Galran ships picked up their signal, and Lance’s head snapped up to look at the control tower’s screen. A large, fuzzy square overlapped the image of the two Galran fighters, which slowly cleared to show the dark inside of one of the ships— the black seat, the low-level lighting, and then a familiar face smiling at all of them. One Lance hadn’t expected to see ever again.

“Matthias,” Allura quietly gasped at the same time that Lance and Pidge yelled, “Matt!”

Matt smiled at all of them— a small, tired smile that matched his wane and haggard appearance— and bowed his head a little in greeting. “Princess Allura,” he said in a scratchy voice, “Prince Lance, Pidge. It’s so good to see you all again.”

“Matt, what are you doing in a Galran ship? Did you steal it? Is that how you escaped? Is there another prisoner in the other ship?” Pidge asked in a rush, standing up from her seat and leaning closer to the screen with every question.

She was babbling. Her words ran together in a blur Lance barely understood, and her entire body seemed to be shaking from some sort of repressed energy. Probably excitement. After all, this was the first time she’d gotten to see her brother since the Galra captured him almost two years ago. Lance still remembered the wreck she had been when word came back that Matt had been taken prisoner during one of his diplomatic missions on the outskirts of their territory. How torn up and angry and alone she’d been. He couldn’t blame her now for being so worked up.

Matt smiled indulgently at her, as if thinking the same thing, but then he shook his head. “I didn’t escape,” he said. He looked back at Allura as he added, “I’m being released, under the condition that you allow their ambassador into Altea territory as well. He has a… proposal to present to you, Princess.”

“What sort of proposal?” Allura asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion once more. Matt shook his head again.

“It will be better to hear it from him, I’m afraid. I don’t know all of the details.”

Allura didn’t say anything in response for a moment. She looked over at Lance and tilted her head to the side, silently asking for his opinion on the issue. Lance was hesitant to give it. He knew which he hoped for and would stand behind, but he couldn’t confidently say it was the best choice. Not with how much they still didn’t know. On one hand, they still didn’t know enough about the situation to trust the Galrans, and there was no evidence that Matt wasn’t being forced or tricked into this in order to gain their trust. But on the other hand, and this was the option Lance really hoped to be true, Matt’s presence could be a show of good faith by the Galrans, and the proposal their ambassador carried could be a chance— their only chance— for some sort of peace between their nations.

He didn’t entirely trust the Galrans or their intentions, but Lance was too eager to put a stop to all the fighting to not take the risk. He nodded in answer to Allura’s question, and then looked back at the screen.

“We will allow it,” he said to Matt. “We’ll send soldiers to escort you and the ambassador to the Castle.”

Silently, he thanked the stars above that the Galran ships had arrived while they were still at the Castle and could receive them here, rather than at the Royal Palace. At least here they could protect Altea’s secrets and defend themselves against any surprise attacks, should the whole thing turn out to be a trap. The Royal Palace was not built for war.

Matt understood the caution in that choice, and so didn’t question it. He simply nodded and ended the transmission, returning the control tower’s screen to the image of the two Galran fighter jets, as it had been before. Pidge slumped back in her seat. She took off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes, but remained silent— probably overwhelmed by the events. Lance placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a brief, bracing squeeze.

“Lance,” Allura murmured, brushing light fingers over his upper arm to get his attention. He glanced at her, and then, seeing her nod toward the doorway behind them, followed her from the control tower into the Castle hallway, leaving Pidge to gather her thoughts in solitude.

They walked down the hallway in silence, with only the tapping of their own footsteps against the metal floors to fill the air around them. Lance didn’t normally like the silence, and on any other day he wouldn’t have hesitated to fill it with his own voice, but today the atmosphere was too thick. Too serious. He could practically hear the buzz of all the thoughts and worries that were no doubt racing through Allura’s mind. And he understood. He was worried about this too.

‘Peace’ was a word Lance had learned long ago, and had dreamt of ever since. It was a word their planet, and all of their allies, had not known for centuries, too caught up in the cycle of bloodshed and vengeance that the war with Galra created to make any room for peace. Lance and Allura had grown up surrounded by that violence. Had grown up knowing death and loss and pain, and seeing the affect it had on their people. And when Lance had grown old enough, he saw that violence first hand, watching his friends and comrades get shot down on the battlefield by Galran blasters. Knowing he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

He had lived through twenty-three years of endless war. And there would be many more years to come unless a solution was found. Lance would give all he had in order to stop all the violence, even so far as sacrificing his own life if it meant the war would cease, and so he sincerely hoped this offer would be their answer. But he couldn’t help but feel this meeting with the Galran ambassador was going to end in some sort of disaster. Like they were about to jump into something they couldn’t control.

They stepped into the lift at the end of the hall, and Lance pressed himself against back wall, leaning against the cool surface with his arms crossed over his chest. Allura pressed the button for the ground floor of the Castle, where they would prepare to receive their Galran guest under the protection of several royal guards. Then she stepped back to stand beside Lance, and waited for the door to close.

“Do you think they’re being genuine?” she asked once the lift began its descent. When it was just the two of them without any chance of being overheard.

Lance shrugged. “They might be,” he said. “Matt seemed to think they were.”

“They might also have been forcing Matthias to speak well of them.” Allura glared at the floor. Her hands were clasped in front of her, squeezed in a white-knuckled grip. “I do not trust them, Lance. I am wary to let them in here. Especially without my father present.”

“Coran is still here,” Lance pointed out. “And Uncle Alfor trusts his advice on matters like this.”

More than that, King Alfor actively sought out Coran’s advice and opinions on important issues of state. Coran had been well-educated at the Royal Academy as a young man, and had proven himself time and time again as an invaluable source of insight and perspective. Lance trusted him implicitly in this situation. Which was good, because Allura would definitely need advice on this, and Lance couldn’t trust himself to speak wisely in this. He didn’t have enough experience. He knew how to charm a ballroom, and how to command an army, but negotiating with an enemy’s ambassador… that was a whole different matter. One Coran was far better suited for.

Allura sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Even if I still don’t like it,” she said as the lift slowed and gradually came to a stop. The doors slid open, and Lance grinned at her, all bravado and charm.

“Come now,” he said, facing her as he walked backwards out of the lift, “where is the gracious princess I know and love so well? Is it not the Altean way to seek peace first?”

He leaned towards her, poking at her shoulder until Allura finally pushed him away. But there was a tiny lift at the corners of her lips as she said, “I do believe it’s a little too late for that, Lance.”

“Well, that shouldn’t keep us from trying anyways,” he retorted with a shrug. He spun on his heel to walk normally down the entry hall’s main staircase, though still bouncing a little from step to step while adding, “Just remember, this is our territory. You hold the power here. You need not agree to anything the ambassador proposes without first thinking it over.”

And that was the real crux of the situation here. The Galrans may have come to them first, may have their own reasons for negotiating a truce, may hold all the cards when it came to situational insight, but they were in Altean territory now. Whatever they offered or demanded, the Galran ambassador had to play by Altean rules now, which were, essentially, whatever Allura decided they were. She could do whatever it took to get the outcome they desired. They had the upper hand here.

“Try not to worry so much, Allura,” Lance said to her, placing a supportive hand on her back. “You know Matt would rather die than cooperate with a Galran plot. All will be well. And if it is not—” Lance’s grin turned feral, eyes narrowing and hand dropping to touch his belt, where his bayard typically sat when he wore his armor, “—then I will shoot them all down myself.”

Chapter Text

The Castle was situated in the mountain regions of Altea, surrounded by rolling fields of grass and juniberries and far from any of the major cities or space ports, including the one that controlled the shield barrier and all the traffic passing in and out. It would take the Galran ships nearly a full hour to fly first through the shield barrier and the Altean atmosphere, and then to find where the Castle was hidden in one of the valleys. That left Lance and Allura plenty of time to prepare.

Lance changed into his paladin armor during the wait, preferring the security of having his bayard close by if things turned sour. He’d made sure to locate Coran and a few guards to accompany him and Allura for the meeting, and he knew with their presence no harm could actually be done to either of them. But there was just something about holding his own weapon in hand that made him feel safer. More in control of the situation. So he strapped on the blue and white armor over his black bodysuit, donned the long, blue cloak with the golden shoulder pin that he saved specifically for meetings like this, and held his bayard in one gloved hand, just in case.

Allura had changed as well. Upon Coran’s suggestion, she had decided on an outfit more suited to the meeting at hand— one designed to both impress and intimidate. She now stood draped in all white, from her floor-length gown to the cape that fell over her shoulders and bare arms to fan out on the floor around her feet. Her hair was twisted high atop her head and held in place by the golden circlet that marked her status as a princess of Altea, while jewels glittered from her ears and throat. She looked every inch the queen she would one day be. Lance only hoped it would be enough to earn the Galran ambassador’s acknowledgment, if not his respect.

Having that would make negotiations so much easier, in all honesty. If peaceful negotiations really were what the Galrans were coming for.

“They’re not far now, Princess,” Pidge said, gaze locked on the small, handheld tablet that was currently tracking the progress of the Galran ships through Altean land. “I’d say five, maybe ten minutes until they arrive.”

She descended the steps of the Castle’s great hall, which would serve as the greeting point for the Galran ambassador as the Castle, unlike the Royal Palace, lacked an official throne room, to join Allura and Lance on the main floor. Her dark green cloak fluttered a little with each step. Pidge, too, had donned her paladin armor during the wait, mostly at Lance’s insistence. He knew how intimidating the two of them together would be. Even the Galran ambassador would have to admit to the fearsome power of the two Voltron paladins on the battlefield, and having the both of them standing behind Allura, dressed in full armor and with bayards at the ready, would only add more power to Allura’s words.

“The sooner they come, the sooner they can leave,” Allura replied. “I still do not like this. Allowing those ships to come here goes against everything my father taught me. I feel like this was all just a giant mistake.”

“Maybe so,” Lance said, “but the damage has already been done. We can’t just send the ships back without good reason.”

“The war we’ve been fighting for the past couple of centuries seems like a pretty good reason to me,” Pidge said beside him. Lance huffed unhappily and crossed his arms.

“They have your brother still,” he said. “You should be the one wanting this meeting the most.”

Pidge glared up at him. “You don’t need to remind me, Lance. I know exactly who is in that Galran ship. But I also know that the chances of this all being a ruse with my brother used as bait is somewhere around seventy-five percent. Maybe higher. It’s not like they haven’t done this before.”

Lance snapped his mouth shut and looked away, feeling a wave of guilt rising in his stomach. He knew what Pidge was referring to, recalled how Matt’s life had constantly been threatened whenever Pidge was on the battlefield, how it had forced her not to fight back for fear of causing Matt’s death. There was a reason why Pidge had mostly stepped away from the battlefield to work as their strategist instead. And Lance had just ignored all of that, implying that she didn’t care enough.

Of course Pidge wanted to bring Matt home. But she wanted to make sure they brought him home alive, and that meant caution. Lance felt terrible for forgetting that in his desperation for peace.

“Be that as it may,” Allura said when Lance remained silent, “I’m afraid that Lance is right about this. We made our decision. We cannot back out of it now.” She put a hand on Pidge’s shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. “I will make sure your brother comes to no harm, Pidge. You have my word.”

Pidge nodded her head. “Thank you, Princess.”

Lance didn’t say anything, but he intended to make sure Matt came to no harm as well. He placed his hand on Pidge’s other shoulder and felt her relax a bit beneath the pressure, shoulders slumping forward and curving in toward herself. It was a surrender, he knew. An acceptance, placing her brother’s fate in their hands, trusting them to navigate this meeting well enough to keep him from any danger.

There was a knock at the door of the great hall. The three of them turned toward it, watching as the door creaked open just enough for Coran to peek his head in and announce, “The ambassador has arrived, Princess. He requests a meeting with you.”

“Of course,” Allura said. She let out a long breath, as if blowing all her worries and hesitations into the wind, then squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Her expression turned hard as stone and cold as ice, and she was no longer just Allura, but instead the Crown Princess Allura of Altea— the future Queen and commander of Altea’s army. Lance watched her draw her position and power around her like a shield and felt nothing but relief as her steady, imperious voice commanded, “Send them in.”

Coran disappeared behind the door once more, off to fetch the ambassador and his entourage from wherever Coran had left them, and Lance took the opportunity as they all shifted into place to lean toward Allura. “Remember,” he murmured in a low voice, so that only she could hear, “you hold the power. You make the demands.”

Allura nodded, but otherwise didn’t react. She couldn’t. Not with the doors of the great hall swinging open for Coran and the Galran visitors to walk through.

Coran came first, leading the group across the hall to the foot of the stairs, where Allura, Lance, and Pidge stood waiting. He stopped a few feet short of Allura and fell into a full court bow, completely bent over from the waist with both arms extended out beside him. “Your Royal Highness,” he greeted, using Allura’s full honorific for once, as he rarely did. “The Galran ambassador, as you requested.”

“Yes. Thank you,” she answered with a solemn nod. Coran straightened from his bow and walked over to stand beside Pidge, on Allura’s left side. And then they were left to greet their visitors.

The Galran ambassador looked every bit as fearsome as Lance thought he would. He was tall, as all true-born Galrans were, and had lean, sharp features that, with his purple skin and yellow eyes, made him look more like a feral animal than a peaceful envoy. His black armor with the bright, red insignia splashed across his chest didn’t help him seem less threatening either. Lance was fairly certain it wasn’t meant to.

“Princess Allura,” the ambassador said. He did not bow to her, as would have been proper, but dipped his head in a shallow nod that made Lance bristle with irritation and tighten his grip around his bayard. When he lifted his head, he glanced around the hall and sneered in contempt. “King Alfor is not here? I was expecting to be greeted by him.”

The expression on Allura’s face grew even colder at his blatant dismissal. “My father is currently unavailable. Unfortunate timing, I’m afraid. But I am his heir, and I speak in his place.”

“Very well,” the ambassador sighed. “I will negotiate with you then, Princess. For the honor of the Galran Empire.”

“You will first return your prisoner to us before begin negotiating. I will not speak of peace while you hold our diplomat in chains.”

The ambassador stared at Allura, as if weighing her resolve on this issue. She held the stare, refusing to back down or show weakness, even as the ambassador’s unnerving yellow eyes bored into her. Lance felt uneasy about the acute attention of the ambassador, and he shifted his cloak just enough to let his bayard, still clasped tightly in his hand, be visible to the rest of the room as a silent threat. He was ready and willing to fight if that’s what it came down to. He rather hoped the ambassador had enough sense to not refuse Allura’s request though.

It was difficult to tell with the Galran’s flat, yellow eyes, but it seemed for a second that the ambassador’s gaze shifted from Allura to Lance, and then to the bayard in Lance’s hand. It occurred to Lance in that moment that neither the ambassador, nor the Galran guard he had brought with him, were armed with any sort of weapon, as they would have surrendered their swords and blasters to Coran and the Royal Guard before being allowed into the great hall. All the better. Without weapons to defend themselves, Lance’s threat would be more potent. And more persuasive as well.

The ambassador clicked his tongue, then turned around and gestured at his guard. The soldier left his post by the door to approach them, and for the first time Lance noticed the other figure in the room— the one being dragged along behind the guard.

“Your diplomat,” the ambassador practically spat as the guard pushed Matt across the room with enough force to make Matt stumble and fall onto the metal floor at Allura’s feet.

Pidge and Lance both rushed forward to help Matt to his feet. He was so weak he could barely keep himself upright, leaning almost all of his weight against Pidge as they lifted him from the floor. And no wonder. When he stood upright, the unnatural thinness of his body became more pronounced. His joints stuck out like sharp points, and his limbs seemed so slender Lance was afraid they might break at any second. His skin was pallid as well, save for the dark bags beneath his eyes and the few, multicolored bruises splashed across his hands and collarbone.

Looking at him made Lance feel ill. Seeing him onscreen hadn’t prepared Lance for actually seeing him in person, without any details spared. It was such a stark change from the man he’d been before, who, despite possessing a soft heart and predisposition for peace, was just as strong as anyone else in their kingdom. Stronger even than some of the soldiers Lance was charged with. This Matt was a far cry from the one Lance had known. This Matt was fragile and malnourished, and in desperate need of a good night’s sleep.

Lance and Pidge both slung one of Matt’s arms around their shoulders and carried him step by step up the great hall’s stairs and through the double doors into the hallway beyond. They stopped just outside the doors, however, and Lance stepped away from Matt’s side so he could return to the great hall. He couldn’t leave Allura alone with the Galran ambassador, after all, and Pidge could handle carrying her brother by herself now that the stairs were out of the way.

“I’ll take him to the cryo-replenishers,” Pidge said, settling Matt’s weight against her side. “Think you can handle this until I return?”

Lance quirked a small grin. “Who said you needed to return? Just focus on your brother. Allura and I have got this covered.”

“Gods be good. We’re all going to die.”

Lance laughed and ruffled Pidge’s hair. She scowled at him, patting down the mussed strands with her free hand, then turned away and started leading Matt down the hallway toward the cryo room, where she’d probably stay for the rest of the night, no matter what she said. Lance wasn’t expecting her to reappear again until she was certain Matt was alright and recovering. And even then, she probably wouldn’t let Matt out of her sights for a while.

In truth, Lance wanted Pidge to return to the great hall with him. He felt better having her presence, and the respect her position as a paladin afforded her, alongside his own. But the Galran ambassador had at least seen that the both of them were present in the castle, and he’d already revealed his preference for avoiding violence, if his earlier reaction to Lance’s bayard was anything to go by, so it wasn’t like Pidge’s presence was a necessity at this point. And Lance wouldn’t begrudge her the opportunity to be with her brother after so long for something that wasn’t actually necessary.

Instead, he returned to the great hall alone and reclaimed his spot at Allura’s side. The ambassador and Allura had begun the intricate, verbal dance of negotiations while he and Pidge had been with Matt, but it appeared Lance had returned in good time. The Galran ambassador had only just returned to the topic of peace by the time Lance reached Coran and Allura.

“An end to this long war. A truce between our realms,” the ambassador said, not even sparing Lance a quick glance as he came up beside Allura. The ambassador looked only at Allura, only at the princess he was left to deal with, as if everything else was beneath his notice. Lance didn’t like it.

“Why now?” he asked. “We have offered Galra peace many times in the past, after all, and have always been refused. Why would Galra ask it of us now?” Why should we trust it?

The ambassador bristled. “Your terms were never a truce, but our surrender. Galra never surrenders.” He sneered at Lance, baring a row of long, sharp teeth, then turned back to Allura as if Lance wasn’t even there. “Our Emperor asks for a truce, with equal respect and power on both sides. We will lay down our weapons if you will do the same. That is all we ask.”

“Forgive me for not trusting that statement. This war has been very long, and very costly to my people. I cannot agree to lay down our arms without some sort of assurance Galra won’t attack as soon as we do,” Allura answered with a frown.

“My Emperor offers one,” the ambassador said. “An alliance. A joining of the royal families.”

A marriage alliance, Lance realized in surprise. They were offering to marry one of their two princes to an Altean, even though their culture valued bloodlines above all else.

Lance looked at Allura in a panic. He didn’t trust this offer. There was something else going on here. Some sort of reason or plan that would only work if the two royal families were tied together, otherwise the Galrans never would have suggested sullying their royal line with Altean blood. There were other ways to make peace. Lance knew that. Coran knew that. Allura knew that.

She couldn’t agree to this. She couldn’t. And yet she had her head tilted to the side and brows furrowed in thought, as if actually considering what the Galran ambassador proposed.

“The idea has some merit,” she finally answered, to both Lance’s and Coran’s shock.

Seeming just as unsettled by the idea as Lance, Coran stepped forward and placed his hand lightly on Allura’s upper arm. He’d been silent since the Galrans had entered the great hall, but now he spoke out with a soft, “Princess! You can’t!”

Allura silenced his protests with a wave of her hand, never even looking away from the Galran ambassador. “I cannot agree to it without first discussing terms, but I am not entirely opposed,” she said to him. “Would your Emperor be willing to discuss this further before coming to an agreement?”

“I believe he would. On a neutral planet, of course.”

She offered him a wry smile. “Of course. Olkarion, I believe, would be willing to host us. And if we are meeting on equal terms, I believe we should meet with equal numbers. Perhaps six, including those being betrothed?”

“Very well. I will relay your request to the Emperor. We will require time to organize our people and travel.”

“Then we shall meet on Olkarion in two weeks. That should be sufficient time.”

The Galran ambassador’s flat nose scrunched up in displeasure at the rush, but he nodded in agreement all the same. Daibazaal, the heart of the Galra Empire— where the imperial family kept their seat of power— was several days from Altea and Olkarion both. If the ambassador left now and made haste, they would have just enough time to gather their group, but not enough time to organize any surprise attacks or secret plans. Though they would be fools to try anything while hosted by Olkarion in the first place. Olkarion was neutral, and had been so throughout this entire war, but it would not remain so if either Altea or Galra spilled innocent blood in their halls. And any alliance with the Olkari would mean certain victory for those they supported.

Lance still didn’t like it, however. As eager as he was for peace, he didn’t trust Galra’s intentions with this, and he wasn’t willing to let Allura sacrifice herself for this, as he knew she was planning. Especially since he knew the Galrans wanted that.

The ambassador hadn’t named any names, of course, but he hadn’t really needed to. Lance’s siblings were all too young to be offered in marriage, leaving only Allura and Lance himself as options. And considering how quick the ambassador had been to dismiss his presence, it wasn’t hard to tell which of them the Galrans preferred. They wanted to make this alliance with Allura, the heir to the Altean throne. That spelled danger on so many different levels.

“You can’t really be considering this,” Lance protested as soon as the Galran ambassador and his guard had left the great hall. “You can’t really think that allowing one of their princes to marry the heir to the Altean throne is a good idea.”

“I have to agree with your cousin, Princess. It’s too dangerous,” Coran said. He came up beside Lance and placed a hand on his shoulder. Allura frowned at the both of them.

“This is our chance to end the war. I don’t trust them either, but we cannot pass this chance over.”

Lance shook his head. “There has to be another way. You’re too close to the throne. Your position would give them too much power. Marry one of them and they’ll have our court. Our military. Our throne. Everything they need for a swift and total takeover.”

“They would absorb Altea into their Empire using your marriage as an excuse,” Coran agreed.

“We need peace,” Allura said. She rubbed her forehead and began pacing in quick, little lines before the stairwell. “We’re losing more and more people to this war each year, and even the common folk here on Altea are feeling the effects of the war in our dwindling markets and resources. It needs to be fixed. And you said it yourself earlier, Lance— Alteans seek peace. This is what we need.”

Lance couldn’t argue with that. It was the whole reason he had pushed for this meeting with the Galran ambassador when Allura had been so hesitant. After all these years of war, their people needed a solution, either through victory or peace. And with victory so uncertain, peace was the only path to take, even if it had to be bought by marriage. But did Allura really have to be the one to pay the price?

Coran continued debating the decision with Allura as Lance thought it over. The Galran ambassador had never stated outright that the alliance needed to be with Allura, after all. Only with the royal family. And that could be interpreted to mean that any of the eligible members of their family could suffice. His siblings were all too young, of course, and Allura too important, but there was still one more option. The only option, really, even if the thought of it made Lance’s stomach twist into painful knots.

“I will do it,” he stated, interrupting the conversation between Allura and Coran. They both looked his way, confused, and he clarified, “If marriage is the price we must pay for peace, then I will be the one to pay it.”

Allura inhaled sharply. “Lance, no,” she said, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this. It isn’t your burden to bear.”

“It is, though,” Lance disagreed. “I’m a prince and a paladin, second in line to the throne after you. I have a duty to Altea and her people. If you were unavailable for marriage—”

“But I’m not.”

“If you were,” he repeated with enough force to convey his intent on making that possibility a reality, “then I would clearly be the next best choice.”

Coran sighed. “I hate to say this, Princess, but he is right. It’s a much safer option,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He clearly wasn’t pleased at the idea, but seemed to be resigned to it anyways. Or, at the very least, accepting of it as a better solution than letting Allura marry the Galran prince.

Allura was less agreeable. Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she sourly muttered, “So I must sacrifice my own cousin to our enemy.”

“I’m volunteering, Allura,” he told her. “And I’d much rather it was me than you.” Her took her hands and held them tightly. They were so much smaller than his own, softer and more slender, but still so strong. Strong enough to command an army and lead a kingdom, and not meant to be chained down by the shackles of a questionable, political marriage. He leaned toward her, sighing, and softly said, “It’s the only option that makes sense.”

Allura closed her eyes, then let out a long breath. Her shoulders slumped forward, all strength seeming to seep right out of them, and Lance knew she had resigned herself to the truth of what he’d said. That this was the only way they could have both peace and protection, and to keep the Galrans far from their throne.

Lance tried to resign himself to it as well. Maybe if he was lucky, the Galrans would change their minds during negotiations and agree to a truce that didn’t involve marriage. But he knew, deep in his heart, that such a hope was futile, and that this was now his fate.

Chapter Text

Of all the views in Altea, Lance thought he might miss the one from his bedroom’s balcony the most.

He sat at the edge, one leg tucked into himself while the other hung over the edge between the white, stone pillars, and leaned forward to rest against the top of the low balustrade that bordered the balcony. He folded his arms over the handrail, and then pressed his cheek to them, looking out over the arboretum and the small river that separated it from the Royal Palace.

This was Lance’s favorite spot. Where he came to relax and meditate, away from all the noise and bustle of the Altean court. It was so unlike the rest of the planet, where the trees were carefully cultivated alongside streets and regularly trimmed to keep their neat, streamlined appearances. Here the trees were left to grow wild. They towered over him and filled the sky with thick clusters of green leaves, so numerous they seemed to create a wall of green that stretched from the water below to the clouds above, leaving the Palace in shadows. In some places, however, the sun still managed to peek through and cast little flecks of golden light to dance along the marble walls. Lance stretched out a hand to catch one of those beams. The light and shadows covered his dark skin like lacework, which flickered slightly as a cool breeze swept through the trees and ruffled Lance’s hair.

He stared absently at the swaying shadows. Flexed his fingers, then curled them into a fist, watching as the movement affected the pattern on his skin just as much as the wind seemed to. Beneath him, the river crawled by and tumbled down its small waterfall in a soft hush. The leaves rustled in the breeze, and the sweet scent of juniberries and sun blossoms wafted from the flower pots at the back corners of his balcony to where he was sitting.

It was all so comforting. So familiar. And yet it also filled Lance with dread, because it reminded him of what he was about to lose. What he had chosen to give up to live in the heart of the Galran Empire.

Would there be trees like this there? Waterfalls? Sweet wildflowers that bloomed almost year-round?

Lance didn’t know. And, in a way, he didn’t care. Even if the Galran Empire did possess all those things, they would never compare to this. They would never match this arboretum, with its river and natural disarray. They would never compare to Lance’s home.

Sighing, he dropped his hand and closed his eyes. A door opened behind him, on the other side of his bedroom. He heard the soft tap of feet against the marble floor, growing louder as they approached him, and then felt the gentle, warm weight of a hand on top his head.

“I thought I might find you here,” his mother said fondly.

Lance forced a smile and looked up at her. “I just wanted one last look before we left,” he told her. “I want to remember it.”

“Oh, Lance.”

She sighed and sat down beside him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. He fell into her embrace gratefully, relaxing into her side. This was another thing he would miss when he went to Daibazaal, these moments when he could just lean against his mother and absorb her strength. He didn’t know when he would be able to see her again. Or if he would see her again at all. If things went south, and this alliance didn’t work out, there was a large chance that Lance would be killed. And if things went well, if the marriage worked and the alliance was stable, there was still a large chance he wouldn’t be able to visit Altea just due to whatever political duties he might have on Daibazaal. They would still be able to communicate with one another through messages and video calls, of course, but it wasn’t the same as actually being here and getting to feel the security of his mother’s arms around him.

“It’s not too late to change your mind, you know,” his mother murmured against the dark brown hair he’d inherited from her. “You could stay. Marry someone you love.”

Lance smiled, leaning his head against her shoulder. This wasn’t the first time his mother had tried talking him out of his decision. She was even more against the idea of his political marriage with one of the Galran princes than Allura was, and Allura was very against it. But as much as Allura hated it, she recognized its necessity, and had to agree to it for the good of their people. His mother, on the other hand, had more luxury to ignore how essential the marriage was and to look on the situation with a mother’s eye. And she didn’t like what she saw.

It warmed Lance, knowing his mother was still looking out for him after all this time. That she was on his side, that she wanted the best for him, that she’d rather see him happy even at the cost of peace. It gave him the strength he needed to do what he knew needed to be done.

“I have to go. You know I do,” he said.

His mother sighed again. “I know.” She ran her fingers through Lance’s hair, pushing it back to make the circlet he wore more visible— the one he’d inherited, along with the title of ‘Prince,’ from his father before he had died. Lance’s mother traced a finger along the gold line across his forehead and smiled. “You’ve been so brave, Lance. He’d be proud of you.” She cupped his cheek. “I’m proud of you too.”

Lance held her hand against his face and swallowed thickly. “Thank you.”

She kissed his forehead, hugging him close like she would when he was younger. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he shut them tightly, fighting back the aching emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him. He listened to the steady beat of his mother’s heart and to the rush of the river below, and tried not to think beyond that. Lance wanted to just stay here, in this moment, before he was called to the shuttle that would take them to Olkarion for negotiations. Before his future was sealed.

All too soon, however, he felt his mother squeeze his shoulder and start to pull back. Lance parted from her reluctantly. He turned his head away, not wanting to see the tired resignation that he knew her expression would show, but let her smooth back his hair and tuck a few wayward strands behind his ear.

“We should be going,” she said. “The rest of them will be waiting for us.”

Lance nodded, but was slow to stand. He knew what would be waiting for him— the shuttle out on the landing pad, the other four members of their delegation, the very last moments before his life changed forever. He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Altea and everything he loved about it, and so he tried to prolong the time as much as he could.

Once he was standing, however, there wasn’t much he could do to delay, and he soon found himself leaving his bedroom for the last time and walking down the hallway to the Royal Palace’s landing pad with his mother at his side.

As his mother predicted, the others were already waiting for them on the launch pad, standing just outside the space shuttle. Lance nodded at Allura, Matt, and Pidge, but didn’t say anything to them as he climbed the shuttle’s ramp and found a seat with a window looking out on the Palace. He knew any conversation he had right now would just want to focus on what was happening, on him leaving Altea and marrying a Galran and becoming a part of their court, and Lance wasn’t ready to talk about that. Not with them. Not yet.

The others followed him onto the shuttle and found their own seats, thankfully leaving him to sit by himself in the back corner. He curled up in his seat and leaned against the shuttle wall, staring out the window at the place he’d always called home. He barely noticed as the shuttle started up and cycled through the launch procedures. At least, he didn’t notice until the shuttle lifted from the ground and began its upward climb, the Royal Palace growing smaller and smaller in his window the higher they flew.

As the ground dropped away, Lance took in his last views of the planet he loved so much. He took in the ring of trees and rivers that surrounded the Palace, and the rolling plains of grass, and the distant mountains that covered the northern hemisphere of Altea. He took in the cities that dotted the plains, and the strictly structured arboretums and orchards that surrounded the cities, and the low-flying shuttles that carried civilians from city to city. He took in all that he could, engraving the images into his mind, until they passed out of the atmosphere and all Lance could see of his planet was its shape. Until they were far enough away for Altea to look like a blue and green marble hanging in the blackness of space.

And then, when he couldn’t see anymore, Lance closed his eyes and slept, dreaming of the planet he could no longer call home.

When he awoke next, several hours had already passed— more than what he’d been expecting. The trip from Altea to Olkarion was shorter than that from Daibazaal, taking only about half a day when traveling at a fast pace compared to the Galran’s two-day voyage. On an average trip, they would have already been passing through Olkarion’s outer shield by this point. But Lance knew Coran would take his time in flying. None of them were eager to reach Olkarion and deal with the Galrans, after all. Least of all Lance, whose entire future was going to be decided by this meeting.

He glanced out the window for a moment to try to gauge where they were, but saw only black. He guessed they were just outside of Olkarion’s star system, just judging by how long they’d already spent traveling. It was hard to tell without some sort of planet or star to confirm his thoughts, though. And Lance wasn’t used to flying without both a radar and star map in front of him anymore.

He wished he’d been able to pilot Blue to Olkarion instead of taking this passenger shuttle. The journey would have been much more interesting. Or it would have at least occupied his mind enough to keep him from thinking about the upcoming negotiations. But Lance had left Blue back at the Castle with the other lions, along with both his armor and his bayard.

Truthfully, he felt a little vulnerable without the familiar weight of his bayard in hand, but it just wasn’t safe to bring Blue to Daibazaal with him, and he’d have no need of the paladin armor and weapon if he was no longer going to be acting as one of Altea’s paladins. Allura had argued with him about that for a few days, uncomfortable with the idea of sending Lance into the heart of enemy territory without some way to defend himself, but Lance had won in the end. They just couldn’t allow the Galrans to have access to any of the lions in case this marriage alliance failed. And if it succeeded… well, then it wouldn’t matter anyways. Altea wouldn’t need him as a paladin if they were all at peace.

Still, he missed Blue already. He would have welcomed her soothing presence at the back of his mind. Instead, his head felt oddly empty and alone, despite all the thoughts he was trying to ignore. He didn’t know what to do without her there to distract him or filter his thoughts.

“Coran says we’re about an hour away,” Pidge said as she slid into the seat across from Lance. He glanced at her, meeting her observant gaze, then looked out the window again.

Pidge had worn her paladin armor and cape once more in anticipation of their first meeting with the Galran delegation. Lance had wanted her and Matt to stay on Altea, away from all this mess, but Matt had protested. “I know more about the Galrans than any of you now,” he’d argued, and neither Allura nor Lance could disagree. They needed his insight for this meeting, needed to know what they would be dealing with and how to respond to Galran demands, and so Matt had come along. And wherever Matt went now, Pidge was not far behind.

“You’ll need me there anyways,” she’d said to Lance. “There should be a paladin present, and with you getting married that just leaves me.”

Lance hated that he hadn’t been able to argue against that either. He knew he couldn’t. For as long as he’d been able to fight, it had just been him and Pidge acting as paladins. They had been the only ones of their generation to be chosen by lions, while the other three remained locked in their hangars, waiting to find the paladins they were meant for. It had been centuries since all five lions had chosen paladins at a single time. Usually only two or three would be found in each generation of paladins. And now, there would only be one— Pidge.

Sighing, Lance stared out at the black expanse of space and tried not think about that. He’d chosen this path, after all. He couldn’t allow himself to regret his choice when his path had only just begun. He had to believe this would be worth it in the end.

In the window’s reflection, he saw Pidge lean forward to rest her elbows on her knees, fingers laced together between them. She didn’t look away from Lance, but rather seemed to be observing him, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses and glued to his face. “Are you alright?” she asked, which made Lance huff out a sardonic laugh.

“’Alright’ isn’t exactly how I’d put it,” Lance told her. He touched a finger to the cold window, right where the debris cloud that surrounded Olkarion’s star system was coming into view. “I’m not sure anyone could be alright in my position.”

“You mean about to get married to your enemy and spend the rest of your life in the Empire that’s been fighting us for centuries?”

“Yes, Pidge,” Lance said dryly. “Thank you for clarifying.”

Pidge grinned. “Anytime.”

Lance rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same, feeling his mood lift just a bit with Pidge’s frank manner. He slouched back in his chair and fiddled with his fingers, anxiously twisting the thin, golden rings he wore round and round and round. He stared at his hands— at his index finger, where a new sort of ring would soon sit for all the days of his life. He wondered what it would look like. What metal, what stones. What sort of beauty would his prison shackle hold?

“Have you ever felt like you were standing at the edge of a precipice?” he asked, holding his hand out and trying to imagine a Galran ring there, and failing spectacularly. “Like you’re about to fall into an abyss and there’s nothing you can do about it?”

Pidge shrugged. “I don’t think there’s nothing you can do about it. You have a choice.”

“Not much of a choice. If I don’t marry him, Altea will remain at war. Or Allura will force herself to marry him. I’m not sure which option is worse.”

“I didn’t mean like that,” Pidge said. She took his wrist and pulled his hand down, away from his gaze. “You might need to marry him, but you have a choice in how it turns out. You aren’t completely helpless, Lance. You have your own weapons.”

“Do I?”

“Please.” Pidge rolled her eyes. “Let’s not pretend you didn’t somehow manipulate that Taujeeran delegation from last month into providing more scaultrite for our ships than they had originally agreed to. I know you better than that.”

Lance laughed. “I didn’t manipulate them. I simply convinced them to see my point of view.”

“By charming them halfway to being in love with you.”

“Well, not everyone can be as naturally enchanting as I am.”

“Or as self-assured,” Pidge teased, leaning forward to gently punch Lance’s thigh. Lance laughed again and swatted Pidge’s hand away, but privately he wondered if what Pidge was hinting at was right. If maybe he held more power in this situation than he’d thought. After all, the Galran court was still just a court, and Lance had been navigating those since before he could remember.

He pondered that awhile as the shuttle passed through the star system and Olkarion’s border shield. If he was going to survive the Galran court, he was going to need allies— influential members of the nobility who would be able to speak in his favor and make sure his voice was heard. Lance, for all his boasting and empty claims, didn’t consider himself to be the master manipulator Pidge said he was, but he did know a thing or two about people. Particularly those who were rich and spoiled and ambitious. There were ways he could make this work to his advantage. Things he could say or offer to win them over.

He wished he was more certain about winning over his future husband’s favor though. He had no delusions about this being anything other than a political match; he had no expectations for love or affection from whichever of the two princes he might end up marrying. But he hoped, at least, for them to be civil with each other. Maybe even to help each other in their goals, and to act as mutual sources of support. Lance didn’t want to keep fighting his husband day after day if he could help it. And if friendship was the most he could hope for, then Lance would happily settle for it.

A slight shudder as the shuttle passed into Olkarion’s atmosphere shook Lance from his thoughts. Pidge was already pressed up against the window, though all they could for a few minutes was Olkarion’s mountainous ring and a thick layer of clouds. Then they broke through the clouds, and Pidge was entranced.

“Look at that,” she whispered. Her gloved hand was pressed completely flat against the shuttle’s window, as if trying to reach right through the glass to touch the tops of the buildings coming into view. Lance grinned at the way her eyes were sparkling. He’d known she would like Olkarion, and he was pretty sure she’d like it even more before it was time for them to leave.

Lance also shifted to glance out the bit of window Pidge left clear. He’d only been to Olkarion once before, when he was very little and his parents had brought him along to some sort of diplomatic banquet, but the planet was just how he remembered it. The carpet of green and red made from the treetops of the sprawling forests, and the small mountains surrounding the cities, and the clean lines of their architecture: it was all as he recalled. Right down to the vast, flat airfield outside the King’s Spire, where their shuttle landed.

It slowly settled to a rest on the airfield, kicking up just a bit of dust with the force of its thrusters. Outside, Lance could see a small number of Olkari officials waiting to greet their arrival. He recognized a few of the faces from various intergalactic functions, though many of them were much older than he recalled them being. Still, the little bit of familiarity helped set him a bit at ease. Which was good because it seemed both his chest and his stomach were intent on constricting themselves to the point of failure. Breathing was already becoming difficult.

Suddenly, Lance wanted nothing more than to hijack the shuttle and fly them all back to Altea, away from all this madness.

“We should get going,” he said instead. “No point in delaying the inevitable.”

He stood before he could change his mind and walked to the front of the shuttle to wait for the door to open. Pidge followed after him. She placed her hand on his shoulder, but Lance didn’t turn around. He kept his eyes forward, fixed on the door, because he was afraid that if he turned away now he would never make it out of this shuttle. Not until he was back on Altean soil.

It’s for your people, he reminded himself. For Allura, and Mother, and Pidge. And for everyone else on Altea.

Reminding himself of that couldn’t keep his heart from nearly beating right out of his chest, though. It was painful against ribcage. Like he’d been hit by a training staff ten too many times. And he felt the ache of it all the way down to the tips of his fingers and toes. It was like all of the panic and fear he’d been refusing to feel since making his decision two weeks ago was now crashing over him in one, overwhelming wave as he stood waiting.

I have to do this. I must.

When the shuttle door opened, it was something of a relief. A cool burst of air brushed over his heated skin and helped clear his mind just enough to get him through the door and onto landing pad. He found it hard to walk any further, but thankfully his role at the moment was to remain in the background as formal greetings and introductions were made. Allura would handle that part, and she quickly strode past him to meet with the Olkari Prime Minister at the foot of the King’s Spire.

“Princess Allura,” the Prime Minister, Ryner, greeted, holding out a hand. “Welcome! We are so pleased to have you here!”

Allura smiled and took Ryner’s hand in both of her own. “Prime Minister. Thank you for agreeing to host this meeting. I know it was very sudden.”

“We were happy to receive your message. Peace is so important. Any help we can offer is our pleasure.”

“Thank you.” She released Ryner’s hand and gestured to her right, where Lance and his mother stood. “You remember the Duchess, I believe. And her son, Prince Lance of Altea.”

“Yes, of course,” Ryner said with a bright smile. She bowed her head towards them as she added, “I’m so happy to see you both again.”

“Thank you,” Lance answered. He was glad at least his voice was steady, that it didn’t crack or shake. He’d been afraid that it might with how anxious he felt inside, and he really didn’t want to give that away through his voice. His mother brushed her fingertips against his wrist. The brief touch gave him a bit of comfort. Reminded him he wasn’t alone, and gave him the courage to ask, “Has the Galra delegation arrived yet?”

Ryner nodded. “Yes. Just before you did. They’re waiting in the Spire, if you’re ready to meet them.”

Lance looked at Allura and his mother. They looked back at him, clearly leaving this decision in his hands. He didn’t know whether to be grateful for that or not, simply because he himself wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do. He appreciated that they were taking him into consideration, but it would have been so much easier to have someone else telling him what to do. Not having to make this decision himself.

He was of two minds about it. On one hand, he really just wanted to delay this first meeting for as long as possible. To pretend this was a normal trip and not the end of life as he knew it. But would his determination last that long if they waited? It was already so fragile, so likely to shatter into a million pieces and send him running for the hills. Wouldn’t it be better then for him to meet this prince he was going to be tied to and learn what to expect from the whole arrangement?

He twisted the ring on his index finger for a moment as he thought, then finally nodded. “We’d be happy to see them now, Prime Minister. If you would kindly show us the way?”

“Of course.”

Ryner dismissed most of the Olkari officials and led their group from the airfield into the King’s Spire. Lance forced himself to follow behind Allura and his mother, but to stay ahead of Pidge, Matt, and Coran. Stuck in the middle as he was, he couldn’t turn around and bolt without the others realizing it, but he was also allowed some breathing room and some time to process how the short hallway opened up into a large, enclosed courtyard with a single tree in the center. Gave him some time to process the sight of the Galrans on the other side of the room.

There were six of them gathered, just as Allura had requested, all of them dressed in almost identical sets of armor, with only the red insignias on each of their chests showing any signs of difference. And even then, the differences were so small they hardly mattered. Not to Lance, who had no idea how to tell one symbol from the other. They all looked the same to him, including the prince’s, whichever of the six he was. Lance really couldn’t tell.

He could, however, confidently say which one of their number was not the prince, as one of their delegation was not actually Galran. Not species-wise, at least. In fact, he looked almost Altean, save for the lack of pointed ears and the facial tattoos every Altean received when they came of age. Perhaps he was human? Lance had heard rumors about Earth— the Galra Empire’s latest conquest— but he’d never had a chance to interact with one of its species.

The man was pale, with dark hair and an angry, red scar across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He wore the armor of a Galran soldier, but it looked out of place on him. Like he was meant for a different type of role, or even just a different type of armor, though he still held himself with all the confidence and pride of a seasoned warrior. If Lance had to hazard a guess, he was there as either an adviser or a personal guard. The latter option seemed a bit silly though. All the rest of the delegation, save for one, held at least a foot in height on the human, and could easily protect themselves when it came down to it.

Of course, he looked less out of place than the Galran he was standing next to, who was far shorter and skinnier than Lance had ever known any Galran to be. The top of his head just barely reached the height of the human’s chin, and Lance realized with a bit of surprise that the Galran might actually be shorter than Lance himself. How odd.

The short Galran turned as their group walked into the courtyard. He scanned them all with his yellow eyes, staring for just a beat too long first at Allura, and then at Lance. Probably trying to figure out why two marriage-eligible members of the Altean royal family had come when they were only expecting Allura. His furrowed brows— which Lance noticed were just as black as the slicked-back mop of hair atop his head— told Lance just how right his assumptions had been two weeks ago, when he’d guessed about Allura being the target for this marriage.

Well, they were going to be in for a shock.

“Your Imperial Highness,” Ryner called out, though to Lance’s disappointment, none of the Galrans reacted. There was no way of telling which was the prince from that alone. “May I present the Altean delegation, led by Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Allura of Altea.”

“And my cousin,” Allura added with a smile, “who has agreed to act as the Altean representative for this marriage.”

That statement earned some unhappy murmurs from the Galran delegation, though the small Galran, he noticed, didn’t say anything at all. He simply tilted his head to the side, confusion smoothing out into a blank mask across his fine, pointed features.

Lance frowned, but stepped forward and swept down into a full, court bow, using every bit of grace he had ever learned to give off a favorable impression. They needed the Galrans not to protest his appointment as the marriage candidate. They needed the Galrans to agree to him instead of Allura, or else this alliance was a lost cause.

“I am Prince Lance of Altea,” he introduced himself. “I hope our negotiations might find success and bring us both peace.”

When he straightened, he found the small Galran had walked closer and was now standing as the head of his delegation. He dipped into a bow to answer Lance— not a full one by Altean standards, but low enough to give Lance the acknowledgment and respect his position demanded. The movement seemed odd from the Galran, as if he wasn’t used to bowing or courtly manners. Which struck Lance as odd, as he knew the Galran court was far more strict in its adherence to rituals and respect than the Altean one. Any member of their court— prince, aristocrat, or guard— would be well-trained and practiced in these sort of things. But this Galran was not.

“Your Royal Highness,” the Galran quietly greeted. The timbre of his voice was just slightly lower than Lance’s own, and a little bit warmer. Lance was surprised to hear such a soft voice come from someone with such an intense gaze. “I am Kyran, second prince of Galra. And, if all is successful, your future husband as well.”

Chapter Text

“Prince Kyran,” the Altean prince repeated with a radiant smile that was obviously forced. “Of course. It is an honor. I’ve heard much about you.”

Keith highly doubted that, but had enough grace not to say so. “I’ve heard much about you as well,” he said instead.

It technically wasn’t a lie, though much of what he’d heard wasn’t exactly positive. Unlike Keith, Lance was a visible presence both on and off the battlefield, using his dual positions as a prince and a paladin to make the most of every situation. And as one of the key players in both the Altean army and its government, Lance was a key target for Galran frustrations. Keith had heard all the stories of Lance’s cruelty, of his vanity, his stupidity, his disregard for others’ lives. Had heard so many stories told in so many different ways, that Keith could no longer tell what was real or not regarding the prince now standing in front of him.

Except that maybe the rumors of Lance’s vanity held some truth after all. Keith had never seen a supposed soldier wear so much jewelry and silk, even for occasions like this. Lance stood proudly across from him, shoulders back and head held high, dressed in all his finery. His dark hair was immaculate beneath his golden circlet, much shorter than Keith’s own hair but still carefully combed back and out of his face. Twin, sapphire jewels dangled from his ears to match the deep blue of his shirt and the white of his cape, and when he crossed his arms, Keith noticed the thin, gold rings that sat on each of Lance’s fingers.

Clearly, he’d taken much care in regards to his own appearance. Just looking at him made Keith feel disheveled and plain in comparison, and Keith wondered if that was a deliberate choice on Lance’s part, or if he really was just that vain like all the Galran soldiers claimed. Keith privately hoped it was the former.

Lance tilted his head to the side, earrings swinging to follow the movement, and considered Keith with the impossibly blue eyes that were the trademark of the Altean royal family. His gaze slid down, then back up, as cold and distant as the vast ice fields of Galra, despite the warm smile still plastered across Lance’s face. Keith had the distinct feeling he’d just been examined, judged, and found sorely wanting.

He didn’t really know how to respond to that.

“I suppose we should begin discussing the terms of our marriage,” Lance said after a moment. His voice was mellow and upbeat. Keith had to commend him for keeping whatever negative emotions he must have been feeling out of his voice. That, at least, would serve him well at the Galran court, if this marriage actually went through. Though he’d have to work on keeping those emotions off his face as well. He was far too expressive.

“If you’re ready to,” Keith replied. “Though perhaps you’d like to rest and refresh first. You look like you need it.”

This, also, technically wasn’t a lie. As immaculate as Lance appeared, there was also a sort of tiredness in the lines of his face that came from the stress of traveling. The Altean delegation had come to greet them straight after landing, after all. As had Keith’s own party, and they hadn’t gotten much rest over the past two days of flying either.

In truth, Keith would have liked to take a day to recuperate after being stuck in the small shuttle Keith’s father had sent him in, but he knew admitting to such would show weakness in the eyes of his fellow Galrans, and he didn’t want word of such getting back to his father or half-brother and ruining all of this. He’d come too far, achieved too much, to let either of them unravel his plans. Even if it meant playing by their rules for now.

Though the journey from Altea to Olkarion was far shorter than the one he’d taken, Keith assumed Lance would feel just as tired and be grateful for the chance to close his eyes for a bit. To wash off the grime of traveling. To actually process this first meeting of theirs.

Lance, however, narrowed his eyes. “No. I’m fine. We Alteans are not so fragile as you seem to think, and these negotiations are too important to put off until tomorrow.” He looked over at where the Olkari officials were standing and offered a terse nod. “Prime Minister Ryner, if you would be so kind. I’m sure there is somewhere more suitable for these discussions than this beautiful courtyard.”

“Yes, of course,” Ryner answered. “We have a room prepared just a bit further inside. I can take you there.”

“Please,” Lance said. Ryner nodded and led the way to a hallway on the other side of the courtyard, Lance following after her with such brisk and purposeful steps that it left Keith wondering just where he’d given offense.

All he’d done was offer a chance for the Altean delegation to rest. Was that really so rude to them? Was there some sort of Altean tradition he was unaware of perhaps?

“Typical Alteans,” one of his guards spat, just quiet enough that the Altean delegation wouldn’t hear as they crossed the room. “Always so full of themselves. And we have to suffer an alliance with them. An alliance! As if they understand the word.”

The other two guards muttered their assent. “This alliance will not last,” one of them said. “I swear by all the gods, we’ll be killed in our beds by those foul creatures. We’d be better off wiping them out rather than making peace.”

If Galra could wipe Altea out, it would have already been done, Keith thought with a scowl. Centuries of fighting, back and forth without any true victory or given ground, made it clear that only a truce would end the fighting. The empire just didn’t have the resources or strength to force a surrender from Altea, and they only grew weaker with each year the war dragged on.

Of course, Keith couldn’t expect the guards his father had sent with him to think in such a way. They were mere pawns in this power play, sent only to intimidate the Alteans into agreeing on better terms for Galra in their eventual treaty. And to keep Keith in line. Keith, too, was a pawn in all of this, after all. He was simply a far more educated one than the guards that surrounded him.

“It was my father’s wish this alliance take place, whatever the cost,” he told them sternly. He turned and glared at them, trying to emulate the bone-chilling imperiousness of his father and half-brother. “If you plan to disobey the emperor in this,” he snapped, “I will make sure it’s the last thing you do. Otherwise, hold your tongues.” They quieted at once, though Keith could tell they weren’t happy about it. That they were downright furious.

They probably hate having to listen to a dirty half-breed, he thought bitterly. Prince or not, I’m still impure in their eyes.

This marriage alliance wasn’t likely to make that any better. There was a reason he was the one being given away to an Altean and not his half-brother, Lotor, even if his father never said it aloud. But Keith knew. He understood, just as he’d understood why Zarkon hadn’t seen fit to acknowledge Keith as his son until he’d found some sort of use for him, when Keith had just entered his fifteenth year of life. As he understood why the Galran court largely ignored him. Why they reviled and rejected him even eight years after he’d come to court.

Bloodlines were important to the Galrans. Strong lineage and pure Galran blood were things fiercely coveted and protected by the upper class, who used such things as a mark of social rank in the court. Lotor was of the purest line, born and bred by the Emperor and his late, Galran Empress to be the paragon of Galran ideals. A marriage to an Altean, even one as royal as Prince Lance or Princess Allura, would only sully that perfect bloodline of his. But not Keith’s. Not the half-blooded bastard born of a human concubine.

Well, at least his impure bloodline taught him a few things these Galra soldiers would never learn. Independence, for one thing. The ability to think for himself. To recognize an opportunity and to use his lot in life to take hold of it.

Lance was already proving to be confusing and temperamental and prideful, and probably more than Keith was able to handle. But he was a prince of Altea. He was the key to this peace treaty, and that alone would give Keith a voice in his father’s court, where he currently had none. Even if his father wasn’t so adamant about this marriage succeeding, Keith would have found a way to make it work anyways.

Now he just needed to make sure Lance wouldn’t reject this alliance in the end— a task that would be a lot easier said than done, if the way this first meeting was going was any indication.

Sighing, he followed the Altean delegation from the courtyard to the room the Olkari had prepared for negotiations. The rest of his party was slower to do the same, save for Shiro, head of Keith’s personal guard, who silently followed Keith at a respectful distance.

It felt odd to have Shiro walking behind him instead of at his side. They’d dispensed with formalities years ago, back when Shiro had been sent to teach Keith how to fight, long before Keith was summoned to court and made into a prince of Galra. Keith had been more human then. More like his mother, more informal and brash, and completely in awe of Shiro’s skill with a sword.

Shiro, he’d later learned, had been part of the first wave of soldiers Earth had sent against the Galran army— a fighter so fierce that even the Galrans had to acknowledge his formidable skills. Of course, as a captive of war, he couldn’t be used in the Galran army, or even trusted to serve in the Imperial Guard. So instead Shiro had been wasted on the emperor’s bastard, in the hope that he’d either kill Keith or shape him into fighter that could be of some use in the future. Keith was just lucky Shiro had been more inclined to educate than to take revenge through bloodshed.

Keith wished he could speak more openly with Shiro right now. He’d always appreciated Shiro’s insight and advice into situations, and would have welcomed any thoughts he might have had about Keith’s future husband. But with his father’s men walking behind them, watching their every move like hawks, it just wasn’t possible. He and Shiro had to follow the formalities his father demanded. And Keith would have to navigate this on his own.

That didn’t really make him feel more confident as he entered the room Ryner had led them to. Nor did the glare Lance leveled against him as he sat across from Lance at the table.

“Now,” Allura said once all of them had settled around the table, “let us begin negotiations. We have much to discuss and decide.”

“Indeed,” their ambassador replied, and then he laid out all of Galra’s requests.

Keith let the ambassador take charge of the discussions with a small sense of relief. Though he’d been told all of his father’s terms and could repeat them to the Alteans upon request, he couldn’t honestly say he understood why all of them were necessary. The request for money made sense, for this marriage and all the necessities of helping Lance settle into the Imperial Palace would otherwise cost the empire a small fortune that could be spent on rebuilding their towns instead. And the mutual agreement to lay down arms and pull back their armies was obvious, given that their entire goal here was to negotiate peace. But why his father wanted several Altean hostages to ensure compliance when they would already have Lance at their court was beyond Keith. As well as why his father was so insistent on being granted access to information on Altean technology and weapons.

That request didn’t sit well with Keith. It seemed to him that if they were truly serious about ending this war, then there would be no need to know such information. Much less to demand it as part of a peace treaty.

“No,” Allura answered to that last request, just as Keith knew she would. “That information is for Alteans, and Alteans alone. Not even our staunchest allies are allowed access.”

“Why would you want it anyways?” one of the other Alteans asked. He leaned his elbows on top of the table and folded his hands in front of his face. “All of our weapons are coded to Altean quintessence. They would be useless to you. And in any case,” he added, quirking a smug and familiar grin at the Galran ambassador, “if we are to be at peace, then such information shouldn’t be necessary. For either of us.”

