Chapter Text
Slade knows better than to think that Prince Grayson will remain chaste until the day they wed. Even if he had been a virgin on the day the treaty was signed, any red-blooded young man would have taken the chance to explore his pleasures before he’s bound by vows of fidelity.
A number of his advisors are preoccupied with the issue of Grayson’s virginity, but it isn’t something that bothers him, in truth. Grayson is biologically male - there are no concerns of him accidentally producing heirs with unsuitable partners. He might impregnate his female partners - it’s always a risk no matter the method of contraception - but growing up as Grayson had, and as Slade himself had grown up, it would have been part of their Royal education to take measures to avoid such things. After all, no blue blood wants bastards unaccounted for. It’s far too likely to cause trouble down the road in succession - most regicides Slade has heard of involve brothers (or sisters) killing each other over thrones, and that shit is just embarrassing.
Of course, his soon to be father-in-law (and isn’t that just a joke) is unusual in that over the years, he’s adopted a handful - a fistful - an entire brood of children who aren’t his own get. By all accounts, he treats them as his own flesh and blood.
It’s an intriguing concept and one that Slade respects, in principle. If he hadn’t had his own children, or if his children had not been inclined to be heirs to the throne, he would have considered adopting too - better to choose heirs suited for the throne instead of trying to teach babies to be good Kings.
It had caused an uproar in the neighbouring kingdoms when Wayne named his adopted children as heirs to the throne, but Slade hadn’t been surprised. Wayne had no biological children, and nor was he married. For all his prattle about nobility, King Wayne is nothing if not practical.
Slade can only hope that Grayson had been raised in the same way.
Word is that Grayson is fair and strong and even-tempered and beloved by his family and his people alike, but Slade rarely trusts rumours that have no balance. No person is perfect, and anyone who says otherwise is selling something. But try as he might, he hasn’t been able to learn anything substantial about his husband-to-be.
After he and Wayne had signed the marriage-cum-peace treaty, he’d received a single portrait of the boy, but in it Grayson had looked like every other young man Slade has seen. He had all the usual facial features (two eyes, a nose, a mouth), and had seemed entirely generic. If Slade hadn’t known better, he’d have thought it was a portrait of a younger King Wayne himself, because of the blue eyes and the dark hair - dominant traits in Wayne’s blood. Slade had ultimately disregarded the portrait as something cooked up by an artist trying to find and emphasise physical similarities between King Wayne and his adopted son.
Either way, Grayson could have been an Angel descended from the heavens but Slade still wouldn’t have chosen to marry him, if not for these present circumstances. Unfortunately the Demon Clan has become a bigger problem than anyone could have anticipated. In his own father’s time and for hundreds of years before, the Demons had kept to their desert lands, living in small enclaves and sheltering in caves, preying on foolish travellers who ventured into their territories but not much else. They’d been little more than a cluster of nomadic tribes, scattered, disorganised and technologically backward - not a genuine concern to a nation as strong as Slade’s.
At least, not until the new Demon King came into power ten years ago, unifying the tribes and teaching them strategy, turning them from a crowd of ordinary thugs into trained mercenaries. Instead of waiting for travellers to come to them, the Demons started sending raiding parties into their neighbouring lands - Slade’s kingdom in the North, Wayne’s kingdom in the South, and Kyle’s kingdom to the West. It had been a mere annoyance in the beginning; all three Kingdoms were known for their strong borders and their fighting prowess, but the Demons kept coming like ants pouring out of a flooding nest until they were fighting constantly on their own borders to prevent an imminent invasion.
They aren’t losing, but they aren’t winning either. The Demons are growing like a cancer in between their kingdoms, threatening to eat them from the inside, and that’s before Slade started hearing rumours of the Demon King’s alleged ability to raise the dead.
Slade doesn’t believe it. Or at least, he doesn’t want to believe it, and he’s old enough to know the difference. His council had always wondered where the Demon King was getting so many warm bodies to invade their lands when the Demon Clan had never had a large population, but necromancy would answer that question neatly.
While Wayne and Kyle are apparently childhood friends, he and Wayne had never truly been friendly - they’d kept to themselves without interfering in each others’ business and Slade had considered it to be a decent relationship. He didn’t spend too much time thinking about his closest neighbours, and he preferred it that way. But the threat of the Demon Clan has become serious enough that they were forced to consider a formal alliance.
