The princess walks through the halls of the castle, candle light flickering in the wall sconces.
She pauses, turns her head to glance over her shoulder.
“I do wish you wouldn’t lurk in the shadows like that, Shiro.”
Her champion’s laugh is soft as he steps out of the darkness. “My place is behind you, not beside you, princess.”
“Oh, please,” she huffs, waiting long enough for him to fall into step beside her. He’s tall, broad-shouldered but she almost matches him for height. He walks silently, not even the toughened leather of his leathers creak in the quiet. “Since when do you and I ever stand on formality?”
“Never, it would seem,” he muses. “But you should really get some rest.”
“Not you too,” she sighs. “Coran has been telling me for days. But there’s so much to do, so little time. If the rumours are true-“
Shiro stills, turning to her and she mirrors his stance. “Allura,” he says softly, his voice kind and warm and trusted. “You’ll be no good to anyone if you wear yourself down like this. You need to have a clear mind if you’re to lead the armies to defend us.”
“Yes,” she whispers, her lips dry. “I know.”
It’s nothing for him to leap across the battlements, to run through the night as one with the shadows, only the glow of the moon to guide him. Nothing for him to scale the heights to the tower proper and slip into the shadows silently. These heights were nothing to what he’s experienced in the past, nothing that could threaten him.
He hears them before he sees them, the princess and her champion, discussing battle plans around a wide circular table. Against one wall logs in the fireplace crackle and pop as they burn, it’s burnished light washing over the rugs on the stone floors.
He listens to their quiet murmurs for a moment, cataloguing the space. It’s not much different to what he remembers and without hesitating further, he slips through the open window and drops soundlessly to the floor.
He melts into the inky shadows.
They’re striking to look at. Twin heads of platinum starlight, tall, beautifully proportioned figures adorned in the functional but delicate armour the Alteans were known for. The princess wears her hair long, braided down her back and draw back from her face. Under the armour, her markings are all hidden save for the two half crescent moons that lie against the dark skin of her cheeks.
He’s lost in the memory long enough that he doesn’t realise the champion has moved. It happens fast. A wide hand curls around his throat, reefing him out of the shadows and slamming him to the ground.
The champion. Fuck. How did Keith miss that? One moment he was at the princess’s side, then next he was standing over Keith’s prone form.
Keith blinks, struggles to breathe under the boot on his throat. He snarls, the smell of dirt and leather stinging his nose.
“The only reason you’re not dead is because the princess sensed you three miles away.”
Goddess, but the champion’s voice is like warm honey, dangerous despite his silky tones. He’s beautiful too, dark grey eyes that sit over high cheekbones. His hair shines like polished silver in the firelight, the kind of silver strands that told Keith he’s been touched by magic. Only the royals and highest castes had these kinds of silver locks, but there’s a buzz against Keith’s brain that tells him that this hue didn’t come naturally.
Undead, something hisses. The boot against his throat is removed and Keith rolls, leaping to his feet and settling into a crouch.
“Hell of a welcome,” he snaps, irritated by the soreness of his throat. “-if you knew I was coming.”
The princess steps forward, a hard twist on her lips that couldn’t possibly be a smile. “It serves you right for not using the front door.”
“Come through the castle gates?” Keith scoffs. He resists the urge to press the pads of his fingers against his throat and rub. The champion still eyes him warily, positioning himself between Keith and the princess. A snarl tries to rise its way up inside him, but it’s fair. He’s the princess’s protector after all. “I’m sure that wouldn’t have sent me languishing in the dungeons at all.”
“Such little faith in my hospitality, Keith.”
The champion’s eyes flicker with something Keith can’t understand at the mention of his name.
“It’s never you I doubt, Allura,” Keith answers softly.
There’s a charged moment of silence that makes Keith’s heartrate pulse in his throat. It’s been years since he saw the princess, years since they’d been close friends. He hadn’t considered their friendship may have changed in the intervening years. She had the champion now.
The champion, who stares at Keith with narrowed eyes and a faint curl to his lips.
“Highness,” Keith amends stiffly. He drops to one knee and bows his head. It burns to offer such supplication. He is a creature of the wilds, free and lethal but it burns more to know that he owed her so much.
“Arise, Yorak,” she says softly and when he looks up, her arms are open.
He climbs to his feet and walks into her embrace. It’s been years, but she still smells the same. Something about his heartbeat clicks then settles into a new tempo, a beat that marries with Allura’s and a part of the magic in his blood sighs and whispers home.
“It’s been too many years,” she murmurs. “Welcome back.”
The champion escorts Keith to his chambers.
The princess had insisted on keeping the new arrival close. The same wing that holds her own rooms, the same wing that has his own. This man is small, lean, all sharp lines and sharp voice.
He’s beautiful and Shiro knows he could rip him to shreds the moment his back is turned.
But he’s part of the princess’s inner circle, and Shiro long since swore to protect that. Ever since she laid her hands on him, healed his failing body, and his dark hair turned white.
“This is yours,” Shiro says, pushing open the wide panelled door and motioning for Keith to step through. Inside, three maids rush around with linens. They bow hurriedly as they slip past, the door sliding shut behind them.
“Hm, nice,” Keith barely glances around.
He would be happier on the ledge, exposed to the stars. Happier with the dirt under his back, the energy of the earth humming against his blood but for now, this would suffice.
“Why now?” the champion asks after a moment. “Why are you back now?”
Keith’s pacing pauses instantly. His shoulders stiffen but he doesn’t turn. Shiro can only see the dark line of his jaw, the dark braid that hangs down his back. He truly is beautiful to look at. Skin moon pale Shiro would love to taste, hair Shiro wishes he could touch. Is it as soft as it looks? And those eyes, sparking with something hungry and wild that calls to magic inside Shiro’s blood.
Shiro narrows his gaze. “It’s already here.”
