Chapter Text
Queen Amanda's heels clicked against polished floors, their sound echoing through the grand chambers and hushed corridors. The training grounds, located near the guards' quarters, were a considerable distance from her royal chambers. As she walked, passing yeomen and guards offered curtsies or salutes, which she acknowledged with a warm smile. Though their faces remained impassive, she sensed their surprise at her presence at such a late hour.
As she reached the end of the passageway, she nodded her thanks to the armored guard stationed next to the door that led out to the training grounds.
It was rather easy to find her son these days; no one else would be sparring at this time of night.
She lifted her skirts and followed the path lit by torches as she crossed the training grounds. The moon shone brightly above, casting a silver light on everything below, creating dark shadows from the sparring dummies and weapons stalls.
Spock's shift in mood and withdrawal from his usual activities deeply troubled Amanda and Sarek. He had become a shadow of his former self, forsaking his hobbies and passions for solitary brooding or intense bouts of sparring. The halls of the kingdom, once filled with the sweet melodies of his lyre, now echoed with an unsettling silence.
Initially, they believed it was a passing phase and gave him space, hoping he'd work through what troubled him. But as weeks turned into months, then a year, with no improvement, Amanda grew increasingly worried. Spock's repeated assurances of being "fine" did little to ease her fears. "Fine has variable definitions, mother," She had echoed his own words back to him, but his expression remained stoic, revealing nothing of his inner turmoil. Not even a raised eyebrow or a small twitch at the corner of his lips appeared.
Sarek was the first to suggest that Spock's affliction may be caused by seeking a more intimate connection outside of his relationships with his peers. Despite being well past the typical age for bonding, Spock had never expressed interest in anyone to her or Sarek. If she hadn't stumbled upon him and a yeoman in a rather suggestive position, she would have assumed he had no desire for such matters. Although many had shown interest in their son, they saw no reason to force arrangements or orchestrate introductions if Spock showed no inclination towards them. Before his recent change in mood, they trusted that Spock was fully capable of finding a partner on his own.
However, maybe he needed a little push in the right direction.
Initially, they extended invitations to other royal members and diplomats for formal events - asking them to bring along any unbetrothed family members. They had hoped that Spock would develop an interest in someone, even if just a slight one. However, after the third dinner, Spock caught on to their intentions and politely asked them to stop. Their attempt may have failed, but at least Spock acknowledged their suspicions about his longing for a partner.
She felt that passing along proposal cards was innocent enough considering there was less interference from her and Sarek. When Spock hadn’t requested that she cease, she found hope in knowing that her son was closer to finding his other half. Though, that hope had diminished with each passing season as Spock had seen hundreds of proposals, yet no one seemed to call out to him.
Amanda's heart held a flicker of hope as she walked towards the sparring pits, her mind filled with the pleasant image of her son Spock finding companionship with the child of her dear, long-lost friend. However, as she drew closer, a familiar wave of apprehension washed over her as she feared this would be no different.
She stopped at the edge of the far left sand pit, idly turning the proposal card over in her hands. Her gaze followed Spock's graceful yet forceful movements as he practiced with his lirpa. Two guards stood on the opposite side, their eyes fixed on him with unwavering attention.
"I came to give you a new proposal card," she announced, her voice carrying over the rhythmic thuds of Spock's strikes against the sand-filled dummy. "He is the son of an old friend I lost contact with."
She paused, watching Spock continue his relentless assault on the inanimate opponent. Sensing her silence, he finally turned to face her, his chest heaving from exertion.
"Anyway, I promised her I would bring it to your attention," Amanda finished, a hint of resignation in her voice. She carefully placed the proposal on a nearby bench, tucking the card into the folds of Spock's discarded robe.
Offering her son a gentle smile, she said, "I'll leave it here for you if you decide to take a look." Her words held a silent plea, a mother's hope that her son might find a path back to connection and happiness.
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Spock waited until the sound of his mother's footsteps faded away. Exiting the sparring pit, he handed his lirpa to a nearby guard and walked over to the bench. He sat and picked up the card, noticing the elegant ivory envelope adorned with delicate flowers. After a moment of hesitation, he tore the card in half. He stood, intending to burn the remaining proposal pieces in a nearby fire pit, a final act of dismissal. But he halted. Out of curiosity, or perhaps something much deeper, he pulled the ripped halves out of the torn envelope.
