FIC: Low War (Prompt 095: Crowd)

[cheshirecaine]

Title: Low War

Fandom: The Villainess Reverses the Hourglass (webcomic)

Characters: Oscar, Isis, Asher (ref'ed as Asterope)

Relationship: Asher/Oscar

Rating: Gen

Genre: Drama, Alternate Universe?

Wordcount: ~400

Summary: Oscar wasn’t capable of open rebellion, or even much mischief at all. But he accepted.

Notes: I am STILL learning so much about Dreamwidth formatting lmao / AO3 link

Low War

 

Oscar’s family pulled him out of class on a Monday, dragged him to a fitting on Tuesday, and wrenched him by the collar into Wednesday’s rehearsal. Thursday went differently. It was a rotation of three sinuous lectures on not messing this up for his sister. He even sporadically bobbed his head to show he was listening.

A later summons couldn’t have been out of the question. Surely, showing on the night and fleeing to the Academy post-haste spared his woeful sister any excess of embarrassment. He could dream but – by the grace of Isis and Father’s years of coaching – he knew better than to risk complaining.

Saturday arrived. The servants’ panic and painstaking accordance to his sister’s every instruction had born fruit. The trek through the mansion to the entrance hall was a vision, brim-full of flowers. Banners embellished with the family crest and trails of golden roses and pink tulips twined along every bannister and windowsill, each to stamp the announcement with the Frederick duchy’s seal.

The mansion would’ve spellbound his child self, and if he hadn’t missed a week’s worth of meals with friends, he might still have enjoyed it. As happened instead, the night dragged on, scraping along the tiles like the train of his sister’s dress when he escorted her before her captive audience.

For hours, the susurration clawed for fresh developments. Until the crown prince was announced, and the crowd turned as one to the balcony, to stare as he descended onto the floor.

Even if they were due to be brothers-in-law, Oscar had yet gone without meeting him. Crown Prince Asterope’s eyes were bright, flecks of winter’s first frost rippling into the deeper azure of a night sky. His gaze fell upon Oscar and he smiled, a mischief curling about his pressed lips.

Oscar jerked, compelled by some bestial instinct or premonition.

The prince began to speak, steady and unhurried by Oscar’s anxieties. After all, the public announcement would be saved for later, now was just to confirm the truth which every noble house already knew.

"—Step hand-in-hand towards our nation’s future—"

Isis’s dreams were trotting cheerily into her arms, but she was impatient still. Oscar could see the tautness of her cheeks, the sucked-in skin. She pulled away the fan as Prince Asterope wound to conclusion, her face transformed with a smile; beatific, like the future princess should look.

"—Family names eternally intertwined: Franz and Frederick." Prince Asterope offered a hand, eyes sparkling with misbehaviour. "May I have this dance, Oscar?"

. . .

What?