Chapter Text
"Well, that went well."
"Shut up."
Brad trots after her royal bad mood with a shit-eating grin he hopes and prays to the First Master above hides the aching, seething jealousy under his skin.
He's been friends with the princess of Ninjago since they were both in need of babysitters, before chaperones and modesty were an issue for anybody. It certainly wasn't a planned friendship, certainly not carefully curated by her royal travesty's veritable council room of chaperones and teachers and stick-up-the-butt losers whose whole jobs were to decide who was good enough to make eye-contact with the princess. No, he was just the orphaned gardener's assistant, not even an apprentice yet.
And she… she was the princess. But to him? Oh, to him, Princess Illyria was so much more. She was whip-smart, sarcastic and rude in the way only nobility could master, heart-wrenchingly beautiful…
Alright, so the point is, he's been in love for a while. A long enough time for it to be embarrassing. Not that he'll ever tell Illyria, or anyone else for that matter. No, this dies with him. He'll remain her close, secret friend, and it'll stay that way.
Even though he'd really like to stab out that foreign prince's eyes.
"It went fine," Illyria grumbles, her skirt swishing around her ankles as she speed-walks through the castle. Brad, despite his longer legs, has to rush to keep up. Damn magic-users. She's not supposed to use it offensively or anything, just for healing and general pretty sparkles or whatever, but he's pretty sure she's got some sort of spell on those fancy shoes. How else would someone so short move so damn quick?
"He's a real catch," Brad seethes, trying desperately to hide it between teeth clenched in a big, mean grin. "Y'know, seeing how he's a fish."
"Merlopians aren't fish," Illyria snaps, not so much as turning to look at him. She scales the long set of stairs to her tower bedroom — cliche, much? — and practically stomps the whole way up. Brad has to jog up them, which sucks, because he is not athletic enough for that. Thank the Master, the royal guards usually posted outside her doors are changing shifts. "They're an amphibious, advanced civilization—"
"He's blue!" Brad finally yells, absolutely losing his mind. Illyria stops in the middle of her bedroom, fists clenched at her sides. "He's bright fucking blue, 'Lia!"
Illyria spins around, a look of fury etched into her face. Brad clamps his mouth shut, but only so he won't say something really stupid, like 'please make out with me right now'. That'd probably get him thrown in the dungeons for a few nights. Or forever. Guys aren't really supposed to be in rooms alone with the princess — especially not alone in her bedroom.
He's breaking so many rules right now. Looking at her, though, vibrant emerald eyes narrowed and shining with anger, lips pursed and cheeks flushed, he so does not care.
"He is not," she hisses, in that tell-tale tone that lets him know she's fighting not to scream, "bright blue. At best, he's navy. He's also going to be my fiancé in a few months, so would you pipe down?!"
Brad scoffs, looking away and most certainly not pouting his raging jealousy away. Illyria turns to her vanity, sliding off the copious amounts of jewelry she'd been draped in for tonight. Brad had been there, for the reception of Merlopia's second prince. He'd seen all the stupid carriages and guards and the whole dumb procession all the way through. He'd even seen some of the dinner they'd held — and he definitely saw that the foreign prince was sat right next to Illyria the whole time. Making small talk, friendly talk, making her smile and laugh behind her hand and…
Creation, he's pathetic.
Illyria sighs, a long-suffering sound. "He's nice," she says as she unhooks the opal earrings, framed with gold trim. She looks good in gold. She looks great in everything. Opal, though, Merlopia's most precious export right alongside deepstone and pearls, he could do without.
"Nice for a fish," he mutters under his breath. He feels his face heat up with embarrassment and juvenile jealousy. Because the worst part? The worst part is, Prince Benthomaar is almost attractive. He's tall, he's young, that stupid Merlopian royal gear showed off half of his stupid chest… Brad can't even soothe himself with the knowledge that the guy is butt-ugly.
Illyria huffs, slamming her hands against the oak wood vanity. "Would you stop acting like a child?!" She snaps, turning to glare at him over her shoulder. "All we did was talk! The marriage plans aren't even finalized yet — nothing is decided on! If you're going to behave like this, you can go."
Brad's shoulders slump. He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. The last thing he needs to get put on Illyria's shit list.
"Sorry, sorry," he placates, crossing the distance between them. He aches to wind his fingers through hers like they did as children, but one look at the golden rings — certainly worth more than he could ever dream of — and he refrains.
"Just… thought we'd make fun of his royal fish lips," he tries to joke. Illyria shoots him an unimpressed look, but at least she's not mad anymore. Not that he hasn't intentionally pissed her off before — she was hot when she was mad. But this is more important. "What? You too good for me, now?"
Illyria pushes him away, poorly hiding a grin. "Man, go to bed," she mutters, still trying and failing to subdue that smile. Brad takes her hand instead, refusing to let distance between them.
"Oh, but Your Highness, I've come to help!" He tilts his tone deep and haughty, one hand dramatically pressed to his chest as if reciting some grand literature. "It is I, your most loyal knight, come to free you from your princess tower!" Illyria cackles, never one to resist their oldest game.
"Oh, but my knight," she gasps, dramatically leaning back and tilting the back of her hand against her forehead as if she'll faint. "However will I survive the harsh conditions of — oh, heavens! — outside? Why, my parents would simply never approve!"
In his most embarrassing, selfish fantasies, this is where he takes her hand in both of his and earnestly begs, run away with me. This is where the game gets serious, and he drops the act, and he swears that he can take care of her. As a kid, he'd fantasized of the same thing; becoming a royal knight, just to be assigned to her side, just to protect her from the assassins their childish brains conjured up out of nothing. He dreamt he would help her sneak away in the night to whatever they wanted to. As a kid, he dreamt they'd run away to eat candy and ice cream.
Now… well, his fantasies have matured. His face heats up at the thought alone.
Just thinking about Ninjago's sole heiress like this would be enough to have him fired. Luckily, no one will ever know.