The torn halves were face down, and the name in the bottom left corner read, "James Tiberius Kirk." A human? Interesting. Turning the photo card pieces over, he carefully matched up the split halves. He had torn the photo in half horizontally, separating his proposal's face at his nose.
Once he lined up the two pieces, he was greeted with mesmerizing cerulean eyes, golden skin and hair, and full lips curved into a small, playful smile.
Suddenly, his mind was filled with a searing heat that scorched like the desert sun. It was an intoxicating mix of desire and hunger that burned with the intensity of a wildfire surging through his veins. Rational thought was consumed in the blaze, leaving nothing but raw, uncontrolled passion in its wake. This fire within him, this insatiable need, was unlike anything he had ever known before - something primal and fierce that would not be easily tamed.
Spock felt his heart race frantically as he heard a guard calling out to him. He was sure he must appear distraught, standing rigidly in one place. He traced the contours of his intended's image with trembling fingers. This being, James, had awakened this hunger within him - he was the only one who could quiet his chaotic mind.
His James.
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Amanda had just reached the east wing entrance doors when she heard a familiar voice calling out to her. Turning, she watched as Spock approached her breathing heavily, an armored guard followed closely behind him. Had he run across the training yard? Whatever for?
“Spock what is-.”
“We will host this year's courtship season.”
She felt her head spin. “Spock, the Romulan royal family has already been selected and is to be announced to the public in seven days -”
“And we will make sure he is there as well.”
He held the torn photo card up between his forefinger and thumb for Amanda to see. She opened her mouth to scold him for the torn proposal but paused. What Spock was asking for would require her to pull several strings, and would require much arse-kissing to the Romulan royal family. They wouldn’t be too happy about being forced to relinquish their hosting privileges. Spock knew this so why would he request such a thing?
Unless - “You’re interested in James?” She questioned, gesturing towards the torn proposal. She watched as Spock flipped the torn photo card over in his hands, noticing then that they were shaking. He stared at the card with a look she had never seen, he appeared as if he were stuck in a trance. Interested was clearly an understatement.
It had been far too long since Amanda had witnessed any positive change in Spock's demeanor. The memory of him genuinely engrossed in anything other than sparring or meditation seemed distant and faded.
How could she refuse?
Smiling she said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
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“I still can't believe the Vulcan royal family is hosting this season’s courtship festivities.” Jim peered up from the manuscript he was revising. Sam had prattled on about the ball while he was getting ready and it seemed like he would continue for the entire journey there.
Setting aside the manuscript completely, “Well considering the hosts are determined by draw, it was bound to happen at some point.” Jim suggested. As a child, he had imagined they drew slips of paper with the different royals’ names on it out of a hat. Now he knew political factors more than chance determined each host. The grandiose events were directed at the proletariat class, with their ornate costumes and elaborate dances meant to impress and entertain. Neighboring regions were not only invited but encouraged to attend, as each region hoped to promote unity and prosperity.
It had been thirty-five years since the Vulcan kingdom had hosted a courtship season, the last one being centered around the arranged marriage of their king and queen.
Vulcans, it seemed, preferred their privacy above all else. Jim's own research had yielded very little about the royal family, or on Vulcans in general. The information available was frustratingly vague, offering just enough to avoid causing offense but leaving him with a sense of profound ignorance. The royal family was rather tight-lipped too it seemed. The only publicized controversy being the abdication of King Sarek's first son.
He reasoned that, like himself, outsiders knew very little about the intricacies of Vulcan society. Jim's own experience was limited to a single, fleeting memory. He recalled the time the university had partnered with the Vulcan Science Academy on a geophysics project. The faculty had assembled in the auditorium to welcome the esteemed Vulcan expert and his team. As the Vulcan scientist passed by, acknowledging the other instructors with a curt nod, Jim had tentatively raised his hand in the ta'al greeting. He had to bite his cheek to suppress a smile when the older Vulcan returned the gesture. He hadn't made a complete ass of himself that day, he'd had been too apprehensive to pursue any further interaction with the Vulcan team.
Reflecting on this, he sighed. He should have bothered Uhura and prodded her for the insider information that only she possessed. While the Vulcan family might be hosting, he doubted there would be any substantial mingling between Vulcans and Humans—or Vulcans and anyone else, for that matter.
Yet, it left him pondering: why were they hosting now? What had changed? Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought. It didn't matter. All of these balls were essentially the same, an elaborate dance of social posturing and veiled intentions. This one, he reasoned, would be no exception.
