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The royal families were something of a myth for Lance when he was growing up.
“Never cross that street,” his mom hissed, squeezing the wrist she’d just yanked him back by.
“Why?” he whined, from both pain and petulance.
“If the Witch sees little boys from our side of town, she steals them and eats them.” She said it like a matter of fact. “Our side is safe.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause the King watches over us, papi.”
The parents of this torn city desperately needed some way to hammer in hard lessons to their children without breaking their innocence. When he was older, Lance would wonder if that’s the reason why everything to do with the royal families was given such whimsical language. But while he was a kid, it totally worked.
“Wanna play Druids and Paladins?” His friends would ask in the schoolyard.
The children flipped a penny to decide who would play the leaders, then the pretend-Witch and pretend-King would choose their teams. Sometimes the weapons were water balloons, or nerf guns, or just two fingers pointed at their opponents with a ‘Bang!’
This had an unintended consequence their parents didn’t account for. As far back as Lance could remember, he always wanted to be a paladin.
Fresh out of high school, he got a job at the same restaurant as his best friend. Unfortunately, they never saw each other. Hunk worked all the way at the back of the kitchen and Lance didn’t even work inside the place. He stood out front, opened doors to cars that pulled in, and took them to valet parking.
That’s how he became friends with the finest girl in the world.
Within his first few days on the job, a white Bentley pulled into the driveway. An older man sat in the driver’s seat and a cascade of thick hair bent down in the passenger side, probably fishing a purse out from around her feet. Lance opened the door from her side first, offering a hand to help the lady out. She took it with barely a glance at him, sweeping a bit of silvery hair out of the way as she slung her purse over her shoulder and stepped out of the car. It was a fancy restaurant with fancy clientele, but something about the casual way people interacted with Lance as if valets weren’t anything out of the ordinary for them never stopped catching him off guard. This girl though. She paused once she was on her feet and got a proper look at him. And he got a good look at her too. Oh shit, she’s gorgeous.
She pulled her hand away from his. “You’re new.”
She’s got an accent!!!!
“You can tell?” Lance’s chest pounded. “What’d I do?”
The smile she gave him was a small one, but it still crinkled the corners of her bright blue eyes. “Nothing.”
Her father, who was also striking to look at, came around from the other side of the car. Side by side, the pair smelled like money and oozed sophistication.
He passed Lance the keys and noted, “You’re new.”
“Yeah,” Lance answered, voice devastated at how obvious it apparently was.
Father and daughter shared an amused look, a silent inside joke, between each other. They didn’t bother to fill Lance in, either. Without a word, they entered the restaurant.
It didn’t take long to get somewhat familiar with them. Her father was a regular there and tipped a ten every time. Naturally, Lance adored him. The dad had to like him back, right?
The restaurant had a round table that was never given to customers under any circumstances, no matter how packed the night was. It was always left open so that just in case that father or his daughter walked in, they could be seated right away. Even if they didn’t show up for ten nights in a row, the table would stay empty. Like they were phantoms of the freaking opera.
They used it now and then for private father-daughter dinners. More often, it was used to hold meetings with all manner of people. People in suits, people in sweats, local government officials, guys with face tattoos. Lance got a signal from the hostess whenever the round table’s dinner was drawing to a close, so that their Bentley would be ready and waiting the moment they stepped outside. All the other normal customers needed to hand Lance a ticket and stand outside while he fetched their car.
One night, the finest girl in the world stepped out early. The swoosh of the front door brought the chatter of the restaurant outside. Lance’s heart jumped into his throat when he realized it was her.
“Oh! Sorry, I don’t have your car ready,” He blurted, a little flustered. “Romelle usually gives me a sign to get ready for you guys.”
The door swung closed behind her, muffling the din inside and leaving them alone in the dim stillness of the driveway. “It’s alright. We aren’t leaving.”
She walked a few steps closer to the edge of the driveway, looking out at the road. Lance had no idea what she was doing or what he was supposed to be doing. A silent pause stretched between them.
She looked back toward him. “What is the sign?”
“The wha?”
“You said you get a signal when she knows we’re finishing up.”
