Chapter Text
Yuri Plisetsky was born the seventh son of a king, a prestigious position in any other circumstances, one with which myths and fairytales have begun. But not when it came to our young Yuri. Because Yuri’s birth cry had coincided with his mother’s death one. His first breath and her last were of the same air, and Yuri’s father had been unable to so much as look at his last son as a result, heart broken as he was.
No one had been able to look at Yuri. Looking at Yuri was too painful; a constant reminder of what was lost. His six older brothers were the image of their father, with black hair like ravens’ wings and eyes the same deep green as the moss on the caves in the darkest parts of the forest. They had broad shoulders and long limbs made for leading and fighting and farming - Men’s work - but not Yuri. Never Yuri.
Yuri’s hair was flaxen and his eyes were the blue green of hidden rock pools in the most sacred corner of the woods beyond The Leshii’s Mounds. They were larger, wider, deeper than any eyes had a right to be. They were not natural, most folk said.
And because he was born before his time, Yuri was small, smaller than any babe the kingdom’s midwives had seen born breathing. Yet Yuri had been born not just breathing but screaming, in any other circumstance a miracle, were it not for the fact that his mother had withered away to give the tiny child life. With the right care Yuri might not have stayed so small and slight but his father had banished him from sight, refusing to let Yuri sit at the family table for dinner, leaving him with whatever scraps remained when his brothers were done.
He was left in the care of a nursemaid, a woman who took great satisfaction in reminding the maligned prince that he was unwanted, that he had caused the death of his mother, had sent the kingdom in to a year of mourning, his father the king in to a lifetime of mourning, and that his birthday would never be celebrated with a party or parade because it was still a day of mourning in remembrance of the dead queen each year. He was told very often that he was wicked and bad, and became very adept at running away, and pushed others away, as a result. As the saying goes, a child will live up to his name.
In many children such a set of circumstances might have led to meekness and a beaten down spirit, for it was truly no way to treat a child, but in Yuri it inspired anger and a savagery of spirit which many in the castle took as proof that he was some sort of demon or changeling sent in to their world as a curse. For curse Yuri did - often and loud. His language was foul, even from the youngest age, taught to him by the guardsmen, who admired his tenacity and quick feet, and the stablehands, who admired his way with animals and his dexterous hands. They thought him something of a marvel, this beaten and abandoned prince who fought like a tiger but could calm a horse with a whisper and a touch, who could find a cat in any alcove he sat himself in; the tiny prince who bared his teeth at the world yet retained a gentleness that was its own kind of fire.
As unwelcome as Yuri was in the main part of the castle, he found a home in its outter buildings, and in corners of the castle town as well.
Many of the townsfolk considered Yuri in the same way the castle staff and royal family did - as an undersized heathen and omen of bad luck - but not all. Nikolai, the town’s best baker, for example, had a soft spot for Yuri and fed him piroshki and pryanik whenever the boy slipped out of the castle grounds to visit. When Yuri had been a very small child, one who resembled an urchin that slept among the cinders, Nikolai had been the only member of the town to give any care to him, until one fateful day when Yuri was ten, in the thickest depths of winter, when Nikolai’s youngest granddaughter had skipped out on to the frozen surface of the river that ran parallel to the town, completely unaware in her infancy, that the ice was too thin to support her weight.
The scream echoed through the barren trees, not from the little girl but from her mother as she watched her child fall from view, and it brought half the town running, though none dared to step out on to the fractured ice. None save for Yuri. He was light on his feet, and determined, and had no parent in attendance to drag him back when he stepped forth in his woollen socks to glide across the frozen water to the hole and the disappeared toddler.
At first his own reflection was all he could see when he looked down at the water, inky black against the white ice, but then he saw bubbles, and immediately jumped. Afterwards he remembered very little before he was slipping back across the ice with the child in his arms, his whole body shaking so violently that his vision blurred.
Nikolai’s granddaughter had been rushed away in a flurry of people and blankets, runners going out to fetch the town healer and to stoke the fires at the baker’s house so that it would be warm when the little girl arrived there. Several townsfolk made a sign against the fae as they glanced Yuri’s way, convinced beyond a doubt that he was something other than human simply by virtue of his survival. Nikolai, however, had stayed to wrap his own coat around Yuri and to lift him in to his arms, as if he too were one of Nikolai’s own grandchildren.
Yuri had been taken to the baker’s home and nursed back to warmth and health alongside the little girl he had saved and was given the honour of calling Nikolai by Grandfather from that day forth, an honour the boy took very seriously.
