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Chapter Text

[Aɴᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴅᴀʏ, ʜᴇ ᴡᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ ᴀᴍᴏɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇᴀ ᴏғ ʙᴏᴅɪᴇs sᴛʀᴇᴡɴ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɴᴋᴇɴ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ, ʟɪᴍʙs ᴘᴇᴇᴋɪɴɢ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪʀᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴅᴀɪsɪᴇs ʙᴜʀɪᴇᴅ ɪɴ sɴᴏᴡ. Tʜᴇ ʀᴜɪɴs ᴏғ ᴡᴀʀ ʜᴀᴅ ᴘᴏɪsᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs ʟᴀɴᴅ, ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀs ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ sɪsᴛᴇʀs, ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀs ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀs; ʙᴜᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴀɴ ᴀʀᴍ ᴅɪᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴘᴜᴛʀɪᴅ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ, ʏᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ sᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ᴅᴇsɪʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴠᴇ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ Vɪᴋᴛᴏʀ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ.

Tʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴ ɢᴀᴢᴇᴅ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ʜɪᴍ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴅᴇsᴄᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴs. Hɪs ʙᴏᴅʏ sᴏ ᴄᴀᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴍᴜᴅ, Vɪᴋᴛᴏʀ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴏᴛ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀs ᴏғ ʜɪs ғʟᴀɢ. Bᴜᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ, Vɪᴋᴛᴏʀ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ғᴏʀ sɪᴅᴇs. Hᴇ sᴀᴡ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴀɴ, ᴀɴᴅ sʜᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀ. 

Vɪᴋᴛᴏʀ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ʜɪs ғᴀᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴜʀɴɪɴɢ sᴋʏ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴄʟᴏᴜᴅs ᴄʜᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴍᴏᴋᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ғᴜɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴘʏʀᴇ. Hᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴ’s ʜᴀɴᴅ ғᴀʟʟ ɢᴇɴᴛʟʏ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ʟᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪᴇʟᴅ ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ sᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴡɪsʜ ғᴏʀ ᴀɴ ᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ.]

1 YEAR LATER

Much of the world’s moral compass revolves around the idea of judgement day. 

Maybe it is fear that drives people to do good. Maybe this is hell. But if there is a God, Viktor came to the conclusion that he was abandoned by it long ago.

“Shit,” Viktor hisses, wiping his hand on his cloak. The vial spits again, and he quickly stomps out the acid before it eats away at the floorboards. He summons a quill, then spins a sigil on the open page to begin his notes. “Note the time. Eggshell powder and sulfuric ember create an acidic reaction, no neutralizing effects as previously hypothesized.”

Some cultures believe magic is a gift of the heavens; others call it a curse, a punishment for humanity’s sins. Viktor sees it as something far more powerful. 

Cold, hard science. 

"Duck!" Viktor shouts as he tucks his head. His journal drops out of levitation just in time for the specimen to splat against the wall. The goop drips pathetically to the floor, and dies with a rancid squeal. Another for the bin. 

Viktor cares not if he is blessed nor cursed – if the arcane is the way to achieve what he desires, then he will use this tool like any other on his workbench. 

He knows what others see in him; a living weapon, no better than the beasts Silco keeps in his dungeons. Viktor is not so naïve to think the king of Zaun offered him his own laboratory out of goodwill. Friends close, enemies closer – a mantra he suspects Silco repeats to himself each morning. 

A knock stirs his concentration. Viktor frowns, and flicks his fingers towards the latch on the door. It unlocks with a magical thunk.

“What is it?”

“Do you address all your kings with such an attitude, or am I just special?” 

Viktor straightens at his desk. He stands too quickly, his left leg buckling under his weight, before he fumbles for his cane. “Apologies –” He remembers the door, pulling it open before he repeats, “Apologies, sir.”

“I’m messing with you,” Silco drawls, strolling in. He surveys the tower with his one good eye. The staggered shelves are packed with hundreds of tomes collected by Zaun’s historians over the span of a hundred years (long before this land was called Zaun). Dark windows, gothic spirals in the ceiling, and burnt holes in the wood, where Viktor’s experiments took a poor turn. “Busy, I see.”

“To better serve our people,” Viktor promises (then coughs, pushing the wastebin beneath his desk with the tip of his cane). 

Silco is a clever man with a tongue sharper than the dagger he keeps strapped to his thigh. He needn’t lift a finger to order death upon your entire lineage. In some circles, people rumor that Silco conned, stole and killed his way to the throne. Thankfully, Viktor is not in the habit of spreading rumors, because he’s pretty sure those people are dead now. 

While Silco’s rule is not always a peaceful one, his citizens are still well protected behind these walls. Viktor will always respect that. Even if Silco’s methods are…less than ideal.

Silco slides a hand across his neat pepper-grey hair. His sickly eye looks especially poor today.

“I can have your medicine delivered to your solar,” Viktor offers, searching through his vials. “You didn’t have to come all this way.” God knows Powder loves to make deliveries. A wicked and clever mind, that little princess, but he fears the blue substrate stuck the crevices of his writing desk will never scrub out.

Silco runs his finger along a glass beaker. The contents hiss and sizzle.

“A caravan from Piltover will arrive tomorrow. The king will be in attendance, and I’ll need the presence of my court magister.”

Viktor knows better than to ask dumb questions like why. Instead, he leans his weight on his cane, and arches an eyebrow. “Is this in regards to the peace treaty?”

“Mmm. The Piltover council is pushing to unite our countries in a more oath-binding sort of way. They fear I’ll change my mind.”

Viktor sighs. “Marriage.”

Silco leans against his windowsill, gazing down at the courtyard below. He’s bored already, and the meetings haven’t even begun.

“Yes. Dull and primitive – but Talis has agreed to an arranged marriage, and so have I. Piltover will take a bride from Zaun. There’s going to be a small courting party, I’m asking you to come as extra protection for the girls.”

The girls.

Viktor’s stomach drops. “You don’t mean…”

Silco’s face twists in a sneer. “I wrote Talis privately. I will let him pick any Zaunite woman he desires, so long as he does not choose my daughters.”

Viktor nods thoughtfully.

“Uniting marriages between countries is not uncommon, but tradition dictates marriage to the next of kin, does it not?”

“Tradition is dying,” Silco hisses. “Look at Piltover’s shiny new king – winning the throne through silly tournaments and a pretty face. Tradition will barely live to see the next century.” Silco lifts a vial to his eye level, and watches the floating frogseye wobble around in the green liquid, rolling until it stares right back. “All I can do is prepare Zaun for the future, before it’s my turn to take a knife to the back.”

“Sevika will never allow it.”

“Sevika is out rounding all the fairest women in Zaun,” Silco huffs. He rolls his good eye. “Though, I won’t be surprised if she comes back from the brothel with a flock of two-bit whores.”

Viktor cringes. “Should’ve sent Vi.”

“Like she has any better taste,” Silco scoffs. Adjusting his buckled waistcoat, he shoots Viktor a sharp glance. “Would be like sending you. Fucking worthless, no offense. Go see the tailor, you look like a beggar.”

Viktor looks down at his clothes. He doesn’t spare much mind to aesthetics when he’s locking himself in his lab for days. His late mentor lectured him on mathematics, astronomy and science; not fashion.

“Yes, sir.”

Silco leaves his study without another word, and Viktor sighs through his nose, leaning down to massage the sore side of his knee.

He pulls up the pant leg, peeps down at his ankle, and scowls.

***

The Piltovians arrive in their flashy horse-driven carriages, adorned in faceted jewels and plated gold, flashing all their wealth to the poor Zaunties pandering the streets of the northern district. Viktor could truly care less.

He seriously considers hiding out in his study for the afternoon, but ultimately decides it’s not worth evoking Silco’s wrath over something so trivial. So he stands around at the palace entrance with all of the other knights, lords and retainers of Zaun. Vi is here, but Powder is not – which is honestly a good thing.

“We look like a bunch of jackasses,” Vi mumbles.

Viktor looks up and around the palace gates. The groundskeeper practically spit shined the courtyard. It seems a waste of time to try and impress these people – they will always see Zaun as lesser than; mangy, poor, diseased, no matter how much Silco (and Vander, rest his soul) have worked to make Zaun a home.

Which is exactly why Vikor should be in his lab, tending to the warlwood drying up in the corner of his desk. He has a chance to make life better for people, and he’s wasting it here, with this parade of gluttony.

He resists a sigh. “You said it, not me.”

The royal entourage clip-clops along the cobblestone patch. The big carriage wheels are so expertly crafted, that they glide right over the stones broken by time.

It feels wrong to see the Piltover colors flying beyond the gates of Zaun. These are people they called enemy for over fifty years; and now, a silly piece of paper grants them entry into their home. Such a stupidity of man, the idea of war.  

First come the captain of the guard, then the flag bearers, then the bowmen all on pristinely conditioned horses. Two main wagons are pulled to a halt. It is obvious which carriage holds the esquires, and which the king.

“Such a waste to flaunt your wealth like this,” Viktor mumbles. It is heresy, but they’re so far in the back of the guard, only Vi acknowledges him with a snort.

“Wait until you see what Silco has done to the ballroom. Not sure we’re much better at this point.”

Violet was a young girl when Viktor was taken in by Silco. She is much younger than himself, but Viktor likes her more than most. She is tough for a princess – having sworn off her rights to the throne, she chose to become a knight in pursuit of protecting her sister. If not for Sevika’s iron grip as Captain of the Guard, he thinks Vi would be fit for the title.

A trumpet sounds. Ah, there is the typical Piltovian flare he was expecting.

The herald stands before the welcome party with an arm tucked behind his back.

“I present to you His Royal Majesty, King Jayce Talis of Piltover, Defender of the realm, Arbiter of Peace, and Champion of the Kingswright Trial.”

“Oh dear god,” Vi whispers.

The door opens, and a heavy boot hits the ground. A large man steps out of the carriage, dressed in dark leathers and a shag of fur, and Viktor leans his weight on his cane to get a better look.

“Where is Talis?” He whispers.

Vi gives him an odd look. “That is him.”

Jayce waves off his entourage, and turns to quietly greet Silco. He doesn’t look perturbed by the scar running down Silco’s face, nor Silco’s bad eye. He never wears an eyepatch for the purpose of intimidation, but it’s obvious Jayce is not intimidated.

Viktor still cannot recognize him. Vi reads the confusion on his face, and leans over to whisper in his ear.

“Didn’t you sneak into the tournament of Kings?”

He did. Under the guise of magic, Silco had sent him to spy on the crowning of the new king. Viktor only agreed to this espionage so he could purchase some herbology books from the self-acclaimed city of progress. It is Piltover’s one shining light; they have an assemblage of incredibly bright scholars. Their wealth has been poured into their historians, philosophers and tutors, and with their aversion to magic, Viktor has also heard rumors of their proficient physicians.

Peace will bring more than an end to bloodshed; it will bring knowledge. It’s why Viktor is still standing here, numb on his crooked leg, gawking at the king of Piltover.

“He looks nothing like he did at the tournament,” Viktor mumbles.

He remembers a clean-shaven, square and handsome face. A bright smile and a personality built for politics. He was strong, took down his competition like a wolf to sheep; but he was also kind, sparing each of his competitors from a gruesome death. It was like he had been molded into the shape of a king, so Viktor had rolled his eyes and left for home.

Now, Jayce carries no smile. Barely a light in his eyes as he slowly follows Silco up the steps of the palace. A dark beard, unkempt hair, a large strapping sword and armor that sounds heavy; and yet he walks up the stairs without so much as a labored breath.

Suddenly, Jayce looks his way. The world slows as they make eye contact, and Viktor sucks a breath through his nose. His eyes are a poignant hazel that change hue like a sword in the light.

He looks wild. 

Jayce squints darkly. Then, without further preamble, he turns away and continues up the  palace steps.

“The Yeoman will show you to your chambers,” says Silco. He already looks like he wants to smoke something. “Welcome to Zaun.”

Jayce nods, “Thank you, your Grace.”

“I don’t need your titles, Jayce,” Silco teases. “Do you smoke?” There it is.

“I can.”

“I’ll bring my best cigars to the summit. Something tells me we’ll need them.”

“Damn, he’s laying it on thick,” Vi whispers. Sevika shoots them a scathing look, and Vi straightens again.

Large, heavy doors creak and groan as they are pulled open, and the Piltover entourage bows their head in respect before they pass through. Viktor swears he can still hear the heavy laden footsteps of those leather boots.

***

Viktor turns left, turns right, lifts his arms and studies the handiwork of the seamstress.

She fitted him in a dark blouse that tucks into woven leather bracers; lots of flouncy, unnecessary beads, belts and chains. All jewelry is engraved with the Zaun crest, as if he’s been branded.

“Fits good,” she says. "Makes you look tall."

Viktor is too physically weak for heavy armor, which makes him look all the smaller for it. He doesn’t like to stare at his reflection too long; his hair that grows in wild directions, his sunken cheeks, dotted moles and dark circles under his eyes. All his imperfections that he prefers to ignore.

“Thank you, miss.”

“You better not put on that damn cloak after all this hard work,” the tailor huffs, stuffing her supplies back in her pouch.

Viktor smiles, nods, and slips it over his shoulder as soon as he’s down the hall.

***

Silco was greatly underselling the idea when he pitched this so-called ‘party’.

In reality, it’s more of a grand ball. Even on short notice, the revel is planned to perfection, as Silco isn’t one to be outdone. He pulled out all the stops; the orchestras, the chefs, the gaudy ornaments strung around their dark ballroom. Narrow stained-glass windows judge down upon them as the best, and only the best, dance around in display of what Zaun has to offer. Beautiful women in Zaunite fashion, dangly jewels and fluffy petticoats. Bleh.

Viktor is no fool to Silco’s games. This is a peacock ruffling its feathers; he is showing the court of Piltover what Zaun is capable of. 

“Protection…” Viktor mumbles at the red liquid shimmering in his goblet. Right. Damn near every knight in Zaun is here, not to mention the chem-barons and their snarling dogs. Viktor is not here to ‘protect’ anyone, he’s here as an ornament. A mage on a string, dangled in front of the King’s nose to say look what I have.

“She’s hot,” Vi says, shoulder up against a sculpted column, armor clinking as she crosses her strong arms.

Noblewomen continue to flounce around the ballroom, showing off their best features in hopes of becoming the suitor of a king. A king, mind you, who still has his back turned in conversation with Silco.

Powder is more concerned about trying to steal the sword off of her sister’s hip. “Hm? Yeah, sure. Talis has his pick of the fuckin’ litter.”

Vi smacks Powder’s hand away. “No, I mean his knight.” She winks at a tall, dark-haired woman standing post next to the King’s table.

“Eeeew, but she’s from Piltover.” Powder presses her thumb to her nose, making herself look like a pig. “Oooh, I’m a rich posh bastard with drinkable water and a capital goldmine. Oooh, my biggest problem is that I’m hot and beautiful –”

“To be fair, she is.”

“UGH.”  

Powder is the laden cannonball of the estate. Now first in line for the throne, the only one who seems happy about this idea is Silco. She is pure talent in a shaken test tube – too many ideas, too much mouth, too much hair. She refuses to wear a dress; instead she sports men’s trousers and a shirt she likely stole from her adoptive father’s closet.

A barmaid takes his empty goblet as another boring song begins. Talis has yet to show interest in any of the women brought to meet him.

Viktor rummages into his inner breast pocket, and pulls out his watch. This is a waste of time. The room is so tense you could cut the air with a hatchet and serve it to the rats down in the dungeon.

“You think this is stupid too, huh?” Vi says. Her pink hair still has a twig stuck in it from sparring out in the courtyard.

Viktor taps his cane against the side of his shoe in thought. “It’s not for me to say.”

“Oh, c’mon, Silco’s not listening.”

Viktor studies the room again. Zaunites hover to one side of the ballroom as if a line has been drawn down the marble floor. The small group of Piltovian knights are huddled together like the air they breathe is poisoned. Viktor frowns.

“Piltover and Zaun have decades of hatred built between them. Peace is a nice sentiment, but a marriage of convenience will not erase our crimes.”

“Our crimes,” Powder scoffs. “They cut our food supplies, poisoned our fucking water –”

“And you set half their fleet on fire,” Viktor counters. “Warranted of course, but the blood is bad in both veins.”

“I think she wants me,” says Vi. Ah, she is checked entirely out of the conversation. She mouths something, points the other way, and the Piltover knight rolls her eyes.

“God help us,” Powder whispers.

Viktor’s leg is truly aching. He looks for a place to duck away and sit, but as luck has it, he turns and makes perfect eye-contact with the King of Piltover once more.

It’s shocking to think that five years as king has changed this man so much. To his credit, he worked to end a half-century long war – but he looks like a wolf in man’s clothing. Viktor refuses to be intimidated, but he does understand why some of the women are avoiding his critical gaze.

Viktor does not look away. This must surprise Talis, because he raises an eyebrow, and leans over to speak into his Captain’s ear. Silco offers some information that grabs his attention.

“I need another drink,” Powder mumbles. “I know Milo is hiding the good stuff somewhere.”

Viktor makes a face, and says, “I’ll join you.”

Insomuch as Viktor has a new chalice in his hand, the pretty little knight Vi has been ogling comes clopping across the ballroom in her leather thigh-high boots. He watches Vi immediately panic, then stare in confusion as the captain addresses Viktor instead.

She claps her shoes together, stands at attention and declares, “His Majesty requests your presence.”

Viktor blinks slowly as he processes this.

“Oh yeah?” Vi grins. “We don’t take orders from someone with no name.”

The knight rolls her eyes. “I’m Caitlyn of House Kiramman. And you are too shameless.”

“Vi. And ‘shame’ is something y’all invented in Piltover just to have something to stick up your ass,” Vi smirks. Powder low-fives her.

“Yeah, sorry lady, we don’t do that here.”

“Could show you the ropes though. Y’know, when in Zaun…”

“The king is waiting, mage,” Caitlyn huffs, flushed and irritated. Viktor resists a sigh. 

“Thank you.”

He leaves Vi and Powder to deal with whatever mess they're about to create. As he makes his way around the ballroom, Silco shoots him a look he cannot decipher. This is a political stunt, no doubt.

He approaches the King’s table, and only remembers to remove his hood just before he bows. He attempts to drop on his knee, but Jayce sees his cane and waves off the pleasantry. The bar is low, but Viktor appreciates this.

“Your majesties. You summoned me?”

“Yes,” Jayce nods. In this somber light, his eyes are a deep brown. His clothing is intricate, layered and finely made. Yet despite this, he still does not wear Piltover’s signature white and gold. “Silco was telling me about your scientific advancements, but I’ve already heard of your name – you’re the infamous healer of Zaun.” 

Viktor tips his head in acknowledgement. “Yes, sir.” 

Silco looks away. Jayce’s voice is rough as cobble, yet oddly reverent. 

“Piltover has a historical animosity towards magic, but your accomplishments are proof that our future depends on it. So fast as we could cut down soldiers, they’d be in fighting shape again by the next battle. How do you cheat death?”

Viktor’s leg suddenly burns with a hellish fire. He grits the back of his teeth, and adverts his eyes. “There is no such thing, sir. Death is permanent. I only mend what is broken.”

“With this treaty, our nations will be married as allies. Would you share this knowledge with Piltover?”

He tries not to shift too obviously. His gloved hands squeak on the handle of his cane.

“If your nation trades their research in return. And if my lord allows it.”

Jayce turns to Silco. He has been eerily quiet, pipe in hand, with a darkness in his good eye that has Viktor on edge.

“Viktor.” Silco addresses him face on. “The head of Piltover has chosen you for a wife.”

The words don’t process. Viktor understands them, but not in that order. He stares expressionless at the monarchs before him; the tune of the orchestra melts into a dull hum in his ears.

“Do you accept?” Jayce asks.

The question is poised as a statement. There is no choice here, and Viktor is aware of that. As is Silco, by the annoyance on his face.

“Can I bring my work?” Viktor asks thinly.

Something flickers across Jayce’s face. Pupils widening fractionally, like his interest has been piqued.

“Bring everything you own. You’ll be well taken care of.”

Feeling numb, he tips his head in a bow. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow evening. Unless you need more time to say goodbye to your loved ones.”

“I don’t have any,” Viktor answers curtly. “Tomorrow evening is fine. If that is all?”

Silco filters smoke between his lips, too pissed to hold off any longer. “You are dismissed.”

Viktor turns on his heel, and stalks out of the ballroom. Scar can barely yank the door open in time for him to push his way through it. When the metal clangs behind him, he braces a hand up against a stone column, and catches his breath. 

He hisses a curse that tastes like poison. It rattles the ground beneath his feet.

***

Viktor only has a single day to pack up his entire life as he knows it, which means a few not-so volunteers are sent to rummage around his study and chuck delicate research into dusty wooden chests.

“Those are fragile!” Viktor snaps, yanking the bottles out of a young knight’s hand.  “This is a specimen I’ve been growing for six months, it must be stored in a dry, warm – Powder, put that down.”

She huffs, twirling the dagger around her finger. “This is such bullshit. Just because some pompous asshole waves their magic wand, you have to leave your whole life behind?”

Viktor rubs between his eyes. 

This is what your father hoped to spare you of.

“It appears so. Which is why I would like my things to arrive in Piltover in one piece.” Viktor catches a knight opening a drawer, and slams it back shut with his cane. “I will pack those. Thank you.”

The door to his study flies open, and it cuts through the room like a canon.

“Everyone, out.”

Knights stand to attention, salute, then scramble in a single file. All the noise jingles out with them, followed by a defiant Powder, who slithers up to her father with devil horns protruding from her skull. “Ooooh, papas in a bad mood.”

Silco stands like a rooted tree, his jaw clenched in an exercise of patience.

“Powder, not now.”

She pouts, curtsies, then slams the door. Viktor studies Silco’s face for what kind of mood he’s in. He looks about half ready to throw a chair through the window, so Viktor sits on the bottom step of his tower loft. 

“I see this wasn’t a part of your plan.”

“Of course it wasn’t!” Silco barks. He pulls a wrapped cigar from his breast pocket, and lights the end on a candle burning at the corner of Viktor’s desk. “That bastard outplayed me. I was too busy protecting my queen, and he took my bloody rook.”

“A move I also did not see coming,” Viktor mutters. “Though it leaves me with many questions.”

Silco scowls. “It’s as fucking bold as it is brilliant. He’s going to marry two gaps at once; Piltover to Zaun, and the magi to the church. By obtaining your hand, he wins over the most powerful class there is.”

“There are women with magic in Zaun,” Viktor counters. More or less. “He will bring criticism by marrying a man.”

“But you carry a title,” Silco counters. “A war hero –”

“I healed foot soldiers for six months in a tent, hardly saw the dull end of a blade –”

“You are power, Viktor!” Silco snarls. It shuts him up quickly. Silco stalks across the study, and Viktor quickly regrets sitting down. “You were a weapon in my arsenal, and he just plucked you right out from under me.”

Ears ringing, Viktor stares at the floor.

Always a weapon. No matter how much he mends, no matter what he discovers, or creates – he will always be whittled down to what he is capable of. Magic.

Silco never wielded him, but there was always the possibility that he would. Now, he will belong to Piltover. Another slave to the will of a man in a fancy chair.

As a silence settles, Silco looks away with a scowl.

“I’m sorry, boy.”

“I will do anything to serve our people,” Viktor recites, emotionlessly.

Silco’s slender hand lands on his shoulder. They’re bone on bone, the two of them.

“Your sacrifice will bring the peace you always dreamed of.”

Viktor will keep telling himself that.

***

They have a white carriage prepared just for him.

Stacked up the back with wooden chests, everything he owns pulled by two grey horses.

Instead of a foot soldier, Jayce himself is waiting by the open door. He doesn’t look impatient – just tiredly reserved as he waits for Viktor to make his peace.

“Don’t forget where you came from,” Powder says, attempting to sound jovial. Viktor can hear the upset in her voice. He settles a hand on her shoulder, as he knows exactly who will be taking over his place in the lab.

“Make the medicine exactly as I showed you. Do not –”

“—let the root boil, I know.” Powder rolls her eyes. “I’ve only seen you make it a thousand fucking times.”

Viktor nods, then glances at Vi. “I assume you’ll be overseeing Powder in the lab for a while.”

Before Vi can open her mouth, Silco steps forward with a scroll in hand. He prompts Viktor to take it, who does, hesitantly.

“Not quite. Violet will be escorting you to Piltover. She so selflessly volunteered to split her patrols in Zaun for the time being.”

Viktor catches the silhouette of Caitlyn in the corner of his eye. She is bent over while fixing her crossbow. 

“Right.”

“The wedding will be in two weeks,” Silco says. “This is the accord saying I’ll be in attendance.”

Viktor struggles to keep a straight face. He bites the side of his tongue, and nods.

“Thank you, sir.”

Silco looks like he wants to say more, but Jayce is watching intently. Vi offers him a sad smile, and pats the side of his arm. “I’ll be up front with the horses.”

“Come visit sometime,” Powder waves. “Or maybe I’ll come visit…”

“Absolutely not, my dear.” Silco leads her towards the stairs with a hand on her shoulder. He does not turn back.

The afternoon is warm, and the back of his neck feels damp. Viktor tightens his grip on his cane; Jayce looks him up and down as he walks his way over to the carriage. Jayce does not reach for him, nor does he have anything to say. Viktor looks up at the empty wagon, and clears his throat.

“Too proud to share a coach? Or are you afraid you’ll catch it?” He taps the side of his right leg with his cane, making a clang against his metal brace.

Jayce’s eyes drop down, then up again.

“That would be a little hypocritical of me, don’t you think?” Jayce sets one foot on the step of the carriage, and Viktor is shocked to see a leg brace worn from the bottom of his shin to the top of his thigh. It must be an injury, not an illness, but Viktor is still left wondering how he missed that.

Jayce sighs, dropping his foot again. He is so damn tall; his presence is stifling, even if he doesn’t mean to be.

“Listen. You’ve got a few reasons not to like me, I’m not going to force you to share a coach for three days.”

“But you’ll force me to marry you,” Viktor blurts, then bites his tongue. Lord he is not trained for this. “Sorry, sir. That was –”

Jayce shakes his head. “I understand. I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.”

Viktor studies him again. This stormy, broody countenance is so ill-fitting of the man he vaguely remembers, and yet his presence feels like true royalty; no longer a boy playing pretend.

Still, that doesn’t change that Jayce is looking at him with too much pity.

“I can handle pain,” Viktor replies.

A sharpness flickers in Jayce’s eyes. He looks away, and Viktor takes the hint, preparing to climb inside. He doesn’t allow Jayce to take his cane nor his hand, instead making his way up the steps on his own.

The door shuts, and his old life ends.

***

Chapter Text

***

Piltover is overwhelmingly green.

Lush, arid land with flowering trees and rolling hills. Truly the sort of kingdom a child might read about in a fairy tale – one with adventures of princes and dragons.

In the center plaza is a bronze statue of Jayce Talis slaying a dragon. Viktor leans his head back into the carriage wall, and wipes a hand down his face.

“Oh for the love of…”

Piltover flourishes from its blessed assets. Easy access to water, fertile soil, and mountains rich with ore. Their air is clean, unlike the thick gaseous musk found in Zaun. Viktor finds that he misses it already.

They roll past several checkpoints, then over a bridge and into the courtyard of the capital.

As soon as the carriage doors are opened, Jayce is quickly swarmed by stewards and chamberlains hammering for his attention. He doesn’t speak to Viktor, nor does he expect him to.

Viktor steps off the carriage, and is so busy looking up at the looming palace, that he nearly bumps into the woman waiting for him. 

“Oh – apologies.”

“Welcome to Piltover, my lord,” a woman bows. “Sky Young, your personal retainer. Please allow me to show you to your private quarters.”

She’s a nice-looking girl, with curly hair and thick glasses. All the staff seem perfectly groomed; no hair out of place, no blemishes, ailments, not even a stain on their white clothes. It all feels like a stage act.

Viktor searches for his one familiar face in the plaza. He catches a crown of pink hair, but she’s already chatting it up with that unimpressed captain of the guard. He will consider himself ‘on his own’ for now.

He straightens as best he can. “Thank you, Miss Young.”

The palace is a familiar concept, but new in execution. The colors are so much brighter – whites and golds, exquisite carvings and marble archways. Statues of lions and dragons perch on the columns, and the stained-glass windows are painted in local religious figures.

His uneven steps sound loud in the grand, empty hallway. The floor is so smooth, no cobble to catch the tip of his cane in. He is homesick.

Sky paces beside him quietly, making no objection to Viktor’s slow stroll.

“It’s a lot to take in, I’m sure.”

Viktor hums. “I assume it has been many years since a Zaunite has stepped foot behind these walls.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You needn’t call me that,” says Viktor. It makes him want to cringe – and suddenly, he understands Silco just a little more.

“Sorry, sir,” Sky nods. “The orders from his majesty were clear. Treat him as you would me.”

Viktor blinks. Well that’s a tall order. 

He really said that?

Sky continues the tour. He follows her through a maze of vast hallways, and makes note of each door she explains along the way. Grand banquet halls, serving quarters, the armory, the barracks, the war room and the forge and the chapel and the bathhouse. The palace is like its own village sitting right on the top of the world. Each new hallway makes him realize the further wealth disparity between Piltover, and home. It’s a bit disgusting. 

“That is the library,” Sky points. “It‘s known as the Pride of Piltover, one of the greatest archival collections on the continent. At the top of the staircase is an observatory chamber. Mechanisms in the dome can track celestial bodies – the students like to use it for their research. Myself included.”

Viktor feels his very soul awaken. He leans forward, attempting to catch a glance through the cracked door.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” Sky smiles. “It would be my pleasure to show you once you’re rested.”

He wants to go now, but her concerned expression tells him that he must not look well. Long days of travel awaken old hurts; his leg is stiff and his back brace rubs bruises against bone. He reluctantly agrees.

His room is in the west wing. It is elegant, yet basic; a simple bed, a dresser, a vanity and a long mirror. Lunch is already sitting on a tea table.

“The maids will bring the rest of your things,” Sky says, pulling back curtains. “Please let me know if anything is not to your liking, your comfort is of the utmost importance. Also, a kind reminder that this lodging will be temporary. Once you’re married, you will be moved into His Majesty’s quarters.”

Viktor’s stomach rolls over and eats itself. Yes, he figured as such. 

He keeps his expression tactfully blank.

“Thank you.”

Sky hovers, like she’s not sure if she should stay. Viktor stares at the steaming tea on the table, and Sky clears her throat.

“Well I – um, if you need anything, please – please ring the bell!” She goes to close the door, then gasps, peeking back in. “Welcome to Piltover!”

Click.

***

Viktor sleeps a while. He naps atop the quilted bedspread because he’s hesitant to battle with the sheets tucked tightly under the mattress. Dinner is brought to him on a literal silver platter. No one calls for him, and no one visits.

His stuff is piled up in the corner of the room. Viktor dreads to think of the state of his specimens after rattling around in a carriage for days. His current experiment will need to begin all over again – if he’s allowed to continue his work.

The bathhouse calls his name. Literally; a maid comes to fetch him. Viktor isn’t allowed to run his own bath, apparently. He assumes they think it would be cruel to make him carry his own water (as if Viktor does not use magic for such things). That is, until he notices a steel water pump in the corner of the room.

Indoor plumbing. Inspired. He will write Silco about that.

The maids ran him a bath that’s so hot it stings his fingers. Viktor waits until he is alone again to tediously peel off his back brace. The support has run deep, purple lines in his pale skin from wearing it for so long. He observes the similar indentations on his leg with a frown.

Viktor is not interested in anything else his naked reflection has to offer – and neither will Jayce, when he truly sees him. That thought is nauseating. 

The hot water eats him down to the bone, and his mind drifts. He lets out a sigh that he’s been holding in for a while.

Viktor is out of place. Like a wrong puzzle piece shoved where he doesn’t fit. 

The staff remind him of little porcelain dolls with painted smiles and stiff posture. He finds it unlikely that they harbor no hostility for someone they would previously call an enemy. Viktor would prefer honesty over false hospitality.

He wonders if that is his fate; to slowly succumb to the poison of politics. To be eaten alive on two fronts. 

***

Washed clean and bored out of his mind, Viktor sits on the edge of the bed and sighs. He flexes magic between his fingers, watching it ember and glow under his nails. 

The monument of a steeple is visible through his window; far in the distance, the grand church of Piltover stands proudly to worship whatever God they care about (Viktor doesn’t remember nor does he care). Though not in practice anymore, their ancestors would burn ‘witches and wizards’ at the foot of those doors. He wonders if they positioned his room here on purpose.

Feeling defiant, he casts his hand in front of the empty space before him. The room glows a brilliant blue as runes etch onto the locks of each wooden chest containing his possessions.

Knuckles rap on the door.

“Viktor? Are you awake?”

