Chapter Text
Itadorian sake was terrible.
That wasn't the first conclusion Prince Megumi could come to all night.
He swilled a sip of the bitter liquid around his mouth, resisting the urge to be impolite and spit it back into the square cup. It didn't have the sweet undertones of sake back home, where each barrel was aged precisely for three moons and spiced with exact amounts of sea salt, honey and crushed cloves at the end of it. This felt like somebody had just buried a cask in the desert sands and let it boil for a few weeks, then dumped sand in just for the fun of it. Megumi glowered down at the cup in his hands. It was stone, not even anything befitting of royalty like gold or silver or even wood. He wondered if the servants were playing with him, giving him something so gritty. Maybe they were playing with all of them.
Twelve nobles had come on the delegation from the Zen'in Empire to the Itadori Kingdom, including Megumi and his father, the Emperor Zen'in. He didn't know where his father had gone, probably off to discuss something with the King of Itadori, but the other ten nobles and their associated guards were scattered around the ballroom. They all looked out of place in their silvery blue and green robes, clashing with the crimson and gold of the Itadori citizens. It felt like a deliberate attempt on the Itadorians' part to try and isolate the Zen'in visitors, but then again, Megumi highly doubted their ability to think that far ahead.
Something like this would have never happened at home, where they actually respected their guests, unlike these savages. The Zen'in Empire was a land of refinement and beauty. Centuries of careful negotiation and shows of strength over territory had won them the prime land of the continent, lush fields perfect for farming, vast rainforests and large swathes of coastal land. The mountain steppes granted them boons of rice, the ocean gifts of seafood and pearls, and even the skies rained enough every year to chase away any fears of drought. It had allowed them to turn their attentions from the subhuman desires of food and sustenance, focusing on education and tradition and refined arts. Zen'in was a glass sculpture, a perfectly forged sword of poise and perfection.
This place, on the other hand, was an alcohol-fuelled barrack party loosed onto the world. Just from where he'd been standing, in a sheltered corner of the room, Megumi had already seen five fights break out, an actual duel between two swordsmen with their friends cheering on, and someone had been thrown out an open window into the rosebushes right outside. The brawls seemed almost good-natured, and nobody got hurt, except for maybe the pride of any Zen'in noble who scurried away from the drama.
The warrior mindset, the need to prove everything with strength and mess around, made sense, though. Megumi remembered his lessons; the Itadori kingdom was built on war, the constant border skirmishes from the west, where violent desert clans attempted to invade and capture the only arable land on this side of the mountains. As far as Megumi could see, every man and woman here bore marks of the military — hair tied back, shoulders broad and well built, some with brutal scars rippling over their flesh that they seemed proud to show off. Under mismatched clothing of gleaming armour and crimson robes, their skin was tanned from lives working under the desert sun, several shades darker than the pale, delicate figures Megumi was used to seeing back home.
Another fight broke out, two women grappling until one caught the other in a headlock that sent her reeling while the spectators clapped and whooped. It was like watching soldiers rejoice after a victory in battle, not at all behaviour for a ball. Megumi couldn't believe these were meant to be Itadori nobility.
Uncouth. Is this a formal ball or a petty barfight? He set down his unpalatable sake on the nearest table, a marble beast that would have been impressive once but was now so chipped and broken it resembled a cobblestone. The Itadori kingdom was a disorganised mess. And he was to marry one of these men?
Yes. Marry. Unfortunately, and just his luck, he'd been the prince picked out of Emperor Zen'in's four sons. Something about his cool, composed nature, pretty face, and the intelligent head on his shoulders — he should have been honoured, apparently. Megumi just felt like this entire place was a shackle, locking tight around his wrists and dragging him deeper and deeper into an ocean.
Married. Here. He wasn't a stranger to political, loveless marriages — actually, Megumi had spent his whole life knowing he was guaranteed to be promised to one, being the second son of an empire — but he'd secretly hoped for something better than being promised to the Crown Prince of the Itadori Kingdom. He could see his fiancé now across the hall, laughing with a quartet of other soldiers like they didn't have images to maintain or cares in the world. Megumi slowly stepped out of his sheltered spot, sidestepping a rowdy argument and picking an oddly shaped fruit from a nearby platter. He settled beside a window blowing cool air into the stuffy room, picking at the fruit — dry and gritty, like everything in this godforsaken place — and watching his mark.
