Fandom_Stuff67

Ilya didn’t want to be king, but he also hated seeing his brother continue their father’s reign of terror. Short of poisoning his wine at a banquet, Ilya was fresh out of ideas to prevent it. Ilya had thought about killing him more than once and maybe he would’ve had the stomach for it if Alexei didn’t have a wife and child. His brother had married young to a beautiful woman named Sofia and they had a two year old daughter, Katerina. Ilya was no monster, he couldn’t take that little girl’s father from her. Katerina was about the only good thing Alexei had ever done in his life and Ilya absolutely adored his niece; he spoiled her rotten every chance he got. If Ilya had any influence whatsoever on her life, she, at least, was going to be a kind and just queen someday. But that was just it. He wasn’t going to be around to ensure anything. In fact, he was probably never going to see his niece again after tomorrow. 

“You going out tonight?”

Ilya blinked from his stupor and looked over at his advisor. Cliff Marlow was looking at him expectantly and Ilya sighed. He hadn’t been planning to go out, he’d been planning to wallow in his misery with a stolen bottle of Vodka he’d snuck away from his father’s private stash. But he supposed going out could be fun too. 

“I guess,” he replied. 

Marlow raised an eyebrow. “You guess? Are you feeling okay, Roz?” 

Marlow never called him Your Royal Highness or any of those stupid monikers people insisted on being titled with. Ilya had told him he could call him by his first name but Marlow had found that a little too personal, so he’d suggested his last name of which over time had been shortened to just ‘Roz’. Ilya didn’t really have friends, but Marlow was probably the closest he’d ever get. 

Ilya waved him off. “I’m fine.”

“Look, I know the news was less than ideal but–”

Ilya scoffed. “But nothing. I am finally able to be of use to my father, what I want doesn’t matter.” 

“I think it should,” Marlow said. 

“Yes, well, I cannot refuse direct order from the king.” Ilya’s own father would have him deemed as a traitor and killed for his refusal if he did. 

“You could run,” Marlow suggested. 

“No.” 

Ilya was not a coward.

Marlow huffed out a heavy sigh. “So you’re just going to marry this guy?”