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Raucous laughter and percussion-heavy music precede their creators, informing Prince Keith and the rest of the courtyard of the procession’s impending arrival. Only the Balmerans have ever managed to make a similar level of noise, but this has more to do with their large frames and heavy footsteps than it does their vocality. Keith’s heart thuds in time with the beat, and he forces himself to blink less so he doesn’t miss a moment of those to come.
“Remember to bow properly, dearest,” Keith’s mother, Queen Krolia, reminds him. “And try not to smile too wide. Baring your teeth could be perceived as a threat.”
Keith snorts. “For the first time in my life, I’m being told not to smile.”
She pinches his arm, but her smirk betrays her amusement. “Try to tone down the sarcasm while you’re still able. Your father may be charmed, but not everyone is impressed by our ability to piss off every royal who wanders our direction.”
“I can assure you, they’re impressed,” King Kolivan adds, placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Not enchanted by your perfect assessments of their lackluster character, but impressed by the speed with which you destroy their gold leaf egos.”
Captain Shiro snorts behind Keith but quickly covers it with a cough.
The fanfare reaches its pinnacle just as the newcomers enter the stone archway. The Okaimar Rainbow Knights lead in scale armor, each set reflecting a different vibrant hue, causing them to shimmer in the sunlight as they march. The Blades of Marmora only use the all-black variant when patrolling, Daibazaal’s armies more suited to covert missions rather than all-out battles on exposed battlefields. There’s functionality in black, but courage in color.
“Impressive, aren’t they?” Krolia whispers.
Keith nods. While not a stranger to the existence of the Manaketes of Okaimar, he’s never seen so many of them in one place. Rarely do they make their heritage known, preferring to hide their non-human characteristics behind glamours to avoid being hunted for their magical abilities. While human-presenting, strenuous tasks take far more of a toll than they would otherwise, but in their natural forms, Manaketes could destroy an entire kingdom if aggravated.
The majority Keith has met, work in Daibazaal Palace, their safety guaranteed by an ancient treaty drafted at least a dozen generations prior. They’re typically good-humored, even going so far as to retaliate in kind whenever Keith’s wit comes out to bite. Their keen minds allow for treasure troves of memories, letting them paint a more colorful tapestry of culture and history than Keith’s Galra or Altean tutors ever have.
The procession halts. The Rainbow Knights split down the middle to make room for a male Manakete, his posture tall and limbs lithe. Instead of armor, he dons a long-sleeved white shirt underneath a deep blue tunic that falls to his calves. His tan thigh-high boots accentuate the length of his legs, their softness evident in the way his steps don’t make a sound. Around his neck is a gold chain with a translucent blue gem nestled in between his collarbones.
A dragonstone.
Kolivan steps forward and bows deeply. Everyone, including Keith and Krolia, follows suit. Silence descends.
While other’s eyes remain at their feet, Keith’s wander upward, observing the slight sway of the Manakete’s hips as he approaches. He stops in front of Kolivan and waits.
“My father sends his regards,” the Manakete says.
Kolivan makes a noise of surprise. Keith, Krolia, and the Blades of Marmora shoot up, only for the man to begin roaring with laughter.
“Tell your father I’m bound by a certain modicum of respect unlike the Almighty Manakete Lord,” he responds kindly.
The Manakete grins. “I’ll be sure to let him know the moment I’m able.”
Captain Shiro glances between the two, his confusion clear. “Sir, this is Prince Lance of Okaimar, is it not?”
“Yes, and I have a feeling he’s just as much of a nuisance as his father once was. Or I suppose he still is considering how I’ve just been greeted.” Kolivan gestures toward the palace doors. “Come. Our staff has prepared a feast to celebrate your arrival, but I suppose you’ll want to visit your quarters first. I’ve put you in a room next to my son, Keith.”
Lance’s eyes meet Keith’s. The blue of his catlike irises matches the dragonstone and, for a moment, Keith feels electricity dance across his skin. He bows hastily to break eye contact and just barely avoids tripping.
“Do I need to give this one a rap on the head as well?” Lance asks with fake sincerity.
Keith’s face heats up and he stands straight, pulling at the wrist of one of his gloves. “Don’t even consider it, Your Highness.”
There’s a mischievous flint in Lance’s eye when Keith chances for another look. He gives Keith a once-over and hums thoughtfully. “I believe I’m very much going to enjoy my time here.”
Shiro chokes on a laugh. Keith kicks him in the shin. Lance enters the palace with a chuckle.
Lance adapts to his surroundings the way an Altean might change their visage upon encountering enemy soldiers, albeit his transition is much less out of self-preservation and rather out of want for better conversation. He spends much of his time questioning Keith about human and Galra cultures, driving him to the brink with how many queries he’s meant to answer.
“Why do some Galra look like Manaketes without their glamours, yet others resemble those little furry creatures with the piercing glares?”
“I already told you, they’re called cats,” Keith responds, putting down the book he’s been trying to read for the past hour. “And it has to do with our mixed-race heritage. Centuries ago, pure-blooded Galra were prized, but it’s antiquated and no one cares about ancestry as long as you can hold a weapon or write a decent book.”
