Chapter Text
Huffing, Victor pulled the duvet over his head and rolled to his side. He did not want to face the day with another frustrating report from one of his men that the Crown Prince was still yet to be found, followed by the not-so-subtle suggestion that Perhaps His Highness the Prince Regent should end the search once and for all and find a suitable spouse?
Victor pressed his lips and shut his eyes. It had been ten years since the ambush at the coast of Lohengrin, ten years since the Crown Prince, Victor’s betrothed, had been missing (Is he even alive? Was the most common question Victor had been asked). Victor knew he could manage to protract this search for only so long. It had been a miracle in itself that Victor’s own parents had not yet pushed him to give up the search. But Victor could sense that they were starting to lose patience over his obsession in finding the Crown Prince. They threw banquets in Victor’s honor in increasing frequency, hoping that Victor would meet someone who would pique his interest and make him forget the Crown Prince altogether, as if they weren’t the ones whose signatures had been inked onto a twenty-four year old parchment to affirm that the only child of the Grand Duke should be married to the heir to the throne of Glaciena, as if Victor would ever forget how the Crown Prince’s warm brown eyes would stare at him in wonder, as if Victor would forget the youthful conviction in the Prince’s voice whenever he shared what he wanted to do for the kingdom with Victor by his side.
But Victor knew he had very little to hold on to. Ten years was too long a time especially for a Prince to be missing. Perhaps the only reason the Prince’s body had not been accounted for was that it had been swallowed into the depths of the sea. But Victor did not have the heart to give up. Giving up would mean he believed the Crown Prince was dead, that Victor would finally let himself mourn the loss of the person who meant the most to him. That, and those who worked against the Royal Family would finally rejoice.
“Yuuri,” Victor whispered to the air underneath the eiderdown duvet. “Where are you?”
Victor would have liked to stay and wallow in melancholy longer, but his door had just been flung open by, no doubt, his ever impatient new page which startled Makkachin, Victor’s dog that had been sleeping on a pallet on the floor.
“Yakov said that breakfast is waiting for your in your office. He has a letter for you.”
“That is Lord Yakov to you, Yuri,” Victor said once he had sat up in bed, reaching out to scratch the back of Makkachin’s ears.
Victor had picked up his page a few months back from the streets in one of his late-night wanderings. The boy had tried to pick his purse and Victor had caught him in time. When Victor had asked why the boy was stealing, the boy had grudgingly replied that his grandfather was ill and needed medicine that they could not afford. After Victor had asked the boy’s name which the boy had given in a grunt, Victor decided he needed a new page. He was glad to find later that the boy had not lied about his grandfather.
Yuri shrugged and shuffled around to help Victor prepare for the day. While his manners and his words begged refining, Yuri was proving to be a hard and efficient worker. Despite his grumblings, he did everything that was asked of him and more, that even Yakov had taken a grudging liking to the boy.
Victor quelled all hope as he walked to his office with Yuri and Makkachin on either side of him. Today’s report would probably be the same as all others, another disappointment that would benumb Victor further until he had no more feelings left for mourning when the time came for him to accept what everyone had been telling him for ten years.
He occupied the high-backed chair in front of a round table near the floor-to-ceiling window of his office. Yakov was already seated on another chair across him. Breakfast on two plates were waiting for both of them.
Yakov poured coffee into an empty cup and pushed it towards Victor.
“Where is my letter?” Victor asked, trying to sound casual.
“Breakfast first, Vitya. Whatever it says, you’re bound to lose appetite after you read it.”
Victor nodded and picked at his food until Yakov sighed in resignation and handed a letter from a pocket inside his coat. Victor smiled to himself and thanked Yakov as he took the envelope. He broke the seal with his fingers and unfolded the parchment inside. It was from Otabek, originally one of Christophe’s contacts, who had been sent out to some far-flung coastal town this time.
What Victor liked best about communicating with Otabek was how clinical the boy was. Otabek simply stated where he was and then he launched into what he had been hearing in town: there was an inn owned by a family with a daughter named Mari and a son named Yuuri. According to Otabek, when he went to check the inn, the son seemed young for a twenty-three year old, but otherwise he fit the Prince’s description: black hair, brown eyes. But then, Victor reminded himself, a lot of boys in that town had the same coloring. Even Otabek had the same coloring. A lot of children were named after the Prince too, Victor’s page being one of them.
Victor almost dismissed the letter until he reached the part where Otabek added that the boy, Yuuri, was widely known to have been adopted, rescued by the innkeepers after finding him wandering at the seaside market. Otabek’s research indicated that, to the townspeople’s memory, this happened ten years prior, matching the time of the Royal Family’s fall. Otabek ended the missive saying that he would stay in that coastal town until His Highness’ further instruction.
