Anything

Between all the lands, and among the most prominent of cities such as the golden ports of Florenisle, sweeping plains of Mulaiya and the desert oasis Marudrem, one stood above them all. A city blessed by their beloved god, dwelling in the unforgiving tundra and snowscape, yet simply thriving in their culture. A city known for their extravagant parties, the kind monarchy that loved and cherished each resident, as walls protected the city from the constantly howling winds. Of course, one would expect by now that the mountainous terrain would lead to trouble when it came to settlement. For the average citizen, not quite, though architecture once adapted from Mulaiya had to be heavily altered. Instead, the straight columns of intricate carvings were changed to curl and cut into the mountain before silver spires rose. They stood proud among the heavens, at the highest of the land, Valois was the kingdom with its silver throne, held on top of a deadly pedestal encased in winter frost as all others worshipped the kingdom like an idol. But perhaps better than the land itself, was the royal family that had constantly ruled the snowscape with a foreign sort of warmth never found in its wild climate.

“Where is he?” The palace was up in arms this morning, all for the missing prince. The crown prince. Quite a scene as the king himself now strode lengths along the hallways in search of his son. A sweeping red cape draped itself over the male’s arm and royal attire. Medals and the royal insignia sat as brooches over his heart. Silver and white accents woven in the pattern of delicate roses along the trims, but nothing quite captivated as the male’s ruby eyes did. The king was old, already rather ashen as duller grey slowly started to creep in a saturated streak along his otherwise ebony hair. Tired lines were drawn onto his face with time, crows-feet from years of laughter and happiness with his children and late queen, and heavy bags over the official paperworks that he had slaved himself over, to distract from grief. Surprisingly, it worked. Though his hand once again searched for his pocket watch, opening its face with a gentle smile as its gentle clicking began. Beside the numbers, was his late wife. The love of his life and the one that gave their son such a cheerful personality. Though when paired with his ‘stubbornness’ as she constantly pointed out, it made a terrible pairing. 

“Katerina… please discipline our son… by gods, you were the only one that he’d listen to… dearest, please perform your miracles for me again.” 

Truly, there was no need. For Oskar knew the day well, just that perhaps he thought maybe he could delay it for a little bit longer. Just for the rest of this morning, perhaps he’ll be able to live as only a crown prince. No, just a prince, just a boy. He didn’t want to be any more than this, any more than to just be himself. And for that one request, deep within his heart, he only knew one place of sanction. The place where he could not be denied nor forced to be the Crown Prince of Valois, Oskar Fabian Federov. A pompous voice in his mind being an unofficial official rule whenever referencing this name, a little joke to the council members that had addressed him with such reverence. Not that he deserved it, it was only quite humorous to listen to their lip-service, as genuine as some had ended up sounding. 

“Prince, what are you doing here?” Such a familiar voice reached his ears, chuckling as the young prince and king-to-be entered the room. The bedchamber was unlike his own. Without the silver and wonderful embellishments that curled along every column within his room. No elaborate fireplace nor extensive drawing room nor music room branching off. Instead, it felt almost homey, despite being in the same monumental palace of silver. Warm tones of brown and beige woodtones were littered around the room instead. The fireplace seemed used, a hearty scent of coal and smoke still lingering around as other corners, specifically near the bar cart, the old whiskey mingled with the natural scent. The bed was simplistic, a small balcony off from just beside the wooden desk, maps spread out wide, though Oskar never quite figured out what he was trying to find. But amongst everything else, there was one scent that he always felt comfortable with. The scent of tea leaves and sandalwood, just the subtlest hint of rose by his neck and hands while whiskey floated about like a constant identifier. His flame-like hair was tamed for today, such a perfect occasion, when everyone would have to be just as perfect. His uniform was also a distinct white, just like the snow that blanketed the kingdom almost everyday. Two swords hung by his waist, no doubt daggers hidden elsewhere that Oskar never really quite found out about. But he had to admit, it didn’t quite matter if he always remained  protected as a result. Nothing to complain about really. 

