Chapter Text
The trip from Hammer Bay to Westchester City has never seemed shorter, as Erik set sail upriver with Logan and a small contingent of the Royal Guard, almost a month after the courier’s return from the border. There’d been further discussions and more negotiating required, before Duke Summers finally returned to Court with a signed declaration from the Vikaars; a promise of fealty to Genosha and the Lehnsherrs’ rule, in return for Erik’s agreement to terms. He was even given a year’s grace to marry the Lady Magda, a concession reluctantly granted in recognition of Erik’s still existing engagement to the Crown Prince of Westchester.
Under the watchful eye of his entire Court, he had signed away his own future, willing his hands not to shake as he affixed the royal seal, condemning himself to a life without Charles at his side. He sat on his throne as the Council came up one by one to offer their support and congratulations, and all the while the Xavier ring on his finger burned like fire for a betrayal that would never be forgiven.
“Your Majesty, the winds are in our favor. We should be arriving within the hour.”
He nods but does not answer, allowing Logan to wave away the messenger with a surly grunt. His General has spoken little except to bark orders through the entire journey, leaving Erik mostly alone to stew in bitterness and self-loathing. It’s understandable, given Logan’s great affection for Charles; he’d frankly expected worse treatment from his friend and shield-brother, and can only be grateful for the loyalty shown – even if Erik himself is wholly undeserving.
Their ship arrives with little fanfare, and Erik sets off with a small entourage to make the short trek from the docks up to Graymalkin Castle. In years past it had been a grand procession, as thousands gathered along the main boulevard through Westchester City, the boisterous crowds jostling for a glimpse of visiting royals and dignitaries. Interest was especially intense on the man who would marry their beloved Prince, and Erik came to appreciate - and even look forward to - the adoration of Westchester’s people.
How different would the sea of faces look, if they knew the reason for Erik’s unexpected arrival?
Discretion drives them to skirt the city and make their way up the paved roadway, following the winding path to the castle gates. Surprise is evident by the guards he meets along the way, for Erik had deliberately not sent word ahead of his impending visit. That they let him proceed is a testament to the years of friendship between the two royal families, though the Captain does send one of his guards ahead to make his presence known.
Unexpectedly, he is greeted in the Throne Room by Chancellor Essex, and a couple of other nobles he recognizes on the Queen’s Council. Though remarried to the King of Sakaar, it is Queen Sharon that rules now as Regent in her late husband’s stead - that is until Charles’ long anticipated wedding and coronation upon his eighteenth birthday.
Erik has no idea how his decision will impact Charles’ ascendency to the Westchester throne, or what chaos will arise once the news of their pending break is made public.
“Your Majesty! What a surprise it is to see you! I regret that we received no word of your visit or arrangements would have been made for a proper welcome. Their Majesties are currently away and I—”
“Peace, Chancellor,” Erik interrupts, stifling his annoyance at Essex’s veiled reprove and imperious tone. He has little patience for the man’s presence on the best of days, and already his inner turmoil is threatening to spill outwards in a storm of pent-up rage. “I do not come in official capacity as King of Genosha. I wish only to speak to my betro--. To Charles. We have something private to discuss.”
Essex smiles, his lips pressing into a thin line at the mention of the Crown Prince. “Of course, of course. A messenger has already been sent to notify His Royal Highness of your arrival. In the meantime, your quarters have been made ready for you and your retinue. Would you like to retire and freshen up while you wait?”
“Where is he?” Logan asks, the first words he’s uttered aloud since their departure from the docks. “You said Their Majesties are away?”
If possible, Essex’s face sours even more at being addressed by Erik’s General, who has never cared to show even the barest semblance of deference to his position as Chancellor. It is entirely due to his own presence that Essex deigns to answer, his words clipped with annoyance at having to deal with anyone he considers beneath his station.
“The King and Queen and Princess Raven are taking a short recess by the lake, only a few hours’ ride from Graymalkin. The Prince chose to stay behind and is undoubtedly out on the sparring grounds as we speak, keen as he is to improve his skills…at stabbing things.”
The disdain is clear even if Essex couches his words with bland congeniality, and Logan’s back stiffens noticeably at the insult. Any other day he would be the first to take offense to any slight against Charles, but Erik is in no mood to trade barbs with the likes of Essex when his nerves are already dangerously frayed.
He clears his throat, and sends his General a pointed glance. “We will wait here then, for his return.”
