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Yuuri wasn’t looking forward to cleaning the onsen, but he was even less thrilled about informing its current occupants that they would need to leave. There would be compensation, of course, but Yuuri knew that there would be uproar and bloviating and gnashing of teeth, and he would have to take it. It was this part of the job he really hated—interacting with others, especially the wealthy patrons who stood so high above his station. Disdain dripped from their scowling mouths at the slightest inconvenience, and as the owner of the onsen, Yuuri never heard the end of even the slightest problem.
It was becoming too much. The mounting imbalance in his ledger, which was accumulating far more minuses than pluses these days, was enough on its own. But Yuuri had put too much of himself into Aramoor Yu-topia—tears, sweat, years of his life—to suffer spiteful remarks, upturned noses, and unreasonable demands. It must have been nice, being able to push around those who were smaller, the vulnerable masses on whose shoulders the lucky few stood.
Unfortunately, Yuuri would never know any different. His estate was his for life, and his shoulders were aching and strained from the weight of maintaining its upkeep and its reputation.
He used to love the onsen, back when it was his family home, his safe haven—the most magical and relaxing shelter. He took joy in caring for it and in sharing it with others. Now the onsen was a reminder of how every day his efforts fell short, left him exhausted and ashamed and hopeless. Yuuri resented it.
He held his breath for half a moment, gathering his wits and preparing for the worst.
“Excuse me,” he called out, sliding open the screen that leads to the onsen, “it’s time to clean out the basin. I’m sorry for the trouble.”
There was a tinkling of water being displaced and a rustle of movement as a single patron stepped out of the bath—a young man with slender hips whose skin gleamed soft and smooth in the sunlight and whose hair shone in dark, opalescent strands that cascaded over his face, thick and damp like long grass still touched by morning dew. He had a celestial air about him. Nutmeg-honey eyes blinked up at him accompanied by a subtle gasp, the parting of lips too soft to be a villager’s, and then…
“I cannot say I could have expected anything quite like this,” came the magnetic stranger’s gentle voice, his face breaking into a relaxed smile . “Sincerest apologies are in order if I have in any way overstayed my welcome. I shall take my leave posthaste.” He pushed his black bangs back and off of his forehead with one hand while reaching for the basket of linens with the other.
“We have private baths in the east hall,” Yuuri mumbled, lowering his gaze as the patron patted himself dry, “or you can join us in the dining room for a complimentary meal as a symbol of our gratitude.”
“A fool would return to the bath if he could take a free meal in its place,” the guest mused, stepping into hose that Yuuri couldn’t help but notice were much finer than the shabby tunic with which they were worn. By now the onsen-keeper could distinguish the telltale lilt of a nobleman’s parlance, and it wasn’t difficult to spot fine textiles. It wasn’t unusual for lords to seek the comfort of the natural springs, nor was this a part of the village where one would have to worry about unwanted attention from scoundrels or thieves. So why was this man so clearly in disguise?
“Say,” the puzzling patron said suddenly, “it wouldn’t be too bold to presume you possess a looking glass, would it?”
Yuuri shook his head silently. As if he could afford to be concerned with his looks. “My apologies,” he mumbled dumbly.
“Have you ever gazed into your reflection in the water, spring-keeper?”
The man beckoned him closer until they were side by side. He flinched as his guest reached a manicured hand toward his face, but relaxed as the wire spectacles were pulled off his nose. Squinting slightly, he followed the other man’s lead and knelt at the edge of the pool. The waters seemed to glow in the morning sun, and in a patch of shade the two men could just see themselves reflected in the gentle waters.
“Scrying, quiet reflection—they can enlighten you to truths previously untold, open new worlds of possibility,” the stranger murmured, peering down in the water. “Tell me, spring-keeper, what do you see?”
Yuuri was about to say that he would need his glasses to determine what it was he was supposed to be seeing. As it were, he could see himself, double-exposed on the glassy surface of the pool. Though no matter how he tried to adjust his squint, he could not correct his diplopia.
