Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What are you doing?”

Yuri is standing in the doorway of his room. The door bangs against the wall, making the young man inside jump. It’s actually quite evident what’s going on, but Yuri has never been one for dealing with situations subtly.

One of the servants is going through his wardrobe.

“I’m sorry, sire, but Yakov sent me to retrieve your old armour, and I...”

“Out.”

The poor boy stumbles. Afterwards, when Lilia lectures him on his treatment of the servants, Yuri will maintain that even if it had been his grandfather doing it, he would have had exactly the same reaction. It doesn’t help his cause.

“I’m sorry, sire, I don’t...”

“OUT.”

Yuri stamps across the room. He wrestles the armful of tunics back from the servant and dumps them on the floor so he can grab his lapels and hiss right at his face.

“If any of my stuff is missing I will personally make sure that no kingdom on this side of the Assissian Ocean will ever hire you again, is that clear?”

The servant nods, and runs for it. Yuri follows him out, and yells down the corridor.

“And send me Georgi! Now!”

By the time his half-brother arrives, Yuri has calmed down somewhat. He’s had time to go through all of his armour, plate by plate, tunic by tunic, chain by chain. Even the feathers on his stupid ceremonial helm are accounted for.

“Yuri?”

Georgi’s tap on the door is tentative, and his voice equally so. Evidently the servant had passed on the message in full.

“Come in.” He knows he sounds tight, but he is. Everything is tense, now. When was the last time he properly relaxed?

-

“Have you ever wanted to travel, Yuri?” His voice is soft. Gone is all the decisiveness, the authority, of just minutes before. Yuri sometimes forgets that Otabek isn’t actually a king. It takes moments like this, questions like this, to remind him. For some reason, his brain chooses this moment to notice that from the side, it’s possible to see how strangely long his eyelashes are.

Yuri stares down the hallway. It’s a familiar one, because he has to use it to get from his room to the hospital, the library and the main hall. It’s not elaborately decorated like some of the others, because visitors rarely see this part of the castle. No elaborate torches are mounted on the walls, just basic lighting. Nor are there any weapons or shields on display, and there’s certainly not a carpet. The tapestries, however, are unique. They were made by Lilia’s sisters as a goodbye present, and depict scenes from all across the four continents. Not the kind of scenes with dragons and knights on horseback hunting down deer, but actual scenery.

He chooses one in particular to point out. They stop in front of it, and Yuri’s reminded of the first time he asked about the paintings.

Lilia had named all of the peaks, the forests at the foot of the mountains, and the animals and wildlife that could be found there. It had been one of the only Geography lessons that stuck without forced repetition.

“This one is of the mountains to the east,” he says, “the ones you can see from the battlements on a clear day. It’s what the range looks like from the other side. I always assumed, until last year, that one day I’d see this for myself.”

“Perhaps you will, someday.” Yuri laughs, without humour, and doesn’t bother to respond. He turns to go, but Otabek stops him, taking his hand. “Yuri.”

It’s not often that Otabek demands his attention like this.

“Stop thinking that the rest of your life is empty, and start looking for ways to fill it. We might be stuck here for now because of my injury, but you no longer have your life dictated for you. You have no responsibilities to hold you here if you do not wish to stay.”

Yuri sighs, and looks away. Otabek’s attention is too intense, too severe.

“But it’s not my choice, is it?”

“I really don’t understand why you think I would ever force you to do anything against your will.” He reaches out, and with a gentle pressure, asks Yuri to turn his face. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and Otabek goes to withdraw his hand. Then Yuri turns, meeting his gaze. Otabek’s breath, when he talks, is sweet and warm and close. They had sticky buns for breakfast again. Yuri sighs, his eyes flickering shut for half a second.

“Yura,” Otabek says, quiet and firm. Opening his eyes again, Yuri finds him closer than he remembered. He didn’t move, he doesn’t think. Closing his eyes for half a second just gave him perspective. They’ve not been this close before. “If I win, I do not want to rule you. If I lose, I do not want to follow you. I am your friend, first and foremost, and despite the fact that you have been forced to accept that against your will, I will not abuse it.”

His hands are warm and dry - the one in Yuri’s, the one on his face - soldier’s hands, thick fingers and a circular palm. They would be softer, Yuri thinks, if he didn’t spend so much of his life handling weaponry. After months of inactivity, however, they are much less calloused and coarse than when they first met.

Yuri lifts his free hand to his face, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. His discomfort is kind of secondary to the point he’s trying to make. He curls his fingers around the back of Otabek’s, so that their thumbs cross. Gripping tightly, he holds their hands up between them as if they’re making some kind of pact. In a way, he supposes, they are.

“I really don’t understand why you think I’m being forced to be your friend.” He says, refusing to let his voice waver. It doesn’t come out as a yell, thankfully, but there’s definitely some force behind it. “If I didn’t want to be here, then you wouldn’t have seen me since the tournament.”

There’s that little smile, the one he does when nobody but Yuri is looking. It softens his entire face, just this tiny curl of his lip. It’s such a small thing, but it makes so much difference. Otabek relaxes, into a version of himself that is becoming more familiar. Yuri likes this Otabek.

“Then would you mind showing me your maps?”

All the gravity of the moment has dissipated. Something sweet stays, though, even when he lets go. He hasn’t felt this light in months.

They turn down the hall. Otabek walks beside him, and even though he always does, Yuri seems aware of him differently now. As if exposing himself like that has somehow released everything. He wasn’t scared, because he hadn’t ever thought about the possibility it might happen – but having that level of acceptance is new. He takes a deep breath through his nose – it still smells slightly smoky, not just from last night’s torches, but years of them, permeating the fabric of the tapestries.

“Sure. You still owe me for skipping the courtyard, though.”

“We can spar tomorrow, if you want. It doesn’t look like rain.”

It’s funny - if they’re sitting or standing, he’ll always look directly at Yuri when he’s talking, and when they’re walking, he’ll try and look at him more often than he’ll look where he’s walking. It’s a strange habit, and Yuri’s not entirely sure why he’s noticed it. He swallows.

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be good.”

“Aisulu will need a ride, too.”

Yuri snorts through his nose.

“Yes, sir.”

“I still don’t know how you can roll your eyes that hard without giving yourself a headache.”

“Practice.”

Lilia finds them a few hours later, pawing over a map of the Assissian Ocean.

“This land bridge here is the safest crossing, but it takes nearly two months longer than by ship. We had to bring all the birds to hunt. One or two wouldn’t have been enough somewhere as remote as that.”

Yuri is leaning over Otabek’s shoulder. Well, on his shoulders, actually. Initially they’d both been sat down, but following the smaller details had been harder whilst further away and at a slightly different angle. Then Yuri had just been lazy. Otabek doesn’t seem to mind.

“You really do get seasick, huh?” Otabek shrugs, and turns his head to look at him. Yuri is stacked - resting his chin on his elbow, which is resting on Otabek’s shoulder. He’s just a bit too close to focus on properly. Otabek turns back to the map, following his gaze.

“It’s one of the reasons I only ever went to the Americas once.”

“Mmm,” Yuri hums, his eyes following Otabek’s fingers as he traces across the routes. “Once is more than never.”

“True. How well do you know the kingdoms there?”

There’s a cough behind them. Yuri jumps back immediately and Otabek stands up, bowing in greeting.

