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cozycryptidcorner · 4 years

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The Mad Prince, Chapter 9

Always handle yourself with grace and poise, the matchmaker rep always told you, and you remember that exact quote as your mouth hits the floor. You are so very close to shouting ” what,” but by some deity’s grace, you manage to say it in a tone that doesn’t suggest you’re going to march back down and kill the prince with your bare hands.

“Did no one tell you?” The vice marshal clicks his tongue in such transparently false sympathy.

“Of-” you try to push down the bristles, taking in a deeper breath, “of course I’ve been told! I’m just wondering what kind of insignificant dick you’re compensating for with that piss poor attitude you’ve had since I arrived.” There it is, a few weeks’ worth of stress and anger bubbling over the surface. You knew that this would happen eventually, but you suppose you weren’t fully prepared to be tipped over the edge so goddamn early.

Judging by the vice-marshal’s expression, though, he’s clearly not used to being spoken to in that manner, because his entire face goes dark, and his hand raises ever so slightly as though preparing to strike you. “The human body is so much weaker than a drow’s, so much easier to break. What makes you think that you’ll survive one rotation?”

Your guard must have done something because you don’t think the vice-marshal would wince back at your death glare, especially since your prior reputation has been carefully scrubbed clean from the records. With a firm, calm hand, on your shoulder, Elias steers you away almost roughly, apologizing all the while for the sudden departure. You can feel through his pulse that he’s nervous. Or maybe annoyed. You don’t know enough about him to put a specific read yet. Quickly, he has you in the other lift, scanning his pass for permission to enter the servant’s quarters.

“You’re scheming.” Elias surprises you by speaking first after a few moments of stony silence.

Do you blame me? you don’t say. If only you were sure he was just making a casual remark, and not accusing you of being a potential downfall to the royal family. Maybe you shouldn’t sell yourself that high, though.

“I imagine that it must be very different than what you are used to.” Elias responds, glancing in your direction for just a brief moment.

“So very different, yeah.” Your teeth are tightly gritted together, because that’s a severe understatement.

After another moment of awkward quiet. “We both know there is going to be a confrontation,” Elias says, staring straight ahead, “but all I request is that you go easy on him. He… means well.”

“Let’s have a fun little exercise of the imagination,” you say, instead of agreeing, “and let’s say that you get matched with….” You try to get your brain to actually think of some high-level officer, “let’s also say you get matched with one of the few soldiers who are trained in specifically killing driders. We call them the suicide squads, because… um, you get the idea.”

“I don’t think-”

“Let me finish,” you almost snap. “Let’s say this one you get matched with is alright when it comes to you for the most part, but there’s this underlying threat that all of her peers are leaning over you, pressuring her to send your body back over the line in pieces. Which doesn’t even take into account how I’m sure the Royal family is eager to have you feed them information, which you might be able to ignore so long as they don’t have anything to hold over your head, like family, or friends, or-” a criminal background “like… whatever. Now on top of all that, your match’s family is really getting under your skin, as in they want you dead, so what now? You’re stranded in enemy territory, and you’re not sure if you can just say ‘I want to go home’ because something about her makes you wonder if she’s three slights away from strangling you with her bare hands.”

Elias is silent for a moment, then, “I don’t think the prince would-”

” Then you find out that she was serious with someone before who mysteriously died an unknown amount of time ago.”

“I can answer that for you,” Elias says wearily, “two years ago. Her name was Iole.”

“And how did she die?” You ask, trying to tamper down the anger. It doesn’t work, there’s a fuzzy heat fizzling in your chest, like static.

“Her heart gave out,” he says, glancing self-consciously over to the guard, who hasn’t even glanced in your direction.

“Spontaneously?” Because that’s… so suspicious.

“It’s still under official investigation, one that I am not fully privy to.” Elias lets out a muted sigh, tugging at the ends of his sleeves. “However, there are rumors.”

“How interesting,” you spit out through gritted teeth, “why wasn’t I told?”

“I don’t- that is, I didn’t realize that you were not.”

A lie. One that you can sense even through all that careful dignitary training. You let the elevator continue on for a few more tense, quiet moments before saying, “where’s the ship.”

“Where’s what ship? The official matchmaker ship you arrived on?”

“Yes, clearly,” you’re impatient and tense, there’s a weird, pinching feeling in your stomach, “is it in the original place where it was parked? Or did you move it somewhere else?”

