Chapter Text
Once upon a time, in a kingdom by the sea, a king and queen wished for a child. This was not because they were particularly maternal or paternal people, longing for a small life to raise and love—it was merely because they were the king and queen, and having a child was what one did, when you were king and queen and needed an heir to leave the kingdom to after you died.
But, despite their best efforts, they were unable to conceive a child, and whispers of discontent were growing across the land—for without a clear heir, war could descend easily across the land. The king and queen grew desperate, but before they could look into any other options—for example, a peasant family by the name of Ogami had a baby that they had placed for sale a few months ago, though nobody yet had taken them up on it—a fairy by the name of Kujo came to the court.
“I heard,” he said, “that you long for a child to be your heir.”
“We do,” said the king.
“I can give you what you seek,” said the fairy, “for a price.”
All they needed was an heir. It didn’t even matter to them if he actually succeeded them to the throne—they just wanted to quell unrest while he was alive.
“Whatever it is,” said the queen, “we accept.”
Kujo laughed. “Very well, then. In nine months you will give birth to an heir—a beautiful baby boy, talented in the musical arts and brimming with devotion, a kind soul, the most perfect child you could ever ask for. And then I will name my price.”
He vanished, then, and the king and queen gave no more thought to the price of the child, because the queen had morning sickness and convinced herself she was dying.
But she did not die, and nine months later to the day, gave birth to her son, and regretted immensely not just purchasing a baby from somewhere, because it was intensely painful and once the child was born it screamed and was hungry and relieved itself far too often, and seemed strangely attached to her for a child borne of magic that really ought to have been quiet and well-behaved.
The baby screamed for a week straight. It screamed through its christening, and it screamed in its nursery, and it only shut up when it was asleep and feeding. The king, having already returned to his kingly duties, didn’t care. The queen, who had to breastfeed it, decided that as soon as it was old enough to drink cow’s milk she was dropping it on a nanny and never looking back.
When the child was six months old, the fairy Kujo returned. He smiled, eyes and hair glittering in the moonlight.
“How are you liking your child so far?” he asked.
“We like it very well,” said the king, who knew better than to offend a fairy.
“Glad to hear it,” the fairy said. “Are you ready to hear my price?”
“We are,” said the queen.
“On the stroke of midnight on the prince’s 21st birthday,” said the fairy, “he will prick his finger and fall into a deep sleep, wakened only by his lover with True Love’s Kiss.”
“I see,” said the king. So the price was a curse—that wasn’t too bad. It should be easy enough to arrange a True Love’s Kiss for the boy. The price was light, and all they would have to do was find an easy source of a True Love’s Kiss.
“Thank you for informing us,” added the queen.
The fairy smirked, and vanished once more.
“True Love’s Kiss,” said the king. “That should be easy enough to arrange. We can just purchase the Ogami boy and raise him as our son’s servant. Surely, he’ll be unable not to fall in love with him.”
“The Ogami boy is still a toddler,” the queen said. “I will not have two small children under my care at once. One is stretching my patience as it is.”
“Then we purchase the boy now, but wait to collect until he can take care of himself,” suggested the king. “Nothing has to be immediate.”
This was amenable to the queen; so they made arrangements to acquire the Ogami child once he was of an age to care for himself and fausted their own child off on a nanny within the week.
When the Ogami child was five, he was taken to live in the palace. The queen made sure to meet with him, to explain his job: he would be raised alongside her son, as a friend, to take care of him and make sure he grew up well and safely. His skin was never to be broken--if it was, the boy had failed in his duties and would be exiled. The boy was quiet and serious, though still five, but he agreed to it readily enough--he had known since before he could walk that his parents hadn’t wanted him, and only a little after that where he would be going. And then the king and queen left the boys to the tutors and the nannies and continued on with their ruling.