Chapter Text
Watching the beautiful scenery roll past outside his carriage window, Charles sighed heavily. The crystal blue sky and gleaming water did nothing to reflect his mood, which would have been better suited to leaden clouds and persistent drizzle. Charles heaved another sigh, grateful that he at least had the carriage to himself rather than having to travel with the King and Queen. It was bad enough that his mother and step-father had agreed to this without his consent in the first place; being confined to a small area with them for the duration of the journey would have been torturous.
Logically, he understood that there were much worse situations in which he could have found himself; he wasn’t being denied access to food or shelter or, heaven forbid, his enormous personal library. He was retaining all of the luxuries that came with his title of Prince of Westchester, and realistically probably gaining quite a few more. Still, he couldn’t shake the dread that had been living in the pit of his stomach like a lump of indigestible meat ever since he had been called into his stepfather’s study four days ago.
“Sit, Charles,” King Kurt ordered when his stepson appeared in the doorway. Charles obeyed instantly, knowing all too well how fragile the King’s hold on his temper was at any given moment. His mother was sitting in an armchair slightly off to the side of her husband’s desk, examining the intricately engraved wineglass she held rather than meeting her son’s eyes.
He sat on the hard wooden chair opposite the King’s desk, posture impeccable as ever thanks to almost two decades of lessons, and awaited whatever information that had been important enough for him to be summoned to the King’s personal study rather than relayed by some staff member.
“You are, I hope, aware of the financial state that your late father left this kingdom in?” Kurt began. Charles gritted his teeth at that; while it was true that the kingdom was deeply in debt by the time of his father’s death, it was due to several bad investments that had been suggested by his advisor and closest friend. That advisor had been none other than Kurt himself, who had promptly taken the crown upon his father’s death, Charles having been too young to ascend the throne himself at the time. Instead of reminding Kurt of this fact, he merely nodded minutely, lips pursed tightly. His mother also remained silent on the topic; she had been as instrumental in Charles’ father’s downfall as Kurt, and had married Kurt a mere week after the end of the required mourning period.
“I have been presented with a method through which to relieve the crown of your father’s debt, which I have accepted.” Charles could barely contain his surprise; Kurt was much more prone to contributing further to the kingdom’s debt than attempting to alleviate it. Still, the words had filled him with hope; large swathes of the kingdom had fallen into destitution after his father’s death, and he had always dreamed of it being returned to its remembered glory of his early childhood.
“I am delighted to hear that, your Highness,” he had learned quickly that informality towards his step-father was a surefire method to trigger Kurt’ temper, “but may I ask why I am being involved in this matter?” He had never before been consulted on matters of state, and although it piqued his pride, he honestly rather liked it that way, preferring instead to sequester himself in his library or wander the grounds than engage in the often-tangled politics of the land.
His question caused a slow smile to spread across Kurt’s face; unpleasant at the best of times, his smile made him look slightly like a predator who had just cornered its prey. He immediately regretted the question, a sick feeling gripping his body. Nothing that made Kurt smile that way would be welcome news.
“The royal family of Genosha have approached me with an offer. An alliance, if you will,” Kurt said, his predator’s grin still spreading across his face. Once again, Charles was surprised; Genosha and Westchester had never had many dealings in the past. While Westchester tended to stay removed from the trade disputes and often all-out wars between its neighbouring kingdoms, Genosha was often at the centre of them. Genosha’s often-radical politics and strong military presence were a direct contrast to Westchester, and as such the two kingdoms tended to mostly ignore each other’s presence wherever possible.
“Their alliances with the neighbouring kingdoms are tenuous at best, and they’ve presented a most… agreeable deal,” Kurt continued. “They wish to make an alliance with Westchester, and in return they have agreed to pay off the debts of the crown.” If possible, he had sat up even straighter at that; he didn’t know the exact amount that the kingdom was in debt by, but he knew that it was a very considerable sum. Whatever Kurt had offered in return, it must have been monumental; Westchester didn’t control many trade routes or have much in the way of precious minerals or unusually fertile land, so what on earth could it be that would warrant such an offer?
“What conditions did they have?” He asked eagerly, “What sort of alliance are they proposing?”
“A marriage alliance, Charles,” Kurt told him, and at first he didn’t understand. He had no siblings, nor any cousins that were well-placed enough for this level of alliance. His aunts and uncles were all married, as was his mother, which only left…
“No. No. That can’t be… You don’t mean…” He gaped at his stepfather, reduced to uncharacteristic speechlessness with shock. Kurt’s sickening smile was all the confirmation that he needed. He had turned to his mother in horror, hoping that this was some sort of sick joke that his stepfather was using to torture him, but she continued to studiously examine her now-empty wineglass, refusing to acknowledge him.
“You are to be married to Prince Erik of Genosha in a month’s time. We leave for Genosha tomorrow to begin the preparations for the wedding. You may go.” And with that, he was dismissed. He left the study in a complete state of shock, walking mechanically back to his rooms. Married in a month. What was he going to do?
The answer had been nothing at all. Charles had simply let it happen, too shocked to protest, watching as the carriages were packed for their journey. He had climbed unprotestingly into the carriage, let the door be shut behind him, and watched as Westchester’s snow-capped mountains faded beyond the horizon. Charles hated himself a little for going along with this betrothal, but in the end his common sense had won out over his horror at the prospect. This would be a good thing for his kingdom; who was he to refuse the chance for the kingdom to be rebuilt due to his personal feelings?
Still, the prospect of his upcoming marriage hardly filled Charles with delight. He had never met Prince Erik, and wouldn’t until the wedding itself; Genoshan wedding customs dictated that the betrothed parties did not meet until the wedding. Charles supposed it was to prevent one or both of them from taking one look and running; it would be a little harder to back out once the wedding itself was in progress. Charles begrudgingly admitted that it was a good system; his own first instinct had been to do exactly what this setup circumvented.
He knew precious little about his husband-to-be; initially due to his lack of interest in the nobility of other kingdoms, and then due to denial. Maybe if he didn’t learn about Prince Erik, he wouldn’t have to admit to himself that this was actually happening. All he knew was that they were roughly the same age, and that the prince was rumoured to be very handsome. This should have been a comfort, but Charles was too used to people fawning over nobility and exaggerating their every good trait to believe it.
He could make a guess about his character though, and it was hardly an appealing prospect. Genoshans were much more combative than the gentle, scholarly people of Westchester, prone to settling disputes with violence rather than diplomacy. They were a proud people, and often very wary of outsiders, to the point of outright hostility. His future husband was likely to a prime example of these traits; proud, aggressive, and cold.
Charles rested his forehead against the glass of the carriage window as the castle came into sight in the distance, picking fretfully at the fraying cuffs of his old travelling clothes. Too late to back out now.