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It’s one of those days again, and Apo is in a mood.
Not, of course, because of the new guest they’ll be receiving at noon. Obviously not. She’s a knight; she doesn’t have opinions on guests of the royal family or any business they may visit Soluna for. She just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, is all.
Nevermind the fact that she was in a rather good mood this morning. Last night, the latest guard rotations had been posted in the barracks to be reviewed after dinner, and to Apo’s surprise and excitement, they’d been assigned to watch over the princess this week. The excitement, of course, has solely to do with the fact that it’s an opportunity to prove themself in front of King Ren, and it mostly equals a week-long break from duties since the chances of anything happening around the royal family are incredibly small. That was the only reason for the giddy feeling that bubbled up in them, and it had zero correlation whatsoever with their good mood this morning.
Nothing else, especially not to do with who, specifically, they’ve been assigned to. Apo is a Moon Knight; they are loyal to the Crown and nothing more. No opinions on the princess, or her little snort-snicker laugh when she’s trying not to, or her blue, blue eyes. No butterflies in her stomach or anything similar.
It was only before breakfast, when she was popping in on Pyro in the kitchens, that her day was spoiled. Strictly speaking, she’s only supposed to be in the kitchens to get one of the staff plates to eat before training, on a normal day, or taking breakfast to the princess, this week. But Apo wakes well before dawn anyway, and she knows the princess is a late riser—not because she paid any attention, only that she overheard them complaining a few months ago, and she won’t look too hard into why she was listening or why she cared to remember it, thankyouverymuch. She was eating and talking with Pyro, who was trying in vain not to fall asleep washing dishes; if it was up to him, he’d also be a late riser, but the kitchen staff are the earliest awake in the castle.
Apo poked him with her foot as he started to drift off again, and he startled, water splashing over the counter. She took another bite of bread and raised an eyebrow. “This is embarrassing, even for you.”
“Shut up,” he mumbled. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Who needs to have a special luncheon and a state dinner for their arrival, anyway? It’s egotistical, is what it is.”
Apo frowned, trying to remember if there were any holidays or special events coming up. They drew a blank. “Who’s arriving today?”
Pyro shrugged. “No clue,” he said around a yawn. “But I was going over the menu with the other waiters. Why do we even have to plan one for every new person? We could just copy the last big event’s; they wouldn’t know. And if they did, we’d say it’s Solunian tradition or whatever.”
“They’re an important dignitary,” Apo said. “They deserve respect.” Her pedantism tends to push against Pyro’s much more laid-back attitude towards rules whenever they talk. Not that she minds it, exactly; arguing with them is just another reason they’re friends. Still, they could stand to have a little more diligence when it comes to social customs.
Pyro scoffed. “Then have a state dinner and call it a day, there’s no need for two meals about you. Most of us don’t even get one.”
“Oh, are you talking about the new prince coming?” Shelby chirped, popping between them. Apo and Pyro both jumped, startled by her sudden appearance. Right beside her, as always, was Drift. Both of them help out in both the kitchens and the gardens whenever needed, and both also have a tendency to eavesdrop on conversations and spread the latest gossip through the castle.
Pyro scowled at them both, going back to his dishes. “I’ve told you not to listen in.”
“You weren’t exactly whispering, dude,” Drift piped up. “It’s not spying if you’re not trying to keep it a secret—”
“It’s hard to overhear anything in this noise, though,” Pyro countered, sweeping a dripping arm around them to indicate the chaos and bustle of the kitchens: people yelling over one another for apples or soap, other castle staff visiting friends or getting breakfast, the clatter of pans and cooking food. He raised an eyebrow. Drift had the decency to look sheepish.
Apo, meanwhile, was focused on what Shelby had said—or, more specifically, who she’d mentioned was coming. “Wait, did you say there’s a new prince arriving?”
Shelby perked up. “Uh-huh! We overheard the stable master talking with the head gardener! Apparently he’s coming at noon with a proposal for the princess!”
Instantly, the bread she’d been eating turned to ash in Apo’s mouth. Her heart twisted in her chest, irritation settling over her. Another suitor for the princess. Great. “Huh. Well, that’s…something.”
She ignored the weird look Pyro gave her as Shelby and Drift continued to talk about the suitor, making up some excuse and slipping away. She didn’t even know why she was so upset; it’s not like she had any reason to be. Maybe it was just that now she’d be forced to stand by the princess as some second-in-line prince or duke or whatever asked her to marry him. The thought sent a new wave of annoyance through her.
