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Lance shifted and sighed dramatically. Today was the day. He had been through a lot in his relatively short life: had become a pilot, had joined the Garrison, had rescued his idol from said Garrison (well, Keith had helped with that just a little), had found a giant robo space cat (okay, Keith had helped with that part too), had been launched into space to become a defender of the universe as a paladin of Voltron, and after four long years had helped defeat Zarkon and the Galran Empire.
And he had become a Prince. Lance shifted again and the tailor grumbled at him. "Please, Your Highness. You must remain still."
It took Lance a moment to realize the tailor was addressing him; he wasn't quite used to this yet. "Sorry," he murmured, trying to recommit himself to holding himself steady. Today was the day of his actual coronation. Allura had been calling him a prince for months now--the rest of the team did too, but they did it more to tease him.
The healing pods had...changed him. Or rather Coran had asserted that they had finally revealed his true nature. Apparently if you spent enough time in them over the years, they had the ability to reveal that you weren’t really human at all, that you were actually Altean hidden by some sort of magic mumbo-jumbo, and your mom finally confessed to you that she found you as a baby in a crashed cryogenic escape pod, then kept you and raised you as her own. (Yeah, that had been a really rough week.)
Plus, it just so happened that there were only two other Alteans in existence, so automatically he became royalty, or at least that’s what Allura had declared. (Lance had asked Coran why he wasn't a prince too then, but the man had just stroked his mustache and declined to answer with a wink.)
The change had happened over time. The first time, he had stepped out of the healing pod and Hunk was staring at him. He had been worried, hands flying to his face as he begged his best friend to tell him his best attribute wasn't ruined. Hunk had continued to gape while Pidge commented flat-faced that stealing Shiro's looks wasn't going to help him win more girls. He had rushed to a mirror to see if the healing pod had somehow beefed him up or given him a chiseled jaw, or that little dimple on Shiro's right cheek when he smiled...
But all he found was a white forelock of hair.
Which wasn’t so bad. He happened to think he looked pretty dashing, found himself touching his hair, brushing it back more often. Shiro had smiled at him when he first saw and told him it looked good on him, which had made him blush.
He thought that was it, that he was done. The one patch of white hair he could deal with.
But it didn’t stop there. It continued to grow every time he used the healing pods, and then even after he refused to use them, it didn’t stop until his whole head was completely white. He had felt a bit queasy at the sight. Pidge had told him all the white hair hadn’t made him any wiser while Hunk comforted him.
He felt so lost, like he was a different person. He didn’t know what to think or feel about the changes, and it was Shiro who helped him settle himself, who had sat up with him and told him that it was only a change on the outside, not to the inside, that he was still the same old Lance.
Lance still remembered the way it felt to have Shiro’s arm wrapped over his shoulder, the feeling of that warm, solid body pressed against his side.
He fidgeted again and paid the price, jumping with a yelp as a pin pricked into the back of his thigh. “Your Highness!” the tailor pled.
“Sorry!” Lance sighed. He wasn’t cut out for this. And his outfit...well, he had argued in circles with Allura about it, whined that he could just wear his paladin gear, but she had insisted that he wear the traditional Altean garb.
Which was really short. Really, really short. He had argued about wearing what he deemed a dress--was Allura sure this wasn’t the outfit for princesses?--but Allura had informed him that it was sacred Altean garb and Lance MUST carry on with tradition. Hunk had whispered, “Just do what the queen says, man,” and so here he was, stuck in a dress. It was perfectly form-fitting, molded to his body thanks to the tailor that was currently finishing the hem. It was black with long sleeves and a broad white band down the center, and it was trimmed in gold.
And the hem barely came down a few inches from his ass. He just needed to make sure not to bend over in front of anyone.
Lance blew out a breath of relief as the tailor announced he was finished. He stared at himself in the mirror, lifted a hand to finger the bright blue marking on his cheek that mirrored Allura and Coran’s.
Those hadn’t shown up until his hair had gone completely white. It was just dull patches at first; he had thought that it was some sort of skin aberration, had doubled his skin routine to make sure to eradicate it. Only it was his Altean markings coming in, and eventually they shone as bright as Allura’s.
When the princess had realized what they were, she had hugged him tight enough to crush all the breath from him, crying with joy. Lance could only stand there, bewildered and scared that his whole world had shifted on its hinges. He remembered looking over to Shiro for guidance, but his leader had just shrugged and given him an encouraging smile.
“Your Highness,” the tailor said softly behind him.
Lance turned away from the mirror and nodded, taking the white gloves proferred to him and pulling them onto his hands, flexing his fingers. Next came the golden belt, the front shaped like the symbol for Voltron. His fingers ran over the edge of it as Blue purred in his mind, pleased at the addition; Lance would always first and foremost be a member of team Voltron. The tailor draped his light blue cloak around his shoulders, and Lance lifted his hands to fasten it, but the material of his gloves made his fingers slip on the buttons. He cursed under his breath as he continued to struggle.
“Here. Allow me.” Lance’s head shot up at the sound of that voice, barely remembering to keep hold of the cloak so it wouldn’t slide from his shoulders. His knees grew weak at the sight of Shiro in his formal black knight’s garb, accented with silver; he also sported a belt like Lance’s, marking him as a member of Voltron, but unlike Lance, his bayard was strapped to it. Shiro looked...amazing.
Lance felt Black’s deep purr in his mind. He had still never told anyone that he could feel all of the Lions, not just Blue. Black knew of his feelings, had always encouraged him, but still he hesitated. How could someone like Shiro ever feel the same about him? Black mentally headbutted him, causing him to jolt physically, which earned him a questioning look from Shiro. Lance could only nod his assent to Shiro, wished so desperately that he wasn’t wearing gloves so he could feel the slide of Shiro’s fingers against his own as he took over fastening the cloak at Lance’s throat.