“Please, Otabek, sit down.” Lilia waves a hand at him, “We’ve known each other for long enough now, don’t you think?” He nods, but his easiness is gone. “Yakov said you wanted to know more about our map collection.”

The next few hours are pleasant enough. Yuri had no idea that Lilia was so well-travelled, although she moved mainly in Europia, which is to the west rather than the east.

She is as eager to hear about Otabek’s travels as Yuri, however, and between them they tease out more information about him than Yuri has heard the whole time he’s known him.

They are nearly late for dinner.

-

Yuri dismounts Aisulu, breathing heavily. The quintain is spinning still with the force of his hit.

Otabek hobbles forward to take her reins as Yuri goes to retrieve the dropped jousting lance.

“I think she needs more,” Otabek is saying thoughtfully as he returns, his attention focused on Aisulu as he runs his hands over her legs. “She’s still losing shape.”

Yuri grumbles, sticking the lance back on the stand with the others.

“Believe me, if I could take her out of the castle I would.”

Otabek nods slowly.

“I’m not sure whether anything we do would equal six or seven hours of walking a day.” He’s referring to the journey, but it takes Yuri a minute to catch up.

“Yeah no, I’m not riding around in circles for that long, it’s boring enough already.” Otabek concedes the point, moving away so that Yuri can lead Aisulu to the fence. As he ties her, Otabek leans against the wooden posts, resting his leg.

“I can’t ask you to do any more time,” he says, “especially not with Karzhau’s training as well.”

Yuri is already untacking her, resting the saddle on the fence with a grunt. Otabek remains silent, thinking, as Yuri throws her bridle over the fence and moves on to wiping her down with a wet rag. Aisulu, evidently bored, nudges Beka with her nose. Tolerating her attentions, he rubs the side of her face with one hand until she mumbles her lips at his neck.

“No,” he pushes her away, rescuing his hair from her mouth. “Hair is not for horses, not matter how hungry you are.” It’s only a gentle scolding, but Aisulu apparently takes offense. She shoves her head into his side, hard. He stumbles, tries to grab the fence, misses, and lands in the dust.

“Ouch,” he says, without much feeling. “That was rude.”

Yuri, laughing, gives her a little smack with the cloth, and she tosses her head. If he’d been paying attention, he might have seen that coming, but honestly, with Aisulu and Karzhau he’s never found his influence necessary at all. Besides, seeing Otabek sprawling in the dirt is priceless.

“You can’t blame her. Breakfast was hours ago.” He offers Otabek a hand, and helps to haul him to his feet. Otabek winces slightly as he moves. Grin fading, Yuri steps forward and grabs his elbow, taking more weight.

“This will be a lot easier when Georgi lets me ride.” He comments, wiping the dust off his knees. Yuri walks back to the box and fishes out a brush.

“You can’t even walk properly yet,” Yuri points out.

“I can sit, though.” Otabek rebuts, ignoring Aisulu’s attempts to lean her head on his shoulder. She’s the most affectionate horse Yuri’s ever known, but it’s only with Otabek. Not for want of trying, but she’s never reacted in the same way to him. Mind you, it’s not always endearing. Not that Beka’s actively annoyed, but she is making a nuisance of herself.

“You’ve spent half your life in saddle. Why do I have to explain to you that riding is a big step up from sitting?” Yuri teases, dragging the brush across the patch of saddle sweat on Aisulu’s back. He’s covered in horse dust already, a little hair and sweat isn’t going to make any difference now.

“Because I’m a terrible patient and Georgi keeps trying to confine me to the hospital for my own safety?” Otabek suggests, quirking a smile.

“The more you escape, the more determined he is to keep you in there.” Yuri grumbles, good-humouredly. “At this rate, I’ll be going to the damn wedding on my own.”

After the escapade at the feast (for which Otabek apparently both ran away from the hospital and also stole a crutch), he’s been allowed out much less often.

He blinks at Yuri, caught off-guard.

“What?”

“Victor and Katsudon. What did you think I meant?”

Otabek just stares. Slowly, it dawns on Yuri.

“Oh, right.”

That sours it somewhat.

-

The days are at last, inevitably, shortening. The sunbeams that usually light the hall during lunch are lower, casting yellow squares on the flagstones. It has been a long time since the hall has been full of the bustle and laughter of a banquet, but the season isn’t over yet. Winter won’t be upon them for a few weeks, and there’s still time to travel.

Even so, the hall is quieter than usual. It was just him and the servers until Victor arrived.

“Otabek! Is it just you today? Where is everyone?” He turns to a servant, “I’m sorry, it looks like Yuri and I won’t have time to break from training today. Would you mind wrapping something up for us?”

That accounts for three of the usual eight of them. Otabek, having just had his plate removed, stands to leave.

“The king and queen were called to counsel.” That’s all he knows.

“Hmmm,” That left Mila, who was known to be both absent-minded and an unabashed kitchen-raider, Georgi, who often had meals delivered to his study, and Yuri. Victor is giving him an odd look. For the vast majority of the last two months, finding one had meant finding both.

“What about Yuiro?” Otabek half-shrugs, moving towards the door.

“Well,” Victor starts. Otabek immediately stops and turns to give him his full attention. “If you aren’t busy, would you like to come down to the training grounds with Yuri and I? My Yuri, I mean,” a small conscientious smile graced his lips. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen Yurio since yesterday.”

If he sees the slight crease of Otabek’s brow, he doesn’t say anything. He considers the offer – he had hoped to find Yuri at lunch. He’d ridden Aisulu on his own that morning, and finding himself with nothing to do afterwards, had ended up in the library. Checking back before lunch he found that Yuri had taken Karzhau mid-morning. It was outside of their usual pattern, but he didn’t question it. Yuri had a life here, after all. Otabek wasn’t his responsibility.

“We could always use another eye. Sometimes that’s all it takes to make something click.” Victor’s smile is undiminished.

Otabek has never been much of a teacher, and his constant moving around hasn’t leant itself well to having squires long enough to build real working relationships with them. However, after a morning amongst the dust and books of the library, the offer of an afternoon out in the last of the summer sun is far from unwelcome.

“Thank you,” he says with a slight bow. “I confess, I find myself with little else to occupy me.”

If Victor suspected as much, he says nothing, simply smiling.

“Great!” The servant comes back with a large wrapped bundle of food. “Ah, wonderful. Thank you. Now,” he turns back to Otabek. “This way!”

Otabek follows his up to the battlements as best as he can. Thankfully, Victor is hampered by the size of the bundle, and doesn’t walk too fast for fear of tripping over his own feet.

“Do you need a hand with that?” Otabek offers when they reach the top of the stairs.

“Ah,” Victor pokes his head around the bundle to smile at him. It’s rather a lot for two people. “Thank you, but I’m fine. It’s awkward, not heavy. Besides, we don’t want to take any risks with your leg, do we?”

Victor has a bad habit of sounding patronising when he’s trying to be nice. Thankfully, Otabek is not in the habit of taking offense at such things. For a prince, he’s remarkably used to being talked down to. Court tends to do that to most people, he’s discovered. Holding it against them is pointless, really. Victor means well.

He concedes the point with a slight nod. No longer limping, he has been healing fine, but going back to spending two or three hours in the saddle every morning has taken him a while to work up to, and he still finds that it exhausts him for the remainder of the day. It will improve with time, he knows.

As they cross the battlements, the sound from the training ground below has become clearer.

