Chapter Text
The offerings did little more than disappoint him as the night waned on. They were mere trinkets. Empty ornaments that, while dazzling on their surface, held little meaning beyond the superficial. Larger and larger, the pile of gifts arose, ranging from coveted jewels to luxurious fabrics, all of which would be items of envy to most. However, to Mihawk Dracule, the reigning king over the Land of Kurai, each present delivered by those who wished to qualify as a potential suitor lacked in one glaring way: Mihawk was never much of a materialistic man, nor did the objectification of riches appeal to him as it would most of his court officials.
In actuality, Mihawk loathed living in opulence. It was tedious, and the maintenance of sprawling estates and glittering lavishness often called for an even greater expense—all of which could be better allocated elsewhere. Pretty patterns on one’s dress did nothing more than boost the ego, and when it came to pride, Miahwk was already in surplus of it. There was no need to indulge in ritzy displays of wealth when he boasted a plethora of accolades and achievements that gave greater credibility to his name than any fancy headpiece would. However, it seemed most of Mihawk’s would-be suitors were unaware of his stance when it came to pretentious tributes. They must have seen the glory of his manor and the fine fit of his clothes and assumed he was a man who lived an extravagant lifestyle, but while he might have been vain enough to ensure his appearance was never lacking, Mihawk could never be classified under the same pompous standard a vast majority of his kingdom’s nobles subscribed to.
Hair pins and necklaces, draping robes and rings rumored to bring good fortune—he sighed in the face of each gift before vaguely motioning for them to be set aside along with all the others. Over and over again, the cycle repeated. A new nobleman’s son or daughter attempting to curry favor would step up to where Mihawk sat poised in his throne. Almost all were ostentatiously dressed to the extent of being outrageous. It was more of a chore than he thought it would be to restrict himself from showing humor at the out-of-touch fashion trends that often plagued the upper elite, but he managed to maintain his bearing, keeping to his stoicism regardless of the visual atrocities he bore witness to.
But, after several dozen introductions and greetings, Mihawk’s indifference started to bleed into exhaustion. This social charade, mandatory by archaic laws of his kingdom he had yet to overwrite, dragged on for far longer than he initially thought it would. As his endless line of suitors approached, flaunting themselves like peacocks in the process, they would bow at his feet, prostrating themselves with exaggerated declarations of loyalty. The custom was to be followed up with Mihawk’s verbal welcome, and as soon as the suitor’s were given permission to stand, their accompanying servant would reveal whatever item it was they brought to impress.
Mihawk, with his cold yellow eyes as sharp as the black blade he was never without, thinly frowned in judgment, remaining consistently unimpressed as each new bounty was added to the growing collection of all the others.
Finally, when several hours came and went in monotonous succession, Mihawk called forth his trusted advisor in an effort to plead his case for an early night, “This is getting ridiculous Rayleigh. The line of suitors has yet to dwindle, and it is already nearing midnight. How much longer do I have to put up with this?”
Rayleigh, an older gentleman with silver hair and eyes that had yet to lose their bright blue youth, frowned sympathetically, “I’m afraid most of the council would view it negatively if you were to leave now. They think you haven’t been entirely receptive to the idea of a traditional marriage, and that you’re scoffing at a valued custom. It’s probably for the best that you don’t give them any more fuel to their fire, lest there be an outrage at your modernity.”
“Yes, because progression is apparently the doom of us all,” Mihawk muttered darkly, “The old toads should do this kingdom a favor and croak already. Stuck in the past as they are, Kurai will lose pace with the rest of the world at this rate.”
“I understand your frustration, but change will not come overnight. Kurai has always been a country steeped in its traditions. For better and for worse.”
“I know,” came Mihawk’s heavy sigh as he rested his chin against the palm of his hand, “And I would never scoff at our culture, but why is it necessary for me to be married? I am already king, and if I desire a successor then I will choose one just as you chose me. There is no need to produce a biological heir or to share the weight of the crown.”