Viktor pauses. He begins to stand, but changes his mind when he can’t be bothered to look for his cane. “Come in, your majesty.”

The door creaks open, and Jayce steps inside. 

“Good evening.” He speaks low, to match the time of the hour. “I came to see if your living arrangements are acceptable. Sorry it took so long, my counselors were…” Jayce trails off. He looks up and around the room, observing the speckles of magic that float through the air. Shirts, trousers and jackets fold themselves into neat piles, before stuffing into a dresser. Viktor refuses to hide this.

“They are satisfactory. Is that all?”

Jayce continues to gaze around the room. His stature is wide against the arched doorway, his eyes glowing from the sparkle of the levitation spell. His manner of clothing is not entirely Piltover, yet nothing like Zaun; the stitching is ornate as expected, but layered, cuffed, and casually untucked. A brown coat, brown boots, and that gold leg brace that still has Viktor curious. 

Jayce blinks, blinks again, then appears to snap out of it.

“Yes. I – yes. That’s all.” Viktor stares, and Jayce stares right back. “I assume you have questions.”

Too many that do not matter. This man will soon be his husband, and Viktor already wishes he would leave.

“Am I expected to stay in this room?”

Viktor is more or less a prisoner here, doomed to this unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar place, and Jayce seems to catch on quickly. He scratches at his beard (his mannerisms are slightly more relaxed than his formality in Zaun).

“The palace is yours to enjoy as you please.”

“Just the palace?” Viktor prods.

Jayce crosses his arms in thought. “Like it or not, Piltover will become part of you. I’d encourage you to become familiar with her – as long as you have a guard with you.”

Viktor flicks his wrist, and slams a drawer shut from across the room. “I have no need of your guards.”

Jayce narrows his rugged expression. “I know. Humor me.”

In this evening's candlelight, Viktor studies him thoroughly. Though his voice is kind, his eyes are intense – no longer glowing in awe of his magic. Jayce hovers like there’s something more he wishes to say; but the longer the silence stretches, the more it serves to annoy him.

“I will fulfill every duty required of me as your consort,” Viktor says darkly. “But we are not friends, and I will not love you.”

Jayce’s expression walls off fully. His eyes glower, and his big hand lands on the doorknob.

“I don’t expect that of you.”

“What do you expect of me?”

It whips through the room like a blade. Viktor begins to regret asking, because Jayce’s countenance turns from broodily awkward, to downright menacing. Viktor is boldly reminded of who he is speaking to.

He steps forward, and Viktor rises defensively. Jayce’s voice is a callous growl.

“I’m fully aware of what I’ve done to you. If you want to hate me, then hate me – but I will expect one manner of obedience from you, and that is when I call, you come.” Jayce stares him down, and Viktor’s magic sizzles between the webs of his fingers, like a fuse ready to ignite. “Do we have an understanding?”

Viktor grits his teeth.

“Yes.”

Jayce nods briskly. The fury melts as quickly as it came, and he turns back towards the doorway, leather gloves squeaking on the handle. “My quarters are in the west wing. If you need me, send your retainer.”

He attempts to shut the door quietly, but it still rattles the metal hinges. Viktor sits back down again, creaking the wooden bedframe.

He squeezes his fingers into a fist, and snuffs all the candles in the room.

***

After a full day in his luxurious not-prison, Viktor decides to venture out in search of that library again. If he is to waste himself away here, then he might as well consume as much of Piltover’s hoarded knowledge as he possibly can.

Feeling determined, Viktor wipes a clammy palm down the front of his cotton vest, then grips his cane and swings open the door.

When he shuts it, a guard is already waiting.

“Oh,” Viktor blurts. The guard answers with an even blink. He’s a fishman; green from head to toe, and crisp in his Piltover armor. “I uh.” Viktor waits to see if the guard will attempt to stop him, but he simply blinks with his double eyelids. “Okay. Good day.”

He turns, takes three steps, and gives pause as metal footsteps follow. The guard stops just as he does; a sharp, blank face as a portrait of indifference.

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Just...going to the library.”

The guard nods. Viktor starts off again, the footsteps follow, and Viktor sighs. He reluctantly accepts his silent company as he works to remember which endless hall led to the library.

His mysterious guard is not overly tall, nor intimidating, but the colors on his shirt suggest a high-rank, and the sword on his hip is thin and deadly, having been smithed by an expert craftsman. The walk is awkwardly quiet, and by the hundredth click of his cane, Viktor peeks from the corner of his eye and asks, “Do you have a name? Or do you refuse to speak to a Zauntie?”

The guard stops in his step. He stands formally, and stares him down with an intensity that makes Viktor go ah, foot in mouth.

Then, the knight raises a gloved hand, and makes a fist. He extends his fingers, and draws a shape by the corner of his jaw.

Oh.

“Steb,” Viktor translates. “My apologies.” He asks if he is hard of hearing, to which Steb answers, no. He takes a leading step towards the library hall, and Viktor follows. He clears his throat.

“This must be beneath you.”

Steb signs, ’No. Protect Lord Consort. Highest Honor. Chosen Few’. 

Viktor chokes. “I’m not –” He coughs. “I mean, I’m not yet. And I’m sorry, but I hardly need protecting.”

Steb nods, then holds open a door. Viktor sighs, and shuffles through.

This hallway is tall, with gold archways and a bulky wooden door at the end. This must be the other side of the library.

“You’re looking at me like I might bite,” Viktor observes. Steb’s eyes widen fractionally, and the door slams with a loud creak. “I already know I'm an outsider. And I am no royalty.”

Steb’s sharp, marine eyes flicker down the hall, then back again. His hands move firmly, his expression resolute as he signs ‘king’ with a strong downward motion, then gestures ‘same’ with a quick swipe of his extended thumb and pinky. He jerks his head towards the door and points, ‘you learn’.

Viktor frowns at this. Steb opens the door to the library, and Viktor’s neck creaks back like one of the silver hinges.

***

Viktor doesn’t know where to begin. Endless aisles of historical records, astronomy, theoretics and herbology. Any books on magic are in the restricted section, which is a shame. After one nasty look from the librarian, Viktor doesn’t bother.  

He was proud of the collection back in Zaun, but this truly puts him to shame. The library is in pristine condition; cleanly dusted shelves with gold crown moldings, and frescoes on the ceilings. Big circular windows bring in natural light, and Viktor finds a small red chair and an oak desk near the wall of fiction, so Viktor sets himself up to hide, and Steb is nice enough not to hover, taking post over by the front door.

His master once told him about this library. He used to dream of it – a place where he could forget his life of pain, and lose himself in the theoretical what if. He wanted to create a world where children could run faster than the boats in the river, where there was always enough food to go around, where the air smelled clean and the water tasted like crystals.

A child’s prayer.

He opens a leatherbound book on Piltover’s legal system, and takes root in that velvet chair.

Hours go by, and Viktor is left unbothered. Various students and council members pass in and out of the library, but besides a page shuffling or the rolling of the ladder, it remains tensely quiet.

The door opens so loudly, it makes him jump.

“Hey, you! Have you seen V around here? Skinny guy, black cane, kinda nerdy – can’t miss him.”

Viktor looks up, and Vi makes eye contact from across the library. She lights up. “Oh, hey! Nevermind, thanks man.” She gives Steb a pat on the shoulder, who stares in wide-eyed bewilderment. “Take a break, I’ve got it from here.”

“Vi,” Viktor whispers. She stomps over in her full armor, and swipes aside a pile of tomes so she can sit. “Nice of you to finally check in.”

“Hey, hold the sass. Caitlyn is making me go through basic training before I can join the guard – it’s seriously bullshit. She’s just twisting my arm ‘cause I’m from Zaun, swear to God.”

“It’s because you are clearly a spy,” Viktor whispers, squinting. “The most obviously placed spy to ever spy in existence.”

“Hey, take it up with Silco, not me.” She shrugs. “With me here, they’ll know better than to fuck with you. Word gets back to Silco, Silco writes the king.” She draws a line across her throat. “I already punched a squire for talking shit about you. You’re welcome.”

Viktor slips a handkerchief out of his pocket, and uses it to mark his page before closing the book.

“Thanks. I’m surprised Silco even cares about my treatment here.”

Vi’s face twitches into a frown. She crosses her arms, but her voice softens.

“I’m sorry, Vik. I know it sucks, but Silco does care. In his own slimy way, I guess.”

Viktor is fully aware that Vi’s motivation lies mostly in the source of the purplish lovebites hiding under the collar of her armor, though Viktor keeps that thought to himself. He is grateful to have at least one familiar face in this pristine hellhole.

“Hm.”

“How’s being a princess?” Vi teases.

He looks right; empty. Left; not a soul in sight.

“I hate it,” Viktor hisses. “Eyes everywhere, locked in a shiny room with no purpose. It’s like being an ornament.”

“Pfft, just wait until they parade you around in that big ceremony. And people ask why I gave up my title.” Viktor scowls at the mental image, and Vi knocks her boot against the side of his foot. “Sorry. But it could be worse. Could be starving out in those gutters.”

Violet also knows what it’s like to come from nothing. That’s why Viktor says, “I suppose that’s true.”

“I know you can handle yourself,” Vi says, standing again. “But really. I don’t trust these motherfuckers for as far as they can throw their damn peace treaty.”

I guess that would be the point of all this, Viktor thinks. A pact made in blood.

“I know.”

Vi’s hand is heavy and strong against his shoulder.

“You’ll make some sense of all this. I’d rather someone levelheaded sit in that hotseat than some idiot with an agenda.”

“I could have an agenda,” Viktor argues. 

Vi laughs. “All you care about is whatever shit you can cook up in your lab.” Another visitor shoots her an angry glare for the volume of her voice, and she glares right back. “It’s kinda comforting, I guess.”

Viktor runs his fingers along the spine of the tome. Vi leaves him with much to think about. 

***

He misses his crappy botanical garden.

It was small and wilty, and it struggled to grow in the stuffy Zaun air, but Viktor had tended greatly to those plants, and in return, they rewarded him with cures to various poisons and curses alike.

He sits in the windowsill of his room, and feeds magic to his poor, dead wintersoot. He pulls energy from the air around him, then spills the arcane off his fingers, bleeding it into the veins of the stem – but he can feel no life within it. A bloody shame.

His door bangs, and Viktor clenches his teeth to curb his frustration.

“Come in.”

A head of curly hair peeks in. He attempts to be a little nicer when Sky greets him. “Good evening, my lord.”

“Mm.”

“His Majesty has requested you join him for dinner.”

Viktor lowers his palm to his lap, and stares at the brown leaves of his dead plant. Jayce’s words ring in the back of his mind.

If I call, you come.

“Yes,” Viktor mutters. “Yes, alright. A moment.”

“Of course.” She shuffles a bag in her arms. “I also have clothing sent by the tailor. The maids will refresh your room while you’re gone – I’ll hang these in the closet for you.”

Excess, on excess. Viktor wore the same mended pair of trousers for a decade. The clothes in her arms look brand new. He nods stiffly, and Sky quickly shuffles towards the closet.

The smell of fresh food makes him nauseous. Viktor is far from hungry, and his stomach turns as he is led into the dining room.

It is smaller, more intimate than the grand hall where the rest of the staff takes their meals (but smaller and intimate are terms to be used lightly, because the table very well could seat twenty).

Jayce sits at one end, his eyes hazy and distant as a chamberlain mutters in his ear. He spots Viktor in the doorway, and clenches his jaw.

“Yes, fine. Dismissed.”

The man bows, and scurries away. Viktor stares at all the food in horror.

“I thought you’d be hungry,” Jayce says.

Viktor looks up and down the table. Meat, garnish, pastries, wine – the good stuff too, the kind Silco would only break out when he was trying to win someone over.

“You must think I’m a cow.”

Jayce squints, “I only thought you could use a good meal.”

“Now I’m too skinny for your tastes?” Viktor counters. A servant pulls out the chair before he can grab it, and Viktor huffs in frustration. “Sorry, the curvy mages were on the other aisle.”

“You are not making this easy,” Jayce scowls.

“I already told you, ‘this’ is unnecessary.”

Jayce could behead him for being a smartass, but decides to let it go.

Viktor is educated on good manners from living in the castle of Zaun, but still finds himself at a loss at the amount of forks. Hands place his napkin for him, pour him wine, select the food for his own plate – and it makes him miss the days he would eat his meals over Silco’s war table, one hand on a stick of chalk and the other in the bread basket.

Viktor takes one bite, then two. As expected, the taste is artificial perfection. Soulless and pretty (like everything else in this empty dining room). 

“So,” Jayce starts, breaking the silence. “Do you study magic?”

Viktor looks up at him without moving his head. “Really?”

Jayce sets down his goblet a little too harshly. “We’ll be married by the end of the month, and I don’t know a damn thing about you. Forgive me for trying.”

This barely constitutes as marriage. It’s a binding oath, a sacrifice without the extra bloodshed.

“There is nothing worth knowing about me,” Viktor says. Jayce’s eyes flicker with frustration. “I don’t even have a last name. No Zaunite does.”

Jayce pauses. Viktor pushes around a vegetable stalk on his plate, then thinks about the hungry children back home, and forces it down.

“Do you hate me?” Jayce asks.

Viktor looks at him. He is without the fur shawl, and the top two strings of his shirt ties are undone, giving peak to muscle that Viktor is acutely aware of. Without the gloves, Viktor can see all manner of scars, welts and bruises on his hands. He finds that odd. 

“Piltover and Zaun have different reasons for the war,” Viktor says. “A nation is naturally selfish. Everyone wants what’s best for their own. And that’s simply what this is – I am not your own.” Jayce’s face twitches, almost like a flinch. It’s hard to read. Viktor looks off at the gilded windows, and sighs. “You have chosen to wed a disabled mage from the home of your enemy. I don’t belong here.”

Jayce takes this in visibly. “That’s not your decision to make.”

Viktor flares. “No, it was not.”

The silverware rattles, and the candles flicker on the table. Jayce’s eyes track the movement like a predator, and Viktor goes rigid, shamefully unaware that he had exerted his magic.

Jayce sets his hands on the table, and stands. He looks like he has many choice words to say, and Viktor braces himself for the worst; curses, flying candlesticks, the sharp end of a sword – good job Viktor, he’s going to call off the peace treaty because of your big, fat mouth –

Broad shoulders rise, then fall with a deep sigh.

“Fine.”

He finishes off the wine, then pushes in the heavy ornate chair, and leaves.

Viktor finds himself alone at the table, one waiter posted against the doorway, two knights pretending they didn’t hear a thing. He pokes at a bobbled fish-head with the end of his knife. 

***

The wedding is in three days, and Sky has packed him a full schedule of fittings, lessons, and rehearsals. None of which Jayce attends. 

Viktor looks between Sky standing at the pulpit, Steb on guard against the chapel door, and all the empty pews in their neat little rows. 

“It’s…smaller than I imagined,” Viktor mutters. Sky gives him a questioning look, and Viktor clarifies, “Nothing. I just imagined Piltover would be overly exuberant with their ceremonies like everything else in this country.”

Something clicks, and Sky begins to laugh. “Oh, no. This isn’t the crowning ceremony, just the wedding. The real reception is going to take months to plan. The council wanted to rush the oath to make your partnership legal – the whole kingdom is going to want to attend your official coronation.”

Viktor needs a moment to stomach this. Feeling wobbly, he takes a seat on the empty pew. 

“Oh lord.”

“I think it’s more intimate this way,” Sky ponders, a scroll of parchment tucked to her chest. “Kind of romantic, a small gathering like this. Are you excited?”

Viktor drops his face into his hands.

***

Viktor is not amused by his babysitter. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like Steb – he’s actually the least irritating of all the revolving guards – but it would be nice to wander the palace without a knight on his heels.

Viktor has attempted to continue his research in the small corner of his temporary bedroom, in a way that he hopes does not warrant attention. And to do so, he needs ingredients – and without the access to his old spell cabinet, Viktor knows he needs to get creative. 

One of the foyers had jadelilies growing in the planters, which is precisely what he needs for a concealment spell. Not that he plans on escaping the palace…just…

He wants to break into that goddamn restricted section. 

So Viktor grabs a handful of dirt out of his potted dead plant, then whispers an incantation beneath his breath. He cracks open his door, and peeks through the sliver. 

Steb’s webbed ear twitches, and before he can turn, Viktor blows the dust against the back of his neck. 

Steb’s knees instantly buckle, and Viktor catches him with magic before he can hit the floor. 

“Sparks and bloody slag,” Viktor curses, hands shaking under the magical strain. “You are heavier than you look.”

He manages to manipulate Steb’s dead weight into his quarters. Through a bit of work, he props him up against the wall, and fixes his little hat. Steb lets out a tiny snore. There, that should buy him an hour. 

Viktor adjusts his own clothes, then gently closes the door behind him. The great hall is unsettlingly quiet as usual, so Viktor strides quietly as he can towards the foyer. Today, of all days, his leg brace decides to squeak, and Viktor slaps the side of the wheel with a palmful of magic. “Rusty piece of…”

He has memorized the west side of the palace by now, and after three short turns, he begins to smell humid air and fresh flowers. Just as he steps towards the open doorway, he pauses at the sound of hushed shouting. 

“ –what were you THINKING?!” 

“I’ve done everything you asked of me! Everything, Mel!”

That’s Jayce. Interest piqued, Viktor peers around the corner, and sees Jayce standing in the foyer with a woman so beautiful, the sunlight halos around her like it knows better. Smooth skin adorned in gold, a slippery dress and beaded hair tied high on her head. He recognizes the style of face markings – she is a Medarda.

“I told you to marry a woman, Jayce,” Mel seethes, shaking her hands in frustration. Jayce steps closer, imposingly. 

“And I said if I wanted to marry a woman, I would have married you.” 

The wind sucks right out of Viktor’s sails. He stands there, eyes wide, as he watches Mel physically deflate. She turns away as if resisting temptation. 

“Jayce…we argued this so many times. Piltover and Noxus have been allies for years. You need to marry a princess from Zaun. This was the only way to create lasting peace.”

Jayce crosses his arms. “Well, I made my choice. Tomorrow I’ll marry a Zaunite, and everyone will get their happy ever after. The end.”

Mel rubs across her forehead and groans. “This is a disaster, I knew I should’ve gone with you…”

Jayce grabs her wrist and pulls her hand from her face, and for some reason, the physical touch makes Viktor’s gut swoop. 

“He’s the healer of Zaun. One of the most powerful magi east of Nockmirch.”

“Yes, who wastes away in his silly lab,” Mel gestures, huffing. “Silco could not tame him, what makes you think you could?”

Jayce looks away, and Viktor tucks back against the wall, flat out of sight. He presses a hand to his mouth to stifle his breath. 

“I’m not going to. All I’m saying is, years ago the leaders of this realm hunted down their mages and created war with our sister country. This’ll show the world that Piltover has changed – just like you wanted.” Jayce pulls her hair out of her face, and tucks it tenderly behind her ear. “Never happy, are you?”

Mel pulls away again. “Your wedding is tomorrow. Do not touch me again.”

“Yes, alright.”

Viktor stares at the white stone ceilings, and waits until their footsteps dull into the distant sound of a door slam. He decides to return without the flowers. 

***

Steb wordlessly narrows his eyes, and Viktor tongues the side of his cheek, looking up and away. 

“Oops.”

Steb looks like he wants to use several vulgar hand signs, but resists through a great amount of restraint. He makes a few motions that Viktor doesn’t know, but he does recognize the sign for ‘trouble’, which is fair. 

***

Viktor sits in the windowsill of his room, overlooking the training yard. Vi’s hair stands out in a crowd, allowing Viktor to easily spot her where she stands; proud and smug and looming over a soldier writhing on the ground, nursing a broken nose. 

His wedding attire is hanging on the wall. Viktor picks at the skin of his bottom lip. The result of his eavesdropping has provided new information that he can’t ignore. It seems he was wrong about a few things, concerning Jayce Talis.

When he thinks of tomorrow, an even bigger pit carves in his stomach. 

Carefully, he reaches for the bottom cuff of his pant leg, and rolls it up to the knee. Furious purple flesh is hot to the touch. Viktor spins a runic symbol in the center of his palm, and sets it where the curse has crept up his thigh. It begins to glow, showing the gold simmering through the veins. The bruise is several inches higher than last month. 

Magic cannot soothe the pain. But that’s his burden to bear. 

***

Chapter Text

***

The wedding is like a business transaction. 

The attendance is a mere three-dozen, no more than forty. Viktor’s customary attire is a white formal doublet and a gold sash over his shoulders, with all sorts of metal pins and dangly jewelry that have foreign sentimental meaning. 

Silco is here, with Sevika, Vi and Powder, all in their moderately best dress. Vi is whispering all sorts of scandalous secrets into Powder’s ear. She gasps, giggles, then grunts from the elbow Silco gives her. Sevika looks like she is dangerously close to committing mass murder, or suicide, or both.

They are the only Zaunites in the pews; the rest are council members, or high-ranking lords and ladies. Mel is sitting in the back row, and Viktor doesn’t dare look her in the eye. 

He can’t look at Jayce, either. He sees his polished shoes, his tailored trousers with fine metallic embroidery on the matching jacket. His face is flat as stone. The priest speaks to the congregation in a silly hat and long robes.

"We gather here today, under the watchful eyes of the Maker and the blessings of hearth and kingdom, to witness the union of two sovereign souls. In this sacred bond, not only are hearts joined, but the fates of Piltover and Zaun are entwined, for the prosperity and harmony of all."

Lovely. 

Viktor has no written vows, and neither does Jayce. And as the priest nears the end of his speech, Viktor starts to realize ah damn, I’m going to have to kiss him. 

He zoned out so fully, he nearly jumps when Jayce takes his hand. Jayce gives him a look as if to say get it together, and Viktor composes himself once he sees the rings. Right. Marriage. The thing they are actively doing right now.

Viktor can’t stop recalling the conversation he overheard with the counselor, Mel. He feels like a homewrecker – and he didn’t even ask for this. 

The ring slides up to his knuckle, and he looks back down again in surprise. The band is surprisingly simple. Finely engraved, thin, lightweight, and glistening under the rainbow sunlight filtering through stained glass. 

“As per Talis tradition,” says the priest, “The rings have been handcrafted by the groom.”

Pardon? 

Viktor studies the ring again. Talis made this? 

It’s impressive, actually. 

Jayce clears his throat, and Viktor goes oh, ah, yes – and grabs the other ring. It’s larger than his own, but as he puts it on his finger, it slides perfectly over his knuckle. It’s hard to imagine such big hands engraving something so small.

“Now presenting, the King and his wedded partner, the Lord Consort Heir Apparent,” says the priest. 

Jayce takes his hand, and waits for Viktor to look him in the eye for permission. It’s a cute sentiment, seeing that Viktor is now effectively ‘his property’. Though he does give a short nod of agreement. 

Jayce leans in, and Viktor braces himself with his cane. The kiss is short and formal, and the congregation claps politely. Powder whistles, then chokes as a hand is slapped over his mouth. Jayce pulls away first, and Viktor’s mouth tingles. They’re left hovering, caught in the other’s orbit – and as they make eye contact, Viktor feels time slow again. 

It’s like Jayce is seeing inside of him. A mix of emotions worn on his face, so tangled and complicated, it’s as if Viktor is gazing at the bottom of a murky pond – his own reflection warped and bent out of shape. 

Two very different sides of the same coin.

The congregation rises to their feet, and the moment ends abruptly as Jayce turns away to scrounge together a smile for them. Viktor barely manages. 

There’s a small luncheon that is clearly for the benefit of the council. Viktor stands no chance of sneaking off, so he sits at the head table and counts petals on the flower arrangements. Vi joins him long enough to share a drink, then gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder and scurries off to find her girlfriend. Powder at least sticks around for a second round. 

“So you’re finally hitched,” Powder says, sitting straight on the table. The other council members are appalled by her lack of manners, but Viktor finds it refreshing. “Honestly never thought I’d see the day. I always expected you to be the mean and single gay uncle that would humble my future kids if their egos got too big.”

Viktor pouts. “I’m not mean.”

Powder twirls one pigtail around her finger and goes, “Uh huh. I haven’t fucked up dad’s medicine yet, by the way. You should be proud of me.”

“I can see that,” Viktor replies, peeking across the room. Silco’s pupil is still a mess of oily black and red, but the inflammation looks to be under control. “Well done.”

“You look good,” Powder observes, pulling on the tassels of his shirt. “I’ve never seen you in white, surprised they got you out of that cloak, are you guys going on a honeymoon? I think you should, you could learn to relax a little, I mean, I’ve seen girls marry much uglier men than Talis, I mean some real rat lookin’ creeps, and now you’re loaded up the ass, you could at least pretend to have a little fun, if I was you…”

Viktor tunes out as he sees Jayce conversing with Mel again. His hands are tucked away in his pockets, and her bangled wrists and pulled politely behind her back. Jayce looks relaxed in her presence, and for a moment, he almost looks like the naive young man who won the tournament. 

Viktor brushes a finger against his bottom lip. So it is done, then. The war is over, and Viktor will spend the rest of his life paying for it. 

The ambient rambling suddenly stops, and Viktor sits up straight as Silco lands a hand on Powder’s shoulder. “Our carriage is waiting, daughter.”

“Aw man,” Powder pouts. “I didn’t even get to hide my smoke bombs around the palace.”

“Then you have five minutes,” Silco says, and Powder takes off running. Viktor raises an eyebrow, and Silco takes a seat in the chair, wearing the face of a man who just won at chess. 

“You seem happy.”

“All's well that ends well, I suppose,” Silco shrugs. “After my rage had subsided, I was able to see the bigger picture. My magus reigning alongside the king of Piltover. What could go wrong?” He sits closer, his voice lowering deeply. “So long as my magus remains loyal to me.”

Viktor goes cold. He replies in monotone, “Of course, your majesty.”

“Good. Good good.” He stands, and pats him on the arm. “Congratulations, boy. I’ll be back for your official coronation.”

While he can appreciate Silco for what he’s done for him, Viktor is clearly reminded that there is no one truly in his corner – only those that seek to yank around his strings until he is bled of his usefulness. Perhaps that is life.

Suddenly, in this room full of boisterous people, Viktor feels very alone. He is overly perceptive of the hateful stares he receives – and it only serves to make him even more tired. 

Silco’s pointy shoes clack along the floor, and the knights bow before he takes his leave. Sevika escorts him out the door, more than eager to leave. Viktor is nauseous. His back hurts, this jacket is too tight, his leg is aching, and they’re all problems not worth complaining about.  

“Um, my lord.” Sky bows, then approaches once he waves her closer. She drops to a whisper. “The maids are running a bath. Please, follow me.”

He can’t stand up any faster. 

***

It takes a moment for Viktor to put the pieces together. 

Sky leads him to the opposite side of the palace, away from the guest suites and towards the east wing. As he notices more and more guards, Viktor realizes that he is being led to the king’s chambers. 

“We already moved your things,” Sky says, fiddling with her nails as she walks. “I-I told them not to touch the plants yet. I’m sorry for the lack of privacy.”

Viktor suppresses a sigh. “I will get used to it.”

“You have two hours before the king will join you,” Sky whispers. “Once he pardons himself from the party, he will likely finish his work in his study. Oh, but he always takes tea before bed – so try not to rush yourself in the bath. It’s better for your health that way.”

As understanding dawns on him, Viktor rubs a hand down his face in mortification. Right. The consummation.

“Thank you. Do you have everyone’s schedules memorized around here?”

“Most of them,” Sky answers. “Why, is there something wrong?”

Good to know. “Mm, no, not at all.” 

She leads him to a large double-door at the end of the hall, shrouded by candelabras and sculptures. The art predates Jayce’s reign by decades. 

Sky gives him a sympathetic smile. “Good luck.” A guard pulls open the door, and Viktor once again steps into the unknown. 

He is met with the quiet reverence of the king’s private quarters. 

It is spacious, but not empty. The bed is big, pushed up in the center of the far right wall, and is covered in furs and blankets. A messy writing desk sits by the window, and an open doorway leads to a private bathing chamber. The maids have lit candles, laid out a soft robe, and set a vase of flowers in the windowsill. Viktor wants to die a little bit. 

He takes the opportunity to snoop. The drawers are full of perfectly folded shirts and trousers. There is art on the walls, but some of it has been taken down, shoved in a corner and covered up by sheets and blankets. Dirty gloves sit on the edge of his desk, along with a pile of metal shavings – which Viktor finds peculiar. There is also a scale, a chisel, and a small hammer. For the ring, perhaps. 

Viktor looks down at his left hand again. Somehow, it was a perfect fit. 

The bathroom has been scrubbed clean. A round wash tub, a mirror, strips of cloth, privacy drapes and a small wood-burning furnace to keep the room warm. Jayce’s shaving blade sits on the shelf, as well as a jewelry lockbox.  Viktor is extra careful not to move anything out of place.

Again, Viktor is impressed by the central plumbing. He plunges his hand into the water, and is surprised to feel that the bath is soapy and warm. It takes Viktor way too much time to undress, with the jackets and waistcoats and jewels and his tightly corseted back brace. His skin is all angry red blotches by the time he’s naked, and when he sinks into the water, he sighs. 

With a deep breath, he uses magic to blow more heat into the water. It sizzles in the air, shaking the candles hanging from the chandelier.

Viktor looks down through the bubbles, and wraps a hand around his thigh, near the cap of the violet bruising. It looks like he’s wearing a single sock. As he inhales, he drinks in the magic permeating the air, and the dormant scars glow across his body.

Maybe this is what he deserves. The arcane gives, and the arcane takes away – a simple cause and effect that has dictated his life since the day he was born. 

Viktor sinks until his nose hits the water. Then, he goes under.

***

Viktor is sitting rigid on the edge of the bed, dried and warm in that shimmery red robe, when the door handle turns. 

Jayce steps in, removes his coat, then hovers over the hook. He takes one look at him and says, 

“No.”

“Oh thank god.”

“You must think pretty low of me,” Jayce growls, tossing the coat, “If you think I would expect something like that from you.”

“Sex? Your staff seem to think so.” Not that it’s their fault; they follow customs, tradition, rules, and such. 

Jayce’s tone is absolute.

“What happens in their king’s bedroom is nobody’s damn business.”

That’s the first time Jayce has truly pulled title. Viktor watches him stomp from one end of the room to the other. As he discards all the annoying clasps and jewels, Viktor softens when he sees Jayce start to fumble with his knee brace. It’s in much better condition than the one Viktor wears. 

Jayce won’t even look at him. Viktor is still perched on the edge of the bed, still wearing that robe, but true to his word, Jayce makes no move to touch him. 

“It would be within your right, you know,” Viktor says, nudging the metaphorical bear. Gathering evidence. “By law, I’m now your possession.”

“Ugh,” Jayce groans, tossing the crown from his head. “I’m going to overrule the council and burn that law with my own hands.” Then, he shakes his head as if he just recalled what Viktor said. “Seriously, Viktor. I’m not an animal.”

That’s the first time he called him by name. Viktor narrows his eyes skeptically. Yes, he could choose to let this go – but they just took an unbreakable oath in front of a god Viktor doesn’t believe in. He needs to know.

“Why did you choose this marriage, if you are not attracted to men?”

Jayce immediately pauses. He’s broad, nearly square from the shoulders down, and he stiffens as if preparing for battle. This is his room – his bed that Viktor is perched upon. He is well aware.

“That’s not –”

“I’ve heard your many excuses,” Viktor snaps. “And I don’t buy them. I want the truth, Talis.”

Jayce flinches slightly. He sneers, and looks away, “Technically, that’s your name too.”

Viktor Talis —

He shakes away the thought.

“Answer me, and I’ll never speak of this again.”

That must be tempting, because Jayce lets out a burdened sigh. He wipes tiredly down the side of his neck, and for a moment, it’s like Viktor can see the weight upon his shoulders. 

“Does it really matter?”

The smell of flowers. A wall at his back. 

Viktor grits his teeth. “Yes.”

Jayce leans back against his writing desk. Without the crown, the stringy part of his bangs slip into his face. 

“My council is the whole reason I became king.” His voice lowers. “Specifically, through Mel’s support. So when she urged me to add marriage to the peace treaty, I knew I had no choice. But I also knew if I married a woman, my wife would be expected to bear children. To continue the lineage.” Jayce’s rough features scrunch into scowl. “I didn’t want to force that kind of thing on someone.”

Viktor feels himself melt a little. He flattens his palm on the fluffy bedspread, squeezing it between his fingers. “There are many women who would have done so willingly. Forgive my language, but you are the fucking king.” 

Jayce exhales through his nose – a suggestion of a laugh. Maybe a release of tension. “I know. But I didn’t want children. Let the next king be won like I was.”

Viktor twitches. “Because you are in love with Mel.”

Jayce whips his head up to stare at him. He looks bewildered, like he’s not sure how Viktor put the pieces together. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Nothing,” Viktor lies. He twirls his finger around a tuft of fur. “It‘s obvious that you love her.”

