Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 “What!? Allura can’t marry Lotor he’s—he’s—Lotor!!”

Succinct. Her brows creased at the somewhat accusatory tone, but she gave Lance a pitying smile anyway.

“I think that’s the point, Lance. He’s Lotor. And he’s Emperor now.” Pidge pointed out.

“It does make sense. Allura is practically the head of the Coalition. An official alliance with Lotor would mean a ceasefire on both sides to ensure she and the new Emperor aren’t threatened.”

“You’re agreeing with this Shiro!?” Lance nearly jumped over the back of his deck chair to get to his captain.

Shiro jolted, glancing at her and then back at Lance. “N-no, I mean, I was only pointing out the strategic benefits of a plan like that.”

“Uh… plan?” Hunk came to stand at Shiro’s side, hand scratching his head. “Getting married isn’t a plan, it’s you know, smooches and hearts.”

“Yeah! Exactly!” Lance cheered. “She doesn’t even know the guy, let alone love him.”

She smiled at the blue paladin again, but it was small and followed by a sigh that had the whole team’s eyes on her. “I appreciate your concern Lance, but I’m a princess. For me, marriage is a duty to perform for my people. Love doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“What!?”

“It’s true.” Coran mused, a finger curling at his chin and tapping. “I can’t say Lotor is the ideal partner for our Princess but when it comes to politics in nobility, nobody gets married unless it means progress for all. It was the same with Alfor and his wife, and they were devoted to each other in the end.”

“That can’t be right! It’s so old school! There isn’t even an Altea to represent!”

The deck goes oddly silent. Most gazes dance between each other before landing on Coran and Allura as they stand under the crystal, quiet and unresponsive.

Lance flounders, standing from his chair, “I mean—not that, you’re still Altean and still a princess, no doubt! In fact, right, of course— you’re you’re everybody's Princess! Right guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course!”

“Definitely!”

Her fingers feel cold as she clasps them before her, but her smile is genuine, as is the soft buzz in her chest. “Thank you. That means… so much to hear.” And it does. It truly does. Though Lance’s once again, succinct, point, is not lost on anyone.

Shiro takes the point to an argument. “Would the Galra respect the marriage though? With factions split already beneath Lotor, and him already being half Altean himself…They might think they were being overthrown.”

“I’m not sure.” She contemplates it, but it’s hard to when all she knows of the Galra has been war. And harder still when what she remembers of them in times of peace is hundreds of centuries ago now. “I suppose it would depend on him. If Lotor can inspire a majority to follow him, and me representing the power of Voltron and the Coalition, the rest would have no choice but to fall into place.”

“They might even see a marriage to you an adoption of Voltron into the Galra Empire itself,” Coran adds.

There’s almost a unison hum as all seven of them think on the idea.

Well, six.

“I can’t believe you’re all really thinking about this!? We don’t even know if the guy is trustworthy!”

“He killed Zarkon, Lance, and he even warned us about the double-cross.” Shiro admonishes.

“And he gave us all that intel, and fought his own people at the… Call Sera.” Pidge tries.

“Kral Zera.” Shiro helps.

“Yep. That.”

“Well, this isn’t what I meant when I asked how we were gonna establish peace.” Lance pushes and looks suddenly aware that he somehow suggested the idea in the first place.

“But it actually makes sense—”

“No, Lance is right.”

Allura surprises everyone and once more she has their entire attention.

“We can’t be presumptuous. Regardless of what benefits such a union would bring, as it stands now Lotor has yet to … propose,” She shifts, the word off in her mouth, especially with the image of the Galra prince being on the other side of it, “to me. Or rather, propose the idea. So for now, we go through with a simple treaty to ensure the Coalition worlds rule under themselves”

That seems to settle the issue. Especially for Lance, who crosses his arm in a slump, but looks a little more at ease.

“Can you pull up the coordinates the Prince gave us, Pidge?”

“Got ‘em in already. We should arrive in a few hours. Uh, vargas. Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

She means to leave the deck at that. They have time before arriving at the center of the Galra fleet and she means to spend the time preparing the exact treaty they had been talking about.

But Coran finds her arm and pulls her from the deck with him out the hall.

“Coran?” She questions, checking behind her to see what exactly it is they're hiding from.

“Princess, I have to warn you.”

“Coran if this is about marrying Lotor while I find the idea logical I highly doubt that—”

“That’s just it!”

He takes a deep breath, and Allura takes the time to mimic him, in the quiet Castle hall.

“Lance was right. There is no Altea.”

Instantly she frowns, and tries to hold her dear confidante's hand, but finds he’s already holding hers.

“And Prince Lotor might be half Altean, but he’s raised Galra, long after our world was destroyed.”

“Even if he was completely Galra, the point would still be the same, I mean, for goodness sake Coran, Grandmother married the Olkari prince—”

“You’re grandmother asked,” Coran stressed. “If you’re expecting the Altean way of courtship like the one your mother prepared you for you might not find it.”

“Oh… I… still, It’s… This is all just hypothetical.” She was shaking her head, pulling a little from his grasp.

“I’m afraid it may not be. And as a Princess of not just Altea anymore, but anyone in need of one, you may need to cast aside our cultural traditions to propose the idea on your own.”

Her stomach felt empty, and the image of Lotor with his hand extended morphed into a mirror image of herself. She tried to laugh. It sounded weird.

“Of course, I would never push you to do something you didn’t want, Princess. Lotor is still the son of Zarkon and it’s going to be a hard thing for either of us to forget.”

“Right.”

“But I only wanted to remind you that Altean novelties are just that. Novelties. We can’t just wait for his spriggan stone on your pillow.”

“Ah! Oh— no— you’re right. I’ll… keep it in mind.”

She would.

She did.

Too much, maybe.

“Would that be acceptable, Princess?”

“What? Oh, the outpost— of course.”

Lotor’s gaze leaves her once more, his hand rising to point out the Celtak system on the holo map they’re looking at.

He’s almost a head and a half taller than her. This close, she can measure the top of her shoulder to the middle of his chest. And it could be the Galra in him that makes him that way, but she thinks that had he been full Altean, he would be tall anyway.

“If we set up forces there, the purebreds and their rabble might be less inclined to reach north.”

It’s his stature though. Not just the technical number of his height, but the way he holds his back straight. The way his chin raises high. It opens his lungs and allows his voice to hold that bold, lofty quality. A sound with such deep reverberation it almost sounds amplified. It’s a tone she recognizes from her father’s way of speaking. The way she tried to emulate at times.

“If you’d like, we can arrange both Coalition and Galra forces. Not only so the Coalition might feel on equal grounds, but so my people get used to the sight of such collaboration as well.”

He’s a Prince, all in all. In his manner, in his words (even now he says coalition instead of rebellion, a level of consideration she doesn’t expect). Even as an exile Prince (or despite it) he’s very much the type of man she’d have been expected to deal with before the war had started. A diplomat. Someone she could relate to on a level maybe even Coran or the paladins couldn’t match. Someone who would understand the weight of what being a representative of a people meant.

“Princess Allura.”

Besides that, he was half Altean, wasn’t he? She could see it in the set of his nose, the high peaks of his jaw and cheeks. His hair too, was more like hers than it was, well, furry, or in tufts like most Galra men and women were.

“Princess,”

If she was being bolder, she would perhaps even admit, his, well, obvious attractiveness. Not to say she was attracted to him. Just that he was attractive. Or groomed. Or striking. Whatever word one wanted to use, it was at least undeniable that he very much looked… good. For a Galra. Especially when one could get a good view of his eyes like this. Or at least at this close range when he was looking at her.

Looking at her.

Oh, had he said something?

“Yes.” She said.

The space between them felt tense.

That probably wasn’t the appropriate response at all, if his quiet expression said anything.

“Forgive me Prince Lotor, I was, I— you were talking about the outpost.”

“Is something on your mind Your Highness?”

“No, not at all, no, please continue.”

His eyes closed briefly before he waved his console off and the map disappeared.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to ignore—”

His hand rose and he flashed her a smile that appeared sinister until she reminded herself that he could not help the sharpness of his teeth.

“No, please, it is my fault to pull you so quickly back to the field of war when we are both still reeling from the last battle.”

It would be infuriating how polite he was if she wasn’t also extremely grateful.

“You don’t have to be so considerate. This is important to your rule. I know you are concerned with establishing yourself after the Kral Zera. You’ve must have waited some time to get to this point.”

“And yet it can continue to wait. At least a quintent or two more.” He smiles, this time softly, the hair on his shoulder moving past his ear as he steps around her and extends his arm. “Please, allow me to have someone send for refreshments.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I would see to it that I actually host my Altean Princess.” He insisted, adding a low head bow to his open arm.

The etiquette embedded into her upbringing demanded she takes the offer and so she made her way to the small table on the far side of the room.

‘My Altean Princess,’ he had said. As both an Emperor regarding his special guest, and a half Altean acknowledging his ruler. She felt hot in her dress.

He had been nothing but respectful to her since meeting. Even in the face of her own prejudice behind the cage they had kept him in at the Castle of Lions, or in the frustration at not being trusted up until the end. He never forgot the details; the bows, the honorifics, the simple idea of only looking away from her as she did. A sign of court training. He even deferred his status of Prince to her status as Princess, waiting to sit down until she left the room or entered it. Something he did not at all have to do. (Especially now, as Emperor.)

But it said… something to her. The formality to anybody else might seem cold. To Lance or, to the other paladins, it surely would.

But to her, it’s almost familiar. Nostalgic. A comfort. It’s easy to talk with someone when they're talking your native language, so to speak. And he did so in strides.

He didn’t sit until she did, but when he did it didn't make much of difference for height. He called for service from a panel on the table. And she admired the dexterous ways his claws avoided scraping the surface.

“Have you had time to take a breath since the start of it all, Princess?”

She sighed, closing her eyes. “Every now and then we get to, but you must know how it is yourself. Even in the moments, you take a break you are actively waiting for an interruption.”

“Yes.”

“And you? Do you have no relief even now?”

He’s quiet. Maybe it’s the wrong question to ask. Even though much has happened, it wasn’t actually that long ago that he struck down his own father. And even though Zarkon had been… well, Zarkon, he was still Lotor’s father.

“Much of my time was spent being neither seen nor heard if my father could help it.” He says it with the same lofty quality he always does, but he’s not looking at her this time. He’s looking at his hands. “Since his battle for Voltron and my appointed title of Po Tem, everything seemed to happen so quickly. Opportunities to finally change things the way I always wanted presented themselves in such abundance and succession I thought they might slip away if I did not leap for them immediately.”

She watches his hand open in close in a slow realization and is so enraptured by the articulation of his Galra claws that she's surprised by the contrast of a sudden soft smile at her.

“In a way, I think I might still be waiting for the next opportunity and the speed I will have to use to run to it.”

“I see.” She says.

And she does.

The more they talk about it, the more it simply makes sense.

Rather, the more they talk about the treaty, the more a marriage makes sense.

It’s almost disturbing how easily it would fix a lot of the incoming issues for them.

Most of the political climate is uneasy. Trust between the Coalitions and the Galra is fragile at best, with both waiting for the other to open fire. Already they had reports coming in from distant planets in their territories breaking out in fights because they had thought fighting inevitable.

Allura wonders if it would still seem that way if the heads of each faction tie their lives together in an ‘endless’ treaty. Not just a paper one that can be thrown away, as Zarkon had done with most of the galaxy. 

The purebreds in the Galra Empire argue that Lotor is not strong enough to sit on the throne. That his half-breed blood means he is weak. And despite Voltrons presence behind him, they accuse that Voltron is not truly ‘his’ to command.

Again, would they say that if he married the only one who could claim Voltron as property? Would they when in marriage, what is mine is yours?

And finally, most of the Coalition feared for their safety. They mistrusted Lotor, either because he was simply Galra because he was Zarkon’s son, or simply because they had never witnessed his aide and his welcoming nature in person.

If they saw Allura put her literal life in his hands, with something so intimate, would they not at least trust her enough to settle their doubtful ways?

But she was starting to think Coran was right.

She and Lotor had spent the better part of a dalcycle in and out of meetings on his capital ship. Usually, they were accompanied by the paladins and incoming visits from Coalition representatives. But the treaty itself hadn’t been signed. Not yet. It had a lot of work to go through. Details to iron out (trade, taxes, territories, the best part of being a ruler, her father would joke.) And almost all those details had been put on hold with arguments from both sides.

Not from Lotor or Allura themselves, but those the represented.

Lotor was still… polite. He let the coalition and his advisors do most of the talking, and stepped in to mediate debates. He pointed out flaws, bent backward and lost favor with his own people to compromise with smaller worlds.

Altogether he was admirable.

But he hadn’t… said anything.

Not that she was expecting him too!

If it wasn’t for the private idea of marriage joked about before, she probably wouldn’t have ever thought to suggest it either.

And even if he had thought of it, she suspected he was much too… considerate, to offer, or put her in that position.

He had no evidence to suggest that she might want to marry him.

No one did.

It wasn’t until Kolivan and the Blades of Marmora visited that she made up her mind.

“Allura.” Keith stood from one of the chairs in the private room when she entered. The purple Galra style lights from the table flicked beyond his silhouette, where Kolivan also stood to attention. “Is everything alright?”

“If you have suspicions about Lotor, Princess, I would suggest we talk aboard our private ship, not here,” Kolivan added.

She had really only meant to speak to Keith privately, before realizing that he probably couldn’t give her any answers, and had requested Kolivan’s presence too.

Maybe she should have kept it to only the captain.

But Keith was her paladin. Her friend. And somehow it was relieving to have him there anyway.

“No, it’s not about Lotor.” She let the mechanics on the door slide shut behind her.

“Is there some sort of issue you need the Blades to look into?” Keith asked.

She smiled thinly. “No. You can both rest easy, I’m not here on the topic of war. I’m here on the topics of peace.”

“Peace?” Keith frowned.

“Etiquette really. And Kolivan, I need your expertise.”

The Blades leader had a resting emotion of apathetic at the best and worst of times, but now his brow rose in slight surprise.

“As a General?”

“As a Galra.”

Keith's arms crossed and he turned to look at his leader as Allura did, as if waiting for whatever information was about to be prompted.

“I need someone to inform me how one courts another in the Galra culture.”

“S-say that again?” Keith sputtered, his attention immediately back on Allura.

To his credit, Kolivan didn’t balk. “For a mate?”

“For a marriage proposal, specifically.”

“Allura!”

“At what rank?”

“Nobility.”

It was Kolivan who crossed his arms now, head tilting in thought.

“We Galra do not take marriage lightly. It is a trial. A show of strength to one another.”

“As I suspected.” She chuckled, brows creasing. How was it that it always came down to violence? “Do you think you could give me more details.”

“Wait, Allura, shouldn’t you explain first? W-Why do you need to know this right now?”

“Aren’t you curious about your own mother and father Keith?” She asked. The boy looked even more shocked, his mouth closing. “If we are to live side by side, we should know more of each other.”

He didn’t respond.

“It begins with a challenge. We mate for life, and thus must show each other the full extent of our power to be considered a good match.”

“What does that mean?” It was Keith who asked, and Allura was happy to at least see his interest.

“If your partner can defeat you, or at least match you in combat, they would be a worthy adversary to stand alongside. Should you or your children ever need protection.”

“What’s a challenge?”

Kolivan regarded her with an expression akin to tiredness. To him, it was probably obvious. “A strike. Sometimes a fight. If this is nobility as you say, drawing blood is expected.”

“Blood? You really hurt them?”

“Blood doesn’t always mean pain, young blade.” Kolivan admonished, shifting, “But marriage is serious and needs to be treated with as much thought and care as any wound does. This is the idea of the act, anyway.”

Allura sighed. Maybe this was the wrong way to go. “But it’s my understanding that the Galra initiate combat to challenge rule, ranking, or even opinion at times. What’s my intended to think that this is an engagement offer and not an overthrowal?”

The room goes quiet and Allura realized she’d said a little too much. She bites her lips as Keith’s eyes zero in on her. “Uh… who are you proposing to Allura?” He asks.

“That is where Taal Selva comes in.”

“What’s that?”

Keith glares but Kolivan answers.

“Taal Selva is a series of words said after the initial strike, in which to attribute your reasoning for them as your mate. But it is done in verse. With allegory.”

“Poetry?”

“You can call it this.”

Poetry? She wasn't really good at poetry.

“Afterward you must give them three quintents to nurse their wounds, and think on their own Taal Selva to return to you, should they accept.”

“And rejection?”

“They will spit on the floor if they think you not suitable.”

“Oh.”

Kolivan seemed to sense the judgment in the room on that one. “It is done in private and is a dignified rejection. If the response isn’t public, most will assume rejection by the fourth quintent.”

“I see…”

“But if you are to ask Emperor Lotor for his life oath in this way your strike must be in public. It is his people’s right to know who might vie for their Emperor’s attention or else it’s a slight to the entire Empire. ”

“Lotor!” Keith exclaimed.

Allura tried not to blush. “Nothing’s decided yet.”

“Allura, wait, you can’t be serious,”

“I would think most would be in support, if you could actually manage it.” Kolivan nods, and really, it sort of looks like he’s smirking.

It sounds like a challenge.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Lotor may be a half-breed, and a diplomatic scholar rather than a warlord, but it has been a long time since anyone has caught him off guard in a fight.”

Allura wanted to laugh, her hands going to her hips. “You don’t think I can?”

Kolivan actually, truly, laughs. “I am not sure, Princess, but I am making no bets.”

“Has no one ever successfully proposed to him?”

“No one has beaten him in challenges to his station. As for proposal… to my knowledge, the Prince has never been recited Taal Selva.”

Allura frowns. Keith, who's been looking at her lost and a bit mortified, changes his attention. “Why not?” He asks, and Allura waits for the answer.

“He is half breed,” Kolivan says slowly.

“What has that got to do with anything?” Allura asks and tries but fails not to glance at Keith. “Surely as the Crown Prince and a great fighter at least—”

“He is… I am not a female.” Kolivan tries. He looks wrestled. “But he is not… He is not Galra in his features.”

When Keith and Allura continue to stare Kolivan gives up.

“He is very unattractive.” He says plainly.

“I thought strength was the important part,” Keith says.

Kolivan shrugs. “If there is nothing to fill your Taal Selva, I cannot imagine one would be inspired to strike in the first place.”

Allura frowns.

That’s not at all what she expected.

It isn’t what Coran expects either, which is funny since it was him who told her she might have to do this whole thing herself.

“Allura, think this over,” he tries, struggling to keep up as they walk fast paced down the halls of the Galra flagship.

“I did, and you said it yourself Coran, I would have to be the one—”

“To bring the subject up, yes, not to fight him!” Coran pleads.

Allura just shakes her head.

“You are both Prince and Princess of different worlds, planets, even, he doesn't expect—nobody expects you to do things the Galra way! When Zarkon and Honerva were married they didn’t resort to fisticuffs"

Allura actually laughs a little. “You don’t know that Coran.”

He has the decency to look dubious.

“Besides, I’ve thought of that.”

She had actually. Just the other day after they had surveyed some of his troops on their recall from the borderlines, she thought of bringing up the topic. In a diplomatic way. Where she could tentatively and casually broach the idea and hear his pragmatic opinion on it. She knows him enough now that she trusted he wouldn’t have scoffed at her or tossed her idea aside with disgust. Even if there was a chance he found her repulsive, he would have been friendly. Thorough.

“Well—think about it some more!” Coran chided.

They turn a corner, and as they grow closer, she lowers her voice to a whisper.

“If I don’t do it this way Coran, it won’t seem genuine.”

“You're both royalty— it’s not genuine!”

“Not to us— to the people! If the Galra see me propose in the Galra way, it will earn me favor. That was obvious just in the way Kolivan reacted. I have to do it this way.”

“What if he hits you back?”

At this point she was more worried she would get spit on.

When they enter the great hall of the capitol Flagship, beneath the merged banners Lotor had hung, she imagines they look like a couple of criminals, whispering angrily to each other.

“Your Majesty,” Lotor acknowledges her first, he usually does, even from atop the steps near his throne.

The paladins are around him and Shiro gives a wave as they draw closer.

“Hey, guys!” Pidge calls.

Lotor lowers himself from the high steps to extend an arm and bow his head. “We were just discussing a possible mission for Voltron, up north where the outpost we marked is.”

She doesn’t say anything on approach, noting the bodies in the room.

The ambassadors from the most recent visit are present; a few from Balmora and Rygnirth, and Ryder herself, from Olkari. And Keith stands with Kolivan in the corner… as well as more than a few Galra generals. Kolivan must have arranged it, they aren’t normally this mingled. Even at a diplomatic dinner like this one.

It would be embarrassing if it wasn’t actually terribly convenient. He had said it had to be public.

There are soldiers and sentries too, a handful, but they line the far walls. And she can only hope that if this goes down badly, her paladins will be there to hold them off long enough to make her words heard.

She would need to do it here, now, before Lotor escorted everyone into the dining quarters.

“Princess, pleaasssseeeee," Coran whispers harshly at her side as she moves in close to the group.

“Hello everyone, sorry we’re late.”

“You haven’t missed anything.” Lance drawled. “Just a lot of boring chit-chat about planets.”

“Lotor was telling us about the outer worlds having a hard time,” Shiro explains.

“Yes.” She agrees, eyeing the Prince. He smiles encouragingly. “We had been discussing that. I agree with him, we should see that Voltron protects the new outpost we want placed there.”

“I was thinking we could get some tech set up out there too,” Pidge interjected, and everyone turned to look at her. “If we take advantage of the location, we could use the higher latitudes to amplify Hunk and I’s signal to track the opposing Galra forces.”

“That might help us in the search of Haggar’s flagship,” Lotor said. He leans in, his tall frame curling elegantly to better level his gaze at the shorter, green paladin.

Allura stares at the shape of his claws as they come up to hold his chin.

“That’s exactly what he and I were thinking!” Pidge motions to her and Hunk, who gives Lotor a thumbs up.

She doesn’t see a weapon on Lotor’s hip or legs, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one. It’s a risk she’ll have to take. It’s why she changed from her dress to the simple flightsuit, for mobility, in case she had to, well, run.

Her fingers fist and un-fist, feeling a little damp.

“We actually were wondering if there was anything in this crazy place that old lady had her hands on. Maybe something that would help us match a frequency to her space magic.” Hunk is saying.

Lotor is nodding.

He’s about an arm’s length away. Nothing is between him and the length of the room towards the wall so, if she angled it right, it shouldn’t affect any of the paladins. And glancing over her shoulder, the sentries and the soldiers look bored. At ease.

Kolivan and Keith are staring right at her.

“I believe there are quite a few items that might help the process. After dinner, perhaps I could take you to her former place on the ship. There might be something there.”

“That would be perfect.”

“Yeah and then we could install the stuff once we get out there.”

Her breath seems to wrack her whole body. She’s keenly aware of each pull of her lungs as she stares at the smooth expanse of the Prince’s purple face. Lilac and lush.

“Princess, would you be inclined—”

He turns, she hadn't expected him to turn toward her.

But it’s too late, she’d already pivoted at that moment. Her back foot slides to a bend, tapping Coran, he jumps backward from her, shouting, but it hits her ears in slow motion as her elbow extends and her fist collides with Prince Lotor’s face. It’s resistance immediately. As smooth as he appeared, her knuckles all crack in tandem as if she’s struck marble. Even still, his body gives way and the power behind her blows lifts her off her back leg as she follows through with the punch.

And then everything happens, very, very fast.

All the paladins start yelling, one of the ambassadors scream, there’s laughing somewhere, and white hair flickers through her vision before she closes her eyes and lands back on her feet.

Lotor hits the ground with a thud so loud it vibrates through the great hall and it’s answered by the echo of a handful of sentry lasers locking into a charge.

“WHAT THE QUIZNA—”

“HOLY SHIT!”

“ALLURA!”

“Ohmygosh—OHMYGOSHOMYGOSH—”

“Stand down! Stand down, please— wait—”

Her right hand is pulsing, and she’s pretty sure she’s broken a finger. Her nail might have cut into her palm because it feels wet but that might be just sweat.

But her eyes are only on him.

His elbow digs into the purple carpeting of the chamber and his hair musses away from his face. His gaze finds hers immediately, narrowed in the utmost unabashed confusion.

“Allura,” She hears him say over the yelling and jumping her paladins are doing. Or the scuffle that’s happening with whatever the Blades of Marmora are doing with the guards.

The whisper of her name blooms a deep red that pearls on his lip and trails fast down his chin.

Oh.

“Lilac and lush!!” Allura near screams. It’s hard to do, she can barely breathe. Her heart is slamming in her chest and everything feels really, really hot.

But the room goes silent. Utterly, unbearably silent.

She feels every eye on her.

Oh, she wished she could have done this the Altean way.

“L-lilac and lush,”  She starts again and, oh, it’s hard to do this staring right at his face. “with a name, I can only bear to hush,”

She watches his brows ease up his forehead. The yellow around his eyes gets large as they dilate. His head tilts, elbow stilling from trying to help himself up. He freezes completely. 

“Uh, what is happening?” Lance says somewhere behind her.

“You cut through thought, I’m wrought, unfought,”

She can’t really hear herself, but she’d repeated the words enough over the last two nights that they’re ingrained in her.

And he must hear her too because his chest is expanding and retracting so noticeably she thinks she might have knocked the wind from him through his face.

A bruise begins to unfurl so blackish blue it looks like an Altean poppy flower. 

“Taken to sleep only by dreams of white locks, tight grips, and smiles sweet.”

She’s blinking fast.

He’s not blinking at all.

The hall is silent.

But there is no hum of lasers, no more shouting, just an air of tense… awkwardness.

It’s actually much easier to take her eyes off the Prince than she originally thinks, and she ignores her paladins and their large, questioning expressions and outstretched hands to grab Coran’s arm.

“Princess,”

“We’re leaving, we’re leaving, leaving, leaving,” She hurries under her breath.

“Yes, okay, right-o!” He whispers back, and they leave like they came, like criminals.

No one stops them.

Chapter Text

“Okay, that was by far; the weirdest dinner I ever had.”

Allura twisted in the guest lounge to watch Hunk enter the room, followed by the rest of the paladins.

“Hunk! How was it?”

“Weird!! It was weird, okay!” Lance pushed through to meet her, expression dour. “Because right before you punched Lotor in the face and broke out in song!”

“Rhyme.” Shiro corrected.

“Whatever and then everyone started talking about marriage—”

“You could have at least warned us what you were going to do—”

“I can’t believe you proposed to that guy!!”

“We were really surprised, Princess.”

Her eyes landed on Shiro, his face not angry, more concerned.

“I’m sorry everyone. But it was a decision that was my own to make,” She tried, her hands clasping before her in a bit of supplication. Behind them, the door swished open once more and she perked, outstretching her arm in welcome. “B-besides, I told Keith,”

“Keith!?” Lance exclaimed.

Everyone turned to the Blade, who grit his teeth with a forced cringe.

“You. Told. Keith!???”

“H-hey, I was just as surprised as anyone else.”

“Yeah about a few hours earlier!”

“No, two quintents before—”

“You knew two days ago!?”

“Everyone please,” Shiro said, his voice gentle but loud enough to blanket the room. “As unexpected as the um… marriage proposal,” Lance groaned at the words. “was, it’s happened. We need to prepare for what that means.”

“Allura needs to prepare for what that means. We aren’t marrying Lotor.” Pidge said.

“Um, is your hand okay Princess?” Hunk asked. It made everyone look at her, and the heavy bandages on her pinky and forefinger Coran had wrapped.

“Oh, I’m alright Hunk, they’re just a tiny bit broken.”

“He broke your hand!!??” Lance was steaming.

“No, I broke my hand. On his… face,” She ended lamely. Pidge snorted, her fist burying in her mouth to try and hide the mirth. Lance glared knives at her. “How—How was he?” She directs the question at Hunk, not sure if she could really bring herself to look at anyone else when asking this. “Did he… say anything?”

Hunk eyes her with surprise and suddenly starts jittering under the attention of the room. “Oh, Lotor? You mean Lotor right? He’s… uhhhh,”

Allura makes a cringing expression. Her fingers feel cold. And where she once felt hot and impatient she feels chilly and shaken, remembering nothing but the look of shock and near horror on the Galra Prince’s face as he lay bleeding on the ground. Oh, this could be very bad. She had been avoiding coming to terms with what she’d done until now but, oh no— she could have ruined what little friendship they had finally established.

Or worse.

Her stomach does a few flips that make her feel lightheaded before Shiro saves her.

“Lotor didn’t say anything Allura.”

“Yeah, he was silent all night. It was one of the other General’s who took us dinner.” Pidge elaborated.

“He didn’t talk to anybody, even when Kolivan explained what happened,” Keith said, coming closer from the door. Lance turned his glare back to the Blade. “He told the rest of the ambassadors about what it had meant. And Kolivan said it would soon be known throughout the ship.”

“And the Empire,” Shiro added, giving her a serious look.

“The Galra were actually quite jovial.” Keith continued.

“Too jovial.” Lance huffed.

“They kept talking about how it only took one hit to get him on his back. They seemed impressed.”

That was good. Right? Kolivan had mentioned it was usually a fight. But it hadn’t been. That was good? No? It was quiet again, but still, they hadn’t really relieved her. Her hands curled around her arms.

“But Lotor is he…?”

Hunk gave her a frown. “He sorta just sat there with a bloody face and then left before dessert.”

“Is that normal?” Allura asked, knowing that her paladins could all only just shake their heads and shrug. It’s exactly what they did.

“Oh! Everyone’s back!”

With the lull in conversation, they all watched Coran enter with a small serving tray, his and Allura’s own dinner. He placed it at the center table and smiled wanly. “I’m guessing it went well.” 

Everyone just stared.

“I suppose none of us will know until he gives his response.”

“We have time,” Keith informed. “He has three days to accept or refuse.”

“Three days? Why would it take anyone that long to decide on Allura!?” Lance throws his arms out to her and she just flushes, putting her hands about her face. She can’t assume that Lotor thought anyway about her. This had to be more about diplomacy to him than, well, matchmaking.

“You’ll tell us if he says yes or no, won’t you?” Shiro asks. 

“If he says yes, everybody will know,” Keith says. “It has to be public. Especially as Emperor. And… that was the whole point, wasn’t it Allura?” He asks this a bit tentatively.

And then everyone looks concerned. 

“What? Of course! I—I made the decision based on the best action for peace! It’s— this isn’t personal! Even participating in the tradition was a diplomatic tactic to appear culturally sensitive to our once enemies. I mean, please! I am well practiced enough in the affairs of court and state and—”

“Oooooookay.” Pidge drawls, interrupting softly before Allura could think of any more political sounding terms to seem convincing. “So, what if he says no?”

“After he spits, I’m sure we just go back to paperwork. Right Allura?”

The stares turn slowly to Keith.

“Excuse me, did you say spit?” Hunk asks.

“He spits on Allura if he says no!?” Lance grabs at Keith’s Marmora uniform and yanks him close.

Keith looks defensive of the Galra way of things, pushing at the boy. “It’s private! It’s dignified!” 

“That’s not dignified that’s disgusting!”

“Keith’s right.” She says and the two stop squabbling and turn back to her. “Not about the—well, yes, if he says no, that is what happens, but what I mean is, he’s right that a rejection doesn’t change anything. I only went through with the proposal because I knew we didn’t have anything to lose.” She smiles at them all, trying to get them to see her logic of it all. “At best, we set a faster pace toward a unified galaxy. At worst, I’m a little embarrassed.”

The room seems less tense for her words. Even Lance releases Keith and shakes his head.

“Man the Galra way is just weird. Punching and spitting,”

“I admit I had thought of going the easy way and trying it in my own culture since the Prince is half Altean.”

“How do you propose in Altean?” Hunk asked.

“Oh, an Altean proposal usually lasts quite a while!” Coran explains excitedly. “It’s an exchanging of personal trinkets, gifts, tokens—”

“It’s a show of value to your emotions. The men usually start by putting a sacred gemstone on the pillow of the woman they want to marry. Then if she’s interested, she sneaks a vial of elkor water into his pockets. And if he’s still interested he hands over a taleson chain—”

“Alright, alright, alright, lots of gifts. Got it.” Lance gave a breath of exhaustion. “You guys make it so complicated!”

“It’s the test of it! If you can’t keep up with the gifts,” Coran shakes his head dismissively. “You probably aren’t ready to get married. Or maybe can’t afford it.”

“The Galra sort of have the same idea.” Keith murmured. “I mean, about the engagement being the test.” He defends slightly.

“Still, can’t you just buy a ring and call it a day?” Lance asks.

Allura and Coran look at each other dubiously.

“A ring?”

“Like jewelry?”

“Yeah, you know, like a small gold band.” Hunk explains, pointing to his finger.

Pidge starts shaking her head immediately. “No way, you know you have to buy the right kind of diamond, right? You can’t just buy a band.”

“What do you do with it?” Allura asks.

“Traditionally, the men buy a wedding ring, usually with a diamond,” Pidge explains. “They take their partner to a fancy restaurant, have dinner, and maybe—”

“Oh, sometimes you put the ring in their drink!”

“What!?” Allura gasps. “They devour it?”

“No, it’s, it’s a surprise—”

“Hunk, that’s not everybody!”

“Usually he gets on one knee and shows her the ring before asking. Then there’s a wedding shower and cake.”

“Or some people do a flash mob,” Lance adds. “I like it when people choreograph a whole thing, with fireworks and—”

“Sounds complicated to me!” Coran pipes with a cheeky grin.

Allura has to nod in agreement. She isn’t sure she could do any sort of public dance. Or a wedding shower? Would they bathe together? The back of her neck feel damp and her ears burn at the idea.

“I guess it is to different people,” Shiro concludes.

“No matter what, it does seem like there is a part where we all just have to wait.”

“Allura. Allura has to wait.” Pidge corrects once again, keen to not include herself in the matter.

“Yes.” She agrees.

Once more, the whole room looks at her. 

“I just have to wait.”

It’s a lot harder then she thinks.

The quintet after, she heads to Lotor’s survey room, where they had been meeting for the past few dalcycles nearly every day to discuss the treaty.

She’s turned away.

“Emperor Lotor is gone.”

It’s the only explanation she gets from the guard stationed there, though he does smile widely at her. It’s a change she notices with every interaction after. Any of the Galra she comes across either bow extremely low, move from her path completely, or stare with giant grinning teeth.

It’s a little unsettling, and little more annoying.

“I’m surrounded by people laughing at me.” She vents to Coran, collapsing onto the lounges in the guest quarters. 

“They’re not laughing at you!”

But he doesn’t offer another explanation.

Dinner that night is also absent of Lotor, though it’s not absent of their visiting ambassadors, who she uses to preoccupy her time by entertaining as any good Princess might.

They don’t easily distract her though.

“We had no idea that the Galra Prince had stolen your heart,” Ryder says, expression soft and smile wide.

Allura laughs too loudly and too quickly and stifles it with a strange cough. “Oh, yes, well, in times of war emotions can be, ah, emotions can be—Well, they can be , can’t they?”

Just terrible.

Ryder doesn’t seem to mind, simply turning to share happy nods with the other Coalition leaders.

“He must be a kind man to be considered your husband," a small Protean murmurs.

Oh. That she can handle.

“He is.” She assures. “Prince Lotor has been nothing but diplomatic. He cares for the future of the galaxy as a whole, and yes, for the Galra’s place in it, but in unison with others.” This. This is easy. This is something she's confident in. She might not know how to think of him in the capacity of a betrothed, but she knows what she has witnessed herself in his quiet company. Behind closed doors or in the private meetings with him and Voltron.  “He put an end to Zarkon’s rule not to take it for himself, but to progress his people beyond endless conquest.”

“You believe he means to make amends? To allow our planets freedom from Galra rule?”

“I do.” She smiles. “I had my own prejudices, but he has more than proved himself a man worthy of trust.”

“And love,” the Rygorith ambassador chuckles.

Allura’s teeth clip into her cheek and she shrinks a little.

“Yes.”

“My people will not stop asking about the news. Word has spread to even our smallest villages. They are waiting with bated breath for the answer.” He expresses and the others nod with agreement. 

“S-So am I.”

On the second quintet, she’s turned away again.

“Emperor Lotor is gone.”

“Yes, but gone where!?”

The guards just look at each other before chuckling.

She rolls her eyes.

She spends most of the morning with her paladins then. Still planning on heading to the northern territory to create the collaborated outpost, Pidge and Hunk are hard at work on their radar tech, while Lance and Shiro help Galra soldiers load up supplies on their ships.

She carries a few crates in and out of the docked ramps too, checks inventory, and meets with the supervisors to make suggestions.  

“We should make a duplicate of the stock list and share it with the Coalition. They might know of something we’re missing. Or perhaps can fill the gaps.”

“Right away Princess.”

“And can you see to it that the outposts’ planet has a complete run through? We wouldn’t want to get there and realize it’s terribly poisonous.” She chuckles slightly.

“Whatever you wish Princess.”

She considers the two Galra. 

The lead supervisor is a woman, looking back at her with an easy-going smile that bears some pretty large fangs. The man beside her holds the holo panel, his ears fluffed a dark blue. They seem friendly, oddly. And for a few moments, the three of them are just quiet, regarding her.

Are they… waiting for orders?

“If I could speak out of turn, Princess of Altea?”

She nearly jumps at the sudden speech, but nods, glancing to see that her paladins are still close. Just in case.

“Speak what’s on your mind, Soldier.”

The woman’s claws rise to clench in the air before smacking into each other. It’s aggressive. Allura nervously double checks to spot Shiro among the cargo.

“You’re power is admirable! And to return from triumph to help mere labor workers is a kind but wasteful endeavor!” 

“Agreed. You, Princess, are most righteous and gentle.” The male’s yellow eyes narrow with his wide grin.

“Oh.” That… wasn’t what she expected them to say. “Well, thank you. But, truly, I am just doing my duty to aid others that—”

“You knocked Lotor flat on his back with one punch!” The man mimics the action and the woman starts laughing when the holo panel fizzles out. “No one has ever bested Lotor!”

“Yes, I’ve heard he… well I know he's quite strong.”

“No Taal Selva has ever come out faster! One punch!” The woman booms and her set of canines shine as her head kicks back and they laugh. It’s loud.

Allura feels like she’ll sink through the grates into space. She almost wants to.

“Is… is that not normal?” She asks, her voice small and tentative.

The laughing stops.

Both Galra look at each other before turning to her. It’s the man who answers, his shoulders shrugging with a look of sheepishness. 

“Not really. Most bond proposals take at least a few rounds before the intended is rendered immobile enough to recite Taal Selva.”

Allura can feel the worry in the back of her head grow so large it fills her chest and empties her stomach. Oh no. She’d humiliated him.

“I’ve offended him,”

“No!! Not that!”

“No, no, no, no, no!!” They both rush to say, raising their arms and shaking their heads. And it would be funny to see two Galra soldiers trying desperately to placate her if she wasn’t being eaten up by nerves.

“I’ve done it the wrong way, they say he’s never been bested and I’ve shamed him! An Altean! In front of everyone”

“No, Princess—”

“No, no, no, no, no!!!”

Her hands grip at her neck a bit helplessly.

“Princess, you drew blood! Your strike rendered him weak!” 

Oh stars, she made him bleed, basically in front of his entire Empire.

They must see the look on her face because they crowd her quickly and the female soldier places a claw very delicately on Allura’s shoulder.

“This is no slight to Lotor, Princess, it only speaks of his devotion.”

She looks up from the floor to catch the male nodding in agreement.

“What?”

“We Galra are never vulnerable for a strike.” She explains, and it’s easy to find the pride in her tone. It helps that her assistant is nodding so fast he might shake his head off. “Even from our closest of kin, even with our own squadron, you must be ready for a hit. Sometimes as only a show of bonding.”

Allura frowns, staring up at the woman’s yellow eyes. They’re almost gleaming. 

“Our Emperor has never once been caught off guard, but so sure and trustworthy he was that you would never harm him, he was not even expecting a strike of love.”

Allura’s face is on fire.

“It is a blindness that makes us smile.” The male says and grins enough that his sharp furred ears point upward.

“It also makes us laugh. He underestimated you because he overestimated you.”

The claw leaves her shoulder and they’re laughing again. Happy and contagious to each other.

She tries to smile and accomplishes it, if only a little. But her body still feels broken into shivers while her insides burn up.

It’s the third quintent and she doesn’t even try the survey room.

There’s a part of her that worries she’d just be turned away and another part of her worried she’d be accepted inside, where she would find him.

In private.

The thought haunts her way more than it should. If he says no, he says no. It was just as she told the others. No loss. Just… a slight embarrassment. She could live with that.

Of course, there is the spitting thing.

It’s actually the act of imagining Lotor spitting on the floor at her feet that makes her strive to be in the most public places she can find on the flagship.

At first, it works. She preoccupies herself with idle chatter in the random places she finds her paladins or her ambassadors, learns things about some of the daily routines of their new Galra allies—and then soon can’t stand the stalking gazes, or the pestering nudges to her shoulder and the whispered, “Today’s the day.” “Have you seen him yet?” “It’s the third quintent isn’t it?”

In an indecisive move to either hide or find safety in a crowd, she seeks out Shiro and Coran in the bay where their Lions are kept. 

“Princess!” Coran exclaims. He looks suspiciously nervous. “I thought you’d be—”

“Is something going on?” She asks quickly.

Shiro regards her and the computer panels they’re looking over. He regards both about three times before gritting his teeth.

“We were actually talking about shipping out Voltron to the outpost today.”

“Why’s that?” She asks, brows rising. She takes steps closer and both Coran and Shiro turn with their backs to the panel tower as if they could sit on it.

“Uh, well—” Shiro tries. His mouth splits in what is supposed to be an unalarming smile. It’s not. 

“Lotor told us to!” Coran almost screams as she gets so close she can practically see the sweat on their pores.

“What!?”

“Lotor—”

“He only sent—”

She pushes past them, shoving Coran’s away easily and bumping Shiro’s paladin armor to get to the message.

There’s an open communication from the Emperor himself, in the Altean alphabet no less. It winks at her in the blinking light.

‘Paladins of Voltron, if you would care to launch to the outpost a quintent early I can rendezvous with you and the Coalition in the north today. My assigned ships have already left this morning.’

“This morning!? Tonight?” She asks the screen.

It doesn’t reply.

“I guess he really did leave the capitol.” Coran deduces. And it does look that way.

Did he have to think so hard about his decision that he had to… go somewhere else?

And traveling all the way north—that would take vargas. There wouldn’t be enough time to...

“Princess, we can say no,” Shiro suggests. But he looks conflicted about it. About as much as she feels.

“No…” She answers even though she’s not sure if it’s the right answer. “I-I trust Lotor. And moreover, the outpost is essentially more important than,”   Me, isn’t the right word. She has to tell herself that. “anything else. We should stay on course with our prior plans.”

“This isn’t staying on course this is speeding up!” Coran argues.

“Yes, that’s fine too.” She argues back. “His ships have already left, we should follow. We’ll just… see him tonight or… tomorrow at the outpost.”

“Well, that’s decided. I’ll let the others know.” Shiro says.

“Prepare the Castle, Coran.”

He sighs. “Yes, Princess.”

Her rush back to her quarters is filled with annoyance.

Anger maybe.

Not about the proposal, no, of course not— but the change in scheduling. Obviously. It’s annoying, and now they all have to hurry and load up the ship to trail after Lotor’s space dust. He could have at least warned them yesterday.

The anger leaves her sloppy.

She doesn't even realize she’s alone, turning down hallways until she sees him.

Lotor.

It takes everything in her not to yell out in surprise.

Almost three quintents of absence and then all of a sudden there he is, a whole head and a half taller than her, looking down out the energy viewports that line the hallways to her temporary rooms. The color casts his white hair a lilac.

Lush.

And oh stars, they’re alone. They’re private. This is so, so, so bad.

She debates turning right around and leaving, but it’s hard to take her eyes off him because she hasn’t seen him since she’d knocked him on the ground but no one has stopped talking about it and it’s been driving her mad, they’re both adults, they're both royalty, they’ve talked politics before, they could talk about this, surely.

“Allura.”

His yellow eyes turn and purple finds her after.

She takes two steps back into the hallway wall before turning.

Gotta get public, gotta get public, gotta be in public—

“Allura.” He calls again, and she can hear his boots follow her down the metal plates of the ship.

So she stops. Back turned.

Spitting doesn’t last that long, does it?

She gathers in as much breath as she can to hold it before turning around.

And he's right there. Inches away. She has to look up. His raised chin lowering only a little to meet her gaze as best he can at this… tight proximity.

“May I have a few moments of your time, Princess?”

She’s too busy holding her breath to say anything, and she might breathe fire with how hot everything is—why is everything so hot in this damned Galra ship, honestly?— so she just nods.

He’s silent, following that. Just looking at her. And for a moment they’re both just staring at each other. It feels a lot like the other night again. Except he’s not on the ground and she’s not screaming poetry.

The bruise is much smaller than she remembers too. He heals quickly. The cut on his lip though, that’s still there, It’s a dark sliver of purple where it had once been a shiny carmine red. It stretches when he smiles.

Oh . He’s smiling.

“Princess,” His hand moves to her, the tips of his claws gently hovering beneath her elbow. “I must express my immense admiration for your utter genius.”

“What?” Allura’s breath hisses out of her as she parts her lips. She has to blink a few times because his eyes narrow and then widen, his smile turns loose and he flashes teeth and tongue before closing his mouth. And then his hand leaves her to cover his mouth in excitement before returning. 

“Never will I doubt your mind, in all my years— Allura—”

He’s been saying her name a lot without an honorific, which is terribly new for him, but not something she finds she hates. The back of her thoughts remind her that it’s improper, but he says it so carefully it almost doesn’t seem so.

“I am ten thousand years old, surprise is not an easy thing to come by, and whilst the present has never been more fast-paced, never more opportune, never more enthralling than now, I am overtaken with envy—no—intimidation, with how easily you came to such a clean and concise solution.”

A hitch in her breath is all she can manage. This is… not at all what she’d expected and honestly it’s a little hard to keep up with him. He physically turns from her to curl a fist at the viewport.

“In one move, you turned millennia of contention between enemies, an innumerable amount of prejudice, and the doubts of untrustworthy rivals into one unified, mewling, fickle heart swayed by an act of love.” He chuckles. It’s deep, fast, and sharp. Her heart skips a beat in time with each pang of the sound.

“I only…” Her voice sounds impossibly small.

“Only?” He hears her anyway and turns back to regard her. His eyes more gold now with how large they are and how the light plays in them. “It is only you who could think of such a peaceful but efficient solution to the aftereffects of war and conquest. Marriage, how neatly it fits. It's genius.”

Allura follows him then, waving her hands. “Lotor, please, it’s a common idea between most reigns. As vessels for our people, our actions reflect in their decisions.”