Mihawk scanned the nameless faces of the dancing crowd in front of him. The banquet hall was lively with music and noise as the wealthiest of their land spun around in frolicking circles. The dances ranged from simple ones that even the children knew, to intricate steps performed only by those properly taught the style. Mihawk had yet to leave his throne to participate. While he wasn’t much on mingling, he did have a particular love for dance, and it was a shame that he was stuck fielding his endless stream of suitors when he could be doing literally anything else.
He sighed again, longing for his bed and the quiet solitude of his room.
“Just bear with it for a bit longer,” Ray urged gently, laying a hand on Mihawk’s shoulder and giving it a kind squeeze, “Perhaps someone interesting will come along before the night’s end.”
“I doubt it.”
Ray huffed out a laugh at Mihawk’s rare display of petulance before he wandered off to grab himself a drink. The prior king of Kurai disappeared quickly into the throng of party-goers, leaving Mihawk alone once again. The next suitor was permitted to approach. Mihawk recognized him as the third son of a wealthy merchant. The boy could barely be considered of age, and as he stuttered through his introduction and clumsily presented his gift, Mihawk could only pity the lad. It was clear a vast majority, if not all, of the admirers he had tonight cared less about him and more about his prestigious position. Whether they wanted his wealth, his title, or his influence, not one of them approached simply because they wanted him .
Of course, Mihawk wasn’t naive enough to expect such romanticism. Marriage among the elite was political in nature. If one was lucky enough to find affection amidst the process, then that was an obviously ideal scenario and not entirely uncommon either. However, marriage was nothing more or less than a way to maintain or elevate one’s station in life. Everything outside of that purpose, such as love, was merely collateral.
Midnight came and went, and finally Mihawk saw some respite on the horizon as the final suitor for the evening presented their gift. The king released a sigh of relief, glad to be done with the hassle. His mind had gone numb about thirty minutes prior, thinking only of what a warm bath might feel like before he retired for the night.
But the party wasn’t over just yet. Now, Mihawk was expected to select a handful of individuals from the pot of suitors, either men or women, to grant them official permission to pursue a courtship. His announcement would officially close out the evening, and thus liberate Mihawk from his kingly duties so that he could recover in the peace of his bedroom. At this point, he hardly cared who he allowed to court him—it was all meaningless anyway—but just as he was about to summon Rayleigh back over to get this charade over with, one final man approached Mihawk’s guard at the last minute.
It was apparent at first glance that this one was different from all those that came before him.
From the stunning shock of bright red hair, to the intricate mask worn to conceal the upper portion of the stranger’s face, whomever approached had already set himself apart as an abnormality.
Mihawk’s glare fell to the assumed suitor, finding himself irritated with the last minute arrival.
“Your highness?” His guard asked, seeking the king’s approval before he allowed the man past him.
Mihawk heavily considered refusing the latecomer, but figured there was no harm in accepting another gift. At the very least, it would make for an added fund towards the schools Mihawk was trying to build in the more rural parts of his country.
“Allow him through, Roronoa.”
His guard followed his instruction and stepped aside to permit the redhead access to the king. The masked man walked forward, and while seemingly easy going, he was shrouded in an air of tangible confidence. Unlike his predecessors, this man was not saturated in jewels and heavy cloaks to assert his status. Instead, he donned a simple pair of dark trousers, a buttoned shirt, and a waistcoat in an effort to attempt formality. Even so, there was something careless about the man’s appearance. He wasn’t messy per say, but upon spying the hint of tanned skin beneath an undone collar and sleeves rolled to the elbow, the word ‘loose’ came to the forefront of Mihawk’s mind.
Another indication of oddity came shortly after the redhead arrived at the foot of the steps leading to Mihawk’s throne. At this point in the process, the suitor was expected to kneel and offer a pledge of both allegiance and admiration, and while the newcomer obliged the latter, he did not even attempt to perform the former requirement.
Without bending in the face of Mihawk’s glare, the redhead greeted coyly, “I’ve heard rumors that the King of Kurai is as beautiful as he is deadly. If the rumors are true, then you must be exceedingly lethal, your highness.”
