sweet as salty tears - part ii - Prince!Vash x Reader
part i
I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man
— "willow" by Taylor Swift
For four days, you do not speak.
That isn’t true. You do speak. Just not to Vash. And when you do speak to him, it is cordially. Refined. With an air of indifference and commonality that makes his skin itch. None of the banter you usually whip him with, none of the happiness in greeting. None of the friendship you’d both worked so hard to cultivate.
Meetings are stiff. You hurry away from them at the end, heedless of his calls for you to wait. You don’t answer the door between your rooms anymore. He stopped knocking when you sent a servant to tell him so. It was so unexpected he feels ashamed to even look in that direction in his rooms. All the while, Nai gives him glowering stares. ‘Do what needs to be done’ hangs over his head like a gray mist.
He refuses to. This is his marriage. Not Nai’s.
Vash is at his wit’s end, though. For four days, he’s tried to speak with you. Corner you. Do something to bring you back from this apathy toward him. Yet it’s like you’ve started your marriage all over - acting like strangers, you skittish as a mouse and just as quick to hide. All you’re missing are the whiskers to twitch when you smell the cat coming.
But I’m not a cat, he thinks, hurrying down a hallway to a meeting with foreign dignitaries. You’ll be there. Maybe then he can catch you. Talk with you. Explain what you overheard. His hands flex at his sides. I’m your husband. And isn’t that better?
In your mind, perhaps not. He misses you again at the meeting. You use the servant pathways to escape when no one is looking. You’ve always been slippery, and Vash hates feeling like you’re slipping from his fingers after working so hard to hold you.
“What did you do?” Meryl asks on the fifth day. She watches you retreat from the gardens as he and she enter them, dropping the flower you had been admiring. The flash of blue from your dress disappearing around the corner stays in his mind’s eye. Meryl’s eyes turn accusatory and glower at the prince. He flinches. “She won’t even tell Milly. It must be bad. What did you do?”
He opens and closes his mouth. “I’ll fix it,” he eventually says. “I will.”
Meryl crosses her arms. “Do it. Now. Whatever it is, apologize and grovel if you have to.”
That’s the thing, though. He isn’t sure where to start. ‘Sorry I said I’d rather divorce you than do what Nai wants?’ or ‘It was a misunderstanding; I want to be married to you, but not at the cost of our freedom?’ He isn’t even sure those are the problems. What did you hear? What did you think?
“I think,” Nick says, blowing smoke out his pipe and glancing over his sun spectacles, “that you just need to spring the trap already. Playing nice isn’t helping.”
Vash groans, beating his head against the brick of the castle. The servants bustle around the corridor, heedless of their prince and his paladin. “She would hate me for disrespecting her boundaries.”
Another puff of smoke. “Think she’s already there, your Highness.” When Vash gives a strangled, heartbroken look, Nick sighs. “Maybe not hate. But it’ll turn into that if it keeps festering.”
“So what should I do? Barge into her rooms and demand an audience?” He crosses his arms and taps a boot, sullen. “She might not even care about what I say.”
Nick chuckles. “She cares. Probably more than is healthy. You’re both just too dense to see it.”
“Hey!”
His friend gently knocks on the prince’s head. “Spring the trap. But don’t let her feel trapped. That’s what sets you and your brother apart.”
Spring the trap. Right. Okay. Vash decides there could be better wording for it, but…Nick’s got a point.
It comes to an end the night of the seventh day. He waits for nightfall, when the busiest of servants have gone to bed and the guards are a bit more lax. Not that it should matter, but if you do call the guards on him…well. That will be a whole other issue.
Vash watches the door connecting your rooms. The light fades on the other side, under the door. When he hears the last servant leave for the night, and sees only a single light of a candle shine through, Vash does what he said he would never do: he opens the door between your rooms and steps in.
You’re sitting in a chair by a dark window and the single candle he predicted. Looking up from the book you were mindlessly scanning, a jolt of surprise courses through you, but before you can stand and run, Vash is kneeling at your feet, taking your hands between his. “Wait,” he says, “please, wait, I-I need to speak with you.”
The skin on your back crawls. Voice quavering, you breathe, “You opened the door — “
“I know! I know, but you’re giving me no other choice. I need to speak with you!”
There is something to be said about a woman being pursued by a man as relentlessly as Vash has you. If it were any other man, you’d be retching with the possible implications of what he is doing here. But…But it is Vash. And no matter your feelings, he has never given you a reason to distrust him. So, you settle back into your seat, back ramrod straight and lips thinned. “There is nothing to say. As I said before, we — “
“No, no! You didn’t hear everything!”
You tilt your head. “Your Highness, I heard enough.”
Your Highness. Not Vash. Not ‘husband.’ “No,” Vash shakes his head and then bows it. “No. You don’t understand.” He looks back up. “I would not divorce you.”
You stare blankly over his hair. “It does not matter if you do or don’t. It is a contract of convenience, Prince. Not of romance or love.”
Vash doesn’t believe that. Not for a second. You two have grown too close to believe that. He says so. “You are my friend,” he stresses, “and I…I would not choose another wife than you!”
