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tetsupeach · 2 years

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All Must Descend

prince bakugou x f!reader

summary - you pass an eventful night in the dungeon as bakugou reckons with what your appearance means for stability at court. sir kirishima shows his hand.

cws - game of thrones au, same tone as the show. murder, violence, political intrigue, smut, magic, old gods, new gods, choking, true love, lore, allusions to torture, prophecy, reader has brown eyes. dom!bakugou. sub!reader.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 - updates on fridays

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Prince Bakugou kicks the dusty path in the garden, frowning so hard that deep caverns are forged in his brow, when Kirishima finds him.

“That bad?” He asks quietly.

“I don’t even recognize her.” Bakugou says in a low growl. “She says it won’t rain until we have the churches blessing, and we can’t get gods grace without Amathar’s heir, without her true power my power is fuckin’ useless apparently.” Kirishima nods. “She just repeats it over and over again, Gods Grace,” he mutters, “It’s every fuckin’ word out of her mouth. Maybe my whole family’s crazy, maybe the stories are true, that every leader who sits on the throne of Yuuei is destined for goddamn madness.”

He kicks the gravel path again, the dust gathering at the bottom of his more court appropriate clothing, simple for a prince, but still obviously made of the finest materials, a pair of dark brown trousers, a loose white shirt and leather boots. There's a ceremonial jeweled sword at his hip that he doesn’t take his hand off of while he paces.

“You aren’t.” Kirishima says fiercely. “I’d stake my life on it. And your power is more than enough, you’re unmatched on the battlefield, even when you’re not wielding holy fire.” Bakugou shrugs off the praise, not meeting his friend’s eyes.

“What does it say that I don’t want to walk around my own fuckin’ castle without bein’ armed,” he looks up at the sky, dappled with diamond twinkling stars. Kirishima sighs.

“Court’s dangerous, right now, but not for you, Bakugou-”

“I’m not worried about me,” he says, pain creeping into his voice like ivy up a wall, “I’m worried about you, about the people I love, and the people,” he gestures to the city, “The people out there. They’re starvin’ and the only thing I can get the Queen to say about it is that when we find Amathar’s bastard things will get better.” Bakugou spits on the ground. “And now I gotta face that girl, from today. My men killed her family. What the fuck am I supposed to say to her about that?”

“All you can do is tell the truth.” Kirishima reaches out and touches his friend's upper arm. “All you can do is tell her you’re sorry, which you are, and that you’ll do what you can for her.”

“How is she?” Bakugou asks and Kirishima thinks again of the sound of your aching dry sobs, bouncing off the walls of the dungeon.

“Afraid.” Kirishima says quietly. “She’s terrified.”

“My mother wants to meet her.” Bakugou says very quietly. “I convinced her to wait until we’d conducted the ritual to see if she’s a descendent of Nahelenia.”

“I talked to her,” Kirishima says, “I don’t think she’s a spy, or anything at all even. She was probably just lashing out at us because she’s afraid.” Bakugou nods, a hand coming to rest over his heart.

“I can still feel the way she was holdin’ onto me as we rode into the city. I can’t,” He presses his lips together, “I can’t, I don’t know what to say to her. Of course she fuckin’ hates me, but I, I feel like I owe it to her to make sure she lives through this.” He looks out across the moonlight garden, white flowers practically growing in the blue light.

“Well, you do.” Kirishima shrugs. “She’s just not making it easy. I’ll take her down to see what might await her, if she doesn’t behave, and that’ll help. But you could always try being,” Kirishima searches for the right words. “Being kind, to her.” Bakugou groans.

“I can’t accommodate her mouth,” He shakes his head, “Or it’ll get her killed. I gotta break her for her own safety.”

“Well and,” Kirishima grins, “As far as problems go, at least she’s one with a pretty face huh?”

“Don’t wanna hear shit about it,” Bakugou starts and Kirishima flashes his palms.

“I’m just saying, maybe once she understands her place here, she’ll be able to show you a little gratitude-” Bakugou swats at his friend. “Bakugou, forgive me, but I��ve never seen a woman ride on your horse.”

“I’m not talkin’ about her.” Bakugou snaps. “I didn’t want her holdin’ your sorry ass at knifepoint again, speakin’ of, if you think we’re not gonna talk about how some peasant girl got the drop on you you’re out of your goddamn mind.” Kirishima blushes.

“I,” he thinks about it, “No there’s not way around it I uh, I underestimated them. None of the women have ever resisted us before. I wonder where she learned to fight.” He pauses, surveying the gardens, attempting to change the subject. “It’s so green here in the palace , it’s easy to forget the troubles of the outside.” Bakugou nods, then an a cloud crosses his face.