“Prince… Why are you not dressed? Didn’t I say I’d-” A singular finger was placed delicately over the man’s lips, quick to seize his talking before the younger broke in laughter and nudged him. 

“Oh hush, can’t I come visit my best friend?” Oskar had a way with words and as it swayed others, it seemed to make any sort of sense of authority in this man melt away. He was commanded by his father’s words, a man of perfect loyalty, one that he considered to be his closest confidant and companion after his sister. And just as many times before, it felt warm in his arms, a firm and powerful hold that had him weak at his knees. It was difficult training with him by sword, though he enjoyed their other exercises much more. One thing was a constant, the chiselled body that this man had and one that he somehow had the pleasure of seeing almost on a daily basis. Sure, the eternal winter in Valois was less than convenient but their time together in bed gave him plenty of time to drool over his protector. 

“Oskar, it’s your coronation. Out of everyone, you of all people mustn’t be late. Not by a single second, you hear?” Oskar himself quickly found his soothing atmosphere to shatter to a million pieces. Calloused hands, firm though warm cupped his cheeks, worried eyes like emeralds looking down at him. His ears slicked back, the bushels of fur being a precious sort of soft that Oskar always found himself looking at. His own eyes glanced back to those emeralds for a split second before those hands tightened. Shit, he saw. 

“Oskar.”

“Yes, yes Claude, I get it. I won’t be late, I promise.” His face was brimming with scepticism, a little insulted though with some thought, Oskar managed to understand his point-of-view. After all, he was usually rather late for training sessions to do with the sword. But all the same, his hands lifted from Claude’s shoulders, delicately trailing his fingertips along the contours of his back before they held his hands and slowly took them off his face. A gentle hold as he tilted his head, red eyes looking up to him as he left a smile for the man. 

“I promise~” A little whine left him, pouting slightly before he felt those powerful arms around him again, hastily picking him up as Claude nuzzled his head into the crook of his neck. 

“Alright, alright. Gods, you’re already this old…” 

“You say it like you didn’t expect it.” 

“Faulen doesn’t grow so rapidly. It’s always odd seeing you grow so much in only a few decades…” Oskar always forgets each time that this man that he called his best friend was also once a vassal from Marudrem. A young vassal at that as a declaration of a dear alliance, now serving Valois and Marudrem’s peace with abundant loyalty. 

Faulen, beings of humanoid nature gifted by the celestial beings to be one with the earth. The true apex predator if they so wished and yet their kind generally lives peacefully among themselves in the otherwise unlivable deserts. In terms of Faulen, Claude was only just a young adult despite having now lived just a bit over 2 centuries, though despite being ‘wise’ with age, he only keeps growing. Oskar knew the scale of growth and frankly he quite enjoyed it. Of course, quite intimidating each time he’d realise the man had gotten even taller, not to even start mentioning his beastial form. That was worth a whole new topic altogether, putting the arctic wolves to shame with both his sleek coat and size. But even if he was much older, he acted no different from him. In essence, they were both around the same age, hence the only reason how their lips together felt so gentle and comforting. Not just because of his body temperature and the way his tongue managed to touch every nerve ending that felt possible to have felt his caress. It was always so gentle, and so butter-like, Oskar felt himself melt in his arms. They barely needed to exchange a look before they were entangled in each other’s presence, though Oskar tried desperately to pull Claude’s uniform off of his sculpted body, the other male fought against the sneaky hands that slipped under and between his shirts to touch his skin. The two shared knowing smiles. As one craved more intimacy, the other was aware that if he gave in to the prince, he would certainly never make it on time to his own coronation. The king knew nothing of this more intimate arrangement and frankly, Claude would like to keep his head for the following couple of centuries. 

“You’re no fun…” Their foreheads touching, Oskar’s delicate smile twisting to a smirk before he was placed back down on his feet. 

“As much fun as you’d like once you become my king instead,” Claude lowered his head and raised his delicate hand to his lips with a deep bow before he left a final kiss by his eye. His delicate rubies that always glowed with such happiness. “So promise you’ll be ready on time?”

“I’ll do my best.” 