“Aha!” Victor says, cheerfully. “So that’s where Yura went!” his relief doesn’t escape Otabek. If Yuri hadn’t told him that Victor was only his half-brother, he never would have known. Victor seems unbothered. It’s admirable, even though his affection sometimes manifests itself in odd ways.

Sure enough, two figures moving around the courtyard below are unmistakeable. One dark haired, one blond, their conversation is indiscernible from here, only so much noise in the clatter of squires training. Victor stops to lean over the wall for a better look, and Otabek joins him.

Katsuki seems to be supervising a rotating stations set-up. Wandering around, he corrects positions, gives encouragement, shares tips, and occasionally waves people around between stations. It’s the most comfortable Otabek has seen him in a long while. Even though his face is turned away, he moves with an easy grace that he never carries around the rest of the castle.

Yuri, as always, is angry about something. He stalks Katsuki from station to station, and Otabek would think he was trailing him if his gesticulating hadn’t suggested some kind of conversation. It seems to be fairly one-sided, going by the amount of attention Katsuki is paying him.

Victor chuckles lightly.

“Looks like Yuri needs rescuing. Coming?”

Otabek shakes his head as Victor steps away from the wall.

“I’ll watch from here for now.”

Victor’s eyes sweep from the way he’s leaning against the wall to his injured leg. He’s not putting any weight on it.

“Of course. Well, shout if you need anything. The whole castle will be able to hear you from up here!”

-

“I am so bored.”

Katsuki sighs.

If Yuri was hoping for a sympathetic ear, he’s not going to get one. Apparently, Katsuki hasn’t actually been sitting around doing nothing for the past year. Even more frustratingly, he actually seems to be good at this.

Inspecting a slice of bamboo, he beckons to the young squire, and bring his fingers to the cut.

“What can you feel?”

The squire looks wildly at Yuri, and then back at his trainer. His fingers are shaking.

“Um... it’s... curved? Sir?”

Katsuki smiles.

“Exactly! This is the next thing we have to work on. You’ve made great progress today, and this,” he brandishes the bamboo cane, “is proof of that. Here,” he hands it over. “Keep it. In a few months’ time, we’ll compare it to a more recent one, and you’ll be able to see your improvement.”

The squire takes it in his shaky grasp and bows deeply.

“Thank you, Sir Katsuki sir, I shall do my best, sir.”

Yuri watches him go. He vaguely recognises him.

“Isn’t that one of Victor’s squires?”

Yuri sighs, picking up the basket of uncut bamboo and setting them all out of the stands again. Pretending not to watch, Yuri crosses his arms.

“He is.”

“Don’t you have better things to do than look after Victor’s cast-offs?”

Katsuki places perhaps six or seven short sections of bamboo upright on the poles. Each one has a small platform at the top, at about chest height. Having never seen him train before, Yuri actually doesn’t know what it’s for.

“I am actually quite busy, Yurio.” Turning, he shoos Yuri out of the way, and draws his Katana. The sound of steel against the wooden scabbard rings out across the courtyard. It’s as fluid a motion as ever. Evidently Yuri was wrong about him not training since the tournament.

A small crowd of young squires has gathered, perhaps seven or eight of them. They’re all young, barely even teenagers, but they keep a silent and respectful distance from the set up.

“Unless you want to learn how to use a Katana?” Katsuki smiles, and before Yuri has a chance to reply, lifts his blade, swings, and slices the first piece of bamboo in half. Inadvertently, Yuri takes a few more steps back. Picking up the two halves of the bamboo, Katsuki hands them to the squire standing closest to him.

“Take a look at those. We train with Bamboo because it is thought to have the same resistance as human bone.” The squires pass it around, reverently, inspecting the edge of the cut. For some reason, it occurs to Yuri for the first time that Katsuki, despite his royal blood, was taught to fight to kill too. Not that it’s unheard of – they are knights, after all – but very few royals are allowed to the front line. Even Victor, being firstborn and expected to lead a charge (should the occasion arise) had focused his training more on the skills he would need for tournaments and championships. It was a time of peace in Rusiki, but it was a disconcerting thought all the same. Perhaps having Katsuki train some of the squires wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Moving back towards the targets, Katsuki raises his blade again, and slices another. The two sections of bamboo clatter to the floor with a hollow echo.

“The bamboo is balanced on these poles, not fixed.” He says, already moving onto the next. The squires are watching him carefully, hanging off every word. “The slightest miscalculation in speed, force or angle will ruin the cut.”

Lining up, he balances the katana carefully between his two hands. His hair is swept back off his forehead, out of the way of his eyes. Narrowed with focus, he doesn’t even blink at his target. For a moment, he’s almost a rock; irrepressible. The wind has stopped blowing too, and even the material of his Kimono is still.

Again, he swings. The katana flashes, the sun catching the blade. Again, the bamboo slices perfectly.

Leaving two bamboo poles still standing, Katsuki sheathes his weapon.

“The cut must be perfect. A decapitation is supposed to be quick, but incorrect balance will cause your opponent considerable pain.” He walks along the line, picking up the sliced section of bamboo, and placing them in an empty basket. The untouched ones go back in the other basket, presumably to be used another time.

“We will focus first on the movement and technique with a wooden katana, as you may be used to with swords, and then move on to balance and weighting with a steel one.”

He turns to face them all, Yuri included.

“You will need both a blunt and a sharp katana for training. If you see Minako within a week, she will be able to make you all a suitable weapon before the end of the month. You should then have plenty of time to adjust length and grip with her before we use them for training.”

They are dismissed. The courtyard is suddenly full of excited chatter, the squires chatting about the new weapons, and trying to mimic the technique already. Katsuki is pulling the poles out of the ground, moving them away for whatever he wants to use the courtyard for next.

“Sorry, Yurio, what did you want me for again?”

“How would you like to be beaten in a duel with your own weapon?”

Katsuki’s smile is slow to form.

“We train on Tuesdays and Thursdays, sunrise to sunset.”

“Whatever. It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.”

Humming, Katsuki hands him the bundle of poles. Unable to refuse, Yuri takes them and follows Katsuki with his two baskets into some kind of storeroom. They shrug off their shoes at the door, for some reason.

“Hey, I’m not your servant, Katsudon.”

Of course, this goes ignored. He almost misses the days when almost anything he said would cause Katsuki great embarrassment.

“Have you ever used a naginata?” He’s saying, inspecting the racks of weapons on the walls.

“A what?”

“I suppose it’s not dissimilar to a spear. It’s more for a wide, sweeping cut than a stabbing motion, though.” He takes one down, and hands it to him. It’s a long pole with a curved, flattened blade on the end. It does look like it could do some fairly severe damage. Yuri feels its weight, carefully. “It’s usually favoured by smaller, lighter fighters.”

“Yuri! Yurio!” A voice calls from the courtyard.

“In here, Victor!” Katsuki yells back, taking the weapon back and hanging it on the wall. “Here,” he says to Yuri, digging in a barrel and handing him out a wooden Katana. “You’ll need one of these.”

Victor’s shadow appears in the doorway.

“I didn’t think Yurio was supposed to be training?” He smiles, gesturing to the bundle in his arms. “I brought lunch.”

“If you’d given me literally anything else to do, I wouldn’t be this desperate,” Yuri grumbles, sticking the Katana in his belt. It’s not a particularly solid hold, but for the time being it will do. Victor’s doing that thing where he pretends he’s got no idea what’s going on. His eyebrows are halfway up his forehead.

