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His name is Valerio Giovanni Loredan and he’s the second prince of an island kingdom far, far away – so far that Lucas bothers recalling neither its name nor its coordinates from the map. He’s tall and tan with chocolate brown hair, a perpetual smile plastered on his face that indicates a good-natured personality. He seems to be the sort of fellow who doesn’t get offended even if you insult him and his royal lineage.
Valerio is presenting himself before the Emperor and the Crown Princess, his envoys falling in line behind him. He’s dressed in loose clothing, coat draped like a robe and jewelry covering his neck, arms, and even ankles. From an outsider’s perspective he looks as if he’s insulting the Obelian court with his fashion of choice, but compared with the Emperor on his regular days Valerio’s clothes seem like they belong in the winter collection.
“I am deeply honored and grateful for the kindness and hospitality the Obelian Empire is giving us,” Valerio is saying. “I am looking forward to our stay here in your beautiful country.”
Claude nods and says nothing, while Athanasia smiles and descends from her seat, offering a hand for Valerio to shake.
The prince blinks and – to Lucas’s nascent horror – his cheeks begin to darken.
He has a bad feeling about this.
+
“How long is that prince staying?”
They’re at the salon in the Emerald Palace, the afternoon sun filtering its way through the windows, casting the room a warm, yellow glow. A day after Valerio and his diplomatic mission’s arrival, Lucas appeared in Athanasia’s room to pester her into having tea with him. Athanasia relented after five minutes of needling, and Lucas bit a smirk at the successful thwarting of any appointment she had in the day.
Athanasia pauses in her sip. “Who? Valerio?”
At the mention of the prince’s first name, Lucas frowns.
“You’re already first-name basis with him?”
Lucas has to do a double-take when a faint red tints Athanasia’s cheeks. Something hot and tight builds within Lucas’s chest, and not the good kind. He exhales more harshly than usual, and Athanasia notices.
“What? I mean I have to be friendly to him, you know? In Cornaro, hierarchy doesn’t mean much, so using honorifics is more a rare occurrence than calling people by their first names.”
“Cornaro?”
She looks at him funny. “It’s the name of his kingdom. Were you not paying attention?”
He huffs. “Why should I bother learning the name of his kingdom? It’s unimportant to me.”
He feels her shoot him a piercing glare, and he returns the gesture with an equal level of insouciance.
“In any case, I don’t want you being rude to him and his envoy. You’re the Imperial Magician, which means you’re part of the Obelian Court. Anything you do reflects the imperial family, which means me and Dad.”
She doesn’t have to tell him that. Lucas knows his role in the royal court. Ever since Athanasia’s official appointment as the Crown Princess, Lucas finds himself assisting her in a number of matters, mostly on travel logistics and procurement of materials for her projects. Sometimes, he takes up the task of bodyguarding her despite the Crimson Blood Knight’s presence, which makes the Emperor knot his forehead and cast him murderous looks.
“Tch. I know, I know.” He placates, “I swear not to replace all his things with dust balls.”
Athanasia seems skeptical of that, but the matter is dropped and they enjoy the pastries for the rest of the hour.
+
On the third day, Athanasia gives Valerio a tour of the rose gardens. It’s late spring, so plenty of flowers are in full bloom, painting the place in bright, colorful hues. Athanasia wears a floral dress that matches the background, her jewel eyes standing out more than usual. She looks like a garden fairy dancing among the roses.
Valerio, from where Lucas sourly watches the pair, is two heads taller than the princess. He nods along whatever Athanasia is saying, her hands in an energetic gesticulation that Lucas assumes to be an explanation of how the garden was developed. Valerio doesn’t interrupt her, nods every now and then, and talks only when he’s asked a question. He throws a comment that Athanasia laughs at, delighted, and Lucas feels his brows melting together.
Beside him Ijekiel raises his eyebrows. It’s one of his visits to the Emerald Palace, disguised as an official meeting with the Crown Princess. He and Athanasia would talk in an official capacity for an hour before they shed their public roles and have tea together in an unofficial capacity. On most occasions, Lucas would crash their teatime, to Ijekiel’s consternation. But the worst thing he does is flatten his lips and frown maturely.
“I’m seeing what you mean,” Ijekiel says. If you ask Lucas, he’d say that they’re not friends, but in the years following the coronation they’ve developed a sort of grudging acceptance of each other, an acknowledgment of their places in Athanasia’s life and the extent of where that would lead to (they still remember vividly Athanasia’s loud declaration of not needing to get married). In this limbo, they have since learned to respect each other’s capabilities.
