[ A Meeting of Princes ]

feliivian:

@jorriimmian

The soft rustling of fine, sheer fabrics and clinking of numerous platinum chains betrayed the prince’s restless movements once again. He had been told well over an hour ago to prepare for landing, and yet they were still cruising through the inky blackness, towards the planet that would become their home for the next month.

His only company throughout his journey had been his parents – with whom he still held a bitter grudge for even suggesting this union – and his overbearing guard, who he knew would put and end to any fun before it even began. To his dismay, he had also been forbidden to bring his loyal mount with him; the creature, though large and strong, was ill-suited to the harsh chill of Jorrimm and would likely succumb quickly. If he was completely honest, he was unsure that he would fair much better.

Briefly, he glanced out of the view window, chin resting upon his hand while his elbow sat on the table. There was scarcely much of interest to see in the endless starscape after one had been on as many interstellar journeys as himself. One star was much the same as another at this distance. The last star of interest had been his namesake; the mighty Zah with its blue-white aura, the symbol of all firstborn princes whose hair matched its glow.

Jolting a little, he realised he must have dozed off again until the ship began to shake slightly, the telltale sign that they were breaching the upper atmosphere. Landings no longer frightened him as they had done in his youth; he had endured worse by now, and there was little that would surprise him.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help the nervousness that coiled around his heart and squeezed tightly like the grip of a creeping tendril. He had never met this far off prince before; he didn’t know what to expect from him beyond the reputation he had heard from his mother. The nobles of Feliva and the governors of the colonies were, at least, known to him and knew that he was far above them. This prince, however, was Jorrimmian and entirely alien to him, and would likely see himself as Desgazah’s equal. A laughable notion, he thought.

The ship landed, and the whole cabin shook with the cushioned impact.

With a heavy sigh through his nose, the prince rose to his feet and gathered up the imported furs he had dumped on the seat next to his own, throwing them over his shoulders. His body was swallowed by the shapeless cloak of fur, he noted as he spied himself in the polished metal walls; he was scarcely more than a furred shape with a Felivian head.

Steeling himself, Desgazah began the short walk to the airlock which hissed open, ice cold air forcing its way through the smallest gap. He bit into his lower lip and shuddered, ears twitching as though trying to deflect the cold air surrounding them.

On his way down the ramp, he didn’t take note of his surroundings beyond the scent of his guard flanking him, too busy pulling the furs further up to cover his rapidly cooling nose. Over the howling wind, he could just hear his parents behind him and his brows knit together. This was all their fault.

Luckily, they had landed not too far away from the fortress. He lifted his head slightly, noting that its architecture differed from the white, gleaming spires of his own home, before he buried himself back into the relative warmth of the furs. The sooner he could be inside and warm himself on something, anything, the better. His stomach growled – he felt more than heard it – and he realised he needed to fill his belly, too; warmth and fresh meat filled his thoughts and he yearned for home already.

The imposing doors opened before him and his small party, and he hurried inside away from the biting chill of the wind. His breaths were short and ragged, having been stolen from him by the cold air, face flushed, and hair dishevelled. A shudder ran down the length of his body again, from his delicate ears to his toes.

A long moment passed before he relaxed his grip on the furs and allowed them to rest on his shoulders, baring his face completely as he lifted his head and took in the appearance of the people who had come to greet him: an older man who he presumed to be the King of this world, with sharp features and a severe expression framed with long, black hair and piercing crimson eyes, and a younger man who he took to be the Prince. He looked similar enough to the King that they were clearly related, but there were clear differences; he was bulky and clearly muscular, strong jawed with a straight nose, and pale eyes that reminded Desgazah of the lilac sunsets of home.

He scowled, mood souring in an instant; why couldn’t the bastard have been ugly? That would have made resisting this whole arrangement infinitely easier. No, he had to be undeniably handsome, someone he might have been interested in other, more favourable circumstances. Very well, he would just have to take matters into his own hands.

Desgazah cleared his throat, finding his words in the common language. “Where is the Prince?” he asked, accent thick and gaze piercing, as though looking right through the other Prince. “I had expected him to be here.”

Galanon’s research on Felivians had not adequately prepared him for this. Then again, by ‘research’, he had browsed over one out of the several files that his lirahai had uploaded to his private datapad, and after forty seconds of disinterest, he had thumbed it off the screen in favor of searching for more.. lascivious content to entertain himself with.

He now stood at his lirahai’s side, reflecting their customary stance for an impending formal greeting by keeping his posture rigid and tall, his feet pressed together and his left arm tucked behind him, pressed tightly against his lower back. All the while, he observed as the enormous entrance doors to Wihrtynis were commanded open through their computer system, just far enough to allow a small group to be ushered swiftly through.

Frigid, powerful winds reached him; glided over the skin of his bare torso, rustling his flux-thermal coat and his golden brown hair, his lone braid swaying and bumping into his jaw.

His nose twitched as he took in a deep, assessing breath of the air.

The timing of their arrival could not have been any better. An arctic storm had been approaching for days, and it was descending upon the city now. The group had to have been only a minutes ahead of it; any amount of delay would have left them at the mercy of a monstrous blizzard.

