The following morning, Kurt awoke early to start implementing his plan. He journeyed to the opposite end of the city in search of Mike and Tina, traveling by foot to avoid attracting too much attention to himself. He found their camp set up about as far away from his house as one could get in the city – along the outskirts, with lots of open space to simply exist and breathe, a far cry from the congestion farther in. Sleeping in his sister's room, Kurt felt the walls and ceiling closing in on him; the thicker air indoors pressing down on him like a hot blanket.

Kurt envied Mike and Tina their humble camp here on the fringes of what passed for civilization.

He envied their life together, and their freedom to have one.

Mike and Tina met years ago. Mike had been living the life of a nomad long before Kurt left home. Mike found Tina wandering the desert, herself escaping a dangerous match. With her mother gone, and the family savings wasted on frivolities, her father and older sisters had “betrothed” her to a merchant - an overweight, balding, older man with a love of alcohol and an infamously violent temper. She managed to run away from him as they traveled to his home, with barely the clothes on her back - no food, no water, not a coin to spend. Mike saw Tina from afar and he knew – he just knew – like all of the heroes and heroines in the greatest love stories ever told knew when they found themselves in the presence of their one true love.

Mike didn't need to see her face. There was just something about her, something indescribable, for there were no words yet invented to do it justice. And she knew, too. She was not looking to be rescued. She had fought off other would-be saviors before Mike came along. But once she laid eyes on him, and he held his hand out to her, she did not hesitate. She let him sweep her up and carry her off, and they had been together ever since. She did not feel indebted to him, did not love him because he came to her aid. She loved him regardless, indeed in spite of that. They were simply a match – a perfect fit. Supposedly there was one out there for every person in the world.

Kurt had hoped to find his perfect match someday. He was always on the lookout for him, vigilance fueling a fire in his belly.

But that fire started to die with the realization that that would never be.

Kurt told his friends little of his scheme, only that he would be escorting his sister to the palace as she was betrothed to the King, but no more since he felt the less they knew, the safer they were. Kurt warned them to keep an ear to the ground, and that if they did not hear from him in a week's time, to leave the city as scheduled. Do not wait for him, and whatever they did, do not call on him.

However, if they heard news of his beheading before then, they should leave earlier.

Kurt felt that his friends were among his greatest treasures in life. He garnered strength from their willingness to stand beside him in thick and in thin. But should he be relieved of his head from his neck for what he was planning, he'd rather do so alone.

As well, Kurt told Rachel only what she needed to know as he bathed her, dressed her, and packed her things onto his camel for the journey. That way, if need be, she could claim truthfully that it was all his idea, and that she knew nothing of it. She objected to that, to him throwing himself into the fray on her behalf. Still, she felt his plan (what she knew of it) a brilliant one, and was happy that he'd come up with it. But she wept, too. Her brother was giving up so much to keep her safe – his very life, as a matter of fact - and yet their father, grumbling to himself all the long morning while Kurt bustled about preparing, still looked upon him as no more worthy of love and affection than the dirt beneath a pig's hooves. But by the afternoon, that no longer mattered to her. Just as her father had made peace with losing a son, he would have to make peace with losing a daughter. If he could not consider such a wonderfully kind and compassionate man as Kurt his own flesh and blood, then she could no longer consider herself his daughter, and this parting, though abrupt and terrifying, would be a great relief for as long as it lasted.

Kurt bathed himself in fragrant soaps, moisturized his skin in expensive oils, and wore his finest silks – ones he did not dare wear when he traveled since they were delicate (and formfitting), so they remained impeccably clean, their colors bright, their texture soft. He shied away from purple since, in most kingdoms, purple was considered a color for royalty only. Kurt didn't want to appear presumptuous. His entire plan hinged on the King agreeing to his terms. There was a chance, a huge chance, that the King could turn Kurt away at the palace steps … or worse. He could have Kurt executed where he stood. But Kurt tried not to think about that, preparing only for success. The real test would be keeping himself and his sister alive once they were permitted inside the palace.

