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“Please tell me this is the last thing I have to do today,” Keith all but begs, sliding down in his seat just like when he was a kit trying to escape the table at mealtimes featuring Gronkarian worm grub porridge.
“This is the last thing you have to do today,” Kolivan repeats dutifully. Keith peers up at him from underneath his messy dark fringe.
“Seriously?” Keith raises an incredulous eyebrow.
“Certainly, my liege.” Kolivan says, voice dry as dust. “Of course that will make the next quintant rather… rigorously paced.”
Keith grunts. “Fine. That’s tomorrow Keith’s problem.” He waves a hand negligibly, and despite his protests that he’s garbage at this whole Emperor of the Galra Empire thing, it is perfectly angled and commanding without a hint of arrogance.
The guard smartly opens the door to the chamber, then stands to the side, announcing each visitor as they enter. Individual audiences are tedious and mostly redundant; no one would be permitted into the antechamber with the Emperor without a thorough vetting, after all. They’re mostly meant for show, a game of noble posturing that Keith deals with poorly on his very best days.
A whole lot of nothing is enough to wear at the most patient of Galra and Keith… is not that. Keith’s reluctant obedience begins to fray, his answering smile going sharp and toothy enough to make the latest fool rambling about to falter and dim.
Kolivan clears his throat, gesturing subtly to the guard at the door. Only one more on the list, and then Keith can go to his chambers, practice a few meditation exercises, perhaps even work through one or two stacks of trade proposals before rest hour commences-
“Announcing: Princess Allura of Altea and her escort, The Black Paladin of Earth.”
Keith sits up straight as though he’d been shocked; eyes wide and at the edge of his seat, and Kolivan sighs, all hopes for productivity turned asunder. He signals to the guards who begin ushering the other supplicants toward the exit.
“Shiro!” Keith says, warm and bright, as the two figures walk down the stately hall. Allura’s long gown swirls as she moves with leisurely grace; the other man is as stiff and halting as an Anduvelian automaton left outside in the damp a few cycles. The man is clearly unaccustomed to the grandness of the Empire’s capital; his eyes rove over the rich tapestries and forbidding statues with unease.
“Greetings to the Empire’s strength,” Allura says, sweeping into a curtsy. It’s an outdated title, but properly respectful, one monarch to another.
“Hey Allura,” Keith greets her with a smile, though still markedly less enthused. The cheek. Allura and Kolivan exchange a meaningful look to which the other two take no notice whatsoever.
“Highness,” Shiro says, bowing clumsily and nearly dropping his helmet, tucked under one arm. Not the right means of address by any means, but Keith cares not.
“It’s been too long,” Keith says, his body language so openly full of longing that Kolivan has to glance away in order to give his emperor some semblance of privacy. The angle of his ears alone-!
“I like your, uh. Your-” Shiro gestures and Keith reaches up to touch the diadem resting lightly on his head.
“Oh, this? It’s tradition during open audiences, I guess. It was really annoying at first, but I got used to it.”
“Heavy lies the head that wears the crown,” Shiro says, cracking a very small smile and looking into Keith’s eyes warmly.
“It’s not that bad, luxite’s pretty lightweight. Oh, here, you want to try it on?” Keith yanks, leaving his dark hair a mess as he offers the Diadem of the Seven Suns, priceless treasure of ten generations to a bumbling ex-gladiator without a hint of Galra blood. Kolivan thinks he may faint.
“N-no!” Shiro backs away, hands up as if to ward off the advances of Keith and his precious jewels, and Kolivan is relieved to see that someone at least has a sense of decorum. “It’s a quote, just a stupid- it’s a dumb- Earth… thing.”
“Oh?” If anything, Keith’s eyes go even brighter. “Can you explain it to me? Maybe over dinner?”
“Are we staying for dinner?” Shiro asks Allura.
“That would be an excellent opportunity to discuss the repatriation initiative.” She suggests delicately. The that we came to discuss in the first place is simply heavily implied.
“Great, yeah.” Keith grins. Then he plucks at his heavily embroidered and paneled robes. “Hey, walk me back to my rooms while I get out of this stuff? We can eat in the private study, Kolivan, it’ll be easier to talk there.”
“As you command,” Shiro says, sweeping into another too-deep bow. The two disappear through the double doors.
Allura and Kolivan regard each other coolly.
“200 GAC that your Emperor agrees to whatever proposal Shiro backs without any investigation or inquiry,” Allura says sweetly, damn her.
“300 GAC that your Leader of Voltron breaks at least one piece of cutlery when Keith bats his eyelashes,” Kolivan snarks.
Allura sighs. “A tie, then.” Kolivan offers his arm and Allura takes it, as they go off to make arrangements for their business talks over dinner.