Lance nods, then leans over and pokes Keith’s arm. “You seem squishy in comparison to the other Galra. Are you considered special among your people, or are you prized based on your lineage?”
“Do you know anything about my family?”
Lance quirks his lips. “I know you’re the son of King Kolivan and Queen Krolia, but that you only resemble Her Highness in facial expressions and wit. Otherwise you lack the most prominent features associated with Galra.”
“By all means, Kolivan is my father,” Keith says, “but only through his marriage to my mother. Under other circumstances, I would only be considered a prince in name, but Kolivan changed the law so I might someday rule in his place. His faith seems a bit misplaced, but I appreciate the gesture all the same.”
“You don’t think you’re ready?”
Keith smiles, small and bittersweet. “Do you?”
“Unless all four of my siblings were to die, I don’t think I’ll ever have to find out,” Lance answers. “Still, I’ve seen the way you hold a sword, and I’m sure writing a book could be simple if you’ve read your way through the entire library like someone we know.”
“I was bored,” Keith grumbles.
“You’ll be ready.”
Keith raises an eyebrow. “And you know this...how?”
“I’m a mythical creature. You’re obligated to trust me.”
Eventually, their conversation descends into silence again and Keith returns to his book. He peeks up a few times, catching Lance’s pensive expression. His pupils are wider in the dim light of the study, making him look less calculating. The slight pout of his lips has Keith staring for longer than intended.
“Keith?”
Keith wrenches his eyes away and instead tries to immerse himself in literary images of vibrant wings and dancing in flight and—
“Do any Galra resemble yalmor?”
Keith sighs, the illusion broken.
The only time Keith is alone is late at night, far from the eyes of his parents, Lance, or any visiting nobles bearing unfair agreements and offering beautiful daughters to Daibazaal’s crown prince. While it’s considered unsafe to leave the castle grounds past midnight, Keith does so anyway, navigating the narrow pathway through the forest to his favorite view.
Lake Honerva was named for an empress and witch of both Altean and Galra ancestry, a woman whose beauty and cognitive prowess rivaled all of Daibazaal and beyond. When Emperor Zarkon first met Honerva upon the inky shore, he promised he’d name it for her the moment they married. Since then, many marriage ceremonies have been held by the lake, the couples stepping into the lake to be blessed with an eternal bond.
The water is pushed and pulled with the current, steady and constant. The black surface is made shiny by the five moons hanging in the sky, each in different phases of waxing and waning. Every once in a while, a bird or small rodent chirps in the darkness, a warning to retreat from Keith’s intrusion into their habitat. He apologizes as he walks, a gentle chant bordering on a prayer.
“Keith?”
Keith stops several paces away from his favorite tree, one with pastel blue bark and navy-colored leaves. Someone sits in the darkness, waiting for Keith’s response. Has he been caught? Finding a new spot on the lake will be torturous if Kolivan demands patrols from now on. However, the cloud covering tonight’s brightest moon floats away, allowing the moonlight to paint Lance in its rosy glow.
“I figured you’d be asleep by now,” Keith says.
Lance shrugs. “You’ll find I’m prone to boredom even at the most interesting of times. What are you doing sneaking around in the dead of night?”
“Thinking,” Keith replies honestly.
Lance doesn’t seem to be expecting this answer, losing the joke he was preparing. Instead, he pats the ground next to him. “Care for a seat?”
“Technically you’ve stolen my seat.”
“Far be it from me to steal from a prince,” Lance says with a laugh.
Unlike usual, Lance asks no questions and instead stares at the lake, his knees pulled into himself and chin resting atop them. Often, his personality increases his size by multitudes even when in the presence of the tallest of Galra, but tonight he looks more human than he ever has – his only protections are the clothes on his back.
Keith searches for something to say, but topics escape him. Even after months of conversation, he’s never been the one to take the lead. Lance carries every conversation with the finesse of those carrying baskets of clothing on their heads as they return from washing laundry. Keith is more like the children who follow in their wake. He can manage it for a few steps, but ultimately he’ll be brushing away dirt when he hangs his garments to dry.
“I’ve always wanted to go on an adventure,” Lance whispers. Almost to himself.
As always, Keith lets him lead.
“As a child I’d heard wild stories about the outside world. People of different races and moral codes. People who bow upon greeting and those who shake hands with everyone they come across. Thousands of languages to express joy, sadness, pain…” he flicks his eyes to Keith’s, “...love.”
Keith’s heart pangs. What would words of love sound like in Okaimar?
“Everyone knows if the stars were an option to us, I would ascend to their heights and only return when I’m too old to carry on in my journey.” Lance shakes his head. “But I’ve only wandered a short distance from home and I already feel as if I’ve aged millennia. Every time I receive a letter from my siblings, I can’t help wanting to race home even if I can only get there on my own two feet.”
Keith thumbs at the dragonstone around Lance’s neck, a soft glow emanating from inside. “Or your own two wings.”
