Chapter Text
Pantalone’s fingers trailed along the spines of books with names in languages half-dead. The library was dim. Dark large shelves,
velvet rugs, a few seats. It was a huge library. Filled with some books he hasn't even heard of before. Many he hasn't read, some he only heard rumors about. How peculiar.
So where was he? Currently in the neighboring kingdom. His father was in the west wing, locked away into a room with the other king, discussing transactions and such important stuff. He found himself wandering around until he found this room. Silent library, no one to bother him. No one until.
"You’re not supposed to be in here" a voice said, sharp.
Pantalone did not look up immediately. He had just pulled a leather-bound tome from the shelf—Anatomical Studies VII—and was too intrigued by the handwritten notes scrawled in the margins. Someone seemed to have been studying. Only once he’d finished reading the first page did he glance up.
The man across the room was young, perhaps his own age. There was ink on his fingers, dried red-brown under the nails. His hair pulled loosely back, face: sharp, almost cruel features, a few scars over his skins as well. His eyes red he also did not blink often. Also very peculiar. Pantalone closed the book and rested it back where he found it. "Am I not?"
The other stepped closer, boots silent on the carpet. "Your father is in the western wing. You're not meant to wander." He figured Pantalone posed no threat, if he did, he would've been long gone.
"'Meant to' is an interesting phrase for a guest" Pantalone replied, eyes closed as always. "It wouldn't hurt anyone if I took a glance around, would it?"
"This is my private library."
Pantalone inclined his head only slightly, not low enough to be respectful. "Then you should consider installing locks." He said simply. "Prince Zandik, I presume? The king's one and only heir."
"And you're that rich bastards son, correct?"
Pantalone let out a 'tch' sound, half amusement, half disbelief. "Oh, your words are quite strong for someone whose court survives off loans from that ‘bastard.’"
"I call things as they are, your father buys his titles with coin, not blood." Zandik continued, crossing his arms.
Their two kingdoms while neighbors never had a good relationship with eachother. Not a horrible relationship but not an amazing one either. They never fought, never wared against eachother because they always relied on eachother. They had to. One side needed money while the other needed resources and men. One needed funding to sustain its strength. The other needed strength to protect its funding.
How common, how..expected.
For years they have always tried to find a way to unionize but could never settle on an agreement deal. Meeting after meeting, visit after visit, just for it to mean nothing in the end. Nothing ever worked.
Pantalone let his gaze drift as their conversation died down, his eyes set on an array of delicate instruments spread across a nearby table, some surgical, some alchemical, all dangerous, all used. He turned back to the male infront of him.
"Blood is messy, coin is clean. Coin doesn’t demand parades or funerals. It doesn’t rot or gets lost. It just moves, from one trembling hand to another."
Another pause.
They both watched eachother not with caution or hesitation, more with interest. Clearly intrigued, clearly both having found someone they could speak to as they wish. Plainly, simply, no need to flatter or fear that their words might strike a nerve. Their words weren't meant to be rude, no, they were simply provoking, and rarely anyone could do that without starting a fight.
"Clean" he said, echoing Pantalone’s word, "is a lie. Coin is only clean because it doesn’t show you the blood it walks on. You just forget what had to die for it to change hands. Or, you don't care."
If it wasn't obvious enough, Zandik hated guests, more so when they were from other kingdoms, he never wanted to see or entertain them. Which was the main reason his father stopped trying to get him engaged after the third apology he had to give. Zandik would either straight up deny them or drive them off. It would anger his father but he just didn't care. So therefore his father stooped trying and instead decided to treat him as nothing more than a commoner.
Silence between them stretched out until Pantalone pointed something out on the table.
"What is in that vial?"
Zandik followed his finger, eyes landing on a thin glass container, barely the length of a finger, filled with something violet. Zandik strode to the table. He picked up the vial delicately, turning it between long fingers. The liquid inside clung to the sides like it was alive. "A mixture that doesn't do much. Think of it as a failed perfume of some sort. If dropped it can create a small explosion and thick smoke. Far from deadly."