Wards against wickedness were still used often in his presence, because Yuri found that he enjoyed sliding over the frozen river, and never once fell through the glittering white surface to the black water beneath. And because as he grew older he barely grew at all, instead remaining small and thin, which seemed a sure sign that he was of fae descent. And because his language was as foul as any of the mercenaries who came along the mountain highways that separated the kingdoms, a sign that he couldn’t possibly be a real child.
Yuri was an oddity, and as a result most folk tried their best to ignore him, following the example of their king. As far as the king was concerned he had only six sons, none of which were named Yuri. And so life went on.
Guards and stablehands and a gruff old baker weren’t much of a family for most people but the young Yuri made the best of the situation, learning voraciously from his odd mentors but never letting his guard drop, and never showing any emotion beyond anger and fire. Fear, sadness, and joy were enemies that Yuri fought against. They were signs of weakness and need, and Yuri was determined to need very little from anyone. He taught himself to read words, to read animals, to read the weather. He taught himself to read the body language of the men around him, when to duck from the drunken swings of the head of the stables who saw him as a menace at the best of times, when to run from gruff mercenaries who thought him ‘pretty’, and when he would best get away with stealing a pastry from the castle kitchen without being seen. Yuri was quick in his actions and quick to learn, and he felt great pride in that, even if it was never recognised or commented on by those around him. Yuri didn’t need recognition from others, he didn’t need anything.
And he might well have continued as such for years to come, had not a festival in celebration of the rare blood moon brought strangers and foreigners through their kingdom’s gates, and to the royal stables.
Yuri, now fifteen, heard the ruckus in the courtyard from where he’d hidden himself away in the farthest stall of the stables. A foal had been born overnight, the first foaling that Yuri had been allowed to take the lead on. It was horribly out of season for a foaling and the mare had been distressed, hence the need for Yuri’s unique talent, and while it had all gone well and both mother and babe were healthy, Yuri found himself exhausted and wondering why labour pains always started in the dead of night instead of a more civilised hour.
He didn’t bother to lift his head when he heard the sound of hooves on the packed earth of the stable path, the jangle of harnesses, or the foreign voices calling to each other. There were too many visitors, too many gawking strangers and Yuri didn’t have the patience for any of them. He would suffer through enough of it once the celebrations began that night anyway, he had no wish to start the humiliation early.
It was only when he thought he was finally alone again that Yuri poked his head over the stable door to stare at the horses newly brought in. Their manes were dressed strangely but they weren’t much different from the stable regulars and Yuri had already lost interest, ready to collapse back in to the straw with the sleeping mare and foal, when a movement, and a scrape of a boot, made him pause. A man had entered the stable building and Yuri felt his mouth suddenly water, with not a clue as to why. He had seen men before, he lived his life surrounded by them, but he had never before seen… such a man.
The stranger’s dark brown hair was shaved around the sides and the base of his skull and Yuri was immediately envious. He was still expected to wear his hair simple and long, a child in the eyes of the law until his sixteenth birthday in two months time. All of his brothers wore their hair in thick, intricate braids but Yuri decided he would much prefer something dramatic and different, like the stranger who was currently brushing down his horse with the studious care of one who truly respected his mount.
Yuri could appreciate that. He could also appreciate the man’s golden skin, his strong features, and his dark, sharp eyes; he reminded Yuri of the golden eagles that nested in the mountains that surrounded the kingdom. He’d only ever seen the majestic birds from a distance but watching the stranger radiating both strength and calm, murmuring soothing words to his horse, Yuri felt as if he was finally seeing a bird of prey up close. He could hardly draw breath for fear of startling the man in to flight, or in case he should choke upon his own heart, which seemed to have lodged itself firmly in his throat.
He continued to watch for a full minute, his exhaustion forgotten, entranced by the stranger and how different he was from any man Yuri had ever seen, until the quiet of the stables was broken by the entrance of two more outsiders.
“Otabek, there you are!” cried a red haired woman loudly, causing Yuri to startle and double take as he took in her appearance.
Yuri knew that the people in the Lake Kingdom, beyond the mountains to the east, were said to have red hair, but he’d never seen one before. Everyone in Yuri’s world had black hair, or grey in the case of Grandpa, not red like this strange, exuberant woman, or deep brown like the man she had called Otabek. The loud woman strode in confidently in her leather riding trousers and coat, practically skipping - as outlandish as she was elegant - and was followed by another, this one outfitted in a dark riding dress designed to accentuate the sway of her hips.
Whilst the red head’s companion had familiar long, black hair, her eyes were large and a startling violet purple, the colour vivid enough for Yuri to see from his hiding place in the foaling stall. Her skin was like honey and her lips were so plump Yuri thought perhaps they had been stung by a very hardworking wasp.