Jayce scratches through his beard. Thick as it is, it looks soft. 

“That’s not…entirely true.” Viktor shoots him a look as if to say really, and Jayce shifts in place. Every tall, intimidating inch of him. “Maybe I used to. I don’t know. I would have married her, but I didn’t love her. She knew that, and we separated years ago.”

That is unexpected. Somehow, Jayce is still full of surprises.

“You have no reason to lie to me,” Viktor states, as one last chance. Jayce hums an agreement. 

“No, I don’t.” He pushes himself off the desk, and stares Viktor down in a way that runs him cold. “So let’s get one thing straight. I could have fifty fucking reasons to have picked you that day – but that doesn’t change the fact that I thought you were the most beautiful person in that room.” 

Jayce then turns, and retreats into the washroom. Viktor sits in a bed of luxury, and stares at nothing. 

***

There is no escaping it. Everywhere he turns, left, right, the pillows or the sheets – the whole room smells like him. 

Viktor had never put any consideration into what the king of Piltover would smell like, because he’s not a psychopath. But now that he knows, it is kind of maddening. 

He smells like the earth. Like pine trees and soil after rain. It’s so refreshing, like the sheets were dried in the cold, and Viktor doesn’t know what to do with this information. 

So he lies stiff on one side of the bed, watching shadows flicker along the wall from the sole candle in the room. He listens for the sound of sloshing water. For the rustle of clothing, for heavy footsteps on the carpeted rugs. When he feels a tug on the blankets, he closes his eyes and waits –

And then waits. 

And then, nothing. 

Jayce takes a spare blanket off the bed, grabs his pillow, and throws them on the floor. A heavy thump confirms – yes, Jayce has decided he would rather sleep on the rug than share a bed with Viktor. 

He’s one part insulted, another part relieved.

Viktor sits up to barely peer down below. Yes, the big lump turns over and snores. 

He snuffs the light. 

***

It feels like Viktor has closed his eyes for merely a second, before he opens them again. 

Morning hasn’t even snuck in through the curtains yet. The world is still cold and blue, the fireplace having reduced to embers during the night. Lord, it is still night – and yet Jayce is already shuffling out of his bed of fur, fumbling for his clothes in the dark. 

Viktor is so exhausted, he can’t fathom why Jayce feels the need to be awake right now. It’s the damn crack of dawn –

Ah, right. Kingly duties start before the kingdom wakes. 

There is some shuffling in the bathroom, the sound of a few drawers opening, and then some metal creaking as he adjusts his leg brace. The limp in his step is so intimately familiar, Viktor can’t resist cracking open an eye. 

He sees the broad, bare back of Jayce Talis. Freckled, smooth and tan. He slips over a shirt, and Viktor closes his eyes again. 

As Jayce prepares to leave, it goes tensely quiet again. Every breath feels too loud, so Viktor holds his lungs as heavy footsteps slowly approach his side of the bed. Another agonizing silence passes, before the blanket is grabbed, and tugged up and over his shoulder. 

Jayce throws a log on the fire, then leaves. 

***

Stairs are not Viktor’s preferred style of inclining architecture, but he is willing to climb them for a chance to clear his mind. 

The palace has a western spire that overlooks the valley. He can see the ships anchored at the dock, bobbing in the bay with precious cargo. To the east, houses climb the green hillsides, densely populated cities that are all crisp, clean lines and painted stone. He can still see that damn statue of Jayce and the dragon. Viktor spins the ring on his finger. 

He feels the presence of great spiritual energy ascending the tower behind him. When the door opens, he is prepared to meet Mel in all her ethereal presence. 

“Oh,” she blinks. “Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was up here.”

Viktor nods. “I was just leaving.”

“No, stay. Please.” She slowly approaches the rail, all perfect posture and tired eyes. “I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you.”

Viktor feels too ashamed to look her in the eye. Despite what Jayce said last night, it‘s obvious they still care for one another in some capacity.

“You don’t need to do that.” 

Mel looks him over, and Viktor feels the need to stand straighter. Her gaze is scrutinous, though she tries to be polite about it. 

“I must be honest, you are not what I wanted for Jayce,” Mel admits. Viktor nods. “I know that is not your fault. I don’t mean to take my frustration out on you.”

“I understand, counselor.” 

“He has a kind heart. I worry about him often.”

“Mm.”

She leans up against the rail, and lets go of some of the tension in her small shoulders. Her little jewels chime in the wind, and the sun makes the gold on her skin glow nearly white. 

Mel mutters, “Sometimes it’s all too much. My mother, and now this.”

Viktor desperately wants to fling himself off the rail of this tower, but something compels him to stay. “You are the princess of Noxus, but you choose to remain in Piltover?”

“It was my mother that sent me away,” Mel explains bitterly. “My place on the council is just a…” Her eyes flash, and she stands straight again. “Nothing. Beware of politics, Viktor. It is a snake sure to bite you.”

He respects the warning, but also, he won’t allow her to scare him away.

“I have already been bitten, my lady.”

Mel’s eyes harden, and Viktor steps back from the railing. He hears her mumble under her breath, “Why, Jayce…”  

Viktor shuts the door a tad unkindly. 

***

Viktor is drinking his supervised tea in the courtyard, when Sky comes hustling up the path. She opens her mouth, and Viktor brings his cup to his lips.

“Let me guess. I’ve been summoned.”

Sky lets out a breath. “Yes, sir.” She looks a little flustered, and still won’t look him in the eye – she probably assumes he got up to all sorts of nasty business with her king. 

Viktor stands, taking the cup with him. “Lead the way.”

She directs him through a maze of hallways, up a set of stairs, then towards a door he is unfamiliar with. Sky bows, urging him inside, but not without plucking his empty cup from his fingers. He clutches his cane and steps inside. 

His leg brace creaks louder than the doors. They shut very reverently, like he’s on sacred ground – but after one quick look, he realizes he’s in Jayce’s solar. 

It’s warmer than the rest of the palace. Oil lamps keep the room brightly lit, along with ocular gilded windows. Jayce sits at one desk of many, buried in a pile of parchment. Viktor’s attention is immediately caught on a workbench far to the left, where one large scroll lies covered in intricate metal plating, handwritten formulas and mathematic tools. 

“Oh.” Jayce looks up, setting down his quill. “Come take a seat. I have something for you.”

Viktor approaches the desk, but does not sit. “Quite warm in here.”

The lamps make Jayce look orangey warm, like the inside of a jack-o-lantern. It gives shadow to his strong jaw and highlights the freckles and acne scars that are nigh invisible otherwise. Perhaps he is human after all.

“That’s the forge,” Jayce explains, absently digging through his pile of papers. Viktor takes another look around the room, but sees no forge – only bookshelves, tables, and a circular door near the back of the room. As Jayce continues to rustle through papers, a few scrolls roll off the desk, and Viktor catches them with a point of magic, effectively plopping them back on the table. Jayce’s tired, dark eyes suddenly lighten, his attention caught by the three scrolls that land neatly in front of him. “Ah. Uh. Thank you.”

Viktor hums impartially. Jayce blinks, then resumes his rummaging. He finds what he’s looking for in his top drawer, then hands it over. Viktor examines the scroll.

“What is this?”

“An itinerary. These are all the meetings I’ll need you to attend for the next three months.” Viktor raises his eyebrows at this, and Jayce crosses his arms. “Look, I know. But if my council expected me to get married just so I could shove you off to the side and forget you exist, that’s not going to happen. I know you’re not officially crowned yet, but I want you in the meetings anyway. Just to sit and listen.”

Viktor is…not displeased. He licks the points of his teeth, and skims down the parchment. “I’m no politician.”

“But you’re a scientist. I’ll value your opinion.”

Hm. “I’m amenable to this.”

“Good.” Jayce rises to his feet, growing to his full height from that chair. “There’s something else I need to show you.”

As Jayce stands, Viktor gets a look at the workbench behind him. Something shiny catches his attention. “Is that an astrolabe?”

Jayce pauses, turns, and follows his eyes to the desk. Then, it’s like the very sun has parted through the widows, beaming into the room in the form of a smile. 

“Oh, yeah! I was studying the effect of the moon on arcane crystals – I know only mages are able to wield them, but I was picking it apart to see if there was some kind of power that could be harnessed by humans.”

Viktor stares at a small shard sitting in a metal clamp. Raw arcane crystals are often embedded in the wooden staffs of sorcerers and mages. The very tip of his cane is blue for a reason.

“Like a weapon?”

“No, no no. More like – an alternative fuel. Lamps without oil, firestarters, water purification, that kind of thing.” 

Viktor nods slowly. “The moon’s influence on magical conduits can vary significantly — especially during transitions between waxing and waning cycles. Though I have never thought to strip a crystal of its magical power – this is not research I expected to be done in the King’s chambers.”

Jayce suddenly remembers himself. He straightens, and presses a hand to a desk, blocking the crystal from view. 

“It’s…a hobby, to keep me busy.” Right. Because the head of Piltover has so much free time on his hands. Jayce clears his throat, and nods towards the door. “Follow me, I’ve got a wedding gift for you.”

“And here I stand empty handed,” Viktor replies, following in step. “Shame on me.”

“Is the attitude a constant thing with you?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Noted. Now c’mon.”

Jayce holds open the door, and his throat bobs in a swallow. Viktor isn’t sure why he is suddenly fascinated by his every move, but he also never expected to see such well-written (mathematically correct) formulas calculated by hand of a royal. 

He follows him down the hall. Every knight they pass pauses to salute, and Jayce barely spares them a nod. Viktor observes him with a new kind of scrutiny.

“You are well educated.”

“I was born to a good house.”

“A house of scholars?”

“Err…no.” Jayce scratches along his stubble. “I was sponsored. It’s – a long story.” He looks over, and Viktor straightens under his sharp stare. “Why the sudden interest?”

“Politicians rarely give a damn about the world around them,” Viktor says. Jayce lifts both eyebrows. “They have little care for why the sun rises, only how to squeeze every coin out of its worth.” 

“I…” Jayce trails. He stops, places his hand along a door handle, and frowns. “I promised I would make Piltover better. By whatever means necessary, even if I have to forge it by my own hand.”

Forge it. 

Viktor drops his gaze down to the brace Jayce wears. The craftsmanship is so strong and sturdy, he doesn’t even need a cane. 

“Did you make that?”

The air feels supercharged. Jayce’s raspy voice replies, 

“Yes.”

The roughness of his hands makes sense. This is not a man who sits on a throne stamping wax seals all day. 

That large hand turns the doorknob, and leads him inside yet another mysterious doorway. This time, he’s met by the circular room of a tower, all in bright oak and woodsy mahogany, empty except for –

“My research,” Viktor blurts. He stumbles into the room, and sees his plants (both dead and alive) sitting in their planters by the window. The journals he brought are organized neatly in the wooden case by the end of a workbench. Alchemical glassware, new hand tools, lots of shelving and storage. One shelf is stocked with jars of basic components, like sulfur and quicksilver. 

“I wanted to show you this sooner,” Jayce says sheepishly. “This part of the tower was being used as a storage overflow, so it had to be cleaned out. Now it’s yours to do whatever you like.”

Viktor spreads his fingertips along the corner of the desk. His eyes follow the tall pillars to the vaulted rooftop. It is several times larger than his laboratory in Zaun, though he doesn’t mention this. He looks back at Jayce, genuinely. “Thank you.”

Jayce appears to relax. He leans a shoulder up against the doorway, and crosses his arms. “I know you work for the betterment of Zaun, I won’t stop you from sending anything back home. All I ask is that you share significant findings with my team of scholars.”

There is no hiding that he is pleased. It bleeds through his voice as he says, “I believe that was the deal.”

Jayce appears to get flustered again, because he looks up and away, before fidgeting in the doorway. “Right. Okay. See you later.”

“At the meeting,” Viktor reminds, lifting the scroll. Jayce nods. 

“Yeah – yes, at the meeting, okay. Bye.” The door slams, and Viktor wipes a hand over his mouth, to smother the urge to smile. 

His new laboratory is stocked with state of the art equipment. The kinds of tools that Viktor would have to draw on paper and sit with the blacksmith in person to have it molded correctly. 

Jayce Talis.

He too, might require some research. 

***

Viktor would not consider himself someone who goes to bed ‘on time’. More often than not, he would forget to even go to bed at all. So when Jayce finally returns to his room, and Viktor is already long asleep in bed, it’s obvious that the hour is very, very, very late. 

Once again, Viktor pulls the sheets to his nose and prepares for a dip in the soft mattress. Clinging to one end, holding his breath to appear invisible. 

But Jayce simply takes one blanket, and crawls back onto the floor again. 

He’s going to wake up sore, Viktor thinks. Then, wait, why do I even care. 

He rolls over, and goes back to sleep. Eventually. 

***

It’s good to be working in a lab again. 

While it’s not his old study in Zaun, it will make do – and now with all of Piltover’s resources at his fingertips, he can wave a metaphorical wand and have his ingredient of choice brought to his lab by the following day. It is brilliant. 

Jayce doesn’t ask him what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it. Viktor is free to run his experiments in peace and quiet (more or less, depending on if Steb or Vi is his guard of the day). 

Vi is impressed by his ‘new digs’. She has no interest in alchemy, but she does have scandalous gossip to spill while he slow-drips alkaline onto a runic salt-circle, so he allows her to stay. 

“It’s kind of funny,” she says. “Everyone here is drinking to death and fucking like rabbits, but they’re all repressed about it. At least in Zaun, we have the balls to be honest with ourselves.”

“And your girlfriend?”

“Also repressed, but in a sexy way,” Vi says. “In Piltover terms, she’s a little deviant – total kick ass, too.”

“I’m happy for you,” Viktor replies. It comes out deadpan only because he’s focusing. Vi hums indifferently. 

“I’m going back home for two weeks to check on Powder. Last letter I got said she was having boy troubles, I don’t need her torching half the castle because of a bad breakup.”

“That Ekko kid?” Viktor blinks. “Is he a fool?” A shame, last he remembered, he was fairly bright. Vi laughs. 

“Nah, this time my sister’s the fool.” Vi kicks her feet off the desk, and leans forward with her forearms on her knees. It forces Viktor to actually look at her. “Try not to stir up trouble while I’m gone. But by the look of this place, I think you’ll be alright.”

Viktor huffs. “And what does that mean?”

Vi shrugs. “It just seems like Talis is trying to be fair with you. Maybe you should cut him some slack.”

The nagging in the back of his mind only adds to his frustration. He hates being told things he already knows. 

“Are you ill?” Viktor snaps. “You detest Piltover from head to foot.”

“Yeah, well. It hasn’t been so bad, I guess.”

Affection is poisoning her.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Viktor mutters.

Vi raises both hands. “Whatever you say, m’lord.”

“Ugh, don’t even start.”

Vi leaves, and Viktor sits back in his chair, and stares at the open window. He twirls his hair around his finger, and decides that he needs to see the bigger picture. 

***

Viktor traps Sky over a basket of scones. 

The plan was pretty easy; complain of hunger in a way that sends Sky frantically running to the kitchens, wait for her to appear with brunch in her arms, then whine that he couldn’t possibly eat all of this on his own. She is a clever woman, and she squints skeptically as Viktor turns up his nose to the garden table. 

“I’m not proper company,” Sky says. 

“I have further need of your local knowledge,” Viktor huffs, plucking a scone from the basket. “I’d rather have it without you hovering around like a bird.”

Sky quickly sits. Real birds hop and flutter around in the garden, and in the distance, he can hear the sound of the groundskeeper trimming bushes. Likely into some new ridiculous shape. Everything about Piltover is too much, even a simple gazebo. 

“Yes, sir. How can I help?”

Viktor chews, then swallows. “Tell me everything you know about Jayce Talis.”

Sky looks bewildered. She tips her head, then corrects herself. “Ah, I guess there’s no crime in wanting to know more about your husband.”

Viktor narrows his eyes, and picks up a tea cup. “Yes, quite.”

Sky shifts in the garden chair, fixing her shirt as she fidgets. “Where do I start?”

“The beginning of a book always works for me.”

Sky cracks a smile, then looks at him with excitement. “Okay – well. As you know, his majesty has become very well-liked in Piltover due to the King’s tournament. But before all that, he was born to a low-ranking baroness with lordship over a small plot of land in the north. The land was too harsh for farming, so the Talis house passed down the blacksmith trade for generations. Unfortunately, he lost his widowed mother during the war. Wrong place, wrong time – it’s quite tragic.”

Viktor didn’t know they shared this in common. Whether Jayce lost his mother later in life, or as a child like Viktor did – it’s hard nonetheless. 

“Now I see why he was so eager to end the war,” Viktor mutters. 

Sky nods solemnly. “His Majesty wanted a role of greater influence, so he sought to become an advisor on the king’s court. He studied at the academy in Piltover by sponsorship from the Kirammans.”

“Wait,” Viktor lifts a hand. Sky pauses. “You mean, his Captain of the Guard?”

“Her parents,” Sky smiles sadly. “A wealthy family that was previously involved in the king’s council. Her mother perished in the siege of the Bay Fleet.” Oh, shit. Vi needs to know what she’s messing with.

“I see.”

“When Lord Heimerdinger passed, he had no next of kin to gift the throne, so the tournament was held to decide a new king. Jayce was championed to compete by counselor Medarda.” Sky’s face lights up in excitement as she begins to use her hands. “You should have seen him fight! It was like he had the strength of an ox!” 

Yes, Viktor does remember that. In Zaun, he has known strong men and strong women alike – he was impressed by Jayce’s tenacity, but just barely. 

“So I have heard.”

“Per tradition, to win the throne out of blood, you have to slay a beast.” Wait, what. “So his Majesty climbed the highest peak in the north, and brought back the heart of the ice dragon, ending the forever winter in his homeland.” 

That is…utter insanity. What next, he pulled the stars from the sky? Brought rain to the desert?

Viktor clears his throat. “Is that how he injured his leg?”

“Actually, no! He came back without a scratch! I have no idea how he got that injury, you’ll have to ask him yourself.” 

“I see.”

Sky sighs, absently picking a scone from the basket. “He is clever, strong and kind. I come from no lordship, but he allows me to study in return for working at the palace.”

Viktor softens, setting his cup back on the saucer. “Silco cut me a break too. You never forget that sort of kindness.”

“No, you don’t,” Sky sighs. Then she suddenly jolts, setting back the bread. “Oh my goodness, what am I doing –”

“Tell me more,” Viktor presses. “What does he get up to in that forge?”

***

Once again, Viktor lies in the uneasy silence of the king’s personal chambers, watching the dwindling fireplace cast shadows on the cobbled walls. And once again, the heavy wooden door squeaks open, shutting with a sad attempt at subtlety. 

With one eye open, Viktor watches peevishly as Jayce attempts to fumble his way across the room, shedding various clothing in the dark, then cursing under his breath as he bumps into the table. As expected, he grabs the pillow off the bed, and Viktor rolls over to his back and sighs. 

“This is getting ridiculous.”

Jayce jumps so hard, he bangs his knee. “Fuck!” He seethes out the sting. “Shit, I mean, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Is the thought of sharing a bed with me so unbearable that you’d rather ruin your back on the floor?”

Jayce gapes in the dark. “That’s not – shit.” It is late, and he is being endearingly candid, like he simply can’t keep up the kingly persona any longer. Jayce rubs at his sore knee. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Viktor sits up, and sighs. He whispers a spell under his breath, and ignites all the candles in the room. It brings a new light that startles Jayce into tripping over his own shoe again. 

“This is your room, Jayce. I will take the floor.”

“No! No, I won’t allow that.”

“Then get in the damn bed.”

Jayce looks up and around the room, from candle to candle, like he’s trying to decide if he’s dreaming. He hesitates long enough for Viktor to become self-conscious all over again – until he finally picks up his pillow, lifts the blanket, and crawls inside. 

Viktor waves his hand, and snuffs all the candles. The room plunges back into darkness, and then the silence is filled with soft rustlings as Jayce gets comfortable. He hears him let out a relieved sigh. He doesn’t blame him; if Viktor spent three nights on the floor, someone would have to crack his spine with a hammer. 

The bed is so big, they can lie on either side without touching – but Jayce’s presence adds new warmth and weight to the mattress. Viktor chooses to blame his exhaustion for the uncharacteristic tenderness that pulls at his heartstrings. 

“I am not uncomfortable,” Viktor states. 

Jayce rolls over. 

“Huh?”

Viktor stares straight at the ceiling. His aches and pains are numb to the rushing in his ears. 

“You said you didn’t want to make me uncomfortable. I am not.”

It’s so quiet, he can almost hear Jayce swallow. 

“Okay. Good.”

Viktor splays his hand out flat in the sheets. They are a soft luxury he won’t take for granted. 

“I thought I was the only one sacrificing my own happiness.” Viktor swallows. “I realized that was not true. I’m sorry.”

He can practically hear Jayce’s bafflement in the dark silence. He stuffs the pillow under his head, clears his throat, then also rolls to his back. 

“Tomorrow, I’m bringing home the army that was stationed at the border for fifty years. I know this marriage isn't what either of us wanted, but I hoped to make something good out of it. Can we agree on that?”

“Yes.” Viktor dares to look at him. “We can.”

Jayce rolls over, and Viktor lies awake for a while longer. 

***

The council meetings are mostly boring. 

Each counsellor brings forward the concerns from the civilians in their jurisdiction, but more likely than not, Viktor would conclude that they are bringing forth their own concerns. It’s highly improbable that the peasants of Piltover are rioting over a shortage of imported silk or boundary disputes between lords. 

One glance at Jayce tells him that he is well aware of what is happening here. He sits on a grand throne at the head of the table, visibly exhausted with his head in one hand, the vein on his forehead protruding as the nonsense rattles on. Viktor doesn’t say a thing during the entirety of the meeting. Though, he does find it entertaining to watch Jayce chew them out on their petty issues. 

“I don’t understand why so much money is going to Zaun,” gripes Hoskel. A bitter, ugly grouch of a man that he is. “They already got their peace.”

Viktor ignores the several eyes that stare his way, but Jayce does not. “You know damn well the reparations in our peace treaty involve sending aid to restore their water source. The choice to poison it was not my doing, but I will see to it that we fix it.”

“Tch.” Hoskel glowers. “I have yet to see what we have to gain from this treaty.” 

“Progress,” Mel replies coldly. “Peace. The end of senseless killing. Is that not enough for you?”

Shoola shrugs. “War is good for business.” 

Mel opens her mouth to tear them a new one, but Jayce shuts it down with a short, “Enough. The treaty is done, and I won’t hear another word about it. Next item.”

Viktor carefully observes which faces are annoyed, and which are relieved. The idea of a senate is very strange. Silco has absolute power in Zaun. Though, maybe that isn’t always a good thing. 

As the meeting adjourns, Viktor continues to ignore the nasty looks that are flicked his way. It’s cute that they think he cares. 

Mel is the only one that truly pays him no mind, instead pulling Jayce aside to get another word in. Viktor takes that as his chance to slip between the cracks and get the hell out of here. 

He is stopped by a skinny, snooty blonde councilman that Viktor has come to know as Salo. He already has a drink in hand, and he looks at Viktor like he’s the filth of the earth. 

“Isn’t this a bit unnecessary? Pets have no place in the council.”

Viktor blinks, unimpressed. “You can take that up with your king.”

“Don’t address me so informally,” Salo scoffs. “The senate is the backbone of this country. I actually voted for the peace treaty, so you should really be thanking me for saving your crappy little rathole.”

Viktor’s eye twitches. He refuses to engage with stupidity. 

“Okay. Enjoy your ignorance.”

“Excuse you –” Salo starts, then swallows the rest of his words as Jayce’s neck snaps around like it’s on a hinge. He stalks their way with the anger of a starving predator. 

“This is my partner,” Jayce states firmly. “And you will respect him as such. You’re the one who needs to mind their manners.”

Viktor is taken off guard, the same as Salo. Partner is not the word he was expecting. The definition implies equality – something he is certain they do not have.

Salo looks like he wants to roll his eyes. Instead he mutters, “Yes, sir.” 

“Leave us.”

Salo leaves in a huff; Viktor is ready to make a break for it too, when Jayce grabs the crook of his arm. 

His dark eyes are back to a warm hazel. “Hey. Do you have somewhere to be?” 

The remaining council members are watching like hawks. There is a right and wrong answer to this question. Jayce quickly lets go of his arm, and Viktor answers stiffly, “No, your majesty.”

Jayce rolls his eyes. “C’mon, you called me by my name last night.”

I did? 

The insinuation sounds filthy, and Viktor sees two of the counselors turn away to murmur to one another. 

“Shh,” Viktor hisses. “Yes yes, what do you need?”

Jayce’s expression softens. This time, instead of grabbing for him, he offers his own arm. “Walk with me?”

Viktor stares at the offering like it will reach out and bite him. There is something daunting about it. Well. His arm is very big. 

He supposes it would be strange to walk the palace looking like strangers – so Viktor slides his cane into his free hand, tucks it under his armpit, and sets his palm on Jayce’s forearm. He leads them away from the conference room. It leaves all the bitter energy behind. 

“Have you been to the back garden?”

“Uh,” Viktor stalls eloquently. “There is more than one?”

The corner of Jayce’s mouth twitches. “That answers that. C’mon, this way.”

Viktor updates his mental map of the palace with every new turn they take. Jayce’s arm is sturdy, almost immovable, and he finds himself able to walk without limping. 

Jayce speaks without even looking at him. “If you’re trying not to lean on me because you think you’re heavy, I’m going to laugh at you.”

Viktor huffs. “Forgive my consideration.”

Jayce lets out a breath – another suggestion of a laugh – and Viktor studies him from the corner of his eye. He feels much taller, close like this. 

They exit through the back of the palace and descend a long stretch of stairs. Viktor halts mid-step, his gaze fixed on the courtyard below.

“It’s all dead,” Viktor marvels. The palace’s rear courtyard, bordered by neatly trimmed hedges, is filled with planters of withering flowers. A few appear deceptively healthy, but to Viktor, the air hums with decay. It's like a song only he can hear. A terrible pain screeching through the lifestream.  

Jayce nods solemnly as they reach the final step. Viktor crouches beside one of the planters, studying a black, wilted bloom.

“These are Golden Magnolia’s, the state flower of Piltover. They once bloomed through the entire countryside – but years ago, they became infected with a disease.” Jayce nudges his foot against one of the planters, and the poor plant crumbles. “When I was crowned, I was shocked to learn that the gardeners had been painstakingly hand-painting the leaves of the flowers, petal by petal, so that our guests would never know that something was wrong.” Jayce rolls his eyes, “I put an end to that bullshit. But the botanists are still hoping to find a cure one day. For now, our magnolias live and die out here.”

Viktor straightens to his feet. He gazes around the spacious garden, observing the center fountain, and the alabaster sculptures that stick out amongst the decay like a sore thumb. 

“Why show me this?”

Jayce rubs sorely at his wrist, like something should be there, but isn’t. 

“Piltover has a bad habit of covering up its mistakes. We’re a proud people that thrive off the idea of perfection – to the point where it ruins us. I guess I just…” Jayce pauses and Viktor turns to face him again. “What I’m saying is, don’t let them get to you.”

He is oddly touched by this. Viktor closes his eyes and immerses himself in the flow of the lifestream, sensing the decay embedded in the soil; he sees the entangled roots, envisions the essence dwindling inside these plants. He can see death, can feel the worms in the ground, the grass that struggles to grow, and the disease that feeds off the stems. His own magic feels like fire in his chest, a roaring power at maximum potential – so he opens himself, and lets it go. 

Magic bleeds into the lifeforce, spreading around the garden on the astral plane; and to the naked eye, it bleeds new life into the bushels of flowers, bringing back their luminous gold color. 

Jayce turns with a sharp gasp, spinning in place as he watches the garden transform.

“How –” Jayce starts, then stops, realizing the question answers itself. His eyes shine with genuine admiration, and Viktor feels a flicker of affection stir in the forgotten chambers of his heart. 

“I can see the sickness like a stain on the lifeforce of these plants,” Viktor explains. “Magic can cleanse that stain, wipe the slate clean – but to bring back life…” He kneels again, brushing his fingers against the fresh petals of a blooming flower. It crumbles to ash beneath his touch. Jayce’s eyes widen, alarmed, and Viktor rises to explain. “It’s not possible. Magic is like water. You can choose to carry it in your hands, or you can let it go. I can heal wounds so long as I have the mana to sustain it – and likewise, a vessel can only hold the magic I give, if their cup is empty enough to receive it.” 

Some of the flowers sway in the breeze, happy with their newfound life. Some flowers wilt and die, despite Viktor’s attempt at healing. 

Jayce is quick to catch on, as he too bends down to study one of the twice-dead plants. “This one’s cup was full.”

“It didn’t want to live,” Viktor says quietly. Feeling fatigued, he maneuvers himself to the nearby bench. “This happened many times when I was healing soldiers in the war. I could mend flesh and bone, but if the soul did not choose life, there was nothing I could do.”

Jayce sits next to him. Side by side, their shoulders are miles apart. 

“I understand. Sometimes, living really does feel like a choice.”

Viktor is struck by the profound truth of this. He looks at Jayce, who is gazing at the reborn flowers with quiet wonder.

“Have I overstepped?”

“No, god no.” Jayce turns to him earnestly. “I think you’re incredible.”

Suddenly flustered, Viktor crosses one leg over the other and rests his cane on his lap. 

“I thought your people detested magic.”

“They’re afraid of it. My life was spared by the arcane – and I’ve been fascinated by it ever since. For all the bad it can do, there is still so much good.”

Viktor sucks on his bottom lip, letting the trickling fountain fill the silence. In the distance, two scholars whisper excitedly over a newly-bloomed flower. 

“Only these flowers are healed,” Viktor says, breaking the tension. “Next season, the curse will return. Just like with people. I can only help those within reach, and even then, my stamina is not good. This body…” He stops himself. Jayce doesn’t push him. Viktor runs a hand through the side of his hair, the length now past his ears. “That’s one of my subjects of research. Creating remedies that can go where I cannot.”

Jayce doesn’t look away for a single second. There, on that stone bench, Jayce reaches across the valley between them and rests his hand atop Viktor’s. He nearly jumps at the touch, but for some reason, he doesn’t pull away. 

“You’re a good man,” Jayce says. 

This man. He is like the sun.

Viktor flinches. “You don’t have to decide that just yet.”

Jayce cracks a smile, and leans away as he rises to his feet. He takes a deep breath. “Golden Magnolias. They smell like summer.”

No such flower ever bloomed in Zaun - but as Viktor takes one more look around the garden, his eyes land solely on Jayce, and he finds himself thinking that the blooms are indeed, beautiful. 

***

Chapter Text

***

After two unanswered knocks, Sky peeps in the door with about four extra heads that she did not own before. 

She speaks at about the same volume as a mouse. “My lord? Oh my god I can’t believe I’m doing this – Lord Viktor? Hello? See – he’s not here, you can all run along now –”

“Ow,” Viktor hisses, banging his head on his desk. “I’m here, Miss Young. Come on in.”

She takes two steps into his laboratory, opens her mouth like she wants to ask why he’s on the floor, then decides against it. She clutches a book to her chest, still in her sharp palace uniform, but her hair askew, like she’s been running her hands through it. It only catches his attention because he’s never not seen her look Piltover Perfect. 

“Um, I’m sorry to bother you –”

“Woah!” A young man points to one of the jars on his desk. “That eye is blinking!” 

“Shhh!”

Viktor takes one look at their robes, and puts two and two together. The students start to meander around his study, and Sky looks like she wants to implode. 

“I am – so sorry, my classmates, they saw what you did to the garden and – had questions, but I’m now realizing how inappropriate this is, comeonletsgo –”

Viktor blindly sets his tool back on the desk, then uses the chair to heave himself on his feet. The students look at him as if they’re worried his bones are about to come undone and roll around on the floor. 

“It’s fine,” Viktor says, catching his breath. “Ask away.”

Sky stares at him in slack-jawed surprise. Viktor can’t imagine that he’s been that much of a grump. Well, when he thinks about it…

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” a girl says, peeking at the notes he pinned to the wall. “These numbers and symbols – it’s like you’re applying mathematics to the arcane.” 

Viktor rubs at the bump on his skull, and as the pain subsides, so does his annoyance. Their souls are endearingly pure. He doesn’t have to tell them not to touch anything, because they know better. However, he does beckon them over with a wave of his hand. 

“Come. I’ll show you.”

He unfurls a flame of blue magic in his palm, and the students ooh and ahhh. As they poke and prod and ask a barrage of questions, he catches the grateful look from Sky. 

Later, as she’s ushering her classmates out the door, Viktor looks at her and says, “I still bleed red, you know.”

Embarrassed, his retainer quickly looks away. She still smiles as she replies, “I know.”