Pantalone walked closer, intrigued. It seemed like an interesting mixture. His eyes flicked to the other instruments, to the scattering of scribbled notes on half-burnt parchment.
"Hm"
The burnt papers were enough of a proof of what Pantalone was thinking.
Everyone knew that the King had a son, yet no one knew of him, he never left the estate, never showed his face, never did anything useful. Or well, thats the story the mans father spun.
Zandik had grown used to such treatment, he even went out of his way to do something with his time. Study, learn and create. Not something that a prince should do, per his fathers words. A prince should be doing something useful not spending hours on useless experiments, once again per his fathers words.
"I don’t seem to understand why your father hides you away" Pantalone said, his tone almost confused. "You seem… stable. Smart."
Zandik didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened ever so slightly. He looked down at the items on the table. Notes, papers, books, vials and what-not.
"My work" he said, voice no longer holding the same accusatory tinge like earlier, "is not something a prince should do."
He said it like he was quoting someone else—like the words weren’t his, but had been shoved down his throat so many times they simply came out on their own. He had grown used to hearing them and at some point accepted them. "He hides me away in hopes I’ll get ‘better.’ That I’ll come to my senses. Lead the military. Smile for a portrait. Marry someone with a strong name." Zandik stepped back from the table and turned, the edge of his coat sweeping behind him.
"They bring noble daughters with practiced smiles and thoughts not of their own. They’re told I’m eccentric and lonely. They last five minutes before they’re begging their fathers to take them home. My father says I ‘sabotage’ them, him, the entire kingdom."
"And, do you pose a threat?"
"Depends to whom."
"To them?"
"No."
"Do you shout and break things?"
"No."
"Do you raise your hand against them?"
"No."
"Then?"
"I'm not what they expect of me."
"And what do they expect?"
Zandik leaned against a large bookcase, thinking over the question, not because he didn't have an answer, but because he had too many. "They expect a handsome, shy, quiet yet still confident prince, draped in silver and gold, fancy, independent." He held his hand out, counting on his fingers as he continued naming stereotypes he's heard over the years. "Soft-spoken but sharp, charming, but not too forward, academic and educated yet not too much. Hardworking but not as often."
He flicked the last finger open, palm now facing Pantalone.
"Simply, a doll, a marionette they can carve to their own wills and wants."
Pantalone chuckled under his breath, folding his arms as he leaned casually against a reading table opposite him. "Sounds unachievable."
Zandik moved, now walking through the aisle of books, dragging his hand over the many hardbacks. "They want someone that nods, dances, marries well, and says thank you when told what its purpose is." He then stopped, fingers curling around a certain book. "Instead, they got me."
His hand fell away from the book, and he turned to face Pantalone fully again.
"And you? Your father drags you around everywhere he goes, parading you around like an expensive jewel..I assume you’re meant to sparkle, not speak."
Pantalone’s lips moved ever so slightly,
"You make it sound so tragic."
Zandik tilted his head, watching him. "Isn’t it?"
Pantalone’s expression didn’t shift much, but his eyes flicked. After years of people trying to read him and failing, Zandik struck gold first try, first meeting. They understood eachother too well just from a few minutes of small talk. But Pantalone continued, giving his answer.
"No" Pantalone replied, arms folding again. "It was the easiest way to learn. Every deal he made, every favor he begged for, every lie he sold. I was listening, learning." He walked closer, eyes setting on the books around them.
"You’re very good at sounding and seeming harmless." Zandik said. He liked his answer, he found it better than he expected.
"Do you always share this much with strangers?"
"Only when they’re worth the breath."
"Oh?"
"You're the first I've told this to."
Then, silence again. They didn’t look at eachother, no, not until Pantalone spoke again.
"Zandik" he began, there was no need for titles and honorifics they were both almost the same age, if not already the same. Plus, they've been calling eachother by name since the start. Neither cared nor minded.
"I don't know your goal but I'm guessing you just simply want to live as you always have, doing what you enjoy. I'm the same, yet, I want to climb higher. I don't have the connections my father does but—"
Their conversation was cut short by a servant opening the door.
