Magic in JuLai, while not illegal, is severely looked down upon. This is different from your own kingdom, steeped in magic as it is. But you are the eldest and a princess; you know how to control yourself. No one bats an eye at the various pieces of paper you keep hidden in your dresses, assuming they are simply notes you’ve taken in your role as JuLai’s new princess. Your lovely handwriting hides the spells and magic ready at your fingertips should you need it.
Vash has learned how to hide his own as well. There’s always been a murmuring of what his and Nai’s actual parentage is, but no one’s been brave (or stupid enough) to bring it up. And since no one’s looked into it, he hasn’t had anyone to talk to about how he sprouts feathers when easily flustered, or how the area around him gets warped and dark when he is too stressed. He has also learned how to keep himself guarded and closed off. The last thing he wants is to hurt someone.
Still, it’s hard to hide these things from one’s spouse. Vash notices you pull out these papers and mutter things from them before putting them away. Somehow, the room of angry delegates calms down within seconds, like a blanket of calm has wrapped around each person. Somehow, a room appears cleaner than even the maids could accomplish. And somehow, you slip away without being seen or missed until it’s far too late. It has Vash wondering, and often trailing behind you with interest.
You return the favor with curiosity. You’ve always known Vash’s and Nai’s ears to have a point to them. One day, after Vash trails you, you turn to him and take one of his ears into your palm and feel it.
"Wha-What are you doing?" he asks.
You hum. "I think your ears are quite lovely. I like that little point they have."
A heavy blush overtakes your husband's face. "The physicians always said it was a cartilage break."
Your brows raise. "On both ears? For you and your brother? Strange."
Vash shakes his head. "Why are you looking at my ears? That's strange."
Your lips quirk up, and Vash can't help but look at them. "Stops you from becoming my shadow for a moment, doesn't it?"
He reaches up and takes your hand in his. "You slip away so easily. I just thought...I want to know where you go."
A simple answer that makes your heart warm. Not demanding, just wondering. Without preamble, you take out a small piece of paper from your bodice. He looks at it when you hand it to him. Written in your native tongue, it takes him a moment to parse what it says. "'Silent steps lead to new horizons?'"
"It's much more direct in my language. It grants myself permission to leave without being noticed. I found it in one of my mother's studying books from when she was a girl."
Vash realizes then. "Scriptomancy?"
You nod. "My mother and grandmothers are a long line of accomplished scriptomancers. You write down what you wish, and, if the universe complies, it is granted when read aloud." You give a shrug after a moment. "In simple terms, at least. It would take an age to explain everything."
Your husband reads the line again. Tries to say it with your accent, subtle as it is. He feels no different. You smile when he looks around. "How do you know it works?"
"Practice. Scriptomancy is a subtle art, based on feeling the words. Writing in general is like that."
Vash nods then looks up. "You haven't answered my question: where do you go when you slip away?"
Your lips thin. "Just...out. I have...well, I have always been quite adverse to crowds and people. I love them, but...from a distance is better." You look to the side, out the window to the countryside. "I go to the library, or some corner in the castle. Once I even ventured out to the town, but had so little time to look around before I had to come back..."
He grins and squeezes your hand. "We'll plan a day out, then. You should see the kingdom where the people are!" At your tense smile, he tacks on, "there's a couple libraries throughout, and trinket shops. We could start there."
A hum of interest comes from you. You go on your tiptoes and peck his chin. "I think I would like that, husband. And thank you for not throwing me in chains for practicing my magic." You give him another kiss on the cheek for good measure.
Feathers sprout from his cheeks and jaw. Your eyes go wide, and Vash sputters, "I have to go!" and flees before you can see more.
Not until someone opens the large window to your balcony in the middle of the night.
Sleep snaps away in an instant. He lies still, head on your clothed stomach and ears perked. Stops his breathing. Footsteps, quiet but sure and coming closer. Closer. The sound of a dagger being drawn.
Your husband sits up and throws himself across the bed, across you, and takes the blow from the knife to his shoulder. He rolls with it, the would-be assassin crying loudly as Vash barrels into them.