“Oh. It’s—Uh—Kind of a joke.”
She raised her eyebrows, urging him on without a word.
“She says,” Lance reluctantly admitted, “The british are coming.”
He laughed halfway through, ‘cause it was so dumb.
It got a chuckle out of the finest girl in the world, as well. “But she’s British as well.”
“I know,” Lance snorted.
He could see the round table through the restaurant’s front window if he stood in the right spot. Lance craned his neck to scope out the situation. Her dad was still sitting down over coffee with three old white guys.
“Things get awkward at the table or what?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just so boring I wanted to fall asleep on the tablecloth. I think some fresh air will wake me up.” Her heels clacked on the pavement as she paced in small circles.
“Yeah, I feel that. You have no idea how much time I spend just waiting out here by myself.”
“At least it’s not stressful.”
Lance shrugged. “It’s fine. I think I’d rather be doing something stressful, but c’est la vie.”
“You should’ve been a waiter, then.”
“I tried, but I had no serving experience. So they turned me down and offered this instead.”
She crossed her arms and stepped a little closer. “What experience do you have?”
Lance started listing them with his fingers. “I’m a good driver, good talker—”
“Oh, are you?”
“You’re still here, so better than those guys.” With a jerk of his chin, Lance pointed with his lips to the inside of the restaurant.
She looked at her father’s table with the smallest curl lingering at the corner of her lips. She looked back at Lance. “I’m Allura, by the way.”
“I’m Lance.”
“Hello.”
“Hey.”
“You didn’t get very far in listing your skills.”
“Oh, right.” Lance lifted a third finger and continued, “Good kisser...”
She rolled her eyes and raised a hand over her mouth to cover another laugh.
The sound emboldened Lance. “Any chance I could get your number, Allura?”
“Oh, of course.”
His entire face lit up.
She reached into her purse, but did not pull out her phone. In her hand was the valet slip, held between two fingers.
“We’re number twenty five.” She grinned, a little bit playful and a little bit wicked.
Lance’s favorite nights were when Allura came in. If work slowed down, he’d slink over to the window and watch her sip illegal champagne from her flute. Not in, like, a creepy way. There was just something nice about getting to see the finest girl in the world on a somewhat regular basis. This kind of serene, sighing, ‘ahhhhh’ feeling behind his ribs. Not unlike the way it feels to get a nice long look at the ocean on a clear day.
On a good night, Allura would come outside while her dad was still wrapping up conversation at the table or having long, drawn-out goodbyes at the entrance. She’d lean against the car and talk to Lance until it was time to go.
He asked her out once. She said no. He asked her if she was sure the next night. She said yes. But she still liked to come out and talk to him for a few minutes after dinner, so no harm done.
Sometimes she came in without her dad at all, to have some drinks with her friends around the end of Lance’s shift. She’d beckon him inside to join them when closing time was near and her table was the only one still occupied. He had to drive her back home once. Of course, that meant he needed to leave her car there and walk forty minutes back to his own home at midnight. But that was fine. Lance lived on the nice side of town. The side where crime just didn’t happen. Parents could let their children play outside while they cleaned inside. Girls could walk home alone at night. People who tried to start shit mysteriously disappeared. And the victims who got messed with were always paid back for their losses in mysterious ways.
When he was thirteen, someone broke into Lance’s home. After a sweep of the house, his mom’s jewelry box and his dad’s one nice watch were the only things missing. There wasn’t much else worth taking. His parents blamed themselves for thinking they didn’t need better security than a lock on the door. A few days after they filed the police report, his mom got a call directly from the local pawn shop. They had all her missing jewelry and the watch and wanted to return it to her, free of charge. She had to go pick it up directly from the shop. Not the police station.
Anyway, everyone’s tragic stories took place far from the restaurant’s neighborhood. The muggings, the assaults, the missing persons—All of it happened beyond the streets his mother had told him never to cross.
But after a year of working there, something happened.
That one familiar Bentley pulled up to the restaurant in something of a hurry. Lance had never seen Allura’s dad brake hard before. He opened the passenger door for her, as always. He offered his gloved hand to help her step out of the car, then closed it behind her and went around the hood to take the keys from her father.
