Chapter Text
“I’ll do it.”
Enji froze, fingers curling into a fist at his side, and didn’t turn around.
Shouto froze too, feeling his own eyes widen in shock at the words that had come out of his mouth, at the fact that he had actually stood up, followed his father out of the room, and dashed after him all just to say… he’d do it? He would do it? Him. Shouto Todoroki. He would--
Enji finally turned around and fixed Shouto with an expression so scathing, Shouto had to fight to keep his chin raised. “You’ll marry the Barbarian King.”
Shouto blinked. “Yes.”
Enji laughed once, cold, sharp, and bitter.
Shouto swallowed. “Who do you think more suited to play double agent with a country of warmongering savages? Fuyumi,” he drawled, making the name sound as ridiculous as he felt right now, “Or me?”
Enji rocked back on his heels and then crossed his arms over his chest. Shouto felt very small standing before him. He always did, when Enji looked down at him over his beard like that, even though Shouto wasn’t a child anymore, and he was easily within an inch or so of his father’s height, which made him a relatively tall man, all things considered. But he lacked Enji’s wide shoulders and thick arms and corridor-filling ego.
“And what makes you think he’d agree to that?” There was amusement in Enji’s voice now; it made the hair on the back of Shouto’s neck stand up.
Shouto just looked back at Enji as coolly as he could and said, “These people value strength above all else, do they not?”
“Yes.”
“Then who is the more appealing prize? The world over knows Fuyumi is only as good to you as the person you can marry her off to. Natsuo is your heir. And I’m--” Shouto’s mind spun. Your biggest pride. Your biggest disappointment.
Instead, he stepped back and held up his hands, palms up, elbows bent at waist height. In the left, he conjured a tiny orange flame; in the right, he called a plume of frost.
Enji’s face darkened now, from amusement to true consideration.
“Offer your worthless, nearly powerless daughter,” Shouto whispered, hating every word he was speaking and hating even more that he had to speak them, “And he’ll laugh in your face.”
“And if he’d prefer her?” Enji asked, musing this time.
Shouto swallowed, stomach sinking as he realized this was working, and it was his own neck he was risking. He dropped his hands to his sides. “A man like that doesn’t prefer a figurehead to a warrior. He’s got his own women if he’s so inclined. And I hardly think--” Shouto added, feeling the color drain out of his face when he realized what his father was implying, what it meant for him.
But Enji interrupted him. “You think you’re a warrior, boy?”
Shouto narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”
“Because it sounds like you just offered to be a whore.”
Shouto clenched his jaw, felt his teeth slide, but held his tongue. Enji just stared at him, looking smug and amused again, reveling in Shouto’s simmering fury. It never took long for Enji to conjure this feeling. Impotence and helplessness and pure loathing.
“If you send Fuyumi, if you can even get him to agree to it, she’ll die,” Shouto said finally. It was something of a gamble; Shouto wasn’t sure he should reveal his real reasons for offering to go in Fuyumi’s stead. It was almost as likely then that Enji would send her just to spite him. But if there was a chance Enji tolerated any one of his children more than the others, than it was Fuyumi. “She’ll be caught, she’ll be executed, and you will have another war on your hands.”
A shadow darkened Enji’s brow.
Shouto asked quietly, “When have you ever known her to tell a falsehood? Send her to him and her whole life will become one enormous lie. She’ll crumble. You know she will. It’s not in her to deceive.”
“Oh, but you’ve got that, don’t you, boy?” Enji hissed with an awful, taunting scowl.
Shouto just narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin, managed to be as insolent as was possible while still maintaining perfect posture and a neutral expression.
“And if they catch you?” Enji said finally, and Shouto understood why he’d truly chosen Fuyumi. Of the three heirs to Enji’s throne, Fuyumi was the most expendable-- she wasn’t the heir, or the strongest.
Shouto took another step back from Enji and lifted his hands again. Flames sprung into his left and flared without warning into a tower so huge it reached the ceiling, while from his right ice spiked into a series of spears that cracked on the stone wall beside him.
Enji’s arm jerked up to protect his face, and then he scowled as Shouto shook both hands and brushed the magic away.
Enji stared at him, and Shouto could see the thoughts twirling in his head, growing stronger.
And then he said, “Very well.”
He turned without another word and swept away. Shouto waited until Enji disappeared around a corner at the end of the hall before he sagged against the wall, heart hammering and palms sweating. What he had just agreed to. Agreed to do? To. To spy on the most dangerous man on this side of the world, to slither into that man’s court-- his bed even-- that. No. Shouto wouldn’t do that, he would simply refuse, and woe be unto anyone who tried to force him-- but--
He shook his head and straightened his shoulders again. He would do it because there was no other choice, because he hadn’t been lying to Enji.
If Fuyumi went, she’d die.
Shouto couldn’t lose another sibling. Not again. One was enough.
