The Captive Prince (o/o) closed

Johan let out a heavy sigh through his nose. In his mind Johan had a healthy dislike for the Usigens and all of its people. Fiori, however, was a strange case, and he disliked him for rather different reasons now than he disliked the country. “I’ll never understand you. Do you admire me enough to help me escape captivity? You obviously have enough leverage to sway Leviticus’ decisions.” He vaguely remembered the conversation Fiori and Levi had had in the baths. Still, Johan didn’t completely trust Fiori’s words, and he doubted he would agree to his suggestion.

“I understand things as I’ve experienced in the past,” Johan replied, “And how I believe things are. For what it’s worth, I don’t like you either.” He fixed his gaze forward again, and seeing the kitchens he let out a breath of relief. Hopefully while he ate conversation wouldn’t he expected, and he could dine in peace. “We’re almost to the kitchens.”

Yes, let’s.” He had no intention of initiating the rest of the conversation later. “The cooks know what I like,” he answered as they approached the doors. “To them I’m still the highest prince. I doubt they’ve heard any rumors. Not yet at least.“ For lunch in the warmer months Johan usually had some sort of meat-and-okra soup and red wine jelly. He had it every day, and expected the cooks wouldn’t conveniently forget today of all days.

Johan impatiently bounced his knee under the table while he waited. If he had felt better he might have gotten up to see what was taking Fiori so long to get his meal. Instead he cuties his hands in his hair, inadvertently tugging some strands out of the braid Fiori had put his hair into. A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him, and his eyes fell closed. Without distractions his thoughts trailed towards the ceremony that would occur later tonight. Soon he might not have any hair to hurt his hands into, depending how short Levi would have it cut.

Johan opened his eyes when he heard Fiori return. He lifted his head from the table, “Ah, I can see that—“ he might have said thank you, but he interrupted himself. “—Did you see Cora?” Not that he cared if Fiori had a pleasant time talking to someone familiar or not. He knew Cora, and had seen her in the kitchens ever since he could remember. As a middle child whose parents were more focused on the rambunctious toddler, Johan had enjoyed visiting her when he was Mikhail’s age. He didn’t visit as often anymore. He still liked her, though he wouldn’t openly admit it, and it was often easy for him to forget she was Usigen.

Johan tossed his chin to the side and picked up his spoon. “Of course I’m tired. It’s been a long day.” He stared forward at the wall as he began to eat. His utensil wavered slightly in his hand, only to be steadied when he took a bite. “Other than that I’m fine. I just need rest.” Other than the whole ceremony and his hair being cut, he was rather looking forward to the end of the day. Would he even be able to sleep in his own bed?

“What?” Johan lowered his spoon back into the bowl. “Those are my rooms.” he swiveled his head to stare back at Fiori. “I’m staying in my rooms,” he insisted. He couldn’t let him change anything about his rooms, no matter if Fiori would be considered his “master.” How dare he have a right to his possessions?

Johan had no problem picking a fight, especially when it regarded his entitlements. He would fight with Leviticus about the ceremony all night if he had the chance. “Yes. My knives. The ones that I own and am quite proud of. If you’re so scared of them you can sleep somewhere else.” He picked up his spoon and started eating again, with a lot more agitation than was present before.

“If Leviticus is plotting to give everything what is mine to you then I will plot as well to get it all back. My freedom and rooms included. But they are still mine as of now and I can use them as I wish,” he hissed, slamming his hand down on the table. The strain in his words sent him into a brief coughing fit, and he closed his hand around the empty space on the table where a napkin might have been during a normal dinner.

Johan allowed it while he coughed, mostly because the pain outweighed his pride for a few moments. He groaned after sputtering for the final time, catching his breath and weakly pushing Fiori’s hands away. His gaze lowered towards the rest of his soup. He was hungry, but he wasn’t sure if he felt like eating the rest. “And what’s the catch?” He rasped. “What would make you my master, then, other than the title?”

Johan eventually relented and brought another spoonful of soup into his mouth, and then a few more bites after. In the silence he mulled over Fiori’s words with a pensive, rigid expression. The arrangement he described didn’t sound cruel, but it still didn’t sit well with him. “In other words…” he finally said, “I would be a pet.” A well cared for pet, not unlike Leviticus’ Boris and Alexei, but a pet nonetheless. “No way.”

“Of course.” Johan let out another sigh through his nose. So Johan was right about it, and Fiori admitted it, though he was reluctant about all of this. Leviticus was behind it, so he resolved to blame him. There was nothing more humiliating than for his social worth to be that of a dog’s. He scraped the bottom of the bowl for the last few bites of soup. “Leviticus is more sly than you think. He is not my opposite, he rather hides it better than I do.”

Johan managed to stand up with Fiori’s help and a few ragged breaths. “I’ll admit that much. But the only thing I’m sorry about is that my original plans fell through.” He set his jaw again to weather the exertion walking took. “Are we going back to my rooms?” He assumed, having not known what time it was.

Levi, clothed in a traditional Widonian coat with silver embroidering and für cuffs, and black gloves, glanced nervously up at the clock in the ballroom, and then the room entrance. It was nearly seven, and everything was in order. Almost. The chair where Johan would sit, the table beside it bearing a golden cup and shears, and the prince regent’s crown on another table off to the side. A religious official was scheduled to arrive closer to seven, who could crown Leviticus as the regent. That ceremony would take place after Johan was stripped of his own rank and given officially to Fiori.

“The ballroom?” Johan blinked. It couldn’t be seven already, could it be? “If— If you’re implying that we don’t walk as far as the ballroom because of my physical condition then I agree. But if you intend to carry me like a child again, absolutely not. I’m perfectly fine.”

Levi endlessly twirled the silver ring around his finger, watching a handful of nobles filter into the room. He hadn’t specified what kind of ceremony this evening would be, nor did he specify that he was the one who was hosting it. Not everyone knew that he had returned, or that he was even alive. He assumed his funeral must have been a popular topic throughout the country if Fiori had heard about it in Usige.

“So what if I’m hurting? You said I could ask you for anything, and I’m asking you for the last bit of dignity I have.” He pursed his lips tighter to keep them from wavering. This ceremony was an execution of sorts, despite not actually dying. And the men outcasted from the country weren’t carried into the woods, they walked themselves. If demanding wasn’t going to work, he would try negotiating. “I’ll see a physician afterwards. You can carry me all you want when you’re my ‘master’, but I’m still my own man now.”