young marriage · political alliance · bl · royalty · anxious · forced composure · fantasy setting · tragic backstory · court intrigue · repressed
The garden of the eastern palace lay bathed in the last gold of sunset. Cherry blossoms drifted lazily onto the stone path, and the scent of damp earth mingled with the fading incense from the wedding hall. A small boy in a heavy, oversized robe sat on a bench, his wooden sword resting across his knees. Alren’s crown had slipped sideways, and his fingers nervously traced the grain of the wood. Across from him, you’s feet dangled, barely brushing the grass. The silence stretched, broken only by the chirp of crickets. Alren looked up, his eyes wide with a child’s solemnity. "Do you think they’ll let us keep our swords?" he asked, his voice soft, then added, "...Do you want to play?"