Breaking out of his thoughts he turned his attention back to Sam. “You’re truly excited to go? I thought you hated being my chaperone.”
“Of course I am!” Sam shot Jim a look of disbelief. “And I detest being your chaperone had Bones not been away he’d be doing this. He knows how to handle you best, man has the patience of a saint.” Jim snorted at this, Sam rolled his eyes in response before continuing, “It’s taken over thirty-five years for the Vulcan kingdom to be selected as the hosts. We know nothing about the family! And-”
“Please Sam give it a rest, I'd prefer to do anything else besides this.” Sam shot him a disapproving look.
"This is a rare opportunity to experience Vulcan culture up close. We should be grateful for the chance to attend."
He fought the urge to roll his eyes, "Grateful? It's not like I had much of a choice in the matter."
Turning once more to his manuscript in an attempt to drown out Sam’s drivel, he sighed silently to himself. At least when a lower royal was picked to host it didn’t cause such a commotion. The announcement of the Vulcan family hosting caused chaos to erupt in town, with families frantically gathering all their resources and businesses being overwhelmed with orders. Neighboring establishments even began prioritizing locals over outsiders, making commission requests a constant source of bickering among different families. The university was abuzz with talk of the upcoming season and Jim couldn't escape the endless discussions between staff and students. As the weeks passed by, the anticipation for the event only grew more nauseating.
His mother, always prepared, had commissioned six new ball suits to be made for him. Jim being a participant was expected to adorn himself appropriately and had very little say in the matter.
He paused in his editing and looked at himself in the mirror that hung opposite the carriage wall. Tonight's attire was a white and gold ensemble. The sleeves of his shirt were puffy, adorned with gold trim around the cuffs. His vest had a pointed collar and was fastened with gold buttons and chains down the front. His pants, high-waisted had a slight sheen to them, made from a delicate fabric that his mother must have spent a fortune on. It was the last season he was forced to attend so his mother had put all her effort into making everything perfect.
She had scrubbed him raw in the bath and afterward instructed him to apply a thick cream over every inch of himself, including his face and hands. He realized a little too late that this cream caused one to sparkle after applying. The glitter flecks were subtle, and though much of his skin was concealed (save for his face and hands) under most lighting, he was sure most people would notice. To top it off, she applied rouge to his lips, and no matter how hard he scrubbed the color stayed.
But the shimmering lotion paled in comparison to the horror that was his hair. Jim nearly gagged when he caught sight of it in the mirror. A feather! His mother had actually stuck a feather in his hair. It was a ridiculous, outdated accessory for any courtship participant, let alone him. Of course, she'd insisted he grow his hair out for the season, just so she could further decorate him for these blasted balls. The elaborate updo, complete with the offending white plume, was undoubtedly only the beginning. He shuddered to think of what other over-the-top hairstyles she had planned for the rest of the season.
Jim tore his eyes away from his reflection, away from the feather - he hoped for his sake Vulcans found the thing as repulsive as he did.
Turning his attention back to Sam, who seemed to have an endless supply of chatter, he sighed. "Look, Sam..."
Sam stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, a defensive gesture. "I'm just curious, that's all," he said, glancing out the window. Jim could see the wheels turning in his brother's head, and he desperately wished he could just shut them off.
"It's just another ball, Sam. Maybe the royal family is trying to be different, stand out from the other royals." He hoped that would satisfy his brother's curiosity, but Sam just waved a dismissive hand.
"Come on, Jim. They haven't hosted in decades. There's got to be more to it." He slouched further in his seat, then turned back to Jim with a glint in his eye. "Remember what Mom said about the queen and king?" Oh, no, not this again, Jim thought.
Jim couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Do you really believe our mother, the hopeless romantic?"
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "I hate the one that has made you so cynical. But I don't think mom has any reason to lie. She was friends with the queen, after all."
Jim felt a surge of irritation, but he bit back a retort. No need to bring up old wounds. "Queen Amanda and King Sarek's marriage was arranged," he said flatly. "It was political, not some grand love story like mom makes it out to be."
"Jim—" Sam began, but Jim cut him off.
"And seriously, do you think a Vulcan and a Human fell in love at first sight, as she puts it?" He couldn't keep the sarcasm from his voice.