“We should have known we’d find you here, Majesty,” the violet eyed one said, in a teasing, lilting tone. “Hiding among the horses as usual.”
The man, Otabek, snorted, sounding just like a horse to Yuri, and therefore perfectly in place. Silly, nagging hags, he thought to himself, bothering a man so when he was obviously busy and at his ease.
“I’m nearly done here,” the man replied, in a voice so much like a rumble of thunder that Yuri shivered at the sound. He wondered how soon it would be before the castle staff started making protection finger charms against this newcomer, given how much he reminded Yuri of wilderness and stormy skies and magic.
The red head’s voice, by contrast, was a whine that set Yuri’s teeth on edge.
“Well hurry up then! You’ll miss the whole festival the way you brush!”
Another snort was her answer, followed by a few curt words. “The festival lasts a half-week.”
The red head rolled her eyes as she stalked toward him like a cat, though her manner was playful. “Oh, fine! You shall miss the feast then. Come along, Otabek! The king has set places for us at the high table and then there is to be a parade once night falls, and dancing. Leave your horse for the stable boy, that’s what he’s there for!”
Yuri frowned, his habitual scowl deepening as he looked at the strangers more closely. Their garments looked of fine weave and they were clean, which was impressive since they had obviously been travelling on horseback, and the king had offered them a place at his table, which meant they were at least of noble birth. The king did not invite just anyone to sit by him, as Yuri well knew.
It piqued his curiosity, but caused a spike of anxiety within his chest as well. His father could be cruel to outsiders and he didn’t want this man, this Otabek, to be ill-treated. Someone of high birth who took the time to care for his own horse deserved respect and courtesy. Someone who looked like the morning sun itself deserved reverence, veneration, worship! Inwardly Yuri cringed at the flightiness of his own thoughts, but could barely help himself. This was how most everyone had viewed his mother, he knew that for a fact, but he had never experienced such feelings for himself before. It was overwhelming, and mildly unpleasant. It would be all the worse if the people of the castle and town failed to see what greatness was in their midst. Yuri very much hoped that the king would treat this Otabek with courtesy. It was important, even if he was not exactly sure why.
Yuri snapped his attention back to the present at the sound of the violet eyed woman’s voice, projected loudly in his direction. It made him want to spit on her nose.
“You! Child! Come take over this work. How dare you spy upon your betters instead of offering assistance!”
Yuri jumped up straight, trying to stand tall and fuming that he was a good head shorter than the three strangers now staring at him. The man seemed surprised at Yuri’s presence, blinking a few times and raising a single eyebrow in his direction. Yuri’s cheeks bloomed pink in response to the attention and he tried to puff out his chest as he stepped out of the foaling stall and in to the stable proper.
“Watch who you call a child, you crone,” he spat at the woman, who put her hand to her chest as if mortally wounded by his words. “I give my help if it’s needed,” he continued, scowling next at the red head. “But the gentleman was obviously competent and looked perfectly at ease so I Chose not to interrupt.” He swallowed before turning to slide his eyes over said gentleman’s face, trying to keep his voice gruff, and failing spectacularly. “He is welcome to stay as long as he pleases. Feasts and festivals and … people … are not for everyone.”
There was a moment of stunned silence before the purple eyed woman erupted: “You rude little urchin! How dare a peasant speak to me so! I am most definitely not a crone!”
At the same moment her companion laughed and clapped her hands together gleefully. “Why, he’s adorable! A child with such a deep voice and such fire in his belly! Shall we keep him?”
It was Yuri’s turn to blink in surprise, mouth falling open in confusion and disbelief, and he turned to look again at the man, only to find that he was chuckling silently, the smallest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Yuri growled. He wasn’t a child, nor was he a peasant, but he was something akin to both, at least until his birthday when he would be considered a man and free to leave the castle for good and truly join the ranks of the common folk. For now he was a peasant with a pedigree and being reminded of that fact further soured his mood. Also, he refused to be called adorable. He was no such thing!
“He isn’t a stray kitten, Mila,” the man admonished, “you cannot simply put him in your coat pocket and take him home with you. And I will remind you that height holds no bearing on age or experience. He quite obviously isn’t a child.”
He gestured to himself when he spoke of height, inviting Yuri’s gaze to his body, which was compact but well muscled and radiated strength. He stood like a man used to hard work and weapons training and Yuri had a sudden thought that he should invite the man to the steam house in the town, to see if he was as muscular beneath his clothes as he seemed. The very thought increased his blush, as if he was surrounded by the scalding steam already.
“Well he’s still a peasant!” interjected the first woman, violet eyes blazing. Otabek silenced her with a look and another raised eyebrow.