Alfor gripped Lance’s arm when he passed the keys. “Don’t take any cars you don’t recognize tonight. Tell them we are closed for a private event.”
“Sure. You got it.”
“There’s something for you in the glove compartment. I want you to take it and hold onto it.”
He nodded and tried not to look as puzzled as he felt. Alfor gave him a pat on the back and finally released Lance’s arm. A little frazzled, Lance hopped into the driver’s seat and immediately reached for the glove compartment.
The passenger door flung open and Allura dove into the seat. “Wait!”
She slammed both hands over Lance’s, shoving the compartment shut before he could take a look inside. She kept one hand there while the other scrambled to clumsily shut the door behind her.
“What are you doing? What’s going on?” Lance was getting nervous and his voice was rising.
“You don’t need to get involved.” Allura gently pried his fingers away from the glove compartment handle. She shifted to sit sideways so that her body could face him. She clutched his hand in both of hers. “You can walk away. Nothing will happen to you.”
“Walk away from...? What is in there?”
Her eyes were so bright and they gave Lance an intense look that he couldn’t decipher the meaning of at all. “Allura. I have no idea what’s going on.”
“I know. It’s not fair.”
“But I wanna be involved.” God, his palm was probably getting sweaty between her soft hands. “I wanna be your friend. I want to be here when something’s wrong.”
She shook her head. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”
“Look, there’s literally nothing that would make me walk away from you right now. Or ever.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nope.”
“Lance, that is…” Allura released his hand. “Just… So unwise.”
“No, it isn’t!”
She scoffed, a helpless little huff of breath through her nostrils.
“What’s in there?” He asked again.
Slowly, Allura reached out and pulled the glove compartment open. It was empty except for a swathe of blue velvet cloth wrapped around something. Lance leaned over and reached across Allura, into the compartment. He unfolded the cloth in his lap, revealing a gorgeous, ornate pistol. The kind known members of the royal family’s paladins were rumored to carry around. The King’s crest was gilded into the handle. It might as well have been a legend to Lance.
The next day, Allura introduced him to Shiro—The friendly neighborhood paladin that everyone and their mother knew, idolized by all the boys on this side of town. Lance’s first assignment was to shadow him, learn the ropes from him. It felt like being promoted from valet guy to vice president.
Just from trailing behind Shiro, Lance became a somebody overnight. Everybody seemed to know him. And they treated him like... well, pretty hot shit. He didn’t wait in line for a bagel and coffee in the deli anymore. The owner knew who he was with and he’d beckon Lance out of the queue, right up to the counter. He memorized Lance’s order and made sure he was taken care of first, every single morning. The neighbors didn’t park in his family’s space anymore, even though Lance’s family didn’t have a car at the moment. One day, some random kids carried his mother’s groceries all the way home for her.
It felt amazing. And it was all because of the royal family. The people of the city knew Lance was one cog in the system that kept them taken care of. Serving the royal family was serving everyone. Paladins got more love than the cops.
Things escalated quickly on the job, though. Lance found out that he could kill. And that killing could feel fine.
Lance’s first kill was a cop who’d been acquitted three times for the murders of three different teenagers of color. He hit the target in one shot. Quick, clean, possibly painless. Even on these so-called “dirty” assignments, Lance felt like a guardian angel. When reported back to Allura, she cupped his face and kissed his cheek.
Most businesses depended on the royal family’s protection from criminals that came from the bad side of the city. So, Alfor got tributes from everyone living on the nice side of town.
In what seemed like no time at all, Lance was making more money than both his parents. The money freed them from exploitative jobs and worrying about bills and taking the subway to work. They could stay home, cook five meals a day, and take care of the grandkids.
The icing on top of this fantastic cake? He got to see his favorite person most days and nights! After enough time paying his dues and proving his chops, Shiro put a good word in for Lance. He got promoted from grunt to personal driver. “Driver,” however, was a loose title that didn’t encapsulate most parts of the job.
Allura was untouchable. As her driver, it was Lance’s responsibility to make sure that remained an unbreakable fact. Stay by her side, obey her, watch her back, and keep her hands clean. Allura would never ever sever an ear or break a finger or toss someone in the trunk. Yet still, every bad guy in a 30 mile radius had nightmares about her.