He had a point. His argument was strong. And, taking a second look at the Altean, Keith understood why.

The speaker was Matthias, the Altean diplomat they had released only two weeks before to secure these negotiations. Two weeks on Altea had done a world of good for him, adding back color to his once pale skin and rounding out his formerly emaciated form with a healthy amount of weight. Keith had barely recognized him at first glance, though he remembered Matt well from the time he spent as Galra’s hostage. Remembered too how shrewd and calculating Matt actually was beneath his gentle exterior.

He was not one to be taken lightly. Though it seemed their ambassador was not aware of that fact, as he impatiently argued, “This request is simply one of insurance, to make sure your weapons cannot be used against us if you prove false. Our emperor does not plan to use them.”

“I cannot say that I believe that,” Matt replied. “In fact, it seems to me that Galra’s terms are all about making sure Altea cannot attack Galra. But tell me, what assurances and concessions does your emperor offer to ensure Galra does not attack Altea?”

The ambassador scowled. “This is a meeting of peace,” he reminded Matt sharply. “I am simply relaying my emperor’s requests. If Altea did not think to make similar demands, then that is not Galra’s fault.”

“We did not mean to offend you,” Allura interjected before Matt could debate the matter further. “We are all here for the same reason, after all. I’m sure we can come to an agreement that will suit both of our nations,” she said, though the ambassador still looked unimpressed by it all.

“My emperor is simply seeking reassurance that the attacks on his subjects will stop,” he repeated haughtily. “If you will not allow access for that reason, then consider allowing it for the sake of your prince’s lion. Our mechanics will not know how to care for it otherwise.”

“That is no issue,” Lance said, speaking up for the first time since his and Keith’s conversation in the courtyard. All eyes turned to him in surprise. Or well, all Galran eyes turned to him in surprise. The Alteans seemed more resigned than anything else. “Blue will be staying on Altea with the other lions. I am not bringing her with me.”

The statement shocked Keith, just as it clearly shocked the rest of his party. The ambassador spluttered. “Surely, there’s no need for that. Galra is fully capable of maintaining and protecting your lion,” he assured, looking from Lance, to Allura, then back again as he tried to make sense of this revelation. But Lance didn’t budge.

“You misunderstand, ambassador,” the Altean prince said, giving a sardonic smile. His eyes were narrowed, sharp and piercing, and where there’d been nothing but coldness earlier, there was now sheer determination and fire. As if daring the Galrans to continue arguing against him. “I might be the pilot of the blue lion, but she does not belong to me. She is not mine to give away. And she is definitely not yours to demand.”

The ambassador drew back, hand pressed to his chest and a sour look on his face. Keith had to bite back a smile at his displeasure. He had little love or respect for the Galran ambassador— more than he had for the soldiers, but still very little. Seeing him be silenced by Lance so neatly was somehow strangely amusing. Though Lance’s outspokenness certainly wouldn’t endear him to the ambassador, whom he would have to deal with on a regular basis if this marriage went through. And that could become a problem.

Nevertheless, Keith was a bit relieved by Lance’s determination to leave the lion on Altea. He’d originally assumed, when he’d learned the Alteans were offering him Lance instead of Allura, that the renowned paladin would demand to bring his equally-renowned lion to Daibazaal, and had started mentally shifting his plans to include its protection. After all, a ship as powerful as the blue lion in the hands of either his father or half-brother would mean nothing but trouble. It was a relief to know he wouldn’t need to worry about that now, as Lance had already taken care of it for him.

That realization made Keith reassess Lance, who was still staring down the ambassador with barely concealed irritation. Lance leaned back in his chair. His fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the table, gold rings flashing beneath the room’s lights as he continued to glare, until the Galran ambassador attempted once more to to argue their terms and Lance silenced him with a single, raised hand.

“I’ve heard enough for today, ambassador,” Lance said. “Your terms are unacceptable. What you ask is equal to our surrender, not an alliance. If you truly want this peace treaty, then I suggest you rethink your demands, because I will never agree with what they are now.”

“Lance,” Allura hissed in warning, but the Altean prince didn’t listen.

Instead, he stood from his chair, glaring at each of them in turn with his impossibly blue eyes, and then swept out of the room with his cape billowing regally behind him. Allura made a hasty apology to the Galran delegation before she, too, stood and chased after her cousin. And, after several long minutes of sitting in silence, it then became clear to both parties that neither Lance nor Allura were returning to the room. Not any time that day, at least.

Keith huffed and slumped back in his chair. The rest of the Alteans wasted no time in following after their royal leaders once they all agreed to end negotiations for the rest of the day. They filed quietly out of the room, far more reserved than any of Keith’s guards, who complained loudly about Altean arrogance and selfishness as soon as the Altean delegation passed through the door.

Keith couldn’t agree with them. It wasn’t as if the Alteans were asking for anything unreasonable. In fact, if they hadn’t argued with his father’s terms then Keith would have been far more concerned. In any case, their demands for this alliance weren’t Keith’s current concern. He was far more interested in the Altean prince making the demands than in the demands themselves.

While the ambassador and his guards were distracted by their complaints, Keith leaned closer to his personal guard. “What do you think, Shiro?” he asked as softly as he could.

Shiro hummed for a moment and looked at the door. “He has no lack of courage, I’ll give him that.”

“Perhaps. He shows his emotions too freely, though. Seems a little reckless to me.”

“As if you have any room to talk about being reckless,” Shiro teased. He turned serious soon after, however, and absentmindedly tapped one of his metal fingers against his cheek as he thought. “He’s not a bad choice,” Shiro finally said. “He seems intelligent, and clearly knows how to influence a social situation to an outcome he wants. You could do far worse.”

And Keith supposed there was truth enough in that. He didn’t know much about Lance yet, but he did know the Altean prince was fiercely independent, stubborn, and at least a little bit more sensible than the average Galran courtier. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Keith for the moment.

He really could do worse than Prince Lance of Altea. So now he needed to make sure this worked out somehow. No matter what that meant.

Chapter Text

If Lance had any hopes of their negotiations continuing more smoothly after that first, disastrous day, they were soon crushed by the equally-disastrous days that followed.

“It has to be some sort of joke,” Lance said, pacing up and down the length of his and Allura’s room with quick, angry strides. His boots clacked against the tile floors with each step, and the sound only drove him further into his aggravation, prodding at that feeling of restlessness that had been thrumming through his veins all week. “It has to be a test, or trial, or… something.”

That was the only thing that could explain why the Galrans kept making such impossible demands, day after day, session after session. Different demands each day, of course, keeping in line with Lance’s constant requests for them to revise their terms, but most of them were still just as impossible as the ones from the day before. Money, Altea could agree to provide, but there was just no way they could allow Galra to hold some of their people hostage, as first suggested. Or to permit young Galrans entry into Altea’s learning institutes, as the Galran delegation counter-suggested the next day. And any knowledge of Altean technology or weapons was completely off-limits, no matter how many different ways the Galrans worded their request.

For a peace treaty, the Galrans were demanding far too much, and also giving far too little in return. They knew it too. Lance could see it in the thin curl of the ambassador’s lips whenever he presented their new terms. That smug look that conveyed just how confident he was in getting his way in the end, despite Altea’s resistance. Yes, Lance was certain the Galrans knew they were asking for the impossible. That they were being stubborn and unreasonable, and pushing the Altean delegation’s patience to its limits. No doubt that was why they kept asking in the first place.

He huffed and sat down heavily on his bed, right beside Matt, who was already dressed in the diplomatic uniform he only wore for special occasions— white cape and golden, ambassadorial awards and all. Lance stubbornly ignored Matt’s uniform and the reason why he was wearing it to instead focus on his irritation with the Galrans. Crossing his arms, he asked, “Is this really how Galrans negotiate with others? How long do we have to put up with this?”

“As long as it takes,” Allura answered from where she sat at the room’s vanity. She looked back at Lance through the mirror’s reflection as she clipped an earring into place and added, “They cannot keep up these demands forever. Either they will come to a reasonable agreement soon, or they will call off the treaty altogether. And I would rather wait for that decision than have them call it off because we pushed them too hard.”

“The Galrans are just testing our boundaries, Lance. Seeing where they can push, and what we’re willing to be flexible on. They’ll tone down their demands in time,” Matt said. Allura nodded in agreement.

“Regardless, we have to remain reasonable.”

“Why?” Lance asked with a scowl. “If they’re just going to keep demanding the impossible to test us, why shouldn’t we do the same? Why can’t we play their game?”

“That’s not our way, Lance.”

“So what? Does it really matter at this point?”

He didn’t see the purpose in remaining so passive while the Galrans made demand after demand. It seemed to him that if the Galrans were going to push boundaries, then the Alteans could do the same. They could ask for the impossible and see how the Galrans liked it. Maybe they could even find a bit of leverage to use against the Galrans in the future, instead of sticking to the reasonable and unaggressive terms they’d given the Galrans and gaining barely anything.

At the very least, it would feel like they were actually doing something and actively participating in negotiations. Hearing the Galrans demand so much day after day while his own delegation just answered in the way they had at every other meeting was quickly wearing away at Lance’s nerves, making him feel restless. Useless, even. And Lance hated feeling like that more than anything else.

Allura pinned back the last of her long, white hair, and then turned around to face Lance. She looked troubled, a frown across her lips and tiny folds of skin between her furrowed brows. “Calm yourself, Lance. We came here to create peace, not start another war,” she said, and Lance had to look away in shame, knowing she was right. Knowing that fighting back as he desired could quite easily end the peace talks and send them back into war. And that was the last thing Lance wanted to do, even while knowing that succeeding in these peace talks meant he’d have to marry the Galran prince and leave Altea behind forever.

That was his duty, after all. This alliance was far too important for the good of their people to let negotiations fail, no matter what that meant for Lance in the end.

There was a rustle of silk and soft footsteps, and then Allura was standing before him and placing a gentle hand on Lance’s head. “I know it’s difficult,” she said, “but we must remain patient. Perhaps this delay is a good thing. It will give you time to learn more about the Galran court, after all. And about your future husband.”

“By talking to him at tonight’s banquet, you mean,” Lance muttered.

“Exactly.” Allura ruffled his hair a bit. When Lance glanced back up at her, she smiled gently back and lightly tapped his nose. “Don’t take too long to get ready. The Olkari arranged this banquet for us. It would be rude to make them wait.”

“Of course,” Lance sighed. He kissed her knuckles and added, “You may go ahead without me, cousin. I will be down shortly,” before standing and walking over to the vanity. Allura seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if wanting to say more, but then Lance heard the soft swish of her silk skirt as she walked away and the light thud of the door closing behind her, and he collapsed down onto the vanity’s stool with another, long sigh.

He’d nearly forgotten about the banquet in his frustration over the Galra delegation’s actions. Now that he remembered, he was dreading the very thought of it. A whole night where he would be forced to make nice with the Galrans— to share food, and conversation, and possibly even to dance with them. With Prince Kyran. Did Galrans even dance? Did humans? Lance might not mind dancing with the prince’s human companion too much. He had a kind face and a comforting smile, which he always flashed at Lance during negotiations whenever the other Galrans weren’t paying attention.

But the prince. Kyran. Well, Lance didn’t know what to make of him. Aside from their first meeting in the Spire courtyard, Kyran hadn’t said a single word to any of them, either in or out of the negotiation room. He just stared at all of them with those sharp, yellow eyes, judging them and their words in complete silence. Judging Lance most of all. The weight of Kyran’s gaze always left Lance feeling unsettled and annoyed, like he was being assessed and found lacking, though he couldn’t quite figure out why.

What was it that made him so displeasing to the Galran prince? Was it his opinions? His appearance? The simple fact that he was Altean? Because clearly there was something, and Lance wasn’t sure he could last through a whole night of that piercing gaze without demanding to know what that something was. He wasn’t even sure he could last a single hour without demanding to know, or saying something equally as rude.

He slumped forward against the vanity and looked at himself in the mirror. He ran a finger over the skin of his cheek, right between his eye and his blue tattoo. Kyran had snidely commented on his tired appearance on that first day. Lance hoped he didn’t look so haggard now. He really didn’t want to deal with anymore insinuations about how weak or easily worn out Alteans were in comparison to Galrans. He was a prince of Altea, and he had to look his absolute best.

His gaze flickered up to the reflection of Matt, who was still sitting on Lance’s bed, completely at ease. “You seem oddly calm for this whole situation,” Lance commented. “I was expecting you to be more upset about this marriage alliance, considering events of the past two years.”

“And if your intended had been Prince Lotor instead of Prince Kyran, you would have been right,” Matt answered with a shrug. His tone was casual, as if the entire thing was inconsequential, but his words caught Lance’s attention. A thousand questions popped into his mind, along with the recollection of an off-hand comment Matt had made two weeks before about interacting with the Galran court while in their possession. Lance sat up straight and spun around to face Matt, suddenly very focused.

“What do you know about Prince Kyran?” he asked. His fingers curled into fists in his lap, and he leaned towards Matt with interest. “There must be some reason you seem to favor him over his brother. And of everyone who knows him, I trust your opinion most.”

Or at least trusted that Matt wouldn’t try to sugarcoat his opinions of Lance’s future husband the way any of the Galrans probably would if Lance even dared to ask. He wanted the truth about Kyran. Wanted to know what he was getting into. Wanted to know if enduring and succeeding in these negotiations would even be worth it.

Matt considered that in silence for a moment. He had his legs crossed, one foot swinging idly over the edge of the bed and brushing against the dark, green bedsheets in a steady rhythm of swoosh, swoosh, swoosh as he thought. His head tilted to the side.

“Prince Kyran is… different,” he finally said, speaking slowly, as if weighing each word as he said them. “He never treated me with the contempt the other Galrans showed. I’m not saying he was kind, but he was respectful of my position, and he never mocked or hurt me like the others.”

“You make him sound so appealing,” Lance said dryly, which made Matt laugh.

“Well, I admit he’s not my first choice for you, but as far as Galrans go, you could do worse.”

“Like Lotor?”

Matt nodded. “Prince Lotor is cruel, and he’s ambitious. You would have been a problem to all his plans if you had married him. And you know how Galrans tend to deal with their problems.”

Lance looked down at the floor, biting his lip. He knew exactly what Matt was talking about. He knew just how easily— how likely, even— it would have been for Lotor to have him killed while making it look like an accident. How likely it still was, even if Kyran turned out to be as tolerant as Matt was making him out to be. Lance had no delusions about what his position at the Galra court would be. He knew just how hated he would be by everyone. How much he would need someone’s support in that world.

He just didn’t know if Kyran was someone he could trust for that.

“What makes Kyran so different from Lotor?” Lance asked. Feeling anxiety curling in his stomach, he quickly glanced up at Matt, and then back down at the floor, unable to look at Matt without thinking of what his own future could be. He twisted the one ring he’d decided to wear that night around his finger, rubbing the smooth, gold metal and the jagged bump of its inlaid sapphire with his thumb. “I mean, they’re brothers. How can they be so different from one another?”

How can I trust that Kyran won’t kill me in cold blood like Lotor would?

Matt hummed. “I think it might have to do with Kyran’s upbringing,” he said.

“His upbringing?”

“Yes.” Matt stood and walked toward Lance. “From what I gathered during my time there, Kyran is only Lotor’s half-brother, and was mostly raised away from the court. I think that’s why he’s not as cruel as the others. He certainly didn’t seem to be very popular among most of the nobility.”

Lance groaned. “So I’m marrying an outcast.”

“You would be an outcast at the court regardless,” Matt reminded him. He opened Lance’s jewelry case and riffled through its contents as he added, “The fact that Kyran’s so disregarded at court might actually be to your advantage. You won’t be required to make as many public appearances as his spouse, and that will give you time to actually settle in and find a footing in the court. If you can quietly make a few allies, you should be safe. And Kyran’s own position should protect you until then.”

“But how do you even know I can trust Kyran?”

That was his whole issue with this arrangement, after all. Lance wanted to believe what Matt was saying, wanted to hope that this marriage he was agreeing to would work out for the better and keep him safe, but he was conflicted. He couldn’t be certain. And it was one thing to trust Kyran’s good intentions for this whole arrangement, but quite another to trust Kyran with his life. Lance just didn’t know. He didn’t know.

He groaned again, and ran a hand through his hair in aggravation. He hated how uncertain all of this was. Hated having to question everything the Galrans said or did, unsure of their intentions or sincerity. At least during the war it was simple. The Galrans were their enemies, they wanted to destroy Altea’s way of life, and all Lance had to do was defend his planet against their attacks. There was none of this doubt, or this hesitation.

Matt looked down at him and smiled. He lifted a circlet from Lance’s jewelry case— a delicate thing of thin, golden wires woven into a web of loops and scrolls with a small, sapphire teardrop dangling from its center point— and held it up for inspection. Lance touched a finger to the sapphire and let out a slow breath.

He’d completely forgotten he’d even packed that circlet. It was special to him. Something he’d only ever worn once, when he’d been presented to Altea as the official paladin of the Blue Lion. It was still just as beautiful as it was back then, and still inspired within him that feeling of fierce pride and confidence that he’d felt all those years ago, when he stood beside his lion and took the paladin’s oath— a feeling he needed now more than ever, and Matt knew it.

“I don’t know for sure that you can trust him,” Matt admitted, “but I trust in your ability to make the right decision, and to make the best of any situation. And I hope, in time, Kyran will prove to be as worthy husband for you as he’s been an ally to me. After all, Kyran’s the one that convinced Zarkon to let me go. If it wasn’t for him, I probably wouldn’t be here. And these peace talks might never have occurred.”

Carefully, Matt settled the circlet on Lance’s head, adjusting it until it sat perfectly over his ears and across his forehead, sapphire teardrop resting against the skin right between Lance’s eyebrows. Matt hummed in satisfaction.

“There,” he said. “Now you look perfect.”

He smiled again and placed his hand on top of Lance’s head, much like Allura had earlier. The gentle pressure and warmth of his hand seeped into Lance, radiating comfort and assurance in the way that only Matt, whom Lance had always seen as an older brother of sorts, was able to do. Then Matt patted his head and withdrew, turning instead to walk out of the room.

And Lance was left to ponder his words in silence.

Chapter Text

Lance stood outside the double doors of the Spire’s banquet room trying to find the courage to go in. He heard the chatter of guests and soft laughter and the woody timbre of traditional Olkari flutes, and he knew he needed to head inside to join them, but he somehow couldn’t find the will to. He was frozen. Paralyzed by confusion and the anxiety of what he might find just through those doors. Or rather, whom he might find.

It had taken Lance longer than he had planned to come out of his room after Matt left. He’d spent the better part of an hour just sitting at his bedroom’s vanity, trying to process everything Matt had told him. None of it made sense. Just the fact that Kyran wasn’t like the other Galrans, that he might actually be genuine and trustworthy, that he had saved Matt… it didn’t make sense at all.

Surely there was some sort of evil plan at work here. There had to be. No Galran, no matter how pure their bloodline, would be so willing to help a captive enemy escape. Not without some other motive, at least. And if Lance was going to marry this guy, he needed to know what that motive was. He had to know what he was getting himself involved with.

However, Lance couldn’t convince himself to walk through those doors. He knew he needed confront Kyran and figure out his plans, but then Lance thought of Kyran’s sharp, yellow eyes and stony silence, and Lance felt afraid.

He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. This was just silly of him. As silly as a child’s fear of the dark, or their fear of a summer storm. There was nothing to fear here. Nothing would harm him. Not so long as he was under Olkari protection, with Pidge and her bayard watching his back. And Lance might not have his own bayard with him, but he still knew how to fight and defend himself. This fear was unbecoming of an experienced soldier like him. Even more of a paladin of Voltron.

His hand lifted to touch his circlet. The thin, gold wires were warm beneath his fingers, heated by the skin it rested against. Allura had commissioned the circlet for the ceremony that had confirmed him as a paladin of Voltron— as Blue’s paladin. He’d felt so proud to wear it back then. So self-assured and eager to face the battles ahead of him. So confident in his own abilities to fight and win.

Where was all that confidence now?

Oh, how Blue would laugh at him if she could see him now. Her fearless paladin, paralyzed by the mere thought of facing a single Galran. Lance could just imagine the teasing she would poke at him. The amusement she’d feel at how unreasonably nervous he now felt. More scared of a little banquet than an actual battle, she’d tease. My silly, little paladin.

Lance smiled at that thought, though his chest still ached over he absence. He wished, now more than ever, to have Blue there with him, supporting him. But her place was on Altea, in the security of the Castle of Lions, far from Galra’s reach. And his place was here, keeping her and Altea safe.

He needed to be brave for Blue’s sake. For his people’s sake. For them, he needed to somehow follow through with this marriage. To trust in the promise of Olkarion’s protection and walk through those doors.

“There is nothing to fear,” he whispered to himself. “Enemy he may be, but there is nothing he can do to me here.” And Lance intended to keep that security in the future. The more he learned now, the more he could prevent, and the safer he would be. But first he needed to walk through those doors.

He took a deep breath. Drawing on every drop of courage he could call forth, he opened his eyes and pressed his hands against the smooth metal of the double doors. They slowly swung open beneath his force. The bright light of the banquet hall flooded the hallway where he stood inch by inch, and Lance lifted his gaze to look upon the banquet gathering as it was revealed to him.

It was not as ornate as Lance was used to. It did not glitter like the extravagant balls of Altea. But its simplicity was refreshing, a kind of beauty in itself. The banquet hall was bedecked only in the banners of the three nations that were gathered; the gold lion over a field of white of Altea, the double yellow waves on orange of Olkarion, and the purple, upside down trident on dark grey of the Galra Empire. Lance stared for a moment at the Galran banner hanging at the other end of the hall. That emblem had always been a symbol of the enemy. Soon, Lance would be taking that symbol as his own, trading his lion for its sharp points.

That was the one thing all of them could agree on, after all— that Lance would give up his home on Altea and join Kyran on Daibazaal. It only made sense. Kyran, as the emperor’s second son, held a stronger claim to Galra’s throne than Lance held to Altea’s. And, in any case, keeping Kyran out was in Altea’s best interests. It would make sure Galra held no influence or or advantage over Altea and its armies. But Lance wondered why Galra was so willing to accept Lance into its imperial family. Were they just that confident in their own power that they felt Lance was no threat? Or was Matt right about Kyran’s position at court? Did Kyran’s lack of influence mean the Galrans were unconcerned by Lance’s possible power?

Lance looked down from the banner to the Galran delegation sitting beneath it. The six, all dressed in formal military uniform instead of their normal armor, sat in a row at the banquet table with Kyran in the middle, flanked by the ambassador on one side and his human guard on the other. Empty chairs filled the rest of the long table, with an ornate throne at one head where the Olkari king would sit, though it seemed he had not yet arrived.

At least Lance wasn’t the last to the banquet. That would have been terribly bad form. However, guests still lingered together in small groups on the expansive floor Lance assumed would at some point serve as a dance floor, all waiting for the Olkari king to arrive and start the festivities. Lance spotted Allura standing with Coran and Ryner near the edge of the room and made his way over.

“Cousin,” he greeted with a bow, and then bowed again to Ryner. “Prime Minister.”

Ryner bowed in return. “Your Highness, I am so pleased to see you again. I do hope you will enjoy the banquet.”

“I’m sure I will. It looks marvelous."

Allura nodded and smiled. “We are so grateful to you for arranging it,” she said. “We do hope it will encourage more goodwill between Altea and the Galra Empire.”

“Yes, that would be most desirable,” Ryner answered. She smiled serenely, glancing over at the Galrans, who were keeping to themselves while everyone else mingled. Lance followed her gaze and found Kyran watching them closely. He snapped his gaze away, feeling discomfort twisting in his gut, and heard Ryner quietly laugh. “Well, at least he’s curious.”

Lance wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing.

Even turned away, Lance could feel Kyran’s eyes boring into his back— weighing, evaluating, judging him. The attention made him uneasy, especially because he knew he would have to confront Kyran at some point during the night. It was as if the universe was telling him to get on with the matter. To just go up to him and sort it all out. The pressure he felt was so great that Lance actually almost followed through, damn the consequences.

However, before Lance could do anything, the fanfare of Olkari flutes filled the banquet hall, announcing the arrival of the Olkari king. Lance turned with the rest of the guests to face the double doors, which swung open to reveal a squat, round figure dressed in deep reds and oranges. All of the Olkari gathered bowed to the figure, and Lance followed suit with the rest of his party not long after, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit… underwhelmed.

This was King Lubos? The ruler of the great Olkari kingdom?

King Lubos waved lazily at all those gathered and waddled into the banquet hall. It was strange to see him surrounded by the rest of his people, who were all tall and slender and graceful. The Olkari officials all carried themselves with a sort of poise their king seemed to lack, though Lance would admit that had less to do with his physique than it did his awareness. King Lubos seemed to care little for where he was or who he was surrounded by. His attention was focused solely on the banquet table, which he hurried to without even acknowledging the guests bowing to him as he passed.

It was a very different attitude than Lance was used to seeing from a monarch. He was suddenly very grateful that Ryner was overseeing the peace talks between Altea and Galra and not this king that kept himself so detached.

“The feast will be starting soon,” Ryner said as King Lubos sat in the throne at the head of the table. She smiled and gestured toward the empty chairs as she added, “Please feel free to help yourselves to anything at our table. Our home is your home.” Then she bowed her head and left to take her spot at Lubos’s side.

Lance sighed, warily eyeing the empty chairs across from the Galrans that he knew his delegation would be expected to fill. And he had a pretty good idea of where he would be placed among them.

Sure enough, when he and Allura made their way over to the table, he found his name card placed at the chair directly across from Kyran’s, just as he’d feared. But what could he do about it? Ryner and the other officials had specifically created this seating arrangement, and as this banquet was meant to celebrate the future peace and unity between Altea and Galra, it only made sense to have the two princes that would soon be married sitting across from one another. If Lance tried to change his seat, it would be seen as an insult, both to Olkari hospitality and to the dignity of the Galran prince, which Lance simply couldn’t afford.

He just had to endure. Getting through a meal shouldn’t be too bad, after all. As long as he continued to eat, he wouldn’t have to make conversation or meet Kyran’s unnerving gaze. It wasn’t as if they could talk about what Lance really wanted to discuss anyways. There were too many people around for that sort of conversation. He could put it off for just a bit longer.

With that silent reassurance, Lance took a deep breath and sank down into his seat, steadfastly ignoring the sharp gaze he already felt upon him. He was glad at least to have Allura and his mother on either side of him, flanking him with their support. It made him feel a bit more secure. A bit more sure of himself and what he needed to do. He reached over beneath the table to take his mother’s hand for a brief moment, drawing strength and comfort from the security of her touch, and then he waited silently with the rest of the guests for the feast to begin.

Platters of food were brought out at King Lubos’s command as everyone settled into their seats. The tantalizing smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread filled the hall. Lance sat up straighter at the scent and looked toward the soldiers, wondering what delicacies the officials had planned for them. He was surprised to see, when the servers reached his end of the table, platters filled both with traditional Altean food and dishes Lance had never seen before in his life. He assumed those dishes were Galran in nature, and probably what Lance had to look forward to in the very near future.

He bit back a grimace as he looked over the Galran food. Many of the dishes appeared meat-based in nature, which Lance could appreciate, though how they were cooked left the meat looking charred all over and practically drowned in deep red or green stew. It was heavy and thick. So different from Altea’s light and leafy cuisine. Lance wasn’t even sure he’d be able to stomach it. But would he find anything else once he was on Daibazaal?

Perhaps he should try it. See what he needed to get accustomed to, though he was loathe to give up this last chance to enjoy Altean delicacies.

“Vremuriac,” a deep voice said. Lance looked up sharply, first at Kyran, who had a pinched expression across his face, and then to his side, where Lance found the human guard smiling back at him. “The dish is called vremuriac. Did you want some?”

“Oh!” Lance exclaimed, finally realizing how strange he must have looked just staring at the food. “No, thank you. I was just curious.”

“I see.” The guard’s gaze darted between the dish, Kyran, and Lance for a moment, and then a small, sly smile stretched across his lips. “It’s actually not that bad, you know. Prince Kyran is rather fond of it.”

“How nice,” Lance replied, not sure what else to say. He looked back at Kyran, as if looking for confirmation, but only saw his mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes glaring down at the plate in front of him.

They weren’t as yellow as Lance had first assumed, actually. Not like the rest of the Galran’s eyes. He’d never been close enough to notice it before, but now that they were sitting across from each other, knees almost touching beneath the table, Lance could see the subtle ring of dark purple in the center of his otherwise yellow eyes, right where a colored iris would be for an Altean. And for humans as well, if the guard was anything to go by.

As a matter of fact, now that Lance was paying attention, he saw several differences between Kyran and the rest of the Galrans aside from just his eyes and his height, which Lance had already noticed back when they’d first met. He still shared the same purple skin, the same large ears, and the same pointed teeth, but his facial features were sharper than the average Galran. More defined, more delicate. He was all angles and sharp points where the rest of the Galrans in his entourage showed flatness and square lines. Even his ears, which at first glance seemed to be the same as all the rest, angled up to a small, thin point that barely came past the top of his head. The others all had larger, more curved ears that were also covered in far more fur. Kyran still had some, but it was sleeker, smoother, and less overwhelming. The most abundant amount of hair Kyran showed took form in the black strands he kept slicked back and tied up.

That wasn’t something normal for Galrans. Not as far as Lance knew, at least. And combined with all the rest of it, Lance had to wonder at his parentage. Matt had mentioned something about Kyran being only Lotor’s half-brother, and that he’d spent most of his life away from court. So perhaps Kyran wasn’t the pure-blooded Galran prince they all assumed he was after all. Perhaps he had some Altean blood running through his veins. Or maybe even human.

The thought was like a revelation to Lance. All the things he’d been questioning about Kyran and their marriage started making sense. Why Kyran was so despised at court, and why his personal guard was a human, and why the Galrans were so willing to offer him in marriage to an Altean despite the importance they placed on bloodlines.

Of course they’d be willing to sacrifice Kyran if he wasn’t actually pure Galran. He was already tainted in their eyes.

Lance glowered down at his plate and viciously skewered a piece of meat on his fork. He was irritated. Not at Kyran in particular, but at the fact that his heritage was the reason he was being offered as Lance’s intended in the first place. The Galrans were essentially insulting Altea by offering up their unwanted prince. It didn’t matter that Kyran was quite possibly the better, more trustworthy option, or that his bloodline didn’t even really matter to Lance; Galra was still disrespecting the honor of Altea, and of the treaty they were there to create. And they didn’t even have the decency to be truthful about it.

What else were the Galrans hiding? What plan did they hold? What were they trying to achieve?

And why did Kyran, who surely knew all of this from the very beginning, even agree to be a pawn in this game when the only thing he’d get from it was more scorn?

There was something more going on here than a simple peace agreement, of that Lance was now sure. If not for Galra, then at least for Kyran. There was no way he would have agreed to this marriage unless he was getting something out of it. Moreover, he wouldn’t have tried so hard to get Matt released and sent back to Altea with the ambassador without some ulterior motive. The risk was too great for someone in his position to take unless there was an even greater reward.

But what was it? What did Kyran want?

Lance stewed over that question for the rest of the feast, barely paying attention to what was happening around him. Eventually the entrees were taken away and replaced with desserts, but it all seemed to taste the same to Lance, sitting like dirt on his tongue as he grew more and more frustrated over his own lack of answers.

He just didn’t know enough about the situation, or about Kyran himself, to guess what kind of angle the Galran prince was aiming for. It was entirely possible Kyran didn’t want peace at all, but rather a link into Altea, where he could gather all the information Galra would need to launch a final attack. Then again, it was also possible that Kyran was just as sincere and eager to end this war as Lance was. Perhaps he was doing it for his people. Or perhaps their marriage wasn’t as disadvantageous for Kyran as Lance believed. Perhaps it would afford Kyran a stronger voice within his father’s court.

Lance shook his head while the sound of flutes and strings and chairs scraping back from the table filled the banquet hall. Lost in thought, he followed Allura mechanically as she stood and glided across the hall to the dance floor. He took the spot by her side, but he didn’t see the banquet hall or the dance floor or the many Olkari couples that filled it. Instead, he saw the twisted knots of possibilities that were tying him to Kyran, trying to untangle them enough to see just what might have led them to this.

At least, he was until he felt a sharp jab in his side that brought him back to reality.

Exhaling, Lance clasped a hand over his side, right where the elbow had hit. He glared at Allura, but his cousin didn’t seem to care. She met his glare without shame. There was an expectant gleam in her eyes that made Lance uneasy. Even more so when she subtly gestured at the dance floor with a tilt of her head.

“Do I have to?” Lance asked, knowing exactly what Allura wanted from him. What she was expecting. Allura didn’t answer him verbally, but sent a pointed glance back at the table where the Galrans were still sitting— one that allowed for no argument. Lance sighed.

He should have seen this coming, really. He knew all the customs and traditions Alteans placed on their banquets. Knew what it meant to be a guest of honor at any celebration. And if he was anything here on Olkarion, he was certainly a guest of honor— one half of a pair whose marriage agreement here would end a centuries-long war.

Lance strode back towards the table, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. He didn’t want any more attention for this than necessary, particularly not before he had Kyran’s agreement. It would be too humiliating to be turned down with everyone else’s eyes fixed on them.

At least if Kyran said no, Lance would have a legitimate excuse to go back to his corner and return to his thoughts.

On the other hand, if Kyran said yes, Lance would have the perfect opportunity to get Kyran away from his guards and demand some answers. They could finally talk, and Lance could try to scope out what Kyran’s motivations were, what his plans and desires and ambitions for this marriage would be. As awkward and tense as that conversation was sure to be, it was something Lance needed, if only to soothe some of the questions that had racing through his mind all night.

Lance wasn’t sure which outcome he hoped for more.

The Galrans didn’t look up or acknowledge him as he passed behind them, not until he stopped beside Kyran’s and dipped into a bow, one hand extended before him. “Prince Kyran,” he said in a low voice, “might I have the pleasure of a dance?”

“A dance,” Kyran repeated. Then, after a beat of silence, “Why?”

Lance grimaced. “I’m afraid it’s Altean custom. The guests of honor are always expected to lead at least one dance. I’m still bound to these customs, and I would be honored to share this dance with you.”

Kyran said nothing for a moment. Lance waited in the silence, still bent over in his bow, for some sort of comment or answer. He closed his eyes and tried to calm the anxious churning in his stomach. It was up to Kyran now whether this dance would occur or not. Lance had made the offer, and now he could do more. He could only wait.

Finally, he felt the feather-light touch of another hand against his own. When he looked up, he saw a resigned, but determined expression across Kyran’s face.

“One dance,” he agreed, then leaned closer to add, “Don’t blame me when you regret this,” whispering the words into Lance’s ear so the rest of the Galran’s wouldn’t hear. Lance smirked and closed his hand firmly over Kyran’s.

“I’ll take my chances.”

He straightened up and pulled Kyran to his feet. The Galran prince sighed, but followed Lance’s lead without complaint, which was about as much as Lance could realistically hope for. This wasn’t something they were doing for the pleasure of it, but rather for the social obligations Lance’s kingdom demanded.

The whispering started the moment they stepped onto the dance floor together, just as Lance knew it would. He tried not to hear it, and to ignore the way every head in the banquet hall turned their way, but felt their gazes burning into his back, all filled with hope and expectation. Kyran, now stiff beside him, appeared even more uncomfortable by all the attention. It was almost enough for Lance to take pity on him and let him return to his seat. Almost.

Still holding Kyran’s hand, Lance turned and placed his free hand lightly against the small of Kyran’s back, pulling him closer so Kyran was forced to place his hand on Lance’s shoulder in return. The musicians took the cue, to Lance’s relief. They struck up a new song— something light and upbeat and thankfully easy for Lance to get lost in. He stepped forward into the dance, sweeping Kyran along with him, and almost immediately forgot about everything else except for the movement of his feet and the partner in his arms.

If there was one thing Lance was confident about, it was his skill at dancing. He’d grown up under the strict tutelage of his mother, who had once been one of Altea’s most renowned beauties, in part because of her grace and skill on the dance floor. He’d had the importance of a straight back and a smooth gait drilled into him from a very young age. By now, it was all second nature to him. Where to step, when to step, how to step: all of it.

The same, it seemed, couldn’t be said for Kyran. Though he kept up with Lance’s steps well enough, he did so with a little bit of fumbling and more than a few frustrated huffs. He was tense beneath Lance’s hand, movements stiff and awkward.

Lance swept the two of them across the dance floor, following the sumptuous, three-metre beat with ease. Kyran let himself be whirled along without comment, except to softly hiss and curse when he tripped over his own two feet on a particularly quick turn. Lance grimaced in sympathy.

“Dancing doesn’t appear to be your strong suit, Your Highness,” he commented.

“It’s not.” They turned again, this time without any trouble for Kyran, but his mouth was still set in a scowl despite the success. “This isn’t something I do often,” he explained gruffly. “Galrans don’t dance.”

Lance blinked, the furrowed his brows together in confusion. “But then what do Galrans do at celebrations if not dance?”

“Eat, mainly. Talk. Hold debates.”

“That’s strange,” Lance said, feeling a little bit disappointed. He always loved Altean balls— all the nobles dressed in their best, glittering beneath the palace’s crystal chandeliers with every twirl and dip. And, present dance aside, he’d always enjoyed charming their guests on the dance floor, leaving them breathless with laughter and joy.

Of course he’d known the Galran court would be different, would have other traditions and expectations, but he’d hoped at least to find something similar in their banquets and balls. From how Kyran spoke however, it didn’t seem like that would be the case.

Unsurprisingly, Kyran didn’t seem as upset by the situation as Lance. He scoffed at Lance’s comment and answered, “What’s strange is having a custom dictate who is supposed to dance when.”

“Well you didn’t have to accept my request,” Lance huffed. “You could have said no.”

“With so many people watching?” Kyran asked. His gold eyes met Lance’s, one brow raised in silent challenge. Like he was just daring Lance to contradict him. “I’d rather suffer through this weird custom than accidentally offend everyone else in this room, wouldn’t you? Isn’t that why you bothered to ask in the first place?”

Lance couldn’t deny it. He knew full well that the only reason he’d agreed to this was in order to satisfy Allura and the Altean tradition. He didn’t want to face his cousin’s wrath later for not following through. And he certainly didn’t want any of the Olkari to think he didn’t appreciated their constant hospitality because he’d stubbornly refused to dance with his intended. Such callousness just wasn’t in his nature.

He was surprised that Kyran was of a similar mind, however. That he was perceptive enough to realize what his refusal might imply to the rest of the guests, and, even more surprising, that Kyran was also considerate enough to avoid giving offense despite his low opinion of and even worse skills at dancing.

His attitude didn’t match the Galran prince Lance had imagined at all. It didn’t fit Lance’s image of the cruel, manipulative prince that had only agreed to this marriage to learn more about Altea before destroying it without remorse. Nor did it match with the ambitious prince that was only using their marriage to get more influence at court. This was a kinder prince than Lance had imagined, and one he didn’t really know what to do with. One he wasn’t sure he could trust.

He narrowed his eyes at Kyran, as if by doing so he could see straight into Kyran’s head and discover his true motives. Such thoughtfulness was too good to be true. There had to be something more here. Something Lance wasn’t seeing.

“Tell me, Kyran,” he said, taking advantage of their relative privacy to probe further into that mystery, “why exactly did you agree to this marriage?”

“Perhaps for the same reason you did,” Kyran countered. He stared at Lance for a few moments, seeming to search for something as they glided across the dance floor, then looked off to the side as he added in a softer voice, “This war has taken a toll on us. Millions have died fighting this war, and those we don’t lose to the front lines we lose to famine or sickness that we can’t afford to fix. Peace is necessary, no matter the cost.” He paused. His hand tightened its grip on Lance’s. Then, “Aren’t you the same? I have it on good authority your kingdom is suffering as much as ours.”

“Matt,” Lance muttered. “You mean Matt, don’t you?” Kyran’s gaze snapped back to Lance, wide with surprise, and much more alert than before. Taking that as confirmation, Lance continued, “Why did you help him? You had nothing to gain. Allying yourself with such a high-priority prisoner as Matt would only harm your standing at the Galran court. And from what I hear, that’s not something you can afford.” They swept into a final turn, then came to an almost complete standstill, standing toe to toe, hands clasped and eyes burning into each other. “So why did you help him, Kyran? What is your agenda here?”

Kyran didn’t answer for a long moment. Long enough for the musicians to reach the end of their song, and for all those gathered to break into applause over the final, wavering notes. Lance turned reluctantly away from Kyran to clap politely with all the rest of the guests. When he finally turned back, he found Kyran watching him closely, observing him with some new glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down Lance’s spine.

“Perhaps you are not as stupid as you seem,” Kyran said, almost in thought, but still loud enough for Lance to hear. The comment struck a nerve.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded, practically puffing up with indignation.

But Kyran didn’t answer. Not verbally at least. He bowed to Lance, then took his leave, disappearing into the crowd before Lance had a chance to protest. And for the second time that night, Lance was left alone to stew in his own thoughts and irritation, feeling even more confused than ever.

Chapter Text

Lance didn’t stay at the banquet for much longer after Kyran left. Not after it became clear that Kyran had retired entirely for the night. For a while, Lance assumed Kyran had simply vanished into the crowd, choosing to hide among the various Olkari guests, probably waylaid by some official or another wanting to offer their best wishes for his impending marriage. Lance had his fair share of comments and congratulations as well, and was kept quite occupied for the first hour that followed his dance with Kyran.

Eventually, however, Lance managed to extract himself and retreat into a corner to catch his breath. It was exhausting keeping up a smile for guest after guest. But Lance couldn’t let them see how much this engagement— one that wasn’t even official yet— was getting to him. Especially after that confusing, infuriating comment Kyran had made at the end of their dance. Lance had half a mind to hunt Kyran down and demand an answer from him, which he nearly listened to until he realized that Kyran was no longer in the banquet hall. Nor was his human guard, who was the only other member of the Galran delegation Lance might have been willing to speak to.

Well, without either them there, and having lost any interest in either dancing or gossiping, Lance saw no point in remaining at the celebration. He’d satisfied his requirements, fulfilled every social expectation, and now all Lance wanted was to curl up in bed and enjoy his solitude in peace. What little peace he had left before he was forced to marry a Galran prince that seemed to think so poorly of him.

Not as stupid as you seem, Lance’s thoughts repeated in Kyran’s soft drawl as he stepped into his bedroom. Scoffing, Lance unpinned his cape and threw it onto his bed, then collapsed onto the stool before the vanity. What did Kyran’s comment even mean? Was that how the Galrans viewed Alteans? Did they think all Alteans were stupid? Or was it just how they viewed him in particular?

He yanked off his ring and threw it into his jewelry box, irritation bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He supposed it didn’t matter in the end, because either way it meant Lance was being seen as an idiot, and Lance hated that. He hated being seen as inadequate, as somehow… less than everyone around him. It reminded him too much of when he was younger, before he’d found his place with Blue and developed into the prince he now was.

Lance was proud of who he’d become. Proud of all his accomplishments and skills. He hated how a single sentence from Kyran was somehow able to cut right through all that to the little seed of insecurity he thought he’d discarded long ago.

No. Lance couldn’t think like this. Maybe the Galrans thought of Alteans as stupid, but that was only natural, considering they’d been enemies for so long. Surely there were things Lance assumed about Galrans that weren’t true either. And perhaps… perhaps Kyran actually commenting on it meant that he was seeing beyond the prejudice and coming to respect Lance. Or perhaps it was just Kyran being a jerk. Lance wouldn’t put it past him.

Lance took off his circlet and unclipped the various earrings he wore on both ears. He packed them all away carefully, not anticipating needing them anymore tonight, and then turned to go to his closet and prepare for bed. But before he had taken more than two steps, he was stopped by a loud, unexpected knock on his door, and he looked towards the noise in confusion.

Who was seeking him out so late at night, with the banquet still carrying on a few floors below? It wasn’t Allura, obviously, or else she would have just walked right through the door. And none of the others had such a sharp rap.

The knock came again— faster this time, more impatient— and Lance made his way across the room. Whoever it was, they apparently had something important to say. Perhaps his cousin had sent an Olkari to deliver a message or something. Lance couldn’t just ignore that. He turned the handle and opened the door, but what he found on the other side wasn’t an Olkari. It was the Galran prince.

Kyran stood alone in the hallway. He was still dressed in his formal uniform, though his black jacket was now unbuttoned and casually hanging open, revealing the plain, grey shirt he wore underneath. His hair was hanging loose too. Instead of being pinned back like it usually was, the black locks now tumbled down about his face in long waves, tips just brushing his shoulders. He looked completely different from how he always appeared. Not as stiff or polished. And he was completely alone, without even his human guard in sight.

Not a formal meeting then, and certainly not one approved by either Allura or Ryner. So what did Kyran want? And how had he gotten past all the Olkari guards between this wing of the Spire and the wing housing the Galra delegation?

“Why are you here?” Lance hissed, shifting to stand just behind the door, as if using it as a shield. He glanced down both ends of the hallway, but saw no one else. No guard, or official, or even a shadow to call out to if Kyran was here for some sinister reason.

Not that he looked like a threat, unkempt as he was and lacking any sort of visible weaponry. But Lance knew firsthand how dangerous an angry Galran could be, even without weapons, and Kyran did have a rather intense air about him that set Lance on edge. That made his heartbeat jump and pound painfully within his chest. Kyran’s purple eyes were sharp and bright and focused on Lance in the doorway, and his voice was soft, but very serious and direct as he answered, “We need to talk.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “Oh, really? See, I thought you’d made your opinions on talking very clear earlier, when you left in the middle of our conversation.”

“There were too many people there.”

“None of whom would have heard us over the music. Let alone while we were constantly moving,” Lance argued. “Even your apparently superb Galran hearing would have had difficulty. So I really don’t know what you have to say to me that couldn’t have been said there.”

“This matter is too important to risk being overheard,” Keith hissed, stepping towards Lance, who stepped back in response. But that just seemed to frustrate Kyran further. He crossed his arms, scowling at Lance, and said, “Really? If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be dead already, not hiding behind that door like a coward.”

Lance glowered back at him. “Well excuse me for not trusting the prince of an empire that killed so many of my people.”

“Your kingdom has killed just as many as mine. And you, the infamous blue paladin, have had a hand in that. You are no less a threat to me than I am to you.”

Well, Lance couldn’t argue against that. He’d been on the front lines of almost every major battle, cutting down ships full of Galrans with the startling efficiency that being Blue’s pilot, with all the strength of their connected minds and advanced weaponry, afforded him. And when he wasn’t in battle, he was usually helping to command it from the palace’s war room, with Pidge and Allura at his side. He was still ordering the deaths of Kyran’s kinsmen even if he wasn’t the one doing the actual killing. Still as responsible.

Lance bit his lip and looked away. The silence stretched on between them, growing heavier with each second that passed. Lance couldn’t bring himself to break it. Not when he couldn’t even make sense of his own thoughts and judgments any longer. Not when he was suddenly so conflicted by both his distrust of Kyran and his hope that Kyran was actually being sincere with his requests.

Lance was accustomed to speaking freely, but he knew when to keep his silence.

Sighing, Kyran looked up at the ceiling and ran a hand through his hair. “I just want to talk,” he said again. Softer, this time. With less of an edge. “There are things you must know if this marriage is to take place.”

Lance hesitated. He was still torn between his fear and his hope. Torn even more because it would mean speaking to Kyran alone, without any guards or weapons nearby. But if Kyran actually meant what he said, then maybe… maybe…

“Fine,” he finally answered, “but not here.” He couldn’t have Kyran in his room. He couldn’t speak reasonably with Kyran there, where anyone might find them and escalate the situation beyond his control. He glanced over his shoulder at the vanity, and at the small escritoire connected to it, then back at Kyran. “Just… wait here a tick.”

At Kyran’s nod, Lance stepped back and closed the door. It shut with a soft thud that echoed around the empty room. Lance looked back at the escritoire, then hurried across the room to riffle through its small drawers.

He didn’t know if it would hold what he was looking for. Olkarion relied heavily on its technology and advanced simplicity for everything, even for writing. But Lance hoped, knowing the close ties between Olkarion and Altea, they would think to include some of the luxuries Alteans regularly used. And, yes! They had!

Lance pulled out a sheet of paper and a simple pen and quickly drafted a short note for Allura, one that would keep her from seeking him out with a squadron of guards. She’d never allow for him to speak with Kyran alone before a settlement had been reached. For good reason, he had to admit, in an effort to keep both him and their peace treaty safe. However, Lance had confidence in his own ability to keep himself safe, even if this turned out to be a trap of some sort, and he was willing to risk it for the slim chance that he and Kyran could reach some accord, some sort of agreement that would keep both their kingdoms safe from further war. He was not willing to risk his cousin ruining that chance, no matter how good the reasons.

A few moments to scrawl a note about needing to meditate in one of the Spire gardens, and then one more, after an internal debate, to grab a dagger to hide beneath his floor-length over robe, and then he returned to the door. He took a deep breath. Then he pushed open the door.

Kyran still waited outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked up at the sound of the door opening and, seeing Lance ready to go, jerked his head to the side in a silent order to follow before walking down the hall. Lance walked after him just as silently. It would do no good to draw attention to themselves. And if Kyran was so determined to speak in private, then Lance knew he wouldn’t answer any questions as they walked.

No. Lance kept to himself as they walked through the hallways and up a flight of steps, up to the next floor, where Kyran led him to a large room that opened onto a balcony. His human guard stood by the doorway. Kyran nodded and murmured, “Shiro,” as they passed. The guard— presumably named Shiro, from Kyran’s greeting— nodded back, and then slipped past them into the hall they just came from. Lance watched him leave with bemusement, but assumed he was leaving to keep watch over the wing Lance and Kyran had commandeered. Kyran wanted this conversation to be private, after all. If he was telling the truth about that, he would hardly want anyone, even his own delegation, to interrupt.

Kyran didn’t even react to Shiro’s departure. He walked forward confidently, striding past the couches and potted plants that lined the walls to the balcony. Lance followed at a more sedate pace. He glanced warily around the room, suddenly aware of how very alone they were. How, for the first time, it was just the two of them, without any expectant or judgmental eyes upon them. Not even that of Kyran’s guard. They could say anything here and it would go no further than this room, no further than their own ears. It made Lance wonder what exactly the Galran prince wanted to speak about that demanded such privacy. And that, in turn, made him nervous.

He turned his head and found Kyran watching him from the balcony, waiting with his arms crossed over his chest like before. Lance’s heartbeat accelerated, until the sound of it was a near buzz in his ears, while his hands suddenly felt very weak and shaky. He laced them together and took a step forward. He couldn’t let his anxiety show.

“So,” he started, stepping out onto the balcony. A breeze ruffled his hair and robe. It was gentle, but noisy, easily carrying his voice away, and Lance instantly saw why Kyran preferred to speak out here rather than in the room itself. He raised his voice slightly, “So tell me, Kyran—”

“Keith,” the Galran prince interrupted. He met Lance’s eyes for a moment, then looked away as he added, “Away from my father’s court, I am Keith.”

“Keith then,” Lance said, testing the weight and feel of it on his tongue. It suited him, Lance decided. Suited his not-quite-galran appearance. “Tell me, Keith, what is it you wanted to speak about? You brought me all the way out here; I can only assume it’s something important.” Kyr— Keith didn’t answer. Impatient, Lance tried again. “Does this have to do with Matt? About why you let him go? What your agenda here is?”

This time, Keith looked back at him. His purple eyes seemed to assess Lance, as if trying to decide something, and then he asked, “How much do you know about my position at court?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “Matt said you were mostly raised away from court. And that you’re not very popular there, which I’m assuming has to do with your parentage. You don’t look like the other Galrans in your party. Not completely. And I know bloodlines are important for your court, so it only makes sense that the reason you’re so disliked is because your heritage isn’t pure. But I’m only guessing on that. It’s not as if that’s common knowledge in Altea. We barely knew anything about you before Matt— what?” he asked, suddenly noticing Keith’s glower.

“Do you always talk this much?”

“I’m used to speaking my mind,” Lance answered, which only made Keith frown more.

“You’ll need to learn not to.”

Lance scowled. “Excuse me?” he demanded, feeling his mental hackles rise. He didn’t like the tone Keith was taking. Liked even less that Keith somehow seemed to think Lance would just agree because Keith said so. “You have no right to dictate me, future husband or not.”

“I wasn’t—” Keith growled, then pushed away from the balcony’s railing to pace back and forth over the gray tile floor. “Look,” he said, “the Galran court isn’t a kind place, especially for you. Your Altean heritage isn’t going to win you any friends there. They’ll tolerate you, if only because they have to, but if you start sticking your nose into things and ‘speaking your mind,’ that tolerance will completely disappear. And I won’t be able to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protecting,” Lance protested. “I’m not walking into this blind, Keith. I know what the risks are. I know I won’t be welcomed in your court.”

“Do you? Because I really don’t think you understand the severity of this whole situation.”

Lance furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?” he asked, confused and slightly worried by the agitation in Keith’s tone. The hint of desperation. What did it say about Galra that Keith, its prince, was so worked up about this? That, when he turned towards Lance again, his eyes were narrowed in worry, not anger.

“What I mean is that these peace talks should never have happened in the first place,” Keith said. “The common people are the ones that want peace, not the nobles. They hate this entire idea. As does my father. The only reason this is happening is because I somehow convinced my brother it was a good idea.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it? That he supports this?” Didn’t that mean Lance would have an ally in the Galran court other than Keith himself? That they might find some support for this peace treaty?

Keith shook his head. “You don’t know Lotor. You don’t know what he’s like. My father might listen to me if he was in a good mood, but my brother never would. Not unless there was something in it for him.” He turned to the side and leaned forward with his hands braced atop the railing. He bowed his head. Lance could barely hear his low voice as he admitted, “The problem is, I don’t know what he’s getting out of this. It doesn’t benefit him at all.”

Lance closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. “So he has an agenda,” he said. Just great. Lance knew he’d have to fight for his place at the court, but now it was going to be so much more difficult with Prince Lotor’s hypothetical plans thrown into the mix. Plans didn’t worry Lance, so long as he knew what the plans were and could manipulate them to his liking. But it didn’t bode well that not even Keith could figure out what his half-brother was thinking.

Lance didn’t understand any of this anymore. What did Galra want from them? Why was this marriage even going forward? Especially if, as Keith said, so many of the court didn’t support it. What was Lotor aiming for? And why was Keith even telling him any of this, when he could have just as well kept quiet and let Lotor’s plans go forward?

There was discord among the Galran court, he realized. Discord much larger than Lance had ever assumed. That was why Keith insisted on speaking in private, away from even his own guards, whom Lance now recognized had been sent to not only protect Keith, but to also spy on him and keep him in line. It was no wonder Keith hadn’t spoken until tonight. He was being treated as a pawn by the Galrans. He couldn’t even use his own name, let alone do any negotiating.

Until now, of course.

“And what of you?” Lance quietly asked, glancing up at Keith. “What is your agenda?” For surely he had one. If he was in such conflict with his brother and father, then Keith had to have some sort of plan or desire that went against theirs. But whether it would match Altea’s desires and best interests, Lance couldn’t say for sure. And he needed to know before he could agree to anything. He needed that assurance.

This game they were speaking of playing was becoming too dangerous for anything less.

Keith was silent for a moment. Then, “Peace,” he answered. “A stop to this war we can’t even remember the reason for, no matter the cost.” His words echoed Lance’s thoughts and sent a shiver down his spine. And when Keith looked back at Lance, it was with something akin to hope burning in his bright eyes. “This marriage might be purely political, but for the sake of peace I want it to last. I need your help for that.”

Lance hesitated. He too wanted this alliance to work, to bring peace to Altea, which so desperately needed it. But how could he say yes when he knew what dangers awaited him at the Galran court? When he wasn’t even sure he could trust Keith to watch his back?