Victor stared at the letter, fingers shaking, and then he looked up at Yakov with wide eyes. Frowning, Yakov grabbed the letter from Victor’s quaking hands and read it.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Yakov warned, dropping the letter on the table. “You have been through this before. The Prince’s features are not so distinctive. This could be someone else’s son. Besides, if he really were the Prince, why did he not reveal himself sooner?”
“He could have lost his memory,” Victor offered. “I’ll go and see for myself,” he said, firmly believing that he, more than anyone in the world, would know the true Crown Prince.
♔♚♔
“I can scarcely believe you convinced your parents to let you off to some obscure town at the outskirts of the kingdom,” Chris, as Victor had always addressed Christophe, the third son of the Earl of Espagnole, said as their coach started to roll off on a journey of a fortnight (or longer depending on the weather that was beginning to sour) to Hasetsin.
Victor had enlisted Chris into the party of eight that was the barest minimum that the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess had allowed. Victor had wanted to be discreet about this trip, for its overall security and speed, and to avoid intimidating who he hoped was Yuuri when he reached the coastal town. His parents had wanted him to take more men in the interest of safety, but Victor doubted that two noblemen, a page and twenty soldiers would be able to breeze through the towns without fanfare. Thus, Victor took two of their best men - Emil and Michele, and two soldiers who doubled as coachmen, and promised to lodge only at the inns that had the royal seals or at the estates of willing noble hosts who were trusted by his parents - among them Christophe’s own.
Glaciena’s peace had been fragile since the Royal Family’s fall, held up only by Victor’s uncontested hold on the Regency with his parents’ influence behind him. Word of the possibility of finding the Prince could well reach the ears of royal hopefuls, and it would be easiest for them if they got the Prince Regent, who was loyal to the Crown, out of the way before they could reach the Prince himself.
“I struck a bargain and promised to end the search once and for all if this does not turn out to be Yuuri.”
At that, Chris raised a brow. He of course knew Victor only too well. He had known Victor and Yuuri together, knew how many nights Victor had spent awake thinking of Yuuri and how many heartbreaks Victor had suffered meeting false Yuuris. He knew Victor was not one to give up - give up the Regency, probably - but not Yuuri. Never Yuuri. “I’m having a hard time believing that.”
“My parents need never know my true intentions.”
“If this isn’t the real Yuuri -”
“I have a good feeling about this,” Victor said firmly.
Chris’s eyes softened, his long, dark lashes fanning his cheeks. “You’ve had good feelings in the past too, my friend.”
Victor squared his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said. “I had to say it. Better go to this quaint town with the lowest expectations than have your hopes thoroughly destroyed. This is just a word of caution, Victor.”
Victor smiled and shrugged at Chris. But he felt the quiver at the corners of his mouth.
“How have you prepared for the possibility that it is Yuuri, though? Because if it is him, Otabek’s letters seem to suggest that he has no memory of the past. He will not know you.”
At that, Victor smiled genuinely. “I shall just have to make him remember, shan’t I?” Hence why he brought as much as he could, filling an entire wagon of clothing and other baubles he thought he would need, expecting to stay for as long as necessary. He had even brought Makkachin’s toys and bed.
“He would have changed,” Chris pointed out. “You have changed.”
“My feelings and my oath are the same.”
Chuckling, Chris shook his head. “You’re hopeless.”
“I’m hopeful,” Victor corrected cheerfully.
The weather was uncooperative. Rain poured in large, heavy drops that banged against the roof of the coach and turned the road into slush. The road was so muddied Victor had no choice but to call for a halt; it was much safer to lodge soon than to have their coaches deep in the mud eventually. The poor weather would inevitably lengthen their travel. But Victor was just grateful that he had chosen to go by land instead of by sea. He did not think he would survive the angry waves that generally accompanied torrid downpours.
Being cooped up for more than a day at after merely three days’ ride from the Castle made Victor agitated. He wanted to see Yuuri. The rain, if it did not let up soon, would delay their meeting for at least a couple of days.
Much to Victor’s chagrin, the rain stopped after three days, and the roads were only properly passable after another day. Victor had been so obviously high-strung that Chris pointed out that not even Makkachin was more restless than Victor was. Mercifully, there were no further delays thereafter, and Victor pressed his team to double the pace, changing horses as often as they could, lodging late into the night and leaving at the first signs of light.
Chris looked like he wanted to complain, Makkachin whined at being confined in a small space for long periods of time, and Yuri had sometimes looked ready to fall off his horse. Everyone was exhausted, but Victor could not find it himself to feel apologetic. The matter of Royalty, of finally finding the Crown Prince, he’d told his team, was of the utmost urgency. Yuri snorted at him and Chris shook his head, but Victor knew he could always use it to his (convenient) defense because it was, regardless of Victor’s own feelings, quite true. Even Chris was aware that Victor’s hold on the Regency was slowly unravelling, if only because no one was sure if the Prince for whom Victor was regent for were still alive. The rumors that those with royal blood and the Court were starting to complain about the empty throne and might soon take action were getting stronger. Victor did not want to reach the point when the Court would have to unseat him and elect new Royalty. While he knew his family had influence and was closest to the Crown, he did not want for the kingdom to have to go through another period of uncertainty when they had only just recovered from the fall of the Royal Family.