Sometimes Lance worried what she thought of him. Times like when he popped open the trunk in the garage and fumbled with black-gloved fingers to unbutton his shirt. She lingered at his side and stared like she wanted to help. But she knew better than to get her hands on the evidence. If anything at all got traced back to her father, the entire castle would come crumbling down. Lance eventually managed to get the white shirt speckled with red open and shrugged it off, tossed it into the trunk. Bloody gloves got flung in there after it and he pulled a clean shirt on.
This time, Allura reached out to help with it. “I’m going to verify if what we learned about the location is true.”
Lance carefully tucked the rosary dangling over his chest beneath his shirt as she buttoned it up for him. “Naw, it’s gonna be over by the time we do that. We can finish this tonight, while we still have the element of surprise.”
Tonight’s mission was to interrupt an attempted ransom. Some guy found himself on the wrong side of town and didn’t make it back. His family were well off enough to afford the price the Witch forced them to pay to see their son again, but the King couldn’t let this slide. Watching out for your own means everything.
“But it’s Friday,” Allura argued.
Friday nights were milkshake night.
“The diner doesn’t close! Late night shakes are the best.”
“It’s already late night.”
“I’ll pop in and out. You just sit somewhere looking pretty while I collect your money. I’ll be looking pretty, too.”
Her lips twitched, trying not to smile and failing. “See you at the diner, then.”
Shiro’s team went into the Witch’s territory to rescue the kidnapped son while Lance and Allura investigated the ransom money’s location. Everything would be returned to the Holt family. And if the family wanted to let the King keep the ransom money as a thank you, well... That’s just being polite, isn’t it?
Lance dropped Allura off at the Moonstruck Diner, then drove on to the drop location by himself. The spot turned out to be the parking lot of a dinky little shopping center on the bad side of town. He only needed to drive by once to spot the best vantage point. Lance parked his car in the back alley of an apartment complex across the street and quietly crept all the way up the fire escape. On the roof, he found a spot where the shadows could hide him well and got to work assembling his rifle. Clicking the pieces into place was strangely calming work. So was leaning down to look through the eyepiece and preparing to wait.
Unlike Allura, Lance was not untouchable. Far from it.
He didn’t know how long someone had been in the shadows of that rooftop with him, also waiting. A hand clapped over the bottom of Lance’s face, smothering a rag over his mouth and nose. He tried to hold his breath as he was yanked backwards, against a broad chest. That wasn’t much use. He refused to inhale as he struggled, but a massive punch on the side of his head knocked Lance right the fuck out anyway.
A slap to the face brought him back. He winced, clenching his teeth and eyes shut. His arms and legs were numb. His vision was blurred and drowned out by a way too bright lamp swinging right in his eyes, drilling a headache straight through to the back of his head. He was disoriented, but simultaneously adrenalized by a fight-or-flight response. It felt like his nerves were lighting up beneath layers of gauze.
“Hel-lo!” Another slap stung his cheek.
Through the blinding lamplight, a redhead with wide blue eyes came into focus for him. Pretty cute. In the shadows of the room beyond her, Lance spotted three other girls. A huge one, a short-haired one, and… Oh, wait. One’s a guy.
“Look at this, Allura’s dog has left her lap for once,” he drawled.
The redhead giggled. “Nah, he was just fetching her something.”
Lance looked down. His arms and legs were bound several times over.
“Tell us where she’s waiting for you.”
“Pfft,” Lance scoffed.
The girl pinched his chin between two fingers and yanked his face back up. “We have ways of making you ta-alk,” she sing-songed.
“What, slap me again? Jokes on you, I kinda like it.”
Her draw was extraordinary. Some hella Bruce Lee movement, almost too fast for the eye to see. He only realized she’d taken a gun out when he felt the butt of it bash against his cheek hard enough to rattle his teeth. His head snapped to the side with a breathless yelp. Fuck, that hurt. Warmth trickled down the side of his face. It dripped red on the clean shirt he’d changed into.