How could he say no when doing so meant the alliance would fall apart and war would resume?

“I’ll help you,” he finally said. “If only to keep Altea safe.”

Keith flashed him a quick grin, almost too boyish for his normally serious face, and then took Lance’s hand. He pressed something cool into Lance’s palm. When Lance looked down, he saw a simple, black signet ring set with a deep red stone.

“The Imperial ring,” Keith explained. “As my future spouse, it now belongs to you. If you will accept it.”

Lance nodded silently. He slipped the ring onto his first finger. It fit him perfectly, as if it was always meant to be there. But for some reason, as he looked at the ring and felt it weighing down his finger, he couldn’t help but think he just walked himself into a trap. And now there was no escape.

Chapter Text

Lance sat quietly on his bed as his mother fluttered about the room, Pidge trailing along like a shadow at her heels. Various articles of clothing sat in piles all around him: warm weather suits on one side, cold weather suits on the other, and cloaks, and capes, and a myriad of regal uniforms filling the rest of the space on the wide, double bed Lance wasn’t occupying. All the clothes he’d brought with him from Altea in preparation for this event. For his marriage.

He stared down at his hand, where the ring Keith had given him sparkled on his first finger. He’d kept it hidden in the days immediately following the banquet and their secret conversation. That he had the ring at all was a sign of trust, as Keith had impressed upon him that night. A symbol of their mutual agreement to work together and make this peace treaty last.

It made sense, of course, since Lance’s agreement meant their marriage was all but confirmed, lacking only the legal documentation that made it binding. But it had only been a matter of time before that, too, followed and made it all official. Sooner or later, Lance would have received the ring. Keith had simply decided it would be sooner. Probably to prove his dedication to their cause.

Still, Lance had kept it carefully hidden during the following days of negotiations. He hadn’t wanted Allura or Pidge or his mother— or, stars forbid, the other Galrans— noticing the ring and asking too many questions. Questions he really didn’t have the answer to, even now that the documents were signed. Even now that he could officially wear the Galran imperial ring on his first finger.

Lance rubbed his thumb over the small ruby of the ring. Married, he thought, testing out the word. He was married now, husband to a Galran prince. He’d signed the documents only that morning after several days of fierce negotiating and hard-pressed compromises.

It was strange how much power a single stroke of a pen held over his life. Just one, quick signature and then he was legally recognized as Keith’s spouse by all Altean laws. All that was missing were the traditional matching ears cuffs of Altean spouses. The symbol of mutual possession that every Altean recognized. Lance had always dreamt of the day when he would slip the small cuff over his partner’s upper ear, gold and carved with the emblems of his family and his lion. He’d trace the curve of his ear with his finger and imagine it year after year, wondering whom he would one day share that connection with. There’d even been a moment, after he’d agreed to this union, when he’d actually considered sharing that tradition with his Galran spouse. But the Galrans used rings instead of ear cuffs. They wouldn’t recognize the ear cuff for what it truly was, and, really, what was the point if it held meaning only to himself?

Lance had the ring, after all. He had the Galran’s cultural symbol of marriage and all the influence that came with it. He would simply have to make do with that instead.

“Lance, dear,” his mother called, and Lance tore his gaze from the ring to look up at her. “Which cloak would you rather take, the blue or the white?”

“Both,” Lance answered without hesitation, just as he’d been answering her questions all night. His mother laughed, though it sounded tight and strained. Not her usual bubbly peal.

“Both?” She handed the cloaks over to Pidge, who dutifully held them up for his mother’s inspection. “Darling, you can’t take both cloaks and still have room for all the other things you wish to bring. And we still haven’t gone through your summer clothes, though I’m not sure you need them. Does Daibazaal get warm at all?”

No. It was a cold planet almost year round, or so Keith had said. But that didn’t stop Lance from wanting to bring all the sleeveless tops and lightweight bodysuits he was so accustomed to wearing. Or any of the other clothes he’d brought along that now needed to be cut down to fit the Galran delegation’s two-trunk stipulation.

“I want to take them both,” Lance said stubbornly. “I need them both.”

“You do not need them both. One will suffice. And anyways,” his mother continued, “you can replace everything you left once you get there. I’m sure they have a seamstress, or at least a shop they patronize. Anything you lack, you can easily get, and in a proper Galran style too.” She surveyed the cloaks once more, then nodded. “Blue, I think. It’s dark enough to not stand out at the Galran court.”

Lance looked down at his hands again, and clasped them together tightly. He didn’t bother arguing with his mother about it any further. Anything he said wouldn’t be enough to convince her, anyways. Especially since the entire reason he wanted to bring so much was simply for the memories they carried. For the comfort of having at least some part of Altea and his family there with him in the Galra court.

His mother was right though. He knew she was. As loathe as he was to admit to it, he’d need to replace a large portion of his current wardrobe once he settled on Daibazaal. Mostly because of how cold the planet was and how little Lance owned that could combat the chill, but also, in part, because of the different styles. His bright blues and whites and pinks would not blend with the Galran nobles. Nor would his thin, translucent fabrics. Or his penchant for draping himself in jewels. From what he knew of Galran fashion, the typical dress for nobility included dark colors and heavy fabrics and lots of gold and bronze jewelry, but very few actual jewels. Even the ruby set in the black signet ring he now wore was smaller than many of the rings he wore to official Altean events. It was no bigger than the nail on his pinkie, and so far was the only jewel he’d seen adorn any of the Galran delegation, just a tiny sparkle on Keith’s own first finger. If even the imperial family forewent jewels, Lance didn’t think the nobles would be any different.

That he could work with, at least. He had plenty of simple, gold chains and medallions to replace the precious stones he usually wore around his neck and wrists. He could limit his jewels to a few earrings and simple rings— hardly ostentatious enough to cause any whispers among the court. And he would still wear his circlets, of course, since those were a piece of his culture, a symbol of his place in the Altean royal family, and Lance would never agree to give those up, regardless of the court’s view on jewelry. He doubted Keith would demand it of him anyways.

His actual clothes, though. Those he didn’t want to give up.

Maybe it was silly of him, this stubborn attachment. He certainly felt silly. It wasn’t as if any of the shirts or capes or shoes were truly unique in any particular way— nothing he couldn’t get replicated, even in the Galra Empire. But these shirts and capes and shoes were the ones he’d lived in for the past few years. There was the deep blue cape he always wore with his paladin armor. And on the other side of the bed, the suit he’d worn for Allura’s birthday feast earlier that year. And there, in the pile by his thigh, the sleeveless tunic he’d donned for his sister’s coming-of-age ceremony just the year before.

He brushed his hand over the fabric, feeling the silk slip easily beneath his fingertips, and recalled how thrilled his sister had been that night. How she had glowed with all the soft beauty of Altea’s two moons as Lance escorted her down the palace steps and presented her with her very first circlet. How giddy she’d been when she received the pink cheek tattoos that marked her entrance into adulthood. How she’d hugged him tightly at the end of the night, whispering her thanks for all of his support in a soft, shaky voice.

That tunic held so many good memories for Lance now. All his clothes did. They were all tied to various stories and experiences Lance held close to his heart. He didn’t want to separate with them, as if letting go of even one shirt would make him forget everything he’d ever gone through while wearing it. Like he’d be losing a part of his past. Of his heart. Of his very identity.

He sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to choose.” He’d rather take it all with him, impractical though most of it was for the climate he’d be living in, and wrap himself in the comfort of familiarity. So much was changing for him with this marriage; he wanted at least something to remain the same, even if it was just his clothes. “Why would they even place such a strict limit on what I could bring? Isn’t that a little odd?”

“My guess is they lack space in those small shuttles of theirs,” his mother said, packing his blue cloak into one of the two trunks he was allowed to bring with him. “And you know how prideful the Galrans are. They would never appeal to the Olkarions for an extra cargo shuttle.”

“That, or they’re afraid of you sneaking weapons of mass destruction onto their planet with your belongings,” Pidge added with a grin.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were right about that,” Lance sighed. “I’ll probably be kept under guard the entire way there. Maybe even longer.”

After all, while their delegations had reached an accord and signed a treaty, that didn’t mean they trusted one another just yet. It would take many years of peace before the idea of trust was even a possibility. Lance supposed he shouldn’t judge the Galrans too harshly for their caution. He would have done the same if their positions were reversed. Their paranoia was only to be expected.

His mother, on the other hand, frowned. “Let’s at least try to believe the best in the Galrans. I’d rather not think of you being kept as a prisoner by your new husband.”

Lance grimaced and looked away. He didn’t like that thought either.

Truthfully, though, he didn’t know what to expect once he settled on Daibazaal. He liked to believe that Keith was sincere about working together and making their marriage last, but believing that Keith would treat him fairly and knowing that were two very different things. And Lance just didn’t know. He couldn’t yet say with one hundred percent certainty that Keith would take care of him.

He was less worried about Keith than about the rest of the Galrans, however. “They won’t trust me,” he said. “Not for a very long time. We’ve been enemies for so long, I’m not even sure we know how to trust one another.”

“Then perhaps we should aim for just getting along. Proving we’re not a threat.” His mother looked over the bed, at all the clothes they still had left to sort through, and then at the two, nearly-full trunks on the floor. She sighed. “Oh, this isn’t going anywhere. Maybe we should sort through your jewelry instead.”

Pidge laughed. “That’ll be even worse. You know how Lance loves to sparkle,” she teased. Lance slapped a hand over his heart, as if wounded by her words.

“That hurts, Pidge. Just because you don’t appreciate the finer things in life doesn’t mean that I can’t,” he said. “Besides, I’m sending most of it back to Altea with you guys.”

“What? Really?”

Lance shrugged and looked away. “Galrans don’t wear jewels.” And, truth be told, there were a lot of pieces he didn’t want falling into Galran possession. Necklaces and bracelets and brooches that all belonged to his family. Pieces that belonged on Altea, in Altean hands.

He swept a hand through his hair, brushing back his bangs and sliding over the small band of his circlet. He’d put it on that morning with a vague sense of resignation, knowing it was the last time he could wear it as an Altean prince. The last time he could wear it as his father’s heir. He was now a part of the Galran imperial family. That was where his future was. And this circlet just couldn’t follow him there.

Taking a deep breath, he gingerly lifted the circlet from his head. The sudden lack of its weight was strange. The heavy press in chest as he held the circlet out to his mother was even stranger.

“Lance,” his mother began, but he shook his head in answer.

“I can’t,” he said as he stood from the bed. He’d take every other circlet with him— every other pieces he’d earned or been gifted over the years— just not this one. Not his father’s circlet. “It belongs on Altea. It belongs with our family.”

“It belongs to you,” his mother protested. Her voice was weak though, and when Lance pressed the circlet into her hands, she accepted it without another word.

“You and I both know I can’t keep it. I’ll never have children to pass it down to. Not Altean ones, in any case. And this circlet… it belongs with an Altean.” Forcing a smile, he looked down at his father’s circlet one last time, brushing his fingers over its golden band, then pulled his hands away. “It belongs to my sister now. Let her and her children wear it. Let them continue our line.”

His mother bowed her head and stared down at the circlet for several long moments. She didn’t say a word. Couldn’t, most likely. She was too choked up, bottom lip trembling and eyes quickly filling with tears. She didn’t need to say anything though. Lance understood. And when his mother finally rushed out of the room, circlet clutched close to her chest, he only sighed, because that too he understood. He hadn’t expected anything else.

Silently, Lance sat back down and rubbed at his eyes. There was a dip in the mattress beside him, and then the press of a small hand against his back.

“She still hasn’t accepted the fact that you’re leaving tomorrow,” Pidge said beside him.

“I know,” Lance answered. He sighed again and added, “I haven’t really accepted it either.”

He’d been trying to wrap his head around it all day, the fact that he’d be leaving with the Galran delegation the very next morning. It was a jarring revelation— too immediate and too permanent for Lance to accept just yet. He’d signed the papers that morning, and he’d spent all afternoon trying to gather his belongings for the journey, but it was still just too… too strange to come to terms with.

He was married now. And tomorrow he would leave, and he would probably never see Altea again. It felt like some sort of bad dream.

Groaning, Lance dropped his head into his hands. Pidge rubbed his back, warm and steady at his side.

“Are you ok?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” He raked both his hands through his hair, then looked up, frowning at the mess all around him. His trunks still sat open on the floor across the room, waiting to be filled and packed away. The only two trunks he’d be taking with him to Daibazaal. His new home. Where he’d constantly be surrounded by enemies. Lance shook his head. “It’s not exactly what I wanted.”

How could it be when all Lance had ever dreamed about was experiencing the same love and bliss he’d always seen between his parents? He’d wanted to follow their example, and to marry the person he loved. To have kids, or adopt some, and pass down the circlet to his child just as his father had passed it down to him. He’d wanted a home of his own on Altea, somewhere out near the mountains. He’d wanted the wedding ceremony, with all of its extravagance and traditions, and the wedding he knew he’d have to endure on Daibazaal wasn’t going to make up for that.

Most of all, he’d wanted the intimacy. The easy domesticity. The security of being in love, and knowing his love was returned in equal measure.

That, he now knew, he would never get.

He closed his eyes, absently twisting the signet ring on his finger as he murmured, “I’m a little bit afraid, to be honest. I don’t know what to expect, and I’ll be all alone there. No friends, no allies.” Just Keith, whom he wasn’t quite sure he trusted just yet. Not very reassuring.

“I could come along, you know. If you wanted,” Pidge offered. “You don’t need to go there alone.”

“One of us has to stay on Altea, Pidge.”

“Who says?”

Lance laughed at that. He could already imagine how the others would react. The shocked frenzy of Coran and Allura at the loss of their last paladin. The confusion, and probably even protests, of the Galran delegation at their unexpected passenger. Matt would probably want to come along too, unwilling to separate from his sister again now that they were reunited. The whole thing would be such a disaster, and the worst part was that Lance knew she’d go through with it anyways if Lance really wanted her to.

She’d always been there for him, watching his back, trusting his decisions, as close to him as any of his own family members. She was his partner. His friend. And that’s exactly why he couldn’t ask her to come with him.

“Please stay on Altea,” he said to her instead. “They need at least one of their paladins to stick around. And I need you to look after Blue and my family instead. I can take care of myself.”

Pidge smiled. “I know you can,” she said, gently punching his arm. “It’s like I said before, you have your own talents. If anyone can make friends with the Galrans, it’s you.”

Lance pulled her into a hug. “Thank you,” he murmured into her hair, arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders. He could feel them shake as she softly laughed, which would have inspired some sort of sarcastic comment from Lance if he hadn’t been so emotional, but as it was he said nothing about it. Pidge wrapped her arms around him and patted his back.

“You’ll be fine, Lance. You’ll see,” she said. And, for once, Lance actually believed her.

Chapter Text

“They seem close,” Shiro said, coming up beside him. Keith glanced over at him for a second, then back across the landing pad, to where Lance stood, wrapped tightly in the embrace of one of the Alteans. The rest of his delegation stood all around them, as they had all morning, but Lance’s attention was focused solely on the smaller, older woman in his arms. Shiro hummed softly. “Is she—”

“The Dowager Duchess,” Keith finished for him. “Lance’s mother.”

The only parent Lance had left. He’d quietly pointed her out to Keith a few days earlier, while their delegations had been locked in deep discussion over the agreement of their marriage. But even if he hadn’t, Keith was certain he would have been able to tell anyways. There was no mistaking the resemblance between them. They had the same, sharp features and long limbs, and it was obvious Lance had also inherited her thick, brown hair instead of the signature white most of the royal family shared.

As Keith watched, she pulled away from her son’s embrace to instead cup his cheeks, giving Lance a watery smile. Her mouth moved as she spoke. Keith was too far away to hear anything, but even at this distance he could tell the words were tender and encouraging, Lance nodding along every other second as if trying to convince himself that what his mother said was right. The dowager duchess paused for a moment, then said something that made Lance laugh, the sound echoing across the pad to where Keith and Shiro stood. But as Lance threw his head back to laugh, Keith noticed the tiny glitter in the corner of his eyes that came with unshed tears.

Keith looked away, turning back to the shuttle they’d be taking back to Daibazaal. It didn’t feel right, watching Lance say goodbye. Like he was intruding on something he had no right to witness. And it reminded him too much of the last time he’d seen his own mother, back when he’d first been called to court. She’d spoken to him the same way Lance’s mother was speaking now. Had brushed back his hair, and playfully flicked his ears, and held him so tightly it seemed she would never let him go again.

He shook his head, and placed a hand against the metal hull of the shuttle.

“Are you alright?” Shiro asked. He clasped Keith’s shoulder, hand heavy and supportive, and so familiar that it helped ground Keith’s thoughts in the present, where he needed them to be. Closing his eyes, Keith took a deep breath, then let it all out in a steady stream, along with all the intruding memories.

“Just tired,” he finally told Shiro, which was true enough. He was tired. Exhausted, really. He’d been up late every night since the banquet, trying to convince the ambassador to adjust their demands and push the treaty through. It took a while to get him to agree, but Keith had eventually worn him down. He’d just lost a lot of sleep himself in the process.

At least he wouldn’t have to deal with the ambassador again for the next few days. They’d taken two shuttles to Olkarion originally, with the ambassador and guards in one, and Keith and Shiro in the other. They kept the arrangements the same for the return trip, with the addition of Lance to Keith’s shuttle being the only change. And Keith was grateful he wouldn’t have to listen to the ambassador’s snide comments all the way back, even if it meant dealing with Lance in the meantime.

Keith looked back over at Lance, who was now being hugged by both Allura and the green paladin, and then around the landing pad. The Olkari officials had all gathered to see them off, standing politely to the side as Lance made his farewells. There was no sign of the rest of Keith’s delegation however. Not of the other shuttle, or the ambassador, or any of the guards.

“Did the others already leave?” Keith asked.

Shiro nodded. “Last night,” he answered. “The ambassador apparently wanted to inform the Emperor of the new terms before you and Lance arrived. You can be sure there will be a crowd awaiting your return.”

“Wonderful,” Keith groaned. Exactly what he didn’t need.

Keith hated crowds. Hated all the parades and public appearances his position required him to go through. Hated that all of the common people would look up at and cheer for him, relying on him, their prince, to work in their best interests. It always made him feel like such a sham, because the truth of it was that Keith held very little power in their lives. He couldn’t change their policies or support reforms. Not even the ones he knew the people desperately needed. The most he’d ever been able to do for them since receiving his title was to bring peace through his marriage, and he couldn’t even guarantee that yet. The alliance was still too unstable.

But what was even worse than facing the crowds of commoners was facing the crowds of nobles and peers that Keith knew would be gathered in the palace hall for his return. They’d all stand there and sneer at him, and they’d sneer at Lance, and Keith wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not for himself. Not for Lance. Not without the risk of swift and brutal retaliation.

In the face of their contempt, Keith was completely powerless. And Keith absolutely loathed that feeling.

Groaning, he turned around and leaned back against the shuttle, tipping his head back to rest against the sun-warmed metal. “What do you think?” he asked Shiro. “If I keep completely silent this time, will my father let me skip all that court nonsense.”

Shiro shrugged. “Perhaps. But I think not. You aren’t the only one who will be on display, after all.” He nodded towards the Alteans— towards Lance in particular. Keith sighed, knowing Shiro was right. There was no way his father and brother would pass up the chance to size up Keith’s new husband. To scrutinize and judge and goad. “And then there is the matter of the treaty itself,” Shiro continued. “You know you weren’t meant to return to Daibazaal. And your brother will not thank you for that.”

“My father was the one that sent me here,” Keith said, crossing his arms. “He told me to arrange an alliance, whatever that meant. And the Alteans were very clear about not allowing me on their planet. Lotor cannot fault me for that.”

“No,” Shiro agreed. “But he will be suspicious. Don’t pretend these marriage terms don’t fall right in line with your plans.”

“He can prove nothing.”

“Since when has he needed proof to make your life difficult?”

Keith frowned and turned his head away. He couldn’t deny what Shiro said. His half-brother wasn’t one to just let Keith go about his business in peace. He never had been, even when they were kids and hardly saw one another. And it would be even worse now, with Keith returning to Daibazaal in spite of Lotor’s plans for forcing Keith on the Alteans. While their father wouldn’t much care so long as the alliance was made, Lotor was an entirely different matter. He’d be furious at the change in plans, and, as Shiro pointed out, skeptical of the treaty’s terms. After all, Lotor alone knew that the alliance with Altea was originally Keith’s suggestion. He wouldn’t easily believe that Keith didn’t have ulterior motives.

Normally, Keith could have handled that without any trouble. He was used to enduring his half-brother’s taunting, and even more used to keeping his scheming away from Lotor’s prying eyes. If nothing else, living among the Galran court for the past several years had taught Keith how to hide his true thoughts and feelings deep inside himself, where no one— not even his father, the Emperor— would be able to find them. But Keith wasn’t alone now. He wasn’t the only one who’d be on the receiving end of his family’s scrutiny. And, knowing what he did of the Altean court, of their openness and expressiveness and willingness to speak out, Keith wasn’t sure Lance was prepared for the environment he was walking into, or for the need to stay silent and invisible within the court itself.

“You’ll have to be careful from now on,” Shiro cautioned. “Take your time. Don’t rush anything.”

“I know, I know,” Keith answered. “Patience yields focus, right?”

“Exactly.”

Keith sighed. It was one of the many phrases Shiro had drilled into him during his time as Keith’s combat instructor, though the actual application of it was something that still eluded him. He wasn’t very good at being patient, he knew that. He was driven by instincts, acting off his gut feelings more often than not. It had kept him alive, thus far. Kept him useful enough to remain in his father’s good graces. But Keith knew Shiro was right this time.

Keith needed to be patient, and he needed to be cautious. There was too much at stake now. Too much to lose. One wrong move— a single step out of line, or detail left unfinished— would send his plans crashing to the ground all around him. And then all of this would have been for nothing.

Before they could say anymore, however, they were interrupted by one of the Olkari workers, who informed them that the shuttle had been refueled and was ready to depart at their leisure. Keith nodded his thanks and sent the worker on her way. Then he turned to Shiro.

“Time to go,” he sighed, feeling reluctance creeping through his veins at the thought of returning to Daibazaal. His home.

Shiro shot him an assessing glance. “We could wait a bit longer,” he offered with a sympathetic smile. He knew how much Keith dreaded going back to the frigid environment of Daibazaal, both inside and outside the court. “The rest of the delegation has gone ahead already. No one would know we delayed on purpose.”

The offer was tempting. It really was. But Keith finally shook his head. “It’ll be better not to keep my father and brother waiting. And the sooner we get there, the sooner we can get all of this over with.” The sooner Keith could get back to his plans. And that would be better for all of them. Even Lance.

The Altean prince was still standing with his peers, wrapped in the green paladin’s arms and looking unwilling to to leave. Lance had his face pressed into her hair, while she clutched tightly to the back of the dark blue cloak he was wearing, both seeming almost desperate in their embrace. He wondered at the relationship between them. From what he’d witnessed that week, they didn’t seem to be lovers, but there was an intimacy between them that went deeper than just friendship. An understanding that didn’t require any words.

Keith didn’t really know what to make of it. He’d never been that close with anyone in his life. There was his mother, of course, but Keith hadn’t seen her in years. And Shiro had to double as a mentor as well as friend, keeping himself at a slight distance while within the Galra court to avoid rousing suspicion— that didn’t leave much room for the type of relationship Lance and the green paladin seemed to share. That deep, but easy connection that had colored their every interaction during their time on Olkarion. The kind of connection that spoke of years of trust.

Watching how they clung to each other, Keith envied that connection a little. How much easier life would be if he had someone to share his burdens with like that. Someone that would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Keith and face down every obstacle at his side. Not at his back like Shiro, or on the sidelines like his mother, but at his side, as his equal, as his partner. Keith knew if he found that, he’d do everything in his power to never let it go.

Yet Lance was giving all that up willingly. He was sacrificing that precious connection in order to join Keith on Daibazaal, a planet that would despise and ignore Lance simply due to his heritage. He would have no one there, save for Keith. No friends, no family. Nothing to tie him to his home.

Knowing that made Keith’s stomach twist up uncomfortably, tying itself in guilty, little knots.

“Should I go get him?” Shiro asked, following the focus of Keith’s gaze to the group of Alteans. Keith shook his head.

“I’ll do it,” he said. He was the one tearing Lance away from his home, after all. He needed to be the one to now inform Lance it was time to say goodbye.

Keith pushed away from the ship and slowly walked across the landing pad, dragging his feet with every step to draw out the time they had left on Olkarion. Lance, distracted by his family and friends, didn’t notice Keith’s approach, and part of Keith really didn’t want to alert him. Didn’t want to interrupt something that was clearly very emotional, something that was so personal for Lance.

Thankfully, Keith didn’t have to. Though Lance was too distracted to see him walking over, one of the other Alteans— an older man with orange hair and a mustache— did. The man placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder and leaned forward to speak in his ear. Lance looked up almost immediately. He pulled away from the green paladin’s embrace and spun around, locking his gaze onto Keith within seconds. To Keith’s surprise, Lance’s cheeks were dry. He’d almost expected to see tears trailing down Lance’s dark skin, considering how emotional the whole situation had to be for him. At least, he was surprised until he noticed how unnaturally bright the blue of his irises was, standing out like pools of clear water against the red of his eyes from the way he’d been holding back tears.

The knots in Keith’s stomach twisted tighter. In the face of Lance’s pain, Keith couldn’t bring himself to say anything. What words could he give to Lance? What could he say to make this situation any better than it was? He just couldn’t. He knew how painful it was to be torn from his family for the sake of duty. Any words from him would only make it worse, and Keith really didn’t want to begin their alliance with disagreements. So instead, he silently jerked his head back toward the shuttle they’d be taking, hoping Lance would get the message so Keith wouldn’t need to speak.

Furrowing his brows, Lance’s gaze flickered up just a bit, enough to look past Keith to what he had gestured toward and figure out what was happening. “Oh,” he breathed, so quiet the Keith almost didn’t hear. That tiny exhalation took a lot out of Lance however. His shoulders dropped and rolled forward into a small hunch, and he ducked his head uncertainly, which made him look even smaller. He was drawing back into himself, Keith realized. Pulling a shield around him to help him face what was coming. Keith couldn’t blame him.

Lance looked back at his mother and Allura. He hesitated for a moment longer, clearly reluctant to leave, then he took a deep breath, faced forward, and strode past Keith without another word, the rest of the Alteans trailing in his wake. All except for one.

Unexpectedly, the green paladin stopped beside Keith while the rest of her delegation continued past. She stood there in silence for a few moments, not looking at Keith or making any sort of movement to interact with Keith, but he could still feel the intent rolling off her. The little waves of assessment she was somehow sending out, all concentrated on Keith despite how her focus remained tied to Lance.

Keith didn’t say a word either. She obviously wanted something, though what Keith couldn’t begin to guess. So he stayed silent, wondering what she would have to say to him, and waited her out. Finally, she looked away from Lance and turned her sharp focus on Keith instead.

“You know who I am, right?” she asked, voice surprisingly forceful for someone of her small stature. Keith nodded, because there was no way he could misidentify the paladin armor she wore or the bayard at her hip or the forest green cloak held in place by a gold, lion pin. He didn’t think anyone could. A smug smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Good,” she said. “Then you know what I can do to anyone that hurts him.”

Again, Keith nodded. He was certain every Galran alive knew exactly what she could do with her bayard and lion. The paladins were well-known among the Galrans, and to say the rumors about her skills and efficiency weren’t intimidating was a flat out lie. Keith didn’t want to be on the other end of her weapon. He was one of the best fighters in the entire Galran army, and he was still rather unsettled by the other-worldly talents the two paladins possessed.

Keith warily glanced down at the bayard at her hip, then turned his head to look at Lance, who seemed to be introducing himself and his family to Shiro with an unnecessary amount of gusto. Perhaps trying to hide that reluctance Keith saw earlier behind his enthusiasm. Lance threw an arm around his mother’s shoulders and pulled her close as he spoke to Shiro. Playfully, she swatted at his chest. He laughed and looked down at her with so much fondness that Keith had to look away, feeling as though he were intruding, while in the back of his mind he recalled a gentle pinch at the tips of his ears and equally gentle laughter.

Keith rubbed a hand over his face. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about such things. He must’ve been more tired than he’d thought.

Sighing, he swept his hand through his hair, then rubbed the back of his neck. He looked to the side and found the green paladin still watching him, leveling him with a narrowed and inquisitive gaze. She stared him down a few moments more, like she was trying to get his measure. Finally, she nodded.

“He’s a bit of an idiot, but he’s got a good heart,” she said. “So don’t hurt him, Kyran.”

Keith lifted his brows. He said nothing, though it wasn’t as if he had any plans to hurt Lance in the first place. Not intentionally, at least. But the green paladin didn’t seem to need a response. She only gave him one more glare, hand hovering over her bayard to emphasize her point, then she sniffed and walked away.

Keith’s gaze followed her as she crossed the landing pad to rejoin Lance, who turned to greet her with an overly-bright smile. That didn’t fool her, anymore than it fooled Keith. She slapped his back and tugged him away from his mother, starting to herd him towards the shuttle, maybe knowing that he wouldn’t get in it without someone forcing him. Indeed, though Lance appeared to protest, he allowed her to force him toward the ramp anyways, twisting over his shoulder enough to continue talking with the other Alteans as he was pushed forward. He also held onto his mother’s hand for as long as possible, until his arm couldn’t stretch anymore and he had to let go.

His smile faltered a little as her hand dropped away. The change was so quick that it was barely noticeable, but Keith was watching closely enough to see a shadow pass over his features, the dimming of his eyes and the tiniest downturn at the corners of his lips, before he recovered himself and laughed.

Now that Keith was standing close enough to hear, the outburst of laughter sounded forced, even to him. Keith didn’t know what Lance’s normal laughter sounded like, but surely it wasn’t the tight, high-pitched cackle that now came from him. It just wasn’t a natural noise. It grated on Keith’s ears and made him feel uncomfortable.

But, well. That wasn’t something Keith should be worrying about. If Lance wanted to hide his sadness behind false cheer, that was his prerogative, and none of Keith’s concern. They were in this together for duty, for their people, and for nothing else. As long as their arrangement worked out and peace was kept, Lance was free to do as he wished.

Sighing, Keith returned to the shuttle, walking up beside Shiro on the outskirts of the Altean delegation. Shiro gave him an encouraging smile. He clasped Keith’s shoulder in a bracing squeeze, a show of solidarity that somehow only made Keith feel worse. Maybe because he knew it meant they’d be returning to Daibazaal soon after. Or because it made him feel like Lance’s sacrifice was largely his fault. Then again, perhaps it was just the exhaustion messing with his head more than usual. Keith really needed some sleep.

He and Shiro moved toward the shuttle together. Lance lingered in the doorway for a while as they stepped onto the ramp, staring out at all the Alteans as if trying to memorize their faces, but he disappeared into the shuttle before they’d taken more than a few steps. In a way, that was almost a relief. It meant Keith wouldn’t have to face him right away, or try to convince him to settle down so they could leave. Keith wasn’t sure he could face Lance right now. Or that he even wanted to, with all the negativity that was surely plaguing him.

Keith did, however, pause at the top of the ramp to look over his shoulder. The Alteans had all backed away from the shuttle in preparation for its launch. All except for Lance’s mother, who still stood near the foot of the ramp. She caught Keith’s eyes as he turned and held his gaze, giving him a hesitant, watery smile. Keith dipped his head into a small bow in return. Then he slipped into the shuttle.

“I’m going to sleep,” he said to Shiro as the door shut and sealed behind them. He glanced towards the front of the shuttle, where Lance had already made himself comfortable in one of the window seats, and then looked at Shiro again. “Could you take care of things? And wake me when we’re near Daibazaal?”

Shiro smiled. “I’ll look after him, don’t worry,” he answered. “Just get some rest.”

Keith sighed in relief and nodded. What Shiro said reassured him, and helped him to fully relax once he’d shut himself in the back cabin and collapsed on its bed. He sank into the sheets and curled up on his side, finally allowing the exhaustion from the past few days to crash over him, drawing him towards the abyss of sleep. Outside the room, he heard the soft rumble of the shuttle’s engines and the murmur of voices. Probably Shiro explaining the sleeping habits of Galrans, or something like that. Keith was too tired to care.

He shut his eyes and nestled his face into the pillow. Slowly, his limbs grew warm and heavy and lax as sleep overcame him. The last thing he recalled thinking was of his mother, short and pale, with long, black hair and laughing, violet eyes, and of the warmth they’d shared in Keith’s childhood home. Then, he drifted off into the black oblivion of unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

The journey from Olkarion to Daibazaal took a little over two days, which was just about as long as Lance had expected. Not that he minded. He wasn’t all that eager to settle into his new home and deal with all the problems that came with it, so the longer it took, the better, in his opinion. He simply wished the journey would have taken even longer.

“There it is,” Shiro said, directing the shuttle through the last of the asteroid field that surrounded Daibazaal’s solar system. He straightened out the shuttle, then nodded towards the large planet coming into sight. “That’s Daibazaal.”

“Daibazaal,” Lance repeated with a sigh. His new home.

Lance studied the planet, trying to reconcile that thought with what he saw before him and finding it nearly impossible. His definition of home was far too dissimilar from what he saw. To him, home meant vast, blue oceans and rolling fields of green. It meant bright sunlight and cloudless skies and the gentle glow of Altea’s two moons in the dead of night. It meant the white sands along the coast. The imposing rise of mountains in the north. The twisted rings of space ports criss-crossing in a white web all across the sky.

Lance saw none of that here. There was nothing about Daibazaal that reminded him of home. Nothing to help ease the knot of anxiety slowly growing in his chest.

He curled his hands into fists atop the shuttle’s control panel, nails biting into the soft flesh of his palms, and fought back a pained grimace. Daibazaal was just so different from what he was used to— dark and red and deformed. There was no visible sign of vegetation that Lance could make out. Or at least not the vegetation that he knew. Most of the terrain was just made up of miles and miles of red rock, piled up in mountains, in canyons, in deserts, in so many different formations that the planet itself looked like it had been molded by a young child with only the vaguest grasp of what shapes should look like. In fact, the planet wasn’t even round, like most planets Lance had come across. Instead, it tapered off into a series of spikes made of rock and and sheets of ice. He’d never before seen anything like it.

“Kazik,” Shiro answered when Lance asked. “The overhang. It’s the same all around the planet.”

“Is it natural?”

“I believe so.” He flipped a switch, then looked at Lance with a smile. “From what I’ve heard, the Daibazaal we see is the result of two planets colliding and merging into one. Kazik is what’s left of the larger planet. It froze like that while the rest all melted together. You can see some of the smaller planet too,” Shiro added, pointing at the spikes. “There, between the gaps. Where it’s more purple than red.”

Lance looked closer and found what he was talking about. Beneath the outcrops of rock, there was a distinct crescent of land— dark purple, as Shiro described, and sloped in such a way that suggested the normal, spherical shape that planets usually had. “Is that where we’re headed?” he asked. Shiro nodded.

“The capital is at the center, where it’s best protected by the overhang.”

Of course it was. Lance didn’t know why he expected anything else. The capital, he’d heard, was a small city made up almost entirely of the Galra Empire’s aristocracy, of the old lineages and new money and all the lavish expenses that came with that. So it made perfect sense for such a city to situate itself where it now was, surrounded by a ring of safety and far from an enemy’s reach. In fact, he was willing to bet that most of the communities on the inner planet were populated by the rich and influential members of the Galra Empire. Only they would be able to afford the privilege of protection the overhang granted them. He was certain it cost a fortune to even just pass through to the inner planet.

Sighing, Lance slumped back in his seat. It was just one more reason for him to miss Altea. He wasn’t naive enough to believe wealth and nobility didn’t have any sort of influence on Altean society, but somehow that divide had always seemed less present among their people. Less important. He’d wandered the streets of the Altean markets many times, never feeling out of place or distant from any of the people there. Noble and commoner alike, they’d all spoken to him as an equal, teasing and arguing and haggling with him just as they would anyone else. Formalities and rank were things of foreign diplomacy, not for interacting with his people.

Daibazaal, he knew, wouldn’t be the same. They were stricter in their traditions, in their social hierarchy and the formalities that came with it. They judged each other by the pureness of their Galran blood, for goodness’ sake, there was no way they wouldn’t keep strict boundaries between their social classes. He’d probably have to deal with the arrogance of the nobility for the rest of his life without any chance of reprieve. No sneaking down to the markets for genuine conversation or participating in any of the local festivals. Just haughty airs and empty flattery. Nothing at all like home.

Suddenly, all the feelings Lance had been holding back since leaving Olkarion crashed over him in a wave.

Shiro seemed to notice his change in mood. “You seem worried,” he commented, tone light though the expression in his eyes was clearly concerned.

“No,” Lance mumbled. “Not particularly.”

Shiro raised a brow at his answer. Lance just looked away.

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t worried, as Shiro thought; he was terrified. He was scared to death of what awaited him down there, and already sick with longing for the green fields and gentle rivers of Altea, knowing he would almost certainly never see them again. All he had now were the barren rocks and sharp ice fields of Daibazaal. The moment his feet touched the ground, he would be trapped. And it was highly unlikely he would ever be allowed to leave again.

Seeing Daibazaal slowly grow larger in their field of vision made that feeling of anxiety even worse. It was only a matter of time before they were down on the planet’s surface— just an hour or two away from landing and having to face the Galran populace with only Shiro and Keith at his side. And then Lance would have to meet the imperial court as well. Shiro had already told him what would be required with their arrival, all of the duties and expectations that would be placed on him as a member of the imperial family, which included having to meet the emperor and greet the court before he was allowed to retreat to his new living quarters.

Lance really wasn’t looking forward to that meeting. Wasn’t looking forward to facing the emperor— the leader of Altea’s greatest enemy— and having to smile like the war had never happened. To have to pretend he was glad to be there, despite all their planet had done to his, and all the blood that had been spilt because of Galra’s ambitions. Not to mention how the rest of the court would react to the presence of an Altean prince. Lance could already imagine it. Could hear all the whispers and insults that would buzz all around him. Could see all the sneers and derision they would throw his way.

The dread of it turned his stomach and made him want to flee to Altea and never look back, damn the consequences.

Beside him, Shiro shook his head. “It’s ok to be scared, you know. Neither of us would blame you,” he said. Lance shrugged.

“You might not, but the rest of the Galran court will.”

“And you don’t want to appear weak,” Shiro finished for him. Lance ducked his head, heat crawling up the back of his neck.

Was he really so easy to read? He knew he was expressive. He always had been, carrying his emotions in his posture and face like a second skin, but he thought he had more control than that. It was galling to be called out so plainly, and by someone who was a near-stranger as well.

Lance was thankful it was only Shiro, at least, who had been encouraging and trustworthy from the very start. But if Shiro could figure him out so quickly, then what would the Galrans think of him? Surely they’d be able to see right through him too, right to the tiny core of anxiety and anger and hesitation that sat so heavily inside his chest. Right to the weaknesses he struggled so hard to hide.

It made Lance cringe just thinking about it. “There are some faces you never want your enemy to see,” he muttered. Fear was one of them. Weakness another.

If the Galrans saw either of those things in Lance, he’d lose any bit of respect they might have had for him, and any chance of gaining influence within their ranks along with it. The treaty would still hold, of course, but Lance would be little more than a puppet. If even that. Puppets at least had a use. Being dismissed by the Galrans wouldn’t even guarantee that. If the Galrans decided he wasn’t worth their time, he would be utterly useless, like a shadow against the wall.

Shiro didn’t say anything for a few moments. Maybe because he didn’t know what to say. Or maybe be he knew all too well what Lance was trying to get at. He was human, after all. At one point Galra had been his enemy. Had terrorized and conquered and taken all Shiro had loved away from him. And when Lance looked his way, he saw a sad sort of kindness in Shiro’s eyes. A gentleness and quiet sorrow that made Lance think maybe Shiro understood exactly what he was going through.

Shiro place a hand on Lance’s shoulder and gave it a bracing squeeze. “You have every right to be here,” he said, “and more reason than any of them to be proud. Just keep your head held high. You’re meeting them as a royal prince, after all, and as a member of their Imperial family. Not as a prisoner.”

Yes, Lance thought, but are they really so different?

In a way, Lance actually was a Galran prisoner— taken from his home and shoved onto the very planet he’d always been told to avoid. He had no friends, no family, no allies. Nothing familiar to lean on as he attempted to navigate Galran society. Nothing to ease his way. He couldn’t even speak his mind in this court, let alone move freely about it. All he could do was force a smile and bear their jeers, hemmed in by the Galrans at every turn. The lone Altean surrounded by all his enemies, without any hope of escape or retreat. No matter which way he turned, he was trapped— trapped with all the comforts of wealth and position, yes, but trapped just the same.

Honestly, Lance almost preferred being a prisoner, if only for the freedom to say what he wanted without possibly jeopardizing their alliance. So he wouldn’t have to hide all his thoughts behind the fake smiles he was so unaccustomed to showing.

There was nothing he could do now, though. He’d already signed the papers and made the agreements. He’d gone beyond the point of no return back on Olkarion, and no matter how terrified or homesick he already was, he had to see it through. If not for his own sake, then at least for Altea’s. For the peace he and Keith had spoken of on that night on Olkarion.

Lance looked down at his hand, splaying his fingers wide and examining the black band that circled his first finger— the very ring that now shackled him to a Galran prince. It was still strange seeing it, black cutting across his brown skin, red gem flashing as he shifted his hand beneath the light.

He and Keith hadn’t spoken since the night of the Olkari banquet. Everything had been such a rush, with the agreements being drawn up and plans for travel being made, that they’d never had the chance to really discuss what Lance’s role on Daibazaal would actually be. He hadn’t worried then, thinking their two days of travel would offer ample opportunity to speak further, but then Keith had disappeared into the ship’s sleeping quarters before the shuttle had even left Olkarion and he hadn’t emerged since.

Shiro assured him it was normal. That while Keith typically operated on the same sleep-wake cycle as both Alteans and humans, his Galran heritage meant he would sometimes sleep through two or three days at a time, just like the rest of his kind. Particularly after a stretch of days where he’d gotten no sleep at all. That information surprised Lance, though in retrospect it made sense. They weren’t of the same species, so of course there would be a few biological differences between them. It was just slightly inconvenient that those differences had to appear now, when Lance most wanted to talk.

It didn’t sit well with him, not knowing what he would be doing at court. What role he should play, what tasks to focus on, what relationships to cultivate. It felt like he was flying blindly into battle, and he really didn’t like it.

He clenched his hand into a fist and rubbed his thumb over the smooth metal, then turned his gaze back to Shiro, who had already begun the shuttle’s landing procedures during Lance’s silence.

Lance tilted his head to the side and considered Shiro— the broad set of his shoulders beneath his black jacket, and his metal arm, and the serene expression that covered his face. There was a strength to him that Lance admired. Physically, of course, but also mentally. No doubt the Galrans had put him through a lot since they’d conquered Earth, and yet he could still face the planet calmly. He didn’t let the past affect him. Lance wanted more than anything to do the same.

There was also just something really comforting about Shiro. Maybe it was because Lance knew he understood what Lance was going through. Or maybe it was because Shiro’s human appearance was so similar to an Altean’s. Except for the ears and the lack of facial tattoos, Shiro could have easily passed for an Altean. He was certainly the closest thing Lance had to a familiar face on this new planet, so it was little wonder Lance felt so at ease around him. He’d be like a breath of fresh air after being surrounded by so many Galrans. Something of a relief. Lance was just glad Shiro worked so closely with Keith, if only because it meant he wouldn’t have to feel so lonely and out of place in this foreign court.

He’d trust Shiro over any of the Galran politicians anyways. If nothing else, the long trip from Olkarion had solidified that impression and shown Lance that Shiro was someone worth trusting and confiding in. And that he was someone who knew how to navigate the court, which Lance definitely needed help with. And, after all, Matt had once advised him to quietly seek out allies and consolidate his support. Perhaps Shiro could be the first of those.

The man in question hummed softly as he fiddled with the controls and locked their shuttle onto course. “We’ll be arriving soon,” he said. He turned in his chair and smiled at Lance, but his eyes were still filled with concern. Like he was asking Lance for permission to land, or trying to say he could delay their arrival if Lance wanted. The intention touched him, even if he couldn’t accept it.

Instead, he silently nodded his assent and faced the planet, trying not to think too much about what was awaiting him on the surface. He felt Shiro’s gaze on him, weighing his words, judging his countenance. But finally, Shiro let out a breath and stood from his chair. “Can I trust you to keep us on track while I wake Keith up?”

“Of course,” Lance answered, because he knew his duty. He knew how important it was for him to reach Daibazaal, even if all he wanted was to turn this ship around and fly in the opposite direction.

Shiro seemed to accept that answer without hesitation. He didn’t ask any other questions, or even give Lance a look. He just patted Lance once more on the shoulder, and then left the cockpit, presumably heading towards the sleeping quarters at the back of the shuttle. And Lance was left with the control screens and the gentle humming of the shuttle’s engine.

All alone, Lance let out a long breath and slumped back in his seat. The shuttle was already locked onto their destination, so there was very little for Lance to do except sit there and watch the planet grow larger and larger, becoming clearer and more detailed with every second, until its rocky landscape was all the Lance could see.

“Daibazaal,” he sighed again, staring at the red that filled the shuttle’s windshield. His new home.

Chapter Text

“I see you’re finally awake,” Lance said, coming toward the shuttle door. Keith glanced over and scowled at his sunny disposition, scowl growing even deeper as Lance chuckled. “Not entirely awake though, it seems. Not a morning person?”

“No,” he replied. Especially not when he wasn’t fully rested.

He could have easily slept for another day. Maybe two. The trip from Olkarion hadn’t nearly been long enough to replenish all the sleep he’d lost trying to make a treaty they all could agree on, and it was only made worse by how restless his sleep had been. He was pretty sure he’d woken up every time Shiro or Lance came into the cabin for their own rest. And then there was the anxiety roiling in his gut that kept him tossing and turning and trying to find the peaceful oblivion of sleep he so desperately wanted. There were moments— a few hours here and there— when he managed to succeed, but it was not enough. Exhaustion still clung to his bones like a second skin, leaving him feeling slow and irritable.

More sleep would have to wait, however. As much as he wanted to crawl back into bed and curl into the warmth of his sheets, he still had duties to attend to and traditions to observe before he could be free to rest again. Mainly, his duty to introduce Lance to the court, which he hoped would go more smoothly than he thought it probably would. The Galran court wasn’t known to be very accepting, after all. Least of all to Alteans.

There was a small jolt as the shuttle touched down on the landing pad, not enough to throw Keith off-balance, but Lance stumbled a bit beside him. Keith caught his elbow briefly to help steady him, then blinked in surprise when Lance jerked his elbow away. Had Keith done something wrong? Was grasping someone’s elbow rude for Alteans or something?

Lance gave him a weak smile and shuffled a bit further away. “I’m fine,” he said. “I can handle myself.”

Keith raised a brow, but turned back toward the door and let the matter lie. Lance didn’t seem to be angry or scandalized or anything, so maybe he just didn’t want to accept Keith’s help. And if that was the case, Keith didn’t have the energy or desire to try and argue otherwise. It wasn’t worth it, and they both had bigger matters to be worrying about.

Slowly, the hum of the engine wound down, becoming softer and softer as the shuttle settled on the pad. Then the hiss of the door unsealing cut through the growing silence. It slid open, and Keith was hit with a burst of cold air that shocked him into full awareness. Even through the thickness of his cloak, he could feel the icy air. It seeped past his clothes to raise bumps across his skin, settling within him like the frozen seas of Kazik, familiar and dreadful in the way only home could be.

Keith took a deep breath, letting the crisp, cold air fill his lungs, then stepped down onto the landing pad. He was immediately surrounded by the cheers of the citizens gathered just outside the gate that surrounded the Imperial Palace and its attached airfield. It seemed Shiro had been right in predicting the waiting crowd, though Keith wasn’t too surprised. The common people had waited so long for peace, Keith’s return with Lance was ample reason for them to be celebrating.

As expected, the crowd’s cheers escalated in noise the moment Lance stepped down from the shuttle and became visible. The Altean prince appeared taken aback by the greeting. There was a moment where surprise showed clearly in his expression— in his wide eyes and slack jaw and pinched brows— and then it was gone, hidden beneath the smooth, easy smile that Keith was beginning to recognize as Lance’s diplomatic mask. The smile he wore whenever he needed to hide any emotion he was feeling.

Lance came up beside Keith and waved to the crowds. “I wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome,” he murmured, so quietly that Keith wasn’t entirely sure whether Lance was saying it to Keith or to himself. Keith shrugged and crossed his arms.

“I did tell you the common people wanted peace. You won’t get any cheering inside the palace.”

“That much, I knew.” Lance sighed, turning away from the crowd. His hand dropped. Then he wrapped his arms around himself and asked, “Can we please go inside and get this over with?”

Keith narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t expected Lance to be so eager to face the Galran court. If anything, he’d thought Lance would drag his feet and put the meeting off for as long as possible. To hold onto what little bit of freedom he still had left. The closer Keith looked, however, the more he realized Lance’s eagerness had very little to do with the meeting ahead of them and a lot more to do with the building that meeting was in. Or, to be more precise, with the shelter of that building, away from the wintry climate.

“You just want to get out of the cold,” Keith said, taking in Lance’s laughably-thin cloak and the equally-useless clothes he wore underneath. He’d clearly attempted to dress for the cold, wearing long sleeves and gloves and more layers than Keith had seen any of the other Alteans wear while on Olkarion, but it wasn’t nearly enough. The cold was too strong. They’d only been in the cold for a few minutes, and already Lance was shivering, huddled into himself in an attempt to ward off the chill.

He’d warned Lance of how cold Daibazaal was before they left Olkarion. Tried to tell him what to expect, what to prepare for. Obviously, Lance hadn’t listened to him.

“Why didn’t you wear something warmer?” he asked, glaring at the thin, blue cloak. Lance huffed and pulled it more tightly around himself.

“Not all of us grew up on frigid planets, Your Highness,” Lance snapped. “This is all I have.”

If that was truly all Lance had, he would freeze to death before the month was out. Daibazaal was a planet of ice and snow. It was a planet of only two seasons, divided only by which one was cold, and which one was even colder. Fresh snow lined the landing pad and walkways, which meant the coldest season of the year would soon begin. Lance would need more than a thin cloak before that happened. He’d probably need a whole new wardrobe, now that Keith actually thought about it. With warmer materials and darker colors and thick linings to make up for his species’ lack of cold resistance.

Keith made a mental note to contact the palace’s seamstress as soon as he was able, but that didn’t really solve Lance’s current issue. They had a long walk ahead of them before they reached the shelter of the palace, and Keith wasn’t really sure Lance would be able to hold out for that long. The last thing Keith needed on his hands was a weak, half-frozen Altean prince. He at least needed Lance to be conscious when they met the court, and he himself was far better equipped to deal with the cold than Lance was. With that in mind, he reached up to unclasp his own cloak and opened his mouth—

“Here, Your Highness,” Shiro said. “Use my cloak.”

Keith’s mouth snapped shut. He spun around to see Shiro approaching, cloak already in hand. Without it, Shiro was dressed only in his black, military uniform, which Keith knew from personal experience wouldn’t be enough to keep Shiro warm. And with Shiro’s fully-human heritage, it would be even worse. Almost as bad as it would be for Lance. Humans and Alteans were remarkably similar, in a biological sense. Neither of them should go without a good, thick cloak in this weather, though Shiro was far too gallant to take that into account.

He held out the cloak to Lance, who shook his head and took a tiny step back. “I couldn’t,” Lance protested. “You need it more than I do.”

“Your shivering says otherwise.” Shiro smiled and pressed the cloak into Lance’s hands. “Please take it, Your Highness. I am more accustomed to the chill than you are. And we can’t have the great Prince of Altea appear before the court all blue from cold.”

Keith wanted to snort. As if a frozen, human guard would be any better.

Lance, however, smiled at Shiro— not one of his bright, diplomatic smiles, but a softer, more genuine upturn at the corners of his lips, eyes warm and almost bashfully downcast. “Thank you,” he murmured as he pulled the cloak around him. It was a bit too long, and would surely drag across the ground as they walked, but otherwise Keith had to admit it suited Lance. Probably better than even Keith’s cloak would have.

There was a part of him, deep down inside, that bristled at that thought.

“If that’s settled, we should get going,” he snapped. “We still have a court to meet.”

Shiro gave him a stern look, probably trying to berate Keith for his hostile tone, but Keith ignored it. He turned on his heel and marched off towards the palace, not even bothering to wait for the other two. They would follow regardless of whether he waited or not. They had nowhere else to go.

Irritation made Keith’s footsteps quick and heavy, snow crunching beneath his boots with every step. There was a slight wind that bit sharply at his skin, and Keith tried to focus on that instead of the hot, angry knot forming in his chest, coiling and tugging until every limb was tight and tense. Tried to focus on the white snow and stone pathway and great, grey palace before him instead of on his aggravation. Or on why he was feeling irritated in the first place.

It was probably just the pressure getting to him, setting him on edge. That, and the lingering exhaustion. His lack of sleep meant he had much shorter patience than usual, and that would only exacerbate the wariness he felt at facing the court. It was little wonder he was so tense. Surely, that had to be the reason why.

Regardless, it wasn’t the sort of mindset he wanted to be in while dealing with his brother, so he pushed it to the back of his mind, ignoring the tightness of his nerves as much as he possibly could. By the time they reached the palace doors, he was calm once more. Or as calm as he could expect, knowing just what waited on the other side.

He took a deep breath. “Lance,” he said as the Altean prince came up beside him. Keith glanced over, just to be sure he was paying attention, then continued, “when we go in there, try to keep quiet. Don’t say anything unless you’re spoken to directly.”

That was Keith’s biggest worry about this whole thing, especially if Lotor was acting as regent today, as Keith was almost certain he was. Lance was outspoken and prone to say whatever was on his mind. He’d said as much to Keith when they’d first spoken on the balcony the night of the Olkari banquet, and everything Keith had observed since that night only confirmed what Lance said. And while Keith himself didn’t mind it, he knew the rest of the court would. It was safer for Lance to say nothing at all, to keep from arousing any anger. Or, even worse, arousing interest.

Lance looked shocked by Keith’s request, then angry. His eyes narrowed and he turned his whole body to face Keith, taking a deep breath. He was ready to argue, Keith saw, and that they did not have time for. The doors to the palace and its great hall were already opening. They could not let the court see them at odds.

Keith grabbed a handful of Lance’s cloak and pulled him close. “You can yell at me later,” he hissed in Lance’s ear. “Just listen to me now.”

The doors were halfway open by this point. Lance scowled and shook Keith off, forcefully pulling the cloak from Keith’s hand and stepping away. He didn’t answer, however. Neither positively, nor negatively. He just glared at Keith in silence until the doors swung open fully, and then any trace of his aggravation vanished behind that smiling mask of his again, where Keith couldn’t even begin to guess whether Lance would listen to him or not. Keith could only hope Lance would be sensible and realize Keith was trying to make this easier on them both. That he was trying to keep them from disaster.

The doors made a heavy thud as came to a stop against the walls, wide open and just waiting for them to pass through. And waiting, no doubt, to slam shut behind them once they did, trapping them inside. The sight of it made the anxiety in his chest grow tighter, until it almost hurt to breathe. Home, he thought bitterly, staring into the antechamber and to the great hall beyond. It didn’t feel much like a homecoming though.

Already, he could hear the murmurings of the gathered nobles. Not loud enough for him to make out any words, but still clearly present, and almost certainly centered around him and his new husband. Keith’s unexpected return would give them much to talk about. His Altean husband even more. There would be no shortage of gossip or speculation among the nobles today, and all of them were just waiting there for more. Waiting to see what he and Lance would do.

There was no way around it, though. Experience had taught him that much. No way to avoid the whispers or the jeers. All he could do was endure.