“My birth parents were peasants, Sara, as you well know,” he told her calmly. “I merely had the good fortune to be adopted by a princess who grew up to be a queen. Do not use peasant as an insult in my presence in future.”
The woman, Sara, looked suitably cowed, pouting her full lips and fluttering her long eyelashes and Yuri failed to repress his scoff at such a display. And she had called him a child!
“Better to be a peasant than a prince anyway,” he grumbled, drawing a deeper pout from the pretty Sara, a guffaw from the fiery Mila, and another minuscule smile from Otabek, which somehow made Yuri’s cheeks erupt in to an ever deeper, dark red blush. He covered his embarrassment by storming forward and grabbing the coarse brush from Otabek’s hand and approaching the horse. “Fine! I’ll do your gods damned horse! Just-“
“Careful!” Otabek warned, moving to grab Yuri’s wrist, which he deftly avoided. “He’s skittish around strangers, that’s why I rub him down myself, he-“
But Yuri’s hand was already on the horse’s neck as he whispered gently, telling the animal what a good boy he was as he began to brush him down. Otabek’s mouth fell open and both his brows raised higher than before but Yuri missed the expression of shock because the horse really was a very good boy indeed and almost nothing could hold his attention when there was an animal to be petted. The stallion relaxed immediately, turning its head to nuzzle against Yuri and nibble at his straw-coloured hair which in turn released a short, sharp laugh from the boy’s throat.
“What’s his name?” Yuri asked, only looking up when his question was answered with a long moment of silence.
The three strangers, each so different from each other, were staring at him with matching expressions of disbelief. In the late afternoon sun, with the dust motes dancing around their frozen forms, they resembled some sort of beautiful but bizarre leaded glass window.
“I call him Asim,” Otabek murmured.
“It means protector,” Mila chipped in.
“But mostly people need protecting from him,” Sara added. “He’s a brute with no manners.”
Mila giggled at her companion’s dramatics but Yuri’s attention was back on the horse now that their tableau was broken and Otabek’s attention was firmly on Yuri.
“Asim, Asim,” Yuri whispered in a sing-song tone as he continued to brush the glossy black coat, feeling the strong muscles rippling beneath, and the bright spirit housed deep within. “Such a good name for such a good horse. I bet you only trample people who really deserve it. I bet you pound them in to the dirt when they’re rude or stupid or cruel. Yes you do, yes you do.”
Yuri was vaguely aware of whispers and giggling but paid it little mind until Mila announced that she was leaving to bathe and dress for the feast, and would be sending Otabek’s valet to collect him so that he could do the same. Yuri didn’t look up when the women left arm-in-arm, still giggling in to one another’s ears, he simply scowled and moved further in to the stall to finish brushing Asim. He only looked up when he was sure it was only he and Otabek in the stable once again but tried his best not to be noticed doing so.
He could hear noise outside, the sounds of more horses, but also more people, and knew that soon the stables would be busy again. That was an unpleasant thought and he was relieved when Otabek began to check over his horse’s hooves, to speed up the process. They worked so well together within their quiet bubble that Yuri startled, which caused Asim to startle, when Otabek finally spoke.
“Asim has never taken to anyone so quickly before. My squire passed away not long ago and Asim has refused to be touched by anyone but me ever since. He has been grieving and I have been worried for him. I would never have thought to see him so calm and trusting again. You have quite the way with horses.”
Yuri let a small grin slip. Compliments were few and far between in his life but he was secretly a glutton for them, as much as he hated to admit so, even to himself. And his new acquaintance had a soothing voice, even if his way of speaking was formal and a little hesitant. It was pleasant and enticing, like the rest of him, and Yuri was in no rush to leave his company.
“I’m good with animals. All sorts of animals,” Yuri told him with a shrug. “They’re better than most people. Kinder. Easier to understand.”
Otabek let out a quiet chuckle as he began to clean and pack away his horse brush, pick, and cloths. “I can’t argue with that.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Are you planning to attend the feast tonight, and the festivities? I would appreciate a guide.”
Yuri gave him a questioning look before folding his arms and leaning against the stall wall. Otabek was a well built man, who seemed genuinely kind and pleasantly mannered. He reminded Yuri of Grandpa Nikolai in the way he considered his words with such care, and it had lulled Yuri in to almost trusting him, but Yuri caught himself and raised his internal walls back up swiftly.
“Did you not just hear what I said about people?” he snapped, walking to the entrance of the stall. “Besides I have a new foal to keep an eye on. Born last night. The stupid festival’s no big deal.”
