Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The tradition of the Glass Ball, if the Esteemed Reader is not currently aware, is a very old one. It originated in the reign of King George I., during a rather disastrous affair involving the Crown Prince's treacherous adoptive brother, as well as his childhood love.

Allow us to elaborate.

Once upon a time, the Crown Prince, Jonathan, when he was but a boy, loved a girl as quick-witted as the running brook, as gentle as birdsong, and as beautiful as the summer moon. And she loved the Prince as well, and there was no question in their hearts that, one day, they would marry each other.

Until Lord Dio, stricken by a bout of terrible envy, disgraced sweet Lady Erina's family and caused their banishment into exile and poverty; and over the years, Prince Jonathan grew so despondent that the king, unknowing of what else to lift his son's spirits with, called a royal ball, where he was to choose a bride.

He called together all the fairest and wisest and kindest of maidens in all the realms, to present themselves before the Prince, so that he may find love once more in their smiles.

But the Court Mage, a Baron of the Zeppeli family, knew of Dio's treachery, and that Jonathan's heart belonged to one maiden alone; and so, disguising himself by the power of his Hamon magic, he flew to the farthest corner of the kingdom, where the Pendletons now lived in rags and ashes, and offered young Erina three chances to see her love once more: one for each night of the ball.

And when she said she had no fine dresses to be permitted entry, and no horse to carry her there, the Baron grew her a dress from the flowers in the field, and turned a frog from the riverbed into a noble steed.

And when she said she could not ride in bare feet, the sand rose up to form glass slippers that shone and sparkled with pure magic.

Erina thanked him with all her heart; and when the Baron warned her that his magic would hold only until the stroke of midnight, she vowed to always return home in time.

All she hoped for was to see her love thrice more, and pray for his happiness every day thereafter.

So she went to the ball, her face all but unknown to the nobles there - it had been all of seven years since her family had fled the castle - including the Prince; but so enchanting to him nonetheless, that he danced with her all night, seeing, perhaps, a glimpse of the girl he had loved beneath the magic.

And as the clock struck eleven, the mysterious princess - for, surely, she could be nothing less - made her farewells to him, and rode back, just in time for the spell to wane as she reached her home once more.

The same took place on the second night, and the Prince danced with her until eleven, and she reached home as midnight struck.

But the third night, Dio Brando, disgusted by his brother's happiness and feeling the magic radiate off her, devised a cunning plan; and set all the clocks in the castle one hour back.

And Erina came to the palace one last time, and Jonathan danced with her all night with budding love in his eyes.

Only, when she readied herself to make her excuses once more, she felt the flowers that were her dress wilt, and the magic leave her.

And Dio crowed with delight, you thought it was only eleven, but SEE! It is midnight!, laughing cruelly at the fear in her eyes, and the haste with which she ripped herself from Jonathan's arms, fleeing the castle 'ere he might see the dirty rags that were her true garments, and know her for a disgraced now-peasant girl.

But Baron Zeppeli once more had an ace up his sleeve; to counteract Dio's treachery, he had cast a sticking spell on the steps, so that, in her flight, Erina might be stopped and Jonathan could profess his love to her.

Only, he underestimated the girl's terror - all that was eventually found by Captain Speedwagon, head of the Prince's royal guard, was a single glass slipper.

And that might've been the end of it.

But Jonathan I. of the Joestars was not so easily deterred.

He toured the entirety of his kingdom with the glass slipper, searching for the girl whose foot it might fit.

And when he did…

When he did, he cared little for her poverty or her family's shame.

He cared only that he loved her, and she loved him.

And they lived happily ever after.

"Love," Guard Captain Kakyoin Noriaki sings softly (and only a hint mockingly) "is iiiiin the aaaaair…"

"Shut up." Prince Jotaro, unsurprisingly, is not amused. Kakyoin is usually better at coaxing a smile out of him, but today, his expression might as well be made of stone.

"Oh, but, my liege!" Kakyoin grins, bowing deeply and reverently. "I intend no mockery, am merely delighted by your impending matrimon-"

Jotaro punches him. But gently.

Kakyoin leans against him, cackling; and if his fingers dig into Jotaro's shoulder a bit too tightly, the Prince is kind enough not to mention it.

Kakyoin, for the Esteemed Reader’s information, has been serving the royal family faithfully since he was a little boy, and rather intends to continue to do so for the rest of his life.

It's a good job for a commoner, being captain of the Prince's personal guard. You get paid better than most minor nobles at court, with the promise of some land and maybe a title if you do your job well.

Plus, and this is just Kakyoin's personal opinion, it's honestly worth it just for being allowed to stay at the Prince's side 24/7 (and then some, if any time-slowing spells are in effect.)

Jotaro Kujo-Joestar (First of his Name, Prince of the Realm, Heir of the Starlit Kingdom and all that) is princely in more than just name. He's brave, noble, intelligent, an absolute riot if you like his particular sense of humour (which nobody except Kakyoin seems to get, but that's alright) and handsome.

So handsome.

Like, unfairly handsome.

(Kakyoin has seen his abs. They're a crime against nature.

But at least they're mostly concealed, unlike Jotaro's face, which he just parades about where everyone can see. Indecent, is what it is!)

He's spent years being Jotaro's constant shadow, and has yet to ever grow sick of him - and if being the only one to consistently be the cause of Jotaro's little smirks is any indication, then the Prince is reasonably fond of him, as well.

As far as Kakyoin is concerned, nothing EVER has to change. He will be at Jotaro's side while Jotaro goes through his royal duties, entertain him with little bits of knowledge he's picked up from the royal library's books (he has a lot of time to read during Jotaro's various etiquette lessons) and…

And there's no need for Jotaro to take a wife at all, tradition be damned!

Which, regrettably, doesn't change the fact that Jotaro will take one. Kakyoin's wishes and opinions, for all that he is the Prince's closest confidante, count for pitiably little.

(The Esteemed Reader might, at this point, ask if Kakyoin has, perhaps, a little crush on the man he is charged to guard with his life.

We must inform them that this is an absolutely preposterous thought, and also perfectly unfounded. A crush? An infatuation? Love, perish the very thought?

No, no, there's absolutely none of that!

…

...and if it were otherwise.

Well.

Jotaro will be married to whoever is chosen during the Glass Ball, as per tradition.

Which makes any sort of superfluous feelings absolutely pointless, and it would be better if they didn't exist at all.

So, if there was, hypothetically, anyone who harboured a tender pash or two for the Prince, they'd do well to make light of it and smile through the pain of watching him ripped away from them.

Theoretically.

Not that there is anyone currently in that position, of course.)

The reason for Jotaro’s tense demeanour, and for Kakyoin’s repeated attempts at levity to cheer him up, is quite simple.

Ever since the beautiful and heartwarming love story that is the marriage of Good King Jonathan to the Radiant Lady Erina, who was both a loving wife to him, and a beloved Queen to the realm, the Joestar family has put their full trust in magic when it comes to matters of romance.

Mage-Baron Zeppeli spent years of his life crafting the perfect spell to replicate the events of those fateful three nights, magic to search out the perfect spouse and dress them in beautiful garb, so that they may attend the Glass Ball and either fall in love with the young royal, or be affirmed in the love they already hold for each other. Effective, infallible, and rather romantic to boot - to have the reigning monarch unhappily married might open up all kinds of political implications, so, for the good of the realm, the royals have the privilege of a guaranteed perfect match.

Traditionally, the Glass Ball is held the summer after the young heir turns twenty-one years of age - and since Crown Prince Jotaro has celebrated said birthday earlier this year, the time for his Glass Ball is now at hand.