It is chaos. You scream awake, the doors to your rooms fly open, the assailant backpedals and knocks into the bench of your vanity. Vash has one of the sheets trailing behind, stuck to his shoulder with the dagger like he's a pin cushion. His feet tangle and trip over it. The assassin cries out, shoving at the prince, but they both land bodily on the floor.
There's yelling. His yelling, yes, but also others. He can't hear them; Vash struggles with the person beneath. It's not much of a fight; this person is small, almost frail. A lock of gray hair slips out from their hood. Vash reaches up and grabs the crown of their head and smashes it back into the floor — hard.
They still.
The yelling continues, and it slowly gets through to him. There are hands on his back, warm and solid, and then there are your hands, cold with fright and soft.
"Get up, get up." Wolfwood says. He grips Vash by his good arm and hauls him to his feet. "You got 'em."
"Vash." Your voice trembles.
He breathes deep. Suddenly, it hurts a bit. Actually, a lot. The prince winces. He doesn't want to move his shoulder. There's warmth trailing down his night shirt, down his side and to his legs. Blood. Right, he got stabbed.
Your call comes again, "Vash?" And he turns to look at you. Your eyes are wide with fright, even in the dimness of the room. Fright for him. Your jaw moves, looking at his back, the hilt sticking out of it. Your feet slap the floor as you go to the door and cry out, "Healers! We need healers!"
A commontion in the hall, more voices calling out in answer. Wolfwood steps into his line of sight. "They get you anywhere else?" His friend looks him over quickly, tapping his sides and legs with fingertips trained to find wounds.
"No," Vash says, heart still hammering. He shakes his head. "No, they got — it's just my shoulder."
"Were there more of them?" The paladin steps away and starts searching around. Under the bed, in the armoires, the bathroom. Vash lurches after him. He hadn't thought of that. He starts looking everywhere. The balcony is empty, no ropes. Just the small footsteps in the light snow that fell an hour ago. Like a veil, the bedsheet drags behind.
Footsteps outside the room. His blues snap to the hallway. There is more light there; candles of people and servants coming to see what the matter is. Meryl barges past them all, her nightgown trailing her ankles. "What happened?" Milly follows, careful to move around the servants and gawkers. The tall brunette takes your trembling hands in hers and starts whispering words of comfort.
"Someone— " you nod at the heap of bedraggled cloth still lying by the vanity, barely breathing, "came in and…" Your lips tremble, then form a hard line. "They stabbed Vash."
Vash's nostrils flare, and he walks over to you. "They were going after my wife," he corrects.
Eyes snap to you. Your back straightens in surprise. Before you can answer, Vash continues, softer. "They didn't know you'd…I mean me, in your room…"
Everyone goes quiet. It's a bit of an open secret at this point that you and Vash are shy about the bedroom. Even sleeping in the same bed, though that has changed in the last month. Waving off the tension, Vash concludes, "They thought you'd be alone."
You look down. "So they know us."
Three healers arrive then, pulling on shawls to fight the cold and adjusting glasses. Vash is ushered over to your reading chair. "You Highness," one of them says, "do you feel any tingling from the wound? Or your fingers?"
"Any unusual lethargy? You haven't lost much blood."
"No, it's not poisoned," he answers, though allows them to check to be sure. You come over quickly and take his hand while they work. He squeezes it, giving you a smile. You have a hard time returning it.
"Well," Wolfwood says, kneeling next to the assassin and digging through their clothing, "whoever they are, there's no note." He pulls down their hood, revealing a gnarled, wrinkled face: an old woman, mouth hanging open with rotted bottom teeth poking out. His eyes narrow.
"Wouldn't that be lucky," Meryl says, going to him, "'I, the assassin, was sent by so and so to murder the Princess from this location and this organization.'" She snorts derisively. "Be serious. What else do you see?"
Wolfwood tuts. "She's dressed in rags. Clean rags, so that you'd think at first glance she's a beggar."
"A disguise?" Milly asks.
"No," Vash says, wincing as the healers begin to work the dagger out of his muscle. He keeps talking to distract himself. "Trying to trick us into thinking a certain way. Nai wouldn't allow a real beggar within a hundred feet of the castle."
