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The castle has been busier than the apiary in Ezreal's favorite garden – absolutely crawling with couriers, craftsmen, and cooks all running helter skelter as they get everything ready for the most anticipated event the kingdom has seen in nearly two decades.
Because Ezreal, after much foot dragging and insistence on sorting out all the far flung infrastructural needs first, has finally agreed to hold the official coronation.
Shen had been predictably relieved before going into some sort of intense logistical zen state where he doesn't quite seem to be eating or sleeping or doing anything other than planning for the presence of dozens of foreign dignitaries and a crowd the likes of which the castle grounds have rarely seen. Which means that Zed has been predictably grumpy at both the lack of time he gets with his definitely-not-husband, and with the headache from working out security details for the many days of festivities.
Kayn, for his part, is perfectly fine. His stubborn little prince had made perfectly clear from the start that they're going to be glued together the entire ceremony, which suits Kayn just fine – he doesn't trust anyone else with Ezreal's safety anyway.
And Ezreal?
Definitely scheming something.
Kayn can practically smell it on him, his secretive little smirks giving him away as they have since they were children. His prince has always had a terrible poker face – at least as far as Kayn is concerned – but lately it feels like he isn't even trying to hide whatever he's up to.
“You're grinning again.” He nudges Ezreal with his knee under the table as they take their breakfast in the main hall with the rest of the castle's occupants. It's certainly not the best set-up for Zed's nerves, but Ezreal won't hear of sequestering himself away from his people the same way that his uncle had. Kayn doesn't particularly care where they eat since nothing is going to get past him either way.
“Maybe I like grinning,” Ezreal laughs, bumping back until their thighs are pressed together and holding there. “What's wrong with being cheerful, hmmm?”
“You're up to something,” Kayn sighs, slipping his ankle to the side to hook it around Ezreal's. “Don't do anything stupid without me, please.”
“You know I always drag you along with my great ideas,” Ezreal assures him with a pat to Kayn's forearm.
Ha. The brat doesn't even bother denying it. Rhaast's chuckle is almost fond as they take in their prince together. His crown is crooked in his golden hair, which is probably from the way Ezreal had pressed onto his tiptoes and pushed him against their door this morning to steal a handful of kisses before skipping off to breakfast. Good luck with that.
“I'd follow you anywhere.” Kayn shrugs at him, offering a quirk of a smile as he works through his plate of sausages. It earns him a pretty pink dusting across his prince's cheeks, like it's not the most obvious thing in the kingdom. Ezreal's hand lingers on his forearm long enough that Kayn switches his fork to his left hand to keep eating.
Delicate gloved fingers slide toward his wrist until they settle on top of Kayn's hand, slotting between his knuckles like they were made as a set. Kayn's smile only grows as he tucks his own fingers in over them, raising an eyebrow as his prince's boldness.
But of course, Ezreal only offers him that sunshine smile, his thumb stroking along the edge of Kayn's hand.
“And I'd never leave you behind.”
The first foreign dignitaries start to arrive about three days before the actual coronation is set to begin, settled into various rarely-used wings of the castle that have been swept and polished for the occasion. Kayn isn't quite sure what to make of most of them and, to be honest, he doesn't really care all that much either.
Your court manners are appalling, Rhaast grouses each time Kayn fails to offer even the barest inclination of his head to whatever Duke of Thusandsuch or Princess of Whereverthehell happens to be floating around the castle with their army of courtiers and unnecessarily large trunks. It's a miracle you're even housebroken.
“I've pissed in the potted plants before on a long guard shift,” Kayn mutters aloud, just to feel the judgmental recoil across their bond.
You really are a mutt...
Guilty as charged – which is exactly why he doesn't bother with the court garbage anyway. Who expects a dog to bow and scrape to anyone but his master? He's loyal to exactly one monarch, and it sure as hell isn't any of these people... not to mention that he's not about to lose his line of sight on Ezreal because he was bowing to some pretentious lordling.
Besides, Ezreal doesn't seem to care one bit whether Kayn behaves – he even seems to take pleasure in the fact that his knight assesses each and every aristocrat that stands before them with the same calculating appraisal that he'd give a potential mark. Not that Kayn is planning on killing any of the guests here... unless they need killing.
Most of them are harmless though. A bunch of clueless nobles, puffed up with self-importance, simpering over how thrilled they are to share the occasion with the King of Piltover. Not with Ezreal – because they don't know Ezreal. They don't see him with pillow creases and drool crusted on his cheek. They haven't watched him lose a fight with an angry hen. They haven't held him as he cries tears both bitter and joyful. Not like Kayn has.