And they’d gone through all the options, but nothing would have worked save for a wedding. He and Wayne are too old - and neighbouring kings marrying each other would have been the height of foolishness. Of Slade’s own children - two out of three had been lost in battle and the third is his daughter and only heir, too precious to waste on an alliance like this, and in love with her best friend besides.
Rose would never have forgiven him if he’d forced her into a political marriage, and Slade could survive any physical injury but he wouldn’t survive her hatred. Wayne, on the other hand, had only lost one son in battle, though Slade doesn’t doubt the magnitude of his grief. But still, Wayne has three more healthy sons to spare, and a number of daughters after that still.
Slade could have wed one of Wayne’s daughters, but daughters beget children and Slade doesn’t want any potential child to threaten Rose’s position - she’s more than capable of defending herself of course, but he wouldn’t do that to her. So Slade knew he would have to wed someone who wouldn’t - or couldn’t - produce heirs. Grayson is the oldest of the Wayne brood, and while that made him Wayne’s Crown Price, Slade hadn’t even considered marrying Wayne’s younger sons, who were even younger than Rose.
At their last meeting, Wayne had looked pained but he’d agreed with Slade’s reasoning. Wartime weddings rarely afforded anyone with the luxury of choice, but at least Slade wouldn’t be expected to wed a sixteen year old Drake, or a twelve year old Thomas. Grayson is young still, barely twenty-four, but not so young that Slade won’t be able to sleep at night.
Anyway, Wayne is still strong. He has enough time to train Drake to be his heir, especially if this alliance comes to fruition.
And Slade himself only has to deal with Grayson politically. He’s not actually looking for a husband or a partner to help with the business of ruling. It doesn’t matter if the rumours about the man are true or false. It’s clearly written into the treaty that Grayson will hold no titles here save those that he earns, and nor will he be bound by any obligations or duties he does not personally request. In any other context it might have been taken as an insult to the Crown Prince, but he and Wayne both know it just means that Grayson will be free to return to his father’s lands on Slade’s death, and leave the business of ruling to Rose.
Slade shifts in his seat for the first time in what feels like hours, and hides the flinch as his knees protest the movement. The only other person in the room is Wintergreen, who has earned Slade’s trust time and time again, but every reminder of the age difference between himself and his husband-to-be makes him uncomfortable.
But it’s too late to change anything now. Grayson will be arriving in two days time, and preparations in the Palace are in full swing. Slade had arranged for Grayson’s room to be in the Royal wing - adjoining his own, but self-contained so they could have their privacy without implying disharmony to outsiders. He’s also commissioned a throne to sit on the dias beside his, across from Rose’s. It’s not as elaborate as his own, but then, neither is Rose’s.
He’s been tolerating tailors and groomers squawking over the state of his wardrobe and his toenails for days. He’s been tolerating cleaners in his personal rooms, scrubbing the floors and changing the sheets because everyone is assuming he’ll be sharing his bed with Grayson. He hasn’t done anything to dispel the notion, but one of the few things he’s still uncomfortable with - even after all these years of being King - is the thought that everyone is going to be imagining him bedding Grayson, at least on their wedding night. If the thought is this unsettling for him, he can’t imagine what must be going through Grayson’s mind.
The seating arrangements have been planned, not only for the wedding banquet where he and Grayson will be at the head of the table, but also for every meal after, shifting people further down from the place of honour so that Grayson can have a seat on his left, with Rose on his right.
He doesn’t know what Grayson’s personality is like, but Slade decides that no matter what else he does, he needs to remind Grayson - and everyone else - that Rose comes first. She always will, and Slade is carefully not thinking of the worst case scenario, if Grayson turns out to have designs on the throne. He’ll put Grayson down himself if he has to, but he has no doubt that the repercussions will be grave. They’ll all be walking on tenterhooks until - well. For the foreseeable future. Until Slade is dead, perhaps, and that might be sooner than later if he’s fighting a war on so many fronts.
Slade shakes his head as if to dislodge the thoughts moving in endless circles in his mind. There’s just no point to overthinking, not until Grayson arrives and Slade can render his own judgement. Until then, there are better things to occupy time.
-
Grayson arrives sooner than expected, with a smaller party than expected. The party consists only of two young men on horseback, and a third horse pulling a small carriage behind, most likely for the prince. It’s hardly the most secure arrangement, but Slade takes pride in keeping his territories safe and clear - it’s unlikely that they faced any troubles but he finds himself quietly judging Wayne’s decision to send the young Prince here with only two guards. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it an act of sabotage, but Wayne’s not the type - assuming Wayne hasn’t tried to send a commoner instead of a prince… Slade would have no choice then but to take offence. He hopes it doesn’t come to that.
