Chapter Text
Before he met you
King Katsuki adjusted the slipping crown on his head. He flicked the clasp of his cape, making it emit a faint click while trying to do anything to endure the weekly torment. He longed to rip off the entire cursed outfit, starting with the itchy shirt and ending with the uncomfortable boots. Thick, red fabric draped over his back and the summer heat were becoming unbearable. It didn’t help that none of the petitioners during the audience had managed to capture his interest. All of them repeated the same things — lacking money, land or both.
Then there were a few petty neighbourly disputes. His subjects expected him to resolve them, as if he had any insight into their lives.
Bored, he rested a foot on the armrest and tilted his head back, yawning ostentatiously. Let them think what they wanted — no one dared to admonish him. He wanted to go outside, breathe fresh air, maybe even challenge someone to a duel. To feel the weight of a sword in his hand again, to face an opponent in the spinning dance of blades, hear the clash of steel. He could almost see the gleam of swords in the bright sun. He could still fit in some intense training, try out new moves and return sweaty and exhausted but happy.
Fighting was the only thing that made him feel alive. After his parents’ death, he had taken the throne. Since then, he hadn’t had a moment’s peace. Responsibilities he never wanted weighed on him. If it weren’t for the many dignitaries and guards watching over him, he would’ve fled the palace. He’d become a mercenary, leading a pleasant life. He didn’t care what happened to the people. He didn’t know them personally — they were just annoying figures on documents or dull individuals at meetings like this.
The sounds of a commotion interrupted his thoughts. He didn’t move but directed his attention to the throne room entrance.
— Your Majesty, I tried to stop her but ejecting a lady would be ungentlemanly...— Eijirō began.
Bakugō glanced his way, secretly pleased that something was finally happening. Even a bizarre intrusion was welcome as long as it broke the monotony. Kirishima, however, should have acted differently. He had been recently promoted. Respect for women and etiquette could’ve been practiced before. Now, he had duties requiring dirty hands. No room for weakness. Katsuki made a mental note to remind him later of how much he owed his new position.
He raised his hand to signal guards that they should leave the woman alone. She tripped over the hem of her tattered dress. Her tear-streaked face and swollen eyes painted a pitiful picture. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. Her dark green hair reminded him of someone — someone he didn’t want to think about.
— What do you want? — he growled.
— Justice! — the woman cried, rising from her knees.
The determination in her gaze sent a shiver through Katsuki. An unpleasant sensation crept up his arms and neck. Deep within his heart, stirred fear — something he thought he had buried long ago.
— For what, exactly? — he asked.
He knew perfectly well what she would say. So did everyone present in the room. Silence fell. Midoriya Inko had come because of Izuku.
— You killed my son! — she accused bitterly.
The guards, seeing her approach the throne, grabbed her by the arms.
The king ordered her release once again.
— Woman, your son chose death himself!
Each word sliced through the silence like a knife. Precise, filled with ignorance and carrying pain. It was the only way he could escape it. What had happened wasn’t his fault — he was sure of that. Yet, the woman standing before him believed otherwise.
— Your Majesty called him a coward, even though he won the tournament...
— The true victory lies in winning with a sword in hand, not with pitiful tricks. — He touched the hilt of his blade.
He had learned about weapons from the cradle. He knew them better than any of his predecessors. Historians celebrated his skills at many courts — he was unmatched.
In his view, only the weak hid and dodged their opponent’s blows. Strength mattered.
— My son demonstrated cunning...
— We must have watched two different battles — he laughed.
— You called him a coward. You sent him to fight a dragon right after his nomination. He’s dead because of you! — The cold fury in her green eyes grew more visible.
The entire room held its breath. No one moved an inch.
She didn’t regret her words — he could see it.
Inko stared at him so intently that he didn’t respond. For the first time in his life, he was silent. He followed her gaze, which rested on the blue rose pinned to his shirt.
In the entire kingdom, only one exceptional bush had been cultivated. Delicate and prone to disease, it grew in the palace gardens, tended to meticulously. No one but Bakugō was allowed to pick its flowers. Today, out of boredom, he had taken one, thinking it would be something to play with during the audience.
— A blue rose symbolizes the unattainable and impossible. My Izuku couldn’t kill the dragon. I will never know happiness. And you will never be a good king...
She approached him. He didn’t move, as if some invisible force held him on the throne. He could’ve easily pierced her heart with his sword, called for guards or ordered anyone to stop her. Yet he sat like a stone, waiting.
— You’re a monster — she whispered so quietly only he heard. — I pity you because you’ll never love and no one will ever love you. — She turned to his staff and guards. — And you’re no better! You watch suffering and do nothing. You have no humanity. You’re like objects, blindly serving your master!
Inko tore the rose from his shirt, cutting her fingers on its thorns. A drop of blood fell onto the marble floor, echoing like a countdown — though he wasn’t sure to what.
— I curse you all! You will die with this rose!
People exchanged glances. Then, loud laughter echoed through the hall. Someone even shouted a request to end this farce. They still had an all-night banquet organized by one of the counts to look forward to.
The teenager joined the crowd but his smile seemed forced. It looked as if no one but him felt anything. Just moments ago, a cold wind had blown through. It had pierced him to the core, despite the closed windows. It carried with it a sharp, sweet, rose-like scent and right after it, a disgusting stench of blood followed...
It must have been his imagination.
— No! Please! — Ochako fell at her feet.
Katsuki knew that the Head Maid was in love with the former Commander of the Guard. It was no surprise that she was moved by all this. He looked at her with pity. She looked ridiculous, kneeling before the woman. She was scared. He decided that he was better than her. Because, unlike her, he despised fear.
— You too have become a victim of inaction... — The woman cupped her face in her hands. — But I will listen to you for the sake of my son's love.
— I give you time until the rightful coronation. If, by the king’s twenty-first birthday, someone loves this monster — she pointed at the boy — you will regain your true form.
— Enough of this! Take her away! — His own voice sounded strange.
He reacted so violently that even he wouldn't have suspected it from himself. After all, he wasn’t feeling fear. So what was that sensation growing with power inside him? He took a deep breath and stood up. This was what was expected of him now. Composure. So he made his way to the banquet, accompanied by the council, dignitaries, counts and guests. And after a long day, he intended to go to bed and forget that today’s audience had ever taken place.
***
The moonlight streamed through thick curtains, flooding the room with white light. The beast jerked its head up sharply. It felt its thick fur sticking to its sweat-soaked skin. Once again, it scratched its arm with razor-sharp claws. The closer it got to the final birthday, the more often it dreamt the same dream. It glanced at the shards of the only remaining mirror in the entire palace. In the shattered glass, a massive, grotesque head stared back. Fangs protruded from its maw. It hated that appearance.
Katsuki relived the same scenario in his head over and over. Once again, he woke up to the terrified screams of the servants. He remembered that cursed morning as if it were yesterday. He had watched as the grand structure emptied. Only he and his transformed subjects remained in the palace. They hadn't left. They hoped he could break the spell. Many times, he had tried to escape but he couldn’t. Some invisible force always dragged him back. The farther away he got from the blue rose, the worse he felt.
He stroked the glass container, watching another petal fall. Is this what fear tasted like?
Outside, dawn slowly broke. He couldn't remember the last time it had snowed in April. Such a blizzard hadn’t been seen here in centuries. The perfect weather for his least favourite celebration. His twentieth birthday. Another year closer to death.
He strained his ears. Unknown voices echoed from outside. He peered out the window. Two figures, wrapped in thin cloaks, were riding toward the gate. Katsuki glanced at the blue flower, growled softly and slammed the door shut.