They're just here for the clout and canapes.
Don't forget a seat next to the throne.
Kayn tries his damnedest to ignore those gnats – the ones constantly buzzing about since before Ezreal had even been of age. He's the most eligible bachelor on the continent and it seems like half the occupants of this miserable hunk of rock are intent on trying their luck.
At least most of the citizens of Piltover have begun to realize that Ezreal is a bit... attached to Kayn.
Or they're too cowardly to challenge our claim.
Good.
Some of the visitors are alright though, greeting Ezreal respectfully but with enough warmth that Kayn can tell they've met before... likely in Demacia where his prince had made his diplomatic debut at endless social functions, trotted out like a golden show pony.
But now they're in his kingdom, and Kayn is going to make sure he receives the proper respect.
“Hey Sparky!”
Or not.
“Jinx!” Ezreal barks a surprised laugh, stretching his arms wide as he accepts a hug from a distressingly heavily armed woman – skinny, tattooed, and looking a few sandwiches short of a picnic. “I'm glad you could make it!”
“Like I'd miss the free food,” she cackles, punching Ezreal on the arm as she jerks a hand back toward a blonde woman that has entered the reception hall behind her. “Or leave Blondie by herself.”
Cut the hand off.
Kayn's hand twitches on the pommel of his sword, shifting a step closer to them as he privately agrees.
“What's she going to do, read herself to death?” Ezreal laughs, swatting at the woman as he skips down the stairs to fling himself at the other one. “Lux! It's so good to see you again.”
Manicured nails pat the top of his prince's head as the other woman – Luxanna Crownguard, apparently – reaches up to straighten Ezreal's crown.
“It's been almost a year, hasn't it?” she asks, smiling at him gently. Her gaze shifts behind him and over to Kayn, who regards her steadily in return. “A mixed one for you.”
“Pffftt, I'll say. ” Jinx grimaces as she hops down the stairs with a clatter of pistols, throwing a look over her shoulder back at Kayn. “You blew up half the countryside for this guy?”
Perhaps the tongue as well.
He doesn't bother to do more than arch an eyebrow at her as he makes his way back to his prince's side.
“I'd blow up a whole lot more than that for him,” Ezreal laughs, though there's a tightness to his smile when he turns to look at Kayn. “Lux, Jinx... this is Kayn, my knight.”
“Your knight huh?” The corner of Jinx's mouth twitches as she shares a knowing look with Lux. “Oh we know all about that, don't we Blondie?”
Lux hardly acknowledges the comment, instead turning to offer Kayn her gloved hand, palm down. “It’s great to meet you, Sir Kayn. I've heard so many good things from Ezreal.”
“Yeah, well...” Kayn grunts, scratching the back of his head before reaching out to give her hand a quick pump before dropping it, eyes hardly leaving his prince's smile. “He's probably full of shit.”
“Hey!”
Old friends aren't the only people of note occupying the castle for the week. A pair of swordsmen from Ionia – brothers representing some sort of magical sword-wind dojo thing – take up residence in one of the groundskeepers' cottages of all places. Not long after that brings a set of twins and their hulking bodyguard – hilariously mismatched in their levels of adherence to decorum. Kayn makes a note to let the big guy know about the local taverns before any of the castle guards think about trying to drink him under the table in the mead hall.
There's also a delegation from Nazumah, which is apparently built around a lake smack in the middle of the desert.
It's an oasis, Rhaast sighs in exasperation for at least the twelfth time today. It's not a lake.
“Might as well be a lake... round and wet.”
It's the cradle of life for tribes, not some stream-fed pond for you to dip your toes in on a day off.
“Ez loves dipping his toes in a good pond,” Kayn points out, because he has learned that weaponizing Rhaast's affection for his prince is more fun than being jealous over it. “Are you going to deny him his desert pond dipping?”
It's not a pond. The nomads that live around it would hunt you like the dog you are.
“Mhm, they could try... that K'Sante guy said it was basically a lake.”
He probably assumes you can't read and was making it simple for the drooling mutt.
“Maybe.” Kayn shrugs, grinning as he needles his pet demon. “Or maybe it's a lake.”
I hate you.
“Don't be mad just because someone new has taken over your desert lake.”
The tribes were never even affiliated with my kingdom, Rhaast scoffs, I saw no need to wage war on tribesmen who had no ill motives.
“...huh.”
What? It's snappish, clearly annoyed, as Rhaast usually is when anyone but Ezreal mentions his former reign.
“Nothing. I just figured with all the bloodthirst you'd have been a bit more inclined to squash a tribe and steal their lake.