Sure, even if Oskar had promised Claude for his prompt arrival, how dare he ever insinuate that he’s forgotten the most wonderful woman in the world? Even so, Oskar constantly felt his own fingers drift upwards again on his way back to his own bedchambers, still reminiscing that tender kiss they shared, so passionate and warm that his chest still felt fuzzy at the thought of their exchange. It was never a relationship, only really a means of showing kinship and the exchange of each other’s trust. So much so that they naturally began to indulge in more and more aspects of each other. At first it was just the occasional kiss though the moment Oskar became relatively taught in terms of a sexual transaction, it seemed that was all they seemed to do together in private. 

Regardless, his bright steps wandered the halls, occasionally ducking into random rooms, inevitably intruding on some people but nevertheless managed to avoid the few guards that were out looking for him, as well as his handmaids. Thankfully, his father seemed to be nowhere in sight… most likely too busy preparing the coronation’s final details. Of course, Oskar felt some twinge of guilt starting to tug at his heart at the thought of him having the time of his life while his own father was inevitably preparing a celebration that Oskar should’ve been at the mantle of instead. Yet then again, when will Oskar even be able to have this much fun and freedom, especially if he is to be king in a few short hours? So with a determined sigh, his hand found the familiar door and pushed.

The room was a splendid blend of frosty violets, pastel pinks, dreamy yellows and the pearlescent white. As if the whole room was carved of a beautiful pearl, everything glimmered as light streamed in from the windows and landed in scattered speckles along the marbled floor. 

“Oskar? Why are you- Oh, you cheeky boy.” The voice was soft, somewhat alarmed at first but quickly returned to the serene tone of the wonderful woman that stood just by the doors leading to her balcony. A fur robe was wrapped around her body, keeping her warm and comfortable above all else. After all, it was the pearl of Valois, the stunning second princess and priestess of Valois. His dearest elder sister. And despite it all, even if he was about to become king, to become the next monarch of this great empire, she still opened her arms to him all the same and only naturally, did he manage to run straight into her and bury his face in her furs. It was warm there, a comforting presence, not just for him but for the whole of the kingdom. 

“Mind explaining to me why you’re not getting ready?” 

“Sophie, you know I don’t need long to get ready for events like this…” Oskar gave a small pout, and as always the priestess stood there with a gentle grin, carefully touching his cheek. 

“I know, Oskar. But you do realise the whole palace has been in a panic because you disappeared this morning? For what, they don’t even know. You understand the troubles they went through?” He didn’t want to admit it but Sophie had a point. Of course, the sudden disappearance of the crown prince on the day of his coronation would obviously be a troubling circumstance. Though the bright laugh of a boy not yet wanting those heavy responsibilities, they only needed a small glimpse before they were content. Hence, Oskar never figured this to be a problem. 

“That’s fine.” 

“Oskar!”

“What?! They know I’m fine!” Oskar expected her smile, gentle and kind though she oddly looked angry. Not her usual choice of expression but it was terrifying the way her frosty eyes looked like icicles in that short moment. Instinctive for his arms to immediately let go of their hug and take a step back. 

“They’re worried. Do you not care if you are assassinated?”

“Who would ever picture a coup during a coronation?”

“Plenty of people, Oskar!” 

Her hand made contact with the tea table, the porcelain cups shaking at the contact, unused to the force. Oskar was in just as much shock as he watched, wide eyed and his hands shaking. He was scared, especially since Sophie had never raised her voice at him and all the more because she never once hit a thing. 

“Sophie… don’t strain yourself-”

“Oskar, how do you expect me to feel comforted at the notion of you becoming king if you yourself cannot see yourself on that throne?” Her voice shook, gently dusting off her hand before she settled the disturbed teacup on its saucer. Her expression did nothing to hide her thoughts either, eyes searching her younger brother’s face. Soft with a certain air of childishness, eyes still bright with a mischievous nature though all in all, he still resembled a child. A beautiful and lovely child by all accounts, but still a child. It seemed with this realisation, her face fell again. 

