Chapter Text
A scroll came in the Emerald Palace today, addressed to neither royals inhabiting it.
Stepping on the marbled floor, sweaty hands latch onto the rolled-up yellowed parchment like a lifeline. The cloaked figures walk closer to the throne, ornate carvings in gold and cushioned for guaranteed comfort for the great emperor. They bow before the man seated on it, whose crystalline eyes pierce through their dark robes.
"Blessings and glory upon the Obelia Empire."
"Why aren't koalas considered bears?"
"Because they're marsupials."
...
Athanasia sighs and answers again. "Because they don't have the koalafications."
The boy sitting across from her grins from ear to ear. She maintains exactly a second and a half of composure before bursting into giggles. "Shut up, dude."
Slinking back further into the elegant sofa, Lucas remarks, "'dude' isn't very princess-like, you know."
She squawks out a poor impersonation of his voice and he snorts — somehow sounding haughty even in laughter.
"Then again," Lucas muses to himself, "you haven't been a princess for most of your life."
Athanasia stiffens, the upturned corners of her mouth twitch a little. Has he figured her out? Shit, he knows about her real age, doesn't he? "Hmm? What do you mean? I've been a princess since birth." Why the hell is she still trying to save the situation?
The other stretches his shoulder, sore from reading with his back faced to the settee. "Sure," Lucas drawls out with a lofty smirk. "I only meant you've received proper princess training when you entered the Palace. Apologies for the misunderstanding, princess."
Athanasia scrunches her face in clear doubt before the large doors leading into her room burst open. Lilian York, her nanny, approaches the pair with rosy cheeks a proud glimmer in her eye.
"Please excuse us, Your Highness— Young wizard Lucas, you are called by His Majesty. Please follow me."
In a bat of an eyelash, Lucas demurely and un-Lucas-ly hops off the sofa and follows Lily with the grace of a swan. Athy demurely and very-Athy-ly stays on her seat and flips him off behind his back with the grace of the bird.
With her playmate now gone, the girl leaves her spot on the sofa and opens up the windows. The afternoon light spilling from the glass etches the princess's flaxen locks golden. She turns around and twiddles with her thumbs while time passes by her. Or— studying, yeah, she should probably go study. She can't let Mr. Whitey's kid continue to surpass her, and she especially can't be poked fun at for actually waiting for that magic-wielding idiot to come back to chat. Athanasia beelines towards her desk, opening up a bookmarked page of an obnoxiously hefty book. She stretches her short arms and grabs the quill, dropping the tip onto the pot of ink Claude had imported from the East, and starts writing.
She had a life outside of this. Oceans, perhaps even lightyears away. In a world just as technologically advanced as it was ruthless. The blonde hates thinking about it, but it's hard not to when the pads of her fingers meet the puffs of her sleeves and feel linen instead of leather, the bomber jacket that was too oversized on her when her only friend gave it away before being picked up by her new foster home rendered completely unretrievable. Maybe that friend's settled down now, in a painted room of floral patterns, shushing a tinier version of herself to sleep. Maybe she's reached the bottom of the barrel in life, the acrid miasma of liquor permeating her cries for help — maybe she cries in the same cadence she used to back when she was just a kid at the orphanage.
It's only until the midway point of her notes that Athanasia realizes she's been writing the same string of words three times in a row. She groans in annoyance, plopping on the desk with her cheek. Somebody needs to invent Wite-Out stat. Crumpling the piece of paper, the frustration that comes from not having learned anything needles her features.
"You look pretty ugly right now," Lucas comments smugly, appearing before her with his arms folded.
"Shut uuup. What took you?" She snaps back, not bothering to move from her position.
"Annoying stuff," the boy furrows his eyebrows as he recollects the flock of eager, cloaked figures congratulating him with a baby voice. "Just got accepted into the Royal Magic Tower as an official mage or whatever. Tch. These losers don't even realize."
"Oh, yo," now that got her sitting up straight. "Not even apprentice? Full-on mage? Congrats!"
Lucas snorts. "The fools couldn't even recognize my mana capacity until I healed your sorry ass. If anything, they need me around."
Athanasia smacks his face with the crumpled piece of paper in retort. With a snap, the paper vanishes into oblivion.
"What the hell was that? Acting like you haven't been waiting for me." Lucas says.
Mouth agape and eyebrows knitted as if he just announced Claude got amnesia, Athanasia spurts out, "Wh– first of all, die, and second, I wasn't waiting!"
"Real convincing."
"Die!"
Lucas glances at the book and huffs, sauntering closer to snap it shut, earning a "hey!" from the other. "What're you thinkin' about, then?"
Athanasia drops the glaring, opting to fidget with her ponytail. "Like... stuff that you don't needa pry into."
Lucas hums and mumbles, "From that world, huh?"
"What was that?"
"Nothing." Lucas says quickly, sending an eye roll her way.
Scoffing at the attitude, Athanasia says, "Dude, tell me. I'm gonna go meet Daddy in a bit!"