“None of the guards touched her?” He asks, and Kirishima nods, teasing smile back on his face.

“She’s not a virgin though, said she’s a widow. Not that you’ve ever shown a preference for virgins, as long as a woman is well behaved.” Bakugou spins on his heels, eyes ablaze with anger and Kirishima flashes his palms, “My king.”

“Yeah that’s right,” The prince snaps, “Remember your goddamn place just in the nick of time.” Kirishima giggles. “S’not funny, you tease me about that shit in front of Queen Mitsuki and she’ll order me to behead you right there.” Kirishima shakes his head, shivering.

“I never speak in front of the Queen.”

“Probably a good move these days.” He stretches a little. “Prophecy said no children, didn’t mention virgin. But uh, I think-”

“Prince Bakugou,” a cool voice breathes, cutting through the silence, Kirishima jumps but Bakugou contains his surprise at being snuck up upon.

“Primogen Tobita.” Bakugou says gruffly, and the older man bows to the Prince and nods to his knight. “Not very priestly of you to be eavesdroppin’.” Kirishima keeps his face neutral, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, but the tall, grey haired man just laughs warmly.

“I’m far too old to be overhearing conversation that isn’t happening right in front of my eyes.” He’s a tall man, though both Bakugou and Kirishima have a few inches on him. His long grey hair is parted down the middle, and despite his claims of age his eyes sparkle with the youth and mischief of a young man. “Though I did hear you had quite an adventure today.” He presses. “I’d love to meet the young woman you liked so much she earned a spot on your saddle.”

“She was trouble.” Bakugou growls. “I needed to keep an eye on her.”

“Well either way, you caught me on my way to the dungeon to pay her a visit.” Bakugou and Kirishima exchange a glance.

“I’ll accompany you.” Kirishima offers. “Someone of your age shouldn’t be wandering the maze of the dungeons, you’ll need an escort.”

“Certainly you’re not worried,” he touches his chest, “About the intentions of a man of the church, who the gods have chosen, are you?”

“I can assure you his only concern was for your safety.” Bakugou says, practically spitting the words. “How fares my mother, Primogen?” The primogen sighs theatrically.

“Overtaken by visions and headaches. Hopefully we’ll find Amathar’s heir soon.” He clasps his hand together. “Perhaps it will be the girl you found today. Excuse me.” He pushes past the group and Bakugou sighs deeply, gesturing to the redhead.

“Follow him.” Kirishima nods, and slips into the darkness. Bakugou re enters the castle, servants scurrying out of his way, determined to see his mother in private. The throne room is filled with the usual lords and ladies, post dinner they’re dancing and drinking to tinkling music, warbling out from a drunken flute player. His mother is in the thick of them, long blond hair braided down her back, cup of wine in her right hand, eyes glassy and far off as she sits on her throne, ignoring the nobles speaking to her. She waves them away at the sight of her son.

“Katuski,” she breathes, reaching for him, “I’ve had the most horrible dream,” he nods, allowing her to hold him close as she stands, leaning heavily against his solid form, “About snakes,” she whispers, “First the wells will dry and then there will be snakes, if we cannot bring peace between our nations. We must find Amathars daughter, please, Katsuki, promise me you won’t stop looking.” He glances around, there are several fountains spitting clear cool water in just the throne room alone, but he couldn’t help but remember how dusty and dry the city had been while riding through it earlier. He nods.

“Of course.”

“And the girl, the girl from today?” She asks, “When can she be tested?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Bakugou replies. “She’s in the dungeon for tonight.” His mother shudders, taking another sip of wine. “I could get you some water?’ He offers gruffly, but she shakes her head, sitting back on the throne, nearly falling asleep immediately.

“I want to meet her.” She says absentmindedly. Bakugou nods again.

“Tomorrow.” He turns abruptly and leaves, not wanting to witness his mother passing out, drunk on her throne.

The moon is high in the night sky when the Primogen makes his way down the steps to the dungeon, moving deep within stone hallways. You’re finally completely dry and asleep against the wall, breathing softly, when the clang of your cell door opening wakes you.

“Hello, there.” Primogen Tobita greets you, and you cower, remembering the Knight’s warnings. He’s tall, about the same height as the prince, with grey hair slicked back from his face, and cool dark eyes. His facial hair is neat, trimmed into a tiny little moustache and just a bit of beard at the end of his chin. His robes are dark and billowing, completely obscuring his silhouette. “No need to be afraid.” He says smoothly. “My name is Primogen Tobita, heretic.” You avert your eyes instinctively. “I understand that you may not want to be disrespectful,” he says, “But I would prefer you look at me.” You lift your head to him, and his breath catches in his throat, your dark eyes clearly visible in the torchlight. “That,” he mutters, to himself, “Is concerning.”

