Gundam Wing Fan Fiction / Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Unspoken ❯ Chapter 1

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Unspoken:
Book I of the Lost Love Arc
Chapter One
 
Fandom: Sailor Moon/Gundam Wing
Genre: Drama, Angst, Romance
Pairing: Hotaru/Duo
Rating: X/NC-17
 
Summary: Set during the Silver Millennium, Unspoken is a tale of duty, devotion, and loss—and, of course, unrequited love.
 
*
 
“Did you hear?”
 
“No, what about?”
 
“The king, he's ill!”
 
“What? But…”
 
“I know. Has been for awhile now, too.”
 
“Is death imminent?”
 
“That's what I've been hearing.”
 
“Oh, so I suppose that means the princess will be looking for suitors soon.”
 
“I'm certainly hoping so. Imagine…”
 
*
 
A masculine chuckle wafted over to the Saturnian Princess, who stubbornly ignored their treasonous whispers in favor of her wine goblet. Power-hungry fools. That's all they ever were—and she'd told her father as much, in confidence. He concurred, but the facts of life were thus: no woman had ever inherited the throne without a king at her side. It just wasn't done.
 
Her father sighed on his throne next to her, and Hotaru turned, immediately fearing it could be his last, rattling breath. Those fears were irrational though, but something that had plagued her dreams for the last year of her life, haunting her in fitful sleep. Death was calling her and she found it hard to ignore. Finally, the physicians had to start dosing her before bed, she'd begun to look so pale and wan.
 
“What ails you, father?” Hotaru asked, her voice pitched low so that none heard besides the two of them.
 
The king of Saturn had been already in his middle-years when his father and mother passed, leaving him the throne. An only child like herself, he'd had no choice but to take the burden of being their political and religious leader in one. Except there had been a slight problem—no ruler is allowed to step up without first having a mate. In her father's case, it had been a woman to take on the burdens of being queen.
 
Their culture allowed for a religious ceremony to be performed, where the true queen—proper political and social leader, mate to her father's soul, and goddess of death had been divined. Hotaru was told their love of one another had been instantaneous—they'd met the day of their wedding, and right when they saw each other, sparks flew, the room lit up, and whatever other romantic drabble people spout about it.
 
So they had been married, coronated, and finally, taken the deities into themselves. They had ruled childless for the first few years of their reign, and then Hotaru had come. However, bringing her into the world, her mother had left it—a difficult birth, the midwives said with sympathy in their eyes.
 
Her father had never chosen to remarry, and Shinimegami's spirit had gone to rest once more. Needless to say, Hotaru had been the apple of her aging father's eye from day one—the only living remainder of the woman he'd so loved and had too short a time to do so in. For a father and daughter back then, they were extremely close—most fathers, particularly the rulers of monarchies, only had time for the firstborn sons—for they would inherit and carry on the family name.
 
But Ilyxian the Third could not have cared less—he simply loved his daughter.
 
“I grieve, my daughter, my light, for all I need to teach you still, and the responsibilities you will inherit.”
 
“Father, do not say such things,” Hotaru begged quietly, “You know I cannot bear the thought of it. Without you, my life will be empty, like that of this goblet.”
 
The king gave his young daughter, barely sixteen, a long look and shook his head slightly. “Both you and I are too highly trained in the arts to believe otherwise, Hotaru.”
 
“But the physicians say there is a slim chance for recovery,” she returned in a small voice.
 
“Physicians, pah! What do they understand? You and I, we are tied to the divinity. We know all too well how death and life work. And I am an old man, Hotaru. With age comes death's imminence.”
 
She glanced at her father sadly, black bangs brushing into her eyes, shielding their dark violet depths from most people present at the feast. “Yes, but I will not give up hope so easily as you, my father.” Stiff-backed and fighting the urge to cry, the young heiress stood and walked away from the dais, shooing away the guards who would attempt to help her down the steps.
 
The king watched his daughter walk away through rheumy eyes and fought off tears of his own. He grieved that he must leave her, but more than that, that he must leave her when the astrologers predicted times of chaos ahead. She would have a long struggle, but—watching her walk, head held high on graceful neck, slender body hiding deceptive strength under yards of smooth indigo silk and lace—he thought she might be ready for it.
 