“It’s not common in this world anymore. Maybe because of your timeless nature, you see it as viable.” He nods. “But in days when your Coalition planets know only my father’s cruelty, they would never think to marry one of their own to his son. It is why I suspect it never crossed my mind either.”

“But, you… agree?” She asks. It's a little bit timid and she hates herself for it. She tries to draw up that political face her father used to wear.

“Do I agree?” He’s shaking his head, and she mimics him in confusion, but then he’s smiling. “The past two quintents I have been approached by people from planets my father had demolished, asking me what it was to taste your fist.”

Her hand goes to her forehead and she looks away, trying to avoid facing those words, once more she wonders if she’s ejecting off the ship.

“And not just them, the Galra—” He pauses. “I—”

She has to look back at him then. Lotor almost never stutters. And she’s rewarded with his eyes flickering over the floor. A bit of white hair escapes his ear as he tilts his chin, thinks, and returns to her gaze. “The Galra act as though I am a brother to them, relating to me their own stories of their wives and husbands Taal Selva. It’s not common. Not to me.”

His voice is deeper than usual. 

Allura finds that everything seems hyper-aware. Not slow motion, but she can feel the smile in the corners of her mouth before she can even do it herself. And she can see the quiver in his brow as he steps closer.

“It’s because of you. Of course, I agree.”

“Oh.” And then she can smile. “I had worried I’d offended, that perhaps I should have warned you—”

“No. I feel no offense.” His hand presses against his face for only a tick before falling away. “It was perfect in its execution. And it is the Galra way. Genius on your part, again. They find you a champion because of that choice. They accepted you the instant you landed your strike.”

Her eyes try to focus on the hallway instead of his glowing expression. Although it’s hard not to admit that this is exactly what she had hoped for. His pragmatic, direct speech, and his agreement. It’s nice to hear his voice again. Nice to allow her anxiety to be smoothed by his validation.

Validation. It’s funny, but she does admire his skill as a leader himself. As a diplomat. His agreement feels encouraging.

“I have to admit, when I saw you here after hearing we were shipping out, I thought this was the private rejection I had been warned about.”

Lotor steps backward, his smile gone.

“What faux pas.” He near whispers. “Forgive me, Princess. I need no reminder on the days left for my response, but of course, you would think I would be here to reject you.”

Allura shrugs.

“No, I accept you as my wife. You may have my life oath.”

She freezes. She'd been so concerned with the rejection she almost forgot what acceptance would sound like. And it… it sounded like that, didn’t it? Just like that. He said it so easily. 

“Oh. Good. Quite. Yes.” She’s nodding.

He’s not smiling anymore though.

“I will be announcing my reciprocation tonight at the outpost, where the most might hear and see it; witnesses from both my Empire and the Coalition.”

When he says it like that, it seems so obvious Allura wants to punish herself for being so anxious the entire time.

“That would be the most efficient.” She agrees, her body relaxing, even though her heart hasn’t stopped its wretched pace since he’s begun speaking.

“I simply needed to speak with you privately. To share with you my gratitude.”

“Well, honestly I’m glad we could speak like this.” She says, and her hand rubs her face. “That was slightly stressful and I was beginning to think I had ruined every…. thing.”

She hadn’t noticed his outstretched hand. She hadn’t noticed him kneel.

He’s a whole head and a half below her now. His hand raised.

And there’s a sliver of silver in his palm. A snaking line of chain dipping through the spaces of his fingers. Two bright purple stones on either end. 

Her hand is gripping it before she even realizes it. She has to. She needs to touch it. Has to.

“A taleson chain.” She whispers.

Her nose burns, her ears burn, her eyes burn. Her lungs breathe steam.

“Forgive me.” He says, letting her take it from his hand. “I called forces and contacts, but spriggan stones have seemed to have been destroyed when Altea was.”

It’s light and airy, but resolute and it feels, it feels just as the taleduv or the flowers in her viewing room do. Imbued with magic. And it’s so strange to have something that’s so undeniably her homeworld right here on board an unforgivably Galra ship.

“I had to return the favor you have done for my people. Proposing in the Galra fashion was not for me, but for them. And so I bring this for you, but also for Altea. To show in the same fashion that I accept you as my Taal Selva will.”

She can’t hear him. She really can’t. The stones roll in her fingertips and the chain makes a dusting sound like the twinkle of stars or the crinkle of ice.

He must take her silence as something else because he stands slowly and his brows crease downward.

“It is my understanding this was a part of Altean courtship.”

“It’s a cape, ah, it’s,” She gestures to her collarbone, moving as if to fashion each link to each shoulder. “It clasps here, and here, like so, it’s for, they, yes, they would give it upon a proposal from their own armor.”

“The clothes off my back ?” He asks.

She nods, “Yes, that’s the idea.”

“How tender. Altean tradition never ceases to reach my heart in ways it never met my life.”

He looks so accepting of his detachment Allura almost wants to give him the chain back for him to keep.

“Would that I could find you the rest of the gifts—”

“That is, completely unnecessary! Really, there is almost thirty-seven in all.”

Lotor laughs. “Perhaps in slow succession then.”

They go quiet, looking at each other.

The hum of the energy viewports seems to tingle into her entire being. And the taleson chain almost conduits the buzz. Or maybe it’s him. His charm has never felt so oddly magnetic in the way it does now.

“It is decided then, Princess.”

The honorifics are back, but her smile doesn’t fall. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then keep this meeting secret and await my Taal Selva tonight.”

“I will.”

“And if you would do me the favor of perhaps feigning surprise?” He says it as he walks around her, towards the end of the hallway, the smirk on his face akin to the ones she'd seen him wear on the battlefield. 

She wasn’t sure would need to, honestly.

“Of course.”

He bows and then she watches him leave, her fingers curling around the chain and clasping it beneath her chin to hold her smile.

Chapter Text

The ride through space in Blue was a blur of cold and hot goosebumps rushing through her. She was thankful to have the alone time right after the interaction, it gave her a moment to breathe. To think.

Though admittedly she ended up thinking of nothing.

She simply allowed her hands to relax on the controls and admire the gaseous forms of nebulas and matter as they flickered by, distracted only by comparing the starlight to the light dancing off the chain about her wrist.

There was something so strange about it all. A mixture of emotions so overwhelming and contrasting it brought her to near tears. Not because she was sad or happy, just because she wasn't sure what she was.

Her mother, her governess, her father— everyone in her whole life had insisted she would someday receive one. It was a part of life. A part of Altea. It was inevitable.

Then suddenly, she knew that she would never own one. And the acceptance of that fact had to be so instant, so unconscious, so quick, that she barely had time to mourn that such innocuous pieces of her home were lost forever. She prioritized her grieving for her family above silly cultural trinkets.

And yet, there it was.

It was hard to stop looking at.

Where did he even find it? Why hadn’t she asked that? Had she been that pathetically speechless?

How had he even known about the tradition? Half-Altean, yes, but, he’d been born after its destruction. Somehow she doubted Zarkon rocked his son to sleep with lessons about Altean marriage.

She’d have to interrogate him further when they could be alone again, after his acceptance to their engagement.

Right.

The next time they were alone, they’d be engaged.

Right. 

Her fingers gripped the controls and her lips rolled against her teeth. Of course, they would. That was the point.

Actually, this alone time wasn’t relaxing at all.

Thankfully, their arrival swept her up in enough activities for her to take her mind off the whole ordeal.

They had to make a showy landing in the Lions, as they escorted the Castle in, making sure both the Coalition and Galra forces could witness the arrival of the Voltron team.

After that, the group barely had time to connect with each other as they helped both sides introduce themselves, move supplies and unload, and lead most of the assigned soldiers into the outpost itself.

The planet was a tiny thing. Breathable. Awfully orange in atmospheric color, maybe due to the closeness to this sector’s star. It made it seem like there was an endless sunset in the sky, pouring rays of gold into the viewports inside of the station. 

The main deck was a little too small for the number of people there.

“Well, I don’t think I’ve seen something like this for awhile,” Coran said in way of greeting as he met her side.

They both stood in the center of the room at the debriefing table, taking in the sight of Galra soldiers conversing with the variety of faces that made up the Coalition. The crowd was dotted with paladins too. Shiro was talking to some of the freedom fighters, helping them heft crates into the storage racks. Pidge was having another reunion with her brother, whilst Hunk directed a few sentries to the outer walls. Lance and Keith seemed to be arguing with each other in the corner.

No Lotor.

“I didn’t know the Blades were following us.” She said, pushing away any worries from her mind.

“They said they wanted to be here when the data went through from Pidge’s tracker.” Coran rocked back on his feet, “I imagine they’re keen to get moving on reining in the rest of the purebloods.”

“That’s respectable.”

“Princess Allura!”

A hand waved at them in the crowd, a furry one, donned in freedom fighter garb by the center table. Olia. Surrounded by a few other of the fighters and two Galra soldiers.

Allura raised her hand in response as the group made their way over.

Coran snatched her fingers before they went down.

She jumped, turning to have her vision absorbed by ginger hair and the widest eyes she’d ever seen on the man.

“Is. That.” He wheezed, somehow accomplishing a scream in a whisper. “A. Taleson. Chain?”

Allura yanked her hand away, heat steaming her from toes to ears. “W-what are you talking about?” She whispered back harshly, before acknowledging, “Olia! I—I had no idea you were stationed here."

“I volunteered.” The caeninnous grinned, her snout full of gleaming teeth. “We all did.” She motioned to the two others beside her.

“That’s wonderful.” She smiled. “R-right Coran?”

Coran was burning a hole in her head with his stare. 

“MHM!” He squealed through his gritted teeth.

“I have to admit that I was a little worried when I heard about the idea, but then we got here and I met Trusk— turns out we both grew up in this sector!” Olia’s eyes were bright as she motioned to one of the Galra.

Trusk seemed to be put on the spot.

“My-my family was stationed at the security perimeter two moons from here.” He explained, his large claws grabbing his neck sheepishly.

Allura wasn’t aware Galra could blush so deeply. She smiled.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Trusk.”

He took her hand eagerly. 

“And you Princess Allura.”

Before warmth from the significance of shaking a Galra’s hand in introduction could settle with her, Coran nudged into her.

“My, my— what a bbeeeeautiiffulllll bracelet you got there, Princess.” He drawled. “Where’d. You. Get. That?”

She glared, closing her hand around her wrist as the small group blinked in confusion. “C-Coran, please—”

“What!?” He accused, glaring beneath his large brows, failing at his look of nonchalance as his body tensed up. “I only ask because it looks an awwwwfullllllll lot like," He took a deep breath, "thechainstheAlteansusedtowearbetweenthemantlesoftheirarmoredcapes!”

“I hope you find it welcoming here!” She near shouted and the freedom fighters and Galra step back a little at the volume. 

“Y-yes.” Trusk noted.

“Sure will.” Olia reassured, sweating.

“Will Voltron be staying long?” Another fighter asked, his eyes large behind thick pilot goggles. 

“Oh, well, that depends on some of our research.” Allura answered, glancing back at the debriefing table, where the formula papers and tablets for Pidge’s tracker were spread.

“Surely you must return to the Galra capitol tonight.” Trusk interrupted, looking rather concerned. “Emperor Lotor should be expecting you.”

“Oh, um, well,”

“Yes! Surely!” Coran piped.

“Coran, please!”

“Why is that?” Olia asked.

“Did you not hear of the engagement proposal?” 

Stars, this was not something she could seem to avoid, was it?

The goggled pilot started jumping up and down. “Is that today? Is it the third quintent!?”

Allura wondered if Pidge’s cloaking device could be used by a single person.

“Hey, Allura—”

She turned, thankful to see Lance and Keith pushing through the group and launching at them quickly, her hands gripping their wrists to drag them away around the table.

“YES! Yes, what is it boys? Do you need something?” She glanced back only to watch Coran’s moustache wiggle at her with annoyance.

“Whoa—”

“Allura—?”

She let them go when they were a safe distance away. “Sorry. What seems to be the problem?”

“No problem.” Keith answered first, straightening.

“Uhm, No, big problem!” Lance corrected, “There’s probes everywhere in here!”

Probes? Allura frowned, looking around the deck. A few silver and purple remote droids were indeed, stationed around the room, their glowing centers dim but blinking. On. There had to be at least four.

“It’s not a big deal!” Keith huffed, arms crossing and face sinking into his cowl. “It’s probably just leftover security from the crew that was stationed here before us.”

“It’s Galra tech Keith. GAL-RA.”

“So what! Then it’s security installed from us!”

“There was no report of us installing security here!” Lance near followed Keith’s expression into the shadow of his hood before turning to her with a determined but dubious look. “Right Allura?”

“Well… I don’t know.” She answered honestly, before following the table around to the log screens. “Why don’t we take a look.”

She pulled up the lists and the two earthlings followed her in earnest.

There wouldn’t be any reason to have probes on the outpost would there? Security, maybe. Perhaps because of the nature of the place, it being a new installation of both factions working together. Probes would be a good countermeasure to make sure nothing suspicious happened to either side.

“Allura, hey, Allura—”

But surely there was plenty of security cameras already installed here on the base? The Galra didn’t need their own, did they?

“Allura!”

She looked up to see Hunk, bent over the other side of the table and pointing somewhere behind him.

“Hunk?”

“Allura, he’s coming, okay? He’s coming—”

“Who?” Keith asked.

“What are you talking about, man?” Lance agreed, a hand sliding to his hip.

“He’s—Him! He’s on his way! It’s happening! Allura—Lotor—” Hunk started bobbing up and down.

Lotor.

The main door to the deck whisked open as if it had been slammed, a crack vibrating the metal walls and silencing the crowded space into shocked expressions.

He looked, really, really, tall like that. Face dour and eyes slitted, he entered the room with no words and with a pace that made some soldiers move away quickly.

“Lotor?” Shiro asked in an aloof tone, not noticing the freedom fighters beside him step behind his back with nervous glances.

Lotor didn’t answer, staring straight ahead into the room, striding down the steps toward the debriefing table.

It wasn’t until Coran, Olia, Trusk and the others moved frantically away from his path that she realized he was looking at her.

Oh.

She stilled, her hands on the log panels frozen in the air as he narrowed his eyes and drew closer.

“Lot—” His booted foot scaled the table in a second and cut off her question before it could even reach her lips. She watch Hunk shrink to the edge and look up, and did so as well, trailing up Lotor’s stature to continue holding his intense gaze.

What in the world..?

“Uhm, what is happening?” Lance asked behind her.

Above his head, a few of the probes detached from the ceiling and their purple beacons flashed as they lowered to seemingly scan the room. No—not probes. Recorders.

And then Lotor pulled out a sword.

“HEY!”

“OHMYGOSH!”

There was a scuffle and she felt Lance pull at her arm even as Keith pushed her forward. Soldiers drew backward as freedom fighters scattered. Somewhere she heard a bayard flare open.

“HARK!” Lotor yelled and silence permeated the air once more, aside from the wiz of a probe as it leveled with the tip of the Galra blade in his hand. “All will hear my words as admonitory! Your Emperor speaks his heart!”

The room shrank. The hilt in his clawed grip twisted before it slammed into the table at his feet, bringing him to his knees and making the paper and tablets jump from the impact.

Allura and the others jumped too, and suddenly Lotor’s eyes were level with hers, his lips peeling off his teeth and his white hair falling about his face like a curtain.

“Blue splendor, you are Ephemera,”

Where did all the noise go? Why was it so hot? Had the oxygen gone out? She couldn’t breathe. Or maybe she was breathing too much.

He was so quiet, yet he was so loud.

The hand still on the hilt of the blade left it, leaving it stuck in the metal as it curled into his chest. He looked pained.

“What unreasonable fate, this era,
As I sink into these depths, drink death, and sing pink.”

She can’t stop blinking. Her nose burns.

He’s not blinking.

It’s still so quiet.

His hand outstretches toward her and she realizes she has to take it.

She does, and is lifted all at once onto the table. And then they’re standing there, in the center of the room, above everyone. He smiles.

Oh. 

They— this was—

Lotor rips the blade from the table and he swings it violently to their right and Allura’s hands grasp his shoulder, shocked, confused. His voice booms so loudly she can feel it through her fingers.

“An oath is formed in blood and words! Might any who challenge it meet the wrath of my blade as it rips out your veins and paints the hearth of our union!”

Allura cringes at the image, peering past his threatening form to look down at the room.

The freedom fighters and her paladins look horrified.

All the Galra are grinning. 

Just as the silence seems oppressing, cheers encompass her ears.

“VREPIT SA!”

“Vrepit Sa! Emperor Lotor!”

“The Prince Lotor and Princess Allura!”

The soldiers are all clapping and soon the Coalition members begin following suit. It’s the small pilot who finally smiles “Congratulations!” He says.

“C-Congratulations Princess!” Coran calls, eyes looking wide and scared but smile the ever perfect diplomat's.

She feels her body relax immensely, and she releases Lotor’s shoulder to clasp at her chest.

“Thank-thank you, everyone.”

She feels like she’s gonna shake herself into a faint.

“That was fucking terrifying.” 

"Pidge!!" A few exclaim.

Lotor steps off the table before turning to reach for her and honestly, she’s happy to see the Prince has lost all the aggression in his expression. Still, looking at him at all doesn’t help her jittery nerves or the heat in her… well everything. 

She takes his hand all the same, the large claws closing around her fingers to help her off the table.

“So that's it!? You're married!?” Lance is asking, pushing through the crowd, looking scared and confused.

Lotor laughs, and once more she feels the power of his lungs through the hand still holding hers. “Not quite, paladin, but the promise has been made.” He looks down at her with such softness in his yellow eyes that she has to look away.

“Congratulations.” Olia is saying, and Allura’s hands leave Lotor's to shake the woman's paw.

“Thank you!”

“Vrepit Sa!” Trusk says on her other side, grabbing Lotor’s hands. “I am honored to see our new Emperor give his oath Sir,”

“I am glad to share it with all of you,”

The crowd around the table gets tighter and tighter and they spend a lot of time there saying thanks and accepting congratulations. Most of the chatter about the mixed outpost is lost to questions about the union, the ceremony, and people recounting their reactions at witnessing the entire ordeal.

It’s really, very, hard to steal away. But eventually, she’s able to do so, using Coran’s explanation of what an Altean engagement looks like to leave the main deck and find solace in a small dining hold.

Her back sinks against a cold wall and she shivers, closing her eyes. 

“Blue splendor.” She says quietly to herself.

She doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but her thoughts are running so fast she feels like she might get whiplash.

She should be relieved. After everything, this was it. The plan worked. Success! Right?

Instead, she’s finding it hard to stop swallowing. Like there’s a large weight in her throat. And she can't stop shivering in this unbearable heat! It’s like she’d gotten sick—

“Princess,”

Her back leaves the wall and she straightens immediately, turning to see him enter the room.

Lotor.

“Yes? Sorry, I was about to head back.”

His hand rises to stop her from taking a step. “No, please.”

She pauses and is rewarded with his delicate smile.

“Allow me to find this reprieve with you.”

The tense air leaves her as she exhales. “Yes, of course.”

“I should apologize,” His steps take him until his boots almost touch her own shoes, and she stares down at them to avoid showing how red her face might be. “I hadn’t meant to frighten you.”

She has to look up then, even just to reassure him. “Oh, no! I wasn’t… I wasn’t frightened.”

Lotor’s teeth gleam in his smirk.

“Of course not.”

“It was, perhaps, alarming.”

“Then I'm sorry to alarm you.”

She laughs then, it eases some of the static feelings in her skin.

He chuckles and the sound rolls down her throat into her stomach.

Some of it.

“I suppose no one told you how the acceptance Taal Selva is given,” He guessed, a white eyebrow perking.

“Not at all, but I’m guessing it comes with a warning.”

“Quite!” His hand reaches to her and his claw hovers beneath her elbow. Funny how that sensation was getting familiar. “Still, perhaps I should have warned you when I saw you this morning. I must admit that the details are escaping me in the process, so shocked that I’m even going through it.”

Her brows crease but she keeps her smile. “What do you mean?”

Hopefully, he didn’t mean—

“I had never imagined I would ever give my Oath let alone be asked for it.”

She frowns. “Why not?”

He looks surprised, shaking his head.

“HEY!” They both turn to the open door to see Lance storm in, the rest of the paladins following.

Lotor’s arm falls from hers.

“You could have at least told us you were going to pretend to threaten the entire galaxy!”

The entire galaxy? Oh. The probes!

“Galra tradition dictates I speak to no one about my acceptance, just as it also requires I warn any that might try to disagree with the union.”

Shiro sighs, shaking his head. “I can respect the culture, but Lance is right, if not for Keith and the Blades, we might have started a fight back there.”

“Forgive me,” Lotor’s chin lowers and the two meet some sort of understanding in their gaze. “I wanted to portray my acceptance in the most authentic way possible, so no one doubts its passion.”

Portray. Authentic.

Allura swallows.

“You have to admit that it was kind of genius.” Pidge nods and when everyone turns to look at her she motions to Lotor. “The recordings. Now the entire Empire knows about it.”

“No one will attack the Coalition now if they respect Lotor’s rule.” Keith’s voice breaks through the crowd.

“And the pureblood factions would be foolish to try it either, knowing that the rest of my fleets will defend any Alliance members.” Lotor agrees.

“Really?” Hunk questions. “It’s that easy?”

“It will be easier once the ceremony concludes and Allura becomes Empress, but yes. Blood oaths are not to be taken lightly. Even between the two mates who make it, once made, one can never raise a hand in violence to the other.”

This seems to stun everybody. Allura barely has time to get over hearing the word ‘Empress’ for the first time.

“Really? That doesn’t sound very… Galra.”

“I agree with Hunk,” Lance says, “That sounds like a big fat lie.”

“It’s not.” Lotor’s brow lowers to challenge the paladin's. “Should Allura and I become enemies, or the Galra Empire decide on its own to fight her, no matter my position or my disagreement, I could never join the fray to harm her. My forces would be out an Emperor should they try it.”

“Wow.” Pidge blinks. “This is way more convenient than I thought.”

She has to agree. She had no idea that was the culture of a union, but it is, indeed, just one more benefit to add to the ever-growing list. Once again she had been so concerned over the process of the courtship she hadn’t given much thought what the after-effects would be, aside from her initial decision to do it.

“Am I the only one who thinks this is nuts?” Lance says, shoulders scrunched up and palms outstretched. “We’re basically just letting Allura be traded like a sack of potatoes for a flimsy promise at being friends?”

“Potatoes?” Coran asks, coming into the room with a frown. “What did you call the Princess?”

“It’s my duty Lance.” Allura tries. And she continues despite the unnerving feeling of having Lotor’s eyes on her. “I’ve been raised knowing that my life is nothing more but a service to my people. And the Coalition includes that.”

“But—”

“My people have been fighting this war since I was a child. I’ve lost my home to it, my family…”

Coran shoots her a look of forlorn sympathy and the rest of the paladins follow suit.

“Marriage in the sake of peace is the least I could do to bring happiness back to those who have lost sight of it. That alone is enough to fulfill me where love or a chosen husband might otherwise.”

Lance looks upset still.

“But— he’s— him! He’s not good enough for you!”

“Lance!” Pidge exclaims.

“Relax!” Shiro demands.

“He’s right there!” Hunk whispers.

“You’re right Lance.”

Everyone’s head snaps to Lotor. 

The Prince closes his eyes before staring down the red paladin.

“I could not think of anyone worthy enough to take the hand of the Princess of Altea, least of all the wretched, bastard son of the man who destroyed her homeworld.”

“Lotor.” She says bleakly. She's speechless otherwise. He glances at her for only a moment.

“Well!!” Lance grits his teeth, glaring and pointing, “Well you're not WRONG!”

“Ugh.” Pidge groans.

“No matter the case, I can only promise that while my Taal Selva served its purpose to convince my people of my passion, my words and actions to see the affair through will convince the rest of you that I want nothing more but the peace Allura speaks of.”

She feels cold and distant and yet warm at the same time. As if the words reassure her but also… disappoint her. She really might be sick with something.

Her fingers play at the taleson chain on her wrist.

“Thank you, Lotor.” Shiro nods. “Those are some words I think we can all get behind.” The black paladin says it with a pointed look at Lance, who rolls his eyes but doesn’t retort. “So… congratulations, I guess.”

Shiro’s hand reaches for Lotor’s, who takes it with some surprise in his own features.

“Thank you.”

“Congrats Allura!” Hunk says and she’s caught in a hug she didn’t know was coming.

“Oh! T-Thank you!" 

Pidge and Coran follow suit and through their warmth and laughing, she watches Keith and Lance shake the Galra Prince’s hand.

Lotor.

Her future husband.

Chapter Text

They didn’t get any frequency on Haggar’s flagship.

Pidge and Hunk didn’t take long to get their tracker working, and once they did they made short time of locking onto the rest of the rogue Galra fleet, with help from Lotor. But while they did complete a list of coordinates for where those ships were stationed, Haggar’s wasn’t included.

Lotor deduced the use of cloaking similar to ones he’d apparently used during his time as Po Tem. As he put it, his former squadron had betrayed him and been taken under Haggar’s wing, so it was plausible.

In any case, he promised to help recreate the formulas in close tandem with Pidge and Hunk.

After helping the rest of the assigned soldiers settle into the outpost, everyone returned the to Galra capitol.

It was odd seeing the Castle dock like some sort of temporal, floating, Altean house onto the very contradicting spiky, purple, angry looking shapes of the center flagship and its interlocking city rings, but Allura supposed she should get used to it.

After that, much returned to the new normal.

Most of her time was spent in the Castle with Coran talking over points about Coalition needs, meeting with Shiro about any requests for Voltron, or sitting with Lotor in the survey room going back and forth about the treaty.

See? Normal.

No marriage talk.

No, really, there actually hadn’t been any. Lotor hadn’t brought up the issue once during their evenings and she was too busy with her own duties. And even if she had thought to seek him out during the day, from what she heard from Shiro, the Prince was truly busy with the green and yellow paladin, talking math, science, and tech.

Which was fine. It was almost relieving. Really.

Aside from the new Altean chain about her wrist and smiles from Galra guards, nothing seemed to change much even in two movements.

Well, not for her.

“King Blate, if we could, I was contacting you about the borderlines your people wanted to place in your new sector.”

“Will your Lotor be joining us?”

“N-No,” Her smile thinned ignoring the odd grammar, hand expanding the camera on the Castle’s deck to show the ambassador it was only her and Coran on the call. “I’m afraid the Emperor is seeing to his own people, but I will of course relay all of your best interests. I can assure you that he means to meet any demands you would make of the Galra Empire to ensure your comf—”

“Princess Allura—” A voice calls as a pale face comes into view, with painted lips and long lashes.

“Oh, Princess Malcoti, I didn’t know—”

“My father and I would like to request attendance to your ceremony!” The princess practically pushes her father King from view, his small beady eyes struggling to look over her shoulder.

“O-Oh.” Allura glances at Coran, who shrugs.

“Will it take place in the Galra’s homeworld? Or could the castle travel to Krellia? We have fine weather here and much space for Lotor’s soldiers.”

She has to intake the amount of information at lightning speed. The Krellians want to host Galra soldiers? After what they’d been through? No, that was, not—probable.

“We—haven’t—”

“Malcoti—” The king scuffles, pushing her puff sleeves from view to glower at the screen. “Malcoti forgets herself.”

Allura sighs. Right.

“We would, of course, would be honored by a simple invitation,” He amends, before squirming, “But yes, our people do hold a fine feast, as your paladins know. I’m sure the Galra would also enjoy what we brew for them.”

Allura and Coran can’t do much but stare.

“Think on it Princess Allura! Please! And communicate any invite!” Malcoti chimes.

The signal closes.

It’s quiet on the deck of the Castle.

“What about the border lines? Their conditions for territory and peace?” She asks, hands rising to gesture at the empty screens.

Coran shrugs, shaking his head. “They seem peaceful enough already!”

“Argh!!” Her hands delve into her hair and she nearly shakes it loose from its ties. “This is terrible! Every conversation turns to mush!”

Coran steps up to the platform, leaning past the screens to give her a sympathetic look. “To be fair Princess, this was exactly what we were hoping for with the proposal.”

“Yes, for trust to continue talks forward—not to stall them completely. Diplomacy doesn’t work without the papers, the rules, the—” She finds herself looking at the empty screen again with a sad expression.

“Politics are indeed the key to creating unified worlds.” Coran nods, but his hand goes to her shoulder in a gentle reassurance. “But you need to remember that even politicians are just people. And you’ve given them something else to focus on than war.”

“I’m happy for that, Coran, really I am,” She sighs. “But some, some, focus should be one the future too, shouldn’t it?”

“Well…. Yes.” He relents, and his hand rubs his mustache. “But perhaps everyone needs a celebration before they can sit around and talk. Every good war needs a happy ending, right?”

Allura’s face scrunches in distaste as he pumps his arm. He falters.

“That came out wrong. You know what I meant!”

“Right.”

“You should talk to Lotor about setting a date for the wedding.”

“Me? But I—there are other things more important at hand then something so… silly.”

“Silly?” Coran actually looks surprised at the words. “It might seem odd to a princess groomed for the idea, but to everyone else, you and Lotor are the symbol of an impossible truce! Just like you wanted.”

Allura’s hands pull at her hair at the words, turning them over as she did her curl and trying not to feel… shy. “Yes, but even he would agree that it’s… not worth a fuss.”

“If he’s keen enough to present you with a Taleson chain he’s keen enough to get hitched as soon as possible.” Coran sniffs, crossing his arms.

Allura glares, releasing her hair and hands stiffening at her sides. “Oh, let it go!”

“You could have at least told me! One of the most important events in a Princess’s life and you get it from a Galra in some shadowy corner—”

“Coran!” She scolds.

“Princess Allura.”

Lotor’s voice shakes through the deck of the Castle at the same time the bright blue of the screens flashes over their faces.

They jump, jerking their attention to the sudden open communication and the large-scale face of the Galra Emperor.

“L-Lotor.” She says and winces. No honorifics, no greeting. And bad timing! Her face heats under that cool yellow gaze and she tries to swallow all thoughts of him and what she and Coran had just been speaking about.

“Number 5!” Coran says.

And indeed, Pidge is there, standing beside the man and looking quite small. Her head is floating in the corner and she waves a bit awkwardly in the space between Lotor’s shoulder and hip. “Hey, guys!”

“I hope we are not interrupting your conference, I know you must be in the thick of negotiations.”

He’s always so polite. It’s infuriating. Allura straightens her back and then sets her expression, reminding herself she’s the one who's supposed to lead by example. For goodness sake, he was the Galra leader, and she was the Altean. She could out polite anyone!  

“Why, I always have time for Lotor—you, your—Emperor.” Oh, stars. What happened there? “C-can we help with something?”

His expression flickers, lips parting, then closing.

And then he just stares.

She can see Coran’s face turn toward her in her peripheral vision.

Awful. Just horrendous.

Pidge eyes Lotor beside her before humming through the weird silence.

“Uhhhhhh yeah, actually. We’ve been working on tracking devices and almost came to a roadblock, but then started talking about converters. Most of the probes and drones here are similar to Rover, and Lotor says the bulk of them are manufactured here in the capitol. So, we got to thinking—”

Allura has a hard time listening and watching Pidge, even with the paladin's arms making funny gestures because she kept looking back at Lotor. Funny, he hadn’t stopped staring at her. But that was normal right? People stared at people they were talking to? Right?

Pidge was the one speaking though.

“—which would mean we could program the base matrixes to not only detect any source of signal jam, but they could be signal jams themselves. And in turn, it would probably be a good idea in general just to change the hardware now that the Empire’s had a change in head. Sort of like changing your password for every website.”

“Website?” Coran asked.

Allura frowned but still nodded. Albeit slowly. “Right, yes Pidge... “

The green paladin’s excited smile went flat.

“Your paladin’s expertise outweighs even mine in this aspect.” Lotor finally says, and simply smiles at Pidge before turning that smile to Allura. He chuckles in empathy.

Her instinct screams at her to turn off the comm.

“My Princess, would you be so inclined as to escort her to the engineering facility here on the flagship, so that she may find the means she needs to continue work?”

My Princess. My Princess. My Princess.

“I’m sorry?”

She was hot again. Why was she always hot? She couldn’t blame it on the Galra ship this time, they were on the Castle.

“I can have a sentry lead the way for you both, but I’m afraid I have other engagements to attend to. And while the defenders of Voltron are our honored guests, I can not guarantee everyone on my ship will be happy to see a paladin simply wandering around. Let alone willing to aid them.”

Allura gives him a perked brow and a dubious smile. “What makes you think they’ll be happy to see me either?” 

His expression eases like it’s obvious.

“You are my betrothed. Your mere presence means mine as well, as mates are with each other, always.”

Oh.

“Anyone who dares raise a hand to you in so doing commits treason against me.”

“Right.” She shakes her head, harshly, as if to avoid him seeing the tint in her skin or the damp sweat forming at her neck. “Of course, I forget—”

“No, forgive me.” He stops her, hand raised like her could reach her. The action makes Pidge lean backward. “I should not assume so easily you would understand the Galra ways.”

“Really, you're kind, but it’s my responsibility to learn,” She smiles weakly, looking up through her shaded lashes to his insistent face. “It’s about time anyway, with us working so... closely now.”

“Allura, I do not expect that of you,” His brows narrow, but his mouth is slack enough she can see his teeth as he leans in, hand to his chest. “It’s your comfort that I prioritize, not your etiquette.”

Her hand lifts to press at the side of her mouth as if to stop her smirk. “What a noble way to say you don’t mind my ignorance!” She almost giggles. It’s hard not to.

Lotor near smirks, but it’s weak in his still concerned expression. “Not at all, Princess, my words—”

“OKAY COOL! I’ll see Allura at the bay exit, right Coran!?” Pidge shouts up to the screen.

“Right-O Number 5! Over and out!” Coran agrees, his hand whizzing past Allura’s face to slam on the panel.

Allura only has a tick to glimpse the first embarrassed expression she’d ever seen on Lotor’s face before the signal dies out.

Coran’s slowly turns back to her, his mouth so low his mustache hides it completely. Brows tight.

Allura hides her cheeks in her hands in case they’re red, blinking fast and feeling weak in her knees.

“Talk to him, Princess.”

“Yes, alright!”

Pidge doesn’t mention the call.

It’s a reliable change of pace, the paladin’s company. Pidge isn’t one to needle or nosey her way into other’s personal business. She’s cool-headed most of the time and prioritizes the technical over the emotional. And Allura couldn’t be more thankful.

Really.

“S-so… you and Hunk have been… working with Lotor?” She asks, using the transition from their bland hallways into a grav-lift to broach the topic. She tries to sound nonchalant, but by the wary slide of Pidge’s gaze beneath her brows, her voice is probably much too high and squeaky. “H-How’s that going?”

“It’s going okay.”

“Okay! Okay is good! That’s good!”

The metal doors slide around the lift and they wait patiently with their silent Galra sentry droid.

“He’s… been very helpful.”

Allura turns to catch Pidge push her glasses against her ears, moving them to ease the area. She’s not looking at her, but she continues. “I guess that’s not surprising now. I know we were all pretty distrustful at first, but yeah, he’s helpful. He’s let me and Hunk take the reins on the project and keeps mentioning having us retrofit other aspects of the Empire.”

“The flagship?”

Pidge looks up at her. “The whole capital.”

“Oh.”

“He’s not a programmer, but he seems to understand our ideas even if he doesn’t follow the codes. He did have an excellent basis for tracker detection though. Maybe too good. That’s why we’re a little stuck.”

“Right.” Allura nodded slowly. “So he’s… friendly.”

“Yeah, you could say so. He’s showed me some of the more intricate Galra user interfaces and they are… pretty advanced. I was surprised he let me see the backend. Plus he’s been teaching Hunk some Galra words.”

“What? Really?”

“Yep! Like fas lok per rasterrun.” Pidge recites the words with a mocked serious expression and a deeper voice. Her fingers grip the air as if they’re claws.

“What does that mean?”

Pidge pauses. “Oh, uh…” She gives a chagrined smile. “I can’t remember if that’s ‘I see and understand,’ or ‘please don’t stab me.’”

She laughed, she couldn’t help herself.

“Hunk was the one asking! I barely got a hold on the little Altean I know now.”

“Fair enough. I guess I should expect no less from—”

The lift rattled and the walls flashed before disappearing altogether. Light fills the space around then before fading into a vast landscape that had them both speechless, stepping backward as not to fall.

“OH!”

“Quiznak!!”

But the metal hadn’t gone, just given away to a crystal clear viewport that looked down over the central expanse of the flagship.

“W-Whoa—that’s—”

“This is…”

They both approached the edge, peering down their moving platform to see the hub of people, soldiers— Galra, milling through the several levels of the ship.

“Is this the main docking bay?”

“I don’t see any ships, oh no, some at the very bottom see?”

“What are all these other levels?”

“I don’t know. Arsenal? Oh, look! Drones!”

There was simply too much to look at. The ship was alive, busy, brimming even. And while it was no brighter than the indigo and orchid aura most Galra ships seemed to emanate, there was no lack of activity.

“I guess I sort of forgot how big of a ship we were on,” Pidge noted.

Allura had to agree. Since arriving at Lotor’s invitation, they had really only been stationed in the bulkhead, the central command, the royal quarters and guest rooms. And by comparison to what they were seeing, it was almost laughable.

In fact, it was almost ridiculous how crowded the Galra capitol would obviously be. Only a year before the war had started, Daibazaal had been destroyed. With no surface planet to call home, their people would have to thrive and live in space, wouldn’t they?

And she had been asleep for ten thousand years.

Allura felt a bit small, her fingers clenching the viewport as they leaned on it, feeling a little shaky.

“Huh, that looks like a dining hall. And a recreation center?”

“It’s a city,” Allura answered, even as the realization of it all came to her in small waves. “It’s going to have to provide more to its residents than just military amenities.”

The lift took them almost clear across the center hub, where pillars of architecture and light cut through the ship to hold various different decks, populated with sentries or armored Galra, and even regular civilians.

Eventually, the lift stopped, before spiraling downward, shadows of passing levels casting their windows in shifting darkness, and just when Allura thought they couldn’t get any deeper they stopped. The metal casing encircled their lift once more and the doors whizzed open. “Emperor Lo—”

Pidge and Allura looked a little shocked at the standing guard, his bow pausing halfway as he met them with an equally puzzled expression.

“Uh, hi.” Pidge waved.

Their sentry began walking forward, passing the guard completely.

“Emperor Lotor has bid us entry to the engineering facility,” Allura informed, making sure not to lose her authority to quickly, even if she herself was a bit lost.

The mouth on the guard snapped shut, and he continued his bow. “Vrepit sa, Princess.”

There was something… very, utterly strange at hearing the Galra hail directed at her. She couldn’t help the shiver in her spine or the fall in her expression for it. But the man didn’t stop them, statuesque as he was, so they continued to follow their sentry out of the hallway.

“I hope we’re in the right place.” She said, looking over her shoulder as they continued on.

“Seem to be.” Pidge shrugged. “Lotor must have his own private transport channels.”

Well, that would make the most sense, wouldn’t it?

Allura had always thought that the Castle itself was large, with its endless channels and different sections to house something as intricate as five lions to one Voltron. But it was nothing compared to even one Galra flagship.

But again, what would you expect of a military-focused space-faring nation with centuries and centuries to adapt and well… prosper?

And oh, they had prospered.

The hallways soon opened up to reveal they were indeed on one of the deck levels and it showed in the growing number of people beginning to pass them by.

Most were armored, but some weren’t. Women, men, and other indistinguishable Galra milled about their business. Or they did until they seemed to spot the two of them, then they stopped and stared unabashedly.

“Alright, I can kinda see his worry about sending me down here alone,” Pidge whispered, suddenly much closer to Allura’s side.

Yellow-eyed looks seemed to come from everywhere.

“I can’t see why he thought I’d help though.” She whispered back. “Most of them just look angry.”

“Well, they aren’t attacking?”

“That’s true.”

They weren’t exactly glaring either, perhaps they simply looked that way to her because of all the scarred visages and the very large fangs. Maybe it was that Galra just… naturally seemed more intimidating at first glance.

In fact, most just looked confused. Shocked? Scared?

It was hard not to look back at them either. Especially when some started whispering and pointing. Despite that, they didn’t meet any confrontation, at least not until the sentry led them to the engineering facility and the door whisked open.

The offices held rows and rows of open labs in the main deck, and a handful of closed off rooms on either side. They knew this because as soon as their sentry stepped aside, the entire room and all its occupants froze to turn at the door and stare.

The girls straightened.

“Uh, hi.” Pidge tried once again.

No one replied.

“Pidge… are you sure this is the right place?”

“How am I supposed to know?” the paladin whispered angrily, and they both turned to glare at their unresponsive sentry.

“Princess Allura!!” A voice broke and they watched as a Galra woman in a long coat broke through the back line of laboratory workbenches, waving a large clawed hand and a fizzling holo-pad. “Princess Allura, we’re honor—”

The Galra woman near tripped over a fellow scientist, long fins from her head whipping about as she gained her footing and continued forward.

Pidge and Allura tried not to eye each other warily.

“We are—” The woman breathed on her knees, “so honored—” She inhaled, standing straight. “To have you and your paladin here. Emperor Lotor told us to expect you.”

The words couldn’t be more relaxing.

“Oh good.”

“Sure, yep, that’s us.”

Morga, as they were informed, was the head of engineering as well as the flagships technician designer. She was extremely tall, but a little thinner then most of the Galra they’d come across, but no less intimidating with her aggressive arms and wide mouth.

“We were so excited to have you, Princess, please, might we give you a tour, we could show you the new tactical missiles? Or perhaps you’d like to see our cyclo-engine?” Morga pressed, and it was not lost on Allura the tablet she was being shown was upside down.

Okay, maybe a little less intimidating than most.

“Thank you, but it’s my paladin, Pidge, who's seeking information.”

Morga looked down, and her furred brows lifted. “And which lion do you pilot, paladin?”

Pidge subconsciously glanced at her armor before looking back at all the still-staring Galra around them. “Uh... the… green one.”

“Wonderful!”

“Yeah.”

Allura hid a smile in her hands.

“Then please, right this way, please, anything for Princess Allura.”

They were escorted through the workstations, where most of the Galra moved aside from them, bowing or just grinning widely in obvious and ignorant excitement. Pidge was rapid fire almost as soon as they crossed some of the tech being worked on in plain sight and it didn’t really take much before Morga was drawn in as well.

“Oh, you must mean to re-purpose sonar frequencies—”

“This is more about detecting  another detector.”

“We do have geological equipment for scanning for security systems on foreign planets. But it uses the surface area.”

“That might work! But it would need to be retrofit to use the surface area of the stars around it to work in space.”

“Interesting!”

It was all quiznazzle to Allura, but she smiled anyway, watching the lean Galra scientist almost bend her knees to the ground to level her gaze at Pidge, excitedly discussing tech.

It was funny.

She wondered what her father would think.

She never thought she’d live to the day that she could be at ease, even just a smidge comfortable really, in a room full of Galra. Let alone living temporarily in their capital and watching an earthling friend discover new sciences from them.

Or be betrothed to one of them.

Almost forgot about that one.

She kept mostly to herself, tagging along at a distance behind the two mathematicians. When she did happen to cross eyes with some of the other scientists she did her best to give them a smile and a small wave, practicing her best court demeanor. Most either quickly looked back to their work in embarrassment, or returned the wave and smile tenfold.

She wasn’t sure how long it was until Pidge was settled, arms full off drone equipment and a stack of holo tablets, but she had to be nudged from daydreaming into an energy cell when it was time.

“Oh, got everything?”

“Allura your not going to believe the amount of stuff they’re working on. It's incredible!”

It was always heartwarming to see Pidge's excitement, even if she didn't understand it. Morga seemed to share the enthusiasm though.

“Pidge the green is welcome back to our labs anytime she may wish.” Morga declared, a clawed hand patting the paladin's shoulder. “We might even actually get more work done with her around than without! Ha!” The Galra snorted loud and the sound rolled into something more like a funny growl.

Pidge was smiling but Allura looked a bit aghast at the noise.

Morga caught the expression and struggled, “Oh no, not that we aren’t working hard, Princess, no, just a joke, we are making large headway—”

“Why—why would I mind?!” Allura asked, waving her hands to stop the desperate plea.

Pidge cleared her throat loudly. “Allura and Emperor Lotor. As he is here . With his mate. Always . Don’t mind—”

Allura caught on, sweating. “Right! Of course, Morga, please, The Emperor and I are nothing but… we are proud! Proud to have you leading the team. Down here that is.”

Morga’s yellow eyes were large and glowing, as were teeth as she practically beamed under the praise. “Oh!! Wonderful!! Just Wonderful!”

She sighed mentally and so did Pidge, the younger girl shifting her drone parts in her arms.

Morga volunteered to escort them back to the lift, which was indeed for private use to the emperor and proved much more vibrant company than their sentry.

“Most of this deck is technical. The data gatherers are on this level, and some financial bureaus too.” Galra financial bureaus. It was so mundane Allura didn’t think it serious at first.

She might have been… assuming too much of the Galra until now.

“This flagship really is a marvel.” Pidge complimented.

“It is a privilege to work in the capital, yes, but hopefully you will be able to visit the homesteads on H1 and 2.”

Allura and Pidge glanced at each other.

“Do you mean the rings orbiting the ship's center?” Allura guessed.

“Of course. That is where most of the Galra civilians stay. My mate and children live on H1.”

“Neat.” Pidge smiled.

Allura was feeling impossibly smaller.

She knew the Galra Empire had been immense since waking up to it. They had conquered almost every edge of space at this point. But to hear about it like this…?

“I… forgive me, Princess,” Morga paused, her claws grasped at her coat nervously before her yellows eyes narrowed. Allura blinked at her. “I, I must ask.”

“Y-yes?”

Oh please no surprises.

“Will… will the royal ceremony be here in the Capitol? Or will it be on H1? Or H2? I know Lotor spent time on H2—”

Wedding. Wedding talk.

Allura flushed.

It was everywhere.

“I’m—we aren't decided.”

“It is beautiful there. When the sector general set fire to our oaths during my ceremony it was bathed in moonlight from the open atmosphere.” 

“Fire?” Pidge’s tone went up.

“That sounds… delightful.” Allura nodded.

Morga was lost to her excitement, her claws clinging to her breast. “Of course, my mate is no talker. Not like the Emperor. His Taal Selva was so romantic.”

“Romantic?” Pidge’s tone fell.

Stars it was so hot again. She wasn't even the one holding anything and she felt weak the knees.

“Y..you saw that?” Allura asked.

Morga blinked. “Everyone did. They broadcasted to the center screens as an official announcement. It’s been replayed every half quintet since.”

“It has!?” It was Allura’s turn to pitch her voice into a high squeak

“And what grace!” Morga's arms mimic a sword. The girls step out of the way as she pretends to fence the air. “We knew Lotor to be a great fighter. But we have never seen him so Galra! So passionate! The bloodthirst was obvious in his love!”