"Where were our guards?" You ask. No men or women in clattering plate armor came in when they heard the ruckus. They weren't anywhere in the coming and going crowd outside the room either. Your eyes go to Wolfwood. "And how did you know something was wrong?"
Wolfwood looks over his glasses. "Went to the guardhouse to check in on a report on some bandits caught. No one was there; not in their beds, the towers, nothing." He grunts and shoves the assassin to her side. A small groan emerges. "Sure, there were guards everywhere else, but none in this quarter. Got suspicious. Had to check on you both. Got a bad feeling." Wolfwood looks at Vash, then. "And I was right."
"On three," the healer murmurs, and Vash tenses. "One—" she pulls the blade out, and Vash gasps.
Your hand clasps your mouth and you look away. A small groan crawls out of your throat.
Your husband squeezes your other hand tighter, both for your distraction and his. "Must be bad, making your stomach turn."
A heavy swallow. "Wouldn't know," you look at the corner of the room as the healers take off his shirt and begin packing the wound with herbs and cream, "I looked away before I could see." Your lips tremble into a smile when he laughs.
A hiccup alerts you all to the assassin awakening. She hiccups again, eyes rolling from the back of her head. They're bloodshot. "Where…wh…" Another groan. A gag.
Wolfwood rolls her to her side and she vomits. He moves the hair on her head and tuts at the lump forming. "Concussion," he mutters around his pipe. "Bad one." He looks to the healers. "Come to the dungeons when you're done with the prince. We need answers from this one. Milly—"
"On it," she says. With a smile and a hup! she lifts the assassin and throws her bodily over her shoulder. The assassin groans more and heaves a gag. "Let's get you to your cell, miss assassin!"
"Better hurry," Meryl grumbles. She watches as Wolfwood takes a pair of small iron cuffs and locks the attacker's hands behind her. Spittle dribbles down Milly's back as the assassin dry heaves again. "I don't think she's in the best condition already."
For a moment, Vash feels remorse. He'd just wanted to stop the attack, not hurt someone so badly. But…He feels your trembling fingers in his. Brings your hand up to his lips to press a kiss there. You still, looking back at him with tired eyes. Better her than my wife. That blade was aimed for your heart. It would have cut through your dress, your skin, your bones. His shoulder throbs, and he kisses your fingers again, insistent, scared, relieved. Much better.
"Who would have done this?" You mutter. You watch the healers carefully wrap your husband's shoulder with poultice and gauze. "Why?"
"My guess," Wolfwood says, coming back over while watching Milly, Meryl, and a few others leave to march through the castle, "is someone isn't happy with how the crown is taking over so many kingdoms lately. Maybe wanted to get back at the king, send a message. But," he shrugs, reajusting his large weapon on his back, "could be wrong. Could just be some crazy crone."
But why my wife?Vash wonders. If whoever did this wanted to get at Nai, they should have gone after his brother, not the princess. Why not Vash? Why not Nai himself? Why now, why not while you two travel, why, why, why.
Too many questions, and no answers.
A/N: Setting this thing up for the Runaway™ we're wanting lol
Riri's backroom is silent; the "garden" you codeworded to Vash. There are bags of flour, wheat, and a silent threat hanging in the air.
It was hard to get to the bakery without guards seeing you. You used more than a few of your slips of paper and whispered spells to do it. The affects are apparent—your pallor is gray, and your hands shake as you bunch your dirtied skirts into them, sitting on one of the crates. There's an iron taste in your mouth. Too many spells, too out of practice. A year in this kingdom will do that.
A tumble at the back door. You flinch and try to stand, but then the door opens, and you see the hooded form of your husband and his knight in the way.
Vash is on you in an instant. His eyes track over your dirty, torn skirt, the wrapped wound of your arm. He focuses on that red stained bandage. "What happened?"
Before you speak, you look at Wolfwood. He chews his pipe and nods, shutting the door behind. "No one followed us. And I'll hear if anyone comes." He leans against the wood and crosses his arms.
Vash squeezes your good hand—when had he taken hold of it?—and begs you to talk. "Please, what happened?"
With a sigh, you tell the short sordid tale. Goosebumps raise on your arms as you do, reliving how close you were to the snake hiding under your noses. Vash's face pales, reddens, and pales again throughout the story. Wolfwood looks meaner and gruffer by the end of it.