Sam shook his head, clearly not amused by his flippant attitude. "Maybe not at first sight, but they could have grown to love each other. They did have Prince Spock, you know."
Jim smirked. "Yeah, well, fucking to make an heir is part of the job description for royals. I doubt most royal kids are products of love."
Sam's jaw dropped. "Jim! I won't have you ruining your chances with that kind of talk again!" He threw his hands up in exasperation.
Thankfully, it seemed like Sam was finished with his ramblings, for now at least.
Sam and his mother, like most in their society, had romanticized views of love. It wasn’t entirely their fault; after all, courtship season and the grand balls that took place during it, were deeply ingrained in their society. Their mother had met their father at a ball, and she often claimed it was one of the best things to happen to her - second to birthing her sons. Sam had met and fallen in love with Aurlean, two seasons ago and was infatuated with her from the start.
The courtship balls were known for bringing couples together quickly; many ladies, lords, and all others found love at these events and were married by the following spring. It had been this way for over a century. He knew that Sam and his mother meant well. That underneath all the poking and prying about courtship, marriage, and balls - they just wanted to see him happy. But he knew better; he had learned his lesson after-
He rubbed his temples and took a few deep breaths. An odd headache seemed to be creeping up on him, a persistent buzzing at the back of his head. He pushed away the unwelcome memories of the past - of him.
Tonight, he needed to focus on appearing disinterested and avoiding unwanted advances. Even after three years, the lingering effects of being named Diamond of the Season still attracted unwanted attention. Social status was everything, and despite his somewhat tarnished reputation, he continued to receive plenty of propositions. He knew that most of these suitors were not genuinely interested in him; they were more obsessed with his past accolades and how it would elevate their own standing. And then some saw him as a challenge, a prize to be won, making the whole situation even more unbearable.
As the carriage continued to bump along the cobblestone road, Jim was jolted out of his thoughts. A sense of unease crept into his stomach. He craned his neck to look out the window and saw the towering pillars of the Vulcan kingdom looming ahead. There was something about the air surrounding Vulcan that seemed to crackle with intensity.
The warm amber glow of the setting sun bathed the land in a golden hue, casting long shadows that danced across the desert terrain. He found himself captivated by the beauty of the rugged landscape, a stark contrast to the lush greenery of his region. The passing towns appeared constructed from hardened clay, building structures adorned with intricate engravings, and massive minarets rose in the distance, piercing the sky and casting long shadows over the land.
As the Vulcan kingdom's gates loomed closer, he glanced at Sam, who seemed lost in contemplation of the impressive sight. The kingdom, nestled against towering cliffs and shrouded in swirling clouds, was undeniably awe-inspiring.
Jim took a deep breath, his palms gliding over the smooth fabric of his trousers in a futile attempt to still his trembling fingers. The nagging headache pulsed, demanding attention, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the neglected manuscript in his lap. The carriage ride still had a good twenty minutes left, and he desperately needed to regain his composure, to silence the whirlwind of anxious thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him.
This is the last one, he reminded himself firmly. Just one more courtship season to endure. Tonight's ball would be no different from the countless others he had attended.
Uneventful. He clung to the word like a lifeline, a desperate hope in the face of the mounting dread he felt.
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The grandeur of the royal Vulcan kingdom was unlike anything Jim had ever seen before. As they made their way through the kingdom, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by its lavishness. Each room seemed more magnificent than the last, filled with towering archways and intricate designs that reached toward the sky. The castle walls gleamed in the setting sun, reflecting his image at him. Each window was carefully placed in perfect symmetry, adding to the overall elegance. He could only imagine how stunning the main dance hall would be.
The hallways were packed with well dressed attendees, all being directed inside in an orderly fashion. Jim caught a glimpse of Sulu across the way and hollered his name, enthusiastically waving to him. His grin grew wider as saw Sulu eagerly wave back. He paid no attention to the disapproving stares from the other guests, simply grateful to see a familiar face at the event. He hoped Uhura and Chekov had already arrived, the more people he could latch onto, the less chance he’d get stuck in an unpleasant conversation.
With an event of this magnitude, there was bound to be at least three hundred in attendance. As he surveyed the waiting area, he speculated that there would be even more guests than that. Shuffling forward they were ushered up a winding staircase, Jim took note of the portraits and tapestries adorning the walls. The faces of past kings and queens seemed to watch his every move, their eyes following him as he passed by. Each tapestry told a story of battles won and alliances forged, weaving a rich history that pulsed through the very walls of the kingdom.