The girl lifted his chin up with the barrel of the gun, making Lance meet her eyes again. “Keep acting cute and see what happens.”
She smiled, sweet and bubbly. He tasted copper in his mouth. Now, Lance started to get really scared. He had heard of this gang and he knew how ugly interrogations can get. Hell, he’d conducted one himself that same night—which was a trap he walked right into, Lance realized several hours too late. He should’ve listened to Allura instead of rushing off to impress her.
“Let’s bring it back now,” the guy said. “Where is Allura meeting you?”
Lance swallowed, feeling the gun barrel tap his throat as he did. The ropes around his legs were bound too tightly for Lance to move a centimeter. Still, he kept his mouth shut. It was weird. He wasn’t the quiet type. But he could stay quiet. He could hold out. His people would be coming for him. Any minute. Any minute now. Please, fuck, someone had to be coming for him.
The huge girl stepped forward, into the light. “C’mon, let me smash some fingers as a warmup.”
“That’s a start.” From a scabbard Lance had not noticed hanging from the ringleader, Lotor’s, waist until now, he pulled out a freaking sword. How tacky.
Nonetheless, the whisper of it unsheathing made Lance’s blood run cold. His eyes went from the glint of the blade, to the big one’s knuckle cracks, to the quiet one cocking her own gun. A pair of hands slid down his shoulders, almost gentle. From behind, the redhead slipped her fingers beneath his half-buttoned shirt and pulled out a rosary. She twirled the cross in her fingers and hummed. Then, started winding the beads around her hand.
“We got alllll night to play with you,” Ezor cooed, tightening the beads around his neck until it hurt. Until he couldn’t breathe. Until the beads snapped.
.
A neon sign that spelled “Moonstruck” flickered pale blue light across Allura’s face. Throughout the diner, friends and couples chattered loudly, laughed obnoxiously. She was the only one sitting alone.
The whipped cream on top of her milkshake had melted to a white puddle that spilled down the sides of her untouched drink and pooled around the glass base. The waitresses kept looking in her direction with sad, sympathetic expressions. At first, Allura felt embarrassed. Now, she felt afraid.
.
When Lance came back to consciousness, his lungs were filled with smoke. His own coughing had startled him awake. He didn’t know he had blacked out in the first place. How long had he been out?
His eyes opened to plumes of grey drifting across the sky, covering the stars. And a view right up Shiro’s nose. Lance was being carried, apparently. Not gently, either. Shiro was running. Lance’s nerves seemed to wake up a few seconds behind, but the rough jostling sparked them right back to life. In a split second, he went from feeling numb to his bones to feeling like every inch beneath his skin was made of exposed wires rubbing against each other. Lance tried a garbled attempt at screaming a curse, but it sounded more like someone shouting “Fuuuuck!” while tumbling face-first down a flight of stairs.
“Sorry!” Shiro huffed.
It sounded sincere, but that was undercut by the fact that Shiro unapologetically flung him into the open backseat of a car moments later. Lance made a sound like someone screaming “SHIT!” while hurtling face-first down a flight of stairs.
Everything happened in the span of three seconds. Shiro climbed in after Lance and someone else dove in from the other side, smushing him into the middle seat. “Owowowow,” he complained at being shoved to sit upright with absolutely no tenderness. The engine roared and tires screeched against asphalt. The car was already peeling out of there before every open door had slammed shut.
Then silence. Only the sounds of five people panting filled the car. Keith in the driver’s seat, frowning at the road as he weaved around traffic and refused to stop at a single red light. On the passenger side, Allura spun in her seat to look at Lance—or tried to, but something tugged her back.
“Are you—” She whipped back around mid-sentence. “Ah, shit, my skirt’s caught in the door.” She turned again, more carefully this time. “Are you okay?”
The slight wince when she got a proper look at him in between passing streetlamps was a hint that he didn’t look okay. Lance took stock of everything he remembered before passing out. His right leg: fucked. His right fingers: fucked. Both sides of his previously beautiful face: fucked.
And he took stock of new fuck-ups he didn’t remember, so probably happened post-blackout. Most notably, his nose and his shoulder: fucked.
