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The Prince

Prince!Iida x Tutor!Reader

Fluff, Pining, Humor, Slight Angst (?)

Words: 5K

Warnings: Brief mention of blood/assassins

The floor rumbles beneath dozens of pairs of shoes and even though it’s almost completely covered, you catch flashes of the polished wood between songs.  It shimmers, reflecting back the lights of the chandelier, twinkling brightly enough to rival the stars. However beautiful and spectacular it all seemed though, you still missed spending hours alone, watching the real stars.  Your work in Inginea had left you with very little time to explore; your nights usually consisted of preparing lessons and lectures deemed fitting for members of the royal family.  It would be nice to spend time outdoors again, to feel the cool night air tickle your nose, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise.  Then again, the next time you experienced that, you’d likely be standing on the deck of some ship that was homeward bound, carrying you far away from this place and its people.  That part wasn’t so nice. In fact, it was downright depressing.

You’re jolted from your self-pity when you recognize a familiar face from across the dancefloor.  You hadn’t expected to meet Iida here tonight, but you can’t say that it’s a shock to see him standing there, seeming uncharacteristically frazzled as he sidles through the mass of swirling bodies surrounding him.  

It’s his posture that gives him away; no common person ever made such an effort to keep his shoulders so far back, his chin so steeply angled upward, his feet so firmly planted—like he was imitating the oaks lining the perimeter of the castle gates.  No, the decorum with which this man carried himself was the sort that they only taught royalty—only taught princes.  You grin and begin to shimmy your way through the crowd.

It takes more than a few gentle nudges and one less-than-subtle shove, but you eventually brave the chaos and reach him.  To his credit, Iida’s disguise was spot-on. There wasn’t a sign of his family’s sigil on any of his garments. No royal blue doublet covering his chest, no moonstone pendants gracing his neck; he had obviously gone out of his way to pass himself off as common—a near-impossible feat given the fact that the man practically oozed refinement.  Still, the laces of his shirt are frayed now and his britches stained.  If you hadn’t known his face so well, you might’ve thought him a stablehand and not the next in line for his father’s throne.  

“It’s a pleasant surprise to see you this far from the palace, sir.”  You greet him, careful to avoid using his true title. Iida flinches when you address him, but then he squints and realizes it’s only you.  He frowns.

“Was I really that easy to pick out of the crowd?  I was certain that this time, my attire was—”

“It wasn’t your attire that betrayed you.”  Had anyone from the palace witnessed the way you’d interrupted the crown prince, you might’ve received your dismissal much earlier than you intended to.  Then again, others might have been wholly more apathetic towards the situation.  Everyone was still rather confused when it came to the proper way of addressing each of the princes.  After all, Tenya Iida was the younger of the Iida brothers. He’d been raised with the same careful care and instruction as his brother all his life, for no reason other than tradition.  Because originally, Tenya wasn’t supposed to be the next king.

“To the average person, yes, you look perfectly ordinary.  But me?  I know you too well for that.  I also don’t know a single lordling that puts so much effort into the way he stands.  It was a noble effort though.  Well-thought-out.”

You nod him away from the crowd with your chin, leading him towards a quieter corner of the hall.  Nobody bats an eye. The common people knew of their king and queen, yes, but the royal children were another matter altogether.  Tensei’s face had been woven into banners lining the wall in the days leading to his coronation, so at least a few would recognize him.  Tenya had no banners, and thus, no face as far as the public was concerned.  That would change soon enough, though.

It wasn’t uncommon for assassins to be sent after royalty.  Enemies to the crown, families of those accused of treason, even other princes and princesses had all been historically known to hire men to “do away with” their opponents.  What wasn’t common was for these killers-for-hire to make it past the palace walls—to make it to the crown prince ’s chamber, unseen.  Nobody but Tensei could know for certain what occurred that fateful night, but castle gossip would have you believe a dozen versions of the same story, all with the same conclusion: an assassin lying in a pool of their own blood and a prince that was now crippled from the waist down.

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