Chapter Text
Chapter I
The call came in the middle of the night, like all sorts of bad news do, with an urgent rasp against the door to Yuuri's guest chamber in the royal palace of Theeratham. Sleep-cloaked, Yuuri slid out of his warm bed and donned the robe that one of the servants had left out for him. His jaw crunched on a yawn, but the knocking continued against Yuuri's hope. If this was one of Prince Phichit's nightly escapades, Yuuri was ready to tell him off. In gentle tones that one would only use while scolding a bosom friend whom he loved and whose friendship and confidence he cherished above all else.
Yuuri's bare feet padded softly against the floor tiles as he walked up to the heavy double winged door. Frowning slightly at the insistence of the person on the other side, Yuuri fought down the unease that suddenly gripped his spine. No longer dillydallying, he threw open the door.
"Who is making such ruckus at this time of day? You better have good reason or–"
He paused.
It was not the Prince who had greeted him with a low, contrite bow. The worry that had been snarling at Yuuri's heels before had clawed up his calves now, and Yuuri could feel the harsh bite of teeth as it sunk into his knees. The servant that stood before him was a Crow, Yuuri had noticed his dark robes and the silver band wrapped tightly around his forehead, and a Crow coming to find him at an hour such as this could mean nothing good.
"Forgive me for the late call, Your Highness, but the matter is urgent," the man said, sounding out of breath as if he had ran all this way from the relay chamber. "Your sister wishes to speak with you."
Sleep left him like a scorned lover: all of a sudden, with a burn in his stomach and bitterness filling his mouth. Yuuri pressed his lips together and swallowed. Before he'd left home, he and Mari had agreed to talk every other day. The times weren't the most pleasant to travel and with both him and their mother away from home the contact seemed all the more dependent on its timeliness. To have Mari call him with no warning....
"Now, Your Highness," the Crow pressed on, and Yuuri twitched back into himself.
"Lead the way," he immediately ordered.
The corridors were dark and empty. Yuuri's feet could have been freezing, but he couldn't exactly tell. His thoughts, worries of what could have happened to make Mari contact him like this, at a time like this, were far more chilling than anything the cold of the world could offer. The dull light of the torches scattered here and there to light their way made the shadows linger and prowl around them like beasts ready to strike, and strike they would – of that Yuuri had no doubt.
"Through here, Your Highness."
The Crow finally opened some door, holding it for Yuuri. The light of the multitudes of crystal message orbs blinded Yuuri momentarily. He blinked to get rid of the after effects, but they lingered even as they walked past rows of other Crows working on whatever it was the Crows had worked on.
"Yuuri."
It was only his name, a simple word like that, but hearing it over the distance, over the distorted sound coming through the crystal as if Mari was speaking from underwater, Yuuri could recognize the pain in it. The relief. The grief. There was little that could cause that kind of turmoil in her manner, but what little there was it always pertained to family.
Yuuri dreaded to ask, yet did anyway.
"What happened, sister?"
When Mari spoke next, it was with the finality to it that Yuuri dared not dispute. He simply listened and hurt, all in the quiet of his mind, as her words, cracked and vulnerable, came from the orb.
"Mother is dead," she said. "You need to come back home. We need you."
***
When morning broke on Sunti, the capitol of Theeratham, Yuuri had embraced Prince Phichit, like a brother going to war, exchanged his goodbyes as politely as he was capable, and left, bearing one last hope – a futile hope that war was not what he would find back home.
***
It took a week's journey, multiple horses ridden half to death, and far too little sleep for Yuuri to make it to the border. The route from Sunti was as uneventful as one could hope, but the moment Yuuri stopped in the first Yugashinian village, he knew the peace was over. His people, their people, were in mourning, which Yuuri wished with his entire heart to take part in, but couldn't. He had to move forward, had to push towards the capital, towards his family... or what was left of it.
The wailing of women was loud in the streets, the whispers of men followed him everywhere, and somehow Yuuri knew that it was only a matter of time before the chalice tips over and the bitterness spills. The pitiful voices grew stronger the closer to Kamisunouchi he was. On the day he pushed his horse through the royal palace gates there was already an angry mob outside, demanding retribution for the untimely death of their beloved Empress. For a moment after dismantling, Yuuri felt like his heart had stayed beyond the gates, joined in pain and hatred with the people.