“Sir?” You say quietly, picking the honorific you think is least likely to get you in trouble. You scoot away from him, pressing your back against the stone wall.

“Do you have a name?” You nod. “You have my permission to speak.” He says and you shrug.

“I do have a name.” You answer instinctively and he reaches down and slaps you hard across the face, his rings scratching your skin as stars bloom behind your eyes.

“Try again.” he says, still completely composed.

“F/n.” You choke out, now completely crumpled in the corner. “Please I-” You stop yourself, noticing how he wipes his hand after touching you, your blood on his white handkerchief.

“A follower of the sea goddess.” He mutters. “I should have known, they don’t train their women properly.”

“Do not touch her again.” A voice from behind him makes you both jump, as Kirishima strides into the cell. “You could have just struck royalty, Primogen.” He kneels next to you with a clean rag, dabbing at the blood on your cheek with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in your chest.

“I’m simply wondering what kind of witchcraft she used to bewitch the prince!” Primogen Tobita stutters, his pert nose crinkling. “I’ve never seen Prince Bakugou so, distracted, in court today when I suggested she be put to death for threatening your life he was,” he pauses, dramatically resting a hand over his heart, “Beside himself. He’s clearly besotted.”

“Prince Bakugou was troubled by the violence our soldiers demonstrated against the townspeople of her small village.” Kirishima says, an edge to his voice, “He knows this kingdom owes her a debt.” There’s a brief pause as he stands facing the Primogen.

You’re struck again by how large he is, the wide span of his shoulders might at a different angle completely obscure Primogen Tobita from your view.

“Thing is, Sir Shinsou spoke with some of the soldiers, who have been regularly attending the masses you lead for the common people.” He takes a step forward, but Primogen Tobita doesn’t step back, “And they told him that you’ve been encouraging soldiers to grant heretics salvation,” he says, his voice now low and threatening, “At the end of their swords.” Primogen Tobita doesn’t miss a beat.

“Clearly, it was a metaphor.” He says, crossing his arms, “For rebirth in death, in the light of the gods.”

“Clearly,” Kirishima takes another step towards him, and this time the older man has the grace to scoot backwards an inch across the stone floor, “That metaphor cost many lives. I trust you will correct this this weekend at service.” The Primogen swallows. “Or,” Kirishima’s fist closes around the hilt of his sword. “I will correct it, for you.”

“Are you threatening me, Sir Kirishima Eijirou?” Primogen Tobita gathers his robes, performatively scandalized, but the knight just chuckles, a slow grin spreading across his handsome face.

“I am, Primogen. I thought you were educated enough to understand that without explanation.” There’s an awkward pause.

“You forget yourself, Sir Kirishima.” Tobita leans forward. “Aeds good favor, once lost, is difficult to regain.”

“I think me and my sword will do just fine.” At that the Primogen sweeps off in a huff and as soon as his back is turned Kirishima looks back at you.

“Was that smart?” You whisper. “Threatening him?”

“It would take a hundred men to take me alive, and more to kill me.” Kirishima says grimly, inspecting you. “I was gonna do this tomorrow, but I need you to understand what can happen to you if you mouth off to men like him.” You swallow, mouth pressing into a tight line.

“I’m not afraid of death.” You whisper, and he frees one of your wrists, handing you his skein of water. You drink quickly, and he helps you to your feet.

“There are things,” he says, leading you out of the cell, “Worse than death.” He offers you his arm, and you take it, your feet bare on the cool stone. He leads you deeper in the dungeon. “I’m not asking for your cooperation anymore.” He says, as you turn a corner, a note of desperation in his voice. “I’m demanding it.” He pushes open a heavy door before you can respond, and the smell of blood and smoke fills your nose. It’s a torture chamber, odd twisting metal, heavy leather whips, a wheel with leather straps on it, turning slowly over a fire. It’s unoccupied. He lets you step forward, your eyes like saucers as you inspect the space, running your hands over the metal spikes that come away with flakes of red dried blood. “I wouldn’t touch anything.” You nod, withdrawing your hands back into your body, genuine fear returning to you.

“You want to help me?” You ask, your voice soft.

“I’m in your debt.” He says simply, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “No harm should have come to your family.” You swallow nervously.