~~
There is no way that Keith knows what he’s doing to Shiro. If he had any clue, it would qualify as cruel and unusual punishment, and he could be tried for war crimes. Shiro tells himself this very firmly as Keith uncaringly strips off his shirt and pants as soon as they step into his private quarters. Shiro looks resolutely away at a woven tapestry with cybernetic threading; it takes him through a story of a particularly bloody hunt of the thousand-legged metregyggl, which seemed to resemble a giant centipede with an entire spider for a face.
Shiro had liked Keith the moment they’d met. One second Shiro was doing one-armed push ups in his cell, trying to calibrate his new and terrible arm before his next big arena fight, and the next the wall beside his bed had simply…vanished. Mildly alarmed, Shiro had stuck his head out to peer down the hallway and then Keith had dropped down from the ceiling in his Blades uniform. He’d taken one look at Shiro, sweaty and half-dressed and vulnerable, and grabbed him by the hand.
“Come with me if you want to live,” Keith had said, and Shiro, charmed, had followed.
On the tiny galaxy skimmer Keith flew, he’d pulled back his hood to reveal a very attractive human face- and a very not-human pair of cat-like furred ears, perking up through his dark hair. He’d explained along the way that their unexpected appearance at his birth meant that when his mom left for the Blades, Keith had to as well. Nobody on Earth was going to buy that he was completely human with those around. Krolia had grabbed him and a duffle bag of Earth culture and hightailed it out of there before the men in black could come sniffing around. Keith’s Earth culture, Shiro found, was mostly based on a few iconic 80’s movies, some classic rock greatest hits CDs, and a couple of Betty Crocker cookbooks from the 1950’s. Keith hummed along to Journey as they skittered through an asteroid field and asked pointed, wistful questions about various types of jello salad.
He brought Shiro back to the Blades base where Shiro saw him get the dressing down of a lifetime over the sabotage of the Arena and the associated Galra communications channel, which he understood to be something like the space equivalent of when Pidge hacked the local news channel in order to rick roll on loop for two hours one April Fools in middle school. They seemed more upset about Shiro, but politely- as though upset with a child for inviting a friend over without checking there was enough dinner to go around first. Then Krolia had been called back from where she’d been stationed. She’d led Shiro back to Earth and the Blue Lion; Lance and Hunk and Pidge, then the wormhole and Allura and… everything else.
Still, Keith was a constant- always showing up in the nick of time with a little intel, a little firepower, or a little smile when things were going real, real bad. Hell, if it weren’t for Keith, Shiro doesn’t think he’d have survived the whole Zarkon fight with the teleduv. He’d thought of Keith as that funny Galra kid until Shiro’d managed to get stranded with a gaping, glowing wound in his side. Seeing Keith slide to his rescue for the ump-teenth time, mask down, braid coming loose around his face while he fought to get to Shiro’s side…
Yeah. Keith’s not a kid, and Shiro’s so far gone it’s not even cute. Especially when it’s clear that Keith’s just… like that. He’s wild and impatient and also kind and protective. He’d do that kind of thing for anyone, and he doesn’t think of Shiro as- as special or amazing. Why would he?
…and let’s not even talk about the whole Emperor thing.
Shiro’s snapped out of his morose thoughts when Keith claps his hands together and then spreads his arms apart.
“Well?” he asks, sounding pleased with himself.
Keith’s wearing… a plain red t-shirt and jeans.
“Huh,” Shiro says, circling around him. He reaches out to pluck at the cloth but then hesitates. He’s pretty sure that’s not allowed with royalty, after all.
“Go on,” Keith encourages him, so he closes the distance, brushing a finger along Keith’s arm. The cloth texture is odd, for a t-shirt- somewhat too thick and rougher on one side than the other. The pants, too, are woven fibers but clearly not denim up close. Still, it’s a stunning likeness. When Shiro takes a step back to look Keith over all at once, he can almost see him as a college student down on Earth, on his way to get pizza with friends.
Well, except for the ears. But they’re so cute, perked forward and attentive to Shiro as they ever are. Shiro clamps down on the urge to pet them.
“It looks like the real deal,” Shiro admits. “I’m impressed. Are they comfortable?”
Keith nods enthusiastically. “I like Earth… fashion, you called it?” Shiro makes an agreeable noise. “Clothes up here are so practical- what’s the range of motion, how’s armor capabilities, what’s the radiation shielding percentile…” Keith rolls his eyes. “I just want to wear something fun sometimes, you know?”
“I’m not very fashionable,” Shiro admits reluctantly. Sometimes talking to Keith about Earth makes Shiro feel awfully silly. He’d lived there for two and a half decades- it’s kind of sad he doesn’t know more about objectively Earth things. “Sorry I’m not a better conversationalist.”
