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Once upon a time, there was a prince. That is the way of these stories, is it not? There is a prince, a spell, a heart broken, and a heart restored. Of course, the uniqueness of these stories comes not from the parts that make the plot, but of the people that fill those parts.
Take Prince Victor.
Long of limb and lithe of figure, with bright, silvered hair; there is much to recommend him physically as a prince. In personality there is much to him that is hidden. Oh sure, his smiles were always well timed and gracious, but they were hollow. A childhood of social training is in those smiles. Let no person see your weakness, your regard, or your innermost thoughts. Speak to no one about the loneliness that you drown in. It is an unhappy childhood. As the years pass, that unhappy, lonely child became an adult who expresses only brittle emotion and diplomacy.
Perhaps that was what ambassador Phichit had seen when he suggested that the prince take him on one of the kingdom’s famous hunting trips.
Victor stared at him with incomprehension. It flitted on his face like a bird and was gone, hiding behind a perfect, untrue, smile.
“Of course,” Victor said, weaving a ribbon around the tail of his long braid of hair. “I would be delighted.”
In this instance, “I would be delighted” meant that Victor had nothing else to do other than allow himself to be suffocated, without even knowing what parts of himself were struggling for air. It was a task that he could accomplish with little thought, while taking him away from the usual monotony of nothingness.
Accompanying the prince and the ambassador was prince Victor’s young bodyguard, Yuri. He grumbled through the entire process of tacking the horses and selecting the weaponry and rounding up the hounds. The spears weren’t sharp enough, and they weren’t hefty enough. Ambassador Phichit was a fool for asking, and Prince Victor was an idiot for accepting. None of the tack was actually the tack that they needed. Yuri went on and on until the preparations were complete and all three of them were on their way to the forest. He had never been happier.
Once they were far enough away from the palace, Phichit drew Yuri to the side. “Is the Prince always so…?”
“Idiotic?”
“I was going to say ‘closed off’.”
“Same difference.” Yuri’s hands tightened on his reins. The horse shook its head, nickering at the tension it could feel from its rider. “Vic- Prince Victor and King Yakov have not been on good terms in recent years. The king says it’s time the prince takes his position seriously. But I’ve never seen the prince be anything but serious.”
Phichit pressed a curved finger against his mouth. “The king seems to disagree.”
“King Yakov doesn’t know everything.”
In the few weeks that Phichit had been in his role as ambassador, he had witnessed no fewer than five separate arguments between the king and his nephew, the prince. Every argument proceed as such: the king would rant and yell, the prince would smile, the king would yell louder, prince would continue smiling and turn away, the king would throw his hands in the air, and the prince would walk away. The prince’s smile is a hard-edged thing. It cuts. It burns into memory. Just when you think that the expression had left, there it would be, haunting you.
The topic of the arguments, more often than not, was the prince’s attitude towards life, as King Yakov saw it. To him, the prince had no drive to take up the duties that would one day be his. There was no interest in the people or the matters of statecraft.
Prince Victor did not refute his uncle’s claims. He did not have an interest in the politics of statecraft, or the manipulating of people that went hand in hand with that. If he could say that he had in interest in anything, it was in the lives of the simple folk of the kingdom, people with lives so different from his own. Were they happy? He wanted so desperately to find out. If they were happy, then what was he missing that he could never find that same contentedness? So he paid attention to the complaints that came from petitioners, and would journey, with Yuri at his side, into town and find a quiet corner where he would sit and listen.
He was also listening as his bodyguard and the ambassador gossiped.
Victor pulled away from their group, turning his horse down a separate path. As he did so, the lead hunting hound howled and gave chase, pulling the pack, and Phichit and Yuri, along behind him after the scented prey. Victor stayed his own course, listening for the howls and barks to fade into the distance. When they did, he nudged his horse into a canter.
There was just him, his horse, and the forest. It was a setting straight from the idylls and adventure stories that Victor had read as a child before all childish things had been put away. Bird song came from the higher branches of the trees, adding to a sense of peace.
The wind was an insistent thing. It demanded attention. That Victor was paying more attention to birdsong and sunlight seemed to annoy it and it blew a gust right in his face. Victor’s braid was caught in the force of the wind, the ribbon tying it fluttering away like a leaf, flashing in the dappled sunlight.
The horse spooked. It screamed and bucked, eyes going white around the edges. On the third buck, Victor fell. One moment he was clinging for dear life, pulling hard on the reins, and the next he was flying in the air, his loose silver hair streaming around him. With a jolt Victor crumpled to the forest floor, the rough bark of a tree trunk scraping up his back. The last thing he saw before black overtook his vision was silver mixed with green.