The ensuing minutes are pure agony, as seconds feel like hours in the excruciating company of Essex and the others, who pepper Erik with benign questions about Genosha and the welfare of the Queen Mother. Not for the first time Erik wishes he had the poised and steady presence of Christopher Summers at his side, to deflect the ingratiating attentions of those who seek his approval for favor with their future king. But he could hardly ask the Duke to make another trip so soon upon his return from the borderlands, having tirelessly worked for weeks to secure a treaty with the Vikaars at Erik’s command.
“Erik! Logan!”
Instinctively his feet propel him out of the chair and across the room at the sound of that cherished voice, his arms sweeping them together into a long and joyous embrace. Charles laughs as Erik nuzzles his hair – slightly disheveled and smelling faintly of dirt and sweat – though he fails to notice the way Erik’s breath hitches at his touch, too surprised and elated as he is by their sudden appearance.
“Darling I’m so happy to see you,” Charles murmurs, as Erik clings tightly for what he fears will be for the last time. “But what are you both doing here? And why didn’t you send word?” He pulls away and stares up at Erik, eyes going wide at the barely concealed distress writ all over his face. “Wait, what’s wrong? Did something happen with Edie? With your uncle?”
Conscious of the many pairs of eyes watching their reunion, Logan cuts in before Erik can answer. “They’re both fine, Your Highness; not to worry,” he says, stepping close and clasping a reassuring hand on Erik’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Though perhaps we could retire somewhere quiet so you can catch up in private.”
Nothing has happened with Mama or my uncle, Erik sends and Charles sighs, his shoulders slumping with obvious relief. The guilt flares red hot and settles like lead in his gut, made all the worse by the open, trusting expression on Charles’ upturned face. I have news to share but…not here.
Charles turns his attention to Logan then and the two share a weighted glance and silent words, speaking through Charles’ Gift as he did with Erik a moment ago. Whatever Logan says makes Charles wrinkle his brow and heave an exasperated sigh, though he does acquiesce with a sharp nod and an exclamation directed to the room at large. “Right then. Let’s get you to your quarters in the guest wing, and then you can tell me what’s happened since your last letter.”
“Your Highness,” Essex interrupts, blocking their exit with a slight sidestep in front of Charles, making the Crown Prince’s expression shutter. “A chaperone must attend your visit with His Majesty. It’s proper protocol.”
Charles laughs, the sound sharp and utterly devoid of his usual cheerful warmth. “We’ve been visiting without ‘chaperones’ since we were children, Chancellor. I don’t see why that should be an issue now, since we’re mere months away from being married.”
Another surge of emotion floods Erik’s veins, enough for Charles’ to jerk his head around and stare at him in consternation. He does not want to shield his thoughts from Charles of all people – a technique taught to him by Jean Grey to guard against spies and unknown elements – though his blood runs cold at the thought of their inevitable confrontation taking place here, in the Throne Room in front of Charles’ subjects.
Luckily, Essex’s condescension provides a suitable distraction.
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but you are children no longer. Your mother the Queen—”
“Is not here to object,” Charles answers, voice low and cold as ice. “And as you are head of her Council and not mine, I shall take your advice or not as I see fit. Do we understand each other, Chancellor?”
Silence thick with tension fills the room as the two lock eyes and glare, neither willing to back down in front of an enraptured audience. But then - inexplicably - Essex does relent, sweeping aside to let them pass with no more than a wry smile and a courtly bow.
“As you wish, Your Highness,” the Chancellor says, voice laden with disapproval. Essex must know he’ll be replaced after the coronation, Erik thinks, and yet he continues to antagonize Charles with no thought to his future at Graymalkin. Does this show of confidence mask some hidden agenda? Or perhaps the promised backing of powerful allies within the Xavier court?
“Shall we, Your Majesty?”
All thoughts of Essex are abruptly forgotten, the moment Charles loops his arm through Erik’s and leads him out the Throne Room door. He’s taken these exact steps too many times to count, sometimes walking, sometimes running, but almost always at Charles’ side. Logan too trails behind them in his usual place, guarding their backs, the perpetual balm to their oft heated interactions.
He does not think he can rely on Logan this time, to save him from a reckoning well earned.
As soon as the doors to the guest quarters close, Charles is upon them, hauling Logan over and laughing as he throws his arms around them both. Erik’s throat tightens even as he basks in the open affection, and does not miss the way Logan clings too, his eyes closed in Charles’ warm embrace. If the world ended this moment Erik would count himself blessed, in the arms of his best and most cherished companions.
Alas the moment ends all too quickly, as Logan presses a kiss to Charles’ forehead before pulling away. He does not look at Erik at all, and only pauses to squeeze Charles’ arm as he turns to exit.
“I’ll stand guard outside so you won’t be disturbed.”