Getting inside was only a formality.

Kurt chose pale blue instead, knowing that it would accentuate the color of his eyes. His eyes, he'd been told, were his greatest feature. Mesmerizing at times. Hypnotic even. He didn't give those words much weight. They were spoken by men, after all, and in his experience, most men could not be trusted. But if there were any truth to those words and his eyes did hold power, he needed that power now. He needed his eyes to speak for him if he were commanded to hold his tongue. He needed them to show honesty, sincerity, but most of all, he needed them to make him look trustworthy … and irresistible.

Kurt felt the sunset settle in his chest like a bell tolling his inevitable fate. As the sun slid lower in the desert sky, the King's guards returned. That snake at the door was not among them, Kurt noted. That fiendish man, with his flirtatious voice and his sea green eyes, would be considered a viper to Kurt forever.

“We've come for the King's bride,” the guards announced. To Kurt's disgust, his father seemed more than happy to admit them, falling to his knees in front of them and offering them the best of the fruit and dried meat in the house. But Kurt would have none of this pandering. He wished to be done with his father. He walked stiffly past the guards and accompanied his sister to the door.

When Kurt's father saw them, when he assumed what Kurt was about to do, he rushed to stop them.

“Only one family member may accompany the King's bride,” the lead guard reminded them.

“And that will be me,” Kurt said, escorting his sister to his waiting camel already loaded with their things. He clicked for the animal to kneel. It did so obediently.

“The hell it will!” their father roared, storming for the door. “I arranged this match for my daughter! As her father, I will see her to the palace. I deserve to be favored by the King, not a reprehensible miscreant like you!”

Kurt ignored his father, offering his sister a hand for her foot to help her mount the animal. The guards did not stop him, which infuriated their father. He turned to the men for help, but the guards did nothing but look on in amusement.

Kurt shook his head at the man he still called father even after everything the man had done to dismiss him. His father might be older, but he knew nothing of the world outside their small city. The man imagined that his age and status in the household gave him power everywhere.

He did not realize how powerless he truly was.

“You arranged nothing,” Kurt hissed. “The King gave an order, a disgusting order, and you rolled over on your back like a mutt. Your work is finished.”

Their father stepped forward for a fight, but he could tell that, even in their amusement, the guards respected Kurt more, if for no other reason than he was complying, not impeding progress the way his father might if he made a move to stop him. So the man backed down. He hobbled to the doorway and watched as his daughter, sitting high atop her brother's beast, turned from him without so much as a smile or a goodbye.

Or an I love you.

But Kurt gave his father one final glance. He wanted his father to remember this moment when his two children left him.

It would be the last time Kurt would see his father again.

“She need not ride. She can walk,” a guard remarked. He looked offended that the seat on the camel should be given to a commoner, her head made higher than that of the King's guard, who were expected to travel by foot.

“My sister is about to become Queen,” Kurt said, with the conviction of a man who would see her sit on that throne till the day she died, regardless of what the smirking morons surrounding him thought. “From this day forward, she walks nowhere in this city. Hut-hut.”

With a sudden lurch that matched the lurching in Kurt's stomach, the camel took a step, then another, following Kurt as he walked along the ground amid the King's guard to the palace.

***

Blaine paced his throne room, becoming more and more agitated with the stretching of the shadows across the floor. It had been some time since he'd married last. He shouldn't feel so anxious. By rights, marrying was a simple matter of exchanging words and drinking wine. It was no more time consuming than a business transaction, akin to buying a camel, regardless of the feasting and celebration afterwards, which he usually declined to attend. Wedding parties were for peasants. They meant nothing to him. He could do away with those entirely since there was nothing worth celebrating.

This was only a formality.

But his mother would demand it. If Blaine refused, she would be disappointed in him. Such traditions were important to keeping their culture alive, she would tell him. A King who was out of touch with his beginnings could not properly lead his people into the future. So for her memory alone he kept to tradition, even if it pleased him not.