“There. You look perfect, Your Highness,” Shiro said once the task was complete.
Lance blushed then pouted. “Don’t call me that. You know I’m still one of you guys.”
“Whatever you say, Your Highness.” Shiro grinned as Lance shot him a dirty look. “I’m here to escort you.” Shiro’s grin fell away as he turned serious. “Are you ready?”
Lance hesitated, limbs feeling weak. Was he? Hell no! He didn’t know how to be a prince, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but here he was, and if it was one thing he’d learned over the years, it was that there was no turning back. So instead, he fell back on his usual joking. “Allura let you keep all that scruff?”
Shiro lifted his human arm, rubbed at his jaw with a contemplative look. He had taken to keeping his stubble, and it did things to Lance, things that he really needed to keep from happening in his very telling outfit. “She may be the Queen, but I’m the leader of Voltron,” Shiro said with a smirk that made Lance swallow.
It was probably that first time that Shiro helped console him about all these changes that Lance had started to fall for him. He had always looked up to Shiro, admired him, and then cared for him as a teammate, but over time things started to change. Lance started seeing him in a new light, and maybe it was just the vast loneliness of space getting to him, but he developed a crush. He never admitted his feelings, and now it seemed more impossible than ever as Allura began filling up his life with obligation after obligation for after the coronation. It felt like Shiro and his teammates were more distant than ever now.
Shiro held out his arm and cocked a brow at him, and Lance felt deja vu; it brought him back to that first time he shook Shiro hand. He smiled at the memory and placed his hand on Shiro’s arm, letting him escort him through the halls to the stage where Allura would place a circlet on his head and crown him a Prince of Altea.
“Nervous?” Shiro asked him, jolting Lance out of his whirlwind of thoughts.
“What makes you say that?”
“Your hand is trying to cut off circulation to my arm,” Shiro said nonchalantly. Lance startled, tried to yank his hand back, but Shiro’s cybernetic arm covered it, holding it in place as he kept them on pace for Lance to meet his destiny. “What are you afraid of?”
Lance snorted, looked down to watch his white boots as they took him forward step by step. “Honestly? Everything.” He blew out a breath. “Everything will change.” He looked up to find Shiro’s soft grey eyes staring at him. “Everything already has.”
“I hate to tell you this, but it always will,” Shiro said. Lance gave him his signature puppy dog look, but Shiro only raised a brow. “Change is inevitable; we just have to make the best of it.”
Lance nodded numbly as they approached the doors to the ceremony hall, gilded and formidable. Lance gulped, his knees quaking as he stared his future in the face. “I can’t,” he whispered, not proud of the way his voice shook.
“You can,” Shiro disagreed. Lance looked up at him, some of the color draining from his face with his fear. “You can, Lance.” Shiro shifted to face Lance, blocking his view of the door so the prince would focus on him. “You’re a paladin of Voltron. You’ve seen countless battles, looked straight into the face of the enemy and show no fear. You’re one of the legs this team stands on. Don’t forget that.”
“Shiro…” Lance felt his heartbeat quicken as he stared up into Shiro’s face.
“Still nervous?”
“Yes,” Lance admitted, and Shiro’s answering chuckle made him feel hot all over.
“Well. Will you let me show you a trick to calm your nerves?” Shiro asked, and Lance nodded, desperate for anything to take the tension away. Shiro lifted his hands and placed them on Lance’s cheeks. Lance opened his mouth to protest, but Shiro shushed him as he had a thousand times over the years. “Close your eyes.” Lance complied. “Take a deep breath. In...and out.” Lance did as he was told.
That’s when Shiro kissed him. Lance made a noise in the back of his throat as he rocked onto the balls of his feet in surprise. Shiro’s lips were firm and a little chapped against his own, his stubble lightly scratching at Lance’s chin. They opened after a moment and reaffirmed themselves against Lance’s own.
Only Shiro’s broad hands on his face kept Lance grounded. He felt like he would float away or collapse. He whined as Shiro pulled away. The black paladin smiled at him, thumbs stroking his Altean markings, which were glowing brighter than ever. “Feel better?”
“Yeah.” Lance’s voice cracked as he answered. “Shiro, I…”
“I know,” Shiro said, cutting him off. He smirked. “I’ve known for a while now thanks to Black. The timing just never seemed right to tell you.” Shiro chuckled as Lance gaped at him.
As soon as Lance regained his equilibrium, his brows drew down and he opened his mouth, but the other paladins’ arrival interrupted them.
“Could you two save that for later?” Pidge grumbled.
“Yeah. We’ve got a prince to escort, and princes shouldn’t be late, you know?” Hunk joked with a wide grin. Keith just rolled his eyes with a hand on his hip and muttered that it was about damn time.
“So.” Shiro took hold of Lance’s right hand, bringing it up as he bent down, brushed his lips over the back of it as he kept eye contact with Lance. “Are you ready now, Your Highness?” he asked with a tilt to his lips.
Lance rolled his eyes and grumbled about traitors as Black and Blue hummed smugly in the back of his mind. He straightened up, drew in a breath and let it out, then smiled at Shiro. “I’m ready now, Sir Shiro.” The black paladin rolled his eyes then and held his arm out for Lance to take again. “Come along, paladins!” he called with a smirk. Pidge muttered that she like it better when he wasn’t a haughty prince.
He smiled up at Shiro, who smiled back. He was ready to face his future now.