Chapter Text
Standing in one of Khaenri’ah’s many ballrooms for the fourth time this month has become almost like muscle memory for Dain.
It all started a few months ago when Pierro, his boss, and the Princess’s royal advisor, told him that Princess Lumine’s coronation was going to be in the next coming months and that there would be an entire month of celebratory balls and other banquets and feasts just before the coronation would take place.
Now, Dain has been the Princess’s personal guard for quite some time now, so he is used to having to stand around and sniff out danger for long hours, but four balls in one month? Gods, that is grueling. He’ll have to deal with snobby nobles, talkative guests, and dancing, most of which he does not like. Dain has an appreciation for the art of dancing, but would rather not partake in the activity.
Luckily enough, Dain does not have to dance at these balls because his main priority is watching over the Princess, and that is a job he takes very seriously and enjoys deeply. In fact, she makes these festivities just a little less miserable for him.
At the final and fourth ball, Lumine descends from the dais in a glimmering black dress, her blonde hair tied up in an elegant bun. The long column of her neck is exposed to the evening air.
He's grateful for Khaenri'ah’s construction choices for the open-air ballroom because the cool breeze keeps him feeling like he can breathe, even though his chest constricts with each of her steps.
However, Dain is also cursing Khaenri’ah's construction choices because as Princess Lumine nears him, he can see the gooseflesh rising upon her neck from the chill. He imagines it's rising on the thigh exposed by the slit in her dress, too. It's far too breezy for her to be wearing something so open and unconstricted.
He keeps his gaze from drifting down as she gets closer.
"Oh, Dain, isn't it beautiful?" She asks him.
Yes. Very beautiful.
"The planners did such a good job preparing the ballroom."
Oh, she's talking about that.
"Indeed, Princess. It's lovely," he says, finally dragging his gaze away from her beauty and to their surroundings. The open-air ballroom is similar to that of an extremely large gazebo. The columns supporting the ceiling above them are wrapped around with Inteyvats and vines and fairy lights. A live jazz band plays in the corner, sweet and romantic notes filling the room. It's night, but the lanterns hanging from the ceiling make the area feel alive. He doesn't want to sleep standing here.
"Do I look alright?" Lumine's voice brings him back to reality. "Mona said this dress would be best for this evening, but I feel a little silly in all black. Almost like I'm at a funeral. You think it's okay?"
The Princess likes to make his life more difficult, it seems.
Dain looks down at the next Queen of Khaenri'ah. Her floor-length black gown is sprinkled tastefully with glitter so that with every slight movement, it ripples across her skin like moonlight on ocean waves. She looks otherworldly, and for once, they match.
He's dressed in a black tux, with only a gold, eight-pointed star embroidered on where a pocket square would typically be. It’s the formal wear of the Black Serpent Knights and comes in varying colors, but Dain wears all black, being the personal guard of Her Highness, Princess Lumine.
Looking at her, his mouth dries and he licks his lips to try and combat it. "You look beautiful as always, Princess."
Lumine smiles brightly at the compliment. "Thank you, Dainsleif."
A butler passes them by, and she sweeps two flutes of champagne off his tray and holds one out to him with a sly grin. "Need one?"
"No, Your Highness. I'm not–"
She sighs, loud and long, and rolls her eyes. "Not allowed. I know. I just thought I’d try." She takes a few sips from one flute and pours some more champagne from the other glass into it, giving the illusion that it was never sipped to begin with.
"Are you sure you should be drinking a lot tonight? Your coronation is tomorrow."
"Right," she sighs and looks up at where her throne sits in the center of the dais, adorned with lilies and inteyvats. "Well, I think I need it tonight. Pierro gave me a list of suitors that are looking to dance with me."
Dain grimaces (and inwardly growls in frustration), “How ridiculous.”
Lumine smiles again, though he can’t understand why, especially because she’ll be wrapped up with those unworthy beings very soon. "I know,” she says. “Oh – he's looking over here. I gotta go. Don’t get too bored while I’m gone.”