“It pisses me off,” Lucas grumbles. In the distance the tour continues on merrily. Seconds later Athanasia trips on a bramble, but Valerio is quick to hold on to her arm, thus preventing her from falling to the ground. In that moment, Valerio seems to be sparkling in his heroic deed, his hair and his coat fluttering in the non-existent breeze. Lucas finds himself nearly teleporting to them, but seeing as the princess is already fine, he leans back from where he stands, Athanasia’s warning not to interfere clear in his mind. “Really pisses me off,” he repeats.
Ijekiel hums in agreement.
+
It’s on the fifth day that things get exciting.
The palace explodes with the news of an assassination threat targeting the Cornaran prince, who receives the news with a bafflingly apologetic humor. Logically, this development can potentially strain the budding relations between Obelia and Cornaro, because any opposition to their alliance can treat this as an opportunity to smear either kingdoms. One can accuse Obelia of orchestrating an assassination attempt; conversely, one can speculate that Cornaro may have set this up to pin the blame on Obelia.
“But why would we do this?” Athanasia says, her lips pulled into a frown. “What would Obelia gain from it? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense,” Lucas replies, swiping a grape from the tray that Athanasia’s lady-in-waiting delivered. He pinches it twice before putting it in his mouth. “Those who hate Obelia or Cornaro would believe that nonsense, regardless of whether it’s true or not.” He pauses as a thought occurs to him. “Where’s your father in all this? I notice that it’s you who keeps entertaining the delegation.”
“Dad? Oh, he actually assigned this to me. It’s my first diplomatic responsibility, now that I think about it.”
“He what.”
He’s plucked another grape as Athanasia was talking, and when she mentions being in charge of the foreign relations, Lucas summarily drops the grape and it bounces off the couch and into the carpeted floor.
Athanasia glances at the grape and points at it. “Pick that up.”
Lucas ignores her. “Why would he assign that to you? Is that why you keep hanging out with that foreign brat?”
“Excuse me – brat? Valerio is a perfectly nice man! He’s very polite and he laughs at my jokes.”
“That’s it? All it takes is a laugh here and there and you’re all smitten?”
“What are you talking about?” Athanasia glares at him before sliding her gaze away and muttering, “You don’t laugh at my jokes.”
“That’s because they’re not funny.”
“Ugh! This is why Valerio’s one hundred times nicer than you.”
That rubs Lucas the wrong way, the heaviness inside his ribs doubling, red-heat in its tightness. He doesn’t realize that he’s gritting his teeth until Athanasia sends him an unimpressed look, already used to his personality. That just angers Lucas further, and he springs up from the couch, grumbles a Tch, whatever, and teleports away.
It’s an hour after he left that he remembers he never picked up the grape.
+
Normally Lucas would be helping Athanasia in her tasks as important as diplomacy, but the recent events prevent him from lending a hand. He skips going to the palace for a couple of days and stays at the Black Tower instead, causing a panicked uproar among the magicians.
By the fourteenth consultation, Lucas decides he can no longer endure their stupidity and jumps back to the Imperial Palace, leaving a magician’s apprentice hanging.
He’s welcomed by none other than Valerio, who’s currently exploring the flora near the lake. Recognizing Lucas, Valerio grins and waves at him, approaching him with guilelessness borne out of ignorance of the knowledge that Lucas had badmouthed him twice already.
“Imperial Magician!” he greets, like he’s not the target of assassination. Lucas has half a mind to teleport away, diplomacy be damned. “It’s an honor running into you today.”
There’s a snarky reply ready on his tongue, but he hesitates at Valerio’s genuine joy at seeing him.
“Your highness,” he allows, nodding at the prince.
Valerio takes that as a sign to launch into an enthusiastic speech about how he’s enjoying his stay in Obelia so far – threats of assassination notwithstanding – how he’s appreciative of the kindness the people here provide him and his delegation, and how he’s learning so much of their culture.
“Living in a landlocked country truly is different from living on an island. I have traveled to so many countries but I never tire of experiencing new cultures. Obelia is a beautiful place that offers so many things, and with such prosperous economy! I hope to secure as many trade agreements as I can before I leave.”
Were Lucas a courteous man he would have complimented Valerio on his aspirations; unfortunately, he’s not, so what he says is, “That is, if you’re still alive by then.”
If Athanasia were present, she would have smacked Lucas by the arm and shouted at him for being so mean. But it’s just him and Valerio, and Valerio’s so blindsided by that comment that he gapes at Lucas for exactly ten seconds before expiring a shocked laughter that evolves into a full-blown cackle that startles Lucas.