An occasion of great mirth, Kakyoin has been informed… but Jotaro has been quite extraordinarily dour about the prospect of finding his One True Love, nevertheless.

(Kakyoin’s own feelings on the matter are a great deal more complicated, and he has been spending a good amount of his free time the last few months skillfully ignoring them.

It’s not like they matter much, anyway. He too will have a role to play in this mock drama, as the current holder of Guard Captain Speedwagon’s position, and tradition demands he fulfil that role, rather than…

Well.

There are many things he’d rather do.

And all of them utterly unacceptable.)

“Your face will get stuck like that, you know.” Kakyoin tries again, smoothing a thumb over Jotaro’s brow. “And wouldn’t it be unfortunate, to have your intended meet you with a scowl on your face? Let’s try a smile. Go on.”

“Kakyoin.” Jotaro very pointedly scowls harder. “Do you have nothing better to do?”

Kakyoin does, in fact, not.

His main tasks for the day are setting up the guard schedule for the first night of the Glass Ball - which he has already done - and then escorting the Prince to wherever he wishes or needs to go, the same task he has been dutifully carrying out since he was old enough to hold a sword and know which end of it to stick attackers with.

His unofficial job description, however, also extends to serving as companion to the Prince, giving friendly advice, reminding him of his schedule, as well as, yes, trying his very best to manage Jotaro’s moods, which no amount of taking on royal responsibilities has ever managed to fully eradicate.

“Nothing whatsoever, I’m afraid.” Kakyoin shrugs, wandering over to the side table and picking a handful of cherries from amid a bowl of fruits. “There’s this spoiled young royal I have to babysit at all times, of course, but that hardly constitutes something better, does it.”

“You’re a terrible friend.”

“Correction: only friend.”

There. A flash of a smirk. Kakyoin’s still got it.

“To my great misfortune, yes.” Jotaro grumbles, but it’s fond, and a little amused. “Did you know, half of the visiting nobles sooner or later discreetly ask me if I’m going to have you thrown into the stocks for your insolence.”

“Do they, now?” Kakyoin cocks his head to one side. “And, will you? Throw me in the stocks?”

“I’m sorely tempted at times.” Jotaro admits, half-smirking again.

“Well, I’d prefer if you worked through your anger towards me in other ways.” Kakyoin gracefully ignores his own potential innuendo, throwing the last of the cherries into his mouth and striding over to the cabinet that holds Jotaro’s swords, pulling out Star Platinum in its deep purple sheath, running his fingers over the star-shaped diamond set into the hilt. “We’ve still an hour until the spell is to be fabricated, and I can see you’re close to breaking something from agitation.”

Kakyoin throws the sword in Jotaro’s direction, watching one of his hands shoot out to catch it easily.

(He’s not even looking. Surely, he must be doing these things on purpose, unfairly attractive bastard.)

“Mock duel, first blood counts, best out of three?”

Jotaro considers the sword for a moment.

“You’re on.” He nods, and follows Kakyoin to the training courtyard.

(As stoically handsome as the Prince is when glowering out from underneath the golden circlet resting on his brow, Kakyoin is a great deal more fond of the wild grins during their duels, which is when the brooding, serious royal makes way to just plain Jotaro, a fierce, determined fighter possessed of deadly precision and strength to match Kakyoin’s nimble elegance, glowing with delight whenever he masters another trick.

And for all that Kakyoin is a competitive soul, he cannot begrudge Jotaro his well-earned victories - not if they come with that triumphant grin he lov- likes so well.)

The spell itself is a simple affair, with little frills attached.

After spending a good hour trying to stab each other in the courtyard, Kakyoin escorts Jotaro - whose mood steadily sours the further they get - to Court Mage Avdol's chambers, where the man himself and the Queen are already waiting, then stands respectfully near the door while Avdol readies his magic, pleasantly chatting to Holly and asking Jotaro a few perfunctory questions about what sort of spouse he would prefer, all of which are answered with sullen shrugs, and a mumble of "whatever girl the spell thinks is right for me".

Makes sense, in a way, that Jotaro would trust the spell wholly and fully. He's never shown much interest in the young ladies at court, more annoyed than anything by the way they fawn over him, and magic is quite literally Jotaro's best shot at finding a girl he can stand being married to. No point in being more picky than that. Whether he voices his desires or not, his bride will be absolutely perfect for him, after all.

Kakyoin looks away as half of the spell settles in Jotaro's heart, and makes it a point not to watch its counterpart whiz out into the world, to seek out the Prince's Fated Other.

"Splendid!" Queen Holly claps her hands together, and beams gratefully at Mage Avdol. "Time to host a ball, then!"

She grabs her son's arm and drags him along, ignoring his mutterings of "good grief" and chattering about decorations, and how excited she is to meet the mother of her grandchildren.

Kakyoin trails after them a little slower, rubbing at his eyes, which appear to be, for some inexplicable reason, burning very slightly.

The wheels of fated love have been set in motion, now. The Glass Ball will be held, and there’s nothing he, nor anyone else, can do about it.

(It's absolutely ridiculous, of course, but as he retires to his room to change into his parade uniform for the first night of the Glass Ball, Kakyoin… well. He hopes.

He knows the story, everybody does, of the humble bard Sadao Kujo who came to the castle to play at the ball, only to find glass shoes on his bed at the inn.

And though he knows that the spell Avdol devised is geared towards female-identifying persons only (which Kakyoin is very much not, for all his hourglass figure and luscious hair), he has this last, desperate morsel of hope that fate will be kind, and out of all the eligible young things in the realm, it'll be him attending the Glass Ball as the Prince's intended.

Fate isn't kind.

Fate never is.)

"We need to get going, Your Highness," Kakyoin tells Jotaro's back, stiff under his princely coat, finer and more costly than usual, all heavy, rich cloth and brocade suitable for this momentous occasion.

"...don't call me that." Jotaro responds, not looking at him. He's staring out the window, at the throngs of people flowing into the castle, excited for a feast, even if they now know they have no chance to win the Prince's hand.

(Poor sods. Kakyoin can relate.)

"Why not?" Kakyoin frowns. "It's your title."

"It is." Jotaro confirms evenly. "But you only call me 'Your Highness' when you're mad at me."

"Do I?" Kakyoin smiles wryly. "Then maybe I should start generally being a bit more respectful towards my Prince, shouldn't I." Now that he is to be married and respectable.

There's something strange about the slant of Jotaro's (very nice) shoulders. They look hunched, like he's trying to curl into himself, some heavy weight bearing down on him.

"I'm Jotaro to you." He finally mutters, so low under his breath that Kakyoin hardly hears it. "Now and always."

Kakyoin doesn't know what his face does at that. Likely something unbecoming and terribly telling, which Jotaro must never, ever see.

“I am pleased to hear that,” Kakyoin says, with his voice barely even wavering, and it’s a monumental understatement. It makes him feel like stars being born and dying in his chest in the span of seconds, to know he will always be… always…

Get a grip, Captain. This is foolishness. It doesn’t even mean half of what you want it to.

Jotaro finally turns to him, and for a moment, looks terribly, painfully lost, and as if he is about to say something, something important, something difficult…

And then, suddenly, he’s not, that complicated expression wiped so thoroughly from his countenance that Kakyoin half believes he imagined it.

“Let’s get this over with, then.” He huffs, tugging uncomfortably at his collar, and strides over to the door. “You coming, Kakyoin?”

“Right behind you, Your High- Jotaro.” As I always and forever will be.

