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“Madame Itztli does not want to marry you. I will take her stead.”
Capitano’s mask gazed quietly back at him, betraying nothing. A normal person would be left completely in the dark, but because of Ororon’s heightened spiritual sensitivity he could feel the turmoil – the hesitance – coming from the man.
If this was a purely political marriage with no expectations of producing an offspring, he should be fine. Why the hesitation?
“Was your mind set on her?” Ororon prodded.
The harbinger scoffed like the very notion was ridiculous. “No.”
He sensed that was the truth. Ororon could dig for more reassurances or try to iron out the specifics of Capitano’s hesitation, but his hold on this situation was strenuous at best.
Going the more assertive route would serve him better than an understanding one, even though he naturally gravitated towards the latter.
He crossed his arms and pinned the harbinger with a steely look. “Then it’s settled. I will take her place.”
“You don’t seem to care about my thoughts on the matter.”
“This arrangement is indifferent to us both. The only thing I could change was which court mage you’re marrying.”
“You’re not wrong.” Capitano turned to look out the window, hard set features haloed by the setting sun.
“Marrying me would mean you’d be uprooted from your home nation and placed in my residence in Shneznaya like a pretty bauble. I will be gone most of the year, so you’d be alone with the caretakers until I return every few months. Trapped in a culture you don’t know and with a climate completely opposite of your own. Are you prepared for that?”
Not at all, but he wanted it even less for his grandmother. Better him than her. He wasn’t even meant to live for this long, so what did it matter?
“Yes,” he replied firmly.
Capitano turned back to him, slow but cutting. “Don’t lie. What sane person would want that sort of life?”
Ororon blinked, caught by surprise.
“I intend to call off the marriage once everyone’s excitement dies down. My monarch will not force me to go through with it if I press the issue.”
Seemingly done with the conversation after that reveal, the harbinger moved to walk past him, but stopped briefly to leave some parting words.
“I commend you for your loyalty to your teacher, but don’t throw away your own freedom so easily.”
Those words were the last ones he expected to hear from a Fatui. They echoed like glass inside him, sinking in.
Capitano was about to leave, but Ororon’s hand darted out, grabbing a handful of his cloak. It was the definition of impertinence in the presence of a national hero, acknowledged by all of Natlan and the pyro monarch herself.
Not only had Ororon barreled ahead with his own agenda, but he had now also laid a hand on Capitano, first Fatui harbinger of Snezhnaya.
He should have stopped while he was ahead, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He needed to make sure his grandmother was removed from this scenario as soon as possible. She’d be so angry with him for going behind her back like this, but it would be worth it in the end.
If Capitano was made of steel and ice, it meant parts of him could be thawed. This was what Ororon’s gut instinct told him after this conversation. It was what gave him the confidence to press on despite the risk.
“Until you officially annul the arrangement, I am your bride. Leave madame Itztli out of it.”
Everything was perfectly still for a glacial moment. Ororon’s body was tense with anticipation. Taut as a string. Was this where the pretense of civility fell to the wayside?
When Capitano finally moved, it was not to hurt him, and when he spoke, his tone was absent of hostility. Irritated, perhaps, but toothless.
“You don’t look much like a bride, Ororon of the night-wind.”
He frowned, yet again surprised. “I can’t tell if you’re rejecting me or calling me unattractive.”
Capitano grabbed his hand and gently pried him off his coat. “Neither. I’m stating that you’d be a groom, not a bride.”
“So you accept?”
“It’s the same to me. Do whatever you want.”