Lance brings his own fingers to his necklace. “I’ve only just realized how long it’s been since I’ve been myself. I won’t remove the entire glamour – I don’t want to lose myself and become the lake monster of Daibazaal – but would you mind if I…?” He bites his lip.
Keith nods enthusiastically. He’s never seen a Manakete without full glamour. He’s not about to deny the chance.
Lance removes his shirt and boots before pushing off the ground and walking toward the shoreline. The dragonstone around his neck glows brighter the closer he gets, and Keith can see his eyes are closed and his mouth is moving rapidly. Lance takes his first step into the water.
The glamour fades. Blue and purple scales trail down Lance’s neck and over much of his forearms. When he reopens his eyes, Keith assumes they’re just reflecting the dragonstone, but no. They’re glowing on their own. The water around Lance begins to crackle and jolts of purple lightning dance across the surface.
Keith doesn’t realize he’s stopped blinking and breathing until the dragonstone is a blue ember. He quietly delights in the satisfied sigh Lance lets out.
Lance grins, his teeth sharper. Keith better understands his mother’s warning the first day Lance arrived. “My magic has been pent up for far too long. Also, I’d stay out of the water if I were you. I’ve heard I can be...quite shocking.”
The idea of touching Lance – a myth by some accounts, a legend by others, a rarity by all – makes Keith feel like he would be breaking some sort of ancient law. He adheres to Lance’s advice and stays seated, settling with the knowledge that some treasures are just meant to be observed. Admired. Loved from afar.
You don’t love him, Keith admonishes himself.
Tonight, he can convince himself he’s right. But after weeks of Lance becoming more comfortable – shedding more clothes as he swims through placid waters, even showing off his tail once – Keith realizes he is wrong.
So thoroughly wrong.
Contrary to the joking comments often launched at Keith by his mother and father, he’s not averse to formal events. He quite likes the way his suit matches the wine color of his eyes, and the way everyone’s spirits are lifted, if only for the night. Friends he’s missed for months float across the ballroom floor, hands clasped in those of friends or potential spouses, and smiles as bright as the jewelry around their necks.
However, tonight the moons are the brightest they’ve been in years, which makes it such a waste to celebrate indoors. He allows himself one last eyeful of a lovestruck Lady Romelle dancing with one of the captains of the Altean guard, a petite knight affectionately known as Pidge. Keith will make up for not having greeted them tonight by attending their wedding in the springtime. He sneaks out the doors before anyone can bore him with talks of economics. Lance is leaning against one of the garden archways just outside.
“Leaving without me?” he asks with a grin.
Music thrums through the stained glass windows and for a moment Keith almost asks him to dance but thinks better of it. Instead, he shakes his head. “Never.”
Over the months, their rendezvous at the lake has become a ritual, both of them taking their place underneath the dark leaves and identifying creatures by their nighttime calls. Once Lance tells stories of his home and Keith recounts missions he’s completed with the Blades, Lance approaches the water, the surface and his eyes crackling with barely bridled energy.
Every time, Keith watches on in silence, reminding himself that his intrusive thoughts aren’t to be brought before the moonlight. Their touches have been more frequent – a hand on the waist, a head on the shoulder – and sometimes their voices reach a whisper too intimate for mere friends. Though part of him worries about the implications of courting. Would Lance return home eventually out of homesickness? Would Keith be welcome in Okaimar? If Keith left home, who would take the throne after Kolivan dies?
Lance’s scales ripple as he dances in the water, his pace slow and deliberate. Keith’s heart yearns to be there, too. His feet must follow where Lance’s feet go.
Keith marches toward the water, not bothering to remove his boots in his haste. Lance stares as he does so, a hint of surprise on his face, but mostly he is as calm as the water is still.
“I’ve only been waiting for you to join me since we first met here,” Lance says sarcastically.
Keith brushes a thumb along the scales on Lance’s jaw. Lance nudges into the touch and closes his eyes.
“Go on, then.”
Keith does. For a brief moment, their lips meet.
Just as soon, Keith jolts backward.
“Ah, sorry!” Lance says, steadying Keith by the waist. “My magic gets a bit amplified when I’m excited. Although I don’t mind our first kiss being...electric.”
Keith groans and places his forehead in the crook of Lance’s neck. “Our first kiss is going to be our last if you ever make a joke like that again.”
“Noted,” Lance says with a laugh.
Keith leans back and raises an eyebrow, doubting Lance’s sincerity. Of course, Lance lacks any shame at all.
“Guess I’ll have to get used to it,” Keith concedes.
Lance rubs his nose against Keith’s and whispers, “I suppose so.”
When they kiss for a second time (and a third, and a fourth), the bell tower begins to ring. With every toll, Keith whispers his feelings, for though no law to tear them apart exists, it feels as if the spell woven by midnight’s cool breeze could wear off at any moment. Lance accepts every word and offers his own in kind.
Perhaps when the sun rises they will have politics and social conventions to worry about. But for now, they allow themselves the blessings of lovers long ago.