Upon approaching the top of the staircase he could see the announcer and the imposing thrones where the royals were seated. The buzzing in his head had reappeared tenfold and his skin grew clammy. “It's hot as hell in here.” Fanning himself he ignored the exasperated look Sam gave him. They were now a few steps from the Announcer and waited patiently as the other guests had their introductions with the royal family.
Peering over the banister he caught a glimpse of the grand ballroom below. He noticed two guards opening large glass panel-like doors that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. These panels lined in marble and covered in intricate carvings were swung wide open, inviting the cool refreshing air of the evening breeze in. He watched as the drapery that hung against the pane danced upwards towards the massive skylight that hung over the ballroom.
Lost once more in the beauty of the Vulcan kingdom, he practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of his name being called. “Sons of Geroge and Winona Kirk. I present eldest son George Samuel Kirk and youngest James Tiberius Kirk.” The Announcer nodded dismissing them.
They made their way over to the dias where the royal family sat. Jim could feel his heart pounding as they approached, the queen held a warm smile on her face. The two Vulcans at her side remained expressionless.
Before either brother could properly bow in greeting the queen beamed at them, startling them from where they stood. “Finally you two have arrived!” She was more lively than he had expected, exuding a warmth that reminded him of his own mother. “I am so pleased to finally meet you both.”
"Y-Your Majesty, we are honored by your invitation," Sam said.
"Just ma'am is fine," the queen interjected, causing Jim to raise his brow in surprise. Throwing honorifics to the wind? Just how close were his mother and the queen? He stood silently as the queen and Sam continued to exchange pleasantries.
“Our mother sends her regards. She became sick days before the ball, she is deeply sorry she couldn’t make it tonight.”
“As I told her already, she need not apologize. I’m sure she and I will have several opportunities to catch up,” she paused glancing towards Jim, there was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Especially without the hindrance of such formal events.” Jim furrowed his brow, unsure of what she meant. Judging by Sam’s tight smile in response he wasn’t sure what to make of the comment either.
"Anyway, I hear congratulations are in order. Sam, your mother tells me your dear wife is pregnant.”
Sam beamed with pride, his posture straightening before responding."Yes, we are expecting our first child. We couldn't be more thrilled." As their conversation continued, Jim's attention started to wane and his eyes began to wander.
He spared a glance at the King who looked every bit intimidating. Immediately he averted his gaze, instead focusing on the King’s long green robes that touched the floors. The fabric was thick and had gold detailing, but he was too far away to see what the patterns could be. The queen wore a flowing white dress with traditional puff sleeves and a corset that cinched her at the waist. She wore a similar robe to the King’s over her gown, but the gold detailing was placed differently. Her hair, dark with streaks of gray, was up away from her face, styled in an intricate braid style that he assumed was a Vulcan fashion. As if sensing his gawking, she turned slightly from Sam and gave him a quick wink. He couldn’t help but squirm under her casualness.
He averted his eyes once more, focusing on the different colors etched into the marble floor. Growing bored with this, he couldn't help but notice the prince who sat directly in front of him. The prince's outer robe matched those of the king and queen. As he examined the intricate gold detailing, he recognized it as Golic Vulcan script. He didn't understand the language, but he admired the elegance of its graceful swirls and curves, reminiscent of a musical score. His eyes then moved upward to see that, unlike the queen, the prince wore a striking black tunic that contrasted sharply with his fair complexion.
“James.”
His hair was a deep, rich black and fell over his shoulders. Like all Vulcans, he sported the traditional bowl-cut, but his bangs were perfectly groomed, almost too perfect. He had a strong urge to tousle them and run his fingers through the glossy strands. Familiar brown eyes that he couldn’t quite place met his own. Despite belonging to an otherwise expressionless face, they held a softness akin to the assorted chocolates he’d sneak out of the pantry as a boy. The blue eyeshadow on the outer corners of his eyes caught his attention. He couldn't help but snicker at the thought of the prince applying eyeshadow to himself.
“James.”
However, the more he observed the prince, he felt that it suited him quite nicely. He was quite attractive and had a face that was charming in the stereotypical prince way. He had a magnetic energy about him that was almost palpable, drawing Jim in. He then spotted the prince’s pointed ears and suddenly wondered if Vulcan ears were erogenous.
“Jim!”