Voices echo down the hall, and the air settles stagnant; chairs left askew, scattered papers, and an oppressive quiet that leaves him scratching his head, wondering what just happened. 

***

Being married isn’t so bad.

For the most part, Viktor rarely even sees his spouse. He has taken to his old routine, existing only in his laboratory, the garden, and their sleeping chambers. He’s also sure to attend every council meeting out of spite. They don’t like him hovering around, but that’s just too bad. It’s now a principle of the thing (even if he could mostly care less about their petty arguments). 

Life goes on. They hold a coming home ceremony for all the knights that were stationed at the frontlines. It’s a dramatic ordeal that feels weird, being from the other side. Viktor shows up, gives his respects and leaves before the party, and Jayce doesn’t question him on it.

In the coming weeks, he receives a letter from Powder that miraculously explodes into a storm of fine dust that ruins his favorite shirt. In that same evening, it is washed and replaced at a speed he cannot fathom. 

“Efficient,” Viktor praises, studying the shirt for stains. “But I could’ve cleaned it with magic.”

“Don’t use your strength for such petty things,” Sky says. He can tell she’s becoming more comfortable speaking to him, because she no longer fidgets. “Also, his Majesty is requesting you join him for dinner tonight.”

Viktor pauses at this. Jayce hasn’t attempted to eat with him since before the marriage ceremony. 

He looks at his hands; smudged in dirt and pink dust stuck under his nails. His hair is knotted at the back of his neck from sweating in his lab all day, and he no doubt smells like a cauldron. 

“Is there time for a bath?”

“Already waiting.”

“Presumptuous of you,” Viktor says, lightly teasing. 

Sky leads the way, tucking her hands behind her back with a smile. “It’s my job to be.”

He cleans himself quickly, brushing out his hair and scrubbing where the back brace rubs blisters in his skin. He can’t stand the shame of his bruised limb, so he dresses without looking in the mirror. The maids laid out new clothes for him anyway. They are a perfect fit; trousers, blouse, waistcoat and a matching ascot. He ties the knot three separate times.

Viktor is unsure why he feels so flustered – only that he is frustrated with his own appearance. Too skinny, too broken, too sunken in the face and dark under the eyes. This is the face that will be crowned in two month’s time, and the whole country will laugh. 

Viktor presses his hands into his eye sockets, and lets out a harsh breath. This is stupid. 

He grabs his cloak, slips on his shoes, and opens the door. As usual, Steb is waiting to escort him. 

“Evening,” Viktor greets briskly. Steb greets him with a short blink, and a respectful nod. 

He no longer needs directions around the palace, but Steb still walks beside him – like company, rather than an escort, because he knows Viktor prefers it this way. Steb’s quiet presence gives Viktor a chance to get a grip. 

They make it halfway down the corridor when his knee locks up so suddenly, that he trips. 

Steb catches him with a well-timed grab. Viktor braces himself on his cane, and uses Steb’s help to get his feet back under himself. “Shit,” Viktor whispers. “Stood too much today.”

Visibly concerned, Steb points to a bench at the end of the hall. Viktor nods, and allows Steb to inch him over for a rest. When his butt hits the cushion, he suppresses a groan, reaching down to massage his knee. He left the brace off because he was too swollen out of the bath, but god it’s annoying. 

“Just give me a second,” Viktor waves. Steb nods, and steps aside. 

“ – it’s just weird, don’t you think?”

“ – only seen him twice. But he’s so…”

“I know!”

A conversation echoes from the end of the corridor. Viktor listens out of curiosity – and after a short pause, he concludes that the squeaking noise belongs to two maids scrubbing the floors one hall over. 

“It doesn’t make any sense. Why would he choose to marry someone like THAT.”

“Mmm, he’s obviously sick. I don’t know what his majesty sees in him.”

Ah. His ears are burning. 

Against his own will, Viktor can’t ignore the gossip. From the corner of his eye, he can see Steb go stiff as stone.

“Obviously! And you know, the magic has a smell. The residue makes the floor sticky, takes forever to scrub off!” 

Formally noted. 

“I could never trust someone so dangerous like that. Especially from you-know-where. I know we’re not at war anymore, but you never know if they’ll stab you in the back.” 

Viktor is no fool; he was well aware that he did not belong here. But after so many weeks in this palace, he had become complacent. 

“ – don’t understand why he scurries around in that cloak. Obviously, we can see him.”

“Probably trying to hide that weird leg.”

“Oh my god, that’s terrible!” 

At the sound of laughter, Steb takes one furious step towards the hall. Viktor yanks him to a stop with a snag of his fingers. 

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Please don’t. Leave them be.”

Steb has too nice of a face to scrunch it up like that. He signs too quickly for Viktor to interpret; just bits and pieces of, ‘they have no right – talk about like that – dishonor whole – many think you –’

Viktor looks away, and limps back on his feet. “Tell his majesty I will be retiring to our room. I’m unwell.”

Steb pats his arm, urging him to look so he can speak. His bright green eyes flare passionately, and Viktor flinches from it. 

“Do not mention this,” Viktor snaps. “That’s an order. Please, promise me.”

He watches Steb grind back on his teeth. His expression wipes blank again, but his eyes speak volumes. Viktor tucks tail and leaves. 

***

When Jayce creeps into their room, it’s not even midnight. Actually, it’s only half an hour past eight. The room is moderately lit by the fireplace, but with his face pressed into the pillow, the whole world is sparkly and black. 

The door wheezes, then shuts. There is a jingling noise, like glassware clinking against a tray – and then it clatters on the desk. 

“Hey,” Jayce greets gently.

Viktor lies with his back towards him, still buried in the pillows. The mattress sinks near his lower back, and he jolts as a warm hand settles on his shoulder. The palm is quickly yanked away, but the sting of his touch remains. 

“Sorry. I heard you’re not feeling well, I’ve got your dinner…you should eat.”

“Mmm.”

Jayce begins to sound concerned. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No,” he snaps. “I’m fine.” When Jayce doesn’t leave, the annoyance bubbles in his stomach. A king should not be playing nursemaid. “Don’t you have a hearing to attend?”

“It was postponed,” Jayce replies slowly, like he’s not sure how Viktor knew about that. “I’ve got free time.”

Defeated, Viktor sighs, rolling to his back so he can meet his gaze. “I’m poor company and in a foul mood. Save yourself.”

Jayce’s defensive expression cracks like stone. His eyes upturn in a smile, and as he stares down at him from above, Viktor suddenly feels like he’s in the center of the bloody universe. It’s as frightening as it is exhilarating. 

“I’ve been in a foul mood for twelve months. You don’t scare me.”

Viktor huffs, and rolls back over, burying himself in the pillow once more. He slowly exhales, willing himself to relax. Even as he forces the tension from his shoulders, he’s keenly aware of the short space between them. Jayce hesitantly touches his shoulder again, and for reasons he has yet to understand, he does not push him away. His thumb presses down on a knot – a very thin layer of muscle between skin and bone, and Viktor lets out another sigh. 

“If you’re homesick…” Jayce starts quietly. “We can work something out after the coronation.”

Since their meeting in Zaun, he thought of this man like a wolf. A cold exterior hardened by life and war and loss – and yet he was hiding all this warmth beneath the mask. 

“Be careful,” Viktor says, heart pounding. “I might start to think you’re soft.” He lets out a short groan as Jayce rubs at the arch of his neck. The palm swoops downwards – and he can feel the exact moment Jayce meets the foreign object protruding through his shirt, because he hesitates. After a moment, he rubs back up to that knot again, like it never happened. 

“What I really am, is starving.” Jayce gives him a final pat, then rises to his feet. “Chef made braised pork and fruit compote. You’re seriously missing out.” 

Viktor peers over his shoulder. He watches him rummage around on the tray where two plates sit covered by a dish, growing cold. 

“I have conditions.”

Jayce perks. “Name them.”

“Unlimited access to the restricted section.”

“Done.” He makes a face. “Though I had no idea the librarian took her orders so seriously. You do have power around here, you know.”

Hm. Doesn’t always feel like it, but noted.

“Also, no more babysitters.” Viktor squints. “I have no interest in stealing your gaudy keepsakes, nor do I plan on running away.”

Jayce’s eyes widen. He sets the lid back on the plate, and turns seriously. “Viktor. That’s not why I assigned you a guard.” Geez, the sound of his own name coming from that man is oddly suggestive. Weird, too weird. Jayce grips the footpost, grabbing his attention. “Your existence here is a step towards progress – something that scares those who are stuck in their old ways. I didn’t want you to become a target of hatred.” 

Oh. 

Viktor sits up. He smooths a hand down the back of his hair, but the shorter pieces still spring up at odd angles. “I see. Maybe a compromise is in order.”

“I’ll lighten the guard…” Jayce begins hesitantly. “But I’d still like to have check-ins. At least for a while, until things die down.”

Things. 

“I have not left the palace,” Viktor admits. As Jayce grabs the tray and moves toward the bed, he adds, “Is it bad out there?”

“The citizens have mixed opinions,” Jayce shrugs, setting down the tray. Viktor hovers a hand over it, using his magic to warm the dishes again.

“Ah.” He has a pretty good idea, based on what he heard in the hall this evening.

“I think once they get to know you, they’ll change their minds.” Jayce smirks, pouring wine into a chalice. “And when they see you all dolled up next to me on that throne…”

Viktor elbows him, almost making him spill. “You’re a fool.” Viktor immediately freezes as he remembers exactly who this is.  

Jayce’s crown is sitting on the side table. He lets out a laugh that sounds like sea salt on the wind, like grass in summer and rain on windows. 

“One day I’ll wine and dine you right,” Jayce teases, handing over the drink. Viktor grabs it, and takes a big gulp. “I heard you had a shipment of exotic spiders coming from overseas. Do I even want to know?”

Viktor swallows, then wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “A supplier I’ve been working with for some time. Peacock spiders have a venom that works as an antitoxin against some – some very rare magical curses.” 

“That’s…grossly fascinating. How do you extract your magic into a consumable form? What stops a human from making the same remedy?”

“It is like…” Viktor considers his answer. “Like having ingredients with no flame to cook with. Without magic, they are just…spider legs floating in prune water.”

He watches Jayce consume the information with fascination. Like he could get fat off of it, rather than the plate laying in his lap.

“I heard what you did for those students. You would make a good teacher.”

“I haven’t the patience.”

“God, I tell myself that every day.”

Viktor stops himself from smiling. The flames in the fireplace are flickering to a rhythm. It takes him a moment longer to realize they’re pulsing with the rush of his heartbeat.

They eat informally with pillows shoved against the headboard and dishes balanced in their laps. What the world doesn’t know won’t hurt them.

***

Viktor sits on the floor of his lab, sorting jars of dead spiders. It’s easier to lean his back up against the bookshelf and float his journal where he can make notes as he goes. It’s also easier to ignore the eyes glaring into the top of his head. 

“I can buy your silence,” Viktor says, turning a page. “Metaphorically, I mean.”

Steb crosses his arms in the doorway. He is clearly still upset about the hallway incident. 

"What is it you covet? Gold? Power? Women?" An unimpressed silence. "Ah, so you like men.” Viktor looks up in time to watch Steb go through a whole face journey, before he adds, “I know a paladin back home. Divorced, single father, objectively handsome. He’ll probably be here for the coronation.”

Steb flushes blue, but refuses to fidget. 

‘You trouble.’

Viktor cracks a smirk, and lifts a jar to study the contents through the light. 

“Yes, very well.”

***

He spends thirty seconds too long staring at the door of Jayce’s solar. 

Lorris peers down at him from his hulking height, one eyebrow raised and a hand on the door handle. 

“Respectfully, my lord, am I opening the door or not.”

No…yes. No – fuck it – “Yes.”

The door opens, and Viktor more or less stomps inside. He makes his way through the empty solar, taking a peek at lines of arithmetic scribbled on scraps of parchment. The circular door at the back of his study is cracked open, and Viktor pushes it open with his forearm. 

The forge is encapsulated in a big stone room, with funnels through the ceiling to ventilate the smoke. It is hot as all hell, and Viktor pulls open the strings of his shirt before exploring any further. 

Jayce is silhouetted against the flame. He works shirtless, his damp hair stuck to the nape of his neck. Viktor nearly swallows his tongue just looking at him. The heat is no doubt frying his mind – but he doesn’t have to be a genius to appreciate what is in front of him. Lord, he is strong. 

Jayce strikes metal on the anvil, wipes his face with the rag over his shoulder, then turns in surprise. “Ah, hey Viktor. You got my message?”

“Yes,” Viktor replies bluntly. He looks up and around the room. The architecture is impressive. “You called for me?”

“I wanted to take a couple measurements,” he says. “I found the alloy I want to use, but I have to bend it to shape – I think I’m pretty close, but I need to make sure the hinge swings right.” He starts to mutter to himself, “Needs support near the base, inside of the soles are worn out, putting too much pressure on that inner heel, could use some cushion…”

Viktor looks at the inside of his shoe. Yes, it is worn in. 

“Pardon me, but what the hell are you talking about?”

Jayce looks up again. “Oh, right! Your brace, I’m making you a new one. That leg’s been bugging you, right?”

Since the day he was born, yes. But much more now, because of – well, reasons. 

Viktor attempts to hide the sincerity in his voice. “You don’t need to do that.”

Jayce shrugs, “It’s easy work.” He uses the tongs to slide the slab of metal back in the furnace, then wipes his palms on his trousers. “And Salo pissed me off again today. Ought to smash him with a –”

“Let’s not,” Viktor says quickly. He stands before him and gestures, “Measure away.”

He thought he was prepared for what that entailed, but apparently not. Jayce pulls him back into his study, still sans-shirt, and plucks a measuring tape from his top drawer. He then proceeds to kneel at his feet, and shove his hand so far up Viktor’s inseam, that his soul nearly exits his body. 

“Sorry,” Jayce says quickly, thinking he hurt him. He is gentler with the tape as he wraps it around his thigh. “That hurts?”

No. But to save face, “A little.”

He is quick and efficient, measuring his outseam, his inseam, the circumference of his knee, then his ankle. Jayce could have easily sent a serf to do the measuring for him, but nooo, the king himself has to get on his knees – lord help him. 

Viktor can’t stop staring at the sweat dripping down his spine. His muscles roll through his back like valleys, dotted in moles and the occasional white scar. Jayce’s hand nearly wraps around the entirety of his leg, which is information his brain doesn’t know what to do with. 

“Alright,” Jayce says, growing back to his full height. “I got what I need.”

Viktor braces a hand against his desk, still feeling out of breath. “I don’t like owing you.”

“Trust me, you don’t.” Jayce wipes his face again, and Viktor swallows harshly. He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it is the heat. Maybe because, deep down, he is still like any man. 

Viktor beckons, “Come here.”

Curious, and only a little hesitant, Jayce leans down. Viktor whispers into the palm of his own hand, then reaches up to press it to his sweaty forehead. Cool ice hisses between his fingers, steaming where it meets his overheated skin. 

Jayce jolts, then groans happily, closing his eyes as Viktor presses his cold fingers along his cheek. The band of his wedding ring stands out like gold in desert sand.

“Your internal body temperature,” croaks Viktor. He clears his throat. “Is dangerously high.”

Jayce sounds hoarse as he replies, “I always run hot.”

Viktor pulls his hand away, and Jayce opens his eyes again. His face is less flushed, but his pupils are blown wide open. Viktor’s chest gives a terrible squeeze. So, he panics. 

He curtly turns on his heel and clips, “Goodbye.”

Viktor wobbles towards the door, remembers his cane, then sucks it back to his hand with a summoning spell. It nearly brains Jayce on the way over, but he’s too busy mentally imploding to care. 

***

Viktor finds himself at the edge of the training grounds, perched on a short cobblestone wall and long lost in thought. He spins the wedding ring on his finger over and over again, the motion soothing in its monotony.

The palace is getting busier as they grow closer to the official coronation. New faces are constantly in and out of the palace grounds; florists with fragrance samples, tailors showing fabric, jewelers and musicians and carpenters beginning construction for the grand stands. Viktor has even overheard the chefs arguing over the menu. The menu for what, you might ask? Oh, that would be the grand banquet, to feed upwards of five hundred nobles. 

Viktor is barely involved, and it is simply too much.

Therefore, he decided some fresh air would do him good. Back home, there really was no such thing, and yet he still misses it. Viktor was just short of eighteen when Silco took the throne, but he’s certain his coronation involved a bar, five of his closest friends, and liquor that could singe your brows off. He was merely an apprentice back then. 

Viktor watches Caitlyn run drills with her team. They’re a small group of new recruits, barely half a dozen. With the war over, there’s no need for drafts. These would all be young lords – sons and daughters of dukes or duchies. On such a nice, sunny day, even the sight of shiny white knights hacking at straw dummies feels peaceful. 

“Sir Viktor, I see you’ve ventured out of your cave,” Caitlyn says sauntering over. Her dark hair hangs to her shoulders in a sharp ponytail, and it swishes with each step.

Viktor tucks his hand back in his lap, and replies, “No, I have not heard from Vi.”

Caitlyn rolls her eyes. In her elegant accent, she says, “That freak can stay home for all I care.” It is obvious that she cares immensely. “I honestly hope she never comes back.” That is clearly a lie, though, it seems they’re fighting already. 

“That didn’t take long,” Viktor mumbles out loud. 

Caitlyn turns away to scowl. “I knew better than to involve myself with a Zaunite. No offense.”

In a way, her candidness is refreshing. While her familial ties to Jayce likely got her the job, it’s her attitude that makes her good at it. No-nonsense, tough as nails; sounds familiar. 

(It’s also clear that Viktor is not the only one with special privileges to run his mouth). 

“None taken.”

“How’s life in your new ivory tower?”

“Full of knives,” Viktor grumbles. “And spiders. Care to visit?”

“Hell no. Respectfully.” Her sharp gaze catches on the new caravan that pulls up to the front steps of the palace. Her fingers twitch not for a sword, but for her bow and arrow strapped to her back. When the guards allow the caravan to pass, she relaxes again. She’s a very handsome woman, though so far from Viktor’s type, it makes sense why Vi is obsessed with her. Caitlyn jerks her chin. “That’s all for you, you know.”

“Yippee.”

She lets out a laugh that makes him raise his eyebrows. She then laughs again, and leans against the wall. “Nothing, nothing. I was just worried Jayce would bring home some prissy princess who’d be in it for all the fame and money. Thought I’d have to watch her chase spoiled babies around the halls until the day I finally died by the sword.” She looks him over again, but this time, he passes inspection. “I think you’re a good fit for him.”

That is the first time anyone has said such a thing since he got here, and it stuns him so rigid, that the leather in his back brace audibly squeaks. 

Caitlyn flips the end of her ponytail over her shoulder like nothing ever happened. “Plus, Steb likes you, so I guess that means something.” She grins again, her white teeth flashing, and Viktor instinctively tongues the crooked tooth at the bottom of his mouth. “Jayce is like a brother to me. He is both the smartest man I’ve ever known, and such a thick-headed numbskull, I’m still surprised that crown fits around his fat head. Don’t tell him I said that.” She pushes off the wall and snaps, “Hey, Nolen! Notch that arrow right or you’ll blind someone.” 

Her boots create prints in the tall grass. The wind blows through his hair, fluttering the ends of his neckerchief. It feels like the arcane is laughing at him. 

***

Viktor is butt naked and cursing out the ties of his back brace, when the door to the bedroom flies open. 

“Hey Viktor! I finally finished –” Jayce’s boot squeaks against the floor as he comes to a sudden halt. Viktor stands there, mildly embarrassed and mostly exasperated, as Jayce stares at his nude silhouette, wide-eyed and frozen in place. Viktor lowers his hands from where he was twisted up against the mirror, and Jayce jolts back to life, loudly dropping the object in his hand and turning to face the wall so fast, he bangs his head on the lantern. “Fuck! I’m sorry.”

Viktor sighs, and searches for his clothes. There’s really no point, he can’t get dressed until this stupid thing is on, or he’ll be hunched around like a shrimp. 

“Well. While you’re here…” Viktor twists again to look in the mirror, trying to see which part of his brace is stuck. “Do you mind?”

Jayce turns around slowly, dazedly rubbing the bump on his forehead. Viktor attempts to conceal any modesty he has left by holding his cloak in his arms, but at this point, Jayce has already seen everything there is to see. Not like he has much of anything worth looking at. 

“Um…”

Viktor attempts to point with one hand. “There is a locking mechanism at the back. There should be a set of corset laces.”

Jayce crosses the room, one heavy footstep after the other. In the corner of his eye, he sees Jayce appear behind him in the mirror. 

“Ah. I see where it’s twisted.” Jayce takes the straps, and begins to pull everything into place. Viktor stands up a little straighter, letting out a breath as he pulls. “Like that?”

“Harder.” Jayce clears his throat, and gives another tug. “Mm, yes, like that. It keeps me from favoring my leg.” 

Jayce hums in understanding. When Viktor peeks back in the mirror, he can see Jayce’s hands moving warily. He doesn’t need a reflection to know Jayce is looking at him; he can feel his wolf eyes raking down his body. Can feel it like heat under his spine. 

Viktor looks up, briefly closes his eyes, and says, “Go on then. I know you want to ask.”

Jayce finishes the tie, and steps back. “What do you mean?”

His white shirt has sweat stains down the front, like he’s been working in the forge. His hands are dry, his lips chapped, and his eyes are valleyed in dark-circles from his usual lack of sleep. Viktor looks at him, at all of him, and wonders why God made someone this handsome. 

He sits on the bed, piling the cloak in his lap. The vividness of his right leg stands out like a stain on his pale skin. 

“You want to know what is wrong with me.”

Jayce visibly swallows. His face looks warm, and his thumb fidgets with the ring on his left hand. A mutual source of stimuli for them both. 

“Silco said you were born sick. That’s all.”

“I was born sick,” Viktor agrees. “But not like this.” Jayce looks back down again at the mention of it. His right leg almost has a glow to it; gold shines faintly through his veins, giving it an alien, inhuman-like sheen. 

In his desperation to look anywhere else, Jayce spots the pile of clothing lying on the nearby chair, and helpfully hands it over. Viktor nods his thanks. He starts to dress, and Jayce respectfully turns his head away.

“I don’t mean to stare. It’s just, those scars look like…” 

Viktor pulls up his trousers, and buttons them. He presses a hand over the runes carved into his skin; an intricacy of faded symbols marked up and down his arms, his torso, his legs. 

“The arcanic alphabet, yes.” One arm in a sleeve, then the other. His hands are cold, and it takes him too long to do the buttons. “I wasn’t expected to live past twenty. I had a disease that was eating me alive, and there was no cure.” Jayce looks at him in alarm, and Viktor’s fingers shake on the middle button. “In my desperation to live, I committed an unforgivable sin. A blasphemy in the eyes of the arcane.” 

Viktor gives up on that button, and sits again with a sigh. Jayce is looking at him with such intensity, he fears he might set on fire. 

“What happened?”

“I used magic to heal myself,” confesses Viktor. Jayce gives him a look like: that’s it? Viktor lifts a placating hand. “Do you remember what I said, about filling a ‘cup’ with magic? It’s a give and take – the arcane feeds me, and I refine that energy into another soul. To heal yourself with your own magic is like eating your own flesh. It can sustain you for a short amount of time, but you will fall sick eventually.” 

Jayce puts it together quickly. “You’re cursed.”

“I extended my life at a cost,” he nods. “This curse is the price I paid. I always limped on this leg, but the purple flesh began at my toes, and has spread higher since. You saw the entirety of it.”

Jayce’s mouth parts as he visually processes this. It’s obvious that he’s trying not to look at his bare foot. “It hurts?”

Viktor doesn’t answer that. 

“It’s like a black hole. You’ve studied such things.” A stiff nod. “The curse swallows all the energy in me, depletes mana like an open wound. I don’t know what I will become when it consumes me. Dead – or maybe a monster. There is no common record of this kind of curse.”

“Oh god, Viktor. It’s an immune response.” Jayce rubs at the worried wrinkles between his eyebrows. “The magic is attacking itself – trying to fix the problem while destroying you in the process.”

Viktor lets out a tense breath. It’s a strange relief that someone in the world understands.

“I don’t regret it. Using the arcane bought me more time, enough to…” Viktor pulls at the hair by his ear, twists it in his fingers as he confesses his sins. “To figure out what to do next. That’s also why I am consumed by my research. It is selfish, I know.”

Jayce steps up to him with a grave expression. He is a bear of a man, sharp teeth, quick wit – he is no doubt dangerous. 

“It’s not selfish,” Jayce states firmly. He reaches to fix Viktor’s last button, then smooths down his collar with his big dexterous paws. “You did what you had to do. That kind of bravery can’t be taught.”

Viktor lets out a shuddery breath. “I carved these runes into my skin with a pocket knife. I had been throwing up blood for days.” He can remember the desperation of that night. Can remember how the air smelled smokey, like old cigars. “I thought – anything is better than dying like this.” 

Jayce sets his hands at his shoulders. His eyes are full of an affection that Viktor cannot bear. 

“I’ll help you, anything in my power, anything I can give – it’s yours, Viktor.”

What Viktor has done is shameful, and yet Jayce speaks like he means every word. 

Viktor bites his tongue to stop himself from becoming sentimental. “You had a right to know. In case I…”

“Don’t. You might live a long life yet.”

A long life with Jayce Talis. He swallows the butterflies in his stomach. Chews up their wings, and spits, “What did you need me for?”

Jayce lights up. “Oh, right!” His hands leave Viktor’s shoulders, and Viktor feels the absence of his touch like a gust of cold air. “I finished that brace! It should fit nicely, I used my old design and tweaked some things based on the way you walk. This should help with your foot alignment, might actually take some stress off your back too.” As he rambles, he picks up the forgotten brace on the floor, and drops to a knee by his feet. It is obscene to see a king like this. For God’s sake, the banded crown is still peeking out from under his hair, and here he is, kneeling like a peasant. “Here, step in.”

Viktor says nothing as Jayce fits him into the straps. It molds perfectly to his leg, the hinge meeting right on the side of his knee. As Viktor experimentally leans his weight into it, his eyebrows meet his hairline. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Well, I’d hope so,” Jayce chuckles. He makes a few adjustments, then stands back to look at his handiwork. “It fits lovely. What do you think?”

Viktor steps right, then left. “So this is how you walk without a stick. You put my design to shame.”

Jayce grins at him, a warmer smile none should ever see. 

“Hey, my first few prototypes nearly took my leg off. That’s what trial and error is for.”

Viktor’s gaze drops down to Jayce’s left leg. More or less, they now match. While he is still curious as to how he obtained the injury, he won’t pry unless Jayce offers up the information himself. 

Viktor rocks back on his heel, bends his knee, and cracks a small, reluctant smile. “Pretty brilliant.”

When he looks up, Jayce is closer than he remembered. His hazel eyes catch the light, more green than brown now, like mossy pools in a shaded glade.

“Yeah.”

They are too close. Viktor’s breath hitches, and the grand bedroom shrinks three sizes too small. Jayce hovers closer, the moment stretching with a magnetic tension that makes his knees weak again. Viktor lifts a hand – for what, he doesn’t know – and Jayce grabs him by the wrist. His heartbeat is thundering in his ears. Jayce is staring at his mouth. Viktor can’t breathe. 

One second, he’s thinking he really might kiss him; and in the next, Jayce looks down, takes his hand, and slips it to his lips. He meets his eye as he presses a small, deliberate kiss to his boney knuckles. 

“Thank you for being honest with me today.” The intensity of it steals all the breath from Viktor’s lungs. Jayce backs away, clearing his throat. “I’m going back to my solar – I really think there might be a trick to this crystal thing that could help you. I’ll mess around a bit, you give that brace a test drive, come find me if it isn’t right.”

Viktor tries to find his voice around the frog in his throat. “Jayce –”

The king tactfully retreats, and Viktor stands on shaky legs.

***

Chapter Text

***

The new brace is acceptable. It’s no miracle worker, but the metal no longer cuts into his sensitive flesh, and the thoughtful padding makes it easier to stand in one place without growing tired so quickly. Viktor is unable to put his gratitude into words, and that frustrates him. So he stands in the middle of Jayce’s study, and stares at him until he starts to crack a smile. 

Jayce stamps a piece of paper with a seal, then shoves it into a pile as tall as the desk. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Viktor squints. He gives one long look around the solar; the mess of scattered papers, coronation plans, tax records, trade agreements, military reports. Viktor takes his cane, taps it to the floor, and organizes the piles into individual stacks with a fleury of gold speckled magic.  

“There,” Viktor huffs. 

Jayce hovers with his quill in hand, eyes wide and staring blankly at his promptly tidied desk. He blinks twice, then says, “Well, you just made my secretary’s life a hell of a lot easier.”

“No more favors,” Viktor points, turning on his heel. It is pleasant that he can do so without wobbling over. 

“We’re married, dear,” Jayce teases. “You can’t call them favors.”

He chooses to ignore that comment. However, Viktor stops on a dime, head swiveling as he catches something on the corner of Jayce’s desk. It’s in the pile now consisting of Jayce’s personal side projects, and he tips his head to get a better look. “Is this supposed to be a calculation for lateral thrust?”

Jayce immediately recognizes what he’s referencing, signing another paper without looking up.

“Yeah. We’ve started a joint project with Zaun to rebuild the old bridge across the river. Would cut the trade route in about half.” Jayce stifles a yawn. “I was looking over the plans from my architect, but the load distribution didn’t look right, so I started redrawing it.”

“You’re supposed to have people to do that for you,” Viktor monotones. He flips through a few of the plans. “Hence, the role of an architect. Also, they didn’t solve for the strain on the support beams here. The central pillars are carrying too much weight.”

“Oh shit,” Jayce mutters. Viktor perches on the desk edge, and Jayce uses a piece of charcoal to scratch out his mistake. “Good catch. They teach you that in Zaun?”

“We are not all uneducated.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I had a mentor.” Viktor glances at the time on the grandfather clock, and Jayce follows his thought before he even finishes it. As always, it’s warm in here, and Jayce rolls his cuffs to his forearms with a casualness that makes Viktor suspicious.

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

Viktor narrows his eyes. He looks at his reorganized pile, then makes up his mind. He shoos Jayce away from the bridge plans, and picks up a quill. “I’ll do it. Finish stamping your silly papers.”

Jayce gives a fond look that is too much for Viktor to handle. He sounds extra human when he says, “You don’t need an excuse to stay. You’re my partner, I told you I value your insight.”

Viktor clicks his tongue. “I do not make excuses.” Though, he does peek at Jayce from the corner of his eye. “Why are you still pretending to care about Zaun?”

Jayce answers as easy as, “Because I do care.”

While he can be clumsy in his efforts, Jayce maintains this genuine desire to help others. Viktor thought it all for show, but as the weeks go on, he wonders if he was wrong about that too.

“You are much more progressive than the rest of your people.”

“I’m not,” Jayce shrugs. He heats up a wax seal, and presses it to an envelope. “I mean, maybe a little. But not everyone in Piltover is as conservative as you think they are. Many had been calling for peace for a long time.”

Viktor fixes the diagram of the bridge structure with a few straight lines. “I thought the treaty would be the end of Piltover’s graces.”

“Zaun committed many crimes against Piltover – some that our council won’t forgive. But that was in war. I know that place is your home.” Jayce frowns suddenly, and Viktor looks up from the paper in surprise. Jayce’s expression is serious when he says, “I’ll do what I can to take care of it.”

Viktor doesn’t like how touched that makes him feel. He counts in his mind, writes down the answer, and mutters, “Worry about yourself.”

They work in an easy silence. An evening with Jayce is surprisingly simple – like solving structural mathematics.   

***

When Sky comes asking for another favor, Viktor welcomes the distraction. 

He spends his first day out of the palace barely a mile down the road. Her classmates are conducting clinical trials at the nearby hospital, and questioned if he would like to visit the sick there. Of course, Viktor agreed. 

He’s feeling well enough that he can spare some mana for the critically ill in the intensive care unit. Viktor senses universal skepticism the moment he steps in the sterile room. A few patients outright refuse his care – until they see his magic start to soothe, calm, and heal – then, they are not so opposed to it. With his curse seeping his energy like the open wound that it is, Viktor doesn’t have enough power to fully restore, but he gives all that he has.

As Viktor tends the bedsores on an elderly woman, her complaints turn to praise. He finds the hot-and-cold attitude amusing, though one of Sky’s peers gives him a long look. “Do they offend you, my lord?”

“Ignorance does not offend me,” Viktor replies. He flexes his hands, feeling tingly from his magic. “People fear what they don’t know. And Piltover hasn’t known magic for some time.”

“Well, we should!” The old woman scoffs. “I feel wonderful! Look, I could even dance –!”

Two nurses jump out of their seats. “Please, refrain!” 

Viktor always found it difficult to visit places like hospitals, because it’s difficult to stop at his limit. Even when his body is shivering in mana depletion, it’s impossible to walk away from the hands outstretched in need. Especially when they are tiny little hands. 