When he went back into the sitting room, Fuyumi and Natsuo were clinging silently to each other, shoulder’s shaking. They both looked up at Shouto when he came back in, the hope on their faces so obvious, it made up for the disgust and fear and fury swirling in Shouto’s chest.
He looked Fuyumi in the eye and said, “You’re not going.”
Fuyumi’s eyes got wide and then she started sobbing. Natsuo said in disbelief, “You-- you talked him out of it? She won’t have to go?”
Shouto shook his head. “She’s not going,” he said again. He wanted to keep it at that, but of course, he couldn’t. Of course they deserved to know. “I am.”
Fuyumi looked up at him in shock, going suddenly quiet.
Natsuo actually reeled, leaning away from Shouto with his eyes wide and his mouth open.
“Shouto,” Fuyumi whispered, bringing her hands to her mouth.
“I’ll be fine,” Shouto said very quickly. “Safer than you,” he added, giving her a pointed look.
“Neither of you should have to go,” Natuso said vehemently. But that was all he said.
All three of them knew once Enji had made up his mind about something, there was no talking him out of it. Someone was infiltrating the innermost circle of the Barbarian court under the guise of marriage.
Shouto was Fuyumi’s only hope.
*
As far as wedding parties went, this one was a very somber affair. Enji had negotiated to have the nuptials at the border of their two kingdoms, the place where the lush, rolling green fields of Shouto’s home collided with the rough, rocky terrain of the Outlands.
The two parties stood facing each other. On one side, the Todorokis all sat in regal resplendence atop white horses, a line of well dressed advisors and nobles behind them, and another three lines of soldiers behind them. On the other side was a milling party of barbarians, some atop horses, some not, all staring at the Todorokis’ neat arrangement with suspicion.
Shouto couldn’t see any of them individually really, but he noticed the way they were dressed. They wore several different styles of barbarian garb, with competing types of ornamentation. This was to be expected, Shouto assumed. The true danger of the Barbarian King, Katsuki Bakugou, was the way he had unified the tribes, seeking out, challenging, and beating each tribe leader in combat, one at a time, until he had the whole of the Outlands under his control. Before that, he’d never been a real threat to Enji and his reign.
But now. Now, there were rumblings that the Barbarian King wanted to turn his sights east, wanted to prove to the world over that he could conquer more than just a disconnected range of Outland tribes.
They had been waiting for far longer than was typical. Shouto was beginning to think maybe, just maybe, the Barbarian King had decided he’d rather start a war than marry Prince Shouto.
It was not to be however.
A sudden shadow darkened the sky, and Shouto looked up reflexively.
His jaw dropped. Beside him, Fuyumi gasped, and Natsuo’s horse started.
They had of course heard that King Katsuki Bakugou had a dragon, but Shouto hadn’t actually believed it was true.
The beast was enormous, and so vividly red it almost hurt to look at it. A huge gust of wind swept over all of them as it flapped its wings and began a slow and careful descent between the two lines of people. All the barbarians were cheering and screaming and whistling, and just generally making fools of themselves; the soldiers and nobility on Shouto’s side were all looking at each other for direction, faces pinched in uncertain fear. They only stayed still because Enji did.
The dragon landed, and lowered its head to the ground, revealing a man perched at a spot on it’s neck. The man leapt from the beast and landed in a spritely crouch before straightening up and patting the dragon twice on the head, like it was some kind of faithful dog. It sat there, red eyes trained upon the royal family, and didn’t move.
And then the Barbarian King looked up, and Shouto felt that glance in his very marrow.
His eyes scraped over Enji in disdain that Shouto could see even from here. They lingered on Enji as King Katsuki dusted off his clothing, straightened up, and began to march toward them.
Shouto had to fight to keep from gaping. He wasn’t armed that Shouto could see, and he was barely even dressed. He was wearing leather pants that tucked into sturdy boots, and was entirely bare chested, which, for some reason, made Shouto feel a strange heat in his cheeks. He had beaded necklaces thrown around his neck, black tattoos on his muscled arms, and a red cape with a white fur trim flung over his shoulders. It billowed behind him as he stalked toward the Todorokis, each step heavy and intimidating.
Shouto knew, had been told, that the Barbarian King was young, was only a few years older than Shouto himself. But that still hadn’t prepared him for… he hadn’t expected him to look… nice in a way. But he did. He had a rich lustre to his messy, unstyled blond hair, and even twisted up in a scowl, there was still something about his face…
Shouto lifted his chin and swallowed.
There was a long tense moment of silence when the King Katsuki reached them. He stopped in front of Enji’s horse, looked Enji up and down, and then turned away almost dismissively. There was a rumble of shock that passed through the assembled members of Enji’s court, but Shouto couldn’t help the little bubble of satisfaction that burst in his belly.
It was forgotten however, when the Barbarian King turned to Natusuo and pointed.
“One.”
He walked down the line until he got to Fuyumi.
“Two.”
She blushed into her fan, and the Barbarian King took a few more steps forward, halting, deliberately, in front of Shouto’s horse.
“Three.”