Keith took a deep breath, then took a step forward. Then another. And another, forcing himself to walk through the tall, metal doors, Lance and Shiro following behind him. They crossed the antechamber and passed through the archway. The room opened up, growing wider and longer, with vaulted ceilings and large, dark-tinted windows spaced evenly down the length of the hall. Red crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, their light shining off the black, marble floors and illuminating the huge, red and black banners hanging at the end of the hall, right above dais where the Galra thrones sat. The very platform they were headed toward.

A hush fell over the room when Keith and Lance entered. Heads turned their way, and voices all faded away into nothing, and the silence was only broken by the sharp taps of theirs footsteps as Keith, Lance, and Shiro walked through the hall. It was eerie, especially with so many people gathered. Looking around, Keith noticed that representatives from every major noble family on Daibazaal had come to see the results of their treaty. Most had also brought members of their branch families with them— all the lessor lords and ladies that managed various parts of the planet. Even some of the off-planet nobles from all around the Empire managed to make it. They stood behind the rest, not quite as respected as the nobles of Daibazaal, but still able to blend in with all the armor and silk and fur. It was the most crowded Keith had ever seen the great hall be. Every bit of space, minus the dais at the front and the center aisle leading to it, was filled with people, all craning to get a good look.

He supposed it made sense. The treaty was important, and affected all parts of the Empire. Moreover, it meant that an Altean— the prince of one of their greatest enemies— would now be living and walking among them. Of course the nobles would want to see. But knowing that didn’t stop Keith from tensing up in apprehension, hating all the eyes now focused on him. Judging him. Scorning him. Their gazes full of distrust and hate.

Lance must have felt it too, because his long, steady gait soon sped up, closing the large distance between him and Keith. He hovered at Keith’s back, close enough for Keith to feel his body heat without Lance actually crowding against him. It was enough to show just how unsettled he was, however. How out of his element he was here in the Galran court.

Well, good. Perhaps now he’d see why Keith made the demand he did. Perhaps the intimidation of the court would make Lance understand, and manage to keep him silent. They hadn’t even faced the worst of the court yet, after all. That particular pleasure sat up on the dais, lounging in a thick, fur-trimmed cape on their father’s throne.

Keith dropped to a knee when he reached the edge of the dais, and bowed his head. Behind him, Lance and Shiro did the same. He crossed his arm over his chest and murmured, “Vrepit sa,” then waited in the silence to see how his half-brother would react. What he would say.

Keith didn’t have to wait for long.

“Little brother,” Lotor greeted with a smile. He pushed himself up from the throne to stand before Keith, arms outstretched. “You’ve finally returned.”

Keith bit back a scowl. He stood and let Lotor embrace him, watching him warily all the while.

It was odd, seeing Lotor act this way. Seeing him pretend to be the doting big brother instead of yelling or creating violence, as Keith had been anticipating. And Lotor was pretending. His half-brother was not known to be kind. And he almost never saw fit to embrace anyone, least of all Keith, his dreadful, bastard brother. He’d sooner put a knife into Keith’s side than actually treat him well. Keith almost expected a dagger to appear from nowhere as they hugged. But Lotor let him go after only a few moments and returned to the dais, and Keith was left surprisingly unharmed. Without a single scratch, or even a whispered threat.

That wasn’t like Lotor, and it made no sense to Keith. What was going on here? Was there something Lotor wanted? Something he was playing nice to get? What was his angle here?

Up on the dais, Lotor settled back down on the throne, stretching back against the expanse of iron and crossing one leg over the other, completely at ease. He leaned his head against his hand and considered Keith. Though he was smiling, there was no warmth in his eyes. “Father will be so pleased to know you’re home.”

But not you, Keith thought. He knew better than to say it out loud, however, and so instead asked, “How is Father?”

“Better, so the healers say. But still too ill to handle court affairs,” Lotor answered. “You must be careful with him, Kyran. He nearly died when he heard you were bringing your Altean spouse here.”

As you were probably hoping, Keith thought. If I couldn’t stay in Altea, I might as well be useful and finish Father off. How annoying for you. I’ve disappointed you twice now.

Knowing that made him almost smug. That Keith’s luck had caused so much trouble for Lotor. Not that he thought it would stop Lotor’s plans— whatever they were— completely, but Keith would take whatever he could get. The more setbacks his brother experienced, the longer Keith would have to build up his base and set his own plans into motion. The more chance he would have to get ahead of his brother in this silent war of theirs. And Keith knew he needed every spare moment he could get.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew he had little support among the court. Far, far less than what his brother commanded, which was pretty much everyone. All eyes in the room followed Lotor’s every movement, waiting on his command, watching as he lifted his free hand and lazily waved at Keith and Lance. “So, is this your Altean?” he asked. “I’d been assuming you would bring back a princess, dear Brother. Not a prince.”

Muffled laughter rippled through the great hall. Several of the nobles had to turn away or hide their mouths behind their hands to disguise their amusement, though many others didn’t bother to. Whatever amused Lotor, amused them, even if it was at Keith’s expense. Especially if it was at Keith’s expense.

Lotor wasn’t amused, however. His words and demeanor might say so, but Keith knew his half-brother well enough to see beyond that. To recognize the sharp gaze and the tight stretch of his smile. To see the tension in his limbs, and to know it meant trouble for him. Big trouble. Because Keith was supposed to have married Allura and fallen in line with Lotor’s plans, but he hadn’t.

Yet another disappointment for him. Another bit of time bought, though Keith could now see it would cost him dearly if he wasn’t careful enough. Lotor was threatening him through this court gathering, he realized. Masking his cruelty in kindness, but definitely laying out his threats for all to hear. Bringing up all of Keith’s failures as a warning to him not to step another toe out of line, or else risk the wrath of not only Lotor, but of all the nobles that supported him as well.

Keith needed to be cautious now. He walked a fine line, balancing his secrets with his safety. One false word could cause them both to collapse, and then where would he be? Dead, most likely. If his brother was feeling merciful.

Thinking of that made words stick in his throat. The court’s laughter grew all the more obvious the longer Keith stayed silent, but he couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t make it seem like Keith was plotting something. Lotor would twist his words however he wanted. It was better for Keith to just not speak at all. So Keith fell back on his best defense for situations like this. He held his tongue and stared at the ground and hoped that his silence would bore Lotor and bring an end to this whole encounter.

Just a few minutes more, he figured. Only a few minutes of enduring the court’s scorn, and then they could be away from this gathering. Just a few minutes, and Lotor might even dismiss them as threats, leaving him free to move about the court without garnering Lotor’s suspicion. Just a few minutes—

“Your Imperial Highness,” a voice said behind him, and Keith’s heart leapt. He closed his eyes for a moment, blew out a deep breath, then looked behind him at Lance, hoping beyond hope that he’d heard wrong. He hadn’t. “You must forgive us,” Lance continued with a blinding smile. “It is against Altean custom for the heir to the throne to marry outside our own planet. We hoped I would be an acceptable substitute.” He lowered his gaze, smile falling a bit as if he were dejected. “If you are dissatisfied with me, though, I can return to Altea and break this whole arrangement off.”

Return them to war, was what Lance was trying to say. He was using their treaty to threaten Lotor, like a total fool. He didn’t even realize whom he was dealing with.

Keith glanced back at his half-brother, almost fearful of what he would see there. Would he tolerate such impudence from an Altean prince? Would he threaten Lance right back? Would he do even worse and launch them all back into war with Lance’s blood on his hands?

It was difficult to tell which way Lotor was leaning. His expression was unreadable as he stared at Lance, blank smile pasted across his face. His gaze was sharp, but that could have meant anything— judgment, hatred, interest; any of them were possible. Keith could only wait on bated breath until Lotor decided what he wanted. His gaze raked down Lance, then back up, then his mouth quirked up a bit into a smirk.

Dread settled deep into Keith’s stomach.

“No, forgive me. That is not what I meant,” Lotor answered. “Of course you are welcome here, Prince…?”

“Lance.”

“Prince Lance,” Lotor echoed slowly, as if savoring the name. It didn’t sound right coming from Lotor’s mouth though, and the sheer wrongness made Keith cringe, his stomach churning as the dread he felt earlier expanded and multiplied. He knew the game Lotor was thinking of playing, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

Lance, of course, was oblivious to what he’d just caused. He bowed his head respectfully and said, “I am very grateful for your welcome.”

Lotor’s smile grew, interest now glinting in his eyes, and it made Keith want to throw something off a cliff. Preferably, Lotor. Or even Lance, who didn’t even recognize the danger he was singlehandedly walking himself into. Only one day on Daibazaal, and already Lance was becoming a thorn in Keith’s side. He’d hoped he and Lance could form some sort of partnership out of this whole ordeal, but now it seemed Lance was more trouble than he was worth, simply because he’d somehow failed to develop the necessary survival instincts alongside all his social graces. Could Keith really entrust any of his plans to someone like that?

Finally, Lotor dismissed the court. Keith wasted no time in grabbing Lance’s wrist and dragging him from the great hall, with Shiro following at a respectful and silent distance. He didn’t care how undignified it looked, or how angry Lance would be about the manhandling, he just wanted to put as much distance between Lance and Lotor as he possibly could. He wanted to make sure Lance couldn’t do anything else accidentally stupid that would catch his brother’s attention.

After all, Lotor’s interest was a very dangerous thing.

He didn’t speak as he pulled Lance further into the palace, down twisting hallways and up grand staircases, away from any of the public rooms. Didn’t speak until they were out of the court’s hearing, near the apartment of rooms he’d moved into years ago and now would be sharing with Lance. He stopped abruptly before the door and then spun around.

“What were you thinking?” he hissed at Lance, whose expression had become pinched with confusion and irritation.

“I was just trying to help—”

“I was trying to help you,” Keith interrupted. “I told you not to say anything! You don’t even realize what you’ve done!”

Lance jerked back as if he’d just been struck, but it only served to make Keith more frustrated. Too frustrated to speak, or to attempt explaining just where Lance went wrong. How could he even begin to explain the web of court intrigue Lance had just allowed himself to be caught in, after all? Or the whirlwind of scorn and manipulation that would be headed his way, now that he’d garnered the attention of the nobles? How could he explain the darkness and cruelty hidden beneath Lotor’s kind facade? Or the danger in his interest? Or why Keith was so set against him? How could Keith explain any of that without also revealing the plans he’d been weaving ever since being called to court?

He couldn’t. And so he didn’t try.

Keith stepped back. “Watch him,” he said to Shiro, knowing the guard would understand the implications of what occurred earlier. Trusting him to keep Lance out of any more trouble.

Then, without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed off into the palace, leaving Lance baffled in his wake.

Chapter Text

Lance was lost. He would admit to that much.

The hallway he walked down, with its marble floors and its dark, grey walls, looked just the same as the last one. And the hallway before that. And the one before that. There was no difference between them that Lance could discern, save for maybe the direction each hall faced. But there was really no way for him to tell, since all the halls lacked windows, and so gave Lance nothing to orient himself by. He could have been walking in circles, for all he knew, traveling down the same four hallways all this time. He wouldn’t know. They were all identical to him, right down to the red banners on the walls and the small chandelier hanging in the middle of the passage.

Yes, Lance was definitely lost, and it frustrated him to know it was his own fault. He was supposed to be meeting with the Galran Master of Ceremonies to learn what was expected of him at the wedding the next day, and Shiro had told him the night before to wait in his room until Shiro came to get him, but Lance had always been bad at waiting. He hated the feeling of being cooped up, and he’d been taken to the banquet hall enough times in the past week that he thought he knew where to go. Clearly, he was wrong.

He turned left at the end of the hall and groaned when he once again saw the familiar layout. How did anyone manage to navigate this palace? At least the Altean palace’s halls used different decorations, and most had large, curved windows looking out onto the palace grounds, enough so that Lance could always tell which side of the palace he was in no matter which hallway he took.

Perhaps Galrans were born with some sort of innate sense of direction that Alteans lacked. Or perhaps they all carried portable maps with them in case they ever got lost, like Lance was. He couldn’t think of any other way they’d be able to navigate these hallways.

Lance started to wonder if maybe he really was just going in circles. He remembered taking several left turns when he’d previously gone to the banquet hall, and so he’d gone left at most of the intersections. He’d taken a few rights as well, but maybe those didn’t have any effect on his path. Maybe they’d just changed his circle into a figure eight, and he was still retracing his own footsteps in hall after hall.

Why did this palace have to be so confusing? Why did everything Galran have to be so confusing?

He’d been on Daibazaal for several days already, and he was still trying to get a foothold in its social sphere. Still trying to understand the strange dichotomy between the court and the common people. The obvious disconnect between their interests. The welcome Lance had received from both had been as different as night and day. He’d expected the cool indifference of the nobles. Expected the sneers and the disdain. The enthusiastic welcome of the common populace, however, he hadn’t. At least not to that extent. Unlike the nobles, they seemed genuinely excited to see him, and eager to welcome the peace his arrival brought. And it made him question how an empire that was so clearly divided in opinions between the social classes could even function.

If the court wasn’t working towards the desires and interests of the Galran people, then what were they working towards? What kind of policies were they creating? What sort of goals did they have for their empire?

Lance wanted to know, but he had no way of figuring it out. After that first day, he hadn’t been invited to attend court or any sort of social event, apparently due to the fact that he wasn’t yet legally married to Keith by Galra law, and so not legally a Galran citizen. All court functions were restricted to those with Galran citizenship, or so the Master of Ceremonies told him when he asked about it. Lance thought that was just a pretty excuse. After all, the dignitaries of other planets and kingdoms were permitted to attend. He’d seen them wandering the palace hallways, speaking easily with the Galran nobles as they headed to and from the great hall, where court was held each day. Their lack of citizenship in the Galra Empire did nothing to stop them from attending.

No, Lance was almost certain his lack of invitations was due solely to the fact that he was Altean, and no one in the Galran court wanted an Altean anywhere near them. Especially not one who wasn’t a prisoner, and who could easily relate all they had discussed to the Altean Council back home. And that, at least, Lance could understand. He wouldn’t want a Galran getting involved in Altean politics either.

Still, it didn’t make Lance’s attempts to understand this new court any easier. He couldn’t get a grip on what they valued or prioritized without being allowed to actually participate and interact with any of the nobles. And Keith was no real help either. Lance hadn’t even seen him since the day they arrived. He never returned to their rooms, and whenever Lance asked Shiro about him, he always seemed to be busy with some council meeting or training or some other official duty that Lance figured was just a convenient excuse to avoid him.

Lance huffed and turned down a flight of stairs. His feet fell heavily against the marble steps, not quite stomping, but forceful enough for the thud of his boots to echo down the empty stairwell. Growing even more forceful as he stepped into yet another identical hallway and his frustration mounted.

Of all the things Lance was trying to understand about the Galra Empire, Keith was the most confusing. Stupid Keith with his sharp words and his brusque manner and his mood swings. Lance just couldn’t figure him out. He thought he’d understood Keith once. They’d spoken of peace that night on Olkarion, of working together and making sure this treaty lasted. He’d been ready to work with Keith as partners, at the very least. To share the burden of keeping peace. But then as soon as Lance tried to help, Keith lashed out at him. And Lance couldn’t figure out why.

What was it Lance had done? What had made Keith so mad? He tried to recall anything that might have set Keith off and kept coming back to the moment Lance had addressed Lotor. But Lance had done that to try and help Keith. He’d seen the way the court had looked at Keith. How Lotor had reprimanded him and how the court had laughed. How cowed it left him, shoulders tense and head bowed and utterly silent. Pressured by the court into submission. Lance had never been able to tolerate such intimidation, and so when Keith wasn’t able to say anything, Lance chose to take up that role instead.

Was that really something worth getting upset over? Just because Lance hadn’t kept quiet in the face of the court’s mockery? As far as he was concerned, Keith should have been thanking him, not yelling at him. And definitely not avoiding him now.

So caught up was Lance in his thoughts, he didn’t notice when he walked into a much wider hallway with a large, ornate door at the end. Nor did he notice the slowly growing noise coming from that door. He glared down at his feet and kept moving forward, all while mentally cursing Keith for being such a stubborn, frustrating, pigheaded—

“Oof!” he grunted, running into something and stumbling back. There was a series of metallic clangs. A silver tray and several small, copper bowls crashed to the floor, scattering across the marble all around Lance’s feet.

“I am so sorry!” a voice exclaimed. Lance looked up at the figure before him, who swiftly dropped into a deep bow when he saw Lance’s circlet and gold-embroidered clothing. “Please forgive me. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I should have been more careful.”

Lance shook his head. “It’s alright. I wasn’t paying attention either.” He stooped down to pick up the tray lying on the floor between them. Then he held it out to the bowing man with a smile. “Accidents happen, right? No harm done.”

The human glanced up at him quickly, the dropped his gaze again and hesitantly took the tray. At least, Lance assumed he was a human. He had a similar build to Shiro, as far as Lance could tell, though much sturdier and slightly taller. His skin was darker too, even darker than Lance’s own deeply-tanned skin, but Lance figured that was more of a diversity thing than a different species thing, just like how he and Pidge had vastly different skin tones. Or how he and Allura, despite being cousins, had completely different hair colors. The human’s hair, at least, was just as black as Shiro’s, though it was definitely longer, and it hid his face as he kept his head bowed.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, tone soft and shaky. Almost fearful, though Lance had no idea why he would be so afraid. He was though, Lance realized. He was terrified. Lance could see it in the careful distance he kept. In his fidgeting fingers and averted gaze. Lance wanted to say something to set him at ease, but couldn’t think of what.

Muffled laughter from beyond the closed door made them both jump. The human gasped and cringed away from the door. He scrambled to pick up all the bowls he’d dropped, almost tripping over himself in his haste, then hurried away down the hall once he’d grabbed them all without even a backwards glance.

“Wait!” Lance called after him, but it was too late. The human turned the corner before the word was even out of Lance’s mouth and disappeared.

Lance sighed. He stared at the hallway’s empty corner for a few moments, perplexed by what had just occurred, then shook his head and turned away. It was just his luck that even the palace workers would be confusing. He didn’t understand any of what happened, why the human had been so afraid of Lance despite his attempt set the human at ease. Perhaps he’d been expecting Lance to yell at him. To blame him for what had clearly been an accident.

Was it the Galran way to treat their servants so harshly? Surely not. Surely even they wouldn’t be that callous. Would they?

Lance didn’t dare consider it. The thought of it alone made him sick in both heart and stomach.

Frowning, he raked a hand through his hair and let out a slow breath, trying to clear his mind. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about such things. Not now, while he was still trying to find his own way. No use when he understood so little of Galran culture or practices. He didn’t even know if what his mind was assuming was true. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the human was having a bad day, and Lance was just overreacting. Or maybe not. He could only wait and see, just like with everything else.

Just as he should have waited for Shiro earlier like he was told to. Now, he was even more lost. He looked around and saw nothing familiar to him. The red banners on the walls had been replaced by those of all different colors, each bearing its own symbol or pattern. Probably the heraldic sigils of Galra’s noble houses, or something along those lines. He recognized the silver lunel pattern from something one of the nobles had worn the other day, when Lance had greeted the court. There were others he remembered too, now that he thought about it. The red pike, the three black swords, the golden comet. They hung all around the wide hall with pride, circling from one side of the ornate door to the other. And above the door, larger than all the rest, was the dark grey banner with the purple trident insignia that belonged to the Galran Empire. And to its imperial family.

Laughter echoed around the hallway again. Closer this time, a little less muffled, and accompanied by the sound of several other voices. It came from right behind the door, and Lance barely had the time to register that before that door swung open and a group of Galran nobles, all dressed in the black and silver of Galra’s formal military attire, filed out.

Lance retreated to the wall. He walked backwards until he felt the cold stone press against his shoulders and back, putting as much space between himself and the Galrans as possible, and hoping to be overlooked as they passed by. He didn’t want to have to deal with their whispers and stares right now. Not while he was alone and practically defenseless. He was still an Altean, after all. And he had no doubt that many of these nobles would love nothing more than to see him dead, treaty or no treaty.

Oh, he really should have waited for Shiro earlier. Or at least thought to take a weapon with him when he left. He was deeply regretting that now.

Unfortunately, though the hallway was wider than most of the ones Lance had walked through, it still wasn’t wide enough to keep him out of the Galrans’ sights. He knew the moment he had been spotted by the sudden hush that fell over them, all conversation and laughter giving way to heavy silence. They stopped just outside the door and stared at him. Lance, seeing no other option, lifted his head and stared right back.

There were five of them gathered, only two of whom he recognized from his brief experience with the court. The other three, he assumed, were lessor nobles or military officers from less prestigious families. Not the sort of representatives Prince Lotor would have chosen to greet their enemy’s prince. Though, honestly, Lance wouldn’t have noticed much of a difference. They glared at him just as much as the true nobles, golden eyes boring into him, searching out his flaws just like all the others. Lance clenched his jaw and lifted his chin. He refused to show them any weakness.

His apparent determination made several of the Galrans scowl even more. One of them— a tall, stout figure with a mechanical arm and cybernetic eye that Lance recognized from the other day— openly sneered at him. “You,” he growled. “You shouldn’t be here. This is the Council Chamber. It’s no place for an Altean.”

Lance bristled at the Galran’s tone. At the pure hatred and arrogance that bled through his words. He was a rude one, and clearly not too happy about having an Altean marry into the imperial family. But what else could Lance expect? Centuries of war and hatred and bloodshed could not be wiped away in such a short amount of time. Acceptance would take a long time to grow. Trust would take even longer.

Still, it took everything in his power to keep from snapping back at the Galran. He had just as much cause to hate the Galrans as they had to hate him, but at least he was trying to put the past aside. The least they could do was treat him civilly.

No. He needed to be calm. He could not afford to start a fight here, nor give them any more reason to consider him an enemy.

Pushing down his anger, he forced a smile onto his face. “As you say,” he replied, “I am an Altean and don’t know my way around just yet. You must forgive me. I didn’t realize where I was.”

“If you think I’ll believe that, you filthy—”

“Peace, Sendak,” another voice interrupted. The Galran— Sendak— swallowed whatever else he was about to say and turned to the door, dropping to one knee. As did all the other Galrans around him. With the five of them kneeling, Lance was able to see past them to the door, where Lotor stood with his arms crossed, observing the scene. He had a smile on his face, but there didn’t seem to be any warmth. “You should mind what you say,” he continued, walking towards the group. “We don’t want to start another war, do we?”

Lotor looked directly up at Lance as he asked that, and a shiver raced down his spine. He fought not to let it show, but there was something very uncomfortable about the way he was looking at Lance, all sharp-eyed and intimidating. Like a beast looking at its prey. Lance quickly bowed his head, murmuring a respectful greeting, and when he looked up, that almost-hungry expression of Lotor’s was gone. Only a pleasant smile remained.

Had Lance just imagined it all?

Lotor turned his gaze away from Lance and down to the five kneeling before him. “You are lucky I’m feeling so generous,” he told them. “I will ignore your impudence.”

Sendak gaped up at him. “Your Highness—”

“You are all dismissed.”

“But Sir—”

“Leave.”

He said it with such coldness that even Lance was tempted to flee. The five kneeling on the floor had enough sense not to argue any longer. They stood and hurried down the hallway, Sendak lingering just long enough to throw Lance one last glare before following the rest. Then it was just him and Lotor and the heavy silence that came in the wake of the Galrans’ departure.

Lance eyed Lotor warily. He looked much the same as he had the other day, dressed in a long, high-necked, grey tunic with red and purple accents. His white hair hung loose down to his mid-back, free of any pins or ornamentations. Not even a silver clip, like the one Keith used to pull back his hair. His appearance was simple, even by Galran standards, yet it did nothing to detract from the power he wore like a second skin. If anything, his simple attire helped emphasize his presence. That he didn’t need any jewels or armor to look intimidating said a lot about him. A lot that Lance wasn’t sure he liked or trusted.

Letting out a breath, Lotor placed his hands on his hips. “I must apologize for them,” he said. “They don’t know how to control themselves. And you are quite…”

“Unwelcome?” Lance offered. Lotor’s lips curled into a sly smile.

“Exotic.”

What a pretty way of saying I don’t belong, Lance thought wryly. But no matter how nice the words, they still sent the same message— he was an outsider, and he had no place here. Only the place Zarkon and Lotor and Keith allowed him to have.

Feeling vulnerable, he wrapped his arms around himself like a shield. Then wrapped them even tighter when he noticed Lotor watching him. He didn’t like the way the Galran prince looked at him. He couldn’t explain why, only that it made the back of his neck prickle to have Lotor staring at him so intently with that tiny smirk on his face, as if he could see right through Lance.

Why was Lotor staring at him that way? What was it he wanted?

Lance shuffled uncomfortably in place. “I’m sorry for bothering you this way,” he said, averting his eyes so as not to meet Lotor’s gaze. “I’m afraid I got a little turned around on my way to the banquet hall. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No matter. Our business was finished,” Lotor answered. He moved forward, stepping right into Lance’s personal space, looming over him, and lowered his voice to a deep murmur as he added, “Best be careful in the future though, little prince. Another mistake could cost more than your pride.”

Like my life, he realized. He swallowed thickly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

What else could he do when Lotor was going out of his way to warn him. Or was he threatening him? It was difficult to tell past Lotor’s sly smile. Even more difficult than it had been the other day, when he’d been talking with Keith, speaking pleasant words with such a cold tone. And even then, Lance couldn’t tell how much of what he’d said was due to his disappointed expectations and how much was due to genuine hostility.

It was the same now. Lotor’s words were kind, yet behind them there was something sharp. An edge that made Lance want to cringe back, away from the danger. He just couldn’t tell where most of the danger resided— in the other Galrans, or in Lotor himself?

The Galran prince’s grin grew at Lance’s quiet reply. He moved back, finally giving Lance some room to breathe, and clapped his hands together. “You were heading to the banquet hall, correct?” he asked, to which Lance, thrown off by the sudden change in topic and demeanor, nodded. Lotor hummed. “That is quite far from here. On the opposite end of the palace.” He considered Lance, looking him up and down, and then smirked. “Perhaps I should escort you there. We wouldn’t want you getting lost again.”

“Oh no. Really. I couldn’t trouble you to,” Lance replied, but Lotor wouldn’t accept that.

He extended his arm out to Lance like an invitation. “I insist.”

Lance hesitated. Conflicted, he stared down at the offered arm— at the grey sleeve and its red chevron and the unnerving purple skin of Lotor’s hand— and weighed his options. On one hand, going with Lotor guaranteed that he wouldn’t get lost, and also that he wouldn't somehow offend the prince by refusing his help. But on the other hand, Lance didn’t want to go with Lotor. The churning in his stomach didn’t trust Lotor’s intentions. His instincts were telling him to run far away, out of reach of Lotor and his confusing ways, where he could know for sure he wasn’t being tricked.

He wavered, unsure of what to do and frozen to the spot by Lotor’s piercing gaze. Slowly, he reached out, letting his hand hover over Lotor’s arm.

“Prince Lance!” a voice called out. Lance pulled his arm back and turned at the sound, seeing Shiro run down the hall towards them. Lotor turned too, and the smile on his face dropped into a cold, flat line. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere,” Shiro said as he reached them. He knelt down before Lotor and bowed his head. “Your Imperial Highness, please excuse my interruption. His Royal Highness is supposed to be at the banquet hall to prepare for tomorrow’s wedding.”

“Indeed,” Lotor drawled. “So then why is he down here, at the doors of the council chamber?” He tilted his head and regarded Shiro with narrowed eyes. Dangerous eyes that made even Lance want to hide. “Tsk, tsk, Captain,” Lotor continued, walking around Shiro in a slow circle. “It seems you’ve been remiss in your duties. Are you always so careless?”

“No, Sir. Please forgive me,” Shiro murmured, softer and more hesitant than Lance had ever heard him be in their short time of knowing one another. It hit Lance right in the gut, filling him with guilt. It wasn’t Shiro’s fault that Lance had ended up here. He’d made that choice himself, wandering off when he really should have waited, turning down hallways even when he didn’t know where they would lead. And now Shiro was paying for it. Taking the blame in Lance’s place.

Lance couldn’t just stand by and watch. He took a step forward, intending to interfere, but froze at the sharp look and quick shake of head that Shiro sent his way. It lasted only a moment, just long enough to make Lance pause, and then Lotor’s hand was on Shiro’s head, shoving it back down.

“Should I forgive you?” Lotor mused. There was a strange glint in his eyes as he stared down at Shiro— one that Lance couldn’t place, but still knew he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of— and his lips curled into a cruel smile as he said, “Perhaps I should remind you of your position instead, since you seem to have forgotten.”

Shiro screwed his eyes shut. The hand that was on the floor clenched tightly, knuckles white and muscles straining. Probably from the effort it took not to just pull away from Lotor. Lance stared at that hand, but in his mind he heard Matt’s warnings about Lotor being cruel, and saw the servant he’d run into earlier. Saw his constant fidgeting. His wary eyes. How scared he’d been. How Lance had wondered why.

“No,” he suddenly exclaimed, taking another step forward. Lotor’s attention snapped to him. His stare burned into Lance, even more intense than he’d been prepared for. Lance had never been the type to back down from a challenge, but this… this frightened him. This made him waver. He averted his eyes and drew back into himself. “Please. Don’t punish him for something he had no control over. I told him I would wait for him, but I didn’t. The fault here is mine.”

Lotor let go of Shiro, stepping around the human to approach Lance instead. Lance tried not to let his worry show as he came closer. He kept his eyes down and his expression blank, even though his heart was racing, pounding painfully against his ribs, urging him to run while he still could. Images of pain raced through his mind, and every second of silence was just another second of Lance asking himself, what would Lotor do? What did he want? What would be punishment enough?

Lotor stopped in front of him, so close that Lance could feel the uncomfortable amount of body heat that all Galrans seemed to radiate. He stood there in silence for a few moments, staring at Lance, then looked over his shoulder at Shiro. “Since Prince Lance has interceded for you, I’ll forgive your mistake. Don’t let it happen again.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Shiro was quick to reply, voice filled with relief. “Thank you.”

Lotor waved a dismissive hand at him, then turned back to Lance. “I’ll leave you in his care, then. Try not to get lost again.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Lotor,” he corrected. “We will be family tomorrow. It’s only right we use each other’s names, don’t you agree, Lance?”

Lance shivered, feeling as though something cold and slimy had just slipped down his back and into his stomach. It was already making him nauseous. “Yes, of course, Lotor,” he forced himself to say despite that, and it took all he had to keep his voice from wavering. He didn’t like how the name felt in his mouth, rolling off his tongue. Like some sort of disease, or food goo that was several months too old. It just felt wrong.

At least it seemed to satisfy Lotor, though. The Galran prince grinned at the sound, sharp teeth flashing in the light of the hallway. There was another glint in his eyes, but it was different from what he saw before. More akin to interest than anything else. Even so, it made Lance uncomfortable. And that discomfort only grew when he felt Lotor’s warm skin brush over his cheek.

“I will take my leave, then,” he said in a low voice, fingertips ghosting over the curve of Lance’s jaw. Then down, down to catch Lance’s chin between his fingers and tilt it up so Lance was forced to meet his gaze. Lotor hummed deep in his throat. “We shall meet again, little prince.”

The words sounded like a promise. One Lance wasn’t eager to reciprocate. He stayed silent, refusing to give Lotor an answer, but it didn’t matter in the end anyways. Lotor trailed his fingers of Lance’s skin one more time, then turned and strode down the hall, the long tail of his shirt fluttering behind him.

Lance and Shiro waited in silence until Lotor turned down another hall and disappeared from sight. As soon as they were sure Lotor was out of hearing, they looked at each other, and Shiro asked “Are you alright? Did he hurt you at all?”

“I’m fine,” Lance answered honestly. He hadn’t been injured at all during their encounter, only scared. And Lance could get past a little fright easily enough, especially now that the source of it was gone. “What about you?” he asked instead. “Are you alright?”

Shiro shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve dealt with much worse.” Frowning, he looked off down the hallway, where Lotor had vanished only a few minutes before, and let out a long sigh. “Thank god I found you when I did. Lotor isn’t someone you want to get involved with, Lance. He has his own goals, and he has no qualms about using other people to reach them. Don’t ever trust him.”

Lance nodded in silent agreement. He followed Shiro’s gaze to the end of the hall and recalled again that night on the balcony, and what Keith had said. The warning he had given about Lotor having his own agenda.

“My father might listen to me if he was in a good mood, but my brother never would,” he’d said. “Not unless there was something in it for him.”

If that was true, then what was it Lotor was getting out of this? What benefit did he reap from going against the opinions of all the nobles to create this treaty? From ending the war and accepting an Altean prince into his family?

Most importantly: what did he expect to gain from treating Lance so kindly? What was his goal? Because, treaty or not, there was definitely no reason for Lotor to have let Lance off so lightly when he'd been more than ready to harm Shiro earlier. Not unless there was something to gain from it. So then what was it? What was his reason?

What exactly did Lotor want from him?

Chapter Text

Finding Keith turned out to be rather easy, not that that really surprised Shiro. He knew Keith well. Had been with Keith long enough to know all his favorite haunts and hiding spots. There were only a few places Keith would think to go if he was avoiding Lance, and even fewer places if he was trying to avoid Lotor as well. But with how frustrated Keith had been on top of everything else, there was really only one place he’d turn to. That was where Shiro looked first.

He followed the sound of clanging metal down the small, back hallway of the palace’s barracks. It echoed through the hall, each new clash bouncing off the stone walls and mixing with the steady thuds of Shiro’s footsteps. As he drew nearer, the sounds of grunting and muffled exclamations joined the cacophony. Sounds he recognized very well. He sighed as he turned the corner into the training room and found just what he was expecting— Keith facing off against a group of training bots, luxite sword in hand.

He really was so predictable sometimes.

Shiro quietly slipped into the room and settled back against the wall. Keith was so focused on the fight at hand he didn’t notice his new observer. He was too distracted by the bots before. Too caught up in the action, in the need to swing his sword, just as Shiro had always warned him against. Patience yields focus. But Keith wasn’t being patient at all.

His golden eyes were fixed in a fierce glare on the five bots before him, gleaming wildly behind the wayward strands of his black hair. He lunged at one of the training bots. It became an easy target to the sharp metal of his blade, skewered and left to drop to the floor within a matter of seconds. The second training bot soon followed, though Keith kept it on his blade long enough to fling it into the third bot as it charged at him. The two bots crashed together and dropped to the floor with a loud thud.

Shiro raised a brow. Keith was being more aggressive than usual, and that was saying a lot. It was as if each of the training bots had personally offended him in some way. Shiro was willing to bet he was imagining a certain someone’s face on each of them, but whether that someone was Zarkon, Lotor, or possibly even Lance, Shiro couldn’t say.

The final two training bots rushed at Keith together, forcing him to fend them both off at once. He ducked beneath the swipe of the first training bot’s staff and shoved the bot with his elbow. It stumbled back, giving Keith some extra room to move just as the other bot began its attack. It swung its staff down towards Keith’s head. Keith blocked it easily, but couldn’t hold his defense when the first bot tried to take advantage of his distraction. He dodged to the side, and the bots followed him, the three of them trading attacks for several minutes like some sort of dance.

Finally, Keith managed to slip through the first bot’s defense and slice across its torso. The bot froze and Keith kicked it in the gut, sending it crashing across the floor. That should have been the end of it. That should have been the moment Keith overpowered the final bot and put an end to the training exercise, if only Keith hadn’t been so impatient in his fighting as Shiro had warned him.

As Keith turned to finish off the last bot, Shiro noticed one of the others— the one Keith had knocked aside by tossing another training bot right into it— get back on its feet and rush at Keith’s back. It swung its staff right into Keith’s side, and, with a cry of surprise, Keith went flying across the room, where he landed among the wreckage of the other bots. His sword popped out of his hand and slid even further across the floor.

Keith rolled onto his back and groaned in pain. “Training session end,” he wheezed out. The two bots still standing powered down and fell onto the floor. Then all of them, including the ones Keith had taken down earlier, disintegrated into pixels of light.

Shiro sighed. “You could have had that,” he said as he walked over to Keith, stopping just beside him and leaning over to look him in the face. Keith opened his eyes to look up at him, then groaned again.

“Should’ve known you would find me.”

He stretched out a hand towards Shiro, who took it and pulled Keith to his feet. The galran prince winced a little as he stood, but otherwise appeared unharmed. Still, he looked a wreck up close. Sweat beaded at his hairline, and there were deep purple shadows beneath his eyes. Shiro hadn’t seen him so tired since he was fifteen years old and had been summoned to court. He’d spent the week leading up to his departure locked in the room they’d set aside for his training, working himself to exhaustion, never stopping to eat or sleep.

“If I stopped, I would have panicked,” Keith had told him later, when Shiro had berated him for being so reckless. He supposed he’d understood, just as he understood now why Keith had holed himself up here. Some habits would never change.

“Have you been here this entire time?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“No.” It was a lie, and Keith clearly knew that Shiro could tell. He averted his eyes and looked about the room instead. Looked everywhere except at the man standing before him.

Shiro sighed. He hated when Keith got like this. When he drew back into himself and let all his negative emotions fester inside. “You can’t stay in here forever,” he told Keith. “You’re going to have to face the issue soon enough. You have duties to attend to.”

“So do you,” Keith countered petulantly. “I told you to keep an eye on Lance, so where is he?”

“In his room.” And unlikely to leave again anytime soon. At least not without Shiro or Keith beside him. He’d been shaken by his encounter with Lotor that morning, and had stuck close to Shiro through the rest of the day, until Shiro returned him to his rooms. He wasn’t about to go looking for anymore trouble after that, and Shiro really couldn’t blame him. Lotor was a force to be reckoned with even for the most prepared, and Lance hadn’t been prepared at all. Not the way he should have been. “He’s resting right now. We had an eventful day.”

Keith snorted. “More likely that our dear Master of Ceremonies put him to sleep. I’m sure listening to all the tedious wedding details was very eventful.”

“Keith,” Shiro said, tone reproachful, but Keith ignored him. He turned away and walked over to where his sword was instead, leaving Shiro to stare after him with a scowl.

This was why Lance had been so willing to explore the palace on his own, and so unprepared to face Lotor and his cronies. This willful ignorance and naive assumption that Lance would just know what to do and who to avoid. As if Lance was just used to this sort of intrigue. As if Lance had grown up in a court similar to their own.

He hadn’t, Shiro knew. His upbringing had been the complete opposite of Keith’s. And Keith would know that too if he’d just talked to Lance instead of locking himself up here.

“You should have been there with him,” Shiro said. “You know exactly what he’s walking into. You should be helping him right now.”

Keith scoffed as he bent down to pick up his sword. “I tried helping him. I told him to keep quiet. He didn’t listen to me.”

That’s because you never told him why. Lance would have listened if Keith had just explained. Even in the short time they’d spent with one another, Shiro had seen that plain as day. Lance was impulsive and outspoken, but not without sense. He’d listened to Shiro’s warnings well enough that afternoon once he’d seen the cause of it, after all. It seemed as long as there was a good enough reason, Lance would do as he was asked with little complaint.

Oh, Keith, he thought sadly as Keith continued grumbling about Lance’s stubbornness and lack of self-preservation. You still have so much to learn.

“So what?” Shiro said, interrupting Keith’s stream of complaints. “You’re just going to ignore him for the rest of your lives? Just let him fend for himself? Leave him at Lotor’s mercy?”

At that, Keith deflated a little, shoulders hunching forward and gaze dropping to the floor. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned a pale lilac. “Lotor won’t bother with him if he sees I don’t care about him. You, of all people, know what he’s like about the people I show any interest in.”

He glanced at Shiro’s right arm for a moment, then looked back down at the floor, scowling this time. His expression was dark, pained, and Shiro knew exactly where his mind had taken him. Remembered still the fear and the pain of that day, all those years ago. Remembered the cheering crowds, and the fierce bite of the sword, and the deep red of his own blood covering the arena sand.

He took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder. It was Shiro’s own fault for letting his guard down so much. For letting Lotor get so close, giving him the chance to make such a brutal blow. He had never once blamed Keith for any of that.

Keith shook his head. “He went after you because of me. I should have been more careful. And now with Lance…”

“It’s different,” Shiro insisted. “Lotor was never interested in me beyond what I meant to you. But you saw how he looked at Lance the other day. You saw how intrigued he was. That’s not something he’ll easily set aside, regardless of what you do.”

Keith bit his bottom lip, but he couldn’t deny what Shiro said. They’d both seen in the great hall that dangerous glimmer of interest in Lotor’s eyes when he looked at Lance and found him standing tall and proud and defiant. They both knew it was completely different from how he looked at Shiro— with cool indifference on the best of days, and pure, venomous hatred on the worst.

It reminded Shiro of the way a coyote stared at a rabbit. He’d witnessed that once, when he was younger and still a cadet at the Galaxy Garrison. Had gone out into the nearby desert to clear his mind and seen a coyote lurking, movements slow and silent, gaze focused on its prey. The rabbit hadn’t even realized. Or perhaps it had, but only became aware of it when it was already too late to stop it.

And that would be Lance, if they left him to deal with Lotor. He’d get caught in Lotor’s games, completely unaware of what was happening until it all came crashing down on him. After all, Lance didn’t know Lotor the way they did. Didn’t know the tricks and manipulations so rampant in the galran court. It’d be an easy thing to lure him into a trap, to steer him wherever it was Lotor wanted him. And once he was, there’d be no way out. Not from Lotor. Not until he decided Lance was no longer of any use.

“You have to stop hiding away,” Shiro continued, more forceful than before. “Lotor’s already set his eyes on Lance. Distancing yourself from him isn’t going to change that. It’ll only leave Lance more vulnerable.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He’s already made the first move, Keith.” The first of hundreds, knowing how Lotor worked. “He nearly cornered Lance earlier. It was pure luck I found him when I did.”

There was a loud clatter as Keith’s sword fell to the floor, now forgotten. Keith reached out and grasped Shiro’s arms tightly. Frantic. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Shiro assured him, already knowing what Keith was about to ask. “Lance is fine too. But I can’t promise that’ll be the case the next time Lotor tries anything. There’s only so much I can do to stop him without being imprisoned.”

Or losing his life. It was a heavy crime to harm any member of the imperial family, regardless of of circumstances or reason. A crime that was always punishable by death. And he knew Lotor wouldn’t hesitate to sentence him with it if he even laid so much as a scratch on Lotor’s smooth skin. If it came down to using force, Shiro wouldn’t be able to protect Lance the way he needed to. But Keith could.

With his status as an imperial prince, Keith could do far more for Lance than Shiro could. He was in the best position to help, to keep Lotor from doing anything worse. Keith just needed to accept that fact.

“This is a brand new world for Lance,” Shiro reminded him. “He’s not used to this sort of environment. He needs your help.”

“He doesn’t want my help, Shiro. He made that very clear.”

“I disagree, but it doesn’t really matter. He needs your protection right now. You’re the only one that can stop Lotor.”

Keith laughed, short and sharp. “I can’t even stop Lotor from antagonizing me every chance he gets. I’m a poor choice for protection against someone like him.”

Shiro placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Perhaps,” he allowed, though he privately thought Keith wasn’t giving himself enough credit. He didn’t see that the reason Lotor antagonized him so much was because Keith presented such a large threat to him. An even larger one now, with the creation of the peace treaty. Which was why he needed to be by Lance’s side. Why he needed to stop hiding and fight. “If you can’t stop him though, no one can. And right now,” he continued, staring into Keith’s conflicted, golden eyes, “right now, you’re all he has.”

Chapter Text

Lance looked in the mirror and felt as though he was looking at a stranger.

There was very little in his reflection that looked familiar. His cheek tattoos, perhaps. And maybe the color of his skin and hair. But even those were cast in a foreign light by the dark grey of his shirt, making him appear almost pale and sickly. Or maybe that was just the nerves.

Sighing, he leaned closer to the mirror, pressing a finger to the small shadows beneath his eyes. He hadn’t been able to sleep at all last night due to nerves. He’d been restless, tossing and turning and trying to forget the fact that this was his wedding day. That he’d soon be saying vows before a crowd of enemies, binding himself to their prince completely, so that no law, altean or galran, could separate them.

This was the day that made it all official. The day that sealed the alliance. The final nail in the coffin, so to speak, though Lance really hoped that figurative coffin wouldn’t end up becoming literal. That this wedding wouldn’t end up leading him to his death.

He brushed his hair back with a hand and frowned at his reflection. He’d yet to don his circlet, and without it his forehead appeared wide and empty, but wearing it with this outfit just felt wrong. Like a violation of all he was. He’d been dressed in the galran fashion, with thick, warm fabrics cut into sharp angles. The shirt he wore was heavier than anything he’d owned on Altea and covered more skin than he was used to, high-necked and long sleeved with silver buttons trailing down the right side of his chest to his waist, where it tapered down to two sharp points. The rest of his ensemble was black— black pants, black boots, black gloves. There was even a black cloak trimmed in grey and black speckled fur that he’d left lying on the bed for later.

He’d never worn such dark colors before. Black, in his culture, was reserved for those revered for their wisdom and leadership. It wasn’t seen often in Altea. And even then, only in small doses. Blues and whites were the shades his people preferred. Or, at times, a pale grey, mostly for armor or undersuits. Even in mourning, alteans favored lighter colors, dressing in shades of pink to celebrate the lives of their fallen, and their return to the life force that sustained Altea.

Lance longed to be wearing those colors now. Longed to be back in the lightweight bodysuits and tunics of his people. Longed to be back on Altea.

There was a knock at his door, then the soft creak of it opening. Lance glanced over his shoulder and saw Shiro slipping inside. “It’s time,” he said to Lance. His expression was about as solemn as Lance felt. “I’m to escort you to the Ceremony Hall once you’re ready.”

Lance nodded. He turned back to the mirror, looking over the stranger that was his reflection one last time, then let out a long sigh. He couldn’t put it off forever, he supposed. Better to just get it over with.

He turned away and grabbed the cloak from his bed, pulling it over his shoulders and clasping it together with a silver chain. It was heavier than he’d been expecting. Even heavier than the cloak Shiro was letting him borrow while his own set of galran clothes were made, and far more suffocating. The weight of it seemed filled with expectation and dread. It hung like a rock over his shoulders. Like some sort anchor to this cold world.

He ignored that thought and reached for his circlet. Then hesitated. His hand hovered over the golden ring, undecided.

It’s just metal, he told himself, staring at the circlet. He traced the familiar curves with his eyes, around the loops and scrolls, down to the sapphire teardrop that hung from its point. Just a symbol. It doesn’t mean anything.

But it did. It meant a lot.

That circlet had been made specifically for him, commissioned by Allura to celebrate his role as a paladin of Altea. To celebrate everything about him that made him worthy of such an honor. Wearing it now, with these galran clothes, far from the planet he’d sworn to protect from this empire, felt almost like a betrayal. Like he was replacing that part of himself. Overwriting his past with his future. Who he was with who he must now become. And Lance wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

What choice did he have though? The wedding would happen regardless of whether he wore it or not. He would still be trading his old life for the new. There would be no waiting for him to be ready, and at least by wearing the circlet he’d be carrying a piece of home with him to give him courage.

It’s just metal. Just a symbol. Not wearing it won’t change anything.

He picked up the circlet and slipped it over his forehead. The familiar press of cool metal against his skin was comforting, and Lance touched a finger to the small sapphire that dangled from its point before lifting his head, drawing strength from its deep blue color. The deep blue of Altea’s oceans. Of its clear night skies. Of the lion he’d left behind.

I swore that I’d protect them, he thought. Marrying Keith will keep Altea safe. It’s my duty as a paladin, and as their prince.

Remembering that he was doing this for his people helped him calm down some. He took a deep breath and turned back around to face the doorway. Shiro was still waiting against the wall, watching Lance with soft, understanding eyes. Seeing him there helped Lance feel a bit better too. Calmer. Steadier. More willing to step out into that hallway and face the music.

“I’m ready,” he said, and Shiro smiled. He held open the door for Lance to step through, then led the way through the palace to the Hall of Ceremonies, where the wedding would take place.

The hallways they traveled down were completely empty. Unsurprising, considering what they were heading towards. All of the galran nobles, and many of the top military personnel and political advisors, had been invited to witness Lance and Keith’s union. Many more than had been present for their arrival on Daibazaal just a few days before, and all of them probably waiting in the Hall of Ceremonies for him to arrive.

All those golden eyes just waiting to glare at him. Hoping to see him fail. Lance felt queasy just thinking about it.

Would he have felt so nauseous on his wedding day if he had remained on Altea and was marrying someone he loved? Probably not. And he doubted he’d feel alone as he now did either.

He couldn’t help but think of the way this part of his life could have been done if he hadn’t been forced into this marriage. How he wished it could have been done, back on Altea, surrounded by all his friends and family.

They would have been the ones escorting him to the Temple of Souls at the heart of their capital city, surrounding him with laughter and joy, all of them dressed in the traditional white and gold. His mother and Allura would have been the ones to hold his hands as they walked through the city. His sister would have held his flower-covered veil. And Lance himself would have been so covered in gold bangles and bells that every step he took would have been accompanied by their jingling.

In general, an altean wedding would not have been nearly as silent as the galran palace was now. The streets of Altea would have been full of people, all eager to wish him well. There would have been cheering. And banners waving from rooftops. And flower petals strewn across the street, thrown by all those watching from their windows. The whole of Altea— noble and common alike— would have been involved.

Lance didn’t like how quiet the hallways were here. The silence only set his nerves on edge. And it only got worse as they rounded the corner and the doors to the Hall of Ceremonies came into sight. Those great, metal doors behind which the whole galran court was waiting.

Lance’s steps slowed. He bit down on his bottom lip as he stared at the doors and brought his hands together to anxiously twist the ring around his index finger. Except it wasn’t there. He wasn’t wearing it because it had been returned to Keith the night before in preparation for the wedding ceremony. And he wasn’t wearing any other rings because of his thick gloves. That left him quite unsure of what to do with his hands, but he needed to do something or else he would go crazy. The longer he stared at those doors, and the closer they got, the more Lance just wanted to turn and run. Already, his hands were shaking.

He laced his fingers together and pressed them against his stomach to hide the tremors. He didn’t want anyone to see how anxious he was. Not even Shiro. But especially not anyone beyond those doors. Not the nobles that would judge him by his fear and treat it as a weakness.

Lance refused to be seen as weak.

He and Shiro stopped right outside the doors, close enough to see the subtle, pointed symbols carved into the otherwise smooth surface. Lance stared up at them, tracing the ancient symbols, trying to gather the courage to pass under them and into the Hall of Ceremonies as he waited for Shiro to open the door. But Shiro didn’t move, or even reach out. Instead, he looked at Lance and frowned.

“Are you alright?” he asked. He looked Lance up and down, brows furrowed together, concern evident on his face. Lance kept his eyes fixed on the door and slowly nodded.

“I’m fine,” he answered in a soft, scratchy voice. Then cleared his throat and repeated more loudly, “I’m fine.” It didn’t seem to convince Shiro, whose pinched and worried expression remained just the same, but he didn’t try to argue or push Lance further. Instead, Shiro sighed. He took a step back.

“This is where I must leave you,” he said. “I’m not allowed beyond those doors.”

Something heavy dropped straight through Lance. Something that aggravated the dread already lurking inside him. It twisted and churned and knotted itself uncomfortably in his chest. He felt it with every breath he took, with every beat of his heart, growing more painful with every passing second as he realized that once Shiro left, he would be alone. He would be all alone, just as he’d been in that hallway the other day. Alone, and an easy target.

“Wait,” he choked out, grabbing hold of the hem of Shiro’s sleeve just like a child. There was a flicker of shame in his chest, but it was quickly smothered by the panic growing inside him. The thought of facing all those galran nobles alone, of their sharp eyes watching his every move, of Lotor’s eyes watching him, was too much to bear.

“Shiro,” he tried again, but the rest of the words got caught in his throat. He opened his mouth, then closed it again and swallowed thickly, past the words and the fear clawing at his throat. Don’t leave, he wanted to say. Please don’t leave me alone.

Shiro gave him a sad smile, as if understanding what Lance couldn’t bring himself to voice. He took Lance’s hand in his own and gently squeezed it. “Keith’s just inside. He’ll be with you for the rest. You won’t be alone.”

Yes, but was that really any better? Keith seemed to hate his guts, the last time Lance checked. It wouldn’t surprise him if Keith chose to ignore him through the entire ceremony, forcing him to deal with the situation all on his own.

Lance frowned, but kept that thought to himself. After all, it wasn’t Shiro’s fault that he was barred from the ceremony, and it wasn’t as if either of them could do anything about it. Facts were facts. The situation couldn’t be changed, so Lance would just have to trust that Keith would uphold his half of the ordeal. Though he’d probably be better off relying on himself instead, considering how angry Keith was the last time they spoke, and how staunchly he’d avoided Lance since that day. Keith was probably dreading this wedding even more than Lance was.

Lance sighed. This all would have been so much easier if Shiro was the one Lance was marrying. At least he actually got along with Shiro, and could rely on him to be there when things got dicey. Lance trusted him, and admired him, and could easily imagine a happy, stable future together if the situation were different. Perhaps not as passionate or love-filled as Lance might have hoped, but safe. Long-lasting.

Instead he had Keith. Confusing, stubborn, irritating Keith. Whom Lance now had to rely on if he had any hope of getting through the day without making a complete fool of himself.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt Shiro squeeze his hand once more. “You can do this,” Shiro said. For once, though, the words weren’t very reassuring.

Could he do this? Could he go in there and say those galran vows, knowing that once he did he would no longer be a prince of Altea, his home? Instead he would become a prince of Galra. A part of the imperial family he’d always despised and feared. Why did he even agree to this?

It was all so wrong. He should be on Altea with his mother and siblings, not getting married to an enemy’s prince. He should be there taking care of them. Should be there to watch his sister begin accepting suitors, should be there to assess and intimidate and threaten like any older sibling would. Should be there to watch his younger brother, who looked so much like Lance with his brown hair and blue eyes and cheeky smile, finally celebrate his coming of age. Should be there to support his mother. To listen to her nagging, and ask for her advice.

He so needed her advice right now.

He hadn’t felt so lost or helpless since the day he learned his father had died. He remembered weeping on his bed and asking his mother why. Why had his father gone out there? Why, when he knew the battle was already over, and the outer planets already lost? Why had he gone to fight, knowing he’d almost certainly be killed?

“He’s a prince,” his mother said to him. Her cheeks had been damp, and her eyes had been red and puffy, but she’d spoken with so much confidence that Lance hadn’t been able to argue against her when she repeated what his father had always said. “It’s a prince’s duty to be of use to his kingdom and his people. Whatever the cost.”

I am a prince, Lance now thought. I am a prince, just like my father. And I will see this through.

He pulled his hand away from Shiro and took a step back, toward the Hall of Ceremonies. His hand still shook as he pressed it against the metal door, but Lance did his best to ignore it. To push his fears aside long enough to at least get through the wedding. He could worry about all the rest later, away from the eyes of the galran court. He just had to get through the day. Somehow.

Well, it could be worse, he thought as pushed open the door. At least my husband’s not evil. An antisocial jerk, perhaps, but not evil. And, considering where he was, and whom he might have been engaged to, that truly was something to be thankful for. It was enough to get him through the doorway.

Lance stepped into the antechamber, letting the door swing shut behind him. It closed with a soft thud, and left Lance alone in the darkness. Or at least he thought it did.

The antechamber was much darker than the hallway outside, lit only by a few small candles in the corners of the room. It took a few moments for Lance to adjust. He blinked quickly and rubbed at his eyes until he was able to make out the details of the room. The rough, uneven stone walls. The wrought iron candle stands in the corners. And the galran prince leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed, waiting for Lance. Just as Shiro said he’d be.

Lance felt a flicker of surprise. He really shouldn’t have, since he knew the wedding ceremony itself required they enter the actual Hall together, but part of him hadn’t actually believed Keith would be waiting. The galran prince had avoided him the entire time he’d been here. Somehow, he’d expected the same from this.