But a day that should have been full of simple matters and easy transactions turned ominous by afternoon.

Blaine's Vizier had predicted hot but pleasant weather. There was absolutely nothing of note going on in city – no fights, no uprisings, nothing in the way of crime that would warrant his attention. Today should have boded nothing but good fortune. But as the sun began to set and his guards set off to retrieve his bride, strange things began to occur.

His mother's cat became frightened by nothing. The creature backed itself into a corner, spat and hissed at Blaine as he came near, then scuttled off, knocking his mother's jewelry box off her vanity as it went. The box did not break (which was fortunate for the cat since Blaine's love for the animal only extended so far), but several important pieces of his mother's jewelry scattered – a jade hair clip, her favorite ruby necklace, and a pair of earrings Blaine hadn't seen since he was a small boy. They were uncut sapphires – deep and blue, with a milky quality to them. He remembered when she wore them, how they frightened him. They looked to him like twin lightning storms come to wrap him up in their swirling arms and carry him away. From that day on, she never wore them. He'd forgotten she had them … until now.

“Mau!” he called as the beast sped away, but he could not get the creature to halt. Blaine could recall only one other time when the cat had acted that way. A sandstorm of tremendous proportions followed shortly after, nearly flattening the city beyond his gates. It covered everything it touched in feet of sand, and turned the wells to mud.

Blaine watched the horizon for over an hour, but saw nothing headed their way. He and his people were safe. His mother's cat was not a harbinger of doom. But Blaine still couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming. Oh, if only that blasted girl and her father would show up so that they could commence this marriage and Blaine could go on with his life! He had started to regret sending out that decree. Why couldn't he just learn to get over his nightmares and accept being alone for the rest of his days? What did a King need a spouse for anyway? He should grow old and be happy on the love of his people. He should not allow his decisions to be influenced by a need for vengeance.

But Blaine could not help himself.

As much as he was his mother's son, he was his father's son as well, and his father's son did not know how to forgive and forget.

On and on time dripped, the sun threatening to surrender to darkness without the arrival of his Queen, and Blaine went from impatient to livid. He marched out of his throne room and down to the palace yard. Ignoring those around him also waiting for the new “Queen” to arrive, Blaine stood at the top of the stairs, his gaze locked on the palace gates, awaiting any sign of movement.

“Ah,” a steady voice despite the amount of wine its owner had imbibed said as the King appeared, “His Gracious Majesty has finally come down to join in the fun.”

“I do not have patience for your humor today, Sebastian, so I suggest you leave me be,” Blaine snapped. “Had you gone to retrieve my bride like I asked you to, I would not be standing here, waiting for her to arrive.”

“I do humbly apologize, Great King,” Sebastian said with a hint of sarcasm, “but, as you see, I was occupied elsewhere, and thus unable to fulfill your request.”

“Lying on your back getting your dick sucked is no reason to ignore a request from your King.”

“True, but you are also my best friend,” Sebastian pointed out. “And had you but waited an hour …”

“An hour,” Blaine scoffed. “You flatter yourself.”

“Besides, Great King, I do not believe that sending me back to your bride's house would have sped things along. I have reason to believe that there may be members of her family who do not like me.” Sebastian had no real way of knowing whether or not the man with the startling blue eyes would bear ill will against him for having been the messenger of their King's decree. But many a brother had before cursed Sebastian's name for delivering such a fate to their siblings. He had no illusions that this man would feel any different.

But Sebastian regretted this one more.

“Really?” Blaine grinned. “Well then. It sounds like they have exceptional taste and keen intuition. Perhaps my new bride comes from better stock than I give her credit for.”

“Yes, well, bearing that in mind, I request your leave to retire, Great King,” Sebastian said, bowing low. “I would not wish your marriage doomed before it had begun.”