(Art by BaconnEggs)

“Good people, hear me: I hereby declare that the Glass Ball has now begun!” Queen Holly calls out from the dais, radiant and joyful, her arms spread wide as if to embrace the cheering crowd. “May we all find happiness and love abound in the coming nights, and banish all sorrows to the most faraway corners of the realm! Make merry, my friends - for all that my son is to meet his One True Love tonight, it’s no true feast if no other joy is had!”

The people cheer, and clap, and wave the trailing ends of their sleeves in the air, their disappointment over not being the Prince’s beloved long since gone up in smoke at the sight of banquet tables heaped with delicacies and the ballroom alight with magical glow. It is a grand and fanciful thing, the Glass Ball, and everyone's invited, the lords and ladies in the crowd cheerfully mingling with common folk in their Sunday Best.

Kakyoin has attended balls before, of course, always a dutiful step behind the Prince, more often than not whispering into Jotaro’s ear as they pass through the crowd together, him thoughtfully nodding and humming at every snide remark Kakyoin makes about the assembled crowd’s political affairs. Mostly dreadfully boring, except for the few outliers that semi-randomly serve as cover for an assassination attempt, and bordering on run-of-the-mill after you’ve stood through a dozen or more of them.

But the Glass Ball is different.

Was always going to be different, Kakyoin had known it in the very core of his bones, because this is the night that everything changes. This is the only ball that ever truly matters, and all the attending know it too.

There’s a hesitancy to it, a spark of tension in the air. They’re all waiting for the guest of honour, the true reason they’re all gathered here, and until she arrives, the festivities have not truly begun.

On any other occasion, Jotaro would by now be weaving through the crowds to make polite introductions with visiting nobles, courteously ask for a dance or two, before attempting to become one with the wall and look stoic and princely enough to deter people from speaking to him for anything less than important matters of the realm; but today, he stands motionless on the dais, scanning the crowd, and waiting.

(“You’ll know her at a glance”, the Queen had promised. Kakyoin kind of wishes Jotaro would never know her at all, glance or not.)

The minutes tick by, the sun inching closer to the horizon.

“What if she’s not coming.” Jotaro murmurs under his breath, throwing a glance over at Kakyoin. “What the Hell do I do then?”

“She will come.” Kakyoin raises one eyebrow. “She’d be mad not to.”

(Mad, to refuse what I would KILL to have.)

“This is all madness either way.” Jotaro’s eyes are wider than normal, and his hands are clenched tightly behind his back. “A ridiculous custom, from start to finish. I should’ve refused to do this.”

It’s subtle, but Kakyoin knows this man inside and out, so of course he can tell - his Prince is scared. Terrified, almost. But of what? The girl never showing… or her arrival?

“Oh, Jotaro…” Kakyoin sighs, reaching out to pat his arm. “Everyone gets cold feet when they’re about to meet their One True Love. So does she, perhaps. It’ll be alright, you’ll see. And if this is a ploy to get me to take you back to your rooms, it will not work, you hear?”

“It’s been nearly an hour.” A muscle in Jotaro’s jaw jumps, his hands opening and closing to fists again. “She’s not coming.”

“Oh, listen to yourself! It’s still early in the evening, there’s hours yet-”

“Kakyoin.” Jotaro interrupts, and he really must be terrified, for there is something wild and desperate and reckless in his eyes. “She’s not- it doesn’t-”

A hand, held out almost as if… if…

(No, it cannot be. Prince Jotaro would never ask his captain of the guard for a dance, in front of all his people, at the Glass Ball, of all times!

Impossible.

Perfectly impossible.

Wishful thinking at best.)

“Instead… would you like to-?”

And it is then, of course, that a gasp ripples through the crowd, and all the tense, expectant atmosphere breaks in a flash.

She’s come, after all.

A slender figure standing at the open gates, in a dress of gold and pearl-white silk, glowing as the setting sun behind her sets the sky aflame with colours.

There’s a spelled veil covering her face, and her footsteps ring out sweetly, glass slippers perfectly molded to her feet and chiming like little bells as she gracefully strides to the centre of the ballroom. There can be no doubt about it - this is the Prince’s true love, chosen amongst thousands of others to be the future queen.

Kakyoin thought this moment would hurt, hurt as if his heart is being scraped out of his chest, but in truth, all he feels is a strange numbness.

(Most likely, the pain will come after.)

There is a long silence, Jotaro still and unmoving.

“Go to her, idiot,” Kakyoin hisses under his breath, not looking at Jotaro. He can’t. If he sees Jotaro stare at this girl as if transfixed, enraptured by her perfection, he might genuinely need to break something.

(Worse, perhaps, if he looks at her with that helpless fear still in his eyes, and Kakyoin will have to live with the fact that, were it not for him, Jotaro might have run and never even spoken to her... for better or worse.)

Another silence.

And then Jotaro steps forward, haltingly, descends the steps of the dais, his cloak trailing behind him, approaching the beauty in the middle of the ballroom floor.

He has to bow down low to kiss her hand, she looks almost dainty beside him - near everyone does, even Kakyoin, who would think himself tall if not for the Prince providing a sobering contrast - and her curtsy is simple and elegant.

Words are exchanged, too quiet to hear, and too far away to read off their lips, even if the girl in the glass slippers were not still wearing her near-translucent veil.

And then… then they dance.

(Ah. Yes. There’s the pain, setting in.

Kakyoin clenches his jaw, breathes through it, and tries to ignore the mild burning in his eyes, too, while he’s at it.)

They dance, and Kakyoin tries very hard not to think, letting his mind wander, and listening to the hushed and not-so-hushed gossip around him.

Some ridiculous rumours about the Count of Passione having vampire blood running through his veins, and talk about a string of murders in the Moriohcho provinces that Kakyoin may need to follow up on. Two nobles arguing over a cook called Tonio, both of them insisting they saw him first and have more right to hire him than the other. Gossip about a famous tourney champion who had suffered a grievous injury that had taken the use of his legs, now learning to ride again, with the help of a surgeon from a faraway realm. And...

“Oh, what a gorgeous couple! Don’t they look beautiful together?”

...a lot of this kind of drivel.

Not that they are wrong, of course. Kakyoin is only too well aware of Jotaro’s attractive countenance, and as for the girl..

Of course she is beautiful. Of course

She is ever so radiant in golden garments heavy and dripping with spellwork that will inevitably make her appear to be the most gorgeous creature of them all to all attendees - safe the royal, naturally, who sees their intended exactly the way they are, and will find them beyond compare nonetheless.

Kakyoin watches the glimmer of half-illusions hovering around the mystery girl's form, and wonders idly what it is that Jotaro sees when he looks at her.

It's not very charitable towards the future queen of the realm, of course, but it gives Kakyoin some sinister, guilty satisfaction to imagine her plain and oh, what the Hell, pox-ridden, too, with two left hands and more warts than teeth in her mouth.

Perhaps he should be ashamed to be harbouring such ugly, petty thoughts towards a girl who, in all likelihood, is sweet and kind and perfect all around; but if Kakyoin must grit his teeth and nod dutifully at any noble sighing at his side about what a pretty pair they make, then he can think whatever he damn well pleases of Jotaro's bride in the privacy of his own jealousy-poisoned mind.

(He doesn't hate her. Not yet, and perhaps not ever, his heart far too exhausted to muster such strong emotion for a girl perfectly innocent in all this.

But, oh, he hates himself, and he hates the royal family and he hates every single man, woman, and child at this blasted ball with a helpless, aimless frustration that feels like it is burning him from the inside out; and it's not even turned 9 yet, with two more nights and decades of matrimony still to brave afterwards.

And he's always suspected that it's miserable fates such as these that will drive a man to hatred...)

