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"I won't do it!" Atsushi shouts. "You can't make me!"
Fukuzawa sighs. "You know I can. But making you is the last thing I want to do."
"Then don't!"
"Atsushi, sit down."
He almost doesn't listen. But his father—the king, of all things, and not for the first time it's making his life a mess—has requested it, voice calm and collected, and Atsushi has never disobeyed him in his life. Never had a reason to. He's always been a good father to Atsushi, always treated him with kindness and respect and understanding.
Atsushi sits.
But it doesn't mean he's going to change his mind.
Fukuzawa looks at him evenly. "King Francis has requested your hand in marriage."
"No."
"You have obligations as a prince, Atsushi, and one of those obligations is to marry."
"So I'll marry! I'll get courted and fall in love and marry them!"
"You know very well that that is not how it works. Not for you, not for a member of the royal family," Fukuzawa says.
Atsushi clenches his fists. "Then choose someone else. Anyone else."
"King Francis has made the request, and I have no reason I can give him to reject it."
"I certainly have reasons," Atsushi spits, raising a finger to check off each one. "He's selfish, he's cruel, he sees people as trophies to be won—"
"That's enough."
"You can't do this!" he cries again, voice breaking. "Please, Father, I am begging you. Francis will never be good to me, he will ruin me. If you do this, I will never know freedom or happiness again, you know that. We all know that."
To his credit, Fukuzawa looks unhappy as well. It doesn't bring Atsushi much comfort, though—unhappy or not, the end result will be the same. "I didn't say I liked it," he says softly. "More than anything, I want you to be safe and happy. But Francis' kingdom is larger and more powerful than ours. If I can't give an airtight reason to turn him down, then doing so would only cause issues and conflict for us and our people, you included. And as much as I may dislike it, I have no reason to give."
Atsushi feels all his hope of successfully fighting this vanishing, his shoulders slumping, face pinched with distress.
He can't marry Francis. He can't. Not him.
"There is another option, you know," another voice sings, and both their gazes flit to Ranpo, lounging sideways across a chair with a lollipop in his mouth.
"Feel free to share with the class, Ranpo," Fukuzawa says.
Ranpo pulls the lollipop from his mouth with a gross smacking sound before he raises his brows. "Hold a competition."
"A competition?" Atsushi echoes. "For what?"
"For your hand in marriage, duh."
Atsushi and Fukuzawa look at each other. Huh.
"What kind of competition?" Fukuzawa asks.
"Three rounds, allow nobles to enter as well, not just royal families. Let the suitors show off various skill sets and prove themselves best suited to rule the kingdom with him. You can give Francis some bull about how the advisors pushed for it, imply you're rooting for him to win, and Atsushi gets to sidestep his proposal without giving him a reason to create problems. Easy."
…Huh. That actually sounds like a really good idea.
"What if Francis wins?" Atsushi asks warily.
Ranpo shrugs. "Then you marry him after all. But at least this gives you a chance."
Atsushi's tongue darts out to wet his lips. It is a chance. If that's his best bet to beat this, then…
He looks at his father hopefully, and the man considers it for a moment before giving a single nod. "I will speak to Francis and have word of the competition spread. The more suitors, the better your chances of someone else winning."
Atsushi jumps out of the chair to wrap his arms around him in a grateful hug. "Thank you!" he says happily, pressing a dramatic kiss to his temple.
Fukuzawa pats his arm, a little awkward, but Atsushi knows he loves him regardless. "You're welcome."
"You're welcome!" Ranpo chirps.
Atsushi smiles. "Thank you, Ranpo."
"All in a day's work. Call me papa."
"I'm not calling you that."
"I think it would be appropriate," Ranpo insists.
"You're still not my father."
He rolls his eyes. "If the crowned prince can't call the king's consort papa, then who can? This is injustice of the highest order."
"Sire your own children and make them call you that," Atsushi counters, and Ranpo scrunches his face in disgust at the idea. Atsushi snickers. "Thought so."
Atsushi steps into the knights' training room, startling when the heavy door bangs closed behind him. Damn, he always forgets about that…
The sound also alerts the present knights, lounging after what must have been an intense sparring session, judging by all the sweat. Tachihara reacts first, face splitting in a grin.
"Hey, Highness! Greeting us mere mortals with your presence?"
