The Kingmaker's Crown

“Your stance has improved.” The deep voice makes him jump and he turns to find Alphard standing behind him. Regulus has been doing his exercises on the edge of the property. How his father knew to find him, Regulus doesn't want to know. He’s breathing embarrassingly heavily, so human of him. As is the sweat making his shirt stick to him and the tremble in his muscles. It makes his cheeks flush, embarrassed of his body. So clunky and human, Regulus’ body reacts to workouts more than his peers do. At most they gain a soft glisten or moisture during a session that leaves Regulus panting. Suddenly desperate to appear unphased, Regulus stops gulping in air. 

“Thank you father,” he says carefully. Alphard nods. He looks tired. Weary. 

“Regulus,” he begins. “Your brother told me you want to compete in the tournament for the favour of one of the Royals.” 

Regulus’ heart sinks through his toes. Sirius told Alphard. Scrambling, having no time or chance to present his case, Regulus rushes to explain. 

“Yes Father, I know I can make you proud and win favour at court on my own,” Regulus tells him, drawing himself to full height and clasping his hands on the pommel of his sword. Alphard regards him for a moment, searching for something. Regulus cannot tell if he finds it. 

“No,” Alphard tells him, looking at Regulus the way one would a child. “You will not compete tomorrow.” 

“I have what it takes!” Regulus demands, stepping closer to Alphard. “I can fight as well as you can, Father, and you know it.” 

Alphard laughs.“Can you?” 

Regulus raises his blade, prepared to prove it to his father, unsure if his words are even true. Alphard just shakes his head and steps away, moving towards the house again. “I said no, Regulus. It isn't time.” 

How dare he, how dare this man, who has taken so much from Regulus already, deny him his opportunity? Not the time? What more is there for him to learn? Regulus has been doing this for a decade. Alphard had thrust a blade into his hand his first day in fairy, demanding the two of them stop crying and learn to protect themselves. A task Andy had been spared as Alphard’s offspring. Even as children they had been in danger. Sirius had learned how to navigate the social world. Regulus had chosen his sword. The idea that despite everything, all Regulus has done, Alphard still didn't think he was ready makes Regulus angry. 

“I don't need your permission to enter, Father,” Regulus calls after him. Alphard hesitates. 

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Regulus.” As he walks away, Regulus tightens his grip on his sword and thinks that his father should heed his own words. 

Regulus wishes he could remember the entire tournament. In reality, he just remembers the feeling of Prince James' body under him as his sword pressed into the Prince’s soft throat and the flag was waved. Regulus had been giddy. James had looked furious. The second Regulus moved his sword, James flipped them and held Regulus down by his throat. Holding his weight between Regulus’ open legs, something wild in the Prince’s eyes as he leans closer to Regulus, breathing in heavily. Regulus can feel how the Prince is trembling as he begins to speak before stopping and breathing out shakily; 

“I hate you.” There's anger in it, but also something wistful.

Then he’s gone, pulled off Regulus. Regulus spies Sirius just behind The Duke, eyes wide as The Duke drags James away. Sirius dashes forward to help him up, but Regulus pushes his brother away. 

“He could have killed you,” Sirius hisses angrily. He could. The Prince had held Regulus in his powerful hands, could have broken his neck then and there. He had not. The Prince had seemed to revel in the moment, the boiling rage spilling heat over Regulus’ face. 

“He didn’t though,” Regulus throws back, rising to his feet. “And he couldn't beat me on the field. He’s just embarrassed. Don’t act like you care now, Sirius.” 

His brother scoffs, reaching forward to shove him. “Unbelievable. Father will be furious with you.” 

Father. That's not what they call Alphard to each other. Andy never did either. While their sister persisted in the disrespect to Alphard’s face, the two of them had cowed to him. He isn't there now though. Regulus turns to his brother, he has cuts on his face and arms that are bleeding softly. His hair is in a tight bun and the loose strands plastered to his face. His head is ringing and his clothes are stained with grass and blood. 

Sirius is watching him. His corseted shirt, pristine. His boots are healed and bejewelled. His hair falls in soft curls, quaffed and smooth. 

Strangers. 

Regulus takes a step back, feeling his emotions closing as he watches his brother hesitate. Then Sirius slips his gaze behind Regulus and when he looks back, his posture straightens and his resolve is set. Regulus scoffs and turns away, walking off the now empty pitch. He finds The Duke standing under a tree at the edge of the paddock, watching him carefully. Regulus glares at him and walks away. 

He stubbornly lets his blood and mud leave a trail through the house, gaining petty enjoyment in the cry of consternation from Narcissa he hears. Furious with his brother for leeching the joy out of his win and for distracting him when he should have been making an impression on the court. Kreacher runs him a bath and combs out his hair for him, washing all the gore away and smoothing it so kindly. There’s some kind of salt concoction that Kreacher makes for him, which helps ease his bruises and pain. 

