Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun rose gently over Aldera Kingdom, spilling golden light across the ancient stone walls of the royal castle. It warmed the slate roofs and caught on the stained-glass windows, scattering flecks of color across the courtyard far below. Morning bells chimed — soft, ceremonial, almost shy — as if the whole kingdom were waking up slowly and peacefully beneath their echo.

Prince Izuku Midoriya stood on the balcony outside his chambers, the cool iron railing pressing lightly against his palms. His green hair was tousled from sleep, curling messily at the ends as the early breeze teased through it. He blinked away the last remnants of dreams, his freckled cheeks still soft with drowsiness, but his eyes — bright, verdant, and impossibly alive — sparkled the moment he looked out across the lands he would one day rule.

Below, the courtyard bustled with motion. Boots thudded rhythmically against the packed earth. Steel clashed in crisp, ringing bursts. The earliest knights of the royal guard were already deep into their drills, their armor catching the sunlight in sharp flashes.

And among them, one stood out — not because Izuku looked for him, but because he always did.

Katsuki Bakugo, captain of the Young Guard, moved like a storm contained in human form. Muscles tightened beneath a sleeveless training tunic, his broad shoulders flexing with each precise swing of his practice blade. Sweat glimmered along the line of his jaw and the exposed curve of his forearms, catching the dawn light like scattered diamonds. His brow was furrowed with lethal concentration, giving him a fierce, untouchable presence.

But Izuku saw the details others missed: the way Katsuki’s breaths came steady and controlled, the faint tension in his shoulders that meant he was pushing himself too hard again, the tiny flick of his eyes toward the balcony — as if he sensed he was being watched.

Even from here, Izuku could feel that familiar surge in his chest — warm, grounding, anchoring him more than the balcony railing beneath his hands. Katsuki’s energy was fierce and sharp, yes, but beneath it was something steady. Something reliable.

Something… comforting.

Izuku swallowed, suddenly too aware of the rapid flutter in his chest.

“Your Highness.” The gentle voice behind him made him jump slightly. He turned to see a servant standing at the threshold, bowing his head respectfully. The man didn’t enter the balcony; servants knew better than to disturb the prince’s private morning silence unless necessary. “Sir Katsuki requests your presence in the training yard.”

Izuku felt his cheeks heat — subtly, but unmistakably. Katsuki never requested him. He ordered knights around, grunted at nobles, rolled his eyes at advisors. But requesting the prince? Asking for him?

It made Izuku’s pulse trip over itself.

“I— ah—” He cleared his throat, trying to regain royal composure despite the flustering warmth crawling up his neck. “Tell him I’ll be right down.”

The servant bowed and retreated, closing the door softly behind him.

Izuku lingered on the balcony a moment longer, gripping the railing as if to steady the storm stirring in his own chest. Below, Katsuki sheathed his practice blade and wiped the sweat from his brow, golden sunlight haloing him like some wild, battle-forged deity.

Izuku drew in a breath — a deep, steadying one — and finally turned toward the door.

Training with Katsuki always left him breathless.

Sometimes from the swordplay.

Sometimes… not.

The courtyard smelled of steel, sweat, and the crisp bite of early morning air. Dew clung to the grass like scattered crystals, catching the first hints of sunlight. The clang of metal rang out in steady rhythm — sharp, clean, unmistakably Katsuki. He was already deep into drills, body moving like fire wrapped in discipline. His muscles coiled and uncoiled with every swing, shoulders rolling smoothly beneath his sleeveless tunic, blonde hair damp against his forehead. Each strike carved through the air with purpose.

And yet… the second Izuku stepped into the courtyard, Katsuki’s blade hesitated. Only for a fraction of a breath, but Izuku noticed. Katsuki always pretended he didn’t wait for him, but Izuku knew better — Katsuki’s awareness was sharp enough to pierce armor.

“Morning, Katsuki,” Izuku called, smiling — soft, shy, the kind of smile Katsuki always pretended not to see.

Katsuki huffed without turning. “If you’re gonna be king someday, you can’t show up looking half-asleep. Get your ass over here.”

Izuku laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he approached. Even half-scolded, he felt lighter around Katsuki, as if expectations slipped off his shoulders for a while.

Katsuki tossed him a practice sword. Izuku barely caught it.

“You good?” Izuku asked, noticing how Katsuki’s breathing was just a bit heavier than normal.

“Mind your own training,” Katsuki shot back, though his voice wasn’t sharp enough to hide his fondness.

They began their routine. Katsuki circled him slowly, eyes narrowed, posture loose but ready. Izuku lifted his blade, steady but not nearly with Katsuki’s confidence. Their swords met with a soft ring. Katsuki pressed forward immediately, testing Izuku’s balance, forcing him backward step by step.

Izuku’s arms trembled. Katsuki noticed.

“K-Kacchan— give me a sec—”

“Nope.” Katsuki tapped Izuku’s blade with a quick flick of his wrist. “A real threat won’t wait for you to catch your breath.”

Izuku scrunched his nose. “You’re supposed to teach me, not bully me.”

“Same thing.”

Izuku laughed despite himself. Katsuki didn’t smile, but the corners of his eyes softened just slightly. Something warm flickered behind the tough exterior — something that wasn’t meant for anyone else but Izuku.

They continued — light sparring, footwork drills, defensive parries. Their movements grew more fluid, almost like a dance. The morning sun climbed higher, turning Katsuki’s skin golden and making Izuku’s freckles stand out like stars scattered across his cheeks.

Other knights paused to watch the two of them — prince and warrior moving in impossible sync. Rumors always followed scenes like this. They would continue to. But the boys, wrapped in the quiet orbit they shared, paid them no mind.

Izuku lunged. Katsuki deflected.

Izuku stumbled. Katsuki caught him — strong hands gripping his elbows without hesitation. “Careful, nerd,” he muttered, voice lower now.

Izuku’s breath hitched. Katsuki didn’t let go immediately, fingers lingering longer than necessary. When he finally released him, Izuku’s skin felt warmer where Katsuki had touched it.

After a long session, Izuku collapsed onto the soft grass, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His hair stuck to his forehead, and a smear of dirt streaked his cheek. Katsuki stood over him, silhouette framed by the sun behind him.

“Pathetic,” Katsuki muttered.

Izuku grinned up at him, still breathless. “You say that every day.”

“Because it’s true every day.”

Despite the words, Katsuki sat beside him — close, but not touching. Just close enough that the warmth of his body brushed Izuku’s arm whenever he shifted. They both stared ahead, watching the sunlight spill across the castle grounds, turning the stone walls a soft, glowing gold.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was familiar. Safe.

“Hey,” Izuku said after a moment, voice quieter. “Thanks for training with me.”

Katsuki’s jaw flexed. “It’s my duty.”

Izuku’s smile faded just a little. Duty. Loyalty. Sacrifice. Words Katsuki wore like armor.

But not everything he did was because of duty. Izuku knew that now — felt it in the way Katsuki stayed close, in the way he always knew when Izuku was nearby, in the way he softened when they were alone.

Katsuki glanced at him. Quickly. Too quickly. His ears turned faintly pink. “Eat something before your lessons,” he muttered. “You look like you’ll pass out.”

Izuku blinked, then grinned. “Are you worried about me?”

Katsuki’s eyes snapped away immediately. “Shut up.”

He stood and held out a hand.

Izuku reached for it, fingers sliding into Katsuki’s palm. Katsuki’s grip was warm, strong, steady. For a heartbeat — only a heartbeat — they didn’t let go.

Then Katsuki cleared his throat and pulled him up too fast, nearly making Izuku stumble into him.

“S-stop doing that,” Katsuki muttered.

“Doing what?” Izuku asked, smile too bright.

“That smile.”

Izuku’s cheeks glowed pink. “Why?”

Katsuki didn’t answer.

The two of them walked back toward the castle, steps falling in easy rhythm. The morning sun stretched long shadows at their feet, casting a soft light over their joined paths.

A prince and his knight — drawn together by loyalty, held together by something neither dared name yet. Wrapped in warmth that would soon be tested by duty, destiny, and a kingdom that demanded more of them than simple love.

Preparations for the Festival of Crowns had begun before sunrise. The palace grounds were alive with motion — banners being hung from high towers, florists carrying armfuls of fresh lilies, servants rushing back and forth with trays of silverware that gleamed like stars. Musicians tuned their lutes and flutes in the courtyards, their notes floating through open windows like birds welcoming the morning. The air buzzed with anticipation, a kind of electric hum that made everything feel sharper, brighter, heavier. The festival came once every five years, honoring alliances between Aldera and neighboring kingdoms. Nobles, heirs, ambassadors — everyone who mattered — would attend. It was also the festival where royal marriages were traditionally discussed.