Hours later that Victor woke up to the feeling of rough skin against his cheek. He blinked and groaned, rolling to his side. The feeling came back, more insistent, and he opened his eyes to see… A piglet? All the way out here? There wasn’t a farm for miles. Despite all possible incredulity, there in his vision was a small domestic piglet. It was black, except for the pink of its nose and a flash of white that spread between two worried brown eyes.
The piglet started, paused, then ran.
Victor scrambled to his feet and took chase.
The path wound through the woods, sending Victor over tree roots that the piglet ran under, and under branches that grabbed and tangled at his loose hair. He had to know. The impulse grabbed his heart and pulled him on. It was those eyes. There was something kindred in those eyes and Victor needed to know why.
Victor stumbled, but kept his feet under him, as the woods gave way to a flat clearing. Ahead, the piglet continued its dash, and ran straight onto a frozen lake. The moment all four of the little black hooves touched the ice, there was a flash of light. Victor threw up an arm to protect him from the glare. It didn’t help. The bright blue light blinded him. When it faded, a man was standing where the piglet had been.
This is the spell. Many stories have one. Some are curses, a punishment that was undeserved, while others are boons to aid the hero. For Yuuri, a prince in his own right, and sole heir to his kingdom’s throne, it was a bit of both.
Prince Yuuri has anxiety. Often, he would look at the common people of his kingdom and wonder if he would labor so if he were one of them, with fewer worries. He was to rule them, but what if he couldn’t do it? What if he made bad judgments, started a war, lost a war? The thoughts would spiral and spiral until there was nothing that he could think about except how he would fail his people, his family, his friends, and himself. Nothing that anyone said could calm him. Pointing out the irrationality of it all would be met with stony silence. Prince Yuuri knew it was irrational. He had no evidence that he would be a horrible ruler, but that did not stop his thoughts.
What helped most was being able to get away from it all. Away from the crowds, away from people trying to be well-meaning but always saying “We don’t think that you can do better”. He took shoes with special blades attached to the soles, and go out to the lake. Even in the height of summer, Yuuri went to the lake and froze it, for Prince Yuuri was gifted with magic. He, however, would say that he was just a dime a dozen spell-caster, only able to do small tricks.
It was on one of his retreats that the spell caught him in its web. He left the castle hardly able to breathe, or even to move his legs. He only knew that he had to get out, get away from people. He couldn’t deal with people he just… wanted to be left alone. By the time Yuuri had reached the lake, he was on all fours and quite a bit smaller.
That had happened a year ago.
Since then, Yuuri spent his days in the piglet shape, and his nights as a human, skating, letting himself be, letting himself feel. For all that he felt free… those same worries that chased him away from the castle settled on his shoulders. That was what had him going farther afield from his usual haunt around the lake.
Yuuri rubbed his hands together and pressed them against his thighs. This look this silver prince gave him, the awe and wonder couldn’t ever be aimed at him. It was just the magic, only the magic.
“Who are you?” Yuuri asked.
Victor huffed out something that could have been a laugh. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You appeared…”
“You were the one chasing me.”
“You ran. I had to follow.” Victor performed a bow, foreign power to foreign power. “I am Prince Victor.”
“Yuuri… Prince Yuuri.” Yuuri shifted on his special shoes, etching lines into the ice below his feet, but his gaze was unwavering on Victor’s face. He explained, because he supposed he ought to, that he was under a spell that forced a transformation on him that would only reverse at night when he was on this lake. It was a clinical speech, halting and stumbling over terms that Yuuri only had emotions over, never words.
Victor still had that look of awe, and had stepped forward as Yuuri spoke. His feet were nearly on the ice.
“I…” Yuuri brought up a hand, almost touching Victor’s hair. “I was healing you when you woke. Didn’t finish.”
His touch was feather light, but the magic was heavy and cold. Victor shivered and leaned into Yuuri’s hand.
Love is a simple and complicated thing. Prince Victor knew that this was love, even if he had never felt it for himself. He simply knew, with that same impulse that stole his heart for the chase through the trees, that he was in love. The magic filled him, leaving a tingle in its wake. It filled his skull and spine and encased his heart. As it retreated, Victor missed it. It was as if breath itself had left him.