The patron laughed, and one of the Yuuris in the pool laughed with him.
“You’re thinking too hard,” they said in unison. “Consider that you and I have found ourselves in the midst of a chance meeting, a once-in-a-lifetime experience that could occasion a most interesting opportunity.” The man gestured a hand down in a sweeping motion, a signal mirrored by the Yuuri on the left. “There are two of us, and two men reflected. Thus…?”
“ You … You look like me,” Yuuri blurted, eliciting a charmed chuckle from his apparent double next to him.
“Quite unexpected, but serendipitous all the same,” grinned the guest, his eyes alight with wonderment. “One would be remiss to chance upon their doppelgänger and not inquire as to his name.”
It took a moment for Yuuri to answer, still gawking down at their faces in the spring. There truly were no discernable differences between them, from their round, dark irises to the angle of their respective jaws.
“Spring-keeper?”
Yuuri shook his head. “Sorry… Yuuri. Of the House of Katsuki.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Yuuri Katsuki,” the guest said with a nod. He planted a foot into the smooth stone and pushed to his feet, loosing a scroll from the folds of his tunic as he did. Yuuri managed to catch it before it tumbled into the pool, but not before it unrolled at his feet.
An ornate crest was illustrated in shimmering ink: a shield wreathed in coriander blossoms and mauve carnations. The phases of the moon spanned its upper edge. Inscribed in ornate letters, “Si vis amari ama” was etched. Above the shield was a jeweled diadem. At each of its sides, an angel: one male and one female.
There was not a soul in Aramoor that did not know this crest. But Yuuri realized in horror as his new acquaintance stooped to retrieve his scroll that he was looking upon the single iteration of that image that was not meant for the public eye, not meant for him in any capacity.
Laying in front of him was the royal seal of the Amare. Which meant that standing in front of him was—
“Prince Eros?!” Yuuri stammered, clambering back. He scrambled to his knees, bowing so hurriedly that his forehead struck the ground. “Your Highness. My apologies, I didn’t—”
“Now now,” the prince chided. “Don’t you think if I was dissatisfied with your actions, I would have addressed it sooner? On your feet, Yuuri Katsuki.”
Yuuri complied, his heart pounding in his chest. This was the prince of Aramoor? This man, whose face was exactly like Yuuri’s in every way… was the man renowned as the most lovely and elusive member of the royal family. The one sought after by suitors from kingdoms far and wide.
And Yuuri’s exact double in face and figure.
“If you’re concerned with pleasing the likes of royalty, then you’ll show me where the dining room is, and enjoy a meal with me before we part ways,” Prince Eros says coyly. “I have a proposition that may interest you.”
There was nothing Yuuri could have done to prepare himself for this. That morning, not even the most skillful soothsayer could have convinced him that he would finish out his day by strolling without confrontation through the front gates of the Palace Amare. However, Prince Eros had begged for the opportunity to live a life unexamined, marveling at the mundanity of operating Aramoor’s last lonely bath house. Maybe it was his inescapable charm, maybe it was the command of his divine authority, or maybe Yuuri really was so desperate to escape the trials of his disenchanted life that he’d do anything. Whatever the cause, Yuuri had agreed to entrust the hot spring to the prince, and as the sun set over Aramoor, he found himself wandering through the royal palace’s ornate gardens dressed in the same fine hosiery he’d puzzled over earlier that day.
By some providence, he was here—he was a prince.
“Eros Eroica Amare, where on earth have you been!?”
Well… even princes had to answer to somebody, Yuuri supposed. A young man was marching toward him in vestments of crimson and gold, a scroll clutched in one fist a scowl twisting his handsome face.
“You were due in your private chambers three hours ago to be dressed,” the man snapped, jabbing with his finger back toward the palace. “I know Your Highness is less than pleased about tonight’s proceedings, but for gods’ sake, can’t we make it through just one of these meetings unscathed?”