He’s silently debating, you can tell, about the benefits versus the risks of telling you. Or even if he’d be able to get away with a lie, you can see it in his eyes. To his credit, he probably realizes that anything besides the truth will probably come to bite him later (namely you. You would bite him later if he lies), so he lets out a sigh that’s probably meant to carefully hide his frustration. “The ship you arrived in is in the same docking bay, though it has not been refueled or maintained at all.”

The doors open with a ping, and you notice a few drow servants lingering in the hallways, so you bite the question down sullenly, crossing your arms over your chest as you walk. Every step towards the prince’s wing is spent deciding how you’re going to speak to him about this. Give him the benefit of the doubt? Go in with all guns blazing? What would he even say, you wonder, once you lay the cards on the table? Would he try to be reasonable? Would he completely lose it and finally kill you? A shiver runs down your spine at the idea of him looking at you the way he stared at those servants. Cold. Bitter. Without any of the timid tenderness he’s shown.

You’re here.

“Why don’t you let me step in first, at least to prepare him for the situation?” Elias offers, looking like he is well aware of the careful calculations that must be done to walk on all those eggshells.

“Um… no, I’m good,” you say, opening the door with a bit more attitude than you meant to. You hear Elias murmur something to the guard as you enter, though only he follows. Aksanos is where you expected him to be, at his desk, working over a large datapad, of which he clears the contents of as you walk over, setting your hands flat on either side of his workspace.

“Did your doctor’s appointment go well?” He asks, his brow furrowing at your aggression.

“Oh, it went swimmingly, thanks for asking.” Your brain is racing, and you’re trying to figure out if you’d like Elias here or absent, or if it would even make any difference. “Say, babe, I think it’s about time we have us a little super serious conversation that we’ve both been putting off.”

He looks over your shoulder at Elias, who probably is emitting a less than thrilled expression at the moment. Then he glances back at you, with a face that’s difficult for you to gauge the emotions portrayed, but he nods, giving Elias a gesture of dismissal. Once the two of you are alone, the door shut and locked firmly against anyone who might interlope, he folds his hands over each other and says, “what is this about, then?”

” Well,” you say, feeling a sense of hysteria bubbling in the back of your throat, “I was being escorted back from my doctor’s appointment- she’s absolutely lovely, by the way, especially with letting me know ahead of time that your mom, who, if you remember, I have yet to meet, wants the very invasive genetic compatibility test done whether I’m willing to consent or not- when I had a little run-in with the vice-marshal.”

He looks like he’s ready to say something, so you raise your hand to let him know that he doesn’t get a turn to talk until you’ve finished your piece.

“So I had such a fun little conversation with him. Turns out, can you even believe it, that you apparently had um, a fiance before I came into the picture? And she died under mysterious circumstances?” You cross your arms tightly around your chest, though you don’t let up on the Best Customer Service Voice, because grossly pretending like everything’s okay is the only thing that’s keeping you from completely losing your shit.

Again, he opens his mouth, his eyes narrowing slightly, but you still have more on your plate to say to him.

“The vice-marshal,” he finally says, “is not one to listen to when it comes to rumors.” It takes you a hot minute to realize that he’s angry because he’s not showing the same kind of dictatorial rage that you’ve witnessed with anyone else. His voice is hard, stony, but not with the same cold detachment he uses with his servants… When he opens his mouth to speak, his fangs seem to be a tad more protruding than when he is otherwise relaxed.

You used to think that the moment he gets enraged would be the moment it’s game over for you, so even though you’re still fucking over this, you try to turn the dial a bit. “So it’s not true, then? You weren’t about to marry someone else before she was killed?”

He’s silent a moment before relenting. “No, it is true. Iole and I… it was… it was a radical union, certainly, because of her lowblood status, but…” he takes a deep breath, “yes. I was going to marry her.”

“Low-blood status,” you need him to clarify.

There is a long, drawn-out moment of hesitation, and then he says, “she was a drow.”

“And this is just information that you decided wasn’t pertinent for me to know? Do you just casually put the people you know in mortal danger?” He does, though, you’ve forgotten who you’ve been talking to. Blinded by the gentle gestures and sweet conversation, the stories of his sadistic nature slowly melted away until your guard was so low someone would have to dig to set off any warning bells. Of course, you knew you were walking into danger when you finally accepted the calling, but you didn’t realize that there’s someone out there that would go far enough to try assassination.