Atsushi smiles. "Can't stay out of your sights for too long or you might forget my face, and then how will you protect me? I could get body snatched and you wouldn't know the difference," he says cheekily, settling on the floor with them.
"We would never," Tecchou says without a hint of mirth. "We take our roles very seriously. The day I don't recognize that you've been body snatched is the day I will walk up to the guillotine myself."
Everyone stares at him for a moment before bursting out laughing.
"You have got to grow a funny bone, man," Tachihara says.
Tecchou frowns. "I have all of my bones. I'm unable to grow bones."
Atsushi pats him on the shoulder. "There, there, Tecchou."
He looks at Atsushi with concern. "Your Highness, I hope you understand I am incapable of growing more bones without the use of witchcraft." He pauses just long enough for a light to pop over his head. "Unless you mean an erection, but that would be highly inappropriate, nor would be it be funny."
Atsushi buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with his laughter as Chuuya presumably smacks Tecchou over the head, by the sound of it. Tecchou is one of the sweetest, most competent men out there, and yet…
"You're an idiot," Chuuya says, but his tone is laced with amusement.
"I am not," Tecchou counters, sounding much like an offended child.
Atsushi leans sideways until he can rest his head on Tecchou's shoulder, smile still wide. This was a good idea. Hanging out with his friends—it doesn't matter if he outranks them, they're friends—is always the best distraction.
"What's wrong?" Chuuya asks.
And, of course, his friends also always see right through him.
Atsushi sighs. "The king is marrying me off."
"Congratulations!" Tachihara cheers, and Chuuya smacks his head too. "Hey, what the shit!"
"Something's wrong, shithead, don't congratulate him!"
"How was I supposed to know!?"
"By having socialization skills!"
Atsushi huffs a laugh. "It's fine, it's fine. Just…" He licks his lips. "King Francis has asked for my hand."
If Tachihara couldn't read the room before, he clearly is now. Chuuya's jaw clenches. "King Francis of—"
"Yes."
"And you said no."
It's too difficult to shake his head when it's perched on Tecchou's shoulder, so he shrugs instead. "It's not exactly my choice. I have a duty to my people, and I can't risk the wrath of someone like King Francis by making him feel…jilted."
Chuuya curses as Tecchou's hand comes up to pet Atsushi's hair in silent comfort. "Fine. But our loyalty is to you, not him. We serve and protect you, and that includes from rat bastard husbands."
Atsushi smiles warmly. He'll never understand what he did to earn such fierce loyalty from the best people in the kingdom, but he'll always be grateful for it. "Thank you," he says softly. "Actually, though… We're holding a competition instead."
Tachihara raises a brow, just one, and Atsushi does not spend a few seconds feeling jealous that he can do that. "What kind of competition?"
"I'm not sure exactly. But the winner will be awarded my hand. I can avoid marrying Francis without risking the safety of the kingdom."
"Unless he wins," Chuuya says pointedly.
Atsushi's smile turns joyless, resigned. "Unless he wins," he echoes softly.
Tecchou lets out a concerned sound. "King Francis was a battalion leader. He is a highly skilled fighter."
"I know."
"He could win."
"I know."
The knights all look meaningfully at each other as if having a silent conversation, one Atsushi isn't privy to, before Chuuya grins at him like he's hatched some half-baked plan.
"Well, then, we'll just have to make damn sure he doesn't."
It takes a month to get the whole thing set up, to spread the word and have competitors travel to the kingdom, get settled—some of the more prominent suitors even inside the castle walls.
Unfortunately, King Francis is very prominent.
Atsushi bumps into him multiple times over the week between his arrival and the competition. Although bumping implies lack of intent. Atsushi's no genius, but he's not stupid enough to think it's just a coincidence.
This must be the dozenth time Francis has cornered him since he'd arrived, and Atsushi has to forcibly stop himself from sighing as he pointedly does not shut or look up from the book in his lap.
"Can I help you, Your Majesty?"
Francis hums. "I do believe you can, Highness."
Atsushi tenses at the sarcastic emphasis, like he's mocking him. Or like he's pointing out that he outranks him. Or any other number of cruel or sleazy reasons—Atsushi can't pretend to know the inner workings of a mind like his. He doesn't prompt Francis further, and the king places his hand on the pages of Atsushi's book, blocking his view.
Atsushi slams the book closed, and Francis hisses when his too-slow fingers get caught. Good, Atsushi thinks spitefully, but his moment of petty joy is shut down when Francis laughs.
