Chapter Text
The rowdy crowd’s cheers were music to Ajax’s ears. Praise from the men who supported him. And boos, of course, from the fools dumb enough to bet against him.
He grinned, mouth bloody and bruised, ducking as his opponent, a hulking man twice his size, threw a punch with all his weight behind it. Ajax was quick, and before the man could even locate him, he was shoving him down, his knee digging into his back on the ground, pinning him.
“Next time, give me a challenge,” Ajax said, perhaps smug, but he was on a winning streak.
The man under him grunted. The crowd roared. Men cheered at the prospect of the money he had just won them, and even more men cursed his name.
Well, not his name, actually (and screw them for betting against him).
“And that’s all folks, today’s tournament winner is the rookie, Childe!” cried the tournament host, Yuri—once a champion himself. Soon after that, the crowd slowly dissipated, either to cash in on their winnings or head home with their tails between their legs.
Ajax left the stage with a grin, heart still pounding. These underground rings were where the real fighting was, and he was their rising star. He looked into the cracked mirror on the wall of his small partition. His hair, powered to make it appear lighter, rather than a particularly recognizable ginger, hadn’t begun to fade just yet. His face was ruddy with excitement, and he was pleased—it had emerged relatively unscathed this time. He could cover the bruised lip easily enough. Perhaps he would miss out on Katya’s chiding for once, and—
“Here’s your cut, lad,” Yuri said, head peeking inside the curtain and his hand holding a wad of cash.
“Thanks,” Ajax said. He pocketed the money. Later, he’d give it away.
“Looks like you have some admirers outside. Want me to tell ‘em to scram?” The host asked, with a grin. It had been a recurring thing, his group of gentleman callers. Ever since he entered the ring.
It seemed they liked him for more than his fighting prowess.
“No, no. I’ll handle them. Thanks, Yuri.”
As far as underground betting criminals went, Yuri was a good man. He could have sold Ajax’s body after the fight, too, just like the other scum of the city’s seedy underground wanted to. Ajax knew men had tried, he beat one bloody for insinuating he could be bought at all, and that served as a warning for the rest.
The men who came now were simply hopeless admirers.
Luckily for them, Ajax lived for the thrill of the fight. It made his heart race, got his blood pumping, and left him exhilarated, high on adrenaline, and unable to relax. He needed more, always more, never enough.
He walked out to greet them, six men of varied ages and social status. No one was familiar, good. Ajax’s eyes settled on a young man, maybe his age, or a little older, and he made his choice.
“You.” He said, pointing to the man, who looked like he had won the jackpot after all, as he followed him back inside.
...
His adrenaline high only dissipated when he came, splattering the cracked mirror with white. Ajax watched his chest heave in the mirror, taking a gasping breath, and another one, out of rhythm and surprised as his nameless lover groaned and warmth bloomed inside of him.
Oh, what a hassle.
Ajax bit down a whine as the man pulled his cock from his swollen hole—if he could say one positive thing about the man, he certainly didn’t shy away from giving it to him hard, just as he’d asked.
He swiftly yanked his trousers up before the man’s cum could drip out onto his thighs and the floor.
“That was absolutely splendid, Childe.” The man said, manner of speech outing him as some new money dandy. He turned around to watch as the man righted his own clothes, tucking his cock away and pulling out his pocket watch of all things to check the time.
“I must be on my way but perhaps we coul—”
Hang on. Was that really the time?
Fuck.
“I’m sorry, but I have a one-time policy. Do not come to my door again.” Ajax said, voice devoid of emotion. He wiped down the mirror with a towel before tossing it in the bin. “I have to go now.”
The man sputtered and made to protest, but Ajax was quick, and he slipped around him and out of the partition before booking it out of the building altogether, running towards the direction of Zapolyarny palace.
…
When Ajax squeezed himself through the half-open window of his quarters, the first thing he was met with were Ekaterina’s shoes.
He groaned.
“Your Royal Highness!” She said, and it was not out of respect. “You barely have an hour before you are to meet with Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.”
She was in charge of managing his household—read: keeping him out of trouble. Ajax was good at trouble—when he pulled stunts like this, she was the one who made sure his misbehavior went mostly unnoticed.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I just need a bath, and then I’ll let you choose my outfit. I won’t even complain.” Ajax said, far too casual for a man who had just broken into a palace via a second-story window.
He stood, kicking off his shoes and pretending not to notice Katya sighing before heading for his bathroom.
Perhaps Katya was taking her revenge for driving her insane with worry, selecting such stuffy formal wear. So many buttons on his tailored waistcoat, far too many golden embellishments, and stark white trousers that he knew would attract dirt like nothing else.
Ajax tried not to look so outwardly miserable as he approached the throne room. How long had it been since he last spoke to his mother? Alone? Perhaps on his eighteenth name day, when he came of age—a grand ball was thrown in his honor over many days, attended by as many royal families as they could cram into the palace. The Tsaritsa’s youngest prince, finally a man.