He shakes himself out of his thoughts and pastes a simpering look on his face, painfully dramatic and ironic. Just friends, just friends, we're just friends… "Highness, worry not for your parents," he waxes poetic and prays she doesn't realize he means it. "Why, for you, I'd battle a thousand parents!"
Illyria smirks as he drops dramatically to one knee, one hand splayed out to declare himself to the world. She fetches a used tube of mascara from the vanity and pretends to knight him, just like he's seen her do for so many others who had truly earned the honor, the privilege.
But none of them ever got to hold her hand.
Creation, he's a loser.
"Alas," Illyria sighs, and he blinks. That's not how it usually goes. A tinge of sorrow hangs at the edge of her voice, and it's not for pretend. She slips her hand out of his and turns back around, leaving him kneeling on the floor like an idiot. "My duty to my kingdom outweighs your generous offer." Her expression drops into a bored deadpan, shoulders slumping. "So go find some other maiden to woo."
"Hey," Brad protests, standing up. He tries to smile, nudge her shoulder, but she just keeps on staring into the mirror like it's personally slighted her. Her lipstick is smudged, her previously neat blonde hair in disarray, though he's not sure when either happened. "You're supposed to agree to run away with me, Princess."
"Don't call me that," she grumbles, all but ripping the tiara off of her head. She swipes the back of her wrist over her lips, further smudging the lipstick. Is it wrong that he thinks she looks hot like that? Yes, right?
Brad huffs, mind searching for some way to make her smile again. This look on her face… it's only grown more common since they became teenagers, and chaperones and modesty and duty became a problem. He tries his best to make her smile, in the increasingly brief moments they have together.
"I would," he tries, hopping onto the vanity and leaning all up in her personal space. Illyria rolls her eyes, and he makes a noise of protest. "I would! I'd totally fight your parents to run away with you."
"My parents?" She raises one unimpressed, perfectly sculpted brow. "My magic-using parents? My sword-fighting, magic-using, kick-your-ass parents?" She snorts, rolling her eyes. "You're almost funny sometimes, you know that?"
"I mean it," he calls as she pulls a nightgown from her wardrobe. He mimes a sword-fight with one of her lipstick tubes. "Challenge 'em to a duel for your honor and everything!"
She pokes her head out from behind a partition, painted in lilies and cherry blossoms, and shoots him a deadpan look. "My honor?" She snorts again, shaking her head. "Go to bed, Brad."
"But how could I sleep when I'm dreaming of you?" He teases, then instantly flushes when it doesn't come out sarcastic enough. Stupid, stupid, stupid… ugh, and she's getting changed, he might as well hang himself—!
"I'm serious," Illyria calls, apparently not having noticed his internal plea for suicide. "If anyone catches you alone in here with me, you'll get fired!"
"Psh," Brad waves it off, not in the least concerned. "Who's gonna catch us?"
"You mean, aside from my personal guard?" Comes her incredulous response, followed by a bark of sarcastic laughter. "Kai would kill you if he knew you were in here while I was getting dressed!"
His face goes red at the reminder. Don't look, don't look, don't look… not that he can see anything aside from her silhouette, but sometimes his imagination is his worst enemy.
He settles for glaring at the ground and feeling like a child. He really can't keep doing this. He really can't help it.
Illyria, dressed in a long white nightgown that reaches her ankles, golden hair splayed down her shoulder in soft curls against copper-tan skin, sighs as she steps out from behind the partition. "I'm serious," she says, retrieving a hairbrush from her dresser. "You're in huge trouble if anyone finds you up here tonight."
"As opposed to every other night?"
"Brad." She shoots him a glare. He backs up, hands raised in surrender.
"Fine, fine!" He averts his eyes, lips pressing into a thin line. "…I know you're not happy about it, either."
Illyria slams the hairbrush down, and Brad jumps, knowing he's stepped a bit too far. Illyria's eyes are squeezed shut, one hand pinching the bridge of her nose.
"No doy, idiot," she growls out. "You think I want to get hitched with Prince Benthomaar?! We're not kids anymore — I can't just stomp my feet and make all our problems go away!"
I could, Brad thinks, stupid and desperate. I'd fight off every one of your problems. I'd fight him, for you. I'd fight a hundred suitors, and I'd get my ass kicked, and you'd finally know how much I want you for myself.
But he's not an entitled asshole. So he keeps his thoughts to himself.
"Sorry," he mumbles. "Just… thought we'd at least talk about it."
She grumpily begins brushing her hair again, sitting down heavily in the plush chair at her vanity. "There's nothing to talk about," she hisses, glaring at the mirror's reflection. She treats her long hair like it's a noose she's trying to strangle herself with. "We're rich and we have resources. Merlopia has an army. Their prince is single — I'm single. Everyone knows marriage is more effective than words on a page."
He knows this. Of course he does. Oh, but the what if gnaws at him like a coyote on a bone. What if Illyria wasn't single? What if Brad really was a royal knight, assigned to her side at all times? What if they really did run away together, disappeared together in the death of the night?
He dreams they run to a neighboring kingdom, and he opens up a flower shop, and Illyria does whatever she wants forever. He dreams that they're married in secret, and not a soul ever finds out.
They're pipe dreams, of course. But he so desperately wishes for them.
He sits heavily on an ottoman, watching the back of her head, her eyes in the mirror's reflection. FSM, they're pretty. "You're leaving," he mutters. "Can we talk about that?"
"…not for a year, at least…"
A knock at the door interrupts them. "Illyria? Kiddo, you need to talk?"
Brad's back goes ramrod straight, heart pounding like a rabbit's. Illyria stands up quickly, eyes wide as she looks at him. Kai. Illyria's personal guard, one of the most decorated royal knights there were, the best fire-user in the whole damn kingdom… he'd cook Brad alive for being in here alone with the princess.
"Go go go!" Illyria hisses frantically, rushing alongside him to the window. They both struggle to pry it opens, sheer green curtains fluttering in the cold breeze. Kai knocks again, and Illyria calls over her shoulder, "In a minute! I- I'm getting changed!"