Izuku tried not to think about that last part. He tried not to think about who would be suggested for him. Or who would be considered “suitable.” Or who wouldn’t. He stood in the throne room beside his mother, Queen Inko, dressed in emerald robes embroidered with gold. His breath caught a little at how heavy the garment felt — too formal, too symbolic, too much. But his mother had chosen it lovingly.

“You look perfect,” she said softly, stepping closer to adjust the collar of his outfit. Her hands were gentle, warm, reassuring. “Stand tall, my love. Today is important.”

“I know.” Izuku’s fingers curled in the fabric of his sleeves. He tried to smile, but it came out small, strained. “I just… want things to go well.”

“They will,” Inko said, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “And if anything goes wrong, we will handle it together. But I know you — you’ll charm everyone.”

Izuku’s smile softened, this time real. “You always say that.”

“That’s because it’s true.” She kissed his cheek, maternal warmth grounding him. “Now go greet our guests. I’ll join you shortly.”

Heart thudding, Izuku stepped through the open doors that led into the grand entrance hall.

Sunlight poured through stained glass windows in vibrant streams of color — ruby red, cerulean blue, shimmering gold. The marble floors shone like a lake reflecting dawn. Courtiers lined the hall, whispering and murmuring behind fans and gloved hands, their excitement filling the space like a hive of bees.

But Izuku saw none of them at first. His gaze went straight to the base of the grand staircase.

Katsuki.

Standing guard in polished formal armor, back straight, expression sharp, as if he embodied the discipline of an entire army. His cape draped neatly over one shoulder, crimson catching the light. The gold edging on his gauntlets gleamed.

Izuku’s breath caught — just a little.

Katsuki always looked strong. Powerful. Unshakable. But like this, dressed for ceremony rather than battle… he looked regal, even if he had no royal blood.

Their eyes met.

Izuku’s heart fluttered with warmth he couldn’t name. And wouldn’t dare admit. He offered a small smile — discreet, private, meant only for him.

Katsuki didn’t move. Didn’t nod. Didn’t acknowledge him in any way that would be visible to others.

But Izuku knew him too well.

There. In the slight softening around his eyes. In the faint, nearly invisible tilt of his head. In the tiny exhale of breath he only released when he saw Izuku was safe, present, and unharmed. He felt it — the flicker of something warm, something unspoken, something that had been growing quietly between them for years. Izuku took one step in his direction—

But the moment shattered as the trumpets sounded. Loud, bold, ceremonial.

Every head in the hall turned. Conversations died instantly. Servants froze in place. The great doors at the end of the hall began to swing open with a deep, resonant groan.

“The first arrival,” someone whispered.

Izuku straightened, hands clasped in front of him, face smoothing into the polite mask expected of a prince.

Katsuki’s posture shifted too — not toward Izuku, but subtly closer. Protective. Ready. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his ceremonial sword.

Izuku felt the tension humming between them like a drawn bowstring. He wished — desperately — that he could reach for Katsuki’s hand.

Instead, he took a steadying breath as the sunlight flooded in from the open doors.

And the first royal guest stepped forward.

The herald’s voice boomed through the vaulted entrance hall: “Presenting the delegation of the Hinohara Kingdom!” Conversation halted instantly. Servants straightened. Nobles stood taller. The large double doors were pulled open, revealing a line of foreign dignitaries draped in rich silks and furs—colors of crimson, ash-white, and deep jade marking their house crests.

At the front of the procession walked Prince Shoto Todoroki. His ceremonial robes draped elegantly to the floor, one half a deep ember-red trimmed in gold and the other a stark, icy white embroidered with silver threads. His dual-colored hair caught the light like fire and frost intertwined. Palace whispers fluttered through the crowd — admiring, assessing, calculating. Shoto’s mismatched eyes swept the hall, calm and unreadable, until they settled on Izuku.

Izuku forced himself to breathe. This was one of the most powerful heirs in the region, a key political ally… and one of the nobles whom the council had subtly, persistently suggested as a “viable marital prospect.”

From the corner of his eye, Izuku saw Katsuki stand straighter, posture sharpening like a blade.

Prince Shoto slowed before him, then bowed with a precision that was almost ceremonial perfection. “Prince Izuku. It’s an honor to finally meet the heir of Aldera.”

Izuku dipped into a respectful bow of his own, though his palms felt suddenly, inexplicably warm. “The honor’s mine. I hope your travels were peaceful.”

“We made excellent time,” Shoto replied. “Your roads are well maintained, and your border guards were efficient. A testament to the strength of your kingdom.”

A compliment. A diplomatic one — but Izuku flushed anyway. He glanced, instinctively, toward Katsuki.

Katsuki stood rigid, jaw tight, expression unreadable except for a faint tension around his mouth. Izuku felt a small knot form in his stomach. It was the look Katsuki wore only in two situations: when he sensed danger… or when something bothered him.

Shoto followed Izuku’s fleeting glance and briefly took in the blond knight — then, with impeccable politeness, he returned his attention to the prince.

“I’ve heard,” Shoto continued, his voice softer now, “that you are wise beyond your years. That you care for your people more fiercely than most rulers twice your age.”

Izuku’s breath caught. “I… I do my best. But I still have much to learn.”

“Humility,” Shoto said with a faint nod. “An admirable quality in a future king.”

Izuku felt heat crawl up his neck. “Thank you, Prince Shoto. You’re very kind.”

“Honest,” Shoto corrected. “Not kind.”

Something about the way he said it — calm, certain, as though he had already formed a quiet, favorable opinion — made Izuku’s heart flutter in a way that felt unfamiliar and unsettling. Once again, his eyes drifted toward Katsuki. This time, Katsuki didn’t look away. His crimson gaze was locked on Izuku, hard and sharp, as if reading every nuance of the exchange and disliking each one more than the last.

Izuku swallowed.

Shoto, noticing none of the silent turmoil beside him, stepped slightly closer, his voice lowering to a diplomatic, almost intimate tone. “I hope we will have time to speak in private during the festival. There is much I’d like to discuss — our kingdoms’ futures, shared goals… and perhaps more.”

Izuku’s heart thudded.

Before he could answer, Katsuki took one deliberate step forward — just enough to insert a sliver of space between the two princes. “His Highness has many responsibilities today,” Katsuki said, voice level but edged with unmistakable steel. “You’ll need to schedule any private discussions through the royal council.”

Shoto blinked, not offended, merely surprised by the intensity of the knight’s presence.

Izuku felt both embarrassed and strangely comforted. “Kacchan—” he hissed quietly.

Katsuki didn’t glance at him.

Shoto inclined his head. “Of course. Protocol must be respected.” His eyes drifted back to Izuku, his tone warming slightly. “Still, I look forward to the opportunity. Your Highness.”

Izuku nodded, trying to steady his voice. “I… look forward to it as well.”

As Shoto moved on to greet the queen and council, the hall slowly resumed its noise and motion.

Izuku exhaled shakily.

Katsuki, still beside him, didn’t speak.

But Izuku could feel the storm gathering beneath the knight’s quiet, controlled exterior — fury, protectiveness, jealousy… and something deeper, something far more dangerous than any sword.

The tension of them hung thick in the air, inevitable as the future Izuku suddenly feared he couldn’t escape.

As the day unfolded, nobles filled the palace. Conversations layered over each other — politics, alliances, arranged marriages whispered behind fans. Laughter chimed, clinking glasses echoed, and the faint rustle of silk and velvet filled every corner. Izuku moved through the crowd, bowing, smiling, exchanging pleasantries. Each nod, each practiced smile, felt heavier than the last. His duties weighed on him like armor he could never take off. Every time he glanced toward the grand staircase or the balcony, Katsuki was there. Watching. Alert. Poised as if carved from stone. The way his crimson eyes scanned the crowd, the way his fingers rested on the hilt of his ceremonial sword — it all screamed protector. A knight. A warrior. Someone who belonged to the castle, to the kingdom, to the rules… but not to Izuku. Izuku navigated the crowd carefully, trying to catch a moment with him.

Finally, near a small alcove behind a row of gilded pillars, he found Katsuki standing alone, his armor gleaming under the lantern light. “You okay, Kacchan?” Izuku whispered, stepping close enough that Katsuki could hear him over the chatter.

Katsuki’s crimson eyes flicked toward him. He scoffed, a rough edge to his voice. “I should be asking you that. You look like you’re about to drown in perfume and fake smiles.”

Izuku chuckled softly, a little embarrassed. “That obvious?”

“To me? Always.” Katsuki leaned against the marble railing, arms crossed. His posture was casual, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

Izuku’s chest tightened. He wanted to reach out, to grab Katsuki’s hand, to pull him close, but the hall was filled with people. It wasn’t just etiquette — they would notice. He wasn’t supposed to do that. But the longing in Izuku’s chest made his limbs heavy with frustration.

Katsuki finally exhaled, a small puff of breath escaping through his nose, like a sigh he didn’t quite want to admit. “You think being a prince is easy?” he asked, voice lower now, almost quiet. “All smiles and ribbons? It’s exhausting.”