Charles stares after him in complete bewilderment, glancing between the door and Erik with increasing alarm. “What’s going on with you two? Tell me what’s happened! Why--”
He knows how unfair it is, even as he drags Charles into a bruising kiss, desperate to delay the inevitable. His heart aches at the way Charles grins against his lips, letting Erik taste and devour him with greedy desperation.
“I’m sorry…” He shakes his head. “I just…I don’t know how to say this. I can’t—”
“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Charles says, cupping Erik’s face with gentle hands. “You can tell me anything. No matter what’s happened I’m on your side, darling. We’ll fix it together.”
It does not reassure him as it should, Charles’ words, his unwavering support only adding to the weight of Erik’s guilt. He cannot bear another moment of it, this all-consuming dread, and so he takes a deep breath and gently grasps both of Charles’ hands.
“No matter what I tell you next, please, please remember that I love you. With all my heart.”
Charles’ face falters, forehead crinkling in consternation. “What are you talking about? What in the gods’ names—"
“I cannot marry you,” Erik blurts aloud, hands clutching tightly as Charles stares at him, eyes wide and radiating confusion. “I have signed a peace treaty with the Vikaars…and I’m to marry the Chieftain’s daughter, as part of the agreement to prevent civil war.”
“You…” Charles stops and shakes his head, and Erik can clearly see his words register slowly, as shock morphs into disbelief. “You…how? But why?”
“I had no choice,” he says, voice cracking under the weight of his guilt and despair. “Come into my mind, Charles. I would show you everything.”
And he does, flooding Charles’ mind with thoughts and images from the past weeks, of every incident and every argument and every agonizing decision that has led to this very moment. He shares his pain and his resolution both; that he must break both their hearts in order to do his duty for Genosha.
“You’ve already signed it,” Charles murmurs, his eyes wet and unseeing as he pulls away from the circle of Erik’s arms. “You agreed to the terms and you signed the treaty, and you didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me first. Me. That you would just—”
“Charles, please, I’m so sorry—”
“You’re sorry?” Charles turns, fists clenched and fire in his eyes, anger and disbelief overriding all other emotions he might feel from Erik’s announcement. “You’re sorry! Tell me Your Majesty; why exactly are you sorry? For not confiding in me? Your friend and your betrothed in something as monumental as a threat of war? For making a decision that affects both our lives without consulting me? For breaking our engagement without any thought to my feelings, or how this will affect my reputation? My ability to take my rightful place as King? How dare you play the wounded with me, Erik Lehnsherr, when you have ruined…when you’ve…”
They are both crying now, and Charles is the first to sink to his knees, curling into a ball as quiet sobs wrack the length of his body. It is far worse than Erik could have ever imagined; seeing the consequence of his own actions tearing his beloved’s heart in two.
Erik throws himself at Charles’ feet, and wraps his arms around him in supplication. “Please. Charles, I just…I didn’t want this. I would give anything, do anything else if I had the choice. You have to understand—”
“Oh I understand,” Charles spits, shoving Erik hard as he scrambles to his feet. “I understand everything perfectly, King of Genosha! I understand that you chose to honor your dead father’s memory instead of your promises to me; that your word means nothing, and your love even less!”
“You know that’s not true.” Shaking his head, Erik tries – and fails – to pull an irate Charles back into his arms. He can feel Charles’ pain like a palpable weight, the swell of emotions battering at his own head and heart. “I’m the king. You know I have to put the welfare of my people above all else. I swear I had no other choice—”
“Lies! Your own uncle counseled you an alternate course! You measured your feelings for me against your reputation and you chose the latter!”
“Never! My people’s lives—”
Charles stops mid pace and whirls to face him, his expression contorted with grief and disdain. “Don’t. Don’t use your people as an excuse, Erik Lehnsherr. At least own up to your decisions as a man and a king. And stop telling me you had no choice, for all we have in this life are the choices we make.”
And then, as if to punctuate his statement, Charles wipes the tears furtively from his cheeks and straightens to his full height. “Thank you for delivering your message in person, Your Majesty. I’ll leave you to rest from your long journey—”
“Charles, please—"
“—and I’ll have the kitchens deliver your dinner to your rooms,” he continues on, ignoring Erik and sidestepping him completely as he makes his way to the door. “You will have to excuse me for not joining you, as I’ve suddenly come down with a headache and require time to rest undisturbed.”
Unbidden, his uncle’s warning floats to the forefront of Erik’s mind, as Charles pushes by and bolts from his presence, drawing warmth from the room as rapidly as the sun sinking beyond the horizon.
He will never forgive you, son.
He will never forget.