Brad manages to clumsily haul himself over the window sill, feet meeting the familiar crisscross shape of the terrace. Vines, sturdy and thick, are wrapped up the whole side of the tower, and there's a balcony leading to an unused sitting room directly below. He's basically scot-free.
But Brad snags Illyria's hand at the last second, reveling in the contact of her soft skin. She stares at him, incredulous.
"What are you doing?!" She hisses as quietly as she can. Brad doesn't let go of her wrist, despite how she tugs.
"Just— just come find me, okay?" He whispers, and something in his eyes must give her pause. "Tomorrow night. Your gardens. Please."
"I'm not allowed—"
"Illyria."
The same name is echoed from Kai, clearly disconcerted by the amount of time it's taking her to answer. Illyria groans, looking anxiously between Brad and the door, before she finally gives in. "Fine, fine! Just go!"
He flashes her a grin, and before he can stop himself, gives her hand a quick, chaste kiss. His face goes up in flames the second he realizes what he's done, and he quickly drops down the vines and lattice to the balcony before he can see her identical reaction.
Hiding in the shadows on the balcony, back pressed to the brick out of sight, he hears Illyria greeting her guard with feigned casualness. "Kai, hey… oh, just wanted some fresh air… I'm fine…"
His heart races in his chest. This is so beyond against the rules. Illyria is the sole heir to Ninjago. She's magic royalty. Brad is a gardener. Even being alone in the same room with her is grounds for his arrest. Touching her, kissing her hand? He's lucky he's not a fried crisp on the pavement.
He's so doomed. But the feeling of her skin against his lips… he'll be thinking about it forever.
He leans the back of his head against the cold stone, eyes shut as his hand clutches the breast of his shirt, right where he can feel his heart going a mile a minute. "…fuck."
A day before their planned secret — and most certainly against the rules — rendezvous Lloyd lines up at the front of the castle to receive Prince Benthomaar's procession through the capital.
It's all a lot of pomp and circumstance, but it's an unfortunate reality for him and his poor, aching midsection. Seriously, what was this corset made of? Curse this kingdom and its ridiculous fashion trends. FSM above, these heels are killing him…
"Stand up straight," Uncle Wu whispers in his ear, not rudely or chastising. He can appreciate that about his uncle. He was old (like, really old. Lloyd's pretty sure he hit triple digits a decade ago), but wise, and understanding. Lloyd's pretty sure he somehow knows about the whole… well, 'Lloyd' situation. Thankfully, he's never brought it up. He appreciates it. It would really just make things unnecessarily complicated.
If there's a single thing being this kingdom's 'princess' has ever taught him, it's how to keep things uncomplicated.
This marriage, for example — officially, nothing is set in stone. Officially, His Majesty the second prince of Merlopia is only here for simple, unremarkable diplomacy reasons, observing the kingdom and mingling with its nobility in his older brother's stead. Officially, there is absolutely nothing going on between Princess Illyria and Prince Benthomaar.
Unofficially, a subject of which he is well accustomed, they will be engaged to one another in about six months, toward the end of His Majesty's stay in Ninjago. Several magic-users specializing in weather have already been conscripted to ensure a light, pleasant breeze, full sunlight, and perfect humidity for both the Merlopian prince and Lloyd's own hair. They're micromanaging his hair.
And lastly, most importantly, most officially — Lloyd is to smile and say yes. No matter what. Officially, there is nothing he wants more.
So. He sets his back straight, keeps his hands folded in front of him, and smiles like he wants nothing more.
Unofficially, anxiety stews in his gut. He's never actually met Prince Benthomaar. Seen him, yes — there was talk of Merlopia's interest in an alliance about a year ago, at an international banquet hosting several different kingdoms and their high nobility. Lloyd was there with Kai and his parents, mostly so the eligible heirs of other nations were made perfectly aware of Lloyd's own eligibility. He'd seen Benthomaar across the room, looking bored but hiding it well. He'd considered talking to him, striking up some form of conversation, but then Crown Prince Kalmaar had said something to his younger brother and they'd left the hall.
He'd thought, back then, he's kind of cute. That had been the biggest impression Benthomaar made on him. 'Kind of cute'. Lloyd hadn't given the prince a single thought afterward.
He has no idea what Benthomaar is actually like. Rude? Humble? Dry, sarcastic, boring, haughty, entitled? Did he chew with his mouth open? Did he have allergies? Was he a magic-user, or did he detest the art form like his brother did?
FSM, what if he was just a carbon copy of King Kalmaar? That man was so rude. He had something against Nya, for one — something about Nya's mother, a previous water-user, being employed in the Merlopian palace at one point before she randomly quit and left for Ninjago. He was condescending, completely full of himself, and on the rare occasions he'd spoken to Lloyd, had acted like he was hardly more than a decorative vase.
And Lloyd was going to be his damn brother-in-law. Hurrah.
Randomly, desperately, he wishes Brad were standing beside him. His friend would have nudged his shoulder, would have made fun of this whole dumb affair, would have come up with some dumb nickname for the visiting prince. They'd have called Kalmaar 'calamari', like Nya did the first time she met the then crown prince, they'd… they'd have laughed. Brad would make him laugh right now, would make the butterflies in his stomach exist for a completely separate reason.
Instead, his best friend is probably watching from some random spot along the streets, or from a window in the castle. Lloyd aches to see him, but knows he won't until after dinner tonight, if they're lucky.
Kai, mercifully at his side thanks to his position as Lloyd's personal sworn royal knight, subtly knocks their hands together, reminding Lloyd of his presence. "You'll do great, kid," he mutters from the side of his mouth, mistaking Lloyd's poor mood as nervousness over meeting Benthomaar. Which, well, he's not completely wrong. But how could Lloyd ever confess how deeply he wishes it were somebody else in that approaching carriage?
Officially, though he's been approached by many suitors, both of Ninjago and the kingdoms beyond, Princess Illyria Garmadon has never been appropriately courted. Officially, she has never expressed interest in any suitor, and officially, relations have never extended beyond friendly chaperoned discussions in sitting rooms and generously wealthy gifts.