Blaine was about to deny his friend's request. If Blaine had to suffer, then why should he suffer alone, especially when Sebastian held responsibility for part of that suffering? But one glance Sebastian's way saw the man list to the left, his face pale, his lips a vulgar shade of blue.

Blue like those sapphires. An accursed blue. Blaine was not in need of bad omens, not on a day already steeped in warning signs.

“Of course,” Blaine said, waving his friend away. “Sleep this one off. I will be sure to share with you the sordid details on the morn.”

“I look forward to it, Great King,” Sebastian said with another low bow and a hand over his mouth, trying to keep his traitorous stomach contents from staging a revolt.

Blaine listened to the man leave but kept his eyes focused on the setting sun. As its golden rays hit the upper edge of the gate, lighting it like a second horizon, he decided to send out a second envoy to retrieve the first. What difficulty had they encountered in retrieving one young woman that they should be delayed so heinously? She was barely even a woman - a girl on the peak of budding into womanhood. She had been chosen by his Vizier, and Blaine had been told that she would make a perfect match for his purposes – she was petite but pretty, energetic and eager, of no particular fortune or from a family of worth.

Even in her small city, she would not be missed.

But the signs before Blaine's eyes pointed to this being a mistake. Something was not right with this match. Blaine would probably do well to call it off, return the girl to her family, and be done with this once and for all.

“Guards!” he called to the men flanking him. “Search the city! Find the wedding party and call off this …!”

All of a sudden, Blaine heard a clamoring without. It crept up on his palace - a low rumble pounding the earth, heading toward his gates, like the stomping of elephants. But the louder it became, Blaine heard cheering and music, horns and tambourines, clapping and laughing and singing, all heralding the coming of his bride. He took a few steps backward to get a better view past the outer walls and saw scores of people, dancers, colorful ribbons and banners, even a camel! It was led by a finely dressed manservant and carried on its back a veiled maiden in soft pink sari, sitting inside an ornate saddle. Blaine's eyes went wide. All of this for his young bride?

His Vizier had been sorely mistaken. The woman chosen to be his bride was not someone who would not be missed.

As the gates swung open, an entire procession walked through like none Blaine had ever seen before, not for a local bride.

Not for a commoner.

Only once had Blaine seen such a commotion. He refused to recall the details of it.

But, then again, if he could truly put it behind him, they wouldn't be here today.

Blaine watched in guarded awe as the procession approached. He could tell from the tight expressions on the faces of his guards that they'd probably spent the majority of their short journey attempting to dissuade the crowd, which would explain their lateness, but that at some point they had been overwhelmed and had no choice but to let the rabble follow. Something about that tickled Blaine - that the loyalty of these people towards this one girl was such that even the royal guard could not force them away.

It warmed his heart.

The crowd consisted mostly of women and children, dressed in brightly colored clothes and playing homemade instruments, everyone festive, everyone joyous. Blaine could not remember the last time the people of his city seemed so merry. Too few festivals did they host in Blaine's kingdom. There came a circus every so often, and players once in a while. Did not a performing group just arrive at their gates a day or two ago? Blaine thought he had heard something of it, had seen their camels and wagons come through the gates from the windows of his throne room. As a child, he often watched in anticipation from those same windows as performers arrived. They used to stop at the palace first, by invitation from the Queen, and perform their first night for the court in exchange for gold and food.

Blaine missed those days.

He missed his mother.

What kept him from inviting performers to his palace? Why could he not surround himself with things that might make him happy?

The closer the procession came to the foot of the steps, the more enraptured he found himself, the long dormant child inside of him eager to climb to the highest treetop to get a better view. But as King – the King his people knew him to be – Blaine had to school his expression, appear unaffected by the glee descending upon him, and become more severe. He did not authorize such a spectacle to be made of his bride's journey to the palace, nor did he send a camel to fetch her.

Blaine must discover who was responsible for all of this, and discipline them accordingly.

As the procession came to a stop at the bottom stair, Blaine bounded forward, the scowl on his face silencing the musicians and causing the crowd to go quiet.