"I do love your fiery nature," he says.
"Most people wouldn't describe me as such."
Francis lets out another hum. "Yes, you do seem to be beloved in the kingdom. Those who know you describe you as warm and kind. Which version of you is true and which is an act, I wonder?"
Atsushi presses his lips together. He regrets choosing to sit anywhere alone while Francis is a guest. If anyone was around, he could find an excuse to kick him out. "Perhaps both are true, perhaps neither. I contain multitudes."
"So I alone get to see this fierce, snappy side of you? Why, I'm honored."
God, Atsushi hates him so much. "If you don't have important business with me, then I would appreciate if you would leave. I'm busy at the moment."
"Busy with your casual reading?"
"I am quite enthralled with the story," Atsushi says, pasting a smile onto his lips. "The love interest is handsome and kind and thoughtful—I'm sure you'd find it too unrelatable to enjoy yourself, though."
Francis laughs again. "I would say you should be nicer to me, if you don't want me to be angry with you when we wed, but…" He ignores the way Atsushi cringes away when his hand comes up, threading his fingers into his hair and yanking his head back. Atsushi's pained cry is more strangled than anything, and Francis seems to take enjoyment from it, the sick bastard. "…but the more you fight me, the sweeter it'll be when I finally break your spirit."
Atsushi's heart is pounding, eyes as wide as Francis' chills-inducing smile. His chest is so tight, he practically has to force the words out when he speaks. "Don't get cocky, Your Majesty. First you have to win."
Francis' smile widens. "Don't worry, Atsushi," he says in a tone Atsushi can only describe as smarmy, and the casual use of his name just makes it all the worse. "I intend to."
He releases his hair, and Atsushi's breath escapes him harshly. Damn it. Damn it. He can't take this forever, he needs this competition to happen and he needs Francis to lose. The worse and more embarrassing it is for him the better.
A condescending pat on Atsushi's head makes him flinch, makes him angry, and he nearly makes his tongue bleed biting it as Francis turns on his heel and walks away.
Atsushi has two or three moments to breathe, harsh and discomforted, before Francis pauses in the doorway.
"Oh, and, Your Highness?" he says, back still to Atsushi. "If by some…unexpected turn of events I don't win your hand and marry you… I can make absolutely sure no one else will want to."
And then he's gone, leaving Atsushi staring after him, heart in his stomach, before he curls in on himself, arms wrapping around his stomach as he tries to breathe.
He'll do it. Whatever he's planning, he'll do it. There's no escaping him, no matter what the outcome of this stupid competition is, Francis will manage to get what he wants. He'll get Atsushi, by any means necessary.
God, why does he even want him? Their kingdom is smaller and weaker than Francis', and Atsushi himself is hardly desirable, hardly worth any trouble on his own.
But that's exactly it, isn't it? It's never been about any of that. Maybe at first he desired Atsushi for some inexplicable reason, but now… As much as he's sure his father couched it well, Francis is far from stupid—he knows what's happening, what they're doing, and now it's a game. Now more than ever, he's seeking control.
At first, Atsushi had hope that Francis would lose, that he would subvert his proposal, get out of this unscathed. Every day with him here, that hope dwindles more and more.
What should he do?
"Your Highness?"
Atsushi's head snaps up, wide and frantic gaze landing on Tecchou. The knight must see something on his face—flushed cheeks, tears, fear, who knows—because he kneels in front of him, hands resting gently on Atsushi's knees. "Are you alright?" he asks, voice surprisingly soft.
Atsushi closes his mouth and swallows. He shakes his head, the movement jerky.
"What happened?"
God, what does he even say? Nothing happened, he's not hurt, Francis didn't do a damn thing he can get in trouble for.
He's just so fucking scared.
"Please," he begs, too distressed to be embarrassed at how whimpery and pathetic he sounds. "You can't let him get me, Tecchou, please. I-if he wins, he'll destroy me, and if he loses, he'll ruin me, I don't know what to do, what can I do!?"
Tecchou takes his hands and squeezes them, making Atsushi's breath hitch. "I don't care if he's a king," he says, slow and soft and gentle like Atsushi's is a wounded, frightened kitten. "You are my prince. I serve and protect you. If he hurt you, it is my duty to make him pay, and you know I take my duty very seriously. Did he hurt you?"