Izuku swallowed. “I know,” he said softly. “I just… wish sometimes that I could be… normal. Just Izuku. Not a prince. Not… all this.” He gestured vaguely at the hall, the crowd, the gilded splendor.

Katsuki tilted his head, studying him. “You always carry it on your shoulders, don’t you? Every responsibility, every expectation… like it’s your own weight to bear alone.”

Izuku’s heart thumped painfully. “I try to, at least.”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki muttered, though there was no real anger in his voice — just concern. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

Izuku’s eyes flicked to Katsuki, and for the briefest second, the world seemed to shrink. The crowd, the nobles, the rules, the arranged marriage talks — they all melted away. Here was Katsuki, standing beside him, someone who had always been there, loyal in ways no one else could understand. “I… I know,” Izuku whispered. “It’s just… hard, sometimes.”

Katsuki’s gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. He looked away quickly, as if embarrassed by the small warmth in his own expression. “You better get back before someone notices you’ve disappeared,” he muttered.

Izuku laughed quietly, a soft, almost sad sound. “And miss a moment like this?”

Katsuki grunted, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t get used to it.”

They stood in silence for a moment longer, the music and chatter of the festival below them fading into the background. Izuku felt the pull of longing, the ache of knowing what he wanted most — Katsuki — but the unspoken rules of the kingdom held them apart. Still, in that brief, quiet space, it felt like nothing else mattered.

Mid-afternoon, a court announcer clapped his staff loudly, the sound echoing through the marble halls. “Presenting Princess Melissa Shield of I-Island!”

The hall seemed to pause as every eye turned toward the entrance. Melissa stepped forward with an effortless grace, her posture perfect, her robes flowing like liquid gold. Her eyes were sharp and intelligent, her smile warm but measured — a noble of impeccable reputation, trained for courtly expectation. The room buzzed with admiration, whispers passing through the crowd like ripples on a pond.

Izuku stepped forward and bowed deeply, masking the tightness in his chest. “Princess Melissa, welcome to Aldera Kingdom,” he said, his voice steady, polite.

Behind him, Katsuki’s jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. His crimson eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the princess move. Every tilt of her head, every measured step, seemed designed to assert dominance in the subtle courtly game Izuku had yet to master. Katsuki’s fingers twitched at his sides — just barely restrained.

Melissa curtsied smoothly, her gaze lingering on Izuku with a practiced warmth. “I’ve looked forward to this day, Prince Izuku. Our kingdoms share great potential,” she said, her tone deliberate, polished.

Potential. Izuku’s stomach twisted at the word. He knew exactly what she meant. Political potential. Marriage potential. Every move she made was calculated to impress not him, but the court, the advisors, the king and queen who watched with keen eyes. He gave a tight nod. “Yes… I’ve heard the same,” he replied, keeping his voice formal, but his thoughts wandered involuntarily to Katsuki, standing silently behind him.

Melissa’s smile softened, almost imperceptibly, and her voice dropped to something gentler. “I hope we have the chance to get to know each other better, Your Highness.” There was an undercurrent to her words — an expectation woven carefully beneath courtesy.

Izuku hesitated, unsure what to say, and said nothing. He knew the right answer would be charming, diplomatic, careful. But his eyes kept drifting to Katsuki, whose hands curled into fists at his sides. The tension radiating off him was almost visible.

Katsuki’s teeth ground together, and he looked away, scanning the room as though he might find an escape route, though there was none. Each polite laugh, each nod, each gentle exchange between Izuku and Melissa felt like a silent arrow aimed at his chest.

Melissa tilted her head slightly, noticing the faint tension in the knight behind Izuku. Her smile didn’t falter — it was trained to never falter — but there was a glint of awareness in her eyes. “You seem… vigilant,” she said lightly, her gaze flicking subtly toward Katsuki.

Katsuki’s face darkened. “I’m merely performing my duties,” he said, voice clipped, barely audible over the murmurs of the court.

“I’m sure,” Melissa said smoothly, almost teasing, but not cruelly. “A prince deserves protection… and loyal companions.”

Izuku’s pulse quickened. The words hung in the air like a blade, sharp and cutting. He knew what they implied — Katsuki was loyal, yes. Perhaps too loyal for his own heart. He felt the weight of that loyalty pressing against his own desire to speak freely, to bridge the gap between them.

Melissa extended a gloved hand toward Izuku in a gesture of formal courtesy. “Shall we walk through the hall? There is much to discuss before dinner.”

Izuku took her hand, keeping his movements smooth, careful. But as he did, his gaze met Katsuki’s for a split second — a silent exchange. A flicker of frustration, longing, and unspoken words passed between them. Katsuki’s jaw tightened further, but he remained rooted to his post, every inch the perfect knight.

As they walked down the hall, Melissa’s voice was soft, conversational. “I hear your kingdom has recently expanded trade with the Eastern Provinces. That must be… a challenging responsibility.”

Izuku nodded, replying politely, but his mind remained half on Katsuki. He could feel the heat of Katsuki’s presence behind him, the tension in his movements, the restraint he exerted to remain composed.

For a brief moment, the prince wondered if Katsuki would ever let his loyalty give way to something more — if the world would ever allow them to be together. And yet, he knew the truth: rules were rules, and bloodlines mattered more than hearts in the eyes of the court.

The walk continued, punctuated by laughter and murmured conversations from the courtiers. Katsuki followed silently, unwavering in his vigilance, unwavering in his loyalty, unwavering in a silent, unspoken love that could never be claimed in the way he wished.

Loyal… but not royal, Izuku thought bitterly, a pang tightening in his chest as the princess smiled again.

Later that evening, as lanterns were lit and musicians began to play, Izuku slipped out to the palace balcony, seeking one small moment of peace beneath the dusky sky. The air was cool, carrying the scent of blooming jasmine from the palace gardens. The soft glow of lanterns below reflected off the polished stone walls, and the faint clinking of glasses and laughter drifted up from the festival grounds.

Katsuki followed silently. He always did. Izuku had long since stopped being surprised by it. “I didn’t call for you,” Izuku murmured, though he wasn’t upset.

“You didn’t have to,” Katsuki said, voice low, almost too casual to be true. His gaze stayed fixed on the festival lights, but Izuku could feel the tension in the line of his jaw, the way his hands flexed at his sides.

They stood side by side, shoulders brushing ever so slightly, yet neither dared to make it intentional. The firelight from the lanterns danced across Katsuki’s sharp features, casting fleeting shadows that highlighted just how impossibly close — and yet impossibly far—they were from each other.

“I’m… supposed to talk with Melissa again later,” Izuku said quietly, staring down at the swirling crowd below. His voice wavered, betraying the weight he didn’t want to show.

Katsuki didn’t respond.

“And Prince Shoto,” Izuku added, the words almost tasting like ash in his mouth.

Still nothing.

Izuku turned toward him. “Kacchan?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Katsuki exhaled harshly, the sound cutting through the night air. “It’s not my place.”

Izuku’s heart sank. Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? Katsuki was here because of duty. Because of loyalty. Because he was sworn to stand beside Izuku — but not with him. A gust of cool wind brushed past them, tugging at Izuku’s robes and lifting the ends of Katsuki’s hair. He shivered slightly, and Katsuki noticed, though he made no comment. “Kacchan,” Izuku said softly, stepping just a fraction closer, careful not to cross the invisible line. “You know I don’t care about any of that. I just… I’d rather spend today with you.”

Katsuki’s breath hitched.

Just barely.

He looked away, jaw tight, refusing to let Izuku see the emotion flickering in him. “Izuku,” he muttered, voice lower than usual, almost breaking, “you’re a prince. You have responsibilities.”

“I know,” Izuku said, hugging his arms around himself. He wanted to reach out, wanted to pull Katsuki closer, but the words were trapped in his throat. “I just… wish things were simpler.”

“They’re not,” Katsuki said, almost painfully. His eyes finally flicked to Izuku, sharp and conflicted, and in that instant, Izuku saw something he hadn’t before: the strain of loyalty warring with desire. The pain of knowing he could never claim the one person he wanted most.

A silence stretched between them, thick and fragile. They were close enough to touch, close enough that if either reached out, the world could change — but neither moved. The soft rustle of the wind, the distant music, even the gentle whisper of lantern flames seemed to conspire against them.

Izuku’s hand twitched as if to reach for Katsuki, then froze. He wanted to lean into him, let the warmth of his presence chase away the cold gnawing at his chest — but he didn’t. He was a prince, and the rules of the court were not so easily bent.

Katsuki’s hand twitched as well, almost imperceptibly, a mirror of Izuku’s hesitation. The knight’s body tensed, every muscle coiled, as if bracing for the impossible.