Kakyoin's ears pick out yet another voice from the crowd, delightedly predicting an improvement in their prince's "perpetually sour mood" now that he has "such lovely company to lift his spirits, he will be skipping lovestruck about the castle soon enough, mark my words!"

They're all fools, Kakyoin thinks. Jotaro's mood is rarely as sour as his, yes, somewhat grim countenance implies, and Kakyoin knows him far too well to peg Jotaro as the type to skip about… then again, he has never seen Prince Jotaro fall in love before, to the best of his knowledge. Miracles might yet happen.

(A bitterer, more childish part of him might sardonically ask if his own company is not considered lovely enough for the Prince, or if the highborn folk simply think themselves too fine to suggest outright that the future King might smile more if he had a good roll in the hay once in a while; but the first sentiment is simply sad and pitiful, and the second bordering on treason, so Kakyoin holds his tongue.)

The chattering is inane and repetitive, do you think, such a lovely pair, what a happy occasion, and it grates on his nerves like nothing else ever does, not even when the younger Lord D’Arby so obviously cheats at their occasional horse races.

Kakyoin grips the emerald pommel of his ceremonial (yet still wickedly sharp) sabre more tightly, and endures.

Oh, heavens above, the evening can’t end soon enough. Kakyoin wants no more of this.

What he wants to do is shoulder his way through the crowd and wrench the girl out of Jotaro’s arms, escort her gently but firmly off the premises and then return to offer himself in her stead. Wants for all his dreams to come true, and this nightmare to end.

But he can’t. He can’t. This girl is perfect for Jotaro, she is his happily ever after made flesh. Even if Jotaro, by some madness, were to return his affections, in part, for a time - sooner or later he would surely begin to wonder, to remember the girl who might have offered him sweeter love than Kakyoin ever could, and resent him for taking her place. Kakyoin can hardly bear the thought of it. He’d rather have Jotaro forever thinking of him as only a friend and guardsman, than see the warmth in his eyes turn to quiet, seething hatred.

So Kakyoin stands there, still like a statue, eyes trained carefully just slightly above the dancing couples, at the grand clock above the main entrance, and counts down each agonisingly little jump of the minute handle.

The first night of the Glass Ball goes by far, far too slow for his tastes.

Finally, finally the clock begins striking again, all stilling at the first magically-enhanced chime ringing through the ballroom, and the crowd quickly retreats from the dance floor as the next chimes follow, until finally, the eleventh.

Only Jotaro and his dance partner remain on the floor, pulling away from each other. She curtsies, gracefully, and Jotaro bends to gallantly kiss her hand again, the crowd cooing at it.

(Kakyoin feels ugly, ugly feelings gnawing at his insides. He swallows once, twice, and forces them into submission.)

Then she strides out of the ballroom, the glow of magic and the flutter of her unnaturally light gown following in her wake, every eye following her out the gates - except Kakyoin’s, that is, whose gaze is always on Jotaro, so he sees him turn as soon as she is a few steps away, and stiffly stalk off the dance floor.

Oh, Jotaro. Kakyoin can’t help a wave of fondness wash over him, loving exasperation at this impossible man who dances as he fights, with firm confidence and grace, as befitting of a Prince of the realm, but becomes ever so awkward the moment his task is completed and he has no movement routine to follow anymore, drawing unnecessary attention.

“Let’s go.” is the first thing Jotaro says to him, in a lowered voice, looking painfully uncomfortable, and squinting over at where the Queen is still engaged in excited chatter, but might at any point come over to inquire after her only son’s first encounter with his One True Love. “I’m tired of this whole charade. No reason to stay any longer, now, is there?”

“Indeed not.” Kakyoin agrees smoothly, smiling up at his Prince and friend, and tries not to dwell on the fact that Jotaro danced with that girl for hours, but sees no point in remaining after she is gone. “Shall we be off?”

“Please,” Jotaro sighs, and there’s something in it that Kakyoin will forever covet, an admission of the unease he’s always felt at social gatherings, for all that he is royal and they are necessary, and a quiet plea for Kakyoin to understand and help him escape. It’s deep, unwavering trust, and even if the girl in the glass slippers will one day all too soon hold Jotaro’s heart and hand, Kakyoin will always and forever hold his trust like nobody else in the world.

It’s the small victories, in the end.

Guiding Jotaro through the crowd, and then along the dimly-lit corridors, the music and laughter of the ongoing ball fading behind them, Kakyoin allows himself the guilty pleasure of placing a hand on Jotaro’s broad back to guide him, just below the intricate star embroidered on his cloak, feeling the fine threads under his faintly trembling fingers.

Kakyoin would normally attempt some light chatter Jotaro can hum or scoff at, but as joyful an occasion as this by all rights should be, their walk to the royal quarters is far too raw and solemn for words.

When he wishes Jotaro goodnight just before they part, his voice is barely a whisper - and even that feels too loud and intrusive.

But it makes Jotaro smile, soft and private, a far cry from the politely stoic affairs he employs with the general public, and that alone makes all the agonies of this evening worth it.

The next morning, Kakyoin wakes with the dawn as usual, carrying out his morning ablutions, changing into his uniform - dark green, to signify his rank as Captain - and strapping Hierophant, his enchanted sword, to his belt. The weight of it is reassuring, and Kakyoin can use all the reassurance he can get, today.

(Two more nights to go. Two more, and then a thousand others...)

The rest of his tasks are completed almost mechanically, giving and receiving orders, overseeing preparations, sending out a note to follow up on the rumoured happenings in Moriohcho province. For a moment there, it almost feels like any other day, nothing special about it at all, perfectly run-of-the-mill.

But he can’t avoid Jotaro forever, lest he be summoned directly to the Prince’s quarters - so, eventually, Kakyoin steels his resolve, delegates all remaining tasks, and lets his feet carry him through the corridors he’s walked near every morning for most of his life.

If the Esteemed Reader might have expected the Prince to be in higher spirits this morning than the last, they could not have been further from the truth.

Jotaro’s mood on the morning of the first night of the Glass Ball was dour; the second morning, it is nothing short of vile, storm clouds brewing behind his eyes, and jaw tensely locked at all times.

One of the servants carrying away the remainder of the princely breakfast has already warned him in passing of the exceptional foul temper, so Kakyoin is well-braced for the sullen, unhappy brooding that greets him in Jotaro’s study.

Not a temper, in this case, no risk of an outburst, Kakyoin is familiar with the signs. This is just Jotaro swallowing down some worry of his, and growing ever more miserable with it by the minute.

Nothing Kakyoin hasn’t seen before, and nothing he can’t deal with, for all that he wishes he was left to deal with his own worries in peace.

“Good day, JoJo,” Kakyoin greets, with a short little mockery of a formal bow. “How are we, this fine morning?”

Jotaro grunts. He’s abandoned the piles of official papers on his desk to sit on the windowsill, staring out at an overcast sky that matches his overcast mood. Chances are it might rain in the afternoon, though it is likely to clear up again by evening - though it hardly matters to the one guest that counts, the magic in her dress protecting her from the elements.

“Well, isn’t that curious.” Kakyoin strides over, leans against the windowframe, arms crossed in front of him. “A man dances for hours with his future beloved, and is in such an awful strop the very next morning. Are you pining for her that badly? It’ll only be a handful of hours until you see her again, remember.”

(Art by Parasol)

“I am not-” Jotaro scoffs, frustrated. “You have no idea what this is about, stop speculating.”

“I do indeed have no idea. But I could.” Kakyoin isn’t going to appear the least affected by being brushed off. He will not indulge Jotaro’s glowering dramatics any. “Feel free to tell me anytime, Jotaro. You know I’ll keep your confidence.”