As the child’s face finally falls into a blissful sleep, Sky catches Viktor with an arm around his back. “You’ve done enough, sir.”

“I can walk,” Viktor argues, struggling for his cane. The shakes are a neurological response – a sign of his body saying empty, empty. “Thanks to your stubborn ox of a king.”

“And yet he married another,” Sky teases. She pushes up her glasses to avoid Viktor’s flat glare. 

A bath is already waiting when he returns, his nightclothes laid out neat on the bed. It’s hard not to feel spoiled with all the good soaps and oils lined up on the shelf. He actually falls asleep in the tub, and is only awoken by the staff that concernedly knock on his door. 

It’s been some time since Viktor has run on empty, and the mana-exhaustion has him passing out as soon as his head hits the pillow. The feeling is akin to being drunk; phasing in and out of consciousness, full body aches, dizziness, nausea. 

Whispers float through his dreamscape. 

“We got him into bed around an hour ago.” 

“Good. Did he eat?”

“No. I’m sorry, your majesty. I told him he was pushing himself too hard, but he –”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you were looking out for him. I’ll take it from here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Viktor tries to open an eye, but his lids are too heavy. He can feel the arcane like little snowflakes on his skin, the world’s energy slowly seeping into his body, filling him back up again. 

A hand sweeps his bangs from his forehead. The palm checks his temperature, then cups his cheek. The placement of a thumb lines up suspiciously well with his mole. 

“You have a sweet side to you, Viktor.”

Viktor wants to scoff. He also wants to lean into his palm like a dog. 

***

Viktor sleeps so long and so hard, he has no recollection of Jayce crawling into bed with him. 

However, he is very, very sober when he realizes that Jayce’s big arm is wrapped around his waist. 

Eyes wide open, Viktor stares blankly at the wall in front of him. A hanging portrait depicts a woman draped dramatically over a couch, half naked and reaching for a wine goblet. It is relatable at the moment. 

The world is sleepy and warm inside their blankets. Everything smells like Jayce, now tenfold with him breathing hotly at his neck. His arm is heavy and bare; twiney muscle is wound tight from his wrist to his bicep, and Viktor is afraid to even breathe too hard. 

Jayce presses closer, and Viktor squeezes his eyes shut. There is no mistaking the hardness pressed up against him. 

It’s not Jayce’s fault, but Viktor internally curses him anyway. He feels flushed from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, and as Jayce’s fingers twitch along his belly, his own body stirs. 

This is a happenstance of cold mornings and a single bed. Viktor knows better than to read too deeply into it; if Jayce really knew who he was touching, he would be mortified. 

Birds are singing on the balcony. Somewhere in the courtyard is the sound of quiet laughter. Jayce lets out a sigh, unconsciously pushing his hips against his rear, naturally seeking pressure in his sleep – and Viktor can nearly feel the steam come out of his ears. He really should stop this (god he is big). 

His body’s reaction is bordering on pathetic. Goosebumps down his neck, sweaty palms, his heart is racing in the pit of his stomach and his cock is filling embarrassingly fast. He can’t bring himself to pull away. 

Viktor can sense the exact moment that Jayce wakes up, because the loose arm around his waist suddenly stiffens into iron. He hears his breath hitch, and feels his weight immediately leave his back. It leaves him cold and achy. 

Jayce sits up and quietly groans. Viktor feigns sleep long enough to hear him land on his feet, rummage through one of the drawers, then limp his way over to the bathroom. Viktor rolls onto his stomach to hide how mortifyingly aroused he is. A few more minutes, and Jayce is stepping into his shoes, poking the fire in the hearth, then walking out to greet his retainers. Viktor couldn’t imagine shoving himself into a pair of trousers right now. 

When it’s safely quiet again, he slowly rolls to his back. Viktor presses a hand to his erection to keep it from pitching such a tent, but he is literally soaking wet. 

What the hell. 

Viktor flops his arms to his sides, and stares at the ceiling. No, no no. No way. 

He closes his eyes to try and get himself under control. He needs to get some work done at the lab, before Sky pulls him into those nonsense coronation rehearsals. 

Fuck, he is aching. And from what? Literally nothing, a silly biological response. 

Viktor hesitantly reaches for the waist of his breeches. He lifts it, and watches his erection twitch with the desire to be touched. This is frankly ridiculous, he hasn’t done this in years. His cock drools obscenely onto his navel, and Viktor huffs in frustration, finally gripping himself and squeezing. 

His mind is all filled with Jayce; the scent of him still lingers on his pillow, and his belly still tingles where his fingers laid. What a silly daydream it is, to imagine that Jayce would want to touch him. To consider that Viktor would want him to.

It’s been so long that in three short strokes, he’s already coming. Viktor bites down on his cheek, stifles any noise he might make, and shivers as it rips through him. He feels filthy and obscene, and hot all the way down to his bone marrow. He spills all over his stomach, then trembles with aftershocks – and as his body gives a final throb, Viktor lies back and curses himself in every language he knows. 

***

Viktor struggles to pay attention during the council meeting. 

Jayce sits on that throne, mighty sword at his side, engraved buttons pulling at the peak of his chest, statuesque in his absolute authority – and Viktor feels hot as a whore in bloody church. Not to mention that Mel is giving him all sorts of odd looks, which isn’t helping. 

(The evil bits of himself curl over in satisfaction, knowing that it is not Mel that wears Jayce’s handmade wedding ring. He touches the grooves with his thumb just to make sure. The possessiveness feels foreign in his veins.)

“With all due respect, I really think you should push off the coronation,” Mel says. “We’re already hosting the summer games, if we wait until we receive next year’s taxes –”

“That is non-negotiable, and I don’t want to hear it,” Jayce snaps. Mel huffs, clearly holding her tongue. “Salo, you’re next.”

Viktor turns his ring in circles.

***

“Hi,” Viktor greets. 

Vi tosses a pair of dice, and leans back on the pegs of her chair to pat him on the arm. “Hey Vik! I’m back by the way. You want in?”

Viktor really only came by the garrison hall because he knows this is where they keep the good liquor (the real stuff, smuggled in by the knights, for the knights). 

His only evening plans were to drink himself to the point of amnesia in the restricted section of the library, so.

“Whatever.” The other guards look on in horror as Viktor drags up a chair to gamble. 

“Woo! Alright, we’re playing undercity rules.” She starts to deal out cards, then pauses, looking him up and down. “Your hair’s getting long.”

Instinctively, Viktor feels up where his hair now skims his shoulders. He hasn’t cut it in a while, and perhaps Sky is too polite to suggest that he needs to.

“I might keep it,” Viktor shrugs. He looks up across the hall, sees Steb and Lorris, and waves them over with a short gesture. Steb looks unenthusiastic, but Lorris doesn’t even hesitate to start digging in his pockets for change. 

“I bet the King finds it sexy,” Vi replies. Viktor flicks two fingers, using magic to topple over her drink. She scrambles to catch it.

“New tattoo?” 

“Fuck you. Yeah, got it in Zaun.” 

“Looks good. Put me in for fifty.”

“Thanks. You gambling with your husband's money?”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

The big barn doors swing open, and Caitlyn comes stumbling through the hall with a bloody lip and a black eye. The knights begin to stand at attention, and Caitlyn waves them off with an annoyed huff.

“Shove it, I am officially off duty.” She comes around to plop herself in Vi’s lap, who continues to dish out cards like nothing has happened. “Deal me in.” Viktor raises both eyebrows, and Caitlyn narrows hers. “Don’t say it.”

Vi looks like a happy cat with her big arms wrapped around Caitlyn’s waist. Fine then. Good for them. Somehow, those two managed to fight and make up faster than Viktor can put his own feelings together.

“Did you give ‘em hell?” Lorris teases. Caitlyn scowls, and wipes the dried blood from her mouth.

“I’d like to see a squire question my authority again.”

“Did the king see it?”

“Oh, yeah. But he pretended not to.” Caitlyn wraps her arm around Vi’s shoulders, and directs her sharp gaze to Viktor. “Do you know how to play?”

Viktor looks at his cards, and keeps his face neutral. “Zaun invented gambling.”

“Told you,” Vi grins. “He’s not a total nerd.”

“I’ll remember that.”

***

Let it be known that the king of Piltover is in a foul mood. Because he has definitely let it be known. 

Viktor walks out of his lab to empty halls; no maids, no retainers, no vendors or guests or even the musicians that sometimes play harps in the foyer. He takes one look at the stiff guards stationed at the wing entrance, and raises an eyebrow. 

“Where is he?”

Eyes straight ahead, the guard lifts his right hand to point left. That would be the royal lounge. 

Viktor decides to brave the fire. 

The lounge is in the back of the king’s personal wing — a space Viktor has rarely lingered, because he’s not one for sitting around with a thumb up his ass. The furniture is too nice, the decor too formal, like a theater stage. This is likely where Jayce would bring other royals for a personal drink. 

He finds Jayce on one of the finely embellished couches, an ankle crossed over his knee, eyes stuck on the roaring fireplace and a strong drink in hand. His hair is greasy, stringy in his face, and the back of his shirt is damp. 

Viktor takes a moment to gather himself, then steps around the tapestry rug. 

“I see we’ve decided to terrorize the staff today.”

Jayce glances at him from the corner of his eye. Viktor maneuvers himself to the other couch, and Jayce wipes a tired hand down his face. 

“Not in the mood, Vik.”

Ah. Viktor regards him with an even stare, and Jayce scowls into his scotch. 

“Shall I start guessing, or would you like to save me the breath.”

“It’s not your concern.”

“I’ll play, then. Salo back on your nerves?”

Jayce grits his teeth, and Viktor feels a bit like he’s poking a bear. This is the same man that marveled over flowers, smithed him a mobility device by hand, and gently stroked his hair in his sleep. The big man in charge, the mighty king, slayer of dragons, destroyer of worlds and all that hogwash.

A log in the fire pops, then crackles. 

“No. Just let it go.”

Viktor plucks the bottle of scotch off the coffee table, and smells it. The stench is so strong, it reminds him of home (Silco’s breath during war meetings, the back of Vander’s ranky bar, Vi curled up in the medical tent).

“I don’t want to.” 

An unsettled silence stretches. The bottle feels heavy in his hand. Jayce scratches along his beard, shifts slightly, then sighs in concession. “Yesterday was the anniversary of my mother’s passing. And I got so caught up in political bullshit, I forgot all about it.”

Oh. 

Viktor sets down the bottle with a reverent click. 

“I’m sorry. Will you visit her grave?”

“I want to, but it’s a week-long trip. Could be a while until I can make it up north.”

Viktor nods slowly. Jayce looks miserable all the way over there. He wants to stand up, walk to that couch and crawl under his arm. It would be a brazen thing to do. 

“How long has it been?”

“Geez,” Jayce rubs between his eyebrows, tired and frustrated. “Ten years, I think. Fuck.”

Grief is a miserable poison. Viktor has always preferred to swallow his alone (as Jayce is clearly attempting to do) but as he has come to know this man, the hints of Jayce’s real self in the privacy of closed doors, Viktor feels that solitude isn’t what Jayce truly wants. Jayce, who is always reaching for him; touching his shoulder, his arm, the mid of his back. Like he desires human touch, but is too far away in his tower.

Jayce looks miserable, and Viktor gets an idea. 

He rises, tucking his cane under his arm as he extends a hand. “Walk with me?”

Round eyes marvel back at him. The air hangs with tension, before Jayce finally brings himself to stand.

He takes Viktor’s hand; big, sweaty, and warm, smothering Viktor’s own. For once, Jayce looks almost relieved to be the one led; his shoulders sag, and his droopy eyes are ringed in heartache and exhaustion. In that moment, Viktor finally sees the human in him. The man beneath the suit of armor – a boy who misses his mother. 

 A little tenderness can go a long way. 

***

Jayce opens the door to the tower balcony and breathes in the crisp night air. The cool breeze carries the scent of cooking fires and dewy grass. 

Viktor gravitates towards the railing, looking out upon all the lit street lamps lining the capital streets. It is a cloudless night, giving view to thousands of stars in the sky. 

“You can see the astral serpent tonight,” Viktor says quietly. Jayce turns to the constellation, knowing right where to look. “As you theorized, fire-based spells will be easier to cast under her constellation.”

Jayce glances back at him, hesitantly approaching the rail. “Viktor…why are we here?”

He bites his bottom lip as he chooses his words. The arcane swells within him. 

“There’s a tradition in Zaun that is done to mourn the dead,” Viktor explains. Jayce straightens, his curiosity piqued. “We light paper lanterns, and set them into the sky. With such limited space, we have to cremate our dead. The lanterns are meant to guide their spirits home.” 

“That’s beautiful,” Jayce whispers.                             

Viktor cups his hands to his own mouth, exhaling a soft breath laced with magic. The faintest shimmer dances between his fingers, and he turns to Jayce, his expression determined. “Give me your hands. Both of them.”

Jayce doesn’t bother protesting anymore. Viktor hovers over his hands, calm and deliberate, as he curls his fingers to form a cage around Jayce’s. A faint glow begins to pulse between them. “Hold it tight now. Yes, like that.” Light slithers between the cracks in his fingers, illuminating the veins through his skin. 

“Woah.” Jayce’s voice is barely a whisper, gruff in awe. “It feels… tingly. Is that –”

“Now let it go,” Viktor instructs, nodding to the open air. 

Jayce turns over his hands, and opens his cupped palms. The glowing embers rise, flickering and spinning as they catch the breeze. They scatter like golden fireflies, multiplying with every passing second, filling the air around them in a radiant, shimmering dance. Like snowflakes on the wind, raw magic in a form so pure-of-heart, he can feel it sing through the arcane. 

“I have no lanterns,” Viktor says gently. “And I don’t know where souls go after we pass. But an honored memory will always forgive a forgotten one.”

Jayce follows every last ember with his eyes, one hand gripped to the rail like he would jump over the edge and chase them. A boy again, forgiven of all the worldly responsibilities cast upon him.

Jayce turns to look at him with tears in his eyes. Viktor’s breath catches, and his feet freeze in place as Jayce steps up to him. 

“Thank you, Viktor.”

With the magical embers ascending around them, it’s like they’re bathing in the stars. Little dots in his brunette hair, gold shining in his hazel eyes. They are suddenly too close again, and Viktor fears he does not have the strength to pull away. 

This moment becomes infinite; every second now an hour, every breath a slow surface for air. Jayce is staring at his mouth again, and Viktor’s cold hands yearn to tangle in his messy hair. 

“You don’t know how badly I want to kiss you,” Jayce whispers. 

Viktor’s heart rips up into his throat like a crack of a whip. They stand on a precipice of possibility.

He croaks, “What is stopping you?”

Jayce stares straight through him.

Then, Jayce’s large hand reaches to cusp the side of his neck, sliding to the back of his skull, and Viktor’s eyes roll shut as Jayce tests his mettle, and kisses him. His mouth is hot and oppressive, kissing with an enthusiasm that is maybe too similar to a dog. Viktor adores it. 

The grommets in his back brace click against the railing through his layers of clothes. Jayce grabs that rail, corners him up against it and uses his big paw to tip Viktor’s head where he wants it, and the manhandling rushes heat through him like a wildfire. He wants to push back, bite his tongue and hiss – he also wants to succumb to it. Roll over and show his belly. 

Viktor grabs at his bicep, mostly to keep himself standing, and Jayce sighs into his open mouth – a deep sound that resonates low in his belly. 

Viktor is not thinking of all the reasons why this is a bad idea. He is thinking of the tongue that licks the seam of his lips; the taste of scotch, the scent of leather and metal and a burning forge. He can’t get enough air through his nose – it’s just one kiss after the other – and Viktor shares the blame. He cups his jaw with his other hand, pets through that short, course beard (it is as soft as he imagined), and uses his leverage to keep Jayce from pulling away. He doesn’t even try. 

The breeze makes his back feel cold. It’s a blunt contrast to the blaze against his tongue. Viktor fights back, pushing to feel the points of his teeth for himself, and Jayce makes a sound that he may never forget. 

“Viktor,” he rasps. That clumsy hand pulls his wavy hair off the side of his neck. He physically shivers when a breath pants past his ear. “Viktor, Viktor.” 

It is like being drunk. He can’t see straight, can’t complete a full thought. Jayce is gripping the rail so hard he can hear his skin squeaking against the metal. Subconsciously, or maybe on purpose, Viktor tips his head slightly to allow for his mouth to kiss down his jaw. Jayce accepts the invitation without hesitation. 

Jayce seethes, “You’ve been driving me mad.” Viktor feels like he’s about to start seeing double. 

“Oh, god.” Hot and invigorated, Viktor grips into Jayce’s hair and yanks him back to his mouth. The kiss misses, then rights itself. And as Viktor allows himself to fall deeper into this sudden desire, he feels the arcane boil up inside of him. This all-powerful force of nature has the nerve to be happy. Yes, he’s assigning human emotions to something incapable of feeling, but there’s no right word to describe it. It’s like he’s going to shiver apart and explode. 

Jayce sucks in a shaky breath through his nose, and Viktor realizes that he is damn near suffocating this man. He pulls away with a horrified gasp, but Jayce dives right back into him. Their bodies now pressed close, Jayce takes a deep kiss from him, then rasps, “No, don’t stop. Kill me, I don’t care.”

“There is something wrong with you,” Viktor pants. “Mentally.” 

Maybe it’s easier to pretend in the darkness. Bottled up tension with nowhere to go – Viktor is aware that this is a matter of convenience. He has learned to enjoy the fleeting things in life.

“You are gorgeous,” Jayce mutters. “Can I touch you?”

Jayce carries the highest status in this land, second none to whatever god they believe in. He doesn’t need to ask for his desires, and yet. 

“I already wear your ring on my finger,” Viktor replies in a whisper. That must be the wrong answer, because Jayce pulls away with a scowl furrowed between his brows. 

“Forget that right now. Do you want me to touch you? Yes or no.”

Viktor works his jaw. He is still clinging too hard to the back of Jayce’s hair. He slides his hand to his shoulder, feels the muscle under his palm, and grits through his teeth, “Yes.” 

Visibly relieved, Jayce moves in to kiss him again, but this time his hand leaves the rail to slide at his lower back, and Viktor finds himself arching right into him. 

It gets messier from there. Tongue and spit, the kind of debauchery that Viktor would normally turn his nose up to. Jayce touches him like he’s trying to drink of him through the palms of his hands. Grabbing his waist, his hips, his rear; if he is disgusted by how skinny he is, then he does not show it. That knee between his legs is downright unfair. 

Viktor chokes, and digs his nails into both of Jayce’s biceps. The coat protects him barely, just. 

“If you tease, I may really kill you.” He bites off into stunned silence as Jayce drives that thick thigh between his legs again. They are both wearing too much to go further, not to mention the effort it would take to remove all their supports – so Jayce gets creative, and lifts him up on the rail, shortening their height difference and putting their hips at the same level. Viktor clings to him as he glances down at the plummet below, a nasty slide of shingles and balconies. “Christ, Jayce!”

He is practically purring. “I like when you say my name.”

“Get a grip.”

“I won’t drop you,” Jayce mutters. Viktor claws the back of his head, and Jayce goes slack, allowing Viktor to wretch his neck back for another kiss. 

One strong hand locks him up on the rail, and the other begins to dig in his trousers. He is clearly aroused, and Jayce meets that with a happy hum, and a big palm around his cock. He fits entirely in his hand, which is embarrassing in its own right – but Jayce doesn’t seem to care, because he spits in his palm and strokes him down with a rough tightness that Viktor has never experienced. 

He’s squirming, huffing and arching, dangling precariously on his tower balcony. He wants to get his hands under Jayce’s shirt, wants to feel his chest, his bare skin, wants to hold that heavy arousal bulging down the leg of his pants – but Jayce doesn’t spare half a second to his own wants, as his only concern is gorging himself on Viktor. 

The pleasure is dizzying. He is still so pent up, he knows he won’t last another minute. Viktor manages to fight his way between his legs, grabbing his belt and pulling. “Jayce. Let me – mm.” Jayce rubs his knuckles under the sensitive head, and Viktor curls up and arches so tight, he creaks the leg brace against Jayce’s hip. 

Pointed teeth are at his neck. The cool night breeze isn’t enough to calm the heat in his face. Through great effort, he yanks open Jayce’s belt and pets beneath his trousers, and is pleased to find him throbbing hard and wet at the tip. Jayce gives an answering groan that makes his skin spark with magic. Runes glow through the white fabric of his shirt. 

The embers are floating away. Viktor tries to stroke him, but the angle is wrong. All he succeeds in doing is giving Jayce something warm to thrust up into, which must work, because Jayce sighs like he just entered inside him. 

Oh, isn’t that a picture. 

Viktor squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the urge to fold his knees together and kick him away. The stimulation is so much – too fast and good, he’s afraid the orgasm might stop his heart. 

“It’s okay,” Jayce whispers. 

It is not okay. 

But for the first time of his life, while dangling precariously on the metaphorical and physical edge, Viktor feels safe. He feels –

Jayce ruts into his palm, his beard tickling his skin as he buries into his damp neck and strokes his cock like every inch of him is worth adoring. 

– wanted. 

Viktor comes entirely silent, too shocked by the pleasure that rivets through him. Jayce sees him spill sticky between his fingers and comes right after him (by mere seconds, like it was triggered only by Viktor’s pleasure). And what a sight that is – to have appointed royalty clinging to your touch, moaning deep in your ear. Viktor wants to bottle up the sound and stop anyone else from hearing it ever again. 

“I promise I did not bring you here for this,” Viktor pants, catching his breath. Jayce’s shoulders shake in a quiet laugh. 

“I guess that’s my bad.”

The afterglow is making him overly affectionate, but Viktor can’t stop touching his hair. Sweaty, greasy, he doesn’t care. He is a man, and that raw masculinity opens all the doors of desire that he once slammed shut. He can’t feel his own toes.

“You might have to carry me back.”

“I can do that.”

***

Like two old men, they both wobble back to their room stiff and sore. The guards are smart enough to look the other way. 

Jayce runs them a bath (no maid should see this), and Viktor uses his magic to heat it up to the point where it steams. The tub is big enough that they both fit, and so Viktor lies with his back to Jayce’s chest, and allows his brain to melt out of his ears for a while. 

So much warm skin against his own is maddening. Jayce props one arm up on the rim of the wooden tub, and Viktor follows the veins in his forearm with his finger. 

His right leg is hidden under the bubbles, giving himself the illusion of normalcy. Jayce’s chest rises and falls slowly behind him, and Viktor peels open his eyes when he hears him rumble.

“You’ve been quiet.”

“Mmm. Am I making you nervous?”

“Yes,” Jayce says, genuinely. Viktor’s mouth twitches. 

He pokes around Jayce’s wrist bone. Follows his knuckles, and prods him to turn his hand over so he can feel those blacksmithing callouses. He would be deadly with a sword. 

“Just wondering.” He pokes the center of his palm, then follows his lifeline. “If this is just a matter of circumstance. If you prefer a mistress, I won’t stop you. Fidelity was not in our marriage agreement.”

Jayce goes stiff. 

“Why are you saying this?”

Viktor turns partway to glare at him. “You would really choose me over any woman?”

“Yes,” Jayce says, distressed. Viktor’s eyes go wide at his honesty. 

“Get real, Jayce. I know what I look like.”

“I like –” Jayce starts, then stops. He bites his lower lip (a little swollen from so much kissing), and then he leans back against the tub, and pulls Viktor tight to his chest. “I need to tell you something.”

Viktor squirms from the manhandling. “And you cannot look me in the eye while you say it?”

“No.”

Viktor pauses. He looks at their entangled legs. The purple, oil-slick like texture crawling up his own upper thigh, and Jayce’s big, gnarled scar down the front of his shin. What a pair they make.

“Okay.”

The small bathroom fireplace casts shadows. He can almost see Jayce’s silhouette on the wall. 

“You don’t remember this,” Jayce starts softly. “But we met once before.”

Viktor’s mind immediately stutters to a halt. 

“Pardon?”

As Jayce shifts his legs, the water rocks in the tub. His chest expands again, and the arm around him squeezes tight. 

“When I became king, I was an idiot with big shoes to fill,” Jayce explains. “I wanted to end the war with Zaun, but I thought the only way was through absolute victory. The council had convinced me that Zaun was too hostile, too dangerous. That they needed leadership and a firm hand.” Viktor makes a face, and Jayce replies like he can see it. “I know. But I had a lot to prove – so I decided I was going to join the front lines. Show our army that I was in solidarity of our cause.”

Viktor’s eyes widen. 

“When was this?”

Jayce traces his fingers over the indents of Viktor’s skin, where the brace rubs red lines. “Over a year ago. And lord was I humbled. I got injured, badly – crushed all the bones in my leg, passed out and was buried in the mud. I laid there for three days, waiting to die.” His big fingers find the indents of his bare ribs, fitting his hand there like it belongs. “And then, on the third day, the Zaunites came through to collect their dead. And I saw you.” Jayce swallows, then makes a broken laugh. “You were like a fucking angel. I knew you were the enemy, but I just…”

Viktor’s face falls. 

“You reached out for me.”

Jayce nods, his beard tickling the back of his neck. He mumbles, “You didn’t know if I was friend or foe, but you healed me anyways. Your magic kept me alive long enough for my own people to hunt me down and drag my sorry ass home.” Viktor’s gaze falls on Jayce’s knee again; he can see all the places they cut him open…and faintly, the little webbings where the arcane held his flesh together. 

“They barely salvaged my leg. I was laid up in hospital for months, but my life had already changed. I decided I was going to parlay with Zaun, so I spent all my time working on a treaty that Silco and my council would agree to.” Jayce lets out a shaky breath as his palm skates up Viktor’s chest. He splays his fingers over his heart. “All because I fell in love with you the moment I saw you.”

Viktor’s ears begin to ring. In the depths of his memory, he hears his own words spat back at him. 

We are not friends, and I will not love you. 

“I didn’t know that was you,” Viktor whispers. “You could’ve been any man.”

“I know. That’s why it meant so much to me.”

All this time. 

Wait. 

All this time? 

Viktor turns in his lap, startling Jayce to the point where he’s able to straddle in his naked lap. Water sloshes over the sides, extinguishing a few candles sitting on a stool. 

“You recognized me at the courting party.”

Jayce looks down, guilty. 

“Yes.”

Furious, Viktor opens his mouth, shuts it, sucks in a breath, then sags. He balls a fist and presses his forehead to that big mound of a shoulder. 

“But now you know the truth. That I am no saint.”

Slowly, Jayce’s hand comes to support his lower back. 

“You were nothing what I expected, and everything better for it. Clever and witty and a bit of an ass.” Viktor pouts, and Jayce rubs a soothing circle along his bumpy spine. “Mind you, I didn’t draft the peace treaty with marriage in mind. It really was all Mel’s idea – though I did go a little off script, when I saw you. God, I never thought I’d see you again, and then you were just there.” His voice shirks a little. “I was prepared for you to hate me. I accepted that common courtesy might be the most I would ever have.”

“I don’t hate you,” Viktor mumbles. He presses his face to the warm side of Jayce’s neck. He’s just so soft; all this squishy muscle. “I like you, and I don’t know how to.”

He can practically hear the smile in Jayce’s voice. “Give me a thousand nights just like this one, and I’ll die happy.”

Viktor sits back on his lap, and ignores his own aches and pains for the sake of cupping his face and looking him in the eye. His heart feels like a shallot too full. 

“Do you really want this?”

Jayce smirks at him, the candlelight reflecting in his eyes. 

“We’re already married, sweetheart.”

Viktor pinches his nose and kisses him. Jayce chuckles into the kiss, and Viktor’s magic twinges in the air. 

He sets a hand on Jayce’s bad knee, and waits until the kiss ends to ask, “If I was at full power, I might be able to…”

“No.” Jayce steals his hand away, and sinks lower so Viktor is forced to hold his wrist instead. “Not yet. It reminds me not to make the same mistakes again." Viktor shoots him a judgmental look, and Jayce smiles gently. "But tell you this, you find a way to beat that curse of yours, and you can do whatever you want to me.”

Full of surprises, indeed.

“That’s a dangerous promise, your majesty.”

“Ha. I’ll hold you to it.”

Viktor chooses to forget about the time left in his sandy hourglass. Just for a little while.

***

Chapter Text

***

When Viktor wakes with Jayce at his back, he lies in stone cold panic for ten long seconds.

Then, Jayce lets out a snore, and Viktor remembers last night’s events with a wash of relief. Right – that wasn’t a dream. 

The air is soft and peaceful. Jayce has tucked himself into the back of Viktor’s neck, and his solid weight keeps him locked in place. It is so strangely comfortable, Viktor is tempted to close his eyes and go back to sleep. So he does, drifting to the somber quiet while it lasts. 

The chatter of birds, a smoldering fireplace, and knocking at the door.

Viktor peeps open an eye again. Unfortunately, Jayce stiffens behind him.

“Your majesty. This is your requested wake up call.” 

It’s Caitlyn. 

“Fuck,” Jayce whispers. He rolls over to check the wooden clock on the wall. “I overslept.”

Viktor stretches, and sighs. “Is it that important?”

Jayce flops back over, hooking an arm around his middle and burrowing face first into his chest. He takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to breathe in Viktor’s scent. “I ought to cancel my day.”

“That would be a waste,” Viktor chastises. He thinks of his to-do list; the experiments he was going to retest, the logs he needs to update. There is a council meeting, a new knighting ceremony, and an appointment with the tailor for his coronation.

“You could work in my solar?” Jayce suggests.

It’s innocent, yet it makes his heart race. Jayce just simply wants to be with him.

Viktor twirls a finger around the nape of Jayce’s hair. “I’ll think about it.”

Another loud knock, followed by Caitlyn’s annoyed tone. “Talis! You’re late for your breakfast meeting and they’re all too chicken to come get you and I swear to the maker I’ll come in there and get you myse–”

“Alright, alright!” 

Jayce is actually good company. Viktor never thought he would say such a thing, but his intelligence is refreshing, and he’s nice to look at while he’s mulling over his notes.

Jayce just understands things. He doesn’t have to over explain, doesn’t have to mince words or dumb himself down to get his point across. Jayce just takes him as he is, and Viktor doesn’t know how to accept that kind of unconditional affection. Viktor keeps waiting for the list of conditions, but it never comes. 

Instead, he is reminded of the sincerity of Jayce’s confession last night. Jayce doesn’t see him as a weapon. Not once has he commanded him to use his magic in all his time living here. He hasn’t put him on a soapbox or turned him into some symbol of peace. He just asks that Viktor be by his side.

What is this feeling? Is this Romance?

Of course, idiot. They only kissed and touched and awoke in each other’s arms. Viktor stares at the same passage in his notebook for far too long.

The solar smells like worn books and smoke from the nearby forge. Jayce chews on his thumbnail in thought as he reads through a scroll; and as the sun sings through the round windows, Viktor feels like he’s seeing him in a new light.

There are butterflies in the window. 

***

Viktor waits for Jayce outside the council room. 

The meeting ran long today, and Jayce kept shooting him looks that conveyed his annoyance. Viktor tried to squeak out unnoticed, but Jayce grabbed his elbow and whispered, “I need a fuckin’ drink. Wait for me.”

So, Viktor waits. 

Just as the door springs open, he hears Mel’s voice follow. 

“Hold on, Jayce. Please. You don’t know my mother like I do.”

Jayce turns with an impatient sigh. “Look, Mel. I know you’re not on good terms – but if the queen of Noxus wants to attend the reception, I don’t have much of a choice. You know how important it is that we keep the peace.”

Mel stands there in her elegant jewelry, her long dress and her perfect hair, and looks visibly uncomfortable. “I know. I just…” 

Jayce softens for her, turning to take her hand. Viktor turns away so viscerally, his shoe squeaks. 

“I can make sure you’re sat far away from each other.” A pause, as some non-verbal conversation continues behind his back. Jayce lowers his voice. “Is there something you need to tell me?” 

A sharp, “No.” Viktor turns to glance over his shoulder, and catches Mel staring right at him. “Just be careful, please.”

“I’d like to think I’ve gotten pretty diplomatic,” Jayce teases. “I’ve met her before – I don’t imagine I screwed up that badly.”

“No, I know, but she is…overbearing.” Mel steps back respectfully. “Don’t let her run you over.”

Jayce gives her a friendly smile. “I appreciate the warning.”

Viktor pretends to be very interested in the tilework when Jayce comes up to him. He loops his arm around Viktor’s elbow as if he is the consort, and it’s so scandalous it makes Viktor sputter.

“C’mon,” Jayce nods. “What’s your drink of choice?”

“Red wine. Don’t lean on me, it’s weird.”

“My leg is killing me,” Jayce mutters. Viktor feels Mel’s eyes stinging into his back as they slowly walk towards the ale hall. “I normally get out and pace the grounds, but my schedule is hell right now.”