When they finally crossed the stone arch that said “Hasetsin”, Victor was not sure who was most grateful: he who was finally going to be able to see Yuuri or everyone else in his party who would finally be meeting their beds. After asking around and sending a child for Otabek, they found the Yu-topia Inn in time for the midday meal. Otabek was already at the tavern and met Victor and Chris with curt but respectful greetings.
Victor knew that the family - Katsuki family, if Victor remembered correctly - that ran the inn were expecting affluent guests but did not know who exactly. Victor had simply ordered Otabek to reserve rooms indefinitely for Victor’s entire party. He expressly forbade Otabek to tell the Katsukis who were arriving. He wanted to maintain secrecy for as long as he was able. He knew it would be safest for everyone involved if very few people learned who were lodging at Yu-topia and who had been living there for ten years.
“Are the owners of the inn here?” Victor asked as a young woman in a dull blue frock led him and Chris to the top floor after discussing the arrangements with Otabek.
“We own the inn,” the woman replied.
The daughter then, Victor decided. “Ahh, do you suppose I could meet all of you in my room at your soonest convenience - uhm, your name would be?”
“Mari,” the young woman supplied. She eyed Victor quizzically as she held Victor’s door open for him. “I assume you mean Mama and Papa? They would have to let the lunch crowd pass before they can talk to you.” She led Victor and Chris to a small square table near an empty hearth. Tea and biscuits were already waiting for them, probably requested by Otabek.
“I meant the whole family,” Victor said, settling into a comfortable chair. Makkachin curled up near his foot.
Mari blinked. It was an odd request. “I - well, my brother will not be available till the evening. He is in an errand.”
Biting his lower lip, Victor said, “Your parents and you then, after lunch, if you will.”
Mari said, “Yes, sir,” but only after throwing Victor a confused look.
Victor looked around as he and Chris waited for lunch. The room was decent - neat and in excellent working order - but not as richly furnished as the inns that Victor was used to. Hasetsin was a far-flung town that depended on coastal products and had changed hands from one kingdom to another in the recent past. That the reputed best inn in town was this simple reflected the town’s meager income.
But Victor admired how the room was decorated. The furniture were not expensive but they were arranged to maximize the space. The sheets were well-pressed, unstained and fragrant. The room was well-maintained, and Victor trusted that he would not be sleeping with bugs. The ornamentation was simple but elegant, reflecting the coastal quality of the town. The draperies that led to the bath had tiny shells embroidered into them and there was a lot of the thin shell-like baubles in every thing (Victor would have to ask what they were called) that gave the room a warm, yellow luster.
“It’s not so bad, is it?” Victor asked.
“Let me judge when I see my room,” Chris said. “But, no, I suppose not.”
Holding his cup of tea, Victor crossed to the balcony and opened the window, letting in a briny breeze. The inn sat atop a low hill and had an excellent view of the shore. It would be stunning at the change of light, he imagined.
“Otabek said they have public baths that well up from a natural spring, and it’s said to have healing properties. We should peruse it tonight,” Victor said.
“Yes, if I’m not asleep,” Chris said with a chuckle. “If this Yuuri proves to be the Prince, we have plenty of opportunity to use the public baths.”
Lunch was excellent and generous, and the local wine that went with it was a bit bland but not horrible. After a maid had whisked away the empty plates, Victor sent Chris to his room.
“Are you sure you want to do this interview alone?” Chris asked before joining a maid who was supposed to show him to his room.
“I don’t want them scared. I want them honest so I will make this interview as personal as I could…”
“But I don’t see why I have to be absent.”
“One nobleman is enough to intimidate, I think. But don’t worry, I’ll send for you if I have difficulties.” Victor gave Chris a reassuring smile.
“Fine, fine,” Chris said, waving a hand. “I could use with a bath and a long rest. Faromir knows how hard you pushed us to get here. But do wake me up if you need anything.”
Victor beamed. “Thank you, Chris.”
Victor sipped more tea to calm himself as he waited for the Katsukis. They arrived a few minutes after Victor heard a distant bell toll three times. All of them greeted Victor wearing identical wondering expressions.
Victor studied them quickly. The parents were both portly, but if they served and ate good food, Victor could hardly blame them for it. They had kind, open faces that probably made their guests feel welcome.
“You sent for us, sir?” The mother - was her name Hiroka? Was it Hiroko? “I am Hiroko, and this is my husband Toshiya. Is there anything we could help you with?”