Now the prolonged silence. Very important to let the Prince break it, he’ll never talk otherwise. Kakyoin has become nothing short of an expert on how to navigate these conversations, over the years.

And sure enough, “it’s about her… but also it isn’t, not directly,” Jotaro mutters, finally, still a hint evasive.

“Oh?” Kakyoin raises one eyebrow. Gentle prompting, now. “How so?”

“This whole… thing. The Glass Ball. The tradition. The spells.” An uneasy grimace. “I don’t like it, Kakyoin. Don’t like it at all. I don’t… trust it, to actually work. It doesn’t seem right, to let magic decide my future, decide my love, I always thought so, and… I don’t think it’s working.”

“It worked for four generations of your family.” Kakyoin shrugs. It’s getting increasingly harder to be nonchalant about all this. “Why should it fail for you?”

“Because- I don’t know.” Jotaro’s hair is a little wind-swept today, a curl dropping down onto his forehead. This is no time to take note of that. “It’s a commitment, marriage. Children, perhaps, one day. And this spell is supposed to take everything into account, everything about me, about her, and decides she is the one I should spend the rest of my life with. That there is no-one better. And I’m supposed to just trust its decision, get to know her for three nights, and then love her enough to search for and marry her. Is that really how it works?”

“It is with this spell, yes.” Kakyoin angles his head to one side. “Avdol is a competent mage, and he has been carefully preparing this spell for months. There’s no reason to mistrust his skills.”

“You think so? Well, what about you, then?” Jotaro challenges, unusually sharply, with lightning flashing in his storm-grey eyes. “Do you intend to get married?”

No. Not to anyone but… someone who is taken already.

“Mayhaps. But only to the right person.” Kakyoin answers coolly, and does not let any of the rest show.

“And would you trust a spell to pick that right person for you?” Jotaro presses, slipping off the windowsill, stepping closer. “Would you? Your heart, your love, your future, in the hand of an impersonal force of magical judgement?”

Kakyoin looks away.

“The spell would choose right, at least,” he tells the tapestry on the far wall. “More certainty that the correct decision has been made than us common folk get, relying only on our fond and foolish hearts.”

But truthfully? No. The spell didn’t choose me for you, so I doubt it would choose you for me - and I couldn’t marry any other. Not even if they were perfect for me. It would not be fair on them.

“The correct decision.” Jotaro repeats bitterly, turning away. “By what standards, I wonder.”

“Your standards. That’s the entire point.” Kakyoin raises one eyebrow. “JoJo, what’s this all about? Has your intended given you any reason to believe that you would be a bad match, last night?”

“She- no.” Jotaro frowns. “Not… bad. As such. No. But I- and she-”

“Then there’s no reason to mistrust the spell’s accuracy.” Kakyoin insists calmly, patting Jotaro’s shoulder. “I’m... sorry that you didn’t immediately fall in love and knew she was The One, the way your parents did, but these things do also grow over time, you know. It needn’t happen on the first night.”

Love takes years, sometimes. An entire shared childhood. Hours upon hours laughing, arguing, fighting, making up. Good King Jonathan knew his True Love from childhood, after all, and three nights really is so short a time...

“....maybe you’re right.” Jotaro mutters, and returns to his desk, staring at the papers and edicts without really seeing them.

Kakyoin knows a dismissal when he is on the receiving end of one, and moves to stand guard by the doors, back stiff and one hand resting on his sword.

Until…

“Kakyoin?” Jotaro says, very softly, not looking up from his papers. “Do you… speak from personal experience, on… that?”

Kakyoin blinks. “On what?”

“...matters of… of love.”

Yes, and no, and a thousand other responses in between. Don’t make me answer this, Jotaro, please.

“That’s… a very personal question, isn’t it?” He finally manages, weakly. “I’m not sure what to answer.”

“Then don’t.” Jotaro interrupts quickly. “Sorry. Forget I even asked. It’s not important anyway.”

He picks up another edict, intensely studying it, and very clearly signalling that the conversation is over, after all.

(It seems like Jotaro is holding the paper he’s reading upside-down. Kakyoin is kind enough not to mention it.)

“So.” Queen Holly sets down her cutlery and leans forward in her high chair, steepling her fingers together. “Jotaro, honey, you must tell me all about your beloved! I’m sure you must be bursting to talk about her, I remember I did, talked your grandfather’s ear off for hours upon hours…”

“Oh, is that why your father always seemed so annoyed with me at the start?” Prince Consort Sadao glances up from his meal, blinking serenely. “I had always wondered about that.”

“Sorry, dear.” Holly reaches out her hand, and Sadao takes it, giving it a little squeeze. “I simply couldn’t contain how much I loved you already!”

Jotaro shoots a grimace over at Kakyoin, who quickly has to hide a grin behind his hand.

This is intimately familiar, Kakyoin has been attending dinners of the royal family both as Captain, standing guard by the door, or simply as a fellow guest, for as long as he can think back, and Jotaro has always had a habit of pulling faces in his direction whenever his parents choose to be insufferably sappy with each other - which is, in fact, quite often.

It’s a childish little habit he probably ought to have outgrown by now, but Kakyoin thinks it very sweet, in truth. Not to mention the intimacy of a shared joke, and the game of attempting to not be detected in their silent giggles and grimaces. Prince Jotaro has heavy burdens to bear in his position, and just a bit more joy, a bit more levity, could hardly go amiss.

“Well then, my darling son?” After a brief flirtation with her husband of nigh on twenty years, Jotaro’s mother has evidently regained sight of her original goal. “Tell your parents about their future daughter-in-law!”

“...what is there to tell.” Jotaro seems to almost curl in on himself defensively, poking at the food on his plate and refusing to look up from it. “You both saw her at the ball. So stop prying, you annoying old-”

“Language.” Sadao interjects mildly, but firmly. “You do not talk that way to your parents, son.”

“...mother.” Jotaro amends, stiffly. For all his princely upbringing, there’s always been a rough, stubborn streak in him. Kakyoin would blame it on Jotaro’s maternal grandfather, personally, who had been notorious for playing terrible pranks on the court and insulted more than one foreign dignitary during his reign. “I have nothing else to say, about her, or other matters. May I be excused?”

“You may not.” Holly shakes her head. “Honey, we just want to be there for you, and take part in this very important time in your life. You mustn’t tell us everything, but just a little? Please? For your mother?”

Kakyoin can tell the Queen is playing dirty, in that moment. Jotaro, for all that he pretends to be mostly annoyed by his royal parents, is physically incapable of actually refusing his mother when she insists, and Holly, bless her clever heart, is well aware of that.

(She was the one who chose Kakyoin from among the pauper children to raise up as her son’s companion and captain of the royal guard, and practically treated him as a second son for all of Kakyoin’s life. You could not find a better, kinder, or more gracious and generous woman in all the realms, and Kakyoin is fiercely loyal to her, for all that Jotaro comes first in his heart.

Which is precisely why he tends to tactfully look the other way when Holly deploys her most effective parental tactics, rather than give in to Jotaro’s silent pleas for help. Aside from the potential accusations of High Treason Against The Queen, choosing a side just seems generally inadvisable.)

“Oh good grief,” Jotaro mutters, stabbing at his food with rather more force than necessary. “...fine. She said she greatly enjoys dancing, and that the Glass Ball is grander than she could’ve ever imagined. She complimented my footwork, and seemed very taken with the magical light installments in the ballroom, and the beautiful dresses of the ladies in attendance.”

He recites all this rather stiffly, without much heart behind it, but both Holly and Sadao seem delighted, nodding eagerly.