Sam’s voice snapped him back to reality, who then gestured towards the queen. He watched as her gaze flicked between him and the prince. He willed away the heat that was rising up his neck and dared grace his cheeks. Embarrassed at being caught again for staring, at the prince no less, Jim quickly composed himself and offered a polite nod to the queen. “Your Majesty,” he said, trying to keep his tone steady despite the unease swirling within him.
The queen’s knowing smile only added to his discomfort. “Just ma’am, James. I asked how the semester is treating you. Things must be busy at the university with courtship season.”
“F-fine ma’am, everything’s going well. Just Jim is fine too.” He managed to say, mentally scolding himself for stumbling over his words.
“Jim is oddly shy tonight. He’s having another article published,” Sam added with a proud smile. If he could throttle Sam he would.
The queen's eyes sparkled with interest. “Oh, an article? How exciting! What is it about, Jim?” He raked his brain and tried to think of a way to summarize three years of hard work and research into just a few words. This was not how he imagined meeting the royal family would go - standing awkwardly and discussing his work in front of all of them. His discomfort was evident as he nervously offered, "It's not that interesting."
He shot a desperate look at Sam, eyes silently pleading for him to take over the conversation. Sam took the hint, “Please he spent the entire journey here editing his drafts instead of being excited for a party.”
“I wouldn’t consider this exactly a party,” Jim mumbled. He didn’t miss the pointed look Sam threw at him.
The queen's lips curved into a polite smile. "Well, I do hope you have fun Jim, both of you," she said, turning to include Sam in her warm gaze. With a graceful wave of her hand, she dismissed them.
He waited for Sam to pass before following suit. As he turned towards the ballroom staircase, an inexplicable urge prompted him to glance back at the prince. Their eyes locked once more, and the prince raised a questioning eyebrow. Great, the prince probably thought he was an idiot. Not that he particularly cared, but he would have preferred to leave no impression at all rather than a negative one. He tried to console himself with the thought that the royal family had many more guests to greet; the prince would forget about him soon enough.
Yet, as he descended the staircase towards the ballroom, he couldn't shake the feeling of those dark eyes boring into his back, following his every move.
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The grand ballroom was a marvel of Vulcan architecture. The walls were adorned with shimmering tapestries that seemed to stretch into infinity and pulsate with a life of their own. The floor, made of polished obsidian, was alive with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and change under the flicker of chandelier lights. Dining tables were arranged in a precise geometric pattern, draped with simple, elegant linens, and adorned with delicate arrangements of native Terran and Vulcan flora.
At the center of the dance floor stood a raised platform, where a quartet of Vulcan musicians played traditional instruments, their melodies filled the air with a soothing, meditative sound. The most striking feature of the ballroom was the skylight, for Jim now saw how massive it truly was. It was a masterpiece of engineering and artistry, a breathtaking window to the cosmos, offering a panoramic view of the star-strewn sky.
“If you keep eating those you’ll ruin your appetite for real food.” Sam scolded as he watched him stuff almond tarts into his mouth.
"They’re so good,” Jim moaned, savoring the delectable combination of buttery almond crust and sweet raspberry jam filling. After taking in the beauty of the ballroom, he couldn't resist making a beeline for the appetizer table. The food was one of the only redeeming aspects of attending these tedious balls. He greedily shoved several tarts into his mouth at once - Sam only had himself to blame for making him laugh, causing the jam to spill out at the corners of his mouth. With a quick swipe of his left hand, he cleaned up the mess and sucked the remaining filling off his fingers.
“Please Jim, you’re wearing white! At least gorge yourself on something else.” Sam pleaded, gesturing towards the other dishes on display. Rolling his eyes but deciding to give Sam a break, he turned away from the tempting tarts and looked at the various hors d'oeuvres spread out. To his surprise, there were more human foods than expected, including a significant amount of meat. It seemed odd for a mixed event to cater so specifically to human tastes.
“I wonder if the queen is responsible for these touches to the ball?” He voiced, knowing Sam had also noticed these details too.
"Well, considering the queen is, well, you know," Sam waved his hand vaguely. Right, she was human. And it was courtship season.
The purpose of the season was to encourage interspecies relationships, and the queen, being the only human to have paired with a Vulcan, technically made her an expert on the matter. But previous seasons, hosted by humans, hadn't been this elaborate. Even the Romulan ball six years ago hadn't been so meticulously planned. So why was tonight's ball so different?