Unofficially, Lloyd Garmadon desperately wishes Brad Tudabone was the one in that carriage.
He's not sure when he started fantasizing about marrying his best friend. Maybe sometime after puberty hit, and his body became a disgusting dysphoric mess of hormones and growths and 'princess' was less of a fancy title that got him special privileges and more of a plague diagnosis, and Brad couldn't have cared less. Perhaps it was when Brad had jokingly proclaimed his desire to whisk him away to the woods to live out their fairy cottage dreams together.
No, no, that wasn't it. It was on his fourteenth birthday, at the jousting tournament. It was a whole thing, something they did nearly every year and something he'd always loved. In a large coliseum, open to the whole capital city, a full blown tournament accompanied by market stalls outside trying to cash in on the tourism and fanfare would take place. Lloyd would get to watch royal knights duke it out, swords clashing and magic sparks flying. They'd watch demonstrations of magic, listen to music, watch plays and shows.
Uncle Wu had always let Brad 'sneak' in, always indulgent in his niece. They'd watched a mock battle between two actors, competing for an actress's hand — she'd been dressed as a princess. Lloyd had made a comment about it, sarcastic and angry and hating the idea. He'd been having an awful year. His body was betraying him, everyone around him was treating him differently, he despised his clothes and his hair and his face and his dumb high-pitched, cracking voice…
And Brad, who hadn't noticed the miserable tone of his voice — or perhaps he had, and that's why he'd done it — had dramatically proclaimed that one day, he would become a royal knight and fight for Lloyd's honor. It was just a joke. A far-fetched, fantastical hypothetical neither of them were meant to take seriously.
Oh, but Lloyd's face had gone up in heated flames, and he'd spent the rest of the tournament wondering, what if? It wasn't unheard of for royal knights to marry into royalty, if they were accomplished and powerful enough. It wasn't completely impossible. It was just possible enough for him to spend the next several months desperately praying to the First Master, what if?
Of course, it couldn't work out. You needed magic to be a royal knight. Brad had some skill, sure, but nothing substantial. The most he could do was help plants grow a little brighter and healthier. Nature magic was difficult to master, but what Brad had was nothing close to mastery, and unimpressive. He barely ever even used it. And nature magic could hardly be used offensively, anyways. He was never going to become a royal knight.
Lloyd had never stopped thinking what if, though. He'd never stopped hoping.
And now his groom-to-be's carriage is resting at the castle's front steps, and he's out of time for what-ifs.
The carriage doors open, and Prince Benthomaar, followed by no less than four Merlopian guards, ascends the staircase. He's decked out in full regalia, gold draped across his form. Merlopians are a bit short in the clothing department, due to living almost entirely underwater — what he wears amounts more so to a decorative armor piece covering one shoulder and thick golden bands, along with a royal blue sash. A thick obi and fabric embroidered with silver wave patterns, a golden net design hanging from the side, rests above loose pants that bunch at the ankles. A crown embedded with rich sapphires, opals and pearls rests on carefully tousled black hair. His skin, like most Merlopians, is covered in deep blue scales, and curling black markings stand out against his face, looking strikingly similar to tentacles against sharp cheekbones.
"Your Majesties," Prince Benthomaar greets, bowing his head deeper than strictly necessary. Well, it's probably a good idea to be extra polite to the parents of the one getting married off to you. Lloyd's parents are famously overprotective. Not that it's helped him any this time around. "I'm honored to be invited to your gorgeous kingdom."
Laying it on kind of thick, huh? His father seems pleased, though, and his mother seems add it to her internal list of good traits. Lloyd is only slightly disgruntled that his parents have met this guy multiple times already, while this is the first Lloyd's ever even heard his voice. It's sort of nice, with an interesting accent. He sounds young, though Lloyd already knew Benthomaar was only two years older than him.
"We're honored to have you," Uncle Wu replies, and subtly nudges Lloyd forward an inch. Anxiety nearly implodes his chest. He could curl up and die right now, he really could. "And to finally introduce you to our beloved princess, Illyria."
Benthomaar lifts his head, and Lloyd's heart sinks at the way his eyes widen, a heavy purple blush spreading across his face. He doesn't speak for a few moments, simply staring at Lloyd like he's some kind of museum display, before he finally manages to get his act together. "…Illyria," he echoes, then clears his throat. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Princess."
As manners dictate, Lloyd allows the prince to take his hand and press a kiss against the back of it, blessedly short and chaste and dry. As manners dictate, he smiles with closed lips and inclines his own head, and thankfully, since this is his kingdom and all, he doesn't have to curtsy as well. "The pleasure is mine, Your Highness," he says, and he desperately tries to mean it.
Thankfully, officially, Princess Illyria and Second Prince Benthomaar have nothing to do with each other. Not quite yet, at least. So, thank the Master above, they are free to walk into the castle without so much as looking at one another a second time.
As he enters the palace doors, however, Lloyd catches a glimpse of his best friend's face through one of the windows on the third floor — and he catches the miserable scowl as well.
This is miserable. She's miserable. It's her birthday, and she's supposed to be having fun because she's always had fun at these tournaments, but she's miserable instead. Her dress is too tight, and she detests the way it makes her look. Everyone keeps saying she looks so pretty, she's growing up to be so beautiful, and every single time they do she wants to rip their throats out so they just stop already.
And of course, because it's her dumb birthday, she's been dressed to the nines for the whole dumb thing. She'd stared at the mirror for an hour straight, wishing she could rip the whole dumb outfit to shreds. Her hair, golden and silky smooth, is curled just oh so perfectly around her shoulders, a tiara glimmers on her head, the dress is brand-new and made out of the best silk money can buy, and she sort of wants to fling herself off a tower.
She can't fathom why she feels this way. Being beautiful is a good thing. Being a princess is a good thing. She should be happy, and she's just not.