On Prince Yuuri’s part, he nearly faltered at the sudden increase of touch. The hair and skin under his hand were warm to the touch, but solid like the ice under his feet. He didn’t stop the flow of the spell. It wasn’t a simple thing, healing, making sure that the delicate portions of Victor’s back and head were whole, but you wouldn’t have been able to convince Yuuri of that.
A lightness was in his chest, as if he was going to start floating. An ephemeral feeling, it filled his heart with no way to say what it was or if it would stay. His hand had to fall though, the healing spell complete. Yuuri wanted to touch Victor again, but curled his hands together instead.
“I want to see you again.” The words tumbled out of Victor’s mouth. “I have to go back, my guard and the ambassador are probably looking for me, but I need to see you again. Tell me that I can.”
Yuuri nodded. It would be too much to hope that the words were meant more than kindly. Victor took both of Yuuri’s hands in his own and held tightly. It would be soon enough that he would have to let go. He could push it off for a few minutes longer.
You can imagine Yuuri’s utter surprise when Victor found his way back to the lake the next night and the next. Every night, Victor came back.
“Why do you like the ice so much?” Victor asked.
“Keep your eyes on me.” Yuuri pushed back from their meeting point at the shore of lake, smiling at how Victor’s gaze didn’t waver. He took position, and started to dance.
There was music in the magic. Or it was the other way around, and there was magic in the music. Even if Victor wanted to look away, he couldn’t. And why would he? Yuuri, loosing himself in the dance, was enchanting. The music that he created with his body became magic, which became music that filled the air of the clearing. Ice glittered in the air, drawn up by the blades on Yuuri’s feet, like so many flying diamonds.
This was where all of Yuuri’s anxieties can float away. The only person that existed is himself and the only thing that existed is the ice under his feet. He could breathe. When the dance ended he stayed in that enlightened state for a few more precious seconds before turning to Victor. Once again, there was that stare: Awe, wonder, reverence. It couldn’t be real.
Victor reached out, stepping onto the ice himself. “That was … There aren’t any words, Yuuri.” Impulse ruled Victor once more. He cradled Yuuri’s face in his hands and kissed him. Yuuri didn’t know what to do with his hands or his arms. He rested them on Victor’s shoulders, thin strands of Victor’s silver hair woven around his fingers.
Sudden as it was, Victor pulled away. His expression seemed to pour out a light of its own in the radiance of his emotions. He kissed Yuuri again.
The next morning, long after Victor had left, Yuuri woke in the form of a piglet. Using one hoof to scrape a portion of ice into a reflective surface he glared at his mirror image. Kisses were what broke a spell. That was the logic of the universe. Yet here he was. Still cursed.
What if he stayed like this forever?
Yuuri felt his heart grow cold and his breathing shallow at the thought. It rang again and again in his mind, like the song of tolling iron funeral bells. Hoofs slid on the ice as he tried to get away from the cold. He couldn’t. It followed him into the shadows of the trees.
On the other hand, Prince Victor’s nightly disappearances hadn’t gone unnoticed. The stable master knew every time the prince’s horse had been taken out from its stall. She told Yuri, who grumbled enough times that word eventually trickled up all the way to King Yakov’s ear.
To say the least, King Yakov was not pleased.
“Victor,” Yakov said, cornering his nephew in the library. “We need to talk.”
The library’s eastern windows had a beautiful view of the forest. In that forest was Yuuri’s enchanted lake. It had become Victor’s favorite view, and the most likely spot to find him.
“Do we?” Victor smiled. For a moment, Yakov’s will faltered. Never had he seen such an expression on his nephew’s face. It was a real smile. The emotion behind it was enough to warm the parts of Yakov’s heart that he had hardened in a lifetime of duty and service. Still, he had to stop this warmth, even if the nightly jaunts were part of what had made Victor so happy. Duty came before all else.
“Yes. Your nightly wanders will stop. There is to be a ball in three days. Ambassador Chulanot was only the first of many visitors who have come to attend. It will be a time for deals, and if we can secure an alliance with your marriage, then all the better.”
The earnest emotion in Victor’s face dimmed at every word, until nothing was left but a porcelain mask that only needed one more strike to be shattered. Duty, a double edged sword. Yakov knew he was cutting himself for killing Victor’s happiness, but he would sever it all the same. Such was the price of leadership, of placing others before yourself. It was a lesson he had been trying to instill in Victor for years. The weight of a crown was more than the gold it was made of. It was weighted in the happiness, the love, sacrificed for duty.