Neither of them can respond to that so they don’t.

Morga is already moving on, though. “Oh! Princess, what will you wear? Will you adorn armor? The Galra style? Or do Alteans dress in the weak flowery things of dresses and beads? Will it be pinks and whites or will you wear Galra colors?”

“Oh! Ahm, well, we, don't, it—depends.” Allura looks to Pidge for help but gets nothing but a cringed expression.

Honestly? What colors would she wear? That was the concern?

“You’re a fool and so is this ridiculous marriage.”

The voice comes from behind them, and they turn to find a Galra stalking forward, having overheard. He’s massive, and his head is a clean grey, but he wears no armor, just dressed down wrappings of purple and black.

Morga straightens, her large claws falling almost in embarrassment.

“If you can not see that this union is nothing more than a ploy to weaken our Empire to submission then you are a pathetic excuse for a Galra.”

“Hey!!” Pidge exclaims, stepping before Morga. “You can’t talk to her that way!”

“Pidge, no!” Allura warns.

“The Alteans were broken fairies at best, and that is the blood running in Lotor's veins. That is the blood he will create from this mating.”

She freezes and suddenly her hands are fisted and her are ears hot for another reason.

“How dare you!”

“Are you challenging his oath with this insult?” Morga asks and Allura and Pidge have to look up to see her suddenly angry face looming above them.

“It's not a real oath!” The man argues, and he’s stepped so close now they have to step backward. His face is angry, but he almost looks bothered by Morga’s disagreement. His move to her as if to make her see reason. “He is no Galra! And even if he was Zarkon himself, it would still be an obvious trick to ever align with these pests! They mean to drink us dry of our resources. To placate us into whimpering pups with no claws!”

He motions to Pidge and Allura and they both tense, knees bending.

“You speak to Lotor himself by talking to his mate this way!” Morga warns and he voice is much lower then they’ve heard before.

“So be it! I do not see him here.” He looks around with a spitting laugh and that's when Allura notices that while he’s right, Lotor was not nearby, a lot of other Galra were.

And they were watching raptly.

This was… very bad.

“If you're so tough, why don’t you prove it?!”

“Pidge!” Allura admonishes, very much aware of the weight in the air around them. It's heavy. The last thing she wants to do is start a brawl in the middle of Lotor’s flagship.

Not that she's sure how Pidge will, with her arms full of random tech.

“Want me to put you in your place?” The man steps forward, but he steps to Allura. “I can easily show where the weakness lies in Lotor’s rule.”

She glares, lowering in case she needs to leap. He might be larger than her, but she would be much faster. And even with a crowd, there's plenty of room to move around.

Air sweeps past her face as Morga lunges forward, knees colliding with the man’s stomach.

They smash into the ground with a clatter and Allura backs up immediately into Pidge.

“Oh, Quiznak!”

“Morga!”

There's a sickening sound of repeated punches and the two Galra wrestle as the crowd around them begin to shout.

But it's fast. Claws and tails whipping about until Morga is standing, her booted foot smacking the man’s face into the floor.

“None will insult our Emperor! Release!” She demanded, her voice deep and her head tails looking more aggressive than ever. She doesn’t seem as lanky or small as she had in her labs.

The man struggles a bit as the shouting roars, his claws scrabbling on her shoes.

“Kill me then!!” He yells up at her.

“No, stop!” Allura begs. She couldn’t handle that. Not like this.

“No!!” Morga yells. It's loud enough to quiet their audience too. “Victory or death is the old way! Lotor demands your submission!”

“Submit!!” Someone yells. The call echoes around them.

He struggles only a moment more before tapping the floor with a weak hand. Morga releases him, standing before Pidge and Allura once more as he falls backward, coughing.

“You lose! And not even to who you challenged! You are the pathetic one!”

Vrepit sa is heard in the crowd. The male Galra on the floor doesn't look pleased as he catches his breath. His ear is bleeding.

But he stays on his knees and his hand goes to his chest. Fisted.

Allura is frozen.

“Face your treason!” Morga demands, moving aside so he may look up at them.

Pidge looks to her, just as concerned.

“Th-there is no need for this.” She says, raising her hands.

He looks up at her slowly and she isn’t sure if she should look away.

“Vrepit sa, Lotor. Vrepit sa Princess Allura.” He says it under his breath.

She can’t reply. It's too baffling. And it's too loud to reply anyway. The crowd won’t stop whistling and cheering. Vrepit sa.

“Forgive this grievance Princess, please,” Morga’s awkward, wide smile comes back for only a moment. “See yourself to the lifts, I will take care of the rest.”

“We can’t just leave.” Allura shakes her head.

“But—” Pidge tries.

“Be back soon, paladin,” Morga says with a wave. And it's so abnormally casual despite her mussed labcoat and the kneeling man behind her that they can't do much more than step away slowly.

“Thank you,” Allura says. It's the only thing she can think of.

They leave as quickly yet cooly as they can.

They even leave the sentry behind, just to close the lift faster.  

Chapter Text

The lift is unbearably quiet. Lights flick past levels as the city whizzes by.

“Here, let me help carry some of that.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Allura takes the stacks of tablets, relieving the paladin. 

It’s quiet again.

They eye each other. 

“Well, that was weird.”

“Quite sudden!”

They laugh awkwardly and the air eases a bit.

Pidge gives her a reproachful look.

“Do you… want me to tell Lotor…”

“I—No.” Allura steels her expression. “Let me speak with him, it should be my responsibility.”

Pidge looks all the more relieved to hear it and doesn’t argue for the task. 

“It’s about time we sit down together… it seems there’s much to discuss.” Allura says, shifting the tablets and turning to look out the viewport. She casts her eyes downward at the number of people living and working every tick that goes by. “I wasn’t aware so many would be so concerned with the details of this union.”

She sighs, eyes closing. “Even the Galra. It’s surprising. We were just on the edge of a war and the only conversation anyone wants to have is what I will wear at the ceremony.”

She doesn’t expect Pidge to respond to the topic, so when she does, she looks down at the girl in surprise.

“Well, it’s the same way on Earth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Weddings. The proposal, the bridal shower, the bachelorette party.” Pidge lists, Her free hand counting off her fingers. “What you’re gonna wear, where it’s gonna be, who's gonna be there, what colors are the flowers, whose the maid of honor—girls are kinda obsessed about it.”

“What’s a maid of honor?” Allura questions. Not really certain what most of the terms were but tackling one at a time.

“It’s the girl who… stands… closest?” Pidge shrugs self consciously. “To be honest, I’m not really sure what the difference is or what they’re supposed to do. My mom would talk to me about all the stuff but I’m not… well, I’m not most girls. On Earth, they would dream about their wedding day, and all the colors and what dress they would wear and blah, blah, blah. It’s a big deal.”

Allura’s eyes slide away. “I see.”

Pidge pauses. “But you’re a Princess. And they have weddings in Altea. You never thought about it?”

Allura flushes and tries not to look at the chain on her wrist. She does anyway. 

“Maybe as a child, once or twice.” She admitted, thinking of drawings of ribbons and dresses she’d done in corners of her father’s research.  “But I always knew my betrothed would be chosen for me, and assumably Altean. Then with the war… such daydreams were a waste of time.”

Pidge’s lips pursed, looking sympathetic but obviously not certain what to stay.

“It’s not something I mourned.” Allura clarified. “And, now I am getting married.”

Saying it out loud sort of makes the fact sink into her skin, like warm water. It’s almost odd in contrast to how nervously cold she is.

“I’m getting married.” She repeats.

“Yeaaaaaah.” Pidge drawls.

“Oh. Stars. I am.” She realizes, looking down at the paladin.

“Yep.”

“Oh goodness.”

“I’m sure, it’s all gonna be fine. And hey, now you do get to think about all that stuff.” Pidge tries to relieve her. “That should be fun, right?”

“Fun, yes.” Allura nods, but her mind is working a bit faster than her words and it’s not with excitement, but worry.

Quiznak, what was she going to wear?

She means to head to him immediately. The altercation involved him and his rule if she were the one hosting guests in her home she would want to know. And it would be better for him to find out from her first than anyone else. It’s also a reasonable excuse to talk about the wedding.

And really, she was halfway there, just a couple halls away when she stopped and turned around, hurrying back the way she came.

And she’s going to go. As soon as possible, immediately even.

Right after she makes a stop at the castle to change.

Allura smacked the fabric along her knees to straighten out the dress, frowning at it.

It’s been a while since she’d pulled out anything from her closet that wasn’t her flight suit or her paladin armor, longer still that it wasn’t her day dress or her nightgown. 

Honestly, if they were going to be staying on the Galra ship as long as they were, they might need some new clothes. She had some from their stay with the Olkari, but in her mind, the beige loose wraps might appear too informal. Or risque.

The Altean one she’s tried on now was once her mother's, and it’s a little… glamorous. But perhaps that’s the attitude needed. They’re in the middle of diplomacy talks in times of war. A show of authority might be exactly the presentation she should be portraying. And… this was marriage talk. With an Emperor.

Right?

She rotates in the mirror a few times, staring at the bottom wrinkles before catching her own gaze. It feels ten thousand years old, even if it still fits perfectly. 

This was ridiculous.

Her hands drop immediately and the stirring uneasiness in her stomach churns into full-blown self-judgment. She was being ridiculous.

“Just go.” She whispers to herself, shoving the closet closed and pointedly ignoring the mirror, heading towards her door. 

He didn’t care about how she looked, and neither had she up until now. What did it matter what he saw her dressed in or how her hair—

Her hair. Her hands rose, delving into the locks. Oh. Maybe she should—

Allura hurried back to the mirror, this time leaning into the vanity to peer at her face with more scrutiny. She reached up quickly to release her bun, letting the locks fall before catching them at her shoulders. Wait, no. Maybe showing her neck was more formal. Regal? Or— her hand fell and the curls dropped down again. Maybe more casual was beneficial? Would he appreciate the show of comfort? Would he—

Oh, stars.

Her hands collapsed on the vanity desk, her head falling.

What was she doing?

“And now you're wearing an Altean anointing-dress with your hair down.” She scolded.

Rolling her eyes she left the vanity completely and headed to the door.

Honestly, the sooner she got it over with the better. Formal or not, the most important part was the discussion. This wasn’t court life anymore, this was two leaders deciding the fate of their people.

Allura strode out the door with purpose and nearly smashed right into him.

“Lotor!”

“A—”

She had to take a few steps back to take in the full sight of him, tall as he was. 

His yellow eyes lowered, even as the raised fist didn’t, frozen mid-knock.

“Apologies, I wanted—”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

They stopped. His hand fell to his side.

“I was about to—”

“Funny, I had plan—”

Allura snapped her mouth shut with a cringe.

But Lotor was smiling warily. “Forgive me. We seemed to have startled each other.”

“I was just on my way to see you.” She admitted.

His brow rose. “You were?”

“Yes, are— you—” She paused, eyeing the room.

Her room.

And then it was apparent he was still standing at the threshold of her bedroom aboard the Castle. The contrast was almost palpable. His deep clothes and black tails a stark contrast to the whites and blues of her walls, or the softness of the drapery in comparison to the sharpness of his armor.

He was looking around now too, over her head, maybe even because she had done so, and seemed to catch the wrong idea.

“I don’t mean to intrude.” He began. “Perhaps we could speak somewhere—”

“No please, come in.”

She stepped aside to let him pass, but when the doors whisked closed she suddenly realized what a horrible mistake that was. There wasn’t anywhere to sit that wasn’t her one vanity chair or her bed.

This was going splendidly, wasn’t it?

Lotor didn’t mention anything, taking a few steps, eyes tracing the walls before his hands clasped behind his back and he turned to her quietly. 

She could hear her governess screaming somewhere in the back of her head that a man was in the room without a chaperone. She could hear her etiquette teacher snapping about being a dreadful host for making her guest stand.

She went with the voice of her father instead and straightened.

“I wanted to talk to you about something that happened down on the engineering level.”

“Then we are in the same mind.”

It’s her turn to look surprised.

His brows lower and he looks more serious now than when she’d nearly walked into him. 

“I was informed some time ago by security that you and Pidge had been sidelined by a disgruntled civilian of mine. And subsequently challenged.”

“Yes, but we weren’t drawn to anything rash.”

“Rash?” He looks taken aback by the word before turning dour once more. “It’s my understanding that my engineering lead upheld the throne's honor, but should it have come down to it, it would not be rash for you to have put the man in his place.”

“Well, I would have defended myself.” She tried to wave it off, literally and in the lighter tone of her voice. “But I can’t say that I’m not thankful I didn’t have to.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And in any case, I want you to know that the matter was properly dealt with.”

He sounds… biting. Even his expression is somewhat tight. And Allura’s next words are slower.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Blunt. But still. “Morga forced him to submit.”

“So she did. And then I issued his ban from the capitol flagship.”

“What?” She steps toward him, and he has to step back to keep their distance. “Why would you do that? He relented!”

“Relented?” He shook his head. “He made a challenge and failed.”

“Is it not the Galra tradition that he has a right to do so?”

Lotor’s eyes narrowed to an almost impossible thinness. “It is the Galra tradition that he be executed.”

Her mouth shuts and she tilts her chin down to meet his gaze, feeling put out but not knowing how to argue against, well, that.

“Now, I know that can’t be what you want. It isn’t what I want either.” His hands leave his back to fist at his sides. “But I can not ignore the slight. It makes me seem like the peace faring weakling they think I am. They already have to deal with the drastic change in their ten-thousand-year-old culture from victory over death to humiliation over death, if I don’t at least assign out punishments the entire Empire will revolt."

“But...” But it’s hard to say much other then she doesn’t like it. And she really doesn’t. She stares at his boots on her floor.

“Princess, I know this isn’t something you’re used to. But it is the way my people work.” She watches his shoes move closer. His tone lowers. “You must trust that I want to make progress, but I have to do it carefully. Gradually.”

Allura wanted to hold fast to her beliefs, but she would be silly to not admit that the Galra were a bit out of her depth. In more ways than one. Still, her shoulder turned a bit away from him. 

“And… in honesty, if I can help prevent a mutiny whilst the Voltron team is on board by sending dissenters back to the homestead, I will do that. Better not let words like those spread at least until we’re married.”

When she finally meets his gaze again she’s surprised at how close it is. She has to look up.

“If we are to rule together, should I not at least have a say in these things?” It’s the last point she can think to make and as soon as she says it she regrets it a little.

Luckily, he laughs.

She gets a good look at his teeth when he does. And it's either the sight of them or his next words that make her ears burn.

“You’re not Empress yet .” His smile falls, but only a few fractions. “And no, Princess, you would not. Not at least until you understand the people you’re inheriting, just as I will presume not to have every say in the Coalition’s goings-on.”

“Alright. That’s… reasonable.” Her lips ache as they pout, and she tries to look away from him, but can't.

“Thank you, for your patience.”

It’s hard to break these slight silences when she’s very aware that they’re standing there, alone. In her bedroom. 

“Will you accept my apology as well? That was exactly what I was hoping to avoid by sending you down there and I seem to have underestimated my people’s... spirit, so to speak.”

“It’s not your fault.” She reassures. It’s automatic in her, he’s been, as always, insufferably polite. Because it is a bit his fault.

“I had maybe mistaken the atmosphere of the topic. By…” Weirdly, he looks embarrassed, head tilted and eyes seemingly distracted with her furniture. “...recent discussions, I had thought the overall excitement about the union to be rather all-encompassing. It’s a mistake I won’t—”

It actually takes a second for Allura to realize what he's saying through his side-stepping vocabulary, but when she does she steps even closer and her arms raise as if to stop him from moving even though he isn't.

“No! No! You’re right!” She fumbles, arms dropping, but eyes wide. He looks alarmed. “You’re absolutely right! The general mindset of everyone seems to be positive!”

Lotor says nothing, still a bit speechless maybe.

“I—They—” She falters. She’s not sure she can keep up with him and his propriety anymore. Not about this. “No one will stop talking about it! The wedding, the clothes—” She finally admits.

And then she’s walking. Pacing. Honestly. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

“—where it will be, whose in attendance, if it will have armor or moonlight or music—”

It's not until she realizes she’s almost walked a circle around him that she stops, finding his eyes and body pivoting to keep track of her.

“Sorry.”

“No, please, I—” He smiles. “I’m glad I’m not alone in the experience.”

She straightens once more.

“They’re asking you the same things?”

A claw is on his chin as he nods, his eyes a little lazy-lidded. “They ask if I will give a right of passage, if my General’s have been selected for my Oathsguard, and yes… what you will wear. It’s been difficult to carry on most meetings.”

He looks wary, but it’s hard for her not to laugh, thinking about Galra interrupting important conferences to pester Lotor of all people, their Emperor, about the colors of his wedding.

“I didn’t think the Galra would be so sentimental.”

It’s a slip. She recognizes it as soon as she says it. An assumption based on prejudices.

Lotor considers her and if he realizes this he chooses not to call her out on it.

“There has been some disagreement as well. I’ve received a few nasty messages from the pureblood rebels against me in the eastern territories. But if they weren’t complaining about our union I’m sure they would just go back to complaining about me.” He sighs, a lock of clean porcelain falling to his shoulder. “And those in ranks high enough to voice concerns do only that. Voice it.”

What he’s saying only reinforces her earlier discussion with Coran. The flight master was always so poignant. They’re having the same problem, they would share the same solution.

“We must be wed very, very, soon.”

His arms tighten, brows drawn up.

“Don’t you agree?”

“I do.” He admits quickly. But he doesn’t relax. “I just had not thought you would suggest it.”

She gives him a challenging smirk.

“I’m the one who proposed.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“So you are.” His eyes look away for only a moment before he continues. “How fast do you have in mind, Princess?”

If he means to put her on the spot, he shouldn’t have underestimated her. She feels too competitive now. A familiar weakness she will always deny.

“Very. The end of this phoeb at least.”

“How about the end of this movement?”

“Alright.”

He doesn’t stop looking surprised. And it’s a slow catch-up for her as she realizes what she’d just agreed to.

It makes sense. It’s already been two movements since her proposal. And the faster they got it over with, the faster they could get to finishing their treaty let alone enforcing their reign of peace.

And it wasn’t like she didn't know it was inevitable anyway.

“Yes.” She nods, staring him down. “One movement.”

“Yes.”

Stars, the silence.

He at least looks just as determined as she.

Alone.

Here in her room.

Allura swallows.

“We… we have much to plan then.”

“Quite a bit.”

She moves a step toward her bed.

They should sit, honestly. There’s a lot to go over.

“Do you have the time?” She asks. Her voice is much too high. She notices it and so must he, so she looks at him with as much genuine curiosity as she can manage despite her clammy fingers and the heat around the collar of her dress. 

Lotor shifts and she tries to tell herself she’s imagining him stare behind her. At her bed.

“My company is at your pleasure, Princess.”

That’s really not the best sentence for her to hear. And as her lip rolls under her teeth she wonders how to word it. ‘Please, join me,’ with a pat on her sheets? Or maybe she just sits and says nothing. Would he invite himself? It was so stupid to bring him in here in the first place.

“Princess Allura!”

Coran.

They both turn and a knock on the door seems to pierce through the metal straight into her chest.

“Coran!” Her voice feels hoarse. “I’m—”

“Pidge mentioned you’d returned!”

“Yes!”

It’s quiet and as Lotor turns to regard her in his own stoic silence, very much a sharp, black and purple, Galra thing, in the middle of her private chambers, she realizes she can’t very well hide the man. Not that she should. It was a childish instinct. 

“I had a message from the Balmera colony!”

“Come in!”

The door opens. It's fast and snappy. And she can only imagine what her expression looks like. Or what their closeness looks like—heavens, had they been that close the entire time and she hadn't noticed?

Coran’s curled mustache seems to freeze his smile in place.

“Lotor and I were just—talking.”

It’s not an excuse, it’s not an excuse, it’s not an excuse.

Lotor says nothing, not that he could say anything to make the matter seem any better.

“RIGHT-O!” Coran yells this. It’s a shout. Really. She shrinks.

“Was there something—?”

“No not at all don’t you worry your head it can wait most definitely excuse me don’t mind me at all just heading back to the deck I’ll be there when you’re done you just give me a call alright well fought thank you!!”

He steps backward as he talks and most of it drowns out when the sensors pick up his distance and the doors close before either of them can say goodbye.

With the words fading, Allura realizes it's even heavier in the air than before. It’s like the oxygen has gone out. Like she’d put on her dress too tight. Lotor’s presence was starting to feel like a black hole to everything around her but, well, her.

He hasn’t looked back at her yet, his eyes still on the door, then the ceiling, then her vanity, and her mirrors. He’s looking at everything but her. At least he has the decency to look calm and at ease. 

When he turns, he’s so tall his gaze doesn’t have to move to look above her head as his eyes pass over her bed and closet.

Stars! Space! Heavens! Host your damn guest, just say—something—

And then his eyes are on her, and he turns to show her his profile. 

His arm lifts to bend in front of her.

His voice is soft.

“Shall we walk the Round?”

And then she’s not looking at his arm.

She’s looking at her father’s, laughing and grasping him as they rush out of Altea’s court square, past the gardens to The Round. She could almost hear the crowds, can almost smell the tasselterry fruits as they line the columns of the graveled track. The people wave and the two of them wave back, arm in arm, talking about mother’s birthday or Allura becoming a lady of her own. She’d always felt so charmed, so proud, to be considered an adult enough to chit-chat about the weather or gossip as the rest of the nobles did, walking in endless circles in pretty dresses, or winter capes, and—

Her nose burns.

Lotor’s arm looks a little blurry.

They're alone in her room still, but her mind is slow as it returns from her memories.

“Oh. ”

She slips her hand around his arm gently. “How do you know—”

When she looks up the lights in her ceiling are too bright behind his head. He’s smiling.

“We may not be able to partake of the real thing, but I hope your Castle is enough to serve the same purpose.”

“Yes.” Her voice is light, breathy.

He sets the pace and they leave the bedroom.

It’s aimless. It’s supposed to be.

And it’s funny, looking down at her skirts and seeing them swish at his boots, sometimes curling about the heels before bouncing back with every step.

They’re talking about the wedding as they had intended and making some progress. Guests have been mostly selected, the date and time are decided—and she is listening, she is, but there’s a breathless elation in her she can’t get rid of, a happiness that seems contagious in the simple act of her fingers on his arm and the way they share the space between their shoulders, looking at each other before looking ahead. 

It’s another experience she thought she'd never have again.

“If it is an entirely Galra ceremony, the Alliance and Coalition might see it as… unwelcoming to them.”

“Or a conquest.” He returns aptly. Lotor’s voice is lofty as always, but next to her ear it’s even more intimidating. She can’t get used to it, even as they pass the dining halls for the second time. “No, I see. I had the same thought. And as much as I would enjoy the exploration of heritage in a completely Altean wedding—”

“You aren’t a conquest either.” She nods.

He glances at her with an amused look, it's a smile that flashes a fang.

Once more, she wonders if she’s scared of the sight of such a thing, or if it's just embarrassment that makes her sweat. His bicep feels hot beneath her touch.

“No, I’m not.”

“The answer again would be, something neutral.”

“I had thought about asking your paladins about their way of marriages and weddings.” He says, sighing. Allura watches his chest move and is surprised to almost feel it too, this close. “But I think something too foreign might just confuse our audiences”

“Audience…” She trailed. Not for the first time in their walk.

His laugh bumps her shoulder.

“Allura, I must broadcast it. Otherwise, the entire ordeal is pointless and our meetings will still be utterly interrupted, or we will be called liars.” 

“Yes, yes, agreed, I understand.” She pats his arm instinctively.

“We must give every faction something they want to see.”

“Why not both then? Why not have a dual ceremony of both Altean and Galra custom.”

He balks, their steps almost stagger.

“No?”

“I’m not opposed to the idea, but they aren’t exactly complimentary. There are details that simply won’t work.”

Allura tilts her head. Do the Galra just fight the entire time?

“Is it just one long battle for you?”

His gaze catches her assumption right in its throat and she has some decency to look a little apologetic.

“No. We disarm each other, actually.” He looks down. “It’s the Altean details… I can’t—”

Allura follows his gaze to his hand between them.

His claws tap against his palm idly.

They pass the airlock with soft footsteps.

“Parents are an important aspect, in the beginning, and in the end.”

She’s surprised by his answer but realizes the problem immediately. It’s a problem for her too actually—but—

Funny, how quickly it’s solved for her, even in her heart.

Still, for Lotor…

“Then…” He’s still not looking at her so her fingers play about his arm, nudging his rib. He seeks her gaze at the soft touch. “How about the beginning is Altean. And the end can be Galra.”

His mouth parts. 

“If you think about it, it says a lot to do it that way. Not in a beginning and end fashion, but in the ways of peace. Acceptance of what has been done and what’s going to be done. Like a passing of the torch.”

He grins. “You don’t know how accurate you are with that comparison.”

Allura blinks before giving a cautious smile. “Morga had mentioned fire.”

“Yes.” His free hand comes up to press on her knuckles, and his nails tap so gently on her skin she feels a jolt shiver up her elbow into her spine. Her teeth feel numb.

He’s so… soft.

It's a stupid thing to think about Lotor. Every angle of him seems to cut glass. His eyes and his jaw, even his hair in some ways. He’s practically a laser beam.

And apparently just as hot.

In temperature, obviously.

Allura huffs like she needs to pant, fingers almost sweaty. She doesn’t stop their walk though and as they make a left turn he continues, “It works. In fact, it almost works too well.” He hums. “I like it.”

“Good! Another thing is decided.” She smiles up at him and he shares the expression.

Funny, this was actually all falling into place very easily. They didn’t disagree much and when they did it was always cordial. She supposed that’s what happened with two royals born into this sort of thing.

“That settles the who, the when, and the how.” He says as the lights flicker about their feet, the overhead of the Castle’s lights turning on and off as sensor’s pick up their presence. “Now for the where…”

“Again,” She reminds and he looks down at her with lidded yellow eyes. “I insist on neutral grounds.”

“Of course.”

They’re quiet as they enter the ballroom and for a moment they’re in the dark. The room is large and there is only two of them. They’d been almost everywhere now except here and the deck. (Coran’s presence still in the back of her mind.)

“It couldn’t be on the flagship. Nor the homesteads. It’s too open to strangers or too Galra in nature. Olkari—no, it can’t be Coalition grounds. And anywhere unclaimed is too vulnerable to attack by the rebel fleets.”

She can almost feel him better this way, the smooth expanse of his uniform under her fingers and the muscles behind that a firm but giving texture.

Her dress twists in and out between his legs, she feels the pulls of it on her hips.

“I don’t suppose we could have it inside Voltron.” He laughs.

The sound of it shakes her. Not for the first time, stars, not for the first time. And it makes her smile this time too, because he’s funny and because it’s making her feel funny.

“N-no.”

Oh. She can see his eyes in the dark like this, yellow and thin. The purple in his iris is lit by the effect too. Lilac.

Her fingers press into his arm and she stops, turning toward him. Lush.

Blue splendor. Her mind replies.

Allura swallows.

“Yes?”

It could be her imagination, but there’s a rasp in his question. Maybe. 

“Lotor,” Oh, there’s a rasp in hers too.

What did it mean, she suddenly wants to ask. Blue splendor, ephemera, sink deep, drink death, sing pink—

He must have thought about the words. She had too, for him. It had to be planned. And she had thought about what hers had meant, what she was describing. It had been meant to sound romantic, for the pretend nature of it all— but you can’t— you can’t pretend to have romantic thoughts and not think about the meaning of them too. Or the why.

“Allura.”

The lilac and lush of his skin— the strength of his battle, the intrusion of him, as a concept even, to her thoughts, the idea of a lover or a crush having kept a woman up through sleep, like nights dreaming about handsome heroes back in Altea. Of fantasizing about his rare smile, fleeting like flowers but just as sweet and just—

Flowers.

The ballroom lights sputtered on and she stares at her poem come to life, his hand clasped on hers as it rests on his arm.

His hair has fallen forward to touch her shoulder, white strands clinging to the static of her dress.

Oh, she’d— she’s thinking about this.

She’s really thinking about this, isn’t she?

No! Flowers— she’d been thinking about flowers— and where they were going to have the damn ceremony.

“Can I show you something?” She asks suddenly.

His blink is slow, and his head pulls away from her, but his voice is low enough that she might scream. “Please.”

The walk turns more brisk and purposeful.

She lets go of his arm to lead the way.

And to calm down.

She tries to fill him in without ruining the surprise, a shadow of wisdom in her mind realizing he might actually, really enjoy what she’s about to show him and for some reason really wanting to savor that response. 

“We’d have to minimize the guests, and rig the room with your drone recorders if we are to broadcast the visual, but, it’s, I think it’s perfect.”

There’s a smile on her face as they stop in front of the viewing chamber.

He says nothing, but she can see the flicker of confusion and caution in the play of his lips as he frowns.

She opens the doors with a wave of her hand and feels the familiar holo-buzz on the ground below her. Below the grass even. But it’s brighter. Brighter than any room, and warm.

The heat is from the emitted fragments of light. She knows it. But it’s always enough to emulate the sun, even as the light shifts synthetics to emulate clouds overhead.

She hurries out to the center to escort him inside, the door whisking closed behind them. Her arms outstretched to gesture past the fields of juniper flowers.

“There’s plenty of room! For the procession, I mean. And for at least most of the party, you can see what I mean about the number of invitations. And, I’ll have to check with Coran about lighting fires. But, to anyone watching, this is just as neutral as it gets. And it’s safely within the Castle, which is safely in your Empire—”

“—Allura.”

She stops to turn back to him but he’s not looking at her.

The fake Altean breeze takes her breath away, it catches his locks in a playful dance as he twists around so slowly, so incrementally slowly.

His eyes land on her and it’s painful, and it’s not a question.

“This is Altea.”

He’s beautiful.

She’s not sure why she thinks of it now, but she does. Maybe it was the walk, or the poetry in the dark—the ridiculous idea of bringing him here, beneath this sky of all things—but yes, he is. He’s stunning right where he stands.

“Yes.” She says softly. “The fields outside the city. Beyond my home. It’s—my father and I loved it here.” She explains. And she can’t stop talking, can’t stop staring as he turns again, looking around, his hand lifting as if to feel the air that isn’t there. Numbness crawls slowly from her feet to her fingers.  “And I know that’s not technically neutral ground, but I don’t think most would recognize it but me—...but us.”

His eyes close.

“We could have it here.” She says gently.

“Yes.”

His hand falls and he turns to look at her, yellow-lilac eyes almost a fuchsia printed porcelain in the sun.

“Please.”

Chapter Text

“The first half is considerably more intricate than the second half, but such is the way of marriage for Altean custom, so please excuse the overwhelming details.”

Her fingers twist against each other as she hands the last tablet screen to Lance. 

He takes it with a guarded expression, but joins everyone else with their heads down, faces illuminated in teals and pinks.

“Once the Galra customs begin, ah, from the middle onward—”

There’s a fast tapping behind her and she turns to watch Keith’s finger flick rapidly down the tablet.

“—That’s when things should get a bit more straightforward. That being said, if there’s anything disagreeable with the assignments I’ve given, I can work around them, or if anyone would not like to participate, it’s certainly not an obligation—”

No one says anything, and she isn’t sure if she takes that as a good or bad sign.

It only lasts a tick though, as the reading seems to catch up to them.

“A movement? That’s—that’s only a few quintents away!” Lance exclaims, he drops the metal pad to his lap.

“Wait, only a movement?” Pidge frowns at him from the floor, peering at her own tablet and flicking through the information in her crossed legs.

“I know that it’s a short notice. But now is the best timing. Not only because this act will carry forward the treaty between the Empire and the Coalition, or even that we only have a short window of quiet before the Fires of Purification begin their assault, but also because the faster it happens the easier the actual arrangement will be.”

She means that the faster it’s done the faster she can pretend it hadn’t actually happened. And the faster she can hide away from the embarrassing mess of it all, but she doesn’t say it. It just shows in the flush of her face.

“But a movement That’s only what? Nine, ten—quintents?” Lance looks annoyed, concerned, and a bit horrified, honestly.

“Out here a movement is still only seven.” Pidge corrects.

“That's a week!” He confirms, standing from the couch. The tablet clatters to the floor and everyone’s eyes are drawn to stare at him.

“Weak?” Allura questions, her brows drawing. A mess of something solid but loose forming in the hollow of her throat at the accusation. “In what way is it weak?”

“No-no! Week — that’s only a week’s time.” He corrects, head shaking.

Allura’s not sure how to confirm the concept. Hunk interrupts them anyway. 

“Are we sure we can do all of this in a movement? I don’t know if I can learn that much Galra that quickly.”

“Oh, No, Hunk,” Allura hurries to his side across from Lance, peering over his hands to point at his tablet. “You don’t have to speak Galra. Lotor will provide you with the translation. It’s just the announcements in basic you’re in charge of.”

“Oh! Got it, okay, that’s not so bad! Oh—I get a sword?”

“Yes!”

“Oh yeah! Okay, cool.”

“Come on guys, this can’t be serious.” Lance tries.

“It seems pretty serious.” Keith says, his hand lowering his tablet to glare at Lance across the room.

“You stay out of this!” Lance points a finger.

“Lance please.” Allura sighs. Keith doesn’t rise to the bait though.

She had expected this. Or at least, she had expected the fallout of at least the newly appointed red paladin. She just hadn’t expected him to be the only one. Everyone else is strangely quiet. Maybe too quiet? She glances around the room to see them reading silently, and feels her nerves shake through her once more.

“A-again, if any of the assignments seem to big an obligation—”

“Allura.”

It’s Shiro.

He stands behind her, at the head of the small sitting table where they all lounge, looking a little sheepish.

“Yes, Shiro?”

His hand scratches the arm holding his tablet as she waits for his silent but tentative refusal of participation. It doesn’t come.

“Can you explain a bit about what I’m supposed to do with the... Siciri strings?”

Despite having spent all day discussing and deciding the details of the ceremony with Lotor, and talking thoroughly about every bit of information and every role, well into the night and well into her imaginations—it’s still odd to hear Shiro say the very Altean word out loud.

Her face and ears are hot with childish, silly, nerves, but she smiles wanely, approaching the black lion and gesturing about her hair.

“It’s wrapped around like this. A blessing from kin to represent lessons learned.”

Shiro nods, looking back at the words diligently, before raising his hand upward in a practice motion.

“And then we walk, like this?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“It says here Shiro walks you to the point of Legacy, from the point of Birth.” Pidge says out loud.

Allura looks back at the girl with a wary grit of her teeth. “Yes, that’s right.”

“It says he then hands you to the role of King.”

“Y-yes.”

“And then he stands as role of Regent when you pass.”

“Ah—hah, yes.”

“Is Shiro your Mom?”

Allura cringes.

“WHAT?” Lance exclaims. Keith coughs behind him, sounding choked.

Hunk is laughing pretty loudly.

“W-well, yes—” Allura confirms.

Pidge snorts into a chuckle to echo Hunk’s.

She stiffens next to Shiro underneath their reactions, unable to stop herself from spying on his expression. His brows don’t line up with each other as they shift oddly on his forehead, pink-cheeked and lips screwy.

“M-most of the wedding is supposed to be regulated by parents. But seeing as Lotor and I are both at a bit at a loss in that aspect, I had to improvise and, well—”

“You see me as a Mother figure?” Shiro asks. It’s a gentle question.

Lance finally joins in the laughter, temporarily forgetting his aversion to the ordeal.

“It’s more complicated than that.” She offers.

Hunk waves his arms trying to settle himself. “Wait, wait, wait—stop-I can, I can kinda see that.”

“What? You can?” Shiro turns, looking surprised.

Pidge rolls backward onto her arms, cocking her head. “You know, yeah, I can see that too.”

“H-How?” Lance giggles out. “Shiro? Like a mom? If anything he’s like a dad.”

“Think about it!” Hunk urged, hand coming out with outstretched fingers. He points to them. “He talks about how proud he is of us all the time—”

“I am proud of you guys—”

“He’s constantly coming into our rooms just to check up on us and remind us to eat.”

“You all forget to—”

“He tells us to wash our hands after visiting new planets—”

“—don’t forget that time we lost the access key on that Galra post mission. And he said—”

“‘ I’m not mad, I’m disappointed. ’” Keith finished softly in the back of the room.

Lance laughed and then pointed at Shiro. “Or how bout that time I got sick from the double warp jump and you snuck some chocolate from those earth ration packs to settle my stomach.”

“Or when I couldn’t sleep on Epox so we stayed up watching horror movies even though you hate them.” Pidge sat up.

Shiro looked around the room, shoulders drawing up, glancing at Allura. “What about all that stuff?”

“Yeah, those are definitely mom things.” Lance finally agreed.

“See! Told ya.” Hunk fell back into the couch.

“Mom things.” Shiro echoed, looking back down at his tablet quietly. “Mom things…”

The room felt soft, but still, Allura reached out to place her fingers on Shiro’s arm.

“If… you’d like me to change it, Shiro, I can figure something else out.”

Shiro didn’t reply immediately, but when he did it was with that familiar determined expression, with his dark set eyes and a thin smile.

“No, I can do it. I would be proud to walk you to your Dad in the ceremony.”

The nerves from before are gone immediately.

“Thank you, Shiro.”

“But that means Allura’s Dad is—-”

The entire room stops, before turning to the far end of the lounge.

“Oh—Coran!” She exclaims, her body freezing.

The flightmaster is shaking, his ginger hair buried into the tablet he holds with both hands, eyes closed as streaks of glistening water slide down his face. He barely looks up at the rest of them, his once silent crying breaking with a ripping sniffle.

“Coran—I didn’t mean—”

“I’m—h-honor-red-to-f-f-fill-K-king-al-Alf-for’s-shoe-s-s!!”

“Oh, Coran—” Allura the corners of her eyes stung as she watched her oldest friend and dearest companion crumple, his shoulders stiffened into a half salute, imagining him as he was, as he would be, waiting to receive her in place of her father. She could almost see Alfor’s smile in Coran’s own, and before she could shake the image, her eyes wince and her hand races to wipe away the salt of tears.

She pressed her fists into her vision, not seeing or realizing the moment Coran had crossed the gaps to enclose his arms around her.

“I can’t believe it.” He hushed. “I’ll be the one to pass on the little Princess to her betrothed.”

She struggled to laugh through her shaky embarrassment, but the sound was muffled by a stuffy nose, giving away her floundering.

Luckily, the rest of the paladins were looking at her buried in Coran’s arms with nothing but smiles.

Even Lance.

“Well at least we all get cool jobs, right?” He asked, rocking back on a heel with a dubious but light expression.

“Y-yes. That is, if everyone is alright with participating, please know it’s not a command I’m making. Nor is it an obligation.”

A hand reached out to tap her shoulder, and she pulled away from Coran to smile up at Shiro as his fingers rub her back.

“We’ll all do our best, as a team, and as a family. Won’t we guys?”

“Of course.”

“Absolutely.”

“For Allura, yeah.”

“It’s gonna be great!”

The answers were staggered but cheerful and Allura had to hide her face again to hurriedly compose her fast blearing vision.

Coran’s hand pressed a kerchief into her hands from his pocket. The act almost made her want to cry more. She sucked in a breath and used it to pat herself dry as she listened to them bustle about the lounge, picking up the tablets once more.

“What is my role, anyway?” Lance continued

“It says here, you’re Allura’s Knight in Waiting.”

“Does that mean I get a sword too?”

“Yeah? Wait, uhhhh, I don’t see one.”

“What do you mean? Knights always have swords!”

“In Altea, a Knight is responsible for guarding virtue, not threats.”

“Huaawwwww, that could still be sword worthy.”

“I don’t see a role for Keith.”

“Ha! At least I have a role, unlike Keith!”

“I don’t need any roles.”

“Jealous?”

“No!”

“Hey, says here I get a sword too!”

“What!? Pidge and Hunk get swords and they aren’t even knights like me!?” 

It was hard not to smile. As nervous as she was, or had been, there was something so utterly reassuring about the steadfast dependability of her paladins. Her friends. Maybe it was her own fault for underestimating them each time, be it a mission or something more innocuous.

Like marriage.

Right. Innocuous.

Just like before, the wedding stops everything else in its tracks. Unlike before, Allura actually lets it; spending the following days prepping every little nuance and detail of the ceremony. There’s a lot to go over, especially in such a short amount of time, so she finds herself in and out of company with most of her paladins as they rotate tasks and errands.

She and Lotor are also touch and go.

In the following two quintents, he doesn’t visit, but he does send message. Smalls blips of sonic communications sent to the ship, to her private line, her wristlet flashing with each correspondence. 

—Princess Allura
I have managed to allocate our requested fauna from my forces in the tazim sector. I'm having a personnel retrieve it for the Castle. Expect them within one quintent.
—with gratitude, your intended, Lotor

They’re all like this. Addressed and signed in the most respectable way. And without denotation of his title too, a humbling thing she knows is to show his elevation of her status compared to his (and again, that's silly on its own, he’s a literal emperor now) but which only makes her feel… nervous. It’s so informal.

Intimate. 

It’s necessary though, and most helpful. He’s most helpful.

—I am elated to inform that I have managed to successfully commission a set of caltrestine podiums, a rather excellent material to replicate the natural altrucite of Altea.—

—My Oathsguard is to join me in the evening to have theirs and my own armaments fitted. With permission from you, of course.—

—Our mutual acquaintance for invitation has accepted, I am proud to tell you.—

She reads each one, each time ending in that rhythmic, almost poetic,  ‘with gratitude, your intended, Lotor,’ ‘with gratitude, your intended, Lotor,’ ‘with gratitude, your intended—

'Lotor’

It’s no wonder when a new one comes, beeping and flashing along her wrist, she near jumps, a burning heat filling her from her ears to her toes.

"You gonna get that, Allura?” 

Her eyes snap up across the table to Hunk, who looks a little funny with a bushel of bright blue persil-berries laying over his shoulder. He's fumbling with the matching ribbon for it, wrapping the stems slowly.

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

She sets down her own set of flowers and ribbons, shifting away from their completed piles to flick open her screen

—Pidge and I have had the drones properly retrofitted for the viewing room. She will be returning to you shortly. This near concludes the preparations on my end until we meet in the morning for practice. I look forward to seeing this through with you Princess.—

Allura can barely read the signature after the last sentence, but it comes to her anyway, burned into her memory as it is. Gratitude. Your Intended.

Lotor.

She rolls her lip through her teeth before typing her hurried, measly, sad little response.

[Thank you—Allura]

It’s the only thing she could ever get herself to say. Every time. Pathetic.

“Is it Lotor?”

“What?” She asks, her voice incredibly high. Her hand covers her wrist and the holo fizzles out.

Hunk is smiling at her, his hand threading the ribbon over some leaves.

“Yes.” She nods, her smile thin and forced. “It seems the drones are finished.”

“We’re making a lot of headway.” He ties off his ribbon and tosses the bushel into the pile before reaching for some more.

“Here,” She slides him all the pre-cut ribbons. “And thank you, again,”

“No problemo!” He nods. She means to say more, has meant to say more to all of her paladins for their diligence and patience, but they had taken it all in such strides she was left just feeling overwhelmingly relieved.

She continues with him, picking up her forgotten bushel and wrapping fast. 

“It’s funny, I had to do something like this back on earth.”

“Wrap flowers?”

“Well, it was actually stringing balloons to chairs, but still, it was a lot like this.”

“Balloons?”

“Yeah for my sister’s wedding.”

“Oh.” Allura is quiet, looking down at her work. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

Hunk chuckles. “I’ve got four sisters.”

“Four!”

“Only two are married though, and only one had a wedding. Isla just went to Vegas.”

“Vegas?” She tries to copy his pronunciation and fails

“Yeah, oh man, mom was pissed! Not about the getting married part, that was fine—just that she couldn’t be there. And that all the photos were grainy. Plus they were holding beers the whole time.”

“Beers?”

“But it worked out when they came back. We ended up having just—the best—cookout ever. Made a big beach party out of it. Practically a wedding anyway.”

Allura couldn’t say she followed his line of conversation, but it was certainly interesting. She dropped another bundle to the pile, and snipped more ribbon for them both.

“You know it’s funny, when I think about it, I think Isla would have hated a wedding like Maya’s. I mean it was nice, but it was a wedding wedding, you know? Like I had to wear a suit and everything.”

“Traditional?” She guessed.

“Exactly. And mom always complained about not getting to do that again but, it’s almost like you gotta have the wedding for you. Cookout, Vegas, Church—Reyna said she always wanted to just do it in the courtroom and move on.” His hand brushed the air in a dismissive way.

“I see.” She didn’t, at least, not the details.

“Kinda like you and Lotor.”

“O-oh?” 

“Yeah I mean,” Hunk turned to look at her before looking pointedly at the table where they were working. “You’re Altean. He’s Altean. You’re a Princess,” Hunk leaned on his elbow with an arched brow and a smirk. “He’s a Prince.”

She laughs, it’s all she can do. Her fingers scramble to squeeze her own cheeks, to stop herself from blushing, so she laughs him off. “Hunk! Really, that’s just it! We’re royalty. We aren’t having a wedding for us—we aren’t even having a marriage for us! We have to.”

“You don’t have to.” He shakes his head.

Allura pauses.

Hunk continues to grab more flowers, eyeing them critically to make a decent bushel.

“I mean, yeah, the treaty and everything. I get it. Politics. But there are other ways, right? I mean, this is just easiest for you two.”

She frowns.

“Well… no… yes, I mean—”

“Because you two are so alike.”

“What?” She really stops then, flowers falling to her lap.

Hunk doesn’t seem to notice her confusion.

“Like, yeah, you two are supposed to marry. You’re both from the same time, both your parents were friends and then enemies. You guys were enemies and now friends. Galra and Altean history, peace, yeah—But he also walks the way you walk. He talks the way you talk. Like that.”

Walks the way you walk. Talks the way you talk.

It seems like a blasphemous thing to hear, but that’s her embarrassment at the comparison, isn’t it? She had thought something similar before her proposal. She liked the way he spoke, it was familiar. She had thought the same thing.

She steers away from thinking of them walking the Round, arm in arm.

Too incriminating.

“You guys are both really smart, and both really nice.” Hunk continued. “Can you pass another—”

She slides a ribbon wordlessly.

“Thanks.” 

Lotor is in fact, intelligent. She never thought he wasn’t. And she doesn’t think herself stupid.

“He says things like ‘oh how terribly quaint’ or whatever and you laugh, ‘ohohohoho!’ ” 

He raises his hand to his mouth and pulls off giggling in an oddly amusing Altean accent. Allura sinks low in her seat and feels sweat form on her brow.

“You know? It works. Makes sense.”

“I-I s-see.”

“I see the persil-berry paths are coming along!”

“Coran!”