Keith was staring at the floor, his golden eyes narrowed into a glare. He didn’t look up when Lance walked in. His ears twitched a bit at the thud of the door closing, but otherwise Keith made no acknowledgment of Lance’s presence until Lance was standing beside him, facing the thick, black curtain that separated the antechamber from the actual Hall of Ceremonies. Then Keith lifted his head to meet Lance’s gaze with a serious expression of his own.

Serious looked good on him, Lance decided. It brought out the sharpness of his features and the strength in his stance. Made him appear more regal, especially in the all-black ensemble he was wearing. He’d slicked back his hair again, pinning the longer strands up with a silver clip that caught the candlelight when he pushed away from the wall to stand beside Lance. It was his usual style, but, for a second, Lance wanted to pull that clip out and let Keith’s hair tumble down freely, the way it had been when they’d spoken on Olkarion. When they’d been open and honest with each other. When Lance hadn’t yet given up his family for the sake of peace.

Keith held out his arm in the traditional escort posture. Lance hesitated for a moment before looping his arm through Keith’s, which didn’t escape Keith’s notice.

“Having second thoughts?” he asked in a low voice, brows raised. Lance shook his head quickly.

“Me? Never.” He forced a smile on his face, but it didn’t feel right. It felt too stiff and thin and weak, and soon Lance gave up on smiling at all. Probably for the best though. None of the galrans would be smiling anyways.

Keith stared at him for a moment longer, then looked back at the curtain. Lance looked at it too, waiting for the Master of Ceremonies to draw it aside for them with mounting panic. Soon he’d be facing the court. Soon he’d be saying the vows. Soon he’d no longer truly be an altean. He’d be a member of the galran court, with everything that implied.

“Deep breath,” Keith murmured beside him, pulling Lance out of his thoughts. He placed his free hand on top of Lance’s for a second— not holding, or squeezing, but just there, a warm weight on top of Lance’s shaking limb. Lance hadn’t even realized he’d started shaking again until that moment. “Breathe in and hold your chin up. Don’t let them see how they affect you.”

“They don’t affect me,” Lance whispered back. Keith’s lips quirked up just a bit.

“No. Of course not.”

The sound of music from beyond the curtain cut off any further conversation. Lance straightened, rolling his shoulders back and lifting his chin, just in time for the curtain to be pulled aside. A quick glimpse through the archway showed the Hall of Ceremonies filled with galrans, just as Lance had expected. They stood on either side of the Hall with an aisle down the center, and all of them turned to face the archway.

Lance tensed. He glanced at Keith, quickly reminding himself he wasn’t alone, then returned his gaze to the front of the Hall. He took a deep breath. Then he and Keith walked forward.

The Hall of Ceremonies was dark, lit only by candles and the little bit of sunlight that filtered through the red and black stained glass windows. It was also quiet. Aside from the mournful notes of a flute and harp, the only sound in the Hall was that of his and Keith’s footsteps, which echoed off the stone walls and up to the vaulted ceiling. The nobles around them made no sounds— no whispers or laughter or anything to clue Lance in to how they were reacting. Not that Lance really wanted to know.

He kept his gaze forward, locked on the raised platform at the end of the Hall where several cloaked figures stood. Druids, he seemed to remember them being called. The keepers of Galra’s old faiths and rituals. The ones that would perform the marriage rites and bind him and Keith together.

One of the cloaked figures stepped off the platform to meet Lance and Keith at the front of the Hall. They held a length of red silk, which they wrapped seven times around his and Keith’s clasped hands. Seven times for the seven oaths they would swear before the gods of old.

Lance swallowed dryly, seeing their hands bound in such a way. He tore his gaze away to look instead at Keith, right into Keith’s golden eyes.

“Lance,” Keith began, voice low and steady, “to you, I promise my life. Where you go, I will go. Where you rest, I will rest. With my sword, I will defend you. With my shield, I will protect you. With my hands, I will build a home for you. You shall never be in want.” He took the black imperial ring from his pocket— the one Lance had returned to him for this very occasion— and slipped it back over Lance’s index finger as he murmured, “This, I so swear.”

Then, it was Lance’s turn. He sucked in a sharp, shaky breath, trying not to tremble under the weight of so many eyes. He could feel them all staring at him, waiting for him to speak, to mess this up and prove himself a fool. The pressure choked him and made the words stick in his throat. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He couldn’t—

Keith tightened his grip on Lance’s hand beneath the red silk that bound them, and suddenly Lance could breathe again. He blew out a stream of air, focusing on the weight and warmth of Keith’s hand in his own, then breathed in deep.

“Kyran,” he said. His voice soft, but thankfully it didn’t shake as Lance feared it might, and he continued, “to you, I promise my life. Where you go, I will go. Where you rest, I will rest. With my sword, I will defend you. With my shield, I will protect you. With my hands, I will build a home for you. You shall never be in want. This, I so swear.”

Keith nodded in approval when Lance finished— subtly, but definitely still there. It sent a tendril of warmth through Lance, easing some of the anxiety that still twisted and churned inside his chest. At least he’d done this part right.

The druid had held the silk placed their hands over Keith and Lance’s. “Those here present, bear witness to these oaths,” the druid said. “May what’s been joined never be parted, and what’s been promised never be broken. By the power of the gods, old and new, for all the days to come.”

And so, they were married.

Chapter Text

“A toast!” Lotor said, standing from his seat at the head of the table and lifting his glass. “To my little brother and his charming new husband. Who knew he could be so lucky?”

All around him, the wedding guests laughed and joined the toast. “To Prince Kyran and Prince Lance,” they chorused.

Keith smiled wryly and raised his own cup to toast with the rest of the nobles in the banquet hall. Across from him, Lance did the same, but with even less enthusiasm. Just a small nod and a quick lift of his glass, and then he was back to sitting so still and silent he might as well not have been there at all. The same way he’d been all night, ever since the end of the wedding ceremony.

Keith took a small sip of his wine. He would have liked to drink more, to drown himself in alcohol and forget this whole event, but there had already been so many toasts, and there would probably be several more before the night was out, and Keith needed to keep a clear head. Just because it was his wedding night didn’t mean things were safe. He knew his half-brother well, and he really didn’t like the amused gleam in Lotor’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Keith said to him as Lotor took his seat. He was careful to keep his tone neutral, to not reveal just how wary he was of Lotor’s well-wishes, even as he continued, “I’m grateful for your kind words.”

“But of course,” Lotor replied. He grinned and leaned back in his seat, idly swirling the wine in his hand. “It’s not everyday my only brother gets married. And to another prince! An Altean one, of course, but still quite a catch.” Lotor sighed loudly. “And to think he might have been my husband. If I had known how charming he was, I would have reconsidered.”

No, you wouldn’t have. You would never marry someone that would jeopardize your claim to the throne. And for all your claims of kinship and welcome, I know what Lance is to you: a threat.

In a way, Keith was glad for Lotor’s reluctance. Glad that he’d been the one to get engaged through this treaty instead of his brother. Not because Keith truly wanted to marry Lance, but because even Keith would never leave Lance at Lotor’s mercy. That was too cruel a prospect, and nothing Lance deserved.

Keith glanced again at Lance, who’d been unusually quiet since leaving the Hall of Ceremonies. His posture was stiff and straight and obviously uncomfortable in the curved-back chairs of the banquet table. He looked poised to flee at any second. Ready to dart right out of his seat at the first sign of danger. Not that Keith could blame him. It was the first time Lance had been surrounded by so many Galrans for such a long period of time, far from his home and anyone that would support him. It was little wonder he was so wary. Keith would have been the same had their positions been reversed. He actually had been the same when he first came to court— quiet, cautious, and desperate not to make any mistakes.

Grimacing, he looked down at his plate and picked at his food. The wedding feast was magnificent, as expected, filled with every delicacy and traditional dish their cooks could provide. But Keith didn’t have much of an appetite after the events from earlier, and seeing Lance so uncomfortable only made it worse. Made him feel like a pile of rocks had just been dumped into his stomach. Made him feel heavy with guilt.

“You know exactly what he’s walking into,” Shiro had told him the other day. “You should be helping him right now.” But how was he supposed to help when Lance wouldn’t even listen?

He’d tried to warn Lance about the court, back on that balcony on Olkarion. Tried again when they arrived on Daibazaal and still had a chance of avoiding Lotor’s interest. But Lance hadn’t listened. Hadn’t even considered that maybe Keith had a reason for asking him to be quiet. And then when Shiro had warned Lance not to wander the palace alone, and to stay in his room until Shiro could join him, Lance hadn’t listened to that either. He’d been too impatient, too headstrong, and much too eager to walk right into danger.

How was Keith supposed to counteract that when Lance seemed so determined to go his own way, damn the consequences? What was Keith supposed to say to him? What was he supposed to do?

Keith’s scowl deepened. He glared silently at his plate as laughter and unintelligible strands of conversation drifted toward him from up and down the long banquet table. Laughter and conversation directed at him, most likely. That’s all the court liked to do whenever Keith was at the center of something. To gossip about their little half-breed prince, whose only true value came from this marriage alliance. Little Prince Kyran, the butt of everyone’s jokes.

Keith really hated it here, at these events. Hated the banquets and the celebrations and the crowds of courtiers with their simpering smiles and mocking eyes. He wanted nothing more than to just disappear. And to take Lance with him, back to their rooms, far away from this poisonous court.

He didn’t let himself linger too long on that last thought. It was simply his duty as Lance’s husband to keep him safe. Even more so because he knew what Shiro said the other day was right; that right now, Keith was all Lance had.

Holding back a sigh, he set his fork down and pushed his plate away. It was still heaped in food, but there was no way Keith would be able to eat any of it in this state. Not when he was so tense and set on edge. The nobles sitting around him didn’t notice, or perhaps they didn’t care. It wasn’t the first time Keith had refused to eat at a banquet, after all. The blatant animosity they typically showed him often took away his appetite. Made him too queasy to even consider eating. Him pushing his plate away was nothing new for the court, and so it didn’t garner any interest from them. They ignored it just as they ignored almost everything else he did.

The movement seemed to catch Lance’s attention, however. His gaze flickered to the plate, then lifted to focus on Keith, and, not for the first time, Keith was struck by just how impossibly blue his eyes were. How clear and bright and deep they seemed, even in his fear. As blue as Keith had always imagined the ocean to be. Lance flashed him a tiny, hesitant smile. Then he pushed his own plate away.

“Finished already, Prince Lance?” one of the nobles remarked. Keith looked to Lance’s right, at the female that had called Lance’s— and the rest of the banquet table’s— attention, and tried not to scowl at the feigned concern on her face. “Why, you’ve barely eaten anything!”

“Oh. Well, I—” he paused, seeming to realize how the focus of every noble in the immediate vicinity had turned to him. He glanced back at Keith, then ducked his head for a moment. When he looked back up, he had an empty smile plastered across his face. “I’m not very used to the richness of Galran dishes. I’m quite full.”

The female returned his empty smile. “I see. I’m glad for that. We were all worried our dishes wouldn’t be to your taste.”

“No, they were delicious. I simply can’t eat another bite.”

There was a short laugh from further down the table. “He’s probably too nervous to eat,” the soldier said. He grinned viciously, sharp teeth gleaming, not even trying to hide his amusement. “He still has the wedding night to get through, after all.”

Across from Keith, Lance paled. He seemed to draw back into himself, pulling his hands back from the table to instead place them in his lap, closing himself off with his tense, slightly hunched shoulders and carefully neutral expression. An expression that didn’t completely reach his eyes, which were wide and downcast and clearly trying to avoid looking at Keith, especially as the rest of the nobles around them picked up the conversation.

“Will it truly be a wedding night though?” one asked. “Do Alteans mate the same way we do?”

“I’ve heard they don’t mate at all,” one said.

Another answered, “Don’t be ridiculous. I once bedded an Altean. They’re not so different from humans.”

A hum of understanding passed through the involved nobles. Several nodded in agreement, sly grins across their faces, not caring just how insulting their insinuations were. Not caring how the Alteans and humans they were speaking of were almost certainly prisoners, in no position to fight back or defend themselves. Or how Lance, an Altean prince, would feel to know all of that.

Keith felt a spark of irritation at their callous comments. He kept his mouth shut though, choosing not to say a word. He knew better than to cause any trouble. Knew he and Lance just needed to endure until the nobles grew bored and moved on to another topic.

They made it difficult for him to remain unaffected, however. Their comments grew bolder and more pointed as Keith clung desperately to his calm facade, all of them doing their level best to bait him into a reaction, as usual.

“I think the real question here is whether Kyran will be able to perform or not,” one of the females a few seats away from Keith said. She leaned forward as she said it, as if confiding a secret to the others, but her voice was still loud enough for Keith and Lance and all those around them to hear. “He is a half-breed, you know, and I’ve heard half-breeds tend to be sterile.”

One of the nobles sitting beside her frowned. “Sterile doesn’t always equal impotence,” he argued, his narrow face pinched with what seemed to be exasperation. The female brushed off his comments easily.

“Well we can’t say that for sure, Ulaz,” she said. “It’s not like Kyran’s had any lovers before this.”

“It’s unlikely he’ll have any lovers after this either,” the male beside her remarked snidely, which made the others around them laugh.

Keith felt nothing but anger and shame, and he dug his fingers painfully into his thighs to keep himself from lashing out. He couldn’t start a fight here. Couldn’t start any trouble. Not with Lotor sitting so close and watching it all unfold.

His half-brother had kept silent through the entire conversation, but he wore a small smirk across his lips to match the mirth sparkling in his eyes. It was clear he was enjoying this situation, seeing Keith be disparaged by the courtiers and not able to say a word in his own defense. But then mocking Keith had always been one of Lotor’s favorite pastimes. There was little reason for that to change now that Keith was married.

In fact, Keith predicted with a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach, Lotor’s mocking and cruel games would probably only get worse.

“Enough,” Lotor finally said, quelling any further discussions about Keith’s abilities in bed with a single, upraised hand. His expression was openly amused, however, and Keith knew the nobles would take it as silent approval for all their teasing. As silent permission to tease even more. “I’m sure Kyran will perform just fine. He’ll be entirely satisfactory, don’t you agree, Lance?” He smiled at Lance, who tensed even more and leaned further back into his chair, as if trying to hide or escape. His obvious discomfort didn’t deter Lotor, though. It only made him smile even wider as he added, “Though if he isn’t, you can always find me. I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.”

Lotor’s words were met with knowing grins and hoots of laughter, as if it was all just a giant joke. As if he’d only said it to get under Keith’s skin.

Keith knew better. He knew how this game was played. What sort of rules Lotor followed, and what sort of plans he made. He’d seen Lotor lure unsuspecting victim after unsuspecting victim straight into the palm of his hand. Had watched him toy with and torment and toss aside each one without a single care, like they were all mere playthings, existing only to amuse him. There was a pattern to it all. A routine. And it was beginning to show in the way he treated Lance. Maybe the others hadn’t noticed yet, but Keith did, and seeing it made him feel almost ill.

It appeared Shiro had been right. This was a different sort of interest from what Keith had hoped it would be. An altogether more dangerous kind of interest. The kind that wasn’t linked in any way to Keith, as many of Lotor’s amusements were. The kind that would leave Lance broken and return them all to war if Lotor wasn’t stopped.

He looked at Lance, imagining the aftermath he knew was coming. Seeing the scars and the bruises littered across his skin. Seeing the lifeless shell he would be left as. The flat expression. The empty, blue eye. Completely broken, as if Lotor had sucked all the life out of him. Keith imagined it and felt bursts of nausea and anger swirling together in his chest. And it didn’t matter how different he and Lance were, or how poorly they got along, because Keith knew no one deserved that fate. Especially not some like Lance, who’d already sacrificed so much.

Keith stood from his seat. “I believe it’s time we turn in,” he said in the sudden hush of the nobles. “Might Prince Lance and I be excused?”

Lotor turned his smile on Keith, but it was already much colder and harder than it had been a few moments before, when he was looking at Lance. “So soon?” he asked, voice sweet, but also somehow sharp as a knife. “We haven’t even had dessert.”

We haven’t even gotten to the best part.

Keith narrowed his eyes. “We have no appetite for it.”

Whatever Lotor had in mind, Keith wanted no part of. He wanted to get as far away from the court as possible with all haste. He wanted to get Lance as far away from the court as he could, before Lotor had a chance to advance his game somehow.

Keith and Lotor stared each other down for a few, tense moments, silently testing each other’s wills. Keith held his ground for once. He didn’t give in or try to avoid causing conflict, but instead held Lotor’s glare with a glower of his own. Until Lotor finally relented with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You may go. We’ll speak in the morning.”

Keith let out a breath and relaxed. There would be trouble for him in the morning, he knew, but for now he was safe. And he and Lance could make their retreat.

Silently, he looked at Lance and nodded towards the door of the banquet hall. The Altean prince didn’t need anymore than that before he was up out of his chair and at Keith’s side, leaving the hall without a single glance back.

Lance walked quickly, and then walked even quicker once they were away from the banquet hall and he no longer had to hide just how desperate he was to get away. Keith walked at a more even pace. He wasn’t as frantic or worried as Lance seemed to be, but then he was also more accustomed to his half-brother’s ways. He knew Lotor’s dismissal meant they would have peace for the rest of the night. Or at least as much peace as sharing a room would allow.

Keith wrinkled his nose at that thought.

It was customary, of course, for newly married couples to at least spend their wedding night in the same room. What happened during the night was left to the couple’s discretion, just so long as they stayed in that one room. Lance and Keith would be expected to do the same, to honor the traditions of Galra if nothing else. There’d be no way around it. Keith was willing to bet Lotor would station guards near their door just to make sure they went through with it, despite how uncomfortable it would be. And with the way Keith and Lance had gotten along thus far, it was sure to be very uncomfortable.

On any other day, Keith would have volunteered to stay awake the whole night just to spare them both the awkwardness of sharing a bed, but after two weeks of getting barely any rest and all the stress of their wedding, all Keith wanted to do was sleep. To finally curl up in the warmth of an actual bed and slip into blissful oblivion.

That was the only thing on his mind when they finally reached Keith’s apartment of rooms and walked into the large sitting room. He was so focused on finally getting some rest, he didn’t notice the way Lance’s footsteps slowed, or the way he glanced longingly toward the smaller guest bedroom he’d been staying in for the past week. Didn’t notice at least until he turned around and found Lance hesitating in the doorway, looking for all the world like he might just bolt.

“Lance?” he called out. Then again, more loudly, when he didn’t respond. “Lance!”

Lance’s head jerked up. He looked pale again, and he was blinking rapidly, as if coming out of a daze. It took him a few seconds to focus on Keith, then he exhaled and softly murmured, “Sorry.”

Keith frowned. He followed the line of Lance’s gaze across the room, then turned back to Lance and frowned even more. “It’s just a bed,” he said. “It’s not going to bite you.” Lance nodded, but didn’t say anything. He looked down at the floor and fiddled with his fingers in silence. Sighing, Keith turned away and started getting ready for bed, tugging off his gloves first, then pulling out his hair pin and removing his cloak. “You might as well get comfortable,” he said to the still silent Lance. “I think Shiro put some of your things in here earlier.”

“Ok,” Lance answered softly. Too soft, really. Almost timid, which didn’t fit the Lance he knew at all. Keith heard Lance shift behind him, then shift again. Glancing over his shoulder, he found Lance staring at the bed again, his feet fidgeting against the marble floor and his face drained of color. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where his thoughts had turned.

Keith closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Lance, you need to calm down,” he said. “I’m not going to do anything. Nothing needs to happen tonight.”

“But what about—”

“They won’t check,” he interrupted. “This is just a formality. No one actually cares what we do.” And if they did, it wouldn’t be for long. Their interest wouldn’t even last a week before being distracted by some other thread of gossip. That, at least, he was thankful for. He let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, feeling the exhaustion of the past two weeks catching up to him. He was too tired to worry about all this stuff, particularly when there was nothing to worry about. Not tonight. “It’s been a long day. Let’s just go to sleep, alright?”

Lance made a sort of choked sound. “Together?” he demanded. Keith gave him a flat look, which only made Lance huff and stick up his nose. “Well sorry if I don’t quite trust you yet. I wasn’t expecting to share a bed with someone that was my enemy just a week ago.”

“Gods above,” Keith groaned, way too tired to be dealing with this now. “I don’t care what you do, but I’m going to sleep. You can join me, or you can stay up all night worrying over nothing. It makes no difference to me.”

With that, Keith turned his back to Lance and began peeling off his stuffy, formal clothes, starting with his jacket. He heard Lance make a little squeak of protest, but didn’t let it bother him. Why should it when Keith was just stripping down to his underclothes? It wasn’t as if he was being immodest. He was still wearing more than he usually wore to sleep, so if Lance had an issue with it, he would just have to deal with it.

Leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, Keith collapsed onto his bed and sighed happily into the nest of pillows and blankets. It had been too long since he’d gotten to sleep in his own bed. To really sleep, and not just catch an hour or so of rest as he’d been doing for the past week. It was a relief to finally relax into the softness, to let all of his tension out and melt into the lush comfort.

He wrapped his arms around one of the many pillows strewn across his bed, pressing his face into the soft silk, and sighed again. His eyes were shut, and the pillow blocked out the rest of the light, but he could still hear the soft rustled and footsteps of Lance as he moved around the room doing… something. Keith didn’t bother finding out what. It wasn’t his business, and he was too tired to really care. Already, he was starting to drift away, thoughts growing hazy and distant.

A gentle dip in the bed behind him woke him up a bit again. Keith opened one eye to glance over his shoulder, then, seeing it was only Lance turning off the light and laying down beside him, rolled back over and settled more comfortably where he was. Waiting for sleep to wash over him.

Lance shifted, shaking the bed.

Then he shifted again.

And again.

Keith bit back a soft growl. “Can you just calm down and be still for like ten minutes?” he snapped, rolling over to glare at Lance.

“Sorry,” Lance mumbled, slightly muffled by the pillow he’d buried his face in. Even in the darkness, he was clearly visible, as clear to Keith as if they were in a lighted room, all thanks to his Galran genes. He saw the way Lance had tried to cocoon himself in blankets and pillows. Saw too the mess his pillows had already made of Lance’s brown hair, and the tight tension stretched across his broad shoulders. Lance pushed himself up on one elbow and rubbed a hand over his face, at least having the decency to look a bit ashamed at disturbing Keith’s rest. Though clearly not ashamed enough to calm down and let Keith actually sleep. “This is just really weird. Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“What, sharing a bed?”

“Well, yeah, but I meant more that it’s weird that we’re sharing a bed,” he tried to explain, gesturing between them with his hand. “You and me. Both of us. Just… us in general. It’s weird.”

Keith snorted. “It’s an arranged marriage. Of course it’s weird,” he answered. “Now can we please go to sleep?”

Lance frowned. “How are you so composed about this?”

“Years of practice,” he answered. Which was true enough.

After so long in the Galran court, Keith had learned how to bottle up his emotions, to hide them away behind a cool, collected mask, where no one could use them against him. This was just another one of those moments, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as some of the things he’d gone through. It was easy to keep calm away from the court and all its dangers. He’d take this situation and its awkwardness over facing Lotor and the nobles any day.

Lance fell quiet after that comment. He fell back against the bed with a quiet huff and stared up at the ceiling, as if lost in thought. Keith took that as a sign that their conversation was finished, and so turned back onto his other side and nestled down into the thick pile of blankets. With any luck, he’d be able to fall asleep before Lance grew restless again. As long as he was asleep it wouldn’t matter how much Lance tossed and turned. He just needed to drift away before Lance started shifting around again.

However, luck appeared to be completely absent that night.

The bed shook a bit as Lance turned, sheets hushing against him as he moved. “Hey, Keith?” he asked into the darkness. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four,” Keith mumbled into his pillow. He refused to turn over, though, or otherwise acknowledge their conversation in any other way, hoping that his brusque answer would put an end to it before it even began. But again, no luck.

“How old were you when you came to court?”

Keith groaned. He rolled onto his back and glared at Lance. “You’re just not going to go to sleep, are you?” Lance gave him a sheepish smile, but didn’t deny it. Keith glowered at him for a few moments longer, then sighed and rolled all the way onto his side to face lance directly.

If they were going to have this heart-to-heart, they might as well do it face-to-face.

“I was sixteen when my father summoned me,” Keith told him. “I was introduced to the court about a month later.”

Lance’s eyes grew wide. “Sixteen?” he asked in a whisper, as if he couldn’t believe it. Keith nodded. “But that’s eight years.” Keith nodded again, and somehow Lance’s eyes grew even wider. “They’ve treated you this way for eight years?”

“It’s not as bad as it used to be.”

He still had the scars from that first year at court, when he couldn’t seem to do anything right. Most of them were courtesy of his brother, but there were a few his father had given while in the throes of anger, whenever Keith did or said anything he really didn’t like. That year had taught him a lot about staying quiet and keeping his thoughts to himself. Had taught him what a mistake it was to trust in anyone but himself.

Not that Lance needed to know that.

Keith kept that information to himself and didn’t say anything more on the matter, though he could tell Lance wanted to know. He saw it in the furrow between Lance’s brows and the way he worried his bottom lip. Saw it in the tense silence that filled the room, despite Lance’s penchant for noise. Saw it in the way Lance started to reach out to him, then drew his hand back and tucked it against his chest, out of Keith’s reach.

They stayed there in silence for a few moments, not really knowing what to say, or how to dispel the heavy atmosphere that now surrounded them. Keith wondered if maybe that meant that their conversation was over. That it was time for them both to settle down and go to sleep, as he’d wanted to do earlier. But now Keith was reluctant to. He wasn’t sure he could sleep with so much still hanging over them, even though he didn’t know what to do instead.

Lance shifted again, seeming as uncertain as Keith was. After a few moments, he sighed. Then he ducked his head into the blankets, so that only his eyes were showing. Eyes that now refused to meet Keith’s gaze at all.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “About the other day, in the Great Hall. I should have listened to your warnings. I didn’t realize how bad things were here. It’s not at all like Altea.”

Keith blinked in surprise. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all, and he wasn’t really sure how to respond.

There wasn’t any reason for Lance to be apologizing. What happened that day wasn’t entirely Lance’s fault, as Shiro had pointed out. He wasn’t the only one to blame, or the only one that needed some work. Keith accepted that fact now. Knew that some of the blame rested on him too. Knew things needed to change if their situation was ever going to get better.

“I suppose I could’ve been clearer about things,” he admitted, thinking on what Shiro had said the other day. Lance laughed softly and nodded, and it eased some of the tension from the room. Made it easier for Keith to then add, “I’ll try to do better, in the future.”

Lanced smiled then, soft and genuine— the first truly genuine smile he’d ever sent Keith’s way. “Alright,” he murmured through that smile. “I suppose I’ll try to be better about listening then, too.”

Keith chuckled softly, but nodded all the same. “Alright.”

It wasn't much, but at least it was a start.

Chapter Text

Keith had an actual window in his room— one with a window seat and an amazing view of the ice gardens just beyond the palace’s walls. Lance hadn’t been able to truly appreciate that fact the night before, given the darkness of the room and the overall distraction of the situation they’d been in, but now he found himself drawn to it. Drawn to the promise of nature and light. To the illusion of wide, open space.

An illusion he sorely needed right now.

Still dressed in the loose pants and tunic he’d slept in, and bundled up in a blanket he’d stolen from Keith’s bed, Lance curled up in the small alcove of the window seat and watched the Daibazaal sun begin to break over the horizon. It rose steadily over the Kazik silhouette, outlining the distant overhang first in red, then gold, then finally the pale lilac of Daibazaal’s daytime sky as it creeped overhead. Bands of light stretched across the land— over the surrounding city, and the snow-covered grounds of the palace, right into the ice gardens, where it glittered off the frozen trees and the intricately carved ice sculptures.

Lance pressed a hand to the window’s glass, cold seeping into his skin. A small shiver passed through him, and then he was pressing more against the window, leaning his shoulder and his forehead against the glass, longing to pass right through. Right into the cold and quiet air.

It just seemed so peaceful outside, beyond the palace walls. New snow had fallen overnight, and it covered the grounds in a fresh blanket of pure white. It was pristine. Untouched. Completely unmarred by the rest of this world. Not even by the assiduous Galran court.

He grimaced, thinking of the court. Last night had been something of an eye-opener for him, revealing aspects of the nobles he didn’t quite know how to handle. He never realized just how bad the court actually was. How vicious. How cruel. Oh, he knew they’d be unwelcoming, that they’d hate him to the core and refuse to place any trust in him, but he hadn’t been prepared for the open mockery. For the snide comments and callous jokes and the way they talked around him like he wasn’t even there. And he really hadn’t expected to see that same treatment extend to Keith either.

Maybe he should have. Matt had warned him that Keith was unpopular at court, and Keith had confirmed it without hesitation on that balcony on Olkarion. Even Shiro had mentioned how lowly the nobles regarded Keith. But even so, Lance had still expected the court would treat Keith with the esteem his position deserved.

He was a prince, after all. The son of their emperor. Surely that awarded him some respect.

But apparently not, by Galran standards. They made no secret their low opinion of him. Had no qualms about letting it be seen. It made Lance inwardly cringe to remember all they had said to Keith. All they had said about Keith. The mocking and the laughter and the dismissive tones, all aimed right at him. And Keith had suffered that sort of hatred for eight years. Worse even, if what he’d said last night was true.

Eight years. Lance blew out a long breath, trying to remember what he’d been doing eight years ago. He would have been fifteen at the time, nearly sixteen, and just coming into his adulthood. Preparing for his coming of age ceremony, and for his paladin confirmation after that. Eager to step into his new roles. To prove himself. To take the universe by storm.

How naive he’d been back then. And how lucky. He’d never had to deal with the sort of scorn Keith was forced to live with. It was no wonder Keith was so reserved, so wary of letting Lance in. It was no wonder he’d been so upset when Lance had all but invited the court’s ire the day they first arrived.

Lance really should have listened to Keith that day. He recognized that now, and knew he needed to do better. There were things Keith had experienced that Lance couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Rules and situations Lance would be completely ignorant to, and would need Keith’s guidance on, even if asking for his help was the last thing Lance wanted to do.

This was a matter of survival, though. Of navigating this treacherous court and staying alive. His pride could take a few hits in light of that. And at least Keith was on his side.

Sighing, Lance turned away from the window to look at the very thing he’d been trying to ignore all morning, gaze falling on the unconscious lump across the room.

Keith was exactly where Lance had left him earlier, curled up beneath all the blankets and pillows that covered the bed, with only the dark tufts of his hair and ears still visible. It was the same sight Lance had woken up to hours before, the only change being that Keith’s back was now turned to him instead of Keith’s face. All Lance could see now was the back of his head.

Perhaps that was for the best right now, though. Lance had nearly had a heart attack when he woke up and found himself face-to-face with Keith, only the slightest of inches still left between them. He hadn’t been prepared for that. For the proximity, or the warmth, or the softness of Keith’s face. In sleep, his expression was completely relaxed, unlined and unmarred by the nearly imperceptible scowl he always seemed to wear. With it, he seemed younger, less troubled, less Galran. As if, by relaxing, his more human side was finally allowed to come out, sharp edges giving way to soft curves and small, sleepy snuffles.

His unguarded expression made Lance’s breath catch. Made his heart beat a bit faster and made his fingers curl into the sheets. Made him want to bolt out of bed and turn away, where he couldn’t observe the side of Keith he wasn’t sure he was meant to see. At the same time, however, it made him want to stay. To memorize that untroubled expression, and to grow accustomed to Keith’s presence by his side. And that was the scariest part.

It’s just because we’ve shared a bed, he told himself. Just because we’ve shared a bed, and because we’re married.

That had to be the reason why. After all, he’d shared beds with plenty of people over the years. With his siblings, and his cousin, and with Pidge, and even once, after too many cups of nunvill at Altea’s yearly feast, with Coran. But there was a difference between sharing a bed with someone he considered family, and sharing a bed with someone that was his husband. That he was now married to, for all the days of his life.

Waking up to Keith’s face, only inches from his own, had hammered that point home. It felt almost intimate, being so close to him. Hugely, terrifyingly so. So much so that he’d promptly retreated as far away as possible, all the way to the window on the other side of the room, and that still didn’t feel far enough.

He tried to keep his panic smothered at that thought, mindlessly chewing on one of his fingernails as he stared at Keith and considered all the implications of his reaction. All the questions and pitfalls and troubles.

How was he supposed to survive this marriage when just sharing a bed nearly gave him a heart attack? Moreover, what was he supposed to do if this was going to be a regular event? Was he going to be expected to keep sharing Keith’s bed? Would he be allowed to return to his own? And which option would be better in the end? Which would give him and Keith more respect in the court’s eyes?

Because that was the real issue, he knew. Earning the court’s respect. Earning enough of their regard to have some sort of voice, some sort of influence on official matters. And, as jarring as it had been to wake up to Keith’s face that morning, Lance was still willing to keep doing it if that’s what it took to earn that respect. Not just for himself, but for Keith as well, so that, maybe, together, they could make a difference in Galra’s currently-toxic culture. Maybe they could make things better.

A soft knock interrupted Lance’s thoughts. He looked up, away from Keith, toward the door opposite the bed. It cracked open only a moment later so Shiro could poke his head into the room. He saw Lance first, and flashed him a small smile. Then he looked at the bed, where Keith was still sleeping, and let out an audible sigh.

Lance watched, bemused, as Shiro crossed the room to stand beside the bed, then pulled the blankets right off Keith’s curled-up form. “Rise and shine,” he declared loudly. “Time to face the day.”

Keith just groaned and curled into a tighter ball, pulling a pillow over his head. “Go away,” he said, voice muffled by the pillow, his tone so petulant and childish it made Lance grin. Shiro, on the other hand, shook his head.

“I’m afraid I can’t. Lotor’s called a meeting.”

Keith groaned again. “Now?”

“Yes.” He tugged the pillow from over Keith’s head and threw it across the room. Then, seeing Keith wasn’t about to get up despite that, he walked over to the room’s dresser, pulled out a black, military jacket, and tossed it onto the bed. “Come on, get up. You know what Lotor’s like when you’re late.”

Keith grimaced, then shifted to bury his head under the pillow he still had left. “Fuck him,” he mumbled. “He can wait.”

Lance pressed a hand against his mouth, fighting back a laugh. He hadn’t expected Keith to be so grouchy in the mornings. Of course, he’d seen a hint of it when they first arrived on Daibazaal and he’d found Keith scowling at the world despite having just woken up, but he’d figured it was just due to him not getting enough sleep. Finding out his grumpiness was something more regular was rather amusing. Even more, it was somewhat endearing.

Shiro, however, didn’t seem to see it in the same light. He rolled his eyes at Keith’s dramatics, clearly unimpressed. “You have ten minutes to get up and get ready,” he declared. “Don’t make me drag you out of bed in front of your husband.”

Lance actually did laugh at that— a soft exhalation that mixed together with the much louder huff that came from the bed. “Ten minutes is plenty of time,” Keith grumbled. He squished his pillow even tighter over his head, then waved a lazy, dismissive hand at Shiro. “Now go away.”

Looking exasperated, Shiro retreated back towards the door, no doubt already counting down the seconds until he’d have to force Keith from his bed to whatever meeting it was that Lotor had apparently called. The thin press of his lips and his furrowed brows gave Lance the impression it wouldn’t be the first time Shiro had been made to do so, and Lance couldn’t help but ask once Shiro got closer, “Is he always like this?”

Shiro heaved out a long-suffering sigh. “Whenever he finally decides to get some sleep, yes.” He looked over his shoulder to the bed, then back at Lance, and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your morning. Normally, Lotor’s meetings don’t happen so early.”

“I was already awake anyways,” Lance assured him. He pulled his blanket tighter around himself, then looked over Shiro more carefully, noting how disheveled he appeared compared to usual. Like he had rushed to Keith’s room as soon as he’d heard Lotor’s summons. Which, considering how immediate the meeting seemed to be, was fairly likely. Shiro probably hadn’t gotten much of a chance to compose himself before heading over here, and it showed in his slightly messy hair and his not quite fully buttoned jacket.

Lance pursed his lips for a moment, then smiled up at Shiro. “Why don’t you go catch your breath outside?” he suggested. “I’ll make sure Keith gets up in time.”

It was the least Lance could do to give Shiro a hand. He deserved a moment to rest and compose himself after his rush to get here. And, after all, Lance was Keith’s husband now. As unusual as their situation was, they were still married, and so Keith was now partially Lance’s responsibility.

Shiro hesitated, biting his bottom lip. He glanced over his shoulder again and combed a hand through his hair, making the white and black strands stick out even more erratically than they’d been before. “You sure?” he asked softly. Lance nodded.

“I had to wake my siblings up all the time back home. It’s no problem.” Granted, his siblings were all younger, smaller, and easier to lift out of bed, but this couldn’t be that much different. He just needed to find the right way to coax Keith from his nest of blankets and pillows. Preferably without Keith getting mad at him. A task easier said than done.

Finally though, Shiro nodded. “Ten minutes,” he reminded Lance, who answered him by slanting a hand into what Shiro had told him was a human salute. Shiro’s eyes widened for a second, and a brilliant smile broke across his face. Chuckling, he returned Lance’s salute, then walked out the door, leaving a fond warmth in Lance’s chest in the wake of his departure.

As the door shut, Lance dropped his hand, and then let his smile drop a bit as well. He sank further into the blanket still wrapped around him, drawing on its warmth and security before turning his attention back towards Keith. Before considering the best way to handle the challenge in front of him.

There were several ways he could go about this. Keith hadn’t moved since dismissing Shiro, still curled up in a tight ball with his pillow over his head, looking completely dead to the world. The only clue he hadn’t yet fallen back asleep was in the tiny rise and fall of his chest— the short, quick breaths that came with that nebulous state between being asleep and awake. That state where any sort of disturbance could shatter any hope of further rest.

If Lance had been back home and dealing with one of his siblings, he would have already launched himself onto their bed, jumping up and down and all around until his victim finally gave in and got out of bed. Or perhaps he would have just scooped them up, right out of the warmth of their bed and into the morning air, where they couldn’t avoid being shocked awake.

He couldn’t do that here, though. At least not if he wanted to maintain that fragile link of understanding they’d begun building the night before, which Lance definitely did. He didn’t want to ruin what bit of progress they’d made by making Keith stupidly mad at him again. And he was pretty sure Keith would probably kill him before ever tolerating Lance jumping on his bed. Nevermind any of the other equally-disruptive methods Lance used back home.

But perhaps, now that he thought about it, Lance didn’t need to resort to such measures. It wasn’t as if Keith was actually asleep, after all. Not fully. There was still a part of him that would be able to hear and process Lance’s voice, particularly with his enhanced Galran hearing. And, if Keith’s irritated reaction to Lance’s chatter the night before was anything to judge by, Keith didn’t seem to be the type of person able to completely ignore sounds and continue sleeping. Given enough mindless prattle, even Keith would be willing to get up and get on with his day.

“Hey, Keith,” Lance called, deciding to test out his theory. Keith grumbled a bit in response and rolled onto his stomach. His hands reached up to press the pillow even tighter around his head, right over where his ears were. Lance bit back a smug grin and tried again, “Keith, are you awake?”

“No,” Keith nearly growled this time, though the sound of it was muffled by his pillow. Lance laughed softly.

“That’s not very convincing,” he replied. “You should get up, you know. You still have to get ready for that meeting Shiro mentioned. I’m not sure what it’s about, but it seems important. And it’s rude to keep people waiting.”

Keith whined and reached out blindly to his side. Possibly searching for another pillow, or a blanket, or anything to help him drown out the noise, and whining even louder when his search came up empty. Not that it would help him much, anyways. If there was one thing Lance was good at, it was politely talking someone’s ear off. Or, in this case, talking a reluctant Galran prince into waking up.

He raised the volume of his voice just a bit and continued, “Actually, since you’re awake now, I wanted to run some things by you. I’ve been thinking about what you said last night, about how the court treats you and all that, and I was wondering what we might be able to do to reduce that. Even just a little.” He smiled as Keith loudly exhaled, and then shrugged. “I mean, I haven’t been here for very long, and I don’t know all that much about the court yet, but it does seem to me we might earn some respect by exceeding their expectations. For example, our living arrangements,” he said, figuring he might as well air some of the questions he’d been pondering all morning as long as he was going to keep talking. “If they expect us to return to separate rooms after this, then wouldn’t it send a stronger message if we didn’t? Show them a united front or something? But on the other hand—”

“Are you going to be like this every morning?” Keith asked, finally lifting his head to scowl at Lance, who just smiled innocently back at him.

“Is that a yes to sharing a room, then?”

Keith huffed and flopped back down on the bed, this time with his head on top of the pillow, turned to face Lance. His hair flopped wildly across the pillow and over his face, curled into disarray by sleep. He blew at a few strands over his nose, then, when that didn’t work, resorted to pushing them back with his hand, which only made them stick straight up above his head, like some sort of mane.

“United front might work,” he said through a yawn, not noticing Lance’s small, amused smile through his squinted eyes. Especially as he brought his hand down to rub the rest of his sleep from them. “I’m fine with it. It’s just sharing a bed, right?”

The panic attack he’d nearly had that morning, with all it’s surprise and doubts and confusion, flashed through Lance’s mind for a brief second before Lance firmly pushed it away.

“Right,” he said instead. “Just sharing a bed.”

Just like he had with his siblings, he reminded himself. And with Allura, and Pidge. This didn’t need to be any different. Sure, Keith was technically his husband, but that was just in name. There was nothing more to it. He was sure the title was what kept freaking him out, and Lance would just have to get used to it. To let it become something normal. It didn’t have to mean anything, he told himself. It clearly didn’t mean anything to Keith, who was so calm and unaffected by the entire thing.

Lance pressed his lips together and turned away, looking out the window once more. “You really should get up,” he said. “This meeting sounded important.”

Keith sighed. “I suppose.”

There was a beat of silence, the the loud shush of shifting fabric. Probably Keith sitting up. Maybe even getting out of bed, like he was supposed to. Lance didn’t look. He kept his eyes averted, watching the first small figures, all cloaked in fur and dark colors, bob their way into the ice gardens far below. The first signs of a waking court, ready to greet the day.

There was more shuffling behind him as Keith moved around, but otherwise they were silent. Lance didn’t like it. The silence somehow made the room feel smaller, drawing in the walls and filling every nook and cranny. Even sitting by the window, looking out into the wide, clear sky, Lance felt oppressed by it. By its heavy weight, and the awkward, hesitant edge beneath it.

He cleared his throat. “So what sort of meeting is this?” he asked, just in an attempt to cut through the quiet.

“Just a council meeting,” Keith replied. “Lotor holds them regularly, and always expects me to be there.” He paused then, growing completely silent, even in movement. Lance glanced sideways at him, at his unruly hair and furrowed brow and half-shrugged-on military jacket. He stared at the ground, as if silently mulling over something, and slowly pulled his jacket into place. “There’s going to be a lot to discuss. I’ll… probably be busy for a while.”

Lance nodded. “Can I come along?” he asked. Council meetings were nothing new to him, after all. He’d sat through more Altean councils than he cared to count, listening to various officials drone on and on about infrastructure and trade conditions. So even if the Galran council functioned somewhat differently, Lance wouldn’t be completely lost. If nothing else, it would be a good learning experience for him. A chance to figure out just how Galra operated.

Keith, however, looked horrified at the very thought.

“No. Absolutely not,” he exclaimed, so quickly and with so much conviction it made Lance bristle.

“Excuse me?” he demanded, voice sharp. He didn’t appreciate the way Keith seemed to dismiss him without even thinking about it. Like Lance wasn’t even worth considering. Which stung, particularly after their late night conversation.

At his tone, Keith drew back. “That came out wrong,” he said, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. He took a second, mouth opening, then closing, then pinching together as he thought before he finally explained, “It’s just… better, for you not to be there right now. Safer. None of the council wanted peace.”

“Oh,” Lance breathed, deflating a bit. “Oh, right.”

He’d honestly forgotten about that. About how the council would view him. How his interference would be interpreted. How they might react.

In his worry over their harsh words, he’d completely overlooked how capable they still were in creating violence. How willing, even, though he really should have expected that after his experience with Sendak and the others in the hallway the other day. They hadn’t been too far from a fight then, when there were only four of them. And the council chamber would probably hold many more Galrans that would gladly stick a dagger right in Lance’s back.

Sighing, he slumped back in his seat, disappointed, but resigned. Keith frowned at him from across the room.

“Lance…”

“It’s fine,” Lance interrupted. “You’re right about this. Even I can see that.” He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths, then plastered on a smile and added, “I’ll find some other way to pass my time.”

Keith’s expression grew tight as he observed Lance, his brows furrowing together and mouth flattening into a thin line. For a second, it seemed like he was about to argue. Or to say something important. Then the moment passed, and he just shook his head.

“Wait here for Shiro to return,” he advised softly. “Don’t go wandering off alone.”

As if he needed to tell Lance that. After his last misadventure, he wasn’t about to go exploring without at least knowing where he was headed. But Lance didn’t say that. Instead, he scoffed, and then threw Keith a cocky smirk, trying to lighten the atmosphere. To return some sort of normalcy to their interactions in place of the somber mood they’d somehow gotten to.

There was enough sadness in Lance’s life already. He didn’t need it from Keith as well. Not right now.

“Worried about me, Keith?” he teased, which caused Keith to roll his eyes.

“More worried about the trouble you’ll make.”

“Please. I’ve never caused trouble a day in my life.”

Keith gave him a flat look.

Before either them could say anything more, however, there was another knock at their door. They both looked towards the sound, Keith with far more reluctance than Lance, already knowing who was the other side. Sure enough, the door soon swung open wide enough for Shiro to glance inside. The grin that then broke across his face at seeing Keith out of bed was so delighted it nearly made Lance laugh.

“Ready?” he asked, still beaming.

Keith huffed, though by the stiff set of his shoulders, he was apparently readying himself to face the crowd of nobles. Not that he said as much to Shiro. He didn’t really need to. Instead, he finished buttoning up his jacket and turned to grab the silver clip from the bedside table to pin back the hair that was still sticking wildly all over the place. As he did so, he caught Lance’s eye. They held each other’s gaze for a few moments in silence. Then Lance smiled.

“I guess I’ll see you later, then,” he said. Most likely not until later that night. Though part of him hoped it wouldn’t take that long, if only so he wouldn’t have to be alone all day.

Keith nodded and took a step towards the door. “Until later,” was all he said, mumbled so softly Lance nearly didn’t hear him, and then he was out the door and dragging Shiro along with him. Shiro barely even managed to give Lance a small wave before they disappeared from view. And then Lance all alone in the sudden silence of the room.

Sighing, he slumped back in his seat and pulled his knees toward his chest.

That wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted their morning to end, but least this time, when Keith left, it wasn’t in anger. It wasn’t him storming off after a fight Lance barely understood. Or him slipping away just to avoid interacting with Lance.

No, this time the two of them had managed to hold a civil conversation. One that was actually productive, and, surprisingly, enjoyable. For the most part, anyways.

Lance leaned his head back against the wall and glanced at the empty doorway, a tiny smile hovering on his lips as he recalled Keith’s wild bed head, and the soft expression he held while he slept. As he remembered Keith’s petulance, and his laziness, and then his willingness to correct himself when he recognized Lance’s irritation, which was so much more than he’d expected from Keith. Even after the understanding they’d come to the night before.

It was enough to make him think that maybe this arrangement between them would actually work. That Lance would be able to settle into this new role. That all his worries would be for nothing.

It wasn’t much, he knew, but at least it was a start.

Chapter Text

Despite what Lance had been expecting, ‘later’ turned out not to be until much, much later that night, after he’d already settled into the large bed he now shared with Keith and was drifting off to sleep. He heard the bedroom door creak open, and felt the dip of the mattress behind him, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he found Keith burrowing into the sheets and pillows behind him, seeming completely exhausted.

Lance stared blearily at him for a moment, then rolled back over and closed his eyes.

It’d clearly been a long day for Keith. Lance didn’t need to make it longer by forcing some sort of conversation on him. Whatever they might have had to say to each other could wait until the next day. They had time.

Except when Lance woke up the next day, he was all alone. No sign of Keith in the room or the bathroom. Not even the sound of shuffling or low voices in the rooms beyond the bedroom door, where he knew Keith and Shiro typically congregated in the mornings.

Lance frowned at that, and lifted his head just enough to look out the window, where the sun was just barely beginning to rise over the horizon. It was early. Almost as early as when Lance had woken up the day before. Too early for anyone to be up and about just yet. Especially half-Galrans that were particularly grouchy in the morning, even if he biologically didn’t need as much sleep as Lance did.

Frown growing deeper, he pushed himself up a bit more and looked towards the bedroom door. But there was no light coming from its cracks. No sign of life to prove that Keith was somewhere in the near vicinity. And when Lance stretched out his hand to pat the area Keith had slept in, he found the sheets cold to the touch. No lingering warmth from Keith’s presence. Even with how much higher body temperature was compared to Lance.

Clearly he’d left long before Lance even awoke. Long before he should have been awake, given how late he’d fallen asleep the night before. It seemed odd to Lance. And a little concerning.

Was Keith trying to avoid Lance again? Was this him running away?

But that didn’t make sense to Lance. If Keith had wanted to run away, he wouldn’t have agreed to let Lance share his room. Not when there was still a perfectly good and empty bedroom that Lance had been using up until that point. If Keith had wanted to avoid him, he would have told Lance to keep using that room. And even then, he wouldn’t have returned to their set of rooms at all. He would have kept his distance and locked himself away in some other part of the palace, the same way he had the last time he’d been avoiding Lance.

Whatever it was, then, that had gotten Keith out of bed so early had no relation to Lance or Lance’s presence. So it must have been something related to the court. And it must have been something important, or else he probably would have ignored it.

Sighing, Lance flopped back on the bed, pressing the palms of his hands against his sleep-heavy eyes. Might as well go back to sleep, he thought, resigning himself to the emptiness of the room. There was no point in worrying over the situation, after all. Not when he couldn’t do anything about it. And if Keith had been dragged away for court business, then it was almost certain Lance couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t get involved in that sphere just yet.

Keith could probably handle himself anyways. He didn’t need Lance to deal with the nobles. He’d handled them for years before Lance had come along, and knew them far better than Lance did. Which meant Lance could just relax and do… something. Figure things out. Like moving his stuff into Keith’s room, now that they had agreed on sharing. And learning the layout and customs of the palace. If he was going to live here for the rest of his life, then learning that would be absolutely essential. Or would at least help pass the time.

He set himself to that task as soon as he managed to get out of bed, just and hour or so after he’d first woken up. He moved his clothes and rearranged his things and settled himself into the room he now shared with Keith. It took a while to get it all right, to somehow fit all his possessions into this room without intruding on Keith’s space. Without having their things overlap so much that there was no longer any separation between the two. Not because Keith already owned so much that Lance couldn’t fit his stuff in, but because there was… well, nothing in this room.

Lance hadn’t realized just how stark Keith’s bedroom was until he started moving in. There were no decorations— no paintings or banners on the walls, no vases, no trinkets, no evidence of any personal touch. Even in his dresser, there was very little. A few sets of clothing, some cloaks, some shoes, and all of them in a much simpler style than what he’d seen the Galran nobles wearing. Lance’s wardrobe, despite it only being a small fraction of what he could have brought from Altea, was still twice what Keith owned. It filled at least half the dresser, and made Keith’s wardrobe look almost nonexistent.

I’ll have to get more too, he realized. Pieces cut in the Galran style to impress the nobles and show he was no threat. To show he wasn’t about run away. That he was committed to this alliance. Not that dressing in their fashions would suddenly solve everything, he knew, but it certainly would help. No one would respect him if he showed up to official functions in his Altean robes, after all. Not here. Not on this planet that despised Altea so much.

He really did need their support if this treaty was going to las though. Or, at the very least, their acceptance. Somehow, Lance had to get them on his side. And if his appearance was his only tool in achieving that, then Lance was going to use it without hesitation.

“How long will it take to make up a new wardrobe?” he asked Shiro later that day, after Shiro escorted him down to the kitchen for a private lunch, and then took Lance right back to his room once he was finished. Shiro glanced at him in confusion, and Lance elaborated, “I know I won’t have to worry about this for a while longer, but I’ll need something proper to wear for when I finally start attending official functions. Will I have the time to get that sorted out?”

Shiro stared at him for a moment. “Oh, I think so, Your Highness,” he answered slowly. “Plenty of time.” Then he bowed his head and left the room. Presumably returning to Keith’s side, as usual.

Lance frowned, a bit confused, but didn’t think much more on it. There was probably more on Shiro’s mind than Lance’s clothing options, after all, so Lance couldn’t really blame him. He would just have to bring up with issue with Keith later that night. Try to set up a time to see the palace seamstresses. They still had his measurements from the wedding ensemble, so it wouldn’t take too much time to plan a new wardrobe. Just some discussions over color, maybe some debates over styles, but no actual measurements or fittings, which were the truly time-consuming tasks.

He figured it would take only an hour to get things settled. Maybe two. Surely, Lance could be given that much time for something so important. He couldn’t imagine Keith refusing.

However, when Keith finally returned to their rooms, hours after Lance had run out of things to do, it was in a flurry. He didn’t even stop to acknowledge Lance, but rushed around, moving with so much purpose Lance didn’t dare distract him with silly questions about his own wardrobe. Instead, he sat silent in his chair and watched Keith change his jacket for something more formal and then slipped a red sash over one shoulder, the various gold and silver medals pinned across it glittering in the lamp light.

It was more regal than anything else Lance had seen Keith wear thus far. The militaristic style of the jacket, with its metallic, silver accents and the slew of medals marking his skill in battle, gave him a more severe image. Added a dangerous edge to the poise he carried that impressed Lance. That made him look less like an outcast prince and more like a future emperor.

“Is there something important happening tonight?” Lance asked.

“Military dinner. I’m required to attend,” Keith answered. Lance perked up a bit, wondering if this at least was something he could get involved with. Something he could use to step into Keith’s world and start carving out a place of his own. Before he could ask, though, Keith glanced over at him and grimaced apologetically. “It’d probably be best for you to stay here tonight. The military still isn’t sure about this treaty.”

“Oh,” Lance sighed, slumping back into his seat. “Of course.”

He should have expected that, really. They’d fought against each other for so long; of course the military would need time to adjust to not viewing Lance as a threat. Maybe even more time than the regular politicians and nobles would need. And while Lance wanted to get involved, he wasn’t keen on being attacked or targeted. Giving them some time was in all of their best interests.

Eventually, he told himself as Keith finished getting ready and rushed back out without another word. He stared longingly at the door for a moment— at the dark wood and the promise of excitement— then turned away with a soft sigh. It can’t be this way forever. Give it a few more weeks.

Still, he’d never been one to hide away, or to miss out on what was happening around him. On Altea, he’d always been involved in some way, whether in sitting through council meetings or strategizing with their military officers or even just helping his mother choose decorations for their next big banquet. He’d always had a hand in what was happening. Always had a role to play. A way to make his mark. A way to just interact.

It rankled something deep inside him to now have to hide away in his room like a bird in a cage, far from anything important. Especially as the days passed in much the same manner as that very first day, with Keith sporadically rushing in and out and Lance left with nothing to do.

Eventually, he reminded himself each morning, when he woke up to an empty bed and an even emptier day. Eventually he would be allowed to find some role to play in this new home of his. He just needed to be patient, and to wait for the right timing. But as the days turned into weeks, and as Keith continued to keep Lance at a distance, patience grew harder and harder to find. And while Lance understood why Keith was acting the way he was, that didn’t make it any easier to bear.

“He could at least let me join the court feasts,” Lance muttered to himself as he stalked down the hallways. “I’m not so weak I can’t handle a few nasty comments.”

Sure, the callousness had shocked him when he first experienced it, but now that he knew what to expect, he was more prepared to handle whatever they had in store. Could let their words roll off him with no more than the briefest acknowledgment. It was a small price to pay for the chance to actually get out of his room. He’d been left to himself for so long, he’d take any sort of interaction. Even the court’s hostile remarks.