What happened, his mother's death, it was unforgivable. She'd never done anything but good to all her people, she'd been nothing but kind, she never wished for war. And by some unfavourable trick of the fates her last deed had left them on the verge of conflict with the worst of their adversaries. Yuuri shuddered to think of what else the gods might have envisioned for them.
A servant guided him to his sister's side, feet fast and sure, and Yuuri squeezed his arm in thanks before he stepped into his sister's private chamber. He wanted to tell him that everything would be well, yet he couldn't. It wouldn't be well. Nothing, for a long while, would be well. Not for Yugashina. And not for Lesnya, so he swore.
"Mari."
Seeing her was a relief that her face showed in return. They were never overtly expressive with each other, much less others, but it took a single look for them both to embrace. Mari's back was stiff, hard as stone, as if the suppressed anger and fear had turned her into a statue that no doubt soon will be made of her as the new Empress Katsuki.
Yuuri shut his eyes against the itch of tears and swallowed before saying:
"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed me most."
Mari squeezed him tighter. "Don't apologize for that, idiot brother. You're here now."
She pulled away and looked at him for a long moment. Her lips finally quirked in a small smile that Yuuri returned. It was forced and they both knew it, but it was enough.
"You look like shit," Mari announced.
Yuuri startled into a single bark of laughter. It was easier to smile when he returned:
"You look like shit, too. Don't sound so superior."
She grinned at him, patted his shoulder and returned to the chair she was previously occupying. Yuuri took the other one without prompting. They sat in silence, a comfortable one even despite all the questions that were crowding Yuuri's mind. It's been too long since he'd been home. Too long since he'd seen Mari. Too long since he'd seen his parents... and now–
"How is father fairing?" he asked, voice hushed.
Mari sighed.
"Not good. He's..." She paused, clicked her tongue, and then continued: "He's secluded himself to his chamber and the gardens, and refuses to take part in anything. I know it's hard for him to come to terms with reality and I don't blame him. I can scarcely believe it some days either."
She turned her face to the window. The sorrow was clear in her profile and Yuuri looked away when his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.
"I simply wish to let him grieve at his own pace, that's all," Mari spoke again. "And you. I wish that for you as well."
Yuuri's lips formed a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. "And what about you?"
"I have a war to handle, no time for heartache."
Mari waved a careless hand, a gesture that made Yuuri frown. He leaned forward and caught her hand, which made her look his way. He squeezed, and with a serious face, vowed:
"Then I will be by your side along the way, no matter where it takes us. On the royal blood we share, I so swear."
She squeezed back. And then grinned.
"Take a bath first, little brother. You reek of horse. I will not work with someone who smells worse than my stable boy."
If the events had played out differently, if the circumstances had been not what they were, Yuuri would've stuck his tongue out at her. Empress or no Empress, she was his sister. But keeping in mind all that transpired, he simply smiled back at her.
A bath did sound appealing, indeed, because he truly reeked of horse and while it might have been acceptable on the road, it was far from a perfume any Prince of Yugashina should be using.
Especially when dealing with matters of war and peace.
***
The missive had arrived 3 days before Yuuri and, after a bath and a dinner, Mari had told him in curt tone how she'd refused to lend ear to the cowardly display of dishonour the Nikiforovs were showing the late Empress by sending a Crow instead of making an appearance in Yugashinian court themselves. Before Yuuri could do anything, before he was even aware, Lesnyan royal family was sent a reply calling them to a meeting that would take place a fortnight from the death of Empress Katsuki. A meeting that would determine future relations between Yugashina and Lesnya, a meeting that King Nikiforov better attends personally or war shall knock on his doorstep at Yugashinian hands thirsty for revenge.
"You did not phrase it like that, did you?" Yuuri asked, having trouble swallowing the wine he was washing dessert with. "We do not actually want war, Mari."
Mari only snorted. "I am not an idiot, brother. Of course I did not put these exact words on paper, but I made it clear to His Majesty that we are not a trifle for him to brush off his sleeve."
"Good," Yuuri nodded. "Do we have actual proof it was Lesnya? Was the assassin captured?"
"No," Mari's face darkened. "He slipped away, but our men had seen the uniform enough to recognize it. We do not have hard proof, but that is why we need to speak with King Nikiforov. It was one of his men, so he either takes responsibility and helps us find him and bring him to justice, or we go to war and take it into our own hands. I see no other choice."