She’s relieved to see the flightmaster, and as he whisks through the doors she takes the excuse to help him with the stacks of fabrics in his arms to take a breather from Hunk’s too-accurate conversation.

She makes room for him to place the yardage by their work.

“I have Shiro getting the rest of the train down in storage right now, but I warned him I was stopping here first for your approval.”

“We’re almost done.” Hunk informs, slightly wary.

The black paladin had begun the flower wrapping task with them before realizing he was horribly allergic.

“Pidge is headed back too, the drones are finished—” Allura smiled.

“No!” Coran near yelled, his hands dropping a few Altean silks. They wafted to the floor as dramatically as he suddenly looked.

“W-what is it?”

“Send her right around! I need the Prince’s measurements!”

“W-what?” Allura stepped backward to avoid Coran trying to grasp her desperately. “You’re making my dress, not his!”

“Lotor’s wearing a dress?” Hunk asked.

“N-No! He’s wearing Galra armor—” Allura corrected.

“He needs an Altean tabard!” Coran argued.

Allura glared, crossing her arms defiantly, as if in a challenge to the statement.

“It’s ceremonial!” He continued. “He’s to wear the royal crests upon the hems of his sleeves just as you are his. In respect to the king!”

“He’s already outfitted armaments. He is representing the Galra, Coran. The Galra don’t—”

“Then make him wear it underneath the armor! Surely they wear surcoats beneath their swords and shoulder pads!”

“They aren’t Altean guard! And I already agreed to this!” Her voice gets louder, but Coran just snaps his knees straight, mustache bouncing from his angry retorts.

“Tradition says the king’s gift to his son-in-law will be bared before his wife in the ceremony as a comfort of home!”

Hunk sinks low at the table, hiding behind fabrics and flowers.

“This isn’t a traditional wedding!”

“No daughter of mine is being received by a Galra hooligan who won’t accept my hand-sewn, esper weaved, gifted Altean tabard!!”

The shout is so loud Allura can almost see the wind from it breeze past her head as she literally ducks.

Her and Hunk’s eyes are wide as they stare, watching Coran slowly deflate. 

He seems immediately self-aware, sinking his hands back into the golds, reds, and blues on the table, before ripping them up over his face and whining. Loudly.

Allura cringes.

“Sounds like Dad’s mad about Vegas,” Hunk shakes his head, whispering with a hand beside his mouth and a soft pointed finger at the amorphous blob that was Coran.

She rolls her eyes, even as her body feels warm at Coran’s particular insistence. Dad. She wonders if her Father would have also caused such a fuss.

Actually, he might have.

“Coran, please, this is ridiculous.”

But the noises get louder and sound an awful a lot like muffled complaining. Hunk just shakes his head, giving her a knowing look.

Well, maybe not this much.

Fine.

“Hey, guys—whoa, what’s happening in here?”

They turn to Pidge and Allura rolls her shoulders.

“Nothing—I was just heading to see the Emperor for his measurements. Apparently. ” She sighed.

Coran emerged from his fabric hovel with near stars in his eyes. Allura glared.

“Is he still free?”

“He was still in the survey room when I left.”

“Thank you.”

Allura passes by the paladin with a small wave just to get accosted by her flight master once more.

“Make sure you get the back seam and his height—and take this brocade and these cayan trims—see if they are too wide for the shoulders or the sleeves, I couldn’t decide—”

“Coran, honestly—” She huffs, her arms piling.

“And hurry back, I want to get started on the mock-up tonight! And don’t think I forgot about your skirts either!”

She leaves with an unamused look, forlornly watching Pidge take her place at the flower wrapping.

Fine.

Not fine.

Allura has the entire walk to realize exactly what her errand is and it is very much, not fine.

She considers messaging him. Warning him, really. But she can’t bring herself to do it, because the words don’t form correctly in her head. 

‘I am headed to you to measure your body.’ ‘Are you unoccupied? I need to have a private space to record your measurements,’ ‘Do you happen to know the length of your arms and back?’

She figures the best outcome would be to head to him and be turned away when he’s inevitably unavailable.

“The Emperor is inside.”

Well then.

Allura glares at the guard as she approaches the survey room, not exactly pleased with having to follow this through without excuses.

He must take it the wrong way because the armored Galra stands straighter, looking nervous “S-Shall I announce you, Princess?” 

“No, that won’t be necessary I—” She paused, shifting the stack of fabric into one arm. “I’ve got this.”

She ignored that ever-present voice of her governess reminding her of etiquette, reminding her that she had no chaperone, that she shouldn’t be opening her own doors—they were well past all that now, weren’t they?—and tried to enter the large conference room with as little noise as possible.

She accomplishes it. The silence of the survey room is all-encompassing, and her presence seems like nothing more than a shift in the air. 

It’s a long, sharp room with a conference table that spans most of its floor length. The chairs lining it sit unoccupied and still, markers of how alone exactly, she is. In fact, Allura almost thinks the guard had been lying until she rounds the table side to peer past the blind-spots of high-backed seats and spots him.

Her intended.

Lotor.

He hasn’t noticed her.

His chin sits heavily in his palm as he leans over the table surface, reading the screen it projects. The teal of it is an aurora borealis along the surface of his creamy hair, shifting softly to the white noise of the room. He’s sitting sideways—lounging, his legs extended into the chair beside him, knee propped, shoulders down. Tired. Eased.

Intimate. 

Allura is positive she’d never seen him look so unguarded. Well, if you didn’t count knocking him flat on his back and watching him bleed. That had happened.

She shifts, hearing her own breath as she does and wonders if she should wait; if it would be more polite to let him have his quiet solace until he noticed her.

His head leans to the left, eyes unseeing as they distance themselves into the text he reads, stretching. The movement is subtle. Sacred.

It would be impolite to stare and that’s exactly what she’s doing.

“Your Highness?” She calls, sure to remember his title this time.

“Leave it at the door please.”

Allura freezes, eyes blinking rapidly at the low, rasped reply that seemed anything but welcoming. He doesn’t even look up. Perhaps this had been a bad idea. Oh well, no use in it now.

“I—” She looks down at her bundle of trims, letting them fall down her arms to the surface of the table. “I can leave them here, but I will have to at least have a mom—”

“Princess Allura!”

There’s a snap and a clatter, his chair smacking about as his legs leave it hastily. The screen dies with a sharp hiss, or maybe that’s him as he straightens. His eyes don’t leave her as he quickly rounds the chair, both hands pushing his hair back over his shoulders, looking worried. 

“Apologies Princess, I’m—had—is there no one out there to receive you?” He questions looking back out to the door.

She has to look up, when he nears her, close enough that she can see the frazzled expression in the lines pulling at his frown.

“No, yes, there is I just, he said you were free.” Allura feels a sheepish tone crawl into her voice. And why is it that it only appears when the Galra Prince is this close? And when will she get used to this height ? Still, he at least seems more off-center then she does. For once. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m not.” He says quickly. But then his brows lift, lilac skin darkening to a pretty violet. “I… had not been expecting you.” His eyes catch hers only for a moment before they look to the floor. “Forgive me, how can I be of service, Princess?”

And suddenly he’s bowing low.

“Oh please!” Her hands wave quickly, “This doesn’t have to be so formal.”

He stands and she sees his spine relax.

“I’ve been sent over for a few things. For the… wedding.” She says.

“Yes.” He doesn’t seem shy to hear the word. Just her then.

“Coran is drawing up my gown, but he’s also interested in having some of your measurements too.”

“Mine?”

“It’s a silly thing.” She reassures when the confusion and worry are back on his face. Her fingers reach beside them to play at the trims and fabric swatches. “Really, and if you refuse it is no foul. But, In Altea, at the time of marriage, it’s tradition for the father-in-law—”

“Coran is giving me a tabard?”

“Oh. You know of it?”

“Of course, I simply hadn’t thought—” Lotor’s fist raises to quickly cover a twitch in his mouth. He almost sinks into himself and Allura wonders if she’s offended him somehow.

“I already told Coran that we agree you would be wearing Galra attire, but he seemed—”

“No, please, Allura—I would be honored.”

His hand touches lightly on her shoulder, the sharp ends of his claws tickling her skin through her top. She shivers, staring at the odd, unsure smile gracing his lips. 

“I had not thought I would be considered fit for the gift is all.”

“Oh.”

His hand doesn’t leave her shoulder, so she relaxes underneath it. Not fit? Because it’s an arranged union or because he is Galra? Or does he literally mean he did not think he would fit into Altean clothes, thinking they would not be tailored to him? She wants desperately to ask. In fact, she wants desperately to ask a lot of things from him.

How is he holding up? Having second thoughts? Is he angry at all for being pressed into the position? Or did he always expect to marry for duty, as she did? Is he disappointed it isn’t with another of his own kind? That he couldn’t have a traditional Galra wedding as she couldn’t have an Altean one?

Instead, it’s silent.

“I need your measurements.” She says quietly.

“Of course.” 

His hand leaves her.

“Is this alright?” He gestures about the survey room. Allura eyes it with him, suddenly remembering how big and empty it is and how alone they are.

“This is fine.” She says, hearing the soft echo-less reverb of her voice in the cold quiet of the place. “You aren’t expecting anyone?”

He chuckles, his head leaning back to do so. She’s not sure what’s funny, but he shakes his head anyway.

“No, I can’t say that I am unless I have another betrothed entering after this without announcement.”

Allura flushes, looking away from his handsome mirth to glare at the magnetic measures, picking up the points and focusing on turning them on to hide her shame.

“May I?”

He’s directly behind her and his voice so close to her ear that she freezes once more. His arm passes her side to gesture to the fabric.

“Oh, yes, they’re—”

“Altean materials?”

“Yes, just some embroidery. Coran wanted me to check to find which would be best suited.”

“The pattern in these is interesting.’

She fastens the magnetics coins, pulling them open to reveal the flexible metal tape, but her eyes are on his fingers as they carefully unfurl the long golds and blues. 

“It’s all ostentatious.”

“Ceremonial.”

“Yes. I think that one is mostly for the guard. Pilots. That sort of role. The other is just our family crest.”

“I see.” His eyes are intent, distant. He looks just as focused as he was when she came in as if the threading is readable text. There’s a smile playing on his expression. It makes her smile too.

Allura leans in, her finger stopping with his to point out a swatch.

“The blue is for my father actually. Our nation’s coloring changes per ruler.”

“It was green before King Alfor.”

Allura pauses, turning up to look at him. “Yes.”

He nods. “For his father, King Raln.”

The image of her grandfather’s portrait simmers in her mind. Funny. That he knows.

Actually, Lotor seems quite knowing of most Altean custom. The taleson chain on her wrist feels immediately apparent.

“This red… is it for the military?”

She finds his curious gaze with her own. 

“No, of course— you don’t technically have a military, I meant, your knights.”

“Yes.” She nods. “And the silver is for purity. Or, well, new generations.”

“It’s exquisite.”

Allura feels something warm inside her. Maybe it’s the quality of his voice. Or the heat from him standing so near. Or maybe it’s just how nostalgic she is for her home. Maybe it’s all of it. 

Her fingers pull open and close the magnets idly. Lotor notices, his smile turning a tad twitchy again.

“Apologies, I forget myself.” He pulls away, taking a few steps back to allow room around himself. They stare at each other for a moment and then he’s moving again, hands curling at his sides, legs shifting to stand at an odd center of weight. Fidgeting.

“Should I have someone else...” Allura begins.

“No, it’s, I imagine there isn’t much time to complete everything.”

She doesn’t disagree and takes his words as permission, stepping close.

He steps backward from her and Allura blinks in surprise.

His hands rise. “Wait, allow me, I—”

Allura’s head tilts like her hearing has gone out in one ear. It might as well have. Lotor isn’t stuttering exactly, but that he’s missing his cadence at all is utterly profound. Even without the odd wincing or cringing.

Was he scared of her?

He seems to breathe a bit easier after a moment and then his hands go to his forearms, releasing the armor, turning them over to the table.

Oh.

His hands pull at the neck apparatus of his chest piece, snapping it open.

As it slides down Allura looks pointedly at the far end of the wall, immediately interested in the spikes along the Galra architecture.  

Between the rustling of fabrics and the soft tink of his armor hitting the table, she hears a small chuckle and can’t help but turn back to look at him.

Lotor stands in his undersuit and boots alone. His pauldrons and waistcoat have joined the rest of the pile and Allura has only a moment to blush about it before he’s turning to her with a wry smile and speaking.

“I can practically hear my Governess throwing a fit for being so willingly unarmed.” 

“What?” She asks reflexively, her eyes dancing around the lines of the suit that clings to his chest. So much of his thickness is not the armor's doing. Yet he's still surprisingly leaner. Sharper. 

“It’s nothing.”

He returns to her and Allura holds the magnets aloft, looking a bit lost for a moment before shaking herself out of it and approaching his side.

She’d start with the easiest thing. His height. She pops the first magnetic coin to the floor by his foot.

And that’s when his words come back, as she idly sets the magnet to begin recording and the metal tape begins unfolding. A governess. Of course. He was a Prince, after all. 

Hunk's words come back to her. About how similar they are.

“If it makes you feel any better, my governess would probably lose her mind knowing I was in a room without a chaperone and a man who’d disrobed.”

There’s a huff above her and she catches the flash of his fang. 

“I can’t say that puts me at ease, no.” But he breathes a soft laugh all the same. “I do not mean to hinder your virtue.”

“Oh please.” She tries to reassure, pulling the tape above his shoulder and standing on her tiptoes to raise it to his head. “We must be beyond normal etiquette, considering the circumstances. Besides, you're an Emperor now. Not a Prince.”

Most of this is exactly what she’s been telling herself and it almost feels validating to say it out loud. Her hand wavers.

Lotor’s own fingers come up to help, taking the metal gently from her and placing it on his head. “Point taken, Princess.”

She bites her lip to keep from smiling at his pun, even though his eyes close she sees the mirrored expression in his own grin.

The air feels lighter.

She flicks the metal tape at the markers of his height and hips, the little numbers highlighting themselves. The bottom magnet beeps, recording each tap. It’s a mundane process that helps move things along. It helps her focus on the task instead of the dip in Lotor’s surprisingly slim hips, or the sharp slope of his shoulder. Or the thick curve of his calves. Or. Hmmmm.

She rotates around to his back.

“Allow me.” He says gently, and he collects the white strands of his locks, curving them forward to allow her a clean measurement.

Someone else should really be doing this. She shouldn’t be allowed to see things like this. Like the peek of bare skin at his nape. Or the creased wrinkles where his suit gets pinched underneath his waistcoat, at the divot above his backside.

She closes her eyes and breathes in, steeling herself some more. 

“Thank you.”

One magnet at one shoulder and then another on the other end. Easy enough.

She places a finger at the number between the two, at the center of his spine. It highlights with a beep, and his body twitches beneath her.

She flushes.

“Has… your hair always been so long?” She asks suddenly, desperate for sound, for something, to preoccupy her as she begins moving the magnets from his neck down to his waist. 

Lotor seems to hitch at each touch, but answers casually enough.

“Yes, or, I have never had it cut for style if that is your question.” 

“It is.”

“Then yes.” He agrees again. “I’m afraid I was never allowed to have it long as a child so I let grow despite that as soon as I was able.” 

Funny. She was never allowed to cut it but ended up liking it enough that cutting it now seemed almost frightening. She told him so.

“Products of nobility we are.” He sighed in amusement and she pictured his smile as she looped the tape through his arm. He took it diligently, feeding it back to the other side.

She pulled the tape close, trying to only stare at the numbers measuring his waist and not think about her forehead grazing his back.

The recorder beeped.

He was hot, or his body was. Did Galra run a higher body temperature than most? Or was he simply warm?

“Allura?” 

He looked down over his shoulder at her and she pulled back quickly, pretending to look focused.

“Sorry—could you put your arm out?”

He looked wary but did so as she came around to meet him.

She doesn’t realize it as she starts, but as she continues down his sleeve, placing the point at his wrist, she’s suddenly aware of how… long he is. 

Which is stupid, of course he is, she’d been recording that hadn’t she?

But he is. His arms are well past his hips, past the middle of his thigh. She thinks his claws might be able to touch his knees without much of a stretch.

And they’re wide. Large.

She normally wouldn’t need too, but she decides to measure the circumference of his upper arm and then his forearm. She's inevitably surprised by the difference.

She catches Lotor watching her intently as she measures his wrist too. 

“I’m sorry.” He says.

“What for?” Allura frowns.

His eyes look ahead again and he doesn’t say anything.

Allura waits quietly but when he doesn’t elaborate she lets it drop.

She finishes his chest and his side seams before standing in front of him again and motions around her own neck. 

“For the collar.”

“Of course.”

“Last one.”

His hair is moved again and she’s on her tiptoes once more.

Lotor helps steady her against him as she slides the tape around his neck and pulls it close. They wait, staring.

She follows an errant path in her gaze; up his neck and jawline, over his lips, and up to his eyes where she finds him looking directly back at her.

He’s a lot smoother than most Galra. His complexion is practically marble. It’s the Altean in him, no doubt. And for a second she tries to picture markings below his cheeks, wondering what color they might be to complement the lush purple of him.

Teal maybe? Violet?

The recorder beeps.

Her hands go slack but he doesn’t release her. The magnetic point slides listlessly back into itself.

As she lowers back onto her heels his body follows her, leaning down to keep the proximity.

“Prince.”

“Princess.” He replies instinctually. 

Her breathing slows to a stop and she wonders if he feels it do so, they're so close. 

She feels a puff of air from his lips and realizes if she feels him, he must feel her. 

It’s… odd, whatever this is… isn’t it? But it’s comfortable, his hands holding hers, their eyes not breaking away as they take in each other’s appearance. At least that’s what she’s doing, she has no idea what he might be…—oh, was he…?

Hot water seems to fill her up in a rush, a steamy heat burning her from the inside out as she realizes how close he actually is, and how lidded his eyes look. She freezes, her shoulder going tight and her lips pursing. 

Oh. Oh! Oh—

Was he—going to—kiss her?

“L—”

His hands drop hers and he straightens.

“It’s good that we have this time, there’s been something I’ve wanted to discuss.”

Allura's hands are frozen in the air where they had been held. It’s like whiplash, the change, so much so she must have been imagining things.

Stupidity colors her cheeks and burns her ears. She drops her eyes and hands, stepping backward quickly.

What had all that been?

“Oh? W-what’s that?”

“I know we’ve been preoccupied with the arrangements for the ceremony itself, but it's the days after I am concerned with.” He explains, back facing her as he replaces his armor. 

It's immensely cold.

“Why’s that?” She reluctantly joins him, organizing the swatches once more, trying to look busy.

“I wanted to speak to you about what’s expected.”

The line confuses her. She looks up to glean his expression but he’s still not returning her gaze. Had she upset him?

“I know that in Altea, after marriage we are to take part in Vigilance. But the Galra would not understand it. Nor do I wish to be away from my duties that long.”

Hearing her people’s customs named out loud is enough to shake her from her thoughts.

“I hadn't thought of that, but, I hadn’t expected us to participate, really,”

“You would not want to be away from your paladins either, I imagine.” His eyes are back but his expression gives nothing away.

“Yes, agreed, I wouldn’t.”

“As much as I would like to honor you and uphold Altean tradition—”

“Lotor, it’s alright,” She smiles again even though he doesn’t and tries a bit optimistically. “What of Galra tradition? Is there something newly married partners participate in that we might be expected to do?”

His face finally gives into a bit of surprise and amusement.

“Dethok An.” He says and then shifts, his arms grabbing the table’s edge to lean on almost casually. “Once sworn, blood partners are sent to an excursion to slay a great beast.”

Allura’s smile falls completely. Lotor laughs.

“Really?”

“It’s to prove their mettle as a united force, yes,”

“A beast? From where?”

His eyes slide away, the smile twitching into something almost dubious. “It isn’t…” When he turns to regard her again it’s with a sigh. “The saying has long since been changed from when we were simple warring tribes on a primitive planet. The excursion now is a few solitary quintents away from others. As for… ‘slaying the beast,’ ” He chuckles and the low rasp buries deep into her skin.

Oh.

Allura wants to scream.

“It’s an implication none need exact proof of. Some couples bring back trophies. If that be the head of a dead thing they hunted or news of offspring, no one really minds.”

"Hm! Mhm.” She hums, voice tight. “Well.”

“I did not expect us to practice Dethok An or Vigilance since our case is purely political.”

“Yes.” She agrees. Purely Political. Right. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

As she gathers the trims and fabrics in her arms, pocketing the magnets, he straightens, leading her to the doors. 

“Shall I escort you back, Princess?”

“No, it’s alright. I know the way back by now. And I don’t want to disturb any more of your time.” 

“You could never.” He smiles. She's happy to see it after the odd changes in tone. 

And it’s just a polite thing to say, she tells herself, just as she had refused to be polite even if she would have enjoyed his company back to the Castle, despite the weird tenseness that seems to permeate the air around them. Or the strange dance of close and far they keep seeming to have.

Maybe this was simple wedding nerves. That was a thing, wasn't it? It had to happen to even arranged marriages of diplomatic notions, not just emotional ones, right?

He opened the door for her all the same, bowing, as she passed.

“Thank you, Prince—Emperor—” She paused by the door, staring at the elegant angle his limbs took as he hung low.

“Lotor.” He corrected and his shoulder hits the doorframe as he considers her. It's a casual enough gesture that she relaxes into a tease. 

“Oh stop.” She insisted and he smiled as if expecting this reaction. “If that’s what you’re going to insist then you have to stop calling me Princess. Or else your governess and my governess are going to have to argue about it.” 

He laughed.

“I assume once we are married, I will have to.”

Her hands tightly weave together, right foot still stretched to leave even as she kept her head and gaze at him.

“Maybe. Though my mother still addressed my father as King. There is still manners in intimacy.” Now she really did sound like her etiquette teachers.

“My lord husband.” He guessed academically.

“Yes.”

He straightened to his full height, leaning out the hall to sweep his arm loftily.

“Then goodnight ‘my lady wife.’”

It’s meant as a joke. She knows it is. But there's something fuzzy that stings her nose and eyes at hearing that. Hearing what her father used to call her mother every morning, every day and every night.

She draws the bundle of clothes to her chest, smiling until her cheeks ache.

“Ha! Ah, goodnight,” She can’t say it, can she? “My lord husband,” She nearly whispers it, giggling through the words the whole time.

Lotor smiles wider then she’s seen yet. And they both have a hard time looking away even as the door closes and she continues walking.

When he’s gone she huffs, alone in the hallway and feeling hot, happy, jittery and—

Her eyes find the guard as he stands off to the right, staring at her.

The Galra smiles, big and toothy. “Goodnight Princess.”

Allura glares and hurries away without a response.

Chapter Text

“Ah—Achh—” Shiro paused, hands inadvertently pulling Allura’s up with his own to catch his sneeze.

She froze, shivering at the unpleasant sensation of wet on her skin.

“S-sorry.” He muffled through their fingers, arm in arm as they were.

“It’s alright, it’s technically my fault—”

“Keep walking!” Coran shouted from the other side of the flower fields. “You have to go a little faster than that!!”

They could barely make out his face, just an obscure shape of a mustache, but both of them still sunk at the demand.

“We’re trying!” Allura waved. She couldn't be sure at this distance, but it looked like he was tapping his foot.

They continued their walk, but this time Allura tried to pull Shiro close to her and away from the bushels of persil-berry blossoms that guided them.

“At least everyone, Ah-!” Shiro cringed again and Allura did with him, but nothing came. “—everyone else is doing pretty good.”

They looked to the center of the viewing room, where Lance and Keith stood with Kolivan and Lotor. Pidge and Hunk were positioned behind the center group, each with their own drone, reciting Altean and Galra translations respectively.

“Mostly.” Shiro amended, as Lance pushed at Keith, enough for Keith to push back. They looked like they were arguing again, but she couldn’t hear them from the edge of the room, walking around the holo fields of pseudo-Altea as they were.

And it was a little distracting, noticing Lotor’s head swivel in time with her pace, watching her. She couldn’t see his expression, but he wasn't supposed to be looking at her, even if this was only a rehearsal. He was supposed to be eyes closed to hear Kolivan’s words.

She flushed, hiding a little behind Shiro’s height.

The black paladin glanced down at her, following her gaze to the Galra Prince before she could pretend to look anywhere else.

“He’s—”

The sneeze really came this time, and Allura snatched her hands away quickly.

“Sorry—”

“No, it’s alright, maybe we ought to rethink the persil-berries anyhow.”

“No, don’t—they were a gift from Lotor.”

Allura looked away, heating up in her ears and neck. “Yes, but you can’t walk in the ceremony like this, and they aren’t that important to Altean tradition.”

“I’ll manage.” He assured, his hand taking hers once more before setting their continued pace.

They’re quiet as they round the edge of the room, the gap between them and Coran growing smaller. And while this is a bit silly (the bride and mother’s path is supposed to start far away, and is usually private), it's all they can manage with limited space and she doesn’t actually mind so long as it’s in the Altean scenery.

The skies are bright and sunny enough you wouldn’t know how late it was, or that they were still docked on the Galra flagship. Honestly if not for the stagnant temperature and the smell of artificial oxygen, you’d wouldn’t know it wasn’t Altea itself.

It’s admiring the fake petals catching fake wind that has her accidentally catching Lotor’s gaze again. She looks away, close enough now she can tell he’s smiling, and feeling unready for such an expression.

“Are you…  sure about this?” Shiro suddenly asks.

Allura blinks at him, putting forced confusion into her tone. “Hm? About what?”

Shiro just frowns and looks toward the center of the room. She pointedly doesn’t.

“I know that this is the best way to resolve things peacefully.” He begins and Allura’s fingers tighten in his palm. It’s cold. The metal of the prosthetic not taking to her body heat just yet. “But I’m worried someone might get hurt.”

“Shiro,” Allura sighs, drawing his attention back to her. “I know that it isn’t a very relatable situation, but I can assure you that I have thought long and hard about this decision.”

“I—”

“And I can’t stress how accustomed I am to the idea of arranged marriage,”

“Allura,”

“If things hadn’t turned out the way it did, if the war had never begun, I would still be given to a stranger. Instead of Lotor, it would be some Altean nobility, or an Ulvari heir, or—”

“Allura.” And Shiro actually chuckles, stopping their trek completely. “I have no doubt in my mind that you know what you’re doing.” 

“You...do?”

“Come on you two!!” Coran yells again, but they ignore him.

Shiro’s hands pat hers, a lopsided smile that’s quite trademarked to him appearing with his earnest expression. “I knew the moment you threw me into a shuttle and sacrificed yourself to the enemy that you weren’t someone I would ever have to worry about. No one can tell you what to do.”

Allura blinked fast, biting her lip, confused but flattered. Feeling full, but ashamed. “Shiro—”

“I trust you. I know you can take care of yourself. If you didn’t want to do this, you wouldn’t.” He turned again to nod towards the center. Towards Lotor. “Besides, from the looks of it, you could probably toss him around, easy.”

Allura’s snort is cut off by her embarrassment. They share a smile.

But she shakes her head.

“Then why do you ask...?”

Shiro’s shoulders fall. “I’m not worried about you, I’m worried about Lotor.”

“You don’t trust him?”

He gives her a bit of a wry look.

“I do. I wouldn’t have given him my bayard if I didn’t.”

True enough.

“We don’t have all quiznakking day, your Majesties!!” Coran yells again.

They glare but start walking once more. 

“I’m worried,” He continues, but sniffs harshly, breathing rapidly to avoid sneezing, “That he might feel more strongly about this marriage than you do.”

She laughs. It’s almost reflexive. She’s not even sure why she does, but she’s not really sure what she’s hearing either. 

“What?”

Shiro eyes her with concern. “I’m not saying that's true.”

“Not saying what's true?”

“I’m just…” His free hand grabs at his neck like he’s suddenly unsure with talking. “...telling you because you might not know that he has feelings.”

“Feelings?” Allura clarifies. Her legs feel silly. Wobbly. “Lotor?”

“Yes.” He nods and his voice gets quieter as they near Coran. There’s a redness in his cheeks that might not be allergies. “He looks at you like he wants to marry you. Not like he has to.”

“Shiro.” She says. It sounds weak. Lost. She doesn't know what else to say.

He looks back at her for only a moment, with a determined look that’s also trademarked to only him, to only the black paladin as she knows him now.

“Trust me. I know the difference.”

He looks ahead, but Allura’s stuck staring at him, and then at the flowers that eventually dwindle as their path ends at Coran’s feet. 

“Well. Now that the stragglers are done dawdling!”

Shiro sneezes.

“Sorry,” He waves his arm, releasing Allura completely to finally attend to his flaring nose. “We won’t take that long tomorrow, I prom—ACHchh—”

The two Alteans cringe away from the human.

“Right-o.” Coran eyes warily, before turning to Allura. “Now! Starting with the retiring of the princess status.” He informs.

Allura frowns, letting her flight master pull her hair aside slightly to lift her tiara from her head. It unclasps easily, and she bows in accordance with tradition.

“And we give blessing; ‘our fathers and father’s, father’s, as I stand here today, a father, yadda yadda fathering words and fatherly advice—Shiro, look alive, you’re supposed to be weighing down her train!” 

Shiro looks around at the dress Allura isn’t wearing.

“Right.”

“And then the crown to anoint you as incoming Queen—which we don’t have yet because it needs to be resized, oh bozzlefizz, I forgot to send that over to the Galra—”

She should be paying attention. It’s only rehearsal, but it’s still important. But Allura’s mind is a bit lost in the holo sky above them, her stomach a mess of mush and chilly nerves from the lingering effect of Shiro’s words. She tries desperately not to look toward the center of the room.

“Alright, darling, off to the podium with you! Chin up, eyes forward!” Coran pushes her to the center of the room.

Allura slouches.

Wonderful.

She leaves the two of them there, walking a bit awkwardly towards Keith, Lance, Kolivan and…

Lotor.

He’s the tallest of them, standing with his back straight and his head high. His hair wafts in the simulation, a white flag of surrender in a fresh Altean summer afternoon. 

He’s… not…

He couldn’t—

Shiro is most definitely mistaken.

Lotor is a Prince. To anyone else, their conversation might seem overly… polite. Or flattering. Maybe even… flirtati—no, not that, but perhaps, too friendly?

But that was the way of the court, wasn’t it? Lavish notions of compliments and ‘no, no, after you’s  and ‘I beseech thee’s  right? Stars, when she was younger she always thought the speech a bit tiring and exaggerated, even if she enjoyed it now.

And Lotor was arguably better at it then she was! Which was startling for a Galra.

She cringed, hands fisting at her own thoughts.

No. It wasn’t startling for a Galra. She had to stop that. That was the point of this.

It was startling because their people had been at odds with each other for so long, and Zarkon was obviously not the etiquette type. It was admirable because Lotor had obviously taken it upon himself to learn the manners of a culture lost to him.

She’s been staring at him. This whole time, she realizes.

But he’s staring back. And while he's not smiling anymore, he still looks at ease. His brows are creased in a slight pinch that makes him look aware, rapt. She’s growing close enough to make that out even in the light shadowing the purple of his eyes.

After a moment longer, his lips curve. Allura couldn’t help her soft smile back, even though it felt guilt-heavy and strained.

But his utter kindness and consideration weren’t special to her. She’d seen him give the same level of showy gratitude and attention to everyone else, hadn’t she?

No…

But, maybe that was because he knew she was the type to enjoy such things and therefore did it for her benefit? Prince to Princess? Right?

Her steps feel sluggish. It’s hard not to stop completely. 

“You know, if you just—”

“Get your hands right!”

“They ARE right, you’re the one in weird armor—”

Luckily or unluckily, she finally gets close enough to hear Lance and Keith.

They’re at least holding hands, standing between the catestrine podiums that represent her and Lotor, but they’re shifting awkwardly and pulling from each other.

Lance falters when he notices her approach and shouts loud before she’s even it made it the full length.

“Hey—Allura—this is ridiculous! What’s the point of holding hands if we aren’t the ones getting married here!?”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’re holding my virtue, Lance! It’s metaphorical!”

“You aren’t marrying KEITH!”

“You’re my symbol of extended trust! A physical show of a noble’s power and assets, their people! You represent the dowry of a princess—!”

“To Keith!?”

“Argh—” It’s hard enough explaining something so nuanced at a shouting pitch without also being interrupted.

“Keith is my chosen Oathsguard, he is equally the representative of the Galra I command just as you are of the Princess.”

Lotor’s voice is almost haughty in his explanation, but it’s strong enough to draw her attention to him once more and the unimpressed expression he wears as the boys eye him with suspicion.

She reaches the podium and sighs, cocking a hand on her hip.

“You’ve already gotten it wrong anyway, Lance.”

“What do you mean!?”

“Once I leave Coran and Shiro, you’re supposed to be holding Lotor’s hands.”

“WHAT!?”

Keith moves aside diligently as the Galra Prince replaces him. And Lance isn’t fast enough in his recoil before he’s snatched in Lotor’s claws.

To be fair, Lotor doesn’t look pleased about it either.

“WHY!?”

“Because I choose to concede my power first, to the people of the Princess.”  His height cranes, looming over Lance. The red paladin squirms, skin golden as he seems to flush red hot.

“I’m not doing this again! It’s already bad enough with Keith! Rehearsal over!”

Lotor relinquishes him.

Allura crosses her arms. “You said you wanted the role I gave you!”

“Yeah, I—I do! But nobody told me Keith was Lotor’s knight!” He points accusingly.

Keith looks sulkily to his left. “Nobody told me either.”

Allura and Lotor share an unintentional frown together.

The Prince turns to regard the boys with a slightly more patient face. His words are softer.

“Forgive me. I had not intended to make anyone uncomfortable. If anything, I had hoped my choice would reflect my want to mend bridges and form truces with those I consider my closest allies.”

Both Keith and Lance are a bit wide-eyed at the statement, looking at each other briefly before looking back. Allura doesn’t blame them.

Keith breaks the surprise with a shaking head. “Not that I’m upset, but are you sure you want me to represent your people?” He questions, shifting on his feet to gesture towards the other Blade beside him. “Maybe Kolivan and I should switch roles. He’s… full Galra. I’m not.”

Lotor’s hand grasps Keith’s shoulder while the other clutches his own chest. “Keith, you are as much Galra as I.”

Allura felt a shiver from the static wind around them tease her skin and leave her feeling cold and warm simultaneously.

She wondered if Keith felt the same as his body seemed to freeze, eyes shiny in their upturned gaze of the taller half-breed.

“Thanks.”

Lotor smiles, releasing him with a gentle look he also shows her. She tries to return it, overwhelmed herself.

“What’s the holdup?” Coran asks, Shiro and him arriving from their delayed walk, arm in arm. They look more or less jovial, minus the paladin’s stuffy face. 

“Nothing, why don’t we move on,” Lotor suggests, coming forward and offering his hands to her.

She takes them timidly, pulling close as they situate themselves beside their respective podiums.

“The swords, please, children,” Kolivan speaks suddenly, a sounds that makes Allura jump slightly, fingers curling in Lotor’s palms. He flexes against her.

“Not a kid—but yep, okay—”

“Lance, come on.” Keith snaps.

They watch as the two pull the belts and scabbards from their backs, Keith circling around the Prince and Lance around her. They secure swords to their waists. Allura buckles a little at the weight, awkward as it is at her hips. She’s not sure how it's going to feel over a large Altean gown.

“Blood begets blood, but not for those who chose to share it.” Kolivan continues. He raises an arm to them but nods to Lotor. “Emperor.”

Lotor leaves her hands to grasp the hilt at her side, pulling it backward. The silver blade whisks near her arm as it turns elegantly in his wrist. She admires the dexterity, blinking with slight intimidation as he plunges it into the ground

The grass clatters below them like the metal it actually is. 

“Princess.” Kolivan urges.

Allura gives the Blade a nervous chuckle, eyeing the identical hilt at Lotor’s hip.

Well. This was the start of the Galra way of things, wasn’t it?

She grabs it and yanks backward, but it clinks, resisting entirely.

Honestly, it’s just an awkward angle, mostly because of his damned height. His waist is practically at her breast and she can’t exactly pull the length of his sword backward and up at the same time.

It’s definitely not about strength either, because when she yanks again, Lotor’s boots slide, flickering the flowers at his feet as he’s dragged close to her, his knees bending on instinct and bumping her legs.

“Ah—!”

“Sorry!” She releases the hilt, laughing much, much too loudly.

“Oh dear.” Coran titters.

“Nn—” Lotor heaves, and she catches his skin deepening to a flush blue on the high angles of his cheeks, his eyes are wide yellow, the iris small and shocked. His fang is caught on his lip. “It’s fine.”

His hand covers the hilt, stepping back once more and adjusting himself. He pops the blade from its scabbard with his thumb and angles the hilt forward.

She puts her hand back on it, trying to look anywhere but his face, and slides it out.

It’s not the best choice of her peripherals, because she immediately notices everyone looking away as she does so. Even Kolivan. So she looks at Lotor instead, which is also a bad idea.

He’s breathless.

She immediately glares directly at the sword even as his slack expression burns into her memory forever.

The Galra blade isn’t too heavy, and it almost twists naturally in her fingertips, flashing in the sunlight before she shoves it into the grooves of the floor. 

There.  

Stars!

Allura looks to the sky to center herself once more.

Their hands meet above the crossed swords and Kolivan steps forward, unraveling a thick but long white cloth. And then the wrapping starts.

Lotor had previously warned her just how long the process was, but she had simply reassured him that the Altean customs of sitting, standing, kneeling, knighting, speeches, drink sharing, and then dancing would be just as bad, if not worse.

Still. It takes awhile for the wrap to encase them completely and it has to be precise. It’s not exactly comfortable either. The cloth is soaked in oils and they smell quite strong. Like spiced herbs and the inside of a cryotube.

The mixture makes her skin slick and hot. Not ideal when pressed into the heat of his flesh, their fingers flush.

She squeezes experimentally as Kolivan continues, her eyes flickering up to Lotor. 

His mouth twitches. He squeezes back.

“UGH. Can I sit down?” Lance calls beside them.

“ No .” The word is echoes by her, Lotor, Shiro, Keith, Coran, and Kolivan.

“Fine!”

“If you sit you might get burned by the flame,” Kolivan warns, not even looking at the boy beside him.

“Are you lighting it right now—it’s only rehearsal—”

A snap sparks from Kolivan’s claw and a burst of blue flames rip into the air, catching onto the bandage immediately. Almost everyone aside from the Galra jump, yelling in shock or stepping away.

She tries to pull backward, suddenly aware of the literal bonfire upon her hands, but Lotor holds her fast.

“Stay close, Princess.” He urges.

She stills.

His face is illuminated a beautiful electric thistle color by the flames and the sight of the sudden saturation of it entrances her. Calms her.

His eyes are amethyst ice. Bright and sweet. Glimmers of light dance in the shadows of his hair. 

“Is this really necessary!?” Lance cries. He sounds closer then he was before. It feels like Coran and Shiro are too. She hadn’t even noticed.

Kolivan is shaking his head. “It is if we don’t want everyone crying like frightened gulls when it happens tomorrow.”

The words have them all relaxing a bit guiltily.

Kolivan looks to her, yellow eyes narrowing in seriousness. “In the ceremony, it will have to burn until it fades on its own, for now, get used to the sensation so you show strength when the time comes. Hesitation shows weakness”

“Right. Thank you.” Allura nods, trying to match the man’s intensity and falling just short of it. Then again, Kolivan might have most beat in that department.

The fire is actually—quite hot.

It doesn’t feel that way at first. It starts with a damp sweat, almost cold, but then it begins to sting in the way only heat does when it’s hot enough to confuse the sensations of temperature. She would think herself frostbitten if not for the warmth on her face.

She tries to settle by stretching her palms beneath the bandages and watching the roots of the flame burn the white cloth into a darkened, navy black. It’s much like watching paper burn. Or watching the edge of a sun sliver into nothing as a moon eclipses it.

“You are to look at your blood mate.” Kolivan states.

Allura snaps her eyes upward, catching Lotor’s gaze and holding it.

They’re steady and unblinking as they watch her, that same glass ice that looks as sharp as the rest of him, a jagged razor edge of a man even in the quiet blur of her Altean fields. 

Her hands curl into his, she feels his fingers respond, nails making imprints into her wrists. It tickles. She shivers.

“Is it too much?” He asks softly.

Yes.

She shakes her head no.

“Can I ask what this is supposed to prove?” Lance blurts.

“It’s proof of devotion. They’re showing how much pain they can withstand for each other.”

Allura can barely hear Keith’s angry explanation, she’s too focused on the slight shine of dewy sweat forming along a white strand closest to Lotor’s ear.  When she sees it begin to form, she almost feels a phantom sensation on her own cheek, sliding down her skin.

Is it really so hot? 

The tips of her ears are burning.

Maybe it is.

She swallowed, fingers pressing further into him. Different parts of her skin beginning to sting with a pain that’s a bit distracting. She begins to worry about the burns, and she exhales in a shaky, uneven way.

“I think that’s enough for a rehearsal, Kolivan.” Lotor rasps. 

“Yes, Emperor.”

The Mamora Blade is diligent, releasing a procured flask onto the flames. They spit and die, a waft of steam more like hot water fizzing at their extinguish. Whatever it is, Allura knows it must not be naturally created.

The remaining bandage is pulled away, and Allura leans close to see their hands damp but unburned. Clean.

“The oil stokes and contains it. It’s merely a chemical reaction.” Lotor informs her, his voice low and reassuring. 

“But the pain—”

“It’s real to the nerves but not the skin.”

“That’s fascinating.” She looks up with a smile and finds a mirrored one on his lips.

She doesn’t even notice his hand leave hers until it catches the sweat before it falls from her chin. 

“Oh!”

Is the fire still going? 

“It will be much more tomorrow when it burns for longer.” He warns.

“Of course.”

They smile, both inhaling the cool air of the simulated fields with slight relief. “Okay! Okay! What’s next!?” Lance hurries.

Lotor straightens. Allura sighs, a bit tiredly.

“They are presented to all as survivors of each other, bonded by blood and flame,” Kolivan states, gesturing outward.

“And we address our guests,” Lotor concludes.

Allura glances at him. “Is that all? Is there anything else?”

He seems to think a moment before looking a bit wary. His hands sweep his hair backward in thought.

“They will cheer,” Kolivan suggests.

“With their weapons,” Lotor adds a bit knowingly.

Allura glances at the others in tandem. Coran shrugs.

The Prince sighs. “It’s nothing to be alarmed about. It’s a show of united force. Weapons are drawn to the sky, shouts are made, declarations.”

“Vrepit Sa?” Lance asks, pushing through to stand beside the Prince and looking suspicious.

“Naturally.” Lotor lets his head lean almost lazily at the accusatory sounding question.

“Lance.” Allura begins to warn. The paladin had been… pushy, to say the least, this entire rehearsal.

“But we’re done today right? We don’t have to see the kiss or the dance or—”

Allura’s heart stops, her weight falls to her feet and she trembles like she might faint.

She’s can't bear to look at Lotor. She just can’t bear it.

But her eyes move anyway, and she sees his teeth grit clearly, his nose flared and his eyes zeroed in on Lance with a look close to panic.

“Kiss?!” She’s not sure if it’s her who asks or Coran, the voice is so strained in pitch. A squeal.

“What?” Lance’s looks confused and angry, turning to look at everyone staring at him.

“This is not their Dethok An !” Kolivan is the one who replies, almost furious.

Allura feels like the fire has burned through to her blood at the mention of it. 

“What the heck is Dethok An!?”

“It’s the honeymoon,” Keith says and everyone turns to him.

“ Oh .” Shiro’s brows are almost as high as his voice.

“Honeymoon!? Dethok what!?” Coran accuses.

Keith straightens. “After the wedding, they travel alone for days—”

“Stop,” Lotor commands. Keith’s mouth snaps shut.

“Honeymoon! What the heck, there’s a honeymoon now?” Lance is seemingly beside himself.

“Lance!” Allura is already worked up about the original accusation. “W-we don’t—” She feels her face burn, her hands clinging to her chest in defense. “We don’t kiss —” She hisses the word. “Don’t be crass!”

“What?” The boy looks honestly confused.

“Dethok An!” Coran proclaims again, stepping in front of the Princess. “Allura is going nowhere after the ceremony, it’s Vigilance!”

Allura buries her face in her hands.

“Vigilance?” Keith questions, looking lost.

“What the quiznak is—” Lance starts.

“Hey, guys!?” Hunk calls from the other end of the dome. Everyone turns to him and Pidge waving. “We’ve run out of script!”

“That’s because you’re done!” Shiro answers, yelling over the group.

“OOOOOHHhhhhh! Okay!”

“What is Dethok Un?” Lance questions.

“Dethok An,” Keith corrects.

“Nothing.” Allura hurries. 

“It is not nothing. It is Galra tradition.” Kolivan scolds, and Allura shrinks under his insistence.

“Apre,” Lotor commands. Kolivan’s eyes slide to the Prince, confused, but suddenly silent.

“Ooookayyyy, what’s Vigilance?” Lance tried again.  

Coran has crossed his arms, he looks utterly unimpressed. “Vigilance is the Altean tradition.” His chin rises with a look extremely close to condescending. “For two movements, the newly married are separated from each other and cut off from communication.”

“Whaaaaaaaaat?” Lance drawls.

“Coran, we—we aren’t—we aren’t doing...” She tries, voice low.

“HMMMMM!?” Coran’s head swivels ever so slowly to look at her, his hum is loud and deafening.

“Two weeks of isolation?” Shiro questions. “That seems a bit extreme.”

“Maybe it does to you earthlings who seem to kiss each other willy-nilly like a bunch of red-blooded loose—”

“Hey!” Lance points. “Kissing is great!”

“It’s private! You don’t just do it in front of people unless—unless—” Coran almost shakes. “Unless you mean it! It’s not to be shared lightly with anyone else’s eyes!”

“For Galra too?” Keith asks. It’s soft and quiet.

“Yes.” Kolivan glares down at his fellow blade.

“Whatever man, that’s weird!” Lance rolls his head back. Then his eyes widen and he smiles quickly. “But—uh—Fine! Yeah! Fine by me!”

“Ugh.” Allura steps backward, away from the group.

Coran snatches her arm, “Wait a minute young lady—you’re not out of the snoozle’s den yet!”

She flushes horribly. “Coran!”

“Vigilance is about honor! Chastity! About growing a fond heart and understanding dependence and patience—”

“Coran I’m not a little girl who needs a lecture!” She huffs, voice tight, eyes looking everywhere but at everyone looking at her—

“Coran.” Lotor’s voice makes everything still and they all turn to him as he closes his eyes. “Vigilance is not something the Galra will be fond of. To have their Emperor and Empress separated so quickly when our tradition—”

Kolivan shifts, crossing his arms.

“—dictates we celebrate our union together, passionately, they will think this marriage exactly as it is. Scripted.”