“Yes,” Victor said, flashing his kindest smile. “But first please sit.”
“Oh, no, sir. We don’t share seats with guests.”
“But this will take a while. Do please sit.”
Evidently confused, each of the three took a seat in front of the table.
“I wondered if you know who I am?” Victor said in a cautious voice.
Toshiya was the one to reply, “No, sir. Your man, Otabek, said you wanted to stay anonymous and we thought it was not our business to pry as long as you do not do anything illegal.”
Victor nodded and started pouring tea into three cups that he had requested earlier. This alarmed Hiroko, who insisted to pour the tea instead but Victor shook his head and continued with the gesture, sliding the cups across the table to each of the Katsukis.
The discovery that the Katsukis did not recognize him was not a surprise. He had not seen any of his portraits around, and he doubted there was any in town. Hasetsin was too far from the capital to dabble in politics and to care who ruled as long as the person fulfilled his role well and did not make taxes unreasonably high. Even Victor had to jog up his memory when Otabek informed him about the town.
“I’d like to introduce myself then,” Victor said gently. “I am Victor Nikiforov, and the friend I came with is Christophe Giacometti.” Victor let his words sit for a while, until he saw realization dawn on the Katsukis.
Hiroko immediately shot up from her seat and bowed. Toshiya followed suit, bowing repeatedly, saying, “Your Highness!”
Mari had been gaping openly until her mother tugged her to stand up and bow as well.
“I - Your Highness, you are welcome to our humble inn. It isn’t a lot but I hope you have a pleasant stay nonetheless,” Hiroko said, the first to gather herself. “But if I may ask, what brings you to Hasetsin?”
“Please sit.”
“But Your Highness -”
“Please,” Victor pressed.
Flustered, the Katsukis sat down again. They were obviously tense, and Victor knew they were not going to feel any calmer soon.
“I believe Hasetsin has heard of the incident that led to the Royal Family’s fall ten years ago?” Victor said.
“Yes, of course,” Hiroko replied. “Those were dark times. Hasetsin mourned with everyone else.”
“Did you know if there was a survivor?”
Hiroko shook her head. “We were informed of the slaughter and were told no one survived, but that the Prince's body was not found.” She frowned, probably wondering what this was leading to. “But if you held the Regency, then you must be holding the power for someone.”
Victor nodded. “I am. I am holding the power for my betrothed, Yuuri Kenichi, the Crown Prince of Glaciena.”
“But if the Prince is dead,” Mari said with a frown, “Then you shouldn’t be in power.”
“But I believe he is alive,” Victor said slowly, “And possibly lives in this town.”
“You can’t mean - “ Hiroko clapped her hands to her mouth, her brown eyes widening in disbelief.
Smiling gently, hoping to reduce the family’s shock, Victor said, “Otabek is one of my men sent to look for the Crown Prince. He informed me that someone who shares the Prince’s name and was adopted ten years ago now resides in Hasetsin.”
“But a lot of kids are named Yuuri -”
“Yes. I know.” Victor couldn’t help the sad smile that graced his lips. “But I wanted to look into the matter myself. I’d like to know how you found your Yuuri?”
“We found him begging for scraps at the fishmarket. His clothes were tattered. He was bruised and wounded, so we took him home to have him treated,” Hiroko said. “We wanted to send him home but he did not know where he was from. He did not know his name nor his age.”
Victor frowned. “Then how did you know his name?”
“He had a ring.”
It was Victor’s turn to stare. “A ring,” he whispered breathlessly.
“Yes, a ring. It had an inscription. I assumed it was his name so we called him Yuuri.”
Victor made further inquiries after how the Katsukis treated Yuuri, about how they did not think he could be the Prince because Hasetsin was too far from the coast of Lohengrin and that too many Yuuris had been named after the Crown Prince. They also heard of how the search for the Prince went, and knew that name was not an indication of identity. They had no means of knowing who Yuuri really was, much less to prove that he was Crown Prince.
“But -” Hiroko’s voice cracked, “But do you mean our Yuuri - could our Yuuri be -?”
“Mama, nothing is proven yet,” Mari said tersely.
But to Victor, it was more than proven already.
♔♚♔
“Oh, you seem to have really special guests,” Phichit said as they stopped the wagon at the stables which had the addition of several fine breeds of horses. The remise housed a coach and a wagon unlike Yuuri had ever seen. They were so elegant Yuuri felt that their family wagon would feel ashamed parking next to them. Even his horse started to whinny, probably intimidated by all the tall, perfect horses staring at it.
“They’ve arrived then,” Yuuri muttered, getting off the wagon.
“You were expecting these guests?” Phichit asked, hopping off the wagon to follow Yuuri to the backdoor of the inn.