Atsushi's breath escapes in a humorless laugh as he shakes his head again. "No. Of course he didn't. And he won't, you know he won't, not until he we're married and he gets immunity from anything he does to me, and who knows what he'll do to me!?"
He hates the way his voice breaks, but Tecchou's face shows no judgment. Not that it ever shows much at all. Atsushi takes a shaky breath.
"I was worried before," he says, less hysterical but not better, "I knew it would be bad, but I feel like I just saw a glimpse of the real monster chasing me, and I—" He cuts off, squeezing Tecchou's hands hard enough to hurt, though the knight doesn't show a hint of discomfort. "If he gets what he wants, even you won't be able to protect me."
Tecchou's eyes dart down for a few moments, and Atsushi thinks maybe he can see his jaw clenching, before he looks back up at him with fierce determination.
"Then I will make sure he doesn't."
Atsushi's abnormal breathing ceases entirely for a moment as he looks at Tecchou—the most skilled knight in a kingdom full of some of the best on the continent. An amazing fighter, a loyal subject.
A good man.
Atsushi is so grateful to have him, and so, so terrified that soon he'll lose that, lose them all.
With a noise far too close to a whine, he jumps forward, out of his chair and into Tecchou's arms, wrapping his own around his neck. "Help me," he begs, so soft it's no more than a breath.
After a moment's hesitation, Tecchou hugs him back with strong arms, holding him close. Protecting him.
"On my life, my prince," he murmurs in his ear.
Atsushi buries his face in his shoulder and tries very hard to believe him.
Tecchou seems to take Atsushi's worry to heart, as the prince isn't left alone after that. If he's not being shadowed by him, Tachihara, or Chuuya, then he's in the company of the court advisor Dazai, or hanging out in the kitchen with the head chef Kenji, or being chattered to endlessly by Ranpo.
Francis doesn't get another chance to corner him, and Atsushi is grateful. To keep him away, he can temporarily give up all of his alone time.
(And, despite his protests, learn far too much about his father's bedroom escapades. Though he suspects Ranpo is putting on airs for most of it; Atsushi thinks half the things he does in life is to either receive praise or make Atsushi grimace.)
Finally, the day arrives. They already did the first two rounds yesterday, the maze to filter out the worst of them and the horse racing competition, leaving everyone rested for the final game: sword fighting. It's down to only eight suitors now, including his three knights and Francis. Atsushi is practically vibrating with anxiety—he trusts Tecchou, trusts them all, but the fear of what could be is overwhelming.
What if Francis wins?
Will it be worse if he doesn't?
Forearms plop onto his shoulders, what feels like a chin settling on his head, and it's only experience that lets Atsushi know who's hanging off him. "Hi, Dazai."
"Good morning, Your Highness," he greets cheerily. "Excited to see nobles and royalty from all over fight for the right to your hand?"
Atsushi sighs. "Positively vibrating with it."
"Well, you're certainly vibrating with something."
"Dazai," Fukuzawa warns from his seat beside them, "this type of physical contact with your prince is inappropriate."
"Terribly sorry, Majesty, I merely tripped and fell on His Highness. Won't happen again," Dazai replies, not moving an inch. A smile tugs at the corners of Atsushi's lips.
"He is quite clumsy," Atsushi agrees.
"That's right, everyone talks about it."
"It's not even gossip-worthy anymore."
"Now, if I didn't trip at all for a whole day, that would be the talk of the castle."
Fukuzawa sighs heavily. "That's enough, you two. I think some decorum is in order, don't you?"
"I am the absolute picture of decorum," Dazai insists, stepping around Atsushi's seat to kneel in front of him. "Watch. My dear prince Atsushi, will you do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?"
Atsushi laughs. "Sure, but you'll have to compete."
Dazai clicks his tongue and gets up to flop onto the seat beside him. "Alas, I'm a lover, not a fighter."
"Your tongue is sharper than your sword."
"My tongue is capable of many things, Your Highness; you need only ask."
Ranpo tuts a few times, shaking his head. "Dazai, you really should learn how to behave appropriately as a member of the court," he says from his perch on Fukuzawa's lap. The king sighs again.
"How have I lost such control of my own court?" he murmurs, though he seems fairly appeased when Ranpo kisses his cheek. Softie. "Ranpo, take your own seat. It's time."
Ranpo obeys, even if he pouts about it. Baby.