“I have given Plisetsky permission to lock the windows and doors to your quarters at night.” Yakov turned away, his hands clasped behind his back. He had no wish to see Victor crumble.
That night, Yuuri waited at the lake. Victor did not come.
Yuuri waited a second night. Victor did not come.
The third night, Yuuri broke down crying. He curled on his side, his knees held tight to his chest. What had he done wrong? He reviewed every interaction with Victor in his mind. What had happened, what had he done, what had he not done. Want curled next to the freezing center of his chest. He wanted Victor in that moment, to be heat enough to burn away the weight in him.
“Victor, where are you?” he said to the trees.
The wind answered only silence.
The ice froze Yuuri’s tears to his cheek. Victor had not come, would not come. Had he realized that Yuuri wasn’t all that his dancing that night had showed? If he could have only been that earlier for Victor, instead of waiting, or if he only had not told Victor that it was a spell. Then maybe… maybe he’d be here, asking for another dance, instead of seeing Yuuri for just how pathetic a version of himself he was.
He shut his eyes, not seeing how magic poured from him and into an image. Himself, but dressed in black with diamonds up his torso. Himself, but with lips red and plush with promise. Himself, but not all of himself. Himself as he wished he could be, to win Victor’s heart for sure, and keep it.
The image, with a foot too solid to be considered an image, kicked Yuuri’s shoulder, turning him over. “Poor little piggy. All alone with no one to comfort you. Do not worry. I, Eros, will find Victor. I promise.”
Back in the castle, the ball had been going in full swing. The ladies were in their best gowns, the gentlemen in their best suits. The small orchestra hit nary a sour note. Prince Victor felt like he should have been counted among the dead. He tapped his gloved fingers against the armrest of his chair. The gossip flew from guest to guest about how terrible the prince looked. Normally he was so well kept, but now his hair was in a tail just off center, his vest was not a pristine match to his trousers, and the gloves were obviously from some other outfit.
Victor let them wonder. It would be embarrassing if any of the guests knew that Victor had hurt his fingers trying to pry open the locks on his windows and door. The outfit, there was no excuse. Victor had put off asking for it to be put together until the last minute.
He held in a sigh. The voice of the herald was a drone with no end, announcing the latest duchess or prince to ambassador to walk through the doors. Victor could recite the presentation style by rote: name, title, extra title should they be a mistress or other sort of political lover or concubine to someone else. The dresses were all the same fashion, Wide frilly collars were in vogue for the ladies, just as stiff high collars were deemed for men. The shoes were different on everyone, however, telling stories that their wearers perhaps didn’t want to be told. Victor could just stare at everyone’s feet the entire time, but that would be too much effort and be rude.
The doors opened. In stepped Yuuri, resplendent in black and silver. Every guest turned to stare at him, transfixed. It took a few moments before Victor’s eyes followed the others’. He was on his feet in an instant. Yuuri! It was Yuuri. The hows and whys didn’t matter, because Yuuri was magic.
If the grip of Yuuri’s hand in his own wasn’t right, he ignored it in favor of the overwhelming glee from having Yuuri here, in front of him. Victor bowed over Yuuri’s hand, and led him to the dance floor.
The real Yuuri watched. His fingers dug into the ice. The promise to find Victor was a lie. He knew, because he was seeing the ball from Eros’ view and with hints of Eros’ thoughts. Eros wanted Victor for himself, taking away what could have been Yuuri’s one chance at removing the spell.
This is how a heart breaks. For some the shattered pieces would have become glass, fragile and breaking more as attempts to clean it up were made. Yuuri’s heart broke into resolve. He was not perfect, but he would be damned if Victor was taken by someone other than himself. If Victor was to reject him, let it happen to his face, no matter how much it would hurt.
The blue light of Yuuri’s magic filled his clearing. Once it faded he was in a suit worthy of a ball, with a delicate burgundy pattern on the back of a purple-blue jacket. His feet had a soft blue glow under them, magic-wished speed. There was little time left to waste.
Eros was on a schedule. He knew that he had only a short amount of time before his creator discovered the betrayal, and he had to make himself fully real before then. The spell would be sealed with a kiss of love by deception. Once that happened, then Eros needn’t worry about the piggy, or anything else.
Actually getting Victor to kiss him was proving more of a challenge than anticipated.
The little blonde guard interrupted the first kiss. He had snarled a question at Victor just as Eros had gripped his face. The dark haired ambassador interrupted the second kiss. He tapped Eros’ shoulder, distracting him and calling him by his creator’s name. Eros took Victor in hand for a third attempt.