Even the tournament can't cheer her up. Illyria sits in her dumb royal box, watching the whole thing from the best seats in the house on a small, blessedly simple throne made just for her, cheek slumped against her fist in boredom. Royal knights spar in the arena, throwing magic and swords alike at one another. One of them, Father says, is a shoe-in for the royal knights' guild — he's a powerful fire-user, and one of the best swordsmen out there. Apparently, his mother was a Merlopian captain.
All this would usually be utterly fascinating to her, but she just doesn't care at the moment. She's bored. And this dress is itchy. And people keep looking at her. "Happy birthday, Princess," this, and "you look beautiful, Princess," that. She wants to scream. If a single person calls her Princess one more time—!
"Princess!"
Illyria nearly screams, but she holds it off when she sees who called out to her. Brad, with dirt chronically trapped under his fingernails and flowers sticking out of his pockets and his hair a total mess, crawls into the box holding a huge mound of fluffy green cotton candy. He grins, one of his teeth missing. "I got us cotton candy!"
Illyria takes it with a quiet, noncommittal hum. Brad jumps up next to her, and the throne is large enough for the both of them, though it won't be for long. Brad has become taller, lankier, and though his voice still cracks, it's getting deeper. Illyria holds the secret of her complete and all-consuming jealousy close to her chest.
She gets to deal with new corsets and manners, and Brad gets to be all tall and good-looking and junk. It's unfair. All his time in the sun has made him tanner and freckled, and his hair is so tousled, messy in the way Illyria will never get away with…
She's so, so jealous. Which is why her face is hot.
"Who's that guy?" Brad asks, pointing to the fire-user's opponent. Illyria shrugs, picking at the cotton candy. She usually has a near-terminal sweet tooth, but even this makes her feel vaguely nauseous.
"Um, some visiting knight or something, I think," she mumbles, not even bothering to look up. "From, um, the Cloud Kingdom?"
Oh, who knows. She doesn't care. Though, she heard talk that some of the knights visiting from other kingdoms were around her age — and she's overheard the councils and courtiers talking about betrothals. Yuck. She desperately prays they're not considering any of these muscled losers.
"Their magic is so cool," Brad whispers in awe, craning his neck to see better, as if they don't have the best seats in the whole arena. Illyria shrugs.
"I can do magic," she grumbles, vaguely upset that Brad is paying a bunch of idiots with swords more attention than her. Which is ridiculous, because they're only here for her birthday. It's unfair, really. And besides, her magic is way cooler than fire or wind or whatever! Life magic is supposed to be the hardest to master, but all her tutors say she's a total natural.
Brad doesn't appear to have heard her. He grabs her hand, tugging her up. "Look, look, he's gonna pull off one of those cool moves!"
He drags Illyria to the edge of the box, leaning over his tiptoes to get the best view. Just as he said, the fire-user casts some intense, showy spell that knocks the other knight off their feet, sending them sprawling to the dirt in a very embarrassing pose. The crowd erupts in uproarious cheering and applause as the knight lifts his sword over his head.
"That guy's so cool," Brad mumbles, eyes shining with stars. Illyria glares off to the side.
Well, at least somebody's having a good time on her birthday. She folds her arms on the banister, resting her head in the pillow they create. "Father says he'll probably make royal guard," she says miserably. She's so seethingly jealous of the royal guard. They get to use their magic to fight. All she gets to use her magic for is sparkles and making stuff grow. All she gets to do is heal stuff.
Which isn't so bad, of course not. She likes helping people. But she could do so much more. She's not being restricted because she's young, or because she's a girl, because she knows other girls have done it and come out good for it. It's just because she's the dumb princess, and that somehow makes her a frail little flower too concerned by the chance an ankle shows to do anything substantial.
In the arena below, an actress dressed in an over-the-top pink princess costume — pointy hat and veil and all — blows a fake kiss at the two new 'knights'. They're not real knights, this time, just actors for entertainment. Illusion magic users, she's guessing.
Illyria scoffs and looks away. "So dumb," she grumbles. Something volatile and miserable bubbles beneath her skin, makes it feel all itchy and gross and just horrible to exist in. Her nails dig into the flesh of her arm, creating angry red crescents. "Who would fight over someone's dumb honor?" A mean, humorless laugh leaves her throat, weighed down by the gold draped around it. "It's so unrealistic. Who would even buy into this…"
"I would."
Illyria looks up, confused, only to see Brad no longer eagerly teetering over the banister but staring directly into her eyes. His face is flat, nearly stoic. He doesn't awkwardly explain himself away like she thinks he would. "I mean, I'd fight. For you."
"…what?" She laughs nervously, suddenly overly self-conscious. Her flighty hands fight not to wind into her curls and tug them down.
"I mean it," he replies earnestly, the arena utterly forgotten. "I'd fight for you. If— if this were us… if you were a princess—"
"I am a princess—?"
"—and I were a royal knight," he says, and his hand inches way too close to hers, "I'd fight for you. Your honor. Your… your hand."
His hand winds into hers, and she leans away, something nauseous and visceral swirling in her gut. She scowls, and rips her hand away. "I could fight for myself, you know," she snaps bitterly.
"Then I'd fight you."
"What???" Illyria pulls a face, incredulous. Brad nods earnestly, totally serious.
"I mean it! I'd fight you, and if I won—" He grabs her hand again, tighter this time so she can't take it back, and flashes a grin, "—You'd have to marry me."
Her face goes up in flames. "And- and if I won?"
"Then I'd have to marry you."
Heat climbs up her neck, burns her ears, makes her throat dry and her stomach cramp, but it's not painful this time. He's grinning at her so widely, and his stupid soft hair is tousled back, and the sun is shining against his brown eyes, and—
Oh.
Oh.