One would expect the Crown Prince of a kingdom to be wearing something fancier than the comrades he rubbed shoulders with. Bolts of embroidered silk, maybe, arranged over the course of hours by careful maids' hands. Heavy gold cuffs set with rubies, similarly encrusted belts to hold a sword. Or, at the very least, a set of ceremonial armour, as Megumi had assumed a kingdom of war would prefer.
Instead, Itadori Yuji looked no more interesting than the lowest servant scurrying around with chalices of sake. Instead of jewels or satin, he wore a a simple burgundy ____ with bright orange stitching in the patterning of prowling tigers and lashing flames. No sword, no weapons, unless his strong frame counted as one. Those certainly looked like the kind of arms that could bundle him up and throw him across a room, though it didn't look like their owner was malicious enough to ever do such a thing. Yuji was bright with joy and teasing, elbowing one of his friends at a joke they'd made. Unbecoming of a prince to roll around like a wolf pup at their age.
Pathetic. Megumi shifted his arms. He wasn't even the firstborn of his own empire, but he had at least five extra kilos worth of silk and jewels adorning him, second only to his father, of course. His neck hurt from the weight of his earrings and crown. Although . . . what he wouldn't give to get to wear a comfortable kimono right now . . . no, that was a foolish thought. He banished it from his mind. Those were for night walks around the palace, not polite company.
Polite company, or rather, stuck in a foreign ballroom and tasked with socialising with his future husband. Except his future husband was more occupied with his other friends than trying to find and talk to his fiancé. Megumi wondered if he should go up and demand his attention, preferably with a host of well-placed comments about his unhostly behaviour, or if that would err too far on the side of insolence.
While Megumi considered it over his fruit — not very seriously, to his credit — a young servant darted through the crowds. He tapped Yuji's shoulder to get his attention and leaned up to whisper into his ear. Megumi was mentally reeling at the sight (A servant touching a prince! A servant whispering in his ear!), when Yuji broke out into a grin and turned to lock eyes with him.
Oh, finally.
Megumi glared back, trying to convey his annoyance through a single look.
Yuji didn’t come straight to him. Of course he didn’t. He started walking in Megumi’s direction, but every few steps someone intercepted him — a soldier clapping him on the back, a noblewoman tugging at his sleeve to ask some trivial question, a pair of rowdy men trying to drag him into another drinking game. And Yuji, infuriatingly, indulged each one with a laugh or a quick word, like he had all the time in the world and Megumi wasn’t standing there waiting like an idiot.
Megumi’s jaw tightened. Was his fiancé incapable of walking in a straight line? Did he not understand the concept of urgency? He wanted to smack him already. By the time Yuji finally reached him, Megumi’s irritation had simmered into something sharp and brittle, but he forced a pleasant smile onto his face as they neared.
'Prince Zen'in.' Yuji bowed, sweeping his meagre silks out slightly. Their fiery embroidery revealed itself to be sewn with gold, the threads catching the firelight and throwing light across the fabric. 'It’s wonderful to meet you,' he added, voice warm in a way Megumi wasn’t prepared for. 'My father’s been eager to host your delegation — and I’m glad you stayed long enough for me to find you. I hope the ball hasn’t been too overwhelming. Have we met in person before?'
'We've met.' Megumi inclined his head exactly the right amount. 'Last year, when your King and nobles visited our kingdom to first negotiate this alliance.' Of course we've met; I'm your fiancé. Don't tell me you forget your future husband's face so easily?
'Right, right.' His laugh was carefree, careless. 'I remember. You were with your siblings. What was your older brother's name — Naoya?'
'Prince Naoya.' He forced himself not to spit out the name of his arrogant, strutting peacock of an eldest brother, the heir to the Zen'in throne. All the nobles back home privately agreed that Megumi would be a better emperor one day than that brat; even Naoya himself had admitted it one night when he was a few cups too deep into a bottle of sake. Yet, being the older brother had promised Naoya the seat of emperor one day, their younger brothers were destined to be married to backwater nobles, and Megumi was standing here in the Itadori kingdom, instead of being a ruler that could have helped the citizens of Zen'in. Fate had twisted his knife painfully. He still glowered over it frequently in his free time.