Viktor has noticed that he’s been busy these last few days. He is feeling well enough that he offers Jayce his cane, who takes it gratefully. The stick is a little short for him, but it’s nothing a little spell can’t fix.

“Yes, well, you’d do better not to bite as fast as you can chew, man of progress.”

Jayce hums, studying the cane as it grows to the floor. “Speaking of progress, we should compare notes today.”

“In our free time?”

“I’ve been thinking about your ‘problem’ –”

“Don’t say it like that.” 

“ – and I swear I’m onto something. The crystal I’m studying was super active last night.”

“It was a new moon, Jayce.” Viktor ignores the hopeful look he receives. “Besides, crystals are a refinement of energy, not a source. I’ve told you this.”

Jayce sighs, leaning into him again. “It’s about the theoretical what if, V. Just look it over, see if it can be of any use to your topical potion research.”

He doesn’t know how Jayce has the time to even think about Viktor’s problems right now, let alone care. He attempts to avoid the big puppy eyes beaming down at him, until he is guilted into saying,

“I’ll think about it.”

“Yes!” Jayce lets go of his arm to happily scoop around his waist, and Viktor yanks back his cane with a hissed give me that. The casualness of Jayce’s public affection makes his face uncharacteristically warm. 

They pass a pair of maids in the hall. Viktor catches them smiling to each other earnestly, like the sight of them together is amusing. He doesn’t sense malice, or disgust. How odd.

***

In his determination to not need Jayce’s help, Viktor makes a poor decision, and consumes a potion he has not thoroughly tested. 

In his defense, the plants yielded promising results, and with the curse continually increasing in size, Viktor was feeling every drop of sand in his hourglass. 

The liquid is sloshy, neon blue, and smells like vetiver grass. It goes down easy enough – until five minutes pass, and Viktor proceeds to throw up, pass out, and awaken an hour later on the floor of his study, three concerned faces hovering over him. 

“Shit,” Viktor whispers.

“Good morning, princess,” Vi grins. 

Viktor groans as he sits up, rubbing a hand across his face. He feels like he was kicked down the stairs and run over with a wagon. By the ache in his leg, the curse is definitely still there. 

“Oh thank god,” Sky exhales quickly. “I’ll go get the king –”

“No!” Viktor flinches at the volume of his own tone, and Steb supports him as he sits fully. “I’m fine, he doesn’t need to know.”

Steb glares through his neon eyes, and signs with one gloved hand, ‘Tired, keeping secrets, you.’ 

Sky blinks, righting her glasses on her nose. “What secrets?”

“Nothing,” Viktor seethes. 

“Uh huh.” Vi mimes over the top of her head. “What’s with the ears?”

Viktor’s heart plummets straight through his ass. He pats the top of his head frantically, and when he finds nothing there, Vi breaks out laughing. Viktor is sick, cold, and a little too tempted to set her on fire. 

Steb gestures toward Viktor, then brings his palms together – "bed" – before making a small pushing gesture, like guiding someone forward. His brows furrow slightly in quiet insistence; no room for argument, but no force behind it either. Viktor rolls his eyes. 

“I’m fine.”

“I really think we should tell His Majesty,” Sky insists. “If you’re hurt –”

“He’s fine,” Vi waves, still laughing as she turns Viktor’s cane around in her hand. “Trust me. One time he blew himself out a second story window.” 

Sky looks horrified, and Viktor feels the need to defend himself. “To be fair, I was much younger.”

Steb gets him on his feet, but looks amused as he says, ‘Always been trouble’. 

Viktor feels sleep calling for him again. His stomach turns, and he swallows a gag. “Ugh. Perhaps.”

Sky still looks very concerned. “My lord, if I might ask – what did you drink?” 

Choked up by heartburn, Viktor points at an ingredient list on his desk. Sky peeks, then does a double take and gasps. “Maker alive! A mixture of this many acidic ingredients – this will eat a hole in your stomach!” 

Right, sometimes he forgets Sky is a scholar student. 

“I’m magic,” Viktor mutters, drowsy. “Can handle. Low alkaline.” 

“Okay, you’re speaking in tongues, so it’s sleepy time.” Vi tucks his cane under her arm. “Let’s hope you wake up tomorrow.”

“Do not carry me.”

‘Dramatic queen.’

“I saw that.”

***

Fine. So Viktor decides to take a look at Jayce’s research. 

Most of it is too rudimentary for the complications of Viktor’s curse, but it does give him some new ideas. He reads for hours, chasing a trail of thought that consumes the entirety of his next day. He can finally stomach a meal by the afternoon, so Viktor eats dinner alone, bent over a desk cluttered with books and journals.

By the evening, Viktor even brings his reading to the bath, using a levitation spell to keep the pages dry. He soaks a little longer hoping he’ll catch Jayce as he comes to bed. 

But he does not come to bed. 

He waits, and waits – to the point where his hair is bone dry, and the bed is warm where he has sat in one spot. 

As time passes, Viktor’s impatience bleeds to annoyance. Jayce didn’t even come to bed last night. Granted, he was sick as a dog from his own incompetence, but he would know if Jayce had joined him. He would know the shift in the sheets, his forge-like warmth, his earthy smell. 

Viktor wanted to ask him questions about his stupid research. He also…is haunted by that evening on the balcony. After yesterday’s council meeting, Viktor really thought he would come back. 

Three A.M. 

They are mere hours away from daylight, what on this bloody green earth is so important –

He yanks a dressing robe off the hook, slides himself into a pair of sandals, and angrily snatches his cane along the way. When he stomps out into the hallway, the guards look vaguely alarmed. They are smart to say nothing. 

Viktor treks himself all the way to Jayce’s solar. He gets the same reaction from the guard at that door too, but this time Viktor narrows his eyes and hisses, “Is he in there?”

A single nod. 

Viktor grabs the handle before the guard has a chance to. He immediately spots Salo in the chair across from Jayce’s desk, his snobbish face all twisted up in a rant. Jayce has a document in hand, but he doesn’t look enthused about it. His eyes half-lidded in exhaustion, and if Viktor didn’t know better, he’d say he almost looks trapped. 

Ah. So that’s what this is.

Jayce’s attention immediately lifts to Viktor in the doorway, his shoulders freezing in shock. Salo physically turns to look at him like the effort itself is a bother.

“Excuse me, but this is a private conversation.”

Viktor raises his eyebrows. He steps into the light of his study, and leans his shoulder against a smooth stone pillar. He sees the exact moment that Jayce recognizes what he’s wearing. Or, the lack thereof. But he has no time to care about such nonsense. 

Viktor crosses his arms, “My husband is coming to bed.” He shoots a look at Jayce, who sits up straighter in his chair. “Now.” 

After a single moment of extended shock, Jayce swiftly begins to roll up the parchment. 

“Let’s revisit this tomorrow.”

Salo looks offended. He stares at Viktor, at his poor decorum and his bare chest under the robe. Viktor is aware of the suggestiveness of his words, but this is frankly ridiculous. Holding their king hostage in meetings so late at night – it's one thing to get lost in the love of your passion, but Salo is needy, and Jayce entertains his bullshit far too much. 

What if Viktor really was a wife waiting for the affections of her husband? Poor manners, is what it is.

Jayce is looking at him so hotly, the tips of his ears are red.

“You let your consort bark orders at you like that?” Salo huffs, attempting to gather his things. “The disrespect is disgusting, your majesty.”

Jayce scowls. “He’s my partner, he can say what he likes.”

“Oh spare me, you don’t have to pretend,” Salo tuts. “We all know you didn’t marry out of love. He’s a glorified war trophy.”

Jayce slaps a hand over the parchment. His voice is like gravel, the dark circles beneath his eyes making him appear even more wild. “You better watch your mouth, or I’ll burn this law and you along with it.”

“Your silly bridge is on my property,” Salo snaps back. “One favor I ask of you –”

Viktor circles his way around the study, his cane quiet as he steps over the rug.

“You are nothing but favors, Salo!” 

“And this is your duty, your majesty. When you swore your oath you –”

This conversation is miserable, so he offers Jayce an escape route. Viktor places a hand on Jayce’s shoulder, and leans down to whisper in his ear, halting Salo’s rant in its tracks.

“If you make me wait any longer, there will be consequences.”

Jayce’s eyes go big. Viktor glides away, and Salo’s shocked expression is incredibly satisfying. 

When Viktor returns to their bedroom, the door does not shut. It swings, hits the side of Jayce’s boot, and bounces back open, slamming into the wall. Viktor doesn’t flinch, but he does hold his breath as Jayce stalks in behind him. If this is how he dies, then so be it –

Jayce picks him up, spins him around, and presses him up against the wall. Viktor gasps as his mouth is smothered in a kiss. Jayce’s big hand sweeps up his bare leg, holding him under the ass and groaning into the open cavern of his mouth. “What the hell, Viktor.”

“If I,” Viktor starts, then is choked off in another kiss. He breaks for a breath, then hisses as Jayce moves to kiss his throat instead. “If I, of all people, must lecture you on your poor sleeping habits –”

“They don’t leave me alone,” Jayce pouts. For the love of god. “There’s never enough time in the day.”

“Then say no.” Viktor grabs at his meaty shoulders. “In fact, bring me, I will do it for you –”

“Where the hell did you get this,” Jayce mutters, yanking open the robe. No, there is nothing underneath. Not even his back brace. “Was it Sky? I’ll kill her.” He looks down at Viktor’s body like it’s something beautiful. “No, she’s getting promoted.” 

In this new, hotter context, the silk tickles his skin. Viktor shifts a little to take some strain off his back, and Jayce holds him tighter, moving in to kiss him again.

“Stop being considerate.” Viktor huffs. “You are the damned king of Piltover.”

“Yes sir,” Jayce teases. Viktor pulls hard on his ear, and Jayce cracks into a tired laugh. The rest of him shows no fatigue, and Viktor groans as Jayce rubs his clothed hardness against his naked one. 

The wedding ring is cold and digging into the flesh of his left thigh. The kisses are too brief to go deeper, like an excited puppy that doesn’t know where to start. Viktor tries to catch his breath, tries to touch him, tries to do anything but be limp in his arms, but Jayce is eating every inch of bare skin he has to offer. It’s overwhelming. 

Viktor pounds on his shoulder. “You will kill my back.”

Jayce lifts him, and drops him on the bed. Viktor grunts, then barely parts his legs in time for Jayce to crawl between them. At least he can get enough leverage to pull off that damn jacket. 

“Animal,” Viktor chastises. Like a hypocrite. Like he does not want to strip this man bare and claw him under his nails until he bleeds.

Jayce presses his forehead to Viktor’s shoulder and lets out a shaky breath. Suddenly, it’s like the whole world slows down. 

“I’ve been thinking of you all day.”

Viktor’s heart thumps. He swipes his hand up under his cotton shirt, feeling across the wide planes of his back. 

“You can have me,” he mutters. “But I have conditions.”

Jayce smiles, rising up on his hands to look at him. “Name them.”

“If you,” Viktor pokes him in the forehead. “Are going to fill my head with nonsense, drag me to your level and make me obsess over you, then this,” he slaps his hand to the other side of the bed, “better not be empty when I retire to sleep. Ever.”

If hearts could form out of Jayce’s eyes, he’s pretty sure they would. Viktor can barely stand to look at him, there is so much affection pouring out of his soul. 

Finally, Jayce leans in for a real kiss; a deep one, like the kind they had on that balcony, where it feels like his stomach is going to fly right out of his mouth. Viktor sucks in a breath, holds him at the back of his hair, and sinks back when it ends in a wet smack. 

Jayce’s voice is a deep rumble. “You have my word.”

Viktor finally yanks off his shirt, and gets his hands all over him. Jayce gives him whatever he asks, whenever he asks for it, and it is a spoiling he will never take for granted. 

He is heavy on top of him. Viktor enjoys it immensely. 

“Ah,” Viktor twitches, then seethes when Jayce sucks down his stomach and over his cock. 

Jayce rubs him, licks him, pets up his thighs and parts them wide. “You shy away from pleasure like it hurts.”

“I haven’t done thi– don’t look at me like that – in a while, Jayce. A while, not ever.” 

If Jayce had a tail, it would be wagging. His hands nearly meet around the circumference of each of his thighs. Those rough working hands are even more overwhelming on skin that never sees the sun. He is careful with his cursed limb, but not afraid to touch it. 

“Tell me what you want.”

“Surely I don’t have to spell it out for you.”

“I thought spells were like, your thing.”

Viktor goes to kick him with his left foot, but Jayce catches his ankle and flips him over. It happens so fast he gasps out loud. His hair sticks in his face as Jayce handles him into place. 

“You were saying?”

“Fuck,” Viktor hisses, getting his arms under himself. “I want you inside of me, fool.”

Jayce lets out a throaty groan.

“Let me have this first,” he mutters, “and I’ll take care of you. Whatever you want, literally forever.”

Viktor’s head spins. “Have wha–ah!” 

Jayce slides a hand up under him, supporting his weight while he gets down and spreads him open. Viktor’s only warning is a thumb along his entrance, before Jayce’s mouth follows right after. 

“You filthy – mhm!” Viktor tucks his face in and bites down on his lip, stifling a noise as he licks him open. His mouth is wet, hot and alarmingly skilled in a casual kind of way, like he’s working off muscle memory. Viktor squeezes his eyes shut. “You straight men are a disease.”

Jayce laughs, then presses his tongue flat and circles his rim. “I’ve needed this so fucking bad.”

The ‘need’ to service another is something very in line with the Jayce he has come to know. Viktor shivers violently as the arousal runs up and down his spine. It’s a shock of a thing, something he didn’t even know was enjoyable. 

Jayce holds part of his weight to keep his knees from hurting. Viktor stuffs a pillow in his arms, and bites down on that instead. 

A thumb spreads him open; spits, licks, all manner of scandalous things. And Viktor is from Zaun. 

As if sensing his trail of thought, Jayce trails his fingers down to tease along his sac. “What, they don’t do this where you’re from?”

Viktor flexes and releases his fingers, well aware that he’s squeezing the sheets so hard, he’s going numb. He speaks through the jail of his teeth. “Not to me.”

“Their loss,” Jayce mutters. The tip of a thumb presses inside, and Viktor sucks in a breath. “God, you’re so beautiful. Please don’t stifle yourself, I’m obsessed with your voice.”

Viktor swallows the excess spit in his mouth. His arousal is starting to ache where it skims the sheets. “So you can laugh behind my back? I don’t think so.” 

The problem with Jayce is that he’s clever. He doesn’t need Viktor to pinpoint every spot that feels good, because he can read it in Viktor’s body language like a book. The other problem is that Viktor finds it attractive. 

Jayce strokes him, then continues to eat him out in earnest, and a groan rips out of the back of his throat. Jayce answers it with a sound of his own, and Viktor has to press his face to the pillows to fight the heat. It feels like the arcane is going to sizzle right out of his skin. He can’t take a second longer.

“Enough,” Viktor hisses. 

At least Jayce listens. 

Viktor rolls over on his back, and Jayce is already there to kiss him. If this is a test, then it’s a stupid one, because Viktor has little care of where his mouth has been. He snatches him by the back of that mess of brown hair, and Jayce moans right against his tongue. 

“Will doing it this way hurt your back?” 

“No. I want it like this, so I can see you.” Viktor gazes over Jayce's sculpted body. He is finally shirtless, but those pants look painfully tight. His eyes land on his leg brace. “Unless, your knee…”

Jayce hobbles away in search of oil. “Don’t worry about it.”

Viktor takes him at his word (and at his fingers – big and insistent and way too patient). Viktor tells him more, more, hello, more – until he takes his free arm and bites the meat of his palm to get his point across, and then Jayce picks up the pace. 

“If you don’t take off those trousers I will burn them off of you,” Viktor seethes. Knees to his chest, drooling all over himself – he’ll really do it, too. 

Jayce wipes his hand off of the sheets, and obediently undresses. In the recesses of his mind, his common sense says you should not be bossing around a king like this – and then the lizardy demons crawl out of their cages and hiss: this is so fun. 

It takes a moment for Jayce to remove his boots, unhitch his brace and remove his trousers, but that’s fine, Viktor is content to watch. 

Thick thighs, tanned skin – the trail of hair down his navel nearly makes him cross-eyed. Jayce crawls up the bed, or maybe Viktor yanks him the rest of the way, who knows.  

Jayce slicks himself with oil, and it’s like their last thread of patience snaps in unison. Viktor pets up his back as he enters him, then holds his round arse in his hands and squeezes with all his might so that he might move faster. Jayce huffs, puffs and moans above him, and Viktor truly feels that he’s the center of the universe. He’s the kind of big that hurts – throbbing, hot and slick with oil, and he fits, because Viktor makes him fit. 

“You’ll kill me,” Jayce rasps. 

Viktor is trembling. He holds his face, looks at him as he feels him all the way inside – and it is like something unlocks in his heart. Like a decisive conclusion to a long experiment. The realization that he loves him. 

Jayce drops his head in a gritted moan, and Viktor presses his lips to his forehead. Eyes wide, horrified, mortified and obsessed with him. 

“Can I move?”

He feels the knobs of his spine. The divot of his shoulder blade, protruding as he holds himself on sturdy arms. One leg is anchored off the bed. The other bent, keeping Viktor tucked up under him. 

“Yes.” 

He is going to have beard burn in so many untoward places, and he does not care. Jayce kisses him, fucks him, is sweet, but not too gentle. He gives it harder when he asks, and trusts him to know his own limit – which allows Viktor just to hold on and enjoy himself.

He is breakable, but not fragile; something his previous partners couldn’t understand. Viktor is okay with a few cracks in his armor. 

The room is getting hotter. The sounds are too lewd to describe and too sacred to repeat. Jayce is vocal, and it is wonderful. Viktor selfishly hopes he is the only one to hear him like this. 

He grabs Viktor by the hips, sheaths him fully on a particularly mean thrust, and Viktor’s back arches, a shock running through him so wicked fast, his voice cracks on a moan. Jayce looks at him wildly; blown out pupils, sweaty hair in his face, and Viktor has half a second to think I might die, before Jayce folds him up and slams back into him. The headboard cracks. 

Viktor has known power. He has felt the unlimited prowess of the arcane surge inside of him, has seen the destruction of magic and man alike – but this is a new kind of power. It’s like the very universe is under his control. In this case, it is the beast relentlessly thrusting inside of him. How wonderfully crude.

Jayce grovels his name like a prayer. He mutters things like, “You feel so fucking good,” and “need you so bad,” and “please, please, please,” like Viktor is the one giving him something. But all Viktor can give are nails in his skin, teeth and tongue and the tight squeeze of his own body.

His cock slides torturously against Jayce’s belly. The tease is driving him mad, building up a tension that continues to twist and twist with no sign of breaking.

“Jayce,” Viktor sobs.

Sensing his distress, Jayce unceremoniously fumbles a clumsy hand around his arousal and strokes – and Viktor arches off the bed, crying out as it threatens to hurt. He makes a mess of himself, and once again, Jayce finishes on a hair trigger – the very end of a fuse. As if the very second Viktor started to convulse, he couldn’t go on any longer.

He is sweet enough to try and pull out, but Viktor almost wishes he didn’t. The view is wonderful though – to see him hunch over, working at himself through the orgasm with an arm planted on the bed, face twisted up in pleasure. They end up frotting through the aftershocks (all in the mess they’ve made), and Viktor’s head slumps back into the pillows, huffing as the individual tremors rip down his spine.

“You,” Viktor hisses. His hands are clammy, and they slip along the sweaty skin of Jayce’s side. “I did not ask for chivalry.”

Jayce lets out a rough laugh, hanging his head as he catches his breath. “You wanted it inside?”

“Yes.” Viktor fumbles blindly between them, and finds Jayce’s thick, softening cock. He gives it a stroke, and Jayce lets out a pained whine from the overstimulation. “Do it again.”

“Ha. You got a magic trick for that?”

“Do you need it?”

Jayce gives a wet, heavy kiss to the side of Viktor’s cheek. His voice comes out in a deep rush as he mumbles in his ear. “No.”

Very well then.

***

“Technically,” Jayce slurs, half-asleep and heavy against his back. “This means our marriage is now consummated.”

Viktor might not have much muscle, but these bony elbows are good for one thing.

“Ow!”

He is too tired for decorum. But as Jayce happily snuggles closer, Viktor is secretly pleased by his clinginess. He sets a careful hand over Jayce’s. “I keep waiting for you to lose your patience with me.”

Jayce hums. His whole being is so full of affection – it makes him sad to imagine that Jayce had this much love to give, but was forced to swallow it down from the cruelty of life. He is very good at assuming his authoritative roll; but these moments of quiet really shine his true self. 

“I like that you treat me like normal,” Jayce mutters. “I grew up a baron. Bottom man on the royal totem pole.”

“At least you were on the totem pole.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Viktor pats the top of his rough knuckles. “Still messing with you.” 

Jayce grabs tight and rolls, pressing the weight of his body into Viktor’s back; the pressure squeezes all the air from his lungs in a guttural groan, and the sound of his own laugh feels foreign to his ears. 

“Does that hurt?”

Feels kind of nice, actually.

“Yes, get off.”

Jayce hears his sarcasm, and relaxes against him. “Your curse is almost to your hip.”

“Mmm, yes. So you should let me heal you while I still can.”

“It’s because you keep using magic for stupid stuff,” Jayce chastises.

“I’ll die how I lived,” Viktor decides. “Hand in hand with the arcane. Not because of some illness Zaun gave me.”

Jayce’s deep voice rumbles through his back. “Don’t talk like that. Not while I finally have you.”

Viktor sucks in as deep of a breath as he can while smooshed in the sheets. Then, he blows out all the candles in the room. The use of magic makes the runes glow in his skin, and Jayce presses his mouth to the symbol carved into the side of his neck.

One more time.

***

A letter is delivered with the royal wax seal of Zaun. Viktor forgets to open it for two days.

Only once he’s cleaning off his desk in search of a tome does he spot the purple letter waiting on his desk. He mutters, “Ah, hell,” and breaks open the seal with a pocket knife. 

Magus Viktor,

I’m writing to let you know I will be arriving the day of your coronation. I won’t be able to attend all three days of festivities, because I simply don’t want to. 

Also, I received the copy of your latest notes, and passed them along to Powder. Your work for Zaun’s betterment is greatly appreciated. 

I expect to hear the juicer details of your time inside those council meetings. I know you won’t disappoint me. 

~SILCO 

Viktor wipes a tired hand down his face, and tosses the letter aside. 

***

Chapter Text

***

“I’ll have checkpoints here,” Caitlyn points. “And here. We will need crowd control in the red areas.”

Jayce stands over the map with a knuckle between his teeth, chewing in thought as he observes all the wooden pieces on the board. He nods. “I trust you.”

Caitlyn pops a hip against the table and sighs. “You could pretend to care.”

“Why? I know you and Vi will handle it.”

Caitlyn sputters. “Vi? Why Vi?”

Jayce raises his eyebrows. “Uh, hmm. Maybe because you bring her everywhere? Or because you unleash her on people like a dog?”

Viktor cracks a smile against his teacup, and keeps his eyes on the book he’s reading. He can feel the daggers from Caitlyn glaring into the side of his head.  

“Violet will be attending the coronation as a princess, along with her sister and the king.”

“For the drinks, maybe,” Viktor mutters. 

The days are getting long. Their revolving door is a constant stream of people that require so much from Jayce (and now Viktor, by association) and it’s no wonder Jayce became the way he is. Viktor can imagine him five years ago, bleeding heart ready to change the world, giving up everything he had to those who just wanted to take –

It’s a little familiar.

At least Caitlyn is trying to help. She pulls her silky hair behind one ear, exhaling for composure as Jayce gets distracted with his crystal shard again.

“You need to read the notes your coordinator has been giving you.” Caitlyn frowns, then snaps twice, earning Jayce’s attention back. “Your Majesty, please, this will be even bigger than your crowning. Multiple countries are in attendance – Noxus is due to arrive this week, and Creator knows their knights are like rabid dogs, they couldn’t get along with the soft side of their own arse.” She still hasn’t taken a breath. “Sorry to break this to you, but this isn’t exactly a popular union. All this outdoor seating, now our open border to Zaun, we’ll be a sitting target for a– ”

“Cait,” Jayce sighs. Viktor blindly hands out a cup, and Jayce takes it. “I know this, and I trust you. Do what you need to do.”

Caitlyn looks like she wants to argue, then realizes she’s been given full control, and relaxes. She tosses her hair over the pauldron on her shoulder. “Fine. But I’m blowing your budget.”

“Fair, as long as Zaun doesn’t show us up,” Jayce replies. Viktor shoots him a look, and Jayce shrugs. “Sorry, it’s the principle. I have to prove to Lord Silco that you’re still in good hands.”

Kings and their silly mind games. Viktor thinks of Silco’s letter sitting in a pile of ash at the bottom of his wastebin. If he was a religious man, he would pray to God that Silco does not pull something stupid.

“Pfft.” Caitlyn finally cracks a smile. “Yeah, he’s in your hands alright.” She then remembers that she’s supposed to be working, and turns away. “Alright, you two go back to being nerds.” 

Jayce silently toasts with his cup. Viktor leans up and around the desk to add,

“Please send in Miss Young on your way out. I can sense her pacing.”

Caitlyn nods sharply, and takes her leave. Jayce looks a little put out at the idea of another interruption. He leans back in his chair in thought. “You can sense that?”

Viktor flicks a finger, and sends the little wooden pieces dancing around the map. They spin circles in flecks of reddish gold. “Sometimes, yes. There’s a little magic in everyone, Jayce.”

His tired expression softens. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“Shush.”

The door swings open. 

“My lord!” Sky bursts in, bows, and nearly drops the scrolls in her arms in the process. “The archbishop is here to rehearse the oath with you.” 

Tch. Barely even time for tea. He sets down the cup with a sigh. “Very well.”

“I’ll find you tonight,” Jayce promises. Sky looks very pointedly at the floor as Jayce reaches over to affectionately squeeze Viktor’s elbow. Perhaps she expected him to do more, but surely Jayce knows better. Viktor is aware that he is something akin to a spooked horse, when it comes to public displays of affection.

Viktor stands, grumbling, “I can’t wait for this to be over.”

“I regret to tell you this is only just beginning.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Uh, dismissed.”

***

As frogs ribbit out in the ponds and fireflies bounce around their windows, Viktor rests with Jayce’s head in his lap, well-pleased with his kept promise of retiring to bed together. Not like it’s done any good – they stay up talking for hours. 

Viktor tells him about the discovery he made while experimenting with that book he read in Piltover’s restricted section, and despite having no magic, Jayce still offers an enlightening amount of insight that makes him want to run back to the lab immediately. He summons a journal off the nightstand, and writes the thought down instead.

“Kinetic energy… like a flour mill.”

“Yup. Would need a lot of power to refine that much magic, though.”

“I can suffice. The displacement of air through magic is easy — controlling it, not so much.” Viktor thinks of the burnt holes in his old lab in Zaun. “I will test this in the courtyard.”

“Let me take you through the countryside tomorrow,” Jayce mutters. “I feel like all you’ve seen is the ugly around here.” 

Viktor lifts his journal off Jayce's head, so he can see his face. His sharp edges are softer from this angle; his scruffy jaw, the curve of his nose, his round lower lip.

“The Noxites are arriving tomorrow,” Viktor reminds him. Jayce groans and rolls back over. “And besides. It’s not all ugly.” He pushes Jayce’s hair from his face. He finds the replied fluttering of his lashes quite endearing. 

“After the ceremony, then,” Jayce decides. “I’m going to ask you to marry me all over again.”

Viktor presses a hand over Jayce’s eyes, so he won’t see the face he’s making. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Would you say yes?”

“Have some self-respect, seriously.”

Jayce peels his hand away from his eyes, and Viktor bites his own tongue. 

“I’m sorry I ask so much of you,” Jayce says. Viktor reels at the tone shift towards sincerity. “I force you here, thrust all these responsibilities on you, then want you to love me.”

His heart squeezes painfully. He wants to wrap his hands around Jayce’s throat and stop him from speaking ever again. He cannot keep bleeding like this, cannot keep fluttering away from simple words spoken from this man.

Viktor stubbornly wiggles his fingers in Jayce’s firm grip, until he can forcibly thread them together. “What you ask is little in comparison to what you have given me.” He could list all the gifts one by one, but Viktor has come to learn that there are few material things more valuable than patience, love and devotion. “You can shut up now.”

Jayce takes his advice, and lovingly stares up at him for a long while. He uses his free hand to reach for the hair at his neck, and Viktor instinctively leans closer.

It tweaks his back to bend for a kiss, but the reward is worth the pain. Jayce fists at his hair, and Viktor’s lips skim the surface of his mouth, a tease of a kiss that ripples through them both. How silly this is, and yet –

He can’t bring himself to say it yet. Jayce doesn’t ask for more than he’s ready for – but as his hand cups his cheek, as his tongue breeches his lips, Viktor knows he is ready for this.

Jayce unthreads their fingers so he can plant a hand in the bed and rise enough to chase the kiss. Viktor is unsure of who is clinging onto who – it’s like they sustain each other in suspension. 

“It’s late,” Jayce warns. 

Viktor pushes him back, and Jayce follows his lead, his head landing near the foot of the bed. 

“I obviously do not care.”

Jayce looks him up and down as Viktor crawls over him. “Ah.”

Viktor initiates the next kiss, but Jayce takes control of it, and Viktor finds that he doesn’t have to think so hard anymore. He is learning to get lost in the moment and feel, rather than analyze each second. 

Jayce’s wide hand sweeps up his back. The candles flicker, and Jayce cracks into a smile. “You like that?” Viktor huffs definitely. “I can feel when you do that thing – when the room shakes. Like you’re expelling energy.”

Viktor turns away in embarrassment. “Is it weird?”

“God, no.” Jayce’s hand slides under his shirt, his fingers passing runic scars along his ribs. “It’s exhilarating. Like lightning. Almost makes my teeth hurt.” 

Viktor allows himself to steam for a second, until he catches up to the fingers untying his shirt. He straddles him, using his good knee and both hands to keep his right leg from hurting. Jayce supports him with a hand on his waist, and when Viktor drags their bodies together, Jayce makes a deep, pleased sound. 

As Jayce lies beneath him, Viktor feels that sudden throb of possessiveness return to him. This beast of a human, a wall of muscle arched beneath him, a king growing aroused for Viktor. 

He sinks in his claws, rubs himself down the front of Jayce’s clothed arousal, and kisses away the next moan he makes. Viktor will grow tired quickly, so he uses his reserve of strength to appreciate this. To show him what he can’t yet put in words. 

“Viktor,” pants Jayce. 

Adamant, Viktor presses his hand to Jayce’s sternum. “Let me.” 

Jayce squeezes his waist so his fingers touch. He pets up his stomach, and grabs what Viktor does not have – barely a chest, and yet Jayce touches him anyways. 

Viktor ruts, rubs and rolls; Jayce doesn’t ask for more, just spits profanity under his breath, and moves as he does. Viktor grows hard against him, and soon Jayce is leaking through his underclothes. 

“I’ll come like this,” Jayce warns. 

“Okay,” Viktor replies eagerly. 

His leg hurts, but whatever. Jayce plants his good foot on the mattress and thrusts up against him, and Viktor yearns for the strength to truly ride him. He wants to know the faces he would make – if he would bite his lip like this, if he would also squeeze his eyes shut as he came. 

Viktor feels him grow wet as he comes, and his own body vibrates from the arousal. Jayce holds him tight at the thighs, and Viktor stares right down at him, obsessed with every micro-expression he makes. 

“Fascinating,” Viktor whispers.

Jayce drops his head back and groans. “Fuck.” He takes one steadying breath, then pulls Viktor up his body with a strength that startles him. “Take those off, sit on my face.” 

The manhandling is a firm reminder of what Jayce is capable of. Viktor is too needy to argue. Jayce helps him remove his undergarments, then yanks him further up the bed until his face is framed by a fleshy thigh on the left, and a violet one on the right. Without any prompting, he takes his cock, pulls it to his mouth and sucks, and without a headboard to hold onto, Viktor is forced to cling back to his forearms so he doesn’t topple over the edge of the bed. 

“Ngh!” Viktor grits his teeth, pushing past the numbness in his leg, in search of that wicked pleasure. “Stop – trying to impress me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jayce looks like he’s barely conscious. He is so involved in pulling Viktor across his tongue, that his reply is mumbled. “You’re so perfect, sometimes I can barely look at you.” He sucks, licks, and manhandles Viktor to thrust a little against his tongue. When he pulls off again, his eyes are hazy. “I would marry you a hundred times.”

Viktor is glowing, and it’s not on purpose. His magic is setting a tension in the air, and it glimmers through the runes carved in his skin. God, he is so tantalizingly close. His body is becoming lewd – trained by Jayce to want things he never wanted before.