“Yes, that’s why we needed that much hay and oats in the first place. And all these fruits,” Yuuri said. He reached for the doorknob and pushed the door ajar. “We’re here!” He called, poking his head through the gap. “Mama, could you send someone to help unload and see to the horse.”
“Oh, Yuuri, you’re back!” His mother exclaimed, meeting him at the doorway. “Come, quick.” She tugged him forcefully enough that he stumbled at the threshold. “Our guest wants to meet you -”
“Mama, is that Yuuri?” Yuuri heard his sister who shortly joined them in the kitchen. “He’s still in the baths, and Yuuri does not look respectable in this.”
“Oh, you’re right, of course,” his mother said quickly. “Go wash up and change, dear. We’ll inform the guest that you’ve arrived -”
“Why?” Yuuri asked. “Why would a guest want to meet me?”
Yuuri found himself being thrust to the foot of the stairs. “You will find out later. Go wash up. Mari, make sure he picks the right clothes -”
“I can choose my own clothes,” Yuuri objected.
“Not well enough for this, I’m afraid,” Mari said. “Go. We don’t want to make the guest wait.”
“But Phichit -”
“We’ll call him in,” his mother said as she watched Mari drag Yuuri up the stairs.
“What is going on?” Yuuri asked impatiently once they were in his room. But Mari ignored him and made straight for the wardrobe. She started sifting through the clothes inside. She tossed clothing after clothing, shaking her head tragically. “Hm,” she hummed as her fingers grabbed a waistcoat of deep blue. She pulled out a linen shirt, dark brown trousers and a light blue satin cravat. “Ah, I’m so glad we kept these.”
Yuuri remembered the ensemble from a coming of age day celebration he had two years ago. Instead of being held on his naming day, which he could not remember, it had been celebrated on the eighth year anniversary of when the Katsukis found him. It had been just a symbolic gesture since he did not know his real age (he just agreed that he was probably somewhere around twenty-two or twenty-three), but it had been a happy occasion. There were lots of food, drinks, music and dancing. “I’m not wearing that,” he objected. “Why can’t I meet the guest in my usual clothes? He probably would just like me to assist his staff.”
Mari pointedly did not meet his eyes as she handed him the clothes. “Go wash up a little and wear these,” she said. “I shall be waiting outside.”
Grudgingly, Yuuri laid the clothes on his bed and stepped into the bathroom adjoining his room. He stripped off his work clothes and scrubbed the grime off his body. Feeling clean enough to wear the fine pieces of clothing that Mari had insisted on, he stepped out of the bathroom and dressed himself. The trousers were tighter around the waist and the thighs than he remembered, but that was not surprising. Phichit had been feeding him pastries he had been learning to make, and Lady Minako whom he assisted with a few dancing lessons had only recently come back from a trip to the city. He would probably shed the weight when he started dancing regularly again. He fixed his cravat into a mail coach knot and called out to his sister.
She eyed him critically as she entered. “Do something about that hair,” she snapped.
“What is with all the fuss?” he asked, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
Mari sighed and walked to the drawer beside Yuuri’s bed. She pulled the top box and brought out a jar of pomade. “Come here,” she said, waving her free hand.
Frowning, Yuuri did as told. “Why am I the only one primped up?” he asked as Mari deftly worked the wax into his hair, slicking it back, making it feel thick and heavy. “Mari.”
Done, Mari stepped back and surveyed Yuuri as she sealed the jar of pomade. “This should do,” she decided. She set the pomade on top of the drawer and dragged Yuuri out of his room and up the stairs to the top storey of the inn, and to what he was beginning to recognize as the hall where the nicest suites were. His mother just emerged from the door of their best room at the end of the hall and she perked up when she saw him.
“You look wonderful, my dear,” she exclaimed.
“Where is Phichit?” he asked.
“Downstairs. He will be dining with us.”
“Will you be waiting for me for supper?”
“No, you’ll be sharing a meal with the guest,” Mari said. “Go. Now.”
Yuuri nodded and started for the door, but was surprised when his mother pulled him to a hug. He felt himself go pink before saying, “I suppose I’ll see you after supper?”
His mother smiled and bit her lip. Her eyes were oddly watery. “Yes. We’re heading back to the kitchens. Phichit must be starving.”
Yuuri turned on his heels, reached for the door and opened it to be met by two respectable-looking gentlemen, one of whom was the most attractive man he had ever laid eyes on. The man had the strangest hair color he had ever seen: a full head of silver that glinted under the lamplight. But his eyes, the blue of a clear frozen lake, were the most striking of all. And those eyes were fixed on Yuuri.
Before he could completely forget his manners, Yuuri bowed and introduced himself. “Good evening, sirs. I am Yuuri Katsuki, how may I help you?”