He ends the words looking at the Marmora blade, who seems to relent, looking away. 

Scripted.

Allura sinks in her shoulders, swallowing. 

“But its—” Coran ruffles.

“Why don’t we come to a compromise, that we might honor both people?”

It’s silent around the group once more.

And as Hunk and Pidge join them, looking warily around everybody in confusion Allura realizes that her… post-wedding schedule is being discussed.

Aloud. 

For everyone.

She shifts, training her eyes on the overhead clouds drifting above them. 

“Allura and I will take the shorter excursion for Dethok An—but whilst there, it will be in respect of Vigilance.”

“So, you’ll go somewhere private, just the two of you—?” Lance glared dubiously.

“—and isolate yourselves from each other!” Coran demanded.

Lotor looks particularly stiff. Or what she can see of him out of the corner of her eye does anyway.

“Yes. This way the Galra think we honor them, and I do not disrespect Allura,” They meet each other’s eyes for only a moment before he looks pointedly at Coran. “Or Altea.”

“Hmm.” Coran thinks out loud and Allura wants to scream..

“It isn't disrespect.” Allura urged, feeling tired and a little desperate. “Either of us being gone for any amount of time just delays what this entire wedding is already delaying—the actual alliance.”

Lotor holds her gaze with a thin smile. “We can begin work on that despite the circumstances.” He offered, and his eyes went a little tight at the edges. Allura wondered if he was as exasperated as she was. All this after they had already privately agreed...  “It will be a quiet few quintents, Princess, but I’m sure we can manage to work through our allies to reach each other,”

Allura sighed.

“No direct speaking!” Coran demanded again.

“You have my word,” Lotor’s hand hovered over his chest.

“No, no, no, I don’t like this!” Lance began, arms waving about the air.

Shiro snatched one of his hands, giving the boy a stern look Allura didn’t see often on the black paladin. 

Lance went quiet, glaring at the ground.

“Alright, we have an arrangement,” Coran submitted, looking as pleased as he could, his hand took Lotor’s and they shook.

“Thank you.”

Shiro made a tired noise, looking around the group. “Now that that’s settled, we should finish up here and get back to the Castle. There’s still a lot to—”

“What about slaying the beast?” Keith asked. Everyone went quiet. “In Dethok An, don’t you have to kill... a...”

Lotor’s eyes burned down at Keith until the boy trailed into silence. Confused or not, no one else said anything under the sharp look the Prince cut through the room.

“S-sorry.”

Allura wants to jettison herself out an airlock. 

Chapter Text

“Princess, you can’t just—’

“Coran, I can’t believe you—”

They huff at each other, both pausing to cross their arms almost simultaneously.

“Coran—” Allura’s eyes roved over the empty viewing room, making sure the last of the rehearsal party had really dwindled out before donning the most unimpressed look at the flight master. “I can’t believe you just embarrassed me like that in front of everyone!”

“Everyone she says! Posh!” His nose goes high into the air, hand waving dismissively, “You’re only upset you were embarrassed in front of his royal prettiness Prince Lotor!”

His hands lace together, leaning forward to bat his eyelashes pointedly. 

“Coran!!” Heat brims in her until she grits her teeth and she has to stop herself from stomping her foot in tandem. “T-That’s not it at all and even if—no—I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

He looked entirely too pleased with himself, fingers twisting his mustache.

“Y-you’re imagining things! Whatever those things may be—which I don’t know!” She hurried. “Honestly you have no idea what you mean!”

“The lady doth protest too much,” He warned, a voice so sing-song about it he sounded exactly like her old etiquette teachers.

Allura fisted her hands to her side and really did stomp her foot. The Altean flowers flickered at her side. 

“Oh, ho! You want to remind me of my manners? As if I’m the one crossing court lines,” She pointed toward him, jabbing the air. “You discussed Vigilance in an open forum with my betrothed, before , we were actually married! With foreigners about!”

“You can’t out-manner me, young lady! I have been in civil society for at least a few hundred decaphoebs more!” He challenged, “You’re the one who had obviously discussed it with the man privately, without a chaperone , and knowingly called it off! Vigilance !”

“Coran!! You’re the one who sent me to a man’s private quarters alone in the first place to—”

“AH—” Both Coran’s defense and his mustache deflated immediately. “W-Well, you, you—”

“And now you’ve called the action of my virtue to everyone’s mind!” She hurried. “The entire Voltron team is thinking of my chastity!”

“W-well-I—was only—”

Allura glared, hands going to her hips.

“Alright fine! I broke the rules! My ever so humble apologies to your virtue, Princess, for being desperate when a lecherous Galra man was going to take you to Koozle knows where to kill things fresh out of your wedding gown!”

“Ugh!” Her hands outstretched in exasperation, before sighing long and loudly. Rolling her eyes she considers him with the barest shake of her head, before turning. “This is ridiculous, I’m going to speak to Lotor. I’m going to tell him we aren’t doing Vigilance or Dethok An, just as he and I decided together two days ago — honestly Coran,”

“Wait!”

He grabs her arm and when she turns around she’s actually surprised to see how frantic he looks.

“Please Princess, hear me out—”

She whines, already shaking her head.

“You may not think much of it, and believe me, I know it’s not ideal for your situation, and I know that the wedding is only a means to an end for the good of the universe, and I know that you can take care of yourself and have made the right choice, and I know—”

He takes a breath as she gives him a bored look.

Coran sighs. 

“But… this might be the very last Altean wedding there is.”

Allura freezes. 

Coran’s eyes lower and he turns slightly toward the fields around them.

The flowers waft quietly. It’s a huge difference, just the two of them standing silently together in comparison to the bustling party it had been not long before.

“I understand of course, that much of it has to be sacrificed for the Galra if they are to sacrifice things for us, and that the wedding is about the war ending, not about mourning Altea.”

He looks to her with a sad smile. Allura feels her breath thin. The corners of her eyes burn.

“And I’m not worried about the union either!” He urges, hands waving wildly before settling again. “You’re going to be great no matter what. You’re Alfor’s daughter and a great leader on your own, too. Whizzle, Princess, this genius plan was your idea in the first place!”

“Coran...”

“I’m only a teensy bit worried that this will be the last time Alteans get to show everyone what we’re about. To share it with the world after all these centuries before it’s gone forever.” His hands clasped behind his back. His eyes looked shiny.

“And I must confess on my father’s name and his father’s father’s name, and, well, your father’s name—that if it the last Altean wedding happens to be Princess Allura’s, of the royal court of Altea and defender of Voltron, you deserve to have as much of it as possible.”

Allura’s eyes narrow, trying desperately to quell the stinging in her nose and lashes. The heels of her palms press into her cheeks. 

Coran shrugs, smiling wide and looking guilty. “Alright, so, maybe I got a bit excited—I admit I might have made a ozznak out of a thistlequa—”

She can't stop herself from lunging forward at him, arms throwing themselves around the man before squeezing tight.

He coughs in surprise, but his arms slowly pull her hair away from her face, hidden, nose buried in the Altean flight suit. She lets herself cry a few tears, only a few, she promises herself. 

“I’m just so happy for you Allura.” He says quietly and her fingers curl, burying themselves in her father’s royal periwinkle blue and gold. With the actual persil-berries mixing with the holograms of juniper berries, it almost actually smells like home too.  

“I had always dreamed of you having this day, and after everything, you still get to have it!” 

“Oh, Coran,” She says again, left otherwise speechless. It’s useless anyway, the words don’t sound like anything when she muffles it into his shoulder.

His hand pats her head.

When she lets go it’s just to smile at him.

“Thank you, Coran.”

“No. Thank you, Princess.”

She has to wipe her face as best she can afterward and she deeply considers heading straight to her room just to freshen up, but they only have half a quintent left, and Allura can feel almost every tick of it shiver through her skin.

So instead she seeks out a specific paladin. 

“Lance?” Pidge asks, the Altean book of phrases she holds taps her chin in thought. Hunk is buried in an identical (but Galra) one behind her.  “He said something about blowing off steam. Training maybe?”

“I’ll try that, thank you.”

“Yep!”

It’s far enough away that Allura can try and figure out exactly what she wanted to say to the boy.

Which is… a lot. Or maybe not. But—it was important.

His behavior today…

Allura folds her arms into herself as she walks.

It’s—not exactly his fault. Or at least, not something he can control. Not when it seemed as if earthlings were a bit more… publicly amorous, to say the least, when it came to their arrangements or romance.

Allura wondered if that really were true. About kissing.

It wasn't as if it was unheard of in Altea either but—well, it was usually for reason. A heartfelt lover's goodbye for ill-fated soldiers, maybe. Or a struggling couple finally announcing a successful pregnancy after a few decades of disappointment. Such things were even celebrated, cheered.

Or there were signs of rebellion. 

Father once told her of a great uncle who had kissed a Ralgorian lover to make a point at an estate dinner. It was admirable, if still quite scandalous.

So she couldn’t blame Lance. Not only for misunderstanding their cultures but for not grasping the specific position she held as princess either.

Stars, she was lucky to have Lotor.

Not—in—well,—in the way—

In the way that he was half Altean, of course.

Because the Galra were already so different. They were passionate and angry, ripping swords out of belts or screaming about each other’s faces through violent poetry… She was lucky they had a similar stance on kissing if not anything else. 

And again, lucky for Lotor—because he was Lotor.

He was patient, empathetic, kind, and obviously, he was willing to sacrifice the ways of his people to better accommodate her. He was considerate of the politics of meeting his allies on their level and also meeting her on an emotional one.

He was perfect. 

Well not, like that—he was—she slowed, hands gripping her cheeks as they turned hot. How stupid. She was doing this to herself now.

“That’s not what I’m saying!”

“I know it is not your intention, so I simply wanted to clarify what was .”

The words— the voice, pierced through her.

Lotor.

Was he still here?

The conversation was coming from around the corner. She froze, looking around her before snapping up straight and rushing to the edge of the wall.

“I don’t know what you're talking about, I don’t HAVE any intentions.”

Allura pressed her shoulder against the metal, sliding out slowly to peer down the hall, almost holding her breath. 

“Lance,”  Lotor’s hand outstretched toward the red paladin, who looks on edge, a foot half-stepped backward.

The Galra is just so much taller than the earthling. Allura can’t tell if it’s more noticeable now because she can see their entire height directly compared to each other, or because for once it’s not her standing beneath Lotor’s looming figure.

“This isn’t meant as a confrontation.” His voice isn’t like what she’s used too. He sounds much more relaxed. Much more dismissive. “But I’m no fool.”

Lance doesn’t say anything.

“It is obvious to me that you are in direct opposition of these proceedings and I know it’s because of your emotional attachment to the Princess.”

Allura’s shoulders pinch together and she almost bangs her head on the wall with the force she uses to return to it. Her face burns and her stomach sinks. 

Oh— oh —she should not be listening. This—this was private. Or at least they had meant it to be.

She wondered if she could run away without them hearing her because she wasn’t sure she could bear listening to Lance’s response.

But he never gave one.

Instead, she heard Lotor sigh and was surprised by herself for recognizing the sound so easily.

“Regardless of your intentions, I am worried your actions are based on selfishness.”

“Hey, listen here, buddy, ” Lance retorts.

Allura cringes. 

“I’m not being selfish, I’m probably the only one not being selfish! I’m the only one thinking about Allura. About what she wants! And! And about what she deserves.”

“Will you enlighten me?”

“Huh?”

Huh?

The question wasn’t angry or spiteful. It was genuine. Maybe that’s why she and Lance are both taken off guard. Enough that she risks another peek out the corner.

Lotor’s head tilts, and his brows crease with a look that seems almost hurt.

“As her intended, if you have any inclination about what you think she deserves, I would see to it that I am educated on your perspective so that I might better serve her.”

That’s it. Finally the answer to why she feels so insufferably heated all the time. Lotor himself. His words. His presence. It’s too much at times.  Even now, and she’s not even the one speaking to him. 

“We-well—when you put it like that, I guess—yeah—okay, fine!” Lance cranks up and his finger points accusatively. “F-first of all—this whole wedding is stupid! You don’t marry a stranger—you marry who you love!”

Lotor didn’t reply.

“Allura should be swept off her feet! Given roses, chocolates, perfumes—it’s about driving up to the movies or giving her those little ‘I love you cards’ that sing songs when you open them or—you know, taken back home so mom could cook her a dinner or...” When Lance starts to trail, he looks around at the floor, “wined and dined...that kind of stuff.”

Lotor blinks slowly.

“These are things the Princess has expressed a desire for?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” Lance’s hands splay his fingers before him. “That’s just what you do. I mean… or—”

“As someone who has not spent as much time with her as you have, would you be kind enough to tell me things she expresses are important to her?”

It’s Lance’s turn to be quiet.

One of his hands pinches his other arm idly. 

Allura frowned sadly, hand sliding against the edge of the wall.

“She… she cares about others. About peace...” Lance closed his eyes. “About others.”

The silence is quiet, but considerably more comfortable than before.

“Lance,” Lotor begins again, but this time his hand reaches for the paladin’s shoulder. “I know it is a frustrating process, but please remember that it was not I who proposed to Allura, it was she to me.”

Lance looked up at the Prince with a look of hurt Allura couldn’t help but share.

“By accepting her offer, I myself am denying the things you speak of. Love, romance, affection in forms of passion—chocolates or perfumes as you call it—these are not something a marriage between her and I will have. Nor will I have the opportunity to have that with anyone else.”

The tips of her fingers feel cold on the metal of the ship.

Her chest heaves. 

“But that is the sacrifice I am willing to make in order to respect what Allura wants. Who am I to deny her the desire for peace, for something as selfish as my wants for romance?”

Allura looks to the floor.

If Lance does the same she doesn’t see it

“I—I don’t know.” He says.

A scrape of metal has her looking up again.

Lotor draws his sword.

“What the—”

It’s fast and loud, sweeping the air with a confident brandish that has both Lance and Allura jumping back with gasps. 

“Hey man, what the hell!? You’re going to kill me over this!?”

Lance’s hands go to his bayard just as Allura almost dives out into the hall, stopping only when the sword flips elegantly in Lotor’s wrist, hilt now level with the paladin.

“Take it.”

She steps backward slowly. 

“What?”

“I want you to have it.”

“But… “ Lance’s hand takes the sword regardless, eyes following the length of the Galra blade back up to him. “This is what you guys just swore an oath on.” 

She’s equally confused, remembering the weight of that sword in her hands, the sound of it when she struck it into the ground.

“Then it is even more appropriate for another of my Oathsguard.”

“What?” Lance questions and he looks almost frightened. Overwhelmed.

Lotor releases the blade’s tip. The weight bobs in the air as Lance holds it aloft. Allura frowns at the sight of the paladin holding a sword at the Galra’s chest. 

“I would anoint you, not just for the ceremony.” Lotor lowered his head, eyes serious. Narrow. “But as someone who has the Princess’ happiness at heart, I would ask that if you ever feel I am not doing all that I can to ensure her best interests, that you amend the situation.”

The sword immediately drops to Lance’s side.

“Lotor—what the hell!?”

“I am giving you permission to use force, fatal, if necessary.”

“Are you asking me to kill you?”

Despite Lance’s apt wording of the heightened situation, Allura actually relaxes. Smiles even.

How genius.

Lotor raises his hands in supplication. His lips amused as he continues. “Should you feel as if I am... currently failing this duty—yes, but I would hope I have done nothing to warrant it yet.”

“N-no you haven’t!” Lance’s hurries, brows knitting together. Then his expression falls, lips pursing. “Oh,” His arms cross. “I see what you’re doing.” 

Lotor chuckles.

“Come on man, that was a trap.”

“No—” Lotor’s hand is on Lance’s shoulder again, but the paladin just looks exasperated instead of guarded. “I am truly sincere.”

“Yeah… yeah, I get it.” Lance sighs. “And...you’re right. I don’t like it… but maybe that’s because.. .I don’t. Not Allura.”

Lotor watches the boy patiently and Allura feels a smile on her lips. She would hug the paladin if she wasn’t currently spying.

“Thanks,” Lance says suddenly. “I still don’t like it, but… thanks for, you know, reaching out.”

“Of course.”

“Yeah...but,” Lance glances at Lotor, then swings the sword experimentally. The two look at it gleam in the air above them. “Are you sure? Don’t you need this for the wedding?”

Lotor raises a hand. “There are others. And besides, you need it for the wedding now.”

Lance suddenly smirks, hefting the Galra blade onto his shoulder. “Are you saying, I’m Allura’s Knight in Waiting and your Oathsguard, and I get a sword?”

Lotor bows his head.

“Oh-ho man, Keith is gonna be pissed.”

“I would hope not.” The Prince admonishes. “I don’t think I have enough weapons in my armory to placate every paladin so they don’t start a rebellion tomorrow.”

 “Look, okay, I wasn’t ever gonna—I wasn’t gonna do anything. And I promise I’ll be good.” Lance laughs, hands raised in a half-shrug. “I get what you two are going for now, I get it.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.”

They don’t exactly shake hands, but as Lance dawdles toward the training room, swinging the Galra sword listlessly and telling Lotor to ‘watch himself,’ Allura can tell there is a comfortable understanding between the two. 

It’s a relieving sight.

So she forgets herself.

When Lance disappears with a wave and Lotor turns around, his eyes go wide, body freezing.

She should be ashamed but she can’t stop smiling.

“I would ask how much you saw of that, but judging by your expression…” He falters, broad shoulders dropping as he approaches her with a small frown.

“Enough?”

“Yes.”

She laughs into her hand, happy and soft.

“My apologies,” He begins and before he can even start the bow she knows is coming, Allura reaches out to catch his arm.

“No—please—” He’s surprised again, but stops. “There’s nothing to apologize for. In fact, I was headed down here for… a similar conversation.”

“Oh?” He smiles, eyes narrowing.

“My… technique didn’t involve a sword but—” She laughs, and he joins with her. The hallway feels warm. Or maybe it’s just him. Who's she kidding? It’s obviously him. She’d realized that, hadn’t she? Her hand slid off his arm hesitantly, slowly. “Thank you.”

His smile goes even softer, a sight that makes her chest ache. Like it hurts to breathe. 

“What I said...” He begins, looking over his shoulder to where Lance has left. He looks back at her. “While honest, I was intent on seeking common ground with your paladin. Not voicing any actual doubts about what we’ve decided to do.”

“I understand.”

His body relaxes slightly but his expression doesn’t. 

“Really, I do. And I’m not foolish enough to believe in those things either.” It’s honest enough. If there was anything in her that thought this was anything but political, well, she had her answer didn’t she?

Shiro couldn’t have been more wrong. And frankly, it’s relieving. Or it should be. Right? Allura shakes her head. “Romance, love, those things—you were right.”

Lotor’s gaze slides away.

She tries to catch his eyes again, to continue to reassure him.

“And I hope you know that I am nothing but grateful that you have decided to sacrifice them with me.”

“Allura.”

She breathes.

It’s always something when he drops the honorifics. And she should be displeased. But instead, it just feels welcoming. Understanding. As if he was finally letting the curtain fall between them and everyone else. As if they could look at each other as is. With everything in mind but no formality. A Prince and Princess still—but equals in their shared experiences. 

“Yes?”

His eyes close.

Allura immediately regrets not being able to see them for his next words. 

“This question comes much too late, and at a time of great circumstance depending on your answer, but are you sure about this?”

“What?”

Her hands draw up to her chest, feeling almost defensive. 

“Are you sure you want this to be the way in which we move forward?” His eyes finally open, but they look strained. Worried. “We would be together not just in the sense of our kingdoms. That’s the easy part. Doing this means the times in between as well. And those times are where it will feel the most like responsibility. Where it will seem the most like duty dictating our lives.”

She’s quiet.

“It is a full-time, detailed commitment for a, at best, loose abstraction of long-term to everyone else. You and I know what we do is not so much for those who live and rule today, but for those who live and rule so much later.”

Allura sighs, shaking her head with a smile. “As children of our fathers, we know this, Lotor.”

“Yes, of course.” His smile is still sad. And not for the first time, she suddenly thinks he’s beautiful. As he is. As he stands.“But as someone over ten thousand years old, I can only advise you that it’s the small things, the details, the in-between, that always adds up until you simply can’t see the future through the present. Regret is a current thing.”

“You aren’t Zarkon.” She says suddenly.

Lotor’s mouth closes, surprised, yet again, by their conversation.

“No… I’m not.” He says slowly, clearly confused. He almost looks uncomfortable and Allura feels suddenly aware that she brought up his father, and therefore his patricide, seemingly out of nowhere.

Oops.

“I mean—” She concerns herself with the walls, eyes darting nervously. “You are—you. You aren’t so horrible you need to talk like that. 'Times building up ’ I mean. As if I hate you.”

“I—”

“It’s so dour!” She urges, waving a hand. His expression is aloof. Cute. It relaxes her. “I... don’t think it will be like that. We...we agree with each other.”  

Their eyes meet and Allura can't help herself, she steps forward, hand seeking his to hold.

His fingers slide easily into her palm.

She watches his gaze drop down to the touch, before snapping to her once more.

“I enjoy your company.”

“Hn.” He replies, a noise hitching in his hum. Like he’d swallowed his response.

“So, I’m sure of it. Not only because it’s what we both desperately want—,” She exhaled, shaky but growing excited.

“Allura.”

“I mean, can you even imagine it? After all this time, it’s going to be this easy to stop the fighting? To change things? I know it’s something I would do anything for, but something this easy ? No more murder, no laborious battle, no coup or mutiny. But a happy thing like a wedding?”

“Allura.” He exhales.

“With someone so, so … agreeable? So likable? That’s practically a steal, don’t you think?”

“Hn.”

“And also because I trust you.” She finishes lamely. She’s not sure how to fully express the word. She trusts Lotor’s effort to do the things they envision, trusts his willpower to overcome everything that might happen, and trusts his consideration of anything she might ask for. It’s honestly the most perfect person she could have an arranged marriage with, for everything that means. Politically. Politically.

“Thank you.”  His words are hot on her cheek.

Oh, had he gotten that close?

The sudden shadow on her face suggested so.

He hums again, strained, and she realizes she’d been pulling his hand in hers, forcing him to bend down to her height as she speaks. His other arm is resting on the wall beside her head, forced to find stability in her excitement.

Oh.

“Unless….” She started again, lazily, eyes tracing over his body now that it was right here.

His elbow shook, suspended in the air. The hand on the wall fists.

“Unless you were trying to say you didn’t—”

“No, I—I’m in agreement.” He hurried. His fingers squeezed hers. She has to look at it to understand the sensation. He’s so close it’s hard to keep track of everything going on. Why is so much going on? “About all of it.”

It’s silent.

The adrenaline from her hopeful words is still running through her, but his body language and low voice are starting to slow her down into that shaky, muddled heat she normally has when they’re together too long. Like now. 

So she steps backward.

Lotor straightens.

Their hands break.

“I should put this excitement to good use,” She laughs. It cracks from nerves. “Do something productive—there’s still so much left.”

“Excitement.” He repeats. It’s not quite a question. 

She shrugs, taking another step back.

“Aren’t you excited?”

“Yes.”

He follows her same step, and slowly, they meet each other’s pace to walk together.

“Yes, I am.”

Chapter Text

“Perhaps I should cut it.”

He opens his eyes slowly, shifting his chin in his hand.

The nails through his hair don’t pause, the slight scratches at his scalp a pull of water. The cut of a blade through a current, but soft and unintrusive. His locks pull gently as she runs through them, unknotting strands with little resistance.

“Hn.” He hums quietly, the silence of the room not quite broken by it.

Dayak just chuckles at the annoyed response and he relaxes, eyes closing once more.

‘I enjoy your company.’

The corners of his cheeks feel strained as his brow creases, and he tries desperately to focus on the weight of Dayak’s hands as she begins twisting a cord loosely through his hair. And for a moment he almost lets her, he almost has the patience for it.

But his mind is lost in blues. In pinks.

'Lilac and lush,’

He sighs.

Drink deep, indeed.

He stands.

“Oh, please—” Her hands falter in the air, strands snapping as he turns from her grip. “Allow me to do something with it.”

“I think not.” He chuckles, passing the woman with a smile.

He crosses the room to the large curtained table, where the sentries had brought in his armor just that morning. His hands dust over the new colors. Blacks and deep purples. It does nothing to take away the resemblance to his father’s as he had hoped.

He flips the codpiece over. It slides away with a clatter. He starts with the wraps instead, grabbing the lengths of them and taking them to the wall. The mirror flashes on at his presence. 

Ah.

His eyes rove over the deep blue tabard, it’s high collar is embroidered with a sliver of silver. Edges of glass holding an ocean back. Sigils gleam at its shore; Alfor’s family crest imprinted on his sleeves.

Silver is for purity, well, new generations,’

Of course.

He had already forgotten he was wearing it.

“Give me that.” Dayak snatches the black wrappings from his fingers and he’s too lost in his admiration of the mirror to fight her. “You called me here, let me help.”

“Yes.” He agrees idly and as she circles the material on his upper arm. He angles his head, wondering if he should let her do something with his hair if it would mean allowing the tabard to be seen more clearly.

He had Altean clothes.

He’d found enough of them before. Rich ones, poor ones. Indistinguishable ones. Blues and reds and greens. He’d collected enough to assemble whole outfits if he wanted. And he had wanted. But they weren’t…

They wouldn’t fit anyway.

This does.

It’s undeniably his. The waist is snug to his back. The shoulder sharp, accommodating for the curve of his chest. The sleeves thin and flare, hugging around the fluctuating terrain that was his arms. And there’s Galra too. The Empire’s sigil, freckling his shoulders. A tradition to show what family bore him compared to the one he wished to bear on his sleeves.

As Dayak starts the other arm, he feels a little unstable on his feet. But he doesn’t need to be. She finishes quickly and retrieves the pauldrons for his shoulders. He’s sad to see the Altean silks covered.

“Just the arms and chest, please,” He nods.

Dayak’s brows crest, glancing at him but saying nothing.

He knows she doesn’t approve. He knows none of them will approve. But if he’s going to flex his muscles as Emperor to see what it really means, he might as well start with something as un-integral as a few missing pieces of armor. 

After his forearms, he clasps the neck accouterment himself as she snaps his back into place. She arranges his hair again.

They both look at the mirror.

He still looks like himself, but the spikes flaring off his elbows and shoulders make him wish for his own set, as un-ceremonial as they may be.

“Cape?” She asks. It’s a request.

“No.” He denies, thinking of his father and tasting metal on his tongue because of it.

He returns to the table, two swords and their belted scabbards laying beside the leftover armor he rejected. He takes one of the hilts, his , swinging casually. It’s more ornate than yesterdays. The rehearsal blade had been standard, this one is slightly longer, black, with its Galra crest a bright, illuminated blue. The blade has a deeper curve and an embedded vein down its center. A blood groove.

“It’s very well done.” He says, turning to look at Dayak over his shoulder. He sheaths it with a fast snap and sets it aside to pick up its twin.

This one is shorter and silver. It’s light too. There no crest at its hilt. And no blood groove. The blade is dull.

“I can still have it sharpened.” Dayak trails, watching intently as his claw picks at the edge.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It won’t be under too close an inspection to need it.”

Dayak sighs.

It’s not as if he’s not grateful.

Once engaged—by fury, engaged , unbelievable—it would have been nothing but a mad scramble if not for Dayak. Most notably because there simply wasn’t anyone else, was there?

Not anymore.

Lotor wasn’t sure if the woman appreciated being pulled away from her duties as an archivist to revisit her old ward, but if she did, she didn’t say anything upon his summon. And she had little else to say about the entire affair aside from her tutting when things got considerably less traditional.

He sheaths the silver sword and then moves to stand before her.

“Dayak.”  She straightens and Lotor tries to consider his words carefully. “Do not think I’m not absolutely aware of how most of today’s events were arranged. And,” He lifts the blade, “not just the swords. The shipments, the orders, the invitations—it is not unnoticed by me. And I want you to know I’m thankful.”

She tsks, looking disgusted before reaching out to pinch his arm.

Pain stings from the pierce but he just flexes against it. 

“A Blood Emperor does not say thank you to those he commands.”

“Blood Emperor,” He says it more to himself than to her. Lotor shoves his gratitude aside and walks away from her to take the other blade too. He hefts the weapons in his grip.  “Don’t flatter, it isn’t like you.”

“Don’t accuse me—”

“I’m no such thing.” He continued, eyeing her with displeasure before heading to the door.

“Lotor.”

He stopped, a little impatiently this time.

But Dayak smiles. Her hands clasped together, and he can tell that she’s suddenly trying to contain an obvious excitement. Maybe one she’d been trying to hide for a while.

“I’m proud of what you’ve won for yourself.” She says. Lotor has to blink to allow the words to sink in and understand them.

Eventually, he nods, biting his tongue on his appreciation.

When they step into the hall he smells Keith before he sees him, earth and soil such a part of humankind.

And it doesn’t help the young man is so short.

Keith’s fist goes to his chest in a salute that looks better and better every day. He admired the sight of it and the matching black armor he’s donned before handing him both swords.

“Make sure to give Lance Allura’s set before you enter the viewing room.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lotor froze mid-hand-off, and Keith’s dark eyes linger in question.

“I’ll let that slide today because of formality, but again, you don’t need to—”

“Right—no, sorry it’s a habit from garrison—

“It’s fine.”

“And Kolivan doesn’t tell me not to.”

“Not a surprise.” He smiles. 

Keith looks worried as he clips Lotor’s belt and blade onto his back. He eyes Dayak nervously. Lotor gives the woman a look. She sighs but turns away.

“Is something on your mind?” He asks, keeping his voice down.

Keith shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“I… had another question.”

Lotor pauses.

How precocious.

“Yes?” He keeps his eyes on Keith and starts walking, aware that he had a wedding to attend to, but not wanting the boy to feel discouraged. Keith follows automatically, steps hopping a little to keep pace with Lotor’s stride. Dayak clacks behind them some distance away.

“What is Prez Vik?” 

The words strike a harrowing image, and Lotor raises a brow, looking at him. “You heard this from someone?”

“Some of the Blades were talking about getting ready for anything crazy?”

“I see.” A slight anxiousness twists in the back of his mind, but he pushes it aside, the idle worry was worthless. “Prez Vik is what Galra call a challenge.”

“By combat?”

“Yes, exactly.” Lotor smiled, eyes softening as he considered Keith. “And it’s applicable to everything, from one’s station to their inheritance. Or even a challenge in political issues. I believe in this instance, as my security, the Blades think someone might claim Prez Vik on my ability to serve as the Princess’ blood mate.”

“Can anyone do it?”

“Anyone can, yes, most… Galra these days only do so if they have supporters to back them.”

“You’re not worried?”

“No.” He was, but what was the point?

Regardless of whether or not the challenger was right about him being an unsuitable match for Allura, he’d fight anyway. Not only because he would have to. But because while he couldn’t exactly say he was the best match, he couldn’t name anyone else that would be .

And she had asked him for his hand, damn it all. That in itself should be something to fight for.

She had asked him.

By fury, it felt like only a few ticks since she’d knocked him to his back.

'Lilac and Lush!’

“What happens if you lose?”

Keith asks out of curiosity, not ill will. Dayak tsks loudly behind them either way. Lotor ignores it, insistent that the young Blade knows of his encouragement for these inquiries.

“If I lose, the winner would be free to take my place as Allura’s mate.”

“What, really? Just like that?” Keith pauses for second and then has to hurry to catch up.

Lotor tries to send him a reassuring smile before looking ahead. They leave one hall for another, heading quickly to where the Castle is docked.

“If Allura finds the victor unsatisfying she is free to counter his win with a fight of her own.”

Keith’s sighs next to him. Seemingly relieved.

He tries to take stock in that. That if any did manage to kill him, Allura might avenge his poor soul should she find the newcomer distasteful. It’s an unlikely fantasy, but an amusing one.

As they enter the docking bay for the Castle, they spy Coran and Shiro waiting for them.

“Lotor,”  Keith questions again. 

“Yes, Keith?” He nods, eyes on Coran as he raises a hand in acknowledgment. Coran waves back.

“What’s a Zol?”

Lotor’s pace buckles in its tracks. Dayak makes a strangled noise behind him. He feels an uncomfortable sensation rush down his spine. His ears go hot. Stars!

To Keith’s credit, he looks as naive as the question seems.

“Ah—” He tries. He really does. “That…” He slows to a stop and thinks of the best way to describe the anatomy of a Galra without sounding un-befit an Emperor.

The silence stretches, and Keith tries to reiterate.

It’s not helpful.

“Some of the Blades from my barracks said it was about compatibility.”

In so many words, it could be, those bastards. He wagered he knew exactly the reason for bringing that up, in relation to his wedding. His eyes scan the ceiling, looking anywhere but at Keith or Dayak. Bless the boy, but this was—

“Lotor!”

“Shiro, my greetings.”

Thank the fury.

“Allura’s in her room still but everyone else has headed to the viewing deck. Announcements have begun for the broadcast.”

On time.

“Keith, would you be so kind as to head to your place and deliver the sword?”

“Yes, si—Yes, of course.” Keith almost blushes, before leaving.

They watch him go.

“He’s not giving you any trouble, is he?” Shiro asks.

“No,” He answers swiftly, ignoring the heat still in the tip of his ears. “He’s a fine man and more than gracious enough to learning the ways of the Galra.”

“That’s nice to hear. I think he’s excited about all this.” Shiro said, gesturing to nothing but meaning the wedding.

“He’s not the only one.” Coran taps his finger.

Lotor looks cautiously at the flight master but Coran isn’t looking at him.

Does he mean the Princess, or himself? She had expressed her excitement yesterday, hadn't she? His palm tickles and he clenches it, feeling his claws inch outward at the flex. He swallows and ignores his wandering mind to move things along.

“My friends, this is Dayak, an archiver of my people and my former governess.”

“Hello,” Shiro smiles

“A pleasure.” Coran bows.

Dayak actually grins. At Coran at least. She steeples her finger in delight at the forward show of respect from someone who was technically playing stand-in-king today.

He huffs, of course, she would like that. 

“She’s here to ensure my side of things. Which,” He glances at the black paladin, before nodding to the woman, “If you please,”

“What?” Shiro looks nervous.

Dayak steps forward, producing a small metal tab arched like a bridge.

“For your senses, Shiro.” He explains.

“It goes over your nasal passage.” Dayak continues, “Like so,”

She bypasses Shiro’s outstretched arm, plucking the tab from her hand and pressing it evenly over the man’s nose. It matches up beneath his scar in a way that seems almost planned.

His head goes backward, eyes blinking fast and nostrils flaring. “Oh—”

“You alright?” Coran asks quickly.

“It should deter the reaction to the fauna,” Lotor explains.

“It feels like I’m breathing through my eyes.”

“Technically, you are.” Lotor chuckles.

Shiro’s hand touches the metal tab, before looking at him, face turning from confusion to wonder. 

“That’s… oddly thoughtful of you, Lotor,” Shiro blinks, “Thank you. I was worried about ruining everything.”

“Not at all,” He bows and ignores the presumption. It’s not personal, but it feels at least a little relieving to see another of the paladins look kindly on him. He stands “Shall we?”

They head into the Castle, but not before Coran gestures the way for Dayak.

“After you, my lady.”

Dayak titters, and it’s hard not to roll his eyes. At least the woman is happily distracted.

Coran gives a brief but happy tour for the governess before he and Shiro leave them on the lower deck to return to Allura.

The first thing he notices about the viewing room is that it’s occupied. He doesn’t notice Dayak take her place in the fray, because it’s simply so large. 

Incredibly so.

The crowds part for him as he makes his way to the center, where Kolivan stands with both his Oathsguard, but the entire time he scans the faces as a slow numbing feeling of overwhelm cools his skin.

He recognizes those he’d officially invited immediately. Generals from his old factions, some from his new advisors, a few key Galra bureaucrats he knew would support him later for the honor, and one familiar face at the edge; Morga, from engineering.

But there are others too.

The Coalition forces are nothing but strangers to him, of course. Those of different worlds are foreign in appearance and acquaintance, aside from one or two he recognized from the outpost not so long ago. 

As he steps up, his eyes find Kolivan’s.

They share a knowing look, before they stand together, gazing into the crowd.

“Tuflak is here, from the kalzek sector.” The Blade murmurs.

“Attok as well.”

Kolivan grumbles.

He’s not sure what to make of it. It could be they were simply enforcing their right to witness their Emperor’s blood mate ceremony. After his announcement of its location, there were more than a few who sent missives about their disapproval, stating that very thing. And as a Galra he understood their anger.

But Tuflak had openly harassed him not twenty decaphoebs ago. And Attok and his squadron had gotten into more than one scuffle with his Generals. Ezor and Zethrid had complained on multiple occasions about it.

Former Generals.

Lotor frowns coldly. 

“Would you like me to have them thrown out?” Kolivan asks quietly.

“No.”

“What’s going on? Something wrong?” Lance asks, looking over Keith’s shoulder where they hold hands.

“No, nothing.” He smiles at the boy. Lance purses his lips but doesn’t argue.

Idle worry was worthless. Ambush or not, he’d have to wait for their reaction. He sighs and feels a simulated throw of wind in his hair, strands tickling his cheek.

At least there’s this.

There’s Altea.

He takes another deep breath, fooling his heart into pretending it’s real, just for a moment. The juniper flowers wave at him from his shoes, green blurring into reds and pinks. He appreciates the colors in the moments they wait for the Princess’ arrival. Appreciates the blue in the sky, twisting and fading into white and then a shine of sunlight. A glimmer of gold instead of a silver lining. 

What a gift.

Lotor was quite sure he’d marry Allura for the location alone.

Not that everything else wasn’t… perfect.

He turns back to the crowds, milling about as they stand, watching, chattering. His worry about the strange faces among them drifts under a novel happiness at seeing Galra. His people, talking with others from the Coalition, under Altean skies.

That was enough.

“Col fastem un is the act of anticipation, and in Altea—” 

Was that Galra?

His eyes narrowed. He looked at Kolivan first, before looking at the crowd, searching for the odd accent. 

“—it’s a similar act of gav Uln a notek or remembering one's journey.”

Turning behind him, on the empty side of the room, he spies Hunk, reciting grandly to the drone in front of him.

In fact, most of the drones were already set in motion, floating about the room to broadcast images to the rest of the Empire and beyond.

He frowned. He had translation provided for Hunk. Why had the boy spoken…?

Another voice came to him and he turned to listen with a strained expression to Pidge.

“This is called ‘Canifest amean latanin,’ or ‘the place of birth,’ where the Princess will start her walk with her mother, meet her father for his blessing, and then be sent on her own to her future, or ‘canifest taves kazzifet, the place of growth.”

Altean.

Had… the paladins learned the language for the ceremony?

“Ast un tassem! ” Hunk near growled, arms curling in strength.

Lotor chuckled into his fist, hiding the act from the nearby drones. So admirable. Appreciation filled his body in a cozy warmth. He shouldn’t be feeling sentimental, not now, not when his Empire’s eyes were on him so raptly. But he couldn’t help himself.

He was in Altea after all. And getting married.

It’s odd.

Feeling happy.

He acknowledges the emotion but is no less surprised by it. He had been since Allura had proposed.

It's such an idle emotion, a stagnant one. A feeling that didn’t motivate him to do anything but just… be.

He looks around once more as just that. Happy. Taking in memories and details, looking at the crowd again with less worry, 

A flash of white and yellow have his shoulders stiffen. Anxiety comes back.

The witch?

No—

A chime rang from the caltestine podium across from them, freezing the heat in him and filling him with a cold that shivered through his skin.

“That tassle ringing indicates the Princess,” Pidge informed the Coalition’s broadcast.

“Hark! The mate arrives!” Hunk proclaimed to the Empire.

Indeed.

He turned as everyone turned, the viewing doors opening softly to allow the Princess and her escort to enter.

He catches sight of a waterfall of cerulean on white, gold lined and refracting light as any diamond or treasure might.

His stomach bottoms out. The room is empty.

Once Shiro ties her hair back, she walks left, under the constant mist of a white veil, eyes forward.

Drones follow her, lights flashing. Moths to a flame. The faithful to their deity. He can’t blame them.

It’s beyond words.

“Emperor.”

His fingers curl into his palms, claws out and digging unforgivingly into his skin.

“Eyes forward,” Kolivan tries again.

It’s laughable to think he could look away. Could anyone?

But when Allura’s eyes slide to him beneath her halo of white and gold and stars and light, he has to. It’s just too much.

“I’ll read the passage.”

“Yes.” He acknowledges, nodding, biting his tongue on his apology. Kolivan starts speaking the tale of the first Tal Selva’s. Of the history of the Galra. It’s noise to him.

Lotor’s discipline only lasts until she curves around the room, circling the center with nothing but Shiro to try and guard her visage.

He raises his head, staring quietly.

Unlike rehearsal, they don't appear to be speaking. But she’s smiling as they walk, he can see it past Shiro’s shoulder and the veil, that curve of her lips making her eyes bright.

Had anything felt so unreal?

His chest heaves, a bit too quickly, as he looks backward at the crowd again, at his Knights, at Kolivan and then at Altea, before landing on Allura once more.

He had scarcely believed after thousands of decaphoebs that he had finally put down his father, or had finally taken the Empire under his wing in ways he had only dreamed. Now he was to believe this?

It was unreal. A fantasy.

He hardly notices when she stops at Coran.

“Lotor,” Lance hisses.

He watches as the veil is swept back, floating like a petal down the current of her hair.

She’s crying.

It feels like someone’s squeezing his throat at the sight, but he swallows in the reassurance that she’s still smiling.

She’s crying because Coran is, he realizes. The man’s talking to her, but he can’t hear it. The tiara is taken away.

“Lotor, hey—”

“Lotor,”

“Emperor,”

He turns to Kolivan and finds both Lance and Keith staring desperately at him.

“Come here,” Lance hisses.

Stars, of course.

He says nothing, heat once more in his ears as he steps forward, replacing his Oathsguard.

Lance takes his hands easily, and Lotor’s eyes return to Allura.

She’s walking forward now.

And looking back at him.

Her smile is gone. He frowns.

She frowns.

Damn. A fang sinks into his cheek and his hands squeeze in reflex at the pain and his unbearable nerves. His weight shifts between his legs, restless.

Lance squeezes back, hard enough he has to look at the boy.

He’s smiling. Lance is smiling at him. Pointedly.

He swallows, nodding.

He’d have to give the boy another sword at this rate.

Lotor turns his newfound reassurance to Allura and is rewarded with a fast blink and fresh tears, but a smile too.

By fury, this was excruciating.

When she arrives his own caltestrine bell rings.

Lance leaves him.

Allura joins him.

Somewhere far away Pidge and Hunk explain everything.

But he can’t hear them. Can’t hear Kolivan. And he barely feels Keith hook the belt around his waist. Barely has time to worry that this was all happening so quickly. 

Because his hands are in hers, and it’s warm.

She was always warm to the touch. It’s fascinating as much as it is relaxing, her heat. He’d wanted to ask her on more than one occasion if Alteans ran hotter than most, but was always discouraged by the shy worry that it might just be him.

But there’s heat in her eyes too. A warmth between the blue and pink that isn’t just the reflection of gold from the sky above.

“Emperor.”

Oh, the swords.

He squares his shoulders, scolding himself. Any more of this and he’ll be useless. He didn’t even hear the damn prompt.

He grasps her blade fast, the weight and feel are no different than a varga ago, when he had tested it with Dayak. He shoves it quickly into the grated floor below the holographic illusion of grass. 

“Princess.”

This time he’s ready, thumb popping the blade from its shaft to angle it toward her.

Allura’s expression goes from tense to relief, eyes darting to his.

“Thank you,” she mouths silently, as her fingers curl around his sword and pull.

He holds his breath or tries to. It ends in a sputter of an exhale as she unsheaths him. A shaky sensation threatening to bring him to his knees.

He can’t look away from her, so he focuses on the shade of red in her cheeks, instead of the deft way her hands flip the blade into the ground—or the shine of her lips and the way they looked moving quietly like that.

Useless. Pathetic. He scolds. Lecherous. Focus on the now.

Her hands come back, that heat pulling him in. He steps closer just because of it.

Was Kolivan speaking? He couldn’t tell. 

She was always so… petite in comparison to him.

The colors of her dress bring out her eyes.

Was the veil new? Or something kept by her? Another relic of Altea he’d never seen?

Was the gold meant to complement or argue the silver of his tabard?

And his tabard had the crests—her dress should—yes, on the sleeves, by fury, stars, the Empire’s sigil.

What a sight.

All of it.

A dream.

A wetness hits his hands and her fingers squirm.

The wrapping had started.

It’s slow, precise. Any skin uncovered by the oil would be burned in truth, so Kolivan takes his time.

It would be hard to look away from the process if the alternative wasn’t Allura herself.

She’s looking at him too, quietly at first, before breaking into a smile so wide her shoulders brace in order to hold it. 

It leaves him a little breathless and he almost dares to look behind him to see what it is she’d been reacting too until he realizes he’d been smiling.

His thumb moves over her fingers, rubbing gently, as he considers the curve of her cheek, the shine of her markings, or the twist of curl about the frame of her face.

He’d long ago given up on ever having thoughts about this process.

Lotor had attended quite a few blood oath ceremonies in his long life. But after the first few when he was nothing but a child, a pawn, they had become novelties. Something to take in for what it was, a piece of the Galra he could appreciate but not partake.

But that hadn’t been anything to mourn. It hadn’t even been anything to consider. Had any asked him back then what he might think or feel about being wrapped with his mate, he might just stare at them dumbfounded. The question was too out of place in relation to him to even laugh at.

And now, he was left so surprised and unprepared that he wouldn’t have a response either.

He felt empty but full. Shaky, but solid.

Everything felt fast—but slow. Achingly slow.

Time was such a fickle beast in his mind, moving at an unforgiving pace at the best of times and at the worst, an unbearable crawl. Quintents feeling like ticks from one moment to decaphoebs at others.

And now it felt as if he were so aware he could control the feeling himself.

So he tried to stop it. If only for a moment.

To remember.

If there was anything he had learned after all this time it was to prioritize his damn memory. To let the useless fall by the wayside but cherish the important.

Remember this, at least. He urged himself. If nothing else, remember her.

Her hands curl into his, squeezing harshly, and it shakes him out of the small reverie in time to be ready for the flames.

They bloom in a rampant heat, blue and white. A reflected explosion of the colors she wears that tints her in a way so ethereal it takes the shock from the act away and just leaves the awe.

Allura doesn’t jump away this time, her eyes only wavering against the bright eruption before settling once more.

She keeps her smile, and he shares it.

The burning will... take a while.

He knows it.

Perhaps that’s why he’s so utterly aware of her every incremental movement.

Every shift in weight, every blink, every tug of her wrist, every flick of her finger. He holds fast to each change, worry etching his expression as he looks her over from head to toe, aware that she might be feeling the pain.

