Chapter Text
Prince Maven woke up with a massive migraine.
He flinched at the throbbing sensation on the side of his head, bringing a hand up to scrub at his eye and possibly scrub away the pain. He was no stranger to headaches, but it had been some time since he had experienced one at this level.
He wondered if his mother was awake yet. Often he awoke before her, but maybe she wouldn't mind if he snuck into her room and was pitiful enough to crawl into bed with her. Chances were she'd be mithered from having her sleep disturbed, but she could never stay mad at him for long, not when he knew how to act disarmingly sweet.
"But, Mother," he would say tragically. "My head hurts."
Plus, he could bring her morning coffee to her.
Yes, that sounded like a plan.
As a bonus, maybe he could get out of his routine today, skip training and studies under the impression of suffering a migraine. His mother would be the only one who would know he was lying, since she could fix his head pain as easily as a snap to the fingers, but surely she wouldn’t mind letting him have just one day of rest. He could finally finish that book.
Even better, he could take a pause on all this Queenstrial nonsense for a day. Cal had been trying to punt all of the preparations on him since their father had started pressuring him over it, as though Father hadn’t skipped his own Queenstrial.
The hypocrite.
"I simply can not, brother. My head is killing me," he would say. “Forgive me.” And then he would slam the door in Cal’s face and hide under the covers with his book until supper.
What a relief that would be, to be able to ignore his brother’s complaints, the same complaints he had been enduring for the past several months.
Cal would either whine about one of two things. One, he had no idea which bride to choose from or, two, what did it matter when everyone already knew it was to be the magnetron of House Samos, the scary House, the one that had bred mercy out of their blood generations ago. Then Cal would start fretting about how he was supposed to get along with a family who looked like they were planning on poisoning his wine.
“I’d like to dedicate this toast to my new wife, our Queen of Norta, Evangeline Samos!” Then Cal would swing back the cup and promptly drop dead. Everyone would gasp. Pictures would be snapped.
Despite the agony still pounding away at his head, Maven found himself giggling against his pillow and blankets.
However, then his imagination took him to the next step in that hypothetical situation, where Lady Samos would eye him over the rim of her own glass, knowing that she would be marrying him next. Killing him next.
Maven stopped giggling.
Oh, dear. Nope. Nope, that just would not do. The only thing worse than having Lady Samos as a sister-in-law would be having her as a bride.
His brother had better not die before Maven managed to marry and get out of Lady Samos immediate kill zone.
Still, that meant he would have to listen to his brother’s constant spout of grievances over his new wife and in-laws.
Well, that was just too damn bad. If his brother was going to take the throne he was going to have to put up with the fact that his bride was chosen for him (even though their father had gotten away with it).
Maven was tired of playing therapist and counselor for his brother when he never listened to any of his advice anyway. For once, he just wanted to sit and enjoy the rare little moment where he had something that Cal didn't: the choice to pick the person he wanted to marry.
Although his migraine still had him wincing, Maven eased out of his bed and stretched with pleasant excitement.
Today was shaping up to be quite a nice day, an occasional luxury.
A high-pitched beep went off close to his head and scared his heart into beating faster. He whipped around to see a machine sitting by his bed.
A cord was hooked up to it, traveling up onto the covers until it stopped on his wrist, where it was tied to him.
As though summoned by the beep, Maven’s door flew open.
Wait, no. That wasn’t his door.
He looked around.
In fact, this wasn't even his room. His room was much smaller than this, and that was saying something, considering the prince's quarters were extravagant things. This room, however, was large enough to be the king's quarters.
“Your Majesty,” a Sentinel gasped, then smiled. “It is a relief to see you awake. The healers are on their way. They advised not to move until their arrival.” He paused then, taking in Maven’s expression. “How are you feeling?”
Confused.
“Wait,” Maven began slowly. “What did you just call me?”
For whatever reason, the Sentinel paled considerably. Maven could tell by his expression that he was trying to think of everything he had said since he had entered the room, trying to think of what he had said wrong. It was as though he expected Maven to burn him alive right then and there.
“I...” The Sentinel cleared his throat and stood taller. “I asked how you were feeling, Your Majesty.”
“That!”
The Sentinel flinched, which again, Maven couldn’t understand. None of the men in the royal family were all that scary. The only one people ever shied away from was his mother.
“Why are you calling me that?” he demanded. The title Majesty was reserved only for—
“I apologize, my king. If there is something else you wish to be addressed, I will do so right away.”
For several long, uncomfortable seconds, Maven just stared at him, unblinkingly.
The Sentinel shifted in the doorway. “...My king?”
Finally, Maven located his vocabulary.
“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked as he tried to speak. He cleared his throat, blinked his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “What?”