“I would like to, avoid this.” You step back towards him. “I’ll work on um, my demeanor, I can cooperate, if it keeps me from this room.” He notices your hands trembling, and it tugs at him.

“My lady,” he says, reaching for you, pulling you into his chest and rubbing comforting circles in your back, feeling you tremble. “We will protect you, alright if you just-”

“You shouldn’t be alone with her like this.” The purple haired knight from earlier steps into the room from a side door, sending your heart into a sprint.

“I’m not-” Kirishima sputters, “Shinsou you know I wouldn’t-” He grins, waving away the protests.

“You’re trouble.” Shinsou says, inspecting you with a clinical air. His eyes match his hair, and they flick from your waist to your chest, and then back to Kirishima, without stopping at your face. “You didn’t put her with the others, did you?”

“She didn’t have a group so I locked her up alone in the overnight cell.” Kirishima says defensively. “Bakugou likes her, he wouldn’t want her to-”

“So bring her to his bed,” Shinsou interrupts him. “Or follow orders. You’re too soft on them.” You open your mouth, remember the room you're standing in, and close it. Shinsou breaks into a wide smile, “Oooh did he scare you into submission?” You don’t respond, skin prickling with goosebumps in the cool of the dungeon. “Poor little mouse,” he growls, “First time in a trap?”

“Don’t play with her.” Kirishima pushes himself in front of you, he’s got a few inches on Shinsou, and he squares his shoulders, “She’s not either of ours.”

‘That’s right.” Shinsou counters. “So I’m going to take her up to where the other women were held, rather than the comfortable overnight cell.” He rolls his neck. “Get out of my way.” Kirishima flashes his palms and steps aside, letting Shinsou take you roughly by your upper arm, leading you out of the torture chamber, back the way you came. You try biting them back but you can’t stop the words that flow from your lips,

“If that wasn’t supposed to be where I was being held, then how did that priest find me?” Both men freeze, and turn to you.

“A guard showed him where you were, right?” Kirishima says, “I had to keep my distance, so I didn’t see but,”

“No.” You confirm. “He came alone.” Shinsou laughs darkly.

“Trouble.” He half whispers, half sings. “Shall we check on her cell?” Kirishima nods, and the two men draw their swords. They walk in a defensive formation, Shinsou’s eyes narrowed, Kirishima’s jaw set. He rounds the corner before your cell and you hear the clang of metal against metal. Kirishima’s sword collides with another man’s blade, leaping behind Shinsou, hiding your face in his back. Kirishima quickly disarms the assailant, who is dressed fully in black.

“What is the meaning of this?” Primogen Tobita strolls out of your cell, “Unhand that man, the gods have chosen him for a purpose!’”

“What might that be, Primogen?” Shinsou asks casually, leaning against the stone.

“I had a dream,” he says, gesturing with his jewel encrusted hand, “Nahelenia herself came to me, and said I must speak with that woman,” he points at you, “Alone, that she had a secret to tell.”

“So you sent someone with,” Shinsou glances down at the man on the ground, clutching a dark blade, “A poisoned dagger, to speak with her?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The Primogen huffs. “And I’ll speak with the maiden now.” He holds out a hand, but you don’t take it. “Are you going to defy an order of the church?” He purrs, and you look up at Kirishima, asking for help, but it’s Shinsou that comes to your rescue.

“Actually, we’re here to take her to the castle. Royal Order.” His voice is a low gravel. “You may speak with her tomorrow, after the ritual.” The Primogen scowls.

“If Prince Bakugou requires company, there are a number of courtesans-”

“Actually,” Shinsou cuts him off. “It’s the Queen who asked to speak with her.” If the Primogen is surprised, he doesn’t show it, simply bowing deeply. “And if you’re lucky, I won’t tell her what you said about her son, and,” his lips curl into a sneer, “Courtesans.” He turns to you, offering you his arm. You take it, avoiding eye contact with the Primogen and his man. When you get out of the dungeon, into the night, Kirishima lets out a long breath.

“Fuck,” he says, “Holy fucking shit.”

“You're welcome.” Shinsou sheaths his sword, shaking his head at the other Knight. “One of these days you’re going to have to learn how to play politics.” He says to the redhead who looks sheepish, leading you up the stairs out of the dungeon. Shinsou walks behind you, one hand tightly enclosed around your upper arm.

“I just,” Kirishima sighs, “I get nervous, about church stuff.”

“Was that man going to kill me?” you cut in, eyes wide, and the two knights look at you.