It stings into his own skin, through the sweat and the warmth, it burns like ice. Like needles.

It’s pinpricks and itching before it’s a throbbing, stabbing pain.

Allura pulls closer, eyes almost white from the fire’s reflection.

He wants to tell her it will only be so long, but can’t, so tries to hold his smile instead. It’s a weak thing.

Her eyes dart about his face, almost thoughtfully. And for a moment he panics, because if there were ever a time during the ceremony she might have a chance to truly reflect on her decision, it would be now. Now, when he’s right in front of her, holding her steady to endure pain for him.

But instead, she just looks curious. Or dazed. She winces here and there as the flame dances, flickering incessantly.

Lotor can’t decide what’s worse. The sudden sharp cuts of heat into his nerves, or the worthless anxiety of not knowing what Allura might be thinking.

She smiles again just as the light catches the glitter of her skin, where the heat has made her dewy.

He decides the most painful thing is not knowing that. Not knowing what it is she smiles for. For not knowing how to control it.

He returns it all the same.

And after a moment he has to look down, has to look at their hands, because through the biting temperature and the slick humidity of their skin on skin, under the wraps, he can feel her fingers card between his and hold fast.

Oh, Allura.

His fingers curl tightly, just as he winces, biting into his cheek once more, this time for the pain instead of the self-judgment. 

She cringes with him, the flames burning at their fingertips.

Lotor thinks of the other ceremonies he had attended with new light. Had they all been this painful? That was the point, he supposed.

As the sting of heat grows, the flames reduce. The burning point is well past the extravagance of a tall fire, but the after effects are not yet done with them.

She sighs across from him, eyes closing for a moment, teeth grit. Sweat curls her hair, twisting the locks tight to her skin.

She looks…

Ravished. 

He swallows and focuses his eyes on the crown. He hadn’t even looked at her damn crown yet, so lost was he in her face. He barely has time to register that it’s gold before he’s looking at her lips once more.

Or the way her eyelashes cling to each other, wet from tears and sweat.

A line of water drips past his ear to his shoulder and he shivers.

She looks back at him, body shuddering.

Seems they were both blowing hot and cold.

When the flames die, he doesn’t notice until he’s close enough to see himself in the reflected lights of her eyes. Having moved unconsciously closer to her as the fire got smaller and smaller, till it was nothing but a hiss of smoke between them.

It’s as if he’s looking down at her, she’s so small. Stars, fury, she was always so small. It makes him feel too big, too long. A new, visceral feeling for him, who’d always been a runt of a half-breed.

Her eyes go lazy, hands a content warm now, laced together, he lifts them closer to his chest.

He could…

So easily…

His tongue lines the parting of his lips.

“Lotor.” She hushes.

Her eyes dart away.

To Kolivan.

Lotor jolts, stepping back to allow the Blade to grab their hands to peel away the bandages.

“This will conclude the Galra ceremony, making them an official union in the Galra custom,” Pidge says.

“Ges tak an fastus,” Hunk recites.

The ceremony rushes back to him like a crashing wave. And damn himself, of course, what ridiculous folly—others—

There were others present. 

His eyes go everywhere. At the entire crowd and over the drones, a few disturbingly close to their faces and hands. Had he not noticed them this entire time? At all?

Or the Knights? Lance and Keith stand, both smiling, but quiet and attentive, seemingly patient the whole time.

He looks beyond his shoulder to Coran and Shiro.

Coran is crying into a handkerchief, but Shiro notices him and grins, pointing to his nose before giving a thumbs up.

He sighs, turning back to Allura but unable to meet her gaze.

He was useless. Just useless.

He’d fallen again.

The wraps come away, hands together and aloft.

“Bonded by blood and flame. ” Kolivan begins.  They turn to the crowd.

The faces of the Coalition seem to wake up. Standing on their feet they look lost, or almost surprised, when Kolivan suddenly starts talking, snapping to attention.

The Galra however, look vigilant.

Ready.

“Our Emperor and Empress, Lotor and Allura, of the Galra Empire and Galaxy  Coalition.”

Lotor’s eyes narrow, determination setting his shoulders.

There’s anxiety too, fast and stealing through his bones. Anxiety about the strangers. About Keith’s words just vargas ago. Prez Vik. Mutiny. But he had words prepared. Had a speech for this exact moment, ready as always.

The drones circle and he waits for them to center in the viewing room before he moves forward, lifting their raised hands in the air.

“My friends and—” 

He’s drowned out.

He can’t even hear the end of his words. Allura jumps in her skin beside him.

The room breaks out into a deafening roar.

“VREPIT SA!”

“Woohoo! Congrats!!”

“ALL HAIL!”

“Congratulations Allura!! Congratulations Lotor!”

“Vrepit Sa and long life!!”

His face goes slack.

The Galra and Coalition scream and cheer. A few throw some of the persil-berries into the air.

Swords unsheath almost instantly and are raised high, gleaming in the sunlight, shafts of gold streaking across his eyes.

“Congratulations!” Shiro shouts, and he starts clapping.

The rest of the Coalition claps.

Allura shifts beside him and he glances at her in shock to find the same expression on her face.

When they turn back he spots more Galra with tears in their eyes as they hold their sword above them.

Someone steps forward.

Tuflak.

His sword is raised.

Lotor draws Allura close, his hand grasping at her hips to pull her behind him.

Tuflak turns toward the crowd, his other hand meeting his sword.

“Hail Lotor and Allura! Hail our Blood Emperor!” Tuflak’s blade pierces his palm, and blood follows the cut, dribbling down his arm. “Vrepit Sa!”

“Vrepit Sa!” Attok mimics, hand rising in a fast swipe against his blade.

“Vrepit Sa!” Another. Morga.

‘Vrepit Sa!” Dayak.

“Wh-what—the quiznak—”

“Vrepit Sa!” Kolivan yells behind them. Lotor and Allura turn to watch him cut his hand, blood shiny and vibrant in his palm.

“Holy shit.”

“Wh-what’s—”

“Vrepit Sa!”

It’s echoed in front of them as every single one of the Galra follows suit, raising their freshly cut wounds to the Altean skies. Proclaiming him as one true Emperor.

An Emperor worth bleeding for.

Lotor can’t find it in himself to breathe.

“Vrepit Sa!” Another voice comes and once more they turn.

“Keith!”

“Whoa, you too!? What is happening!?”

“Keith—”

Allura’s hand raises once more to the sky beside him, drawing his shocked gaze.

“Vrepit Sa!” She yells.

A dream.

A fantasy.

Lotor catches her smile as she turns back to him, laughing, but drowned out by the raucous yelling of everyone in the Castle viewing room.

He can only stare at her, speechless, as gold washes over him.

Getting the wedding party to calm down almost takes longer than the ceremony itself. 

And after attending yet another Galra advisor, thanking them for their devotion, for their commitment, Lotor finds himself searching the crowds for Allura.

He passes by Morga as she cries happy tears with Dayak, accepting Coran’s handkerchief. He passes by Attok and Tuflak raising Hunk onto their shoulders as they sing a Galra song for children. And he passes by Shiro letting Pidge try on his nose tab, sneezing the moment it’s gone.

When he doesn’t find her, he leaves the viewing room, surprising himself with how easy it is to do so unnoticed.

The rest of the Castle is almost achingly quiet.

It’s darker too, the sun of Altea a bright, burning thing, even as nothing but a hologram. 

He thinks he might find her in her quarters, and heads that way, the layout of the Castle imprinted into his mind since their walk in what felt like a whole phoeb ago but was only a movement.

He finds her on the stairs of the ballroom instead.

She’s a splash of color. A stroke of paint, sitting like that. A drop of beautiful water spilling fabrics about her feet as she sits quietly. 

It’s cruel to bother her, alone in the refuge as he often finds her. But he’s long ago accepted his weakness for it.

“Allura.” 

She turns, surprised in wide blues and pinks.

Splendor.

Ephemera.

“Lotor!”

She starts to gather herself up and he steps forward, hand raised to stop her.

“No, Princess, please,” He says, genuine. “I don’t want to disturb your time.”

Allura gives him a little grin that makes him feel lucky. 

She stands anyway, whites and blues cascading along gold trims.

“Technically, I’m an Empress now, not a Princess.” She corrects.

“Of course. My mistake.” Lotor can’t deny it. Not when she commands colors to trail from her very form.

She meets him in the middle of the room.

“Should we head back?”

He doesn’t reply.

He wants to take a moment to remember this too. To remember at least the details of her face, should he wake.

When he says nothing she looks away, hands dawdling with each other.

“That went… surprisingly well!”

He laughs, he can’t help it, her expression is too candid not to adore.

“Yes.” He agrees, before turning to consider the viewing room behind them. “Unexpectedly, it went just as we had hoped.”

“I wanted to tell you how grateful I am.”

He turns back at that, eyes wide.

She was constantly catching him off guard.

Her gaze was on the floor, but there was a smile there she was hiding.

“Grateful?” He questions. How could she be the one to say this?

“Shiro told me about your help today. And then Morga told me of your attention to the guests, about promoting her too.”

“Allura,” He tries, wanting to cut off this unwarranted gratitude.

“And Lance too, before, or the way Keith has been—just, everything.”

“No,” He shakes his head. 

“Yes!” She insists, laughing, “I know you and I are terrible at it but you must take the compliment! And my thanks. Or maybe even my apologies—oh, and my congratulations,”

“Apologies?”

“Yes.” She steps closer, but only paces around him.

It’s a habit of hers he’d noticed. Turning about him.

He wonders if she does it on purpose, to draw his eye to her obvious beauty. Or if more likely, she was just naturally and unconsciously allowing him a look at every angle of her.

He admires it either way.

“Before all this,” She begins, looking up at him from her lashes. They’re still wet, and her skin still shines. “I was… more than unwelcoming to you. To all Galra.”

It was true. But the memories of her when he first joined the Voltron team are hazy in comparison to what he strives to remember now. That smile. The sound of her voice as it curls in her happiness. The breathiness of it.

That soft, unworded “Thank you,” comes back to haunt him now that they’re alone.

Mm.

His eyes go lazy as she speaks, eyes lingering on her lips before dropping to the expanse of her neck. It’s covered, translucent. Only the shadows of her clavicles visible, but enough for him to admire. To trace.

She’s round in places most aren’t. Soft in ways he’s not. And like this, walking as she does. He can see it so plainly. 

Or her back— oh.

It’s… Exposed. He hadn’t seen that of the dress yet— but it is.

And her skin—

Lotor’s chin raises, heartbeat quickening.

There are divots, dimples, in the small of her back. Nicks fit for teeth.

He hums idly, fangs teething on his tongue.

“And it wasn't deserved, even if it was understandable to a small extent.”

He’s glad to hear she’s not regretful but is otherwise lost to what she might be saying.

“And after everything you’ve done.”

That’s where he feels he must stop her. It’s enough to shake him from his heat. He does so with his words and his hand, snatching hers at her side to bring her closer to him.

“Allura,”

“Yes?” She breathes. He can hear it rasp into him and if he’s not careful, he’ll fall for this trap all over again, as he had every time before he’d gotten this close.

It’s not real, he reminded himself.

He pointedly kept his eyes on hers and not her lips. He wouldn't try again, he couldn’t. He was older than that, more intelligent than that.

“You can’t say I’ve done anything at all. You have.”

“Lotor, please!”

“I’m not putting on a Prince’s airs.” He almost bites. His frustration isn’t with her and he frowns so she’ll see that. “Allura, this was your doing. You and I. The wedding—these are your ideas. And ones that have brought the Empire and the Coalition together.”

“That’s—”

“They proclaimed me their blood Emperor not because I killed my father, or because I won the Kral Zera, or even that I brought them Voltron or... peace.”

“Lotor.”

“They claimed me that because I married you.”

She doesn’t say anything.

But she’s close. Practically in his arms now as he looks down at her. 

She’s small.

He swallows.

It’s hard to focus on the point of this, of political benefits and peace treaties, when she’s been so unendingly kind to him. And so unendingly agreeable. That she even thought to marry him. 

Marry.

They were married.

He was holding his wife.

His hands tremble.

He laughs.

“What?” she asks, looking embarrassed.

He shakes his head. “I simply…”

“What?”

He sighs.

“I’m… overjoyed. Allura.”  He releases her, finally. “I have never received anything so easily. “ He tries to explain.

He means that nothing was ever given to him. Not without a fight.

And yet she offered.

“You are?”

He laughs again.

Was this dream over yet? Would he one day, whilst enjoying talking to her, jolt out of bed, still on the fringes of exile and called in by Haggar to his father’s place?

“I am.” He concedes. “I am the one who is grateful. Who is… thrilled.”

It’s the right word. And his hands can’t help but take hers again, aware that everytime he leaves them he just wishes to be back.

“You mentioned being excited before, it is I who am now.”

“Oh?” 

The red in her face is delicious.

“I am. I can not think of anything we can not do, now that we are together. Especially if your obvious genius in political and diplomatic matters continue.” It’s true, but he lays it on thick just to flatter her. Just to see her laugh.

She does.

It makes him feel lighter then he has in some time. Too long.

“But, it isn’t just that.”

He says it without thinking, which is a scary thought in itself. To be caught so unprepared for an experience that his reactions to it were purely instinctual.

Not even the fight with his father was reactive. Not after dreaming about it for so long. Maybe the betrayal of his Generals to some extent, but even that had always been a considered possibility.

If a disappointing one.

“What do you mean?”

He’s drawn back to her eyes, curious and patient.

Right. He had said it. Of course, he would have to explain.

His fingers lazily weave and unweave with hers, fidgeting. His tongue is loose in his mouth, throat constricting in order to stop himself from saying too much.

“I can not…” He begins and has to look away. “I can not understate how much I never considered this turn of events.”

“What turn of events? The alliance?” She guesses, a sophisticated brow looking dubious. 

He wants to laugh at how sweet her assumption is. And what an easy way out it would be to take it.

“No, getting married at all, Allura.” He explains instead, leveling with her with a frown.

Her fingers squeeze his. 

“But, why?”

She looks honestly confused. It’s surprising. 

“Because I am over ten-thousand decaphoebs old and no one has ever sought to ask. Because my father is Zarkon, a deity to some or a tyrant to others. Because my mother is Honerva, a foreign scientist, and a mystery.” He sees her try to interject but continues, shaking his head, “Because I am too Altean for any Galra, and too Galra for anyone else—because I am a Prince, because I am an exile—my list is overflowing with reasons should you care to take your pick.”

“Lotor.”

She looks sympathetic, bless her. 

“These aren’t things I acknowledge with any spite, Princess,” He reassures, looking away in thought, at the ground around them, then the ceiling. Truly, even in these moments, he would never tire of looking at the Castle. It’s a nice distraction from what he’s saying. What he’s admitting. “They are all notions I have long since come to terms with, but in such a way that I am left… bereft of reaction to actually being married now, to you, you, Allura, of all people.”

“Of all people?” Her tone has gone down.

He falters.

He’s been talking too much.

“It’s…”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t blame her slightly judgmental look.

It’s endearing, the side of her so unapologetically… princess. He can’t help but grin at it.

“Not what you think.” He teases.

She looks away. Pouting. Adorable.

“I mean only that…”  There was no going back now, was there? He’d talked himself into vulnerability. He would own it.  “You’re beautiful.”

The slowness with which her eyes reach him once more is painstaking.

But she doesn't say anything.

He’s not sure if he hates that or is relieved by it.

“That may not be the most… diplomatic reason.” He admits, chuckling.

Her eyes lower to his lips.

No.

He’s dreaming that. 

Don’t fall for that again. Not again.

“But it is not any less true, just as I am shallow enough, or perhaps, not foolish enough to have it go unnoticed.”

“Lotor.”

“And more then that, you are…”

Kind. Compassionate. Intelligent. Witty. What would be the best attribute to reveal? All of them are pretty incriminating about his motives.

He sighs.

“What about you?” She suddenly says.

He blinks, once more lost to her spontaneity.

“Me?”

He nearly looks down at himself, looks at his too-long arms, too-long legs, and his scrawny-yet-bulky-form. A mismatched mess of characteristics that left him not enough and yet too much all at once.

He swallowed.

“You’re, you are—”

“VIGILANCE!”

The shout is so loud they cringe against each other, shutting their eyes and turning to the opening of the ballroom to spy Coran, hurrying towards them with a pointing finger.

Oh, no.

Allura’s hands escape from his and he allows her, face falling in slight expectation of an oncoming storm. His hands lower slowly. Resigned.

“This is not allowed! You two can’t sneak off on me like I would forget! It’s Vigilance!!” The last word is a hiss that echoes past Coran’s finger, as he pulls it up to his lips and mustache.

“Coran, don’t be—”

“SSSHhhHHHHHHhhhhh—”

The flight master cuts between them to hush the Princess, her face going screwy at the action.

“We were only—”

“ShhhHHHHHHhhh!!”

Allura looks about as frustrated as can be imagined, hands fisting at her sides and ruffling the skirts of her dress.

“It's Vigilance. Starting now there is to be no chit-chat, no gossip, and no missives, and no late-night quickie comm-calls between the two of you. And once you leave for Dethok An tomorrow that rule is to continue!” 

“Coran, perhaps if—” He begins.

“Vigilance!” Coran stops him, finger to his lips, mustache shifting. Lotor raises his hands in submission.

The man has a strange effect of making him feel like a teenager all over again, in trouble for something silly and immature. A feeling lost to him by at least 9 thousand deacaphoebs. He’s like Dayak in that way.

“How are we supposed to travel like that!!?” Allura rushes, speaking past another SHhhhhHhhhhh!

“You two don’t need to make a peep just to pack up some clothes!” He points out, hands on his hips. He eyes them both carefully. “I’ve been around the block a few times, I know a couple of sing-song-seasonal slew horned Seabees when I see them.”

It’s nonsense, but the implication is enough for Lotor to feel slightly and look away.

He imagines Allura does the same when Coran lets out a grumbled “Ahem—I thought so.”

Damn. He’d been avoiding the realization that he would even be… having, a Dethok An. Or at least, the entire Empire would believe he was having one when he was, in reality, heading to a remote location to shut himself in solitary for a few quintents. 

He could already feel the inevitable teases from advisors when he got back. Hitting him on the shoulders and asking, “How high is her battle cry, my Lord?”

Wonderful.

“Now Vigilance! Off with you!”

Coran actually pushes him.

Or attempts too. If there is any strength behind the flight master’s jabs at his side he doesn’t feel them. 

“You aren’t supposed to be seeing each other either! I’m already too lenient!”

Lotor sighed, stepping reluctantly backward. Alura follows them hastily looking crestfallen.

“Coran at least let me say—” She tries.

“ShhHhhHHH! Allura!! Vigilance!!”

“Goodbye—” She squeaks.

“SSSSSHHHHHHHH !!!"

Lotor gives her a thin smile over Coran pushing him, throat tight as he takes in the sight of her, looking embarrassed but beautiful.

He swallows.

Damn it all.

“Goodnight, lady wife.” He nods.

He’s rewarded with a breathtaking smile, gilded in blues. In pinks. In gold. 

And a whiny, hasty, “ShhhhHH!!!! Vigilannceeeeee! ”

He rolls his eyes.

Vigilance.

The word is quickly becoming a curse.

Chapter Text

“Think of it as a vacation.”

When she frowns, Shiro gives her a timid smile.

“Come on, you gotta admit you need a vacation.” 

“I’m not familiar with the term.” She pointed out.

“Oh.” His shoulders fell. The supply crate in his hands shifted as he considered. “It’s like a… getaway?”

She shook her head.

“It’s when you have a job, but accrue work hours to spend uh… away, or… geez…”

“He means like a holiday, but a personal holiday,” Pidge says. “This is all set, by the way!” She pats the dashboard of the shuttle where one of the Castle’s comms is tacked onto the Galra ship’s interface. It looks odd.

“Thanks, Pidge.” Shiro nods.

“I think it's called a feriae, right?” Pidge asked Allura.

She smiled. “Oh, yes! I see what you mean. But… we really don’t do personal… holidays? Unless you mean my Natalday. But all Alteans still participate.”

“Your birthday is a national holiday?” Shiro asks, brows shooting up.

“World holiday Shiro, Alteans don't have separate countries.”

“Right.”

“I am a Princess,” Allura reminded gently. “But that’s exactly why I don’t have holidays. I can’t… vacation my title.”

Shiro and Pidge eye each other at the word’s use.

“No?”

“It’s more like, ‘you can’t take a vacation as a princess.’” Shiro turned away, lifting up the crate and sliding it in the upper storage racks. “Which I understand, but what about Vigilance? Isn’t that a vacation?”

“No.” Allura frowned again. “The two movements of separation aren’t spent in isolation like Dethok An seems to be.”

“Well, maybe you’ll luck out then.” Shiro nods out the deck of the shuttle. “If he successfully negotiates it down to five days instead of two weeks.”

They all turn to look out the viewport across the docking bay where Lotor stands with Coran, his hand raised in an explanatory gesture, mouth moving quickly.

Coran is tapping his foot.

She’s technically not supposed to be looking at him and out of instinct almost turns her head away in embarrassment when she spots them. 

“I-is that what he’s doing?” She asked nervously, glancing at Shiro beside her.

He considered her. “I guess you wouldn’t know. Yeah. He mentioned that this morning.”

“I see.”

He looked… well, Allura wasn’t sure if he was supposed to look any different. She was sure she didn’t. But she also wasn’t sure if she was supposed to feel any different once married. Maybe because it was a marriage of diplomacy.

She felt like her chest was always tight and her head was much lighter. Like she was taking in too much air.

Was that it?

“Hey, where should I put these?”

Hunk walked up the ramp with two chests in his arms, looking around the shuttle.

“Oh, Hunk, thank you!” Allura hurried over to take one from him, leading him. “This way, up here with the rest of the supplies.”

“Will this be enough Princess? It doesn't seem like much.” Hunk asked. Shiro and Pidge made space for them to pack.

“I’m told that there’s more already there.” She explained. “Lotor sent some people ahead to ready the place.”

“Oh, okay.” Hunk said, arranging the crates before looking at her with a smirk. “So, it’s gotta be like a mansion? Right?”

“Ah…”

“Or a castle? The Galra seem more like castle types.” Pidge says.

”Come on! It’s Lotor! He’s a classy kinda guy.” Hunk urged. “He’s gotta have a mansion with shiny floors and butlers who bring you cheese plates or grapes.”

“Butlers!” Pidge said, her tone disagreeing completely.

“Or little pastries. Cannolis. Or empanadas.” Hunk trailed. He wasn’t really looking at them anymore.

Shiro shook his head.

“Is there anything else we can help with, Princess?”

Allura appreciates him then, giving the most honest smile she can. “No, really, thank you all for your help, but no, it’s alright.” She puts a hand on his arm but looks to Pidge and Hunk as well. “If anything, I’m sorry you can’t come with.”

“It’s alright.” Pidge waves. “We have plenty to do here.”

Hunk sighs. “Says you. You’re excited to have homework. I could have used a vacation.”

Allura enjoys hearing the new vocabulary so soon and chuckles at his expression.

“What homework?” Shiro asks.

“Lotor asked if Hunk and I would help the survey teams with the tracking tech-Oh, that reminds me—” She cuts off suddenly, hands diving into her pocket and shuffling frantically before pulling out and diving into the other. She looks up at Allura. “Am I supposed to give this to you, or to Lotor? He didn’t say.”

“What?”

Pidge pulls out a small chip, a Galra archive file the size of a thumb. “The broadcast recording of the wedding.”

Allura blinks at the object.

Oh.

Of course, they had recorded it. She knew that. Technically the whole galaxy had seen the ceremony. That had been the point.

“I should probably give it to the right person, considering you guys aren’t actually gonna… you know, talk. Or see each other.”

“Me!” Allura snatches the chip quickly. Her voice tight and her smile maybe a little too big. “It’s for me, yes, thank you.”

“Great!”

“I don’t get it.” Hunk said suddenly. They turned to consider him, seemingly back from his reverie about butlers and empanadas. “Vigilance. What difference do two weeks make if you’re already married?”

Allura frowned heavily. “Well…”

“I was wondering about that, but none of the Altean had any translational meaning.” Pidge tilted her head.

“Or the silence,” Shiro added. When Allura looked at him he looked distant. “The silence and isolation seem extreme.”

“It’s a tradition to teach you about.” Allura tried, hands pulling apart, “How distance can’t actually determine one’s feelings.”

Shiro shifted beside her, sighing in a lackluster sing-song. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Yes, exactly that!”

“Oooooooohhhhh.” Hunk drawled.

“It’s about building patience and a fondness for what you might have missed during courtship.” She smiled—before blinking into a frown. Her ears grew hot. “It’s also supposed to dissuade… more… unchaste people who might’ve rushed to marry someone only to… to—”

“Reap the spoils?” Pidge suggest through grinning.

Allura makes a face.

Pidges starts laughing.

“Oh man,” Hunk says.

“That… actually makes sense.” Shiro concedes. “That’s kinda the opposite of a honeymoon on earth. Which is… well, exactly that.”

Allura flushes, looking away. “Thankfully for us, we aren’t participating in any of that. Or Dethok An.”

“Oh, so you’re not going hunting for monsters?” Pidge asks, honestly confused.

Allura shakes her head quickly, arms crossing and lips pursing. She almost wished the Prince had never told her about the double meaning. She wasn't sure she could handle so many well-intentioned unintentional innuendos.

“Hey, Allura?”

They all turned to the open ramp once more. But this time it was Keith.

“We’re all up here, Keith,” Shiro called.

He spotted them quickly enough, “Lotor told me to warn you that he’s coming in.”

Everybody looked at her.

She faltered.

A tingle seemed to start at her toes. All this running around and being wary of each other was already making her anxious and they hadn’t even left yet. In the traditional sense, it wouldn’t have been a problem. They would have already been secluded away by their parents.

But they didn’t have any of those.

Well. They had one. 

“D-did he negotiate the time down to five quintents?” She asked quickly.

“Uhhhhh…” Keith trailed, shoulders slowly drawing up. “He didn’t say.”

There was a loud knock that clanged through the metal of the ship. It made them all jump.

“Geez!” Hunk exclaimed.

Keith glanced back before looking at her again.

“Allura—”

“Well, where am I supposed to go!?” She yelped, hands curling in the air.

“I don’t know!”

“Maybe just sit at the dash—”

“Get behind me!” Hunk suggested.

It was Shiro who saved her, pulling out the right pilot’s chair and helping her into it, just as footsteps clacked against the floors. Familiar footsteps.

Allura sat quickly, leaning forward to look awkwardly out the viewport, hands blocking her peripherals.

It went quiet. 

“Uh…”

“Hey, Lotor.” She heard Hunk say.

“Hi.” Pidge.

Maybe Shiro just nodded or waved, she didn’t hear anything from him.

Lotor didn’t speak.

“Okay, cool, hope you guys have a fun time—seperately! Bye! Bye Allura!” 

Allura raised a hand above her head to wave her fingers as she listened to Pidge rush off, hurrying down the ramp.

“Have a nice time! And… congratulations!” Hunk followed.

She felt Shiro shift behind her.

“Send us a communication when you two land.” He said. “Um. Separately. Is fine.”

Silence.

Allura cringed, sweating uncomfortably. It was like this pressing weight. This unspoken… unnamed… dead, air.

It was terrible.

“I’ll talk to you soon Allura, I’ll call you tomorrow about the Coalition meeting,” Shiro said, turning to pat her shoulder. He leaned down to give her a smile she could see.

She nodded.

When he left, she heard him go, pausing just for a second.

“Thank you Lotor, for everything you’ve done for the Princess.”

She listened to the soft ruffle of movement as she blinked at the empty docking bay. Pidge and Hunk ran by to wave at her. She waved back.

“Same to you Keith, call me when you and Lance are headed back from your escort mission. And stay vigilant.”

“Thanks, Shiro.”

He left.

At least Keith was there.

“I should… head to Lance and the Red Lion.” She could already hear his backward footsteps.

Oh no.

“We’ll follow you when you launch, si—Lotor—sorry.”

He left too.

Allura’s hands pressed harder into her cheeks as she stared outside.

There was only a soft shuffle. A quiet movement. And the somber sound of the humming shuttle’s terminal.

Honestly, it was a good thing they were going to a place that would do the separating for them. The short trip there was turning out to be the hardest part.

The second pilot’s seat beside her clicked, a shadow crossed the terminal.

She swallowed. How was this so unnerving? It was only Lotor. Right?

Only. She almost rolled her eyes but stopped herself.

A soft thud followed a shift of fabric and then nothing.

“Hm.”

Her fingers split and she moved an inch just to peek.

He was looking at her.

“Oh!”

His hand rose quickly, extending a long finger to press at his lips.

Shhh.

She covered her mouth.

His eyes flickered over her face before a grin formed gently behind his finger, one as sharp as his claws.

Heat bubbled from her lap to her cheeks, burning her neck and making her tense.

She let her hand go to show him her own smile. Shaky and small.

“Hm.” He hummed again, eyes lazy and a piece of his white hair falling to his nose.

“Cheating already!”

A flimsy storage cover sliced through her vision and thudded against the dash as if a door had slid shut between them.  

“Cor—!!”

“VIGILANCE!!” Coran hushed her, glaring as he struggled to jam the lightweight material onto the controls to separate them.

“Th—”

“Allura, this is part of the deal!” He hurried. A tear ripped through the air as Coran stretched out a roll of sealant adhesive, hands stretching wide from the ceiling to the floor. “I’m already making a big sacrifice! If Alfor were here it would be a different story, but seeing as the Alliance is more important I see the Prince’s point.”

She looked to Lotor but only saw cheap metal. Right. Obviously.

“So as long as you two play the part and honor Altea, you’ll be back here in no time.” The adhesive ripped again. He wrapped it frantically around the signal tower to anchor the impromptu screen.

“Wou—”

“Play the part!” He hissed, eyes wide. When she said nothing he continued. “Now, when you get there, stay on the ship. The boys will be by to take you inside the house and to your quarters, one at a time, where you will stay, by yourselves, for six quintets!”

Six!

He’d done it!!

“Stop smiling!” Coran pointed.

She covered her mouth. She hadn’t even known she had.

“No funny business! It’s Vigilance we’re talking about and trust me, I have the spirit of a wozzlefig hen! I’ll know when my figs are fleeing their nest! ...so to speak.”

Allura sunk in her chair, leaning backward on the dash to glare at Coran properly.

She wondered if Lotor was even listening.

She hoped he wasn’t.

“Now.” Coran finally settled, shoulders and mustache lowering. “Have a good time, Princess—Empress! Ancients, that will take getting used to!”

She shook her head. Mouthing ‘Don’t’ to her flight master with a smile and leaning forward.

He met her, arms stretching past the chair for a hug.

“Have a good time Princess. I’ll talk to you soon.” He said gently into her hair.

She held him maybe a bit longer then she should, sure to whisper a very soft, “Thank you, Coran.” They broke apart shortly after, both aware if there was a repeat of yesterday they might start crying all over again.

“Right-O!” He huffed, turning.

His eyes slid to the left and he leaned in enough that she couldn’t actually see him.

“None of this Dethok An-ing, got it!? I’ll be waiting for your call as well Emperor!”

Allura slid in her seat, hands pulling at her hair.

“Good! Now have a good QUIET time!” He hurried.

It didn’t take him long to appear through the viewport, standing with the others.

She waved as they all did, sighing heavily as she leaned close. 

It was almost… well, it would be the first time she’d leave them. Wouldn’t it? They had hardly spent any time away from each other since… since she’d woke up even. She wasn’t sure their rendezvous with the wormhole really counted.

Actually, yes, barring life-threatening situations where ‘alone time’ wasn’t really a priority, this would be the first time they’d be apart.

Her teeth caught her lip, eyes blinking. 

She waved harder, even as she felt the shuttle’s lift retract and the engine below them whir.

Lights flickered across her half of the terminal to indicate the bay doors opening.

She looked up to see the metal retract in front of them, to see stars blink into view.

A pinging sounded to her right, and a screen popped open from the notifications on the terminal's screen.

|.938Pilot.R6r.: Launching Status: 1.
>Ready?

Allura shivered. Just a single word through the silence. But she could practically hear his voice in her head say it. Asking. Ready?

She glanced warily at the taped up metal between them, just for a moment, before turning back to the screen and sliding her fingers across the holo.

|.232Pilot.R7r.: >Yes.

Stars.

After the initial varga of nervous shifting and glancing at the barrier between her and her co-pilot, the journey just got…

Boring.

More or less, anyway. Maybe it was the silence but every noise seemed so accentuated but so intermittent that it practically marked each passing tick. 

The planet Lotor had routed wasn’t actually that far. In fact, the distance scale was on her side of the viewport terminal, so if she wasn’t already counting the clock... She was definitely counting every meter.

There was also… 

“Hn…” The metal sighed beside her, long and lengthy. A shuffle of boots scraped the floor. A stretch maybe, of the length of him pulling at muscles. Slouching? Allura sunk in her seat, head heavy in her palm as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to imagine Lotor with his legs stretched as far as they could go, yawning wide enough to bare fangs or dragging his claws through his hair— oh.

There was also that.

It was definitely the silence. 

Each noise seemed so completely pronounced, it was almost excruciatingly loud even when it was the barest sigh or shift.

It also made everything sound…

Crass.

Allura flushed, staring at her lap.

Vigilance hadn’t actually made her ‘heart grow fonder,’ as Shiro had put it. Instead, it had just made her appreciate the conversation she had taken for granted. 

In fact, she regretted not talking to Lotor as much as she could have. She’d willingly ask him the most embarrassing things so long as she didn’t have to listen to his every other exhale. She’d ask him what he thought of her ceremony dress, or if he’d minded holding her hand—or fizzlewig! She’d ask him what he wore to bed, or what he liked in a mate, or how many lovers—

“Agh-Ahem!” She coughed, ears ringing, hands hot as they leaned forward to grip the dash.

Okay, maybe not that.

Her legs slid beneath her and her head fell to the terminal with a thunk that was entirely too loud. She sighed. It was also too loud. 

Silence.

She stared listlessly at the endless space in front of them, not much for scenery aside from a few nebulous clouds of viridian and ochre, shifting and rolling. The ghostly echoes of far-gone comets or stars.

When a shape of red and white broke the image, she thought she was about to see one. 

The Red Lion bobbed, dipping back out of view.

Keith and Lance.

She sat further into the dash, sliding her elbows under her head to catch the Lion once more, it’s metal muzzle peeking every now and then in the corner of the viewport.

Surely the boys weren’t riding in silence too?

Allura grabbed the comm device off the terminal, snapping the earpiece off the side and hooking it on.

The frequency cackled after a tick, and she breathed, before pausing.

She couldn’t exactly talk, could she? Lotor would still hear her. And that would still count.

Allura glared at nothing, head dropping back down to her arms in defeat.

“W-what are you even talking about?”

“Come ON! You know what I’m talking about. The fur!”

She froze, listening as the line burst into static and then voices. She’d opened the connection after all and Lance must’ve had the channel open. Whoops!

“H—”

Nope.

Her mouth shut. 

Well, she should turn it off. This was eavesdropping.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You’re Galra!”

“Yeah, like—a little!”

“Exactly! So do you have any?”

“No, I don’t have any fur!!” Keith snapped.

Allura tried not to smile.

“Besides. Not all Galra have fur.” 

Lance had nothing to say about that.

That was true enough. She’d seen that plenty of Galra had smooth, almost hairless complexions in comparison to others.

Lotor didn’t have any fur.

That she could see.

“Yeah… okay. I guess you’re right. See? You know what you’re talking about!”

“Ugh.”

“Alright, so what about claws? You got any claws?”

“Lance!”

“You have claws.”

“No! I don’t!” There was a pause. “Obviously!” Allura imagined Keith waving his hands at the fellow paladin.

“Well, some of them do, right?”

“No!”

“Lotor has claws.”

Allura looked at the wall to her left. Her heartbeat thudded and her throat tightened.

“No, he—I mean, he just—”

“Yes, he does! I would know! I held his hands for hours, remember?”

“Lance it doesn’t work like that.”

“They’re huge.”

“It doesn’t work that way!”

“What?”

“They—they’re not like the fur thing.” Keith struggled. Allura frowned. “Every Galra has claws. They’re just...retractable. It’s situational.”

“Whoa, what?”

Whoa, was an apt response. Allura stiffened completely, unable to stop herself from staring directly at the screen separating her and the Galra man beside her.

“Most of the time it’s self-defense. Or, I don’t know. Excitement. It’s—”

“It’s like a cat!”

“It’s not like a cat.”

“It’s a cat thing. Cats do that.”

Self-defense?

Allura’s heart seemed to be at a terrible pace, skipping beats and making her chest feel funny, as she seemed to speed through her memories.

Had she ever seen Lotor… without them? Without claws?

Had she?

And if she hadn’t (she hadn’t) — what did that mean!?

Self-defense!!

Her teeth chewed harshly on her lip.

Excitement?

She shivered intensely, forcing herself to look away to stare at the nothingness before them.

Stars!

“Come on, pull ‘em out!”

“I told you, I don’t have them!”

“Maybe you haven’t tried! Maybe you aren’t excited enough!”

“Lance!”

“What if I fly us toward a meteor, will they pop out cause you’re scared?”

“LANCE!”

Allura snapped the comm off, cringing.

Well, that turned out to be a terrible idea.

She replaced the earpiece with a sigh.

She was worse off now than when she’d started.

But at least Vigilance saved her from having to talk to Lotor after hearing… that gratuitous, information. Her head sunk into her hand once more, fingers pulling at her hair to expend the vibrating awkwardness firing from all her nerves. 

Maybe this was all for the best.

The landing woke her up. 

“Oh!”

She had to shake her head from sleep, sound and sight rushing back in intense snapshots. Her eyes blinked harshly.

“Oh.”

Green and Gold.

It was sunlight and grass. Stone and forest.

The viewport was full of it. A broad expanse of land, earth, and life rolling out in front of them.

It was surprising. She had to stand up and lean past the terminal just to take it all in.

Maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising, but under the specific details of Dethok An, she was almost expecting a planet chalk full of caverns and wildlife. Or perhaps at least a Galra-like territory with Empire architecture that had facilities and fighting arenas. Not something so… rural.

There was a building, up the plateau of their docking strip. Past the stationed Red Lion, Allura could make out the domed top of a structure shining in the midday.

There were flowers too. Far off. Dots of white and blue, dancing in the wind.

A shift in the sun’s glare caught her eye.

Lotor.

His reflection.

Lotor sat at the edge of his chair, cheek on his fist. He looked relaxed. Rested. His hair was pulled over his shoulder. It exposed his neck, profiled him, actually, since he was staring at his right. 

At— Oh.

“Allura, are you there?”

She jerked violently away. 

Lance. That was Lance. 

"Princess?"

She turned and reached for the comm. 

“They can’t talk, dummy.”

“Hey!”

Oh, right.

“We’re headed over, hang tight.”  

The shuttle’s terminal chirped, followed by the rumbling of metal beneath her.

When she turned to look backward she watched the ramp lower, sunlight pouring in. A miniature sunrise of shadows crossed the floors.  

It was beautiful.

She breathed in the fresh air as it curled inside, thick and full. A welcome change from the crisp, too-clean feeling of artificial oxygen pumps.

“Allura, Lotor.”

The boys climbed up, Keith looking serious and Lance waving.

Keith motioned gently, “Lotor, if you—”

The boy’s hand fell. Allura watched the two look quietly away from her. 

She followed their gaze but saw nothing.

“Oh. Okay.” Keith nodded.

“Cool, us first!” Lance exclaimed, hurrying passed the dejected looking Blade. “Come on Princess!’

Allura pointed to her bags, shaking her head. 

“Oh right, gotcha, I got it— your Knight's got you covered!”

Her Knight struggled a bit more than Hunk had with the two chests, but he kept his enthusiastic smile, leading with heavy stomps down the ramp. 

Allura made it off the shuttle without the innate temptation to look back.

At least, most of the way.

She risked a quick peek before she could think twice, but found it useless anyway, the Pilot’s chair blocking most of Lotor aside from a dash of white.

The planet, however, spoiled her.

“This is incredible.” She breathed. It was almost strange to hear her voice again, suddenly cognizant of how it sounded.

“It’s not too shabby! Kinda looks like a place we’ve been to before, right?” Lance slowed, coming to her side. They eyed the area together, heads swiveling about.

“I never expected such a planet to be under Galra rule.”

“I wonder if there are even any beasts here for you guys. It’s so quiet.” Lance wore a sloppy frown. “There’s supposed to be beasts, right?”

“Hm?—Mhmmm! Hmm—” Was all she could manage as her hands fisted and she cast her eyes to the sky.

When they crested the docking strip they nearly froze.

“Quiznak.”

Allura only nodded absently.

She’d have to tell Hunk that if Mansion implied Palace, he was right on the mark.

“Avoiding each other should be easy as pie, right?”

“Yes, getting lost seems much more likely…”

They continued at a steadier pace, eyes eventually having to look up as they neared the entrance.

The walls were pillared around the entire facade, like a pagoda, or a rotunda. It reminded Allura of the Round on Altea. It certainly didn’t look Galra. It was too bright. Too curved. And too open. Not at all their militaristic or technical style.

“This place would be great if it had a pool.”

“How are we supposed to open the doors?”

“Huh? Uhhh…”

They could only stare at the clean polish of the stone looking entry.

“There’s not even handles.”

“Is there a hand pad?”

“Uhhh…” Lance shifted the chests in his hands awkwardly, so she stepped forward instead, palm pressing on the flat surface and sliding across the front.

A light erupted under an area she passed, teal burned up to the edges and outlined the frame before it slid open.

“Okay, pretty cool, pretty cool, pretty cool, I’ll give the Prince some credit.”

Allura gave Lance a listless expression.

“What?”

“Come on.”

Their shoes made soft clacks on the floors, the glass-like texture of the opaque stone echoing further inside. They were shiny too, reflecting the shafts of sunlight streaming in from the open ceiling in such illumination it almost looked like a plane of energy.

It had them looking up again, walking blindly forward.

“Geez. I’m starting to get jealous.”

Allura smiled.

“This place had to be… some sort of court. Or maybe capitol?”

“Or a rich dude’s summer home.”

“It has columns like the noble residences on Altea.”

“Or a museum with a bunch of paintings of old guys and naked ladies.”

Allura huffed, rolling her eyes.

As they neared the center, they had to come to a standstill, the walls bisecting into two long hallways and a few sets of doors.

“Uh.”

“Hm.”

They turned about each other, blinking at the vases of plants or the open slots of framed windows, exposing them to more views of the land outside.

No signs though.

“Go to the far right!!”

Turning around they saw Keith wave at them, nothing more than a dark silhouette at the entrance, as far back as he was from them. Incredible, she hadn’t realized how large the entryway had been. The place was enormous.

“Which right!?” Lance yelled back.

A taller, broader shadow sliced the sun, moving silently. Allura swallowed.

Keith turned back. “The farthest right!! Then all the way down!! Then right again!!”

“OKAY!!”

Their destination was actually pretty far. Enough that after a while Allura pulled one of the chests from Lance’s arms. They had a faster pace then or would have if they didn’t slow or stop to take in sights of the entire place. 

Most of the palace had an open atmosphere. If the endless windows and rafting of the ceiling weren’t enough, bigger rooms like the dining and lounge areas were just large alcoves, branched off from hallways.

Definitely not Galra.

The teal interface of the homestead followed them, turning on screens or snapping lights on and off as they passed. 

Eventually, they came to her quarters, or what they guessed was. It was much the same, maybe a little more secluded from the world outside, with shaded viewports.

They abandoned the chests by a seating area almost immediately to traipse around the furniture and explore.

“Closet!”

“Here too!” She confirmed, closing the door and hearing another shut behind her. “Did you see the holo-table?”

“Forget the holo-table, check out this cool secret porch!”

“Porch?” The word felt funny to repeat.

She found Lance outside, a sliding wall revealing a large stone veranda.

“Oh!!”

“Right!?”

She laughed, joining him further out before they both turned back to look at the palace behind them.

“Crazy.”

“I wonder though,” Allura shook her head.

“What?”

“A place this… immoderate.” She tried to describe the extravagance humbly. “So open.”

“Yeah?” Lance’s shoulders rose, arms crossed, clearly not catching on.

“It’s so empty, isn’t it?” She pointed out. “What’s to stop anyone from simply… walking right in?”

Lance still looked confused. “You mean after the army of drones?”

“What?”

“That gridlock.” He nodded. “...above the atmosphere? Those armed satellite floaty things?”

It was Allura’s turn to look confused. “I’m afraid I fell asleep.”

“Oh. Yeah, there’s like — a whole shield surrounding this place with their connected signals. We had to ask Lotor to open a relay in order to get inside.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, if you’re worried I dunno that you should be.”

They looked up as if they would be able to see those defenses past the clouds.

“There you guys are.”

“Hey, Keith!”

Allura waved.  The Blade smiled at her but frowned at Lance.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“We gotta go.”

“What!? Already!” Lance’s arms immediately went up, fingers splayed. “Are you kidding? We just got here!”

“Lotor said—”

“Keith have you seen this place!?”

Keith didn’t say anything, he just glared straight ahead even as Lance pointed all around him.

“It has secret doors and a bunch of giant screens for movies or games, and probably space fireplaces or a pool—”

“This isn’t a vacation.”

Allura perked but then frowned.

Keith was right.

“He’s right.” Allura sighed and Lance immediately deflated as she continued. “Not only is this a requirement for our political stations, but it’s also about what the galaxy perceives as a successful marriage.”

Keith nodded. “If word gets out that the Emperor’s Oathsguard accompanied the new blood union to their Dethok An they would get really suspicious. Especially since the ceremony was broadcasted to every occupied world in Empire rule.”

Allura’s eyes narrowed, but there was a gentle smile on her lips.

The statement sounded suspiciously like the Galra prince. She could almost imagine him there, informing the boy’s gently with his low voice. Patient but authoritative.

Funny she could tell.

“You know what, whatever.” Lance shrugged. “This place is wasted on uptight busybodies like you guys.”

Allura and Keith shared a dubious look that seemed to agree with each other before turning their ire on the paladin.

“Allura, enjoy your crazy Carnival Cruise of a mansion.” Lance’s fingers wiggled in front of him at the building. “And you know, your six days of spa and silence.”

“Lance,” She scolded.

His frustration softened. She was almost surprised with how quickly, too. But maybe he had been knowingly teasing all along.

He smiled, eyes going a bit lazy. “Have a good time, okay?”

“I’m here to get work done.”

“Yeah, yeah.” His arms stretched a little, almost tentatively.

Allura smiled then, coming forward to hug him.

It was quiet. The heat had made his paladin armor sunkissed and warm.

“Thank you so much, Lance, for everything.” She looked up at the sky as she said it, but his arms squeezed a little.

“Hey, what’s a Knight for?” He chuckled, then trailed. “...aside from holding hands with people, I guess.”

