#mrasayf

But he was not the Eagle King of Masyaf (would not be until his father unfortunately passed away from choking to death on an olive) and "Royal Pain of Masyaf" did not actually carry with it any sort of real political power (except maybe the sort that led to break down of international trade).

So, five months later, when they received a message from the witch in the form of a twitchy toucan telling them to start the wedding preparations and have it all ready in three days there was nothing he could do except scowl and glare as everyone rushed to get everything prepared.

~ + ~

Altair did not want to get married. The sight of the filthy beggar youth that tagged along behind the witch had about as much effect as a trikle of water on a mountain.

"He is missing an arm." Altair said before his father shushed him

The youth hesitated then had to hasten his steps to catch up with the witch again. He licked his lips as the King and the prince bowed at the witch, standing there akwardly.

He said, "my wife is here?"

"Your husband, actually." Altair corrected as he straightened up and looked him up and down. The cool, blatant arrogance in the prince's face made him unattractive and piggish. Then the implication caught up to him and his eyes widened.

"Fuck." he said and the witch grinned.

~ + ~

The youth's name was Malik, and as soon as he stepped foot int he courtyard there was a group of women ready to whisk Altair's bride to be away so he could be made presentable.

"He probably has lice." Altair pointed out, seeming bored (but he was furious).

"The witch chose him. You and I have no choice in the matter."

~ + ~

At least under all the grime Malik wasn't entirely ugly, though it was hard to see past the scowl on his face. He jingled as he walked, from the numerous silver ornament sown into his elaborate clothes.

"This is women's clothing." He sounded so insulted and Altair, who was lounging at the window in his own wedding clothes only smirked at him.

"Well, we thought you'd be a bride."

Malik glared at him.

~ + ~

It was not ideal, but Malik had been ready to put up with the arrogant asshole, up until the point where Altair stepped on his foot while they danced.

Malik scowled at him. "Watch where you're stepping."

And Altair looked down at him (the prince had a few years on him as well as inches), "or you can just not put your foot where I'm going to step."

For that, Malik kicked him and was thankful for the skirt that hid the motion.

~ + ~

If Altair had been aware of the sort of petty revenge Malik was capable of he might have stepped on him harder.

During the course of the wedding reception, Malik had spilled wine on him three times ("A wife must pour the wine for the husband." he had said with a smile that was a slash of sharp white across his face that matched his sarcasm), as well as nearly stabbed his hand with a knife. It was lucky that the knife had lodged himself in the space where his ring finger was already missing.

By the time they made it back to their bedroom, it was clear that love was nowhere in sight.

They were glaring at each other even as Malik all but ripped the headpiece off.

Then Altair snorted and got ready for bed. There was no verbal agreement on the issue, but Altair settled on the bed and Malik settled himself on a pile of pillows in the corner that also happened to be the one furthest from where Altair was sleeping.

And then they slept (and both of them thought, at least he doesn't snore.)

~ + ~

Altair woke up while Malik still seemed to be sound asleep, but he rolled into sudden awakeness when Altair walked towards him, before he even got close enough to nudge him awake with the toe of his boot.

Malik stood up, his hair sleep mussed, but his eyes aware like he had only slept lightly. He frowned.

"What do you want?"

"You're expected to come down to dinner with me." He looked Malik up and down like he had every right in the world. "Should I call the servants?"

"I can dress myself." Malik snapped back.

But Malik had underestimated how complicated his new clothes were, how unecessarily covered in tiny buttons it was.

Altair had watched only as long as it had amused him to do so before he said, "I'll send someone to come help you."

(But later, during lunch, Malik had upended an entire container of spices in Altair's soup jsut for the satisfaction of watching his face pale, then flush before he choked himself on water.)

~ + ~

"Both your behaviours are disgraceful." King Umar had said after a thrown clump of horse manure had escalated into a brawl out in the courtyard.

In the aftermatgh of it, they'd both been to see the doctors before being shepherded to the King's study by guards. Altair had acted like it was an every day occurence while Malik had tried not to feel cowed.

Altair's mouth had to be stitched shut where it had been cut open when Malik knocked him into a fence hard enough to break it.

As they stood before King Umar's desk, Malik couldn't dregde up any regret for what that. He took not small satisfaction in the knowledge that he'd have trouble smirking with the wound bisecting his mouth. It was even better if he stayed perfectly still to not further agitate his bruised ribs while he celebrated this small victory. He could only hope Altair's pride was similarly bruised.