"Guards were ordered to be on the lookout for you," Wolfwood mutters. His fingers tap on his arm. "Said you were a spy of the state and trying to escape."
That's…an escalation. "What made him lash out today?" You wonder. "Why now? When he's been so careful?"
The knight shrugs. "Bluesummers has been known to be…overzealous at times. Probably got too worked up about his little 'problem' Nai needs fixed."
It's then you look at Vash. He'd been so quiet. He's taken your hurt arm in his hands, running a gentle finger over the bandaging. The tip of it is stained pink from blood oozing through. You lay your hand on his to stop it. "Vash? What do you think?"
Your husband blinks. Blues like the summer sky focus back to you, blinking again. He's so pale. But there's blotches of obvious anger in his cheeks too. "Are you alright?" His voice is soft, quiet. Like he's still far away.
"Yes," you say, doing your best to keep your voice level. "I am now."
He nods. Nods again. Then he pulls you to him, and holds you close and fiercely.
It's shocking enough to break the dam a little. Tears well in your eyes. With the smallest sniffle, you bury your face into his chest. His hand goes to the back of your head. Steady. Wolfwood has the decency to look away from the act. Vash whispers something in your ear, but you're too busy holding back a sob to hear it. His hand goes from your head to your back, rubbing it up and down, up and down.
Then, he says, "Nai will fix this."
The soft, warm feeling of being held and comforted evaporates like water in a furnace. Your stomach drops. "Vash—"
But your husband pulls away and stands. "Nai wouldn't do this. Not to us. Not to me. He'll hear me out; he'll deal with Bluesummers."
Wolfwood balks. "Are you serious? Your brother is likely the one who sent Bluesummers in the first place! You realize that, right?"
Vash's brows furrow. "Yes. That's why I need to talk with him."
"Talk—?!" Wolfwood leaps off the door and gets in Vash's face. "That man just tried to kill your wife, and you just want to 'talk?!'"
A strange, dark energy fills the room; it warps the walls, makes bags of flour sink through the floor. A rumbling like a distant earthquake sounds. It feels…colder, here. A breath of fog escapes your mouth. Your senses prick with the unease of knowing magic is suddenly present. Something you don't know. Something dark. Powerful. You want to reach for your papers and ink, but fear it would be nothing compared to…whatever this is.
So you look to your husband. Vash's fists are clenched a snow white. They shake, digging nails into his palms. His ears are pointier. The subtle baring of his teeth show their sharpness. Black feathers sprout from his jaw, his hairline, and his eyes are eerie, glowing like fire even amidst the growing darkness. It's…him, you realize. He's the one causing this magic.
Your voice dies in your throat when you try to talk. Instead, you reach out and grab his wrist. He flinches. There's an audible snap as the tension loosens, and the magic disappears. No, not disappearing…being held back. Vash's violent blue eyes turn on you. You try not to shrink. The look on your face must tell him something, though, because he shudders, and the magic falls away like ink into a crack.
When he's taken a few deep breaths, the prince turns to his knight. "I want to do a lot of things right now," Vash whispers. A chill of terror crawls up your spine. His voice has the sound of a thread holding everything back. "But I will talk with Nai first."
Wolfwood, to his credit, doesn't seem as nervous as you felt with what just happened. Still, he subtly sheaths the ebony sword on his back he had begun to pull out. His nose crinkles with anger. "Sure. Go talk to the tyrant. See if words of peace will really help." He clenches his pipe between grinding teeth. "He'll lock you up and make you watch her die."
"Not if she's far away," Vash murmurs thoughtfully.
Both men's eyes turn to you, a singular strain of thought passing between them. This time, you do shrink. "I don't like those looks..."
A/N: You can tell how off my game I am in this LOL but we persist!!!
Not if I can help it, you think, seeing the tall, lean man waiting for you at the end of the hall. You don't pause your stride, but you do start thinking.
Meryl was called away early this morning on urgent cartography business, due to the Southern Lands doing what they do best and suddenly turning and twisting away important ports and mines. Milly went with her, stuck to the hip as they are, but not before slipping you a dagger to hide on your person. "A present," she whispered with her sweet smile, "in case I'm not around with my axe!" It is made of mithril, meant to glow faintly when danger is near.