“Almost certainly.” Shinsou says, as if it was stupid that you asked. You nod slowly, and Kirishima opens the door, letting you out into the garden. It’s so early in the morning that the sky is lightening in the east.

“Do we need to take her to the Queen?” Kirishima asks, and Shinsou snorts.

“Queen’s passed out drunk. Just get her ready for the ritual.” He stretches a little. “If the church is worried, maybe she’s the one?” Kirishima nods, looking you over again. “You sure you know who your father is?” You consider, teeth closing on your lower lip.

“Fairly sure, Sir.”

“Sir,” Shinsou cackles, repeating you. “Credit where credit is due, Kirishima, seems like you did a good job scaring the girl. Kirishima rolls his eyes.

“Give her here,” He says, and Shinsou releases you, letting you walk, bare feet in the dirt, over to Kirishima. “We’re headed there.” He points to a tower, “It’s important that you don’t speak to anyone who doesn’t speak to you, alright?” You nod emphatically, and Shinsou scrutinizes you.

“She’s gonna get herself executed in less than a week.” He turns his back on the two of you, “Try not to go down with her.” You swallow a bitter taste, your stomach growling, and let Kirishima lead you through another big pair of double doors, through what must be servants' quarters, people are just starting to wake up. He takes you up a back staircase, it’s narrow and rickety, you nearly trip over the hem of your dress a few times, but he just catches you, large hands closing around your waist and lifting your body into an upright position. You’re tired, your head is buzzing, your stomach aching but you can only assume the lack of food has been intentional. He pushes through a door, and there are squeals.

“Kirishima!” A woman with long dark hair, dressed head to toe in white, “Out, out out,”

“I’ve got the next girl, though!” He protests, “And this isn’t your room, it’s just the tower's antechamber.” You step out from behind him and find yourself engulfed in a warm hug. The woman smells like cedar and patchouli. She takes you by the shoulders, ignoring him.

“I heard you had to bathe in the knights quarters,” She shudders, “How positively dreadful.” Kirishima rolls his eyes.

“It was fine. But ah, if you could be nice to her, that would be excellent.” He says, “I’m afraid she’s only seen the worst of Yuuei so far.” The woman nods, still inspecting you.

“So, girl, singular?” She raises her eyebrows. Kirishima presses his lips together, considering.

“Yeah, you know what Momo,” His fist closes around your upper arm hard enough to bruise. “Can you do what you’re gonna do with her bound?” Momo frowns, blinking a few times. Clearly she woke up only a few minutes ago, there’s still the glassy look of dreaming in her dark eyes. You look around, taking in your surroundings while she considers. The room in the tower is light and airy, large windows allow for the shards of sunlight to paint the oak wood floors with warm golden patterns of sunrise. It seems a uniquely feminine space.

"I don't know," Momo looks troubled, "Is she dangerous?"

“I’ll be good,” you interrupt, looking up at him, “Sir.” Kirishima still looks troubled.

“They’re priestesses of Aed,” he explains, turning to you, “They’re not warriors.” He rubs his chin. “You’ll behave?” You nod emphatically and Momo’s dark arching brows knit together.

“What did she do?” She asks, and a grin blooms across Kirishima’s face, he runs his fingers through his coarse red locks.

“Oh, held me at knifepoint, among other things.”

“That’s it!” You squeak, turning around to look at him, “That’s really the only thing I’ve-”

“She’s committed verbal treason and blasphemed about every five minutes, don’t listen to her.” Kirishima says, thinking, but to your surprise, Momo giggles.

“I can understand a little treason. Prince Bakugou is,” a little smile plays on her lips, “He takes some getting used to but he’s a good man.” Kirishima winces, and Momo watches the joy drop from your face as you give a little shake of her head.

“I won’t,” your teeth close on your lower lip. “I don't think-”

“There was an unfortunate incident yesterday.” Kirishima says quietly. “Some of his soldiers burned down her village. Her father is dead.” You bite back your immediate responses, an unfortunate incident, your father wasn’t dead, he was murdered. Murdered. Killed. Taken from you. Momo's shoot open, understanding immediately.

“You’re powerless here,” she says quietly, and the change in her tone takes you by surprise. She inspects you again, your unkempt appearence, the pain she can see deep in your eyes. “You and I have that in common. You’re a smart woman.” You realize it’s one of the first times you haven’t been called a girl, despite being well past your twentieth winter. “I can’t do anything for you. You won’t be able to escape the castle by hurting me, or any of the other priestesses. You know this.” You nod. “No need to bind her.” Momo says smoothly. “Now get out. Men aren’t allowed in our tower, not that the Kingsguard doesn't flaunt our rules at every opportunity.”