Without waiting for an answer, Allura assured, “We’re taking you to emergency. You’ll be alright.”
“Yeah, well, my lucky necklace broke. Will emergency fix that?” Lance turned to the paladin on his other side in an attempt to include them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized it was not one of them. “WHOA. The fuck is she doing here?”
For the past minute, he’d been literally rubbing elbows with one of the girls from Lotor’s squad.
“Acxa’s a double agent,” Keith chimed in.
“She shot me back there!”
“I grazed you.”
Lance groaned. “Ugh, pedantics.”
“Semantics,” Acxa corrected.
“Ughhh,” he repeated.
At that point, Shiro intervened. “We wouldn’t have known where you were taken if it wasn’t for her. We couldn’t have gotten in, either.”
“Fine, thanks, but I’m just saying—You let me think I was gonna get murdered. I mean, you coulda winked or something!”
“A wink would help?” Acxa asked flatly.
“Uh, yeah! Gimme some hope, y’know.”
“I’m pretty sure Ezor winked at you at some point. And she was definitely going to murder you.”
After a long pause, Lance admitted, “You know what. Touche.”
In the front seat, Allura unzipped a Burberry purse in her lap. Plastic crinkled as she opened a makeup wipe. Lance watched her wipe her hands with it, flickering between darkness and orange light from posts outside. The white towelette came back red.
“Is that mine?” he asked.
“No,” Allura answered, something heavy in her voice.
Another tense silence descended on the car.
Keith was the first to break it. “Do you have any idea what we started?”
No one answered.
Lotor, like Allura, was untouchable. Supposed to be untouchable. Tonight, because of Lance, they broke the one rule between the warring families that was sacred.
Now, all bets would be off. No one and no place would be untouchable. They were in some deep shit.
“Hey. Hey.” Shiro tapped Lance’s cheek, snapping him out of it.
“Wha?”
“Try to stay awake. We’re almost there.”
“I’m awake,” Lance mumbled.
“Don’t close your eyes,” Allura added. “Keep them open. And keep talking.”
“Okayokayokay, um…” Yeah, he was slurring his words. “Turn the radio on.”
Allura leaned forward in her seat to switch the radio on.
She humored him even when he started getting picky with stations, guiding her on the dial. “That sucks, change it. Nope, next. Next. Next—Yes! Right there—I like dollars, I like diamonds, I like stuntin’, I like shinin’—”
Listen. She told him to stay awake and keep talking.
At first, it was Lance jamming by himself and bobbing his head to the extent that he could without disturbing the messed up shoulder. Then Allura swooped in for the pre-chorus. Shiro caved and joined in a couple seconds after she did. The other two kept playing it like they’re too cool for car karaoke, but Lance could see a smirk on Keith’s lips in the rear view mirror. And, up against his side, he felt Acxa chuckle softly right after the three of them barked the first line of the chorus in unison.
Lance still sang beneath his breath even as he was hauled out of the car in the hospital’s driveway.
.
“Can you believe I woulda died without Cardi B?”
All quiet in the diner. It was nearly empty, except for a handful of old timers getting breakfast. A little early for milkshakes, but Lance had a tradition to uphold.
The window behind Allura outlined her in a bright halo of early morning sunshine. “Mhm. You have some nerve, you know.”
Lance raised an eyebrow and took a doubtful slurp of his chocolate and banana shake.
She raised one right back at him. “You stood me up. No one’s ever done that to me.”
“Oh, c’mon. That’s not fair. I was literally taking a bullet for you.”
“She says it grazed you.”
“Come on.” He slumped back in his seat, smiling despite the offended tone in his voice.
It felt nice to act normal. Like things could carry on as always after last night. Lance didn’t even receive a single odd look when he lumbered in on a crutch with his cheek bandaged and lip stitched. The grandpas in the corner booth kept their heads down, politely staring at their bacon and eggs until he and Allura passed. The waitress was warm as always, but she didn’t take her eyes off her notepad when it was Lance’s turn to order.
He thought of when he was young, playing in the schoolyard, pretending to be something he wasn’t. Now, he played with Allura over milkshakes, both pretending they didn’t need to worry about what would come next.