It’s not like the princess has ever accepted one of the proposals. But they keep showing up, like a pest that won’t go away. There’s two or three every year, all begging for Cherri’s hand so they can actually have a kingdom to rule over instead of just waiting for their parents and siblings to die so they can get the throne. And Apo’s not jealous of them, of course not—she has no reason to be. What would she even be jealous of?
No, Apo’s not jealous. Exasperated would be the better word. It’s just so…repetitive. They arrive, have a luncheon, meet with King Ren and the princess to ask for her hand, get rejected, have an awkward state dinner with some nobles and the royal family, and then leave. At this point, the princess is twenty-three, and she’s been rejecting marriage proposals since she was fourteen. Just get the fucking hint already and buzz off.
And Apo is assigned to guard the princess for the whole week, so she can’t even avoid the whole thing until it’s over like she usually does. No, she has to be there for all of it. Right behind the princess as this nobody practically throws himself at her in the hopes of getting some actual weight behind his name.
Safe to say, her bad mood has stuck around since then.
She doesn’t even know why she’s so upset, honestly. The rest of the knights—hell, the rest of the staff—joke about the new guy, whoever he is this time around, saying he shouldn’t get his hopes up and that he should stop wasting his time and all the like, but it doesn’t bother them the same way it bothers her. It sinks past Apo’s muscle and bones to nestle at the core of her, getting under her skin like nothing else can, not even snide remarks about her worth from some of the other staff.
And there are the other comments: that Cherri has high standards, that she doesn’t want to find love, that it doesn’t matter if some fifth-born son or a king himself proposed because she’d refuse him anyway. Most of the time, it’s said in jest, with a friendly smile and a teasing laugh, but sometimes, it’s said in that sniffy, disapproving tone that makes Apo’s blood boil. More than anything else, those words prick at her, no matter the intent behind them. They’re the ones that loop in her head at night, right next to every doubtful thought she’s ever had about herself, and she doesn’t know why.
It’s more than just defending the princess’s choices, which should be hers to make anyway. Because they snap at Pyro when he makes them, and they know he doesn’t mean anything of it at all.
A tiny, hateful voice inside of them whispers, because if she wouldn’t choose a prince, why on earth would she choose a knight? Apo stifles that voice; they don’t care if the princess accepts a proposal from one of the stablehands. They really don’t.
So they end up standing by the grand entrance to the castle at noon, side by side with King Ren’s knight, as the newest suitor’s carriage rolls into the castle grounds, accompanied by at least a dozen guards on horseback. The carriage is large, most likely holding not just the prince himself but also his manservants and luggage. Apo resists the incredibly strong urge to roll their eyes.
King Ren and Princess Cherri stand at the top of the steps, waiting to give him a proper and formal welcome to Soluna. Gold glints in the princess’s hair from her circlet, a smaller version of the regal crown King Ren wears. She’d spent nearly an hour getting ready this morning while Apo stood by the entrance to her room and tried to push down the ugly feelings in her chest, begging to voice their opinions on the matter.
Truthfully, they’ve never measured how long it usually takes the princess to get ready before, but they can’t help thinking that she wouldn’t go to almost an hour’s worth of effort if she plans to reject him, and quickly tamp it down. They shouldn’t have opinions on what the royal family does with their time, especially not disrespectful ones like that.
One of the prince’s knights opens the door to his carriage and he steps out into the sun. Apo’s first impression of him is underwhelming, frankly: he’s short, his ears stick out from his head, and his hair looks like someone dumped a load of burnt pasta on his head. Cherri practically shines, every part of her vibrant and bright; he’d look washed out next to her. A bad match.
It’s an objective and unbiased opinion, of course. From a completely impartial observer. Anyone who has eyes that can see would say the exact same thing, because it’s true; not at all influenced by any harboured feelings. Apo is neutral in these proceedings. She’s a Moon Knight, here to watch and nothing more.
He bows to the king and the princess, and Cherri says, “It is an honor to welcome you to Soluna.” Apo wonders what she thinks of him, if she also finds him underwhelming or if she thinks he’s attractive, somehow. In some way. All Apo’s saying is that this suitor had better hope love is blind, because he looks like oatmeal. Bland and average. He’s lucky he isn’t the crown prince of his kingdom; he’d have trouble holding the attention in a room.