“Ah… yes. Thank… Thank you. Uh, forsooth, ” Yuuri mumbled, trying to straighten his shoulders like he had seen the prince do earlier. The young man shot him a wary side-eye.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked incredulously. Yuuri could hear in his voice that he was choking back a giggle, realizing far too late that he must have sounded like an absolute fool. What was he doing? Speaking with nobles was a part of his everyday dealings. He wasn’t entirely unversed in high speech, even if he’d never used it himself.
“Phichit, I—” Yuuri paused, swallowing hard as he tried to think fast. “I need your help to get through… tonight’s proceedings,” he said slowly, trying to draw out his vowels in that uncanny and effortless way Eros had. “I’m afraid I feel quite faint.”
To his surprise, Phichit’s face broke into a sympathetic smile. “Well I suppose that’s only natural when your suitor is the Crown Prince Nikiforov himself,” he sighed somewhat dreamily. “I understand the pressure is high. If you’re feeling ill, look to me and I’ll guide you, my dearest friend.”
Yuuri could feel the sweat beginning to pool at the back of his neck. “Can we practice while I dress?” he asked nervously. “Suddenly, I feel as though I know nothing at all.”
Two days later, Yuuri sat, drenched with sweat and on the verge of tears, in front of a court divided.
There was little he could remember clearly about what had gotten him to this point. He’d met with the honorable Nikiforovs, playing ill with the help of his devoted aide Phichit as he stared down the most beautiful man he could have ever dreamed of laying eyes on. If man were made of marble, and if marble shimmered with the promise of gold, that must have been what the Crown Prince of Piter was made of. His hair looked like the finest-spun silk, his eyes like twin pale moons eclipsed by a burning, persistent gaze that never seemed to be directed anywhere else.
What Yuuri knew was that he’d grown increasingly nervous during the ball and he’d sought comfort in the providence of their kingdom’s endless supply of distilled drink. What he later learned was that sometime before morning, the Crown Prince’s younger brother had overheard him confessing his true identity.
In any case, Prince Eros sat to his right, equally nervous if not a little more poised, his beauty only magnified now that he had returned to his full regalia. To Eros’ right, Phichit sat silently raging. To Yuuri’s left, Prince Viktor was simply silent, though behind the partition he let his fingers brush along the back of Yuuri’s hand shamelessly. Never before had Yuuri felt something so carelessly intimate. He had to fight not to betray the needles and pins plaguing him wherever Viktor touched.
Yuuri felt sick from all of the deception. Perhaps, if it had been his idea and not the whims of some charming royal who bore his likeness, Yuuri would have felt less defensive about the whole matter. But how could he have denied a Prince such a favor, especially when he had already been yearning for an escape? The guilt roiling in his gut was positively damning.
Eros was handsome and desirable. Yuuri was a lowly shopkeeper fighting from day to day to make ends meet. And so when the Crown Prince Viktor Nikiforov of the kingdom of Piter laid eyes on Yuuri, he did so with all of the expectations of one who thought they were meeting the land’s most-sought-after bachelor. By simply looking like Eros, Yuuri had been misleading. He wanted to shrink away, to change his face, anything that would have freed him from the tense atmosphere in the ornate ballroom where, just two evenings ago now, he’d allegedly committed treason against the Amare name and the entire kingdom of Aramoor.
A woman with short-cropped hair and wearing a man’s doublet looked down her nose at him from a chair positioned high above the court. The Crown Princess Mari Philia Amare was severe and intimidating, and the heir apparent to the Amare throne. Yuuri already knew from the tirade he’d overheard when Eros returned the previous afternoon the outrage their stunt had sparked in the future Queen of Aramoor. However, the fire and brimstone that had already rained down on him and Eros in private was nowhere to be found in the public court, where Mari silently raised a sheet of parchment and began to read her list of charges.