Instead of dropping the topic and leaving Yuri to be alone, Otabek followed him as he walked back to the foaling stall.
“Are you sure? This Blood Moon seems to be important to your people. Mila insisted that we make it a part of our honeymoon journey. Won’t you be missed if you don’t attend?”
Yuri rolled his eyes. “Most of My people prefer it when I’m not around. When I am they just make their stupid protection symbols as if I’m going to grow a second head and eat their babies.”
He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see some sign that this stranger he was talking to agreed with the general consensus about him, steeling himself against the feeling of hurt when the man nodded or turned away from him, but instead Otabek looked a little hurt himself, or confused, and very much not like he was going to call Yuri names or back away in fear.
“Why would they think that about you?” he was asked instead and Yuri, for the first time in a long time, was entirely lost for words.
Just as he began to form a reply the quiet of the stables was broken by the arrival of half a dozen new horses, and near to a dozen people. Both Yuri and Otabek stiffened at the intrusion, Otabek out of distrust of strangers and mindfulness of his position as ambassador of his mother’s kingdom, Yuri instinctively, bracing for a scolding or worse for talking to someone he probably wasn’t supposed to. The Stable Master was never above using his belt on Yuri when he stepped too far out of line, no matter how good he was with the animals, but no reprimand came and no one called out to him to help with the newly entered animals.
A man did enter with the crowd however, similar to Otabek in looks but nowhere near so handsome, and dressed in the simple browns of a servant, and he approached to offer a smile and a bow.
“My prince, your bride bid me come and fetch you,” he began, not acknowledging Yuri’s presence at all. “Your chambers in the castle are prepared - the king has honoured you with accomodation adjacent to the family wing - and a bath has been drawn for your majesty as well.”
Yuri gaped. He hadn’t been aware that there were rooms in the castle with options for bathing. He’d been forbidden from entering the family wing, or stepping foot above the ground floor, let alone the third, where his brothers and their wives lived. He’d heard there were rugs on the floors up there softer than lambs wool, and enormous fire places where fragrant herbs were burned along with the wood, and beds big enough to sleep four people.
Yuri hadn’t had a permanent room since his nurse maid had been called away to care for his oldest nephew. Yuri had been five years old at the time and had considered himself more than capable of sleeping alone and managing his own affairs. He had hated the nursemaid with a fiery passion and cared little that she abandoned him. He’d repeated that fact like a mantra until he believed it.
And believe it he had. Little Yuri’d had a bed made up in the corner of the kitchen, and another in the guards’ common room, as well as free reign over the stables and any horse blanket he cared to claim. When he needed to wash (which is to say, when he was prompted to wash by one of the more astute adults in his life) Yuri used the steam house in the town. When he was cold he snuggled up with the horses or by one of the kitchen’s stoves with the castle’s cats. He couldn’t imagine the grandeur of the upstairs rooms, but Otabek didn’t seem impressed or surprised, he only nodded to acknowledge that his valet had spoken, as if baths and changing clothes just to eat was completely normal.
Yuri made an effort not to gape like an imbecile but something about his face must have given away his thoughts because despite his attempt at pursing his lips to keep his expression neutral he heard Otabek laugh ever so softly.
“Thank you, Nurlan,” he told his valet graciously before turning to Yuri with a soft smile. “And I thank you, my friend, for your help and companionship. I trust that I will see you tonight at the festivities? I am told there will be dancing and many local delicacies to eat and to drink. I would not wish you to miss out.”
Yuri tutted and looked away but couldn’t maintain the indifference for long. He couldn’t recall any other time someone had talked to him on such equal footing. He wanted to just stare at the golden man in front of him, to bask in the light of a person who was surely too good to be true, to somehow be worthy of being called ‘my friend’ by a true prince. But standing in that light meant being seen, and Yuri knew he would fall short, be judged incomplete and wicked and ill-made. And when that happened this man, this stranger, this Otabek, would eventually turn away from him. It was a devastating thought but Yuri still couldn’t bring himself to completely disappoint the man standing patiently before him.
“I won’t be at the feast,” he said curtly. “Believe me when I say I would not be welcome. But,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the nerves skipping along his spine. “But I will be at the parade. Part of the parade. The dancing to be precise.” Otabek’s lips twitched, just the barest hint of a smile at how flustered Yuri was becoming and somehow it increased his beauty. If Yuri were to ever see this man smile broadly, to his fullest extent, he felt sure he would die from the brilliance of it. He almost slipped up and smiled himself. Instead he tutted as loudly as he could and twisted his face in to his fiercest scowl. “Oh, shut up. Go bathe and pretty yourself up, Your Majesty. I May see you tonight.”