“Where is she?” he bellowed from the landing, glaring down at those below as if they were all at fault. “Where is my Queen?”

The camel in the midst of the procession knelt at the manservant's command, and the young woman climbed down from its saddle. She attempted to square her shoulders with confidence and smile, but neither were very strong. She was frightened, of that Blaine could see, and it confused him. She was beautiful to look at, but not exceptionally so. She was thin and shrinking before his eyes, not proud nor strong. She did not seem a leader, or important in any way. Why would these people rally so strongly around this one, scared young girl? Who was she that they cherished her so?

***

The guards took a route from Kurt and Rachel's home to the palace that wound through the marketplace. They marched slowly to give the people of the city an opportunity to witness the King's bride, as was custom. But the guards needn't have, since no one seemed too interested, and in that lay a problem. No one interested meant no one cared – not that Kurt's sister was being carted to the palace to marry the King against her will, nor that she might never be heard from again. Such a thing would not stand if Rachel were royalty. If Rachel had a kingdom of her own, with her people behind her, it would be that much harder for the King to do away with her.

Unfortunately, Rachel was somewhat of a sheltered young woman. Even though she ran roughshod around the city, she spoke to practically no one. Few of the locals would be able to tell her apart from any other young woman about, and considering the way she behaved, they were more than likely to assume her a child of lesser age. Kurt needed to make her known. He needed to make a pageant of her.

He needed to make the people care.

It was truthfully only by the stroke of a luck that Kurt dared not rely on that his friends decided to ignore his directives to a small degree and came in search of the wedding procession, dressed in costume, to ensure that Kurt and his sister were indeed safe and not being taken to the palace in chains. Kurt spotted them in the crowd – Tina by the tent of a rug merchant, and Mike pretending to barter for apples. He caught their eyes – theirs full of worry, his of desperation. Using secret hand signals, he bade them for their help, and they understood exactly what he wanted.

“Look! Oh, look! See who comes!” Tina whispered to a woman in the marketplace. “Whoever could that be? She looks important, does she not?”

Kurt needed a crowd of the curious and the excitable to create a procession to the palace like few in this city had ever seen. Mike and Tina would create such a crowd for him, stir up interest where there was none. It was a technique that Kurt and his players used in the more conservative towns they visited to lure people to their shows.

“And a bit familiar,” the woman agreed, “but yes. I wonder …” The woman turned to her husband beside her “… who is that there atop that handsome camel?”

“They're being led by the royal guard. That must mean they're headed for the palace,” Mike supplied helpfully to another in the crowd. “Maybe she's royalty.”

“A princess,” Tina said elsewhere, disguising her voice, then flitting away so as not to be recognized.

“Yes, a princess,” Kurt heard murmured. “But from what land?”

“Who could she be?”

“No, I've seen her, haven't I? Isn't she one of us?”

“Who cares!? Look at how she's dressed! And riding on a camel!”

“Oh, the King will surely be taken the second he sees her!”

“That's something I need to see!”

Indeed, Mike and Tina managed to gather spectators in no time with their infectious enthusiasm, planting seeds in the minds of those who hadn't even bothered to notice Rachel before, regardless of her perch.

Kurt could not see too far around them since he and Rachel were positioned dead center of the guard, but judging by the uproar building, by the time they reached the edge of the marketplace, Kurt suspected that they had emptied it. Many customers abandoned their purchases to fall in with the parade. Likewise, the merchants, seeing their money walk away from them, gathered up their choicest wares and joined the crowd, trying to sell to those following along.

Kurt began to hear music, and then singing. From the corner of his eyes, he saw dancers join the musicians in the hopes of earning a coin or two.

This procession Mike and Tina had conjured was more than Kurt could have accomplished alone, more than he could have dreamed, aided in part by these entertainment-starved townspeople, but still. Kurt had no idea how he would repay his friends.

He hoped by keeping them alive.