“His Royal Highness, Prince of Aramoor Eros Eroica Amare, you are hereby charged with high treason by abdication in absentia of the title of Prince of Aramoor, conspiracy with a commoner including granting unauthorized access to closed royal affairs, and unauthorized removal of the royal seal from the royal palace for personal benefit. Ho--”
“Guilty,” Prince Eros interrupted. “Mari, I--”
“Mr. Yuuri of Katsuki, spring-keeper of Aramoor, you are hereby charged with treason by impersonation of a royal figure and infiltration of closed royal affairs. How do you plead?”
“Guilty,” Yuuri croaked. Viktor squeezed his hand lightly. How deeply Yuuri wished they hadn’t met. Viktor’s touch was reassuring but puzzling. After all, what royalty would pursue him? How could Yuuri believe that the past day, spent laying in the grass with the Crown Prince and his poodle, had even happened without assuming that his identity still remained a secret?
“His Royal Highness, Crown Prince of Piter Viktor Vasilyevich Nikiforov, you are hereby charged with high treason by informed conspiracy with a man impersonating a royal figure and failure to report mishandling of the law even as it was reported directly to you. Your plea?”
“With all due respect, Your Highness, I hardly think that a bit of care and human decency should count as---”
“His Royal Highness will kindly state His plea,” the Crown Princess repeated.
“Guilty, I suppose,” Viktor hummed.
“Thank you,” Princess Mari said coldly. “Mr. Phichit of Chulanont, equerry and first hand to the royal Prince of Aramoor, you are hereby charged with treason by uninformed conspiracy with a man impersonating a royal figure. State your plea.”
“Mari, this is not fair!” Eros interjected suddenly, standing from his seat beneath the lectern. “I deceived Phichit myself, for selfish reasons. He was only upholding his duty to the court. And what commoner would turn down the opportunity to be royalty, even for a day?” he added. “Another bit of leverage of my own devising, I am afraid.”
To Yuuri’s surprise, Viktor stood as well. “I’d like to testify on behalf of the spring-keeper as well,” he said solemnly. “His identity was confessed to me in private, in confidence, because in this wretched game of court he was left feeling vulnerable and scared. If my meddling brother hadn’t made our affairs his business--”
“An affair!” the young Prince Yuri spat from the court. “See, Your Highness? He said…”
Princess Mari sighed, bringing two fingers to her pursed lips and emitting an ear-splitting whistle.
“This is all quite messy business,” she announced, the weariness growing in her voice, “but I see no malice outside of my brother’s royal stupidity . Prince Eros, should you choose to carry out your abdication, you will face banishment from Aramoor. If you choose to continue to uphold your title and duty to your kingdom, you will no longer be subject to courtship and will serve only your country. What do you choose?”
“All I’ve wanted is to stay with you and serve our kingdom, my dear Mari,” Eros said with a smile. “I have no interest in even the most honorable of monarchs. I will stay.”
“So it will be,” Mari said with the slightest of smiles. “Mr. Katsuki. A fair share of courtiers would be saddened to see our kingdom’s last spring closed down. You would do well to return to your post.”
Yuuri bowed his head. “Y-yes, Your Highness,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m going with him,” Viktor said, the abruptness in his voice startling. “I...I hope it isn’t too bold to say, dear Yuuri, but from your drunken dancing to your kind demeanor, you have shown me a taste of life and love that I have never known in these dreary courts.” He turned back to the court. “I am sure the throne of Piter will be safe in the hands of my dear Yura. Eros has had his taste of an unexamined life, and if such a life could be shared with such a lovely and inspiring person…” He gazed back and Yuuri. “Will you have me?”
“You really would?” Yuuri asked breathlessly. “You would give this all away?”
“In an instant.”
The hand outstretched in his direction was fair and slender. The eyes that pleaded with him to say ‘yes’ sparkled azure in the afternoon sun that spilled in through high windows all around them. There was nothing in the world that could convince Yuuri to turn this man down, even after all that had happened. Because of all that had happened, there was only one true answer.
“Don’t assume royal blood will excuse you from cleaning duties,” he said with a smile.
Viktor threw his arms around Yuuri, strong and warm with a smell that brought him straight back to the grassy hillside. “Anything, Yuuri, anything at all,” he said.