“I want you to be safe, Oskar.” Her voice was gentle and frankly, Oskar didn’t need her to keep telling him. He knew this well enough already, that all she had ever wanted was to watch Valois grow as Oskar sat on its throne. After all, it was the only reason she remained as solely Valois’ divine priestess. The privilege she could’ve had all over the world, given up so that she could watch him succeed. 

“And I will, I promise.” Oskar’s hands seized hers, an odd warmth between the two before Oskar hugged her tight. What remained of their mother was right here. The sister that bore an uncanny resemblance to the late queen, and inevitably, a consequential mother-figure in his eyes. 

“I’ll be safe, you don’t ever have to worry.”

“Alright then Oskar… I pray to the gods that you will be a great king.” Yet despite her words, Oskar could see the worry linger, like a dark miasma that clouded her thoughts. And there was really only one way to quell it: by proving her wrong.

And so with that determination, Oskar took in a deep breath, kissing his sister’s cheeks and hand before he departed from her room with an odd but rewarding sort of ‘responsibility’ in his heart. Pride, perhaps. Either way, the throne was there, waiting for him and for himself, a final hour before he is stripped of freedom and detained in the palace… Yet the thought of sitting atop the silver pedestal, he had always fantasised about. Continuing on his father’s legacy and the Fedorov dynasty, these were his tasks by birthright. Aside from them, he knew nothing else. Frankly, he didn’t want to know anything else. Valois was all he needed. 

Walking these halls this time felt different. Though Oskar’s daze was quickly snapped closed as maids and servants grabbed him by the arms and ushered him back into his room. Through the drawing room and past the doors of his music room, where the open grand piano still sat waiting for his delicate fingers’ return. Back into his bedroom and almost instantly stripped of his casual white dress shirt and riding pants to be replaced by the worthy attire for a king-to-be. 

His clothes were oddly military. A very obvious lack of medals and medallions unlike his father and his best friend though he did have one thing, the royal insignia as a brooch above his heart as well, a cape of red rimmed with white furs. The fabric was sleek, soft and comfortable though it kept him warm. It hugged his body like a cocoon, almost contouring the faint muscular definitions his otherwise lean frame had but otherwise only exaggerated the sleek figure. A mesmerising being a beauty, as was his late mother. He never quite escaped this comment. And even if he used to resent it and claimed that the mention of her made him sad, he didn’t ever want to part from this correlation with her again. 

“Can I keep the pendant on?” 

“Of course, your highness.” His maid’s voice was gentle, slowly placing the pendant necklace over his neck again, the predictable photo of his mother inside but unlike his father’s, indeed the rest of his family was there too. Framed with their mother sitting gracefully beside her harp, their sister standing just beside her with her smile. Their father stood tall and proud as he held her shoulder with comfort. Where his other hand was, was on Oskar’s shoulder. The young Oskar, still only 5 at the time of this photo, yet even as their mother approached her deathbed, it seemed death itself even wept at her beauty. Then there was another, a brother that he called by blood though by all honesty should’ve been his cousin. His half-brother. Sharing the same mother though the closeness was… near nonexistent. 

His hair was eventually tamed from its wild curls, being gently pulled back away from obstructing his face as a ribbon held it in place. A surprisingly strong ribbon at that and a clean product by the maids though he never quite expected anything less. The workers in the palace always managed to surprise him, may it be the loyal maids and butlers or the skilled chefs. Occasionally, even the council members that aided his father in running the empire. 

“Oh? How come the little boy looks so mature now?” Yet another voice, not quite the same tone as Claude’s in the way that it immediately raised his spirits but it was kind all the same. The man that he had often mistook for his father when he was younger. The special placehold for when his own father would be busy and instead he would come and care for him instead. His uncle. His eyes were different in the sense that it was far darker than his family’s ruby red, taking a shade of dark mahogany instead. But he too was dressed in the usual formal attire, the insignia sitting above his heart though instead of a ruby framed in dazzling silver, he possessed a simple plaque of silver. The same as all the council members when requesting entry to the palace grounds. 