“Don’t you have lessons with Lilia?”

Yuri pushes past him, marching out into the courtyard. There’s a small table set up to the side of the jousting rink, and he makes a beeline for it. Victor and Katsuki follow, apparently content with his choice of picnic spot.

“Finished before the tournament.” He drags one of the rickety old stools out from under the equally dilapidated table, and settles himself on it as comfortably as possible.

“What about hunting?” Victor says, putting his bundle down on the table and starting to untie it.

“Can’t go out without an escort.” Not that he hasn’t tried, but the guards know their orders and they know him. It’s quite hard to sneak out with a horse and a falcon.

“No official duties?”

“I’m not even supposed to be in Rusiki. You think Yakov saved me any jobs just in case? Now are we eating or what?”

Victor hands him a bread roll and some lemon curd. Holy shit, Yuri’s glad Mila’s friends with Sara now. She sends them the best gifts. Sweet edibles are about all it takes to convince him that somebody is worth knowing. Rare treats that they can’t make in Rusiki, even more so.

He takes a huge bite just as Katsuki turns to him to ask;

“What about Otabek?”

Victor pats Yuri on the back as he chokes, thoroughly ruining all chances at passing that one off casually.

“What about him?” He grumbles as soon as he’s recovered his breath. His dignity is going to take a little longer.

“Oh!” Victor suddenly remembers, “Yuri, darling, I asked him if he wouldn’t mind helping out with training this afternoon?”

“You did what?” Yuri demands, incensed.

“Well!” Katsudon stutters, obviously surprised by the intrusion. For half a second Yuri thinks he’s going to be rescued, but then he collects himself. “Of course not. It’s always useful to have another perspective on something.” He smiles, a slight colour to his cheeks. “I’d be quite honoured, in truth.”

“Good,” Victor plants a kiss on his forehead.

“Ugh,” Yuri tries to ignore them, but his lunch isn’t anywhere near as attention grabbing as it was about a minute ago. God, trust Katsudon to ruin his lemon curd. Asshole.

-

“Yuri, would you mind watching Minami for me for a moment?”

Yuri rolls his eyes. He knew that sticking around after lunch was a mistake. Lowering his sword from the stance he’d been holding, he leaves the straw dummy spinning and looking more the worse for wear.

“Which one’s that?” He grouses. Katsuki points across the courtyard to where a small boy with blond hair is struggling with a bow that’s obviously too big for him.

“You’ve met him before. He came with me from home.”

Oh God, Yuri does remember him.

“Not that one, Katsudon, he nearly killed me last time!”

He might be exaggerating slightly, but only slightly. Minami has a tendency to get overexcited about things. They’re working on it, but it’s well on its way to becoming a major issue.

“It was an accident,” Katsuki protests, as if that makes any difference at all to whether or not Yuri ended up on the floor with a sword in his forehead. “Besides, he needs a new angle. There’s not much I can do for his motivation at the moment.”

Yuri goes to point out that Minami’s motivation is the least of his problems, but as he does so, the young squire looses an arrow that lands just shy of the centre.

“He would have hit that if...” he starts, and catches himself. Katsuki is already smiling at him. “Shut up.” He grumbles, but sheathes his sword and heads over to check Minami’s grip.

Predictably, as soon as he turns up, Minami’s concentration is completely lost and he doesn’t even hit the hay bale. Yuri represses a sigh.

“Again,” he demands. Minami raises the bow, trembling. “Hold it,” his hands skim over the boy’s correcting his grip and his stance. “Now breathe. You’re in no hurry, the target isn’t going anywhere.”

Minami looses another almost immediately. It misses by miles, and Yuri resists the urge to smack him. Going by Minami’s tiny little squeak of fear as the arrow buried itself into the ground, he’s still remembering the sword incident.

“Again,” Yuri commands, “And listen, this time. Now, breathe. In for six, hold for four, out for eight. Got it? Do that at least three time before you shoot.” He corrects his shoulders, pulling his arm back a little further. “Look straight at the target, not me.”

Minami counts too fast, but at least he does it this time.

“Mm,” Yuri hums, as the arrow shudders into the target. “Better. You don’t need to put so much force into it at this distance though.”

“Right,” Minami bows, and goes to fetch his arrows. Yuri watches him, eyes narrowed. When he gets back, Yuri stops him from setting up again.

“How long have you been using this bow?” he asks, taking it from him and setting the bottom point it in the dirt, measuring how high up his body it reaches.

“Um, only today.” Yuri looks up at him, shocked. Minami squeaks, and rushes to explain. “I don’t have one of my own because we never did archery before we got here and there aren’t enough training bows for everyone to have one of their own and...”

“Right.” Yuri picks the bow up again and slings the quiver over his shoulder. “Watch this.”

In quick succession, the three arrows thud into the target.

“Wow,” Minami gasps. They’re clustered in the tiny space right at the centre, so that the colour of it isn’t even visible.

“That’s because this bow is my size, not yours. There’s no point in you learning with one that’s wrong, or you’ll never master it.” He turns, beckoning Minami to follow. The squire falls in, his feet scurrying to keep up.

“That was incredible! Do you really think I’d be able to do that with my own bow?” Yuri swallows, his annoyance at Katsuki for giving his squires inadequate equipment slightly dampened by the compliment. It’s been a while since anyone has been impressed by his archery. The rest of them are just used to be him being incredible.

“If you practice enough, you can do more.” He says, truthfully. Minami’s not half bad, considering he’s only been doing it for just over a year.

“Wow!”

“Katsuki!” Yuri yells, striding ahead. “Minami needs a new bow.”

Katsuki turns from where he’s watching a squire line up to the quintain.

“A new bow?” He queries, brow creased as he looks between them. Minami’s practically bouncing at the prospect. Crossing his arms over his chest, Yuri glares him down.

“You expect him to learn properly when he has a different size every time he practices?”

“Ah,” Comprehension dawns. “I’m sorry about that, but Minako has so much work on her hands at the moment...”

“Oh my god,” Yuri interrupts. “It doesn’t take a blacksmith to make a bow. There’s an armourer in the town, Victor could have told you that. Where do you think we got all of ours from?”

Katsuki smiles.

“Oh! I didn’t think to ask. That’s wonderful news!”

“Yes!” Minami cries, punching the air. Yuri allows himself a small smile, however exasperated it is.

“I’ll get Victor to send a messenger tonight...” his attention turns to something behind Yuri.

Yuri turns just in time to see Victor and Otabek greet each other.

“Ah, Otabek!” Victor’s voice carries loud and clear across the courtyard from the next station. “There you are! I was beginning to wonder.” Yuri winces so hard he nearly drops the bow.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Otabek is saying as he and Victor approach the rest of them.

“Not at all!” Katsuki greets him with a polite smile and a slight bow. “We’re very grateful to have your help.”

Oh fuck. There’s no way he’s dealing with this for the next two hours. Throwing the bow down, and shrugging the quiver off his shoulder, he glowers at Otabek.

“Good afternoon, Yuri,” Beka says, perfectly cordially, with a slight inclination of his head. Yuri is already turning on his heel, not even bothering to respond.

“Yurio! Where are you going?” Victor’s voice chases him, too surprised to scold him for his rudeness.

“Away,” he grumbles to himself, knowing that they won’t her him. Instead, he throws his voice over his shoulder, refusing to turn and watch their faces.