A white, charming smile accompanied the openly flirtatious words. The praise was uttered in a smooth cadence, paced but not practiced, and made believable due to the redhead’s sincere delivery. Having heard a wide variety of compliments throughout the course of the evening, this was the first that anyone made mention of Mihawk’s notorious skill with the blade. It was refreshing, if not a bit curious. What did this stranger know of Mihawk? The king couldn’t recall a noble or member of the wealthy elite who boasted such prominently red hair, and with the man’s face half disguised, there were no other features Mihawk could use to identify him.
That alone was mildly suspicious. Mihawk, despite his general distaste for social interaction, knew everyone . Information was power, and remaining in the know of who was who and what they did was a point of pride for the king. If the red hair wasn’t generating a name or at least an association, then Mihawk could only assume this newcomer was an outsider.
Not a poor one either , he thought. Though the man dressed down for the occasion, the material of his clothes were of the same caliber that Mihawk himself wore.
Figuring he did enough preliminary scrutinizing, Mihawk cleared his throat and prompted simply, “Well? Is that all?”
His cold tone was met with more of the same sincere grinning from before. The smile was genuine enough to seem kind, but clever enough to allude to the depth of man hidden beneath his mask. Mihawk imagined that smirk probably got the redhead into as much trouble as it managed to get him out of it.
So, an outsider and a troublemaker. Call it intuition, but Mihawk suspected he wasn’t dealing with an ordinary individual, a fact that was proven as the conversation continued.
“This is where I present the tribute, isn’t it?” Came the effortless chuckle as hands slapped at his pockets in lazy haste.
Mihawk made a motion for the redhead to hurry, to which the other obliged by tossing—literally tossing— an object in the king’s direction.
Reflexively, Mihawk caught the trinket without flinching, his fingers clasping around something small and rigid.
“I’m sure you’ve been given enough gold to make you nauseous, but I thought you might find this piece of gold interesting. Consider it a gift from one swordsman to another.”
Mihawk’s ears perked up at that statement as his eyes were instinctively drawn to the golden cross cradled in his palm. Judging by the chain hooked onto the top part of the cross, the gift was a necklace, and while the king had certainly been given enough of those , there was something… different about this one.
Upon closer inspection, Mihawk saw a slight line run horizontally along the upper half of the cross, cutting all away around. With a bit of a pull, the two halves started to slip apart, and with one final tug, Mihawk pried a tiny blade from its golden sheath. It was a utility knife hidden within the cross, with the upper part used as its pommel. The blade itself was only a mere 3 inches, smaller than the palm of his hand, but its edge was sharp and its hue obviously darkened by a curse.
Intrigued, Mihawk couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “What sort of curse does it have?”
“I thought you might pick up on that,” the redhead suavely replied, “A curse of madness. Those who are unable to—“
“—withstand the will of the blade fall prey to insanity.” Mihawk finished without looking up, “I’m aware of the nuances behind sword mythology. There’s no need to explain it.”
Again, the redhead chuckled, “Of course. Forgive me if I overstepped.”
The apology didn’t sound all that apologetic, but Mihawk couldn’t be bothered when he was more fascinated with his hidden blade than anything else he had seen or done tonight. The craftsmanship, regardless of the simple design, was exemplary. Overall, it was a well-forged weapon and one Mihawk was already developing a fondness for as he slipped the knife into its sheath and draped the chain around his neck. It sat perfectly against his sternum, the gold casing cool against his already chilled skin.
Looking up again, Mihawk found the redhead already staring at him in amusement. The man’s mask did little to conceal his expressive eyes as their reddish glint flickered with mirth.
“I take it that I’ve met your standards then?”
“The standard was exceedingly low to begin with,” Mihawk made a vague motion towards the mountain of useless riches lying forgotten to his left, “I would have been more impressed if you had managed to do worse than all the ones that came before you.”
The man’s smile remained genial as he said, “Some might call you ungrateful.”
“Undoubtedly,” Mihawk acknowledged without missing a beat, “But I’m not wasteful. In one way or another, this wealth will be put to use.”
“Oh? How so? Do you plan on building a new estate?”
“Schools.” Came Mihawk’s stiff correction.