Shouto couldn’t help himself. He felt his nostrils flare and his nose wrinkle in disgust as the Barbarian King grinned up at him, eyes narrowed in challenge and ill temper.
And then he said, loudly enough that his voice carried to his own people across the gap, “Well, you certainly look like a bride.”
Shouto’s cheeks burned. He must have tensed in fury because his horse suddenly spooked a little, and he had to pull back on the reins to calm her down. Shouto didn’t say anything. He wasn’t supposed to say anything. This was supposed to be little more than a negotiation. The terms that had already been agreed upon would be repeated in private by Enji and this king, and then the wedding would take place. There would be an appropriate amount of pretend celebration, and then the barbarians would take Shouto and leave.
That was how these things were done.
This was all wrong.
“Get down from there.”
Shouto stared at him. And then because he truly had no idea what he was supposed to do here, he looked to his father. Enji had his eyes narrowed, but after a brief hesitation, he nodded.
Shouto dismounted, his own royal blue cloak fanning out behind him as he did. He’d been dressed in his very best regalia, all red and blue and trimmed in gold. He couldn’t ever remember being so trussed up. He felt uncomfortably like a pig dressed for a dinner table, like his softs silks were holding him down.
He made no deference to this king. He knew he technically should, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so much as incline his head. He was taller than the Barbarian King by at least a head. That was immensely satisfying.
The Barbarian King looked him up and down like he was a prize horse, and Shouto wanted to scream. Then he said, “Heard you can fight.”
Shouto jerked to look at him, unable to keep the shock from his face.
“Figured it was bullshit,” he said, voice like gravel in Shouto’s ears. “Pretty boy like you,” he scoffed. “Betcha can’t even swing a sword.”
Shouto felt his upper lip beginning to curl and he had to fight back a scowl. “Do you intend to send me into battle, my lord?” he asked quietly. The question was innocuous enough, but Shouto had stacked his tone with every subtle insolence his father had never been able to beat out of him. Had Enji heard, Shouto’s sheer disdain probably would have sent him flying into a temper, but Shouto was fairly certain they were speaking quietly enough that only Fuyumi could hear. She winced.
King Katsuki just pulled a face. “What, just so I can bury you later?”
Shouto swallowed, thought of Fuyumi, and managed to calm his simmering fury.
“Who fucked up your face?”
Shouto’s whole body tensed, rage spiking to a height that even he knew was dangerous.
The king made another rude, disgusted face, and said, very quietly, “Oh, I get it. He’s sending you because no one else will take a busted up second heir with half his face gone, right? If I’m gonna get a royal whore, shouldn’t he at least be pretty?”
He touched Shouto’s hair when he said it, reached out and flicked the fringe that Shouto had grown long and wore in front of his left eye, and at the familiar, taunting touch, Shouto snapped.
His fire flared so hot and so fast, his horse reared, and his fancy wedding livery went up in flames. The king vaulted away from him, so quickly it made Shouto’s head spin, but Shouto didn’t care, Shouto was going to murder him right here--
The king was laughing. After dodging the initial flare of fire, he just stood perfectly still and chuckled, and--
Shouto drew up short, chest heaving, and managed to bring his magic down into his hand instead of raging all up his arm like before. And then he became aware that everyone on his side was moving away, drawing weapons, whispering in fear, and everyone on the Barbarian’s side was cheering, shrieking, banging ragged swords against shields and just generally being celebratory.
The King grinned at him and said, “Impressive.” Then he held up his own hand and a ball of fire burst into the air and dissolved in a shower of sparks at about shoulder height. “That all you got?”
Shouto scowled.
And then he stepped forward with his right foot and sent a sheen of ice crawling along the ground to slick the stones under the King’s feet.
The barbarians cheered even louder, the dragon roared, and the King just grinned before he thrust both his hands down by his sides and literally blasted the ice at his feet.
And Shouto understood then exactly how strong this man was, exactly how true the rumours had been. Shouto could taste magic like smoke on the air, and magic lived in this man the same way it lived in Shouto. It was strong, dense, powerful.
And the way he was looking at Shouto right now…
No one had ever looked at Shouto like that before. This man wasn’t looking at him with fear, like the servants, or disgust like his father and his father’s court. This was. Something else. And Shouto felt it like a rushing in his ears, like a clenching in his chest.
He straightened up, remembered himself and his bareing and who he was supposed to be, and he reached up to hold the shredded pieces of his his waistcoat in place over his exposed chest, shrugging his shoulder to let his cloak fall over his left side as he moved.
Then the King turned toward his own people and lifted both his hands in the air.
The roar of sound they returned was deafening. And the dragon. The beast reared up on his hind legs and flapped his wings so wind rocked the royal party and Shouto had to hold his cloak in place to keep it from fanning out behind him. The king turned back, that same terrifying grin on his face, and stalked over to Enji.
“He’s acceptable.”
Shouto felt his temper flare again, but he held it in check this time; Enji was glowering at him in fury, no doubt itching for a chance to make Shouto pay for not playing the demure groom-to-be, eyes on the ground, hands folded neatly in front of him.