'I wondered why we were the ones to be married.' Yuji's voice broke back into his thoughts. 'Did your empire not have any princesses to offer instead? I didn't expect your father to offer a prince.'
'One older sister, but she married six years ago.' Megumi covered up his momentary discomfort with another bite into his gritty fruit. It wasn't that he hated Tsumiki's marriage or even the man she'd been married to — he was a decent noble, bookish and scholarly, soft‑spoken and fond of poetry, the kind of man who preferred quiet gardens over training with a blade. He'd suited her kindness well.
It was just that, selfishly, Megumi wished she had been chosen to come here instead. Then he could have stayed home in the empire, kept his routines, his studies, his quiet life. But the thought soured quickly. Tsumiki would have been miserable here. The violence would terrify her.
Yuji nodded, then tilted his head. 'But then, out of four princes, why you? Was it your choice? Or your father’s?'
Megumi’s fingers tightened again around the fruit. The poor thing was probably going to end up crushed very soon.
It was like a perfect plan for my father. The prince was probably going to be bitter about it all his life. Sell the smart son, the one who's willing to innovate, to erase taxes and laws that keep the peasants poor and the nobles rich. Sell the pretty son that has noblemen and women chasing dangerously after his hand in marriage. Guarantee Naoya, the golden son, the seat of emperor, even though everybody knows I'd be better. And in the end, he gets a promise from the war kingdom, that the future kings of Itadori won't attack them for the next few generations. All neatly wrapped up in one marriage knot.
'I agreed in the end,' he said shortly. It wasn't a lie, exactly — agreement after a host of veiled threats and jabs from his father was still agreement, after all. 'Alliances are important, and I'm honoured to be the one bridging it. The change will be hard, but I'll manage.'
'Well, I'm glad we get to meet a little before we're married. Though I have to ask, why have you sent a delegation now? The wedding is only in a few moons.' Yuji's eyes were bright, smile easy and crooked in a way Megumi hadn't seen before. He was a lot closer all of a sudden.
'Final negotiations between our fathers.' It was a clipped answer. 'I was brought along in the hopes that the two of us could associate.' A word shrouded with polite affection, though he felt anything but. 'It took you long enough to find me.'
Were people from this kingdom immune to sarcasm, or simply tough-skinned? Yuji didn't even flinch at the barb, instead ducking his head in a show of apology. 'I'm sorry about that. My servant only just told me you were still here at the ball. I'd thought you'd gone with your father to the discussions.'
'I could have. But I decided to stay and talk to you.' If they were going to be married in a few months, and he was going to live here for the rest of his life, he had to at least be friends with his fiancé. He was being a bit snobbish around this place, in hindsight. Megumi held up the fruit he'd been eating, just for something else to start a conversation. 'Also, what in the Kami is this? It tastes like somebody poured honey over sand, rolled it in dirt and baked it.'
Yuji blinked, clearly having never heard such a comparison. 'Sand, huh?' He laughed, once. 'You've never eaten a desert fig before?'
'Eaten? No.' A fig? Megumi held the half-eaten thing up to his eyes. Now that he knew what it was, he did recognise it — there had been a few books on western culture and geography he'd read in the palace library ever since he'd been told about the marriage. Intellect was one of his few key strengths, and he refused to enter such a new, unfamiliar situation without preparing himself first. 'I've seen drawings, but they don't grow in my kingdom. It's too humid. It's . . . gritty.'
'They taste gritty because of all the seeds inside. But everything here tastes gritty to foreigners; it's the sand from the desert getting into everything. Welcome to my kingdom, Zen'in prince.' Yuji reached over to pluck the fig from his fingers, taking a bite without so much as asking. Megumi tried not to recoil, eyes widening with shock as those warm fingers brushed his in passing. They'd . . . held hands before, really just to shake the first time they'd been introduced, but the proximity felt far more intimate here without the eyes of their fathers and half the Zen'in court directly on them. They might as well have been alone in a hidden corner.