And create an endless lineage of assassins and insurrectionists, all for the sake of what? Pride? Rhaast laughs once in his head, humorless. I have enough regrets caused by pride, and that is not one of them.
The face of a young man flashes in Kayn's mind, tan and laughing and glimmering in sweat like diamonds under the blazing desert sun. A throne atop a pyramid, reaching toward the heavens themselves. The crackling flare of energy – power like he's never felt – exultation. Agonized screams at his feet.
“Rhaast...”
For all your loyalty, mutt, you understand so little.
Kayn grudgingly accepts that he can't compete in the coronation tournament – especially not with a longsword, shadow magic, and a demon-possessed scythe. It wouldn't be a great look for the festivities in general if the king's own knight accidentally killed someone. And even if he won, which he would, it would just look like the tournament was rigged. He feels better about it after Ezreal admits he made up the victor’s kiss thing - better and smug.
At least he gets to stand at his prince's side, letting the ridiculous man surreptitiously squeeze his hand when it gets too violent for his tastes, one hand peeking through his fingers.
“Didn't you say you melted a guy's face off?” Kayn huffs a laugh as Ezreal squeaks at each clang of steel in front of him. “I'm pretty sure that's worse than this – they're not even striking to maim.”
“That was different,” Ezreal whines, clearly fighting the urge to tuck his knees up. “They had it coming.”
“A king that can't even stomach a tournament,” Rhaast rumbles out quietly, mindful of the servants just outside the royal box. “Are you sure you can stomach leadership, pet?”
“Trade disputes don't have people hitting each other with swords,” Ezreal snips back with a pout.
Kayn feels his smirk curl along with Rhaast’s amusement. “The fun ones do.”
“I'll stick to the boring king stuff then, thanks.” His white and gold boots scuff against the floor as the ringing of steel turns to the roaring of wind – the two brothers in the arena grinning wildly as they face off against each other. “Ooh – that's cool.”
It is, objectively. Kayn itches to know what would happen if he were to dissolve into that tornado – would his shadow be blown away? Could the Crownguard girl dazzle him out of his misty state? He'll probably never find out, but damn if he doesn't want to get into the ring with them all.
“To control the wind...” Rhaast muses, and Kayn feels the desert breeze across his skin, the sting of fine grained sand. “They would've made powerful adversaries in a desert.”
“Good thing they're our friends,” Ezreal agrees with a happy little laugh, whooping nervously when another gust of wind ruffles his hair.
Kayn has to agree as he eyes the flashing of steel and elemental magic. The whirling pistols in the crazy knight's hands over in the adjacent box. The flash of lunar magic and muscle. How many could he stop to keep his prince safe before his own body gives out?
Do not worry so much. Rhaast tells him, almost soothing as he appraises the guests and combatants around them. We could raze an army. Together we would slaughter as many as it takes.
But Kayn was not destined to die on the battlefield, apparently.
It's not that bad.
Because he's going to die of boredom first.
“Do I go with cream or eggshell?” Ezreal asks for the five-hundredth time that morning alone. “I feel like cream goes better with the gold and everything, but there are so many sapphires all over the rest of the outfit... it almost seems like overkill.”
Kayn lets his head thunk onto the headboard again, a dull twang that he wishes would knock him unconscious.
“They look the same, Ez... just throw one on.”
The baleful look he gets is definitely overkill.
“Rhaast?” Ezreal scoffs, rolling his eyes as he flaps a dismissive hand at where Kayn has been in full plate mail on their bed for the better part of an hour.
“A pure snowy white would work best, I think.” Rhaast muses, taking over Kayn's mouth as he happily relinquishes anything to do with this conversation. “It has a symbolic beauty, and would make your golden hair shine brighter.”
“Oooh, you're so right...” Ezreal claps his hands together, throwing both coats onto the foot of the bed as he goes back to his closet for the millionth time. “I should've known, I really do look best in white... and it's appropriate for the occasion.”
“An ascension... yes, you will look divine for it.”
“Charmer,” Ezreal laughs as he shimmies out of his night clothes and into the brilliant silk. “Kayn, can you help me with my buttons?”
Rolling to his feet without protest, Kayn shucks his gloves and tosses them onto the end of the bed.
“Just the buttons?” he teases, looking at the array of fancy filigree nonsense all over Ezreal's chosen outfit. He looks beautiful, as always, but Kayn would rather chew off his arm than wear something similar.
“Well, and the sashes. And flatten my lace? And-”
“We'll sort you out, little liege.”
“Thanks Rhaast.” Ezreal beams at them over his shoulder as Kayn makes quick work of his various needs. He presses a kiss to the nape of Ezreal's neck as he does up the final snap of his collar, smirking at the shiver against his lips.