“I’m not that little…” 

“Of course you’re not, but you have always been such a boisterous child.” The warm hand touched his shoulder, squaring back his nephew’s shoulders and pushing his chest forward as he gave a gentle hum. “In my eyes, you will always be just a nephew.” 

“I’d hope you’ll treat me more professionally as a king instead, uncle.” Oskar’s smile was bright, waving off his hand before he stepped off the podium, fixing the drapery around him so the red did not completely overwhelm him in their folds and creases. He offered a hand to the older male, his uncle giving a glance before he took it warmly. 

“Certainly, sire. Though, that would have to wait for the official ceremony. Until then, you are still just a child to my heart.” Oskar simply smiled at his words, giving his uncle a hug before he saw a family head peek in. Claude. It seemed the comfort of his uncle’s presence melted to excitement as he punched into his guard’s arms, a bright laugh coming from either party.

“For once, you’re ready on time?” 

“I could scarcely believe this myself.” The older chancellor spoke with a smile, seemingly at peace as he watched the two, clearing his throat a little before he managed to sneak around the two to the throne room for the official ceremony. Besides, there wasn’t much time left until it began, and frankly he’d rather not miss it. And likewise with Claude and Oskar, as much as the two would’ve loved to spend more time together, gushing over each other’s appearance and charms, it was as Claude had said: they shouldn’t be late. And so, he spoke with a wag of his tail, like a gentle flame in the way the red mass would curl and lash behind him in excitement. A hand outstretched, head lowered and the air around him shifting almost entirely. No longer that best friend sort of goofy grin as he extended an invitation. 

“Your highness, your coronation awaits you.”

The throne room in the palace was undeniably the grandest of all areas. The ballroom being only second after and then the menagerie after that. But no one could deny the pure splendour that were the crystal chandeliers and age-old tapestries that illustrated the birth of Valois as well as their prolonged worship of Letalius. They seemed to guard the silver throne, glistening  as the centrepiece of the entire hall. Yet when usually Oskar saw this room near empty with the few exceptions of his father and council members, today was filled. Every noble that he could’ve recognised, seen the faces of during previous balls and parties. He could hear the murmuring people and chatter from the hallways leading towards the throne room, certainly unnerved by the sheer number his ears relayed back to him. Then again, what did he expect? The coronation of a new king? The beloved crown prince of that same king that managed to raise Valois to the pinnacle of society? Now, who wouldn’t want to celebrate this? That being said, Oskar wasn’t having second thoughts, heavens no, he wanted this badly. He wanted the throne, the grandeur of becoming king… just that such numerous amounts of people… it was quite the shock. 

“Oz,” the king-to-be raised his head to look towards Claude, a flash of panic quickly glistening over his eyes. “You’ll be fine. You’ve practised the ceremony and vows for years now. One cup of wine and the throne is yours.” Oskar felt his firm hand tighten over his, hesitant before he let go and took a step forward to the large doors that blocked Oskar from his future. Claude didn’t ever want to hold him back, and hence with a small nod, affirmed by his friend’s compliance, he entered and thus announced His Highness’ entrance. 

Oskar refrained from the flinch due to the uproarious cheer, simply allowing a smile to take place upon his lips as he began to approach the throne. His eyes zoned in on one person. His father. A regal man standing by the foot of the throne, the crown absent from his head and instead in his hands. The same warm hands that had cupped his cheeks when he would’ve disobeyed and ran out into the snow. Those same hands that held him tight when mother was no longer there to smile at him. The same hands that pushed books and work into his lap all whilst he uttered gentle words that spoke endlessly of his love for him. 

The man that used to carry him as if he weighed nothing, looked weak. Albeit, still certainly capable of fighting a man but he looked indescribably tired. What used to be a river of ebony black curling down his back now looked more like the sleek grey of a dull daybreak. Lines stretched across his face, wearing him down over the many years he spent fretting over the kingdom. Right, it was Oskar’s turn. 

The boy knelt onto one knee in front of his father, his head lowered and his eyes averted from him. The extravagant red poured down the stairs, lined in snow-like furs as the two men, near identical, initiated the ceremony. And it felt that in a single moment, Oskar felt the world fade and only his father’s words rang true in his ears. 