The purpose of the ball was, of course, to celebrate his eligibility for marriage. But all Ajax had cared about was the fencing tournament. He won, of course.
His mother presented him with the trophy, and she kissed his forehead. It was more affection than he had received his whole childhood. He reached out to embrace her, and she brushed him away like he was some unsightly dust on her dress. And maybe he was —unwanted, only meant to be seen or used, but not loved. The thought had broken him, and he spent the remainder of the festivities going through the motions, dancing with pretty ladies and dapper gentlemen, feeling like a prisoner in his very charmed life.
He began to sneak away after that, looking for excitement wherever he went. Taverns, where he drank firewater until he was sick and got into fights with angry drunks for flirting with their wives. Down the docks, where sailors and sellers bickered over the price of their catches and told tall tales of sea monsters and merfolk. Shady corners of the city where people sold their bodies and bets were made. He began to fight in the betting matches, uncaring if he won or lost. He just wanted to feel something, anything—pain, pleasure, all of it.
Ajax learned about life from his excursions—how to run from the guards, and how to disguise his appearance. How the normal folks the nobility looked down upon took care of each other. He experienced many new things. The feeling of exhilaration and thrill, the touch of hands on his body, the kisses of men and women.
Ajax learned that he had not lived, not really. Not in that palace where everything was plentiful except for love.
He was twenty now. After the ball, hundreds of marriage proposals had flooded their halls, but he had rejected them all. Ajax was content to live a double life, a prince and a ruffian, a fencer and a brawler.
“Your Royal Highness,” the guard at the throne room door said, “Are you ready?”
He nodded, and the doors opened.
The guard’s voice rang out:
“Announcing His Royal Highness, Prince Ajax.”
The throne room was opulent and shining, a show of wealth and might. His mother sat upon her exalted throne, and her eyes seemed to look through him as he approached.
He bowed, deep at the waist, a twinge of pain shooting down his spine from his earlier antics.
“Your Majesty.” He said. Formal, everything had to be formal, even if no one was around to hear it.
“Rise,” she said, voice devoid of emotion.
He did as she said, standing stock still like a soldier. Well, technically he was a soldier, albeit an officer who she forbade from ever seeing a frontline.
“It has been two years since you came of age. I have graciously given you two years to be an eligible bachelor, however, my patience is running thin.”
Ajax bit his tongue, holding himself back from speaking.
She continued. “You have rejected every proposal sent your way. Why do you neglect your responsibility to the throne?”
He hesitated, until she gestured to him, requesting an answer.
“Your Majesty, I do not feel ready to seek romance or commitment. Surely there is some other way I can be of assistance to the crown?” He asked, head down.
Laughter, then, like sleigh bells, high and bright. She was laughing at him.
“Oh, my child. I have eleven children. All adopted, plucked out of poverty by my benevolence, all for the purpose of strengthening this crown. You are my youngest. Pierro has children now—there is no possible way you will ever inherit this throne.”
“I am aware of that, your Majesty.” He said, through gritted teeth.
“So, then you know exactly how you shall be used to strengthen this kingdom. You were always meant to wed some rich noble’s daughter and ensure that her family gives a sizable investment to the crown. Or perhaps you would become an elderly lord’s trophy Prince—make him happy so that he promises every eligible man in his lordship to the Royal Army.” She said, voice almost mocking.
Ajax felt sick. He had known, of course he had known, but he never expected her to be so frank about it.
His mother rolled her eyes. “Oh, do not make such a face, Ajax. Your elder sister Rosalyne is very happy in her marriage to Rostam. Now we have a much better relationship with the Knights of Favonius, even if Mondstadt’s king still despises us.”
Rosalyne had wanted it, though. He sighed. It wasn’t worth arguing, as the Tsaritsa’s temper was feared throughout the land.
“Anyway, this meeting was not scheduled to admonish you. Rather, to congratulate you.” The Tsaritsa said, holding out a letter.
He moved closer to retrieve it but didn’t open it.
“Congratulate me?” Ajax asked.
“Yes, my dear. Since you have taken no interest in marriage, I have taken the responsibility of finding you the best possible match. I do believe that fate has smiled on us, for this is the best match you could possibly hope to receive.”
“Open it.” She commanded.
He obeyed. He delicately opened the envelope, and then the gold-embellished letter.
His Royal Highness Prince Ajax,
After a series of negotiations with your mother the Tsaritsa, we have signed a contract, in which I have been promised your hand in marriage.
I await your arrival in the Empire of Liyue, so we may begin the traditional courting period before we wed.
I have sent some books along with this letter so you may learn about Liyue before your arrival.
I hope our marriage will continue to strengthen relations between our two kingdoms,
Rex Lapis XXXVII
Emperor of Liyue