Somehow, Shouto thought that wouldn’t have been the best approach with the barbarians.
It all happened very fast after that. Treaties were reviewed and signed. Iida brought Shouto a new waistcoat and tunic from his things; it wasn’t nearly as fancy, but it wasn’t burnt to shreds.
And then there was a ceremony.
That was the strangest of all. Wedding ceremonies were neat, restrained affairs in Enji’s kingdom, where celebration was meted out in very particular ways and at very particular places. But the barbarians yelled and whistled and made fools of themselves through the whole thing. They made such a ruckus at the part where Shouto and King Katsuki finally touched hands so Enji’s priest could tie a red silk cord around their wrists that Shouto actually blushed, hating the sheer suggestion in their tone. The king, for his part, didn’t move at all. He didn’t grab Shouto’s hand in a show of ownership like Shouto had seen men do before, in weddings of convenience. He didn’t give Shouto some awful, lecherous leer, like Shouto had had to fight off when he was younger, before his reputation scared would-be suitors away. When Shouto chanced a glance at the king’s face, he saw the man staring straight ahead, brows furrowed, and a stern sort of curl to his lips.
And then they were declared married. The deed was done.
There was cheering. And there was food and drink. The barbarians were far more boisterous than Shouto’s family-- Enji’s people retreated the second it was polite to do so, after gifts had been exchanged and Enji had given some awful speech about the new peace between their kingdoms. But the barbarians kept eating and drinking and dancing far into the night.
For the most part, Shouto was able to play ornament here. He didn’t want to talk to anybody-- especially not his new husband, the man he was literally tied to for the remainder of the evening. But there were certain things he couldn’t exactly avoid, like when after everyone had been drinking perhaps slightly more than was advisable, and Shouto was just focused on finishing his food even though he didn’t really have the stomach for it, and no one was looking at them or talking to them for once, the Barbarian King leaned into Shouto’s space and said in a quiet, gentle voice that made Shouto jerk around and look at him, “Honeycake?”
Shouto stared down at the offered sweet and then back up at the man offering it. There was no disdain in his expression, and no taunt.
“No thank you, my lord,” Shouto replied a little stiffly, trying very hard to see how offering him a sweetmeat posed any advantage to the king at all.
“Katsuki.”
Shouto blinked. “My lord?”
“My name is Katsuki. Stop calling me ‘lord,’ that’s not for you.”
Shouto was silent for a beat longer than he should have been. “Not for me,” he said quietly.
The king-- Katsuki-- he rolled his eyes and jerked his chin toward all the revelry. “That’s for them. Not you.”
Shouto turned back to his plate, certain he was missing something very important.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
Shouto looked up sharply. The voice that spoke was a new one, good natured and cheerful, but pitched low, just for Shouto and… Katsuki.
The man speaking looked familiar in a way Shouto couldn’t place. He had long, unkempt red hair that spiked out from his head, and when he smiled, all his teeth were sharp and pointed. Shouto didn’t see where he had come from, and hadn’t noticed him all night, which was strange because the man was enormous. He had thick arms, broad shoulders-- he was at least as tall as Shouto. Maybe taller.
“That’s fine,” he said quietly. “Katsuki probably talks enough for the both of you.”
Shouto narrowed his eyes in shock.
“Shut up, Kiri,” Katsuki growled.
“See what I mean?” This Kiri just smiled and reached for the honeycake Katsuki had just offered to Shouto.
Katsuki snatched it away and said, “Hey, fuck you!” Katsuki stuffed the cake in his mouth and Shouto just stared at them both. “What?” Katsuki demanded. “You didn’t want it.”
Shouto looked back down at his plate and felt a wave of very shameful emotion wash over him. These people were strange. Shouto may have hated his father and hated his reign, but at least there were rules, regulations Shouto could follow, things he could expect and things he understood. But here there was a violent, rude, corse man calling himself a king who’d offered Shouto sweets. Who apparently let his subjects call him by his first name? And tease him?
Shouto didn’t understand it.
“Let’s go to bed.” Katsuki’s voice was casual, but the words sent shock and rage coursing through Shouto’s chest. He said nothing, was forced to follow Katsuki into a standing position by the silk still binding them together.
Kiri wiggled his eyebrows and said, “Oo, bed is it?”
“Shut up, Kiri,” Katsuki groaned. “Make yourself useful and guard the camp entrance.” He glanced at Shouto. “Princely husband or not, I don’t trust King Shit-For-Brains as far as I can throw him.”
“You could probably throw him kinda far,” Kiri said thoughtfully.
“You know what I mean.”
“Fine,” Kiri groaned. Then he gave Shouto a very considering look and said, “Save some fun for later.”
Katsuki just rolled his eyes. Kiri bounded off, and Katsuki curled his hand around Shouto’s. “Come on.”
Shouto followed him because what choice did he have? His whole body felt too light; it was making him feel sick, feel out of sorts and dizzy.