Illyria's voice stops functioning as a deep, uncontrollable blush completely takes over her face. She turns away, covering her face with her one free hand, desperately trying to hide it from Brad as nervous laughter spills out of her lips. "You— you're so dumb," she laughs as her stomach does backflips. Are these the hormones her mother warned her about?! "You— you can't be a royal knight without magic, and I can't fight—"
Brad grins, tugging her closer. "I got you laughing, though, right?" He needles, and she eventually relents, laughing for real now. The nervousness in her stomach subsides, tempered by a strange sense of disappointment. He was just joking. It was just make-believe — pretending as if the fake little competition in the arena were real. He didn't actually mean any of that marriage stuff.
"You're stupid," she says, pushing him off. The smile, however, remains as she watches the match below. The winners of these are always scripted — there's always a clear good guy, in white armor with a golden feather plume on his helmet, and a bad guy, dressed in all black and red. And, of course, the white armored 'knight' wins, receiving a flower from the actress and voracious applause all around.
"I mean it, though."
Illyria blinks, staring at Brad. He doesn't look at her, still watching the end of the match, all the confetti and flower-throwing, with narrowed, contemplative eyes.
"I'm gonna do it," he says earnestly, nodding to himself like that seals the deal. "I'm gonna become a royal knight." He turns to face her, eyes gleaming. "So nobody will have an excuse to say I can't be around you. And whoever comes at you won't ever get to touch you." His eyes flick from her own down to her lips, then quickly up again, and she doubts she even saw it correctly. A faint red hue colors his tanned cheeks, almost like a sunburn. "I'd fight for you."
Her stomach does a vicious triple backflip, and she's pretty sure it lands her intestines in her mouth. Eventually, she wills away the blush and the butterflies and shrugs, forcing a lighthearted smirk. "Yeah, good luck with that," she teases, slipping away. "You still need magic for that, you know."
"I have magic!" Brad protests. "Illyria, I mean it! I'm serious, I'm gonna become a royal knight! And when I do—" He grabs her wrist, and she looks at him over her shoulder. His brows are pinched together, his face is flushed, and her magic, usually dormant, feels his quick rabbit pulse through the contact. "—We're gonna leave together. I'm… I'm gonna take you somewhere fun, for once. Even if it's only for a day."
…nobility, even one as high-ranking as a princess, marrying a royal knight… it's not unheard of. It's not completely impossible. And although Brad has very little natural magic, one can always train themselves to become stronger. Nature magic isn't usually very offensive… but it's not impossible.
Maybe. Just maybe… he's got a shot.
"…in your dreams, man," she laughs, and Brad makes a disgruntled noise of protest, and she doesn't stop thinking maybe maybe maybe until long after she's sent to bed for the night, turning over the look of Brad's earnest face and the feeling of butterflies in her stomach well into dawn.
The dinner with Prince Benthomaar goes well enough. He makes polite small talk, and Lloyd pretends to be okay with sitting directly next to him. The Merlopian prince cracks a few jokes that are genuinely funny, and Lloyd allows himself to laugh.
He knows it pissed off Brad, though.
Honestly, he's being childish. Does he think Lloyd wants this? He doesn't! But he does know his place. It's been a reality ever since talk of his 'eligibility' began circling amidst the higher councils of the palace. People in his kind of position… got saddled with this kind of stuff. There are only so many people who'd even be allowed to ask to court him. He always knew he'd end up in a marriage of diplomatic convenience, a marriage of necessity, a marriage of "Well, he has good genes, and his family is rich!" The best Lloyd could possibly hope for is to marry somebody nice.
And Benthomaar is! He's nice. A bit formal, but that's to be expected. If he remains nice, then Lloyd can consider this a win. It's better than that duke from the Cloud Kingdom.
Brad's the one acting like a loon over this. He's acting as if Lloyd is being dragged into this kicking and screaming, and he's not. Just because this isn't his first choice doesn't mean it's not one he's already made. As if pitching a fit will change it… He's just upset that somebody else will be taking up his attention, as if Lloyd hasn't always tried to make time for the two of them. He's acting like they won't still be friends after this.
Well. He hopes they're still friends after this.
And then— Creation, then he'd made Lloyd promise to meet him out here, he'd kissed his hand—! He knows it was just Brad being overly affectionate, he's always been touchy, so he should really stop blushing about it like some sort of loser virgin…
Well. He is a virgin. Something something, his modesty and 'purity' is somehow integral to his marriage options, something something, he's never alone in a room with any dudes ever. Essentially, Lloyd has a monarchy-sanctioned cockblocker. Thanks, Kai.
Well. He's alone with Brad a lot. Which he should really, really stop doing, seeing how it could get Brad fired and maybe even arrested. He doesn't think Kai knows, though, and he's sure Kai wouldn't rat him out anyways. He was cool like that, all the younger royal knights assigned to him were. Kai and his sister, Nya, especially, though.
That really doesn't make this okay, though.
Lloyd pulls his cloak tighter around his shoulders, as if a hood will somehow absolve him of his terrible choices. He's supposed to be in bed, not sneaking around his gardens… maybe he can get away with saying he had a bout of insomnia?
He'd spent most of the day with Prince Benthomaar, showing him around the castle, introducing him and the accompanying dignitaries from Merlopia to a few nobles and high-ranking royal guards. They're meant to venture out into the capital city tomorrow, so Lloyd should really be getting his rest…
Oh, curse his cataclysmic crush on Brad. When is his brain going to understand that it can't work? No, no, his brain's got the memo — it's his stupid, dramatic heart that won't take the damn hint.
His footsteps are near-silent underneath him as he speed-walks through the garden. It's his own, all for him, and Brad just so happens to be in charge of the whole thing. It's not the loftiest position — he really just spends all day pruning bushes and pulling weeds and coaxing flowers to bloom with brighter pigments. But he also knew exactly what Lloyd liked, and made sure there wasn't a single boring spot in the entire garden.
This place is just about the only place they can really see each other. Brad's supposed to be here, after all, and it's one of the few places Lloyd can go without a guard or chaperone. The castle sees employees like gardeners as little more than furniture. Nobody really cares about them occupying the same space.
Now, if they were caught talking or sharing food, it'd be a different story. Which is why there are some very tall rosebushes, and a lot of vine-covered lattice benches.