You do not have time to check the dagger, quick as you are coming to Bluesummers. But your mind likes to think it feels a heat from the dagger waking. Something is not right, not with this man.
"Your Highness," his smirk is telling as he bows low to you. Interesting, he hasn't bowed that low before. When he stands, he offers his arm—an invitation.
"I'm afraid I'm meeting my husband here soon," you say.
"Then I shall take only a moment of your precious time," he responds. His arm does not fall to the side. He means to talk with you somewhere else.
You have your papers. And your dagger. You fiddle with the locket around your neck before taking his arm. You're only mildly surprised to not feel actual oil from touching him. "Very well. What is it you want to talk about?"
The man hums as you both start walking. It is a bright day; sunlight dances down the alabaster columns to the left and small bugs buzz through the air. A tangle of ivy creeps up the banisters. "I have a few questions for you, Highness."
He pauses as a maid goes by. She barely glances at you two, hurrying a curtsied bow before rushing away to her duties. You merely nod, noticing the way Bluesummers glares after the woman. "Speak, then."
Bluesummers pulls you forward, barely making you trip. He merely smirks down at you as you fumble and look up at him, peevish. "My apologies, these legs of mine get the better of me sometimes!" When you steady yourself, he continues, "How have you liked the kingdom so far? It has been nearly a year since you wed our dear prince!"
Your lips purse. "I love JuLai," comes your practiced reply, the one you save for curious and well-meaning denizens, "it is a splendor to behold, and King Nai is a fair and kind ruler."
"And your husband? Are you two agreeing with each other?"
Agreeing? "I…suppose? We haven't had any large disagreements, if that is what you mean."
"Then it is both of you who are preventing an heir from being born?"
You stop talking. Bluesummers walks forward a few more steps, then stops walking. Your arm is in the iron grip of his elbow. "That," you say, "is a matter between myself and my husband."
"On the contrary, your Highness: it is the matter of the entire kingdom. The future of the land, I would say." Bluesummers' eyes turn toward you, wolf-gold and hunting. "And matters of the kingdom are my business, after all." He smiles at whatever look you have. "Do tell me, princess—is it an issue with your blood? We have physicians and magicians to help with it. No? Then the intimacy is the issue? I'm surprised, the prince has always seemed so vibrant and vigorous."
Your cheeks heat. You try pulling your arm out of his to no avail. "Tha-That is inappropriate—!"
Bluesummers yanks you close, suddenly, flush against him and his starched clothing. "Or perhaps," he hisses, "it is simply the prince himself? Does he not suite your outlander tastes? Do you wish to conquer us like your barbarian father conquered your own kingdom?" His smile has slipped away. Those eyes glow a dangerous yellow. "I beg of you to remember your place here, princess. The king expects an heir. That is what you agreed to. And if you won't give him one, well…things can be arranged."
There's a threat there. A cold, ancient threat every woman learns to fear. Grinding your teeth, you spit back, "If you're so concerned about an heir, have Nai marry someone and give it!"
"King Nai's seed is too precious to be wasted on the frivolous women of this world."
You reach for your sleeve, the small, thin dagger from Milly hot on your arm. The hilt comes out, but Bluesummers is quick. The blade slices your arm as he takes it from you and points the blue, glowing dagger at your stomach. "Or perhaps we shall go with the original plan: get rid of you, and allow Vash to marry someone more suitable."
You play the part, reaching up to your locket and gasping, subtly unlocking it and touching the paper within. "Marath," you say, and disappear from Bluesummers' sight and grip.
You aren't sure if he screams after you. It doesn't seem his nature. But you collapse on the outskirts of JuLai, just beyond the walls. Your skirts are muddied, and there are a thousand bugs ready to crawl on you as you gasp and try to get air back in your lungs. You hate that spell.
But what you hate more is Bluesummers. The lying snake who finally bared his fangs. He who sent that assassin nigh a month ago. You're lucky his poison missed you…for now.
You stand after a moment. Some denizens walking in through the nearby gate pause at your appearance. One, a farmer and his two sons, stop their ox cart and call out. "You alright there, my lady?"
