Chapter Text
Nobody knew the ruler of Inazuma had a son, until that rainy day he dragged a corpse through the front gates, up the steps of the tenshukaku, the still warm blood of human man spilling out onto the wood, flowing like red rivers.
He pounded upon the doors demanding treatment befitting of his birthright.
That corpse was a segment of il Dottore's , last seen seeking approval to recruit a member into Pierrot's command— it seems il Dottore failed.
He threw it on the floors of his mother's palace as proof of his power and the instability of her rule. Demanded to be given the least of what he deserves, tired of being abandoned and ignored and made a fool of , he demanded to be treated with respect. Soon the bloodstained cotton-hemp clothing has been traded for with exquisite silks. Officially recognised by the tenshukaku as their prince in a coming of age ritual headed by the Guuji Yae, the people learnt his name; Kunikuzushi.
The Guuji Yae, announcing that if he so wishes to be treated like a young master, she shall arrange a handsome young lord to marry him, but that young lord crawled out of the tenshukaku with a cut across his face, still bleeding. Then another was turned away, weeping. And another rejected, one after the other. Until,
He declared, the head of a slain suitor in hand, that any man who wishes to even DARE touch him— who wishes for his hand in marriage were to undergo trials, failing will result in death. Perhaps at the moment he said it only to scare suitors.
It did not dissuade as well as he thought it would.
Prince Kunikuzushi is regarded as one of the most beautiful creatures in the world, the kind of beauty men die for. This is taken to the literal sense. As any failed suitor would be put to death by the sword, by his hand. As he said, only someone worthy would be allowed to have him.
This is how this poor unfortunate man got into the situation; believing he can pass the trials the prince lays out for his suitors. He was enough to pass the first two trials; but in a public duel against the prince himself, he lost. His polearm shattered to pieces one could barely sweep off the floor.
The trials are different for each man; the first two seem to be the same thing, a day with the prince. The last one however, seems to change with the man. The one to be executed was an okuzumeshuu, and it seems his third challenge was by battle. There was historically a son of Hyakume's swordsmithing art, who had in his last challenge , presented to him a blade; which the prince used to kill him with. his sister, a swordsman like her brother went on a rampage soon after, which caused the immediate execution of her clan for treason.
But enough of historical research done by the Fatui, there was action that Tartaglia would be able to watch for once ! He was getting bored in his quiet Fatui diplomat station. They told him to behave. La Signora took care of much of the work, but that's not to say he didn't do his fair share. It simply would be a sight to behold if the prince truly was as beautiful and ruthless as they say. Challenges are exciting and terrifying foes are exhilarating. So he went to watch.
The failed suitor kneels, hair shaved short for the imminent beheading.
And out of the tenshukaku, the prince Kunikuzushi, wearing a silk veiled hat of black lacquer and gold paint. The wind blows the veil slightly open and he wholly takes his hat off, his sword held by a maid.
Violet hair neatly cut short, deep indigo eyes, fair skin perfect and unblemished, as if he's never seen any battles or conflict.
Tartaglia is so glad he wore the glasses la Signora urged him to put on, he could see him from so far away.
" By decree of his highness Kunikuzushi, any man who wishes for his highness' hand in marriage, must undergo his chosen trials!" An okuzumeshuu with a particularly loud voice announces for formality's sake, " and should he fail any of these trials, it shall be treated as treason and as such he will be put to death! "
He looks like his mother, an undeniable beauty of divinity. but he has an elegance and life and emotion to him that she doesn't have, a charm that sets them apart, the way he carries himself with cold arrogance and bravado befitting of a godling
" Last words? " he asks, voice painfully cold towards the man , who shakes his head and bows, knowing full well what he got into.
He takes his sword from the maid, holding it well and proper. Slowly, as if relishing in the moment, he lifts his sword
Sadistic and beautiful. Tartaglia watches as his blade cuts through a man's neck, bone sliced clean, the deep red spilling upon the floors
He can hear the soft crying of the man's family, to the side , ready to collect his remains
He can see the apathetic gaze of the lady shogun, the sadistic glee shining on the eyes of her son, her beautiful son.
Red splashes onto the perfect pale porcelain of his hands and face , the deep violet of his clothes splattered with the vibrant blood.
The body falls with a thud, then the head, spilling and staining the floors.
He stands in triumph, beautiful.
" Pathetic, he thought he could conquer me. " he whispers. Returning his sword to the maid, he then addresses the crowd " anyone who dares fight for my hand, knows well the consequences!"
He turns and the edges of his clothes stain red from the spilled blood.
Tartaglia feels his heart beat quick, his face flushed, something in him is absolutely overcome, as if nothing in this world mattered more than his wish to take him.
He's ruthless and beautiful,
A monster of divinity.