“What would I do without you, Kreacher?” he mumbles. As he lays in the warm water, alone now, Regulus replays his spar with James. The Prince seems to lack the skills expected of his rank. If there had been a hope he would become king, Regulus would be worried. The line of succession was laughed at in Fairy. The idea that a child would be worthy of the throne simply by being born first. In some courts the throne was taken by coup, or battle. In the High Court, it was chosen. When his time came, King Fleamont would choose which of his six children he felt best suited for the role. Most seemed to believe he would choose from his eldest three children, those to whom the court dedicated themselves. His younger children are much closer to Regulus’ age and so the courts have been split long before they were even born. Prince James is the closest to a bastard child as you could get in Fairy. 

Where the folk often chose to end marriages after a period of time and move on, the High King never married. If they did, the power would be shared. Fairy had never had two rulers. The Peverell family line possesses the magic of the very earth. If the High King of Elfhame ever married, there would be a Queen. The first High Queen had never married either. The ruler simply took formal consorts who bore their children and acted as a spouse would, until the relationship ended and the King or Queen took another consort. A side effect of their elongated lives. 

Which is not to say King Fleamont didn't take lovers alongside his formal consort. 

Prince James, was the product of a lover. The only one of the King’s offspring to not be born of a public consort. The runty little prince who‘s only talent was bullying. A thrill runs through Regulus as he remembers how stark James’ white freckles had looked when his skin had flushed with embarrassment. So ashamed to lose to a human. The smug delight returned as he lay there in the water replaying the way James had looked under him. The door bursts open and Narcissa looms over him.

“What did you do?” she hisses. Crossing to the window and yanking Regulus’ robe up, thrusting it at him. “The Prince is here. Get up. Now.” 

Ice blasts through his veins. James had come to his home? Quickly, Regulus climbed out the bath, wrapping the robe around him and rushing into his room to ready himself. 

Moments later, his feet clattered on the stairs as he fled down them with Narcissa at his side. His hair was still damp, hanging in wild curls around his face but he quickly scraped it into a leather strap as he went. His shirt is loose and untucked. His trousers clinging to his damp legs uncomfortably. 

“He demanded to speak to you alone,” she tells him, she seems frantic and Regulus stumbles. Alone, what on earth is James planning to do to him? Has Regulus finally pushed James too far? Would the Prince really abuse his power to manipulate Regulus into being defenceless, and then punish him for beating James?

“Narcissa, alone?” He turns to her. They might have a tense relationship but the idea she would throw him to the wolves like this is a bit of a shock. Her hands are wringing and he realises she is just as uncomfortable as he is.

“I cannot disobey the Prince, Regulus.” Her eyes are wide and flick towards the door and back to him quickly. 

“Your father should be home soon,” she whispers and Regulus knows that's the only backup he will get. Furious that James would be so pathetic as to manipule Regulus into unfair revenge like this, he straightens and heads towards the door to his father’s office. 

Regulus immediately comes up short, rage sputtering out in his chest as shock washes through him. The Prince. Not Prince James. Prince Tom. A beautiful male sits in Alphard’s desk chair. His elegant eyebrows arches with surprise as the door slams into the wall.

“Oh,” Regulus states. 

“Mr Black,” Prince Tom greets. Too late, Regulus drops into a bow. 

“Your Highness,” Regulus gasps. “I’m sorry, Narcissa simply said it was the prince, I didn't realise-”  Regulus cuts off. Realising perhaps Prince Tom has been sent by James.

“You were expecting one of my brothers?” he asks softly. “Interesting.” 

The Prince rises from his seat and crosses to the front side of the desk, crossing his arms and studying Regulus. “You have skill, boy.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Regulus replies, cautious now. Tom waits for a beat and nods. 

“Is it true that you can lie?” 

Regulus blinks, a seemingly odd tangent to be taken but he nods.  “Yes, sire, all mortals can lie.” 

“Do it.” 

Until that moment, if you had asked Regulus, he would have called Prince Tom charming. Witty, attractive and smart. A good prince, primed to be a good king. Right then, however, every ounce of kindness was gone. Pure command. Regulus recognised the look from when a child on their street in the mortal world had set ants on fire with glass in the summer. 

Regulus swallowed. Prince Tom was far more powerful than Prince James. He had loyalists, knights and followers. Skill. He was older than Narcissa. Closer to Alphard in age. Prince Tom had power. Regulus did not. He cleared his throat nervously. The game has never felt more electric. 