“To fly Ariya.”

Alone, he doesn’t say, and doesn’t need to.

Otabek’s expression has barely changed, but he’s still watching Yuri’s retreating back, even as he disappears from the courtyard completely.

Katsuki turns to him, concerned.

“Did something happen?”

Victor puts his arm around his fiancé’s shoulder, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek. Otabek looks away, politely. Such overt displays of affection still feel almost embarrassingly intimate to him, no matter how many years he spends outside of Assissia.

“I’m sure Yurio just needs time. He likes to ignore problems until they go away.” Victor explains. It’s probably supposed to be reassuring. “Ah,” he sighs, tuning back to his station. “I sometimes wonder whether father made the right decision keeping he and Mila from going on diplomatic visits. They’ve been very sheltered.”

-

“This feels familiar,” Yuri says.

The wind is pushing his hair into his face, but he doesn’t brush it away. The feeling is still new, and he still revels in it.

The battlements are fast becoming his favourite place. Very few people know of it, besides Otabek, but he rarely bothers him there. Today is an exception, and Yuri allows that. His presence makes his statement ring all the more true. The trees are thick with colour, darkening with autumn’s encroachment. The snow will come soon, and once it does, it will stay.

He gathers his cloak around him more fully, and refuses to shiver.

“You’ll be participating this time.”

“I thought I would be last time.”

The date of the duel was set last month, when Otabek was formally invited to take part in the Rusiki Kingdom Championship, and Georgi declared him fit to compete.

Otabek’s hand hovers close to Yuri’s. It’s been there since he got here, when the sun was still high in mid-afternoon; an unanswered question. Yuri stubbornly rests his head on his arms, leaning out on the grey stone that has grown warm under him.

“It’s been a while since we had a banquet. Is Georgi letting you dance?”

“Your father already invited me to open it with you.”

Yuri huffs, watching his breath cloud in the air in front of him. It billows out over the wall, and for a moment, he can imagine it reaching all the way to the edge of the forest. The trail to the mountains disappears under the foliage, clearer with the dieback of the overgrowth with the season.

He’s been going out a lot less recently.

“He didn’t bother to ask me.”

“The expectation was that I would.”

“Of course it was.” He’s not snapping, not really, but there is a certain bitterness to his tone. Yakov has hardly spoken to him since the tournament, and not at all since the announcement that he’d be staying in Rusiki.

“Are you going to dance with me, or not?”

From Yuri, it would have been sharp. Otabek, though, is as calm as ever. His unaffectedness is almost infuriating. There’s not even the slightest warmth of anger to his tone. He sighs, slumping over into his posture.

“Fine. I suppose we have three months of standing on ceremony to catch up on.”

He moves to leave, but Otabek stops him.

“Yura,”

He hasn’t called him that for weeks.

“You don’t have to.”

The direction of the wind, no longer behind him, sweeps his hair to one side so that the back of his neck prickles with goosebumps. It’s so fucking cold. Always so quickly, winter pushes out summer, and he wonders whether it still counts as autumn, or whether he missed the in-between completely. There’s nothing to pin down the change between the two seasons except the snow, and it’s not snowing yet, not in the south. But it’s so cold. Always so cold.

He’s got his back to Otabek, and his eyes are closed, but he can still see him as if they were stood face to face.

The fabric of his tunic flaps about his legs. It feels solid, real, in a way that nothing has for a while.

“I know,” he says quietly.

Otabek comes to stand beside him. His steps are so quiet that Yuri didn’t hear him, accustomed to the thump of the crutch as he moves, even though he hasn’t had it for several weeks now.

“Will you dance will me, Yuri?”

Yuri opens his eyes, finds Otabek’s body as close as his voice. He can’t meet his eyes, has to turn away again, arching his body over the walls, towards the sky.

“Do you want to win?” Yuri asks eventually, still looking out over the forest. The sun is setting, bright and clear, to the west. It will be dusk soon.

“The honour is in the fight. The end result is besides the point.”

“And yet,” Yuri starts, but doesn’t finish.

He wonders too often what Otabek left behind. He wonders, most of all, how Otabek feels about all of this. They’ve been teetering on the edge of a decision that is months overdue and which, despite their best efforts, still holds so much power over both of them.

Apart from Yuri’s staying in Rusiki, they haven’t discussed what happens afterwards. It’s stressful, and it’s a relief. He doesn’t have to decide, yet, which side he’s fighting for.

“What are you asking me for, Yuri?”

Otabek says his name so often. It’s almost as if he feels like he has to constantly draw Yuri’s attention to him. It couldn’t be further from the truth. There’s a reason Yuri constantly finds himself turning away from him, is constantly closing his eyes so that he doesn’t have to see him.

He doesn’t know how to stop it happening. Finding an end, when you don’t know where the beginning was, is like trying to shoot an arrow without a bow.

Freedom, Yuri thinks, and can’t say it. How? Asking Otabek to walk away from this duel, knowing that he probably would, is impossible. It would ruin both of them.

Yuri fucking hates being a prince.

“I don’t want you to go easy on me.”

Otabek has tilted his head ever so slightly. It’s the first time there’s been a hint of softness to him today, something other than his public face. Yuri, so used to his openness now, hates the increasing bustle of guests around the castle for burying it away. He relaxes into it immediately, finding himself smiling before he knows what he’s doing.

Otabek looks very confused. Honestly, Yuri doesn’t blame him. He’s been the living embodiment of mixed signals for the last month, if not more.

“I would prefer this duel to have no stakes to it.” Otabek replies, “and despite the fact that we both know that this isn’t possible, I also want to remind you that each arrangement is a partnership that, once cemented, we both have full control over. In name only, we can be connected. We are both entirely free from expectation or contract.”

“Beka,” Yuri sighs through his nose. “You’ve told me that a thousand times. I know.”

“Do you?”

Yuri tilts his head back, growling with frustration.

“Look, I know I’m being an asshole, but it doesn’t have to be about you.” He snaps.

Otabek is too good with silence. It stretches between them, expectant, until Yuri gives up.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.”

They are not good at communicating. Yuri knows this, but knowing that there is a problem and being able to fix it are two entirely different things. It’s been too long since he’s been able to think of Otabek as just a friend, without the pressure of expectation weighing over him.

“I just don’t know what I’m doing,” he tries, and stops. It’s true, in a sense, and yet simultaneously not at all what he means. “I mean, next. I wanted to stay in Rusiki with my family, but I’m slowly going mad here. Last time I asked myself this question, I was going to be knighted, and that was easy enough, because I’d just go wherever I was needed. After that I was fighting for my freedom, which, you’ve given me as much as you can. Only now I don’t feel like I’m needed anywhere. Not that I’m not grateful, obviously, I’m... shit.”

He never did say thank you. Part of him, despite everything, still resents that it needed to be done at all.

“Do you want to leave?” Otabek asks, steady as ever. He’s always been more than capable, and apparently willing, to weather Yuri’s storms. That’s all it takes, he’s discovered – somebody’s who’s willing to wait it out until he can dig under the anger and extract whatever the source of the problem is. He can’t imagine it working with anyone but Otabek.

“Yes, and no.” It’s not really an answer, but it’s all he’s got. Otabek seems to understand, to some degree. There’s space for them both in the gap on the battlements, and he joins Yuri, his dark cloak sliding across his arms and fluttering slightly in the breeze.