“I informed the Starward Matchmakers™ of the threat, and I thought they would pass it on to you,” he says, too steadily for your liking. As if that’s a valid excuse.

“That’s convenient for you.”

“I’m sorry that retelling the story of how I found the love of my life, dead, isn’t something I enjoy speaking of often.” His voice finally raises, and you feel a spike of adrenaline burst through your system.

“But you didn’t even think that this might be information that I would need to know, even after someone tried to fucking kill me?”

“I did not think it would go this far,” he snarls, “but who is to say that the assassination attempt falls under our jurisdiction? You have plenty of your own enemies, from what I understand of your own conveniently unmentioned past.”

You’re so angry you’re shaking, is he seriously going to bring up your work as a valid excuse for his shitty behavior? But still, even in your burning rage, you don’t want to give him any more than you have to. “I’ve never put anyone not willing in the direct line of fire, and that includes knowing the risks involved.”

He stands to his full height, and you find yourself taking a step back instinctually, eyes quickly roaming the immediate area for any weapons that you might be able to use against him. As soon as your eyes fall onto a pen on his desk, then back at him, his entire demeanor changes, and he settles back down, placing his head in his hands. It takes you a minute of the ensuing silence to realize that you’re still trembling, both with adrenaline and anger. But you’re also bristled, tense, fully prepared to fight for your life. You don’t move the step back closer, because something inside you says he might still try to wring your delicately human neck.

“I loved her,” he says, finally. “I really… I really, truly did. I thought that our union would work for the benefit of all castes.”

You stay decidedly silent.

“And I didn’t think it would end that way.”

You don’t want to hear this, you don’t want to see him speak so forlornly about a lover from the past, either. You don’t care, though, you don’t, and you’re very quick to squish that thought back down to a place you never intend on revisiting. There’s a soft thrumming in the back of your head again, there’s nothing more you’d like to do than to lay down.

“I told my mother I would marry again, but on my own terms.” He sets his hands back down on the desk, looking up at you with those glassy, emotionless eyes. “The best possible match, scientifically proven, the universe’s union, etcetera, you know the advertisement they put out.”

You swallow thickly.

“And the deal was that if I matched with no one, then that was it. I could do as I please, and she would leave me be. I made the deal because I was so, so certain that Iole was my soulmate. Some people don’t get matched, you know. People whose soulmates just don’t have the money to put into the program, or people whose soulmates are dead. I thought I would be the latter. I thought this would buy me more time. And it did, at first. No one in the database matched with me… until you.”

Until you drunkenly stumbled out of a bar with someone, neon lights glittering your vision, bitter, angry, sullen, and reckless. You take a deep, steadying breath, holding your hand out to stop him from saying whatever it is that he plans on saying next. “Losing someone close to you…” your chest tightens, but you continue, “it fucking sucks. I get it, I really do, but that doesn’t give you a pass from any of the consequences at hand.” So I know whether or not to cut my losses and run.

He doesn’t react negatively, only… like he’s defeated. His torso slumps forward, resting his chin on one of his hands, staring blankly at the empty screen on the desk. “And… and what of your past relationships? Do I get to learn about the romances of a rogue pilot?”

Again, there’s a spike of anger churning in your blood. “Mindless, random hookups don’t hold a goddamn candle to a person you plan on marrying and you know it.”

“Do I?” He asks, getting angry again, but doesn’t try threatening you with his size. Instead, he stays carefully still, his hands folded on the desk. “How many people have you ever slept with? Do you even know the number?”

“Does it even matter? Do my past relationships somehow make me less of a person?”

He makes a face, then, and you can see, yes, he does think that way.

You bristle immediately, arms crossing over your chest again, and you take in a deep, shaking breath. The judgment is what gets to you, just how he thinks he can categorize you in some kind of box. “I want to go home.”

Panic, at least, you think the way he tenses is because of some kind of panic. You hope it’s panic. His voice, at least, is a bit tighter and more strained than before. “That might not be the best step to take at this moment.”

“I think that it’s the best step for me to take actually, because I really don’t like it here.” And I’m not sure if I like you, either.

After a moment of staring at you, probably gauging just how serious that statement is, he rubs his jaw, looking back down to the desk. There’s a pinch of fear in your system because he could just… keep you here. You have no power, and he knows this, so in the few moments of deathly silence, you feel him thinking about it. Finally, he says, “let’s… let’s not be so hasty with such decisions.”