Kirishima ducks back through the door way apologetically, waviing a farewell and Momo sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You’re powerless?” You ask, interrupting her annoyance with the Knight. She nods.

“Priestesses of Aed surrender their lives to the god of flame.” She says. “I’ve given up my entire future to be here, to serve him and the old magic of Yuuei.” You swallow. “It means I’ll never have to marry, I can refuse summons to court, I can travel, it comes with a measure of freedom. But no power, politically speaking.” You nod and she leads you further into the tower, into a room lined with fragrant cedar. There’s a tub, she turns a spigot and it starts to fill with water. “I’ll give you some oils and whatnot, you can take a bath in there,” she gestures over her shoulder, “And I’ll give you a ceremonial dress.”

“One powerless person to another, then,” you ask. “What happens after the ceremony, if I’m not royalty?” Momo looks pained.

“Right now the women are being held in the tower after we determine that they aren’t King Amathar’s daughter. I understand you spent the night in our overnight cell, it’s not um,” she opens a door, “The tower is a touch less comfortable. But not so bad!” You nod and she opens a cabinet, handing you a glass bottle. You unscrew the lid, it smells of freesia and lavender. “Clean yourself to the best of your ability and then some of the priestesses of Aed will be by to style your hair. She leaves then, closing the door behind her, you hear it lock.

You wiggle out of the dress Kirishima gave you and step into the warm water, luxuriating in it. The bath is soft and pleasant, and lying in the warm water is the most comfortable you’ve been in days. You clean yourself until the water gets tepid. Then you cover your body with your hands and knock of the door.

The rest of the preistesses, Jirou and Mina, wrap a clean linen dress around your body and work a comb through your tangled hair, styling it and braiding flowers that you recognize from the garden on the grounds into the braids. The flowers themselves smell soapy and clean and between that and the bath you imagine you must be thoroughly perfumed. The preistesses speak around you for the most part, talking about court gossip, about a few vassals who were late on their taxes, a few wives cheating on their husbands, a few mistresses, what the newest clothing trends were.

“What about you,” Mina asks cheerfully, and it takes you a second to realize that she’s speaking to you. “Did you have a sweetheart, or lover, in your village?” You clear your throat.

“I’m a widow.” You say quietly, and her kind dark eyes fill with concern. “It’s ah, it’s alright.” You say quickly. “I didn’t love him. But, I,” you sigh, “I’ve never been in love, I suppose.”

“Why did you marry him, then?” Mina chirps, and Jirou looks at her reproachfully. “What, arranged marriages aren’t common among peasants, no offense.” You swallow, flashing back to your wedding, the white dress in the drafty chapel, to the smell of ale on your husbands breath.

“It was an uncommon situation. But yes, it was pre arranged.”

“Maybe you’ll come out of this ritual engaged to Prince Bakugou!” Mina says, with a little laugh. You shudder and there’s an awkward silence. “That’s not so bad,” Mina protests and Jirou speaks for the first time.

“She’s going to end up in the tower, Mina, so if you could not-”

“What’s so bad, about the tower?” You ask, more sharply than you mean to.

“It’s just crowded.” Jirou says quickly. “We’re not supposed to talk about it. And,” She looks at Mina, “We’re not supposed to talk to the women at all.” Mina sighs.

“I’m bored, though, this is boring.”

“Can I ask,” you try to capitalize on this silence, “Can I ask how women become preistesses in Yuuei?”

“Women in Yuuei can’t refuse an engagement.” Jirou explains. “But we can choose the church over marriage.” She adjusts a flower in your hair. “It wouldn’t be an option for you, regardless of the outcome of the ritual, because you arent a citizen.” You nod, and

Jirou helps you into a deep red dress, that dips between your breasts. When you see yourself, in the ceremonial gown, in a crown of red roses and white gardenias, in front of the first mirror you’ve ever seen, you hardly recognize yourself. You bare only a passing resemblance to the girl whos face looked back at you from her pail of well water just a scant few days ago. There’s a soft knock at the doors.

“Oi.” They hear, and scramble get up, “Lemme talk to her.”

“Prince Bakugou,” Momo cries loudly, striding in from another room at the sound of the Prince’s irate voice, “Men aren’t supposed-”

“Really?” He cuts her off, raising his voice. “When my mother dies, I’ll be king. You don’t say no to me.” She blanches, and unlocks the door. He pushes it open and then does a double take. There’s something about the life of the flowers in your hair that matches the expression on your face, his heart beats in a strange new rhythm. “Get out.” He says and the women scatter, darting deeper into the set of rooms. “Kirishima told me an attempt was made on your life.” You shrug.