"You are not getting out of this. You need to make this work." The King waved at Malik. "I wish to speak to my son alone. You're dismissed."

Malik bowed, holding in the grimace of pain until he was out of the room.

When his footsteps faded off, King Umar glared at his son.

"Are you pleased with yourself?"

"Very." Altair said.

"If the witch finds out she will be displeased."

"Then she can marry him."

~ + ~

But despite Altair's dismissal of his father's words, he was intrigued.

His face ached whenever he moved his jaw. The nobles who had been his classmates at school would probably be equal parts pleased and humiliated to know that a boy a few years younger than them and with only one arm (and who didn't even have any noble blood in him) had done what all of them had never managed to accomplish in all five years of their schooling.

It did not mean that Altair was not also humiliated himself.

The walls vibrated with the echoes of that when he slammed the door to his room open.

Malik didn't startle, just calmly turned the page of a book he had gotten for himself before Altair got there.

The door closed with the same sort of violence it was opened with and Malik looked up, closing the book. "Do you mind?"

"This is my room." Altair said, "you are not wanted here. If this whole farce wasn't the will of the witch you'd have been punished for laying hands on me."

"What?" Malik said, "Your Highness couldn't take a hit?"

Altair tackled him because their fight had been interrupted, because Malik looked so damn <I>smug</I>. Because he was furious at the fact that he was stuck this way and that he had been beaten by a one armed peasant boy.

Malik yelped, but they were soon wrestling and trying to hit each other. In the heat of the moment, when Altair had him pinned, Malik bit him on the forearm hard enough to draw blood.

"You bastard!" Altair did not get off him but did sit back with a hiss.

"Actually," Malik said, "I do know who my father is. And if you wanted a fair fight you should go pick a fight with your noble friends instead of a slum rat."

<I>Slum rat</I> was something the nobles and even the middle class sneered about the beggars and thieves living in the allyes and streets that were where the ones who could afford nothing went off to live.

It was nothing more than the worst sort of insult but Malik, his teeth pink with blood, said it like it was a badge of honour.

Altair thought, the witch must be looking to humiliate their family and kingdom by forcing him to marry, not only a peasant, but a possible criminal as well. He stood up and only then did Malik sit up and wipe his mouth.

Malik licked his lips, grimaced at the taste of blood (and missed the way Altair stared). "Your father is wrong. This arrangement is temporary. After a year my obligation to this charade will be over."

"Why a year?"

"That is between the witch and myself." Malik leaned back on his hands and tilted his head, "I can play nice until then if you can."

Altair nearly smirked, but partway there his mouth changed into a wince. "Are we calling a truce, then?"

The answer he got was a shrug. "Call it whatever you want." He picked up the book and then gathered all the pillows within arm's reach back into his pile. "I just want to sleep."

~ + ~

They began to ignore each other after that. Altair was usually gone by the time Malik woke up and Malik made it a practise to not return until after Altair had gone to sleep.

But Altair knew Malik did not sleep right away, because in the nights when he thought no one could hear, he'd crack open a book and quielty sound his way through the pages (he'd guess the words he didn't know and Altair always fell asleep before he could decide if he wanted to bother to correct him). And Malik knew Altair sometimes tossed and turned at night, as if he were having a nightmare (and Malik turned onto his side and told himself he didn't care what a spoiled princeling dreamed of).

~ + ~

The kitchen began to complain about missing silverware, mostly knives. Altair, being prince, was notified of the issue and how no one could find the culprit.

Altair found their thief at the back of the stables, hurling cutlery at a tree.

"It's not as if you can't afford to buy more." Malik said as he walked over the pull the knives out of the bark. The holes were mostly collected in the same fist-sized area with only a few landing outside of it.

They didn't speak, but Altair stayed until Malik turned and threw the knife at him. It flew over his shoulder and buried itself in the wood wall of the stable with a solid thunk. "What are you staring at?"

Swordsmanship was something expected of the prince, but he was kept away from other forms of combat. Knife throwing was considered dishonourable. Something more fitting for an assassin than a prince.

So he said, "teach me how to do that."

Malik's brow went up as Altair turned around and pulled the knife back out. He walked it back to Malik and held the handle out to him. He hesitated to take it but then grabbed it.

"I'm not going to coddle you. If you can't stand the thought of being yelled at then you should leave."

But Altair didn't leave. Even when Malik insulted the way he couldn't seem to hold his wrist right, even when his arm ached from the unfamilalir movements he still stayed until the sun was nearly setting.

It was Malik who finally said, "let's call it a day. It's time for dinner."