There are a few bags on top of the carriage but not nearly enough for a Royal wedding, let alone the accoutrements of a young man moving to a new place for an indefinite period of time. It doesn’t bode well in Slade’s mind, because it means Grayson might not be planning for the wedding to go through at all, or maybe he’s planning on running away, or objecting to Slade at the altar… that would be a nightmare.
Slade forces himself to ignore the pessimistic voice in the back of his head. This treaty had been Wayne’s suggestion, even if Slade had been the one to pick Grayson. It would be the height of stupidity for Wayne to try and double-cross him now. Wayne is an idealistic fool, but he’s no idiot. Surely Wayne’s son would not be an idiot either. Surely he understands what’s at stake here. Slade is no young person’s ideal spouse, but they’re both duty bound to see this through.
Slade is waiting at the Palace gates as the two men dismount from their horses neatly. One has dark hair and the other one flame-red. They’re of similar height and build, and they make a handsome pair, but the dark-haired one has such lovely blue eyes that even Slade is distracted for a split second, staring. Slade catches himself quickly though, and forces himself to observe their posture, the way they walk, the way they treat their horses, taking his measure of the men.
Both men move to the door of the carriage, presumably to help the Prince out, but Slade is surprised when the person who emerges is a pretty red headed woman, supporting herself on a cane.
No one else emerges from the carriage, and Slade is beginning to get concerned when the blue-eyed man bounds up the stairs towards him. Slade’s hand automatically drops to his sword at the unexpected movement, but the man stops short and drops into a perfect bow.
Slade realises instantly that the bow is not the type to be offered by a commoner, or even a nobleman to a King. In the very moment it takes for the man to extend his hand, Slade realises that the portrait he’d received had simply not done Grayson justice. The man standing in front of him is anything but generic. His face is slim and well-proportioned. His features are elegant, and as he’d noticed before, Grayson’s blue eyes are striking. Slade doesn’t consider himself a connoisseur of beauty, but he’s not blind. Grayson is beautiful - far more lovely than any of the rumours had implied. His hand would have been a prize to be fought over, if not for Slade’s treaty with Wayne.
Traditionally, he’s supposed to kiss the back of Grayson’s hand. After all, by marriage tradition Grayson is joining his household and deserves an appropriate welcome. But Slade thinks - this is a man who’d ridden his own horse to his future home. He’s wearing a suit of armour and sensible shoes, and his horse had looked well-taken care of even though he doesn’t travel with a squire.
Slade accepts Grayson’s hand, but instead of kissing it, he shakes it, the way he would shake the hand of an equal. No one is really his equal in this Kingdom and he’s had nearly fifty years to come to terms with it, but he knows better than most that a little respect can go a long way.
There’s a brief flash of surprise on Grayson’s face but his handshake is firm. His hands are strong and calloused - Slade was right. He’s no pampered brat. Good.
“You are welcome here, Prince Grayson,” Slade says, abbreviating the traditional spoken greeting - far too many words and bluster for his liking. He admits - only to himself - that he’s hoping for another flash of surprise in Grayson’s blue eyes. It looks surprisingly good on him.
“I’m glad to be here, King Wilson,” Grayson replies calmly, seamlessly adapting the traditional response to suit Slade’s greeting. “May I please introduce my friends, Sir Wallace and Lady Barbara. They are my closest companions and would not hear of me making the journey on my own. My father, King Wayne, will be travelling here with a proper entourage, with all the appropriate items for the wedding. I hope you will not mind the impropriety, but I wanted the opportunity for a good ride through the countryside.”
If there wasn’t riding so much on this wedding, Slade would have taken the bait and offered Grayson the ride of a lifetime. It might even have been a funny start to their relationship. But this man is a Crown Prince, and he is to be Slade’s husband and Slade doesn’t even know if Grayson is the type to take offence, so he keeps his comment to himself.
Besides, Grayson is right to assume that he won’t be going anywhere in Slade’s kingdom without a proper entourage, not for a while. Not just because Slade doesn’t trust him, but also because there are political detractors who don’t support the building of strong ties between Slade and Wayne. Grayson would be at risk, and if anything happened to him on Slade’s watch, he has no doubt that Wayne would turn his attention from the Demon Clan and focus it entirely on ending him. Slade wouldn’t go down easily, of course, but mathematically speaking his line is far easier to end that Wayne’s. The numbers just aren’t in his favour, so he’s going to keep Grayson safe, even if the man hates him for it.
