#the way Viktor lets himself be lov

[omgkatsudonplease]

princess diaries 2 au where yurio is mia, otabek is devereaux, victor is clarisse, and yuuri is joe. mila is bff lily and phichit is unproblematic photographer prince

my jus d’orange asks, and i must deliver. s/o to @forovnix and discord peeps bc i lov u all. note: yurio is like, probably nearing 21 in this ficlet because who the hell is going to let a 16 year old onto the throne

“I can’t believe PM Feltsman thinks I have to get married in order to assume the throne,” Yuri groans as he lounges on the bed. Over on the settee, the King’s chief of security, Yuuri Katsuki, looks up from the paper.

“PM Feltsman may have ulterior motives,” he remarks.

“And who’s Lord Altin, anyway?” demands Yuri, rolling up the parliamentary meeting agenda and chucking it at the ceiling. It barely glances off the fresco ceiling and lands on his face. “Sounds like a bore. Why does he suddenly care about me becoming King?”

“Well, there’s the stuff about the succession,” says Katsuki. “You’re the ward of King Viktor, whereas Lord Altin is connected to the House of Nikiforov via marriage –”

“But Viktor named me his heir,” Yuri points out. “I shouldn’t have to jump through additional hoops just because I’m adopted into the Royal Family. Besides, I went to Georgetown. I’m probably more qualified to be king than Lord Altin.”

“I’m not questioning your qualifications, Your Highness,” Katsuki replies drily, though there’s a hint of a flustered blush in his cheeks. “I’m just restating what Parliament thinks about the situation. Petersburg law clearly states that adoptive heirs of the House of Nikiforov must marry prior to assuming the throne.”

“It’s a stupid law,” mutters Yuri. He tosses the agenda up again, and catches it this time. Katsuki turns the page in his paper, humming in agreement.

The door to the bedroom swings open, and His Majesty King Viktor Nikiforov of Petersburg strides in, his loyal poodle Makkachin hot at his heels. Yuri groans at the way his guardian’s eyes light up at the sight of his chief of security – honestly, he’s still here in this room; couldn’t they wait until he was out of it before they start sending goo-goo longing eyes at each other?

“Yurio!” exclaims Viktor. Yuri rolls his eyes.

“That’s not my name,” he grumbles.

Viktor ignores him, like he did the first several thousand times Yuri told him that. “They’ve finished remodelling your rooms. You can move in now!”

“Good,” says Yuri, injecting a little extra sullenness into his tone. “Finally I won’t have to listen to you sighing through the walls about Agent Porker here.” And he swiftly rises out of the bed, ignoring Viktor’s gasp of mild offense on his way out the door.

Whatever disappointment Yuri might have felt at seeing how stuffy his bedroom still looks after the remodelling – it’s like they only reupholstered the furniture to be leopard print and just didn’t bother touching anything else – is more than mitigated by just how cool his new closet is. 

Each of the drawers and doors are remote-controlled, sliding out and back at the click of certain buttons. He’s got a lot of suits and tuxes and military-style outfits for official appearances and balls, but he also has lots of cooler clothing, too – leather jackets, jeans, vintage-looking punk band t-shirts – 

“Surprise!” Mila shouts. 

Yuri most definitely does not scream like a little girl in response to that. He claps a hand to his mouth and jumps back, glowering at his friend as she emerges from behind a rack of blazers.

“Don’t do that, Baba!” he hisses. “What if Agent Porker finds out?”

“Agent….” Mila cocks her head at him. 

“Head of security.”

“Oh, Yuuri! He’s cool. He let me in.” A pause. “After an extensive background check and a heavy pat-down from a cute security guard named Yuuko, at least.”

“Of course you’d be hiding in my closet, with comments like that,” grumbles Yuri, but he steps forward and briefly clasps her in a one-armed hug. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to visit you! What’s going on?”

Yuri groans. “I’m supposed to get married.”

“You’d think it’d be a little counterintuitive to force someone adopted into the Royal Family to marry before they can be counted in the succession,” remarks Mila. “Was it usually to encourage them to marry someone in the family?”

They’re currently sitting in the palace’s private theatre. Katsuki is leaning over Viktor’s chair, talking quietly with the king. Yuri feels like gagging at the way Viktor keeps looking at his bodyguard like he hung the stars and moon. 

He forces himself to concentrate on the various faces and names on the screen of potential candidates instead. “According to the law, it has to be someone of noble or royal birth,” he grumbles. “Especially if the adoptee was a commoner.” And he can’t help the cold shiver of resentment at that comment. He’d thought it’d be enough when King Viktor chose him as his ward and heir. But according to some antiquated law, apparently not. Apparently in the eyes of Petersburg’s Parliament, he had to ‘ensure the nobility of his line’ through marriage before becoming King.

If he ever finds out who created such a patently idiotic idea, he’ll hunt them down and kill them. It doesn’t matter if they’re already dead; he’ll resurrect them, and kill them again.

“What do you think of Duke Jean-Jacques Leroy?” wonders Mila. 

Yuri looks up at the picture of a young man with a dark undercut and the most obnoxious grin on his face. “No,” he says. 

“He does sound a little full of himself, even in a profile like this,” Mila agrees, changing the slide. “What about Duke Seung-gil Lee?”

Yuri squints. “He doesn’t seem friendly.”

“You’re hardly Miss Congeniality yourself,” Viktor remarks from behind them. 

“Viktor,” chides Katsuki. Yuri rolls his eyes. The slide changes.

“How about Prince Christophe Giacometti?” wonders Mila.

Yuri’s eyes go wide. “Fuck, no,” he hisses. “He has habits.”

“And thank god he’s got a boyfriend willing to indulge him in said habits,” agrees Katsuki from the back row. Yuri grumbles and changes the slide.

“Too young,” says Viktor. Another change. “Too old.”

Another. “Arrested too many times,” says Katsuki.

Finally, they arrive at a picture of a young man with dark hair and skin, and the brightest smile as he holds a camera in his hands. “Phichit Chulanont, Prince of Thailand,” remarks Mila. “I hear he loves photography; he runs a very popular Instagram account.”

Yuri looks at the other parts of the dossier. Prince Chulanont sounds like he’s dependable and friendly, and might be fine with their very political alliance.

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “I guess he could work.”

Yuri gapes. Lord Altin – no, wait, ‘Just Otabek’ – waves at him from where he’s standing with Prime Minister Feltsman in the foyer. 

And then everything happens all at once. Yuri would claim for years after that it had all been heat of the moment, accidental. PM Feltsman would claim that it had been a deliberate provoking.

But Yuri simply glides up to Lord Altin, fire in each step, each move of his body. “Lord Altin, hm,” he says, careful to keep his voice even. “I’ve heard a lot about you lately.”

“You have?” wonders Lord Altin. He flushes just a little. Yuri nods.

And then he stomps on the man’s feet and sweeps from the room in high dudgeon. 

#princess diaries #viktuuri #otayuri #victuuri #lily's dabbles #anonymous #becky and yurio #there's a readmore for those on mobile #ask #princess diaries au