There was a huge tent set up at the back of the camp; Shouto looked around, trying to ground himself by keeping track of his surroundings, and realized he hadn’t seen Katsuki’s dragon since before the wedding ceremony. Where was he hiding such an enormous creature?
Katsuki paused outside the tent and looked around a little surreptitiously. Shouto silently looked around too, and saw a few straggling barbarians watching them with wide grins.
Katsuki rolled his eyes, took Shouto’s hand, and dragged him into the tent. Shouto found himself balking like a newborn colt as he ducked through the leather curtain.
The tent was enormous-- big enough that Shouto could stand up straight. It had been stocked with one of Shouto’s trunks, and all the gifts that had been sent with him, and a huge pile of furs and pillows right in the center. There were torches flickering, warming the air; they must have been spelled because the smoke smelled good, and it was light instead of heavy and cloying.
Katsuki wordlessly unbound their wrists and thoughtlessly flung the silk into some corner of the tent. Shouto watched it land in shock because the silk was important, it was a symbol of their union, and it was-- most couples kept theirs forever. The silk tie that had been used to bind Enji to Shouto’s mother had belonged to Enji’s great grandparents. This one was new, but it was still…
Katsuki stomped over to the pile of blankets and pillows and started tearing it apart.
Shouto hovered by the door, flames licking at his fingertips from all his nervous energy.
Katsuki picked up a huge armful of blankets, and kicked a few pillows into the far corner of the tent. Then he shoved the blankets at Shouto.
Shouto blinked stupidly at him, and accepted the blankets even though he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with them.
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “You sleep there,” he said firmly, pointing to the pile of pillows.
Shouto actually sagged in relief, and just nodded without argument. He went to the corner and dropped the blankets and then looked around.
“You don’t have chamber servants,” he said softly.
Katsuki’s brows drew together. “Fuck is a chamber servant?”
Shouto’s cheeks grew hot. “Our clothing laces up the back,” he explained. When Katsuki just stared at him, Shouto undid the clip at his throat and shrugged off his cloak. He turned, so Katsuki could see all the laces running from neck to waist. “Someone has to help undo it.”
Shouto turned back just in time to see Katsuki roll his eyes and take a step forward. “I can--”
But Shouto jerked away from him in alarm, gave himself away, and showed the barbarian just how unwilling Shouto was to be here, just how unnerved, just how… scared.
Katsuki drew up short, eyes flashing, and just stared.
“I can do it,” Shouto said after a long, silent beat had passed. He certainly wouldn’t let Katsuki do it.
“You want me to summon your servant?” Katsuki drawled, crossing his arms over his chest.
Shouto shook his head. “Iida isn’t a servant. He’s nobility. He’s my knight.” Of course, Iida had cheerfully retrieved a new waistcoat for Shouto in the first place; he was so damn eager to serve, he probably wouldn’t bat an eye at helping Shouto out of his outer clothes.
Katsuki stared, unmoving, and after Shouto realized he wasn't planning on going anywhere, he cast his eyes to a place near Katsuki’s feet and squirmed an arm behind his back to pick at the laces. He was aware of every passing second that Katsuki was staring at him. He could only pick the laces enough to loosen them, and after he'd pulled at them until he wasn't going to get them any looser, he wiggled out of the waistcoat by passing it over his head.
And that was enough, he decided. He took his boots off, and tugged one of the blankets Katsuki had given him around his shoulders and settled down over the pillows still in his tunic and wedding breeches.
He watched Katsuki the whole time, like the other man was a wildcat who might pounce on him at any moment. Maybe he looked unnerved, wide eyed and anxious, because Katsuki loosed one disdainful huff of a laugh, and turned his back on Shouto when he kicked out of his own boots.
He didn't look at Shouto again that night, but Shouto could feel annoyance and maybe even anger flowing from him well into the night.
Shouto didn't really sleep. He couldn't have, even if he'd wanted to.
It was very late, and the camp had finally gone silent when Shouto realized he wasn't going home. If not ever, then at least not for a very long time.
Fuyumi was safe. Natsuo was safe.
Shouto hadn't gotten to say goodbye.
*
Shouto must have slept at least a little, because he blinked and found Iida staring at him, sunlight streaming in through a crack in the tent canvas. “Your highness?”
Shouto blinked and sat up on his awful pile of pillows and blankets and looked around before he muttered, “What are you doing in here?”
Iida furrowed his brows and looked down at Shouto quite sternly. “His majesty, King Katsuki requested I wake you, sir. He suggested you might need assistance?”
Iida spoke slowly and carefully, and the reason why came to Shouto quickly-- however Katsuki had ordered Iida into this tent, it hadn’t been nearly so route and polite as all that. Shouto sighed a little and let the blanket fall from his shoulders.
Iida furrowed his brows again and said very quietly, “You slept in your wedding clothes, Shouto?”
