Chapter Text
Once upon a time, in a land somewhat far away from the country of Hasetsu, there lived a Devastatingly Handsome Prince who got turned into a Beast.
~*~
If this is where the reader expects to find four long paragraphs about how the DHP wakes up to find his facade changed and his entire life changed even further amidst screams, roiling angst and protests of how he can never show his hideous face to the world again while retreating into a dilapidated yet tastefully decorated and animated castle that curiously never runs out of food, to jealously guard over a wilting rose until his one true love comes along to mend his ways and save his soul, this is not that story.
Sorry?
Instead, this is what happens:
~*~
Victor Nikiforov wakes one morning to intense heat and the curtains in his room going up in flames. There's some screaming to be had by his night guards, as much as the situation should warrant, and a trail of servants are wielding water filled buckets, waved haphazardly at him instead of at the flames. He's alarmed by the fire, as any person possessing a healthy dose of survival instincts would be, and immediately sits up to dodge away from the sparks.
Instead, his tail takes out the entire back wall.
"Oh!" he exclaims, letting out a gust of surprised air and whoops, there goes his sheets. And the bed. And a small part of the ceiling. The flames on them are an even deeper shade of blue than the ones licking up the curtains, turning near white towards the center. The heat is enough to make him comfortably toasty. Pretty intense to look at, if anyone asks him later.
Nobody does. Rude.
One servant faints, while the rest of the guards finally show up.
It's instinct, using a clawed hand to block the projectiles, which leads to the discovery that he can hardly feel the weapons being thrown at him. Even when the guns get whipped out they don't penetrate his hardened skin, not even leaving a scratch behind as the bullets plunk harmlessly onto the ground. The guards are starting to panic, while his dog Makkachin is bouncing enthusiastically around his wickedly clawed legs after a few seconds of curious sniffing.
So cute! His precious Makkachin! Look at him frolicking with joy!
He scoops Makkachin up into one enormous hand to protect him from any stray ricochets, and yells (it comes out as a roar really) to get the room's attention. Everyone freezes in abject fear, and Victor clears his throat.
Which, weird. Apparently clearing his throat makes a large rumbling sound that literally shakes the floor.
Another servant faints.
Victor opens his maw (look at how flexible his jaw is! How lovely!) and tries to speak. It takes a few tries, but he finally gets his stiff lips to obey. At least he still has lips. He imagines eating will be quite messy without them.
"No need to panic! I have everything under control!" Victor reassures them. The wooden curtain rod that's engulfed in flames falls onto the floor.
The guard usually stationed outside his door looks like he's going to cry. "Prince Victor?" he says, as if dreading the answer.
"Yes! Very good! Ten points for you." The guard looks like he doesn't want the ten points, but Victor ignores him and swings his enormous head back (what luck that princes always lived in roomy castle suites!) to inspect the rest of his morphed body. Such pearly white scales, iridescent during movement, and laid with such grace like overlapping flower petals! The pattern continues all the way down, where it merges with the darker tone until his spiked tail ends in a brilliant blue, the same shade as his eyes. The same gradient pattern graces the tips of his wings. He swings the tail appendage from side to side, pleased overall with the look. He can't see his face or check out his total wingspan, but he's sure he'll have plenty of time to do that later.
By the time he's finished with his inspection, his security adviser is at the door. "Bozhe moĭ, dear Lord, where is the Crown Prince?! Why are you fools standing there, attack that beast and find the prince at once!!"
"Really, Yakov, I'm hardly a beast. More like a dragon," Victor says, quite content with himself. "European, by the looks of it."
Yakov freezes. "Vitya?" he asks, questioningly, using the diminutive nickname he's had for Victor since he was the size of a bean.
Victor rests back on his haunches, gently placing Makkachin back on the floor. His dog licks his thumb claw in thanks and bounds between his front legs, sitting on his own haunches and plopping against Victor's massive belly.
That seems to be answer enough for Yakov, who covers his face with his palms. "Why. Why do these things always happen to you," comes his muffled words.
Victor would take more offense to that if, one- the room isn't still ablaze and two- if he isn't the coolest creature to have ever existed. He decides to prioritize safety first, admiration of his new improved state later.
"Fire. Fire! If the rest of the conscious people wouldn't mind, could you please put out the fire currently consuming my room? And be a dear and transport the passed out people to another room. No need to step on them or give them lung damage."
~*~
They can't put out the fire, apparently it's something to do with dragon's breath and the undying light of wrath or some such nonsense, so Victor's forced to step up to the plate and figure out how to deflame his own room. It takes a few tries, but once Victor figures out that he's pretty much impervious to fire, he starts literally smothering the flames with his scaly hands.
It's more fun than he's had in a long time.
It's more torture than Yakov's had in his entire life.
Yakov scrambles afterwards and sends missives to all the known, talented mages in the land, for he correctly deduces that this is a curse that needs breaking. He takes action and plans a ball while he's at it, sending out invites to all of the eligible single ladies, men, and identified as others out there, figuring he wouldn't wait for the mages to tell him that true love's first kiss will do the trick.
Victor catches wind of the plans, wails some derivative of "BUT I WANNA STAY A DRAGON, NOOO" and flees.