“A young lady with taste!” Holly praises, Sadao agreeing. “Oh, I can’t wait to be introduced to her properly! This is all so exciting, and only one night gone, with two more to come!”

“Yes. Great.” Jotaro is looking rather like he regrets coming to the meal at all, much less eating, a somewhat ashen quality to his skin - and Kakyoin finally decides to take pity on him.

“Your Majesties?” He interjects delicately, stepping primly forward. The things he does for this man. “I’m afraid the Prince must see to his preparations for tonight’s festivities now, we were already cutting it a little close yesterday, perhaps it would be better…”

“Ah, of course.” Holly waves magnanimously. “Take him away then, Noriaki. Make sure he washes behind his ears!”

“I shall see to it, Your Majesty.” Kakyoin assures her with a bright smile, before falling into step besides Jotaro.

(There’s just something about receiving grateful, relieved looks from a Prince of the realm. One could almost become addicted to it, if you ask Kakyoin…)

“She’s taking her time again.” Kakyoin murmurs, inclining his head towards the setting sun, as the second night of the Glass Ball is already in full swing around them. “I do hope your ego does not suffer under such a crushing blow, my liege…?”

It’s a weak tease, but Jotaro does smirk lightly at it, his tightly creased brow smoothing out slightly, and that is all Kakyoin wanted, really.

“My ego remains un-crushed.” He mutters back, wryly. “She told me she would likely not arrive before sundown, yesterday. There’s quite a way to travel, even per magical carriage, apparently.”

“I see.” Someone from far away, then? Or someone living close, trying to mislead the Prince on a merry chase, when the time comes. “I’d say it’s a shame your time together will be cut so short by logistics, but you do have the rests of your lives together, don’t you.”

“That’s.” Jotaro begins, and then breaks off, frustrated. “Kakyoin, I’m not sure if she wants that. I couldn’t tell mother, but, some of the things she said, I don’t think she actually-”

“Jotaro.” Kakyoin interrupts him, very seriously, placing his hands firmly on both his arms and turning him so they face each other. He can’t believe he’s doing this, but ensuring Jotaro’s happiness takes precedence, always. “Jotaro, listen to me. This girl, whoever she is, has been magically determined to be perfect for you, so don’t be ridiculous. Of course she wants to be with you forever, otherwise the spell wouldn’t have chosen her, or she wouldn’t have put on the glass slippers and come here in the first place.”

“But what if even the most perfect girl for me has no interest in marriage, Kakyoin?” Jotaro insists stubbornly. “What then? She might not even attend the second night of the ball, then.”

“No interest in marriage? Don’t make me laugh.” Kakyoin rolls his eyes, grips Jotaro’s arms tighter. “You are the Crown Prince, Your Highness, aside from handsome, kind, and scholarly. The spell might have a harder time finding anyone who wouldn’t drag you in front of an altar if they got half an opportunity.”

(I know I would, Kakyoin thinks, and doesn’t say.)

“I’ve absolutely no idea where all this nonsense is coming from, but you will stop sabotaging yourself right this instant, Jotaro, do you understand? Once she arrives, you will simply talk to her, instead of making assumptions off of a handful of misconstrued offhand remarks. Ask her what she wants out of this, and I assure you that it will be the same thing you want, as well.”

“...the same thing I want, huh?” Jotaro murmurs, and something thoughtful passes over his face, brow creasing once more. “Kakyoin, that would be...”

“Look. There she is already.” Kakyoin interrupts gently, nodding over Jotaro’s shoulder, to where the girl in the glass slippers is indeed standing under the archway, in a dress sparkling with crystals tonight, once more drawing every eye. “Remember what I told you, do not sabotage yourself, and simply ask her. Then all will be well.”

Kakyoin huffs a little breath that is half laugh and half melancholic sigh.

“Goodness’ sake, how would you ever manage without my wise counsel?”

“I wouldn’t.” Jotaro says simply. He still hasn’t turned around, his hands coming up to grasp Kakyoin’s elbows. “I could never manage without you, Kakyoin. You know that. There’s no-one… you’re important, to me. The most- ...do you understand…?”

There’s something strangely intense in his eyes. Something almost desperate. Kakyoin can’t possibly fathom why that would be.

So he averts his gaze instead, twists his arms out of Jotaro’s grip.

“Your Fated Beloved is waiting,” he says, a little weakly, still not meeting Jotaro’s eyes. “Go to her, go on. Don’t leave her standing there.”

“...if that’s what you want.” Jotaro says, slowly. “I will.”

Kakyoin watches him walk away, and wonders, as idle and detached as he can manage to be, if the future queen will ever know that she’ll have Kakyoin’s advice to thank for her marriage - and what a great act of selfless sacrifice it actually was.

This night, Jotaro does not dance with the mystery girl all evening.

No, this night, it is much, much worse.

After only a waltz or two, the Prince offers her his arm, and leads her out the side gates, into a quiet corner of the gardens, where one may converse more comfortably than while dancing, amid music and the buzzing of a hundred other voices.

Kakyoin suspected this might be coming - the first night of the Glass Ball is for the initial connection, the second to properly acquaint yourself, not to mention his sage advice regarding open communication just before - and follows them at a respectable distance. He mustn’t impose, doesn’t much feel like overhearing their discreet exchanges anyway, but if any traitorous lord wishes to take their chance while the Prince is preoccupied with flirting, the captain of the guard must be there to intervene and protect the lives of the royal and his future bride both.

(Jotaro glances over his shoulder at one point, and meets Kakyoin’s gaze for just a second, before Kakyoin averts his eyes respectfully. He’s always been more of a companion than a shadow, but the spot at Jotaro’s side is now to be filled with the girl in the glass slippers, and Kakyoin must melt into the background, watching the two from the half-lit entryway in silence.)

He watches them settle on one of the stone benches, and has to admit that they do look a picture together, the trail of the girl’s dress inlaid with gemstones that glitter like the stars overhead, and Jotaro’s cloak a deep midnight black beside it, both of them drenched in moonlight, almost melting into the night sky above them.

For all that Kakyoin has never had much interest in the female form, he too can see that, at least with the spells in place, she seems to be every bit Jotaro’s match in beauty - and intelligent and interesting, too, judging from the fact that they are deep in conversation, and Kakyoin knows Jotaro well enough, has seen him carefully and strategically attempt to charm high lords and ladies, to be able to tell that he’s not feigning his interest this time. He is enjoying this conversation - seems almost strangely relieved, as it goes on - and his enjoyment is genuine. That’s more than half the court can say of themselves.

(Previously, only Kakyoin could consistently claim that honour. It stings, to be replaced, even if he has been expecting it for nigh on years now. Always only a matter of time.)

He watches them talk - and then, suddenly, Jotaro stands again, undoes the clasp of his cloak, and offers it to his companion, whose shoulders were bare to the mild chill of the night air, and drawing tighter together with every minute.

She takes it, covers herself in it with a grateful incline of her head, only more radiant draped in the Prince’s cloak

...

...and something catches in Kakyoin’s chest then, the arteries around his heart pulling themselves into a knot, twisting themselves tighter and tighter, cutting off his breath.

He can’t do this. Gods forgive him, he’s done his duty any other hour of any other day, but it’s too much tonight. It simply is.

He signals another guard to relieve him - Jotaro will understand, this is hardly uncommon, will perhaps assume that Kakyoin had other urgent business to attend to - and leaves, as quickly as he can.

He’s barely out of the ballroom when the first tear falls, running down his cheek and soaking into the fabric of his collar. Kakyoin walks faster, keeping his head down, trying to avoid even the occasional servant passing him in the corridors.