“Hasty? What about this is being hasty?” The muscles in your arm tighten in the expectation of a physical fight. “I’ve been here for a while, and we aren’t getting along, so maybe it’s time for us to part ways.”

“That is the exact definition of hasty, you’ve only been here for what, a few weeks? How long have you managed to hold onto a single romantic relationship for?”

You want to stomp your foot back down on the ground. “That has absolutely nothing to do with me wanting to leave.”

“I think it does.” Aksanos taps his fingers on the desk. “Have you ever been in a committed relationship?”

Thinking about your committed business relationships, you nod, angrily.

“Who?” He asks, and at your weak shrug, he lets out a sigh. Both of you are completely silent, staring at each other, daring the other to break the quiet first. Then, after a few moments, he lets out another huff of breath and leans back. “I’ll have Elias send you a full report on your android assistant directly.”

“I want to leave.”

“I know.” He finally looks you in the eye again. “May I convince you to at least wait until your assistant is back online?”

“Do I even have a choice?” You ask sullenly, a direct challenge to his final authority.

“You do,” he says, voice clearly strained.

You pause, then, almost too scared to test it out. Still, you mull the idea over, cutting your losses, making a run for it. Sure, the space marines will be undoubtedly pissed, but you’ve had to lay low before. It’s not anything new. Maybe you’d even be able to open a business in this territory, because surely no one would dare raise a finger on the keias’ soulmate, even if the two of you can’t fucking stand each other. Slowly, you uncross your arms and put them on your hips, trying to unlock your jaw from the straining grit you’ve put in for the argument.

Through your quiet contemplation, there’s a flicker of… tightness? Stress? On his face, and you think it might because he’s afraid that you’re going to fuck right off into the wild unknown and never speak to him again. You’d be lying if you said that that specific scenario didn’t appeal to you in the slightest, because it does. But there’s something else missing from that vision, you don’t know what, so you let out an angry, frustrated breath. “I’ll think it over.”

He relaxes slightly, but you aren’t going to let him think of this as a victory.

“This isn’t a yes or a no, this is an I’ll think about it.” You need a goddamn nap. “Risking my life for the mythical perfect love isn’t fucking worth it, especially if I’m not being respected.”

“Respected? How have you not been respected? You’ve been honored as one of us since you stepped foot off the ship.”

“Not being forthright about information is basically lying!” You throw your hands up in frustration. “You don’t even understand what I’m saying! You’re being so fucking dismissive, and I want to leave because I don’t feel safe, even with all the security modifications you’ve made.”

“The servants are to give you whatever-”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” You’re shaking again, sure your face is bright red in anger.

He’s quiet once more, staring blankly at the wall behind you. “Would… would you like to invite someone you trust to stay with you, in the absence of your assistant?”

Who would you even invite, really? Who do you trust enough to keep their heads low and follow your every direction with no ulterior motives? Well, besides yourself? Your ship, maybe. But definitely not anyone you know. “Have the Starward Matchmakers™ been informed of their personnel malfunction?”

“Not… specifically, no.”

You almost facepalm, but that’s fair, you guess. “It would look remarkably suspicious if I invited someone over without communicating with the main hub first?”

“Does it even matter?” He asks, almost impatiently.

He still doesn’t know. And you plan on keeping it that way. So, carefully, you think about a way you can phrase an answer without planting any suspicion. “I’m just saying, sending for someone when the android assistant is offline with no specific communications with her manufacturers is going to look extremely suspicious. I guess it won’t affect you in any way, so I guess you wouldn’t care.” It would look bad for you, though.

If he had irises t, you’re certain that the prince would be rolling them now. “Fine. I’ll have Elias get in contact with the Starward Matchmakers™ headquarters. Are you certain that there is no one you would like to fetch while they work out what happened?”

The Starward Matchmakers™ are just going to send another one of their android assistants. Do you really want a line going straight to the CEOs who have far too many stakes in this working out than otherwise? Actually, the idea is rather appealing. Maybe if you had someone from a secondary faction, someone outside of the Starward Matchmakers™, but still backed by enough authority to walk right over a faceless but powerful corporation. Best case scenario, the two will just but heads and get nothing done, which leaves you to figure out how best to proceed.

“I guess,” you say, trying to sound noncommittal, “if she wants to come, then I’d like her to be here.”

“Who?” You see he’s already prepping something on his keyboard.

“Clementine Montague.”

#drider #exophilia #citrus #drider/reader #monster/reader #monster lovers

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