The man with silver hair was still staring mutely at Yuuri. His companion, who had curly blond hair and long lashes around green eyes, was the one who spoke. “Yuuri, it’s nice to meet you. My friend and I here would like to have supper with you.”
Nonplussed, Yuuri gaped at their guests. Apart from their distinctly aristocratic faces and bearing, they wore the finest of silk waistcoats beautifully embroidered with silk threads. He felt small in their presence, even in his best ensemble the entirety of which probably cost less than their silk cravats. “Why would you… want to?” he asked, the pitch of his voice rose as what often happened when he was flustered.
The blond guest only beamed in response. “But where are my manners. I am Chris,” he said, holding out a hand, which Yuuri shook timidly. “And my friend -”
“Victor.”
Even his voice, Yuuri thought offhandedly, complimented his handsome looks. It was deep, cool and lilting. But Yuuri was easily distracted from this train of thought as he realized how long and how tightly Victor had been grasping his hand. Yuuri glanced at his hand, rough and callous with work, Feeling self-conscious, he extracted it from Victor’s long, slender fingers. “I don’t understand why you would want to talk to me,” he told Chris, avoiding eye-contact with Victor who stood almost unmoving within an arm’s reach. Victor’s gaze felt quite heavy and intent, and Yuuri wanted to shrink away from it.
“We’ve heard about you,” Chris said. He was back on his seat, and he was absently swirling the glass of wine that they must have requested along with the supper that sat, covered and waiting, on the table.
The small pronouncement made Yuuri bristle. He should have been used to this, being an object of curiosity as an orphan under odd circumstances, but he was so tired of all the attention, as if foundlings were not common, as if his lack of of childhood memories were something to ogle about. “I’m sure,” he said curtly. “But I’m sorry. I’d rather not talk about it. If you’d excuse me -”
He had been about to turn when Victor grabbed his arm. “Wait,” Victor said, breathless. As if this entire exchange were taking a lot from him, he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he offered Yuuri a smile that brought a crystalline glimmer to his eyes. “What Chris meant to say is we…” he struggled with the words, making Yuuri frown. “We might be able to help you.”
“How?” he asked, terse in his impatience. When he was young, he had been curious about his family. He had wanted to know if they had been with him in whatever had befallen him before he found himself in Hasetsin and if they had survived as well. But months passed and no one seemed to be searching for a lost boy at the coast; the Katsukis treated him like family; Phichit constantly dropped by to bring him pastries; Yuuko showed him how to create baubles out of shells; and Minako taught him dance. There seemed to be no point in waiting for a family that did not want him back when Hasetsin sheltered him in her arms.
“It can wait until after supper. Please sit down.”
Yuuri turned his head to Victor who was giving him a gentle, almost coaxing smile. He did not know what to make of him, who, for one moment, gawked at Yuuri in stunned silence and then the next moment had gained the confidence of someone who was used to being in charge. Yuuri was not sure what made him comply either: the command veiled as a request, the sincere smile or his own curiosity. He slipped into the chair across Chris, and Victor dropped to the chair to his left, eyes still on Yuuri.
“Ah, supper looks wonderful,” Victor said cheerily as Chris pulled off the dome metal covers from each dish and set them aside on a waiting cart.
The food indeed looked delicious. Yuuri’s mother had managed to procure a small feast for the guests consisting of, surprisingly, most of Yuuri’s favorite food: breaded pork cutlets swimming in sweet soy sauce topped with egg; prawns in thick sweet sauce with slices of chili; crab bathed in lemon, garlic and butter; grilled stuffed squid; steamed fish dressed with tartar; fresh melons and apples and kiwi. It was a ridiculous amount of food for three - let alone two - people.
“Dig in,” Victor said happily.
Yuuri waited for the guests to help themselves. But when Victor noticed that he had not taken any food, Victor scooped some rice onto Yuuri’s plate. “Wait, no. It’s all right, I can do it,” Yuuri said.
Victor smiled and pushed a few slices of squid onto Yuuri’s plate. “Let me,” he said.
“I- please,” Yuuri said, flushing at the attention and the servility. “I should be serving you. Not the other way around.” He took the tongs from Victor who was starting to pick out prawn for Yuuri. “Please. Just enjoy the meal. Don’t trouble yourself with me.”
Victor responded with a chuckle and finally began to eat. Yuuri made himself as unobtrusive as he could - invisible, almost - as he ate. He did not want to make any mistake that would make their difference in status more apparent like making his utensils clatter or picking up the wrong utensil.
“This is so good!” Victor proclaimed after a bite of squid. His lips formed a heart shaped smile that would have been comical if Yuuri had not found the way it softened Victor’s mature facial features endearing. “We have the best cooks at home but I don’t think I’ve had squid and prawns cooked so perfectly.”