Keith tilts his head to the side, confused. “But I love talking to you,” Keith says, and Shiro feels himself flush red. He doesn’t mean it like that, he reminds himself sternly, as they head out to meet the others for dinner. Quit being weird.
At dinner, Keith thrums with excitement as they place down the first course. The lids are lifted with great aplomb to reveal what looks like a fish.
… an entire fish.
A whole fish, suspended in aspic jelly. As he watches, the fish… blinks at him.
Oh dear god.
“Uh,” Shiro says politely. He glances over at Kolivan who is looking at the dish with the resignation of a man off to the gallows. So… not a traditional Galran dish, then. He feels a sense of apprehensive dread.
“Space goo jello salads! Just like Earth cuisine. You’ll have to tell me if it’s accurate,” Keith grins. “Bone apple teeth!”
“....”
Shiro picks up his spoon reluctantly.
~~
Keith heads back to his chambers quite cheerfully, after everything is said and done. The casual clothes Keith wore had gone over very well, and now there were some commissions for Earth-style clothing from the Galra weaver’s guild. The Voltron pilots are popular, so if they wear Galra-made clothing, orders will start pouring in.
“We need every bit of goodwill we can scrape up,” Keith explains to Kolivan as they walk. “We’re trying to transition from a militarist power into an economic one. That means we need to work on our PR.”
“PR,” Kolivan repeats, turning the unfamiliar term over in his mouth.
“Like Kevin Bacon,” Keith nods. Footloose, Krolia had told him, was one of his father’s favorites.
“Kevin Bacon,” Kolivan repeats, brow furrowing.
“I’m surprised they weren’t more open to negotiations about provisions, though. Shiro seemed to like the Earth food. He ate almost all of it- till the krykk-fsk got loose of the food goo and landed in his lap, anyway.”
Kolivan coughs, politely. “I am glad that you have had an eventful and productive evening.”
“The productive part, anyway,” Keith grins, all teeth. His ears are quirked back just enough that he knows they’re giving him away, but he’s bad at controlling them. “I know you think I’m stupid over Shiro, but it’s a good plan. Repatriation will address some of the worker shortage, and using government funds to cover transportation and housing costs is still less than outsourcing. You’ve seen the reports. It’s mutually beneficial.” And with that, Keith begins to dart into his quarters and escape, but Kolivan puts a heavy hand on the doorframe. When Keith looks up, surprised, Kolivan’s expression is oddly pensive.
“...Being Emperor is not meant to be a punishment, Keith. It is a position of great responsibility, but it is also one of privilege. I hope that you understand that myself and all of the Blades wish for your happiness.”
Keith swallows hard around the lump in his throat, ears laid back flat. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to be Emperor anyway, you know- you know. I’ll do my best, but I know what it means. Shiro’s never going to see me like that. He probably wasn’t anyway, but now…” Keith shakes his head.
“You could tell him,” Kolivan suggests. “About what really happened at the Kral Zera.”
“I’m definitely not doing that,” Keith says firmly, and then he goes to bed.
Sleep eludes him. At least he’ll be too busy to be able to take the skimmer out tomorrow; it’s the only consolation for the fact that he won’t be getting enough rest to safely fly. He’s getting morose over the conversation with Kolivan, even though it’s a conversation he’s had with himself about a million times. The room is stifling. If he tries to leave, the guards are going to tail him. He likes Regris fine, but not tonight. The only person he’d want to see wouldn’t want to see him anyway.
Keith puts on his Earth-style clothes and slips out the window. Noiselessly, he drops onto the ledge, dashing across the rooftop and then down into the garden when the sentries rotate.
He rises to see a figure in the light of their two moons, silvered and still.
“Allura,” Keith greets, a little breathless.
“Emperor,” she says, inclining her head.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” he says, dropping onto the bench beside hers. It’s oddly warm for the chill of the night, as though someone were just here a moment before. “You knew me way before, so it’s weird.”
“Decorum has its applications,” Allura reminds him.
“Sure,” Keith agrees. “I guess I just don’t see the point in maintaining distance between friends. I mean, I trust you. Don’t you trust me?”
Allura blinks a few times. “I… see.” She says, slowly. “You see the formalities as a separation of sorts?”
“Isn’t that what it’s for?” Keith asks. “To show you’ve got power or whatever, so you’re better than other people.”
Allura laughs gently. “You have such strange ideas about royalty from someone who won the right to rule in trial by combat.”
Keith shrugs, looking away. “It’s not like I planned on it.”
“Oh?” Allura rearranges herself. She glances briefly behind Keith, but then her gaze flickers back to his face. “I hadn’t heard as much. Enlighten me?”
