Chapter Text
His mother's face turned stony at the counsellor's words. There was that hardening in her gaze he knew well, more often than not directed towards him; her posture going instantly straighter and stiffer. It was the way she fought back, the way she attempted to appear strong whenever circumstances showed her how powerless she truly was.
For all she deemed herself inscrutable, she was transparent to Pran. He understood what she felt and how she reacted because he usually proceeded in the same manner. It was all in the eyes, people said. Their eyes didn't just look. They spoke.
Hers were brim with anger, but there was something else. She regarded the counsellor with the defeated understanding that her disagreement would hold no weight. His mother may have had more influence than their parents let on, but to the court, she was still a woman. And a woman abided.
His father was the best out of the three to conceal his feelings, but he didn't do it often, too busy ducking his head and acting rather sheepishly. He was not weak, his kingdom knew that well, yet he conducted himself in a way that allowed others to treat him as such. It was a strategy Pran didn’t quite understand nor agree with, but it did seem that defeat stung more when it came from an underestimated adversary.
The queen was indifferent, the king was nothing more than a puppet; such rumours swarmed around and their reputations were built around them, solid as the palace’s walls. He willed himself not to obsess over what the people thought of him.
Standing in front of many familiar and unknown faces alike, Pran wondered what the court saw when they saw him, what his eyes were telling them. Did they notice he was terrified? Or was his dismay more evident? Were they able to recognize the undercurrent of anticipation that buzzed through him as the counsellor explained his proposal? To which of them did they attribute his trembling hands?
Pran stared at the royal family standing beside him.
Paa looked as discomforted as he felt, her shoulders slumped down as if the weight of the whole world hung over her small frame.
He wished he could tell what was going through Pat's mind, that his feelings were as clear as his father's outburst and his mother’s pleas to calm him down.
Many words were said about the neighbouring kingdom as well, floating from one to another whisper by whisper. The king was often irrational, the queen wasn’t fit for her role, their children were too rebellious. Pran had grown listening to what people had to say about Pat. Whereas he often found himself crushed under the expectations and difficulties to know who he was while being bombarded with all the certain ways he was supposed to act, think and rule, Pat didn’t seem to be as caught on by these restraints. There was unabashed freedom to him, whether it was due to carelessness or ignorance, that Pran always felt envious of.
“The only way to find peace is to form a strong alliance,” the old man insisted, unwavering despite his listener’s unfavourable reactions. “Your people need it. They’ve endured the hardships of your confrontations long enough. They rightfully reclaim rest.”
For a couple of years, the shadow of marriage loomed over him and Pran was conscious it would come sooner or later. He had learned quite early that it wasn't about love or desire, but duty and responsibility. Knowing that by doing so he could improve the lives of his kingdom made it more bearable.
A few sighs filled the room, Pran letting out his own without even realizing. His eyes wandered to Pat and found him staring back with gravity in his look he wasn’t known to display often.
When he was younger, one of his maids used to tell him fairytales despite his mother's discouragement. Her warnings about the need for a prince in the making to be deeply grounded in reality instead of childish make-believe went unattended as the maid put him to bed every night and with her words blew life into witches, heroes and extraordinary creatures. We have to escape somehow. We need it to survive, she explained to him and Pran remembered not understanding what she meant since never once during her stories did he leave his place in the bed.
Then, one night there was a new maid who blew out the candle and ordered him to sleep without a single word more. When he overheard his parents worriedly discussing the attacks that had occurred on the village, he had known enough of the reality surrounding him to understand.
Whenever reality became too overbearing, he thought about that young maid. Sometimes, he wished those fantasies would come true. That there was a magical being looking over him, that a witch could predict what was in his future, that a brave prince would come and save him. Every time he scolded himself and let that thought scurry away. If escape became true, what would happen to the memories of his maid and all the people that had suffered and perished? His mother was right, futile fantasies erased the horrors of war. He needed to relive them and turn them into the compass to guide his decisions as a future king.
Pran held his breath as he took a step and then another until he finally stood in front of his future betrothed.
He reached for Pa’s hand tentatively and the girl allowed him to hold it. “Don’t you worry,” he whispered, hoping he sounded reassuringly enough to her. Her eyes were tearful as she nodded.
He then went to stretch the hands of her parents, but only the queen reciprocated his gesture.
When he found himself in front of Pat, Pran felt as if all the courage he had managed to muster suddenly left his body. He felt vulnerable, unarmed under his gaze.
As their hands met, fingers intertwined carelessly in a stronghold, Pat directed him a smirk, one of those that seemed to suggest he knew something Pran hadn't even begun to fathom. Pran didn't like this feeling of being at a disadvantage. Even though he'd understood it early on in his life, it didn't mean he was satisfied with this constant competition with the neighbouring kingdom's heir. It felt as if running a race he hadn't signed up to be part of, one that made him question whether it was worth it to go along with.
“We meet again,” Pat said softly and Pran stopped himself from wincing, reminding himself all the attention was on him. Doubt wasn't a royal sentiment. A prince had the future of his people in his hands and acted accordingly.