They wait silently for Sir Wallace and Lady Barbara to climb the stairs, and it’s probably a good thing that Grayson doesn’t attempt to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, or empty flirtation. They’re both clearly uncomfortable, but Slade doesn’t sense resentment from the young man, and that - he can work with that.
When Grayson’s friends reach the top of the stairs, he nods and his men immediately flood around the carriage to collect Grayson’s luggage. They will take it to chambers designated for the wedding party, and once Grayson identifies his own belongings they will be brought to his chambers in the Royal Wing. He may not like it, but Slade isn’t willing to have Grayson’s friends traipsing around the family rooms unsupervised. It’s not paranoia if people are really out to get you.
They walk in silently and Slade does his best to not loom, though he’s been told he does that effortlessly. He keeps one step back and tries to project a neutral sense of welcome, but Rose has always been better with such things than him. After all, he and Wayne grew up in tumultuous times, and it has shaped them into the stern men they are today. That their respective children grew up so carefree is thanks in no small part to their own sacrifices. He’s far too old to change now, anyway.
The silence is just beginning to get a little awkward when Slade finally decides to break it. “Please be at ease, Prince Grayson, Lady Barbara and Sir Wallace. We are accustomed to entertaining guests but welcoming new family is an unfamiliar business. My daughter, Princess Rose, will be here soon. I believe she plans on showing you around the Palace.”
“King Slade, my apologies,” Grayson starts, “I understand, for we are in the same situation.”
Slade doesn’t know how he’s going to finish that thought, but thankfully Rose bounds in mere seconds later, clattering with weapons and armour. She’s not nearly as affectionate with him as some children he’s seen, but she comes to a halt beside him and bumps his shoulder in what is her equivalent of a hug. “Papa,” she says, and Slade resists the urge to roll his eyes at her deliberate lack of formality, “are you going to introduce me?”
“Prince Grayson, Lady Barbara, Sir Wallace,” he obeys anyway, “this is my only daughter, Princess Rose.”
Wallace and Barbara exchange a subtle glance which Slade would have missed if he wasn’t paying such close attention, but Grayson offers her a bright and genuine-looking smile before bowing to Rose, a little deeper than necessary considering they’re both still crown heirs and he’s older than her, but not offensively so. “Princess Rose, it’s a pleasure,” he says, and Slade can’t identify a single lie in his tone.
“Nice to meet you too, Prince Grayson. I call him Papa when we’re with family,” she says, nodding over her shoulder at Slade, “I hope I don’t have to call you Father,” she teases mischievously and Slade resists the urge to cover her mouth with his hand. He hesitates because of the mixed company, but…
Judging by Grayson’s companions’ blanched faces, maybe he should have. It figures that such young people wouldn’t have considered that Grayson will technically be Rose’s step-father - it’s almost a little funny.
Grayson collects himself quickly and then shakes his head firmly, his hair falling around his ears and framing his handsome face. “Please, Princess, that’s entirely unnecessary. In fact, I’d be pleased if you called me Dick.”
There’s a brief moment of shock at the unexpected vulgarity, and then Wallace slaps Grayson’s shoulder, clearly exasperated. “Princess, I apologise for interjecting, but he’s not jesting. His parents did not speak the common tongue, and it is the nickname they selected for him. He’d not trying to be rude.” Wallace looks genuinely concerned that Rose might be offended, but Slade’s daughter had learned her vocabulary from him - he knows better than to expect well-bred shock from her.
Rose snorts at the look on Grayson’s face, but Slade can tell that his offence is entirely feigned for her benefit. This is a person who’s either genuinely good with children, or he wants Rose to like him, but Slade can’t tell if it’s because it will make for a peaceful home life, or if it’s for some other more nefarious purpose.
Only time will tell, he supposes.
“Alright Dick,” Rose says, “you can call me Rose.” Wallace and Barbara introduce themselves as Wally and Babs respectively, and then they’re off, seemingly forgetting that they’re not here as children on a holiday. They’re here to marry off their best friend to a stranger, to their new friend’s father, and Slade doesn’t have it in him to remind them.
He lets them go, traipsing through the halls as Rose takes them to the best places for sparring, the best place to go for a midnight swim, the best place to beg food from the chefs in the kitchen. Slade doesn’t worry. They’re safe with Rose, and Rose is safe from them in the palace. If they’re occupying each other, it’s one less thing for him to worry about.
He’s so tired.