Keith hesitates. She’s Shiro’s ally, after all.
“I swear that what you say will not leave this garden,” she promises.
The tension leaves Keith’s shoulders. “Alright,” he agrees. “I was just going to observe. The Blades weren’t sure any candidate they’d put up wouldn’t cause a civil war, and anyway, who wants to be Emperor? The job sucks.”
Allura coughs, which poorly conceals another laugh.
“We thought Lotor might be a good pick, since he seemed to be kind of opposite Zarkon, but we were trying to stay neutral.”
“There was the Altean Colony,” Allura says, her voice silk hiding steel.
“We had no idea,” Keith assures her. “When Voltron dropped in to take Lotor into custody for that, the whole place was- well, you remember.”
“Remind me,” Allura suggests. “The perspective from aerial battle is quite different from troops on the ground.”
“True,” Keith agrees. “Well, it was chaos. The Kral Zera is a trial by combat now, but the goal is to reach the top and light the flames. Before Zarkon and all that mess, it was a speech contest, or a test of wills, or even a riddle-off once. The contestants are supposed to agree on the winner and hold back to let them proceed up the stairs. It’s supposed to be… I dunno. Meaningful.”
“One thing of many that has been twisted over time,” Allura says sympathetically.
“Right, so… even with this being a fight now, there were kind of unspoken rules. Don’t go for vital spots, incapacitate instead of maim… that kind of thing. As soon as the firefight started, all bets were off. It was brutal.”
“And that is when Shiro dropped in.” Allura sounds knowing.
“He didn’t know what he was getting into,” Keith insists. “He just wanted to grab Lotor and get out of there. I get it! If Lotor ended up Emperor, the whole Empire would have gotten in the way of him ever seeing justice. But suddenly, there was this ‘enemy of the empire’ in the middle of a free for all, and…”
“You couldn’t just stand by and watch,’ Allura murmurs.
“I came out of hiding, but there were about a dozen of them ganging up on Shiro. There was no time- I needed a way to make them stop. The only thing that could stop them would be an order from the Emperor.” Keith drew a deep breath. “That’s why I grabbed the torch off the ground and ran up the stairs to light the flame. That’s why I became Emperor. I did it for Shiro.”
A gasp from behind makes Keith bristle and whirl around; Shiro stands on the path, holding Allura’s cloak.
“Thank you, Shiro,” Allura says crisply, rising to her feet. She takes the cloak and drapes it around herself. “It’s rather cool here at night in Daibazaal. I think I will retire.” She sweeps up the path regally while Keith and Shiro stare at each other in open, equal shock.
Keith had never been more nervous than when he’d been pounding up those stairs, his own ragged breath too-loud in his ears. The fire almost didn’t catch; someone had tried a last desperate blaster shot that went slightly wide, leaving his eyes smarting in the wake of the bright, hot light.
“Stop!” He had commanded. “By order of the rightful Emperor of the Galra Empire, you will kneel.” He had put every ounce of conviction into the statement, even as his hands shook because what if they didn’t? What if he had to watch while they killed Shiro, before they turned on him…
But if there was one thing that Zarkon’s long, terrible reign had taught the Galra it was obedience. In a slow wave, they dropped to their knees, until the only one left standing had been Shiro.
Shiro.
“You became Emperor for me?” Shiro asks, breaking the silence. He takes a staggering step forward, and his eyes aren’t turned away politely, and his posture isn’t stiff with unwanted formality. He just looks like Shiro.
“Yes,” Keith admits. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“O-oh.” Shiro looks unsteady- he reaches out a hand to touch the garden wall and stay upright. “Why would you do that?”
Keith looks at Shiro and says the only thing he can think of: the truth.
“Because I love you.”
Shiro sags against the wall, hands coming up to cover his face.
“Is that okay?” Keith asks, tentative. “I’m not sure I can stop.”
“Don’t,” Shiro manages to say.
“Sorry.” Keith looks down at the ground. Then Shiro moves so quickly that Keith doesn’t even hear it until he sees Shiro’s feet, standing in front of him. With shaking hands, Shiro reaches out and smoothes them through Keith’s hair, petting Keith’s ears, still laid back flat with anxiety.
“Oh!” Keith gasps at the wonderful, unfamiliar sensation.
“Don’t stop loving me,” Shiro begs.
Oh.
Keith reaches up with one hand, trapping Shiro’s hand against his hair. Shiro leans down, and Keith cups his jaw with the other as they kiss.
Tomorrow, Keith will be sleepless and overworked, and Shiro will have to return to his diplomacy and piloting, but they’ll have a promise to meet again and again and again, and they won’t ever stop.
They promised.