He sighed and turned a stairwell, hopping lightly down the steps that led toward the kitchen.

The one good thing about his current isolation was that it meant he’d had time to learn more of the palace’s layout. He’d asked Shiro to give him a tour the other week, and had learned enough of its hallways to feel confident in where he was going. There were only a few rooms he dared go to without Shiro acting as his guard, after all. The same rooms he’d been to so often in the past weeks that he had their paths memorized. The kitchen was one of those rooms, and probably Lance’s favorite.

He stepped inside and drew in a deep breath. The kitchen was a miasma of of mouth-watering aromas— roasted meat and simmering broth and the subtle tang of spices hanging heavy in the air. One of the cooks raced by with a tray of fresh rolls, and Lance followed the scent with his nose until it disappeared behind all the rest. Across the room, another cook dropped some meat into a pan, adding to the haze of scents as the pan hissed and steamed. And all around, the rest of the cooks— most of whom were human or members of another Galra-conquered race— attended to their own creations, their own parts of the miasma, with an urgency that only accompanied a large banquet.

Lance stood in the doorway and soaked it all in, a blissful smile tugging at his lips. It was so comforting to know that, even on another planet, the smell of good food and the bustle of the kitchen would always be the same. If he just closed his eyes and ignored everything else, he could almost imagine that he was back home, back in the airy kitchens of the Altean palace as the cooks rushed to finish their feast.

It was almost enough to ease the bitter ache inside his chest. Almost, but not quite.

Quietly, he slipped across the room, walking along the far wall to keep out of everyone’s way. The head chef nodded as he passed. He’d been here often enough in the past weeks that she was no longer surprised at his presence, and just continued about her business as normal. The rest of the cooks did the same, though many cast wary glances.

Lance tried not to pay attention. Though he came to the kitchen for every meal, the cooks still didn’t know him that well yet. Didn’t know what to expect. Whether he was there to keep an eye on them, or was trying to hide. And with the court they served, he couldn’t blame them for being suspicious. He would have been too in their place.

He finally came to the long table tucked away in the corner of the room, far from the main action of the kitchen, where he took his meal each day. There was a small, clay oven beside it— one that was always lit, but hardly ever used. At least when Lance was around. He took one of the wooden chairs and set it close to the oven, then sat down to wait.

It was a nice change to settle in a chair that wasn’t overstuffed or luxurious. It was even nicer to be sitting next to a consistent source of heat. The oven’s warmth washed over him like a gentle wave, drawing the cold from his limbs and replacing it with the sweet caress of heat. Like stepping out into the sun. Or immersing himself in one of Altea’s hot springs. It was the perfect remedy for this wintry planet, and for the chill that seemed to pervade wherever he went, no matter how many layers he wore.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the side of the oven. The clay walls were thick enough to keep the outside from growing too hot, but there was enough warmth to seep through seep through his clothes and into his skin. Across the room, the cooks continued to murmur at one another, too low for Lance to understand, but still loud enough to remain a pleasant, background hum. The constant noise of it all was soothing. After so many hours in silence, he relished the chance to be surrounded by sound and life and warmth. Wanted to stay for as long as he could, if only to avoid the silence of his own room.

He sighed inwardly when he heard the patter of footsteps headed his way. Usually they weren’t so quick to deliver his food. They’d learned he was willing to be patient and wait, so they typically tried to finish the feast for the rest of the palace first, leaving Lance to bask in the atmosphere of the kitchen. It seemed today was an exception. Maybe they just had too much to make and needed Lance out of their hair? Or maybe they were already close to finished, and so were ready to serve Lance his portion?

Whatever it was, Lance resigned himself to having this interlude cut short. He already caused the cooks enough trouble as it was; he didn’t want to cause anymore. He would just eat his food, and then he would leave without complaint. Perhaps tomorrow he could stay longer.

However, when straightened up and turned towards the footsteps, he didn’t find the head cook, as he’d been expecting. Instead, he faced a tall human with a tray of uncooked pastries in his hands who looked just as surprised to see Lance as Lance felt himself.

“Your Highness,” the cook squeaked out. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. I can use a different oven. Please forgive me—”

“It’s fine,” Lance quickly interrupted, wanting to reassure him. Lance wasn’t mad, after all. How could he be? The cook had just wanted to use an available oven, and it wasn’t like he was truly bothering Lance. Though by the petrified expression across his face, one would think he’d just committed some terrible crime.

There was something vaguely familiar about him, however. Something about his dark skin and hair, and the way he shrank back towards himself, as if by doing so he could hide his large, sturdy form behind the tray in his hands. Lance looked closer at him, eyes squinting a little, taking in the square face and wide nose and the dark bangs that stopped just above his brown eyes. The eyes that were glued to Lance in clear and familiar terror.

“You’re the one I ran into the other week!” he exclaimed as the memory came back to him. “Outside the council chambers!” The servant with the metal bowls who had been too afraid of Lance to even try speaking with him.

Or had he been afraid of the council members that came out after him? Had he been afraid of both?

Both was probably the correct answer, he thought as the human shied away even more. Holding his tray out in front of him, he bent over into a deep bow, quietly pleading, “Forgive me. Please, forgive me. I’ll do anything.” His shoulders were tense, and his head carefully ducked, as if just waiting to be hit across his back. It made Lance frown, his heart aching for this person he barely even knew. For everything he must have gone through.

“Please stop,” Lance told him. “I wasn’t accusing you. You aren’t in trouble.” That stopped the human’s mumbling just as quickly as it had began. He lifted his head a bit— just enough for his eyes to meet Lance’s, fearful and hesitant, but also still hopeful. Lance gave him a small smile. “You ran away so quickly last time, I never got your name.”

The human straightened up completely and tilted his head to the side. He seemed to be contemplating. Weighing Lance’s words with caution. “Hunk,” he finally answered, then bowed his head and tacked on a quiet, “Your Highness.”

Lance’s smile grew wider. “Hunk,” he repeated. “A unique name.” And one that suited him, Lance decided. It matched the strong muscles of his arms and back, but was also soft enough to match his friendly temperament. He was the only one to have even attempted speaking to Lance thus far. Lance hoped that friendliness might last a bit longer.

Hunk still held a tray of unbaked pastries in his hands, though, and now that he’d been assured that Lance wasn’t upset with him, Lance could see him practically bouncing on his feet, anxious to get back to work. Probably to rush off to a different oven, unless Lance said something. He glanced at the oven by his side, then back at Hunk, and asked, “Did you need to use this oven?” He didn’t wait for Hunk’s response before continuing, “Go ahead. I really don’t mind.”

Hunk hesitated. He glanced back and forth between Lance and the oven, seeming unsure. But finally he made a decision and took a step forward, then slipped his tray into the oven.

“Thank you,” he said quietly once the tray was settled and his timer was set. His tone was soft, and a little shaky, and Lance had a feeling his words were meant for more than just letting him use the oven.

“I would never blame someone for something that was clearly an accident,” he told Hunk in an equally soft tone. “Maybe that’s what they do here on Daibazaal, but that wasn’t how I was raised. You’re safe with me.” Hunk stared at him for a moment, then nodded. A tiny smile appeared at the corner of his lips. Feeling his own mouth curving up in response, Lance relaxed back in his chair and lightly joked, “In any case, it’s not like anyone would listen to me.”

“No one?” Hunk joked back. “Not even your husband?” Lance’s smile fell just a bit at that. Seeing Lance’s reaction, Hunk seemed to realize just what he’d said and quickly backtracked. “Sorry. Forget I said anything. You probably don’t want to talk to me.”

“No,” Lance answered, shaking his head, “it’s fine. It’s nice, actually.” He forced a smile and looked away, twisting his black signet ring round and round his index finger. “Kei— Kyran might listen to me, if he was ever around. He’s too busy at the moment to really pay attention. And I know Shiro would listen to me if I really needed him, except he’s busy too.”

“Sounds lonely.”

Lance shrugged, but otherwise didn’t answer. He knew that Hunk was right— that he was lonely, and that was why he cherished these moments in the kitchen, when he could be completely surrounded by people and sound, so much— but Lance didn’t want to talk about it. He was doing what he needed to do. Biding his time until the Galrans could come to accept him, at least enough to let him join their official events. This loneliness— this impatience and ache— was the price he had to pay to earn that.

Lance let out a slow breath. “So,” he said, “what’s it like working in the kitchen? I’ve always wondered.”

It was a weak change of subject, an obviously desperate attempt to avoid revealing more than he wanted, but thankfully Hunk didn’t pry. He didn’t even complain.

“It’s busy,” he answered.

“Busy?”

Hunk nodded. “And warm. There’s always something to make, so the ovens are always on. Turns this place into a sauna around lunch.” Staring into the darkness of the oven, he smiled, and added more softly, “Reminds me of home.”

Lance’s thoughts wandered to Altea’s summers, and the hot springs of the northern mountains, and to the afternoons spent lounging in the sunlight with all his friends and family around him, and he sighed. “I understand.”

They both glanced at each other then, eyes finally meeting, and Lance felt a shared understanding pass between them. A connection born of being displaced and alone and longing for home.

However, before either of them could say anything more, the timer Hunk set began to beep. They both jumped at the noise. Hunk quickly shut it off, then grabbed two thick towels and used them to pull the tray from the oven. A small cloud of steam puffed out of the pastries as the hit the cool air, but when it floated away, Lance could see the rows of perfect, golden sitting right where pale lumps of dough used to be.

“Wow,” he breathed. “Did you make these all yourself?” When Hunk nodded, he let out a low whistle of appreciation. “They look incredible. I might just have to steal one.”

Hunk laughed a bit shyly and held out the tray. “It’s the least I can do,” he said, which Lance took as permission to try one of the pastries right then and there.

He took a bite and it practically melted in his mouth. It was so light and warm, and filled in the middle with some sort of sweet cream— a completely different taste from anything else he’d had since landing on Daibazaal. It was almost similar to the sweet puff desserts his mother always made for their birthdays. So similar that it almost made him want to cry.

He complimented Hunk profusely on his creations, simultaneously praising the food and begging Hunk for more until Hunk flushed bright red in pleasure. He laughed and gave Lance another, but saved the rest for all those feasting in the dining hall, as they’d originally been intended for. As he laughed, he spun on his heel to return to work, but then paused. Lance paused in his eating as well.

“Your Highness,” Hunk said, looking back over his shoulder. “If you ever need someone, I’ll listen to you. Just so you know.”

Lance swallowed thickly, not knowing what to say. The offer meant so much, he couldn’t find the words to express it. Finally, he settled on a quiet, but heartfelt, “Thank you,” and hoped those two words would get his message across.

Hunk beamed at him then, bright and open and full of simple joy, and it was enough for Lance to forget about his empty rooms and the lonely ache in his chest. Enough to let him hope. To fill his chest with warmth and the giddy bubbles of happiness.

It was enough to make Lance feel a little more at home in this dismal place. And, for Lance, that meant everything.

Chapter Text

“Ah, Kyran,” Lotor drawled when he noticed Keith enter the council chambers, interrupting the debate the council members were having. The rest of the room was already full despite the early hour— every chair filled by the heads of every noble family and the top-ranking generals, save for the one at the foot of the table that was always reserved for him, right where Lotor could see him best. Lotor laced his fingers together and leaned back in his chair to stare at Keith with cold, sharp eyes. “So good of you to join us. We were growing concerned.”

Keith fought back a grimace and dutifully sank down into his chair. “I apologize for being late,” he answered. “I’m afraid I accidentally overslept.”

Which wasn’t exactly true. It was more that he’d been misinformed about the time of this meeting, and had only been saved by a convenient comment Shiro had overheard while grabbing breakfast, but he knew better than to mention any of that. He had little doubt the lack of communication had been deliberate on Lotor’s part. An attempt to make Keith miss this council meeting altogether. To make sure Keith wouldn’t be present to protest any of their decisions. Or, at the very least, to give Lotor a valid reason to get Keith in trouble. And if any of that was true— as he heavily suspected it was— then Keith didn’t want to draw attention to how close Lotor had been to succeeding. It would only encourage him to continue trying.

Lotor smiled at Keith as he sat down, but it wasn’t in any way friendly or welcoming. There was a coldness to his face. And a calculating glint in his eyes that Keith really didn’t trust. He tilted his head to the side, observing Keith, and tapped his index fingers together. “No doubt you’re worn out from all your late nights,” he said, smile turning cruel. “Did Prince Lance share your bed again? He’s very demanding of you. It must be exhausting.”

Keith bristled at the implication those words carried. From all around the room, he felt the too-curious gazes of the nobles and military officials turn his way, just as Lotor probably wanted, all of them waiting to hear Keith deny it. To hear him admit this marriage wasn’t working out the way it was meant to. That they all would have been better off without it.

Keith curled his hands into fists beneath the table and kept his eyes fixed firmly on Lotor. “That is my own business,” he answered shortly, skirting around the implications as much as possible, and barely managing to keep his anger in check. Even so, his tone turned icy as he added, “With peace relying so heavily on my marriage, however, I think it’s better to just indulge him when I get the chance. Don’t you agree?”

Lotor hummed. “I suppose. Though I’m afraid I’ve also kept you quite busy these days, haven’t I?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer. As if he hadn’t been deliberately filling Keith’s days with meetings and appointments Keith knew he didn’t need to be at. Lotor sighed— long, and heavy, and almost certainly fake. “Your poor husband. He must be so lonely, sitting in your room all day. You must invite him along to our next meeting. His opinion would be most… refreshing.”

You mean infuriating, Keith thought, knowing exactly how Lotor and all the nobles would react to any of Lance’s suggestions. His ideas were too foreign for the nobles. Too Altean, too naive. Lotor would never listen to him. If he even bothered to listen at all.

It was strange, though, that Lotor would be so willing to accept Lance into their midst. At least in regards to the council chamber. Feasts and parties were one matter— their social spheres far removed from anything political. Anything that would give him influence. But to invite Lance here, into the very heart of their government, was quite another.

“I’m surprised you would be so open about that,” Keith admitted, narrowing his eyes at his half-brother. “Altean policies are very different from our own, after all.”

And, in many ways, better. At least in Keith’s opinion. Policies he hoped would make their way into Galra’s government at some point, though he didn’t expect any of the others to agree with him on that point. And, as predicted, a wave of soft grumbling rose up from the gathered nobles— none of them seeming pleased by the thought of an outsider, particularly an Altean outsider, being allowed into the council chamber, or even to give his opinion on their laws and issues.

Lotor quelled the noise with a single raised hand. Despite the uneasy atmosphere, he remained completely unruffled by the grumbling, expression just as calm and inscrutable as ever. Far too calm for Keith to get any sort of read on him, even as Keith continued to stare him down.

What is your angle? he wondered. What is it you’re getting out of this? What do you want?

“I’m merely curious,” Lotor told the room at large, which Keith didn’t believe at all. Not with how much he was risking by inviting Lance into their midst. The others were more convinced by Lotor’s words, however, and once the unease had settled some, he turned back to Keith and added, “Your husband is intriguing, Kyran. Not at all what I was expecting. There is much I’d like to ask him.”

All of which he probably should never answer. Especially not to you. “Perhaps in the future,” Keith told him instead. “Lance still hasn’t settled into his life here. He needs more time to adjust.”

As much time as Keith could manage. Months of time. Years, ideally. Though he already knew that would be impossible. Lotor was too impatient to let this matter go for so long. And, unfortunately, so was Lance.

The Altean prince was beginning to grow restless after so long with nothing to do. He tried to hide it, tried not to complain, but the impatience he felt was as clear as day. Keith could see it in the way Lance paced around their rooms each night, around the furniture and trinkets that now got rearranged every few days whenever Lance was feeling particularly bored. He could see it in the tension of Lance’s shoulders on the rare occasions they got to talk, and in the tight lines of his face. Could see it in the way Lance woke with him each morning. In how he hopefully asked to tag along whenever Keith had to leave, even though Keith’s answer was always a firm ‘no.’

The disappointment on Lance’s face whenever that happened felt like a stab in his side. Like he was somehow betraying Lance, or being unreasonable. But what else could he do? His answer had to be no. Keith couldn’t say anything else. There was still too much distrust within the court for Lance to get involved. And even if there wasn’t, Keith still wouldn’t want him getting anywhere near Lotor. Not with how blatant his half-brother’s interest had been. And how that interest seemed to keep growing with each passing day.

There was only so much Keith could do to protect Lance against that. And Shiro could do even less. The only true shield against Lotor’s interest was distance. Staying out of reach, out of sight. So the further away Lance was from Lotor, the better. And the easier it was for Keith to focus on what was really important, instead of having to watch both their backs.

Lance could get involved in this stuff later, once things had settled down more. Once Keith’s plans were in motion and Lotor stood as less of a threat. Keith couldn’t allow Lance into the political sphere before that. He’d just have to hold on until then.

“We should return to the issues at hand,” Keith said before Lotor could make anymore comments, trying to direct the conversation to something safer. Something he could currently control. “I’m sure the matter’s important, considering how early we’re meeting.”

A flash of annoyance crossed Lotor’s expression, dangerous and deadly and too quick for anyone except Keith, whose gaze was still glued to Lotor, to notice. And then it was gone, hidden behind Lotor’s friendly mask once more. “Yes, you’re right,” he said. “We have much to discuss. Commander Sendak, if you would?”

Sendak nodded and stood. “Of course. As I’d been saying before Prince Kyran joined us,” he began, shooting Keith a small glare, “the Vexhal system troops have been reporting minor disturbances from the conquered planets. Seems they’re protesting the new taxes.”

Keith leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, tuning Sendak out. It was the same sort of drivel as always. Planets protesting against some new tax or law leveled against them. The troops in that system complaining over the trouble caused and asking for more troops to help put down the unrest. And the council, unsurprisingly, choosing to side with the troops over the conquered planets, just as they always did, even when the citizens’ complaints were well-founded.

Looking at the notes about it, Keith thought their complaints were very well-founded. The Vexhal system sat along the very edge of the Galra Empire, and often had to rely on its own planets for the imports and income each planet needed to survive. Keith had never visited the system, but he assumed the situation was rough. And it would only get worse with the newly-proposed trade routes, which cut the Vexhal system out of the official Galran trade routes entirely. Took away any chance of merchants or tourists visiting its planets as much as they had before, which meant the income of those planets would drop significantly. And they were already struggling to pay for imported food and infrastructure as it was.

Not that Keith could say any of that, however. He knew from past experiences that anything he said now would only be ignored. The council would send their soldiers no matter what he did. And they’d probably send even more if Keith did try to speak out. And so Keith kept his mouth shut and let the council push through their troop assignment, though the outcome left him feeling somewhat disquieted.

Sendak, he could tell, was thoroughly pleased by the result. He sank down into his chair, having gotten what he wanted, with a self-satisfied grin that nearly shattered Keith’s resolve. It irked him to see Sendak so smug, knowing the sort of violence and disruption he’d be causing the Vexhal system with those extra soldiers, and he had to physically bite down on his tongue to keep from lashing out.

Patience, he told himself, bitter even in his thoughts. There’s still work to be done.

He closed his eyes for a moment to center himself, focusing on the sharp sting of his tongue until the pinpricks of irritation inside him faded away into nothing. He couldn’t let this get to him. Couldn’t let himself get caught up in the decisions he knew he couldn’t change. There would come a day when he could perhaps try, but not now. He didn’t hold enough power yet. He had to save what power he had for the truly important issues.

And there’s surely something important to discuss today, since Lotor didn’t want me here. I have to focus on that.

Whatever the matter was, though, Keith couldn’t begin to guess. He hadn’t heard anything of particular importance through the court’s gossip. And what he had heard was simply more of the usual issues they dealt with day to day. Community projects that needed council approval. Funding requests for construction plans from city officials all across the empire. Petitions over laws and living conditions and other such complaints. Issues he had heard before, and would almost certainly hear again in the near future.

He spared little attention to these matters as Thace, the current council leader, presented them. He knew, like earlier, that his opinion wasn’t wanted for these. And, like earlier, the council responded to each request exactly as Keith expected— giving priority to the requests of the upper classes, and all but ignoring the rest of them. Hour after hour, Keith listened to their conceit and prejudice rule their decisions until his own patience was stretched thin. He felt himself at a breaking point, ready to snap, held back only by the bite of his fingernails digging into his thighs, and the memory of what could happen if he forced himself too far into their game.

Memories of watching Shiro walk into that arena. Of seeing Shiro’s blood on the sand, and the pain on Shiro’s face, and knowing that it was his fault. All his fault. No matter what Shiro said, it was his fault, because he was the one that had pushed too hard. That tried to get involved in issues that he shouldn’t have. That made Lotor decide he needed to be taught a lesson.

Keith took a deep breath, chest expanding outward, filling his lungs to the point of pain. Then, slowly, he let it all back out.

Patience, he thought again. I must have patience.

But patience was hard to hold onto when he was surrounded by so much arrogance.

He glanced around the table, at every noble and military officer that filled the room. Sendak sat at the right side of Lotor, with Haxis, his pointy-faced second-in-command, sitting on the other side, nodding along to every comment Sendak made. There was Prorok in the middle, taking up enough space for two, with his twin, lower teeth poking out as usual. And across from him, Kolivan— the white-haired, stony-faced commander of the 206th battalion, and esteemed member of the military council.

Kolivan never said much during these council meetings unless the issue directly affected his troops. He was a brilliant military commander, having led more successful missions than any other military official in the room, save Sendak. But despite that, he tended to keep to himself and speak only when absolutely necessary. Much like their current Minister of Internal Affairs, Ulaz, who sat a few seats down from Kolivan and was watching the whole debate in complete silence.

Finally, he looked at Thace, who was doing his level best to keep the conversation on track. The council leader appeared calm and collected, even as the meeting stretched well into the afternoon and everyone’s energy began to flag. He took note of their decisions before pressing on to the next matter, unrelenting in his focus.

“For our next topic,” he began in a level voice, and it was all Keith could do not to groan. The other members of the council looked ready to do the same, but Thace pressed on. “We’re receiving complaints from factories across the Empire regarding the new restrictions being placed on them by the treaty with Altea.” Keith blinked, then sat up straighter, suddenly far more interested. “So far, we’ve received formal complaints from the Ro-Bak factory, the Konkaet factory, the Xobi factory, and the Semik factory.”

Keith frowned. He knew those factories. They were all part of the military web, if he remembered correctly, though all of them had dabbled in industries outside of weapon making as well. It had only been in recent years that the bulk of their products had been created specifically for the Galran troops. Products Galra no longer needed on such a large scale. Products that would have been affected by peace with Altea anyways, regardless of what the treaty said.

And Keith knew the treaty wasn’t as harsh on their weapons production as it could have been. He knew because he’d been the one to fight for it. To find a middle ground they all could be content with.

“What are they complaining about?” he asked, tone sharper than he’d been intending. Lotor narrowed his eyes on him suspiciously and Keith shrank back, momentarily abashed.

Further down the table, Thace shuffled through his files. “Apparently,” he began as he read through the information, “the treaty limits their yearly outputs in weaponry, so they won’t be able to make a profit. Or even payoff the cost of materials.”

There was unhappy grumbling from all around the room at that explanation.

“Absolutely shameful,” Sendak spat. A fierce scowl pulled at his expression, sharpening his features into something almost malicious. “The Alteans can’t truly expect us to uphold these ridiculous terms.”

Keith bristled at his tone. “And why shouldn’t they?” he demanded. He leaned forward, glaring at Sendak with all his might, and continued, “The treaty doesn’t prohibit weapon making entirely. It just restricts it. Which shouldn’t be a problem, since we aren’t at war anymore.” Since they logically wouldn’t need all those weapons without a war to use them in, though Sendak looked ready to refute that. He was always ready to refute anything Keith said. “None of these factories are strictly military. There are other things they can make. Machinery. Tools. Things our Empire actually needs.”

“Limiting our weapon manufacturing would be leaving ourselves vulnerable,” Sendak argued, most of the military officials voicing their agreement soon after. Keith wanted to knock some sense into all of them.

“Vulnerable against who?” he asked instead. “We aren’t at war with anyone now. And, in case it’s escaped your notice, the Alteans have limitations too. Harsher ones, in fact, since their weaponry is more advanced. They pose no threat to us.”

Sendak snarled, dark and ugly and mocking. “Maybe that’s just what your Altean husband wants you to believe.”

“Prince Lance has nothing to do with this,” Keith growled. But Sendak wasn’t listening.

“I can see his hands all over this,” he continued, as if Keith had never even spoken, growing more and more heated over every word. “I knew this marriage was a bad idea. Alteans can’t be trusted! And now there’s one inside our walls, learning our ways, influencing our prince! You were never much to begin with, Kyran, but now you’re even worse. And—”

“Sendak,” Lotor interrupted, voice quiet, but stern. Sendak fell silent immediately. His mouth snapped shut, and he slumped back in his chair in surrender, though he never stopped glaring at Keith, even when Lotor added, “Prince Lance is now a member of the Imperial family. Remember that before you start speaking ill of him.”

A chill seemed to settle over the council chamber with those words, sharper and more pervasive than even the wintry winds outside the palace walls. No one knew how to respond. Even Thace, who’d done so well at keeping the council in line and moving the conversation forward, was speechless in the face of Lotor’s statement. And Keith…

Keith was suspicious. Deeply so. No amount of interest on Lotor’s part should have warranted such a strong reaction from him. That, combined with his comments earlier about Lance attending council with Keith, set off loud alarms in Keith’s mind. There was something off here. Something Keith couldn’t put his finger on, but made his stomach curl up in dread all the same.

He only grew more suspicious as Lotor said, “As it so happens, I agree with Kyran. We must honor the terms of the treaty.” Lacing his fingers together, Lotor leaned forward to rest his elbows against the table and gazed at all of them over the arch of his fingers. “These factories can be put to good use. They simply must be told how. Kyran,” Lotor addressed, turning his sharp eyes upon Keith, who stiffened at his half-brother’s attention. “Since you are so passionate about this, I believe it would be best for you to go.”

Keith blinked. Then blinked again.

“What?” he asked, hardly believing what Lotor had just said.

It had to have been a mistake. Lotor never trusted Keith with tasks like this. Never trusted him outside the palace walls. Never let Keith out of his sight. These trips to the factories would each take several days. Longer, in the case of the Xobi and Semik factories, which sat at the edge of the planet’s inner ring, right below the Kazik. Far enough away that Lotor wouldn’t be able to keep a constant watch on Keith. Or even keep in constant contact. And with Keith gone, Lance would…

Oh. Oh no.

Keith fought not to let his horror show in his expression. By the amusement that glittered in Lotor’s eyes, he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“This matter is of the utmost importance,” Lotor said. “We must get our factories back on track. And so you will need to leave as soon as can be arranged. To Konkaet first, I think. Tomorrow morning.”

Keith opened his mouth to argue, but no sound came out. He couldn’t even find the words. There were no words, because what Lotor commanded had to be done. Particularly in this case, where Lotor’s command had aligned with Keith’s own arguments. If he backed out now, there would be no getting past it. The nobles and officials would never take his words seriously ever again. They would never trust what he said. And worse, he would be seen as a coward, which, for Galrans, was unforgivable.

He was trapped in this. Had fallen straight into Lotor’s plans without even realizing it. And, judging by the smug smile on Lotor’s face, Keith was now right where Lotor wanted him. Right where Lotor had wanted him the entire time.

“If we are agreed,” Lotor said, proud and poised, “then I believe there is nothing left to discuss. Council is dismissed.”

And Keith could do nothing to stop it at all.

Chapter Text

Lance stared at the envelope in his hand in confusion. He flipped it over, thinking there must have been a mistake, that it had somehow been sent to the wrong person, but no. There, on the back of the black envelope, was his name, printed clearly and deliberately in thin, silver script. Prince Lance of Altea and Galra. There could be no mistaking it.

His brows furrowed as he flipped the envelope back over, studying the purple, wax seal that secured the envelope’s flap.

The design was unfamiliar to him, despite all the hours he’d spent studying the emblems of all the great, noble families in Galra. Just a simple ‘Y’ shape, with two triangles on either side. Plain compared to all the other insignias Lance had seen, but somehow all the more striking because of it. If he’d seen it before, he would have remembered it, would have been able to conjure up some sort of picture or clue, but nothing was coming to mind.

Frowning, he ran a thumb over the seal, pressing against the grooves and indents as if that would somehow reveal some answer to him. Some name, or face, or reason. Lance couldn’t think of anyone in this entire Empire that would send him a letter, save for maybe Keith or Hunk. But Keith hardly even spoke to Lance when they were face to face, he wouldn’t bother with writing a letter. And if Hunk wanted to say something to Lance, he could just say it during lunch, as they’d grown accustomed to doing over the past week, ever since Lance requested that Hunk be the one to deliver his meals to his room, where the two of them could talk more freely.

Lance looked over at Hunk now, who was setting out their lunch at the small table on the other side of the room. When Hunk glanced up at him, Lance held up the envelope and asked, “Do you know who sent this?”

Hunk shook his head. “The housekeeper saw me heading this way and asked me to give it to you. I know nothing other than that.”

Of course, Lance thought, mentally sighing. It wasn’t all that surprising. Hunk was a frequent visitor to Lance’s chambers now, and one of the few servants in the palace that saw him regularly. It was no wonder the other servants trusted Hunk to deliver what seemed to be an important message.

But who was it from? And what was it about?

“You could just open it,” Hunk suggested, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

And maybe it should have been. Lance, however, stared at the envelope, uncertain. It was an easy thing to just break open that seal and see what was inside. Easier than anything else he’d done since arriving on Daibazaal. And yet there was something, somewhere deep inside him, that made him hesitate. Made him reluctant to look inside. As if, by doing so, he’d be stepping over some invisible line, right into a world he wasn’t sure he’d survive.

Maybe I should wait for Keith to return, he thought. But who knew when that would be? Keith’s schedule was erratic, at best. Downright impossible, at worst. Just the other day, Keith had left for some sort of meeting before the sun had even risen, and he hadn’t returned since. At least not while Lance was awake. The most Lance had seen of his husband since the day before was a quick glimpse of Keith and Shiro walking across the palace grounds earlier that morning. They’d seemed to be heatedly discussing something as they walked, moving away from the palace in haste, unlikely to return anytime soon.

No, Lance couldn’t wait for Keith, even if he wanted to. A letter like this would demand an answer. And probably one sooner rather than later. He just needed to open the letter himself. It was as simple as that.

Taking a deep breath, he slipped a finger beneath the flap of the envelope and pushed at the paper until the wax seal that held it down popped off. There was a single sheet of pale, purple stationary inside the envelope, which Lance quickly pulled out. His eyes snapped down to the signature at the bottom of the paper first, and his frown grew more pronounced.

“It’s an invitation for a concert tomorrow night,” Lance announced to Hunk. “Hosted by Lady Acxa. Who is Lady Acxa?”

It wasn’t a name that Lance recognized. Though that wasn’t really saying much, as he still had yet to meet the majority of the court. There were only few names he knew, and none of them would ever be willing to invite him to something, unless it was his own execution. The only person at court that might actually want Lance around was Lotor, and Lance wasn’t even sure about that.

For a moment, he recalled the conversation he’d had with Lotor, back when the two of them had bumped into each other outside the council chamber the day before his wedding. Recalled the way Lotor had stared at him and talked to him. Recalled his own uneasiness. That clench in his gut said something wasn’t right.

Thinking about that now made the unease he’d felt flare up again with a vengeance. He stared at the elegant script of the invitation, hesitant, uncertain, and asked again, “Hunk, what do you know of Lady Acxa?”

Hunk shrugged. “Not much. I know her family’s an old, noble line, and that pretty much everyone thinks she’ll be the next empress.”

“Really? The next empress?” Lance repeated in surprise. He’d never heard anything about that. Not from Keith, or from Shiro, or from anyone. Not even from Lotor himself. “I guess I didn’t realize he was involved with anyone.”

Lance never would have guessed it from the way Lotor typically behaved around him. With all the jokes, and the unnecessary invasion of space, and the unnerving smiles he usually gave Lance… well, Lance had lived long enough to know what that typically meant, and from his experience, it definitely wasn’t a sign that Lotor was in a committed relationship.

Flipping the invitation restlessly between his fingers, Lance walked across the room and sank down into one of the chairs at the table. Hunk sat across from him, still seeming a little unsure about relaxing in Lance’s presence, but at least he was sitting. The first few days they’d done this, Hunk had insisted on standing and serving Lance the entire time, until Lance finally managed to convince him to at least take a seat. Now Hunk settled into his chair with minimal hesitation and began serving himself, piling up his plate while Lance stared down at the floor.

“I wouldn’t say they were involved, really,” Hunk commented. “I mean, not in the romantic sense. Though she is the one Prince Lotor invites to all the official events as his date. And she has started acting as the imperial hostess for more events recently. And it’s not like there’s anyone better suited for the position, considering her bloodline and all that.” He shrugged again. “I guess it’s just convenient for them.”

Lance huffed. “Convenient,” he muttered. “Is that the way most marriages are decided around here?”

“At least for the nobles.” Hunk finished filling his plate, then glanced up at Lance. “Is it different where you’re from?”

Sighing, Lance nodded. “Love matches are almost considered sacred for Alteans,” he explained. “So much of our culture revolves around our souls, and love plays an important role in that. To marry for any other reason is extremely rare.”

“So then, what about you?” Hunk asked. “Did you marry Kyran for love?”

Lance smiled wryly. “I’m a special case.”

Which was partly why his family had been so wary over this whole marriage in the first place. It wasn’t just that he’d be marrying their enemy’s prince, though that certainly played a part in their reservations. But Lance’s marriage to Keith also went against all of their traditions and values. Against everything his parents had ever wanted for him. Against everything he’d hoped for himself.

Though, he would admit it could have turned out worse. On the whole, it was better than he’d expected. At least Keith was kind, if slightly taciturn and overprotective. At least Keith was good. If Lance had to be stuck in a marriage of convenience with a Galran, he supposed he’d gotten rather lucky.

He wondered how many of the galran nobles could say the same about their matches. If this Lady Acxa would be able to say the same in the future.

Sighing again, Lance set the invitation down on the table. “I guess I should attend this concert, considering who invited me,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to offend the future empress.” And, if he was honest, he was also a bit curious about the whole event. About the concert itself, and the guests that would attend, and about the hostess that had thought to include him. It was high time Lance started learning about these things. Time for him to get involved. Lance bit back a grin at that thought. “Kyran is not going to like this.”

Hunk pursed his lips and ducked his head, clearly trying not to laugh. “I don’t think he’ll have much choice.”

All the better for Lance, in his opinion.

Not that he didn’t understand Keith’s reluctance to let Lance mingle with the court, because he understood that very well and appreciated Keith’s attempts at protection, but it was getting rather tiresome. Getting more difficult not to feel resentment, knowing the sort of freedom and importance Keith had even as an outsider at the court. Lance tried to remain patient, tried to remind himself it wouldn’t last forever, but the longer he waited, the more difficult it was. He was growing restless, spending day after day with nothing to do. He needed to get out of his room for once, and to interact with others. To feel like he was actually a part of something again.

This concert would be good for him, no matter what Keith believed. Lance would just have to prove it to him.

Later, after Hunk was called back to the kitchens, Lance began formulating his plan. He’d already decided on going, confident in the fact that Keith couldn’t refuse such a direct and important invitation, but even he knew going alone was a terrible idea. He’d need Keith there with him. Or, at the very least, Shiro. Someone who knew the rules of the court and could keep him from making a complete fool of himself.

Waiting for them to return, however, wouldn’t help him in the least. With their erratic schedules, Lance didn’t know when they’d be back, if they returned that night at all. If he waited too long, he wouldn’t have the time to prepare for the concert the way he knew he needed to. There’d be no point in going at all, in that case, and that outcome really didn’t appeal to Lance.

No, better to seek them out himself, wherever they were. Or rather, to seek Shiro out and trust he knew where Keith was hiding, as usual. Shiro was always easier to locate than Lance’s wayward husband, and easier to talk to as well. Perhaps Lance could even convince Shiro to side with him about the concert. Having Shiro’s approval would go a long way in convincing Keith to agree. It would save Lance a whole world of trouble.

Decided, Lance donned his cloak and ventured out of the palace, down the path he’d seen Shiro and Keith take earlier that day.

He was thankful, at least, that Shiro tended to be predictable in his routine. There were only a few places Shiro would be at such a late time of the day. Particularly if he wasn’t inside the main palace building, as Lance predicted he wasn’t. He would have seen Shiro return from wherever he and Keith had wandered off to if that weren’t the case. The palace entry in view of his window was the only door that led to west grounds and the training barracks. It was the only way Shiro could have snuck back in.

No, Shiro had to still be outside of the main palace, somewhere in the gardens, or perhaps training in the barracks with Keith. Confident in that fact, Lance walked further into the gardens. The chill was just as sharp as he remembered, and he was grateful that the palace seamstresses had delivered several pieces of his new, galran wardrobe— the cloak he wore included— just earlier that week. He tugged his cloak tighter around himself and marveled at the warmth it provided as he continued walking along the snow-covered path.

Unfortunately, he didn’t see Shiro anywhere in the general vicinity. Nor Keith. The gardens were just as empty as they normally were, with only the distant outline of the barracks and the soldiers training in the cold to interrupt the otherwise abandoned grounds. But Shiro and Keith remained hidden. And that left only one possibility for Lance to explore.

“Excuse me,” he asked as he walked up to the barracks and found two, young soldiers guarding its doors. He smiled at them, attempting to look as non-threatening as possible, and continued, “I’m looking for Captain Shirogane. Have you seen him?”

The two guards glanced at each other, exasperation clear on their faces. “He left with the prince this morning,” one of them finally supplied. His tone was sharp and short, like every word was being forced out of him. “On a ship headed for Konkaet.”

Lance frowned. “Left? Are you certain?”

That didn’t seem right to him. With how concerned they seemed to be over his safety, he would have been informed if they were leaving. One of them would have mentioned it to him. Keith, or at least Shiro. Lance was used to silence from Keith, but Shiro would have said something. There had to be some sort of mistake, or misunderstanding. Lance was sure of it.

The guards, however, grew more annoyed by his question. “Well, he’s not here,” the other one snapped. “Now run along. This is no place for someone like you.”

Someone Altean, you mean, Lance thought sourly, eyes narrowing at the guard that had spoken with so much venom. It makes no difference to you that I abandoned my home to marry your prince. I will never be good enough in your eyes.

Nevermind the fact that he could probably wipe the floor with any of the soldiers that trained in those barracks. Including the two standing before him. Being the blue paladin had meant he’d been on the front lines of nearly every battle, and so he’d been trained accordingly. He knew more about fighting than either of these two guards. Though he also knew better than to say that out loud.

“If you happen to see him later,” Lance said instead, plastering on a pleasant smile, “please let him know I was looking for him.”

One of the guards rolled his eyes at the request, but otherwise, neither of them responded. Lance didn’t know if that meant they would convey the message or not, but there wasn’t much more he could do or expect. Nothing more he could say with how set against him they were. He’d just have to leave it up to them and hope for the best.

What was he supposed to do now though? With Shiro gone— and Keith too, off doing whatever he was doing in Konkaet— then Lance had no one to talk to regarding Acxa’s invitation. No one to confer and plan with. No one he trusted enough to help him prepare. Or possibly even to escort him to the concert at all. Which made him slightly anxious.

Was it alright for him to just accept the invitation if Keith wasn’t there? Would Keith even return in time to protest if Lance did? Would Lance then have to face this concert alone?

That last thought worried him. Curious though he was about the court, and as eager as he was to get involved, he still didn’t know enough about the court yet to feel comfortable moving alone in its circles. There were too many ways he could mess up. Too many ways he could make a fool of himself or step across some unknown, taboo line. Lance couldn’t afford a single misstep. Not when everything he did would reflect back on Altea, and on Keith. Not when a mistake could cost him his life.

Frowning, he wandered a little further along the path, past the barracks and toward the training fields, where a crowd of young galrans was going through their daily training. Lance paid little attention to them. He wandered past them without a single glance, chewing over the issue in his mind. Trying to figure out a solution, though there really only seemed to be one option he could take.

Lance sighed and slowed to a stop.

No, there really was nothing else he could do. Nothing he could think of to get out of this situation. He couldn’t refuse the invitation, after all. And he couldn’t wait for Shiro or Keith to return, if they returned in time at all. Lance would just have to go to the concert, alone or not. There was too much on the line for him to refuse.

He had to go. He just hoped he wouldn’t regret it.

A loud shout interrupted his thoughts. He turned towards the sound, startled and on guard, but let himself relax a bit when he realized the noise wasn’t directed at him. Relaxed until he noticed who it was directed at, and then felt anger flicker through him like a fire.

The group of galrans that were out training were young— much younger than Lance had expected. Somewhere between the ages of six and ten, by the looks of it, though Lance had never been around galran children before so he could have been wrong. Regardless, they were young. Most definitely children. And there was a small group of them gathered at the far edge of the training grounds, openly jeering at one of the other children training nearby. A boy with a small stature, and a shock of white hair.

Lance furrowed his brows. He took a few steps closer to the training area, moving to the side in order to see better. The boy they were laughing at was practicing, swinging a small staff at one of the others. Or trying to. Even from a distance, Lance could see his form was lacking, and his smaller size made it easy for the other boy to overpower him. The other boy smacked the staff from his hands, then swept his feet right out from under him. The kid fell into the snow, limbs flailing and white hair flying, and the whole group burst into laughter.

“Look at him,” one of the kids jeered, loud enough for Lance to hear. “Useless as ever.”

“He’s like a little baby,” another one added. And then another one, “Go back to the cradle, you runt.”

Lance started forward, heart clenching for the poor boy. It seemed so unfair that they should treat him that way. Who was he that they disliked him so much? What had he done to them? He was only a child, after all, young and still learning, and not deserving of such mockery. And none of the instructors seemed to notice. Or, if they did, they didn’t care. Which was even worse.

Before Lance could reach them, however, the kid pushed himself up from the snow. He glared at the kids laughing at him, then grabbed his staff and stomped away like a little storm of fury. Lance shifted his direction to follow after the kid, who stomped as far away from the training group as possible and sat in a huffy heap in the corner of the training grounds. He threw his staff off to the side. Crossing his arms, he scowled at the entire training group, and Lance bit back a smile.

It reminded him a bit of himself, when he was that age. And it reminded him a bit of Keith too. The quiet anger, and indignant sulking. The way he glared at them as if they were all beneath him.

Lance approached him slowly, not wanting to startle the kid away. Not that it mattered. The kid was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice Lance’s presence until Lance leaned against the fence of the training ground, right next to where the kid sat, and said, “You should watch where your feet are when you fight.”

The kid jumped. He spun around, eyes wide and fearful, to stare at Lance, who just smiled serenely down at him and added, “A strong stance gives you a strong foundation.”

“And how would you know?” the kid demanded. “You’re not a soldier.”

Lance almost laughed. The kid wasn’t a coward, at least. And not at all shy about cutting to the heart of the matter. “You’re right. I’m not a soldier here,” Lance allowed, “but I was a soldier back home, before I came here.” He nodded at the staff that the kid had abandoned in the snow only moments before. “I used to fight with one of those a lot. I was an expert.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to,” Lance replied with a shrug. “But the next time you fight, try keeping your legs bent and hands more spread apart. It will help.”

The kid still seemed skeptical, but he did glance back at his staff with less frustration than he had before. As if he was thinking over what Lance had said, wondering if it might actually work.

Seeing this, Lance smiled to himself stepped away. He didn’t need to say anymore. The kid would eventually take his advice, if only out of curiosity, and would find he could fight much better when he did so. He wouldn’t be so easily knocked around again in the future. Wouldn’t be so easily teased or brushed aside.

That weapon of his could become his greatest shield and ally against their jeers. It only took the right application.

As Lance expected, the kid returned to his training not long after, and tried to apply what Lance had advised. Lance stuck around to watch, wanting to see this young galran, whoever he was, succeed. In some ways, Lance couldn’t help but think that if this kid could overcome his obstacles and be successful, then maybe Lance could too, no matter the trial.

It took a few attempts, and a couple more jeers, but eventually the kid got the hang of it. And when he finally managed to parry his partner’s blow and hit one himself, he immediately spun on his heel and searched the grounds with searching eyes. He grinned toothily when Lance met his gaze, then beamed even brighter when Lance offered him a nod.

Had Lance ever looked so delighted when he was that young? So exhilarated? So bright?

He couldn’t recall, but he wanted to feel that same success now. Not in the way the kid did, of course, but Lance had his own sort of battle to fight. And his own weapons to use, just as Pidge had once told him. He wasn’t helpless in his situation, or even defenseless. He just needed to learn how best to use his wiles.

Smiling wider, Lance turned away from the young galrans and headed back towards the palace, already making plans in his mind. If Lance had to attend the musical alone, then he would, and he would do it so well that not even Keith could complain.

He would prove himself to the court through this concert. No matter what it took.

Chapter Text

A strange sense of deja vu settled over Lance as he stood in the hallway, staring at the doors to the banquet hall, filled with fear and dread.

He seemed to be in that position a lot recently. Frozen at doorways, unable to continue on. First with that night on Olkarion, before his engagement banquet. Then when they arrived on Daibazaal and were about to face the court. Then again on his wedding day just a few weeks before. Hesitating time after time. Afraid of what fate held for him, like some sort of weakling. And now, here he was, acting the exact same way, trying to convince himself to walk through those doors and utterly failing. Yet again.

This is ridiculous, he chided himself. It’s just a concert. And not even a very big one. I’ve been to a million of these before. This is no different. Nothing to fear. It’s not like this is a battle or anything.

Except that, in a way, it really was. Perhaps not physically, or in any other form one would typically expect, but it was a battle just the same. A battle of wills and expectations and appearances. And one that Lance was currently at a disadvantage for.

He had tried to prepare himself for the experience as best he could, but it was difficult without Keith or Shiro there to guide him or explain what he got wrong. There was only so much Lance could glean from the books in his room, and while Hunk’s understanding of the court was far better than Lance’s own, even he could only offer minimal advice on handling it. He never had to interact with the nobles beyond serving their food, after all. The subtle interactions of the court that Lance desperately needed to know were beyond him.

That didn’t really help Lance’s confidence with this whole thing. Though there wasn’t anything else he could do about it. He would just have to trust in the etiquette he’d learned while growing up and hope it would see him through.

At least he’d been somewhat lucky with his appearance. His attempt to look a little more galran to blend in with the court. Just a few days before, he’d received the first few outfits for his new wardrobe from the palace seamstresses, all made from dark, heavy fabrics cut in the galran style, just as Lance had requested. It was one of those outfits Lance now wore— a dark, blue jacket with silvers buttons and a tapered waist. His favorite of all the outfits he’d already received.

Blue wasn’t a color typically worn in the court. At least, not that he had seen. With all the reds and greys and purples, every other color seemed nonexistent. Thrown out into the abyss by all the nobles and completely forgotten. Lance probably should have done the same and followed their example, but he just couldn’t bring himself to let go.

Blue was Altea’s color. It was Lance’s color. And he was going to hang on to that last piece of himself with everything he had, even if it meant inviting the court’s ire.

However, he was thankful the blue was darker than the tunics he used to wear. Dark enough that Lance wouldn’t be too out of place among the crowd. At first glance, the blue was so dark it almost seemed black, accented only by the small silver buttons at his neck and wrists. And with his grey pants and black boots and careful lack of flashy jewelry, it gave Lance a somber sort of appearance that matched the galran court perfectly. Of that, he was certain.

He wished he could be more confident about everything else, though. He was determined to succeed tonight. To not embarrass himself in front of so many eyes, and to prove he was able to hold his own amongst the court. That he could possibly even excel.

I’ve walked through ballrooms all my life, he reminded himself, pushing back the nervousness twisting in his gut. Galra or not, this is still just a court. Just another party, nothing else. I can do this.

Taking a deep breath, he quickly checked his appearance— adjusting his circlet, and smoothing back his hair, and brushing off his shoulders— then pushed against one of the double doors. It creaked open slowly. Lance grimaced and slipped inside as soon as he had the space, letting the door swing back shut behind him. Its soft thud was lost beneath the loud murmuring of the already gathered guests.

Which was just fine with Lance, if he was honest. He didn’t want to draw more attention than necessary. At least not until he had a better understanding of what was happening, and wasn’t feeling so anxious.

Muscles tense, Lance took a few hesitant steps into the banquet hall, keeping close to the wall, and observed his surroundings in silence.

The room was already crowded with Galrans by the time he arrived, all of them mingling together in the open spaces around the couches and chairs. Lance recognized a few of their faces from the last time he interacted with the court. For the most part, however, the crowd was unknown to him. Just nameless faces shining beneath the crystal chandeliers.

One of those faces belonged to the concert’s hostess, and that was the face Lance searched for now, gaze flitting from one group to the next in an attempt to identify just which face was the Lady Acxa’s.

He knew enough about events like this to know that greeting her was absolutely necessary. Not only because she had organized the event and thought to invite him, but also because of her social standing in the court itself. Because of the future position she could potentially hold.

It wasn’t difficult to find her location in the banquet hall, even not knowing what she looked like. On the far side of the room, past the crowd and the chairs and the waiting musicians, a line had formed, leading up to the stage, where Acxa was undoubtedly holding court. The line inched forward as she greeted her guests, though Lance, short as he was compared to most of the Galrans, couldn’t see beyond the receiving line to get a good look at her face. Nevertheless, it was clear Acxa had taken up position over there, and that was where Lance needed to go.

But going over there meant walking across the entire room, right through the crowd of guests, where everyone could see him and know he was there.

Lance wasn’t particularly enamored of that thought. Biting his lip, he glanced around the room once more, hoping to find another path to take. But the chairs for the concert extended from one side of the room to the other, making the only path forward straight down the middle of the room. There was just no way to avoid it. No way to evade the crowd.

So much for not attracting attention, he thought, resigning himself to the situation. He’d been hoping to stay out of focus for a little bit longer, but he’d known coming into this he would eventually have to face the court’s scrutiny. If there was no other way, then he may as well just get it over with.

Heart in his throat, he took a deep breath, preparing himself, and stepped forward. Heads turned as he passed into the crowd, but Lance tried not to focus on that. Or on the whispers that followed him through the room. He kept his chin raised and his steps even, doing all that he could to keep from looking as frantic as he felt. The crowd of Galrans before him slowly parted until he had a clear path through the room, right up to the stage, to where Acxa stood.

With all the nobles out of the way, Lance could finally see their hostess clearly. She stood at center stage, tall and lean, with slicked back hair and a sleek, black dress. Her hands were folded in front of her, and, unlike all the nobles around her, she seemed completely calm. Unruffled. In control of herself and the situation.

There was just some sort of presence around her that radiated authority. Lance could see why Lotor would choose her for his empress.

Lance stopped before her and offered a small bow. “Lady Acxa. Thank you for your invitation. I’m delighted to be here.”

“We are honored you could attend,” she answered. “Prince Lotor speaks highly of you. It’s a shame we haven’t met before now.”

There was a note of reprimand behind her words that irked Lance, though whether it was for him, or for Keith, or for the both of them together, Lance couldn’t tell. Regardless, he could read between the lines, and it was obvious that Lotor wasn’t happy with his absence from the court. With how Keith had been hiding him away until this point. And, somehow, that made him defensive.

Sure, he’d been avoiding court functions, mostly at Keith’s insistence, but it wasn’t as if he’d explicitly been invited to anything either. He and Keith were not the only ones to blame for Lance’s absence.

“I needed some time to adjust to all the changes in my life,” he said with a bright smile, letting his tone carry a hint of edge as he added, “Perhaps the court needed some time to adjust as well. Yours is the first invitation I’ve received, after all.”

“In all this time?” she asked, then frowned when Lance nodded. “That is unacceptable.” She stepped off the stage and walked towards Lance, stretching out a hand as she did so. By instinct, Lance instantly turned to offer his arm, which Acxa took and used to steer him into the crowd of guests. “Let me introduce you to a few people,” she said as they walked. Lance had no choice but to obey.

Acxa led him deep into the crowd, walking at a leisurely pace. Lance could only follow her direction. He noticed, as they passed, the Galran’s all nodded their heads respectfully— not at him, Lance knew, but at her. At Acxa. Who didn’t even hold an official position with the imperial family yet, but still commanded more respect than any of the other nobles currently present. Perhaps even the same amount of respect Lotor himself commanded. Which honestly surprised him.

He slanted a glance at her, trying to see past the social mask she wore so well, to find the reason she suited her position so perfectly. Why the Galrans respected her so much, even without an official title. Hunk had mentioned she came from an old, noble line, but that couldn’t have been the only reason. That didn’t account for the admiration he saw on many of the Galrans’ faces. No, there was something deeper. Something about Acxa herself, in the way she carried herself and interacted with those they passed, that made the others acknowledge her.

Perhaps it was something Lance could emulate. He wasn’t above attempting, at least. Not if it meant gaining a bit more acceptance.

He tilted his chin up to match the sharp angle Acxa held hers at, and schooled his face into the same, disinterested scowl. It wasn’t at all the way he would have behaved in the Altean court, but that was precisely the point. The Galran court was different, and it seemed from what he observed that the more aloof and imperious one appeared, the more impressed everyone else became. Though he wasn’t sure if that pattern would apply to an Altean like himself. There wasn’t much he could do to match Acxa’s height or purple skin, however, aside from openly using his shapeshifting, which he doubted the Galrans would appreciate. Instead, he squared his shoulders to adopt Acxa’s more regal posture and hoped it would be enough. Hoped it would inspire at least a little bit of respect, if nothing else.

Acxa didn’t stop to acknowledge any of the guests they passed, or even think to return their nods of respect. She acted as though the attention was her due, and so Lance did the same, though he felt the heat of their glowers burning holes into his back. Likely imagining some horrid disaster befalling him. Perhaps a deadly illness, or an assassination. Perhaps even their own knives in his back.

And I can’t let any of them know just how much that frightens me, he thought, trying to suppress the shiver that came with it. He had to keep his composure. Any sign of weakness now would just be an invitation.

Thankfully, Acxa steered him past all the glares to a small group gathered on the other side of the room— one that seemed only slightly less hostile than the rest of the room. There were two females in the group— one small and mostly pink, and the other tall and distinctly galran— and then a figure Lance seemed to recall from his wedding banquet. Ulaz, he thought the name might be. Or something along those lines.

They all turned when Acxa and Lance came up to their group and dipped into small, respectful bows.

“Acxa,” the short, pink female greeted with a warm smile, then turned to Lance. “And you must be Prince Kyran’s new husband.”

“Prince Lance, at your service,” he said with as much charm as he could conjure. He took her hand and bowed over it, kissing the air above her fingers. The female giggled.

“Oh, I like him.”

Acxa smiled. “Lance, this is Ezor,” she introduced, “daughter of the current regent of Galia.” Which meant she was from one of the most important families in the empire. And a general in her own right too, judging from the medals on her red sash. Which wasn’t what Lance would have expected from her. Still giggling, Ezor offered a quick curtsy, the abundant ruffles of her purple gown bouncing with the movement.

Acxa then gestured toward the taller female, “And Zethrid, one of our finest generals.” Zethrid nodded at Lance, but said nothing, keeping her guard up. Acxa seemed to expect this though, and wasted no time in turning to the last member of their group. “And this is Ulaz, our current Minister of Internal Affairs,” she said, and Lance smiled.

“I believe we’ve met before.”

“Briefly, Your Highness,” Ulaz confirmed. “I attended your wedding.”

“Yes, I remember.”

He’d been one of the few to not outright make a crude comment about him or Keith. It was hard to forget that when almost everyone else he met seemed determined to tear both him and Keith down.

Ulaz smiled, warmer and more welcoming than anything else he’d seen since arriving on Daibazaal, and offered Lance a full court bow. Lance blinked, unsure how to react. The bow was more than he’d been expecting from anyone, let alone a high-ranking noble— perfectly judged for his position as a prince, without even a trace of reluctance or animosity. Like he was actually glad to see Lance there. Like he actually saw Lance as worthy of respect.