You glance down at him. He looks…pitiful. Intentionally pitiful, with big eyes and a pouty lip. Even his hair has more dishevelment than normal — like he’s been running his hands through it. A bolt of irritation strikes through when you realize it’s working. “It does not matter, Prince. We have duties to perform. It is what is expected. Whatever you and the king were discussing about our marriage does not concern me, unless you need my aid with my former kingdom.” You hate how you have to speak around a tightening knot in your throat when you say, “If a new marriage is what you desire, I’m sure our kingdoms can come to an agreement.”
Your husband sighs heavily. “Is…Is that all you think…?” He pauses, then shakes his head. “Our marriage…it’s…I love our marriage. And I don’t want another, no matter what you heard before.”
The curls of your updo shake when your chin quivers. “Then why — “
“Nai was suggesting I take a mistress. Or…Or force myself on you. One of the two.”
You blink. Blink again. “Oh,” is all you say.
Vash presses forward, earnest, sincere. “I told him — I’d rather not be married at all than do that to you. I’d rather there be a divorce than have my wife…than do that to my wife…” He shakes his head. “My mother never told us stories of our father and his ways, but the court did. Our nanny did. There was always a sadness in her…I think it’s why she never remarried, even after his death.” His nose twitches, frowning. “I thought Nai and I were on the same page in that regard. But I suppose not.”
“Not when it comes to the kingdom,” you whisper. Vash gives a reluctant nod. You shift in your chair. It feels nice to hold your hand again. Even better that you aren’t pulling away. You take a quiet breath through your nose. “Vash, it is what we’re expected to do. Have heirs. We…have been putting it off.”
Vash sighs and stands to pace. “I know.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I know,” he says again, “But…but not like this! Not forced upon by everyone else!” His brows twitch. “I’d rather fight them all off at once than dare kneel to their expectations.”
Fiddling with your fingers in your lap, you look down. “We can’t hold them off forever. They’ll threaten to strip you of your crown. Your titles.”
He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Let them. It is not as if I’ve ever cared for them.” Then he stops and sighs. Mutters, more to himself than anyone, “But that isn’t fair to you.” He turns and says, “You didn’t choose to be married to me. I can’t drag you down with me.”
“I don’t mind it,” you say. He’s surprised to find the words sound true.
He’s sick of it. All of it. All he wants to do is help people and make the world better. He can’t as a prince — not in the way that matters. Not in the way he wants to. Always talking Nai down from wars, stealing small moments with the common folk around Julai’s borders, attending balls and parties when there are cold and starving people on the streets.
Vash stares for a long, long moment. You shift under his gaze. Then, he laughs. “I’ve got a crazy idea.”
“Oh no.” Your lips twitch up. “That’s never a good thing.”
Again, your husband comes to kneel before you. With his hand in yours he says, “Let’s run away.”
You laugh. Seeing his serious expression, your smile drops. “You know we can’t. We’d have the whole kingdom hunting us down!”
“So we go far away! Far enough that no one’s heard of Julai or Nai or a runaway prince and princess!”
“Vash — “ And oh, how he loves to hear his name on your tongue again, “you’re right, that is a crazy idea. What would we even do? We have no…no common skills to help us. We’d be on the run for years; we couldn’t stay in one place for long.”
Vash pushes forward. “We’d learn. We’re smart. We’d have each other, and we can use different names. We could actually see the world.” He can see it now. Faraway deserts, oceans, climes of snow. Solving problems as a person, rather than an unreachable prince. “And, eventually, we start our own little farm, in a forest, with a horse and a cow and a garden.”
“...and goats?” Vash blinks up at you. A sheepish glare is sent his way. “I like goats. The ones with long ears,” you say.
Gently, he places his chin in your lap. “If that is what you want. Goats galore. You could even sell cheese.” His eyes turn faraway, and he has a wistful smile. “We could learn from the little old woman down the road how to make it, and make soap so we don’t smell so foul.”
“And press our own paper, and make candles and learn how to pluck chickens for their feathers before we cook them.” You’re catching on. Your own smile turns just as dreamy, just as distant.
Vash’s blues look up at you. “I can mend our clothes. Mother taught me how to sew herself.” His head lolls to the side, cheek pressing into your thigh. “Maybe open a clothier business. With the wool we’d get from our sheep. I can hunt for us. I’m a good shot with a bow and sling.”
Careful, you place a hand on his head. His smile has turned sad, eyes glinting like watery gems. “You’ve thought about this before.”
His hand reaches up to cover yours. “I’ve thought about it every night since I was little and was shown what people can really do.” He sighs. “All I’ve ever been taught is how to posture and strike a deal to stave off battles or wars. I envy those who can live so freely. It may not seem like it to them, but at least they can choose what jobs they want, what clothes to wear, who to love — “ he cuts himself off, tensing.
Your hand smooths over his golden hair. “It’s okay.”
The sigh that comes out is small. “I have grown to care for you,” he admits, and it sends a warm, shocking tone through your stomach. “But we never would have chosen each other.”
“No,” you agree. Your hand moves to his ear with the earring. You play with it. “You’re too wild for my sensibilities.”