“If you left, you wouldn’t know where to go, and you don’t want to leave your grandpa.” He states, looking out across the forest. Yuri nods, watching him. It’s not all there is to it, but it’s a solid chuck of the issue.

“But if I go...” he stops. Otabek turns to him, his brown eyes settling as he waits for a finish. Yuri hasn’t got one. He clenches his teeth inside his jaw until it hurts.

Why does he want to go? What’s out there for him?

“You can always come back.” Otabek drops one shoulder slightly, leaning towards him.

“I’ll feel trapped anyway. Wherever I go I’ll be followed by my title, and everyone’s expectations.”

And yet the idea of staying is a heavy, unwelcome sickness in his stomach.

Yuri feels like this is very one-sided. He gives up trying to chase his own thoughts. It might help, to ground himself in Otabek’s certainty.

“Where are you going to go?” He asks, forcing himself not to move again. This is fine, he can do this. They’re just standing next to each other.

Otabek takes a minute over the question, and Yuri forgot that he does this. When was the last time they actually spent time together?

“You were right about it being too long since I’ve seen Roza.”

“Home?”

It’s not wholly unexpected, he supposes, but it does go against what he’d said when he first got here. People change, though.

Otabek has turned away again, but he’s not looking at the forest. Beyond, the mountains are still visible in the receding light, and the sunset casts long shadows across them. On the other side, Yuri knows, at a distance he can’t even imagine, is Otabek’s family. They’re probably waiting for him.

“I don’t know if it’s home anymore, but yes. My last visit was cut short, and I would like to pay my respects to Alyona properly.”

Yuri doesn’t dissect that. He doesn’t even know what Otabek’s idea of home even is.

“How long will you be gone?”

Otabek turns and gives him an indiscernible look. It’s one that he doesn’t quite recognise, like he’s trying to maintain something, but there’s too much tightness to it.

“I wasn’t intending to come back.”

Yuri stands up. Otabek mirrors the movement, but Yuri pushes past him without allowing him to follow. He breaks into a sprint from a standstill, long strides carrying him along the battlements in seconds. Immediately breathless, legs burning, he feels like he’s running on the last sprint at the end of a marathon.

The dark cold of the stairwell receives him with open arms, and he charges down the spiralling steps thoughtlessly, chasing the end of a moment that he hadn’t realised was happening, his balance constantly on the edge of tipping him over and tumbling him onto the ground below.

He hits the courtyard running, and bumps straight into Isabella, of all people.

“Yuri!” She cries, extracting herself from him, “There you are! We just arrived and Victor said...oh my god, Yuri, what happened?”

Beka arrives behind him at a run, and nearly sends them both flying all over again. His hands automatically go to steady Yuri, but the pressure on his shoulders couldn’t be more unwelcome.

“Get off!” He practically screams, and Otabek lets go so suddenly that he might have been burned.

All three of them stand in shock, the bustle of the courtyard quietening around them as people stop to watch.

“Um...” Isabella starts, looking between them.

Yuri turns on his heel and flat out runs. He doesn’t look back, even as Isabella yells his name.

-

He dresses silently. He’s sticking with a tunic tonight, which means no corset, and he’s been wearing his hair down so often that Lilia keeps forgetting to even ask whether he wants it braided.

Tonight, he’s not sure whether he’s grateful for the time alone or not. There’s supposed to be something to work through, something to think about, but his head feels as blank as a fresh snowfall.

There is no dramatic entrance to make tonight. The opening banquets are calmer, as a rule, because people want to save their strength for the first day.

He and Otabek sit side by side in silence. This is not unusual, but there must be something about it, because Victor and Katsudon are both giving them worried looks. At one point even Mila checks in on him. Word spreads fast, even in a castle this big.

They get away with it until after the final course.

As the servants are removing the plates, Yakov turns to Yuri.

“Are you two opening the dancing tonight?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

He turns and glares at Otabek.

“Yes.” He insists.

The prince levels his gaze, unmoved by the simmering of Yuri’s temper.

“I’m sure Victor and Yuri will be happy to...”

“Shut up,” Yuri interrupts, and grabs his wrist. He’s two steps along the table by the time he realises that Otabek is not only resisting being dragged along, but that Yuri has actually turned his chair with the force of said resistance. He remains immovably seated until Yuri stops. Only then, does he bow his head, and stand. Yuri lets him go, more from shock than anything. Only the royal table seem to have noticed what’s happening, for now, but people will be looking soon. Jesus Christ why must so much of his life take place in front of an audience?

Otabek offers Yuri his hand. The same one that he just let go of.

Yuri looks at him, incredulously.

“Seriously?” he demands. Otabek doesn’t respond, just inclines his head the smallest fraction. He doesn’t look pissed, as such. Just... sad.

Fuck, Yuri hates him for that.

“You don’t have to.” Otabek repeats. He means the dancing, of course he does, but Yuri knows they’re both thinking about the conversation earlier.

You don’t have to. Whether that means travelling, staying, being anything more than his husband or his bodyguard in name only. It’s not just that he doesn’t have to, it’s that he can do, if he chooses.

Yuri sometimes forgets that all that Otabek wanted from this was a fair fight. Everything else was... unplanned. To say the least.

Christ, he doesn’t even know if there is anything else for Otabek.

“Neither do you.” Yuri replies, and he doesn’t mean the dancing. Otabek knows he doesn’t, because his voice cracks slightly, and he didn’t mean it to. There’s a flash of something in Otabek’s face, before he catches it and smoothes it over. Yesterday, he wouldn’t have done that. If it were just the two of them, he wouldn’t have done that. Victor and Yuuri are watching. Fuck, everyone’s watching.

“Will you dance with me?” It’s the third time he’s had to ask. It’s not an answer. It’s not an anything. But it might just be the last time they get the chance.

“Don’t step on my toes.” Yuri grumbles, and takes the offered hand.

Otabek’s hands are softer than he remembers. Too many months of inactivity, too long spent playing chess in a hospital bed instead of wielding his sword in the training grounds. His grip, however, is as firm and sure as ever.

They don’t talk.

For the fucking entirety of the fucking first dance, nobody fucking joins them. If Yuri had thought it was going to be weird dancing with a newly-recovered and still slightly clumsy Otabek after months of not-quite-friendship, it’s nothing to what actually happens.

The first time, Yuri had conceded the lead and allowed it to flow almost immediately, and Otabek, equally, hadn’t taken control unless it was to sidestep somebody clumsier.

This is different. For a start, the steps aren’t choreographed beforehand, which means that one of them definitely has to be leading. Beka, damn him, is being an asshole about it. Yuri tries to yank him into a move, only to find himself blocked and dragged off sideways into something completely different. This happens a few times, and so to regain his balance and figure out his next move, he concedes for a few steps. Only then, Otabek fucking stops leading, and Yuri has to pick up the slack or they’ll end up standing in the middle of the hall doing fuck all. He slips into it almost by accident, and for a few steps, Otabek goes with him, but as soon as Yuri gains confidence to pull, he fights back. And wins. If Yuri wasn’t so quick on his feet, it would look like an absolute mess to any onlookers. Lilia is probably despairing at his posture, but honestly if he doesn’t focus 100% of his feet, they’re both going to fall over.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Yuri demands, but the only response he gets is Otabek sweeping him down into a drop.

“Dancing.”