"Ah, our dear guest, your father is calling for your return." She said with her head slightly bowed.
Pantalone looked at her, a small smile playing on his lips. Then he glanced at Zandik. The man had already moved to the desk, busying himself by fixing some papers on his desk. Obviously expecting him to leave the second he was called for.
"Give us a moment longer, I'll be out shortly." Pantalone said, and the servant shut the door. She couldn't exactly argue with him nor force him, so she let it be.
He turned back to Zandik.
"Zandik, marry me."
Zandik froze.
For the first time in years—perhaps longer—he looked genuinely struck, shocked, confused.
"…What!?"
His voice cracked, too loud for the room it echoed faintly. He was in utter disbelief.
He stared at Pantalone as if the other prince had just told him to kill himself the next morning or something. His brows were drawn tight, mouth parted slightly in disbelief, and his hand hovered in the air, still holding a page as if he didn’t know whether to crumple it or drop it.
"You heard me."
"Did I?!" Zandik said bluntly. He blinked once. Then again. His eyes, so often narrowed were now wide. "You…" he began, then stopped, as if to let the absurdity of the moment settled. "You just met me! What are you talking about?"
"Exactly" Pantalone said, calmly, raising his hand up to fix his glasses. "And I’ve already learned more about you in half an hour than I have about any of my previous 'matches' in days. I mean, who else would begin a conversation in the way you did! You’re the only one I’ve met who didn’t try to charm me, flatter me, sell or gift me something. You insulted my father within the first two minutes!" Which was all true. Zandik was different than all of them. He wasn't charming nor trying to suck up to the other in any way. Just honest, just himself.
"I'm not asking for love, no, this would be a marriage of convenience. Both of us get to marry into strong families, both of us get what our fathers desire."
"You think I care about alliances or my fathers desires? Have I not made myself clear during our chat earlier?"
Zandik asked, his voice lower now, or well, same as earlier. "You think I want to be a pawn married off to smooth over two miserable borders?"
"I think you hate being told what to do." Pantalone said, and bingo. He thought correctly!
"So, say yes, and neither of us will get shoved into a marriage with someone we can't even talk to. It's only a matter of time before your father gives you off to someone, mine too. It's best to take it into our own hands."
"Let’s say I agreed" Zandik began. "You gain a political alliance, and I… what? Am allowed to keep to myself? Work undisturbed? Be spared more suitors? Be allowed not to have a heir or act as a father?"
"You gain more than that" Pantalone waited until he finished to begin speaking. "You gain a partner who won’t pretend to love you, won’t demand your time, and won’t try to change what you are. You keep your silence, your research, your work. We are to present a united front, both of our kingdoms get what they desire, out fathers too, and that is all. No hassle."
"…And if I say no?"
"Then I walk out that door and you’ll never hear me again."
Zandik said nothing. His fingers tapped once against the table, thinking.
It wasn't a bad deal, it would get multiple things off his back and out of his mind. Especially his father who would've forced him to do some useful work one-way or another. Plus, Pantalone did seem to match his 'vibe' earlier. They spoke to eachother so calmly, as if they had known eachother for years and not mere minutes. His eyes flicked up to Pantalone once again.
"You want to marry me" he repeated, slowly. "The prince they lock in a wing like a dangerous dog. The one every suitor has fled from. You want me."
"I want a man who can think for himself, one I can hold a conversation with and one who won't be a 'yes man'. One who won’t agree with me just to please me. I want someone entertaining."
The worst of all, Pantalone sounded sincere and Zandik didn't know whether that was a front he put up, or if he was actually being genuine.
"You want to use me"
"I expect you to use me, too."
"…Why me?"
"Because I’ve spent my entire life walking in rooms full of kings and sons, daughters of kings. And none of them ever looked me in the eye and saw the game. You did. In five minutes. You read me like a book. You understood me like no one else did."
"Fine. I accept."
"What?"
"I accept the proposal."