“I…” Izuku started, then stopped, unsure if he could voice the thoughts threatening to spill from his heart.

Katsuki shifted slightly, and their shoulders brushed more firmly this time. Izuku felt the heat of him, the faintest tremor in his posture. He realized Katsuki had stayed this close, despite knowing exactly what it meant.

For a moment, they just breathed together, the sounds of the festival below distant and unimportant. They were two hearts in a kingdom full of rules, walls, and expectations, daring to find solace in a stolen moment.

And then, as if the night itself reminded them of reality, the distant toll of a bell sounded, echoing through the castle. Katsuki exhaled sharply, finally stepping back, breaking the delicate spell. “Don’t get any ideas, Midoriya,” he muttered, though his voice had softened, cracked slightly at the edges. “I’m your knight. Nothing more.”

Izuku swallowed the lump in his throat. He nodded, forcing a smile. “I know.”

But in his chest, a quiet ache began to grow — a promise and a pain. Because in this kingdom, between duty and desire, Katsuki would always be… loyal, but not royal.

The festival had wound down, and the palace halls were quieter now. Only the distant hum of servants cleaning up and the soft echo of footsteps filled the corridors. Izuku moved silently through the shadows, careful not to be seen. His heart thumped in his chest — half from excitement, half from fear. He wasn’t supposed to leave the prince’s chambers at this hour, yet he had to see him. Every step felt both reckless and inevitable, as if the castle itself held its breath, waiting for him to reach Katsuki.

Katsuki was already there, pacing near the training yard. Moonlight spilled across his armor, silver glinting against the darkness. The night air carried the faint smell of sweat and gunpowder residue, as if his presence alone was combustible. His crimson eyes caught the moonlight, sharp and alert, scanning the shadows instinctively until they settled on Izuku. “Izuku…” Katsuki said the moment he saw him, voice low, edged with sharpness. “You shouldn’t be wandering around.”

Izuku took a hesitant step closer. “I… I needed to see you. Just for a moment.”

Katsuki crossed his arms. “A moment. Right. You know it’s dangerous for a prince to sneak around, don’t you?”

“I know,” Izuku admitted softly. “But I don’t care about danger tonight. I… I just want to be honest with you.”

Katsuki’s gaze flickered, something unspoken passing between them. He looked away, jaw tight, trying to hide the blush creeping across his face. The quiet night seemed almost too heavy, the air thick with words neither of them could yet speak. “You’re trembling,” Katsuki remarked, his voice softer now, though still rough around the edges. He took a step closer, the sound of his armor muted under the moonlight. “Why are you really here, Izuku? Not because of some reckless thrill, huh?”

Izuku swallowed, trying to steady himself. “Because… I can’t pretend anymore,” he whispered. “I can’t keep my feelings hidden. Not when… not when every time I see you, my heart—” He faltered, choked on the words. “—it just… it just won’t stop.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened further. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling into fists. “You know it’s complicated. You’re a prince. I’m your knight. There are… rules.”

Izuku’s gaze dropped, but he took a deep breath and lifted it again. “I don’t care about rules. Not tonight. I just… I need you to know. I… I love you, Kacchan.”

Katsuki froze. His eyes widened, jaw tightening as conflicting emotions warred within him — surprise, anger, longing, and something dangerously close to hope. His voice came out rough, almost a growl. “You… you can’t. You’re the prince. My place is here — by your side, yes — but not… not there. I’m not… a royal.”

Izuku’s chest constricted, but he stepped closer anyway. “I care about you. Only you.” 

Katsuki’s crimson eyes softened for the briefest second, and then the tension in his body visibly snapped back into place. He muttered, almost to himself, “Honest…” His gaze sharpened, locking onto Izuku’s. “You’ve got two minutes.”

Izuku swallowed, summoning courage he didn’t know he had. “Kacchan… I can’t stop thinking about you. I know I’m a prince, and you’re my knight… and I know the world wouldn’t accept it… but I can’t lie anymore. I… I love you.”

For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. The night seemed to still, the rustling leaves and distant palace sounds fading into nothing.

Katsuki’s eyes widened. His fists unclenched slightly, then tightened again. “Izuku…” His voice cracked just a little. “You… you can’t. You’re a prince. My place is here— by your side, yes — but not… not there.” He gestured vaguely at the palace, at the life Izuku was born into.

Izuku’s heart sank, but he stepped closer anyway. “I don’t care about that. I just want you — me and you. That’s all I want.”

Katsuki’s face twisted with conflict. Rage, pain, longing, and loyalty warred for dominance in his crimson eyes. “I’ve sworn my life to protect you. Every breath, every strike, every scar… mine. And I would do it a thousand times over. But I can’t… I can’t be your husband.”

Izuku’s hands shook as he reached for Katsuki’s, fingers brushing the gauntleted armor. The touch was electric, tender, heartbreaking all at once. Katsuki’s breath hitched at the contact, his eyes flickering down at Izuku’s trembling hands, then back to his face. “I don’t care about royal blood,” Izuku whispered. “I care about you. Only you.”

Katsuki pulled back slightly, trembling with the weight of his duty. “I know. I… I love you too, damn it! More than I’ve ever loved anyone! But love doesn’t change the laws of this kingdom. And it doesn’t change what’s expected of you.”

The tension between them grew taut, like a bowstring ready to snap. Izuku’s chest tightened. “Then… then I’ll treasure this moment, even if it’s the only one we ever get.”

Katsuki’s eyes softened for the briefest second, a flicker of what could have been, before the knight in him hardened again. “Yeah… then we’ll treasure it. But you… you have to marry the one the kingdom chooses. I’ll be here. Always.” His voice broke.

Izuku swallowed the lump in his throat. He nodded, tears pricking the corner of his eyes. “I understand. And I’ll never forget you, Kacchan. Never.”

For a moment, they simply stood there, hands almost touching, hearts overflowing with unspoken words. Then, as if drawn together by the inevitability of their desire, Izuku’s hand moved again — this time gripping Katsuki’s gauntlet with more determination. The knight’s eyes widened at the boldness, a mixture of fear, longing, and hope flickering in his gaze.

“Kacchan…” Izuku murmured, voice trembling, “please… just one moment. Just one.”

Katsuki’s jaw clenched, his hands instinctively rising to wrap around Izuku’s waist, pulling him flush. The air between them crackled with tension, desire, and the weight of the impossibility of their love.

Without another word, their lips met. It was hesitant at first, testing, searching, tasting the fire and quiet longing each had held back for so long. Then it deepened, fierce and tender at once. Katsuki’s hands tangled in Izuku’s hair as if anchoring himself to the prince, afraid that any second apart might erase what was happening.

Izuku clung to him, hands pressing into the armor that separated them, feeling the warmth, strength, and loyalty of the knight he had loved for years. Every heartbeat felt shared, every breath a confession. He could feel Katsuki’s trembling grip, the tension in his shoulders, the way he seemed to anchor himself to Izuku as if the prince were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Izuku whispered against Katsuki’s lips, letting his hands travel along the ridges of Katsuki’s armor, tracing the lines he knew so well. “Every day, every fight, every moment… I’ve wanted you.”

Katsuki’s voice was a low growl, thick with emotion. “Damn it, Izuku… me too. I’ve wanted you more than I can ever say, but—” He broke off, biting his lip, struggling to keep the world and its cruel rules at bay. “But you… you’re the prince. I’m… I’m just a knight. Not enough. Never enough.”

Izuku pressed his forehead against Katsuki’s, holding him close. “I don’t care. I don’t care about what anyone says. I care about you. Only you. Always you.”

Katsuki’s hands tightened around him, and for a heartbeat, the weight of duty and expectation fell away. They were just themselves — two people, heart to heart, bound by something the kingdom could never define or allow.

Their lips met again, slower this time, savoring every touch. Izuku’s fingers threaded through Katsuki’s hair, tugging him closer, and Katsuki responded in kind, pressing himself against the prince with desperate intensity. The night air wrapped around them, cool and silent, as if the world itself had paused to allow this forbidden moment.

“Izuku…” Katsuki’s voice trembled. “If anyone knew… if the king knew…” His words trailed off, caught in the tension between longing and duty.

“I don’t care,” Izuku whispered fiercely. “Not tonight. Tonight, there’s only us.”

Katsuki’s hands roamed over Izuku’s back, holding him as if he might vanish if he let go. Their breaths mingled, ragged and urgent, hearts pounding in unison. Every kiss, every brush of lips, every whispered confession was a rebellion against the rules that sought to keep them apart.

They pulled back slightly, foreheads resting together, sharing breaths and trembling smiles. Katsuki’s crimson eyes glimmered in the moonlight, full of conflict and desire. “I… I can’t be yours in the world’s eyes,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “But tonight… tonight, I can be yours like this.”

Izuku’s green eyes shone with tears, but he smiled through them. “Then tonight, we are free. And I’ll remember this forever.”