He shook his head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t matter, nor would it change how he acted tonight.
Reaching for a red grape, he was taken aback when the yeoman offering the tray paused, lingering until he'd filled his plate. This was odd; he hadn't noticed such attentiveness towards other guests. He dismissed it with a shrug, assuming he'd simply caught her on a good night.
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Jim and Sam settled into vacant seats at a centrally located table, Jim was too engrossed in the delectable Vulcan fruit and spreads to notice the sudden hush that had fallen over the grand ballroom. Sam, ever the more perceptive of the two, caught the change in atmosphere and nudged Jim, drawing his attention away from his plate.
Jim turned to see the cause of the stillness. Every eye in the room was fixed on the main staircase, where the prince was making his descent. He moved with a regal grace, weaving effortlessly through the crowd, his gaze sweeping across the room. And then Jim's heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. The prince's dark eyes met his, holding his gaze with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine.
He was walking directly towards their table. No, that couldn't be right, Jim thought, but those dark eyes were locked onto his, his sights fully set on Jim.
Panic seized Jim, his hands trembling as he reached for Sam. "What the hell is going on?!" he hissed, his eyes wide with confusion. Sam, just as bewildered, could only offer a helpless shrug in response.
In a heartbeat, the prince was standing before them, his intense gaze fixed solely on Jim, who still had fruit in his mouth.
"James Kirk," The prince said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the entire room.
Jim's body seemed to seize up, his heart a frantic drum in his chest, the rush of blood in his ears deafening. He forced down the suddenly tasteless fruit, struggling to rise to his feet with some semblance of grace.
A shallow bow accompanied his stammered greeting, "Your Highness." He felt his face make a smile, or as close as he could get it. "I'm...very flattered you wish to speak with me. To what do I owe the pleasure?" The prince's gaze seemed to intensify, pinning Jim in place and making his stomach churn. He found it increasingly difficult to meet those dark, penetrating eyes.
"May I see your dance card?" he inquired his voice a steady baritone.
Jim felt his cheeks flush. "Why?" he blurted out, earning a few muffled groans from the surrounding tables. Maybe playing dumb would get him out of this because surely The Prince didn't want to dance with him.
Before the prince could respond, Jim cut him off – a potentially treasonous act, he realized later. "It seems I left it at home. A polite way of saying 'no thanks,' he thought.
He wasn't going to be pressured into dancing with anyone, not even royalty. "Besides, Your Highness", he continued "There are many lords and ladies here who would love to dance with you." He gestured towards the crowd.
"I do not want to dance with them," the prince replied, his gaze unwavering. "I want to dance with you." The room seemed to grow even quieter at this. Jim's mind went blank. A buzzing sensation started behind his eyes as he stared at the prince, mouth agape, feeling the weight of a thousand eyes upon them. The gasps and hushed whispers only amplified the tension. This scene would be the main topic of conversation for weeks. His mother would probably faint when she heard about it.
Forget tousling, he wanted to rip the prince’s bangs off. God, He wanted to scream. Instead, he tried again. "Your Highness–"
But before he could utter another word, Sam rose to his feet and smoothly handed Spock a small booklet from his breast pocket. "Here is his dance card, Your Highness," Sam said with a grin. "My brother can be quite forgetful, so I often end up carrying his things. "Jim watched in disbelief as Sam eagerly offered up his dance card, pen at the ready. But when the prince opened the booklet, Jim's heart sank once more.
A single, bold signature filled the entire page – the prince's.
"I- I think you misunderstand, Your Highness," Sam stuttered, gesturing to the prince's signature. A dance card typically had four lines for four different partners, and it looked like the prince had claimed them all for himself.
"No, you misunderstand." Locking eyes with Jim again, he felt pinned once more, this time like prey caught in a trap. "I will dance with James the entire night, and I will be his only dance partner." He gave Jim another hard look before departing – but not before Jim caught a fleeting glimpse of a smirk playing on the corner of the prince's lips, as if he found all of this amusing.
The ensemble resumed playing, filling the ballroom with a lively melody. As Spock ascended the stairs back to his throne, he paused at the top, his eyes locking with Jim's once again. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension as their gazes held for a moment. Jim felt a whirlwind of emotions – shock, embarrassment, and a strange thrilling fluttering in his chest.
Overwhelmed, he stumbled away from the table and made a hasty retreat to nearest privy, he was going to be sick.