Vash laughs and squeezes your knee. “And you’re too intelligent for my good.”
Your brow raises. “Would you really have preferred a dumb wife?”
He shakes his head. “Just a little bit. Just to get away with more before being caught.”
“Ah. But then you wouldn’t be able to rely on her to cover up for you.”
“True. That is a plus.”
A silence blankets the room. Soft, dark as a dreamless sleep. Your hands weave through his hair. You can feel his breath through your clothes, spreading on your knee with each puff. Then, Vash admits, “I wouldn’t want to choose anyone else, though. Now that I know you.”
Your hand pauses its ministrations. It’s strange how easily he can make your heart race. That almost sounded like an admission. Unbidden, your lips curl into a smile. “That’s very sweet of you to say.”
“No,” he says, and sits up. The room has gotten so dark now; the candle’s flame is small and guttering. You can only see the silhouette of his form through the dark blue window behind. “I mean it. I don’t ever, ever mean to choose anyone else. Not a mistress, not another wife, no one.” His fingers tangle with yours. “And it’s…it’s not just because I took vows to stay faithful.”
He has you at a disadvantage. You can’t see his face, but he must see yours thanks to the light of that window. Swallowing, heart in your throat, you ask, “What else is there?”
A heartbeat. Five. Seven. Then, he stands — slowly, like he might scare you off. But you aren’t scared. You’re…you’re…
He leans forward, and after a halting, scalding breath, takes your lips to his.
It is not your first kiss with him. Or the second, or third. But it is the most passionate one yet. Full of longing, and fear, and yes, love. Your hands move to grasp his shirt, his settle on the chair’s armrests, leaning over you — so, so careful to not put his weight on you, to not make you feel trapped. To make you want to kiss him.
And oh, how you’ve wanted to kiss him.
He’s wanted to kiss you, too. His arms shake with restraint; he will not let himself lose control. But his lips press again and again to yours, soft and supple to his bitten and scratched ones. You smell of your bath oils — vanilla and cinnamon, like a treat he gets to enjoy. He wants to. Gods, does he want you. But the image of Nai’s sharp blue eyes cut through the haze, and he feels himself retreat: not like this. Not with him watching. Even just in his mind.
So, Vash is the first to pull away. He is delighted to see you chase his lips. Instead, he places his forehead to yours. Both of you are breathless, hearts hammering, tongue-tied. For a long, long moment, neither of you look away from the other.
“Are we still friends?” He asks, meek as a mouse.
The look you give is so bewildering, Vash laughs. Your own lips quirk up. “I…yes, we’re still friends.”
“Good,” he says, and kisses you again.
It is another two minutes before he breaks away for a breath. You ask, “Do you really mean it? To run away?”
Vash tilts his head, a certain glint in his eyes. “Why? You considering it?”
You brush through his hair, thinking. His eyes close at the feeling. “If we did,” you whisper, “where would we go first?”
“Where do you want to go?” His voice is just as quiet. Blues opening again, he stares long and softly at you. “What do you want to do?”
Licking your lips (and Vash watches that action very, very carefully), you say, “We could…visit the libraries of Augusta. And see the Jeweled Coast during dragon season?”
He hums. “The Jeweled Coast. I’ve seen some paintings, but it would be exciting to see ourselves.”
Ourselves. As a team. A partnership. You nod and continue. “I’ve heard the Forests of Ash have healing properties growing within. Maybe we could spend a year or two gathering supplies for villages and universities.”
“Is that where our homestead with the goats will be?”
You smile. “Eventually.”
Vash breathes out a laugh. He lays his head in your lap and groans. “We can’t.”
Your smile turns sad. “I know.”
Nothing more than ramblings to keep you both from the ledge. There is duty, and loyalty, and a need for someone good — like the two of you — to use the powers you have for good. And, damn it all, he’ll make his mother proud of the kingdom she left to him and Nai…in spite of his own wants and feelings. Vash knows this. It’s how he got into this marriage in the first place.
“But it’s nice,” he says. The marriage, and holding your hands, and everything that comes with it. “It’s really nice to have you back.” He looks up again. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” There is another kiss, interrupted by a long yawn from you. “I’m sorry. I think this has taken its toll on me.”
Vash shifts. His legs are starting to fall asleep where he is kneeling. “I’ll leave you to go to sleep, then.”
Your hand, though, grasps his just as he stands. “Will you…? I mean, if you want, you can…you can stay the night. Sleep.” At the searching look he gives, you feel yourself heat. “Just sleep.”
He laughs and nods his head. “I wasn’t expecting anything, I promise.”
“Good. Because you’re not getting anything besides a pillow and blanket.”
And a very, very pretty wife, he thinks as he heads to his rooms to change clothes, lighter than air and walking on clouds.
He’ll still have to deal with his brother. The court. Even the people, who expect an heir so that their own lives aren’t upended or in turmoil. But that is for another night. Tonight, he will fall asleep with his wife and revel that at least he got one thing right.
You.
A/N: Ohohoho I have PLANS now people. You're in trouble.
dividers