Yuuri stayed silent for a moment, nursing his cup in thought.
"The people want revenge. I've seen it as I rode," he explained to Mari when she looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "They loved mother, but who didn't? They want justice for what happened to her and with the skirmishes and the tension on our Lesnyan border... I don't think a simple beheading of the assassin will be enough."
Mari's lips pursed into a tight line. She knew it as well as he did – the war will happen with or without their influence. It was always the people who were in power, the people who ruled the country, who deposed monarchs in times of dissatisfaction, who rose new leaders up in times of unrest. To keep the throne, and people's love, sometimes all that the ruler could do was predict and pre-emptively strike at what the public would want most.
And what they wanted now was war. But it would be Mari's decision on how and where it starts. Yuuri desperately wished that their mother's death was not the catalyst that caused the bubble of rage to burst.
"We must be prepared for anything," Mari finally decided. "I do not want my first edict to start a war, but if I must do it to uphold the honour of the Katsuki name, I will do it."
She looked directly at Yuuri, hard, unrelenting gaze of the Empress that she was now becoming.
"Will you stand by me, brother?" she asked.
She did not demand obedience, she was simply asking, and Yuuri was certain that if he said no, she would let him go. He slid off his chair and folded himself up on the ground, bowing until his forehead could touch the carpeted ground.
"Whatever you choose to do, my Empress, I am yours to command."
The grin on her face was just on the wrong side of wry when he lifted his face next, but neither of them commented on it, since his words rung with truth. Mari was the Empress, the head of the dragon, the entire Yugashinian Empire, and Yuuri, if allowed, would become her advisor, her sword, her shield, her confidant, but brother was one thing he was not allowed to be. Not anymore.
The Empress stood alone.
***
A guard of twenty accompanied them to the meeting place: a hill on the very border between their countries, right next to the village their mother had died at, Matsurano. The royal guards were joined by the troops stationed at the watchtowers nearby and in a company of almost fifty men they crossed the border to enter the encampment Lasnyan soldiers had raised.
Mari's gold plated armour turned heads of peasants and soldiers alike, to Yugashinians' cheers and Lasnyans' frowns, in a way it was supposed to. There was hardly anything practical about it: the metal was too light, the plating too thin, the colour instantly painting a target on Mari's back; but such was the role of the Empress – to stand out from the crowd, always. Yuuri's own husk, made of steel, hardened and moulded in fire, was a tried piece of armour. He'd battled in it before, he'd won in it before, and he knew he could trust it with his and Mari's life. It was a far cry from the exquisite piece of metalwork that Mari was strapped in, but Yuuri preferred the comforting feeling of worn leathers to any gallantry the freshly made suit of silver they'd left at home could offer.
Matsurano was a quiet village... or it used to be. They rode in formation through the main street that was filled with people, shouting, cheering, screaming "Long live Empress Katsuki!" and Yuuri wondered if they meant Mari or their mother.
Mari, with a stormy face and a hard set brow, guided her horse straight towards the Lesnyan camp and the people could see it. They did not see a daughter out for vengeance, no. They saw the personification of justice weighing a hammer over the heads of the offenders, ready to strike. And Yuuri could see it to, he could, but what he could also see, what no one else was able to, was the way Mari's hand shook slightly as she held the reins in her pale, pale fingers.
Pushing the horses faster, they left the village and circled around the watchtower to the sound of horns honouring Mari's presence before they set out for the hill. Lesnyan tents were white, the colour of death, and Yuuri eyed them warily. There would be no deaths yet, not that day, but the omen of what was to come was clear as the sky above their heads. A death was unavoidable, but it would depend on King Nikiforov if it ends there... or if it starts there.
Flanked by guards, they finally stepped onto the top of the hill.
***
If there was one thing that Prince Victor hated more than looking after his royal cousin it would be political negotiations. He was well endowed with intelligence, blessed with a pleasant physique and personal charm, and did not believe in the need of meeting face to face for every frivolous matter, despite the ease with which he achieved things by using his smile as the weapon of choice. He, as the other side surely must be, was far too busy to indulge in tea parties on a whim.