He no longer has the strength to thrust himself into Jayce’s mouth, but that’s okay, because Jayce grabs him by the rear and does it for him. Viktor moans through his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut and sees stars as the orgasm is wrung out of him – quite violently, he might add – and maybe a little sloppy, which only makes his body seize that much harder. Jayce chokes a little, pulling off as Viktor finishes across his lip and down his chin.

His knee might never stand straight again, but he will worry about that later. Viktor clings back to his wrist and shivers through the aftershocks, and Jayce looks up at him like he just gave him the keys to the universe.

“I’m in love with you,” Jayce sighs.

Physically out of breath, Viktor pants as he reaches down to pet at Jayce’s lip.

“Puppy,” Viktor mutters, out of his damn mind. Jayce’s eyes are pure hazel, brown and shining green. Viktor rolls off him, and stiffly groans as his back meets the mattress. “Good boy.”

Jayce wipes his face with his forearm, and follows right after, sliding up his body, then down his chest, sucking a needy kiss into his flat stomach. “Fuck, you can’t just say that, V.”

Say what? He can’t remember. Jayce pulls his soft cock back into his mouth, and Viktor forgets many things.

‘I love you’ is not one of them.

 Soon.

***

After a bright, cloudless night, the morning is charged with raw magical energy. Dew on the leaves, butterflies dusted in pollen, and Vi spiking his morning tea with the kind of liquor you could clean a wound with.

“You,” Viktor mumbles, “Might become my favorite.”

“I’m hurt,” Vi replies flatly, perched comfortably on the garrison table, fussing with one of her gauntlets. “I thought I already was.” She usually takes her ‘guard duty’ with a grain of salt, (much different than Steb, who is serious to a fault). However, today starts the arrival of their royal ‘guests’, which means Vi actually has to put her best foot forward.

Viktor takes a big, hard swallow, then says, “It’s a performance-based ranking system.”

“Oh, I can perform. Just ask –”

“Nope, goodbye.”

***

Viktor lifts the heap of fabric in his arms, then turns to Jayce with a raised eyebrow.

“And what is this for?” 

Jayce stands in the mirror, buckling all the clips, chains and pins that his formal attire requires. Perhaps, in any other castle, the maids would help him with such a thing – but Viktor has no interest in seeing a flock of young women flirt their hands all over him, and Jayce is clearly capable of dressing himself. 

“A gift,” Jayce answers simply. He pops up his collar, and begins to fold the ascot around his neck. “Your old one was in rags.”

Again, this nobleman and his obsession with giving him nice things.

Viktor looks at his new cloak. It’s a similar style to his old one, the same length and drape, with a new clasp at the front. His previous cloak was the victim of a poor experiment last week, and the maids whisked it away never to be seen again.

“The color is different,” Viktor states. Jayce understands what he means. It’s not in Piltover’s colors, nor House Talis, nor Zaun’s. Instead, the velvet is a deep navy blue. Jayce shifts behind him, taking the cloak from his hands so he can drape it around his shoulders. 

“I did some research. Some five hundred years ago, this was the color of the old mage guild. Blue and gold, I think.” Jayce makes a face. “Unless I translated that tome wrong…” 

Viktor runs his hand down the soft fabric. Then, he pulls it into place, draping it like a mage’s robe. 

Realization strikes through him. Jayce is not demanding he become the leader of either country. Not the land that gave him away, nor the land that bought him; alas, Jayce is asking Viktor to simply be himself. 

“Thank you,” Viktor says gently. Jayce’s attention snaps right back to him. Again, his metaphorical tail wags. 

“I’m going to be stuck in meetings for days,” Jayce pouts. He slips Viktor’s hair out from under the cloak, letting hang to the crest of his shoulder. “But really, I just want to run away with you.”

Viktor can’t stomach this kind of romance; he might float into space and die. He bats Jayce’s hand away, only to press his face into his palm when Jayce cups his cheek. “Your council would have a conniption.”  

“We could hide in the lab,” Jayce teases. “Ambessa won’t even find us there.”

Viktor anticipates the kiss Jayce gives him. It’s short, and tender. “Do your job, fool.”

“Ah, well. I tried.”

***

They roll out the metaphorical red carpet when the caravan from Noxus arrives. The whole ordeal has the retainers in a fit to ensure the palace is spotless. It doesn’t help that their king is on edge too. Sky helpfully informed Viktor that this is the first time the Queen has stepped foot in Piltover since Jayce took the throne, so this is what they call ‘a big deal’.

The Noxus soldiers walk in stiff formation, carrying banners and gifts. Jayce meets them in the foyer with his full entourage; his captain of the guard, his council, and Viktor off to the side. It reminds him of the first time Jayce arrived in Zaun.

Queen Ambessa stalks through the doors with a chained spear in hand, fully dressed in heavy artillery armor. Noxus is a country infamous for their military power, which reflects on her state of dress. Still, it’s a bit much for a wedding reception. 

Jayce stands with his back straight and his head forward, jaw firm as Ambessa approaches. To his credit, he stands his ground.

Viktor finds that he looks quite handsome. Leather straps that crisscross his torso, gold bracers and jewelry on his hands (their wedding ring most important of all). With all the time they’ve spent together, Viktor has come to know the soft sides of Jayce. Seeing him here, he’s reminded of his absolute authority.

“Welcome to Piltover,” Jayce greets. “We’re honored to have you.”

Ambessa smiles shortly, coming to a halt before him. Her entourage of knights drop to a knee. Sensing a familiar annoyance in the air, Viktor gazes at Vi across the foyer. She is in line with the other knights, stood perfectly straight with her sword at rest — and she still rolls her eyes. Viktor resists the urge to crack a smile. Caitlyn might be wearing her strict Piltover persona, but at least Vi remains the same.  

Ambessa’s voice is strong and commanding. “It was unfortunate that I could not attend the last ceremony. With all this excitement, I knew I could not miss another.”

Jayce puts on a polite smile – but to Viktor, it feels like two wolves grinning at each other. They are damn near the same height, both muscular and imposing.

“Excitement is a nice way to put it. Rumor has spread all the way to Noxus?”

“Oh yes, that King Talis has wedded the magus healer from Zaun – you sure love attention, boy.” She sticks out a gloved hand, and Jayce hesitantly clasps it. Viktor sees Mel tense further down the line. Viktor’s own ears are burning. 

Jayce makes an expression like he’s trying not to take offense. “Allow me to introduce you to Viktor, he’s –”

“You were in favor of this arrangement?” Ambessa raises an eyebrow. “A war that long does not end so easily.”

Jayce physically pauses.

“Well…yes.” His eyes flicker towards Viktor, then back. Viktor can tell he hates this. “But we came to a suitable agreement. The relationship between Zaun and Piltover has already begun to improve. There’s a lot of work to do, but Silco has been cooperative.” Jayce smiles handsomely. “I’m hopeful this will ease the burden on your country as well.”

Ambessa does not let go of his hand. She looks him up and down. “I see.” 

Then, she takes the end of her spear and stabs Jayce through the chest. 

The world slows down. 

Viktor is helpless as the spearpoint exits the back of Jayce’s torso, blood pouring out of the open wound. Shock echoes through the room like a firecracker. He hears Mel shout next to him, sees Caitlyn start to sprint forwards, but the Noxus knights jump into action – like it was all rehearsed from the start.

Viktor’s ears begin to ring.

“It’s a coup!” Caitlyn shouts. “Take them down!”  

Jayce’s eyes are wide and shaking. Ambessa pulls him closer on her spear, gripping him tight so she can hiss between her white teeth. 

“You got in my way.” 

Viktor is numb with shock. Jayce’s hands come up to grasp at the spear, his bloodied mouth trembling to form the word, “Why?” 

Viktor’s cane drops to the floor, clattering at the same moment that Ambessa withdraws her spearpoint. 

“Piltover and Zaun are too irresponsible to govern themselves.” Ambessa pushes Jayce with a steady palm. “Flourishing with resources you don’t know how to use, wasting your wealth on foolish dreams. I wanted to do this the easy way. You were so close to destroying one another – but alas, you had to sign that silly piece of paper.”

Jayce falls, and the room breaks out into chaos. The clashing of swords, shouting and screaming. Viktor finally breaks free from his shock. He sprints past the blockade, pushing past Ambessa and falling to his knees. Panic causes his breath to come out in shallow gusts. He does not feel the pain in his legs because he cannot feel anything at all.

“No, no no no.” Viktor presses his hand to the wound. He cups the side of Jayce’s cheek, skimming over his temple, then his forehead. Jayce looks up at him through sad eyes. “Jayce, hold on.” He messily slips in his native language, then repeats. “I can fix it, don’t move.”

He quickly radiates magic through his fingers, the healing aura glowing a greenish color. His heart races, his fingers shake, but Jayce looks up at him and smiles. 

“Did I ever tell you I hate surprises?”

The cowards of the council try to escape through the back door, but the knights of Noxus block the way with their mighty shields.

Mel fights through the arms of a soldier, crying out in fury. “How dare you!!” She takes a discarded sword and swings.

Ambessa regards her with a sigh, blocking the blow as if sparring a child. “I’ve done what you could not. A foolish man without noble blood sitting on that throne is a disgrace.”

Viktor can’t listen to this anymore. A Noxus soldier tries to grab him, and he flings them away with an outburst of magic. 

Jayce’s life force is slipping away faster than Viktor can grab it. The energy of his colorful soul is bleeding grey (and red, all over the mosaic floor). Viktor furiously pushes more magic into him, his throat beginning to close. “Jayce, please, for the love of god. Empty your cup!”  

In the mush of his ears, he hears Mel screaming at her mother. He hears Caitlyn locked in battle, shouting orders. Distantly, Vi yells, “Viktor, run!” 

Absolutely not. Viktor pushes more and more and more magic into his wound – but Jayce’s body simply won’t take it. 

“Don’t do this,” Viktor croaks. “You big, idiot bastard.” His hands are soaking red with blood; it stains his sleeve, clumps under his nails.

Jayce uses what little energy he has to reach up and hold his wrist. His large hand encapsulates Viktor’s arm entirely. His voice is a rose in a pool of chaos; eerily smooth and gentle.

“Run home, Viktor. Don’t let her take that too.”

“I’m fucking home,” Viktor hisses. More, just a little more – he pulls energy from the earth, the air, his very soul. As he continues to overexert himself, the violet curse creeps up his thigh, rapidly bleeding up his other leg. Viktor doesn’t care. Time is moving too quickly, and he lets out a frustrated shout. “Please!”

“I have no interest in killing you, child,” Ambessa says, blocking another blow.  “Leave now, and I’ll spare your life.”

“I am done with diplomacy,” Mel hisses. “I’m done playing games! You will pay for this.” Gold flecks of magic fly off her sword with every swing. Her magic is unpolished, and adolescent in age; only faint crackles of the arcane spill out of her, but her fury brings it to the surface with vigor. Viktor can’t spare to look away from Jayce, for even moment.

He sweeps Jayce’s hair back, then touches his cheek, and his jaw, like he’s looking for any entry point that his magic might take. This cannot be happening – this cannot happen. It’s like his heart is ripping in two. There isn’t enough time; he can’t say all the things he wishes to say. 

“I need you here,” Viktor whispers.

Jayce looks at peace. The same serene expression he wore when he had his head in his lap last evening. He takes in a breath like he wants to say something – and then, it’s his last. 

“No!” Caitlyn chokes. Steb protects her with a lift of his shield. 

Viktor shakily lowers Jayce’s head to the floor. It lulls to one side. Viktor’s broken heart pounds and pounds – and then it all stops.

“It’s done,” Ambessa says. She knocks Mel off her feet, then turns to address a trembling Salo, who is held at sword point with the other council members. “Write to your allies, and tell them that Piltover is officially a territory of Noxus.” There is an or else left unsaid.

Memories flicker past Viktor’s eyes in an instant; a garden of marigolds, the sound of Jayce’s laugh, the smell of his fur collar and the feeling of his hands on his skin. Sharing meals in bed, the sight of him hammering in his forge – and all the time they wasted dancing around each other. This man saw Viktor for who he was. This man who is dead. 

Viktor’s scream is silent. So silent, that the force of it knocks the entire room off their feet. Wave, after wave – even Ambessa falls to a knee and shields a hand before her eyes, like braving a storm. 

His body goes freezing cold, followed by a crest of fury that washes down his spine.

What was the point of all this?

All the sacrifices. 

War. Famine. Pestilence. 

All the. 

Bʟᴏᴏᴅsʜᴇᴅ.

He claws at his face as if he could rip this grief out of his soul. He curls into himself, mangled by the ravenous whipcords of magic that pour out of the arcane. His face splits in two, right down the tracks of his tears. The curse crawls up his torso, bleeds down his arms, curls over the back of his skull. His cloak whips around him violently as the metal of his braces melt into his accursed skin.

“Viktor!” Vi shouts. “Fuck fuck fuck! What’s happening?!”

Mel cries, “Get down!” 

Viktor shatters all the windows. His bones crack and split as he grows larger, taller. New eyes peel open above his forehead, and his cane slithers along the floor, twisting and growing into a staff. 

“Humanity’s selfish greed is a stain on Runeterra.”

It is not magic that has cursed this land. It is free will. 

“Stop the mage!” Ambessa shouts. 

The knights run forward. Runes shimmer around him, spinning and diving and twisting through the air; and with a simple send of his fingers, he impales the Noxite knights where they stand. 

Voices bleed all over each other. Viktor claws at his new face again, huffing as the arcane replaces the very blood in his veins. 

Through his new omnipotent eyes, The Herald sees the very moment that Ambessa becomes afraid. 

“You have been judged for your crimes,” the Herald says, towering over them all. Growing, filling the air with magic until there’s nothing left to breathe. “And you have been found guilty.” 

He strings up Ambessa by the links of her armor.

“Everyone fall back!” Caitlyn shouts. She pushes Steb by the shoulder, and the fishman stumbles over debris. “He’s lost control!”

Mel attempts to stop him with what little magic she can wield. He easily tosses her aside. Next to her, that idiot Salo perishes to a falling pillar. The chaos is like a balm to his roaring soul.

“Killing me won’t erase your pain,” Ambessa chokes. She kicks and twists to no avail. “You know better than anyone, sacrifices are needed for the betterment of humanity.” She is attempting to manipulate him. The Herald creates the rune of Destruction, and her eyes widen at its furious red glow. She thrashes wildly. “Stop this cowardice! Fight me like a man!”

The Herald levitates her spear in circles. Then, he stabs her through the heart. 

“I am no man.” 

The reactions of the people in this room are no longer of any importance to him. Faces in a crowd, ants in the dirt, organisms in a cell, atoms in the universe. The Herald knows he is a fuse set to blow, but nothing matters. The arcane breathes for him, showing him the secrets of the galaxy in its finite existence. Wisdom beyond measure, and yet he no longer has any desire for it.

The foyer is disassembling itself. Splitting into pieces, rubble and glass spinning around him in his infinite fury. Jayce’s body lies amidst the eye of the storm, right where he left him. 

Viktor’s clothes have ripped away, revealing the violet curse that hardens his skin into iron. His hair has grown past his shoulders. His bare hands reflect light, interwoven with gold strands of evermoving magic. He can feel it tearing himself apart. 

Not long now.

The Herald succumbs to the call of the arcane.

***

Jayce looks at him with stars in his eyes. 

There is no choice. The astral plane is an entity in and of itself; it shines through them, the very material of the galaxy makes their astrophysical forms into something more human-like. Viktor can barely stand to look at him. 

Jayce reaches for him. Viktor can feel his hand on his cheek, and at the same time, he cannot. 

“Are we dead?” Jayce asks. 

Viktor sets his hand over Jayce’s. “Our souls are separating from our bodies. Soon we will leave this place.”

Jayce gazes at the stars surrounding him. His hair, speckled with the cosmos, moves around him like he’s swimming in water. 

“And go where?”

“I don’t know.”

There is no sound here. A void, an absence. Viktor takes in every moment he has left with him. He is aware of hundreds of thousands of seconds, millions of grains of sand filtering through hourglasses in the infinite fabric of the universe – and every single one, he uses to behold Jayce for the last time.

“Did you even want to live?” Viktor whispers. Jayce looks at him sadly. He tucks Viktor’s slithery hair behind his ear.

“Not always. But I would have enjoyed living a little longer with you.” Viktor winces, as if he’s been struck. Jayce’s face twitches with an emotion that aches through his soul. “You’re not dying, are you.”

Jayce is still too clever.

Viktor threads their fingers together; the idea of them, what their souls remember hands to be. 

“I don’t know what I am.” 

Jayce closes his eyes. Viktor can feel his soul slipping away. Once again, he will have to watch Jayce leave him. 

Suddenly, Jayce reaches for the back of his neck. Viktor makes a sound as Jayce tips his head and kisses him. 

It’s a black hole; two stars crashing into one another, a mass so poignant it rips through spacetime. Viktor lets out a sob, and kisses him back. 

“You were my partner,” Viktor chokes. The real weight of that word dawns on him. “I love you.” It echoes in their chamber, swallowed up by the universe. Jayce makes a broken sound, and clings to him desperately. 

“I’m so lucky I got to know you.” Jayce wipes Viktor’s face, as if to clean him from conceptual tears. “Thank you for letting me hold your magic for a little while.”

A whisper zips through his mind. Viktor’s eyes snap wide, and he clings to Jayce as the epiphany crashes through him. It is a divine intervention. The arcane itself opens up, spelling the answer in a language only he can read. 

As Jayce’s soul begins to drip away, Viktor grabs his forearm and yanks it towards him. Jayce’s eyes widen in alarm. 

“A gift,” Viktor blurts.

Jayce stares back in dazed confusion. “What?”

Viktor reaches deep inside the cavern of his own bony chest. His hand begins to glow yellow, then red, then blue, shifting through all the colors of the arcane, until he balls up a fist and squeezes the magic in his palm. He then cups his hand over Jayce’s wrist, and splays out his fingers – much how he did that tender night on the tower balcony.

“Let me give this to you,” Viktor begs. Jayce looks through him, mouth parted as his sharp mind works to understand. “I finally have that wedding gift.”

A brilliant rune burns from his palm, crystalizing into a stone embedded deep in Jayce’s arm. 

Webbings of magic seal it in place, and the light shines so brightly, it consumes them. As the magic bleeds out of him, the world slowly loses its stars one by one. Viktor feels an overwhelming peace dawn over his soul. 

“Viktor,” Jayce starts, breathless. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” Viktor says. Then, with a swell of giddiness, he realizes how true that is. He is doing something because he wants to. Not because it was asked of him, not because of obligation or fear or pity. But of his own desire. 

He pours, and pours. 

“Viktor!” 

He pours out his soul until his cup runneth over. 

***

Chapter Text

***

In between the warp and wefts of the universe, Viktor sees the threads of space looping up and down, left and right, in and out of every parallel timeline. He sees things that are, that were, and that will be. It is as beautiful as it is morbidly terrifying.

In the far reaches of his mind, the Heralds floats omnipotently, his cloak unraveling into the stars. 

“You will never see this knowledge again.”

That is fact. To merge with the arcane is to become data itself. The human mind doesn’t have enough receptors in the neocortex to house so much wisdom. The design itself is flawed on purpose.  

“Yes,” Viktor agrees. 

The celestial form of the Herald does not anger, nor does he seem surprised. As the galaxy warbles around them, both Viktor and the Herald know that this was meant to be; a moment carefully orchestrated by wondrous possibility. 

It’s an easy decision, because there is hardly a choice to make. Just the river of life, and a free fall.

***

Viktor wakes in a white robe. 

He sits up quickly, gasping as he’s overwhelmed by a falling sensation. There are stiff sheets on his skin, a tall ceiling he doesn’t recognize – he presses a hand to his chest and feels his heart beating rapidly against his thin ribs. The air is too thick to breathe, like his lungs had become accustomed to inhaling the void of space itself.

A jolting clatter comes from the chair at his bedside.

“Viktor!”

His vision, narrowed to a pinhole, struggles to see more than a few inches from his nose. However, a heavy hand lands on his shoulder, and it’s like the world opens into color again.

“You’re okay,” Jayce gasps. He repeats it like he’s convincing himself. “You’re okay.” He pulls him in for a hug, and Viktor sits in stunned silence. He slowly realizes that he is in the capital infirmary.

Viktor’s reaction is delayed. He is still blinking away stars, still seeing cosmic shadows flickering in and out of his peripheral. He had become one with the cosmos; and yet he is here, in human flesh, wrapped in Jayce’s tight embrace.

Eventually, Viktor lifts a hand to place at Jayce’s back. He is firm, warm and miraculously alive. He smells like he’s been sitting in this room for days. It grounds Viktor back to earth. 

“How long…” Gods, he is parched. He swallows the spit in his mouth for relief. “How long, I…”

“A couple weeks,” Jayce cringes. He still isn’t willing to let go of him yet, nestling into the side of his clammy neck. “I just woke up three days ago, been sitting here since. Head nurse had a fit, but thankfully my word trumps hers.”

The memories trickle in with every rise and fall of Jayce’s weighty chest. Viktor stares blankly.

“I killed them.”

“You saved us,” Jayce corrects, pulling back. Grim with resolve, he looks him in the eye, and Viktor takes the opportunity to check his injuries. He has a black shirt open over his bandaged torso, and Viktor sets a hand at his collarbone in awe. There is no bloodied wound, no gaping hole, no stench of death that lingers on his skin.

In fact, Viktor feels nothing at all.

He already knows what he’s done. It's like he cut off one of his senses, like a part of himself has gone permanently numb. Testing his theory, Viktor turns his own hand over, pulls from the depths of his soul, and is unable to summon any magic. His fingers are flesh colored. He feels his own face. One set of eyes. 

Jayce watches him tenderly. He takes his hand, and directs it to his own wrist. Viktor finds a stone there – a cobalt rune embedded in his skin.

“You gave up your magic for me,” Jayce says slowly. 

“Yes,” Viktor recalls. He feels the raised edges of that stone, then looks at his own body again. His old runic scars are still there, but the violet curse is gone. 

Jayce must read the mix of emotions on his face, because he quietly asks, “Vik?”

Viktor wants to cry and laugh in equal hysterics. He presses a hand to his own leg. Still skinny and crooked and refreshingly achy; alas, no more sand in his timer.

“That was the answer I was searching for.” Viktor exhales in disbelief. He runs his fingers through his greasy hair, and stares into space. “Of course. I had committed a sin in the eyes of the arcane. So I had to let it go.”

Jayce pulls him in for another hug, and Viktor closes his eyes. He takes in a deep breath of his musky scent, then burrows into his hair and sighs in relief. This war is finally over.

“I suppose this means the party is postponed.”

Jayce lets out a bark of a laugh. “Yeah. You lucked out after all.”

Heels click on the floor, and Viktor tears himself away as Mel ducks through the curtain. She spots Jayce sitting on Viktors hospital bed, and pauses in acknowledgement.

“Ah. There you are.”

They both freeze. Mel stands in all her beauty, healing a black eye and a broken arm. Her eyes are weary, just like everyone else who survived the attack.

“Mel,” Jayce greets slowly. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Mel twists her hands, but keeps her back straight and her head tall. “I’m sorry to intrude. Lady Kiramman said you were awake, and I had a feeling you’d be in here.” She looks at Viktor, and nods respectfully. “Sir Viktor, I’m pleased to see you awake as well.”

“Thank you, Councilor.”

“I think I owe you both an explanation.”

Viktor killed her mother, but also, her mother killed Jayce – so the tension in the air is reasonable.

“Sit,” Jayce gestures. His stiffness is a sign to the slight betrayal he is feeling.

Mel perches in the bedside chair. There is some rattling and coughing from one of the other beds, so she lowers her voice.

“A year ago, I came to learn that my mother intended to invade Piltover. I knew we could not fight two wars on one front, so I worked to strengthen our relationship with Zaun by coordinating peace.” Jayce’s eyes widen, and Viktor stifles a surprised cough. Mel forces herself not to fidget, though her eyes drift to the stone floor. “I thought if we had a united front, my mother would think twice about invading.” Mel lowers her head in frustration. “I didn’t know she would stage a coup. She was always honorable, even in her violence. Power had changed her.”

Jayce lets out a sigh, wiping back his stringy hair from his face. “You could have told me.”

“You would’ve lost trust in Noxus. No offense, but you’re a terrible actor.”

“Thanks,” Jayce mutters.

“I was selfishly afraid of losing my place on the council.” Mel lowers her head in apology. “And I wanted to protect this place, that I called home. But I failed.”

“I saw you pick up that sword,” Viktor says suddenly, his froggy voice cutting through the room. Mel turns to Viktor, sitting straighter in response. “I felt your magic, and it was earnest.” Jayce makes a confused expression at the word magic, but Viktor sets a hand on his forearm, urging him to understand. “She did not deflect.”

Jayce’s expression is unreadable. After a moment, his mouth twitches slightly, and his eyes soften. “Even if she did, I would probably forgive her.”

Mel looks like she wants to argue – but she also looks relieved. She tips her head at Viktor again, fingers clasped.

“I’m sorry I disapproved of you. I thought if Jayce married a woman, an heir would keep my mother’s influence out of the seat well past my years. But it didn’t matter anyways.”

“You…” Jayce sputters. “You nominated me in the tournament so I would beat your mother’s loyalists?”

Mel huffs, crossing her arms. “All these years and you still have not learned the game of politics.”

Viktor cracks a smile, earning both their surprised attention.

“And you almost won. Well played.”

She makes a face. It’s cute.

Jayce sets a hand on Viktor’s leg and squeezes comfortingly. He looks at Mel as he asks, “What will you do now?”

She runs her fingers through her braids in thought. “Return home, take the throne, begin repairing all the damage my mother has done.”

Jayce flinches at the word damage. Viktor stares straight at him.

“How bad is the foyer?”

“Um. What foyer?”

“Ah.”

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” Mel nods. She turns away, Jayce sucks in a breath to speak, but it’s Viktor who says,

“Thank you, Mel.”

Her tired eyes soften. Then, she yanks the curtain shut. Jayce sighs, shifting his heavy body weight against Viktor’s side. Viktor aches from the back of his neck to the front of his shins, but he welcomes the comfort Jayce brings. Every breath he takes feels like a victory.

“You’re a hard nut to crack,” Jayce mutters. “Up until last week I was still kind of convinced you hated everyone and everything, including me.”

Viktor pinches his thigh.

***

The nurses keep him in the infirmary for a few days, until he gets his strength back. As soon as he is permitted visitors, Vi is the first one that breaks into the room. He hears her shove someone violently, going, “Out of my way, I’ve known him longer!” And then “No running in the hospital!” And then some various clattering until Vi is stumbling to his bedside with Steb and Sky right on her heels.

Sky can barely get a word out, too choked up in tears while Steb’s hands move faster than Vi can talk, ‘Can’t believe you’re alive –’

“Holy shit, Vik, what the fuck!” 

The sudden wave of explosive energy is tiring already. Viktor rubs at his eyes.

“Hi.”

Vi’s face light up at the sound of his voice, like she was worried he would never speak again. “And you thought the rumor mill was bad before. Now people are going around calling you a god.” 

‘Don’t tell him that,’ says Steb. He has a few bluish bruises scattered on his teal skin, but is otherwise well.

Sky wipes her wet face with her sleeve. “Well, it’s true.” Viktor gives her a sympathetic look, and she summons a smile for him. He never imagined that someone in a position of subordination would ever cry tears for his well-being; but Piltover has taught him a valuable lesson about setting expectations.

I suppose this is called friendship.

Vi sits on the side of his bed, and Viktor groans as the movement jostles him. He lifts a hand to naturally repel her with magic, and then pauses. Vi is quick, her eyes jumping between his face and his hovering palm. “I guess the god thing was short lived. They don’t make romantics like you no more.”

“Ugh.”

Steb lifts a judgmental eyebrow. His hand mimics a blade, then presses it against his torso, followed by a facial expression that roughly translates to, ‘You took sword, to protect Captain –‘ 

Vi stops him by grabbing his hand mid-sign. “Shut up!! I barely know what you’re saying but shut up.”

Viktor squints in a smile. “That was brave of you. Are you alright?”

Vi pats a bandage on her shoulder. “Just another scar for the collection. Speaking of Scar, Steb already made a move on him.”

‘I did NOT.’ 

“He did, he’s totally his type.”

“See, I knew…” Viktor suddenly frowns. “Wait, Scar is here?” But that would mean –

A calm, level voice cuts through the infirmary. “I would like a word with the Lord Consort, if you don’t mind.”

Vi whips around to look up at Silco. Sky bows, Steb salutes over his chest, but Vi does nothing.

“Where’s Powder?”

Silco drifts across the stone floor, dressed pristine from his combed pepper hair to his buckled waistcoat. His good eye lands on Viktor with half-lidded skepticism.

“Rummaging through Viktor’s research materials, I believe.”

Viktor huffs, “That little –”

Vi pats Viktor’s shin over the blanket. “Let’s catch up later.”

“Buy me a round.”

“Ha, you bet.”

“I’ll escort you, my lady,” Sky nods, clearly eager to leave. She quietly says, “Excuse us.”

Steb gives a respectful bow, then follows both women out of the infirmary. Silco scans Viktor from head to toe, and raises the one eyebrow he has.

“You’re in quite a bad way.”

Seeing that the infirmary is now a visitor’s center, Viktor gestures for him to sit in the nearby chair. “The price of underestimation.”

“I thought I taught you better.”

“You were right about the knife in the back,” Viktor mutters bitterly. Silco hooks the chair leg with an ankle, and yanks it closer, perching on the edge and digging in his breast pocket for a cigar. Seeing him again gives Viktor a sense of relief, and a blanket of dread. He looks away when he admits, “I gave up my magic. I am no longer of any use to you.”

Silco studies him a moment longer. Then he waves his hand around, and relaxes back in the chair. “Mmm, you might have your uses yet.” He dips that cigar in the bedside candle. The smell of tobacco is comforting. “All of Piltover is talking about your heroism. Where credit is due, you managed to surprise me.”

Viktor lets out a breath. “Heroism isn’t the right word. I did not know I was capable of such destruction.”

Silco laughs. “Oh, I did. But I didn’t know you were capable of love.” Viktor’s eyes widen, and Silco peers at him smugly. “You do love him.”

Viktor looks away again. The columns have the royal crest engraved in the marble – everything is white, white windows, white walls and white floors. Gold trim where it matters, a casual flaunt of wealth that still drives him mad. And yet, when he sees that crest he thinks of Jayce.

“I do.”

Silco scratches at the scar down his cheek. It is a subtle sign of discomfort, and it immediately catches Viktor’s attention. Silco clears his throat once, then lowers his voice.

“When I lost Vander, I was never the same. I knew that. You, and many others, bore the brunt of my anger.” He sighs. “For all that I can’t stand that Talis fool – I’m glad you didn’t have to experience that pain.”

This sudden authenticity from Silco leaves him speechless. His support isn’t something Viktor ever desired, but now that he has it, the feeling is…nice.

Viktor eventually remembers to respond.

“Thank you, sir.”

Silco nods, rising to his feet. “I’ll be back for the coronation. Again.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Viktor says lightly. 

Silco’s bad eye squints as his crooked teeth grin. “It’s all a game of chess, son. You’ll see the pieces soon.”

In these months spent with Jayce, Viktor has already begun to see them. As Silco leaves the room, Viktor finds himself thinking he still has much to learn from this snake of a man. 

***

Viktor stands on the edge of a ten-foot cliff, right in the center of the palace.  

His blue cloak was the only item of clothing to survive the calamity, and he pulls it tight around his shoulders, gazing at the crater torn through the foyer. It is as if someone lit twenty kegs and popped a wagon of fireworks. Columns in rubble, shards of glass dusted across the ground, debris thrown nearly fifty feet in every direction. The entire dome ceiling is missing, letting in sunlight that casts gentle rays across the ruin.

The bodies have been moved, but Viktor can still tell there was death here. He doesn’t need magic for that; the guilt alone is enough.

Footsteps crunch in the broken glass. Viktor pulls the cloak a little tighter around himself, and leans his weight on his cane, as if bracing for impact. Jayce’s hand meets his lower back.

“Hey. I hear a hot bath is waiting for you.”

Hm, so the maids have enlisted their king for help. Viktor has seen them circling like birds, too afraid to approach him yet. He no doubt gave them a great scare.

“Are you saying I smell?”

“I’m saying, I want an excuse to put my hands on you,” Jayce mutters, shifting closer. Viktor wraps an arm back around his waist, and uses him as a crutch instead. He sighs.

“The doctor said no strenuous activity until we fully monitor the presence of the arcane in your blood.”

“Pfft, what does he know,” Jayce scoffs. Viktor says nothing, and they stand in silence for a while. Jayce gazes at the crater with a solemn expression, and Viktor wonders how much he remembers. If he can still feel what it was like to die.