“There is no need to worry,” he says after mellowing with a chuckle. “I have not survived the seas being naive and defenseless. Besides, Crown Princess Athanasia is helping me untangle this situation.”
He begins to relate to Lucas his first brush of danger in the middle of the sea. It was storming at the time, powerful winds that whipped at Valerio’s ship, waves almost swallowing it whole. Almost half of his crew attempted to mutiny during those harrowing hours, and Lucas thinks to himself as he listens to the tale, this can be easily dealt with using magic. But Valerio possesses no mana, and only his sincere words and his unconventional problem-solving skills saved him from both the storm and the rebellion.
Valerio’s animated the entire time he’s telling the story, and his eyes catch the lake’s shimmer, making them brighter and him more riveting. Lucas is almost impressed. Almost.
He kind of sees now why many people are so taken with him, Athanasia included. But no matter what happens Lucas will never ever join that camp.
+
“Fine,” Lucas declares later that night, a beat after popping up in the middle of Athanasia’s office, surprising the princess that she curses and drops the stack of documents she’s holding.
Lucas raises his eyebrows. “If your father hears that, you’ll be in trouble.”
“Shut up,” she says, fingers rubbing her temple. Based on the flurry of papers, it seems that Athanasia’s juggling more than seven tasks at the same time. This is on top of the thing with Valerio. “Why are you here? Are you done sulking?”
He ignores that last jab. “I will help you with the investigation of the Cornaran prince’s assassination threat.”
Athanasia’s fingers stop moving and she raises her head with an expression that clearly indicates she never expected Lucas to utter those words.
“Oh,” she says, tone very much astonished. A moment later her face morphs into something smug – an expression Lucas never expected – his expectation falls somewhere between her beaming at him in appreciation and her thanking him for his extensive generosity.
There’s a small part of him that laments this development between them. Athanasia, at nineteen, has gone through so much that her heart grew sturdy and defiant, and this means that she’s even more comfortable with snarking at Lucas, who never has the patience for people’s impudence. But Athanasia is not just any people; she’s Athanasia, the one who has lived thrice, whose tremendous mana bent spacetime just to grant her desire for love, who faced her ordeals with the steel-strength conviction of someone who has everything to lose and thus has no plans of giving them up.
Athanasia, whose smile is a rose in full bloom, lush and free.
Lucas is not a magnanimous man; he’d rather destroy than cultivate. But for Athanasia he’d temper himself – something he’s never done in a long time.
+
With Lucas offering his assistance, the investigation wraps up sooner than anticipated. Turns out, a small anti-emperor faction is responsible for the threat; they thought that by putting the Cornaran prince in danger, they could frame Claude, and to an extent Athanasia, for it, thus a breakdown of both diplomatic and public relations.
Claude concludes the investigation by putting the anti-emperor faction in prison, where they will wait for their punishment. Lucas guesses that Claude’s all for execution, but Athanasia would probably oppose that and would suggest a more reasonable sentence.
“I am again grateful for the Emperor and the Imperial Crown Princess’s help and kindness amidst this extraordinary circumstance,” Valerio says, the imperial court his witness. He’s standing in full regalia – coat and jewelry and all – and the confidence in his tone and gait captivates yet again the people present.
“You’re welcome, Prince Valerio,” Athanasia replies, friendly smile on her face. “We only hope that this strengthens the relationship between our countries.”
“Of course, Your Imperial Highness.” There’s a pause where Valerio seems to be mustering something, and the shift of his legs alerts Lucas to an inexplicable dread that freezes his limbs. He braces for impact when Valerio says, “If I may be completely honest: Princess Athanasia has displayed such admirable qualities during our stay. She is wise, compassionate, and strong-willed that I find myself inevitably drawn to her. I realize that I have fallen in love with her. And with this I would like to submit myself and ask for her hand in marriage.”
He finishes his speech by kneeling in front of Athanasia and taking her hand, staring up at her with an earnestness that Lucas finds nauseating. There’s a hush that falls upon the court, all wide-eyed and disbelieving nobles unable to avert their gazes at the two figures in the middle of the hall. Across Lucas, Ijekiel observes the scene unfolding, fists and jaw clenched.
For a few moments, the world seems to be suspended in time, drained of color, monochromatic. But slowly, gradually, it returns: the tick of the clock resumes, hues bleed back into the scene, and Claude, who’s perched on his throne, casting his imperial gaze upon the spiraling event, blinks once, twice.
Then he rises from his seat.
The palace descends into chaos.
+
Athanasia watches the Cornaran convoy depart from the Imperial Palace, their carriages eventually disappearing from her line of sight through the office window. After Valerio’s confession, Claude attempted to murder the prince, which was hilarious (to Lucas) because it was the very thing that they had investigated and had wanted to prevent from happening.