They lingered, hands intertwined, exchanging soft, desperate kisses between whispered words, shivering sighs, and shared laughter that was tinged with sorrow. Katsuki rested his cheek against Izuku’s shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of the prince — the scent of home, of safety, of belonging.

“Promise me…” Izuku whispered after a long, shivering kiss. “Promise me you’ll stay by my side… even if the world won’t let us be together.”

“I swear it,” Katsuki said fiercely. “Always. Even if it kills me. Even if it breaks me. I’ll be here, Izuku. Forever.”

The courtyard was silent except for the sound of their hearts, pounding in rhythm with each other. The night stretched endlessly around them, cool shadows enveloping their bodies, the silver moonlight bathing them in quiet intimacy.

Their stolen moments continued — soft kisses, lingering touches, murmured words of love and devotion. Each second was a rebellion, each touch a promise. And even as the reality of the kingdom’s rules pressed against the edges of their minds, they clung to each other, desperate to imprint this fleeting eternity into memory.

The night carried their quiet heartbreak, and the palace slept on, unaware that its prince and knight had claimed a love the world could never officially allow. But in that stolen night, nothing else mattered. They had each other — even if only for a fleeting moment.

And as the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Izuku and Katsuki lingered still, holding each other as if letting go would mean losing everything… which, in a way, they already had.

Morning arrived over Aldera Kingdom with golden light spilling through the towering stained-glass windows of the grand hall, painting the marble floor in fractured shades of amber and emerald. Normally, Izuku loved this hour — the way the kingdom looked almost gentle in the early sun, as if peace were permanent. Today, there was no warmth in it.

Today was the day of the Royal Decree.

Izuku stood at the foot of the dais, posture straight, hands folded neatly in front of him as he had been taught since childhood. His ceremonial attire felt heavier than armor, the embroidered cloak resting on his shoulders like a chain. Every breath felt measured, rehearsed. Every heartbeat reminded him that once the decree was spoken, nothing would ever be the same.

The grand hall was already full. Nobles crowded together in clusters, silks brushing marble as they whispered behind jeweled fans. Advisors stood alongside them, parchment in hand, eyes sharp and calculating. Foreign ambassadors watched with polite interest, already assessing what this marriage would mean for trade routes, borders, and power.

This was not a celebration of love.

It was a transaction.

Banners bearing the crest of Aldera — golden crowns wreathed in laurel — hung from the high pillars, glittering faintly in the light. Tapestries depicting centuries of royal unions lined the walls: kings and queens standing side by side, smiling serenely, history insisting that sacrifice was tradition.

Izuku felt impossibly small beneath it all. His gaze drifted, traitorous and desperate, toward the side of the throne.

Katsuki stood at his post, exactly where he always was. His armor gleamed flawlessly, polished to perfection, catching the sunlight and throwing it back in sharp flashes. Both hands rested on the pommel of his sword, posture rigid and disciplined — every inch the knight sworn to protect the royal family. He was the picture of strength, control, and unwavering loyalty.

And yet.

To Izuku’s trained eye, Katsuki looked wrong.

There was a tension in his stance, subtle enough that no courtier would notice. His shoulders were too stiff, his jaw clenched just a fraction harder than usual. Though his gaze was fixed ahead, unblinking, Izuku could feel it — an invisible thread pulling tight between them.

Katsuki hadn’t looked at him once since entering the hall.

That hurt more than the whispers, more than the banners, more than the knowledge that this decree would bind Izuku to another for life.

Izuku swallowed and forced himself not to turn fully toward him. If he did — if their eyes met now — he wasn’t sure he could stand there with royal composure. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t run.

Trumpets sounded, sharp and echoing, cutting through the murmurs like a blade.

The room fell silent.

Izuku straightened instinctively as the royal family entered. This was it. The moment the kingdom had been waiting for. The moment he had been dreading since the festival.

As the nobles bowed and the air filled with expectation once more, Izuku felt his chest tighten painfully. He knew the decree would secure peace. He knew it would make him a good prince.

But all he could think about was the knight standing only a few steps away — so close, yet separated by law, blood, and a crown neither of them had ever asked for.

And as the hall held its breath, Izuku realized with aching clarity that this moment was not just an announcement.

It was a goodbye.

“Your Highness,” King Hisashi began, his voice resonating through the hall, deep and steady, the voice of a ruler who had spoken such words many times before. “Today, we honor tradition and the bonds that unite our kingdom with the noble houses beyond our borders.”

Izuku stood at the foot of the throne, hands folded carefully in front of him, posture perfect in the way he had been trained since childhood. He knew what was coming. He had rehearsed this moment in his mind countless times, telling himself he was ready. He wasn’t. His chest tightened as his father gestured toward the tall doors at the far end of the hall. They opened slowly, ceremonially, and a ripple of interest passed through the assembled nobles.

Princess Melissa Shield of I-Island glided forward. She was every inch a future queen — elegant, composed, her posture flawless. Light caught in her hair as she walked, and her smile was gentle, practiced, and warm enough to soothe any doubts the court might have held. The delicate embroidery of her gown shimmered like seawater under the chandeliers.

Izuku felt the room lean toward her.

Whispers followed in her wake, silk sleeves brushing together as nobles inclined their heads, voices overlapping in quiet approval. He heard fragments — a wise match, excellent bloodline, a strong alliance — each word pressing down on him harder than the last.

“Prince Izuku,” the king continued, his hand resting briefly against the arm of the throne, “after careful consideration and in accordance with the law of Aldera, it is decreed that you shall be wed to Princess Melissa Shield. May your union bring prosperity to our kingdom and strengthen our alliances.”

The words echoed.

Then—

Silence.

Not the polite, anticipating hush of the court, but something heavier, denser, as if the air itself had stilled to witness the moment. Izuku felt it settle over him like a physical weight, pinning him in place. He couldn’t breathe. His vision blurred slightly, the edges of the grand hall softening as reality struggled to stay sharp. This was it. The moment his future turned irrevocably away from what his heart wanted. Before he could stop himself, Izuku’s eyes searched the room.

Katsuki stood at his usual post near the throne, armor immaculate, spine straight, the perfect image of a royal knight. To anyone else, he looked unchanged — controlled, disciplined, unyielding.

But Izuku saw the cracks.

He saw the way Katsuki’s fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that the leather of his gloves creaked. The subtle tension in his shoulders, wound far too tight. The way his jaw trembled, just barely, as if one wrong breath might shatter something he’d worked his entire life to contain.

Katsuki’s eyes — red, sharp, burning — were locked on Izuku.

They didn’t flick away. They didn’t soften.

They bore into him, furious and devastated all at once.

Izuku’s heart broke all over again.

The court erupted into polite applause, the sound washing over him like a tide he couldn’t escape. Cheers followed — measured, dignified, full of approval. Nobles smiled, advisors nodded, ambassadors exchanged approving glances.

Every sound felt distant. Muffled. Wrong.

Duty.

Tradition.

Law.

Everything he had been taught since birth pressed in on him from all sides. The weight of the crown he did not yet wear dug painfully into his shoulders. This was what it meant to be a prince — to be chosen for, decided for, shaped into what the kingdom needed rather than what his heart wanted.

Melissa stepped closer and dipped into a graceful bow. “Your Highness,” she said softly, her voice kind, sincere. “I look forward to serving our kingdom together.”

Izuku forced his lips into a smile. It felt like betrayal. “My… my thanks,” he managed to say, returning the gesture with perfect form, even as his chest ached so fiercely it felt like it might split open.

The formalities rolled on without pause. Advisors approached with scrolls. Nobles offered congratulations. Hands were shaken, well wishes murmured, futures discussed as if Izuku were not standing there, hollowed out and grieving something no one else could see. He moved through it all like a ghost.

And through it all, he felt Katsuki.

Silent. Steady. Still standing at his side.

Loyal as ever.

Just… not royal enough to stand by his side.

Later, when the crowd had dispersed and the preparations for celebration moved forward, Izuku found Katsuki in the quiet courtyard, as he always did. The stone arches cast long shadows across the ground, and the air was cool with the promise of evening. Somewhere in the distance, laughter and music echoed faintly — but here, it felt like the world had paused.

“Kacchan…” Izuku whispered, voice low, almost pleading.

Katsuki didn’t look at him at first. He leaned against the cold stone wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw set so hard it looked painful. His armor was still on, though the helmet lay discarded at his feet. When he finally spoke, it was without turning around. “You knew this day would come,” Katsuki said, voice rough, scraped raw by emotion he refused to show. “You knew… and yet you still let it happen.”

Izuku stopped a few steps away. The distance between them felt heavier than any wall. “I didn’t want it to happen,” Izuku said quietly. “Not like this. Not ever. But… it’s the kingdom. My duty. You know that.”