Allura laughed, pulling back to catch her mouth as she did.

“I’ll see you soon.” She promised.

“Yeah.” Lance nodded, looking only a little sad, brows drawn. But he let her go, pulling back to head inside. He patted Keith’s shoulder. “Come on, man, long way back and I’m flying.”

“You go ahead.”

They were both surprised at that but Keith’s serious expression was never one to question.

Lance gave a final shrug, before leaving.

He took all his cozy comfort with him.

Allura eyed the Blade as he watched the paladin go until he disappeared. She waited patiently, not feeling any less uneasy.

“Is… everything alright, Keith?”

He shifted, standing straighter.

“Yes. Uh—” He coughed into his hand and narrowed his eyes. Concentrating. “Lotor told me to tell you some things.”

Her eyes widened. A cold breeze threaded through her hair to chill her neck.

“Oh. He did?”  Her voice was small.

Stars this whole tradition made for the strangest circumstances. She never thought one of her own world’s traditions would feel so nerve-wracking.

“Yeah, uhm.” His arm swept out almost grandly. “The grounds are, uh, free reign for you.”

After a pause she blinked.

He stared. 

"Is that al—"

“No, sorry. He also said that the opposite side, you know, the far left? That's his quarters. So maybe not there. To explore I mean.”

“I see.”

“And there’s a center. The kitchens, dining, and the big meeting room, that’s all shared. And the garden and library.”

This place was unbelievable.

“I understand.”

“And he said the interface is unlocked for you.”

“Alright.”

“And uh, there’s only one sentry, for meals.”

Keith went quiet.

Allura clasped her hands together and waited.

His arm rose to scratch his neck.

“Is that all?”

“Yeah.”

That wasn't so bad. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting. She almost sighed out loud with relief. Instead, she just smiled, hand reaching out to Keith’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Keith, for everything. Not just for me, but what you’ve done for Prince Lotor as well.”

“Emperor.”

Right.

“Yes.”

Allura’s eyes darted to the hand by his neck, the slash across his palm peeking through his black locks.

“Thank you, from both of us, I suppose.”

He was looking at the stone and grass beneath them. He didn’t reply.

Allura frowned.

“Keith?”

His hand dropped. And when his eyes came back to her it was hard and determined. Not unlike the same one Shiro usually sported. Allura was reminded immediately of Keith’s status as a black paladin.

“I just wanted to thank you, Empress.”

Allura felt like she stepped outside of herself at hearing the title. She couldn’t even respond.

“Doing what you did…” He trailed, faltering only for a moment. “Honestly, I never thought you would ever do something like this.”

“What do you mean?” She sounds further away then he does. Quieter.

“Marry a Galra.”

The silence between them stretches.

“I know it’s for peace but even then, peace with the Galra, I just. I appreciate it.”

Her mouth parted, unable to process the tender look in Keith’s eyes.

“This probably sounds stupid. I just wanted to tell you, I think—I think its…”

He shifts, turning, thinking, obviously. She catches his flush and wonders if he’s run out of steam.

“I think it's great.” He ends lamely.

But it’s honest. And it means so much.

Allura hugs him, sliding her arms around his own Galra armor and pulling him close.

His hands hover for a few seconds before gently returning the gesture.

“Thank you, Keith.”

“Of course.” He says automatically. “I… I talked to Lotor too.”

Allura feels her heart thud heavily in her chest and she wonders if the boy can feel it.

She would have loved to have seen that. It warms her for a reason she can’t seem to place.

“And if… if you’re worried I wouldn't be, Lotor, he,” Keith hesitates. “I know he would let anything ever happen to you.”

Her fingers curl on his shoulders.

“I trust him.” He affirms.

She pulls away and they share an understanding through their smiles. 

“I trust him too."

Chapter Text

They lasted three quintents.  

Well, that wasn’t technically true. And it wasn’t intentional! That should count for something, shouldn’t it? That it had been an accident?

And it started off well enough.

After the boys left, Allura had slept off the jet-lag, awakening in the grand quarters of the decadent residence and starting the first quintent of Vigilance feeling motivated. Responsible. Thankful even, for the quiet of the home and the absolute absence of any interruptions. It was the perfect circumstance to make up for the lost time and attention that the political work needed and the wedding had stolen.

She’d maintained that spunk even after she got lost.

Which was inevitable, let’s face it.

The estate was massive. Maybe not on the scale of the palace on Altea where she’d grown up—but enough for her to lose track of which hallway was which, especially since most of them were pretty similarly decorated. Wide open windows to rolling green hills, long marble-like pillars and shadows of ceiling rafters that created a sort of illusionary effect down the length of luminescent flooring.

It was maybe a varga of wandering around looking for her quarters before she gave up in the library.

It was a fine enough distraction, successfully so. Not only because the shelves had been lined with endless archives (mostly Galra, sadly. Though a few from Coalition planets too, and numerous others she simply didn't recognize.) But it also had comfortable enough seating on the floor to curl up nice and cozy and… write Alliance accords.

Not exactly the most invigorating activity, no, but distracting. 

She was able to find the kitchen from the library, and with a set-up conveniently and oddly similar to the Castle’s, Allura took most of her meals there, typing out all her drafts through her wrist interface.

Which also, conveniently and oddly, seemed to sync up to the estate’s system too, when she finally tried it.

Allura spent a good amount of time experimenting with the programming, tossing her windows onto the large screens on the wall as she ate dinner. She even took a check-up call with Coran there. 

And she was proud too, for getting almost a whole score of planetary specific terms and conditions done.

She wasn’t proud of falling asleep on the desk.

Nor was she proud of spying on Lotor that morning, as she stole across like some sort of vagrant, looking for her quarters. 

Spying wasn’t the right word.

Looking, maybe. And it wasn’t intentional either. Accidental.

But the house was simply so open. She could see other parts of the architecture through the large viewports; could see through one hallway, past the courtyard to another hallway or alcove.

So she saw him that morning, through the bright amaranth pink of the rising sun, looking tall and.. Casual.

She’d never seen him so… casual.

Maybe more undressed. She had measured his body when it was only covered by a measly flight suit. But this time he looked like he was dressed in a neat high collared tunic and pants, pacing back and forth in soft boots.

Pacing. Talking.

Swinging a sword.

That was casual for a Galra, wasn’t it?

He was talking to a screen, where a figure seemed to be moving and responding back, but it was nothing but a swish-swash of colors in the distance, shadows from the sky making everything a strange glare of light and mirrors.

But she could make out his actions. Slow, practiced steps to a slow practiced cadence, swinging a blade absentmindedly. He’d stop every now and then, let the weapon drop and nod at the floor.

Allura had been frozen to the spot, watching quietly.

It was endearing.

Different, of course. And almost… insightful. Was this Lotor without pretense? She couldn’t make out his expression at all, but she could see the ease in his spine. the weight of his shoulders; dropped and lazy. And while he still looked quite regal in his privacy—

Privacy.

Allura escaped the hall with cheeks as pink as the dawn light.

“Vigilance.”

She actually whispered it to herself.

Most of the morning was spent in the cold of the water, bare and shivering as she punished herself for the broken rules and for falling asleep in the library.

But then she had discovered a steam generator and found fake excuses to reward herself with it. The washrooms were large and seemed to cater to any sort of whim, with aroma simulators and a row of various scent tabs. Even one that smelled suspiciously like tasselterrys (Maybe not so suspicious now considering the ‘sculpture’ she found in the washroom, but still.)

And after a late lunch, Allura finds herself in the library again, this time making calls of her own to various ambassadors. Drawing up another batch of Coalition requisitions.

She takes a break with Hunk.

“I TOLD you it was gonna be a mansion!”

Allura grinned, propping her elbows on the small table and drawing her knees under her. 

“Man, I’m so jealous! We’re stuck here doing work!”

“Hunk, don’t be silly, I’m also stuck doing work!”

“In a mansion!” He pointed a metal tool at her, looking up from the small drone in his hands. “Sorry Princess, that wins out.”

“How romantic !”

“Is that Allura?”

The voices confuse her at first before Hunk turns the signal for the comm and Allura watches Pidge and Morga enter the paladin’s workspace.

“Pidge!” Allura waves, “And Morga too—are you all working on the tracking signal?”

“Yep!” Pidge dumps a ton of contraptions onto the work desk, but Morga bypasses the thing altogether to come close, crowding Hunk to smile directly into the camera. “We’re trying to create a whole circuit system that should cover most of the Empire’s territory. Not just for Haggar’s ships, but for Sendak’s crazy crew too—”

“T-that’s great Pidge!” Allura smiled at Morga’s large yellow eyes and grinning teeth. “Hello, Morga.”

“Thank you so much for inviting me to your blood oath and burning, Empress.” Morga smiled wide. “It was magnificent.”

“Oh, well, how could we not Morga, after everything—”

Morga’s arm shoots out far and Hunk has to duck under her, pressing himself flat to the work table.

“And Vrepit Sa! To our blood Emperor! I was so happy to see Tuflak pledge himself to Lotor. And even happier to do the same!”

“T-thank you.”

“That whole thing was terrifying.” Hunk commented, fiddling with a wire as he recounted the event with his eyes on the ceiling. “All the blades and blood, yeesh—”

If Morga’s offended, she just laughs. Her teeth take up most of the camera.

“It is the way of things!”

Hunk shrugs. “I mean, yeah, congratulations to Lotor, but still,”

“And the Altean!” Morga states again, and Allura shrinks as she seems to have the woman’s attention back. “It was strange but fascinating! The flowers and walking! So slow and medical!”

Allura frowned. Medical seems a strange term for her culture but—well, her gaze slid away and she poked at her own cheek a bit self consciously.

“I suppose we Alteans do take things a bit meticulously.”

“I long for hair or fur like that of Lotor’s so I might replicate this act of beading.” Morga continues, her large hands motioning to the fins behind her head in a tying motion.

“O-oh! The Siciri beads? Yes, they are to count lessons learned.”

“A mark of intelligence! I love it!”

Allura laughed at the vigor.

“Thank you! At least it was entertaining if a little bit of a slow pro—”

When she looked back, Morga and the others had gone silent, staring at the screen.

“What?”

But she could already hear a beeping on their side of the frequency.

“Gotta go, Princess- Lotor’s sending in a transmission.” Hunk waved.

“O-Oh—” Allura stiffened. “I-is he? Well, he’s—”

“An honor Empress!”

“See ya, Allura!”

The signal goes cold and the screen fizzles away to the empty library.

Allura glares at nothing, feeling heated but also stupid.

“Vigilance.” She says to no one, this time more of an accusation than a reminder.

She abandons the library after that, almost trying to get purposefully lost this time.

Her frustration is spent when she finds the gardens.

You can’t be angry in gardens like the ones here. It’s impossible.

And even though they aren’t large, they’re beautiful.

The rafters in the ceilings eventually gap so much that there isn’t even a ceiling anymore, or walls, just transparent panes of energy housing an indoor-outdoor arboretum of flowers lining rows of stone walkways.

And while Allura mourns the lack of trees, the variations of fauna more than make up for the loss. Much of which is too foreign for her to name. Pinks, blues, whites, bright yellows, and greens.

Allura clips them, a little sneakily. Her eyes dart about her as she snaps stems of flowers to collect for the nightstand by her bedside.

She does recognize some though.

The persil-berries.

The beddings encasing the blossoms look a bit bereft. Emptied. And Allura has to wonder if this is where Lotor had found them.

This.

Wherever this was.

She finds other things too. Pieces of art on the walls or sculptures on alcove shelves. Little things she picks up and flashes in the light. Objects and things that simply look… too familiar.

She steals them too, in the quiet of the house, hiding them in her skirts to take back to her quarters (which takes another varga to find again, so she tags walls with loose petals just to add signs to the damn place)

The second quintent ends in her own bed this time.

Still just as late though, sending missives to ambassadors, attaching her newly drafted suggestions of compromises for each, and requests to Coran.

It’s frustrating too, writing out, “ please send this forward to the Emperor with a request for approval, ” every time, but it’s enough to satisfy her productivity.

And the flowers add a realness to the fragrance from her bath

And the bed is actually, gloriously comfortable.

It’s the third quintent that everything sort of falls apart.

The third night actually.

But it starts before dinner, in the library.

On the comm with Coran.

“SO! As it was told to me,” he inhaled.

Allura braced herself, sinking low against the alcove cushions.

Shiro’s eyes darted from the flightmaster beside him to Allura, then back again, looking panicked.

“Shiro tells me, that Pidge told him, that Kolivan told her, that Prince Lotor says he’s spoken to the the Talfecta quadrant about section 23.5, 1,”

Allura scrambled, her wrist flicking up the named document and racing down the page.
“W-Wait,”

“That according to the Galra state of things the planet named Talfecta, after the original Talfecta quadrant, holds no preoccupied soldiers so there shouldn’t be any issue with reclamation.”

Her eyes speeding through the screen beside Coran falter, she turns back to glare at him.

“Coran, no—”

“So I relayed my thanks to Shiro, to tell Pidge, to tell—”

“Coran! It’s planet Talfax!”

He stopped, smile falling. Shiro’s eyes slide away, face grimacing.

“What?”

Allura glared. “Not the Talfecta planet in the Talfecta system—planet Talfax in the Talfecta system,”

Coran deflated, looking at Shiro, who shakes his head wildly.

“Coran we talked about this a quintent ago!”

“Well, I’m sure the Prince meant Talfax—”

“Then why does the minister report—” She has to pull up a third screen to find the missive of notes from the previous meeting, but she does it. If just to rub it in Coran’s face. “—over a dozen Galra outposts and enough soldiers to ensure the blockade against the system’s mineral trade to the nearby—”

“Alright, alright, wrong planet!” Coran waves his hand hard enough that his frequency flickers. “Shiro! Why didn’t you—”

“Hey, I’ve been delivering each jump drive you give me—”

“You’re supposed to be giving them to Kolivan, not to Pidge—”

“She was headed over to the Capitol when I ran into her so I figured—”

Allura buried her head in her hands, palms pressing into her eyes.

“Look, guys,” Shiro’s voice leveled out into the familiar tone of a paladin leader. “...Coran.”

Allura appreciated the specification but looked up at the screen anyway.

“I understand the need for a middleman, believe me, but, I’m not exactly well versed in politics. I may have to bow out of this one.”

“Shiro, all we need—”

His hands rose and he shook his head quickly. “I’m not kidding, I’m no good at this.”

“Shiro!”

“Coran,” Allura said. Her voice clipped through the screen to emphasize in the empty alcove around her. “He’s right.”

Coran frowned enough that she could see his brows knit together.

“And I know that you already have enough on your plate doing all the requested revisions for each agreement, let alone taking in the requests for appointments,” She sighed, “I don’t want to add any more tasks to your responsibility, so…” She trailed, looking away, innocently—no, innocuously, “If maybe, I just,—”

“Absolutely not! You cannot pull a fast one on this Gellygundark, Princess—”

Allura’s fist slammed down on the alcoves shelving, making the tablets of agreements beside her jump. A few ten thousand meters away, Shiro jumped too.

“It’s not an excuse! Coran! If I could just meet with him about the details. The requisitions even!”

“Ohohohoho—requisitions!!” He accused, finger swirling toward the signal’s camera and shadowing him and Shiro out completely. “You don’t fool ol’ Coran!”

“UGH!” She was practically growling, leaning forward to show the man her ire up close. “Coran, be reasonable, none of this is working! How are we supposed to lay down the foundation if we can’t even get the right requests to the right planets!”

“It’s only the 3rd quintent and you’re already resorting to excuses for treaties! You’re worse than your great aunt Cassia!”

Her hand went to her hair, pulling it out wide in disbelief. Treaties! Treaties were excuses now!

“Coran!! It’s not even a real marriage! I’m not some—some—” She shook her head, staring up at the ceiling and laughing, a tad hysterically. “S-some—lovesick little girl with dreams to go—to go—traipsing around—with—”

She was losing her train of thought. The image of traipsing around the flowers in the gardens, hand in hand with the Prince had muddled her point. She blinked distantly.

“Maybe you both need to consider that real or not,  this is still happening,” Shiro said. 

This is still happening. Allura had to repeat the words to realize he didn’t mean her imagined, ridiculous frolick.

“What?”

Coran is eyeing him too, and Shiro crosses his arms under their attention.

“I’m sure the rest of the Coalition can wait. It’s been ten thousand years of war. They can wait a few more days for peace.”

“But—” She starts, Shiro turns to the signal with a slow shake of his head.

“Princess, just consider it, okay? I can run it by the Prince too if you like.”

Allura sinks. Her eyes roam the room around her.

The sun is slowly winking out of the viewports, and the wind is dying down too. It paints a pink into the sky, a bit more than a normal atmosphere does. That bright, cold amaranth color that seems to seep into everything.

She sighs.

“Alright, I… suppose that putting the talks on hold—”

“I’ll let the Prince know,” Shiro hurried. When she glared, he just gave her a sheepish smile.

“Look at it this way, Princess,” Coran smirked wide, hand grooming the edge of his mustache with a smug flair of pride, “This way there isn’t even a lick of temptation.”

Her face fell.

“Right.”

“Now that that’s settled, I have to check in with Pidge. She might have a lead on a signal.”

“Thank you for everything Shiro,” Allura waved. He waved too, stepping away from the terminals.

Coran leaned in close, finger hovering over the interface. “I’ll still call in tomorrow, shall I?” He asked. Allura shot forward.

“Wait, Coran, I need your eyes on something.”

“My eyes?” He blinked rapidly as if to ready them.

She waved her hand over the extra screens, fizzling out the documents to better see the small alcove table before her. She picked up the heaviest one first, shifting the chrome lever in her hand awkwardly to angle it at the signal.

“Can you tell me what you make of this Coran?”

There’s a bit of a struggle for her to get the entire thing in view and for Coran to see, but eventually, his nose and eyes block out everything else as he leans in close to inspect it.

“By Ancients, I might be a relic in so many words, but that is a relic relic.”

She perked, tilting the lever in the air. “But, it’s Altean? Isn’t it?”

“Ancient Altean, but yes, Altean in… some ways—” He pulls back, shoulders dropping in thought, “It’s a Xiodephino prong!”

“A—what?” Allura gives him a dubious brow.

“Way back in the frontier days of our people making wormholes out to different sectors, they used the prongs to test the atmosphere for breathable surfaces!” He informed. “Quite outdated, as you can imagine.”

“Why would one be…” Allura trailed, eyeing the room around her and the pink skies again. “Here?”

“Where did you find it?”

“It was a centerpiece in the washrooms.”

“A what?”

“What about this,” She continues, dropping the lever with a loud thud to the floor beside her and lifting up another object she had found in the shelves.

She stretches it out, a fin of metal unfurling like a solid fan between spokes.

“That’s the shingle off a Hastion ship!”

“Hastion—that's a few generations back.”  She confirms, flipping the shingle over in her hands.

“More than that, Princess, I don't think I’ve ever seen one at all, let alone in use! We don’t even use shingles anymore now that engines are housed in the interior.”

Definitely Altean though. That meant that the other ones… She dropped the fin and reached for the others, picking up a clinking set of glass-like-tassels she’d found and a clunky block of white marble.

“This really must be old tremor readers then.” She chimed the tassels. “And this—”

“An Altean pill codex!” Coran practically climbed the terminal.

“There’s a whole shelf of these in here.” She explained. “Didn’t father have a bunch?”

“They're filing logs before they became too bulky to carry around we starting using plates and then sticks. Now it's clips.”

Allura thought of her own clips, stacked full of video logs and missives she’d saved over the years. The comparison was laughable.

“How… vintage.”

“Now, now, no need to go squinting your nose at history!”

“But, Coran,” She urged, once again lifting the objects in an awkward bushel in her arms. “Why are they here ?”

He frowned.

“I suppose that depends on where you are Princess.”

Her arms dropped.

“We Alteans traveled great distances even in our youngest years of space faring. We were explorers and discoverers. Perhaps that planet was one we visited long ago.”

“But Altea…” Allura trailed, she felt her chest constrict, fingers curling around the objects and drawing them into herself as if she could gather them up in her protection.

Coran gave a very small, very sad smile.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes. And with Altea gone, things that traveled out to the far corners of space long before it was destroyed might be the only things left of it now.”

Allura looked down at them.

“I would think it a happy blessing you found anything from home at all.”

Allura considered him, and then considered the house once more, with a quieter sense of reverie.

“Yes.”

She spent sunset walking back through the halls.

Slower this time.

Her hand stretched out to feel the smoothness of the walls, to the curved edges, to the catches of her skin on grooves where the windows began. The energy of the viewports and floors hummed beneath her fingertips and shoes. That same static hum of the Castle, efficient and timeless. Warm and clean.

It was so achingly familiar and yet so different.

Even the views of outside, the pillars surrounding the numerous verandas, the hilly terrain and vast skies. It was…

Dreamlike.

There were more little artifacts and pieces of history like those she’d shown Coran too. A tapestry by the entrance, one she hadn’t noticed when she’d first entered with Lance. A long, skinny pictorial weaved with Altean minerals, a glittering star chart of a sector she couldn’t name.

There was an empty cask of Altean Lucid ink among the tinctures and supplies of the empty meeting room. Long ago dried up, or thrown out, but still a tempting enough piece of evidence Allura wanted to steal and add to the growing pile. But at this point, she’d have to steal the whole house, wouldn’t she?.

So she left it there with the childhood memories of her father using the ink to paint alchemic plans while she sat on his lap.

She chased the last bit of daylight towards the kitchens.

She didn’t quite make it.

Rounding one corner to another, they broke the rules.

“A—”

“Oh!”

Allura’s hand rose, heat hitting her side and lilac blurring her vision.

Lotor.

She breathed in heat and shivered.

White strands fell from his forehead, slicing the gold of his eyes, splitting his surprise. He straightened, shifting backward from her.

Tall—so tall. She nearly forgot. Allura rose her hands to her chest, a small defense from his sudden presence.

“Sorry.” She said.

Said.

Lotor shook his head quickly, hand rising to press a soft finger to his lips.

“Right, sorry!” She said again, then cringed.

He laughed.

Allura glared, shoulders drawing up with pursed lips in protest at being made fun of.

“I’ll just,” She motioned, dipping her chin to hide her embarrassment.

His laugh died as he realized she meant to leave. He moved quickly for her, the same way she headed.

So he shifted the other direction. Just as she did.

Allura huffed out an awkward sigh, foot sliding on the floor past his boot just as he did the same.

“Princess, apologies—”

“I’m sorry, why don’t—”

“Allow me to—”

They stopped, stepping back to stare at each other.

This time, they both laughed. 

Allura hid hers behind her hand as he bowed almost wearily.

“We are seemingly caught at an impasse .” He joked. Punned, again, voice sweetly whispered, as if still aware of the rules.

“Quite literally, yes!”

He hummed, straightening, motioning to his side down the hall.

His arm was long and lean.

That’s right he was—

He had no armor on. 

Her eyes scaled him quickly at the realization, taking in the clean cut of the tabard he wore, dark navy and silver and creste—

His wedding tabard.

He was wearing his wedding tabard. Now.

Had been, she remembered, thinking of the other morning when she’d spied him. Allura looked away quickly, hiding her face in her hair but not missing his fallen expression at the reaction.

How—odd! How—

Romantic, Morga sighed dreamily in her mind.

Allura rolled her eyes at herself.

“I should… allow you the escape,” he said. Just as quiet.

She peeked at him from her lashes, watching the last of the sunshine out the viewports, amaranth blush on his lilac skin, almost pink-fleshed himself. Pastel and soft.  

“I’ll go… this way.” She suggested, finger pointing past him to the kitchens. She made her first steps, circling about his body slowly.

“And I shall…” He trailed, nodding the opposite direction.

“Mhmm.” Allura agreed, stepping backward now, hand trailing the wall beside her to keep her steady.

Lotor took one step away but stopped, smiling at her.

She smiled too, fingers rising to wave stupidly.

He caught her hand then, and Allura jumped in surprise at the sheer length of his reach. 

But he held her gaze as he pulled her arm near him and up, up, his height.

Claws curled delicately to round her knuckles to his face. His eyes closed as hers widened.

He kissed her hand.

Warm.

It was warm.

Wet, but only from the humid touch of his breath.

It was cold when he released her.

“Allura.” His arm swept before him.

He left.

Allura watched him go, white locks bristling on his navy tabard like brushes on ink. Like the Lucid ink spilling on paper.

That’s how it fell apart.

The exchange.

And then the missives.

Yes, the missives. At dinner, in the quiet of her embarrassment, in the quiet of the hot boil in between the spaces of her ribs and hips, and the tingle in her fingers, her wrist comm chimed.

And he messaged her.

—Allura
Please know the grounds are yours to explore at whatever time. The lapse of vigilance is mine to blame, forgive me.
—Lotor

She read it as she drank down her glass in one go, staring at it as if it might overwhelm her.

It did.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t! The words of apology for the offense were an offense themselves. It was almost funny. But it wasn't. And it did little to calm her nerves.

Or her heat.

And despite what he said she still hid away in her quarters immediately after, ignoring anymore work in the library and heeding Shiro’s advice for relaxation and vacations.

But no amount of flower arranging, interface browsing, or aroma simulation could calm her after the... incident. After the…

Kiss.

Her fingers pressed hard on her knuckles.

She paced the room, pulling on her hair, unable to keep herself from replaying the moment in her head over and over and over again.

The pink, the hooded look of his eyes, their soft closing, the split of his lips and the heat of his breath.

The way his hair fell from his shoulders as his lips met her hand.

“Vigilance!! Vigilance, vigilance, vigilance!” Her cries matched the rhythm of her shaking fists in the air.

But the heat only grew.

What was with being hot all the time? She had been hot since their arrival on the Galra flagship, and since then, since this entire mess—and now—what? Because Lotor was—

Handsome.

Allura dropped to the sheets of the bed with a thud, corners of the fabric lifted by her weight to waft quietly in the air.

She watched them fall, listless.

Her wrist chimed.

The screen flashed.

Her eyes traced the words almost distantly

—Allura
As forewarning, I will take my calls tomorrow in the conference room, but should you need the space, I shall abstain.
—Lotor

Stars, she could practically, hear him.

Lotor’s words were always so undeniably his. 

And this time it was painful.

Lips on her skin, hair past his shoulder, pink on his cheeks—

Her hands pressed into her face as she rolled into the sheets, feeling hot, hot, hot, and groaned.

She yelled into the sheets.  

“Vighalhansh!!”

It didn’t help. 

And honestly, why would it?  It wasn’t every day a man, a Prince even, handsome and looming, with a soft face and snowy hair, kissed her hand and oh—

Oh.

That was it, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t… Lotor specifically.

It was that well, she was…

Well, she was like any natural being, wasn't she? 

Married or not married, Vigilance or no Vigilance, Dethok An or no… well, actually that’s all Dethok An was.

Release.

She was just a normal, hot-blooded being, who, who—

Allura flushed, fingers curling, knuckles tingling.

It wasn’t about him, not really. It was about her! And how… long it had been! And it had been around ten thousand decaphoebes, biologically. 

Why, it would have happened with any of the paladins, even!

Allura frowned at the ceiling. Okay, maybe not all of them. 

Maybe not—Allura’s eyes leveled into a narrowed glare—maybe not any of them.

But the point was, this wasn’t anything Coran or even Shiro would have or might have alluded to. This was just biology.

And she could… fix that.

(And this was the final mistake that ruined everything.)

Allura tried to think of it like work. 

A vacation.

She took another unnecessary bath under the free-falling sonic shower, and released more synthetic fragrance, deliberately leaving the steam on too, to make the room cozy, dewy and… lulling.

Her nightgown went ignored, the viewports all closed via interface, and she settled between sheets with her hair carefully strewn above her, leaving her skin free, tickled by sensation and anticipation.

It was catharsis. Or it was supposed to be.

And generic.

Or it was supposed to be.

She started with the basics. Skin on skin. Shuddering sensations and thoughts about simply feeling… good.

That was enough to curl her legs into, enough to blank out her mind and turn into the sheets and pillows and just feel the softness along the edges of her hips and pelvis. Her hand followed those paths, falling between her legs with a flat gesture.

She smelled tassleterries and steam, and focused on that as her fingers broke the soft folds of her cunt to hit a wet, thick sensation that made her sigh.

Yes. Exactly. Good.

It was almost relieving.

Allura’s eyes fluttered open and closed again, free hand curling close to her breast as she focused. Resist and release—warm and low.

Tall.

Her eyes shut as if to brace herself.

Too tall. And lean.

Lilac and lush.

Allura groaned.

No, no, no, no—it wasn't about that, it wasn’t really, truly, about him, or his laugh, that thrumming, lofty sound that always surprised her. That always shook her to her core.

Her fingers stiffened, making a harsh circle that had her lifting off her spine to follow it with her hips.

“NNh-!”

Too late. 

Her free hand went to her mouth where she bit hard, shoulders drawn and head shaking, resorting to an awful habit as her mind lost itself in hues of violet and navy and white and amaranth and teal and blue and gold and every other damned color she’d seen strewn across his visage and expression.

Every little bow or smile, or lazy-lidded, quiet, nodded, fang-flashed—oh!

Teeth!

She bit harder.

Hands.

Allura yelped, one of her own nails scraping her inner thigh as she worked herself to the edge, a punishment and a reminder.

Vigilance.

Her lips broke and she panted into her palm, sweat breaking out along her hairline as she arched in and out, back to side.

Rocking on the very hand he’d kissed—

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh—

That hot, wet, and she’d—tainted—the gesture as if he’d kissed her cunt instead.

Allura came.

Mind lost to a splitting glimpse of white hair and incredible height below her, she flushed from head to toes, hot and wet and full, before incredibly empty, numb, and cold.

Shivering in the moonlight and blinking fast, it took a while before any sort of realization dawned on her. When it did, it was a broken thought.

Not good.

Bad.

A chime sounded in her room. The wrist interface flashed on the pile of her clothes on the floor.

Allura stared at the blinking message and didn’t need to be any closer to see the winking, ‘Lotor’ to know who it was.

Very, very bad.

By three quintents, Vigilance was as good as broken.

Chapter Text

Any guilt in her was gone to the sound of chimes that next morning. 

—Allura
Whilst I know Coran is your loyal assistant and an efficient steward, please assume you may call upon Kolivan or any of my Generals should you see that a more direct source benefit your time. Attached is a list of their designated frequencies.
—Lotor

Because this was real rule-breaking, wasn’t it? Forget Vigilance, this was downright negligence 

—Allura
Forgive my early missives but should you find yourself in need of any territorial documentation regarding this Era’s Empire or it’s unclaimed sectors, I have left updated map chips in the conference room.
—Lotor

And as… actually helpful and thoughtful they were — this was very clearly direct communication. Just as their unfortunate incident (kiss) from the quintent before was.

She should at least get credit for keeping her own slipup private.  

—Allura
Princess, a warm morning meal awaits you in the dining hall should you want to partake. It seems I’ve mistakenly ordered two sets from the sentry. It is at your leisure and I promise to be absent.
—Lotor

Not that she was complaining.

Nor was she answering, though she did contemplate it the entire time she got ready and the entire walk to the kitchens. She just couldn’t.

Lotor was exceedingly more articulate between the two of them given the circumstances. Well, not more articulate. Just more… composed. He certainly wasn’t suffering from the awkward run-around of thoughts that was the aftereffects of shameful exploitation.

Her ears burned.

Her wrist chimed. She tapped it open.

—Allura
Should you not have discovered them yet, the gardens are also yours to enjoy. They are located in the north hall from the kitchen and offer a better view of Doranic’s geography. I can not recommend it’s grounds more for a substitute to the Round. Even in sore solitude.
—Lotor.

Stars, she could hear him.

It melted through her.

Her shoulders sank, exhaling softly as she stared at the words. Her face was burning and her ears were hot, but this time it was comfortable. Cozy.

“And who might that be, Princess?”

She jerked, sitting up straight in the tall dining room chair, turning back to the screen floating above her finished breakfast.

She was still on call with Coran.

“N-No one!” The wrist interface buzzed out and her hands clasped neatly in her lap. “Just an alarm! For—ah, a reminder to, revise—To revise!”

“An alarm to a reminder,” Coran repeated, but with a long drawl that matched the cockeye, he gave the camera. “I thought we all agreed yesterday there would be no more drafting.”

“Yes, well, see,” She tried, eyes finding the ceiling. “I just thought—”

“No thoughts! Relaxing!”

Her hands rose in defense. “I-I am relaxing!” She assured, face burning red. “I promise, I only, writing and researching can be just as—”

Coran’s condescending hum cut her off. “That may well be, Princess, but Shiro was right, you should be concentrating on resting before you get back. That’s when the real work will start.”

Allura sighed, shoulders and hands dropping. At least she’d thrown him off.

Her wrist chimed again. She cringed but didn’t answer it.

Coran didn’t seem to notice.

“If I you must write, maybe take the chance to create a theatrical version of the Calmenta stories of Testo the great! Oh boy, that would definitely be a good one. And some Galra were just asking about more Altean ceremonies,”

She nodded absently, trying not to peek at her hands.

At this rate, the Prince was the one who was going to get her into trouble.

Surely he was busier than she was, how did he have the time to be…? Her smile fell as Coran continued, gesturing big ears and sharp teeth excitedly.

Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was just as besotted by this entire tradition as she was.

“Putting on some kind of exchange of the two would be enlightening. Maybe do it like the summer solstice fair’s we used to have in the old days.” Coran said. “Your mother was usually the one to pick the stories, then, but if it were more for everyone, we could break that tradition. And I could also ask the paladins! Lance was just talking about an earth story about double agents on impossible missions that fall from ceilings—”

“This is ridiculous.”

“That’s what I said, especially the part with the ship crashing into a train, but perhaps that’s why it’s a good idea. The Galra would appreciate a story like that, don’t you think?”

“Huh?” She hadn’t been listening. “Oh, yes, of course, Coran,”

“I’ll see if there’s a stage on the flagship!”

“Uh, yes, then I should… go think about that?” She suggested, lost, but ready to be off the call.

“Think of it as a nice distraction! Or a welcome back party when you and the Prince are done!” Coran assured. “I know it’s only the fourth quintent, but I can tell the team misses you.”

Allura actually smiled now, the awkward heat from before just a mellow warmth at the words. “Thank you, Coran.”

“Just hang in there, Princess, we’ll talk again soon.”

When they said their goodbyes, Allura sat alone.

She turned to look out into the glowing amber of the morning, where flower fields waved back at her and decadent architecture seemed to surround her. The enormous place was almost wasted to someone like this. Someone alone.

Hang in there.

Her hands shoved the table, pushing backward to stand.

“This is ridiculous.”

Once more her wrist chimed but she shut it off for good and left the kitchens.

Allura went north, through the atrium of the gardens, and roundabout the mirrored hallways, skipping alcoves she had visited before. The sun followed her through the rafters, parallel shadows making the journey seem longer than it was. But she didn’t falter, not even when she reached the first set of doors to the west quarters.

Her hand rose and the estate interface sparked to life. Her fingers flicked dismissively and the entrance whisked open under her command.

She found him inside, with his back to her.

“Can we stop all this?”

Her voice was a lot louder than she realized.

Lotor’s eyes found hers immediately, snapping to attention, mouth agape.

Something in his hands hit the floor.

And then sense sort of caught up to her.

“I, I mean,” 

“Emperor?” Someone asked.

Oh.

There was a screen online on the wall before him, a Galra figure shifting far into the corner as if to try and see her behind Lotor’s shoulders.

The sun burned the back of her neck, her hands rose defensively.

Oh, wonderful.

“Forgive me! I had no idea you were in the middle of a conference signal I didn’t even—” She hurried.

“Empress!” The Galra on the screen stated, giant ears standing straight up. His large teeth grinned.

Lotor was still frozen, staring at her.

She continued to wave her hands at him, ignoring the General. “I’m so sorry, I’ll wait, It can wait, nevermind,”

The General started laughing, his hand smacking the desk, “I hope the hunt finds you both well rested an—!”

Lotor’s hand sliced the air and the screen fizzled away with a snap.

Oh, ancients.

Silence returned between them. A more oppressive kind than anything Vigilance had ever conjured up. She shifted on a half-step backward out of the room, face on fire.

Leave, leave, leave—

“Apologies,” He began, still staring.

“Wait, no! Please, don’t,” She hurried. His venture at being insufferably polite, as usual, was enough to make her cross the room entirely. “Honestly, at this rate, the only way you and I will ever be able to conversate with one another will be through I’m sorry this , and I’m sorry that, ”

His shoulders seemed to stiffen at her approach, mouth snapping shut.

“I didn't come here for apologies.”

“You didn’t.” It wasn’t a question but it was clear he didn’t believe her.

“No, what would you have to apologize for?”

Lotor’s brow rose, body still looking defensive. His eyes fell to his side, where he opened a fisted palm. A screen flickered from his wrist.

A log of his messages.

Right. Those.

“Well,” Allura gave him a wane smile, “Yes, there is that.”

Lotor’s frown increased, a fang flashing in his cringe.

“Apologies.”

“Stop!” She exclaimed, hands collapsing on his own. The interface disappeared into the air. He looked at her in shock, but she was just laughing now. “Really, Prince, honestly, I came here because we can’t—it’s been—”

She shook her head and stepped away from him.

“Princess?”

“It isn’t just me, is it?” she asked him, turning to look about the residence and gesture at it. “I mean, I can’t stop thinking about you being here.”

When she looked up him he looked even more distressed at her statement. She faltered. Wait, no, that wasn't worded right. This wasn’t about...She remembered the night before and clasped her hands behind her back with a smack.

No this was definitely not about that.

This was about this stupid silence. And work.

Politics. Yes, politics.

“It’s true though isn’t it? And it seems like everyone’s forgotten about what this is all supposed to mean,” She continued.

Lotor’s white hair fell past his shoulders, expression lost. His hands fisted his claws into his palm.

Claws.

Self-defense.

She frowned

“Vigilance?” He asked.

“No, not—Vigilance,” She rolled her eyes, “The Alliance.”

“Ah.”

“We finally have a chance to take advantage of each other’s company and now we can’t. And I figured, can’t we just,” She paced a little, looking at the ceilings and then the floor, trying to figure out what exactly she was trying to say. “I mean we already broke the rules! I saw you just yesterday and you’ve been communicating,”

Lotor’s skin seemed to darken as he stepped forward. “I had thought it irresponsible not to host you,”

Allura gave him a narrowed, dubious gaze.

His mouth closed again, and he looked away quickly.

“Either way, what’s the point now?” She urged. “And it’s not as if we have any disrepute-ah, disreputable intentions” She swallowed the hitch in her throat and ignored the burning in her fingertips. She straightened, hands twisting her wrists to stop herself from imagining kisses. Or… other activities.

Well, at least he didn’t.

“Princess,” He tried, he still looked so… unsure. It was an unfamiliar look on him. “What is it you mean by all this?”

Oh. She hadn’t been very clear, had she?

“Why don’t we just be together?”

His chin dipped low, the edges of his face churned his lilac a dark zaffre color. It brings out the gold in his eyes. Or maybe that’s just the amber of the sunlight as it shifts in the sky, slicing the air between them.

He says nothing.

“No more Vigilance.” She continues, trying to sound casual. She smiles and waves dismissively, just for good measure. “We already aren’t doing it right and—”

“Your honor—”

Allura laughs and her hair falls heavily to one side as she cocks her neck in resignation.

“Lotor, please.” She gave him a wry and secretive look. “I won’t tell Coran if you don’t.”

The Prince straightens. A breath fluctuates in his chest. Inhaling. She stares at it before looking back up at his face.

“Yes.” He breathes.

“Yes?”

“Hn.” He says, still looking a bit tense.

“Yes!” She claps her hands together. “Good! That’s—this is good!”

It goes quiet again. Silence. They shift uneasily.

She hadn’t really thought about what to say now that they… could say anything.

“Right.” She breathes. The word feels like it fills the whole room.

Lotor’s gaze slides away from her to frown at the walls of his quarters.

His quarters.

Allura freezes all over again.

Her eyes dart around quickly, taking in what she can through a nervous realization that she had quite literally barged in on him to demand his company.

It’s not sparse. The opposite in fact. There are stacks of strewn tablets cluttered over desks and shelves. More odd objects like the Altean atmosphere prong are lying a bit like they've been pulled out, looked at, and forgotten. There are some articles of clothing or fabric on the floor or furniture, and two swords leaning against a wall.

Allura isn’t sure she’d call it a mess.

Pidge’s room, she’d call a mess.

This is… comfortably used.

Just as he is—comfortably used.

He’s not in his wedding tunic anymore. This high collared coat is something Galra. Sharp shoulders and pointed tails. But it still looks soft and warm. And it’s open at the front, to a shirt low enough Allura can see the hollow of his throat.

She can see his collarbones.

His eyes catch her staring, brows flicking in confusion.

She looks at the ceiling.

Well, this had been successful.

“Perhaps we should—”

“If you need—”

The stop, glancing at each other and then away again.

Lotor cleared his throat.

It still sounds raspy when he says, “Go ahead, Princess.”

“If you need to call your General again—”

He actually scoffed, shaking his head. “Morvak isn’t a General. Not anymore.” He glanced at the screen, “And he’s certainly not worth calling back.”

“If you had other business to attend to…” she trailed.

“No, I,” He looked at her once more, this time looking far more relieved than he had the entire time. “I was just arranging a withdrawal of the fleet stationed on Talfax.”

“You got my request!”

“More or less,” His smile is timid. “I received just the right amount of incorrect information that I was able to deduce what you were asking of me.”

“Is that reasonable?”

“More than, the Talfax facility has been barren of resources for at least the last two generations, in fact—” He turns from her, hand rising with consideration, leading them both to his desk. He rifles through a few tablets before realizing the one he needed was the one he’d dropped when she’d entered. He picks it up from the floor looking a bit self-conscious.

When he hands it over, he looks surprised to find her right at his elbow. 

“What’s this?”

“It’s a record of any Galra resource stations currently considered depleted.” He explained, eyes on her face. “And therefore a good list of candidates for potential removal.”

“Removal of occupation?”

“Ideally.”

“Oh, Lotor, this is,” Her wrists falls a little, the tablet going limp so she can see his face properly. His eyes narrow and his jaw and shoulders stiffen once more. She tries to show him the most encouraging smile she can. “This is perfect, this is so much,”

“It was only the most obvious conclusion,”

“Not at all!” She urged, hand reaching to touch his sleeve. The Galra fabric was in fact warm. Soft. “And even if that were the case, that you would consider this much of a compromise.”

“Princess,” He looked away, blinking rapidly at the wall. “Please, this is hardly noticeable to the Empire. Don’t make me seem so gracious.”

Allura just laughed, tugging on his sleeve to get her to look at her again.

“You and I both know what sector territory means to the Coalition. This is a big thing, it’s a requirement on almost all their terms for peace. And we also know how much the idea of relenting those planets angered the Empire before.”

He sighed, his own hand coming to rest on hers, softly pulling her fingers from his sleeve. The nails of his claws rolled lightly over her fingertips.

“It angered Zarkon. Not the Empire. Many of us are also tired of the endless obligation of universal domination.” The words were said with a fake showy tone that made her stomach sink.

His expression seemed more resigned than offended. Allura frowned anyway. 

“Sorry.”

His smile showed teeth. “I thought we were not to talk in apologies, my Princess,”

Handsome.

Her fingers squeezed his a little harshly, heart seemingly somewhere in her throat and unable to look away from the amber glow the sunlight reflected from his eyes.

His smile fell, brows worrying very neatly together.

She heaved, holding her breath.

“Allura, no, I mean no offense by it.” He urged, and the hands still caging her fingers curled her knuckles into him, lifting her arm up to his lips.

Oh.

No.

The night before flashed through her. A waterfall of ice sank from her head to her knees before fire burned right back up to her neck. Oh no, he couldn’t—after she’d—

“I forgive—”

“No—”

Allura slipped her hand through his claws so fast it thudded into her chest.

He froze.

“Hahha—” She inhaled a laugh, making it sound a little frightening. “Ahn—yes, t-thank you!”

His fingers curled slowly backward before his arm fell to his side.

He said nothing.

She tore her eyes away from him, shakily patting her hair behind her ears and staring at the tablet in her hands as it were meters and meters away from her.

“I, I’m surprised you were, you were able to get so much done even despite the circumstances.” She nodded absently. “I know that without being able to advise with you I mostly wrote endless drafts that I will inevitably have to rewrite now that, now that we’re, together.”

“Hn.”

She peeked up at him, but Lotor wasn’t looking at her anymore.

“I imagine things are little easier when you’re Emperor instead of… representative. Or perhaps, easier when it’s all the same language. With the Coalition I’m afraid I’m a bit lost in understanding not only what each planet needs but what their culture wants and..”

She trailed, thumb pressing at the tablet oddly before looking up at him again.

He caught her this time, and seemingly himself too, standing straighter.

“Yes, Princess, you—”

“You know,” She interrupted, smiling again. It was thinner this time. Weaker. But she tried all the same. “A friend told me this morning that the gardens here make for good scenery.”

Lotor’s shoulders dropped. She was rewarded with a curl of his lips. Not quite that handsome grin from before, but enough.

“Well?” Allura gestured a come-hither at his elbow. “Shall we take his advice?

“A friend.” He repeated quietly. He let her weave her arm in his. “Yes. Of course.”

Despite whatever excuses she made at first, they do actually talk politics. 

“I didn’t know there was any resistance aside from the Blades of Mamora.”

“The Blades weren’t public. Many groups were until they were ultimately ostracized or put back in line.” He paused, leaning over another bed to pluck a long-stemmed blue leaf from a bushel of green. “These ones are from Vatel,”

“Thank you,” She recognizes it from her visit two quintent's ago, but doesn’t say so.

He smiled, handing it off to the pile growing in the crook of her elbow. It’s a flurry of colors arranged in a vibrant and colorful bouquet that puts the scant few clippings she took before to shame. 

“Did they ever get far? Liberating planets.”

Lotor considered another plot, hands whisking over tiny blossoms. They bounced upright as he passed.

“Liberation wasn’t ever the goal I’m afraid. The Galra weren’t ever regretful of conquering places. Not so late after the beginning. There were simply some who grew tired of it. The expectation of expansion meant a never-ending draft, a never-ending posting—there was never a time for them to enjoy what they’d built. Never a time when one generation didn’t enter the system to be trained and sent out, even if it wasn’t to die.”

Allura frowned, trying to imagine endless military regime.

“But these groups spoke out, or, defied the way of things."

He huffed “They certainly tried. Anyone is free to speak their mind, to share their opinion.” He paused again, this time taking two soft yellow buds from a row. They were long and sleek, ridged in orange. He clipped them close to their roots with a sharp snap of his fingers. She accepted them silently. “Technically all have freedom in the Empire, so long as they had the strength to convey it.”

“The strength?”