Shouto pinched his eyes closed. Iida never called him by his first name; he was possibly the only person in the world Shouto might consider ‘friend’ and Shouto could only remember him using Shouto’s name without a title or an honorific attached maybe three times before. They had all been times when Shouto could read the worry written on Iida’s face like text.
Shouto shoved the blankets aside and whispered, “I may be little more than a war prize at this point, but I still have some pride, Iida.”
Iida frowned. “Of course, your highness.”
“I’m sorry to ask,” Shouto said with a sigh, finally standing from his pillows, “But will you help me dress? These rock dwellers have no idea how proper clothing works.”
Iida nodded and gave Shouto a small smile. “Certainly, sir.”
Shouto felt more like himself when he emerged from the tent in his more usual garb. When Touya had been executed, Shouto had taken to dressing in black exclusively-- an underhanded jab at his father that earned him pity from the upper nobility rather than disdain. Poor boy. Mourning a traitor. Too grief stricken to see the eldest heir hadn’t been worth missing. Enji couldn’t demand Shouto dress in regal fashion without admitting how much Shouto’s wordless protest irked him, and since he’d played at reluctance throughout the whole thing, acted as if Touya had backed him into a corner, as if he’d had to burn his own son to death in the palace square, he couldn’t risk forcing Shouto into normal clothing without appearing the cruel and callus man that he actually was.
So Shouto wore black. Black silk, black wool, black leather so soft and fine it was like cream between his fingers. But black. Always black.
He chose traveling clothes, since he assumed they wouldn’t linger on the border, and these were simpler than his wedding regalia, more form fitting and less ornamented. Aside from the quality of the cloth of the tunic and waistcoat, and the hide of the breeches, only stitched silver trim gave him away as royalty.
It was colder outside the tent and Shouto thoughtlessly heated the air around him before he looked around at the barbarian horde. They were breaking down the camp, tearing down tents, packing saddle bags. They did so with an air of frivolity that surprised Shouto-- he forgot anyone might have something to feel happy about when he was sunk so low in misery. He was alone in that too, he supposed.
The barbarian servants didn’t seem to pay him much attention except to offer him kind smiles, or lecherous stares that made his skin crawl with suggestion. Iida stayed close beside him, and Shouto tried to think that it mattered, that one friend was better than none, that he wasn’t simply wrecking Iida’s life too by dragging him along.
They hovered awkwardly by the king’s tent until some servants came and started breaking it down. Shouto found himself annoyed. He’d known he was leaving one king for another who was hardly any better. Some part of him had hoped the knot between his shoulder blades might loosen a bit, without Enji’s constant presence looming over him, but of course that had been little more than a foolish wish.
No, he had expected Katsuki to be cruel.
What he had not expected was to be fully ignored.
He’d prepared himself for insults, for underhanded jabs and taunts, for being bullied into the role of silent spectre of a spouse. He’d prepared himself to fight off physical advances. And, though he was loath to admit it to himself, in the moment that he’d seen Katsuki for the first time, he’d even had the passing thought that he might be willing to slither into his husband’s good graces after all, if he wasn’t as contemptible as Shouto had thought, and if doing so would earn Shouto the leverage he needed to topple this empire and return home, perhaps a hero, or perhaps playing at the role of grieving widower. Either way.
Shouto was used to being insulted and degraded, and he was used to being admired and lusted after. He was even used to being pitied.
What he was not at all used to was being ignored.
The king’s tent was almost completely destroyed, and Shouto’s things were being loaded into a wagon, when Shouto heard a commotion coming from the center of camp, where they had celebrated the night before.
And because he wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do, Shouto wandered over, Iida right beside him.
He found Katsuki and his red dragon, and a crowd of cheerful people pressing around to either touch the dragon, or to touch Katsuki. Katsuki for his part, tolerated all of it fairly well. He clasped hands with his people, playfully shoved a few of them on the shoulder, glared and insulted a few more. Shouto didn’t understand. Enji would never let even the upper nobility talk to and touch him like this. And Shouto wasn’t even sure why Katsuki’s people wanted to-- the fierce, manic expression on his face seemed dangerous. But these people didn’t seem to care at all.
Shouto took a step forward without meaning to, perhaps trying to hear what was being said, and in so doing he bumped someone at the edge of the crowd. And when that person saw him, he touched the woman in front of him, and she touched another, and another, and another. Silence spread out like a ripple, consumed the crowd until they were all turning and looking at Shouto, a strange expectant hush settling over all of them.
Katsuki looked up, saw Shouto standing there, and Shouto saw his face shutter. It was the first time Shouto could remember that no one was looking at Katsuki, and in that moment, Shouto saw his face change, saw that manic smile fall to be replaced by something more serious. Katsuki glanced to either side of himself, as if trying to decide what he should do.
And then he held out his hand.
Shouto stood very still, and realized there was leather fixed to the dragon’s back-- some kind of sling perhaps, that fastened around his neck. Katsuki was standing on the beast’s foot, one hand tangled in the leather sling, clearly about to mount.
