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Summary
“What do you think he meant by friendly stabbing?” Viktor asks, deceptively casual as he winds a lock of his hair around his finger.
“Sparring, probably.”
“Ah,” Viktor sighs, his disappointment loud and theatrical. “And here I thought he meant the other kind.”
Yuuri feels himself heat to the roots of his hair.
“Not here,” he snaps, hands clenching at his sides.
Viktor’s eyes sharpen, the veneer of pleasantness finally leaving his face.
“My mistake,” he says, his smile thin and icy. “You seem tired, Prince Yuuri. Let me escort you to your bedchambers.”
~
In which Viktor and Yuuri are the princes of warring kingdoms but manage to fall in love anyway.