*
 
Hotaru walked through the party feeling like a ghost—the crowd would part like water before she even got there and let her pass without a fuss. She kept her eyes averted, hidden behind her dark bangs, for she knew the look of crying was still too fresh in them. Show no weakness, her father said over and over. They will take advantage the second they scent a weakness.
 
She headed out of the dining room and into the hall, to the public powder room. Locking the door behind her, the princess began to get herself back under control, exerting her own iron will. Staring in the mirror, Hotaru confirmed the slightly glassy, wet look to her eyes.
 
“You are calm, cool, and collected,” she heard herself say with conviction. “No one upsets you, nothing touches you. I will be cold, like Mercurian Ice. Nothing will slip past into this heart of mine.”
 
*
 
The Prince of Janus watched curiously as the princess—soon to be queen, by the sound of it—leaned near her father. He saw the exchange of words, but not what was said—and how the princess left the room immediately after that. “Probably indulging herself in a fit of pique,” Duo murmured to himself.
 
“Surely you jest, my friend,” said the young man next to him. Dennin, the Prince of Hyperion, was a bold young man some might say. Foolhardy would have been Duo's choice wording, but then the man was good company. He just lacked political skills.
 
“The princess does not indulge in fits of pique,” Dennin continued, “I once witnessed a man on the practice fields call her a chirpy trying to grow some balls—you know, she's in the guard—and she very calmly walked over. I could see this man getting ready to piss himself from fear—her face was completely blank, no emotion whatsoever in her eyes. Then she smiled up at him, leaned in real close, and said something like `you'd do well to remember to whom you speak.' When she walked away, I swear, this man went weak in the knees with relief. Then I watched her put some other guy in the dirt.”
 
It was clear from his friend's tale, at least to Duo, that Dennin quite fancied the princess, or at least admired her in some awestruck way. Watching as the princess glided her way back into the room, he couldn't really see why. Surely, she was pretty in a very Saturnian way—dark hair, pale skin—but her eyes were what was most remarkable about her. Violet, true deep violet in a sea of blues, greys, and browns.
 
It was said she'd been marked at birth for what she is—a healer of the most powerful of magnitudes. For everyone knew that life-force, essence, chi was a violet color, or so other healers said. Normal folk couldn't see, hear, or feel it, so one merely had the word of healers to trust.
 
But to Duo's way of thinking, the princess was not all that beautiful. She was naturally petite in structure, and due to her illness this past year, she'd only grown more so. In fact, a month ago the indigo-eyed prince would have said she looked thin and wispy—more like a lost waif than a royal princess. Her breasts were small, her waist and wrists so delicate he'd fear she break while trying to be intimate.
 
However, appearances were deceiving, as Dennin's tale had illustrated. The princess was a natural healer, gifted highly in those arts. Not to mention, she was a member of the Silver Alliance's Guard. That took not merely skill, but strength—though it was still difficult for Duo to believe that anyone that tiny had a slip of strength in them. When push came to shove though, it would be her job to defend the borders of the galaxy.
 
That had to say something, right?
 
Dennin sighed, even as the princess strolled in their direction. Just as he'd thought—a bit of a crush on the royal princess. Oh well, it couldn't do any harm—soon she'd have to be looking for a husband; a man who would also be king and god. Perhaps Dennin would be on that list—though Duo feared for the planet then.
 
“P-Princess,” Dennin greeted as the young woman was within earshot. She turned slowly towards them, a small smile on lips that had been tinted red—and for just a second, Duo thought it reminded him of a rosebud. “Prince Dennin, how lovely to see you,” the princess stated in a quiet, low voice.
 
As a server moved past laden with a tray of full wine goblets, the princess leaned back and plucked one, giving the server the same small smile she'd given the princes. “And this is?” the princess asked, raising an inquisitive brow at Duo. “Ah, forgive me for not introducing him earlier, princess. This is Duo, Prince of Janus,” Dennin stumbled slightly, flushing at his own faux pas.
 
Something flickered in those dark violet eyes as the princess studied him; recognition of his name and parentage, perhaps? “Hm. A pleasure to finally meet you, Duo of Janus. I have heard tales of your antics.”
 