Yuji handed the fig back, dusting his hand on his robes like nothing had happened. 'I remember when I came on that delegation last year. It was my first time trying fish on white rice. I almost ate the whole platter; it was so soft and salty, and the rice was sweet. You're lucky to get to eat stuff like that every day!'
'Wait. You don't have fish here?' Megumi actually gasped, fully startled into shock. Yuji shot him an amused grin, and he schooled his expression back into serenity. 'I mean, sure. It makes sense. The West is much drier, and you don't have the ocean like we do.' Internally, he was already crying at the sudden realisations — nothing would be the same here, not even the stupid food. Was he going to spend the years until his death exfoliating his tongue on sandy desert fruits and sipping over-fermented sake? No seafood or lush rainforests? Not even the incessant buzz of mosquitoes nipping at him every humid night? Megumi had never thought he'd miss the mosquitoes, but apparently he did now.
Yuji let out a soft noise, the kind someone made to soothe a whining dog, and stepped a little closer. 'You must miss your kingdom. Does it really feel that different here?'
I don't need your pity! Megumi thought fiercely, before stopping himself. No, that line of thinking just led to resentment. Coldness wasn't the way to attack this situation, not when Yuji was being . . . genuinely polite.
He sighed and resisted the urge to rub his forehead, feeling an oncoming headache set in. The Zen'in court had taught him to be sharp, never once slipping with a polite facade or showing a hint of weakness. Nobles were like sharks — they tore into a frenzy at any hint of vulnerability. And eyes were always on the royal family, just waiting for a single stumble into deep water. Considering the wild, uncaring nature of most men and women here, he was certain Yuji had never had to play a court game in his life. Megumi almost envied him, but he couldn't. A court kept a kingdom from falling into anarchy. This place was anything but orderly.
Megumi wanted to sit down and curl up into a ball to cry his eyes out, mourning the life he was about to lose, but that seemed useless now. Crying wouldn't bring it back. Pushing forward with a strong jaw and sharp wit, instead, would help him endure and make his new life bearable.
Across from him, Yuji was watching quietly. There was a softness in his gaze Megumi didn’t know how to interpret — not pity or condescension, just . . . attention. Like Yuji was genuinely trying to understand him. It made Megumi’s skin prickle with discomfort, and he wanted it gone.
The other prince had two cups of sake in his hands — when had he taken them from a passing servant? Megumi couldn't believe he was spacing out like this. I have to get a grip on myself. This is worrying. Sharp mind, stay vigilant . . .
'Thank you,' he accepted the stone cup, though he had no intention of drinking another drink of it after tasting it before. He simply swirled it in one hand, watching glumly as the thin liquid sloshed against the sharp corners.
I want to hate you. Megumi was barely listening as Yuji said something about the sake, maybe about how it was produced here with wild brown rice instead of white, and rambling on about how the bitter taste was due to . . . I want to hate all of this, but I can't. Because you seem so genuine. A true face was something rare in the masks and facades of the Zen'in court. But the care in Yuji's voice was real.
'I just want you to be happy here.' Yuji admitted bluntly, the playful ease he’d carried moments ago softening into something quieter. He held Megumi’s gaze with an earnestness that made Megumi’s stomach twist. 'It’s different, and I know you don't like this place. Or me, even.' A little laugh, teasing. 'But you’re stuck here with me. And I want you to feel comfortable in your new home. Even if it’s new.'
Such . . . blunt words. Megumi was taken aback, tilting his head as Yuji continued talking, seemingly unaware of how freely he shared reassurances and concerns. The Zen’in court would have torn Yuji apart for speaking so casually.
'I want you to be happy here.' Did he truly care? This wasn't a traditional marriage, but it was obvious who belonged to whom here. Yuji was the Crown Prince of the kingdom — Megumi was just the pretty face sent over to secure an alliance. A former prince of Zen'in. Practically nothing special anymore, like a diamond dropped into mud. Yuji didn't have to care about him.
' . . . Zen'in-sama? Are you feeling unwell?'