The other three didn’t pay much attention to this. Acxa glanced around the group again, as if expecting to find someone else there. “Did Narti come tonight?” she asked. Ezor glanced around at the question, then shrugged.

“She was here a few moments ago,” Ezor murmured. “I guess she ran off. You know how she is.”

“Indeed,” Acxa agreed. “Which means I should go find her before she disappears completely.” She sighed, long-suffering, but still amused. Taking a step back, she looked at Lance. “I’m sorry to leave you. I do hope you can excuse me.”

“Go on, Acxa,” Ezor interrupted before Lance could say anything. She looped her arm through Lance’s and pressed against his side. “We’ll take care of him for you. Don’t even worry about it. Right, Prince Lance?”

Lance forced a thin smile. “Yes. I’ll be fine. Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Acxa.”

She paused for only a moment more, then nodded at all of them and slipped back into the crowd. Lance watched her go for as long as possible, feeling as though he’d just been thrown off the edge of a cliff with nothing to break his fall. But that was just ridiculous, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like he knew Acxa better than any of the rest of the group. In fact, he probably should have been relieved to see her go. She was Lotor’s future empress, after all. Proximity to her almost certainly meant proximity to him, and that was something Lance would avoid tonight for as long as he could.

Reminded of that, Lance plastered on his social mask and turned back to his group. “Who is Narti?” he asked, partially from curiosity, but mostly from lack of nothing else to say. Ezor laughed softly.

“Oh, just another of Lotor’s generals, like Zethrid and myself,” she answered as she pulled away from Lance, releasing his arm from her hold. “She hates public functions like this and always ends up hiding in the rafters or something, eavesdropping on all the guests, until one of us finally finds her.”

“I… see.”

Not a completely comforting thought. And, seeing the sharp tilt at the corners of Ezor’s smile, he thought it probably wasn’t meant to be. It was a warning to him not to be deceived. That no matter how friendly they were, how warm and welcoming, Lance still wasn’t trusted. They could easily send someone to spy on him if he showed any sign of stepping out of line. Could easily do even more.

He sucked in a sharp breath and tried not to let panic take hold of him at that thought. There was no reason to worry at the moment. Nothing to fear. The Galrans were simply flexing their muscles through Ezor to make sure he knew his place. He couldn’t let the comment get to him. Couldn’t let them intimidate him. Wouldn’t let them intimidate him.

“Your Highness?” Ulaz ventured, voice snapping Lance back to attention. There was a softness to his tone compared to the other two with them, and a gleam in his eyes that looked almost like concern. Lance suddenly grew worried that Ulaz would ask about his sudden silence when Lance really had no excuse. Nothing he could say to brush off his reaction to Ezor’s comment. He needed to say something quickly, before that became an issue, but then Ulaz asked, “Have you heard from your husband yet? He left for the Konkaet factory yesterday, correct?”

Lance blinked, surprised. “Ah, yes,” he answered slowly, scrambling to follow the unexpected change in topic. He didn’t know anything about a factory, but he did recall the guards mentioning something about a ship heading towards Konkaet when he asked about Shiro the day before, so perhaps Ulaz was correct. He had to assume Ulaz was correct anyways, since he had no other way of knowing. “I haven’t heard from Kyran yet, but I’m sure he’s rather busy.”

“I was so sad to hear he wouldn’t be attending tonight,” Ezor said beside him. “I do so love teasing him. But I suppose someone has to keep those factories in line, right Zethrid?”

At the question, Zethrid snorted. “Burn them down, I say. If they won’t produce, then there’s no use for them.”

“I disagree,” Lance said before he could stop himself. He snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late. The words were out, and the rest of the group was already focusing on him. No backing out now. He took a deep breath and continued, “I admit, I don’t know the full details of the situation, but it seems to me that factories are the backbone to any empire. Their products are what keep the economy afloat. Without their products, there would be no commerce. And without their workers, there would be no products. So if the workers have complaints, they should be addressed and resolved, not brushed aside.”

“Well said,” a deep voice said behind him. Lance jumped and spun around, coming face-to-face with Lotor and his sharp eyes. The same sharp eyes that had seemed to see right through him the last time they’d spoken, in the hallway outside the council chamber.

Lance quickly dropped into a bow.

“Your Imperial Highness,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize you were there. I hope I wasn’t speaking out of turn.”

“Not at all,” Lotor answered easily, though when Lance looked up at him, he wore a tight smile. “It appears you’re just as passionate about the people as your husband is. You two really do make such a perfect match. We are very fortunate for that.”

“I am… glad that you think so.”

In truth, Lance felt a little unsettled by Lotor’s supposed approval. For all his sweet words and little smiles, there was still an edge to his tone that scraped Lance the wrong way. A hardness in his eyes, and stiffness in his posture that was unnerving.

It brought to mind their last encounter, and the way he had looked at Shiro before nearly tearing him apart. The strange glint, and fierce glare, and the heavy, unnameable something that sent ice right through Lance’s veins.

Lotor glanced over him now with that same sort of intensity, eyes trailing up and down and setting him on edge. Lance tensed at the attention. Felt his heart trip into a faster cadence, and hoped that his sudden wariness didn’t show in his expression. Judging from the way Lotor’s thin smile curled into something more smug, however, Lance wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“I am glad you were able to attend,” Lotor drawled, seeming to grow more and more relaxed as Lance grew more uncomfortable. “I did wonder if Kyran would try to spirit you away. I was going to be very disappointed if he did.” The chill in his tone said he would have been a lot more than disappointed. Hovering on the edge of cold fury. It nearly sent a shiver down Lance’s spine. An unsettling feeling that only grew worse when Lotor leaned closer, right into Lance’s space, and said in a low voice, “It does seem a pity to leave you sitting on the sidelines, though. I’m sure you’re rather bored.”

Lance tensed even more, but tried to swallow down his growing unease. “Not at all,” he answered, thankful when his voice came out steadier than what he was currently feeling. “I’ve had plenty to do with settling in. And I wanted some time to adjust.”

Which was a complete lie, but one Lance felt compelled to say nonetheless. There was something deep inside him that shied away from the Galran prince before him. A sinking feeling in his gut whenever he looked at Lotor’s self-satisfied grin that warned Lance not to trust him. Not with anything. Not with his thoughts, or his frustrations, or even just his day-to-day schedule. And if Lance had learned anything from being a paladin, it was that he should trust his gut, no matter what it was saying. And, this time, his gut was clearly screaming danger.

Growing determined, he forced a bright smile across his face, and attempted to appear as amiable as he possibly could. He wasn’t about to show any weakness in front of Lotor or any of the gathered nobles. And he wasn’t about to be goaded into anything either. Lotor was interested in him. That much, Lance could say for certain. But if the aim of that interest was to intimidate Lance, or to get him to agree to some sort of liaison, then Lotor was going to be sorely disappointed.

Lance had walked through enough ballrooms before his marriage to know how to handle another person’s unwanted interest. The underlying disdain was less familiar to him, and still rather intimidating, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. At least to the point of surviving. Just getting through the night. He simply had to be cautious. Had to handle this with care.

Knowing that was a little comforting. It helped him to relax, tension draining out of him bit by tiny bit, even as Lotor took another step forward, bringing the two of them almost unbearably closer.

“I’m sure Kyran has been very helpful with that adjustment,” he said. He brushed a finger over Lance’s cheek, light as a feather, and Lance tried not to shudder. “You must be lonely without him.”

Lance raised his brows. “No more than usual, as I’m sure you know,” he replied, which made Lotor laugh, sudden and short, as if in surprise.

“Yes, I do seem to keep calling him away for things, don’t I?” He smiled then, hand dropping from Lance’s face, looking almost apologetic, but not quite succeeding. His expression still too pleased to truly be convincing. “I am sorry about that,” he continued lightly, “but you understand. You know how demanding life can be for a prince. I’m actually surprised he hasn’t tried to get you involved as well. I know your assistance would be a great help.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to get in the way.” Or overstep my boundaries.

That was, after all, the entire reason Lance had agreed to be patient. To follow Keith’s lead and wait for a better time to join the court. Keith had argued that the Galrans wouldn’t take kindly to his interference. That they would lash out at Lance, if not physically, then verbally, cutting him apart with their words as easily as they would with a knife. And while Lance didn’t like it, while he was impatient and eager to actually be part of something, he’d recognized the sense in Keith’s arguments and acquiesced. At least for the time being.

Lotor, however, took a very different stance on the matter.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he said. “You have a unique point of view about matters. Your opinion would be most interesting.”

“Oh, really?” Lance murmured, skeptical, knowing better than to trust words like ‘unique’ and ‘interesting.’ Especially coming from someone like Lotor, whose every word seemed to hide something deeper, and more confusing.

It’s just another pretty way of say I’m foreign, most likely, Lance thought. Or perhaps an attempt to flatter me into giving him what he wants, whatever that is.

It wasn’t something good, if that was the case. And definitely not something Lance was likely to give, no matter the amount of flattery.

Still, it was nice to think that he maybe had some use for this empire he’d married into. That he could join in on the council sessions and social scenes and not be completely hated by the nobles, or out of his depth. That he could finally get out of his room and make a difference.

The idea scratched at his restlessness. He tried to shove it away, to not think about it, but after so long with nothing to do, Lotor’s words seemed so appealing. He knew he couldn’t trust it. He knew he couldn’t. But he still wanted to, and that was a dangerous thought.

If Lotor noticed the conflict in Lance’s expression, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he nodded and answered, “Indeed. I’ve told Kyran this many times, but he always refuses to bring you to the council meetings like I suggest.”

And for good reason, Lance tried to remind himself. After all, no matter how much Lotor liked him or wanted him there, the rest of the Galran nobles would be far less accepting of Lance’s presence in their council chambers. He knew that as a fact. Could see it even now in the way they watched him from all around the room— eyes narrowed, lips pursed, speaking in hushed, hurried words without ever taking their eyes off him. They simply didn’t trust him, or even like him, for that matter. And that probably wouldn’t change for a very long while.

Nevertheless, temptation beckoned. The chance to end his monotony, to get out of his room and do more than just sit around all day, was right there in the honeyed words of the Galran prince. It would be so easy to simply agree with all Lotor said. To use Lotor’s words to get what he was so impatient for. And if Keith wasn’t going to do anything to help him, then why shouldn’t Lance grab at any chance that came his way, no matter who was offering it?

Lance shook his head, and pushed that thought aside.

“Perhaps in the future,” he answered Lotor, flashing him a small smile. “All of this is so new to me. There is still so much I need to learn.”

Lotor returned his smile, though it was more muted than it had been before. “Of course,” he said. “A very wise and admirable decision.” He looked as though he wanted to say more, mouth opening around his next words, but at that moment the sound of several stringed instruments warming up cut through the room. Lotor closed his mouth and glared over his shoulder at the stage. Only a moment after, though, he regained his polished and pleasant expression, and held his arm out to Lance. “It appears the concert will be starting soon. Shall we?”

Lance hesitated. He looked at Lotor’s arm, weighing all the pros and cons of accepting Lotor’s offer, then finally set his hand on the fabric of Lotor’s sleeve.

His touch was as light as he dared, barely even resting on Lotor’s arm, as fleeting as the misty haze of the morning. Even so, Lance could feel the strength of Lotor’s arm beneath his hand. A strength honed from years of fighting, he assumed. A strength Lotor could very easily use to cause Lance harm, if he so desired. And the fact that he deliberately chose not to hurt Lance wasn’t very comforting. It only made Lance more anxious not to get on Lotor’s bad side.

Not noticing, or perhaps just ignoring, Lance’s hesitation, Lotor led him across the hall, right towards the stage. He walked briskly, confidently, expecting others to move out of his way as he walked through and miraculously accomplishing it. It was all Lance could do to keep up.

The other Galrans followed Lotor’s example. On the stage, the musicians had already taken their places and were warming up, tuning strange, stringed instruments that Lance couldn’t hope to identify, while around the room the nobles and officials settled into the couches and chairs they’d each selected as their own. All except for the few chairs in the front row, all of which flanked the single, golden chair in the exact middle, where Lotor was almost certainly to be seated.

As expected, Lotor wasted no time in claiming the golden chair as his own once they reached the row. Acxa was already was already seated to the right of him, and when Lotor sat down, he lifted her hand to press a swift kiss to her knuckles. Ezor and Zethrid, who had followed behind Lotor and Lance, took the remaining chairs beside Acxa, while Ulaz and another Galran Lance hadn’t met took the chairs on the far left. Which left the chair directly to the left of Lotor’s open, presumably for Lance.

He stared at it, wary and unsure, but knew he really didn’t have much choice in the matter. By escorting Lance over, Lotor had marked that chair as Lance’s just as assuredly as if he had placed a sign on it. Lotor would expect him to sit there. Not doing so would possibly offend him, and that wasn’t something Lance wanted to do.

It’s just a chair. Just a place to sit. And what could Lotor do to me in the middle of a concert? We don’t even have to talk to each other.

“Oh, Prince Lance,” Acxa called, breaking Lance out of his thoughts. “Before I forget, that human guard of yours is waiting outside to speak with you.”

Lance blinked. “You mean Captain Shirogane?” he asked slowly, carefully, not daring to hope. After all, Shiro was supposed to be with Keith in Konkaet. Unless that had changed, or they had decided to return early, Lance really didn’t know who she was talking about. But Acxa laughed and then nodded.

“Yes, that’s the one! I always forget his name.”

A wave of relief washed over Lance. He let out a breath, shoulders relaxing, growing less tense now that he had at least one friend to watch his back. “Good,” he said, voice calm and composed, as if Shiro’s presence was something he’d been expecting and not the happy surprised that it was. He inclined his head towards Lotor and continued, “If you’ll excuse me for a moment. I really do need to speak with him.”

For just a moment, Lotor’s face hardened, so quickly that Lance almost didn’t see. Then he smiled at Lance and took his hand. “Don’t take too long,” he said, fingers trailing over Lance’s palm and brushing his inner wrist. “The concert will begin soon, and I would hate for you to miss it.”

In other words, don’t try to run away.

Lance smiled. “Of course.” He knew better than to try and retreat anyways. It was already too late for that, and doing so now would only make it more difficult for the court to accept him in the future.

With that assurance, Lotor released Lance’s hand and settled back into his chair, giving Lance his silent permission to do what he needed to do. Lance didn’t need any more than that to turn on his heel and walk out of the hall. He crossed the floor much more quickly now that all the guests were in their seats, leaving a clear path to the doors that Lance all but ran down.

He didn’t know how long Shiro had been waiting, if Acxa had been informed just recently or had been holding on to that knowledge for a while, but Lance really hoped Shiro would still be there. He needed Shiro to be there, to offer advice and lend him support. Hurrying across the room, Lance slipped through the banquet hall’s door, into the hallway just beyond.

“Lance!” a voice, thick with fear, exclaimed. Lance turned towards the voice and found Shiro rushing forward from the shadows of the hall, his expression tight from worry. “Are you alright? Has Lotor tried anything?”

“I’m fine,” Lance assured him quickly. “Really, Shiro. I’m not hurt at all.”

The relief that came over Shiro at that was almost palpable. He sighed loudly, and rubbed a hand over his face. Looking closely, Lance saw the dark shadows beneath his eyes, and the slight disarray of his clothes. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his cloak, which still had tiny snowflakes clinging to its shoulders, like Shiro had immediately rushed to the banquet hall as soon as he’d arrived— no doubt realizing what had happened when he’d found Lance’s rooms completely empty.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I tried to return as soon as I could. We didn’t realize Lotor would move so quickly. Keith was sure you would be safe from him until I got back.”

Lance shook his head. “You couldn’t have known. I received Acxa’s invitation right after you left, no doubt on purpose. There’s no way it could have been avoided,” he said, then crossed his arms and added, “Though it would have helped to know you two were leaving in the first place.”

“Keith didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Lance answered. “He didn’t.”

Shiro sighed again, this time from exasperation. “I’ll talk to him,” he said. “Keith’s not used to having to communicate his plans to others. He has a lot still to learn. I hope you won’t hold that against him.”

Lance huffed, but didn’t argue. He just didn’t like being kept out of the loop. This marriage of theirs was supposed to be a partnership, after all. And Lance couldn’t do anything to help Keith if he wasn’t kept informed.

Running a hand through his hair, Shiro grimaced, looking tired and resigned. “We should get you away from here,” he murmured, which made Lance shake his head.

“It’s too late for that now. Lotor’s expecting my return. Leaving would only cause more trouble.”

“Let me deal with that,” Shiro insisted. “This court can’t be trusted. You shouldn’t be getting involved. It’s dangerous.”

And there was the rub. The entire reason why Lance had agreed to stay out of court affairs in the first place. But coming on the heels of this concert, which, even before Shiro had arrived, he’d been handling quite well, all things considered, that argument now seemed to lose its power. The Galran court was dangerous, he could admit, but he now knew it wasn’t anything he couldn’t manage. And Lance was tired of always hiding in his room.

“I know I can come across as ignorant sometimes, but I’m not stupid,” he said. “I know what I’m dealing with. Trust me when I say I can handle this.”

Shiro frowned. “You’re not ignorant, Lance,” he murmured. “I’ve never thought that of you.” But still, he didn’t seem convinced. He stared at Lance in silence for a few moments more, then finally let out a long breath, expression turning resigned. “Alright, we’ll do this your way. But I’m going in there with you. And if Lotor tries anything, we’re leaving.”

“Alright,” Lance agreed quickly. He knew how to recognize a reasonable compromise. It was the best he could hope for from Shiro at this point, and, honestly, it did help Lance feel more confident to know Shiro would be on hand if he turned out to be wrong.

That decided, he turned back to the banquet hall’s doors. Shiro followed him silently, if reluctantly, and slipped into one of the back corners of the banquet hall once they entered, so as not to draw attention. A wise move considering the obvious antipathy Lance had noticed between Lotor and Shiro the last time they all had interacted. And while Lance was almost certain he could convince Lotor that he needed to keep Shiro close, Lance didn’t want to try his luck just yet.

The musicians were still warming up by the time Lance settled into the chair beside Lotor, who glanced over at him as he sat. “Ah, just in time,” Lotor said. “I was beginning to think you’d run off.”

“I apologize for taking so long. There was much to discuss.” And there would be still more once the night was over, but all of that could wait. And Lotor didn’t need to know how ill-informed Lance was of Keith’s doings. It would only offer a weakness in their marriage that Lotor could exploit.

The Galran prince waved his hand dismissively at Lance’s apology. He simply seemed pleased that Lance had returned, and his lips curled into a smile as he said, “The court will be sharing lunch in the ice gardens the day after tomorrow. I do hope you will join us.”

Lance considered the offer and all it entailed. If it was truly a court function, he had little to fear. The ice gardens were public enough, and they would be surrounded by enough nobles, that Lotor couldn’t try anything overt. No more than he’d attempted thus far, and that, at least, Lance could handle.

“I would be honored,” he answered with a bright smile.

If nothing else, it was a good chance to get out of his room for a while. And Lance wasn’t about to pass that up.

Lotor’s grin widened at Lance’s answer. He reached over to grasp Lance’s hand, and gave it a quick squeeze. Then the musicians signaled they were ready to begin and Lotor withdrew.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, and lounged like he was without a care in the world as the concert began. Lance also settled in to listen to the music, taking comfort in the familiarity of the event, so similar to how Altean concerts were run that it was easy to forget just who he was surrounded by. This was something he knew, something he could manage, and that gave him more confidence for the lunch he would now be attending. More confidence in the idea that this— the parties and gatherings and overall social sphere of the court— was something he might be able to work to his advantage. This was, after all, the area he most excelled in.

He ducked his head and smiled to himself at that thought.

An afternoon spent talking to and charming the court? Yeah, Lance could handle that.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure about this?” Shiro asked, watching as Lance finished readying himself for the court’s lunch that afternoon.

Lance clipped two silver earrings onto each ear. “I’ve already agreed to go,” he answered, turning his head from one side to the other to examine himself in the long mirror he’d recently added to the room. His silver studs glimmered in the light, still decorative but simple enough that it wouldn’t draw the ire of the court. Not nearly as ostentatious as some of his other earrings. Satisfied, he slicked back his hair and continued, “Lotor would act slighted if I backed out now. You know he would.”

“Yes, but is this wise?”

Lance sighed. “I can’t hide forever, Shiro,” he said, meeting Shiro’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror. The human guard nodded.

“I know, and I agree with you. I’m just worried you’re about to walk into something you can’t control.”

“Perhaps,” Lance answered brightly. He smiled at Shiro over his shoulder, forcing himself to look more confident than he actually felt, and added, “You can’t learn to control something until you’ve faced it head on, though. Don’t you agree?”

Shiro just sighed and shook his head.

He honestly had a valid reason to worry, as much as Lance hated to admit it, considering that Lance would be walking into this all alone. The formal invitation Lotor had sent him that morning, reminding Lance of the luncheon in the ice gardens, had made it abundantly clear that the invitation was for Lance, and Lance alone. Shiro’s presence at his back wouldn’t be tolerated this time. And Lance really didn’t want to test Lotor’s resolve on that.

Frowning, his eyes darted to the window that was beside the mirror. Through the glass, Lance could already see the ice gardens beginning to fill with guests. He was too high up to see any of the faces clearly, but that didn’t matter. He would soon be down there among them. Would soon be wading through the crowd, attempting to charm his way into their good graces. And Shiro would be up here, watching over him from the window, alert for any sign of danger.

At least there was a good view of the ice gardens from this room. Shiro wouldn’t have any trouble keeping an eye on him, no matter where he wandered. If he got into any sort of trouble, Shiro would be able to see and get him out.

Not that Lance expected he’d need Shiro’s protection for this. He knew how to protect himself. Had faced down his fair share of balls and battles, and knew this couldn’t be any worse than that. And he doubted Lotor would allow any true harm to come to Lance, anyways. At least not yet. He was far too interested in Lance for that to be an option. A fact that Lance was going to take full advantage of while he could.

He looked back at the mirror, tilting his head to inspect each angle. He’d opted for something more galran in style, keeping his face bare save for his twin, blue cheek tattoos and the thick kohl lining his eyes. The black lines were sharper than he usually would have given himself, but he found that, in a way, he liked it. The makeup emphasized his eyes, made them more arresting and severe, gave them an edge he usually had trouble achieving on his own. When he slipped on his circlet, it only made the effect more intense. Added an air of authority he knew he would need to face down the court.

Leaning back, he glanced over his entire appearance— from his meticulously styled hair to his thick, blue jacket all the way down to the black boots on his feet— and he nodded. “There,” he said, smiling at what he saw. He straightened his jacket once more, then turned around to pose for Shiro. “So how do I look? Am I Galran enough?”

Shiro looked him over, then shook his head. “I’m afraid there’s no hiding your lovely Altean features, Your Highness,” he answered, smiling softly. “Try all you want, but you’ll still attract attention.”

“I was afraid of that,” Lance said with a laugh. He turned away, ignoring the warmth growing in his cheeks at Shiro’s comments, and grabbed his cloak. “At least I can say I tried,” he continued as he pulled the heavy cloak over his shoulders. “They can’t ask me for more than that.”

It was enough he was attempting to adopt their styles at all, in his opinion. Everything he wore— his cloak, his boots, his jacket, his makeup— was made to match their fashions. Was heavy and dark and constricting. All of it constructed specifically to help Lance blend in with the crowd, even though he’d much rather be wearing the styles of his own people. The lightweight fabric, and vibrant colors, and fit so perfect it felt like wearing a second skin.

Shaking his head, he tried not to focus on that thought. He was part of the Galra Empire now, after all. He had to adopt their ways. To show he was committed. That he was one of their own.

His gaze drifted back to the window. Back to the dark silhouettes filling the garden below. “I should probably head down there,” he said with a grimace, already knowing what was going to be waiting for him. The whispers, the avoidance, the cold disdain— just as he’d experienced the other night at the concert. Nothing he couldn’t handle, but still not something he was looking forward to.

Maybe if I stay at the edges of the garden it won’t be so bad, Lance thought. Make an appearance, charm a few people, then leave before Lotor fixates on me.

“If I can make a suggestion?” Shiro offered. Lance didn’t turn to face him, but gestured for Shiro to continue. “The nobles react far better to confidence than humility. If they make any sort of negative comment, just brush it off and act like whatever they mention was deliberate.”

Lance threw a grin over his shoulder. “So act like my normal, vain self?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s ok.” Shaking his head, Lance turned on his heel and started walking to the door. “I know what they all think of me. And I’ll act accordingly. Might be able to use it to my advantage.”

Shiro followed after him, into the common room and toward the hallway door. “Don’t be reckless,” he warned. He reached out to grip Lance’s elbow, stopping him in the middle of the room. “They’ll try to trip you up and get you to say something they can use against you. The court isn’t to be underestimated.”

“Neither am I.”

Shiro frowned at that, and kept his hold on Lance’s elbow. His expression was pinched tight with worry, eyes narrowed and mouth pressed thin, concern clear in every line of his face. Lance appreciated the care, but thought it unnecessary, at least in regards to this.

He wasn’t afraid of what he was about to do. Nervous, uncomfortable, a little bit hesitant, but not afraid. He had no reason to be. This lunch was just another court function he had to get through. Just a brief span of time he needed to spend navigating the social waters. And if there was anything Lance was confident in doing, it was that. As long as he kept his guard up, he would be fine, so there was no reason to be afraid.

“I’ll be fine, Shiro,” he said, placing his hand over the one gripping his elbow. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. I survived the concert, didn’t I?”

Shiro sighed. “I know you did.” His grip tightened on Lance’s elbow for a second, then he let go. His arm dropped reluctantly to his side. “Just be careful,” he said, “especially with Lotor. Don’t trust anything he says.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

He remembered what Keith had told him about Lotor all those weeks ago, before they were even married. Remembered too all the encounters he’d experienced with Lotor, and how discomforted each one had left him. Lance knew better than to put his faith in someone like that. The only thing Lance trusted was Lotor’s interest, and its ability to keep him from being attacked for now.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, seeing Shiro was still unconvinced. “I’ll even stay in the main courtyard of the garden, if that’ll ease your mind. Right where you can see me.”

Lance himself would feel better remaining in Shiro’s sight anyways, so it wasn’t much of a burden. Having that extra bit of security just in case helped ease some of the nervousness Lance felt, and he hoped it did the same for Shiro.

The human guard hesitated for a few moments more, then finally nodded. “Just wave if you need me,” he said, which was the closest thing to permission Lance knew he was going to get. Lance quickly agreed, then slipped out the door into the hallway, eager to get this whole thing over with.

The palace was unusually quiet and empty for the time of day, thanks mostly to the event happening in the gardens. All of the nobles that would normally be wandering the halls had no doubt been relocated to the luncheon. Even the servants were most likely tied up in serving them food and drinks. It left Lance feeling even more alone than usual, and he hurried down the halls and stairways as if somehow that might help him escape it.

Not that the luncheon will be any better, he thought sadly. All those people, and not one of them will say a friendly word to me. If they say anything at all.

Still, it’d be good to be among others again, even if all they did was ignore him. A nice change of pace. He knew he’d have to guard himself and fight for every ounce of respect he could get, but at least it would let him feel like he was doing something. And there was a part of it— a very small part, but a part nonetheless— that almost reminded Lance of home. That gave him something familiar to latch onto, and allowed him the chance to flatter and enchant the way he was used to. Maybe even to get answers to all the questions that had plagued him ever since he first arrived.

He hopped down the last few steps to the ground floor, then took a sharp left and continued down another hallway— the one that led out into the ice gardens.

As with the rest of the palace thus far, this hallway was also empty. Lance didn’t run into anyone on his way to the gardens. Not guests, not servants. Not even a stray diplomatic envoy who’d gotten lost in the palace’s labyrinth of halls. He found that a little more concerning than it had been before. After all, the hallway he was in, as far as he could recall, was the main path to the gardens from nearly anywhere in the palace. He’d expected to see more activity once he reached this hall, and he tensed when that wasn’t the case.

Surely he wasn’t the last to arrive. Surely he’d been smarter than that and left himself plenty of time.

Regardless, he sped up his pace, his swift footsteps echoing off the marble floors, determined not to be the last guest to arrive. To be last was to be late, as his mother always said. And to be late was terribly bad form. Lance had enough marks against him in the court’s mind without adding that on top of it. He refused to now be seen as disrespectful, or ungrateful.

Soon, he reached the double doors that led out to his destination. This time, he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t allow himself to even think of hesitating. Just pushed his way through the doors, right into the bright sunlight and cold air, where a cacophony of music and conversation and laughter rose up from the party there before him. He took a moment to catch his breath, filling his lungs with icy air, then glanced around the large courtyard that was the center of the ice gardens.

The courtyard was crowded with Galrans and foreign diplomats, many of whom he’d seen attending the concert the other night. There was Prorok standing on one side with Ylvik and Raht, two members of the court Lance knew by name but had never actually met, mostly because they were off governing the outer cities for a majority of the time. From what Lance had gathered while listening to court gossip, it was rare for any of the city governors to attend small functions like this. They were often too busy to leave their posts for long, and too far away to waste time on such a common occasion. It was pure luck this luncheon had occurred while they were at court. They likely wouldn’t be around for much longer, so Lance made a mental note to introduce himself to them later.

His gaze swung then to the other side of the garden, where he found Zethrid locked in an animated conversation with a Galran commander that Lance couldn’t name. Ezor was also in that area, bundled in a fur-trimmed coat, the sole focus of a large flock of young soldiers. Watching how they hung on her every word, Lance bit back a smile, positive that none of them understood the strength hidden in those dainty fingertips. And none of them would ever find out either. But that wasn’t any of Lance’s business.

He moved on to glance at the large group that was closer to where he stood. The group that kept fluctuating as guests joined and left, staying only for a few moments before continuing on. Probably the receiving line, he noted with relief. Or as close to one as he would find at such an informal event.

There were still plenty of guests greeting their host, with several more still arriving behind Lance. Which meant Lance wasn’t late at all. He was right on time. Right where he needed to be to avoid any undue drama.

And thank the stars for that, he thought. More drama is the last thing I need.

He drifted closer to the group near him, but kept on the periphery, waiting for the crowd to clear. He wanted to get through the day with as little trouble as possible, after all, and he knew the nobles wouldn’t take too kindly to him trying to push his way through. Not that he was eager to so, in any case. Once he’d greeted Acxa, he’d be left to his own devices. There was no agenda for this luncheon, the way there had been for the concert. No activity to occupy their time. Just mingling and wandering through the gardens, and Lance didn’t even know where to begin with that.

He still didn’t know by the time the crowd had ebbed and left him an opening to speak with Acxa, but he stepped forward to greet her anyways. “Lady Acxa,” he said with a smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise.” She held out a hand to him, and Lance quickly bent to kiss the air above it. When he straighted, he found her watching him with a strange look in her eyes. Something sharp, and a little solemn, and completely out of place with the upbeat atmosphere around them. But as soon as he saw it, the expression was gone, smoothed over into a blank smile. “Prince Lotor will be happy to see you here. Though he’s currently occupied. Should I call someone over to accompany you for a while instead?”

“No, that’s really—”

He trailed off into a sigh, seeing that Acxa had shifted and was waving to someone behind him. Only a moment later, Lance heard footsteps on the stone behind him, and then a deep, familiar voice asked, “How may I help you, Lady Acxa?”

“Ulaz,” she greeted. Lance glanced up quickly, meeting Ulaz’s gaze, finding his expression warmer than Lance had expected. “You remember Prince Lance, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Ulaz said. He didn’t quite smile, but the corners of his lips lifted slightly as he regarded Lance. “A pleasure to see you again, Your Highness. I am truly glad you were able to join us.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Lance answered, mind already on autopilot as he tried to recall what he knew of Ulaz. Tried to decide whether he would be safe with him.

The two of them hadn’t spoken very much over the course of Lance’s stay. They’d only ever interacted at the wedding banquet, and then again at the concert the other night, and both encounters had been short and unremarkable. Still, Ulaz had been kind to him. Kinder than any of the other nobles so far. And he’d never heard Keith or Shiro mutter a single bad word about him in all this time, like they did with many of the others, which said a lot about the type of person Ulaz was.

Perhaps if they just stayed in the large courtyard and didn’t wander off on one of the garden paths it would be alright. At the very least, it would give him something to do.

“Will you walk with me?” he asked, flashing his most charming smile. “We’ve barely had a chance to speak, and there is so much I’d like to ask you.” So much that Lance wanted to know that other Galrans might not be willing to discuss with him. Ulaz was probably his best chance at getting answers.

Thankfully, Ulaz didn’t hesitate. “It would be my honor,” he answered and held out his arm, keeping it low so that Lance could easily reach. Lance smiled again and placed a hand lightly on his forearm. Then, nodding at Acxa, he let Ulaz lead him away, feeling Acxa’s stare boring into his back until they were out of her sight.

The two of them remained silent as they walked, with Ulaz guiding Lance through the impressive throng of guests. The main courtyard of the imperial ice gardens stretched along the side of the palace, just a little over half its length, and about as wide as the Great Hall. But even with its size, it was filled with guests, and it took a while for Ulaz and Lance to find an area that wasn’t so busy. Only when they reached the far end, where the courtyard branched off to a pathway lined by ice-covered trees did the crowd thin enough for them to move comfortably. And for them to be able to speak.

Lance peeked over at Ulaz— at his imposing figure and sharp face. His expression was neutral, neither open nor antagonistic, but content almost. At ease. Completely unbothered by the situation at hand.

He supposed that was preferable to what it could have been. Definitely much better than the glares and acidic comments anyone else in the court would have made if they were in Ulaz’s position. And it certainly seemed that Ulaz at least tolerated him, if not actually liked him. He hoped be enough to convince Ulaz to talk and share what he knew.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” Lance said. “I know I probably wasn’t your first choice of company.”

Ulaz huffed, but it sounded almost amused. “You would be mistaken about that, actually.”

“Would I?”

“Yes,” Ulaz said. “I also regretted not being able to speak with you before, and was hoping to meet you today. I wanted to thank you.”

That took Lance aback. “What for?” he asked, completely befuddled. Ulaz glanced down at Lance and smiled.

“For this,” he answered. He gestured at their surroundings, at the clear sky and glittering ice and all the guests mingling in the cold with relaxed expressions and easy laughter. “For this peace you’ve brought. You didn’t have to accept our treaty, but you took the risk anyways. I’m grateful.”

“That isn’t—” Lance stopped. He looked away, at anything except for Ulaz, and murmured, “You don’t have to thank me for that. I accepted it as much for my own people as for yours.”

“That doesn’t make it any less important,” Ulaz insisted, pausing to face Lance, which forced Lance to stop along with him. Glancing up, Lance noticed how serious Ulaz’s expression was, and how open as well. There was something genuine in the way he was looking at Lance, with his wide eyes and furrowed brows. And something earnest as well. “You’ve sacrificed so much for this. I know it must be difficult. If you’re ever in need of help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Lance didn’t know what to say to that. It was more than he’d expected from any Galran, and it made a lump form in Lance’s throat. He swallowed thickly— once, twice— then forced out a soft, scratchy, “Thank you.”

It was the best he could give to Ulaz’s unexpected offer. Thankfully, Ulaz seemed to understand and didn’t pursue the matter any further. With a short nod, he turned and continued walking along the edge of the courtyard, drawing Lance along with him. They didn’t say much to each other as they walked, save for a few idle comments about the weather or the frozen foliage around the courtyard, though both steadfastly greeted each noble they passed. And, more often than not, Ulaz would actually stop to introduce Lance to several of the nobles he hadn’t gotten a chance to meet.

Lance was grateful for that distraction, and for the bits of information Ulaz would pass along after they’d left each noble. From him, Lance learned of the different domains each noble held, and where they stood in the social hierarchy of the court. Which families were held in prominence and should be treated with careful deference. Which families were unfavored. Which were hungry for more.

Lance soaked in all the information and added it to his own observations. As they interacted with each noble, he took mental notes on how they all behaved and spoke. What information they found important. How receptive they were to Lance’s presence.

More than half of the ones he met weren’t happy to see him at all, but that was to be expected. Lance did his level best to charm them anyways.

“You are experienced with social situations, it seems,” Ulaz noted as they walked away from a group of lessor nobles. “I am surprised you haven’t attended court functions before now. You should be more involved.”

Lance laughed, short and sharp. “There are many who would disagree with that.” Including Keith, though Ulaz didn’t need to know that. Their understanding was too new and too untested to trust Ulaz with something so revealing, and so Lance kept that thought close to his chest.

Shaking his head, Ulaz said, “Whoever chooses to exclude you is wasting your potential. I believe you could do more.”

Lance stared at him, long and hard.

He’d long held the desire to get involved with the Galran court. For weeks he’d been waiting, hoping to finally be included and given something to do. But week after week he’d been told that the court wasn’t ready. That it wouldn’t be safe for him. That he couldn’t handle it. Even Shiro didn’t want to let Lance get involved until he’d been forced to. He still didn’t want Lance to be involved. Even in such a minor event as this.

But Ulaz was saying Lance should do more, and was saying it genuinely, without any hostility or guile. He stated it like a fact. And the sheer confidence he showed in Lance fanned a small spark of something to life inside Lance’s chest. Excitement, perhaps. Or determination.

He opened his mouth to reply to Ulaz, but before he could say anything, he was interrupted by the sudden, light pressure of a hand against his back. He tensed and turned, ready to defend himself, and found Lotor smirking beside him.

“Prince Lance,” Lotor said. “How good it is to see you. I hope you haven’t been too bored.”

He stepped closer to Lance’s side, almost pressing up against Lance’s arm through his thick cloak. Lance shot a slightly alarmed glance at Ulaz, who was watching the exchange with a tight, blank expression, but then forced a smile and answered, “Not at all. Ulaz was kind enough to keep me company. It’s been very pleasant.”

“Excellent,” Lotor said, though his tone was unenthused. He looked at Ulaz, and then back at Lance, completely dismissing Ulaz’s presence as he continued, “I’m glad I was able to catch you. I received word earlier that Kyran will be returning tomorrow, and I of course wanted to make sure you would be present for his reception.”

At Keith’s court reception, Lance realized, like they’d had when Lance first arrived on Daibazaal. But that was held within the Great Hall, which Lance hadn’t been to since his arrival. He’d never been invited. Not for court functions, or for anything else, even after he’d married into the imperial family.

Lance pursed his lips for a moment, then said, “I didn’t realize I would be allowed,” which made Lotor laugh.

“Well of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be?”

Lance shrugged. The movement forced Lotor to drop his hand, which was something of a relief to Lance, though he made sure that didn’t show. He kept his face neutral as he explained, “I was told I needed an invitation to attend court, and I never received one. I simply assumed I wasn’t permitted.”

“But you were,” Lotor said. “Ulaz can attest that you were invited. Did you never receive the invitations?”

“No.”

Which didn’t make sense. Not unless someone had purposefully kept those invitations away from him. But the only people with access to his letters were the servants carrying them, and none of them would have any reason to withhold them. Lance should have received them. Unless… unless Keith or Shiro had a hand in it.

It would be easy for them, honestly. Especially that he now shared a room with Keith. Either one of them could have seen the invitation and hidden it while Lance was out of sight. Most likely Keith, but Shiro couldn’t be counted out either. Lance didn’t want to believe that’s what happened though. Because, if that were true, then it meant Keith and Shiro didn’t trust him. Didn’t believe that he would go to them and listen to their counsel, despite all the times he’d asked them for advice. And that made him angry.

Lance stewed over that thought as Lotor and Ulaz discussed the details of the reception the next day. He was too upset to pay attention to what they were saying, growing more and more irritated as he considered the possibility of Keith hiding those invitations from him.

It was one thing for Keith to tell Lance not to go, after all. That, at least, Lance could respect and understand. Could know that he’d had some sort of choice in the matter, even if he did end up following Keith’s suggestion in the end. But to hide that invitation from him— to take that choice away entirely— was a whole different matter. One that infuriated Lance. Particularly in the wake of what Ulaz had said to him.

He had no right to do something like that. None at all. There was absolutely no reason for Keith to take that away from him, and Lance was going to let him know that as soon as Keith—

“Lance?” Ulaz asked softly. “Are you alright?”

Shaken from his thoughts, Lance snapped his attention to Ulaz and found him watching Lance with concern. Lotor was watching him too, but with far more interest, and a gleam in his eyes that made Lance uncomfortable. Lance took a deep breath, and then another. Then he smiled at the two of them as nothing was wrong.

“I’m fine,” he told them. “I think it was just the cold getting to me. I’m still not used to these temperatures.”

Ulaz frowned at his answer. He glanced at Lotor, then back at Lance as he said, “You do look a little pale. Perhaps you should head inside.”

“Yes. Perhaps I should,” he agreed, more quickly than he probably would have on any other day. But he was upset and angry, and he could recognize a lifeline when he saw one. Could recognize Ulaz’s comment as an attempt to allow him to escape, rather than the insult he would have assumed it was previously. Sighing, Lance rubbed the back of his neck and turned a pitiful expression on Lotor. “I hope you’ll excuse me, Your Highness. I would hate to get sick and miss my husband’s return.”

Lotor was silent for a moment. A flicker of annoyance crossed over his face, in the slight narrowing of his eyes and downward twitch in his lips, but then he was all smiles again. “Of course,” he said. “Go and rest. We will see each other tomorrow.”

With that dismissal, Lance bowed, then backed away from the two and headed for the door. He skirted around the edge of the courtyard, avoiding every guest and distraction he was back inside the palace, where he could storm up the stairs to his rooms in peace. His feet knew the way back by now, and so he let himself think on what Lotor had said. And what Ulaz had said as well.

I believe you could do more.

Lance thought so too. He thought so, and he hated Keith a bit for not believing the same.

It just simply wasn’t fair. It wasn't right! Lance could help Keith so much if only Keith would let him. He was more certain of that now than ever before, now that he’d survived two court functions with barely any trouble. Regardless of what Keith thought, Lance could hold his own here. Could handle anything they threw his way. Keith just needed to realize that.

Reaching his rooms, he stepped inside and leaned back against the door as it shut behind him. His gaze flitted about the empty room, and he let out a long sigh.

Well, in any case, Keith would see Lance interacting with the court tomorrow, when he returned from his trip. He would see and would have to agree to let Lance take more of a role in things, just as Lance wanted. And if he didn’t, then Lance would just have to take things into his own hands, and settle this matter himself.

Chapter Text

Lance slipped through one of the side doors into the Great Hall, where the court was gathering. As he expected, there was already a small crowd present. Nobles and officials, no doubt summoned just as Lance was, stretched from the foot of the throne’s dais to just past the middle of the room, all arrayed in the deep reds and purples and blacks that characterized the court.

They all stood in relaxed clumps with each other. The stiff postures and stern expressions he’d come to expect of court functions was nowhere to be seen. And the chatter that filled the hall was so loud the room was practically vibrating with it, noise bouncing off the dark-tinted windows and crystal chandeliers. Too loud for something so official, he thought. Unless the Galran court operated far differently than he’d been told.

Lance glanced around, gaze flitting from corner to corner in search of Lotor or Acxa or anyone with a high enough rank to oversee this kind of event. The throne, however, was empty, and there was no sign of any of the others lingering in the gathered crowd. No one to keep the nobles in line. Or to direct the flow of the proceedings. Not the way there should have been.

So court hadn’t yet started then. A small mercy. He’d been worried when he received his summons that he was only being called for Keith’s return— that the nobles had already been in the hall for hours, working through issues he wasn’t allowed to hear, and that Lance’s entrance would only be a disruption. A source of attention and ire, just as it had been for the concert earlier that week.

He was relieved to find that wasn’t the case. The nobles didn’t pay Lance any mind as he stepped through the door, Shiro following at his heels. They were so caught up in their own conversations and affairs they didn’t notice him slipping inside. Didn’t even notice him slinking along the wall, footsteps soft and slow, expression blank as he observed the gathered crowd.

Is this it then, he wondered. Is this the extent of what Keith’s position receives?

It was less than Lance had thought, considering the rank his husband held, but he supposed it wasn’t a surprise. He knew how the court felt about their second prince. What little regard they held for him, even on the best of days. How quick they would be to ignore his return if they were not required to be present. They just simply did not care enough.

Something I could have been helping him with if he’d just let me join him at court. If he’d just thought to give me a chance.

But Keith hadn’t. Instead, he’d kept Lance away from the court, despite how often Lance had asked to become more involved. He’d pushed back against Lance at every turn. Had said the court wasn’t ready for him, that getting involved was too dangerous, that he needed to wait. But for how long, Lance wondered. Until Lance had been forgotten by the Galrans? Until he was no longer considered a threat? If that was what Keith was waiting for, then he would be waiting a very long time. Far too long for Lance to be of any use to him, and then what would be the point of all this?

Irritated, Lance scowled down at the black marble floor. He didn’t understand why Keith was so set against him joining the court. At least, not anymore. He thought he’d understood before, when Keith warned him of the dangers and how he’d be received. Had listened to Keith’s advice. Had even agreed with his assessment, because he knew centuries of war couldn’t easily be forgotten.

But the past week had made Lance question all that— not because he’d been welcomed with open arms, or anything close, but because he hadn’t been nearly as reviled as he’d been led to believe. He’d been glared at, yes, and had endured some less-than-friendly comments, but that was nothing compared to what could have been. After all, no one had attempted to physically attack him so far. They hadn’t even outright threatened to do that sort of harm to him, by word or action. And so, to Lance, the whole situation was nothing new. Just another foreign court to navigate. Another group of strangers he simply needed to charm.

Why then was Keith so adamant about not letting Lance get involved? What reason did he have for rejecting Lance’s attempts to help? For even going so far as to hide court invitations from him? Why was he so desperate to keep Lance away?

“Good afternoon, Your Royal Highness,” a voice greeted, interrupting Lance’s thoughts. Lance stopped short and glanced around, gaze finally landing on the speaker standing nearby. He smiled.

“Ulaz. How good to see you again.”

The Galran noble bowed to Lance, then offered a small, quick nod of acknowledgment to Shiro before focusing back on Lance. “I’m glad you were able to attend today,” he said. “Prince Lotor was so hoping you would. He reserved a spot for you up by the dais.”

“For me?”

That wasn’t what he’d expected. He knew, traditionally, by his rank and connection to the imperial family, he was entitled to stand at the front of the hall, in a place of high importance. However, he hadn’t known if it would apply here. If he, as an Altean and a former enemy to the Galra Empire, would be allowed that spot of honor. If the other Galrans would even tolerate it.

“It’s yours by right,” Ulaz insisted, as if knowing where Lance’s thoughts had turned. “No one will deny you. Not with Prince Lotor supporting you.”

But that was partially what made Lance so hesitant.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew Lotor was interested in him to some degree. That Lotor’s interest was partially why Lance was able to join court functions with relative ease. In a way, his interest protected Lance. Marked him as someone the nobles couldn’t touch unless they were willing to invite Lotor’s anger. The attention, however, made him wary, and cautious of stepping over any lines. Of relying on Lotor’s interest too much and then having to pay the price.

He bit his lip, unsure, knowing he needed to accept Lotor’s support on this, but still feeling reluctant. Unbidden, an image of Keith came to mind, of the way his brows would furrow and jaw would clench if he knew the line Lance was balancing on. It was the same kind of expression Keith always wore whenever he told Lance not to get involved. The same expression Lance had listened to this whole time, trusting Keith’s assessment of the risks. Trusting he’d one day he’d have enough faith in Lance to allow him to fend for himself.

A flash of irritation passed through him at that. “Yes, of course,” he said as he forced the image of Keith from his mind, refusing to be pushed into the background once again. He smiled again at Ulaz and waved his hand. “Please, lead the way.”

Shiro made a soft noise of protest behind him, but Lance ignored it. Instead, he waited patiently for Ulaz to turn and start navigating through the crowd, then followed after him, though at enough of a distance that Shiro could lean into Lance’s space without drawing attention and whisper, “This is a bad idea.”

Lance hummed, but otherwise didn’t react. “You think so?” he asked. His tone was casual. Almost disinterested. And it made the frown on Shiro’s face grow even more pronounced.

“Lotor’s too quick about giving you a place of honor. He wants something. Or is trying to make you a target.”

“I’m already a target,” Lance pointed out. “Being Altean makes me a target whether I’m honored or not. So why shouldn’t I take this chance to solidify my position?”

The more prestige he earned in the eyes of the Galran court, the more influence he would have, after all. And if he wanted to keep being involved, and not just shut away in his room like before, he needed that prestige. Needed to show Keith he could hold his own among the nobles and gain his own power. Needed to prove he shouldn’t be ignored.

Shiro pressed his lips together and didn’t say anything more. He couldn’t. He knew Lance was right, even if he refused to admit it.

Satisfied, Lance located Ulaz further along in the crowd, then hurried to catch up with him. The Galran’s longer legs meant Lance had to walk twice as fast to match his normal pace. Thankfully, it also meant Ulaz was on the taller side compared to the others, and so easier to follow as Lance ducked through the crowd.

They eventually pushed their way past everyone else, taking their places at the front of the crowd. Lance stood directly beside the throne dais, with Ulaz on his left and Shiro just behind. It was a spot of high honor, second only to Lotor, who would occupy the throne for this court session. It was a spot he hadn’t thought he’d be given, and he forced an expression of cool confidence across his face as he felt the heat of every Galran turning to look his way.

The attention was as unnerving as ever, and it took everything he had to ignore their stares. Self-consciously, he touched his hair, his circlet, the high collar of his navy shirt, making sure all was in place. That he was as immaculate and composed as possible. He would not falter here. He would not show them weakness, or give them any reason to think that spot belonged to anyone else except for him.

“It looks like most of the courtiers have arrived,” Ulaz murmured beside him, just loud enough for Lance to hear. “I believe only a few are still missing.”

“Is the court usually so small?” He glanced around again. In the short time since he’d arrived at the Great Hall, only a few more nobles had trickled in to join the crowd. Not nearly enough to make up the difference between the previous court functions Lance had attended, though. All those faces now familiar to him that were still absent.

“Prince Lotor invited only the most essential courtiers,” Ulaz answered. “He saw no need for an elaborate welcome this time around.”

Lance frowned. “I see.”

It made sense, he supposed. The last time Keith had traveled outside the palace, he’d returned with Lance and a newly-signed peace treaty in tow. Little wonder so many nobles had turned out back then for Keith’s welcome. They’d all been eager to see the results of his venture, and to lay eyes on his new, Altean husband.

This time, however, Keith wouldn’t be bringing anything of importance back with him. There was no point in assembling the full court for a simple report. Not unless the nobles wanted to. And Lance knew they did not.

Huffing softly, he scrutinized the nobles that had deigned to attend in more detail, taking note of the sigils each wore and trying to recall all he had learned of each each house. Few of them were from the lessor houses— the ones outside of Lotor’s direct sphere, who sometimes showed Lance the kindness he rarely got from the rest of the nobles. Instead, the room was filled with the highest of the high. The most prominent houses and highest-ranking generals and leading officials. The same group that still couldn’t accept Lance’s position within their court, if the heated glares they sent his way were anything to judge by.

Still, as long as they kept their disdain limited to glares as usual, they were hardly a threat to him. He dismissed their scowls for the moment and instead focused on the far edge of the crowd, where the military officials that had been invited were gathered. Surprisingly, they ignored Lance’s presence altogether. Even Sendak and Haxus, who were the worst of them all.

For that, Lance was grateful. The military officials had proven more willing than the nobles to speak out against him. Not that Lance couldn’t deal with their comments, but the less they said the easier it might be to convince Keith not to hide him away again. And Lance needed every advantage for that.

His gaze traveled down the military line, taking in one armored soldier after another. He could recognize the varying patterns on their chest plates now, and noticed only commanders and vice-commanders were in attendance. High-ranking, but not as high as it could go. Apparently his husband’s return wasn’t important enough to require any generals. Not even the ones Lance usually saw around Lotor at court functions.

At least the commanders present were the ones that held sway over the court and could influence its policies. Less of an insult to Keith’s position, even with the generals absent. And then there were the commanders that ran the palace barracks— the shadow leaders of the military, the ones that trained and formed the officers of the galran forces. They stood at the end of the line, stern as only military instructors could be, with arms crossed and expressions fierce. Lance nearly passed right over them, but then noticed something that made him do a double take.

“Ulaz,” he said, then waited for Ulaz lean towards him before asking, “Who is that down there? Standing with the officers?”

He nodded towards the end of the line, where a startlingly familiar child stood at attention, one of the commander’s hands on his shoulder. It was the same child Lance had helped earlier that week. His white hair had been combed neatly back, and his face was set into a solemn expression rather than the indignant scowl he’d worn the other day, but Lance recognized him all the same.

Ulaz followed Lance’s line of sight, then frowned. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious,” Lance answered slowly. “I ran into him the other day, while he was out training. Offered him some advice.”

But he hadn’t even thought to ask the boy’s name. Hadn’t considered the kid would have any sort of significance at his young age, let alone the amount that his being here meant he held. He was the only child in the entire room, after all. And Lance had been on Daibazaal long enough to know that wasn’t just coincidence. The boy’s presence had to mean something.

Ulaz was quiet for several long moments, almost as if he was hesitant to answer. He pressed his lips together, looking first at Lance, then at the boy, his expression as blank as Lance had ever seen it. Finally, he said, “His name is Zarek. He is Prince Lotor’s son.”

“What?” His exclamation, slightly louder than he’d intended it to be, drew the brief interest of the nobles standing around them. He quickly schooled his expression into something calmer, more distant and composed, and their attention soon drifted elsewhere, but Lance’s thoughts continued to run wild. Once he was sure the surrounding nobles were no longer keeping an eye on him, he lowered his voice to ask, “Is he… I mean, will he…”

Is he Lotor’s heir? Will he be the one to inherit this empire?

Ulaz shook his head. “He hasn’t been formally recognized by Prince Lotor, and he probably never will be. He is… a contingency plan.”

In case something happens, Lance realized. Or Lotor never has a legitimate son.

It was an acceptable situation by Galran standards, but it didn’t sit right with Lance. Especially after seeing the way Zarek was treated by kids his own age, and how far down he stood within the gathering of the court. How low his ranking was.

He was the son of Lotor, after all. A child of royal blood. On Altea that would have been enough to earn him some sort of position, even if he didn’t end up becoming an heir. He would have had an honorable title, with influence and lands, and all the respect that came with it. He would have had a secure and stable future. He would have had protection.

But the Galra Empire didn’t work that way, as much as Lance hated it. Without Lotor’s acknowledgment, Zarek was left without position or promise. He was left at the mercy of his peers, all of whom would hold actual titles once they were older, and so outranked him. They could bully him as they pleased, and he would just have to bear it, because, without Lotor’s favor, there was very little he could actually do.

Lance thought back to their first meeting, when he’d seen Zarek stomp off to stew over his peers’ teasing. He’d offered Zarek advice then— advice that had helped and stopped the others from making any more comments— and wondered now if there was some way he could keep doing the same. Could perhaps champion the young boy, since no one else seemed willing to. He opened his mouth to ask Ulaz more, but before he could get any words out, the double doors at the front of the hall swung wide open.

A hush fell over the crowd. Their attention all turned towards the doorway, where Lotor had just entered with Acxa on his arm. He walked calmly, confidently, his smooth gait and squared shoulders giving him an air of authority that had every Galran bowing to him as he passed. He didn’t acknowledge any of them. His gaze remained fixed on the throne before him, as if the crowd wasn’t there at all. It was unwavering, and unconcerned with those he walked past. Even with his own son.

Biting back a frown, Lance dipped his head into a bow with all the rest. It wasn’t Lance’s place to comment on Lotor’s relationship with his son. Especially not now, before all the most important figures of the court. Not here.

He held his mouth shut as Lotor and Acxa drew near, forcing all the words he wanted to say to the back of his mind and focusing on the approaching footsteps instead. The soft taps of their shoes echoed around the hall and mixed with the soft, reverent greetings of the nobles. The comments so full of veneration and flattery it made Lance want to cringe. There was soft laughter as one of the military officers made some sort of joke, and then occasional rustle of fabric as nobles pressed forward to bow over Lotor’s hand. They were all so warm and encouraging with Lotor. So eager for his attention. So earnest, in the sort of way they never would be with Keith or Lance.