“All good, I hope,” Duo returned, eyes locked in silent combat with the princess. She shrugged, her small shoulders moving the thin materials of her gown, and changed the subject. “Tell me, how is my dear friend, Minako of Venus?”
 
Duo mentally grinned, seeing that she'd definitely heard tales—referring to his albeit brief, but intense love affair with the Venetian princess. “The last time we spoke,” he hedged, “She was in the process of selecting a husband. Her parents would like to see her settled down before they pass, or so she said.”
 
Unspoken was the sly insult, but the princess stiffened anyway, hearing the implied distaste for her father's methods. She frowned, working to return the barbed banter, “So I see.” Unable to, the princess frowned and flicked her eyes over to the raised dais on which her father sat.
 
Dennin, who up to this point had been rather silent, blushing furiously at just being in the princess' presence, spoke up then. “Uh, princess, excuse me for being forward, but the tables are being cleared away. I was wondering if perhaps you'd care to dance with me.”
 
The princess, now focused on Dennin, smiled slightly, but responded with, “I do apologize, Prince Dennin, but I feel that I should return to my father's side now. Another time, Prince, I promise you.” She curtsied then, the movement slow and graceful, and some of her black curls, piled up on her head, tumbled down. Duo fought the natural instinct to tuck them back into place as he had with so many other young women, and won. Showing just the right amount of deference to a prince, but not one of equal rank, the Saturnian Princess straightened.
 
“Prince Duo, a pleasure to meet you. Prince Dennin, always nice to speak with you,” she said as she moved away, walking through the crowd like a slender specter. True to her words, the princess returned to the dais, and Duo was forced to listen to Dennin sigh once more. “Isn't she great?” Dennin whispered to him. Silently, Duo was forced to disagree.
 
Princess Hotaru of Saturn was dangerous. She had the package: beauty, brains, and power. The combination made her dangerous to Duo's mind—a woman you'd be forced to meet on equal ground. And far too serious to his liking. No, one thing was for certain—despite his parents' wishes, Duo was not going to compete for the honor of being king.
 
*
 
As the party ended with no further noteworthy events, Hotaru found herself grateful. Her father had retired to his chambers nearly two hours before the end of the feast, and she'd suddenly found herself prey to all the courtiers who wanted to grab her attention, warp her thoughts to theirs, try and get the latest gossip. She hated courtiers.
 
Slimy, sniveling creatures intent on taking power without having to earn it. They would earn nothing when she was queen, that was for certain. Because, although she did not wish to admit it, Hotaru would be queen. There was no one else to step up to the task.
 
While the servants closed the doors on the last guest, Hotaru almost wished there was someone else—to host the parties, to deal with the court, to save her from the trials that the monarchy could bring.
 
Retiring to her chambers, Hotaru sat down at her vanity with a tired sigh and began pulling the pearl-ended pins out of her up-do, she allowed the long, artificially-curled hair to fall down her back. She felt stiff and dried up, barely able to move. Taking cotton balls, she gently dabbed the substance they'd told her would remove all her make-up, onto their surface, and began to clean off the remnants of elaborate eyeliner, rouge, and lip tint.
 
So, that was Duo of Janus. Oh yes, she'd heard of him—he was practically infamous among her generation for his womanizing, drunken carousing, and outrageous stunts. An immature man who, at one time, had been sleeping with her friend and fellow guard, Minako of Venus. Supposedly, he went for the buxom type—blonde, brunette, redhead. It didn't matter, so long as it was buxom.
 
Men like that were pathetic to Hotaru, and she pitied him. Standing, the heiress shook out of her hair once more to untangle it, then slipped off her shoes and gown, laying it on the seat of the vanity.
 
She glanced in the mirror, staring at her own slender body. Certainly, it curved in and out in all the right places. But buxom she would never be. Her bone structure was delicate, like a bird's, but the muscle lying underneath her skin belied that delicacy.
 
No, Hotaru thought to herself, rest assured that Prince Duo would never see you as an object to be won, even if the throne were the true prize. In any case, the temple leaders would never allow such a dishonorable man to become Shinigami's host. That was one less foolish noble to worry about—now, to get rid of the rest of them.
 
*
 
TBC…