Junichiro's sister—wife? both? no one's sure, and they don't clarify—Naomi asked very excitedly if she could be the host for today, and Ranpo gleefully said yes, giving Fukuzawa no say in the matter. Although, he likely would have agreed regardless. Again, softie.
Naomi steps into the center of the stadium. "Welcome to the kingdom of Yokohama!" she shouts into her megaphone. "Today is the final event of the challenge for our beloved Prince Atsushi's hand, and the competition is fierce! Everyone will be participating in one-on-one sword fighting matches. The pairings have been randomly sorted, and will be as follows: Ryuunosuke Akutagawa versus Michizou Tachihara, Tecchou Suehiro versus Nathaniel Hawthorne, Chuuya Nakahara versus Mark Twain, and Francis Fitzgerald versus John Steinbeck."
There's a boom of applause, and Naomi waits for it to die down before continuing. "The first match will be between Prince Akutagawa and our very own Sir Tachihara! Take to the arena, please."
The two of them step into the middle, mere feet apart from each other, and with prompting from Naomi, they draw their swords, and it begins.
Atsushi will give it to her, she knows how to host, knows how to make it exciting with her commentary even when the audience is too far to see details. Thankfully, Atsushi has the best seat in the house.
Tachihara is the worst fighter of the competing knights, but the worst out of the top three in the kingdom is still pretty damn amazing. His competition is no slouch either—unlike Atsushi, Akutagawa is a prince who is very involved in the battles of his kingdom. If memory serves, he leads their strongest battalion.
It's quite the battle to witness. Strike after strike, parry after parry—Atsushi really doesn't know what he's looking at, but he knows they're both doing well. Partly because Naomi says so. It's thrilling to watch.
Another hit, another block, hit hit hit, and—
Hitachi's sword flies out of his hand, the tip of Akutagawa's pressing under his chin.
"And the winner is Prince Akutagawa! Good effort, Tachi-boo, but I guess royalty always comes out on top," Naomi announces.
Well, that's one knight down. It's okay, though—Akutagawa isn't exactly warm, but he's a good prince who takes care of his people. Any ills ever spoken of him have always been surface level, and usually from rejected suitors. If he makes it out of this on top, Atsushi will be alright with that.
Tecchou and Chuuya win their respective matches with far less struggle, and Atsushi breathes in relief. Relief that is short-lived, as Francis follows suit and wins his own.
A little too easily…
But there's still two knights and a prince in the running. Atsushi can't freak out yet.
Tecchou is up next against Akutagawa, and while Atsushi is of course mentally cheering his top knight on, he doesn't truly know who will win.
He doesn't have to wonder for long. It lasts longer than Hitachi's did, but it's far from drawn out. Akutagawa holds his own, absolutely—there's no doubting the prince's skill. Still, he's not quite on par with Yokohama's top knight, and before he knows it, Akutagawa's got the sharp of a sword at his throat.
"Wow!" Naomi cries. "Sir Tecchou wins! Guess even royalty isn't enough to beat a monster like him!"
Atsushi's heart swells. He is that good, amazing even, and it's nice that more people than just his fellow knights and enemies get to see it on display.
Chuuya fights tooth and nail in his next battle, and Atsushi knows he's doing everything he can to keep Francis from beating him, to stop him right there and not let him even make it to the final. Make it that close to winning.
It's a tougher fight than the last one was, in Atsushi's layman eyes. A high-ranking royal knight versus a battalion-leading king is bound to be a sight, and it is. Atsushi can't catch every move, and Naomi's less a classic commentator and more an entertainer, so fairly unhelpful in terms of what's happening.
He does know Chuuya's doing great.
Unfortunately, so is Francis.
It seems pretty evenly matched, until something must happen that Atsushi doesn't quite catch, and Chuuya is stumbling, any upper hand lost as he's stuck blocking and dodging. Atsushi can practically hear the shits and fucks he always lets loose freely when he's frustrated (or excited, or angry, or just talking at all really), and he's near falling out of his seat as he vibrates with anxiety.
Chuuya can't lose. He can't, he can't, he has to—
Francis breaks Chuuya's defense, leaving him wide open, before knocking him down, flat on his back, and pinning him with a foot on his chest.
Atsushi's heart sinks to his stomach like lead.
Oh god.
"And in a skilled takedown, the semifinal goes to King Francis!" Naomi announces.
Oh god.