This is not dancing. Otabek is fucking playing with him. He goes along with it for a few more steps, and once again, he stops, leaving Yuri to fill the space. He does so more cautiously this time, suggesting rather than leading. Otabek apparently takes no offense at this, and it lasts a few bars. Okay, he thinks he’s getting it. Just to test, he leads a little forcefully, and yes. Otabek pushes back.

“What point are you trying to make here?” He hisses, back to facing him. To his absolute astonishment, Beka smiles.

“I think you’ve got it.”

Yuri stops dead. Otabek simply raises an eyebrow, takes the lead, and runs with it. At some point Yuri realises that Otabek’s dancing style is more than a little different than the upright, staunch steps he’s been taught. Everything is close, pulled in, and every step is either pulling him round so that they’re pressed close together, or puts a foot between Yuri’s, or even worse, puts their faces right next to each other, to the point where Yuri thinks he can feel his own radiating warmth reflecting back at himself from Otabek’s cheek.

They spend the rest of the dance parleying, Otabek leading for a few steps, then Yuri for a few, until, thank god, Victor drags his fiancé out and they aren’t the centre of attention.

They dance another anyway, mostly because Yuri refuses to let go of Beka until he’s either answered some questions, apologised, or both. They’ve both relaxed now, and all of the tension has gone out of the dance. They step smoothly, and Yuri would revel in it if he wasn’t still silently fuming.

“That was humiliating,” he growls. Otabek pulls him in and murmurs in his ear.

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me that thought so. Not that I think anyone else could tell what we were doing.”

“What the fuck were we doing?” Yuri keeps his voice low, as other couples now surround them. “Apart from fighting for control?”

Otabek’s voice prickles at his neck, and okay there is no way he sounds like this normally. Is there? Do people usually get deeper and huskier voices when they whisper? Shit, he’s shivering.

“I would like you to do me the courtesy of listening to what I have to say.”

Yuri doesn’t know whether he feels like a scolded child or an extremely horny teenager right now. Possibly both. It’s a very, very weird combination.

“And you couldn’t have just asked me like a normal person?” He hisses.

Otabek moves, so that he can actually see his face. He’s smiling, damn him.

“Would you have listened?”

Right. That does, actually, kind of make sense.

The last thing Yuri wanted was for Otabek think that he didn’t respect him, but apparently he’s managed exactly that. Still, he doesn’t much appreciate the method. Just fucking talking about it wouldn’t have wounded his pride or his ego nearly so much.

“Besides,” Beka says, before Yuri can snap at him. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

Yuri goes bright pink.

“If it wouldn’t get me into more trouble than it was worth, I would stab you with my sword right here and now.” He threatens. Otabek, apparently uncowed, leans into his shoulder and laughs. “Asshole,” Yuri tries to snap, but can’t stop the warmth leaking into it; half-embarrassed, half-amused.

“Have I got your attention now?” Beka asks, catching his eye. Yuri sighs.

“Fine.” He tightens his grip on Beka’s hands, as if that will somehow convince him that he’s committed to having this conversation. “Talk.”

Otabek’s hand slips from his shoulder to his waist, pulling him around into a spin.

“We’re not so dissimilar, Yuri. If you force me into something, I’ll push back. But if you ask me nicely,” he spins Yuri out and then bring him back again so that their chests are touching, “I’m open to persuasion.” There’s a very, very familiar hand pressing into the small of his back. The last time they’d been this close was...

Shit, this should not be allowed. Beka is definitely shorter than him. Is he wearing heels? He’s grinning – no scratch that, he’s smirking. How can a goddamn smile look dirty? That should be illegal. Holy shit, has he been drinking already or something?

This is not a Beka that Yuri has ever met before. What the actual fuck.

Yuri’s brain should probably be doing something other than silent screaming right now, but that appears to be all that he’s capable of.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” He tries, carefully, not fully trusting his voice.

“I’ve been trying to guess what you wanted from me for months,” Otabek says. “But every time I tried to ask you pushed me away.”

Oh, god.

Yuri’s been dreading this. It was inevitable, of course it was, because Beka doesn’t do anything without fully understanding the situation first, and there’s no way he’d be willing to duel Yuri tomorrow without knowing, for sure, what Yuri wanted. He’s stopped playing around now, although his hand remains firmly in place. His focus is dead set on Yuri.

“So now it’s my turn.”

Unwilling to reply, Yuri simply waits for Otabek to find the right words. They spin a few more times, brushing past the other couples. Yuri takes a certain pride in noticing that they’re easily one of the most elegant pairs – at least now that there are steps to stick to.

“I think it’s fairly obvious that you don’t want to marry me. Until this afternoon, I wasn’t even entirely sure if you liked me very much, whatever you said to the contrary.” Okay, yeah, Yuri’s been an asshole. Such an asshole. “I believe my confusion in light of your reaction to my going away is understandable, in the circumstances.”

What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

“So.” Otabek continues, expression stoic. “Don’t force me to make a choice without knowing what it will mean to you.”

Fuck.

“Can’t you make that choice on your own?” He bites, defensive.

“I am,” Otabek says. “You’re informing my decision, not taking it from me.”

“Well, I wish I could say the same about literally any part of my life right now.”

It comes out all in one desperate breath. Otabek’s expression smoothes somewhat as he mulls that over.

“I believe it was you that said if you didn’t want to be my friend I wouldn’t have seen you since the tournament. What is that, if not choice?”

Fuck.

Otabek’s working his way towards extracting a very, very uncomfortable admission from him.

“That’s not all there is to it.”

“Evidently.”

Fuck, he’s bad at explanations. He shuts his mouth and ducks his head, staring very firmly at Otabek’s shoulder instead of his face.

“If you could choose,” Otabek says eventually, “If you really felt like there was nothing else influencing your decision, what would you do?”

That’s a question and a half. It’s obviously not lightly asked either, if Otabek’s grip on him is anything to go by. Yuri stares over his shoulder, watching without seeing as the bright cloaks of the other dancers whirl past.

“I don’t know,” he admits, turning his gaze to meet the one already set on him. “Do you?”

“Yes.” Otabek answers immediately. Yuri’s almost relieved. Of course he does, he’s Beka. “I’d walk away from the duel and ask you to come with me to Khazakistannas.” Yuri gasps. Actually, audibly, gasps. It completely involuntary but that single sentence completely hotwired his brain. “It’s a long journey, and a dangerous one, and I’d like to have somebody as trustworthy and skilled as you fighting alongside me should it come to it.” Otabek continues. “And once we got there, there’d be plenty to do. There’s no shortage of demand for well-trained knights in Assissia.”

Yuri tries to form words, and gives up, simply tightening his grip on Beka’s hand.

“That bad?” Otabek lifts the corner of his mouth.

“No,” Yuri rushes to explain, “not at all. The exact... I can’t believe I hadn’t even thought of that.”

Otabek is smiling more widely now.

“Really?”

“Really. Shit, that’s... can I change my answer? Because I’d definitely do that. Does Assissia have dragons?”

Otabek’s forgotten it’s not just the two of them. He must have – Yuri’s never seen him this expressive in company.

“I’ve not seen any personally, but there’s generally believed to be.”

“I want to know what a dragon’s mind feels like.” He grins, imagining it. A real quest! A journey to the north; they’d need a small group of travellers and supplies, hunting during the day and camping at night. Pursuing tales and legends until they were close enough to track the beast itself. Perhaps they’d even see it flying, and be able to trace it to its lair.