Between the two of them they get Ezreal ready for his big day with time to spare – his prince's personal demand that he not have the ladies in waiting to do any of that for him, not when Kayn has been acting as his steward since he'd moved quarters.
You'd probably stab anyone who looked at him half-clothed anyway.
“As if you wouldn't,” Kayn mutters back.
“Wouldn't what?” Ezreal chirps, blinking up at him with his sweet blue eyes, all sunshine and mischief.
“Don't worry about it.” Kayn presses another kiss to his temple, then straightens the crown for the thousandth futile time.
“Mmmmm, fine. Keep your secrets,” Ezreal huffs, as though he hasn't been holding his own scheme close all week. Kayn has given up trying to guess what he might be up to – whatever it is, he'll be there for it. “Here, now we have to do your hair.”
Kayn squints at him as Ezreal trots over to the chest full of his own sparkly things.
“Why do I get the feeling you're not just going to braid it?”
“I'm braiding it,” Ezreal assures him, a giggle in his voice as he stays hunched over what he's doing, casting a furtive look behind him. “Close your eyes.”
He sighs, mostly for the show of it, then settles onto his knees on the pillow that Ezreal keeps next to the bedside – for this and... other activities. His eyes drift shut, ears trained on his prince's steady breathing and the shuffling of his feet.
Oh boy, Rhaast chuckles in his mind, because the bastard can still from his scythe where he's leaned against the bed. That's... sparkly.
Sparkly. Joy.
He sighs again as Ezreal's fingers dig into his hair and rub against his scalp, massaging gently before sectioning his hair with a stream of endless chatter. Kayn lets himself drift, dialed in to Ezreal's voice and touch. Soothed by the steady familiarity of the task.
Except for the extra pins.
“What are you doing?” Kayn huffs a laugh, trying not to wince as his scalp is poked again.
“Making us match!” He can hear the smile in his prince’s voice, happy as can be. “We're gonna look so good up there.”
“Nobody is going to be looking at me,” Kayn reminds him yet again. “It's your coronation, I'm just your bodyguard.”
“Mmhmm, but you guard it so well.” It's a purr, punctuated with a kiss to his cheek. “But I'll be looking at you, and I want us to match.”
“Your wish is my command,” Kayn sighs, not actually bothered one bit. Ezreal could ask him to put that wretched corset back on and he would.
Don't pretend that would be a hardship for you.
“And... there. All done!” Ezreal pats the crown of his head and steps back to admire his handiwork, smiling down at him as Kayn's eyes flutter open. “You look... gorgeous.”
He can't help but duck his head as his cheeks heat, still unused to being called anything of the sort – especially now that he's a canvas of silvery scars close up.
“I suppose I have to if I'm supposed to be matching you, right?” He rises to his feet, braid swaying behind him. Even from across the room he catches the glimmer of it in the mirror. “Oh that's... sparkly.”
“Isn't it great?” Ezreal beams at him, tugging on his wrist to lead him closer to the mirror. “The pins are all sapphires, like my crown and coat and stuff, and then I tucked in the little ruby flower pin for Rhaast – I have one of those too.”
“The mutt looks presentable, pet. You've done well.”
“Aww, thanks, Rhaast! That means a lot coming from the greatest king ever.”
Kayn can only blink at himself in the mirror – if it even is him. It looks like his finest black plate stamped with Ezreal's sigil, and the black and gold cloak he wears for ceremonies. Looks like his same features, the scarlet eye staring back at him... and the waterfall of glimmering blue and gold behind him – likely worth enough to feed a small city.
“Wow...”
“Neat, right?” Ezreal clings to his arm, beaming up at him in the mirror before reaching to pull him into a kiss. “I want people to see you.”
“Kinda defeats the purpose of an assassin,” Kayn huffs against his lips, trailing their noses together with a smile. “But I suppose I'm a decent deterrent this way.”
His prince tips his chin, slotting their lips together again, one hand resting on Kayn's chest and the other stroking at his cheek.
“Mmm. More importantly, you're mine .”
The throne room is abuzz with chatter as they stand outside the heavy oak doors, preparing for Ezreal to make his grand entrance. There will be no actual crowning today, since his prince has been wearing his crown for months now, just the pomp and circumstance that Ezreal had been denied.
They face each other, hand in hand, foreheads pressed together. Heedless of anyone else in the corridor.
“Are you ready?” Kayn asks him, prepared to wait the whole damn day before opening the doors if that's what his prince wants.
Ezreal nods against him, releasing one hand to curl it around the back of Kayn's neck.
“With you by my side, I've never been more ready.”