Or at least not any time in the near future, he thought. Not unless we change their minds.

Which was unlikely to happen if Keith continued to keep Lance at a distance once he returned. The court needed to accept the both of them together if they were going to make any progress and gain any sort of power. But that wasn’t something Lance could control just yet. He needed to get through this reception first. To welcome Keith back and navigate all the court’s formalities before they could even broach the topic. So Lance pushed the thought to the back of his mind and instead focused on what was happening around him. On the press of the crowd at his side, and the murmur of their voices, and the footsteps that paused directly in front of where he stood.

“Lance,” Lotor greeted, warm and familiar. Almost affectionate. And when Lance lifted his head, he found Lotor giving him a small, sharp smile. “Welcome to court. I see my invitation managed to reach you this time.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Highness,” Lance answered, fighting back the flash of irritation that came with Lotor’s pointed comment. His casual reminder of what Keith had been doing all of this time. Of how much Keith still distrusted him. Forcing a smile across his face, he added, “I’m grateful for your consideration.”

Lotor’s smile widened. “Well, I know how eager you must be to see your husband again. It would have been a shame for you to miss his return. Especially with how short a time you’ll have together.”

What? Lance thought, feeling something heavy drop into his stomach and tie itself in knots. What did Lotor mean about the length of time? Was there something Lance didn’t know? Something that had, yet again, been kept from him?

Keeping his face carefully blank, Lance glanced first at Ulaz to his left, then, briefly, to Shiro, who had come forward to stand at Lance’s shoulder while Lotor had been talking. Ulaz was just as composed as ever, but Shiro… Shiro averted his eyes with a hastily hidden grimace. His lips pressed together and jaw clenched, expression as stony as Lance had ever seen it, and Lance was certain it was because Shiro was hiding something he knew Lance wouldn’t like.

Of course. Yet another thing he was being left in the dark about. Another thing Keith was keeping quiet, just as he’d done with this trip of his. And with the invitations to court. And all of the events Lance could have been attending this entire time, since the nobles weren’t about to attack him just for existing, as Keith had led him to believe.

The annoyance he’d be pushing down from earlier flared up even stronger than before, crashing over him like the tide over sand. Wearing away at what little patience he still had left. He held it in check long enough to incline his head and murmur, “Thank you, Your Highness. Your thoughtfulness is more than I could ask for.”

Lotor waved a hand as if it was nothing. “We are family now, are we not? It was the least I could do, since he’ll be leaving again in the morning.”

Again? So soon?

Keith would barely be home for a single night before he had to leave again. Only a few hours, most of which would spent either at that night’s banquet or packing for his trip, and then he would be gone. And while Keith was off doing whatever Lotor had charged him with, Lance would most likely be stuck at court, unable to go anywhere or do anything of importance, as usual. Because Keith didn’t trust him. Didn’t want him involved. Wouldn’t include him in anything, no matter what Keith had said about working together all that time ago, back when they were on Olkarion and Lance still had a hope for some sort of partnership.

Keith hadn’t even sent a note, or a message, or, at the very least, asked Shiro to fill Lance in. He acted like Lance was some sort of second thought he didn’t need to worry about. Like Lance was some sort of… of decoration. Something he could could just keep at home, on a shelf, and never have to deal with ever again. Just thinking about it made Lance angry.

He could do more. Could be more than this. More than whatever Keith and the court might think of him. All he needed was a chance to prove himself.

Distracted by his thoughts, Lance barely noticed Lotor smirk and turn to move on, his conversation with Lance effectively finished. Lance hastened to bow as Lotor walked away. His thoughts, however, were far away from the Great Hall, and the court, and all of its regulations. He couldn’t even find it in himself to care when Lotor insinuated Acxa into the crowd between Lance and the dais, giving her the spot that should have been Lance’s by right. Or when Lotor stepped onto the dais and settled himself in the throne as if he owned it.

He was only shaken back to the present when Lotor raised a hand and declared, “Send him in,” with a voice that rang through the hall with authority.

Lance’s head snapped up and turned towards the front of the hall. There was nothing for a moment, then one of the palace servants returned with a very familiar figure in tow. Lance watched this figure step through the door and into the hall, where the light of the crystal chandeliers threw Keith’s face into sharp relief. Seeing him, Lance narrowed his eyes, feeling all of his frustration over Keith’s actions rush through him like a flame. And as Keith approached, Lance could only think one thing:

He was not going to be pushed aside again.

Chapter Text

Keith felt the eyes of the court turn to him as soon as he stepped into the hall. Sharp and suspicious, they bored into him, burning a hundred tiny holes, as if trying to eviscerate him with their eyes alone.

It made Keith want to scoff. Eight years at court and that was the only response they could offer him. He’d long ago become immune to their glares. Try as they might, he wouldn’t be affected by such staring, and he certainly wasn’t going to cower away the way they seemed to want him to. They would need to work much harder than that to scare him off.

Lifting his chin, he strode through the crowd towards the font of the hall, where Lotor lounged in their father’s throne like some sort of self-proclaimed king. Like all of this already belonged to him. It took everything Keith had to keep from scowling at the sight and the silent message it implied. Instead, he glanced around the hall, taking note of all who attended, and those who had not.

He wasn’t surprised to see so few nobles and officials in attendance. He wasn’t too popular among the courtiers, and Lotor, of course, deemed his return too unimportant to bother assembling the entire retinue. Only half the court was present for this welcoming— the half Keith knew was most loyal to Lotor, and was not afraid to show their annoyance at Keith’s unwanted presence.

He clenched his jaw as he walked past the commanders and subcommanders Lotor had assembled, careful to keep his expression in check. No need to give them any more gossip than they already had, or to show them any tiny sign of possible weakness. He knew how they would react if his expression so much as twitched; how they would twist and turn every change in his demeanor to fit their hatred. They were like carrion creatures, watching his every move, just waiting for death to drag him home.

Unsurprisingly, Sendak stood in prominence at the front of the battlefield commanders, his subcommander, Haxus, positioned just behind. The two of them glared at Keith with unrestrained malice, and it wasn’t difficult to see just how much they resented being called to court just for Keith’s return. No doubt they saw it as a waste of their time. That their presence was an honor Keith just didn’t deserve. And looking around at the rest of the battlefield officers, he saw the sentiment echoed in each of their glares.

On the other side of the hall, the military officers of the palace barracks were more guarded in their expressions. Not that their hatred was completely absent or hidden, but there were several officers that didn’t immediately scowl as Keith passed them by. Regris, the barracks’ main weapons specialist, was one of those few, as was Kolivan, the commander in charge of the palace barracks.

Kolivan offered a subtle nod as Keith met his gaze, showing respect to Keith’s rank without drawing Lotor’s attention. They stared at one another for a few, brief moments, then Kolivan tilted his head to the right. Keith’s eyes followed the movement down to find Zarek standing beside Kolivan, shoulders back, chin up, and obviously attempting to appear as serious and dignified as all the officers around him.

It only took a single glance in Keith’s direction, however, for those attempts to fail. As soon as he looked up and saw Keith silently watching him, a bright smile broke over his face. He beamed and waved at Keith, completely forgetting where he was until Antok coughed pointedly behind him. Startled, Zarek dropped his hand and tried to regain his earlier composure. But the embarrassed flush in his cheeks was so dark that there was no real point in trying at all.

Keith pressed his lips tightly together to keep his mouth from curling even the slightest of centimeters into a frown. Not because he was unhappy to see his nephew, but because Keith knew what his presence actually meant.

It was rare for his nephew to be at court. Typically, Zarek would be kept hidden away in the barracks with the rest of the noble children, where Lotor didn’t have to see him. Perhaps out of guilt. Or because he couldn’t bear to see the physical evidence of his shameful dalliance with a common, galra soldier. Regardless of the reason, Zarek was only ever summoned when Lotor wanted to remind Keith of his place— that even Lotor’s common, bastard son stood above him in the line of succession. That Keith’s opinions didn’t matter to this court, because Keith was unlikely to ever be emperor.

It was almost sickening, if Keith were honest. Having to see Zarek brought into the court that despised him almost as much as they despised Keith, just because Lotor wanted to send some sort of message. Especially with how young Zarek was. Keith knew from personal experience how much scrutiny and hatred came with being a bastard prince, but at least he’d been free of the expectations until he was sixteen and old enough to handle it. Zarek was only six. He was six and having to bear up to all the same comments and sneers that Keith had already gone through.

Keith’s fists curled tighter at his sides, nails digging into his palms, tension strung all the way through his arms. It was unfair, what Zarek had to deal with. The expectations that sat on his shoulders that he shouldn’t have had to bear. Lotor didn’t even truly care for the kid beyond the reactions he could inspire. He used his son to find a weakness in Keith, like Zarek was just some tool to exploit, and all Keith to do to help him was to remain neutral. To not play Lotor’s game, so that Lotor would stop using Zarek against him.

I’ll have to visit him later today, Keith thought as he moved past the soldiers. Stars knew that Lotor never would, and that boy needed someone on his side.

That was a task to focus on later, however. For now, Keith needed to be alert to his surroundings and all the nobles attempting to stare him down.

It was only natural that all of those present were members of either Lotor’s council or the oldest noble families in the empire. They were almost always required to attend court, and inviting anyone else to welcome Keith back would have said Keith was important enough for their attention, which he knew in their minds he was not. As it was, Keith recognized every courtier in that hall, and met the eyes of each of them as he walked by— from stoic-faced Thace, to Prorok and Ylvik, to Acxa at the very end of the hall.

She stood at the foot of the dais, in the place of honor, as she usually did, as calm and regal as ever. It was no secret to Keith that his half-brother favored Acxa as his future Empress, and if things had been any different Keith might have resented her. But despite her connection to Lotor, Acxa’s face was one of the few that didn’t hold an openly hostile expression. She simply nodded at Keith and kept her peace, and he couldn’t help but respect her for that.

His gaze then drifted to the side, first to Ulaz, who was watching Keith with his arms crossed and his eyes guarded, and then to Shiro just behind him. Shiro jerked his head to the right, and Keith looked to the spot between him and Acxa, where he saw—

No. It can’t be.

Keith nearly stopped in his tracks as he stared at Lance, who was definitely not supposed to be there. He looked different from the last time Keith saw him, having traded out the lighter colors of his altean clothing for deep blue and black and silver. His eyes were sharpened by dark, galran-styled kohl and narrowed into a ferocious glare that rivaled even the most hostile noble at court. A glare that was directed entirely at Keith, for some unknown reason.

Why was Lance glowering at him that way? What had Keith done this time? Or, more likely, what had Lotor made Lance believe he’d done? Because Keith knew his half-brother well enough to know he’d do anything to turn Lance against him. The question then was how? What had Lotor told him?

“Kyran,” Lotor said, interrupting Keith’s train of thought with his saccharine tone. Feeling dread settle in his stomach, Keith tore his attention away from Lance to instead settle on Lotor, who was smiling at Keith as if he knew exactly where Keith’s thoughts had been. “Welcome home. We’ve missed you this past week.”

Keith frowned, doubting every word. “It’s good to be back,” he answered, however, because that’s what was expected. What he had to say to avoid Lotor’s ire. And, as much as he wanted to punch Lotor in his smug face, he couldn’t just challenge his brother with all the nobles watching. That fight wouldn’t end well.

His apparent complacency only made Lotor’s grin grow wider. He leaned his head against his hand and regarded Keith with obvious amusement in his eyes. Clearly, he was enjoying this, seeing Keith forced to act as the obedient younger brother. Watching Keith struggle to keep his calm composure.

“I trust your trip was successful,” he asked, raising a brow. Challenging him, Keith realized. Daring Keith to reveal all the troubles he’d faced while dealing with the factories. To reveal his weakness. His failure.

Lotor knew the factories wouldn’t budge easily over this issue. That’s why he’d sent Keith in the first place. From the moment Keith had landed at the factories, he’d been forced to deal with the arrogance and obstinacy of the factory owners— the galran tycoons that believed they could walk all over the bastard, half-breed prince that would never take the throne. His opinions were worthless to them. They fought against it at every opportunity. It was only when Keith mentioned that his brother was the one suggesting it that they deigned to listen.

But he would never admit that to Lotor. Keith wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

“The factories are willing to adjust their production,” he said instead. “We’ll have no more trouble from them.” At least not from the owners and the foremen who oversaw daily operations. The workers, however, were a different matter entirely.

The conditions they dealt with were abysmal, not that he’d expected anything less. Considering how the factory workers were taken from various conquered planets, the fact that they were practically enslaved wasn’t much of a surprise. He’d seen how they started work long before the sun rose and kept working long after the sun set. Had noticed the frantic pace and lack of rest and the swift punishment of anyone that happened to fall behind on their work. Moreover, he’d noticed the terrible conditions didn’t stop at the factory, but extended into the crumbling shacks used to house all those employed there.

It made Keith’s stomach churn to see how poorly those poor souls were treated, knowing there was very little he could do to help. If Keith had his way, those workers would be placed in homes that had sturdy walls and a reliable roof. They’d have plenty of food and be earning a steady wage. Enough to support a family with.

If Keith had his way, those workers would be treated with respect. But Keith had no power to change their situation, and until he did, Keith would remain silent He wouldn’t help Lotor prepare for the revolt that was surely coming.

“How fortunate,” Lotor drawled, unaware of the trouble Keith knew he’d eventually be facing. “It’s such a relief to have someone so reliable handling this. I’m certain your trip tomorrow will be just as successful.”

Keith grimaced and lowered his eyes. Despite the pleasant tone, he’d heard the subtle threat laced within those words. Had seen it in the steely glint of Lotor’s eyes. He’d managed to avoid humiliation this time around, but if he failed to convince this last factory to adjust their production, he’d be facing worse consequences than simple loss of face.

Lotor let the silence between them drag on for a few, painfully long moments, then released a dramatic sigh. “It’s such a shame we can’t give you a proper celebration, but I suppose that can wait until after you’ve ensured the cooperation of the Ro-Bak factory,” he said, then turned and asked, “Don’t you agree, Lance?”

Keith drew in a sharp breath. He looked to Lance, who appeared startled by the address and by the sudden attention of the court. Wide-eyed, he stared at Lotor, but it was only for a second before his expression was shuttered, masked behind a pleasant smile. One that made Keith’s stomach churn.

“As you say, Your Imperial Highness,” Lance murmured, lowering his eyes in respect. The reply was easy, comfortable almost, like he was already used to saying it, and Keith didn’t like that at all.

He liked it even less when Lotor stood and stepped down from the dais, holding out his hand. Lance hesitated only a moment before walking over to take. Keith felt almost blindsided when Lotor closed his hand possessively over Lance’s fingers, then turned a smug grin towards Keith. “Your poor husband has missed you greatly this week. I’m afraid not even the court gatherings could distract him.”

The plural in that statement didn’t escape Keith’s notice. He furrowed his brows, turning the word over in his mind. Had Lance been invited to multiple events while he’d been away? Had Lance attended multiple events? Or was this just Lotor trying to rile Keith up again? Make him believe he’d somehow slipped past Keith’s guard, right to the very person Keith had been trying to protect?

Before Keith could settle on an answer, Lotor leaned over to murmur something in Lance’s ear. Lance nodded as he listened, appearing completely at ease, and it took all of Keith’s willpower to keep from storming over and separating the two of them himself. Luckily, whatever Lotor had to say was quick, and he was soon stepping away, releasing Lance’s hand so the altean prince could walk freely.

Lance stopped just inches away from Keith, close enough for him to feel the air stirring as Lance paused and his black cape billowed around him. They stared at each other, gazes hard and assessing, as if trying to understand one another through sheer willpower alone. At least that was what Keith was trying to do. Lance’s stare was more of a glare, and was just as heated as it had been earlier. He seemed more interested in burning Keith to ashes than trying to understand him. Though Keith still had no idea way.

Then Lance took Keith’s hands and bowed over them, pressing them to his forehead as he murmured, “I’m glad to see you well.”

“And you,” Keith replied, suppressing a tiny shiver.

He watched Lance straighten, as graceful and confident as if he’d known the galra customs his entire life, though Keith knew he must have only recently learned the galran greeting he’d just given.

Who had been the one to teach Lance the greeting, he wondered. Wait it Shiro? Or Lotor? Was it someone else entirely?

It certainly hadn’t been Keith, that much he knew for sure, though it surprised him just how much that fact bothered him. He frowned down at their still-joined hands, trying to understand why he felt so hot and restless at the thought of anyone else, even Shiro, instructing Lance in the ways of Keith’s culture. Just why was he reacting so strongly?

There was a clap from the front of the hall. Pulled from his thoughts, Keith looked up to find Lotor smiling tightly at the two of them, as though he’d tasted something unpleasant. “Well,” he said, “as touching as this reunion is, I believe there is still a banquet waiting for us in the other hall. Shall we?”

Lance blinked. Something unreadable passed over his face, then he dropped Keith’s hands and the look was gone, lost behind the bright beam Lance threw over his shoulder. “Yes, of course, Your Imperial Highness. As you wish.”

“Excellent.”

Keith bristled, not liking the too-satisfied tone of his voice. His half-brother was up to something. He didn’t know what, but knowing Lotor, it wasn’t anything good. Not for Keith, and especially not for Lance, whom Lotor seemed to be drawing closer and closer with every passing day.

When did that even happen? When did Lotor start including Lance in any of his court events?

Glaring at Lotor through narrowed eyes, Keith watched his half-brother lift a hand and snap his fingers. A quiet murmur broke through the crowd as the hall’s side doors swung wide open. Lotor offered his arm to Acxa, then, throwing one last smug smirk at Keith and Lance, led the nobles through the doors towards the banquet hall, never even looking back to make sure they followed as he left.

Lance let out a short breath. Glancing his way, Keith saw him watching the retreating crowd with weary eyes and deep frown, all pleasant pretenses abandoned now that he was out of the spotlight. Lance waited another moment, then tilted his head to meet Keith’s eyes. “You don’t need to stay,” he said to Keith, lips pressed into a thin and vapid smile. “I’m sure you and Shiro have much to plan for your trip tomorrow, and I know how you abhor the court. I can find someone else to accompany me.”

Keith bit back a soft growl. He didn’t like the idea of Lance dealing with the court on his own. Particularly if he was just going to replace Keith with one of the courtiers. Who would he even ask? Ulaz? Acxa? Lotor?

“The banquet was prepared for my return,” Keith returned shortly. “It would be rude for me to miss it.” And he’d be damned if he let Lotor draw Lance even further into his plans while Keith wasn’t there to stop it. No doubt that’s exactly what Lotor wanted.

Lance just pursed his lips at the answer. “As you wish,” he said, a sharp edge to his words. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the hall, leaving Keith to stare at his back and the black cape rippling out behind him in confusion.

“What happened while I was gone?” he asked Shiro once Lance disappeared through the doorway. “Why is he acting so hostile again?”

At his shoulder, Shiro let out a snort. “Well, it might have helped if you’d told him you were being sent to the factories.”

“But I did!” Keith protested, brows pulling together in confusion.

He would never have just left Lance without a single word. Not when he knew he was going to be gone for so long. He’d tried to find Lance as soon as the council meeting had ended, rushing back to their rooms so he could pack what he needed and explain the situation before he left, but Lance hadn’t been there. It had unsettled Keith that Lance was exploring the palace on his own, remembering what had occurred the last time Lance wandered off without Keith or Shiro’s protection, but he hadn’t had the time to try and track Lance down. Instead, he’d left a letter with all the information and instructions Lance needed on the common room’s table, where Lance could easily find it. Unless…

Keith cursed under his breath. Beside him, Shiro raised a brow.

“You should have actually talked to him,” Shiro admonished. “You and I both know that letters aren’t safe in this palace.”

“I didn’t have the time.” And Keith wondered now if maybe that had been on purpose. If maybe Lotor had given Keith such a short time to prepare in the hope that he wouldn’t be able to warn Lance or instruct him to stay away from the court. He wouldn’t put it past his half-brother. And now Keith was paying for not realizing it sooner.

Sighing, Shiro placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder, warm and reassuring in its weight. “Come on,” he said softly. “There’s nothing we can do about that now. Let’s just go make sure your husband doesn’t get into anymore trouble.”

Keith nodded and let Shiro guide him from the Great Hall.

They walked in silence, following the sound of bright chatter and laughter through the corridor to the banquet hall. Being some of the last people to arrive to the banquet, most of the courtiers had already taken their seats and were happily filling their plates with the various delicacies placed all down the table. Keith automatically sought out Lotor at the head of the table, then scanned the chairs directly beside him to make sure Lance wasn’t within easy reach.

Thankfully, Lance seemed to have more sense than to sit directly beside Lotor. He’d settled himself a few chairs down from Lotor, with Ezor on his left and Ulaz on his right, and was listening in rapture as Ezor recounted some elaborate story to him, judging by the dramatic way she waved her arms. When Lance laughed and leaned over to murmur a comment to Ulaz, looking completely at ease, a spark of irritation flickered in his stomach.

When had Lance become so friendly with those two? When had he started trusting Ulaz enough to feel so comfortable around him? More comfortable than he was even with Keith?

At least the seat across from Lance was still empty. Saved, most likely, because of his relationship with Lance. None of the courtiers would dare sit across from Lance, in the seat traditionally reserved for a spouse, while Keith was at the palace, no matter how much they disliked him. It was simply terrible form, and no one at court would want to be seen as uncivilized.

Keith didn’t know why that fact— that it was only due to the nobles’ manners that seat was saved— bothered him so much. Ignoring the irritation building in his stomach, he circled round the table to settle in his chair, with Shiro taking up a protective position at the wall behind him.

Lance didn’t even glance at Keith as he sat, too focused on his conversation with Ezor to bother looking his way. Keith tried not to let that get to him. Instead, he let his attention wander to the food set before him. All of the classic Galran dishes were there, meaty and rich and heavy with sauce. But there were also several platters of pastries and greens and golden, fluffy bread. Light foods that Keith rarely saw gracing the palace’s banquet table, all concentrated around his altean husband.

As Keith processed this information, a dark hand cut across his vision to place a bowl of Zukazik— a soup with a broth so light it was almost water— in the middle of all their other dishes. Lance cut off what he was saying to Ezor to smile and thank the server, whom Keith now recognized as the human servant that had been frequenting their rooms more and more often recently. Hunk, he remembered Lance saying once. The person that kept Lance company while Keith had been pulled away to council meetings and court functions.

At least Hunk was looking after Lance, even in this setting. Keith hadn’t really thought about it, but galran food was pretty different from what Lance was used to. Richer and heavier in nature. Not at all like the altean dishes he recalled from the feast on Olkarion. Lance must have had trouble adjusting to the change, and Keith hadn’t even noticed.

Frustrated with himself, he clenched his hands into tight, painful fists beneath the table. Why hadn’t Lance said anything about it to him? Was he really so unapproachable? What else had Keith been missing?

The conversations around him lulled as everyone began digging into their food, from one end of the table to the other. Even Ezor and Lance, who had been sharing an enthusiastic discussion on the differences between altean and galran feasts, let themselves pause to enjoy the feast. Keith didn’t really touch his food, too irritated and anxious to feel hungry. Lance, on the other hand, ate plenty, far more at ease than the last time they’d attended a feast together, when Lance had still been too scared and overwhelmed by the court to swallow a single bite.

Lotor must have gotten to Lance soon after Keith left for him to be this confident with the courtiers. Either that, or Lance was far more adaptable and adept at social situations than Keith had given him credit for. Lance seemed to thrive in this environment, jumping into conversations easily and brushing off any comments on his altean heritage with no more than a soft laugh and verbal nudge to a different topic.

It was relief to see Lance handling the court with so much grace, just as much as it was worrying. This level of comfort in an altean at their court should have been seen as a threat by Lotor. Or, at the very least, a nuisance to be curbed. Lotor should have been urging his nobles to tear Lance down with their words, to make sure Lance would always be silent and on edge in their presence, all possible influence stripped away. That Lotor was giving Lance so much freedom with the nobles was disturbing, and only made Keith more nervous for what was to come.

That anxiety multiplied even more when he noticed Lotor watching Lance with an unnerving gleam in his eyes. It was anger or amusement or anything Keith expected to see from his half-brother, and it didn’t bode well for whatever plans he was hatching.

“So, Lance,” Lotor called, effortlessly silencing all of the nobles around them without even taking his attention off of Lance. “Are you pleased to have Kyran back with you? I know you’ve been lonely this past week.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Lance answered easily, flashing Lotor a bright smile. His gaze flickered to Keith, sharp in a way that Keith had never seen his eyes be, then back to Lotor, and Keith felt a flash of unease. “I’m only sad he’ll have to leave again so soon. It’s too short a time to make up for how long we were apart.”

Lotor hummed. “It is unfortunate. However, I’m afraid his task is too important to wait.”

“Of course.” Lance lowered his eyes in a clear show of submission that made Keith frown and added, “I only meant that I would miss him. A part of me wishes I could join Kyran on his trip just so we wouldn’t be separated.”

“Lance,” Keith hissed in warning. What was Lance playing at? There was no way he’d missed Keith that much, and Keith knew it. Lotor probably did too. If this was Lance’s attempt at getting Keith to bring him along, it wasn’t going to work. “This isn’t something you should get involved with.”

Lance needed to stay here at the palace, where he was relatively safe and out of the way. Where the comments and hatred from the factory owners couldn’t touch him.

Lance frowned and, for the first time since leaving the Great Hall, turned to face Keith. “I never said anything about being involved in your work. I merely want the company of my husband.”

Somehow, Keith doubted that. His company wasn’t what Lance was after at all, no matter how prettily he tried to hide it.

“What devotion,” Lotor mused before Keith could reply, however. His voice caught Lance’s attention like a fish on a hook, and Keith tried to ignore his annoyance that Lotor’s words were apparently more important to Lance than his own. “This trip is for business, though. I’m afraid that you wouldn’t find it all that diverting.”

“How could I not?” Lance answered, smiling sweetly. “I haven’t been outside the palace yet, and I’m longing to see more of my new home.” He leaned forward as he spoke, letting his excitement at the prospect show clearly through his expression. His wide smile and shining, blue eyes were captivating in that moment, and caught the undisguised interest of more galrans than just Lotor. But then that expression dimmed, and it seemed all the nobles around him caught their breath as Lance continued, “If you think it unwise though, Your Highness, I will of course listen to your counsel.”

“Lance,” Keith murmured again, knowing what Lance was trying to do. Knowing what such a display of his charms would get him, and it wasn’t anything that would keep Lance safe.

Keith opened his mouth to say more, but then Lotor lifted a hand to silence him.

“I admire how eager you are to embrace our planet,” Lotor said to Lance, as Keith knew he would. “I see no harm in you going. In fact, it’s been a long time since I’ve visited Ro-Bak myself. I think I will join you as well. If Kyran doesn’t mind?”

He looked over at Keith then, lips curled into a smug smile, and Keith burned with anger.

“Of course, brother,” he ground out. “You’re always welcome.”

He couldn’t say anything else, and Lotor knew it. His request was simply show. He’d already decided to go, and nothing Keith said would change his mind now. But why though? Why was Lotor giving in to Lance’s request? Was it to get into Lance’s good graces? To make Keith look a fool? For some other purpose entirely?

“It’s settled then,” Lotor said, smiling right in the face of Keith’s glare. He left it at that then, turning away to make conversation with the other nobles sitting around him, as if the matter was settled and done. But Keith knew better.

He knew his half-brother, and knew the conversation that just occurred was only the first of many moves towards whatever it was Lotor wanted. Keith couldn’t say what his end goal in all this was just yet, but whatever game Lotor was playing, it was far from over.

This game was just beginning.

Chapter Text

Ro-Bak was cold— far colder than any of the other cities Keith had visited in his tour of the factories. It sat to the North of the capital, where the shadow of the Kazik overhang covered the city for all but a few short hours each afternoon. Not nearly enough time for the sun to warm the air before the city was plunged into the darkness of night. Or to melt the thick layers of ice and snow that seemed to engulf every surface of the city.

When their transport ship arrived at the Ro-Bak factory, the sun was just beginning to break over the edge of the overhang, throwing dim beams of light over the wintry silhouette of the familiar factory. Keith stepped out into that small bit of sunshine and immediately wanted to leave. Wanted to curl up in the nest of blankets and pillows that was his bed back at the palace, far away from the cesspit that was Ro-Bak. Maybe then he could pretend everything was as it should be. That he wasn’t right back where he’d sworn he’d never return to, this time with his husband in tow. A husband who didn’t know the sort of nightmare they’d soon be walking into.

The crunch of snow behind him shook him from his thoughts. Keith glanced over his shoulder at Lance, standing at the foot of the ramp with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and face partially obscured by the collar of his new coat. It was strange and a bit unsettling, seeing him dressed from head to toe in Galran style, but he was glad to see that the coat was better than the thin, Altean cloak Lance used to wear. It was at least as thick of Shiro’s and his own, if not more. Clearly designed to keep out the worst of Daibazaal’s weather.

Still, despite the new coat, Lance was shivering in the frigid air. It was difficult to tell from a distance, bundled as he was in the thick, blue coat with its fur-trimmed collar and knee-length hemline, but it became obvious when Lance stopped beside him, close enough for Keith to feel his tremors through the layers of clothing where their arms brushed together.

“So this is the Ro-Bak factory,” Lance mused, looking up at the stone building standing before him. His tone was soft, almost private, as if speaking only to himself, but they were the first words Keith had heard him utter since the disastrous banquet two days before. 

Keith glanced at Lance out of the corner of his eye, taking in the determined set of Lance’s jaw, the way it flattened the line of his lips and made his blue-eyed stare more intense. It was the same kind of look Lance had given Keith right before he’d slammed the door of his former bedroom— the one that had gone unused since the night of their wedding— in Keith’s face and locked it, not allowing Keith the chance to speak his mind about what had just occurred or give any sort of warning about the situation Lance had gotten himself into. The same kind of look he’d given to Keith again when their party reached the Ro-Bak manor, before Lance strode right past him with the small entourage of nobles Lotor had brought along, just as silent as the day before.

He must have known how Keith would react to that ploy of his, given how he went to such lengths to avoid him. Perhaps he was still angry at Keith for reasons Keith still didn’t quite understand. Or perhaps he’d been hoping that time and space would cool Keith’s frustration over his actions at the feast and make him more amenable to Lance’s presence on this trip. Instead, the distance had only made Keith’s frustration worse. Made him more irritated with Lance. With himself. With the fact that he couldn’t keep Lance out of the court’s games, no matter how hard he tried.

A scowl tugged at Keith’s lips. “It’s just another factory,” he said, glaring at the towering stone walls of the building before them. “There’s really nothing to recommend it.” He glanced again at Lance, who was still trying and failing to hide his shivering from Keith, and his scowl deepened. “You should have just stayed at the manor.”

“And be just as bored as if I’d been left at the palace?” Lance scoffed. “No thank you.”

“You seemed plenty busy to me,” Keith said, eyes narrowing. “No doubt the nobles are missing your company this morning.” After all, they’d clearly been enthralled by Lance the previous evening, as Lance entertained them late into the night with various stories from his childhood. He’d seemed content within their midst, thriving in the attention they lavished on him. Just thinking about the way they’d watched him made something sharp and unpleasant twist in Keith’s stomach. Even so, he much preferred that to what they were walking into.

Lance huffed, one corner of his lips twitching upwards behind the fur of his coat’s collar. “I’m sure they can survive without me. It’s not as though they came just to bask in my presence.” He sounded amused by the idea. Or perhaps by the situation as a whole. Which just showed how little Lance knew of what he was about to face.

“This isn’t a game, Lance,” Keith snapped. “You aren’t going to be welcomed here.”

“Of course I won’t,” Lance fired back. “I knew that from the start. I’m well aware of what this empire thinks of me. Even if you believe I’m ignorant to such matters.” He scowled at Keith then, jaw set and shoulders thrown proudly back, looking every inch the warrior prince he once had been. Seeing that icy gaze directed at him once more was startling, enough so that Keith almost flinched away when Lance added, “Maybe instead of telling me things I already know, you should explain to me why exactly we’re here in the first place. Or at least what sort of problems I should be expecting to see. Something actually useful to the situation.”

“I just told you what to expect. They won’t want you here. There’s a reason I didn’t want to bring you along.”

“Well I am here,” Lance answered sharply. His nose, already red from the wind and cold, wrinkled in distaste as he regarded the factory’s rough, icy exterior. “Everyone will simply have to get over it and accept my presence.”

If only it were that easy, Keith thought with a grimace. 

There was no simple way to explain what happened behind those thick, iron doors. Not just the manufacturing that kept the Galran economy afloat, but also the atrocities that allowed such work to flourish. Keith knew intimately what sort of price was paid to keep each factory up and running, and nowhere was that price steeper than in the icy halls of Ro-Bak’s factory. It had been that way for decades now– an unspoken and bloody tradition that was kept hushed behind those unassuming stone walls. But Keith knew. He remembered the price, even if no one else in the empire dared to acknowledge it. 

To share all that knowledge and grief with Lance in a single night though? It just wasn’t possible. There wasn’t enough time. There had never been enough time. Lotor had made sure of that when he’d rushed Keith off to Konkaet the other day, and then again with this hasty trip to Ro-Bak. He’d barely had a moment to prepare himself for this trip, let alone to speak with Lance, especially with the tantrum Lance had thrown after that disastrous dinner. 

What was it that had set Lance off? He’d been distant and frosty from the second Keith had walked through the receiving room doors, before they’d even spoken one word to each other. Granted, things had already been stilted before Keith left for Konkaet, but they hadn’t been that bad. Not to the point that Lance would just shut him out the way he had.

It had to have been something Lotor said. This sort of change in Lance just reeked of his half-brother’s interference. No doubt Lotor had been aiming for the stubborn silence Lance displayed, hoping it would be enough to keep Keith from explaining just what the Ro-Bak visit would entail. And now all they were left with for time was this moment here, in the frozen landscape just before Ro-Bak’s factory, where anyone could overhear.

Keith couldn’t do it. Not here. Not when the shadows of his memories were already looming over him at the sight of those walls. He wouldn’t reopen this invisible wound out in the open, where Lotor and his cronies could watch him bleeding out.  

Clenching his jaw, Keith turned his face away and silently watched Lotor descend from the transport ship, a half dozen guards trailing in his half-brother’s wake. An Imperial prince couldn’t go just anywhere without a full security detail, after all, nevermind that none of them would lift a single finger to help either Keith or Lance if they somehow found themselves in trouble. 

No, their presence here was for Lotor’s benefit alone. A reminder that Lotor, the precious heir to the Empire’s throne, held all the power, and that everyone else only remained alive by his fickle mercy.

If only Shiro had come along, Keith thought before violently shoving that thought aside. It was better that Shiro wasn’t here for this, no matter how comforting his presence at Keith’s back would be. Keith would never subject Shiro to the hell they’d soon be witnessing. Not again.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Lotor said as he crossed the snow to settle himself firmly at Lance’s other side. “It’s been so long since I visited Ro-Bak. I always forget what a marvel it is.”

Keith struggled not to growl. There was nothing to marvel at in this star-forsaken place. Bleak and cold and miserable from top to bottom, with callous managers to match. Only the jagged icicles that hung from the factory roof held any sort of beauty, and even they were as deadly as the rest of the place.

Lance seemed a bit dubious as well, eyeing the sharp lines of the building with a guarded expression. “It certainly is… something.”

“Don’t let the building here fool you,” Lotor said with a smirk. “The factory may be small, but it has one of the highest outputs on the entire planet.”

And one of the highest death rates as well, Keith thought grimly. Though Lotor and their father would never admit to that. For them, results were far more important than the cost, and Ro-Bak’s factory never failed to produce. As long as that remained the case, they would turn a blind eye to all the atrocities within its walls.

Keith grimaced. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“So enthusiastic, dear brother!” Lotor leaned forward to peer around Lance with a sharp grin. ‘I didn’t realize you were so dedicated to your task. Very admirable of you.”

“For the glory of the Galra Empire,” Keith answered dryly, which earned a soft snort of laughter from Lance at his side. Even Lotor seemed amused at the quip, though Keith would hazard that Lotor’s amusement stemmed more from what he knew they would soon experience than any sort of true mirth. There was a gleam in Lotor’s golden eyes that promised violence– whether towards Lance or himself, Keith wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t keen to find out. 

“Well,” Lotor drawled, “you do have personal experience with this sort of place. Perhaps we should send you out to the factories more often.”

He reached over to clap a hand on Keith’s shoulder, nails growing sharp and long enough to pierce through the thick lining of Keith’s coat and armor into skin. Keith grit his teeth against the stinging pain. He wouldn’t give Lotor the satisfaction of reacting to the injury. Not when the clear threat in Lotor’s words was enough to chill him to the core. 

Dealing with the various factories this once was bad enough. If he had to do it regularly… The very thought left him sick with dread.

Enough of what he felt must have shown in his expression, because Lotor soon pulled his hand away and swept towards the factory’s entrance was a satisfied smirk. Lance waited a moment, perhaps expecting Keith to do or say something more, then let out a huff before following after Lotor, his arm brushing against Keith’s as he moved. Before Keith could even consider the action, his hand shot out to grab the back of Lance’s coat.

Lance paused. He glanced over his shoulder at Keith, then down at where Keith’s hand was still clenched in the fabric, one brow raised in silent question.

“I’m…” Keith trailed off. 

Sorry? Afraid for you? Neither were quite right. Neither would help Lance with what they were about to face, and above all, Keith needed to make sure Lance would make it through in one piece. 

Keith swallowed thickly, then tried again. “Whatever happens in there,” he said, voice soft so only Lance could hear, “don’t let them know it affects you. No matter what.”

“Of course not. I’m not an idiot.” Unlike you, Lance’s glare seemed to say. 

Which, fine, Lance probably had the right to make that accusation. Keith couldn’t even deny it. He knew they were in this situation partially due to his own actions, after all. If he’d included Lance in his plans from the start, they likely wouldn’t be here, dealing with all this. But this wasn’t the time for regrets or speculation. Right now, he needed Lance to take his warnings seriously. Surely, even Lance could see how crucial this was. Right?

“I mean it,” he pressed. “Yell at me all you want later, but do not let them see how you feel. Keep that court mask of yours in place.”

Lance just rolled his eyes. “Yes, Your Highness,” he snapped, then tugged himself free of Keith’s grip to trail after Lotor.

Keith watched Lance go with a sinking stomach. 

He’d tried to warn Lance– too little and far too late, he knew, but he’d still tried. He could only now hope that Lance really did know what he was doing, and that the court facade he was admittedly so skilled at using in the palace would stay just as strong inside those factory walls. If it didn’t, if Lance allowed any weakness to show at what they’d see inside, then Keith knew he only had himself to blame. 

Trudging after his husband and half-brother, Keith shoved his hands in his coat pockets and tried to brace himself for what was about to come. The factory doors opened as their party came closer, and a small group of Galrans filed out into the snow to greet them. The factory managers and foremen, most likely. A much more formal and respectful welcome than Keith knew to expect for himself alone. 

“Your Imperial Highness,” the Galran at the front– most likely the factory’s manager– simpered, sweeping into a low bow before Lotor. “It is an honor to have you visit our humble factory personally.”

“The honor is mine,” Lotor replied with a pleasant smile. “I know my presence today was unexpected. I do hope it didn’t put you to any additional trouble.”

“Not at all. We are eager to share our recent work with Your Highness, and to discuss the future direction of our manufacturing.”

Keith bit back a scoff. Of course the manager would act all pleasant and accommodating in front of Lotor. If it had been Keith alone, the Galran surely would have slammed the doors shut in Keith’s face by this point. There was no chance that this manager or his foremen were willing to change a single thing about their manufacturing processes, but Lotor’s presence meant they were tripping over themselves to do his bidding. 

If only Keith commanded a fraction of that power. The things he could do… improvements he could make…

Lotor waved a hand towards the doors behind the group of Galrans. “Please, lead the way. My brother and his husband have some ideas that may be of interest to your management staff.”

“Ah.” The manager’s smile faltered at those words, and he glanced behind Lotor at the rest of them with an enthusiasm that was clearly forced. “So the… Their Highnesses, will also be joining us?”

“Is that a problem?” Keith challenged. He took a step forward, moving just enough to place himself between the Galran manager and Lance, and glared at the assembled group. The Galran manager glared right back at him.

“With all due respect,” the manager spat without a hint of respect at all, “this is one of Galra’s most important factories. I’m not going to let this… this… Altean whore waltz in and steal all our secrets.”

There was a sharp intake of breath behind Keith, almost like a hiss, as Lance processed the words. “Excuse me?”

The manager’s glare turned from Keith to the spot just over Keith’s shoulder, where Lance was standing. Without even thinking, Keith shifted to block his sight.

Keith had known this sort of antagonism was coming. This wasn’t even the worst of what he expected, towards either Lance or himself, but he’d hoped that Lotor’s presence would’ve forced the Galrans to be more subtle in their insults. Even if he was Altean, Lance was still legally a member of the imperial household, and an insult to him could be considered an insult to the entire family. The manager had no right to be so openly disrespectful. No right at all. 

Seeing that Lotor himself hadn’t yet raised an objection though, the Galran manager spat disdainfully on the ground. “You heard me,” he said to Lance. “Even the half-breed whelp is too good for the likes of you.”

Keith bared his teeth with a soft growl. “Watch your tone,” he warned, to which the manager just spit on the ground again, this time directly at Keith’s feet.

“You have no right to speak to me, Kux’ylgabz. ”

It was the final straw. Snarling, Keith surged towards the Galran manager, claws and teeth lengthening in his rage. He was going to tear the manager apart limb from limb. Nothing would remain of the other Galran but a pile of bloody entrails when Keith was through with him. 

How dare he! How dare this Galran insult Keith’s husband! How dare he call Keith that!

An iron-tight grip on both his arms stopped Keith in his tracks. He hissed, straining to break free and complete what he started, but Lotor’s guards held firm. They were stronger than Keith was, and had no issue pulling him back away from the Galran crowd, even as Keith fought every inch of the way. 

Even more enraging was the smirk Keith saw on Lotor’s face. As Keith thrashed against the guards holding him, his half-brother clapped his hands to regain the crowd’s attention, as smug as a well-fed cat.

“Now, now,” he said, tone sweetly chiding. But even Keith could hear the thread of gloating behind each word. “Let’s all just calm down. We have a task to complete, after all.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the Galran manager replied. He bowed to Lotor with deference, but continued to ignore Keith’s presence entirely, not bothering to take back his words or issue an apology.

And why should he, Keith thought bitterly. Lotor didn’t say anything about the slur he used. 

That was as good as permission to everyone assembled. Perhaps it was what Lotor had wanted all along. Another way to put Keith in his place, to remind Keith that he was nothing, and would always be nothing, in the eyes of the Empire’s most powerful. That no matter how Keith tried to play the game, Lotor would always hold all the cards.

“In fact,” Lotor continued, now turning towards Keith. The grin on his face was too wide, far too pleased, like he knew he held today’s winning hand. “Considering this altercation, perhaps it would be best for Kyran to return to the manor for today. I’m certain Prince Lance and I can handle everything.”

No, Keith wanted to yell, but it was as if Ro-Bak’s frigid wind stole all the breath right out of him. Ice trickled down his spine and settled heavily in his stomach as the realization hit him.

This had been Lotor’s goal all along. Lance’s anger when Keith had returned, his decision to join Keith’s trip, his distance from Keith following that dinner– all of it orchestrated by Lotor so that he could get Lance here, alone and unprepared. Lotor knew what he was bringing Lance into, and he wanted Lance to see. To witness all the atrocities without anyone there to soften the blow. 

And there was nothing Keith could do to stop it. 

Still held in place by Lotor’s guards, Keith watched helplessly as Lance followed Lotor and the Galrans into the factory. The slam of the doors behind them rang through the icy air like the final toll of a bell. 

Too late. Keith had seen the plans too late. Just as Lotor no doubt wanted. Everything Keith had done to try and prevent this, to protect Lance from Lotor’s machinations, now come to naught. All because Keith had been too blind to see the web being woven beneath his very feet. Because he’d been too stubborn to seek out Lance’s help.

It’s my fault, Keith admitted to himself, shame burning hot alongside the icy dread in his stomach. I promised to protect him. I failed. 

Now, all Keith could do was wait and hope that Lance would endure.

Chapter Text

Lance stumbled back to his room at the manor in a daze. Outside, the sky had grown fiery as the sun sank past the horizon, stretching shadows up the wall and into the creeping dark of the coming night. Not that Lance truly noticed. He barely registered anything beyond the nausea still roiling in his gut, letting his feet carry him on autopilot down the hallways to the idea of safety.

They'd spent the better part of the day at the Ro-Bak factory, touring every inch, from the luxurious offices on the top floor all the way down to the sweltering refineries that had been carved out deep underground. The factory stretched for miles below the surface, and every level revealed some new horror that Lance wasn't allowed to object to. Not when Lotor and his croonies had nodded and crooned words of approval at the Galran manager, praising the progress he'd made in diversifying the factory's outputs. Not even when…

Lance stopped and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. The pressure ached, bright spots of pain within his skull, but at least it overrode the memories of what he had seen for just a moment. Perhaps, if he used enough pressure, he could press the memories right out of his head entirely.

Lance was no stranger to tragedy. He couldn't be, with a war raging across the galaxy from before he was even born, the sounds of wailing and anger that filled the streets after every battle just as much a part of his childhood as the lullabies his mother used to sing him to sleep.

And, having been a paladin of Voltron, he'd been witness to his own share of carnage. He'd often been sent to the front lines of the war, shoring up their fighting power wherever their lines faltered. Lance had honestly lost count of the number of times he and Pidge had been called in to turn the tide, though only ever happened after a battle turned so brutal and deadly that his uncle was left with no other choice but to send the lions in. After all, Voltron was the last line of defense in Altea's arsenal. They couldn't risk the safety of either the paladins or their lions on anything less than a complete massacre.

Lance still had nightmares about the things he'd seen in those battles. About the things he'd done. He'd dream of flying through the carnage, steering Blue through thick debris fields of scorched metal and cracked, frozen bodies. He'd see the flash of plasma bolts streaking past, and brace himself against the jolt of a nearby ship exploding, knowing all the while that his friends and family members were being lost to the cannon fire.

But despite the horrors of the battlefield, none of it matched the sheer devastation of Ziedu, the first planet he'd ever helped to liberate. The rotting carcasses of those killed in the Galran retreat, choking the streams that were dyed red from blood. The crumbling cities and burnt fields every direction they looked. The survivors, who at that point were more ghost than creature of flesh and blood, too-big eyes and stick-thin limbs.

Nothing Lance experienced in the war had compared to what he saw on Ziedu. He had thought that nothing ever would.

Lance had been wrong.

Don't, he told himself. Don't think about it right now. You can't afford to think about it right now.

He needed to get back to his room, where no one else could see him. If he let himself remember Ziedu right now, remember the skeletal frames and stench of decay, remember the factory, he wouldn't be able to keep himself from falling apart, and he refused to give Lotor the satisfaction. He wasn't going to break. Not when it's what Lotor so obviously wanted.

It was that determination alone that kept Lance moving, fighting all the way against the memories that wanted to overwhelm him. Each step down the carpeted hallway was a crunch in the gravel of Ziedu. Every glare of dying sunlight just the flames of the factory's refinery. And all the while, he had to close his mind to the ghosts that haunted him with a constant mental stream of not yet, not yet, not yet.

He was so focused on not thinking about it all that he didn't even realize he'd reached the room he shared with Keith until his hand was already pushing at the door, swinging it open to reveal the plush bed and little seating area off to the side that would be their home for the next two nights.

Keith was waiting in one of the armchairs, form thrown into red relief by the final rays of sunlight and flickering of fire banked in the room's fireplace. His head snapped up as Lance walked in. Everything about him appeared a mess— eyes wide and wild, and hair more than a bit disheveled. The coat he wore earlier that morning was tossed carelessly on the couch beside him, while his-usually formal shirt was now untucked and wrinkled, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. A half-empty glass of amber liquid sat on the table before him.

"Lance," Keith breathed, scrambling to stand from his chair.

Lance watched Keith trip over his own boots in his haste, noting the tense set of Keith's shoulders as he righted himself. He appeared to be bracing himself for something. Perhaps for Lance's judgment, if the look Keith leveled at him was any indication. And, Lance realized with new spark of heat now growing in his chest, there was only one reason for Keith to be so prepared.

Lance shut the door behind himself. He took a deep breath, then walked over and slapped Keith across the cheek.

"How dare you," he spat, that spark inside his chest flaring into a full blown fire. His hands trembled, fury leaking from every pore, longing for something, anything he could tear apart and destroy.

Keith didn't respond. He looked back at Lance, lips pressed tightly together, and just stared with those dark eyes. Calmly. Expeectantly. Fully knowing what it was that had Lance so incensed.

Lance slapped him again.

"How dare you!" he repeated, nearing the edge of hysterical. "You knew! You knew this was happening this whole time! From the very start!"

"Lance—"

"How many other factories are run this way?" Lance demanded. When Keith didn't answer, Lance stalked forward and grabbed the front of Keith's jacket with both of his trembling hands. "How many?"

There was the briefest flash of surprise in Keith's dark eyes before his expression shuttered, face growing tight and tense. He remained silent, but then Lance didn't really need him to say anything. He was pretty certain he could guess what the answer would be.

Disgusted, Lance shoved Keith away and stalked over to the window on the other side of the room. In the light of the hearth's fire, his own reflection stared back at him from the glass. Lance pressed his fingers to the image, right where his markings appeared. The very same markings he'd seen on almost every slave's face in that gods-forsaken factory.

He couldn't get the images out of his mind. From the minute he'd walked through the factory doors, the Galrans had made sure to flaunt their Altean prisoners in front of Lance. He'd been witness to the gaunt faces, the skeletal forms so frail they seemed on the verge of snapping under the weight of their iron manacles. At one point, as they watched slaves shoveling fuel in the sweltering heat of the boiler room, he'd seen the crisscrossing welts of whip scars that peeked through their tattered clothing and angry red burns on their hands, and Lance had nearly come undone.

Even now, just remembering what he'd seen was enough to send him into a whirlwind of emotion. He warred between fury and despair at what had become of these people, whom were meant to be under his care and whom he still couldn't protect.

"This was a mistake," Lance murmured, fingers curling into a fist against the glass. "I never should have agreed to this marriage."

Behind him, Keith sucked in a sharp breath. "Lance—"

"It was never going to work," he continued, turning back to face Keith. "Peace? Between Galra and Altea?" He laughed without humor. "Impossible. We don't even trust each other."

Keith looked pained by the statement. "It's not that I don't trust you—"

"But you don't, do you?" Lance said. "You never have. Why else would you keep me from the court, even hiding the invitations meant for me—"

"I never took your letters."

"—and now this? What else are you hiding? Was any of what you said even real, or was this all just a ploy for some Galran plot?"

"Of course not!" Keith insisted. He started towards Lance, but stopped when Lance leveled an unimpressed glare at him. Raising his hands placatingly, he continued, "I swear to you, I'm not involved in any of this."

"But you also haven't done anything to stop it," Lance countered. "You could have been there, speaking up for them! Even just a bit of protest from you could have helped! But you had to go and do exactly what you told me not to do!"

"I was trying to protect you—"

"I am so sick of you saying that," Lance said, rolling his eyes. "Every time something goes wrong, you were just 'protecting' me." He threw his arms out wide. "I don't need your protection though! I can handle myself just fine!"

Keith bristled and crossed his arms. A scowl tugged at the corner of his lips. "So what, I'm just supposed to let them call you a whore? Let them walk all over us as if we're nothing?"

"Well maybe, if you didn't lose your temper—"

"I'd have even less respect than I do now," Keith yelled. His face scrunched into a snarl, and his voice turned mockingly sweet as he continued, "The so-called Prince Kyran, can't even stand up for himself. How weak. How human."

Lance snorted. "Oh, and did your little tantrum this morning earn you anything?"

Keith winced and turned his face away. He glared silently at the corner of the room, apparently knowing there was nothing he could say in his own defense. Not when he'd been so quickly and summarily dismissed by Lotor earlier.

If he'd just stayed silent, bided his time, waited for that moment when the worst was on display, maybe he and Keith could have changed… something. He wasn't naive enough to think they could dismantle the entire system, but even just one small improvement would have been enough. At the very least, they could have gotten a foot in the door, where they'd have a higher chance of being taken seriously.

That was how court politics worked— it was all about working your way into the room inch by inch until you could no longer be dismissed or ignored. A practice that Keith clearly didn't understand if this was how he normally got treated.

Sighing, Lance pinched the bridge of his nose. "You actually have a position in this court," he insisted. "You have the power to actually do something, so why do you keep throwing it away?"

"I have no power," Keith said, voice thick with bitterness. "And what exactly was your plan? Intimidate the heir to the Galran Empire with the might of Altea if he didn't do what you wanted?"

"Of course not—"

"Or maybe you were going to charm the entire Galran court into suddenly viewing slavery as evil and freeing half their workforce." Keith snorted and shook his head. "I'm afraid even you don't have that much charm."

Lance could feel himself flushing with anger. "I'm not stupid," he said. "I do actually know how these things work. But these are my people." He pressed his hand to his chest and turned wide, pleading eyes Keith, willing him to understand. "I have to try something. They're being starved and tortured in that fact. You have no idea what that is like!"

"Oh really," Keith drawled. "I don't?"

He chuckled hollowly, cheeks lifting with dark mirth to touch the hand that was now pressed over his eyes. Somehow, impossibly, the tension that had sat stiffly in his shoulders grew more pronounced, even as he continued to laugh and laugh, low and thin and broken.

It took a minute for Keith to compose himself and swallow down his laughter. He breathed in deep, the released both the air and the stiffness of his shoulders with a great, long huff. When he looked back at Lance, it was with cold eyes and a sardonic smile.

"Those people you saw today, they aren't Altean," Keith stated in a matter-of-fact tone. But what he'd said didn't make any sense.

Of course the slaves Lance had seen were Altean. They couldn't be anything else. They had the same long, graceful limbs all Alteans shared. The same pointed ears. The same marks. Lance would never mistake his own people, no matter how gaunt or sickly they were.

He shook his head. "Don't lie to me. I saw them—"

"No," Keith interrupted sharply. "Legally, they're fully Galran, and therefore property of the Galran Empire. Just like me."

At that, Lance grew very still. Ice trickled down his spine and into his stomach as the implication behind Keith's words settled over him.

It couldn't be true. There was no way. It was too horrible to even consider, and Lance wanted nothing more than to deny the idea entirely. However… it did make a sick kind of sense. Their two kingdoms had been at war for centuries, far longer than anyone could truly remember. At some point, their lines would have had to mix, either accidentally or by force. Otherwise, how could the Empire have kept such a robust work force of slaves over all these many years?

"Did you think I was the only hybrid on this planet?" Keith asked bitterly, seeing the realization washing over Lance. "Hardly. I'm just one of the lucky few to," he gestured to his face, with it's purple complexion and sharp, cat-like features, "look the part."

Which implied that any part-Galran who didn't share in those distinctive features also didn't share in any of that "luck" Keith referred to— the same luck that had resulted in him being claimed by the Emperor and brought into the fold. And if Keith was one of the few to benefit from that heritage, then how many half-Galrans had been left behind to rot for not looking Galran enough?

How many of the slaves Lance saw today had Galran blood running through them? Just the Alteans? Did the humans have some as well? Had Keith's mother, human as she was, been one of those slaves before Keith was born?

Oh stars, and Lance had accused Keith of being compliant in all this. Oh, Lance was going to be sick.

Shaking his head, Keith turned on his heel and stalked across the room, leaving Lance reeling in his wake. As he opened the bedroom door, he glanced back over his shoulder and said, "I can't help you, Lance. I can't even help myself."

Then Keith stalked out, and Lance was left all alone.