If the redhead was surprised by his honest answer, he didn’t make a show of it. In actuality, it was difficult to get a read on the other man beyond surface level pleasantries. That smile, while seemingly real, served to conceal the redhead’s thoughts. Even his tone was carefully calculated to hide his intentions. He maintained a light inflection that was friendly enough to avoid conflict, even if the words said were veiled insults. This was obviously a man skilled in the art of conversation, and Mihawk—despite his intrigue—only felt his suspicions grow.
“You still haven’t told me your name.”
“And ruin the mystery?” Came the easy deflection, “How about I ask you for a dance instead?”
A hand extended out towards Mihawk in invitation.
The man’s stance alone gave off a noble air, which clearly indicated his descent from a well-respected family. However, there was just a touch of a foreign element to the redhead’s manner that Mihawk would describe as blatant disregard for strict propriety—almost as if he’d been trained young, but wasn’t forced to upkeep courtesy throughout his life and thus cared little about it. He skillfully danced the line between being impertinent and bold, teetering on the edge of being perceived as rude, but never quite crossing that boundary of outright offensiveness.
On any other day, Mihawk would have scoffed at the display of arrogance, but he’d been miserable and stuck on his throne all night. A chance to stretch his legs didn’t seem half bad when faced with the proposition.
“Very well,” the king conceded as he stood elegantly and accepted the hand given, “Let’s hope you make for a decent partner.”
The palm that encased and led his own towards the center of the dancing crowd was strikingly warm. Mihawk instantly recognized the calluses of a proper swordsman. The rough edges were almost identical to his own, but the left hand was noticeably far rougher than the right.
He’s left handed . Mihawk concluded.
“Hm, has anyone ever told you that you’re quite the pessimist?”
“I’m only as pessimistic as you are brazen.” Mihawk quipped upon drawing himself close to the stranger’s front.
Due to their proximity, Mihawk noted the slight difference in their height with the redhead beating him by a mere inch of separation. There was also the hint of the sea in the man’s scent, brine and tide coupling in a way that had Mihawk imagining the rolling waves of nearby shores and days spent basking in the sun on open ocean waters. That explained the tan and the attitude. Sea-faring men often cared little for social rules of conduct. Perhaps he was a sailor of some sort? A merchant of trade? Somehow, that didn’t seem quite right, but Mihawk didn’t have a chance to consider the mystery further before he was being swept into his first dance of the night.
And oh, this stranger wasn’t just a decent partner. He made for an excellent one.
In tune to the music, the redhead guided Mihawk around the dance floor, his rhythm impeccable as he met the king step for step. For the style of song playing, the steps for this dance were a touch more intricate, generally only known by those versed in the art of dance, but the redhead didn’t miss a beat and even proceeded to add his own flare to the already flashy movements. Mihawk was dipped, twisted, spun, and lifted, and utterly delighted in his discovery of a dance partner who could match his own skill. Upon realizing that the redhead was just as good as himself, Mihawk loosened up, allowing himself the pleasure of enjoyment as he shamelessly showed off his own flexibility and grace.
When the redhead dipped him with just a single arm secured around Mihawk’s slender waist, the king fluidly leaned into the hold, trusting that he would not be dropped before he was guided back into the other’s embrace. Hands moved freely wherever they wished under the guise of accentuating their movement. From Mihawk’s hips, to his thighs, and even threading through the thick of his dark hair when the king was tugged sensually close to his partner. They locked eyes for a moment, yellow boring into red and vice versa. Mihawk was sure his cheeks were just the slightest bit flushed, pink from both exertion and excitement. Was that a smile he felt tugging on his own lips as well? It very well could be, but he didn’t give the thought another moment of consideration as he followed the red head into another dance, this one slower but no less difficult in its requirement for precision and timing.
Halfway through the current song, the redhead slipped a hand artfully down the line of Mihawk’s back, trailing a flitting touch along his spine before settling scandalously near his bottom.
“Do you fight as well as you dance?” Came the sultry murmur as fingers stilled just before they became inappropriately placed. It was a blatant tease, and gauging by the daring smirk flattering the other man’s lips, the redhead was thoroughly enjoying himself.