At that, Katsuki turned, slow and sharp, crimson eyes blazing — not with fury, but with pain. He shook his head, a humorless breath leaving him. “I know my place, Izuku. I’ve always known.” His voice dropped. “I’m a knight, not a prince. I can fight. I can protect. I can bleed for you.” He clenched his fists, knuckles white, gaze slipping away. “I can love you. But I can’t ever stand beside you like that.”

The words sank deep.

“I’m… loyal,” Katsuki continued, quieter now. “But not royal.”

chest tightened as if something inside him were breaking apart. He stepped closer despite himself, hands trembling at his sides. “Kacchan… I don’t care about royal blood,” he said, again, voice shaking. “I don’t care about laws or crowns or who the world thinks I should love. I only care about you.”

Katsuki laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and cracked. “You think saying that makes me the prince? You think it erases centuries of rules?” He took a step forward, stopping just short of touching him. “I’ve sworn my life to you, Izuku. Every day. Every breath. And that’s all the world’s ever gonna let me be to you.”

Izuku looked up at him, eyes shining. “But you’re more than that to me.”

For a moment, Katsuki looked like he might reach out. His fingers twitched at his side. Then he forced his hand into a fist.

Izuku’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t want to forget this. I don’t want to forget us. The way you’ve stood by me. The way you’ve loved me… even if the world won’t let us be together.”

Katsuki’s expression finally cracked. His eyes softened, just for a heartbeat, revealing years of longing he had buried beneath discipline and devotion. “Then don’t,” he said quietly. “Remember me. Remember that I was yours — even if only like this.” His voice faltered.

They stood there in silence, breaths mingling, bodies close but never touching. The courtyard was empty, save for the weight of what they could not say aloud. The moonlight — or perhaps the paler blush of dawn — caught the edges of their hands as they hovered close, fingertips aching to meet.

Izuku almost reached out.

Almost.

But then he lowered his hands, biting down on his lip to stop the tears from falling.

He turned away first, bowing his head — not as a prince, but as a boy surrendering something precious. Katsuki straightened instinctively, armor clinking softly as duty reclaimed him. He followed at Izuku’s side, one step behind, where he always stood.

Unwavering. Unchosen.

The Royal Decree had been announced. Their hearts, bound together by everything that mattered, were now separated by duty, law, and the cruel weight of the world.

And as Izuku walked back toward the palace, Katsuki’s words echoed again and again in the hollow spaces of his chest—

Loyal but not royal.

The rain came hard and relentless, drenching the northern borderlands of Aldera in sheets of cold steel. Thunder rolled across the hills as enemy banners emerged from the fog — ragged symbols stitched into torn cloth, snapping violently in the wind. Raiders from beyond the mountains. Mercenaries drawn by whispered rumors of a destabilized throne and an upcoming royal wedding. Wolves circling a crown they believed weakened. The kingdom needed a symbol of strength.

So they sent Katsuki. He rode at the front of the royal guard, posture rigid in the saddle as the storm battered against him. His cloak was plastered to his shoulders, armor stripped of shine by mud and rain, yet none of it slowed him. His breath came steady despite the chaos around him, despite the tremor of thunder overhead and the thunder of hooves beneath him. This was what he knew.

This was where his heart made sense — battle, purpose, protection.

Not whispered promises in moonlit courtyards. Not silk and gold and crowns soaked in politics. Not watching the man he loved being promised to another with a smile he’d practiced until it stopped breaking people.

The enemy line shifted as they approached, steel flashing in the gray light. Katsuki lifted his sword, rain running down the blade like blood before the fight had even begun. “Captain!” one of the knights shouted, voice barely audible over the storm. “We’re outnumbered!”

Katsuki didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate. He bared his teeth in something between a grin and a snarl. “Then fight harder.” He spurred his horse forward and charged first.

The collision was violent and unforgiving. Steel screamed against steel as Katsuki slammed into the front line with explosive force, knocking one rider clean from his saddle before his boots even hit the ground. He moved like a storm given form — fast, brutal, precise. Sparks flew where blades met, flashing bright against the darkness, brief stars born and extinguished in the same breath. An enemy lunged at his side. Katsuki twisted, shoulder screaming as metal scraped across his armor, and drove his sword through the man’s defenses without mercy. A second came at him, yelling something lost to the roar of rain — Katsuki answered with steel and fury.

Every strike carried months of restraint.

Rage he couldn’t voice. Love he couldn’t claim. A future taken by laws carved into stone long before he’d ever learned how to hold a sword. His muscles burned. His lungs ached. Blood — his and someone else’s, he didn’t know — slicked his gloves, but he barely noticed. Pain was cleaner than longing. Pain made sense. He fought like a man who had nothing left to lose. And somehow, everything left to protect. A blade glanced off his shoulder, tearing through fabric and flesh. White-hot pain flared, sharp and blinding—and Katsuki laughed, breathless and wild, as he ripped the weapon from his enemy’s grip and sent him crashing into the mud.

“You picked the wrong kingdom,” Katsuki growled, driving forward again.

Around him, the royal guard pressed in, emboldened by his ferocity. They followed him because he did not retreat. Because when Katsuki Bakugo stood at the front, it felt impossible to fall.

Another wave came. Katsuki met it head-on. He didn’t fight for glory. He didn’t fight for medals or praise or the murmured admiration of nobles who would never spare him a second glance. He fought because if he couldn’t stand beside the prince as a husband, then he would stand before the kingdom as its shield. If he could not be chosen, then he would be indispensable.

Rain washed over him endlessly, mingling with blood, thunder cracking so close it shook his bones. For a brief, dangerous moment, Katsuki wondered — if he fell here, if his heart gave out beneath steel and sky — would it hurt less than living with the ache of loving Izuku from a distance?

Then he thought of green eyes watching a storm from a palace window. And he roared, surging forward once more.

By dawn, the raiders broke. They fled into the mist they’d crawled out of, leaving bodies and broken banners behind. The borderlands stood silent again, rain tapering into a thin, exhausted drizzle.

Katsuki dropped to one knee in the mud, breath coming ragged now, blood seeping through torn armor. He planted his sword into the ground to keep himself upright, shoulders heaving.

Around him, knights stared in awe.

The kingdom would call this victory.

Katsuki only knew one thing.

He was still standing.

Loyal as ever.

And still — not royal enough.

Back at the palace, Izuku stood at the tall arched window of his chambers, hands clenched so tightly in the fabric of his robe that his knuckles ached. Thunder rolled in the distance, low and ominous, as rain streaked down the glass in thin, trembling lines — like tears he refused to let fall. The storm had been raging since nightfall. So had his thoughts. “They should have sent reinforcements by now,” he whispered, almost to himself. His breath fogged the window as he leaned closer, as though he might somehow see beyond the thick curtain of rain and stone walls, past the hills and forests, all the way to the battlefield.

Behind him, his advisors shifted uncomfortably, careful with every step and every word. One of them bowed slightly. “Sir Bakugo is the finest knight in Aldera, Your Highness. He has never lost a battle. There is no cause for concern.”

Izuku laughed weakly at that — short, broken, humorless.

That wasn’t what scared him.

They could list Katsuki’s victories until sunrise and it wouldn’t quiet the thudding of Izuku’s heart or the cold dread coiling in his stomach. Skill didn’t stop arrows. Strength didn’t make a body invincible. And loyalty — no matter how fierce — couldn’t protect someone from fate.

“I know how strong he is,” Izuku murmured. “I know.”

The advisors fell silent, sensing they had gone beyond what comfort could reach.

When Izuku closed his eyes, Katsuki was there immediately — as vivid as if he stood behind him instead of leagues away. Bloodied knuckles wrapped around a sword hilt. Crimson eyes lit with fire and defiance. That familiar scowl that hid concern beneath it. That reckless courage that made Izuku want to scream and cling and beg him to be careful all at once.

Then the memory shifted.

Moonlight. The courtyard. Katsuki’s hands gripping his waist like he was afraid Izuku might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

Tonight, I can be yours like this.

Izuku’s chest tightened until breathing hurt.

Katsuki had kissed him like it mattered. Like it was everything. Like it was the only thing either of them would ever be allowed to keep.

Izuku pressed his forehead against the cold glass.

Please come back, he begged silently, the words a frantic litany in his mind. Please. Please. I don’t care about prophecies or politics or crowns—just come back.

You promised you’d always be here.

The promise echoed in his head, cruel in its simplicity. Katsuki had always kept his promises. Always stood at Izuku’s side. Always survived.

But this time, Izuku wasn’t allowed to go after him. He couldn’t ride out. Couldn’t demand answers. Couldn’t even show how terrified he was. A prince did not unravel. A prince waited. His fingers trembled as lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating the room in stark white. For one horrifying second, he imagined Katsuki out there somewhere beneath that same sky — wet, bleeding, fighting alone.