So when his father had insisted he accompanied him to a meeting with the Yugashinian Empress, he naturally refused. Hence, a week later, he'd found himself lounging in an tent, waiting for said Empress to make her grand appearance. At least he prayed it to be grand, something to pass the boredom of having been dragged away from the war council on the Turlan front that was already proving to be far more amusing than this field trip.
"How long are they going to make us wait?" Victor sighed.
It was after noon on the agreed day and there was no sign of Her Imperial Highness anywhere. Victor was so bored.
"Go take charge of the vanguard then," his father said, no care in his voice. "I'm sure that will provide some amusement, if not to you then to our soldiers."
Victor harrumphed disagreeably, but stood nonetheless.
"I might just," he said as he moved around the large mahogany table they had brought from the very capitol simply because his father had insisted on 'showing these Yugashinian bastards who it is exactly they are engaging in a spittle with'.
Victor pulled the flap of the tent open and stepped outside just as Yugashinian horns started blowing from the nearby watchtower. The camp that was otherwise quiet until then bustled to life as men started running around in an organized panic. Shortly after the hum of horns had ceased, the vanguard returned to the camp.
"The envoy is on the way up, Your Highness." The commander jumped off his horse right before Victor, letting the others take it away. "Fifty men strong, maybe more. They should be here within minutes."
Victor nodded. "Report to the King. I'll greet them myself."
The commander bowed and moved past Victor, inside the tent. Once he had, Victor could see the cloud of dust rising on the horizon – a clear sign of the approach of the Empress.
Victor had never met or even heard much of Mari Katsuki, she was always keeping on the quiet side. Away from the balls, away from fanfare. Hiroko Katsuki, her mother, was a kind and loving woman, or so she seemed to present herself, and Victor wondered if Mari's lack of grandeur was in some way a reflection of that. Maybe she was shy? Maybe she detested her position the way Victor was growing to detest his? Maybe... maybe they could find a common tongue because of that and avoid the war that Lesnya had no resources to support. If Mari Katsuki was anything like her mother, maybe that would be possible.
He watched the entry to the camp with rapt attention as the sound of hooves hitting the ground grew louder. The clacking of armour was a familiar sound and did not bode well for their negotiations: if they were dressed for war, they would be less inclined to listen to reason. Victor squashed the feelings of unease while the royal guard hurried to take their places around him and the tent.
"Please, do not do anything stupid, Your Highness," Georgi said, hand resting on the hilt of his sword in a relaxed manner, which Victor knew could change in a blink of an eye.
They were friends, for more time that Victor had wished to be, and as such he did not take any offence to the words. He simply put on a smile.
"Do I ever?"
Georgi's pained sigh was drowned in the sound of horns again – this time their own, announcing the first riders to breach the camp line.
They flowed in like a mountain river, smooth but violent, and tore through the main lane. The horses were strong, Victor could tell a good breed when he saw one. They did not seem to have as much mass as their Lesnyanian breed, but that would come with the difference in terrain: while Lesnya was more mountainy, Yugashina's flats allowed the lean silhouettes to reach the highest of speeds. Which they clearly were showing off now.
Victor's lips quirked in amusement as another rider sped past him. It took maybe a minute longer before he finally was able to spot the guest they had all been waiting for. The young Empress rode into the camp like a sun put on the back of a horse, blinding and grand, and Victor's eyes lit up at that. She had donned a golden armour and a frown that would petrify any man of great courage if directed at him.
The horses slowed as the Empress made her way through the camp and finally stopped where Victor stood. Her gaze measured the men surrounding him and only then did it rest on Victor himself.
Ah, Victor thought, she was definitely not shy. From atop her horse, Empress Katsuki glared like the best of warriors on a field of battle, scowled like the worst of the sailors during a squall, and Victor would have bet his arm that she would curse like one as well, if her station had allowed for it. He smiled to himself and then with a bigger smile he walked past the line of his men to greet her properly.
"Welcome, Empress Katsuki."
He opened up his arms to show he was not a threat and planned to offer Her Imperial Highness his hand in coming down, but the moment he took a step closer a rider to the left pushed his horse in between them. Cut off from the Empress, Victor couldn't help it when his eyes rested on the man who stepped in his way in such a rude manner. He was plain and uninteresting, even if his armour was a little better make than some foot soldier's.