Not one to back down when provoked, Mihawk boldly stepped closer, leaving hardly a breath of space between them as he lifted his chin in undaunted determination, “Better in fact,” he revealed proudly, “And you?”
The redhead huffed out a laugh, “I’m a man of many talents, your highness.”
“So it would seem.”
Mihawk knew it was a risk to engage further with this enigmatic stranger. More and more, the king suspected the redhead’s intentions were far from pure, but while Mihawk was keenly aware of the danger he currently danced with, he was having too much fun to turn away from it. Everyone else thus far proved to be terribly boring except for this man. Whatever his purpose, Mihawk figured it mattered little when compared to the stirring of exhilaration coming alive in his blood.
They danced until the second song’s end as the third started up, and by that point they had gathered the attention of nearly everyone in the hall. All eyes were on the enchanting pair, enthralled by the tension igniting between them as they moved in effortless harmony. As the seconds and minutes ticked by, Mihawk itched to unmask this unknown entity and see beneath the flimsy disguise. He wanted a name, but suspected he wouldn’t be bestowed with one anytime soon, and part of him was glad to keep the mystery alive. It would be a sour disappointment if the man underneath all this intrigue failed to live up to the expectation Mihawk built.
“I’m surprised by you, actually,” the redhead confessed when they drew apart to come together again, spinning in a slow, purproseful circle as the music continued its siren-like melody, “An arranged marriage doesn’t suit you.”
Mihawk frowned in agreement, “Apparently, I insult Kurai tradition too much already to refuse this particular custom.”
“And so marrying yourself off is the compromise?”
“It keeps the council from pestering me,” Mihawk admitted, “If I humor their wishes, it’ll give me the freedom to do what I want in return.”
“What is your desire, then?” The redhead prompted gently, hoping for an elaboration.
“Realistically I wish to be left alone, but since that is unavoidable for a king, I’ll settle with progress. The nobles may be snobbish and unbearable, but the people of Kurai are not. If I can champion for their well being, than I will.”
“Seems oddly generous for a supposedly cruel man.”
“Is that how I’m perceived?” Mihawk wondered aloud despite already knowing the answer, “How novel.”
Cruel may have been a stretch, but Mihawk certainly wasn’t nice nor was he known for his mercy if provoked into action. However, in contrast to his fearsome reputation, Mihawk wasn’t needlessly malicious. He preferred to keep to himself, and more than anything he liked efficiency . The simpler things were, the better. Unfortunately, many of Kurai’s laws centered around convoluted tradition, and while there was charm to be found in this country’s culture, it also stagnated the kingdom’s ability to develop. The wealthy didn’t feel repercussions, but the vast majority of their population suffered from lack of economic and social growth. Mihawk tried on several occasions to spearhead a more progressive approach to ruling his kingdom, but was often met with more roadblocks and obstacles than he could handle.
The key was balancing the satisfication of the elite with benefit to the common folk. However, the line was exceedingly thin and difficult to navigate, and it often left Mihawk in a state of constant frustration due to frequent missteps—hence the reason for his near permanent scowling and perputally frigid attitudes.
“It can’t be easy being a king.” The redhead sympathized.
Usually, Mihawk would dismiss any attempt to sound empathetic, but the other man did seem oddly sincere and like he understood Mihawk’s plight personally. His touch was gentler now too, as if striving to provide comfort rather than keep up with the redhead’s flirtations.
The unspoken pity was unnecessary, but Mihawk was appreciative of it nonetheless. It was hard being a king, even more so when the rulers of Kurai were not blood born, but chosen by the previous king or queen instead. Prior to receiving his title, Mihawk was nothing more than a glorified vagabond, wandering the world in search of greater swordsmen to test his strength against. His skill eventually led him to Rayleigh, the previous King of Kurai and a renowned swordsman. Their battle was legendary and still spoken about to this day. At the end of it, when Mihawk stood victorious and barely conscious, he remembered Rayleigh grinning up at him with bloody teeth before he said, “Yeah, you’ll do . ”
There was an uproar upon Mihawk receiving his appointment as Ray’s successor, mostly because Mihawk was not a citizen of the country itself. He had no home, nor an affiliation with any specific homeland. His lack of a credible background enraged the noble elite of Kurai who saw him as little more than a fraud. Mihawk wasn’t thrilled himself, and rejected Rayleigh on several occasions. However, Ray proved to be the last of the great challengers in the world, leaving Mihawk with the title of greatest—a title he always wanted, but wasn’t prepared to actually obtain.