~ + ~

Altair thought about offering to teach Malik to read, but there was a realization he came to between getting into bed and falling asleep, that said if Malik had wanted his help he would have asked for it already.

~ + ~

They were married during an oddly warm autumn that led into a bitingly cold winter.

"We could find you another room where you won't need to sleep on the floor."

Whatever deal he had made with the witch must have prevented him from accepting because Malik rolled his eyes and said, "I can handle a bit of cold. Not all of us are used to sleeping in beds with think blankets."

But the palace was high up in the mountains where the cold seeped into your bones and the first night the temperatures dropped to winter conditions, Malik was shivering from his spot on the floor. Altair could hear his teeth chatter, and he sat up.

"Malik."

"What?" He glared at Altair. "I'm trying to sleep."

Altair lifted the blanket in invitation, shivered at the cold and waited patiently as Malik stared. Pride battled against the temptation of warmth Altair offered and eventually lost.

Malik's body slipped under the blanket like a cold breeze. He kept his distance from Altair. Right before he fell asleep he said, "thank you."

~ + ~

The next night, Malik had the servants bring up a pile of furs. "I told them I was restless before I slept and did not want to bother your sleep." Was his explanation when he caught Altair frowning at him. "Our sleeping arrangement remains between us."

That was good because if his father ever realized they slept separately he'd never hear the end of it. (All the same, he couldn't help but be disappointed.)

~ + ~

They only shared a bed once more that year, weeks later when Altair had been caught in the grips of a nightmare (of drowning. Always it was the water closing in, filling his mouth and lungs until there was no room for air and--)

"Altair." There was a hand at his shoulder shaking him and Altair grabbed it like it was a lifeline, his grip tight enough that he could hear Malik's bones creak. Instead of complaining, Malik only said his name again, more softly. "You were dreaming. You're safe."

Altair released him, slowly, waited to be mocked only to find Malik's hand stroking over his hair.

He did not ask what he had dreamed about and Altair did not say. But Malik followed when Altair dragged him down into bed with him.

In the morning he'd be embarassed by the needy way he'd grabbed a hold of Malik (so it was just as well Malik had extracted himself from the bed long before Altair was awake), but in that moment, he hadn't wanted to be left alone.

~ + ~

He brought Malik a horse when the snow was thick and furs as well as a reliable pair of boots were necessities.

It was an even tempered mare with a lineage to be proud of. He wasn't sure how much Malik could appreciate her quality, but he seemed awed at the sight of her.

"She's yours." Altair said and watched the way Malik's eyes turned even wider (horses were rare in the poor district, even when there were any they tended to be old, sickly things maybe better suited to the slaughterhouse than to be ridden).

"....I do not know how to ride a horse." Malik admitted, as he reached for the horse as if he were afraid he was going to be bitten.

Altair took his hand in one of his. Malik's fingers were indistinct under the padding of the glove but Altair could feel the way his fingers twitched beneath it as he pressed it asgainst the horse's nose, "Then I'll teach you."

~ + ~

In return, because Malik hated to owe anyone anything, he taught Altair how to cut purses.

"Though I can't imagine what you'd do with this skill. You are a prince. What could you possinly need to steal?"

And Altair said nothing.

~ + ~

Spring was slow to arrive but Malik's pile of furs grew smaller as the days grew longer again.

It was still cold enough for him to wrap himself in furs as he read by what little light remained in the hearth and Altair watched him surreptitiously as he did. Some dying coal in the hearth crackled as Malik was trying to sound out a particularly long word and it made him jump, pulling the book close to his chest.

He looked up (to see if it had woken up Altair) and Altair hadn't anticipated the move fast enough to feign sleep again.

They were left staring at each other in mute shock, both of them caught in the act of something they weren't yet ready to talk about.

"What?" Malik shrunk back and he clutched the book more tightly. "Why are you awake?"

Altair got out of bed and moved like Malik were a skittish rabbit, ears perked up and ready to flee. What he had learned in the last months was that if he said anything wrong, Malik would clam up.

Malik did not run, but was supicious even when Altair slowly reached out and touched the book's spine, hooked his fingers over the top and slowly pulled it back down into Malik's lap.

"This is how you pronounce this word--"

He was surprised when Malik relented, breahed more easily when Malik settled beside him, even allowing Altair a space beneath his blanket of furs as they slowly worked their way through a book that was probably too hard for someone who was just learning to read.

(But Malik helped lay him down when he nodded off, and they slept like that, with a book between them and by the dying hearth).