‘Pity,’ Galanon thought with an amused twitch of his lips. In actuality, he had been anticipating a rescue mission to complete this ridiculous and somewhat offensive farce. At least he and the boys would have had a great laugh over the retelling of it. How delightfully embarrassing such a dramatic event would have been for their guests.

He refocused his attention to their ‘guests’, derision quivering in his gut as he took in the first immediate aspect of the Felivian species.

Tiny. They were a tiny folk. And ignorantly clothed for Jorrimm’s low temperatures and harsh, chaotic weather.

Had they not done any research for themselves?

As servants came down upon their small guests, carefully plucking away their coats and other belongings, one of them avoided a pair of fussing hands and stepped forward, drawing Galanon’s gaze.

His dual hearts thudded against his ribcage.

He immediately recognized him to as the Prince of Feliva from the singular file that he had skimmed over — the profile image of the male with the peculiar hair. He could admit it to himself, albeit begrudgingly, that the image had had no prayer in encapsulating the prince’s otherworldly beauty.

Facial features sharp, yet petite — slender, angular jawline; a set of full lips downturned; thick eyebrows slightly furrowed as azure blue eyes stared pointedly back at him; skin tone a sun-kissed bronze.

His hair, however, continued to be the most intriguing — as vibrantly blue as a Jorrimmian day with cloudless, bright skies; short and stylishly shorn on one side, the remainder tossed to the other side in thick waves, emphasizing the gleaming silver circlet adoring his head and the the sight of a long, tapered ear covered in soft-appearing aquamarine fur.

But that was all that Galanon could see. The rest of the prince was hidden beneath a ghastly and comically large coat of grey-white fur pattered in deeper grey rings and spots.

Barring the prince’s atrocious and hilarious understanding of what was appropriate winterwear for Jorrimm.. Galanon’s initial vehemence and resistance to this marital proposal was beginning to feel like a bit of an overreaction on his part. He was even starting to find something appealing at the realization that Desgazah was only tall enough to reach his sternum.

Indeed, perhaps this arrangement between their rivaling kingdoms would not be so terrible after al—

“Where is the prince? I had expected him to be here.”

All at once, the warmth and optimism that had begun to blossom in his chest withered beneath the force of Desgazah’s unexpected and abrupt rudeness and disrespectful dismissiveness as he stared right at him.

His degree of startlement in reaction to the indelicate introduction had Galanon falling out of his formal stance, his posture loosening and his arm falling back to his side.

“Your forgiveness,” suddenly came the deep voice next to him. Galanon glanced down in time to see his lirahai gesture to him with his right hand. “This would be my son, Galanon, Prince of Jorrimm. I am Veresil, Zhitifi and acting Jhazenir of Jorrimm.”

His lirahai proceeded to step his left leg forward and then pull his left arm from behind his back into a graceful upward arc, reaching. Moving his arm in front of him, he curled his palm into a cupping formation before bringing it down to touch his fingertips to his forehead. Then he leaned forward, extending his arm and flatting his palm once more toward their guests. “Welcome to Aresmeris City.”

It was an Alulti’s formal greeting — capturing the winter air in one’s hand to then be blessed before offering it to another; a solemn promise of safe harboring to a guest during their stay.

“.. Galanon.”

He shifted his gaze to meet his lirahai’s, matching the stern, reproachful crimson glower with one of his boldly obstinate glares. Soon enough, a silence lengthened between them and filled the entrance hall with heavy, awkward tension.

Only when he witnessed his lirahai’s expression darken, becoming dangerous, did he finally give in, heaving a breath of irritation through his nose and resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Catching the other prince’s gaze, he mimicked the greeting.. somewhat. He might have stomped his left foot forward and jackknifed his arm into the air. He might have even fisted the air before bringing it briefly to his forehead to be blessed. He might have then just jerked his arm out, appearing to more or less impatiently toss it at his ‘betrothed’ rather than politely offer it.

As if he was loathed to promise him any safe harboring at this time.

“Welcome to Aresmeris City,” he repeated, his deep voice easing through clenched teeth, his glare unwavering from the blue-haired male. “Desgazah.” He may have said the prince’s name in a tone that was akin to calling someone ‘trash’.

Stepping back, Galanon glanced at Veresil again for his affirmation, absently bringing his hand down to rest on the handle of the battleaxe that floated at his hip. The wordless, tight-lipped exasperation on his lirahai’s face was priceless. It was difficult to suppress an answering grin, but he managed it all the same.

The obsidian-haired Alulti glared at him a heartbeat longer before turning and addressing their guests once more.

“Come. It has been a long journey for you. As it is well into the night, any discussions and negotiations will wait until tomorrow. We shall eat and continue introductions, and then determine everyone’s sleeping arrangements after.”

Not allowing for any discussion on the matter, Veresil turned with a sharp flack of his black flux-thermal coat, leading the way to the great dining hall.

Galanon regarded the other prince quietly, then with a scoff, he turned and followed after his lirahai.

sex+romance headcanons!

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