Lloyd's a fan of the willow tree, though. He knows, instinctively, that's where Brad is hiding. He quickly darts beneath the low-hanging, delicate leaves of the tree, flipping off his hood.
"You actually came," Brad notes, sitting against the trunk of the willow, a small flower popping up out of the ground between his hands. They glow with faint sage light, a tell-tale sign that he's using magic. He doesn't have a lot of it, and it's not very strong, but he's good with what he does have.
"You made me," Lloyd grumbles, though he's not actually mad. In all reality, after a full day playing nice and pretending he's okay with the 'demure princess' act that manners and custom demand he puts on, he's glad to be normal with his best friend.
Though, really, how normal can he be when Brad doesn't even know his name?
Brad shoots him a stupid, shit-eating smirk, extending his hand. "'Liaaaaa~" He sing-songs, and Lloyd rolls his eyes and plops down in the grass next to him. Brad winds their hands together, because he's touchy like that, and Lloyd tries not to read into it.
"So," Brad huffs, poorly hiding a pout, "how was his royal fish lips?"
"You really need to stop calling him that," Lloyd mumbles, picking at the grass between his fingers. "It's, like, super offensive."
"Makes you laugh, though."
"It does not."
"Makes you wanna laugh."
"Your face makes me wanna laugh," Lloyd huffs, flicking his fingers at Brad's nose. The gardener yelps and reels back, pouting at him like the sore loser he is.
After a moment of comfortable silence, Brad rummages around beside him and grabs a bottle of wine. "Stole this from the kitchens," he says, holding it up in offering. Lloyd purses his lips, mulling it over, before he sighs and relents.
"Alright, fine. But not too much, I have crap to do tomorrow…"
Brad grins and pours him a small glass — also stolen from the kitchens. Lloyd knows he has a friend in there, how else would he be getting all this stuff?
"So…" Brad hums as Lloyd is halfway through his glass. "We gonna talk about it?"
"What's there to talk about?" He scoffs, looking away. "Benthomaar is fine. I'm fine with him. Nothing has even happened."
"You're leaving," Brad says, and his voice nearly cracks. Lloyd winces. "You'll be living in the ocean this time next year!"
"Nothing's been finalized…"
"Cut it out, Illyria," Brad cuts him off, and Lloyd winces again, a chronic reaction to the name. Brad couldn't possibly know why it bothers him so much, much less that it bothers him in the first place, but he still feels that spark of irritation. Brad glares at the ground and the little magically grown flower. "Why else would they send their prince? You're getting engaged to blue balls, don't lie to me."
"Then don't call him blue balls," Lloyd grumbles. He sighs, dragging a hand down his face, and curls his knees up to his chest. His nightgown is long enough to hold tight over his knees, making him look like a human tent. He wishes they were pants. "…it's not so bad. I'll still visit this place; it's still my kingdom. I'll just… be over there more often."
"We'll never see each other." Brad's hand fists into the grass, the knuckles turning white. "We already never see each other."
"We can exchange letters," Lloyd offers pathetically, and Brad glowers.
"Won't people get suspicious?" He sighs, shutting his eyes briefly before he grabs Lloyd's hand, looking him in the eyes. They're such a nice brown. Like coffee, like rich soil, and in the right light they look almost hazel-gold… Lloyd swallows, willing his face to cool down, and thanks the Master above that it's too dark to make out his blush. "Illyria, I don't wanna exchange letters. I want to see you. You… you're my best friend."
Ouch. Lloyd takes the moment to remind himself of exactly that; best friends. They're not even supposed to be that much.
"…it won't be so bad," Lloyd mumbles, staring at his mostly empty glass. He's not supposed to drink outside of those fancy dinners where they serve watered-down champagne. Something about his liver, who cares. He has life magic, he's immune to basically everything. "I'll visit this place really often, I'll be able to see you still… and I'll make sure you get my letters…"
Brad doesn't lighten up. He just crosses his arms over his knees, glaring forlornly at the ground. "I wish you wouldn't go," he says, quiet enough that Lloyd's not sure he's meant to hear it. "I wish you weren't getting married to him."
Then do something about it, bozo, Lloyd wants to scream, wants to beg. Do something about it! Fight for me, like you said you would!
…but Lloyd had said he could fight for himself, and he hasn't done that either.
They need this alliance, badly. Ninjago is not a violent kingdom. They have a good army, but it's not very large, and the amount of land they have spreads it thin. Usually, that would be a non-issue — Ninjago is rife with powerful magic-users who could make up for the smaller amount of soldiers.
Their problem is Shintaro. King Vangelis is, like, half-senile and has a terrible temper, alongside an abhorrent greed. Rumors have been circulating since last year, at the same international summit Lloyd first saw Benthomaar at, that Vangelis wants to take over land in Ninjago. He's steadily been growing more and more aggressive about it. Shintaro has a large, accomplished army, and worse, it's rife with vengestone. It completely canceled out magic and rendered it utterly useless.
If Shintaro decided to attack them, they'd get steamrolled. Unless they have Merlopia's army. Merlopia isn't poor, exactly, though they're not the richest kingdom either — but they have a strong military, and they have deepstone, a protective sort of material conducive toward water-based magic.
The deal is simple. Ninjago gives Merlopia wealth and resources the underwater kingdom has no way of getting otherwise, and Merlopia tells Shintaro to back off or get its ass kicked by a mountain-tall tsunami. Except, apparently, King Kalmaar is a paranoid political machine since the death of his father, and demands something more secure than a simple alliance treaty.
No, he wants his younger brother, the second prince, married to Ninjago's sole heir to the throne. As security. And Lloyd… didn't fight it. His parents told him the situation, and he said yes. They'd looked for other options, tried to coax Kalmaar into contracts instead, and of course Lloyd had held out hope… but he hadn't fought back.