The grandest audience that Kurt had ever beheld escorted him and his sister through the palace gates, and it gave him courage. But that courage started to wither once he saw the gates part to give them entrance, and laid eyes for the first time on the King standing atop the shimmering white stairs that led to the palace, hands on hips, poised for murder, for now Kurt would need to give the greatest performance of his life.

“Where is she?” the King demanded before Kurt could bring his camel to a halt. “Where is my Queen?”

Kurt looked up at his sister, the poor girl ready to burst into tears at another harsh word from the King. He commanded his camel to kneel, and carefully helped his sister down while forcing his own frantic body to remain still.

“Kurt?” she whispered, trembling behind her veil. “What are we to do? He does not look happy to see us.”

“Don't worry, my dearest,” Kurt said, though in his heart, he did. “Everything will be okay. I promise you.”

“But how in the world do you expect to keep such a promise?” Rachel had full faith in her brother. She'd always had. But the escapades he detailed in his stories to her, she'd only experienced second-hand. Standing here now, beneath the gaze of the King, she felt her very blood turn to ice. How in the world would her brother get them out of this alive? She shouldn't have been such a stupid, ridiculous girl! She should have owned up to her responsibilities and gone to the palace alone. She shouldn't have allowed her brother to put himself in danger like this. If the fate of the one who passes through the palace gates as spouse of the King was death, then she should have faced it with her head held high. She shouldn't have drug her brother to his death along with her.

“The way I always do, my love,” Kurt assured her, kissing the back of her hand. “Fabulously.” Kurt peeked over his shoulder at the King glowering down at them. The plan had been for Kurt to present his sister to the King first before he made his offer, but Kurt knew from the way she grasped his arm, nails biting in unintentionally, she would not be easily persuaded to move. She shook so that he thought she might shatter to pieces, and he did not want to struggle with her. Kurt needed their first impression to be a good one.

So he forded ahead alone.

He spun theatrically and ascended the staircase with arms spread, stopping a few steps below His Majesty. At only a few feet away, Kurt took the liberty of a closer look, and had to catch his breath. The King, angry though he was, was also devastatingly handsome. Kurt had noticed it from afar, and now, standing right beneath the man's nose, it was still true.

“O, Great King,” Kurt said, making as graceful a bow as he could. “I, Kurt Hummel, have brought to you my sister, as per your request.”

Blaine snarled at the way Kurt said request, but he made no other mention of it.

“Good,” he said. “I thank you.” Blaine nodded in a way that was meant to send Kurt off, but Kurt did not leave, standing in line with his sister as if attempting to block Blaine's view of her. “Fine,” Blaine added, irritated at not being understood. “You may leave now.”

“Oh, but I cannot,” Kurt said apologetically, with another gracious bow. “For I have brought you a special gift. A wedding present, as it were.”

“A gift?” Blaine's eyes narrowed. He looked down the back of the young man bowing before him, then at the girl cowering several steps behind him. Blaine looked around him at the whole of his city standing with bated breath, waiting to hear what the King would say. “What gift have you for me?”

Kurt rose to his feet, smiling at the confused king. “Me, Oh Great King.”

The pause after Kurt said those words could have dragged on forever while Blaine stared in bewilderment, the silence itself so pointed it could have cut through Kurt's clothing like it was tissue paper.

“You?” Blaine scoffed. Then he laughed loudly. He turned to those around him to ensure that they laughed as well. As soon as Blaine did that, all handsomeness his face beheld for Kurt left him, the light in his eyes became a dull twinkle, the kindness in his smile a trick of the light. The King showed himself to be just like every other man Kurt had ever met (save a few) – conceited, arrogant, inconsiderate, and boorish. “What do you mean you?”

“Me,” Kurt repeated, emboldened more by the King's rudeness than he would have by his kindness. “I offer myself to you as husband before you marry my sister.”

Blaine shook his head. “I'm sorry,” he said in a booming voice, “but when I sent my emissaries out, I distinctly remembering saying that I wanted a bride, not a husband. Though I can see how someone might make a similar error in judgement.”