Fortunately, Athanasia had managed to convince her father of the disadvantages of homicide, after which she – kindly, gently – turned down the prince’s proposal. Valerio accepted the rejection with good grace and humor, and swore to continue friendly diplomatic relations despite failing in the romantic aspect. This display of political sportsmanship only cemented his good standing among Obelian nobles, some of whom even invited him to various extracurricular activities. Within minutes Valerio had become a popular figure among the court, and Lucas had a dreadful inkling that he’ll see the Cornaran prince more in the future.
Lounging in the settee, Lucas smirks at Athanasia as she makes her way back to her desk, which is still avalanched by piles of documents. She stares at the papers ruefully before she sighs, and moves towards Lucas instead.
“The brat’s finally gone,” he says.
She sits in the settee, at the other end of it, and closes her eyes, slumps like a puppet with all its strings cut.
“Still a brat? You met him.”
Lucas pretends to think about it. “Okay, maybe not a brat,” he concedes. “A big puppy, more like.”
Athanasia hums.
It’s obvious that the past days exhausted her, one responsibility overtaking a number of others, and Athanasia still has to deal with them all within a given timeframe. Anyone would drop dead from the workload.
But Athanasia has been doing this for years. Starting early as training thanks to her father, Athanasia has built up stamina for this kind of work. It also helps that she’s smart and quick-witted, that she takes these tasks seriously. That she takes her third life seriously, but with a love that glows and brightens everything she touches.
Lucas shifts from his seat so he’s now leaning towards her. “You did well,” he says.
One eye opens, zeroing in on him. A corner of her mouth twitches.
“Yeah?” A thoughtful pause. “Thanks for assisting us with the investigation. You really helped a lot.”
Lucas feels his eyes narrowing, his lips curving upward. An idea forms in his head and he’s going to execute it.
“Of course,” he says with a tone that brooks no argument. “I deserve a reward, don’t I?”
This time, both eyes open, and Athanasia stares at him as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing.
“What?”
“You know what I want.”
The line of her mouth contorts in such a ridiculous way that Lucas has to bite a laugh lest she takes offense. But he sees the red blooming on Athanasia’s neck, cheeks, and even ears – like a blossoming rosebud – that a heat of his own burgeons inside his chest and spreads throughout his body, makes a home on his cheeks. It doesn’t deter him from what he plans to do, so he smirks again and closes his eyes.
“Come on, I’m waiting.”
It’s quiet for a while, the loudest he can hear is his own breathing. But then there’s a rustling of fabric, and a body heat not his gets closer.
He waits. And waits and waits until there’s a soft press of lips on his. Lucas locks himself in place, frozen and unable to move due to shock anyway. In all actuality, he expects a kiss only on the cheek. It’s been that way before. But now, this – this –
They don’t move for many moments. Lucas tries a peek, and a set of jewel eyes welcomes his sight.
Athanasia snatches herself away, sputtering and stuttering and so damned red in the face. She refuses to turn his way, body curling on itself because of the intense embarrassment.
No, he thinks to himself, and a hand grabs Athanasia’s shoulder, tight and intent on its grip. Athanasia goes rigid for one split second before she shudders.
“L-Lucas? W-What are you doing?”
His other hand cups her flushed cheek. This way she can no longer escape him. Lucas inches closer and closer until their noses almost touch and he peers at her and murmurs, “It’s not enough. You can do better than that.”
So their lips meet again, and this time Lucas moves with purpose. He catches Athanasia’s lower lip with his teeth and then licks it. Athanasia makes a sound that compels Lucas to prise her mouth open and thrust his tongue inside her, and it’s the hottest (and the only) kiss he’s ever had.
When they part, Lucas studies the dazed expression on Athanasia’s face. Her lips swollen and parted, eyes half-mast and unfocused, cheeks stained with crimson, hair slightly disheveled. Her fingers cling onto his robes. Lucas shuffles his legs and swallows the lump on his throat. The action brings Athanasia back to reality, and he can see up close the precise point when Athanasia becomes flooded with panic.
She jumps from her seat and stammers, “I-I n-need to dosomeerrandsforDadbye!” and bolts from the room, leaving Lucas alone gawking after her.
Stunned, he lifts two fingers to rest on his lips, as if capturing the memory of the lush pressure of their kiss. Unbidden his mouth curves and Lucas grins to himself, a feeling like soaring lighting his veins.
Leaning back on the settee, he exhales a laugh and closes his eyes. Licks his lips.
They taste sweet, like candy.