She follows the three royals back into the castle, tuning out the idle polite chatter as she exchanges a brief glance with King Ren’s knight. He mouths boring and mimes falling asleep, and she bites down a laugh, nodding in agreement. At least she’s not the only one to find him lacking.
The luncheon passes by with little event. The prince asks Cherri about themself, their hobbies and such, and despite them showing no interest in him, he does the same. King Ren continues eating in swift bites that hide the tiny amused smile on his face. Apo wears the calm mask they always do around the royal family and pretend their grip isn’t tightening minutely around their spear.
It’s fine. They’re fine. They want to punch the stupid smile he certainly thinks is suave off of his dull face. They’re fine. It’s just a bad mood, nothing at all to do with the sly remarks he keeps making about Cherri every five seconds. None of them are particularly original, and in fact, most of them make Apo cringe internally. Do people seriously say things like that and think they’re flirting well?
After the luncheon, King Ren and the princess retreat to a private chamber to “discuss matters of state” while the prince settles into his rooms. Apo and King Ren’s knight post up by the door as the princess sinks into a chair before the king’s desk with a long sigh.
“Are you tired, daughter?” he asks, sitting in his own chair. He’s clearly trying not to laugh, but he wants to.
Cherri tugs on the ends of her hair, groaning in put-upon agony. “God, I hate whenever this happens.”
Ren snorts. “And why would that be? He’s a polite enough young man. I thought he was very well educated. All of those interests he mentioned…”
“Don’t do that,” she warns, levelling a finger at him. “Don’t start pretending to take his side, or I will…I will actually scream. And I will jump out of that window. Do you want me to jump out of the window, Father?”
Ren raises an eyebrow. “Do you care to share with me what was so terrible about him? Besides the obvious, of course.”
Apo suddenly finds herself very invested in the conversation, curious on both the princess’s opinions and what “the obvious” could be.
Cherri sighs again, listing out on her fingers, “He was boring, and we have no similar interests, and I can practically feel the pleading radiating off of him. It’s like he’s doing everything hoping for my approval.” She rolls her eye. “And his hair—”
“It was certainly on my list as well,” Ren laughs. “I wonder what stylists they can afford in his kingdom.”
“Not good ones,” Cherri mutters. Apo swallows her smile. “Did I even have to see him? Can’t we just say I’m…sick, or something?”
“Cherri,” he scolds lightly. “It’s polite. As queen, you’ll have to meet with important people that you may not necessarily like. It’s good for you to have experience in diplomacy beyond simply negotiating treaties and meeting with ambassadors. You need to learn to be around people you dislike as well.”
“But I don’t want to,” she whines, slumping in her seat. She’s always expressive, of course—Apo thinks it’s just a part of who she is, and it makes her all the more interesting to be around—but in this private room with only her father for company, she’s even more open with her actions. This is her truest self, not having to worry about any people watching, and Apo feels privileged to witness it.
It’s really a dumb thought. It’s not for her, and there’s no reason to even find it special, and she’s definitely not the first knight to be assigned to the princess for the week, nor will she be the last. There are probably a hundred knights who have seen the exact same thing. Cherri clearly isn’t even giving a thought to their presence, because Apo knows how she acts in front of people she doesn’t know well, and it’s much more hesitant than this. It’s nothing to care about, just another side to a person she’s meant to protect.
There’s nothing more to it than that. They’re meant to protect the royal family, to constantly be alert for threats and ready to prevent them. They can’t be distracted by the princess’s smile, or the way she tugs on the ends of her hair when she’s stressed, or her pout when she doesn’t want to do something. And they’re not. They’re not at all focused on any of that. They don’t find any of it endearing in the slightest.
An inexplicable surge of jealousy burns through their stomach. That suitor doesn’t know any of this about her, does he? He doesn’t know how expressive or energetic she can be. He doesn’t know anything about her.
And Apo does.
“If you said you’re sick,” King Ren is saying, “he’d just come back again when you aren’t. You’d need a lasting excuse.”
“I’m joining the covenant,” Cherri declares. “I’m giving up marriage for Lent. I’m allergic to weddings. It was my mother’s dying wish for me to remain unwed. I killed a man so it’s taboo to marry me. Any of these work for you?”