By the time he has reached his quarters, Kakyoin’s face and neck are wet, dark patches where the tears have fallen on his collar, and he is gasping, sobbing, unable to contain himself, the knot around his chest painful and mercilessly cutting off his circulation.

This is pitiful. It’s undignified. Kakyoin is disgusted with himself.

But he also can’t stop, sinking to his knees on the carpet, choking on tears, shoulders shaking and body half curled up around the agony lancing through him.

He loves Jotaro, loves him with his very heart and soul, and has loved him so long that he can hardly imagine who he would be like without that love.

But Jotaro belongs to the girl in the glass slippers, who he will love someday if he doesn’t already, and he will never, never, never love Kakyoin the way Kakyoin loves Jotaro.

And it hurts.

It hurts so terribly.

Kakyoin sobs, and cries, and shatters to pieces on the floor of his quarters, while somewhere in the gardens, Jotaro is likely still talking to his One True Love, sparing nary a thought for him.

The morning of the third day, Kakyoin can hardly make himself leave the bed.

A glance in the mirror confirms that he looks simply pitiful; skin a sallow, unhealthily grayish colour, eyes red and swollen from tears he will deny he ever shed.

There's a dead man looking back at him from the mirror, and though Kakyoin will continue to breathe and walk and age, he knows his life will end today at midnight.

He washes his face, rubs some red back into his cheeks, and spends ten minutes practising his smiles in the mirror, until they no longer look like he's about to scream.

They won't convince Jotaro, he knows; but the Prince will have more important things to worry about today than his captain of the guard's pained grimaces.

(And yet he still does, because it’s Jotaro, that dear, awful man, so kind that it feels almost cruel again.)

"You don't look well," Jotaro therefore says, as the servants aid him in fastening his elaborate coat and cape, yet more resplendent than he had worn the nights before. "Kakyoin?"

"Only a cold," Kakyoin lies easily, leaning against the standing mirror to drink Jotaro in better

Oh, but he is a vision in black and gold, solemn and tense but still undeniably regal. He will make a fine king one day, a worthy successor to Good Queen Holly and a credit to the Joestar line.

(And he will have the girl in the glass slippers reigning at his side, perfect for him in every way.)

Jotaro frowns, and pulls away from the servants' fussing hands to check Kakyoin's brow for a fever, watching him with quiet concern.

"You should lie down if you're unwell, idiot," he grumbles, but Kakyoin can hear the worry underneath. "It's not the old wound troubling you, is it?"

The 'old wound' is the result of an assassination attempt Kakyoin stepped in the path of, nearly bleeding out in Jotaro's arms if not for the healers' timely intervention.

He heard later that the Prince sat at his bedside for days, neither eating nor sleeping until Kakyoin woke again; and to this day, Jotaro has a habit of offering him his seat if his posture suggests even a hint of pain while standing.

It is a good ruler who cares for his subjects so ardently. Even for the lowborn ones like Kakyoin, who did nothing more than their duty.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" He waves him off, and the smile is almost genuine this time. "I wouldn't want to miss the big day, now, would I?"

“...no.” Jotaro murmurs, but his brows are still drawn tight together with concern. “No, I suppose not.”

His hand is still on Kakyoin’s shoulder. Kakyoin kind of wishes he would take it away, and also for it to stay forever.

“I will be perfectly alright, Jotaro.” Kakyoin soothes him, lying through his teeth. He will never be alright again - or at least not for a long, long time, years, decades perhaps. “Honestly. So stop fussing, and let yourself be made pretty for your future queen, yes?”

“My future-” A strange expression flashes over Jotaro’s face at those words, there and gone in a flash, leaving something shuttered and empty in its wake. “Hmm. Yes.”

Without another word, Jotaro turns around so abruptly the trailing edge of his cloak nearly whips against Kakyoin’s legs, and returns to the servants, who promptly continue fiddling with buttons and attaching ornaments, his back now turned to the mirror.

All for the better. Despite his reassurances, Kakyoin feels like he might faint, legs weak and unsteady - and now that it’s been brought to his attention again, his old wound is protesting, too, sending sharp pangs from his solar plexus up through his entire chest.

But Kakyoin has been trained to fight all his life, has looked men in the eye as he drove his sword through their hearts, and watched them choke out their last breaths at his feet without even a shred of guilt or remorse, for they were enemies of the crown and to eliminate them is his duty.

If it is his own weak and feeble heart that he must kill this time, to be able to continue his duty, he will. He must.

Kakyoin swallows, and takes a deep breath, refusing to collapse as his body so yearns to do.

He will stand here until his Prince dismisses him, and then he will dress in his finest parade uniform of dark green and silver, and do his duty as proudly and faithfully as always done, with nothing but happiness for his dearest friend’s impending marriage.

He must. He must. 

(Somewhere in the castle, a clock strikes three, even though it is only two hours past noon - the clocks are one hour ahead already, as per tradition.)

With every last scrap of stubborn pride he can muster, Kakyoin stands, watching as Jotaro begins to look ever more princely - nay, kingly - with every adjustment to his Glass Ball Best; and looks his trembling heart straight in the eye as it bleeds out on the floor in front of him.

Midnight comes, creeping closer and closer while Kakyoin stands still as a statue beside the throne, watching Jotaro dance with the mystery girl one last time.

(Their next dance will likely be at their betrothal feast. Kakyoin tries not to think about that.)

They appear to be talking, heads angled towards each other and lips moving, about who knows what. Probably their future happiness together.

The clocks point to eleven, but strikes twelve, and the girl disentangles herself from the dance.

A respectful curtsey, and then she hurries away, leaving Jotaro behind in the middle of the dance floor.

"Stop that woman!" Queen Holly calls out with a suitably dramatic gesture, looking like she is very much enjoying herself.

Nobody moves, of course; tradition dictates the girl escape, leaving only one shoe behind, and the Queen is only play-acting for her own amusement.

Not even Jotaro takes a single step.

There is only one who may retrieve the slipper from the stairs, walking in the footsteps of Captain Robert Speedwagon, like in that fateful night forever immortalised in legend.

"Captain!" Comes the Queen's voice. "Catch her!"

And Kakyoin forces himself to move, one step after the other, the sound of his footfall too loud in the hall.

This is his task. This has been his destiny since his appointment, nearly a decade ago.

He runs after the woman who is the Prince's Fated Other, and tries to imagine it's him Jotaro's eyes are trailing after, instead of her.

Kakyoin sits in the midnight rain on the steps of the palace, huddled in the heavy, coarse cloak of the royal guard, and pretending that the tears on his face are only raindrops.

The glass slipper is there, on the fifth step, caught in the tendrils of a sticking charm, beautiful as ever, and yet the worst sight Kakyoin has ever, in all his life, laid eyes on.

He feels sick to his stomach. Weakened. That terrible shoe is mocking him. It will steal Jotaro away from him forever, bind him to another.

And he, of all people, is tasked with handing Jotaro the very means by which to destroy Kakyoin fully and utterly.

The world is cruel.

Sniffling pitifully, Kakyoin reaches out, and takes the shoe.

It is light, and fragile; cool to the touch, but warm with pure hamon magic, whispering of love and happiness and perfect matches.

(Art by Visqueux)

Kakyoin wants to smash it against the banister, wants to watch it shatter, bloody his fingers with the cursed thing's shards, grind it into dust.

What right does this girl have to Jotaro's heart? Kakyoin has always stood faithfully at his side, has loved him devotedly for years upon years, does he not deserve, has he not earned, is it not his right?

Yes, yes, he should destroy the damned shoe, throw it away into the bushes, lie and say it could not be found, that the girl evaded the step, that she chose not to offer herself.