He's in love.
With the challenge of winning his hand? With the prince himself? He knows not. Perhaps it's simply the hunger from the abyss, his insatiable desire for conquest.
He steps forward, la Signora's pale arm and glare stop him " are you a fucking insane? He's had enough of local madmen, let alone foreign fools."
Undissuaded he presses on
All eyes on him, as he steps out of the crowd, past the suitor's still bleeding corpse , up the stairs and onto the platform, chasing after the divine beauty, footprints stained red
Guards quickly turn their spears towards him
" Marry me " he declares, breathless. Kneeling before the prince's turned back, his hand on his chest, the other reaching toward him
" Excuse me " he turns his head to glare, " who dares ? "
" Me. The man who is going to marry you "
His face is an icy cold scowl, but nonetheless, his beauty is something that puts the sky and seas to shame
" I am a new challenger, ready to fight for the hand of one beauty such as you " Tartaglia's experience in theatre is coming in handy, he praises himself for his confidence. " Marry me "
The dark blood from his former suitor has yet to cease forming a puddle, the body is still warm. Yet here this fool stands. The prince looks shocked, disgusted, horrified, until his face morphs into an arrogant smile " Fine! If you're so eager to run into your grave "
So much for his innocent diplomat disguise. la Signora sighs and shakes her head. She paid good money to get him those glasses and custom tailored coat
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" You are in very big trouble Childe. " la Signora practically drags him by the scarf to some private quarters, a fairly good sized apartment being used as some sort of base of operations in the city, with a kitchen, a dining area and a lounge turned into a makeshift office, all in one long room . Pantalone sits at the dining table with some papers, agents on standby, some working, and il Dottore seems to be pouring some cereal into a bowl
" Why are so many harbingers in one nation don't you guys have missions? "
" WHY DID YOU ASK IT TO MARRY YOU " il Dottore practically pounces on him, shaking his shoulders and la Signora lets go to make herself a pot of tea— nevermind she's pouring a glass of wine
" C-comrade calm down first—"
" It killed Upsilon!!! " this version of il Dottore whines " And now you want to marry it?!"
" Now, now dearest, calm down. You know, Tartaglia marrying that prince would be beneficial to Snezhnaya. " Pantalone gets up, walks towards them, heels clacking on the wood
" Yeah! What he said " Tartaglia yells from where he goes to sit
" Of course , the dowry from a ruling goddess would be insane ! It's only fair she pay a dowry " Pantalone shows the papers to Tartaglia; a lot of calculation of fair price on the basis of his value " Think about it, she would pay good money, we'll gain political power from marrying her only heir! And the amount of money we'll profit off him when he's whisked away to Snezhnaya! "
" Pants, he's a prince now. What if he makes US pay a dowry, or bride price. " il Dottor argues
Pantalone's demeanour changes and in a split second his hand reaches for Tartaglia's face— he dodges quickly, his glasses being caught in the banker's hands and crushed between his fingers
" Tartaglia you little brat what the fuck went through your head asking him to marry you! High risk , low reward ! "
" He- i- he w- he w-was hot okay!!! Did you see him kill that guy?!"
Pantalone looks at him incredulously " Whatever death that divine brat gives you, you will deserve. And if she makes us pay an astronomical amount for a bride price, I'll kill you myself "
" Hey now you said it yourself! It would be beneficial , foreign relations and all that"
" Gods know, would he even touch you? You're some backwater village boy, he's a prince. Rich hate peasants. "
" I think it's fine with peasants, that prince of theirs grew up in the furnaces among craftspeople " il Dottore, who has taken to sulking in a chair with cereal, says through mouthfuls of food " cute Kabukimono, charming everyone there— it tried to eat a corpse but oh sure it doesn't know any better-" he stuffs his face with cereal
" He is cute—"
" He’s a monster " il Dottore grumbles
Pantalone turns and addresses an agent " go! Order some glasses. This boy here is nearsighted both physically aND MENTALLY!" He slams Tartaglia's broken glasses to the ground
" Bridal gifts don't matter. Think about surviving his challenges first " la Signora sips her drink " all his suitors have failed the past years. What makes you think you can win? "
" Oh but I do intend to survive "
" How do you intend that? '' Pantalone crosses his arms " Her Majesty called three people to babysit you because believe it or not dear, she doesn't want you dead. WE don't want you dead."
" Sandrone would beg to differ "
" It's simply how she shows affection " la Signora hands Tartaglia her glass and he downs it. The spiced wine warm
" We'll see ! This is just another challenge to overcome, with an even more terrifying and sexy opponent. And as far as i know, none of his countless suitors were there any Fatui harbingers"
Pantalone sighs, putting his palm on his face. Tartaglia is fucked.
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