Chapter Text
Leona had been back at the palace for less than a week, and already he wanted to leave.
Which was impressive, really. Usually it took at least three days before the walls started closing in.
Crowley’s so-called “extended spring break” had sounded like a blessing at first—time off, no classes, no idiots—but it came with the unfortunate side effect of going home. And home, for Leona, had always been less of a refuge and more of a very well-decorated cage.
Not that he’d ever say that out loud.
He flopped onto his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, tail flicking irritably against the cream-colored sheets. The room was exactly as he remembered it—too big, too clean, too impersonal. Like it was waiting for someone more important to occupy it.
Which, in a way, it always had been.
The second son. The spare. Replaceable.
He snorted under his breath.
At least the palace staff hadn’t changed. Still terrified of him.
One of them had come in earlier with a ridiculously elaborate charcuterie board—cheeses, fruits, cured meats arranged like a damn painting—and nearly dropped the whole thing when Leona so much as glanced in their direction. The poor guy had looked like he was about to faint.
Leona hadn’t even wanted the food.
Apparently turning your dorm into sand one time earned you a lifelong reputation as an uncontrollable monster.
Unbelievable.
He could hear them sometimes, whispering just outside his door. Feel their eyes when he walked the halls. Like he was something dangerous. Something broken.
It was getting old.
A knock broke through his thoughts.
“Can I come in?”
Leona didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They never waited for permission anyway.
Sure enough, the door creaked open.
“I see you’re… still in bed.”
Leona rolled his eyes, not bothering to turn around. “What a stunning observation.”
There was a pause, then the soft sound of movement as Farena made himself comfortable—probably at the foot of the bed, because of course he would.
“Not even high noon yet?” Farena added lightly.
Leona clicked his tongue, finally rolling over to glare at him. “What do you want? Don’t you have king things to do?”
Farena smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ah. Well. I wouldn’t say I’m here on brotherly business.”
Great. That was already a bad sign.
Leona pushed himself upright, the sheets tangling around his legs before he kicked them off. Pillows tumbled to the floor as he stood, stretching lazily like a bored predator. “Then why are you here?”
He wandered over to the obnoxiously expensive snack board someone had insisted on leaving, popping a chestnut into his mouth.
Farena hesitated.
“I should start by saying… this wasn’t my decision.”
Leona paused mid-chew.
Oh, this was going to be good.
He glanced at the clock. Ten in the morning.
Fantastic. Not even noon and his day was already ruined.
“What exactly wasn’t your decision?” he asked, voice flat.
His hand swept idly across the nearby table, sending a few decorative trinkets clattering to the floor with a series of dull thunks. Petty? Absolutely.
Worth it? Also absolutely.
Farena cleared his throat, ignoring the noise. “The Sunset Savanna has been experiencing severe drought for the past eight years. And it’s expected to worsen this summer.”
Leona stilled.
Ah.
That.
Of course it was about the drought.
It had been getting worse—anyone with half a brain could see that. The outskirts had already started feeling it, the poorer districts hit first, as always. He remembered the stories Ruggie used to tell, half-joking and half-not, about rationed water and empty markets.
If nothing changed, they weren’t just looking at drought anymore.
They were looking at famine.
Leona said nothing, but his jaw tightened slightly.
“I spoke with the council,” Farena continued, hands clasped together. “We discussed possible solutions.”
And ignored everything I’ve ever said, Leona thought dryly.
Typical.
“They suggested we request aid from neighboring kingdoms.”
That, at least, wasn’t completely idiotic. There was really only one place capable of providing that kind of support at the scale they’d need—
“Oh, good,” Leona muttered, feigning a yawn as he dropped into a chair across the room. “Is that why Kifaji’s gone?”
Farena nodded. “I sent him to the Scalding Sands to negotiate terms.”
Of course he did.
Leona leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “And?”
Farena’s tail curled tightly around his feet.
There it was again—that hesitation.
Leona’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“They agreed,” Farena said.
“And?” Leona repeated, more sharply this time.
Farena exhaled.
“They asked for a marriage in return.”
Silence.
Leona blinked once.
Then he let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“You’re joking.”
Farena didn’t answer.
Leona’s mind raced through possibilities, dismissing them just as quickly. Farena himself was already married—and politically, that would be a disaster anyway. Cheka was out of the question, obviously. Too young, and the only heir.
So that left—
Oh.
Oh, that was—
Leona barked out another laugh, louder this time. “No. No, you can’t be serious.”
Farena held his gaze.
“They requested you.”
"That's a nice way to put, it I'm the only one left" Leona all but snarled.
The room went very, very quiet.
Leona stared at him.
Then he leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face. “Wow. You know, I had a whole list of ways this conversation could go. Exile. Disownment. Maybe even a public execution if you were feeling dramatic.”
His eyes flicked back up, sharp and cutting.
“Didn’t think you’d go with selling me off. That’s new.”
“It’s not like that—”
“Oh, spare me,” Leona snapped. “It’s exactly like that.”
Farena flinched slightly but didn’t back down. “This alliance would secure water access for years. It would stabilize the kingdom—”
“And you need a bargaining chip,” Leona cut in. “Lucky you. You’ve got one just lying around.”
The spare.
Always the spare.
Farena’s expression hardened. “This isn’t about you.”
Leona’s laugh was quiet this time, humorless. “Yeah. I figured.”
Because it never was.
Not really.
But—
His gaze drifted, unfocused for a moment.
Ruggie’s voice echoed faintly in his memory. Complaints about empty wells, about going hungry, always brushed off with a grin like it didn’t matter.
Except it did.
It always did.
Leona clicked his tongue, irritation flaring—at Farena, at the council, at the entire stupid situation.
At himself.
“…What are the terms?” he asked finally.
Farena blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You’re… considering it?”
Leona shot him an unimpressed look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just want to know how badly you’re screwing me over.”
A pause.
Then, cautiously, Farena began to explain.
Leona listened in silence, his expression unreadable.
Water access. Trade support. Long-term agreements.
Enough to keep the worst of the drought at bay.
Enough to keep people from starving.
His claws tapped once against the armrest.
“…Fine,” he said.
Farena froze. “Fine?”
Leona leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. “I’ll do it.”
The words tasted like ash.
“But don’t get it twisted,” he added, voice dropping, sharp as a blade. “I’m not doing this for you. Or your council. Or your precious traditions.”
His eyes slid shut.
“I’m doing it because someone in this kingdom has to actually give a damn about the people living in it.”
Silence settled between them.
Then, quieter—
“…Try not to waste it.”