Jotaro might mourn for the match that could've been, but Kakyoin will be there to comfort him, to love him forevermore, and surely, surely, he could make the prince happy, too? Just a little?

...oh, he is a terrible person, through and through.

Jotaro doesn't deserve a selfish man of Kakyoin's like. No, he can't do that to him, can't throw away his chance at love. Simply the thought makes him half a monster, and who cares what he deserves?

Prince Jotaro deserves love.

And that should be the end of it.

Kakyoin shudders in the cold and the rain and the darkness, pressing the glass slipper against his aching heart.

He wishes he were either a worse or a better man, so he could throw the slipper away without guilt, or hand it to Jotaro without regret.

But he is only plain old Kakyoin Noriaki, neither cruel enough for one, nor selfless enough for the other.

But prideful enough, at least, to return to the throne room with his head held high, and no more tears in his eyes; no matter how much it hurts.

"Captain?" Queen Holly beams at Kakyoin. "Have you found any trace of the-"

She pauses in the traditional recital.

"Noriaki?" She says, very softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He must look a fright, for her to act this way; at the very least half as bad as he feels, if not more. "Are you alright?"

She is a kind and gracious woman, the best he knows, and Kakyoin wishes he could've found himself a girl like her to love, instead of losing his heart to a man who can never be his.

"I am well, Your Majesty." He responds, pulling a brittle smile out of the depths of his soul. "And…"

He takes a shuddering breath. Stubbornly swallows back his tears, and ignores the concern shining from her kind eyes.

"And though the girl escaped me, I… I have found this glass slipper on the stairs." Rehearsed lines, drilled into him since he was appointed at the head of Jotaro's guard. They taste like stale blood on his tongue.

He turns to Jotaro, avoiding to meet his stormy eyes.

"Take it." He says, holding out the glass shoe, clutching it so hard the sharp edges cut deeply into his skin. "And find your-"

Kakyoin's voice cracks and breaks.

"...your Love." He finishes, pushing it into Jotaro's hands and jerking his own away before their fingers can brush.

There, you big, grumpy oaf. I love you enough to give you up forever. How selfless of me, and how terribly, terribly stupid.

Go and find her. Go and love her. Be so happy that I will only rarely think back to this moment, and feel nearly sick with regret.

"Kakyoin-" Jotaro's hand shoots out, closing like a vice around his wrist.

"Please, don't." Kakyoin wrenches his arm back, staggering to his position and doing his best to keep his emotions from spilling out all over his face. He is already making enough of a spectacle of himself and his pitiful love, if he survives this day with a fraction of his dignity still intact, he can count himself lucky.

The pitying stares are all around him. Gods, did they all know he loves the Prince? Have they all been waiting for the day his heart breaks under the impossibility of his helpless pining?

Heaven help, does Jotaro know!?

Kakyoin doesn't think he could bear that sort of humiliation.

There's a long silence, during which Kakyoin forces himself to stand with his back ramrod-straight, head held as high as possible when he can already feel the executioner's axe taking aim to cleave his heart apart.

Jotaro stares down at the shoe in his hands.

"Mother." He begins. Wholly against protocol, but, ah, that's Jotaro. Always and forever contrary. "This slipper… it's to find the perfect girl for me to marry. Yes?"

"Of course!" The Queen chirps.

"No matter her standing?" Jotaro presses. "No matter the political implications?"

"Yes!" A warm, cheerful smile. "The point of all this is to see the royal children happily married with their One True Love, no matter who that may be."

"...I see." Jotaro says, softly.

Kakyoin feels as if his chest is cast in irons, cutting off his air flow. He locks his knees, praying only that he can remain standing until Jotaro does not see him collapse.

He never wanted to burden Jotaro with his silly feelings, and still would not want his happiness clouded by the knowledge that his marriage will break Kakyoin's heart.

Jotaro holds the glass slipper, raises it over his head.

Now, the words of tradition. I will not rest until I have found her, for she is the love of my life.

Kakyoin braces himself, for hearing the words he has spent years dreading, and which he knows will kill him as surely as the cold steel of a sword.

"I will not search for the girl," Prince Jotaro says, "for I do not love her."

And with those words, he smashes the glass slipper onto the throne room's marble floor, where it shatters into a thousand little shards.

A chorus of gasps rises up, the Queen half-standing, one arm frozen as if to stop him, horror on every face in the room…

Safe Jotaro's, who looks grimly determined; and Kakyoin, who is nearly faint with pure relief.

"And she doesn't love me!" Jotaro continues. "The perfect wife for me, huh? The perfect wife wanted only to attend the ball, to dance with a prince for a few nights, and has assured me that she has no desire whatsoever to marry me - which was just as well, because I didn't want her, either! I don't want any wife!"

"Oh, for-" Mage Avdol bursts out. "Your Highness, I asked if you would prefer I adjust the spell to seek out a husband! You need only have said-"

"Honey, it's okay to like boys-" Queen Holly chimes in, her husband nodding beside her.

"Called it!" Viscount Polnareff exclaims delightedly, and multiple members of the household guard groan and reach for their purses.

Simultaneously, a wail of utter despair spreads among the young ladies of court, disappointment even more palpable than when the glass-shoed beauty appeared in their midst, while some of the young lords look rather triumphant and hopeful.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" Jotaro roars over the cacophony. "YOU'RE ALL DAMN ANNOYING!"

Silence descends.

"I don't want just any husband, either." Jotaro says, face set in a stubborn scowl. "Don't trust some idiot spell to make the right decision for me. Not when…"

He stops.

His eyes meet Kakyoin's, and neither of them can look away. There's something heavy and meaningful in that gaze, and…

...and it gives Kakyoin hope, like nothing ever has before.

"Not when I have already chosen who I love years ago." Jotaro confesses, quietly, as if there's only the two of them in the entire world, and nobody else.

"Oh," Kakyoin says, very softly. "Oh JoJo, you idiot, why did you never say!?"

And then he's running, stumbling towards Jotaro, and Jotaro towards him, the remnants of the glass slipper crunching under their boots.

They crash into each other, and it feels like the rib-crushing hugs they used to give each other as children, fitting together perfectly, as if they were made only for each other; except, now, there's kissing, too, which is a marked improvement.

(Kakyoin thinks Jotaro might be trying to tell him I love you in between desperate kisses... but there's no real need for it anymore.

Kakyoin already knows. The kissing is a pretty decent indicator.)

It feels fantastic.

It feels right, like nothing else ever could.

It feels like the kind of love fit for fairy tales.

Once upon a time, the Crown Prince, Jotaro, when he was but a boy, loved a boy as sharp-tongued as tempered steel, as fierce as a howling storm, and as beautiful as the blood moon. And he loved the Prince as well, and despite their doubts and trials, there was never any question deep, deep in their hearts that, one day, they would marry each other.

For a time, it seemed like all hope was lost - but in the end, eventually, after a time, their hearts were proven right, after all.

And they lived-

Well.

You surely know the rest.

"He gets this from your side of the family," Prince Consort Sadao whispers to his absolutely delighted wife.

Holly hums, glancing over at her father loudly cheering his grandson on, one arm around queen mother Suzie, and the other thrown around his own captain of the guard's shoulders; both of them sharing a look of exasperated fondness at Joseph's excitement.

("Ah, remember, Caesarino, when you were going to challenge Suzie to a duel for the glass shoes?"

"Don't remind me."

"So gallant of you!"

"...I am glad we found a better solution in the end."

"That we did, Caesar. That we did!")

"You know," she says, beaming brightly. "I guess he does!"

Joestars, in her experience, are very committed to living happily ever after.