King Ren looks amused. “Soluna doesn’t even celebrate Lent.”
“He doesn’t have to know that.”
“I can assume he’s been taught the basics of our culture.”
Cherri heaves another sigh and crosses her arms. “What about princesses?” she complains. Every muscle and nerve in Apo’s body freezes at once, like a deer caught in carriage-lights. “Why aren’t there any girls offering me their hands? At least I’d actually think it over before rejecting them.”
Time pauses around them, stretching out like a rubber band before snapping back into place with a speed so fast it’s jarring. The moment is elongated, expanded so Apo is hyperaware of every single sensation she feels all at once: the confusion, the realization, the overwhelm, the doubt, the surprise, the complete understanding of several things all at once, the feverish and consuming happiness spreading through every inch of her body.
Cherri likes girls. It’s not that she isn’t interested in anyone; she just isn’t interested in boys, and of course, all of the suitors are princes and dukes and marquises and whatever else. They’re all male. No wonder she keeps rejecting them.
As if this is a natural fact of the world, as if Apo isn’t going through a mental reconstruction right now, as if nothing at all has changed now that she knows this one simple fact, King Ren laughs. “I’ll send the word out,” he replies with a broad smile. “Make sure all of our allies know you’re only interested in princesses.”
“Or duchesses, marquesses, countesses…really, anything but a guy,” Cherri says. She makes a face, nose scrunching up, and in some small part of their mind not overtaken with panic, Apo thinks it’s one of the most charming things they’ve ever seen. They don’t have the brain space to stop that thought before it can build any further into something they don’t want to consider.
King Ren shakes his head fondly. “Perhaps you’ll find someone here.”
“Maybe,” she hums. “Or maybe you’ll have to send me away to a tower guarded by a dragon, and some dashing female knight will come rescue me.”
Apo would rescue them. Not to get them to fall in love, of course not, but because it’s her duty to the royal family, to the princess. Protect them from all threats. Apo would figure out a way to get sent to that tower with them, if she could.
“I don’t believe dragons have been proven to exist yet, but I’ll see what I can do,” King Ren says. “Does a very grouchy dog work? Lady False wouldn’t mind lending me one of her hunting hounds, I’m sure.”
Cherri tilts their head, pretending to think about it, and nods. “It’s acceptable. Would I have to care for it? Or would it just run off when it wants to eat or something and know to come back?” They frown as another thought occurs to them. “What would I eat? Would I have to make my own food? And what if I run out?”
“Perhaps locking princesses in remote towers to wait for a knight to rescue them isn’t a very smart way of going about things,” King Ren remarks drily. “And now, my dearest daughter, I’m afraid I have actual matters of the state to attend to, and we have an audience with the young man in an hour that you must prepare for.”
Cherri groans. “Do I really have to go? Can’t I get sick from something I ate at lunch?”
He fixes them with a stern look. “You can’t fake sick to get out of everything you don’t want to do when you’re queen. Besides, that would imply that our kitchens aren’t careful enough to avoid putting allergens in your food.”
“I know,” they grumble, standing up. “I wish I could.”
Ren smiles sympathetically. “I’ll have them prepare your favorite dessert for dinner tonight.”
“I suppose that makes it better.”
This is the worst part of Apo’s day. Probably their week as well, and possibly the entire month. They can think of a hundred other things they would rather be doing than standing in the throne room, waiting for the prince to walk in and propose to Princess Cherri just so she can reject him.
They wonder if a pre-emptive rejection would be too rude. Simply send a note to his rooms saying, Sorry, not interested, you can go home now! It would save him the embarrassment and everyone else the awkwardness of already knowing what will happen. Really, it’d be doing them all a favor.
The princess sits beside King Ren’s throne with perfect posture, shoulders back and head up. She hasn’t changed her gown yet, though Apo knows she’ll be expected to for the state dinner tonight. They also wish that wasn’t happening, but at least it will mean the end of this nightmare. She looks radiant, every inch a future queen, and Apo’s stomach does a somersault looking at her.
The doors to the chamber swing open, and in walks the suitor. In complete contrast to Cherri, his hair seems to have gotten worse since lunch, a feat Apo had thought was impossible, and despite being given over an hour to rest and get ready, he looks even more drained. It’s like someone made a drawing of a person and left it out in the sun for a couple days, until its color was bleached.