“To the grand nobilities gathered today,” the voice began and instantly seized all attention. The spotlight was on only them two now. “His Royal Highness, Oskar Fabian Fedorov, once the Crown Prince of Valois, shall today see the beginning of his own reign. As the king of our beloved kingdom, I relinquish my crown to you, as with all my power and responsibility.” His voice spoke with grandeur, a sense of pride behind every rise and fall of his tone before he heard the beginning of the oath and as if it was his life essence, as if every word had already been engraved into his thoughts and mind, he spoke with a smile. His eyes lingering on his father, and then to the crown in his hands. So close… it was so close that he could smell it. The way that frost clung to it, the gentlest of floral scents from his father’s daily visit to the gardens, visiting mother. Perhaps that comforted him a little… to know that they were both here in a sense. 

“Finally, Oskar. Do you pledge to give your life to the people if it so calls for it? Do you pledge that above all, you shall treasure the wellbeing of the people before all material needs and wants? Will you, or will you not bring honour to the name Fedorov?” Here it was, the words that he had waited all his life to hear, the words that finalised his place on this throne. 

“Yes, the people are my lifeblood and will, I will protect them so long as I am a son of Fedorov. Glory to be brought, shall be obtained by my hands.” His eyes met his father’s, two pairs of vibrant rubies looking back into its own reflection. Carbon copies, even in the essence of how they delivered this oath. Oskar scarcely saw it, but he noticed the flinch in his father’s hand before the crown was placed on top of his head. A firm weight, one that proposed some trouble as he tried to stand how he usually did, his head unable to snap back into place energetically, but instead he rose like a peacock, the silver crown sat on top of his raven black hair, dazzling eyes matching the gems, a stunning specimen as he stood. 

If the oath was the one that connected him to the throne and its mortal authorities, the wine would be what connected him to the heavens. To Letalius, the god that they revered and worshipped. The god that his own sister had direct communication to if he so summoned her. It was no test per se, but it was simply a declaration of his allegiance to the god. And frankly, he had no worries. So as the ornate chalice was brought out to him, the deep maroon liquid sloshing like blood within its hold, Oskar smiled a little. Down it… down it and he would be king. Not the best alternative he wanted but… it was the throne, the legacy of being a son of Fedorov. What complaints was he supposed to have? 

The liquid trickled down his throat, burning and scorching his tongue, the roof of his mouth burning and his stomach growing hot as the chalice parted his lips. Now empty and as he tipped it to show the parched state it was in, cheers erupted. It was deafening, thunderous stomping of feets and celebratory cheers like fireworks in his head. He had drank wine before but none burnt quite as much as this. Not to mention the aftertaste… it was bitter, almost rancid. Whatever his sister had said about divine drink being a delectable treat to bear the honour of tasting… they must’ve drank from different gods. Though he put on a good face, smiling and waving to the nobility as the celebrations continued. Everything was good… yes, everything was good. 

“Sophie… Why does it taste so bad?” His words were slurred just a little, watching her as he placed a hand by hers, just overall glad she didn’t have too much of an authority to boss him around anymore. 

“Bad? Oskar, what do you mean? Divine drink tastes heavenly, thank you very much.” Her chuckle was bright, invoking one of Oskar’s too. Though he had to wonder, why was the world spinning? He did not dance, no he’s barely moved from where he was due to the crown still being a worthy additional weight to adjust to. 

“Oskar? Oskar, what do you mean ‘tastes bad’? Oskar?” Her voice began to echo, letting a cough escape him before he felt his own knees fail. He had never felt so weak. Nay, he has, though this weakness had been such a dreadful thing to feel. So why now? Why today? Why, out of all days, was it on his coronation? No, he tried, he desperately tried. Tried his best to stand straight and regain composure even if his body started to burn and ache. It was just his mouth at first, perhaps the burn of the liquor but once it spread to every inch of his body… Oskar could only scoff before he felt whatever strength he tried to muster, evaporate.