“Yes, sir.” It’s a pity he’s an oaf, you decide, because Prince Bakugou Katsuki is decidedly handsome, cutting a sharp silhouette, an elegant profile. A pity, that he was cruel, a pity, then, that he was stupid. You eye the sword at his hip, wishing you could drive it into his ribs. “I came to see,” he looks frustrated, dressed in simple clean clothes, hair parted to one side. “I came to make sure you were alright.”

“You feel badly for me.” You move towards him, slowly, trying not to ruin the complex hairstyle and perfectly laid gown. The prince rubs his eyes, the sun is directly behind you in the window, it hurts to look at you too long.

“I feel responsible for you.” He says, shading his red brown eyes with his hand, blinking the the brilliance of the sun. You sigh deeply.

“You know, in the books, Princes have honor.” Your mouth sets in a hard line. “They’re chivalrous, they care for their people.” He looks away. “What are you doing, for the people of your country, out there?” He shrugs, brows knitting together.

“I’m doing what I can. The fuck is it to you?” Annoyance colors his response. You shrug.

“I’d like to know what kind of man I’m at the mercy of,” you say softly. He reaches for you and you instinctively flinch just before his hand brushes your jaw. He traces the outline of a bruise from where you’d been shoved onto the ground the day before.

“I'm not the kind of man who hits a woman unless he's really gotta. I don't do that shit cause I'm angry, or for fun. Don't flinch away from me, and I won't give you a reason to be afraid of me.” He orders and you do your best, trembling under his touch, remembering that his men had said he was descended from a god. “Kiri really scared the shit outta ya, huh?” He rumbles and you turn your head to meet his gaze, realizing how close his face is to yours. He takes the end of your chin, tipping your face up towards his.

“What’s going to happen to me?” You whisper.

“I can’t tell you anything about today.” He holds your gaze.

"What about after?" You breathe, and in the golden light of the early morning you are so breathtakingly beautiful that all words fly from his mind, he opens his mouth to respond and no words come out.

“Excuse me,” It’s Momo, peeking her head back in, saving him. “You have to take her down in a few minutes, and so help me Aed, Prince Bakugou if you’ve undone our careful work-”

“Calm down,” The prince rolls his eyes. “She’s fine”

“I’m, um, I'm sorry,” you chirp, and both of them look at you, “Wait I’m, I apologize, what do I call you? Not sir?” He smirks.

“Your highness, your grace, your majesty,” he shrugs, “Pick. My full title’s pretty long, you’ll hear it when we get down there.” You take his hand and he impulsively pulls you into his body. Standing like that, pressed up against him, it’s a reminder of how physically intimidating he is. You can feel the muscles on his chest through his shirt, and you get the sense that once he’s wrapped a thick, tanned arm around your waist that you wouldn’t possess the strength to free yourself. He crushes a few of the flowers in your hair with his rough movements and Momo scowls.

“Enough manhandling her.” Momo says, shooing him away.

“No,” He turns to Momo angrily, “I'll do what I want with her, she belongs to me-”

“I belong to you?” You retort instinctually, “You think you’re entitled to my body, because your men murdered my family-” You stop yourself, realizing that everyone is staring at you, that Momo looks terrified, that Bakugou looks aghast. “Y-your grace.” You finish, looking down at your hands as he releases you.

“I told you,” and the pain cuts through his bravado, tipping the tone of his pitch higher, “I feel fuckin' awful,” he takes a shuddering breath clearly steadying himself. “It wasn’t on my orders, but it was on my watch so I, I'm sorry.” He mutters. “I won’t be able to make it up to you.” There’s a pause. “Momo stop shakin' like that, I’m not gonna cut ‘er fuckin’ head off in front of ya.” She lets out a long breath and he watches your bravery dissolve into fear.

“Sorry, I,” you bow your head. “I’m sorry, your grace, I just, it’s been difficult, and I'm sorry.” The tears that you’ve been fighting for days prick at your eyes and you wipe them away, “I’m sorry,” you say again. “I'm just alone now, and I'm afraid.” You lift your eyes to him, the last word comes out like more of a whispered plea than an apology. “You can, you can have whatever you want, obviously,” you babble, “You’re royalty, you can take-” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, scowling and speaking sharply, in a timbre you recognize as a direct order.

“You gotta keep your mouth shut or it’ll get you killed. I'm bein' patient because I owe ya one. But anyone else at this castle woulda seen you whipped for talkin' to them like that, and bein' common.” You bow your head and he softens. “We’ll head down if uh,” Momo hands you a handkerchief and you dab at your eyes.