Well, nothing to do about your ruined clothes. You manage a bright smile and walk toward them and the path. "Yes, quite! Just got a bit carried away with my study of the plants."
He gasps. "Your arm..."
Ah. There is that, too. Blood slowly trickles down your skin and drips to the ground. Your lips thin. "Um, yes, do you happen to have bandages?"
As the youngest farm boy wraps your arm with what they have, you pause and look over their wares. "Tell me, are you going to market? Would you mind if I tagged along for a moment?"
The farmer takes off his hat and bows his head. "Be an honor!" He ignores the strange looks his sons give him and clears a bit of the back lip of the cart. "Here, to rest y'er feet!"
You settle on the cart, and you're off through JuLai in a moment. As the cart sways and you bat away the incessant summer flies, you pull out a sheet of paper and whisper the words you write with the pen you hid in your bodice: "Meet in garden. Developments in case." Then, you say the words meant to transfer your message to Vash's own paper on his person. The words disappear as though blown away.
Now, there is only to plan. And hope Vash does not overreact too egregiously.
Tossing a request into the pile. King Nai and Prince Vash get a surprise. One puppy each. Or Prince Vash gets to have two puppies. Whichever. I just want a happy Vash getting love snuggled by a fuzzy puppy that adores him. Plz and tyvm.
Okay, so this went a bit wonky as I wrote, but I hope you still like it! <3
Prince!Vash x Princess!Reader drabble
Word count: 0.3k
Your husband comes to you gleeful. That is normal. What isn't normal are the two balls of fur held in his hands.
"One of the hunting hounds finally birthed!" He laughs, handing you one of the small bundles. It's clean fur suggests Vash's care for them. You hold the grey thing, its tiny grunts and unopen eyes all there is to it.
"Is that where you've been the past few days?" Vash's shoulders hunch guiltily, but you smile to let him know there's no bite to your remark. Careful, you hold up the pup. It's got a spot of black over its left eye. Your lips purse. "Should it be from its mother right now?"
Vash watches, lifting a finger to rub his own pup's back. "For a moment they can be," then, he turns somber, "we're actually a bit worried about them. They haven't latched onto their mother in two days."
"So you're hungry," you coo at the pup. It only lets out another grunt. "Have you tried feeding it with a soaked rag?"
Your husband smiles. "No. Didn't even think of it. That's why I came to you; you always have good ideas."
"Well then," you tuck the pup into your belly and meet your husband's side, "let's go take care of them."
Vash balks, "But, you're not dressed for the hound den!"
You look at your gown, then over to Vash. He's dressed down in simple slacks and a loose white shirt—a handsome combination, if he weren't also stained with dirt and smelling like dog, now that you notice. You humph. "Very well, I'll go change." You reach out and tug on Vash's pierced ear. "Always worried about my dresses."
Vash flushes at the touch, but grins. "Get ready to get dirty, princess."
Thinking about the first time you hold Prince!Vash’s hand
Not while trying to move through a crowd. Not because you’re forced to dance in front of others.
But just because.
You’re out on one of the balconies in the early morning. Air is nippy with fall coming in. It’s been four months since your wedding.
Wolfwood sees you first, walking alongside the Prince in the hall. He nudges Vash and points. “She look lost to you?”
No, you don’t. In fact you look content, leaning against the railing like that, overlooking the distant forests surrounding the city. Vash moves without thinking, opening the doors and coming to your side. Wolfwood nods and takes up post at the doors. No need for someone to interrupt.
You startle at his appearance, but settle just as quickly. “Am I intruding?” He asks.
You shake your head. “Not at all.” One of your shy smiles peaks out. He’s been getting more of those lately. Much better than the blank stare he used to get. Very pretty. “I was just thinking it would be nice if someone was here.”
Bolstered by your invitation, your husband leans against the railing as well. The trees along the horizon have orange and red mixed with their yellowing leaves now. Outside the castle walls is a hammering—probably a blacksmith starting their day. A crisp breeze blows by.