“Anyone who had a difference of opinion was strong enough to share it or they are dead.” He gave her a quiet look. “It is the winners who write history, isn’t it?”

Allura looked away.

“It’s the way they were taught. Not by their parents or by their parents, parents—but by Zarkon himself.” Lotor explained. “He was ten thousand decaphoebs old. Plenty old enough to brainwash generation after generation. Most of the Galra today thought he would never die, let alone thought there was anything before him.”

“But you’re also ten thousand decaphoebs old.” She pointed out. Lotor is already chuckling before she finishes the sentence. She watches him circle the end of the row, putting the beds between them.

“How impolite, Princess, you wound a man’s integrity bringing up his age.”

She glares at him through a frame of persil-berries.

“Yes. I am as old as Zarkon. Perhaps young by only a thousand or so, since it wasn’t until after the destruction of Daibazaal that I was born.” His eyes cast down to the blossoms, and his hand reaches to snip a few.

Allura stops him, shouldering the pile in her arms to grasp his fingers.

“No please, there were so many taken for the wedding already.”

He looked surprised.

“This must be where you got them?”

“Yes.” He nodded, “It is, actually.”

He seemed to consider her for a moment and Allura thought he might say something more, but instead, he continued.

“As old as I am though, I am still only one against many. And he had that wretched—” Lotor’s eyes narrow, leaving the flowers altogether. “—witch at his every beck and call.”

“Could you not rally your own allies?”

“I spoke in forums, yes. I made my case known and some openly agreed with me. But it wasn’t what I was saying, it was just that it was me saying it.”

“What do you mean?”

They continue their stroll looking across each other, through stalks of fauna.

“I’m me, Allura. Half-bred, mixed with weak blood and made ill—”

“Alteans aren—”

“No, of course, they’re not. But it is what they believe because Zarkon does.” The sunlight glimmers from his eye. Like flowers of light in fields of purple. “And unlike you, Princess, I am no Voltron.”

The words shouldn’t make her blush.

“If not for that, for you, I would still be waiting until his storage of Quintessence inevitably ran out.” The words end sharply. Just as his hands break a few blossoms she can’t see from this side.  

“Was that your plan? To wait until he could no longer replenish himself?”

Lotor actually shrugged. Allura wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him do it before now.

“Either he or Haggar would eventually use me as a last resort to keep a hold on their power, or they would both wither away and I would fight in Kral Zera directly.”

“How long would that have been?” Her hands curl into the stems at her breast. Petals tickled her chin.

His smile isn’t one.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She’s not sure if he means it doesn’t matter anymore, or that it never did. Maybe after ten thousand decaphoebs it was both.

Allura swallowed, looking away to the clear viewports of the gardens around them.

She almost always forgot how old he was. It was hard to conceptualize and remember, when he stood before her, ageless and… present.

He turned at just that thought, meeting her at the end of the row to present her with two bright red swirls of color.

“Juniper,” Allura whispered.

“It’s… genetically modified to imitate it, I’m afraid, but,”

Her hands closed over his.

“Thank you, Lotor.”

“Yes, princess.”

“It’s not that I disagree, no,”

Allura tapped the crystal vase where their flowers from the garden collection sit in the middle of the table.

She curls her legs underneath her and gives him a narrowed-eyed look.

Lotor chuckles from the shelf, hand stilled over a pill codex.

“Hear me out, Princess,”

She sighs but waits.

“The entire reason the Empire started mining Yuuran 16 was for its naturally occurring fentrite alloy, not their carmine pigments.”

Allura frowned, looking back at the screens they’d projected on the alcove wall. Her wrist scrolled down the words with a flick. “Their King, Nanlnen, said it was—”

“He’s young.”

“He’s eight hundred and thirty-two.”

“As I said, young .” Lotor waved his hand dismissively at the screen and picked out the archive he was looking for to place on the table. She watched his hair fall completely to one side as he leaned over to turn the holo on, blue catching his locks like skies reflected in snow. “He wasn’t alive when we took his sector or his planet, nor does he remember that his people invited us in the first place.”

The holo started flashing constructed snapshots of memoirs. Images of a planet and its terrain, and then of facilities, and finally some incriminating scenes of the Yuuran people shaking hands and holding some sort of celebration for some stoic looking Galra.

Allura’s nose scrunched. She shared the expression with Lotor.

“They were not space-faring at the time, only space… knowledgeable. And they were not using the 16th moon because they weren’t even aware it existed. The alloy was exchange for acceptance into the Empire and protection from their warring neighbors on Zaxes.”

Allura shook her head at him, a wary smile on her face. Her finger tapped the table pointedly. “He wrote to me about how the Empire swooped in and stole, stole , that facility and have been depleting their ceremonial paints just to spite them. And how that because of that their gods have killed off all their livestock.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, he also said the Galra had caused the climate to rain acid down on them with the pollution of their mining.”

“Did he also tell you we ate his first child?”

Allura laughs, more loudly than she wanted.

Lotor is smiling at her, grinning, even.

She puts a hand over her mouth to stop herself. But then Lotor is kneeling down next to her, leaning in with a conspiratorial looking expression.

His hand cups his cheek and he whispers, “Truth be told Princess, I ate it myself right after I sent monsoons to flood his house and placed rocks at his feet to trip him wherever he went.”

“St-stop!” She has to turn away from him completely, tears squeezing from her eyes, her breath catches and her silent mirth turns into a rippling giggle. It’s cruel to the King’s feelings, even if it’s starting to be obvious the man had over exaggerated.

He leans closer still.

“It has been my life’s goal to make King Nanlnen miserable, Allura, just wretched—”

“Stop!” Her hands push at him blindly, fingers brushing past his cheek.

“Ha!” His hand caught hers.

When she turns back Lotor is smiling something soft and tentative.

His thumb brushes over her knuckles.

“Stop being funny.” She admonished. Her hand stays in his, clasped on the table.

“Forgive me, I shall endeavor to be more dour.” The purple in his eyes seems larger than usual, even as his grin makes his eyes thin; cheeks on high cheekbones making his happiness a razor-sharp thing. Soft but piercing.

Her fingers curl comfortably in his palm and for a moment she has to glance down. The soft plushness of his skin bare of his usual claws.

Oh.

She looked back at him, smile traded for parted lips and burning ears.

Zaffre returned to his lilac complexion.

“Yes,” He hummed, looking away. “In any case, I agree to negotiations, but those alloys belong to the Galra.”

She was almost too distracted by the sound roundness of his fingers weaving through her own to realize she’d lost leverage for King Nanlnen.

“Mmm, hm? No, what?” She shook her head. “But, they want—”

Lotor cringed a little, “Allura, it’s perhaps one of the only foreign assets that we claimed legitimately. Non-violently."

“But—”

“You can’t even call it foreign anymore. The agreement is at least two thousand decaphoebs senior to the King himself. Taking it away will confuse the Empire, there are colonies on Yuuran.”

“But, surely there are other places. Other planets already in your original territory.”

“Original—? That’s not the point.” His eyes narrowed once more, but this time not with a smile. “And if you want to talk original territories for the Galra you’ll have to be more specific. Do you mean Daibazaal? Or only the Nomadic Ring before the expansion of Ruan Bol? Or should we consider everything before Ultek’s Retreat history and focus only on the last five thousand decaphoebs of grievances? Or can war crimes heal faster than 60 generations?” His head cocked, looking slightly listless. “How about just the last thousand, hm? That’s only 30.”

Allura groaned, loud and painstaking, hands scrambling to her face and hair as she fell backward onto the floor.

When she opened her eyes, the Prince loomed over her view of the ceiling, his smile knowing and tired. Exactly how she felt.

“Forgive me, I was clarifying the point.”

“No apologies, remember?” She teased.

His lips quirked.

Allura shook her head. “And, you’re right, of course, I understand—and this conundrum has been plaguing most of my difficulties with how we proceed.” Her hands gestured at nothing. “There are simply too many worlds! All with different expectations and the Empire, it’s, it’s just gotten—”

“Large.”

“Incredibly!”

Her hands fell to her sides, legs ruffling her skirts as she stretched them out beneath the table. Lotor’s eyes looked distractedly at the noise.

“I know that every planet in the Coalition will require its own treaty, it’s own set of rules or compromises, but why does that seem a completely backward task to attempt?”

“Hm?”

“It’s almost as if it might be more beneficial to create one simple manifesto. One declaration or promise to negotiate on immediate issues and, or, ah… and lay down... guidelines…what’s the”

“Rules of engagement.” He said, gaze still downcast, hovering about her as she lies there.  Allura folded her hands over her breast self consciously and his gaze flickered up to her, shoulders straightening to sit himself up. She hadn’t even noticed he’d laid down on his elbow beside her.

“Yes, rules of… engagement.” Body hot, she sat up, feeling silly and childish. How improper. So casual. Not very princess-like.

“It—,” He cleared his throat. “It won’t appease everyone. Walls of texts punctuated with ambiguity don’t exactly invigorate the Galra.”

“Or the Coalition, frankly.”

A hand took hers. Allura watched him play with her fingers once more, the activity seems a new habit of his she had no thoughts of deterring. 

Claws again.

Oh.

Her heart seemed to slow it’s pace so much she felt each and every beat vibrate into her throat.

“We…” He breathed, contemplative. Allura watched a strand of his hair flicker at the puff of air.

Her heart squeezes painfully like it had swollen, too big for her chest to contain.  

“We should have dinner, Princess.”

As quaint as dinner sounds, Allura is reluctant to stop the oddly successful progress they had started in such a short amount of time. Lotor indulges her, carrying tablets and codexes with him to the kitchens. She talks treaty details into his ear the entire way there, and throughout the meal.

Perhaps it’s not odd.

Before everything, Lotor had always been completely committed to making the Alliance his first step as Emperor, even if that meant a detour into marriage.

He’s also just as enthusiastic.

There is no pause in their chatter. No explanations needed unless he’s filling her in on the history she had been cryostasis-ed out of. Even their disagreements are more based on context than belief.

“We never governed!”

“You had ambassadors sent to weigh in on the local affairs of planets you traded with in order to safeguard your resources. It is at least policing, if not—”

Allura returned to the table from refreshing her drink. She dropped into the open seat at his side, ignoring her empty plate across from him. They’d been done for quite a while anyway.

His shoulders stiffened, hand stilling over the screen he had open on his wrist.

“No, no, ambassadors were asked to be there to make records for the Tower.” She reached past his lap to press the screen herself, pulling up data. She grazed his bicep. “We were only interested in the outcome whether or not we benefited from it.”

The screen spins a projection of a Tower, but it’s only a schematic. In Allura’s mind, she can see the solid pillar shine in the sunlight, with cobalt banners and gold sigils.

The interface disappeared completely when he turned toward her.

“There is no record that the Tower was interplanetary—only that it stored records of Time.”

“All time. Not just Altea.” Allura sipped her drink, enjoying seeing the Prince so fascinated on what she was saying. He looked more attentive than she thought was possible.

“Then why only planets you traded with?”

“I don’t even know what you mean by trade. We didn’t exactly have imports or exports. We donated and received.” She leaned her back on the table’s edge comfortably. “It was customary to gift those we visited and either they also did in return, so much that it became a seasonal custom, or they didn’t and we moved on.”

He turns away and says something under his breath she doesn’t catch.

“What?”

“Nothing, I—” He chuckles now and Allura watches his legs stretch beneath them, elbow propping to hold his chin in his hand. He looks comfortable too, like that. “It would be within Altea to simply trade gifts as a dance of court manners, rather than establish an outsourced market of things.”

“We like our court manners.” She defended. But she’s just smiling.

“So I’ve learned, Princess.” He nods.

A claw comes up to the hand holding her drink to play with the taleson chain at her wrist.

Allura pulls away, blushing in embarrassment.

His laugh seems to vibrate through his chest into the bench beneath them and up her spine. She can only shiver and watch, lips wet from sweet liquid and cheeks hot.

“The Galra have their own complications!” She accuses finger tapping on his shoulder and all.

Lotor’s head is heavy in his hand, fingers curled at his lips as he watches her, looking languidly amused. It’s frustrating. “Setting things on fire or bleeding themselves—”

“Yes, forgive me, I might have warned you about that had I imagined that it would ever happen.” He actually closes his eyes in somewhat shame.

“No.” She taps him again, a bit rougher this time. “Apologies.”

“You are turning out to be better at this than I am.”  He hums.

“If you’d rather we go back to Vigilan—”

“No.” He breathes the word, sitting up straight to look at her seriously. It makes her falter, makes her freeze. “Please, the silence is deafening when you're so close.”

His canine catches on his lip for a tick when he says ‘deafening.’ Seeing it makes something burn inside her, deep and low. Quiet but unignorable.

“Oh.” Her voice is a little high.

It’s almost the same thing she’d said to him that morning, but the sound of it reminds her more of last night.

Oh no. She’d been avoiding thinking of it this entire time but then, oh, stars, there it was. Her fingers tingled. Her hands hurried to put her drink down so she could press the wrinkles in her skirt flat on her lap, needing the pressure to stabilize the tremor through her body.

Oh well.

“Had you not come to me earlier,”

Oh, no, what? What was he saying? C-come, had she not come to him—Oh—She fisted the silk in her hands, hips shifting uncomfortably.

“I might have had to come to you myself,”

“Oh?” She said. Maybe. It was a strangled noise of a word. A squeak that barely had a tone of curiosity in it.

“Was that not obvious already? I thought my lack of restraint painfully apparent.” He chuckled. His gaze slid slowly to the side, away from her, letting her stare at the smooth planes of his face without worrying about him noticing how raptly she did so. “I’m disappointed with myself but not regretful for your intervention. Today has been... “ He trails, lips parted.

Allura watches the shadow of his tongue play idly behind his teeth. It’s an innocuous thing. A small tick that mirrors his expression of lost-in-thought. But it’s closer than she’s seen, closer than she’s observed.

How many others knew the Prince licked his teeth when he lost track of what he was saying?

Her hand goes to his thigh.

His mouth snaps shut.

Lotor’s eyes latch onto hers, stopping only to dart down in a blink at the stray, inappropriate gesture and then come back.

She honestly hadn’t realized she’d done it. She swallows. She doesn’t even have anything to say. His body beneath her touch is firm. Warm. What had he been talking about?

Oh, stars.

“I loved dinner.”

A rattle of clicking snatches their attention to the table, where his claws scrape the surface. He pulls them quickly away and Allura does the same, shoving her hands painfully between her knees. Punishment.

“Ha-en-Ah—Hmm.” Lotor says.

They both glare at the wall across from them.

Ancients, what happened to all the politics? Why did she ruin it?

Allura is desperately racking her brain with Coalition requisitions to bring up in sudden conversation when Lotor finally continues.

“Thank you, Princess, for your company today, I would escort you to your quarters if you—”

“Yes, perfect.” She agrees and they both almost sigh in relief at the easy fall back into propriety and decorum.

The walk is silent but less uneasy.

She hangs on his arm, watching her skirts swish in and out his boots. A sight she didn’t think she'd see more than once and one that’s still mesmerizing. At one point she looks up and is surprised to catch him observing the same thing, his height crowded around hers, back straight but eyes lidded.

They share a smile and Allura slides her arm tight to him so she can take his hand.

His fingers roll her knuckles through his grip until they get to her rooms. 

They release each other bit by bit.

“I hope the quarters are accommodating thus far, Princess.” He says at her open door frame, arm relinquished but fingers laced.

“Oh, yes, they are beautiful.”

“Should you need anything—”

“No, I, really, it’s alright,”

“There is plenty of other amenities I can have—”

“Please!” Allura laughs, pulling her hands away to catch it, “What? Would you hail poor Keith to fly across the stars to retrieve me fresh linens?”

Lotor’s shoulder leans heavily on the door frame as he looms over her. She cranes her neck to see his grin.

“I don’t doubt the boy’s tenacity. Especially if I deemed it a matter for an Oathsgaurd.”

“You wouldn’t!” She whisks fingers at his arm, still giggling.

“No, of course not, I care too much for—” Lotor stops, grin faltering. “I care for..” he tastes the words again. “...the young blade too much to play such cruelties on him.”

She nods affectionately, something sore in her from thinking of the paladins after only a few quintents of absence.

“Lance on the other hand.”

“Lotor!”

His laugh is angled at the ceiling, shoulders shaking.

“I jest!”

“You do that a lot more than I imagined.”

She doesn’t mean to say it out loud but finds she doesn’t mind revealing the assumption to him. He looks a bit dubious, but not offended. If anything he looks more apologetic.

“Forg—”

“Ah, ah, ah!” He finger rises high, up to his height, to press on his lips, like she had seen him do so many times to himself.  

Vigilance.

He’s stiff beneath her touch.

But warm.

Hot.

Wet.

Allura’s face is on fire. Everything is sweltering. Se shakes as she struggles to keep the joke on her face. “N-No apologies.” She hushes.

His eyes are unseeing as they look down on her.

His lips shift against her skin.

Allura rips her hand away.

She rubs the wetness into her palm.

“Besides, you make me laugh. I enjoy that.” She hurries, patting imaginary dust from her dress. Lotor says nothing.

Don’t ruin it, don’t ruin it, don’t ruin it…

“So much so, I would expect that… tomorrow… should you wish to, perhaps, well, with all the work we got done today perhaps we could—if you sought—” Allura struggles.

“I will call on you in the morning, Princess.”

Allura looks up.

His chest is heaving.

“Yes!” She nods a bit frantically. “P-please. I would enjoy that.”

She’s not sure how much time passes as they level their gazes at each other, but it seems like forever when her heart is pounding in her ear.

“Goodnight,” There’s something hidden there, in his hesitant step backward. Somewhere in the space of his creased eyes and polite bow but she can’t place what that is.

“Goodnight.” Hers sounds too light, too pathetic, compared to his low declaration. But he takes it anyway stepping far enough that the sensors on the door finally flash. They close.

Allura wants to fall to her knees.

Her finger pressed against her lips, as it had on his.

Two more quintents.

Chapter Text

They get used to each other.

Tentatively.

Sort of.

The morning started off a little rocky. Which really, is her fault, honestly, she had forgotten completely that he had promised to call on her and she had never been very good at waking up early, especially after a late night followed by a relaxing bath and other, more, personal… activities.

So when Lotor knocked on her door she didn’t answer at first, asleep and strewn across the sheets as she was.

Then he sent a message.

Or three.

She has to manually override the door’s interface in order to slide it open only a little.

He’s nothing more than a cross-section of morning sun and violet hues. A sharp bookmark with a hesitant smile and soft eyes that flicker over her from head to toe.

She knows he couldn’t possibly see more than just a two-inch-width of her, but she can’t help but feel like that’s two inches too many. Especially since she's still in a nightgown and only a few vargas ago she had been—

“I’-I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“No apologies needed, Princess.” His teeth gleamed in the light. “Remember?”

“Ha! An—hah…yes.”

She begged to differ.

Her finger tapped the edge of the door and she frowned.

“Just a tick.”

“Take your time.”

She most certainly did not.

Though in hindsight she probably should have. It might have saved her the inevitable trouble when saw each other’s appearances.

“Oh, we’re both—,”

“Are those Olkarion?”

He was gesturing to her gown and she was motioning to their hair, both pulled into high tails on their heads. He faltered first, leveling his gaze at her a bit defensively.

She could see the flush in Lotor’s skin more clearly like this, the clean curves of his neck exposed even under the collar of his tabard.

Wedding tabard.

Her ears burned.

“Yes, It was warm this morning.” His voice was low. She almost didn’t hear it.

“Oh.” She took peeks at him, unable to help herself in the face of his strong jaw and cheekbones, clean cut and more pronounced without the white waterfall of his hair.

There were new details of him she’d never seen before. Like the sleek edge of his ears. Or the small, delicate curl of hair at the base of his nape, too small to reach the tight tail, a mirror to the larger lock sweeping from his forehead.

Everything about Lotor seemed contradictory. The softness of his hair wasn’t complete without the precision of its pointed end or jagged cut. There was a gentleness in the smooth cream of his skin that couldn’t be appreciated without being framed in the harsh angles of his structure. It was almost like the genetic argument between Galra and Altean blood presented itself in any detail it could get its biological hands on.

When his eyes slid back to her she realized he was simply subjecting himself to her silent scrutiny. She hadn’t even noticed him look away.

Allura frowned, then smiled, quickly, for encouragement. “W-we match!”

Perhaps it’s the wrong thing to say. Lotor’s lips part and his eyes widen, tail sweeping sharply to the side behind him as he looks at the walls once more.

“Yes.”

“I mean not completely—” She tried, then remembered his words, her hands grasping at the brown and red garb she had on. “I, these, I’m afraid, these... “

Lotor catches her stutter with a concerned expression.

Allura sighed heavily, “I’ve run out of clothes. It’s want to happen when you weren’t meant to live on the ship you get frozen for thousands of decaphoebs in.”

She laughs dismissively. Sheepishly. Nervously.

Lotor says nothing, staring absentmindedly at the fringe trim on her sleeves.

Her palms feel damp as she shifts under his silence. Funny how they switched roles so quickly all the time.

“Will you make a detour with me to my quarters before our meal this morning?”

The question is so out of place Allura balks. But his gaze is even.

His hand is raised to take hers.

To his… room?

“Ah… yes, of course.”

It’s not for any unchivalrous reason, as she finds out almost as soon as they arrive.

Not that she doesn’t imagine a thousand different lascivious scenarios in her head the entire time they walk arm in arm, practically sweating in her wraps. Maybe he was right about the hot morning, because Lotor himself looks dewy skinned, the edges of his hairline glittering as he opens door after door. When he exhales, it seems shaky.

She’s about to ask him if he’s alright when he leads her inside somewhere.

“I believe if my memory serves me, there should be a few things that would suit you. Of course, anything you like I can take to your rooms.”

“What?”

Lotor eyes her quietly, motioning around him.

Closet. They’re in a closet.

It’s long in length but tight in width, and cloistered with metal racks that reach from top to bottom. Lights snap on all at once as she steps forward.

For a moment Allura reels, the simple act taking her back to memories of rushing into her bedroom back in the Palace, where she could change quickly before the scheduled audience or the night's dinner and…

Altean. It’s all Altean.

“Oh—Oh—it’s—”

“It’s varied,” he says, somewhere behind her, somewhere in the present, whilst she is somewhere ten thousand decaphoebs in the past. Her hands touch Gaban silks, Talaxian weaves and Pulloon wools.

“Oh!”

“And it’s all very diverse in orientation and… class.” He ends. It sounds like a tentative warning, but she can’t imagine why. “Not everything here is fit for a princess—it’s simply meant for preservation.”

Allura can’t hear him because she’s pulled out a beautiful honey-colored cape to roll her face and cheeks into.

It’s soft and plush.

It smells like fatillmont spices from winter nights on Altea.

“ Oh, ” Her eyes can’t get enough of the Prince even though she has to look up to see his face at all, his height ever-encompassing. “Oh, Lotor, why, how—”

A clawed hand reaches out to touch a sleeve hanging from one of the racks. “It’s all just things I managed to find over the years.”

Allura stares down the packed rows and the slotted shelves, little digital markers indicating rotations for more storage.

“What didn’t you manage to find.”

“It’s been many years.’ He chuckles. “Since you find it pertinent to bring up my age once more.”

She smiles, his humor finding her heart and making her cheeks ache.

“Please, Princess,” He waves past her.

“Are you sure? This is all so organized, the amount of work you must have taken to,”

“Yes, and it sits here cold and unfit for a Galra two heads too tall.”

She swallows.  

“I could not think of anyone else in the universe to make more use of it, Princess.” He interrupts, nodding. “Please.”

“Lotor.”

“I insist.” His eyes lower gently, a small smile enough to reassure. “Besides, as I said, most of these are diverse but not diverse enough. A lot of these are gowns, dresses. Garments worth trade and expense. Pants or tunics are too utilitarian to withstand tests of time.”

When she turns back at the closet, it’s almost even more overwhelming knowing that any of it could be hers if she wanted.

“Well, perhaps… just one or two things for the rest of our Dethok An.”

“Hn-ah—yes,”

She sees him huff out an exhale. There’s sweat on his brow.

“Are you alright?”

She steps toward him.

He steps away.

“Yes,” He replies immediately. “But I should give you your privacy.”

“Oh please, no—”

“No, allow me to ready breakfast Princess, please, I’m sure you’ll want the lounge to yourself too, once you make your decision. I’ll call on you when it’s done.”

As… particular as he looks, Allura’s glad he’d interrupted her with his courtesy because he was right. What was she to do when the time did come to change? Have him turn around?

It’s better this way.

If not also because she’s in grateful privacy when she finds herself shedding tears over a garment that reminds her too closely of her mother’s.

Of course, there are many others she pulls out. A beautiful viridian reading gown, generations old in style but light and airy. Another flimsy (lower class, as he’d warned) but charming powder yellow ensemble, complete with a hat.

There are more wools than silks, an argument of durability maybe, but they are soft and warm, in dark russets and creamy whites.

And while Lotor is apt, it’s more feminine articles than men’s mining trousers or flight suits, there is a few boyish tunics she sets aside. For their functionality, yes, and also because where Allura might once have ignored them for something more tailored to her; Altea is gone now.

And if Lotor had been amassing these things since he had been alive...

Then this was it.

It was more than she ever expected after learning her planet had been destroyed, so Allura sweeps gentle hands over rough strewn, muddy brown materials, with dingy trims—and sighs in gratitude.

But it’s the thulian pink that stops her.

A color so undeniably the Queen’s, her mother’s, Allura thinks for a heart-wrenching moment that perhaps, maybe, it had been. It’s just plain enough, just a tad too vintage, that she knows it can’t be.

But she still cries. A little.

In a rich, matte pink silk and a second layer of sheer white, it’s a mixed flower in her hands, soft as petals. And while at first, she sets it aside to find something more appropriate to wear, eventually she can’t help herself and shuts the doors to change.

Because Altea was gone. And waiting for the right moment wasn’t worth it anymore.

It fits. Sort of. The sleeves pinch at her elbows so she can’t raise her arms above her shoulders, and her ankles flash under a too-short hem, but it flows like air on her skin.

“Just divine.” She whispers to the dress, twisting to make sure the back falls wrinkle-free on her legs. And then she twirls a few more times just to see the way the sheer layer swishes and sways.

But after (admittedly) running from one end of the room to the other, to see if the ends of the dress would catch a twirl (they did), Allura realized that activity wasn’t one she wanted Lotor to come upon.

And also.

She was in his quarters.

Technically.

Hm.

And she tried, attempted, honestly, to keep herself to the closet. But after disappointingly discovering that all but the most hideous pair of snoozle-wrangling shoes fit her, she returned to his main quarters.

It’s all considerably smaller than her own, actually.

The lounge is barely the size of her bedrooms. Tablets, objects, and clothes are still a bit scattered here and there from the quintent before.

And the bedroom—yes— the bedroom— is almost laughably tiny, and oddly arranged. There’s a work terminal shoved there, and a desk, and a few storage crates. All of which look so obviously Galra it’s painful in the… whatever architecture of this place is.

Altean.

Somewhere, she’d realized that some time ago.

It was some sort of old… Altean residence. From long before her or her father’s reign. Or even his father. And while that is in and of itself interesting, Allura finds she’s more drawn to the objects sitting here and there that are more obviously Lotor’s.

Like the sword on the wall she had seen him handle the other morning. The same one, as it turned out, as she’d pulled from his belt the day of the wedding. It’s just as surprisingly light.

Or the strange Galra looking instruments she realizes are hair combs and clasps sitting on a stand by the mirror, a blatant and intimate indication of the routine he’d just done that Allura finds herself blushing as she turns them over.

She can't actually bring herself to step into the bedroom, but she peeks, hand on the entrance, eyeing the large open rafters and the unmade sheets.

It smells a certain way.

Not bad. Just… that very real, very familiar scent of sleep and warmth. There’s a crisp, sharp hint of the same aromatic synthesizer that’s in her rooms too.

It seems cozy.

She finds herself at the lounge desk when he finally returns, delicately lifting up tablets to look at the work beneath them; a series of paper drawings. They’re all done in Altean Lucid ink.

Mostly it’s drawings of flowers, utensils, or furniture. There are sweet, scientific blueprints of the architecture of the house that are hairline delicate and yet shoved lazily away under stacks of chips and tech.

Eventually, she finds the stylus for the ink too. It’s long and elegant, with a dark nib. Altean.

And ruined.

Allura picks up the pen and rolls it in her hand. Deep indents and cuts catch in her skin as if the thing had been chewed up.

Chewed.

Oh.

It had.

By him.

The fangs from the morning light flash again through her mind and she drops the stylus to the desk, but not the image of Lotor idly gnawing on it.

“Princess?”

“I-Iha—I’m in here Blood Emperor Lotor!” Allura calls much too loudly and much too oddly (his entire title? really? ) She slides herself to the center of the lounge as inconspicuously as she can manage.

She cringed when he entered.

How more suspicious could she possibly be?

It’s lost on the Prince though.

“Allura.” He paused, standing in the open doorway. Where he once seemed much more refreshed, he immediately looked a bit disheveled again, brows knitting together.

“What?” She tried not to glance at the desk or his open bedroom.

“I could have never imagined I would ever see that garment put to shame.”

Oh, the dress.

Thank the stars for the dress.

“Oh, ha, thank you—”

“You’re a vision, Princess.”

Her relief left her as she was put on the spot.

“O-oh?”

Lotor’s eyes looked impossibly narrow. The purple of his iris practically swallowed his pupil completely. One of his arms held the wall, sliding up to rest his damp forehead on it. “More beautiful than this place deserves, I’m afraid.”

“Oh stop, please, I—” She waved, looking away from him, sleeve tightening. “Don’t flatter.”

“I don’t waste my time to ever do so.”

Allura caught the intensity of his gaze and believed him.

But something there also relaxed her.

She grinned. “Well, I don’t waste time either, but I assumed his Majesty’s looks a given.”

Lotor’s arm slipped a little. His chest heaved. His eyes went lazy.

Allura’s face fell.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I, are you—”

“No... apologizing…” He reminded, but his expression was pained. He inhaled sharply.

“Are you alright?” Allura hurried to him, meeting him at the door, this time too quickly for him to move away from her. He looked a bit more sun-kissed than usual. The lilac of him was a deeper, darker thistle color. “Lotor?”

“Yes.” He eyed her a bit warily, before standing up straighter. “It’s simply—this heat —”

“Heat?”

Lotor huffed. Then he hummed.

“Doranic disagrees with me on occasion.” He said finally and flashed a smile. His hand swept his hair quickly as if to put himself together.  

“The planet you mean?”

“Ah, I forget how Vigilance truncated us—yes, this, is Doranic,” Lotor motioned to the large slatted viewports about the room. She followed his gesture before eyeing him.

“And does it not agree with you…” She trailed, curious but half anxious she might appear insensitive, “Because you’re Galra?”

He seemed caught off guard by the guess but settled anyway.

“In so many words, Princess, yes my genetics are… harrowing, at times.”

“I see.” She didn’t, not really. But he seemed better and probably would after—”Oh, I’ve kept you from—”

“No, not at all, but it is ready,”

“Yes, of course,”

“Shall we?”

Breakfast is thankfully much more at ease.

They’re halfway through before they lapse into the easy and entertaining talk of what sort of gifts King Blate and Princess Malcoti would take in exchange for any of their ruled sector, and Allura makes Lotor laugh so loudly, he nearly cries, when she shrugs with a simple, “likely a lock of my hair or my left sock.”

He looks better too, though she finds he nurses his water quite protectively.

It’s not long after they head to the conference room, with gathered work from their previous progress. Allura has every intention of making headway on the long-awaited peace and prosperity her father had always envisioned and Lotor seems just as determined as she is.

They find themselves constantly trading tablets, talking through terms, and changing places before the screens on the conference walls, pitching each other proposals for their manifesto.

They disagree only once.

“A clause to ban—? Allura, please, ”

“There are plenty of planets and species out there who don’t even know what violence is let alone what a fight to the death would mean!”

“If you ban Prez Vik every Galra in my Empire would ensure at least you understood it first hand and I would have to let them.”

Allura glared from where she stood, pointing at the document on the screen.

Lotor was sunk low in his chair, fist on his chin and eyeing her dubiously.

“If we don’t what’s to stop the Galra from taking whatever new planet they want?  Or what’s to stop them from creating a situation on the planets they currently occupy? The ones the Coalition is forced to share?”

Lotor’s shoulders twitched with his scoff.

“I am.” He said simply.

“You can't be everywhere, Prince, besides,”

“Many would argue that they are the ones who have to share with the Coalition.”

“What?”

“The Galra. Some of those planets were theirs by right. Or shall we discuss Yuuran 16 again?”

“Ugh!” Allura’s hands went up, sheer skirts fluffing with her annoyance as she looked away from him. “That again.”

“You’re only upset with me because you know I speak the truth, Princess.”

“I’m not upset! Who said I was upset?” Allura glared, crossing her arms.

Lotor shifted in his seat, raising his chin almost imperceptibly. There was a smile he was trying to hide that she could see right through.

“Don’t laugh at me! I’m serious!”  

“I know you are, Allura, but so am I and you're—you are—”

His stutter had her gaze looking at him down her nose, taking advantage of the rare occurrence that he was sitting and she was standing. It only gave her about a few inches of height at most, but still.

“I’m what ?”

“Young.” He said finally, sighing into his fist, his tail slid over his shoulder and he looked away.  

“I am not!” She felt her own hair whip about as she leaned on the conference table, trying to get him to look back into her anger. “You don’t know how old I am.”

“You’re seventy-six.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

“You were born on the forty-eighth generation of spring’s first month and third day.”

Her fingers curled on the table, something burning up inside her like paper set aflame.

He took her silence as more of her bitterness and smiled at her to soothe it.

“I read about you long, long before I ever met you, Allura. Sixteenth princess of Altea.”

It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but her stomach drops to her feet and a nervous ache weakens her knees. She flushes, letting go of the table to step away from him, the genuine fondness on his face throwing her so off balance she’s afraid she might fall over.   

“What a silly thing to waste time reading about.” She told the ceiling.

“Why not?” Lotor asked, and she heard him stand from his seat, footsteps backdropping his words. “Can you blame a man for being curious of who his Princess was?”

His?

“Altea was every bit the homeworld I never had, just as Daibazaal was.” He continued, passing her to stand before the screens in consideration.

Allura stared at his back.

He meant because he was half Altean. Of course, of course, he would want to know everything. Want to connect with anything.

Allura fingered the sleeves of her dress.

Who could blame him?

“How about a compromise then?” She asked.

A finger tapped his chin and he glanced at her.

“We… don’t ban Prez Vik, but we direct any inter-cultural disputes, regardless of context, to be settled by that sector’s Coalition and Galra representatives. In a manner they agree on.”

“That might work, but I have to at least concur that we cannot account for everyone. The representatives included.” They met each other at the end of the table. “It’s a matter of mind for the Galra. They are so prone to battle because that is how things were won under Zarkon. He’d fight planets that already surrendered to him, just to make a point that it was the expectation.”

Allura shook her head, “But that’s absolutely backward, how was anyone to save themselves?”

“Think of it as a pseudo-commitment to ‘treating others the way you want to be treated,’” Lotor explained. “He didn’t expect any one of them to save themselves. That’s why the Galra don't expect to be able to do so either. In fact, most of the problem with installing our manifesto will be through acting on it.”

“Acting?”

“They don’t believe in words, they believe in action. Galra won’t truly believe someone when they say they hate… wine, for example, until they see that person spit it out.”

“So they have to see us being kind to each other in order to do it themselves?”

“It’s… more complex than—”

Chiming interrupted the room.

Allura jumped, turning to see a light flashing from her wristlet on the table.

A call.

Coran.

Coran!

Her eyes snapped back to Lotor.

He stared back.

“Get down!!”  Allura shouted at him. She shoved his chest.

Lotor’s shoulders froze like risen hackles, canines catching his lip. His eyes widened.

“Princ—”

“Get down, get down, get down!!” She squealed and put all her weight onto him, hands dragging down his tunic until he was forced to bend at the knees.

“Allura!”

He thudded to the floor. 

Her fingers scrabbled at his head, flustering his hair as she pushed the entire height of him beneath the edge of the table.

Her wristlet flashed, the auto-acceptance systematically taking over as she’d programmed it to do so. Long before she planned on breaking vigilan—

“GooooooOOOOoooOOOd AND BRIGHT—fifth quintent to you Princess!”

“Coran!!” Allura exclaimed, clapping her hands really loudly as the screen from her interface constructed into a neat frame over the table. She had to yell to hear over her thudding, beating, hammering heart.

“You wouldn’t believe the number of calls the Castle has been getting this morning!”

“Hmm!!? Oh—ohhh! Yes?” Allura grinned, very much aware of the overbearing heat at her waist. Lotor seemed to press on her entire being despite not touching her at all.

The skirts of her dress moved with his shifting and she felt her skin crawl.

“Why that’s a fine dress, is that something I’ve seen before?”

“Ha-Ha-HA—What?”

He tried to lean further over the terminal as if he could lean out of the signal itself. Allura subconsciously leaned backward, waving her hand. “T-this old thing—ha—Actually, yes! It, is new, hm, yes, did you know there’s a whole closet full of Altean clothes in my bedrooms Coran?”

“A whole closet! How strange—”

“It’s SO strange, I found it yesterday and I thought to myself, how completely strange, yes, how queer, that a closet—a whole closet—”

“More mysteries in the manor it seems! Just like those objects from the washroom you showed me.” He exclaimed. “I told you that you might find something to preoccupy your time if you just put your mind to it.”

“Ahhhhhhhh haaaaa! YES! You were, so right Coran, of course, always, so,”

A shudder seemed to knock her knee and buckle her weight. She instinctively looked down, getting an eyeful of a crown of white hair level with her hips. Lotor kneeled like a Knight at her feet. His forehead was on her thigh, eyes staring blankly as he waited.

“SO! So —”

“Knowledgeable, intelligent, quick-witted, wise—” Coran listed, swirling a finger in his mustache.

Heat tickled her skin through her skirt.

“All those things!! All of them.” She quickly agreed.

“They all come around eventually, including you missy,” He scolded.

Allura grits her teeth and smiles beyond the screen. Beyond time. Her hands fisted on the table.

“Now, how goes it?”

“Goes what?”

“Vigilance!”

“Vigilance!!” Allura laughed. Maybe a bad idea. Her whole body shook with the effect and she couldn’t seem to stop. “Vigilance! Ah! Oh, I, I’m—”

Coran was eyeing her.

“I’m, it’s a vacation !” She claimed, latching onto the abstract earth word with desperation. She felt like she had been blasted with flaxoon felly-spray. Or drank too much hallo-oil liquor. “I’m the vacationist vacation! I spent all morning on my—hair—”

“Hair—?”

“Y-yes, don’t you like it!?” Allura whipped the lazy high tail about her head, taking the chance to peek down at her legs.

Lotor’s golden eyes and thistle pupils stared back with an intensity she’d never seen before.

His mouth was open.

His canines looked, much, much too long.

“You were never very good at hair.” Coran mustered quietly.

“H-Hey!” Allura’s eyes found her flight master again, swallowing back a shudder to focus on the innocuous offense.  

“But at least you are taking mine and Shiro’s advice.” The man threw a hand up at the admittance. “Who, by the way, got into quite the tiff with Kolivan!”

“Hu—ah, what?” Allura frowned. The statement actually worrying her but not as much as the—hand—

Hand on her calf. Claws on her shin. She could feel the hot flat of his palm shift the too-short hem of her dress as he slid his skin on hers. Stars, his one hand almost wrapped around her twice! They were enormous!

Allura looked down, trying to see what was happening. Lotor’s eyes were closed now. He was panting.

He was so warm she could feel it make everything from her waist down feel hot and damp. Or, well, maybe—

Images of her thoughts from the past two quintents came back, placing his height exactly where she had fantasized it to be.

Oh.

“It seems they had a disagreement when it came to Keith!”

“Keith—” She repeated dumbly.

Was he alright? Overheating again?

“It had something to do with fighting in the Coliseum. Or at least that’s what Hunk told me. Either way, if anyone asks I didn’t tell you that because he wasn’t supposed to tell me that and Pidge wasn’t supposed to tell him.”

“Right—! Lotor, are—”

His eyes opened. His hand swiftly left her leg.

But.

Coran’s eyes snapped open before dragging his gaze to her face. “Hmmm?! What was that! I didn’t hear you, Princess?!”

Oops.

“L-Lotor-are-would—” She trailed, “he should probably hear of it!!” She hurried. “About—Kolivan.”

She’d almost forgot.

Coran deflated, looking almost bored.

“Oh, yes of course. Quite right, the Prince would want to know, and he’d probably want to know about his Oathsguard now that you mention it. But it can’t come from us.”

Allura sighed in relief.

“Once Vigilance is over maybe you can share the secret with the Prince on the way back! Just another thing to catch up on.” He smiled wide, mustache bobbing. “That's half the fun of it you know, getting to splurge about all that happened and what you missed about each other.”

Her teeth ground together in her grin.

“Mhmm!”

“Alright, I'll have to let you go Princess. I just wanted to make a call to you before I return one to Ryner!”

“Oh?”

Thank the stars.

“She’s been trying to arrange a visit once you return, so we can see what they’ve done with the reclaimed capitol now that it’s rebuilt.”

“Great!” Allura clapped her hands again. “Okay, thanks, Coran! Wonderful! Splendid!”

He beamed. She wasn’t sure if he was used to this many exclamations from her but he seemed to enjoy it.

“Have a good night, Allura—”

“Yes! Good! Happy! Thank you!!” Allura hurried. She slammed the signal off.

The interface died.

Allura squealed a garbled noise.

Lotor stood.

She couldn’t look at him, she couldn’t— but she couldn’t not look at him either.

A tuft of his clean locks was messily pulled from the knot on his head, and his tunic collar was rumpled. His teeth bit into his lip harshly, eyes on the table in front of them. A mess.

She tried to tell herself it wasn’t a good look.

“I am. So, so sorr—”

“Ah—” He heaved, eyes closing, cringing, “No, no apologies.”

“At least for this, there must be!”

“Ha.” He glanced at her, and she noticed sweat at his brow again and his claws digging into the table. “It’s fine, Allura—quick adaptability on your part, in fact. I would have gotten us caught and most likely Coran  would have flown out here himself to dole out consequences.”

“Here, please—” She turned from him and leaned all the way over the table to grab the tall container of water.

He looked half-ill when she handed it to him, accepting it tiredly. He practically loomed over her.

“Thank you, Princess.”

“Take your time, really.”

“Yes.” He eyed her thoughtfully, free hand pressing the messy strands flush against his scalp once more. He toasted listlessly at her. “Vigilance.”

They don’t quite take a break. 

They leave the conference room for the library, and then back again, (and then back to the library). It’s a constant dance, an exchange, each one coming up with things they wanted to show each other.

Lotor is the most accused of this, always standing from his seat when she mentioned something that he’d want to retrieve a pill codex for. A way of filling her in on all she’d missed while she’d slept.

Allura mostly contextualizes questions he has, and he has many.

They cover everything from the original geography of the known universe, to which planets welcomed Galra rule, to a side-tracked discussion of how the Tal-tak species had evolved a third eye over just the last six thousand decaphoebs. (Lotor imagines they might be headed towards a fourth, which Allura finds acceptable, they had always had useless vision.)

They take their meals in the library, except for dinner, because the sentry droid seemed annoyed to have to make the trip. They take dessert there anyway, just to spite it.

And then Allura finds a solution, halfway through a bit of Calcatta cake.

“What about a tour?”

“Hm?”

He looks up at her from the table, his own plate empty.

She’s momentarily distracted by the sweat dotting his neck.

He’d removed his tabard some time ago, leaving a lighter, airy under tunic. A creamy white thing that was entirely too sheer. It outlined the curves of his arms and the shadows of his ribs. It also made her disrespectful thoughts more pronounced.

“A tour.” She repeated, glaring at him, just to make sure she concentrated on his face and not his body.

“I don’t follow.” His cheek brushed against the lock from his forehead. It’s curled more than usual, his skin is damp.

“You were talking about the Galra being shown expectations,”

“Yes.”

“Father, well, most Altean leaders in our time, once we discovered or created routes to new sectors, new stars, new planets—we would make a tour, put on an exhibition, bring tech to their people, encourage development.” She said. “Like the Tal-tak, Alteans brought them radiation filtration, so they could journey to the other side of their valley.”

“That was Altea?” His brows perked.

“Yes! I mean, that was more in depth, a show, really. Usually, we just made speeches or presented ideas.” She frowned. “The Empire never visited their own worlds? Or made announcements? Even Voltron did that when gaining forces for the Coalition.”

“Ah.” his expression fell, tone going flat. “You mean a Vor Ast. A campaign.”

Allura scrunched her nose at the term. It sounded aggressive.

“Zarkon would visit many of the more prominent territories to make... speeches.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair. His claws rubbed at his arm through his loose sleeve. “Only ever a few thousand years, to expel the inevitable rumors that he was dead.”

Allura sat up.

“Dead!”

“Hm, yes.” Lotor looked disillusioned, and none-too-happy to be talking about his father. “As it turns out hiding away in the capitol with a manipulative witch doesn't exactly solidify you as a very present ruler. When whispers of mutiny began, Zarkon would drag himself out and remind everyone who was in charge. It was at least successful in establishing him as some sort of undying god to the Galra.”

“What sort of things would he say? Would the speech—”

“I misspoke.” Lotor looked away.

“Oh?”

“They were public executions.”

“Oh.”

His glance was wary.

The silence stretched awkwardly.

“To your point, they worked.” He offered.

“I imagine.” She accepted. And then tried to smile weakly. “But maybe we don’t call it that?”

“Agreed.” He nodded, expression serious.

Then he chuckled.

The mirth grew into more of a laugh, and Allura found herself following suit. It was terrible, to be laughing, wasn’t it? But Allura felt the sudden tensity between them leave once more, holding each other's gazes and giggling.

The air between them was… so content. Genial.

Well, aside from her erratic staring at his wet skin and large hands. Or aside from her realizing she now knew what the entire weight of him felt like on her legs, and thus could probably imagine what it was like between them—

Aside from that.

“Thank you, Princess.”

Allura flushed. She hadn’t said anything out loud, had she?

“What for?”

“Your genius ideas seem endless.” He looks grateful. Genuine. “Once again I’m confronted with a plan so simple yet so fitting.”

“It was obvious!”

“Not to me.” He sighed, stretching his neck absently. Allura watches the tendon stretch from his ear to his clavicle. “Though perhaps it should have been, with the reaction of the Galra at the wedding, their enthusiasm leading up to it even,”

“Wedding.” She repeated quietly.

Wedding.

Married.

They were married.

She’d actually forgotten.

Allura looked across the table at him, her husband, as he fluffs his hair away from his shoulder to knead his claws into his muscles.

Oh.