~ + ~

"I have a brother." Malik said when they were stuck inside due to the first spring rain. Altair looked up from the trade agreement his father had told him to follow up on. Malik's forehead was pressed against the glass, looking a far cry from the skinny, filth-covered youth he'd been when he came to the castle. There was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips that seemed too private to be shared.

And yet, he tilted his head away from the window to look at him when Altair said nothing.

"Do you miss him?"

Malik looked outside again, and maybe his thoughts taking him far away (but maybe because Altair's participation in the conversation reassured him). "I will see him again." Was apparently his idea of an answer.

(And Altair thought, it the disappointment that shot through him seemed out of place in this moment).

~ + ~

Winter saw them spending far too much of their days indoors, but by the time the weather turned warm, Altair deemed Malik competent enough to ride out into the forest and they were often found together outside. Even when they didn't take the horses out, it was easy enough to find them in the gardens

The landscape seemed to change daily until the buds that grew on the barren winter branches settled into being mature, green leaves. The changes in the gardens were as fasinating for Malik (who had never seen so much green in one place) to watch as the careful way he walked through the garden, touching all the young shoots and the blushing pink flower buds was for Altair

~ + ~

It was late spring when Altair found out about Malik's birthday.

Mostly because the palace had begun to prepare to celebrate it.

"You never said anything." He said while Malik was rearranging his fingers to correct his grip on the knife.

"I wasn't aware it mattered so much." Malik stepped back, "there. Try throwing it again. Like how I showed you."

~ + ~

There was a large feast the night of Malik's birthday that he didn't really appreciate. (He did not enjoy feasts but tolerated them.)

Afterwards, back in the privacy of their room, Altair handed him a wrapped set of throwing knives.

"You shouldn't have." Malik said as he pulled one out. Altair didn't listen to his words, knowing that Malik was not often honest with them, but focused on the way his fingers cradled the blade, the way he tested it for balance and the smile that lit up his eyes even as it met resistence in settling in the curved of his mouth. "Thank you."

"You're wselcome."

~ + ~

Malik did not ask when Altair's birthday was because it was a public holiday.

If it were as easy to figure out what to get him.

~ + ~

Altair was tied up with the trade agreements by mid-summer, which neatly dropped an oppurtunity into Malik's lap.

That he then promptly threw into Altair's lap.

"What is this?" He said as he pulled open the leather pouch Malik had thrown at him.

"A birthday gift." Malik said as Altair unrolled the parchment. "I had considered working in town to get some money to buy you something, but this seemed more practical."

Altair's mouth quirked up in a smirk. "You stole this?"

"What a stupid question." Malik said with a roll of his eyes. "Will this give you leverage in the upcoming trade talks?"

Altair rolled the paper up again. "It will."

And Malik had never felt more pleased by his own success than when Altair took his hand and thanked him.

~ + ~

Altair hadn't thought much about the anniversary of their wedding, or the agreed upon one year of forced marriage they had both decided to endure.

It was easy to forget when he was busy arguing with Malik about the whether or not table manners were important.

(Altair had never been in favour of them. He expected Malik to agree, but he seemed to care more for appearances than Altair had ever managed to.)

But then, there was Malik, who had a list of things he could or should take with him in his head and a bag buried in the pile of pillows he had thought would be useful.

When he finally grew tired of thinking about it, he said, "I'm not sure where I'd put a horse. We don't have a stable and even if we did I think she'd be stolen and sold overnight." He was reading with far more fluency now with Altair's help, but the words didn't make an impression on him tonight.

Altair's arm, that had settled so naturally on his waist drew him closer. "Well." He said slowly, "I could always settle you somewhere else. Somewhere with a stable where no one will steal your horse. Or your boots." Because Malik had become inordinately fond of footwear that could be worn out without fear that it would wear out in a matter of days.

"Where would that be?"

"The rich district is nice. But if you want the best security there is nowhere better than the castle."

"Are you telling me to stay?" If Malik had wanted to be convincing in his sarcasm he might have tried not leaning into the curve of Altair's body until they fit snugly against each other.

"If you want." Altair shrugged. "I just realized, we've been married for a year and I've never even kissed you."

Malik arched a brow, "well. It hasn't been a year yet. We could still fix it."

"Yes," Altair's hand rested on Malik's cheek, "we could."

~ + ~

They had not kissed at their wedding. It was clear to the entire court that married was the last thing they wanted to be. Making them kiss in public would have been pushing an already strained situation and it was possible one of them would have bitten the other person's tongue off.