Kayn quirks a smile at him, resists pressing a kiss to his sweet mouth before stepping back, and catches Ezreal's hand as it slips down.
“Technically I'll be at your back.”
“For now,” Ezreal sniffs airily, all fire and teasing as he gestures toward the door with a sweeping bow. “After you, Sir Kayn.”
A king bowing to a dog, Rhaast laughs as Kayn strides to the heavy oak doors and pulls them wide, grinning at the blast of fanfare. What an age to live in.
Kayn winks at him, bowing even lower. “After you, my prince.”
Ezreal beams at him as he steps past into the throne room – into the blare of trumpets and swell of the crowd.
Kayn lets him get about five paces ahead before letting the door creak shut behind them, taking his place behind his prince as he passes through the rows of dignitaries and the raised swords of the honor guard. Enough distance to ensure all eyes are on Ezreal, close enough to clear in a single lunge if need be. He catches sight of Zed perched on about a dozen different rafter beams, no doubt ready to rain hell at a moment's notice.
But there's not a whisper of danger to be found – only smiling faces and a happy crowd. Ezreal's crown glimmers safe and sound in his golden hair as he approaches the dais where Shen waits for him, meeting him with a smiling clasp of hands as Kayn takes his place two steps down at Ezreal's right hand.
There's a murmur of words between the two, quiet laughter as Shen unsheathes his sword and Ezreal takes a knee before him.
“My King,” Shen inclines his head with a smile, “It seems we've been here before.”
“I've gotten used to this one already, yes.” Ezreal laughs as he touches his crown. “Though it is a bit heavy.”
“May it only lighten in the days to come.” Shen lowers the tip of his sword to the dais, resting a hand on Ezreal's head. “May you lead Piltover into an age of peace and prosperity... Rise, Ezreal, rightful King of Piltover.”
The roar of the crowd is deafening as Ezreal stands, but the prince only has eyes for his knight.
“What is he doing...” Kayn mutters as Shen passes Ezreal his sword.
Oh?
“Sir Kayn!” Ezreal calls over the cheering in the throne room and the blasting fanfare. He tips his head for Kayn to approach. “If you please.”
Now... this is interesting.
That's one word for it at least. Kayn can't help but arch an eyebrow at his prince as he climbs the last two steps to stand in front of the throne.
“What are you up to now?” he breathes out, fighting down a smile.
“Righting wrongs,” Ezreal tells him, tapping the carpet at his feet. “Kneel, Sir Kayn.”
Kayn does, eyes never leaving his prince as Ezreal smiles down at him, even as Zed materializes from Shen's shadow and offers him a cheeky salute.
“Sir Kayn, you have been my loyal shadow since boyhood. You have taken my bruises, defended my honor, and kept my secrets.”
The words ring loud in the hall, echoing over the curious crowd. Kayn can feel his cheeks beginning to heat at all the eyes on them, but can't tear his eyes away from Ezreal's smile.
“You are honorable and brave. Valiant and trustworthy.”
Are you now? Perhaps for him alone.
And for a moment, Kayn is half afraid that Ezreal is going to re-knight him in the name of the kingdom.
“You are my confidant and my dearest friend.”
That doesn't sound like the knight's oath...
“Death itself will not keep us apart.”
No... it sure doesn't.
Kayn feels his lips part in question as Ezreal reaches to cup his jaw.
“And nothing in life will come between us.”
... Oh.
Kayn swallows hard as Ezreal strokes his cheek. As his fingers slip under the eye patch and push it into his hair, meeting both of his eyes.
“Rise, Sir Kayn. My loyal hound. My love. My consort.”
A shocked murmuring that Kayn hardly hears beyond the static in his mind. Beyond the coaxing pull of Ezreal's hand, guiding him to his feet. The sweet lips on his in front of the kingdom and all its allies.
He sways on his feet when Ezreal lets him go – only far enough to grab his hand and raise it above their heads – eliciting a raucous cheer from the crowd.
Still, he only has eyes for his prince. The flush of triumph on his cheeks, his fingers tangled tightly with Kayn's. The matching riotous glimmer of blue between them – one burst of ruby adorning each. The self-satisfied smile.
He's beautiful.
He's beautiful and he's Kayn's.
Ezreal tugs him by the hand, leading him down the dais and back through the honor guard, fingers twined at their sides as they walk in step.
A kaleidoscope in his mind's eye overlaying it all. An ascension, and the quiet chambers after. The aching absence of another.
A choice made.
And a quiet murmur in his mind, perhaps not meant for him at all.
Righting wrongs...
Through it all, the steadfast grip of his prince as they walk into their future.