#dimi3

me + my helpless little lion prince who's never done anything wrong send tweet

As commissioned to organize this event, my fee was the TR-909 I still play today with @triceratops-333​ !

You do not, nor were ever intended to, excel at royal audiences, and they still remain the least of your favorite duties as new queen consort of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, but it often isn’t as strenuous to smile and emotionally disengage with the conversation as it is today. Today, one of the courtiers, a minor noble from the bordering lands, has continued his weeks-long petition to expand his territory and while you usually try to help Dimitri politely deflect his requests for more resources and for more troops, you can sense that he’s becoming more and more frantic.

Dimitri had promised to stay firm in his decision not to allow more soldiers in that region, because it would appear more aggressive than not to the minority groups living in the vicinity, and given that your husband was well acquainted with what happened with Duscur, you assumed he understood intimately. 

And perhaps he does still, however, what Dimitri says next shocks you to your core.

“Fine. To your request, the kingdom will supply three hundred soldiers by the end of the week.”

The noble glances in your direction for a moment, then back to the King, a wry smile on his face, and you’re incredulous, your stomach churning in disgust, but all you can do is force your facial expression to stay resolute as if you had discussed it deeply and agreed with the decision. A few nobles gasp in surprise, while others nod in hesitant agreement, and for a moment you catch the duke of Fraldarius who often lurks at the back of such audiences with his arms crossed, shaking his head slightly before exiting quietly.

You’re not imagining how bad the situation is, it’s exactly as you fear.

—

The subsequent requests - matters of food, water, protection for the people, diplomatic relations with nations like Almyra - come thereafter, but there is still anger roiling in your chest from the idea of an evil man receiving more men to his command, and by the time you’ve retired to your bedroom for the evening, you are so disillusioned with the entire affair that you don’t say a word.

If Dimitri reached for your hand as you left the hall, you did not notice, because you were too busy wringing them in your hands repetitively, walking one to two paces before him, enough that he could tell that you were upset, but not enough to display a lack of decorum.

Everything in this castle is watched and measured.

“You’re upset, are you not?” he asks.

You spin so fast that your ornate dress creates a wisp of wind at both of your feet. He watches, stepping just a bit closer to arrange a caught piece of fabric but you practically slap his hand away.

“What in the world is wrong with you?”

He sighs, still bent over, before looking up at you. Your fierce gaze meets his firm but still understanding blue one, and his lips are pressed in a thin, formal line as he waits for the rest of your verbal onslaught.

And you do deliver that to him.

“You said under no circumstances would you-”

“It was either that or imply we lacked any military might.”

“What?!”

You give him an incredulous look, then start to laugh humorlessly, before raising your hands up to the space around you.

“What else does this godforsaken country have if not weapons and people willing to fight and die?”

Dimitri grimaces, knowing that it’s the thing you hate the most about this kingdom, its penchant for violence over peace and prosperity, and he knows that you both work tirelessly to change this, and yet…

“He doesn’t have unreasonable demands.”

“You and I both know that there is no threat coming from that side of the kingdom and this is all just one man desperate to have young lives at his command and mercy.”

Dimitri blinks.

“So you’re calling me a fool?” he says, finally. His arms cross over his chest defensively, feet squared suddenly, and you can tell he’s now prepared to argue for real. Which you might as well need. The back of your hand slaps against his chest, not for damage but for dramatic effect.

“I’m saying that you’re using your chest to think, not your brain.”

He leans in slightly. 

“You told me that it was good to lead with one’s heart,” he says softly, his hand attempting to close gently around your hand, but you snatch it away quickly.

“That’s not your heart, that’s machismo, who CARES if this idiot calls you cowardly? You run a country, not a boxing ring!”

His nostrils flare slightly, a flash of irritation glowing in his iris.

“I simply defused a situation.”

If there is a bomb with a lit fuse that is now quiet in the court, there is another one in this bedroom.

“Do I look calm to you, Dimitri?” you ask, coolly. “Is this not another situation now?” 

Dimitri gives you a look, really looks, then shakes his head.

“You’re impossible. We will withdraw the soldiers after a short stay, and everything will be back to normal. You’re making a big ado about nothing.”

He turns as though he’s done with the conversation, but you kick off your heels loudly into the corner of the room. 

“Lovely use of the royal ‘we,’” you hiss. You set off to the washroom, but in longer strides he beats you there, blocking the way.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you, but I had to make an executive decision,” he pleads. His voice is gentle again, and he tilts his head slightly as if it’ll make him more compassionate but all that comes to mind is how you could tell this day would come, where your comments would be mere suggestions under the guise of ‘keeping a nation together’.

“You could have at least spoken to me first if you meant to give in.”

“It’s a strategy-”

“Am I too much of a commoner to understand?” you quip. He blinks as if hit.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

You sigh.

“I told you I never wanted to be Queen.”

You can feel the physical recoil from your statement, the voice in Dimitri’s head that goes ‘not this again’.

“Again, you are making this a bigger issue than-”

And then you do the one thing that terrifies him.

Your hands reach upwards, settling around the crown that sits atop your head, and no you don’t mean to toss it, no matter how angry you are, but Dimitri sees you move, and panics immediately.

“Stop!”

You’re taken aback, and really do pause, your fingers settled just on the edge of crafted gold, and Dimitri’s facial expression looks pained to match your surprise, and suddenly your hands are in his, while he presses his forehead against yours.

“Just… sorry… don’t do that.”

His hands pull your enveloped ones to his mouth. The moment hangs in between you two with sudden silence where both of your hearts seem to pound loudly in your chest in unison.

“Please… please don’t.”

His fear douses your irritation in a sudden splash of cold water.

“I wasn’t going to…” you trail off, because in a sense, you were. You were trying to throw it all back at him out of anger, you were in some part, threatening to leave, to do this alone.

You let out a slow breath.

“I’m not pleased. But I’m not going anywhere.”

You can hear him swallow hard first before his voice practically croaks out a weary,

“Okay.”

The two of you stand like this for a moment longer, connected by touch, by love, and by precious adornment that confers a complex and thankless power. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers, finally.

“We’ll fix it,” you reply in turn.