The doors of the hall crashed open. Their handles buried into the stone from the force. Prince Yuuri, the true one, strode in almost glowing from the magic within him. While Eros’ entrance had people clamoring to get close to him, now the guests scrambled to clear out of the way so there was a clear space between Yuuri and Eros.
Yuuri raised one hand, pointing at Eros. “This man is an imposter.” He didn’t need to yell. His voice was loud in the sudden quiet that came after his entrance.
Eros threw his head back and laughed. “So now you come? How selfish of you.” Where Yuuri’s magic was blue, the magic that Eros pulled up was red, encasing his fist. “A public duel for identity, how unlike you, and with Prince Victor as the prize. He’s half mine already, with how easily he came to me--”
If there was anything else that Eros was going to say, it was cut off by a flare of Yuuri’s blue colored magic. A similar blue light surrounded Victor and pulled him away from Eros. Stunned as he was, there was little that Victor could do to resist it. He could feel the differences now.
Eros grinned in mocking laughter. “Did you know you are broken?” he tucked his hand under his chin in a motion that was pure seduction. For that was what he was.
Yuuri clenched one fist. “Yes.” He stepped closer, his magic curling about him. “But that doesn’t take away my worth. It doesn’t make you better.”
“Are you sure? I am you, after all. A whole new you.”
This was the part that was hard, and the waves of magic fell, winding around Yuuri’s feet like sharks made of light. But he held the magic steady. “No you aren’t. You’re just a fragment. You think in one way, act in one way. You’re me, and I’m you. I created you, and I can destroy you.”
“You can certainly try.”
Yuuri had spent his gambit in pulling Victor to safety, leaving him open to Eros’ return volley. He spun out of the way, turning the dodge into momentum to move forward.
Magic thrummed into music made from light. Eros’ was a heady drumbeat, a heart out of synch with the world. Yuuri’s was a harpsichord, delicate and sharp. Their actual tactics mirrored their music, with Eros pounding out flashes of red, while Yuuri cut with walls of blue that could easily turn to defense or offense.
One last pair of flashes struck each other, with the blue slicing the bolt of red in two. It continued on its path and hit Eros. He screamed in agony – or was it ecstasy? – as he burst into fragments of white light.
Yuuri panted, nearly going to his knees. He … won? The assembled court and guests started to applaud. What else could they do after seeing such mastery of sorcery? Yuuri backed up a step, towards the door. Victor forced his way through the crowd, so he could take Yuuri by the hand. Just behind him was Ambassador Phichit. The weight in Yuuri sunk to his shoes. He couldn’t face his old friend. The smile on Phichit’s face didn’t matter. The bounce in his step as he followed Victor didn’t matter.
The power in the transformation spell started to grab at Yuuri, making him smaller. No, no, he wasn’t – he couldn’t. Yuuri backed up another step, paused, and ran.
Victor followed. He had screwed up once this night, and he wouldn’t screw up again. It wasn’t his fault that he had been hoodwinked by the person wearing Yuuri’s face, but guilt ate at him anyway. He had to make it right.
Yuuri went so fast, his magic gliding his steps as if he were on his bladed shoes on ice. Victor grabbed his horse and flew upon it, riding barebacked with his hands curling tightly into its mane.
They went to the lake. Of course they went to the lake. The moon shining on it made it look like molten silver. Yuuri had collapsed on the shore, his head in his hands. His size shifted, becoming larger and smaller and larger again. Victor rolled off his horse to kneel by Yuuri, uncaring of the stains on his knees. It was only clothing.
“What can I do? Yuuri speak to me, should I just kiss you or something?”
“No!” Yuuri looked up at him, tears streaking down his face in frustration. “Just believe in me! Believe that I can break this more than I do!”
Victor hugged Yuuri. “I love you, and I already do.”
Realization struck Yuuri like breaking glass. That feeling that had been growing in his chest since he met Victor; it was love. It was the feeling that had sunk him low enough to create Eros, then high enough to destroy him. He loved Victor. Just as that thought entered his mind, the sun rose over the horizon, and Yuuri was still in his human form.
He stood on shaking legs, exhausted, elated, with Victor’s solid and sure arm holding him up. They returned home, Yuuri summoning a rope to lead the heaving horse with them. As they walked, they talked of their future plans such as telling their families, and arranging a treaty between their kingdoms. Mostly, though, they talked of how they were going to live happily ever after.