“Thanks.” He offers you his hand for a second time and you take it. This time he gives you your space, letting the gown drag behind you as you both walk down the stairs from the priestesses tower into the main body of the castle. There’s a few minutes of silence.

“Why did you let me on your horse?” You ask, the curiosity burning away at you. He doesn't look at you. “You could have thrown me on the wagon with the things you,” you stop yourself from saying stole, “Acquired.” He lets out a heavy breath.

“I didn’t want any of the soldiers to touch you. I needed to make it clear that you were mine. Or they would have taken you when I wasn’t around.”

"Taken me?" You start, and that gets his attention, the honest surprise in your voice.

"You uh," He takes in your face, reading the genuine surprise. "You ever get out of that village before this?" You shake your head.

"Not often. But I, I'm always shocked by the cruelty humanity is capable of. No matter how many times the fates try and teach me, I never learn." He nods at this, understanding.

"Well, I had ta let 'em know you were mine."

“I’m yours?” You repeat, voice echoing down an empty hallway. The castle is nearly deserted but for a few servants. You can hear what sounds like a large gathering of people ahead of you. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I decided when you held a knife up to my best friend's throat.” He clears his throat. “So when the ritual today is over, you’ll be mine. The other women in the tower will stumble their way back to what’s left of their villages when we find the descendent of Amathar, which we will eventually or my mother will die and I can abandon this useless crusade. But s’not like you have a home to go back to.” He watches pain well in your eyes and kicks himself.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “It hurts, to think about, having nowhere,” the pitch of your voice rises, “Nowhere to go back to.” You stop walking, and lean against the stone wall, closing your eyes. It’s cool against your back.

“No I,” he searches for words, for a phrase, some kind of incantation meant to soothe, but he doesn’t have access to such things, it’s an unwieldy weapon he’s not trained in yet, heavy in clumsy hands. Instead he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. One of his large hands rests on your waist, rubbing a comforting pattern. He can feel your pulse racing beneath your skin. “It won’t be too bad, bein’ here.” He says in his low rasp, and it might be his imagination but you seem to soften at his touch.

“What’s gonna happen when I go in there, your grace?” He starts to lead you down the hallway again and you follow. He looks away from you before speaking again.

“When nothin’ happens, they’ll be some kinda uproar, they’ll take ya to the tower with the others, and I’ll come getcha.” He glances at your trembling hands. “What, marauders in your village no problem, but a little fake ass magic bullshit and you're scared?”

“I was willing to die,” you explain, “To free the others from you, but for myself, now I think I’d like to live, if that’s an option.” He chuckles, catching you as you stumble on the hem of your gown.

“Well don’t try anything that stupid here and you just might live to see winter.” He pulls you through a door into a large main passageway in the castle. The hallway has vaulted ceilings and it’s lit by torches. There are detailed tapestries hanging on the wall, and it must be well ventilated, because you can smell the sweet summer air, the fresh cut grass of the lawn. Your feet are still bare against against the sweet hay scattered on the grey stone. Bakugou’s footsteps echo here, his sword hanging at his hip. He puts one hand on a heavy wooden door, carved with the insignia of his house, a knight carrying a torch. “Don’t say anything.” He growls and you nod. In one fluid movement he opens the door. You jump a mile when trumpets blare, and someone calls loudly.

“Crown Prince Bakugou Katsuki, born under the shattered star, Son of Queen Mitsuki, The Unkneeling, The Great Phoenix, The Dragon Knight, The Lightbringer, your lips twitch as you fight off a smirk at the sheer length of his titles, and he squeezes your hand, a warning. “And F/n L/n, from the village of Damona.” There are chuckles, but you barely hear them. The throne room is huge, arching ceilings hundreds of feet in the air, candles burning, flickering gold and yellow off of the grey stone and the jewels of the gathered courtiers, making every shadow in the room dance.

The throne itself is carved from the mountain's stone, glittering cool grey. The queen is the spitting image of her son, blonde hair threatening to burst loose from her long braid, in a deep red dress, adorned with gold and silver. The crown on her head is heavy and gleaming, with fiery rubies that catch the low light of the flames. The kingdom of Yuuei’s house symbols were everywhere, the knight is on banners and hangings, embroidered onto dresses, woven into the carpet that serves as a pathway to an altar at the center of the great hall. It’s nubby on your bare feet. You can read their house words on a banner over her perch. House Bakugou, From The Ashes, we rise.

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