Izuku gasped softly and turned away from the window, clutching his chest. “If you die,” he whispered into the empty room, voice barely holding together, “I’ll never forgive this kingdom. I’ll never forgive myself.”

The storm raged on.

And all Izuku could do was wait — wrapped in silk and duty, helpless and aching — while the person he loved most fought for a kingdom that would never let him be more than loyal.

Never royal.

Days later, Katsuki returned to the capital.

The city erupted.

Bells rang from towers, loud and insistent. Merchants abandoned their stalls to watch from the streets. Flowers rained down from balconies in bright, useless splashes of color, petals crushed beneath boots and hooves. Voices rose in unison, chanting his name like a prayer. “Bakugo!” “Guardian of Aldera!” “Shield of the Realm!” “Hero Without Fear!”

Katsuki rode through it all with his spine straight and his jaw set, blood-stained cloak freshly washed but still carrying the memory of smoke and rain. His injuries were hidden beneath polished armor, his exhaustion buried beneath discipline.

He didn’t smile.

From the palace balcony, Izuku watched. His hands curled tightly around the stone railing, knuckles pale, breath shallow. He could see Katsuki clearly now — too clearly — the sharp lines of his face, the stiffness in his shoulders that meant he was pushing past pain. That familiar fire in his eyes burned dimmer than before, as if something essential had been left behind on the battlefield.

They’re cheering for you, Izuku thought, heart aching. They’re alive because of you.

He wanted to move.

The urge was almost unbearable — an instinct as raw and desperate as any battlefield charge. He wanted to run down the marble steps, ignoring the shock, the scandal, the consequences. He wanted to wrap his arms around Katsuki in front of everyone and say, This is him. This is the man I chose. This is the man I love.

Let the world choke on it.

But he didn’t move.

He stayed where he was, robes heavy on his shoulders, crown glinting faintly in the sunlight like a shackle.

Then Katsuki looked up. Their eyes met across the courtyard.

For one impossible moment, the cheers faded. The world blurred at the edges. Izuku forgot the balcony, forgot the nobles behind him, forgot the future pressing down on his spine.

All he could see was Katsuki.

Katsuki’s breath caught — just barely — and then he bowed.

Low.

Formal.

Perfect.

A knight acknowledging his prince.

Applause thundered.

Izuku’s chest cracked open.

That was all the world would ever see.

The infirmary was quiet later, tucked far from the noise of celebration. The air smelled sharply of boiled herbs and clean linen, a strange comfort after days of tension. Light filtered through narrow windows, soft and golden. Katsuki lay on the cot, shirtless, bandages wrapped tight around his shoulder and ribs. His armor sat abandoned in a corner, dented and scored, pieces of it laid out carefully like relics. Proof of everything he’d endured. Everything he’d given. Izuku stood at the doorway longer than necessary, steadying himself. Then he crossed the room.

“You’re an idiot,” Izuku whispered finally, voice breaking despite his efforts. “What if you had died?”

Katsuki huffed, lips twitching weakly. “Didn’t.”

“That’s not an answer,” Izuku snapped softly, tears gathering despite his restraint.

Katsuki turned his head slightly to look at him. Even bruised, even pale, his eyes softened when they found Izuku’s face. “I told you,” he said quietly. “Didn’t I? I’d be here. Always.”

That did it.

Izuku pressed a hand to his mouth, shoulders shaking as tears slipped free, silent but burning. “They’re calling you a hero,” he said hoarsely. “The whole kingdom. They’re celebrating you.”

Katsuki looked away toward the window, jaw tight. “Means nothing.”

Izuku swallowed. “It should.”

“It doesn’t,” Katsuki replied. “Not when it can’t change a damn thing.”

Izuku sank into the chair beside the cot, exhaustion finally catching up to him. He stared at Katsuki’s hands — scarred, powerful, trembling just slightly with the effort of holding back. “If bravery mattered more than blood,” Izuku whispered, “if sacrifice mattered more than lineage… if love mattered more than law…”

Katsuki reached out then, slowly, carefully, as if afraid the moment might shatter. His fingers brushed Izuku’s — barely there, warm and grounding. “Then maybe,” Katsuki said quietly, “this would’ve been a different story.”

Their fingers curled together, lightly. Tentatively. Like touching glass.

Zap-zap — movement echoed faintly down the corridor.

Voices. Footsteps.

The world crept back in.

Katsuki noticed first.

He pulled his hand away, sharp and instinctive, the motion practiced by now. Distance snapped back into place like a reflex. “Go,” he said gruffly, not looking at Izuku. “They’ll talk.”

Izuku stood slowly, legs heavy, heart heavier. Every step toward the door felt like betrayal. He paused with his hand on the frame. “Kacchan…” His voice cracked. “You gave everything for this kingdom.”

Katsuki exhaled sharply and turned his face away. “That’s what knights do.”

Izuku nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. The words he wanted to say — I love you, stay, choose me — burned uselessly behind his teeth. Instead, he said the truth. “And still… loyal.”

Katsuki closed his eyes. “…But not royal.”

Izuku left before he broke — before he could turn back, before he could do something unforgivable and human. Behind him, the kingdom celebrated its hero with songs and banners and shining medals. Never realizing that the bravest man among them would never be allowed to take the one thing he had fought hardest for.

And never realizing how much love had been sacrificed to keep the crown intact.

The palace transformed itself for the wedding as if nothing in the world were wrong. Silk draped across marble halls. White and gold banners hung from every archway. Florists filled the air with the scent of lilies and roses so thick it almost hurt to breathe. The kingdom buzzed with celebration, voices bright with anticipation, laughter echoing through corridors that had once held far more honest emotions.

Izuku felt like he was walking through someone else’s life. Seamstresses adjusted his ceremonial robes, fingers fluttering anxiously as they praised the elegance of the prince’s appearance. Advisors spoke of schedules and processions and guests of honor. Someone smiled at him and said, “You look so happy, Your Highness.”

Izuku nearly laughed. Instead, he nodded. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror — perfectly composed, painfully royal. A prince ready to be wed.

A prince who had already given his heart away.

“Sir Bakugo will be assigned as part of your ceremonial guard,” an advisor said casually. “Front procession. Closest position.”

Izuku froze. “…I see,” he managed.

Katsuki learned his assignment without comment. He listened as orders were given, routes planned, security discussed. His posture was flawless, his responses clipped and obedient. No one could have guessed that each word felt like a blade pressing deeper into his chest. Front procession. Close enough to reach. Close enough to protect. Not close enough to touch.

When he finally saw Izuku again, it was in the antechamber outside the grand hall. Izuku stood alone, hands clenched in his sleeves, breathing shallow, as though the walls were closing in. Katsuki dismissed the other guards without a word. They were alone.

“Your Highness,” Katsuki said automatically.

Izuku flinched. “…You don’t have to call me that,” he whispered.

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. “I do.”

Silence stretched between them — thick, unbearable.

Izuku turned slowly, green eyes glassy. “They put you at the front.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes,” Katsuki cut in, sharper than he meant to. Then, quieter: “I do.” Because if he wasn’t there — if someone else stood beside Izuku — if he had to watch from afar— He wouldn’t survive it.

Izuku laughed weakly, tears threatening to spill. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.”

Katsuki stepped closer, voice low. “You’ll walk. You’ll smile. You’ll say the words they expect.”

“And you?” Izuku asked.

“I’ll stand still.”

That nearly broke him. Izuku reached out before thinking, fingers catching Katsuki’s sleeve. The touch was small. Desperate. Forbidden. “Kacchan… if I could choose—”

Katsuki caught his wrist gently but firmly, holding him there. Their foreheads almost touched. “I know,” Katsuki said, voice hoarse. “That’s what makes it hurt.” For a moment — just one — Katsuki leaned in and pressed his lips to Izuku’s hair, barely there. A goodbye disguised as steadiness. Then he pulled away.

As always.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Katsuki stepped back into position, mask firmly in place. “We’re starting.”

The ceremony was everything the kingdom wanted. Music rose. Doors opened. Nobles stood. Izuku walked the aisle like a dreamer moving through water, every step heavier than the last. Katsuki stood at attention, eyes forward, body rigid, sword steady. But his heart was screaming. When Izuku passed him, their eyes met.

Just once.

And in that single glance lived everything they would never be allowed to say again.

During the vows, Katsuki didn’t look away — not even when his hands shook. He memorized every word, every breath Izuku took, every crack in his voice so slight no one else noticed.

I vow loyalty. I vow duty. I vow devotion.

Funny how those vows didn’t belong to the person who meant the most.

When the crown was placed, when applause thundered through the hall, Katsuki bowed low. Lower than he ever had before.

A knight honoring his prince.

A man burying his heart.