He strides up the long red carpet running the length of the room and stops before the dais. He’s nervous, anyone can see it. Desperation practically pours out of him, as if he knows this is all he has left for him. It disgusts Apo; Cherri should be with someone who truly wants her, not one who sees her as a last resort.
He kneels before Cherri, bowing his head and offering out his hand. “Princess Cherrifire,” he begins, voice squeaky and barely carrying to the far corners of the room, “future Queen of Soluna, I come here today to offer you my hand in marriage.” His voice cracks on the word marriage and Apo nearly winces. Definitely not a ruler. He’s lucky if he manages to get a respectable position in his sibling’s court.
“I am honored, but I decline your offer, Your Highness,” Cherri says. She sounds almost amused, and Apo resists the urge to sneak a sidelong glance at her. It’s not in her job to do that; she stays silent and unnoticed in the background, watching from the shadows like all Moon Knights are trained to. She still wishes she could see the look on her princess’s face right now.
The prince’s face falls, and Apo feels a vindictive surge of satisfaction. She isn’t sure if he actually expected her to say yes or just held out some naive hope, but either way, Cherri didn’t. She rejected him, just like she’s rejected all the others, and Apo gets to stay by her side while they travel back home, sad and dejected.
The joy of it burns the back of her throat. She tries so hard to shove it down and contain it, because it’s not her business and she shouldn’t be so happy about it. All of these potential suitors are legions above her in terms of status and rank; she should treat them with deference and respect, but all she wants to do is gloat about it. I get to stay with her. I get to stay with her, and none of you do.
It’s ridiculous, really, especially considering Apo is just one knight of hundreds. It’s not like Cherri chose them specifically to be her bodyguard, not even like they get to keep the role, because they’ll be rotated out of it at the end of the week and someone new will fill the spot, just like always. They doubt the princess even knows they exist, but still. They get to stay here, stay in this castle and in Soluna, see the princess from afar and have the chance to be near her again.
They get to stay, and it doesn’t matter how close in proximity it is, because it’s enough as long as they have even the smallest opportunity to be by her side again someday.
“Lady Apokuna,” Cherri murmurs, once they’re back in her rooms. Apo stands by the door, alert as ever, while Cherri sits on her bed with a book she isn’t reading. She dismissed her ladies in waiting, claiming she needed to rest and instructing them to come back two hours before dinner to help her get ready. Apo turns to look at her, a question drawing her brows together, and finds the princess’s blue eyes already watching her.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“Will you tell anyone about what my father and I said in the study?” It’s an anxious question, said with no small amount of fear in her voice. All of the different moods and emotions Apo has seen on her, all of the sides she has and every aspect of her personality, and she’s never seen her scared before. It sends a rush of sadness through her, and she instantly knows she’ll cave to whatever Cherri wants if she looks at her like that while asking.
It’s a dangerous thought.
Taking her silence as unsurety, Cherri rushes on, “I’m not ashamed of it, and it’s not even really a secret; I’m sure half of the castle at least suspects by now. I don’t care if they do, but I’d rather not have other people talk about it. I want to tell them myself, you know?”
She looks up at Apo with eyes the exact hue of the ocean. Apo could drown in them, if she let herself. She’s tempted to, if only to snap out of whatever she’s feeling. She has a duty and nothing more. She can’t let it be anything more.
She’s a knight, and princesses don’t fall in love with knights outside of fairytales. They marry princes, or other princesses, and become queens, and the knights die for them if needed, because that’s what they are sworn to do. That’s what Apo will be sworn to do, someday.
Still. She knows something about not being like others, and not caring if people know but wanting to tell them herself. She knows a lot about it, actually. She wasn’t always Apokuna, after all; she chose a name that felt right, and she chose who that person would be, and the child she was was left behind with the memories of her old kingdom.
“Of course not. I would never tell,” she swears. This is part of her oath as well; this is part of protecting the royal family. Cherri didn’t even have to ask. It never would’ve crossed her mind.
Cherri relaxes, worry smoothing off of her face in favor of a gentle smile. It’s different from her other ones; smaller and somehow more intimate. “Thank you,” she says. “You’re quite a good knight, Apokuna.”
This, Apo thinks, a rush of warmth and satisfaction and countless other emotions they can’t name burning through them, this, this, this. This is what they can’t have. This is what I get.
That night, she falls asleep with a smile. It turned out to be quite a good day, in the end.