"This leaves the final to the visiting King Francis and our own Sir Tecchou! Clearly this'll be a competition for the ages, folks!"
He lost. Chuuya lost. It was one thing for Tachihara to lose as the "worst" of the top three, but if Chuuya lost… He's not significantly below Tecchou, so Tecchou doesn't have that much more of a chance, which means he could lose too, which would mean everybody would lose and Francis would win and if Francis wins then Atsushi will be carted off to marry him without any options left to protest and—
A hand lands on his shoulder. "Breathe, Atsushi," Dazai murmurs in his ear. "That was a very close fight, and Tecchou is even better. Have faith in your knight."
God. Yes. Right. Right, yes, of course—panicking won't do him any good, he just has to breathe. Has to hold hope until the very last moment, until it's ripped away from him for good. If it is.
Tecchou promised. And Atsushi has never, ever known him not to keep his word.
Atsushi just has to trust him. Or rather, convince his anxious heart to.
After a short break to let the final competitors hydrate and catch their breath, Naomi is calling them back to the middle of the arena. Atsushi sits anxiously as she reiterates their names, gives some dramatic commentary that sounds like static in Atsushi's ears, and—
Francis strikes first. He moves fast, but Tecchou is fast too, and Atsushi would probably be able to hear the scrape of metal sliding against metal as the knight both dodges and blocks at the same time.
That's about the only thing Atsushi can catch, because in the next moment, Tecchou is separating them and striking back, and he's clueless once again. No one seems to have the upper hand yet, which Naomi confirms with peak dramatic flair. Atsushi wishes he had her talent, but that's neither here nor there.
What's here is Tecchou, what's there is Francis, and Atsushi is right in the middle, forced to just watch.
The back and forth between them, striking and blocking and dodging in ways Atsushi knows he could never do in a million years even if he had been trained with a sword, is the most anxiety-provoking thing he's ever witnessed. They're still distressingly even—every time one gets the upper hand, it doesn't take more than mere seconds before the other is catching right back up.
They must be exhausted, Atsushi thinks. This is their third battle in a row for both, each going longer than the last. Neither of them show signs of flagging, though; he knows Tecchou has incredible stamina, but it seems maybe Francis does too.
Atsushi may pass out. Really. This is nothing but pure stress and anxiety for him, he doesn't think his body can keep going this way much longer.
Without an ounce of the terror Atsushi feels, Naomi excitedly declares that Francis is going strong, putting Tecchou on the defensive just as he'd done with Chuuya, until he knocks the sword out of Tecchou's hand.
His heart stops beating entirely.
Francis takes the finishing swing.
Tecchou bends backwards, avoiding the strike with startling flexibility and grabbing his sword off the ground just in time to catch the follow-up attack, using the momentum to shove Francis away. He wastes no time going back on the offensive, and Francis must be thrown by the insane feat he just pulled, because even Atsushi can see he's suddenly lost his edge.
It might be temporary. But it's enough.
In a move Atsushi's brain is too static-filled to truly catch, Tecchou clashes their swords together, using the connection to yank Francis' own away, too far for him to even try what his opponent had, and then—
The next thing Atsushi knows, Francis is crashing to the the ground, and Tecchou stabs his sword into the ground right next to his head.
Did he—
Is it actually—
Naomi squeals into the megaphone. "And with a undeniable final strike, the final round of this thrilling fight, and in turn the competition, goes to the kingdom's own Sir Tecchou! I don't think something like that can come down to home advantage, but there really is nothing better than home-brewed, is there?"
Tecchou pulls his sword out and steps away enough to make it clear he's finished, sheathing his sword and holding out a hand to his opponent as if to help him up.
Ignoring Tecchou's proffered hand, Francis almost gracefully pushes himself to his feet and turns his polite—smarmy—pissed—smile toward Fukuzawa.
"While this has been so very fun, I think it's time to put an end to this charade, don't you?"
Fukuzawa doesn't so much as flinch as he stands, though Atsushi's sure his own heart is about to jump right out of his ribcage. "There is no charade, King Francis."
Atsushi's not close enough to catch everything on Francis' face. That smile is still firmly affixed on his lips, but Atsushi wonders if there are other tells—if his eye is twitching, if his jaw is clenched. If he's about to jump onto the grandstand and strangle Atsushi right there.
But all he can see is that goddamn smile.
