Chapter Text
Curt hated meetings. He didn’t even do anything at them. Just sat there and looked pretty. That’s how Charlie described it, anyway. Stupid advisors, saying that he’d ‘say something idiotic and get them all in trouble.’ Curt would never do such a thing! He’s literally so smart and awesome and perfect, he should get a say in things, goddamnit!
Today’s meeting was at least interesting. Montclair officials were in attendance. Ceraun wanted to renegotiate kingdom borders. The River Duridra was a tool. A tool Ceraun wanted to have full control over. None of this ‘kingdom borders/neutral ground’ bullshit.
Montclair was standing their ground. That’s what made it interesting.
“Your Majesty, with all due respect, it would be absolutely idiotic to change the border. The River Duridra is a clear border line. It is used for the good of both kingdoms, and this decision just feels like an insane attempt at a power grab.”
They were right. Curt hated that. Montclair was not allowed to be right.
“And with all due respect, it's idiotic to not accept our proposal. We're trying to do this with you peacefully. If you won’t agree now, we’ll have no choice but to use force.”
Curt sat there in his throne, separated from the area where they were debating. He looked across from him and met the eyes of one Owen Carvour. Prince of Montclair. He felt small under the prince’s piercing gaze. He hated feeling small.
Owen did the same thing he did at meetings like these. Sat there and looked pretty. Curt did it better, obviously.
But while Curt said nothing because he’d ‘fuck something up and send the whole kingdom into a spiral’ (thanks so much for that mindset, Cynthia), Owen said nothing because he was forced to. To keep up an image of a quiet and reserved prince, fit to be a noble ruler.
Curt could see him silently scoff and shake his head at things they had said. He could see him start to say something and then hold his tongue. He could tell that Owen wanted nothing more than to just say something , to take control and be involved. Curt admired that. But not a lot, of course. He was a Montclairian, he didn’t deserve to be admired.
But, God, did Curt want to admire him.
His eyes that held the secrets of the universe, his mind that could lead a kingdom, his compassion, his determination to do whatever he sets his mind to, his hair that blew in the breeze, the countless rings that always adorned his fingers, the way the fire he summoned eloquently danced on his fingertips, the way—
“Stop staring at me, you slag.”
Curt snapped out of his daydreaming and looked down at his feet, feeling himself go red. He could hear Owen sigh and look back towards the debate. From what Curt heard, neither side was backing down. Great, they’re gonna start another stupid war that he’s gonna be blamed for. Being a public figure sucked.
He took a chance and looked over at where Owen was again. To his disappointment, he had left, no doubt bored with the meeting. Curt decided to leave as well, customs be damned.
He found Owen in one of the castle’s gardens, smoking a cigarette. Not very princely of him. Curt smiled at that. Stupid fucking Montclairian golden boy ain’t so golden after all.
“Why’d ya come out here?”
Owen sighed. “The meeting was bloody awful. Stupid diplomats can’t debate something if their life depended on it.” He stayed facing away from him.
Curt adjusted his crown and stood next to him, leaning on the wall.
“Your kingdom is full of twats.”
“…of what?”
Owen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You bloody twat.”
“I still don’t know what that means.”
“You’re an idiot, that’s what that means.”
“Love you more.”
“Absolutely not .”
Curt tried to pretend he didn’t die a little bit inside when he said that.
“Y’know, they’re gonna come look for us soon. And they’ll definitely catch you smoking.”
“They won’t catch me. But yes, we should be going back now.”
Owen offered his hand and Curt took it. (In a ‘princely manners’ way, Curt had to remind himself.)
They both walked back to the meeting room, Owen leaving shortly after.
Curt thought about that for the rest of the day.
The way his hands felt, how elegant he looked walking back, how—
Jesus Christ.
Curt was so utterly fucked.