Vash tries to look at you through the corner of his eye. You’re dressed for the day, of course, your hair pulled up and out of your face. It’s a nice face. Very pretty. Need to think of something else to describe her, he scolds himself. Nai would bite his ear off if he knew how dull his speech is getting.
“I used to,” he starts, clears his throat when you look at him, then looks back at the trees, “I used to ride my horse out there. Especially around this time of year. It’s very nice to hear the leaves, very…crunchy.” Vash feels himself flush. You’re talking about dead leaves, of all things?
That shy smile comes back. “My siblings and I would do the same in our forests. I love the crunch of leaves underfoot. Though, my brother would find worms and other bugs in them to terrorize the little ones.”
He feels his blush lessening, perhaps because of the air. “It didn’t bother you?”
You shrug, “Someone had to be the barrier between them when he tried putting the bugs in their dresses. I got used to it.” Though, you do scratch the back of your neck as if feeling a critter crawl there.
Vash hums. "Perhaps we could go riding today?" You look at him again, and he tries to not hunch his shoulders. "It's a nice day, after all."
Your lips press together. "Don't you have meetings throughout the day? I certainly do."
He smiles. "What's the use of our titles if we can't do what we want every now and then?"
The stare you give has his blush creeping up his neck and ears again. Just as he's about to retract his statement, you laugh. It's a wonderful sound; he doesn't think he's heard it before, but it is...nice. Very pretty.
"I suppose," you say, allowing another chuckle out, "we could cancel a meeting or two."
Victory: he both made you laugh and got you to agree to his shenanigans.
Just as he's about to turn back and cause the havoc promised, you do the strangest thing: you take his hand in yours, and squeeze. "Thank you," you murmur. Your hand is cold. He wonders then why he hadn't thought of fetching you a coat. But then he focuses on your grip. Soft. Small compared to his own. The barest of ink stains under your nails. The smile you give is a warm fire on a dark night.
He realizes, distantly, he's never truly felt your hands before; always focused on pulling you through the crowds when out and about, or dancing for everyone to see. There was never any time to consider...well, you.
He decides he likes the feeling of your hand in his. Very much so.
"For...what?" he finally asks.
You shrug. "For being kind. And dashing." You look away shyly at your statement.
His heart does a little lurch dance. His blush is full-force now. But, he does not pull away. Vash's own lips give a shaky smile back. "'Dashing,' huh?"
"Don't get a big head about it," you snip back.
He laughs and settles back on the railing, your side brushing his now, and thinks, maybe I could stay here just a little longer before I ruin Nai's day.
How we feeling about Vash once AGAIN being put through emotional and physical torture at the hands of Legato (and both looking way too good while it happens)
PLUS the reveal that Legato sees Vash as just as much of a god as Nai (if still a fallen god) and calling him “Lord Vash” ohohohohoho
AND (totally casual segway) it makes me wonder what Legato’s role in the Prince!Vash AU may be - if he has any similar views there 👀
Okay so I’m gonna just go right to Prince!Vash AU bc omg I was not aware of the freak Legato truly was
Legato is…something else. A poor peasant who was lifted to grand status thanks to the benevolence of the Royal Family. He is devoted. Deliberate.
Dangerous.
Kind Nai knows this. It’s why he plucked him out of the other useless rising stars of his mother’s “program” to educate the less fortunate in their kingdom. Legato is grateful for all Nai does. Sees the power capable in only his hands if the march for Empire goes through (and it WILL go through).
Legato sees the Royal Family in a holy light. They are different. Deliberate.
Dangerous.
So he isn’t very thrilled when Prince Vash is married to an “outsider” kingdom. He understands why, of course, but he would have preferred that kingdom be conquered before Vash married their princess. Have them see the glory they are being welcomed into. Becoming allies with kingdoms will not make an all-powerful empire. Still, he trusts Lord Knives. Who is he to question him and his ways?
So Legato watches Vash. Keeps an eye on him for his brother. Keeps an eye on this new princess, too. And he doesn’t like what he sees - the way Vash softens that much more when you are around, melting into milk rather than hardening into ice like Nai. The only boon from the marriage right now is that you are preventing another heir from being born, shy as you and Vash both are.
That won’t do, though. That was the entire point of the marriage, what Nai was hoping for.
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.