"Your knight is highly skilled, but he is not royalty. A knight is simply not of the status to marry a prince, you must know that," he says.
Fukuzawa is thankfully unfazed. "You were well aware of the bounds of the competition when you agreed to join. Nothing has changed. Sir Tecchou has won the competition, and therefore he will receive the prize."
The two kings stare each other down in a way only kings with decades of experience can do. Atsushi's stomach is a terrible mess, his breathing slightly uneven. His father won't back down, right? Won't give Francis what he wants? They worked so hard to avoid this, all his knights fighting so hard to protect him, surely Fukuzawa will see it through?
After what feels like an eternity, Francis gives a single, concurring nod, and Atsushi's relieved exhale is just on the wrong side of too loud.
"I understand," Francis says. He turns to Tecchou—who Atsushi only now realizes has been standing as if ready for another fight, ready to act if the foreign king pulls anything, and Atsushi's heart warms—and bows just low enough to be respectful without demeaning himself with a real bow. "Congratulations, Sir Tecchou. You fought well. I wish you and your fiance the best."
Tecchou bows himself, a proper one. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
And…that's that? The crowd disperses, King Francis walks away, and Atsushi's overwhelmed with so much relief he's almost giddy with it.
Plus, he's going to marry Tecchou, and Atsushi can't think of anyone who would make him happier.
Jumping out of his seat, Atsushi rushes out of the grandstand, down the few steps, until he's close enough to Tecchou to jump right into his arms. Tecchou, to his credit, sees him coming and catches him with ease, and the way he hugs him back is sure to leave his father sighing heavily and muttering about decorum.
"Thank you," he breathes in his ear.
If he didn't know better, he would think the breath Tecchou takes then was breathing Atsushi in. "Always, my prince."
Atsushi lets out a breathy laugh as Tecchou sets him back on his feet. "Well, you're going to be a prince now too, aren't you?"
His eye widen imperceptibly, as if he hadn't considered this consequence. "Right," he says, sounding the slightest bit strangled. "It will be my honor."
Before Atsushi can try to soothe the poor man's worries, his other knights are rushing them, cheering and congratulating them—mostly Tecchou, since he did the work, but both of them, really. They knew how afraid he was, and now he doesn't have to worry a moment longer.
Atsushi is so unbelievably lucky.
"Well, come on!" Tachihara says, elbowing Atsushi in the ribs. "Give your fiance a smooch!"
Maybe not that lucky.
He flushes pink at the idea. "My father is watching!" he squeaks.
"Your father's preoccupied with Ranpo's tongue down his throat," Chuuya snickers, and surely enough, when Atsushi looks over, that is exactly what's happening. So much for decorum. Ranpo may be only a consort in name, but the king never has been able to turn down his whims. Smitten fool—if he could work the system to marry the man without problems, he would.
Atsushi's so happy for him.
He turns back to the group, looking up at Tecchou nervously. "If…you want to?" he offers shyly.
Tecchou blinks, and Atsushi is suddenly worried that perhaps Tecchou has no non-servient desire for him. That he's only been doing his duty, and now is stuck with Atsushi as an unfortunate result rather than the prize he's been touted as.
Perhaps the knight reads it on his face, though—he's never been good at hiding his feelings—because Atsushi thinks his expression softens, before he uses a knuckle to tilt Atsushi's head up by his chin, and then—
Oh, kissing Tecchou is wonderful. Atsushi has little experience—because it would be inappropriate, and he is unfortunately a goody two-shoes at heart—but he's certain this man is the best kisser in the kingdom. Atsushi's arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, and Tecchou's hand moves to his lower back to pull him close, deepening the kiss until Atsushi feels like he is aware of nothing but Tecchou's lips, Tecchou's hand, Tecchou's chest, Tecchou Tecchou Tecchou—
When they pull away, Atsushi is flushed and breathless, blinking dazedly at his knight—his fiance—before giving him a shy smile.
"We said smooch him, not make out hard enough to need to shield the children from," Chuuya teases.
"It was hot, though," Tachihara chimes in. "Hey, can I kiss him next?"
"Which one, Atsushi or Tecchou?"
He shrugs. "I'm not picky. Either, both?"
Atsushi laughs, resting his forehead on Tecchou's shoulder, shaking his head mirthfully. "You're ridiculous."
And as Tecchou cards his fingers through Atsushi's hair, he knows he wouldn't have it any other way.