Megumi snapped up, one hand drifting to his face to rub his cheek. Had he gone pale? His skin had a bad habit of doing that when he was nervous. Oh, and of course this fool had noticed — a perceptive, concerned husband, just what he needed. 'I'm fine — '
'Oi, Itadori!' A shout rose above the hubbub of the ball, loud enough that even a few soldiers glanced over curiously. Two of Yuji's friends were pushing through the crowd, rough enough that a few Zen'in nobles backed off. The one who had called out was a young, muscular woman with dark green hair the colour of algae and faint pink scars wrapping around her body, like she'd been thrown into a fire years ago. She, Megumi noted, was one of the women who had been wrestling earlier — the one who had won by putting her opponent in that brutal headlock. Danger and violence radiated from her as heat did from a fire, like she was itching to tear him for something he'd done. The man following her seemed far more reserved, padding a few steps behind like he'd been dragged reluctantly along. A black katana was strapped across his back, which seemed like an odd thing to bring to a formal event, even here in this uncivilised kingdom.
'Yuji,' the scarred woman said in a husky voice that seemed unusual for someone so young. Her teeth flashed in a sideways grin as she hooked an arm around his shoulders, leaning against him with her full weight. 'Is this the Prince your father wants you to marry?'
First names! Not even so much as an honourific! Megumi was quietly horrified at her casual tone. The servants back home would have been whipped if they dared speak to royalty like that! He remembered a day when Naoya had smacked one of Tsumiki's handmaidens for forgetting to call her Tsumiki-sama. Their sister had been horrified and run after the crying girl, yelling at Naoya to never touch her women again. Megumi mostly remembered the flippant, casual expression on his oldest brother's face, how he seemed to relish in casual violence. He was expecting Yuji to do something similar to his friend now, maybe kick her knees out from under her and demand formality, especially in front of a guest.
Instead, Yuji just grinned, hooking his arm around the woman's waist and shoving her lightly, playfully. 'Maki-san! I was waiting for a chance to speak to you. Yes, my fiancé — Prince Megumi Zen’in.' He said it with a kind of proud, unthinking ease, like he was introducing an old friend he’d loved for years rather than a cold prince who disliked everything. 'I wanted you guys to meet him properly. And . . . get along, though I know that'll take a while. Don't be an idiot and scare him off.'
Megumi bristled at that. Scare him off? As if he were some timid little bird. As if he hadn’t spent his entire life navigating the razor‑sharp politics of the Zen’in court. As if some random Itadori soldier could scare him. He wasn't a delicate little flower, he was a Prince.
Maki narrowed her eyes, inspecting Megumi. He held her gaze challengingly, until Maki finally smirked and nodded. 'Ha. You're either really brave or really stupid. Can you fight, princess?'
'Maki! Be polite.' The other man was surprisingly quiet, voice deferential as he bowed — actually bowed, further than Yuji had earlier. Any lower and he'd probably be prostrating himself over the floor. Now that was the respect Megumi had expected from the people around him, though right now, he found himself wishing that the man would just straighten up. The bowing . . . flustered him.
'I apologise for her,' the boy said in a polite tone, ducking his head. 'She's . . . an idiot. Actually, if you'd like to have her dragged away and executed for disrespect, I'd appreciate it.' A small smile flickered over his face before Maki turned and punched him in the shoulder.
Megumi shot a hard look at Yuji while the other two squabbled. 'Was that a joke? Or are you guys just happy to get each other killed all the time?'
'It's a joke,' Yuji reassured, watching his friends affectionately. 'I think she's just used to insulting me without consequence, so she thinks she can get away with mouthing off at anyone. But these are two of my closest companions! Maki and Yuta — some of the best fighters in the army, in my unbiased opinion.'
Yuta chuckled. 'How kind of you.' He adjusted the strap across his chest, shifting his black katana. 'Don't compliment Maki, though; her head's big enough.'
Megumi sighed, closing his eyes momentarily. What an odd bunch, of course. Maki was still glowering, looking like she wanted to rip his head off and put it on a spike. Yuta, on the other hand, was quieter, smile still polite and sweet. Of course these were the men and women Yuji kept close to him — the people he had to brush elbows with all his life. At least Yuta seemed kind.
'Where did the other two go?' Yuji glanced sideways, searching the hall as if he could spot them around. Megumi remembered the small gang Yuji had been laughing with before — Maki and Yuta, but with another man and woman, too. The other pair were missing from the room. 'I wanted the prince to meet them!'