That night, the palace was quiet. Too quiet. The grand halls that had echoed with celebration were now dim, filled only with flickering candlelight and the soft hum of servants finishing their late-night duties. Tonight was meant to be the consummation of Izuku’s marriage — the night he was to solidify the bond with Princess Melissa — but his chest felt heavy, and his mind could not focus on the ceremony, the vows, or the gilded expectations placed upon him. He couldn’t stop thinking about Katsuki. Izuku bolted from his chambers, feet pounding against the polished marble, heart racing with desperation. He had no plan, no careful words — only one truth that refused to be silenced: he needed Katsuki. He needed to see him, to be near him, even if the world was against them. He skidded down corridors, nearly slipping on the stone floors, and finally reached the door to Katsuki’s chambers. The knight had insisted on privacy, even in the palace, but Izuku didn’t care. He knocked sharply. “Kacchan! Open up!”

The door creaked open. Katsuki stood there, armor still bearing faint scratches from the borderlands battle, crimson eyes narrowing at Izuku’s wild expression. “You’re insane,” Katsuki muttered, though his voice lacked the usual bite. His fists twitched at his sides, betraying the tension he refused to show.

“I don’t care,” Izuku gasped, stepping inside before Katsuki could stop him. “I need to see you. I can’t… I can’t go through this night without — without being near you.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. He ran a hand through his damp hair. “You shouldn’t even be here. Everyone’s asleep. You’re supposed to… be with her.” His words trailed off, almost as if saying them out loud hurt him.

Izuku’s heart ached. “I can’t. I can’t do that. Not when you’re here, not when you’ve been… here for me, all along.”

Katsuki’s eyes softened, just slightly. “And that’s the problem.”

Izuku hesitated, then took a step closer. “I can’t stop thinking about that night. About us. About the confession. The kiss.” His voice broke. “Kacchan… I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

The tension between them was unbearable, electric. Katsuki’s hands shook for a moment before clenching into fists at his sides. He wanted to reach out, to pull Izuku close, but duty, law, and the cruel weight of their world pressed against him.

Before either could speak again, the chamber door opened slightly. Izuku flinched, preparing to explain himself, but it was Princess Melissa, stepping inside quietly. She looked calm, composed, but her gaze was piercing.

“Izuku,” she said softly, closing the door behind her. “Don’t be afraid.”

Izuku froze. “Princess…? What are you—”

Melissa raised a hand, and for the first time, Izuku noticed the faint, knowing smile on her lips. “I saw you. That night. With him.”

Katsuki stiffened, eyes snapping to hers, but she held up a hand. “I mean no harm. I saw everything in the courtyard — the confession, the kiss. I knew then what you two felt. I’ve known your hearts long before tonight.”

Izuku’s throat went dry. “You… you saw us?”

“Yes,” she said, stepping closer. Her gaze swept over Katsuki. “And I understood. I understood that the kingdom’s laws, traditions, and titles cannot contain the love that exists between you.”

Katsuki’s hands twitched, voice low. “And… you’re just letting this happen?”

Melissa’s eyes softened. “I’m not just letting it happen. I am choosing it. I will take the crown as queen. I will rule this kingdom with all its duties, all its ceremonies. And you two… you can leave. I have prepared a hidden refuge, a place far from here, heavily protected. Guards loyal to me alone will escort you safely. The royal guards will search, but they will never find you.”

Izuku’s heart raced. “You… you would do this? For us?”

Melissa nodded. “Because loyalty cannot be ignored. Katsuki Bakugo has loved you in a way that no crown or law can reward. And you… you have loved him, even constrained by duty. That kind of devotion deserves a chance to exist.”

Tears sprang to Izuku’s eyes. He moved toward Katsuki, whose crimson eyes softened despite his armor and rigid posture. “Kacchan… we can… we can leave? Together?”

“Yes,” Katsuki breathed, voice rough with disbelief and relief. “Finally. Always.”

Izuku grabbed Katsuki’s hands, pulling him close. “I never want to be apart from you again.”

Katsuki’s grip tightened. “Neither do I. Never again.”

Melissa smiled faintly. “There’s no time to waste. Guards will escort you. But you must move quickly, before anyone realizes. Tonight, the two of you are free. Truly free.”

For the first time, Izuku and Katsuki allowed themselves a stolen moment of intimacy. They kissed — softly at first, then with the urgency of years spent waiting, longing, and restrained desire. The chamber seemed to disappear around them: no palace, no laws, no crowns, only the two of them, finally able to claim the love they had fought to hide.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, Izuku rested his forehead against Katsuki’s. “We’re really doing this… aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Katsuki whispered. “The world won’t touch us. Not anymore. We’re together.”

Melissa’s voice broke the silence, gentle but firm. “Go. Be free. Live your lives. I’ll handle everything here.”

With one last glance at the woman who had given them the impossible gift, Izuku and Katsuki slipped into the hidden passage Melissa had prepared, shadows swallowing them as they disappeared from the kingdom forever.

The palace slept, oblivious to the rebellion of love that had taken place within its walls. And in the quiet of the night, two hearts that had always belonged together finally beat as one — no longer loyal but not royal, no longer restrained, no longer apart.

They were free.

The sun rose over the small valley hidden deep in the northern forests, golden light spilling across a quiet village. Birds chirped in the trees, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves, and the soft laughter of children echoed from the cottage garden. Izuku stood at the edge of the yard, hands still dusty from tending the vegetable beds, green eyes soft as they followed the playful chaos of his family. His youngest, Hikari, a bright-eyed girl of five, was darting around in circles, giggling uncontrollably as she waved a small wooden sword at her older brother, Ren, who was seven and trying to dodge her attacks with exaggerated drama.

“Papa!” Hikari called, tripping over a flowerbed in her excitement.

Izuku leapt forward just in time to catch her, scooping her into his arms. “Careful, Hikari!” he laughed, spinning her gently. Her laughter rang out, pure and infectious.

Ren dashed up, panting, hands on his knees. “Papa! You’re letting her cheat! She’s not supposed to use magic sword moves like that!”

Izuku shook his head, still holding Hikari. “No cheating, huh? We’ll see about that!”

From the porch, Katsuki Bakugo emerged, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly longer than it had been during his palace days, crimson eyes scanning the yard with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. He wore simple clothes — sturdy pants, a fitted tunic — and yet every inch of him still radiated the confidence and strength Izuku had always loved. “You’re letting her attack Ren like that?” Katsuki’s voice was sharp, but there was a teasing undertone as he crossed his arms.

Hikari squealed with delight. “He started it!”

Ren groaned dramatically. “No I didn’t!”

Katsuki finally shook his head, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t even know why I bother.” He stepped forward, stooping slightly to scoop up Ren in a swift, practiced motion. “You’re grounded for the day.”

“Nooo!” Ren protested, wriggling, but Katsuki’s grip was unyielding.

Izuku laughed, heart swelling, and placed Hikari down gently. He moved closer to Katsuki, hand finding his as they watched the children, fingers intertwining naturally, without hesitation. “You haven’t changed a bit,” Izuku murmured.

“Why would I?” Katsuki muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Some things don’t need fixing.”

Izuku leaned into him, resting his head against Katsuki’s shoulder. “I still can’t believe we’re here… really here.”

Katsuki’s eyes softened, rare vulnerability breaking through the usual hardness. “Yeah… me neither. But we made it. And I’m not letting go this time.”

They watched their children tumble and laugh, chasing each other through the garden, a makeshift battle unfolding among flowerbeds and wooden swords. Hikari, small but fierce, tackled Ren onto the grass, and both erupted in giggles. Katsuki shook his head, a proud, exasperated smile tugging at his lips.

“You know,” Izuku said softly, “they’re going to be just like us.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Izuku smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from Katsuki’s face. “I mean it in the best way. Brave, stubborn… loyal to the people they care about.”

Katsuki looked down at him, eyes filled with unspoken emotion. “Yeah… and they’ll have someone to fight for, too.”

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, watching as Hikari picked up a stick and declared herself queen of the backyard kingdom, while Ren dramatically bowed before her, swearing allegiance. Katsuki and Izuku laughed quietly, hearts light in a way they had never known in the palace.

Izuku tilted his head, pressing a gentle kiss to Katsuki’s temple. “Always,” he whispered.

“Always,” Katsuki echoed, capturing Izuku’s lips in a slow, lingering kiss, full of years of longing and finally, quiet contentment.

The sun climbed higher, bathing the valley in golden light, and the Midoriya-Bakugou family moved together, chasing laughter, love, and freedom. In this hidden refuge, far from the crowns, laws, and expectations that had once ruled their lives, they were finally allowed to be themselves.

Here, in the warmth of their home and the chaos of their children’s laughter, the words that had haunted them — “loyal… but not royal” — were no longer relevant. They had fought for each other, defied fate, and built a life not dictated by bloodlines or law.

They were free. They were together. They were a family.

And in this valley, surrounded by love and laughter, the prince and the knight finally lived the life they had always dreamed of, hearts unbound, always and forever.