And then she's off shimmering across the dancefloor to someone lowly and snobbish, though still much higher above his station. He wishes now that he had taken that flute of champagne. Tonight, when he's back in his guard's quarters, he will drown himself in alcohol to forget the image of someone else's hands on her.
He stands around much like that for the remainder of the evening, dark and stewing in multiple corners. He makes sure that he moves about so as to not become vulnerable in a singular spot. Right now, at the few celebration banquets before Lumine has her coronation, the risk of danger is slim. Tomorrow, the day of her crowning, though, will surely be the most dangerous of all. He's scheduled for tomorrow to remain at her side on the dais with his eyes on the crowd, searching for a threat. The other guards will be posted outside the anointing room and at all the doors. He wishes he could be everywhere at once to protect her Royal Highness, but that is just impossible.
Oh well, whatever it comes down to, he will protect her with his life.
He watches from the shadows as she glides across the ballroom with multiple suitors. Men and women alike. A few times she smiles and laughs, and a beautiful flush drifts its way across her cheeks. It eats him up from the inside out.
Other times, a suitor will squeeze her hand in theirs and whisper something in her ear, and she’ll bat her lashes and giggle. He has never seen her so…responsive to suitors like this before. In the past, Pierro has shoved many nobles at her to consider, and she had never given them a second glance. Why, now, are things so different? Perhaps it is because she will be queen in just a few more days. Maybe she finally sees the significance of her position, of her duty.
Her final suitor of the night bows and lays a kiss upon her hand as the music finishes, before retreating. Dain makes his way to the table of appetizers knowing that is where she will head next.
He smiles inwardly as she makes her way over, just as he predicted, with a new flute of champagne in her hand, and downs it all in one go. Her expression scrunches at its effervescence.
"How are you feeling, Princess?" He asks her and holds out a plate of delicately skewered shrimp.
She gratefully takes one and plops the whole thing in her mouth, pulling the toothpick out elegantly almost like an afterthought. He tries not to watch the way her lips close over it, pink and soft. "Exhausted."
"Would you like to retreat to the gardens?"
"I'm not sure if Pierro will allow it,” she says, sliding a glance over at her royal advisor who stands primly in the corner, eyes latched onto the Princess like a hawk. Dain thinks that perhaps he should've been a guard instead with how he vultures over the Princess. Lumine turns back to him. "But I am prepared to take a lecture if it means I can get off my feet. Come on."
She grabs his elbow so as to not look unprofessional, and pulls him out into the gardens. Dain sends one last glance back to Pierro, trying to convey with his eyes that everything is under control. Pierro only gives him a blank look in response. Well, he's certain he thinks they're up to no good.
He wishes that were the case.
Lumine finds a bench among the roses and inteyvats and sets herself down ungracefully. She tends to be like this in his presence. Loose. Unreserved. Comfortable. She’s always so uptight and prim when she’s in front of her subjects, but around him, she relaxes almost completely. Tonight, however, Dain thinks she's a little more uninhibited because of the alcohol.
Lumine reaches up and plucks an inteyvat from the bush. "Do you remember when we were younger, before you became my appointed knight? When we were out here?"
Of course he remembers. He was just a squire then, without a plot of land, without any other duties besides training to protect the crown and the city. Lumine had felt more tangible back then, even though they are closer now than they ever were at that age. They couldn't have been further apart in rank, but they were children. Rank didn't matter back then.
She had snuck out to the gardens that night and had hidden in the bushes. Dainsleif was on patrol duty alone because the castle did not have much to fear back then. He had stumbled across her, quite literally, tripping over her legs as she sat among the lilacs, her legs spread out in front of her. He should've reported her whereabouts back then, but the Princess has always been very convincing. So he had kept quiet, and watched the stars with her, talking about everything and nothing. That was the day a friendship formed between them, strong as steel.
"Yes, Your Highness," he replies and feels the shame burn. He should not feel this way. It is wrong to feel this way.
She looks at him, golden eyes liquid. "You don't have to keep up the titles. You didn't back then."
"Things were different back then.”
"I wish we could be that way again."
"Lumine," he starts voice quiet, "We can't–"
She stands up abruptly and closes in on him. He tries to back away, afraid of what he might do if she gets too close, but then his shoulders hit the marble stomach of a statue, and the sword it holds pokes into his spine. Checkmate.