"Just..." Lucas exhales, his right hand carding his hair back. "If you wanna talk about it, your dad's the worst choice right now."
"Hell does that mean?"
Clicking his tongue, Lucas says, "Dammit—" Talk to me instead. "—I'll be busy with the Magic Tower. Let me know what bothers you. In case, y'know, your stupidity becomes contagious."
Athanasia brushes the Lucasness aside and straightens her lips in thought, until she feels stinging on her forehead. Lucas is inches away from her face now carrying an unimpressed look. "Ow!" is all she could yell, covering the impact point.
"Stop spacin' out in the middle of a conversation, idiot."
"Shush! I'm, like, thinking of how we're gonna hang out if you become an official mage!" she exclaims.
Lucas folds his arms. "If you're worried about that, I can just become the Royal Wizard."
"Isn't that more work?!"
"No? That just means I can make everyone else do the work for me— ow!"
Repeatedly hitting his arm, she says, "How're you even sure you'll become the Royal Wizard? You're up against mages handpicked by Daddy!"
Lucas groans and rubs his arm. "Up against wimps who couldn't figure out how to help you when your mana exploded," he retorts. "Listen, princess. I'm gonna be the Royal Wizard, and when I do..."
"...When you do?"
Lucas gruffly scratches his nose. "Nothin'. Go run to your dad. Stupid."
He vanishes, leaving Athanasia confused, hand coming back up to press against the spot where he flicked her forehead.
Some nothings change everything after them.
It's afternoon tea with Claude once again, and Athanasia takes her beverage in small sips. Her mind is far from the dewy grass and the table for two, walking through memories from years back to just a few minutes ago, but the sun proudly above says she's only been reminiscing for a few beats. The space between drinking and drank.
Just two years ago, he was a random prick who trespassed palace grounds and tried to off her at first sight. Has she really gotten that used to Lucas' presence?
Claude rests his cheek on his knuckles, blankly waiting for his daughter to realize she's been holding her cup mid-air for an uncomfortable while. Guarding them from a few steps away, the royal knight Felix continuously clears his throat, a measly attempt to grab her attention.
"What's on your mind?" Her father asks in a monotone voice.
"Lu..." She blurts out, before snapping back into reality. "Leukemia."
"What?"
Curse this vaguely Victorian time setting and their lack of healthcare knowledge.
"It's um, a new Arlatan word I learned."
"In that case," her father says, taking a sip in between, "you're thinking of leukaimo. You mispronounced it."
That worked?
"Oh. Uh, thank you, Daddy! I didn't know!"
Claude sags his shoulders, letting out a short breath. "...Finish your tea."
The princess does just that.
He watches as her eyes trail away from the table separating them and eventually land on the brick edifice a reasonable distance apart from the pair. The Magic Tower. In every reuleaux viewport, mages bustle up and around the spiral staircase like worker bees—greeting, reading, and carrying stacks of books with more vigor than ever.
"Your playmate was recently appointed as one of them." Claude comments. "Rare for brats his age."
Upon hearing no response, he prods. "...That means you'll see him less."
"Athy knows that!" Athanasia declares.
Interjecting the conversation, Felix coughs, inching closer towards the blonde emperor. "If I may, sire..."
"No you may not." Claude says, then returns to Athanasia. "Is he treating you well?"
"Mhm! Athy has fun playing with Lucas!"
"Ah, but princess," Felix says with a note of worry. "Having a friend your age is very special, so—"
"What do you think of getting another?" Claude interrupts. "Preferably a girl this time... is what Felix said."
"S-Sire?!" Felix pales at his sworn brother throwing him under the bus.
Athanasia chuckles. "It's okay, really. Because that means Athy gets to spend more time with Daddy!"
Claude widens his eyes, seeming like he wanted to say more, but didn't.
Just a few years ago, Claude was an even bigger prick than he is right now, raising his hand as a silent order for the maids to bring in the deserts like talking was too tiring for him. She doesn't remember what changed and how it happened. But as Athanasia prods a spoonful of chocolate cake to his lips and he does nothing but squint his eyes in rejection, she laughs. As if she had never feared for her life in front of him, as if the seeds planted in her mismatched body are now flowers blooming readily in her heart. To smile in front of Claude was a ticket to remain. To smile in front of Claude is to smile at family.
Felix heaves a sigh of relief. He turns his head back to dutifully guard his post.
──────── EXTRA. 🪽
Letters crinkle around her stubby fingers, carrying the scent of Artlantan oak and ivy-covered walls. A little girl props her rabbit toy beside her on the bed as she opens the folded papers one by one. Inked cursive, more refined than the first batch of mail Ijekiel sent out, weaves tales of exploring the academy's nooks and crannies, letting friends crash at his dorm, perusing the town market.
Tethered to the room, she looks at the gaps of moonlight and towards the castle up ahead. Maybe one day, this, too, will be behind her. Warmth filling her cheeks, she clasps her hands together to whisper a hello in hopes the message will soar the distance and reach her family.
"Blessings and glory upon the Obelia Empire, Father, Sister."