Shouto actually took a step backwards.
Katsuki rolled his fierce red eyes. “It’s a week’s ride to the Castle on a horse. You can go with them if you want, but I’m leaving.”
The feeling in the crowd of people watching them shifted, became charged.
Katsuki added, “It’s half a day, this way.”
And Shouto wouldn’t have called his voice kind or gentle, but it was. Softer, in a way. A little less like the hard crunch of gravel.
It was a choice, the first of many he would face. To fight, or to bend. To protect himself, or to swim deeper, for the sake of his people.
He was here for one reason, and one reason only. He had one task: earn the trust of the Barbarian King, Katsuki Bakugou, and find the loose stone that could tumble an empire. Enji wanted the Outlands, and Shouto was the key that would unlock the whole thing.
Shouto chose to dive.
He didn’t say anything to Iida, didn’t say anything to anyone. He just started to walk, slower, at first, and then faster. Katsuki climbed onto his dragon’s neck, and then reached out again, and Shouto took his hand, heart in his throat and head full of doubts and disbelief. Katsuki’s hand was warmer than Shouto expected, and rough and calloused like a servant’s. And strong. Gods, but he was strong. He hoisted Shouto up behind him like Shouto weighed no more than a child, and Shouto felt his cheeks burn when he realized the only way to ride a bloody dragon with the king of the Outlands was to wrap his legs around Katsuki’s hips, and his arms around his waist. The leather sling did little more than cup Shouto’s low back, keep him from sliding down the slick, stone-like scales.
Katsuki sounded horribly amused when he said, “You’ll have to hold on tighter than that, pretty boy.”
Shouto didn’t have time to respond. The dragon was suddenly moving, long neck lifting from the earth, and stretching toward the sky and Shouto fell back in the sling, Katsuki’s firm weight pinning him into the leather. He tightened his arms in a sudden panic, and then those massive wings were flapping and the ground was dropping away and Shouto thought he might just be the stupidest Todoroki to ever live.
For one shameful moment that seemed to stretch into a lifetime, Shouto’s shock and fear controlled him, and he squeezed his arms, clung to Katsuki’s back. Katsuki tolerated the contact, and then the dragon stopped it’s climb and leveled out. Katsuki’s weight came off of Shouto’s hips, and he felt more like he was sitting atop the creature rather than a moment away from tumbling off of it.
Katsuki elbowed him in the ribs. “Ease up.”
Shouto let go completely, shock from the contact and the fact that he was flying making him admittedly a little stupid.
He teetered a bit; Katsuki steadied him with a hand on his knee that he took away the second Shouto regained his balance. And then Shouto’s heart jumped into his throat again because Katsuki was moving. He performed a very dexterous little twist, and then he was facing Shouto, leaning back against his dragon’s neck with his arms crossed smugly over his chest and his feet on either side of Shouto’s hips.
Shouto stared at him, leaned back in the sling, and then shivered.
Katsuki’s smug smirk wavered a little, and Shouto saw his eyes drop to Shouto’s chest. He frowned, and his hands curled a little in the heavy, fur-lined cloak he was wearing.
Shouto warmed the air around him again, killed the chill prickle in his skin before he could think too hard about what Katsuki had been intending to do with that robe.
Katsuki’s face changed a little. “Good trick, that.”
The wind was loud this high up, but Shouto and Katsuki seemed to be ensconced in a little pocket of stiller air formed by the way the dragon bent its neck and shrugged its shoulders to keep its wings raised. If Shouto didn’t look down, it was more comfortable than he expected, and steadier.
“You can’t do it to?” Shouto asked.
Katsuki shook his head. “My magic is more like a spark than a candle flame.” Shouto frowned at him, and he said pointedly, “It explodes, it doesn’t burn.”
Shouto nodded.
He was riding a dragon.
With the king of the Outlands.
Who was also his husband.
Right.
“Alone at last,” Katsuki said, bending one knee a little and letting the other leg dangle off the dragon’s neck.
Shouto felt heat spring to his cheeks and he stared at a stony scale by his hands. “We were alone last night.”
Katsuki scoffed. “As if your dear old dad doesn’t have ears and eyes in all the right places.”
“He signed a treaty,” Shouto protested. “He wants peace.”
Katsuki chuckled and looked out over the rocky landscape that Shouto could only handle seeing from the corners of his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”
Shouto frowned. “Why agree to… if you didn’t think…”
Katsuki’s lip quirked once. But instead of answering the question, he said, “Why did you?”
Shouto dropped his eyes to his hands. Why why why-- He’d never expected to be asked this. What was the proper answer? The answer that would be expected, that would flatter and charm as well as deflect?
The answer, when it came, turned his stomach. “It is a great honor,” he said, “To serve my country and her people with this… union.”
Katsuki considered him in silence, an odd look on his face.
“Right.”
He stared at Shouto. Shouto stared at his hands some more.
“If that was the only reason,” Katsuki said eventually, “Why not your sister?”
