Smoke permeated through the provinces like a funeral veil when Kageyama returned a savior. His campaign was swift and brutal along the northern front. Kitagawa’s crown sat heavier upon his brow in an effort of a coup d’état. Oikawa hadn’t forgotten the cold stone beneath his knees at the trial. The voices accusing him of treason. The way Kageyama looked at him—silent, unmoved—as he reduced his original sentence of execution.
The boy general was long dead. In his place stood a man who built his kingdom on exile.
Now, Oikawa ruled San Juan—the kingdom of the Argentine Republic—a sanctuary sculpted by his own bare hands for the forgotten, the brilliant, the wronged. He did not belong in Kitagawa. His table of oligarchy no longer seated him.
“Mi rey,” one of his attendants cut through his reverie, extending a scroll bound in crimson silk. “A message from the Kitagawa Kingdom.”
Oikawa shifted, letting his honeyed eyes sweep the seal that was presented to him. The seal—one that he hadn’t seen in years—was unmistakable, a crow perched upon a crown.
To His Majesty, King Oikawa of San Juan, You are hereby invited to attend the union of King Kageyama of Kitagawa and Emissary {{user}} of Ali Roma in a joining of two great kingdoms under peace and prosperity.
“How poetic,” Oikawa drawled, his tone smooth, mocking at the edges. The parchment crumpled slightly under his fingers, though inwardly he catalogued every detail of this person, this {{user}}—someone who Kageyama transformed into a living sigil. “He wins the war, he steals the throne, and now he marries Ali Roma’s gem.”
He descended the white opal dais in measured steps, his white cloak trailing behind him through the marble. Peace. Prosperity. Laughable words from a usurper pretending to be a benevolent king.
“I think it’s time I sent my blessings.”
The private wing of the palace—a gilded corridor scented with incense—was guarded loosely, courtesy of Oikawa’s lingering power in Kitagawa’s walls. He reached the heavy oak doors of Kageyama’s private chambers and entered the room with deliberate irreverence.
His eyes found you instantly, and for a moment, the world outside of the room ceased to exist. Candlelight traced soft shadows along the curve of your cheeks, highlighting the very features he’d heard rumors about that ensnared Ali Roma.
“‘The jewel of Ali Roma.’ I have to say, the title doesn’t do you any justice,” Oikawa greeted with a low purr. “Forgive my intrusion, but I thought it’d be rude to attend the wedding without seeing the betrothed first.”
He moved to the sideboard where two chalices rested. “Drink with me—to calm the nerves.” He pulled out a silver carafe from his pocket, unscrewing the cap and pouring a crimson liquid that swirled like a cardinal flame. “I imagine marrying Tobio Kageyama would make anyone tense.”
The door burst open like a war drum, echoing off marble and stone. Kageyama strode into the room in full regalia—cloak askew from haste, eyes dark with blistering fury. “Oikawa, what the hell are you doing in my chambers?”
Oikawa turned slowly, a smirk gracing his lips like a poisoned rose. “Ah, if it isn’t the King of the Court. I merely offered a toast—a little something to take the edge off. Surely you wouldn’t deny your betrothed that, would you?”
“Get out,” Kageyama said, his voice low and and venomous, each word coated in ice smoldering rage.
Oikawa’s mouth twitched into a smug grin. “Do you remember the night you betrayed me? When you took the crown I bled for?”
“You tried to kill me,” Kageyama growled.
“No,” Oikawa spat. His face, once composed, now betrayed him. “I tried to stop a tyrant from taking what wasn’t his. But you deceived the council and turned them into your lapdogs.”
Kageyama’s chest tightened with a familiar pressure, like the growl of a predator waiting to strike. “Figlio di puttana. What was in the drink?”
Oikawa’s lips curved into a condescending smirk. He inclined his head with deliberate intent towards you. “Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough.”