Jayce stands a whole head above him. Double his own body weight, wide in the shoulders, firm with muscle and so soft in spirit. Viktor’s heart aches all over again. Perhaps that part of himself is bruised, too.

Jayce holds just above his hip, and drops his tone to a whisper. “They said your rage was like a lightning storm. That you became something indescribable in modern language.”

Viktor nods slowly. Half-disassociated and drugged in memories, half clinging to the present, brought to reality by his human aches and pains.

“That was the monster.”

That hand soothes up and down his side. “Sounds more like ascension, to me.”

Viktor clings to the back of his white shirt. “You hold me on too high a pedestal.”

“And you are too content to remain at the bottom of one,” Jayce retorts. Viktor struggles not to flinch. “It’s unlike you. We have the power to do great things, Viktor. Don’t let guilt or – or magic stop you from reaching your potential. You are a brilliant mind.”

It’s like Jayce knows exactly what he needed to hear. It frustrates him, and it has him seeking comfort. He leans into his arm, and Jayce wraps it up around his shoulders, hugging him tight.

“You need higher standards,” Viktor mumbles.

Jayce snorts. “You’re as tough as they get, sweetheart.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmm. But it’s good. You push me to be better.”

Viktor takes in a deep breath, and no longer smells the ash and death that lingers in the air. He just smells Jayce; dew in the grass and the scotch he knocked back to give himself the courage to walk over here. Viktor swats his hip, and Jayce lets out a rumbly laugh that balms all his wounds. Jayce turns, leans down, and Viktor kisses him.

There are no embers in the air, no flowers to bloom, but Viktor feels the trickle of that magic through the brush of their lips. The taste of him is like a connection to the arcane – his energy flowing through Jayce, sealing them as one. It is truly affection that holds them together; and so Viktor minds not the wandering eyes of the palace. He kisses his partner, and his partner kisses him.

***

“What was that?” Caitlyn asks, moving her hair from her ear so she might hear better.

Jayce sighs, and seals a letter with wax. “You were right.”

“Hmm? Sorry, your majesty, my hearing isn’t so good since I took that shield to the skull.”

“I said you were right.”

“Really? About what?”

“You’re pushing your luck, Captain.”

Viktor flips a page in his book, and smiles into his cup of tea. In these private moments, he has come to understand the sibling relationship between them.

Caitlyn smiles too, and salutes. “Yes, your radiancy.”

“I’ll banish you,” Jayce threatens lightly.

“At least give me my paperwork back,” Caitlyn tuts. “We have half a dozen Noxite prisoners waiting for interrogation, the royal guard is pending your reform, thirty-seven medical evals need review –”

“They don’t tell you this part about the job.” Jayce sighs, signing a scroll under the light of the stained-glass window. “No sick leave.”

Nose down in a book, Viktor says, “I’ll take care of it.” He waves at Caitlyn. “Come back tonight.”

“My lord, I would declare my love for you if it wouldn’t have me beheaded.”

“I’m seriously done with you,” Jayce says, trying not to laugh. Catilyn salutes on her way out the door, and Viktor hides his smirk through a mouthful of tea. He swallows. 

“You know, when I came here, I thought all Pilties were well-groomed dolls with no soul.” Jayce shoots him an offended look, before Viktor continues. “But now I understand what you meant in the garden. About the flowers. Their real soul is behind the paint.”

Jayce rubs his thumb along the spine of a bound book, the light from the window passing through the ends of his hair. When he wears that serious expression, he looks like his portrait hanging in the grand hall.

“And all the preconceived notions I had of Zaunites were torn apart a long time ago.”

Viktor turns in his chair so he can extend his foot and press up against the side of Jayce’s boot. Swift as the wind, Jayce reaches down to grab his ankle and drag him closer. The chair squeaks against the floor, and Viktor sputters as Jayce takes his little notion of an olive branch, and presses oil from it. 

***

Despite recent developments, Piltover is still overwhelmingly green.

Jayce lies in Viktor’s lap like a big dog; shed down to his undershirt, his trousers already have grass stains, and his jacket provides them a makeshift blanket to sit on. His big arm wraps possessively around Viktor's legs, his cheek buried in his thigh, curled around him like physical touch isn’t enough – as if he desires to weld himself to Viktor’s skin. 

Jayce is already a person who derives off of physical touch, but he has been extra clingy since the Ambessa incident, and Viktor doesn’t blame him for it. Sometimes he still has to roll over in the middle of the night and feel for the movement in Jayce’s chest, just to make sure he’s still here. 

But Jayce doesn’t need to know about that. 

Viktor closes his eyes and faces the sun, surrounded by nothing but green grass and a slow breeze. There are many important things they both should be doing – but at Jayce’s absolute word, all their meetings can wait. The council is having a fit (or what’s left of it), and Jayce couldn’t care less. 

Viktor fits his hand in his brunette hair, and breathes in the welcoming scent of the hillsides. He can smell the ocean not too far in the distance. The spokes of the palace break up the horizon, refracting white sunlight into a brilliant glow. 

He fits his fingertips along Jayce’s forehead, and mutters, “How are you feeling?”

Jayce peeps open an eye. “I think I should be asking you that.”

“You died, Jayce.”

“Mmm.” He rubs his thumb over the stone embedded into his wrist. It’s the accumulation of Viktor’s magic, a piece of his soul now stuck inside him forever. “A little sore. My knee is flaring up today and it’s annoying.”

Viktor hums. The sight of his sleepy face stirs a deeply rooted emotion in him – that same carnal desire to protect that exploded out of him in that palace foyer. He yearns to feel the lifestream, to reach out to the familial embrace of the arcane – but he has no regrets. Mostly. 

“I’m sorry I can’t heal you.”

“You gave me a second chance at life,” Jayce deadpans. “There’s nothing left for you to give.”

Viktor struggles to accept that. 

“My purpose has…changed.” Viktor watches the blooming weeds sway in the breeze. Jayce’s hand runs up and down his leg absently, and it makes him tingly. “I have to alter the entire trajectory of my research.”

“I’m telling you. Crystals, V.”

He cracks a smile, and pokes him in the forehead. “Alright, alright. I’ll revisit your notes over dinner.”

Jayce closes his eyes again, happily at peace. Through his open shirt, Viktor can see the splotchy star-shaped scar that lies in the center of his chest. Viktor takes a breath, numb once again where his magic should be – and yet it lies right here, buzzing against Jayce’s wrist. His magic is now the very lifeforce in Jayce’s veins. They are irrevocably tied together; like fate, if he believed in such a thing. 

At the bottom of the hill, their guards stand waiting. Vi leans on her toes to keep an arm around Caitlyn’s shoulders, hanging off of every word that comes from her sharp mouth. It’s nice that they worked out their differences. Vi goes home at the end of the month, but he doesn’t think it’ll be a problem. 

Steb stands formally with his hands behind his back, yet his eyes are soft and happy. The babysitting isn’t so bad anymore. None of it is ‘so bad’. 

For all the wicked history, the ground soaked in blood and greed – Piltover has the potential to become something beautiful.  

He could be happy here.

“I want to take you with me next week,” Jayce says suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts. “To visit my mother’s grave. I want to introduce you to her.”

Viktor is getting used to the hot wash of affection that comes with knowing Jayce. It doesn’t mean the feeling is old, or unwanted – just something that he knows will never go away. 

“I’d like that.”

His own mother has no resting place; just an essence in the lifestream. Viktor can still remember the omnipotence of the astral plane, and as much as the memory unsettles him, he is comforted knowing that his mother approves of Jayce. Somewhere out there. 

Viktor runs his fingers absently through the coarse hair in his lap, and Jayce looks up at him again. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Viktor looks down at him fondly. “Mmm.”

“I’m happy to be alive.”

Viktor didn’t realize how badly he needed to hear that, nor how much he feels the same. He has to rummage around in his vocal cords to bring himself to reply, “Me too.” Too much emotion bleeds through. Jayce pulls him into the grass, and Viktor doesn’t mind the stains.

***

Viktor turns around in his chair and goes, “Oh good, you’re back. Check this over for me.” He hands over a book, and Sky nearly fumbles it. 

“My lord. You’re supposed to be getting ready for – oh my, this is quite a rare edition.” Sky skims the pages. “Harnessing lightning, channeling energy by force…but you’re missing –”

“A conduit, I know. This is what I told Jayce.” Viktor smiles at her. “You’re learning.”

Sky puffs out her cheeks, setting down the book on the edge of his desk. “You don’t have to test me.”

“Sorry. But I’ll need an assistant someday.”

“I’m already your assistant.”

“Anyone can keep schedules,” Viktor scoffs impatiently. He turns back to his work, scribbling again with his quill. “But not anyone can read Jayce’s handwriting.”

Sky laughs. Then, she shakes herself, “My lord, the feast is beginning soon.”

“We’ve been feasting for days.”

“Because you will be crowned tomorrow,” Sky sighs, like it’s obvious. “They want to celebrate you.”

It’s a funny thing. Piltover now sees him as some sort of hero. He’s anything but; just some fool that fell in love way beyond his means (and accidentally foiled a coup in the process). 

“Has the king called for me?” Viktor asks. 

Sky gives him an odd look, like she thought it was obvious. “Yes, sir. He’s waiting in the lobby.”

Viktor bites the side of his cheek. He still remembers the one rule Jayce gave him – it used to make his stomach sink with dread, but now it fills him with air.

He gathers his cane, slips a book under his arm, and opens the door before Sky gets the chance to grab it. “Will you be joining us, Miss Young?”

She smiles through her eyes, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “If my lords allow it.”

“Stop that. Any gossip I should know?”

“Hmm, I heard King Silco unseated some of his chem-barrons for treason.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Also – I didn’t tell you this – but Maddie Nolen tried to seduce the captain, and Lady Vi took her eye out. Now she’s in the dungeons under allegations for spying for Ambessa.”

“Oh really??” 

***

The coronation is every bit as overdramatic as Viktor expected it to be.

There’s all manner of things to be done in a specific order, and a specific place, where he carries a specific object and recites a specific set of words. Though his hands shake as the crown is placed on his head, he can feel the pride radiating off of Jayce beside him – and that is enough.

In-between the long and boring speeches, Viktor leans over to Jayce to whisper, “Do I have to wear this thing all the time?” The crown is simpler than Jayce’s, but still too gaudy and uncomfortable. 

Jayce hides a laugh, and whispers “No.” He finds his hand between the thrones and squeezes. “Well. Sometimes.”

Viktor hears his cue, and raises his goblet automatically. Jayce bites down a smile with impressive control, and lifts his glass for the toast.

When it’s time for Viktor to approach the balcony, he’s surprised to see the thousands of civilians watching below, cheering for him. It’s all a dream; the strings of lanterns and banners, the colorful fireworks, the grand afterparty that lives up to all the gossip. Still, none of it compares to the happiness of Jayce proudly holding his hand.

Acceptance is a funny thing. You can live without it, but it’s a nice article to have; like a shiny ring, or a new cloak, or true love.

The ‘Queen’ of Piltover is not what anyone expected. Nor is the sight of Zaunites and Piltovians dancing together like the world is ending. In Viktor’s world, it is just beginning.

“It really does suit you,” Jayce says, adjusting the crown. A simple gold band, engraved in jewels older than the palace itself. Viktor bats off his hand. 

“I have an idea,” Viktor whispers. “For your synthetic magic.”

The band plays at full volume, and Jayce gives him an excited look.

“We could sneak out.”

“Theoretically, yes.”

Powder comes spinning out of nowhere, flowers in her hair and dirt under her nails, trousers too short and her shirt buttoned high. “Let’s dance, your majesty!” 

Viktor stumbles over his own lame foot as Powder leads him away. Jayce cracks a smile at Viktor’s distressed expression, and Powder downright laughs at him. His irritation doesn’t last long. Like usual, Powder is a refreshing breath of chaotic air, and Viktor takes her hand, allowing a dance. She helps him hobble along well enough. 

“Y’know, I’m technically not supposed to be here,” Powder says, spinning herself. Her hair whips around her in such a way that it nearly smacks the other waltzing royals. 

Viktor huffs an amused breath through his nose. “What did he ground you for?”

“Sneaking out with Ekko. It was just slight vandalism – but for a cause! A good one! You got my letter, didn’t you?”

“All thirty pieces of it, yes.”

“I know you like puzzles.”

“Well. Your theory had merit. Silco is going to wet himself if you design such a weapon.”

Powder breaks out laughing, loud and unashamed. “That might just get me ungrounded.”

Viktor doesn’t care about any odd looks they receive; the snobbish attitudes of Piltie royals are old and boring by now, and to show their distaste would earn their king’s wrath, so they know better. If anything, it’s the chem-barons that seem slightly scandalized. 

Across the ballroom, Caitlyn stands in uniform next to Vi, who is also in armor. Caitlyn looks skeptical of Viktor being so close to Powder, but Vi is clearly happy, which must be enough to keep the peace between them. 

Steb is hitting it off again with that Vastayan paladin. Steb is every bit of the polished armor and rigid posture that Viktor has come to know, but his webbed ears flick back like an interested cat, and Scar is a gentle giant, nodding along to the signs Steb makes with his gloved hands. Viktor loves being right about things. 

As they spin again, Viktor searches for Jayce, who has disappeared in the crowd (not sure how that’s possible, but also, Powder is stepping around like the floor is on fire). 

Mel is here, her back turned and dressed to the nines, moving her hands excitedly as she speaks to someone. Maybe Jayce is – 

“My turn,” Jayce says suddenly. Viktor nearly jumps out of his skin, but Powder grabs his arms like a child’s toy. 

“No, mine!” She then laughs at the shocked expression on Jayce’s face. “Ha-ha, just kidding. I’d love to see this, if you work together you two might just have a functional pair of legs.” 

Viktor huffs at her, “Go torture someone else, princess.”

Her boots scramble off the tile, and Jayce snorts as he slides up to Viktor and fits his hands right where they belong; one in his palm, the other on his waist. 

They’re in stiff jackets and heavy layers of formal clothing, but Viktor can still feel the natural heat that pours out of Jayce. He is magnetized to it, the chilly parts of him warmed only by this person who wears the other half of his soul. 

Their dancing is slow, offbeat and unsteady. But they keep each other standing, sore knees and all. The room slows to watch them out of respect. Viktor just has eyes for Jayce. 

“Is this cliche?” Jayce wonders. 

Viktor hates this insomuch as he will treasure the memory for the rest of his life. 

A possibly long life. 

Viktor squeezes the muscle in his shoulder, tips his chin up and whispers,

“About that crystal…”

Jayce lets out a laugh, and leans down his head so Viktor can whisper in his ear as they dance. Some might assume Viktor is speaking something scandalous; what with Jayce’s hand hot on his back, their feet shuffling in unison on the waxed floors. The gallery can think what they want. Viktor rattles off his hypothesis, and Jayce promises him all the resources he can buy. 

“But can I buy your time?” Viktor replies. Jayce pulls his hair back behind his ear, and leaves that hand on the nape of his neck. “Without you, I’m only half as clever. I can’t do this on my own.”

Jayce looks down at him fondly, dropping his voice to say, “That’s what all this is about.” He glances once at the grand ballroom filled with celebration. “All that I am, all that I have – it’s yours.”

The world around them falls beneath his feet. He didn’t know it was possible to love so fully, to desire someone with all his heart. The song leads into another, but they stop in their own little bubble. Dresses swing and spin in a new waltz, but Viktor stares into Jayce’s very soul.

“Only if you promise to need me.” 

Please. Want me, love me –

Jayce breaks into a short laugh. “That’s an easy promise, my dear.”

When he takes his hand, it feels like they’re back where they began. Like closure in a perfect loop in time, fulfillment in a contract he unknowingly signed. Blissfully meant to be.

1 YEAR LATER 

“Sir,” Caitlyn greets, proudly posted at the iron doors. “Here for your appointment?”

Viktor shuffles the scrolls into his free arm. “Is he ready?”

“The meeting just ended.” Caitlyn tips her head, her eyes flickering with the mischief he mainly sees when she’s off duty. She looks left, right, then lowers her voice. “You know, it’s a bit pathetic you have to make schedules with your own spouse.”

Viktor shrugs. “Work is work. We can’t all be conveniently on the same night patrols as our significant other.”

Caitlyn’s face colors. She grabs the heavy iron handle and yanks the door. “Just go. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Viktor parades himself into the throne room. Jayce is sat alone on the big chair itself, mulling over his next hearing. He trimmed his beard yesterday, and it looks nice all neat and tight against his face. The length of Jayce’s hair is something very dear to Viktor, for specific reasons, so he isn’t allowed to cut it shorter than what he describes as hair-pulling length. Even half-asleep and buried in ledgers, Viktor finds him attractive.

“I don’t know how my secretary approved this,” Jayce mumbles, flipping pages. “Your hearing notes are blank –” Jayce stops when he sees Viktor approach the table. His eyes go big, and he sits right up on the throne. “Viktor!”

“Your waitlist is ridiculous,” Viktor replies, dumping his scrolls on the meeting table. One rolls off, and he doesn’t care. He starts right for Jayce, dropping his cane and crawling up in his lap. “Six months for a personal hearing – you’ve got quite some nerve.”

Jayce looks ecstatic to see him. He immediately holds him at the waist, helping Viktor to climb comfortably onto the throne. “I thought you were still in Zaun.”

“Well, I had a meeting.” He sets his cold hands on Jayce’s warm neck. Dark lashes flutter in response. He pulls in his square jaw for a kiss, and Jayce meets him tenderly. He truly tastes like home; like summer sun and obligatory wine. The resulting butterflies are a phenomenon he is used to.

“You know,” Jayce starts, kissing his temple. “You don’t have to schedule fake meetings just to see me. All you have to do is call.”

Yes. If Viktor called for him anywhere, anytime, Jayce would come for him. It’s a power he tries not to abuse (unlike some people).

“But I had important business to discuss,” Viktor murmurs. He pulls him in for another kiss again, this time flicking his tongue to his mouth, and Jayce rumbles a deep groan, flexing his fingers on his hips.

He entangles him in his snare. Leads him from one kiss to another, until he begins to play with the elegant buttons keeping his coat closed. Jayce catches on quickly.

“Mmm.” An inhale of air, and a soft swallow. “I’m listening.”

Viktor presses his forefinger to the divot of sensitive skin beneath his larynx.

“Silco wants to meet next week to unveil the bridge.”

“As expected. He loves his formalities.”

“Your hypothesis on the metallic conductors was correct,” Viktor continues, hooking his finger in the knot at the base of his neck. “However, the east wing of the lab is now under repair.”

Jayce’s hand slides hotly up his thigh. “I knew I smelt burning.”

Viktor leans in for another kiss, speaking partly against his lips.

“The mines in the Sump are running dry. If you want more samples, I suggest we find an alternative before I start carving gems out of your crown.”

A deep, sucking kiss. Jayce’s voice drops several octaves.

“I already put the Academy to work on that.”

“I tripped over your shoes this evening.”

“Sorry. I didn’t let the maids clean.”

“You are capable of picking up your own shoes,” Viktor lectures, then pauses as Jayce presses a tight kiss to his neck. “Wait. Why?”

Embarrassed, Jayce mutters, “I wanted the sheets to still smell like you.”

And just like that, Viktor is suddenly tired of playing games. He claws at his hair, angles his mouth for another possessive kiss, and the pit of his stomach curls as Jayce proceeds to drink from him. It is more electric than any storm.

He pulls out Jayce’s necktie, and works down his coat buttons with one hand. Jayce stops him with a gloved palm at his wrist.

“You will hurt tomorrow.”

Viktor sits back on his lap and frowns. Yes, maybe, but the pain will be worth it. He’s building some strength back in his leg, and has been working hard for a chance like this. Moving around more, eating square meals; it’s all helped to fill him out a little, now that he has no disease nor curse sucking his energy dry. 

Viktor peels away his cloak, then pulls open his robes. He is wearing nothing, not even his supports. Jayce’s eyes nearly bug out of his head.

He grabs the thick dressings and pulls them tight, looking once around the room to make sure there are no guards. “You are crazy.”

“That’s beside the point.” Viktor pops open Jayce’s jacket, sees how many layers are beneath it (a vest, shirt and collar, chains between each button) and decides to just skip to the main course. He pets down the layers of fabric and hooks his fingers in the metal clasp of his belt. “This might be my only chance to sit on this throne without an audience.”

Jayce looks like his self-control is holding on by a thread. His hands find his bare waist under the shell of his robes, and his hands are so big that his middle fingers nearly touch along his spine. 

“All you had to do was ask.”

“I’m asking.” Viktor looks back up through his lashes, catching Jayce’s amused expression. “Mostly.”

Jayce pulls him closer on his thighs, and Viktor melts into him, meeting the kiss in the middle. He is successful in opening his belt, but the ties of his trousers are a whole other battle. It’s the minor inconveniences that have him missing his magic the most; where he wishes he could mutter a spell and evaporate all the clothes from Jayce’s body. 

Even through all the layers, Viktor can feel how scorching hot he is. He hasn’t given him enough time to get fully hard, but even then, he’s bigger than Viktor’s palm.

Jayce bites off one leather glove by the tip of his middle finger, and is kind enough to lend him a hand. Together, Viktor is able to pull him free from the ties of his trousers. Jayce squeezes his bare hip with his gloved hand, then one cheek, running his palm all the way down his leg to land at the top of his good knee. Jayce’s attention falls between Viktor’s legs, clearly flattered that Viktor is already aroused. “Did you bring –”

“Don’t need it.” Viktor spits messily in his palm and slicks down his heavy cock. Jayce goes wide eyed, then twists away to gasp as Viktor strokes him to hardness. “You think I would walk into an audience with the king unprepared? A novice move.”

Jayce puts the dots together quickly. His hand squeezes tight on his skin; strong, like a reflex. 

“Creator fucking help me.” His bare fingers slide down his spine to really test for himself. Yes, he is slick and stretched and all that time-consuming nonsense. Viktor pays no mind to Jayce’s prodding fingers, he has more important matters at hand. In hand, whatever. A tongue at his ear and a few rough squeezes, and Jayce is eagerly hard. “Ah, Vik.” 

What a lovely sound. Viktor uses his shoulder as leverage to get himself in position, then promptly takes his seat. The groan Jayce makes is even lovelier. Viktor lets out his own shaky exhale as he sinks down slowly, closing his eyes to the full feeling. All the aches and pains are unimportant.

“Fuck,” Jayce curses thickly. His eyes are a dark brown, hazy in this whirlwind Viktor has created. His thick chest shudders. “You feel amazing.”

Viktor might no longer speak the language of the arcane, but he doesn’t need it to feel electricity down his spine. Jayce tries to move, and Viktor digs in his nails. 

“No. I’ll do it.”

Jayce looks at him like he hung the stars. 

“You’ll get tired.”

“Then let me get tired,” Viktor demands, and begins to ride. He is slow, but each steady stroke drags pleasure through them both like a hoe in a field. A deep, torturous slog that fills him to the brim. They are defacing a throne that has withstood hundreds of years of even worse debauchery; Viktor could not care less. 

Jayce keeps mumbling his name against his skin. He helps him ride with his hands on his hips – but Viktor does not complain. 

“So beautiful,” Jayce mutters. “Feels so good, sweetheart.” 

Heat flushes through him. Viktor sucks on his mouth to keep him from talking, but it only delays the inevitable. He kisses his palm, bites it, nuzzles it, until Viktor has no choice but to stifle him with his own lips. Too much of Viktor’s concentration is directed towards keeping a rhythm (up and down, he spears himself over and over), and Jayce uses his upper hand to continue muttering, “I missed you, thought about you every night –”

Viktor grunts as he presses up against his spot, thoroughly grinding him there. “It was three days.”

“Wanted my mouth on you so bad,” Jayce pants. He sounds different. The obscene squelch of their bodies isn’t helping. “You can’t leave me, V, you’re mine, you’re part of me –" his palm splays flat over Viktor’s lower belly, pressing so hard that it makes him gasp. Jayce is nearly shaking with the urge to thrust up into him, though he does not. “Fuck, I need you.”

“You,” Viktor croaks. He is struggling to keep the upper hand here, and yet his whole body is burning alight with the satisfaction of seeing his husband beneath him, panting like a dog on his own throne. He clutches at the crook of his shoulder, his thumb pressing hard against his racing pulse. “You have me, darling. Just you.”

Jayce sighs, his eyes fluttering back. He is so hard now, sweating beneath his layers of clothes, his hair sticky and stuck around the rim of his crown. Still, Viktor continues to slip him inside, his pace dragging slower and slower as he loses stamina. It is driving them both to an edge of insanity. The arm of the throne is cutting off the circulation to his leg and he is really so dripping wet, Jayce’s pants might be a lost cause; but goddammit, he is on a mission.

As Viktor struggles to continue proving his independence, Jayce cheats by wrapping a hand around his needy arousal, which quickly rubs away any patience he had left. His body yearns for more, for harder – and Jayce only praises him, touches him, kisses him –

Okay, fine.

“Jayce,” Viktor moans.

It’s the permission he was clearly waiting for. Jayce snaps in an instant, manhandling Viktor around in his lap, spinning him so his back is up against his chest, then using the leverage to sit him back on his cock. They both groan from it, and Jayce immediately plants his feet, pulls up Viktor’s knees and fucks him on that throne.

The tease and frustration is instantly gone. Viktor goes slack in his arms, letting out a throaty sound that’s foreign to his own ears. Jayce’s arms bulge through his sleeves, his breath panting hard against his ear, and Viktor is keen enough to hold the hell on and bloody brace himself.

He reaches depths inside him that only Jayce can find. It’s a wonderful relief. Skin slapping skin, Viktor screws his eyes shut and reaches back blindly, holding on to his sweaty neck as Jayce bounces him on his lap. His body lights up with every thrust, and Jayce seethes as Viktor’s nails press half-moons into his skin.

The lewd slap of skin echoes off the mosaic floor; Viktor can see the blurs of pillars and tables and fresco ceilings through the water in his eyes. He squeezes them shut as Jayce slams him into his lap a little too hard. Jayce starts an apology, but Viktor chokes first, “I’ll come.”

“Do it,” begs Jayce. His beard scratches his cheek, his chin hooking on his shoulder so he can look down the front of Viktor’s naked body. Sure enough, he’s twitching and on the edge. Jayce’s hands squeeze prints into each of his thighs, his hoarse voice rasping, “Wanna make you come. Keep going like this?”

Viktor can barely manage to nod, “Mhm.”

Jayce doesn’t slow down or speed up – he stays exactly as he is, allowing Viktor ride the wave instead of sprinting to catch it. In the end, he is caught by the gentle sound of Jayce’s needy moan in his right ear. His back arches and his toes curl, and he chokes a gasp through the back of his throat, throwing his head back on Jayce’s shoulder. Jayce lets go of one thigh to catch his cock before he spills all over the floor, which is more than enough foresight than Viktor has right now.

He claws meanly into Jayce’s forearm, spitting raggedly as he demands, “Inside, inside—” and then his wish is granted. Viktor is so very spoiled.

Jayce knows better than to attempt to be a gentleman. He locks him tight in his grasp, thrusts up into him and fills him deep. It’s nearly on-command, and Viktor has the mushy realization that Jayce had been holding back for his sake. Viktor presses a hand over the straining knuckles braced above his knee, and slumps back against his chest to catch his breath. The release of tension is like an audible snap.

“This,” Jayce pants. His bare palm is sticky, and he spreads it flat on his navel. “This is taboo for so many reasons.”

Viktor just now looks up at the fresco on the ceiling, where Piltover’s deity is painted.

“I don’t believe in superstition.”

Jayce spreads his fingers through the mess on his flat belly, then brings his fingers up to Viktor’s mouth. He parts his lips out of reflex, then moans quietly as Jayce presses them inside. His head is still swimming, so he barely fumbles his tongue between his big fingers before he pulls out already, sticking them in his own mouth to taste. Effective, yet…

“Filthy,” Viktor chokes, swallowing.

Jayce helps him get a foot on the floor so he can pull out. Viktor shudders from the empty feeling, and promptly turns to sit sideways in his lap. Jayce’s voice is a pleased purr. “You started it.”

Viktor kisses him, and Jayce kisses back with way too much finesse.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jayce grumbles. “Fuck, I have to work now.”

Neither of them will be satisfied until later, when they’re back in the privacy of their beloved bedroom. Viktor already feels the stinging ache in his knee, but he still cracks a half-smile, petting back Jayce’s sweaty bangs.

“I guess I’ll just have to entertain myself until you’re finished.”

Jayce gets this blank expression on his face, like he’s already trying to find a way to cancel the rest of his appointments for the day. Viktor gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and rises on wobbly legs. Jayce’s eyes drag down his sticky thighs like a dog in heat. “Well then. This was educational. Hopefully I can move up on the schedule next time.”

Numbly, Jayce moves to tie up his own trousers. The hair stands up off the back of Viktor’s neck, and he gets a sinking feeling in his stomach, like he should probably start running.

He loves it.

***

“Productive?” Caitlyn asks. 

Short on time, Viktor leans his weight on his cane, and fixes the knot on his sash all at once.

 “Mhm.”

***

It was a great feat to enter the City of Progress. 

N’tala had put up a nasty fight against her mentor, but Hwei is as talented a mage as he is an artist – and so she made the great pilgrimage into Piltover, at his request.

The stiff guards let her through with little more than glance. Despite her enchantress colors, she is not captured at the gate, nor questioned by the paladins that strut through the city. She could sense the blood spilt here hundreds of years ago; and yet, there is a freshness to the air that unsettles her.

The King rises to greet her before taking seat on the elegant throne. Next to him sits N’tala’s person of interest – the Twice Dead Healer of Zaun.

N’tala removes her velvet hood, takes a knee and bows her head. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me personally, your majesty.”

Lord Jayce sits with little more than a nod. “Your letter says you come seeking asylum.”

His stature is intimidating by impression. Wide shoulders distract from his sharp eyes. There is a lurking cleverness in him that has N’tala choosing her words carefully.

“Yes. A small clan of mages from the East.”

That earns the queen’s attention. He is a long, skinny thing, yet inherently elegant in his puffy blouse and tailored trousers. N’tala struggles to believe that this was the mage who achieved his ascended form. And yet – the arcana in the air is undeniable. She can feel it emanating from the king’s soul, a mystical lifeforce puppeteering his body from beyond the veil. The bond ties them together as if through an invisible thread, and the strength of it startles her.

There are no recorded accounts of a mage giving up their magic. The mere idea sends shivers down her spine.

“And what would you do with your asylum, if granted?” asks the Lord Consort. He gestures for her to rise, so she does.

“Find peace,” she replies.

The King’s stony expression cracks into a small smile. “Good answer.” His partner, however, still looks skeptical. She tries not to fidget under his gaze.

“My master is an artist. We’re mere civilians.”

There are many rumors about this Viktor. Together, these two have wrought an era of progress unseen in any corner of Runeterra. Many fear this advancement – though, the rulers of Piltover seem to fear nothing.

Can you have fear, when you have already faced death?

N’tala has little interest in finding out.

“Honestly, you’ll be doing us a favor,” says King Jayce, folding one long leg over the other. His relaxed tone gives her whiplash. “My goal is to bring magic back into Piltover.”

It is already here. Viktor knows this, but nods along quietly.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll grant you asylum. My secretary will give you the contract.”

N’tala lets out a slow breath. She bows her head gratefully, and when she looks up again, she feels caught again by the gaze of the queen. Lord Jayce looks pleased, but his partner is staring with an indifferent skepticism that feels like a lashing on across her wrist. Jayce might look intimidating, but it is Viktor that offers a silent threat.

Betray his trust, and you will know consequence.

In a way, she respects that. This mage has not lowered his head in submission to a human, but operates as an equal.

N’tala smiles. “Thank you, m’lords.”

Jayce turns to his partner, and Viktor’s face softens like a rose. A happy cat flicking its tail, tipping its head to be pet, visibly pleased by the hand that reaches out to squeeze his gloved fingers. The runic bond between them is so strong, it stinks up the air she breathes. Her master’s words ring in her ears.

‘Travel to Piltover, and see if the rumors are true.’

As N’tala walks out of the conference chamber, the guards close the big iron doors behind her.

Yes, they are.

***

[ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ 56ᴛʜ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀᴇᴅ ʀᴇɪɢɴ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴄʟᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅɪᴅ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ. ɴᴏᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴅɪᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜱᴘᴇɴᴅ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀꜱ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴄᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇᴅᴅᴇᴅ, ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴀᴄᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴅᴜᴇ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴘᴀɪᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴅᴇʙᴛ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ʙʏ ꜱɪᴅᴇ, ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇꜰᴜʟ ᴄʀᴀᴅʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ.

ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴇɴᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴛᴏᴏ? 

ᴡᴇʟʟ. ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴄᴀʟʟ ɪᴛ ꜰᴀᴛᴇ].

FIN