“It’s the freshness,” Chris pointed out. “You can have the best cooks but not have it done this way if the squid and prawns arrived a day after being caught, unlike here where they can cook it as soon as it comes out of the sea.
Victor raised his wine glass to that. “In that case, I should pick up a sport during my stay here or I’d be putting on some unpleasant weight.”
Yuuri nearly choked on the slice of pork. “Uhm. Excuse me,” he said cautiously, not certain if interjecting would be considered rude. “But how long do you intend to stay - er, sirs?”
Victor had an amused glint in his eyes when he said, “For as long as necessary.”
“I might stay for a month,” Chris replied. “Unlike him who has parents and a hoard of others to see to his work, I only have myself.”
“Why the rush?” Victor asked. “It’s not as if you’d be milking the cows and curdling the milk.”
Yuuri tilted his head in curiosity.
“I do have to oversee the process,” Chris said. “And since I am not the heir, I do have to work for my future and make sure the business that is given to me thrives.”
“Cheese is never going to be obsolete. You won’t suffer losses.”
“Unless the cows get sick,” Chris pointed out, waving his fork for emphasis.
“You make cheese?” Yuuri asked, brightening up. When he realized that he had spoken up again, he said in a small voice, “I beg your pardon. I was just curious.”
“You may speak any time, Yuuri,” Victor said, smiling. “And, yes, Chris’ family makes all the best cheese in the Kingdom.”
Yuuri blinked. One particular family was prominent for making cheese. The Katsukis could rarely afford it, but Lady Minako usually shared some with them. Yuuri and Phichit sometimes imagined all the pastries and dishes they could have with the excellent cheese. “You are Christophe Giacometti?” he exclaimed in his excitement.
“Why, yes, I am!” Chris said with a wide grin.
“I love cheese!” Yuuri said, unable to contain his excitement. “But that means you’re a -”
“Of course you do,” Victor said. “Would you like some? We can send for a batch.”
“No, no. I could never afford it,” Yuuri said, sinking into his seat again.
“Of course you could!” Victor said. “Or I could buy it for you.”
“No, please -”
But Victor wasn’t listening. “Consider it done. Chris?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll send the request tomorrow.”
Yuuri gaped. “You really don’t have to -”
“It’s my gift,” Victor said, his voice smooth and low.
Figuring that Victor was not one to take no for an answer, he said, “Thank you very much. But I don’t know what merits it.”
Victor’s smile was small, fond and secretive before he turned his attention back to his food. They continued eating, with Victor exclaiming delightedly about each dish he sampled except for the crab which he looked at as if it were a daunting problem. “How do we eat this?”
“You’ve never had crab?” Yuuri asked.
“Oh, I’ve had crab. Just not with all the,” Victor gestured with his hands going in circles over the enormous crab at the middle of the table, “Shell. Usually it’s the meat with very little shell.”
“How far do you live from the sea?” Yuuri dared inquire, remembering that Victor had encouraged him to speak up. He looked around and saw a small metallic tray that held a crab cracker, three crab forks and three rolled wet hand towels. He slid the tray towards him, and he shuffled the dishes around to pull the plate with the crab towards him as well.
“About two days’ ride. One, if you rode faster,” Victor replied, watching Yuuri with interest.
The carapace had already been removed from the crab, and the crab was already split into two, so all Yuuri had to do was detach the legs. He wiped his hands with the warm, wet hand towel and picked up the crab to break off the legs and crack them by the joints. He carefully remove the shell from one claw so that the meat stuck out and one could pull it out easily. He then offered it to Victor. “Here.”
“Wow, amazing!” Victor said with childlike glee as he accepted the claw. His lips broke into a heart shape again after he bit into the crab meat. “It’s delicious!”
Yuuri showed them how to push out the meat from the arms and legs. That these privileged men (nobility, he told himself, because Christophe Giacometti was an Earl’s son and their exchange earlier implied that Victor was even higher than Chris in hierarchy) never had crab served this way was laughable. But then, he reminded himself, these men probably existed in a world of sophistication, where dining tables were set with dozens of silverware Yuuri could not even imagine using. Picking up a crab and breaking it open with one’s bare hands was probably considered undignified. But their guests did not seem to mind; Victor, in particular, was so engrossed in cracking the legs on his plate that it lent his face a childish glow.
They had been able to make a significant dent on the food, and they sat back pleasantly sated as one of the inn’s staff removed the dishes. Probably at his mother’s behest, she had brought in a pot of tea for Yuuri and another bottle of wine for the guests.
“What was it that you wanted to speak with me about?” Yuuri asked as soon as the table was cleared.
The question oddly caused Victor to suddenly become pensive when, a moment ago, he had just been talking about looking forward to trying everything on the inn’s menu. Yuuri turned to Chris who took a grateful swig of wine before speaking.
“Do you remember how the Katsukis found you?” Chris asked, pouring himself another glass of wine.