“What would you like me to tell you sir?” Regulus asks cautiously. Tom narrows his eyes and smirks slightly. Regulus can tell he enjoys the submission. 

“Tell me you hate me,” he beams, charm back and glowing. It would be a lie, Regulus would have said Prince Tom is his favourite of the family. Tom doesn't know that and Regulus clearly has something he wants. Smiling carefully he tarries;

“How do you know that would be a lie, sire?” 

Tom hesitates for a moment before laughing softly. 

“That is very true.” There is an edge of danger in his eye as he leans forward, reaching for Regulus without asking. Sliding his fingers past the soft linen of Regulus’ shirt, the same path James had taken. Regulus goes still, aware of the danger as Tom unsheathes his dagger. The blade slips through his necklace, the berries spilling into Tom’s open hand. The Prince hesitates and then slides the knife up. 

“Stay still,” he commands, Regulus goes ridgid. Just like that, complete control. Shame floods Regulus, anger prickling like pins and needles over his skin as his soul crawls against his frozen meat suit, rageful and panicked. If the room was set on fire, he would be unable to move from this spot without instruction from The Prince. Regulus’ true fear. The real driving force behind his rage. The complete power the folk hold over him. Over all mortals. 

The knife cuts the band holding his hair, it tumbles in its full length down to his shoulders in wild black curls. Without the horns braided in, his hair is longer and thicker than he normally presents. The Prince smirks and nods. Leaning back against the desk once more. 

“Lie to me,” he commands. Regulus blinks, a lie. The instinct is to tell a lie he tells regularly, but under Tom’s command he knows he won't have a choice but to expose the truth to him after. Blurting a common lie will give The Prince knowledge Regulus doesn't want him to have. He smiles, control of his body returned to him with the Prince’s whim. 

“I just love bananas. They're the perfect snack.” 

The Prince studies his face intently as he speaks. “Again.” 

Regulus breathes in harshly as the command rocks him. 

“I hate him.” It blurts from him and he instantly feels the shame of the truth flooding him. He didn't mean to say that. Tom looks pleased, like he just won this round. 

“Who?” 

Regulus thinks he can save this, he’s still under the command to lie.

“My brother.” Tom seems to deflate slightly. 

“What's the truth?” The Prince asks, almost bored again. Regulus exhales and smiles.

“Bananas are disgusting and I- I love my brother.” Even if he hates himself for it. 

“Truly fascinating,” The Prince tells him. “What is it you want more than anything, Regulus Black?” 

“Respect.” It comes bubbling out of him so fast he doesn't have a second to think about it, compelled from him by the Prince. Funny, because if asked of his own volition, he would have sworn he wanted power. Although isn't that how you get respect? 

Tom smiles.

“Yes. I can imagine that’s tempting when you can be controlled so easily. Do you hate it? That we can compel you so?” 

“Yes.” It grinds out from behind his teeth and Prince Tom leans closer again seeming to relish in the power. 

“I need someone like you.” Pride floods Regulus, suddenly. The Prince has seen his skills and wishes to recruit him as a knight. At last. A chance to earn respect. 

“A Liar.” 

Oh. 

“Sire?” he asks softly. 

“For my court of spies. I need a liar. Someone who can trick their way into situations and places my others cannot. In return I will offer you a salary as any would have working for me, and a boon of your choosing.” 

Regulus blinks. A spy? Spies do not earn the respect of their peers. Spies hide in the shadows and do the dirty work. Daydreams of knighthood dissolve like candy floss in a puddle. 

“For example, I could cast a permanent geas, to make you impervious to the charms and glamors of others.” Regulus goes still. 

“No more loss of control, unless you consume the fairy fruit of course. Complete autonomy.” Not something he should have to bargain for, and yet. 

“Apart from your own?” Regulus asks. 

“Naturally,” Tom assures him. “With your ability to lie, your oath of loyalty is worthless, I must be able to trust you.” 

He says it like it's the obvious answer and Regulus knows better, he does. But the freedom Tom is offering him cannot be replicated. Only a member of the Peverell family, deep rooted in the magic of the isles, could grant something like this. Regulus can’t say no.

“Okay,” he whispers. Prince Tom smiles, inhaling deeply and rolling his shoulders, a gleam of victory in his eyes. The Prince might think he has won, but what he doesn't realise is what Regulus has learned in this room. 

He will never be a knight. These people will never accept him, never respect him. He will always be less than to them. 

He may as well embrace that. If he cannot get what he desires, he will take it. Take from them all. He might not be able to gain respect but he can gain power and everyone knows that knowledge is the best weapon. 

Prince Tom leans close to him and whispers the geas;

“Regulus Black, son of mud, from now evermore may you be free of all faerie glamour but mine. Allow no enchantment or charm to coerce you against your will. May your free will remain, subject only to my whim.” 