With his lifelong goal achieved, Mihawk was left with nothing to do and little else to invest his time in. At that point, he’d been desperate for anything to get his mind off the listlessness he felt upon realizing there was no one left to fight , and was sucked up into a kingly role before he was even fully onboard with it. Clearly, he’d been manipulated by his predecessor, but Mihawk could only blame himself in the end for letting it happen in the first place.
“Most things in life don’t come easily.” Mihawk revealed wisely, “Not if they’re worth it in the end. I suppose being a king isn’t an exception to that belief.”
“And what about this marriage? Do you think it’ll be worth the price of lifelong committment?”
“You sound oddly against the idea for someone who presented hismelf as a potentional suitor.” Mihawk pointed out, his gaze narrowing as he tried to discern the possible implication from the man’s words.
The redhead’s smile faltered briefly, but the moment passed before Miahwk could attach any significance to the expression, “What can I say? Pretty things tend to catch my eye.”
“So you couldn’t resist approaching then. Is that it?” Mihawk surmised.
He was answered with an ambiguous hum, “Something like that.”
Finally the third song came to an end, and Mihawk realized he’d been wrapped up in the other man’s arms for far too long. There were still responsibilities he needed to tend to, and while the redhead proved to be a nice distraction, that was all it was: a distraction. Reality bore down on him quickly, reminding the king that in order for this night to end, he still had to announce his list of chosen suitors.
From within the crowd, Mihawk caught Rayleigh’s eye, and it seemed the older man had the same thought. He gave a subtle nod back towards the throne, indicating the time was nigh to make his decisions.
Right then.
Turning back towards the man in front of him, Mihawk released a tiny sigh before stepping away from the stranger, “I’d like to thank you for the dance. It was enjoyable. More so than I anticipated.”
“I take it that’s high praise coming from you?”
Mihawk didn’t grace that remark with a proper answer, and instead bypassed it completely to excuse himself, “If you’ll excuse me…”
He gave a short nod of farewell before turning away, resolving himself to the end of their interaction. The redhead let him go, but his eyes were steady on Mihawk’s back. The intensity of the man’s gaze should have been off putting, but the king wasn’t naive enough to pretend he didn’t know where it was sourcing from. There’d been tension between them, obviously. A blatant chemistry apparent enough for anyone to see. However, for as much as they might have got along, there wouldn’t be any opportunity to continue doing so in the future. The redhead may have presented himself as a suitor, but he was not a viable option. For one, he had yet to give a name, and as Mihawk returned to his throne and turned to face the crowd, he discovered that the other was already gone.
The music stopped playing all together, and eyes were fixated to Mihawk as the party awaited his announcement. The king recognized many of the court nobles that were members of the council. Most of them stood against him as often as they could manage it. If a marriage was all it took to get them off his back and allow him to rule as he saw fit, than Mihawk supposed he could set aside his own wishes and oblige the masses.
Speaking clearly so that his voice carried across the room, Mihawk said, “I received many valuable gifts tonight, as well as numerous suitors, all of whom were outstanding in their own right,” the lies rolled off his tongue easily, well-practiced and believable, “The decision wasn’t an easy one, but I have selected seven suitors who will be permitted to pursue a proper courtship.”
Mihawk rattled off the first name that came to mind, and then the second, and the third. Realistically, he could care less about the men and women who came forward upon hearing their title called. All their faces blurred into one and the same. No one stood out, and no one even came close to exciting him, but they were respectable enough and all hailed from good families with strong ties to the kingdom. The council would be satisfied with his choices, and life would continue in the fashion as it usually did once this was all said and done.
Except, as Mihawk came to his seventh and final name, he paused.