"My, what manners," Victor smiled in that subtly snub way he knew infuriated others and allowed his gaze to pass him by with no remorse as he focused on the Empress again. "Are all your men this hot-blooded, Your Imperial Highness?"
She said something to her men, her voice rough and gritty enough to be nothing but an order, and the one blocking Victor's path turned to look at her. Some unspoken conversation seemed to pass between the two, because the man's shoulders slumped and The Empress' lips quirked up as if she was amused when he reluctantly pulled his horse back.
"I do not believe we've met before, Prince Victor," she spoke to him next, pushing her steed forwards. To Victor's surprise she already seemed to know him, which startled a smile of surprise from him. "But I have heard of you. I will warn you that you should keep your distance. After what happened to the previous Empress my men are slightly... overeager to protect me."
"Understandable," Victor nodded his assent. "Allow me to say, though, that neither now nor then, Lesnya did not wish you harm."
The Empress looked at him for a long moment, before she said: "We shall see about that."
Without a word more, Victor waited while she stepped down from her horse with the help of the same man. They seemed to have a sort of camaraderie that Victor had shared with none of his personal guards. Friends, he thought while looking at the hand the man had offered and the Empress took readily. Maybe lovers, he ventured a guess when her stone-like face eased with a tiny smile when the man had spoken something to her in a quiet voice. Definitely lovers, he decided, since the man had followed them into the tent, flanking her side while their other guards filtered in afterwards.
Before Victor could take another look at him – because surely he must have missed something in his appraisal, someone like Empress Katsuki couldn't have picked just anyone to be the holder of her heart, could she? – his father had beckoned him over with a hand, standing up to greet their guests properly once they had reached the table.
"Empress Katsuki," the King greeted her, inclining his head slightly.
She returned the gesture, even if her eyes were cold and hard like the ice that in winter time covered the roofs of the Royal Palace in Vidnokutsk. "King Nikiforov."
"We were sorry to hear that your royal father could not have made it. Is he well?" the King continued, unperturbed. His concern was a front and Victor knew it. The Empress seemed to as well.
"As well as one might be, considering," she replied curtly.
"It is truly a tragedy what had come to happen. We were greatly saddened to get the news of Empress Hiroko's passing. Please, sit," The King gestured to the opposite side of the table, "and let us talk more."
The Empress' gaze swept over the expanse of mahogany, the polished wood, the silver leaves and crests carving out of it, as if it was nothing but a trifle. And it was, they all knew it was a simple show in power, which Empress Katsuki disregarded with a grace of someone who had lived their life in such and better luxuries. Her eyes had finally settled on a lone throne-like chair that matched the other two Victor and his father were using. She pursed her lips, and then said:
"We will need another chair."
Victor noticed the surprise in his father's usually emotionless visage, but the King recovered fast and motioned for one of their guards to bring what was asked. Only when the chair was set next to the one meant for her, the Empress moved to sit. She pulled the golden helmet off her head, letting her short hair frame her face. Like that, she looked a little more human, a little more Victor's age.
She sat down first, resting the helmet on the table. The King took his place next, and Victor waited before he moved to his own chair as well.
"Yuuri, sit with us," the Empress touched the arm of the empty chair.
With a clunk of steel, the man that Victor had deemed to be Her Imperial Highness' lover took his helmet off, pushed his hair out of his eyes and sunk down into the chair like this was where he belonged. His name was familiar, too familiar not to recognize it, and Victor swallowed the embarrassment at the mistake he'd made when he assumed he was simply a sidekick. He meet the eyes of the Prince Katsuki for the first time and wished he could take back the words he'd spoken to him before.
Because the gaze that was trained on him was burning hot like the sands of the Turlan deserts and, despite his earlier blunder, for the first time since he was ordered to come, Prince Victor wanted to be nowhere else but here.
***
"Let's talk then," Mari said first, leaning back in her chair to train her cold eyes on King Nikiforov. "Maybe you'd like to start by explaining to us how come one of your soldiers had snuck into our mother's inn and slit her throat in her sleep?"
Yuuri remained quiet against the vision of their mother's round, kind face covered in blood. He focused his attention on observing the Lesnyans. The King was unarmed, from what he'd seen when they entered the tent, and the Prince was only carrying a short sword that could not be longer than a dagger. The true danger would come from the guards behind them, five in number, against the three Yuuri had brought with him. He'd been naive. With him they made four, which still proved to be a disadvantage, but, if needed, Yuuri would lay his life as the fifth if it would serve to protect Mari from harm.