Shouto looked up at him too quickly, temper flaring.
“She’s the obvious choice,” Katsuki drawled, “If your father was looking to offload one of you brats.”
“Would you have prefered her?” Shouto snapped. His hands felt wet and he realized he was calling frost to his fingertips and melting it with the bubble of heat he was already calling into existence. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”
The way Katsuki’s grin suddenly sharpened into pointed, vindictive amusement told Shouto the sarcasm in his words hadn’t been missed, and in fact, he had probably revealed more than he meant to.
But instead of press him on it, Katsuki lifted his chin and said, “Who did that to your face, really?”
“Really?”
“My informants, the ones I’ve got nestled in all the little corners of your daddy’s pretty little palace, they only gave me shitty fucking rumor on that.”
Shouto’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Katsuki said, “You really think I’d let you into my home without checking up on your ass first?”
Something in the phrasing stuck out for Shouto-- my home. Not Katsuki’s kingdom, or his bed, or his confidences. His home. Shouto didn’t quite know why, but it was strange. Too familiar, too… human. Too soft.
“My bet’s on dear old dad,” Katsuki said with a vicious grin. “Maybe a warning. Taught you a lesson early on your big brother never learned, hm?”
“You shut your filthy fucking mouth.”
Shouto hissed the words before he knew he was speaking, before he could consider how foolish they were, and how much they really said.
“So he knows a few curses after all,” Katsuki replied blithely. “Was beginning to think you only know how to talk in pretty empty platitudes.”
Shouto’s jaw slid.
“My brother was a filthy traitor,” Shouto replied in a dead, hollow voice. He held his left wrist with his right, used the bite of ice against his skin to ground himself. “I don’t like to talk about him.” And then, because Katsuki was opening his mouth again, and Shouto suddenly couldn’t bare to hear him speak, he said, “My mother did it.” Katsuki’s mouth closed. “She was sick. She didn’t mean it.” And then, because Katsuki still wasn’t responding, and Shouto hated the awful pregnant silence, he added, “It was a long time ago.”
Katsuki studied Shouto with narrowed eyes, and Shouto didn’t look at him, just peered out over the brown, mountainous terrain. Looking at the ground was better than looking at Katsuki.
A shift in motion made his eyes jump back to Katsuki’s face-- the king leaned forward, motion deliberate and broadcast, and slower than Shouto thought it had to be.
Shouto saw him coming, so he didn’t flinch, just watched Katsuki’s hand.
Shouto went incredibly, painfully still when Katsuki touched his hair again, like he had yesterday when he’d first laid eyes on Shouto. Except this time, he wasn’t… taunting. He brushed the hair aside, so Shouto was suddenly looking back at Katsuki without his view obstructed by a shock of red hair.
“In my kingdom,” Katsuki said very deliberately, “We don’t hide our scars.”
Shouto leaned away carefully, pulled himself out of Katsuki’s reach without jerking back. He didn’t want to be touched; but nor did he want Katsuki thinking he was afraid to be touched.
The words spiked through Shouto like a taunt, though he knew they hadn’t been intended that way. Because Katsuki did not have splotchy red burn scars ringing one eye in a way that he could never fully hide no matter how long he grew his hair. It would take a mask to fully cover the evidence of Shouto’s mother’s feeble mind and violent break with reality.
Katsuki didn’t have anything like that.
He had some scars on his chest. Thin raised lines where he had maybe caught an assassin's blade. But he could cover his chest.
Katsuki was staring at him, and Shouto wasn’t speaking. He went on not speaking for a long time.
“Your wrist is turning purple.”
Shouto furrowed his brows and looked down, and when he did he found fingerprints chilled into the skin of his wrist. He pulled his hand away, realized despite conjuring warm air all around him, he’d still managed to make his left arm go numb with cold.
So he met Katsuki’s eyes, and flooded his skin with heat. It hurt at first, the fire cutting through the pins and needles chill. But maybe Shouto liked the pain. Needed it even.
The air got a little warmer, and Shouto’s arm turned red, the cold finger marks going white for a moment.
“I’ve never heard of someone with magic like yours,” Katsuki said, staring at Shouto’s hands.
Katsuki’s voice was casual, but Shouto saw through him.
He had thought to tempt Katsuki with the promise of a powerful husband.
And he’d succeeded. That was all this was. Shouto had left the hands of one master simply to be snatched up by another. He was a weapon, pinned between two kings who both wanted his allegiance and his strength.
“My father hoped to honor your strength,” Shouto told him, “By offering you mine.”
Katsuki’s grin sharpened again. “You know something, pretty boy?”
Shouto swallowed and held his tongue, not liking the sudden chill in Katsuki’s tone.
“Ass kissing looks real ugly on you.”
Shouto actually bit the inside of his cheek to keep from glaring, or protesting, or cursing.
“Find someone with only half a brain to buy your fucking flattery, cause I don’t need it.”
And then he shifted suddenly, turned over, and put his back to Shouto. He didn’t speak again.