He intended to call out the daughter of a leading general in his military, a man who Mihawk greatly respected for his no-nonsense demeanor and blunt way of speaking. His daughter was a soft spoken woman, talented in several forms of art and highly educated. Out of all the candidates so far, she was probably the most ideal, and yet he couldn’t say her name. For as much as he knew he should, Mihawk couldn’t see past the image of a certain red haired man unexpectedly returning to the banquet hall.
His mask was off this time, and there was a determination burning in the stern lines of his expression when he met Mihawk’s glare from across the room.
Red hair. Red eyes, and now Mihawk could see three faded scars slashed across the man’s left eye.
The final piece of the puzzle slotted into place, and Mihawk finally put a name to the mysterious stranger.
“…and Red-Haired Shanks. Otherwise known as the first son of the esteemed Figarland family.”
A furious whisper broke out amongst the crowd as the final name was said, disbelief coloring many faces as hundreds of eyes turned to the man in question. The redhead, or rather, Red-Haired Shanks didn’t give them a smidgen of his attention as he worked his way through to the front of the hall, parting the shocked crowd with the confidence in his step and the proud set of his jaw.
“ Red-haired Shanks? Wasn’t he exiled from his family during his youth?”
“I heard he was never officially disowned…”
“The Figarlands are one of the greatest world powers at present…what the hell is a man like that doing in Kurai?”
Shanks came to a stop at the foot of Mihawk’s throne. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to. They both knew well enough how impulsive this decision was, and what the far-reaching consequences might be. And yet, Mihawk couldn’t regret his choice, not when he met the challenging stare of Shanks Figarland, known as the Red Emperor of the sea, a man who spent his life building a reputation just as grand as his family’s own. He was, in everything except the official title, a king himself—a king whose land was in the heart of the people that followed him and in the territories he selflessly protected.
Enabled by his connections to the Figarlands, and back by the credibility of his own accomplishments, Red-Haired Shanks was not only an incredibly powerful man, but Mihawk saw in him the makings of true rival. Perhaps, even a proper partner.
“I came here originally out of curiosity because I wanted to see the man behind Kurai’s fearsome reputation,” Shanks declared when he was close enough for Mihawk to hear, “But I am honored to be given this chance and I hope I can use it to properly earn your affection.”
The pace of Mihawk’s heart quickened to an alarming degree, a reaction he never before had when dealing with someone else. It was evident that Shanks already set himself far apart from the others, and that, for as unexpected as this change in events was, Mihawk couldn’t feel an ounce of remorse. At the very least, the redhead’s presence here would make life just a bit more interesting.
Accepting Shanks' promises, Mihawk moved on to closing out the evening party. Many were still in shock over the presence of such a highly renowned individual, and one with such a scandalous history on top of that. After all, the redhead was just as notorious as he was respected, and while Shanks’ pedigree was elite, there would still be reservations among the council members about him being in Kurai.
Mihawk figured the gossip and the concerns could be tabled for another day. As the night finally drew to a close, the king was only too eager to retire to his room and remain there for the next century. Rayleigh didn’t utter a word to him as Mihawk excused himself from the banquet hall. Instead, the prior’s king’s eyes were fixated on Shanks, narrowed in what could only be perceived as heavy suspicion.
Sneaking out before anyone else could say otherwise, Mihawk sought sanctuary in his wing of the manor, closing himself off from the rest of the world as he stewed in the privacy of his own room. The silence and darkness did a great deal of relieving most of his tension, and Mihawk took his time reveling in the solitary quiet. His thoughts were racing, but Mihawk pushed them aside for now. He didn’t want to think, barely even wanted to move, but a bath was in order as was some attempt to sleep. With how late it was, Mihawk would be lucky to get more than a few sparse hours, but any amount of rest was better than none at all.
By the time he was finished washing up, the fatigue from earlier that night returned in full force. He barely even made it into bed as he sluggishly crawled underneath the covers. This time, his thoughts were silent all on their own, granting him the respite to close his eyes and sleep.
So he did, fading into the realm of dreams in which vague images of red hair and warm hands guided him through the rest of the night.