The magic skitters along his skin like lightning, and without second thought Regulus sinks to his knees in front of the Prince. Tom smiles contentedly as Regulus presses his fist to his heart and swears loyalty to Prince Thomas Peverell as spy and servant. 

He is on his knees, the last word having left his mouth when the door bursts open. Narcissa is standing in the doorway breathing heavily as she takes in Regulus and the Prince. She’s clutching a tea tray. 

“Sorry to interrupt, I brought tea, sire.” Narcissa places the tray down a bit too loudly. 

“Your father is almost home,” she adds. Regulus isn’t sure who the warning is for but Tom smiles fondly at her, all charm again. 

“Thank you, my lady. Our business here is done. Regulus.” The Prince's eyes land on Regulus again and he can feel the new bond, firm between them. A spy and his master. 

Tom reaches down to help Regulus to his feet again, in doing so passing the handful of berries back into Regulus’ ownership, a clear message. Keep up the charade. He swiftly slips them into his pocket until he can restring them and smiles at the Prince. 

“I’ll be in touch.” 

“Sire.” Regulus lowers his head and Tom sweeps from the room. He feels heady with the power he now holds, his neck free for the first time in 11 years. The metaphorical weight has been lifted too. 

The front door slams in the distance a moment later and Narcissa lunges for Regulus, grabbing his arm and looking down his body frantically. 

“Are you okay? Did he force you to-” She breaks off, sharp fingers grappling to check his neck for his charms. Quickly pulling away from her grasp, he scoffs at her. 

“Narcissa,” he scolds. “No, he did not. I’m fine, I swear it, nothing happened that I did not want.” This makes her face pinch and she sighs. 

“Regulus, I know how… Tempting someone like a Prince can be,” she begins. “The power, it can be intoxicating and a handsome boy like you…” She looks back at him and there's something akin to genuine care in her face. 

“I know you think you understand things, Regulus, and perhaps I underestimate you often but men like that are dangerous. More than I hope you ever have to know.” 

“Narcissa, I -” He cuts off as the door opens and Alphard enters the room.

“Why was Tom here?” he asks carefully. “Did he ask to search my office?” 

Regulus and Narcissa blink at him. 

“Why would he want to do that?” Regulus asks carefully and Alphard seems to collect himself, smiling reassuringly. 

“No reason, he said he wanted to return something you left at the tournament?” 

Regulus put his guard up again. He had, in the maelstrom since, forgotten his disobedience. He nods carefully and Alphard nods, distracted. 

“I have news over dinner, come.” He sweeps from the room and Narcissa stops Regulus following for a moment. 

“Do not let your father learn of Prince Tom’s interest in you, there is history you do not understand. Heed me, I beg of you. Don’t be impetuous here, Regulus.” All too aware of the newfound situation, Regulus nods at her before following Alphard. 

Sirius and Draco are already taking their seats when Regulus enters. Andy appears in the doorway with a scowl. She doesn't normally join them. Alphard is seated at the head and Regulus slinks into his chair. Once they’re all seated and the food has been served, Andy pipes up.

“Is this about Regulus disobeying you and taking part in the tournament?” she demands and Regulus’ eyes widen. “Because I don't know why you thought he shouldn't, he certainly made you proud. Prouder than I ever intend too. He beat them all, he's a credit to your name.” 

She is defending him, but there's spite to her tone. Regulus knows it's mainly at Alphard, she will never forgive him for the murder of their mother. However, the dig about Regulus becoming what Alphard wanted is directed at him; she probably won’t ever forgive the twins for adapting to their new life. 

“No, you are correct. Regulus, congratulations are in order for your victory. You surprised me.” Part of him wants to tell Alphard what has happened since then, to show him just how wrong he is about Regulus. Alphard thinks he doesnt have the edge it would take. Prince Tom knows better. Alphard clears his throat, drawing their attention again before he makes his announcement.

“High King Fleamont has announced his plans to abdicate.” Silence falls at the table. The High King has ruled Elfhame for several human lifetimes. “He feels he has served for long enough. There will be a coronation at the next full moon. During which he will announce which of his heirs will take the throne. We will all be in attendance.” 

Chatter erupts as his siblings begin discussing the details of the party, Narcissa is talking about getting the seamstress in, and Andy is boasting about Princess Pandora's chances. But Regulus looks down at his plate. He has just become a chess piece in a much more important game. Prince Thomas is the heir apparent, for all the speculation and divisions amongst the court, Fleamont’s most trusted child is Tom. They all know it. And Regulus just signed on to be his spy. To secure his reign. In the span of 24 hours, Regulus Black has gone from dreaming of being a knight to becoming a spy for the next High King of Elfhame.