“But,” he says, hating himself for it. Otabek’s smile fades slightly. Yuri understands. As nice as it is to know that their hypothetical futures line up, there’s no way that’s actually going to happen. Never in a million years. He has Nikolai to worry about, and Otabek carries not only his own reputation, but that of his kingdom, and it’s fragile at best. Yuri would be lying if he said it hadn’t occurred to him that Otabek’s travels are not entirely just for personal improvement. “Even if we can’t do that, can you at least come back someday?”

Otabek sighs, stepping away slightly as the song finishes, transitioning into something more cheerful. Yuri, not really feeling like dancing anymore, takes Otabek’s hand and pulls him back towards the royal table. The others have cleared off, and they’ll be able to talk in peace.

“I can’t promise that I will,” Otabek says, his hand still in Yuri’s. “But I can promise that I will try.”

“No thanks, let’s talk about literally anything except the possibility of you being mauled to death by bandits.”

“Actually, the only near-death experience I’ve ever had was an accident.”

“Still don’t want to know.”

Isabella comes to his rescue, dragging his attention off Otabek before the conversation becomes embarrassing.

“Yuri!” Her eyes are brighter than when he last saw her, her skin glowing. She grabs his hand. “Sorry, Beka, I’ve got to steal your pretty little thing for a dance.”

“He’s not mine,” Otabek protests, almost in the same breath that Yuri grumbles,

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

Isabella just laughs.

“Peas in a pod.” Yuri, unable to protest further, lets her lead him off the raised platform. He hopes Beka doesn’t mind being abandoned too much.

“Oh good God, engagement suits you.” He grumbles. She just smiles at him.

“I think it’s knighthood actually, to be honest. No offense to JJ.”

It’s a thank you, of sorts. He doesn’t reply, concentrating instead on where the hell Otabek went. He’d chanced a glance over Isabella’s shoulder when they set up for the dance, only to find the top table deserted. Otabek’s completely vanished.

“So, looks like you’re having an interesting night.” Their step sequence flounders under Yuri’s disbelief.

“Did you know he was going to do that?” He is utterly failing to hide the fact that he doesn’t even have a response to what the fuck Otabek just did with him. He’s still reeling.

Yuri deliberately steps on her toe in protest. It’s so below him, but it also makes him feel so much better. It also doesn’t hurt at all. He’s not that much of an asshole.

“Oh man. You guys really don’t know each other.”

Yuri is so, so lost.

“What?”

Isabella throws her head back and laughs. Yuri resists the urge to kick her in the shins and waits for her to finish as patiently as he’s able. Which isn’t very.

“Yuri, we all saw how you reacted to his injury. When I came back today I wasn’t the only one expecting you to be more than friends. And Beka’s not exactly known for.... holding back.”

Yuri doesn’t actually have a response to that. He’s doing a very quick rewrite about what he knows of Otabek in his head. Because this... oh, this is entirely new. He’s not sure he likes it that much. Isabella’s blue eyes bore into him, waiting for an answer he doesn’t have.

“Yuri?” She prompts. They’ve been spinning in silent circles for a while. She’s wearing a tunic too, this time, marked with the colours of Candis. Too much red would wash her out, but she’s balanced it, again, with a black cloak. They’re all wearing cloaks now, trying to keep out the harshness of encroaching winter.

This will be the last event of the season. After this, the weather will be too bad to travel.

“Are things working out with JJ?”

He’s deflecting, but he does also want to know. Although he considers her a friend, he’s also aware that the only thing they have in common is a situation that she has resolved, and he hasn’t. Apart from that, he doesn’t really know anything about her. It’s the same with Otabek. There’s been no time to actually get to know either of them. Everything has been spiralling around this unfought duel for months. His frustration, he knows, is partially at himself. Most of it is being pushed out onto Otabek. Knowing this doesn’t make it any easier to rectify.

It’s his inability to choose.

This whole time, all he’s wanted is autonomy, to have full control over his own life. Yes, at least he’s not going to be forced to spend the rest of his life sewing in a tower or bowing to courtiers or whatever, but he’s not going to be a knight either. He can’t actually travel on his own, not even now he has a horse, and honestly he’s not sure that Otabek won’t take Karzhau with him when he goes.

He lets Isabella tell him about her new life in Candis, about the fact that they spend even less time together now because he’s always travelling and she’s always training, and wonders at this.

“You don’t seem really upset,” he points out, which makes Isabella smile.

“No. We have the rest of our lives together. It would be greedy of me to expect him to throw aside his duties just because we’re engaged now. We’re planning a long honeymoon, though.”

“Oh? Where?”

Yuri does know how to make small talk. It’s even slightly less painful than usual with Isabella.

It’s not unpleasant, actually. JJ is busy doing some networking (looks like arse-licking to me, Yuri says, and Isabella laughs), so they spend the evening doing a strange mixture of catching up and getting to know each other.

There’s a lot less public pressure on him now that it’s not his tournament, but there’s still a certain amount of whispering going on. Officially, he and Otabek haven’t been recognised yet, even if their connection in undeniable now. This is simply the settlement of terms. He gets a few cursory looks, but no more than the other competitors.

“I wish they’d stop seizing me up. It’s not like I’m competing properly.” He grumbles at one point. Isabella turns to him, surprised.

“Aren’t you?”

Yuri slumps back in his chair, staring out at the room. It’s a veritable riot of colour, the dancing now in full swing and the alcohol flowing. There are more than a few couples doing some steps that even Beka didn’t try on him.

Where is he?

The night stretches ahead of him like an open question. Isabella will eventually be whisked away by her fiancé, and then he has nobody. The rest of his family are dancing or consorting with allies, and that’s it, really.

“Of course not. What, you think Beka magically knighted me or something while you were gone?”

“Should I have done?”

The question surprises both of them. Twisting in his chair, Yuri nearly sprains his neck trying to find the source of the question.

“How long have you been standing there, you snoop?” Isabella teases, eyes sparkling.

“About five seconds,” Otabek deadpans, already turning his attention to Yuri. Who is – having a moment. The last time he was in Otabek’s company he was very thoroughly swept off his feet and his brain is very kindly reminding him exactly how Otabek’s black leather cloak felt pushed up against his chest. Also the fact that Isabella implied that he’d been wanting to do that for a while was... bothering him.

“Don’t be an idiot,” He gripes, trying to swallow down the rising blush. He’s not looking at him. He’s not. “Yakov would kill us both, and probably start a war with your parents in the process. There’s a reason I haven’t already asked you to.”

He’s being serious, but both of them just smile at him as if he’s told some kind of hilarious joke.

“I’m not kidding,” he adds, “he tried to throw out my armour.”

Isabella blinks, her smile vanishing.

“Wait, really?”

Otabek nods slowly.

“Georgi mentioned that. Nikolai has it now, correct?” Yuri turns to him, dumbfounded. His confusion must be evident, because Otabek elaborates. “He missed a check up to help you move it.”

Oh, crap.

He opens his mouth to issue some kind of apology, but Otabek raises a hand slightly, waving him off.

“But you want to compete in the championship, if you can?”

Yuri rolls his eyes.

“Have you even met me? I’ve spent my whole life wanting to compete in championships.”

Otabek’s doing that smirk again. Yuri thinks his heart might actually stop.

“I have an idea,” he says.