"It saddens us that you would think we had anything to do with such an underhanded and cowardly deed," King Nikiforov said and Yuuri's eyes snapped to him when he realized it was not exactly a denial of the intent to kill... rather a denial of the way it had been done. "We held the late Empress in great regard, so we can assure you we had no hand in her passing. May she rest in peace."
"I would hardly call that peace when her murderer is still at large and the one who orchestrated it spews nothing but lies."
Mari shifted. The armour clunked. She locked her fingers together. A menacing picture of the dragon princess that was measuring how far the pray will run before she snatches it in her jaws.
"If it is as you say, Your Majesty, and you had no wish for her death, then tell me: why was a man in Lesnyan uniform, a man wearing your colours, running away from the room where our mother was still heaving her last breaths? What was he doing on our land? Why was he running? If that is not the admission of guilt, then please, bring him forth so he can explain in his own words what it was exactly that was chasing after his heels that night."
"We're afraid that is simply not possible, Your Imperial Highness."
The King's voice lilted at the title as if he wished to slight Mari without the use of words. He managed it. Yuuri did not need to turn around to feel their loyal Yugashinians stiffen in outrage.
"You see," King Nikiforov continued. "We have not given the order and, despite what rumours there might be about discipline in Lesnyan troops, our men are good soldiers who listen to their monarch. For one of them to sneak out of the camp, in the middle of the night, is unthinkable."
The King shook his head as if he truly could not imagine a greater travesty. Yuuri's jaw clenched tightly. He forced his gaze away, choosing to look at the Prince instead, only to find that the bright blue eyes had been watching him all along.
"Moreover, what proof do we have that whoever told you that story was speaking the truth?" King Nikiforov waved a hand. "Maybe it was someone on your end that took matters in their own hands. We hear there is some... discontent amongst your people. That sounds like a far more plausible explanation than some nameless soldier from our army."
Sitting next to Mari, Yuuri was very aware of the tremble of her hands, a weakness which she hid expertly out of the line of sight of the Lesnyans, tucked under the table. He could not blame her for it, though. Irritation burned through his blood and rung in his ears with every word that was coming out of the King's mouth, and oh, he had many to give. Many, many grand words, great gestures of nothing, as they brought nothing, explained nothing, were nothing but pleasantries and veiled insults. Yuuri's spine steeled with hard-forged anger, sturdy and harsh and unmelting, as he stared right into Prince Victor's blue eyes because he was truly unable to look at the King and remain seated.
"Lord Senzou has been a friend of our family for years," Mari said, not a waver in her voice. Yuuri admired her for it all the more so. "If he had told me that a firebird had come down from the sky to claim mother's life, I would have believed him. He has our trust, and we are certain of his loyalty. Much more than I am certain of the truth in your words, Your Majesty."
She leaned forward, face hard and cold as a stone. "There are three ways this matter can be resolved. One, you search for the man yourself, which is not the best choice for us, since you seem to love wasting time on frivolities. Two, we search for him ourselves with your permission and blessing. Or three. Since you speak of dissatisfaction among my people, you must be aware of what that entails."
When the King only stared at her, uttering nothing, she finished the thought that everyone in the room was thinking:
"War."
No one spoke for a long moment. Mari and the King were measuring each other across the table, testing the resolve of the words that had just been spoken. It was just a threat for now, but one that Yuuri knew Mari would follow through. With a heavy heart, but she would not let down their mother and their people. That was why they were following her.
"There is no need for threats, Your Imperial Highness," the Prince took voice for the first time since they entered the tent. His face was adorned with a smile, a sunny, charming thing that would fit more in a ballroom than here. "We, just like you, would love nothing more than to solve this matter. It is just as much a strike on our good name if you go around telling people our soldiers are rambunctious enough to kill other rulers on a whim, so if there is anything we could do to help, other than, of course, allowing you free access to our troops and military secrets, we'd be happy to offer it to you."
"My," Mari breathed. "And here I thought that your silence was a sign of your intelligence, Prince Victor, but then you open your mouth and in one breath insult me and spit on our mother's not yet wind-brushed grave. How wrong I was to think there was more behind your looks."