'Inumaki and Nobara? Back to your quarters.' Yuta jerked his shoulder towards an indiscriminate direction. 'We should go too. And bring the princess,' Maki added, tossing her short hair with a sense of aloofness Megumi really didn't think she deserved to have. Maybe most people here were well-trained enough to put him on his back, but she was smaller than him. He could break her bones easily, he thought.
Also, going to Yuji's private quarters? Megumi debated dubiously, eyes narrowing. That could be a stupid idea, to sneak around into bedchambers like a pair of horny teenagers before their wedding. Interacting here, in public, within the eyesight of a dozen Zen'in nobles and Itadori soldiers, was acceptable. Allowing himself to be taken to Yuji's room, even with four other people tagging along, was unacceptable. And what could Yuji do in private, where nobody could hear him screaming? The simple thought made Megumi's blood chill. He didn't know anything about this kingdom except that most of them acted like drunk savages. Yuji seemed . . . kinder, but if there was anything Megumi knew about people, it was that a perfect mask could hide even the cruellest of tendencies.
No . . . it was safer to stay where the other nobles could see him, where his father's guards could come to his rescue if necessary, and — No. Megumi ground his teeth.
No, he couldn't keep relying on those men. They weren't his men, not for very long. Soon he'd be stripped of the silvery blue silks of the Zen'in kingdom and dressed in Itadorian crimson. The way of life he'd spent the last year scornfully looking down on would be his daily routine. He had to accept it, dive into it like a dolphin to smooth waves. That, ultimately, would start with actually learning to trust his fiancé, Itadori Yuji.
After all, he'd stayed at the rioting ball to try and socialise with Yuji, hadn't he?
'I'll come.' In a gesture that surprised even himself, Megumi slipped his hand into Yuji's, feeling those warm fingers yield against his. Yuji's face lit up like a child's, his fingers lacing through his until they were properly woven together. Like they were some real, loving couple, Megumi mused, before pushing the thought away. It was just business, politics — he didn't need it to be a loving union.
But as he turned to follow Yuji, a cold prickle needled sharply along his neck. He drew back sharply, eyes scanning the hall until it landed on a familiar tall figure standing in the opening of a corridor. The two of them locked eyes for a few seconds, Megumi's eyes narrowing as he recognised familiar blond hair.
'I have to go,' he interrupted abruptly, skipping over whatever Yuji was saying at the moment. He tried to unwind his fingers from Yuji's, but the other prince didn't let up. 'There's someone I need to see. Go, I'll find you later.'
'How? You don't know your way around, and all the rooms look similar.' Yuji squeezed his fingers once, gentle rather than crushing.
'You can come look for me after. Or I'll just ask someone; I'm not stupid.' The idiot still wasn't letting go. If he didn't soon, Megumi was dangerously close to just ignoring the summons and following his fiancé away. He didn't want to admit it, but he'd . . . he'd actually wanted to go with Yuji. He'd wanted to meet his other two friends and see if they were as brash as Maki, or quiet like Yuta. He was curious about Yuji's private quarters, since he'd spend the rest of his life living out of them. He wanted to ask questions about life here, if they really did just seem to solve all their problems with casual fistfights rather than refined debates, what it was like to live in a kingdom where almost every border was fought over.
Patience. Megumi chided himself. He can't possibly want that much for it to take all night. And you'll be here forever, very soon. Plenty of time for everything. Get rid of this clingy fiancé first.
Megumi roughly ripped his hand out of Yuji's, stepping back with a hard look. 'We're not married yet. You don't get to order me around, Itadori-sama. Let go of me.'
The prince jerked back, eyes widening slightly. Was Megumi imagining the hurt flashing in them? Yuji was a lot weaker than Megumi had thought if a single insult upset him, but that wasn't his problem.
'That's not what I was trying to do — ' Yuji started, but Megumi wasn't listening. Maki was giving him a hard look, somehow even more hostile than her usual, but he ignored it tactfully, stepping back and turning in a whirl of his expensive silks. Yuji could nurse his hurt feelings with his friends and bottles of that gritty sake. It wasn't his problem. He strode away without a look back.
Alright, Naoya, Megumi fumed internally, clenching his jaw as he wove through the bustling party. Let's see what you want.