“Yes, of course,” Yuuri said in a low voice. “I woke up at the beach, dizzy and hungry. I was clueless about what happened to me too, but everything hurt so much and I was so hungry I couldn’t think.” Yuuri was aware that he had gained Victor’s attention as he spoke. He fixed his eyes on a spot on the table and willed himself to continue. “I barely managed to get to the market and I asked the vendors for food. That was when Mama and Papa found me. They fed me and asked me where I was from but we were all surprised to realize that I had no clue about myself. My memory was blank. They took me in and had me checked by a healer, who said I must have suffered a trauma and lost my memory after a blow to my head. We tried to find my parents but no one turned up.”
He heard a loud, long intake of breath coming from Victor’s direction. Again, Victor seemed to be trying to muster himself, bracing himself for something. He didn’t speak and merely exchanged knowing glances with Chris.
“Do you remember what was happening in the Kingdom around that time?” The question came from Chris again.
The question puzzled Yuuri. He had been a mere child then, lost and confused without any trace of memory. “No, of course not. I did not pay attention to anything except myself and my lost memories.” He frowned. “What does that have to do with me?”
The pause that followed was thick and heavy with tension. Finally, Victor broke the silence, saying, “Ten years ago, the Royal Family of Glaciena were supposed to go on a trip to Phiagos. They docked at the Coast of Lohengrin as a last stop for supplies before Phiagos.” He was looking at the glass wine in his right hand with dark, stormy eyes. His voice was low. “But that was where they met their end. Or at least where the King and the Queen met their end. Someone who had ill intent had gotten on the ship before it sailed to Phiagos. The ship had just left the port for a few hours when it caught fire. We found a lot of dead bodies floating on the water, among them the Queen and the King.” He drained his glass. “We never found the Prince’s body.”
Knitting his brows, Yuuri tilted his head. “I still don’t understand what it has to do with me.”
“Do you know what the Prince’s name was?” Chris asked.
Yuuri blinked. He shot his gaze towards Chris and then to Victor. They both wore small, patient smiles as if they were waiting for some realization to dawn on Yuuri. “No,” he said firmly. “I only share his name. How could you even think -”
“You look the same,” Victor said in gentle voice.
“A lot of people look the same as I do!” Yuuri stood up, indignant. “I think you’re wrong. You’re wasting your time here.”
“Do you remember what you had with you when the Katsukis found you? How they figured out your name?” Victor asked. He was smiling faintly still, but he looked worn out.
“They told you?” Yuuri asked in disbelief. “It was supposed to be a secret -”
“Could you show me?” Victor’s voice was soft and imploring.
Wrinkling his forehead, Yuuri watched Victor, trying to gauge Victor’s intentions. But he could not read anything but the bit of desperation in Victor’s eyes. Giving in, Yuuri bit his lower lip and started to unknot his cravat and undo the top two buttons of his shirt to get access to a necklace he always kept underneath his clothes. He moved the necklace to unlock it and held it out to Victor who took it with trembling fingers.
The ring that he had kept as a pendant for safekeeping had been the only thing left to link him to his past. It was a thick band etched with two feathers, embedded between which were three small sapphires. On the inside, his name (or at least what everyone assumed was his name) had been engraved in the old script. Lady Minako had said that the band could be adjusted if he wanted to wear it on a finger, but he had instead asked for help to secure it as a pendant for fear of losing it.
Yuuri watched Victor inspect it. Victor’s hands quivered badly, and even his lips quaked as he turned the ring over. He seemed to be barely breathing, and his pupils were blown wide as he carefully, wordlessly handed the ring and necklace to Yuuri.
Victor thrusted a hand into a pocket of his trousers. He took a deep breath as he drew a small black velvet box out of his pocket. With quivering fingers, he opened it and gave it to Yuuri.
Seeing the ring inside the box made Yuuri’s mouth slack and his mind blank. The ring was identical to Yuuri’s own except it had been embedded with three emeralds instead of sapphires. He picked up the ring and had to release the breath he had been holding when he read the inscription inside.
“I had the rings commissioned for your thirteenth birthday.” Victor’s voice was low, almost a whisper. He was smiling wistfully to himself, as if he were recounting a memory he held dear. “I told you that we would exchange these rings when we get married, as a reminder that I am yours and you are mine.”
“Married?” Yuuri muttered in disbelief. He inclined his head, studying Victor anew. If what Victor were saying were true - just assuming, Yuuri told himself; it was unlikely to be true - then the Victor that Yuuri was facing now was…? “You’re Victor Nikiforov?” Yuuri blurted. “The Prince Regent?”
Victor straightened up and smiled. A hint of yearning was in his eyes but he looked every inch the prince that he was. “Yes. I am Victor Nikiforov. Your Regent. Your betrothed.”
to be continued.