Even surprise had a charming tilt to the Prince's head. Yuuri couldn't keep his lips from twitching as he fought to hold off a smile when Prince Victor blinked and opened his mouth, only to be halted by his father's lifted hand.
"Let us not resort to insults," the King said magnanimously, disregarding the fact that it was Lesnya who began it. "However, what my son has so clumsily put into words stands. We cannot allow you to have such unsupervised access to our military, we're certain you understand." He smiled thinly in a way that was clear it was not a smile meant to appease the tension that was heavy in the room. "Instead, we can agree to search for the possible murderer ourselves. Matters like that take time, though, and if you cannot give us a name or the squadron the soldier belongs to, we're afraid it might be long months before any of this is resolved."
Mari scoffed. "In other words, you offer us nothing but words. Once again."
Before King Nikiforov could answer, Mari took a deep breath and forged on with a resolution and determination that made Yuuri's gaze slip from the Lesnyans and focus on her. There was pride in her shoulders and justice in the way she held her head high, and now, more than ever, Yuuri was glad to be following her.
"I do not want your words, Your Majesty, nor do I need your permission to find the man that had murdered our mother. The choices I gave you were a courtesy that I now see you do not deserve."
"Hold your tongue, Princess Katsuki," King Nikiforov warned, an angry frown curling around his lips at the slight, "lest you say a word too many."
Mari pinned him with a glare that even the fiercest of warriors from their kingdom trembled under.
"It's Empress Katsuki," she said in a hard, gritty voice as if speaking that brought her pain. And Yuuri could tell it did, because it hurt him just as much. "By your doing, none the less. If you continue to insist that Lesnya had nothing to do with this matter, then that will mean only one thing: you're harbouring a criminal and are just as guilty of his crime. And that means that soon Yugashinian troops will be taking up arms against you."
The King said naught to that, choosing to point vaguely towards Yuuri who had yet to open his mouth.
"You should take example of your brother, then, Empress," he said. "He is far calmer than you. Maybe it is he who should lead the negotiations? We are sure that between us we would be able to find peace."
Mari froze for one terrifying second while they both grasped at what the King was insinuating – an insult to the very tradition of female rulers in Yugashina. Before she could lose the reins of her terrible anger, a sign of which Yuuri could already see in the tick of a muscle on her cheek, Yuuri rested a hand on her arm. In silent support and a warning alike, for they could not allow themselves to be trading taunts, not at this time.
"Calm?" Yuuri finally spoke. His voice, indeed, was calm, but that was a fragile peace, one that was easily broken. "I assure you, Your Majesty, that I am not. In fact, I remain silent in an effort to forcibly keep myself from leaping over this very table and strangling the life out of you both with my bare hands."
The silence reigned for just a moment, filled with tension. And then, akin to a cherry blossom petal falling from its branch, the metallic clank of Lesnyan soldiers reaching for the hilts of their swords filled the air, quickly followed by their own guards pulling their blades out. Yuuri lifted his hand to halt them all, his gaze directly locked with the King's.
"Alas, I resist the temptation," he continued. "We do not wish for war."
The King remained silent as he regarded Yuuri with something akin to interest, yet Yuuri hoped not. The anger in his eyes was encompassing and in the event of the negotiations failing, which was more possible by the minute, it was infinitely better to be underestimated. Like he always was.
It was the Prince who spoke next, leaning against the table, honest and open as if to fix his earlier blunder.
"We do not wish for one, either, Prince Katsuki, Empress," he said and something in his voice compelled Yuuri to believe him. Yet, he could not. This was a matter far too important to simply take a word of a stranger, a possible instigator of the murder of their flesh and blood, for it.
"Then I suggest you start acting like it, Your Highness," Yuuri returned, rising from his place. "Let us end this talk here. We've come a long way today, but we did not do that to exchange empty words with you. Further trade of insults can continue tomorrow... or, if you come to your senses in time, we can speak of reparations. Good tidings, King and Prince Nikiforov."
Helping Mari up, they left the tent hand in hand, their soldiers flanking them on all sides.
It did not bode well for them, the way this day had ended. But still, Yuuri clung onto hope, because hope was the only thing there was left. And if war was what was written in the stars for Yugashina, then hope would be gone soon as well. For now, though... For now, he hoped.