So he says nothing, quietly ashamed of himself. What else was he supposed to do? Kalmaar wouldn't budge on this, and Lloyd couldn't be the reason his kingdom got attacked. Simply being allied so strongly with Merlopia would give Vangelis second thoughts about invasion. They could avoid war altogether, and all Lloyd had to do was put on a white dress and say I do.
Benthomaar is nice. They could be friends. Isn't that good enough? Hasn't he known, all his life, to never hope for anything better?
Oh, then why did something better have to be sitting right next to him?
"I'll miss you, too," Lloyd eventually whispers. "I… I don't know what I'll do, without you. Making me laugh… sneaking into my room…" He smirks dryly, holding up his glass. "Sneaking me alcohol."
"I'm a man of a great many talents," Brad agrees, though the humor's flat. He threads a hand through black hair, tugging at it. "…listen, I know you don't… wanna talk about it. About any of it."
"…I don't like it any more than you do," Lloyd says, trying to make him understand. Of course Lloyd wants something better, but he can't have something better, because 'something better' is a low-born orphan boy who's worked as a gardener his entire life. And Princess Illyria is far too good for that. He has to settle. He has to accept this.
"So, we're just gonna pretend it's not happening?"
"…it's months away," Lloyd sighs, smushing his cheek into his covered knee. He looks at Brad, who is thankfully staring at the ground, and feels his cheeks go warm. He looks nice, in the moonlight. It bounces off his soft black hair, and it looks good against his dark skin… perhaps it's just because nighttime is the only time they don't have to worry about being caught (for the most part), but Lloyd thinks he looks good under the moon. He smiles softly. "We're not even courting yet. We… have time."
Time for what? Time for Lloyd to pine miserably, wishing against all logic that he could just lay his soul bare and let Brad pick up the jagged pieces? Time for the walls to close around him, trap him like a fly in a web, every remaining option slowly picked off one by one? He knows he'll only grow more miserable as this goes on.
He has to be mature, here. If they're caught like this… Lloyd will get a slap on the wrist, a lecture, extra guard detail. Brad will be fired and potentially locked up.
"…we can't do this anymore," he sighs miserably, climbing to his feet and dumping the remains of his glass out on the grass. Brad watches him with wide, shining eyes, as if he didn't expect this reaction. "In a week or so, we're supposed to start… you know. And if anyone finds out I'm hanging out alone, at night, with another man… we can't risk this anymore. I'm really sorry."
"Illyria, seriously—?!"
"Yes," he hisses. "You'll get in trouble, and Kalmaar may get offended enough to call off this alliance altogether. You need to go to bed."
Lloyd goes still when he feels Brad's larger hand, calloused by over a decade of pulling weeds and getting his skin pricked by thorns, closes around his wrist. He reluctantly looks over his shoulder, and his stomach flips at the sight of Brad's wide, pleading eyes, shining with emotion.
He'd be so fucking bad at politics. Lloyd loves it. He loves that he can see the desperation, the sadness, the hint of jealousy. It makes him look totally pathetic, and for a sheltered princess, that's really all he needs to cave.
"If we're pretending it's not happening," Brad whispers, "then nothing has to change. And we'll pretend he's not even here. And you're not leaving. And nothing's happening."
"Brad—"
"Please, 'Lia," Brad begs, and Lloyd feels his knees get a little weak. He's a freak for this, he should not be into the sound of Brad begging him to stay, what is wrong with him—
Well, he knows what's wrong with him. He's repressed as all hell, has been in love with the same person for six years straight, and can't so much as hold hands with someone without being lectured. He can't even wear pants.
Lloyd groans, averting his eyes and praying he doesn't look as gross as he feels. "We'll get in trouble…"
"Not if we meet at night," Brad pleads. "I'll make sure we won't, Illyria, just please, don't- don't go. We can pretend it's not happening."
If anyone catches them, they're toast. Brad will be fired, possibly locked up if Benthomaar or Kalmaar are offended enough. And if they're offended, they may call off the treaty, and Ninjago won't have the security of a much larger army when Shintaro continues to poke its nose in their business, and it'll be completely Lloyd's fault.
But he's so damn weak. He only has a few months left. They've gone years without being caught, haven't they? Only Kai and Nya even know Lloyd is friends with Brad, and they outright encourage his sneaking around — even if neither of them knows that 'sneaking around' entails sneaking Brad into his bedroom. Which… is unfortunately not nearly as scandalous as it sounds.
"…fine," he relents, and he knows it's a bad idea, but Brad smiles with so much happiness that Lloyd can't help thinking it's worth the trouble. "But only at night, alright? If we're caught, we're dead."
"Got it," Brad says, jumping to his feet like he's won the lottery. He jokingly lifts Lloyd's hand to his mouth and presses a brief kiss to it, and Lloyd attempts not to combust on the spot. "You won't regret this, Princess."
"Don't call me that," he grumbles, and Brad flashes him a wink and a grin as he hovers at the edge of the private little bubble the willow tree's leaves afford them.
"Same place tomorrow night," he says softly, grinning like the smug bastard he is. Lloyd reluctantly nods, and Brad darts out into the dark garden. "See you then, Princess!"
"Don't call me that!" Lloyd whisper-yells after him, and earns a cackle for his efforts. He sighs, slumping against the tree and staring up at the dark sky visible through the space between the branches.
He can't say no to this marriage, because Ninjago needs protection. He can't say no to his parents, because they have so much riding on him. He can't say no to Benthomaar, because he has too much control over what happens with this treaty. He can't say no to Brad, because…
Because he loves Brad.
But he can't tell anyone the truth, either. He can't tell his parents he's a man, because they'll see it as him trying to get out of his responsibilities, as him being a child, and it won't change a thing. He can't tell Benthomaar he's a man, because he could get upset and offended and call off the marriage, and that would call off the alliance. And he can't tell Brad he's a man, because…
Goddammit, because he's in love with Brad.
Lloyd leans his head back, shutting his eyes, and brings up a hand to cover the lower half of his face as a flush goes across his face. He groans to himself, nails digging crescents into his skin. "…fuck."