"Dainsleif. Tell me what you said earlier, about how I look tonight," Lumine switches the topic effortlessly, her tone dipping. Her eyes are dark.
He must always oblige his Highness, he can never lie to her. "You...You look beautiful, Princess. You always do."
Lumine tilts her head, gazing down at him. "Look at me the way you did earlier. Like you wanted me."
Dain flushes, caught red-handed. His throat constricts, it’s hard to swallow, and his eyes dip down to her lips. "You're drunk, Your Highness."
Lumine reaches up to tug the flower pins out of her hair, and her blonde waves cascade down across her neck and down her back. He watches raptly, unable to move, mouth dropping open slightly. She drops the pins to the cobblestone and her hand drifts down to rest against his shoulder. She's flush against him now. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, but her waist is like a magnetic field, and his hands are magnets, so they settle over her, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Lumine smiles.
"You want me," she whispers. "You really want me."
Their faces are only mere inches apart. He so desperately wants to give in, wants to slot his lips over hers. Wants to feel her softness against him. Wants to feel her sigh in relief. At last. At last.
"Of course, I want you, Lumine," he whispers to her, his tone harsh. "I've wanted you the moment I saw you. But...you're drunk. You're my charge. This…this is wrong."
"It's not wrong," she whispers back, and the false truth sounds so honest on her tongue. "I want you, Dainsleif. I don't care what Pierro thinks or what the kingdom might think. I want you, utterly and wholly.”
"You don't mean that. You're not yourself," he says and removes his hands. He wants to believe her, but the implications—the disasters that would occur if she was being truthful—it’s too much to think about. "I will forget this, Princess if you retire for the night." He slides against the marble and backs out into the open path. His uniform protects him from the thin scratch the marble sword would have left. Just like how her status protects her from his corruption, protects her from him tainting her image. He can breathe again, but his ribs ache, the thing beating behind them slowly cracking. He’s longed to hear those words since the moment he met her but not like this.
Not like this.
She stands there, looks down at her aching feet, at her flower pins against the pavement.
"Do you remember when you put those inteyvats in my hair, Dain?" She laughs bitterly, "I've worn flowers in my hair ever since. You are so wrapped up in not wanting to hurt me, in not wanting to ruin things. Dain, have you ever considered that your stubbornness is hurtful? Have you ever considered that, perhaps, I suffer because you hold back? I am not as fragile as you believe.”
The next words from his mouth struggle to come out, gripping his teeth for purchase, like they’re not meant to fill the air between them at all. He’s stern when he says it, the righteous and professional guard within him takes over.
"Princess, that is enough. I will call for Pierro if need be."
Lumine glares at him, and in the moonlight, he can see tears in her eyes. Dain feels as if he is shattering into a tiny million pieces. He so desperately wants to ignore the logical part of him. But she is everything to him. He cannot compromise her position this way. She is inebriated. She is not fully aware of her words.
"Fine," Lumine hisses and stomps toward the palace. She grabs an inteyvat, rips the petals off of it, and tosses it to the ground.
He watches her all the way through the front doors and sends a look at one of the guards standing post, silently telling him to keep an eye on her. The guard nods and follows the Princess in.
Dainsleif retreats back to the ballroom where Pierro immediately rounds on him.
"Where is she?" He sneers, searching about.
"In her room. She said she was tired," he lies. He often lies to Pierro.
Pierro sighs. "Good. That girl is quite a pain in my neck. She rejected every single suitor I offered her. Told me that none of them were right. Why must she make things difficult for me?" He grumbles and sends him a once over, likely noticing the dimmed light in his eyes, the frown pulling at his lips. "You can go now. Get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow."
Right. Tomorrow she becomes queen.
"Yes, Sir," he says to Pierro.
Once in his room, he commits to his earlier thought, and grabs a half-empty bottle of Fire Water from his cabinet, gulping down the rest of its contents. He’ll wake up with a headache tomorrow, but he doesn’t care. Maybe it will be enough to forget the evening.
(It’s not.)