“And how's that, Your Grace?” Kurt asked politely, all the while biting his tongue. He knew he was setting himself up. He purposefully took the bait.

“Well, if I were drunk and beaten black and blue, with my eyes swollen to slits, I might mistake you for a bride as well.”

More laughter grew up around them, but Kurt continued undeterred. “I quite understand that, Your Grace” he said as if the words did not affect them. And they didn't … too much. He'd heard them before. “But you have had husbands before. My sister is young – the youngest in my family. It is unseemly for the youngest to be wed before the eldest.”

“We don't stand by those traditions here. My rule supercedes those concerns.”

“My father is willing to offer you dowry for us both, Great King,” Kurt offered, appealing to the one tradition the King might still stand by, “so that you might not be inconvenienced in this matter.”

Kurt bit his lips together quickly after he said it, for it was, of course, a little white lie, but a lie so white it was almost truth. His father had already arranged to pay Rachel's dowry. Rachel had told Kurt so. But for Kurt, there would be none, so Kurt would pay it himself from the money he had offered his father, which his father had refused. In Kurt's eyes, the money still belonged to his father since he had made a gift of it. In returning it, he felt his father was asking him to use it for the greater good of the family.

Kurt could see no greater good than saving the life of his beloved sister, and that meant finding a way to remain with her.

But would the law see it that way if the King ever found out?

For the sake of keeping Rachel's head on her pretty neck, and Kurt's on his own, he'd better make certain no one finds out.

As Blaine contemplated both sister and brother, with stern eyes for Rachel and sour eyes for Kurt, Kurt stepped forward boldly so that only he - his body - filled the King's view.

“Do you not find me pleasing, Great King?” Kurt asked, lowering his eyes and forming his mouth into a pout, one he knew attracted the attention of most men.

“No,” Blaine said sharply. That word, and his tone, slapped Kurt, hitting at his pride. But Kurt knew that to be untrue. Men were so easy to read. And even though Blaine was a King, he was also a man. A man whose eyes snuck peeks at Kurt's figure when he moved, who had looked him over from head to foot more than once, even though it wasn't obvious. Who stared at Kurt longer, for one reason or another, than he did at his sister Rachel. Kurt could still do this. He could still persuade him. He just had to find something other than the King's carnal cravings to appeal to.

“Hmm, strange. So very … interesting,” Kurt said with a tilt of his head, letting his voice drift off and his eyes go distant.

Those words piqued Blaine's curiosity so strongly, he couldn't resist investigating them. “Why? What do you see as strange?”

“The King of Sheba would have not refused such a gift as two spouses, and, in my humble opinion, he is not half the King you are, Your Majesty.”

Blaine stood straighter, taken aback by Kurt's words. “You have met the King of Sheba?”

“I have, Great King,” Kurt said, quelling the urge to react offended by the King's surprise. Of course, sheltered little kingdoms often times had sheltered little monarchs leading them. Kurt could not expect anything different of Blaine. “And though I am not a member of the King's court, I have performed there numerous times. I have seen many men and women made gifts to him, and he received them all with adolescent zeal. Which makes me curious then why you would not.”

Blaine's brow pinched so swiftly, Kurt was sure the man had torn something loose. “Are you questioning my judgement?” Blaine accused, eyes aflame.

“Not questioning,” Kurt said calmly, though his heart pounded in his throat. “On the contrary, I feel there is genius to not simply accepting every present thrown at your feet. Why, the King of Siam would take anything handed to him with absolutely no regard. It is nice to know that Your Grace, our own Magnificent King, is a man of discerning tastes, a man who knows what he wants, what he deserves, and does not suffer fools.”

Kurt raised his voice as he said this, appealing to the crowd behind them, and like trained seals, the people clapped and cheered, agreeing with Kurt's assessment through a vigorous round of applause.

But Blaine was not convinced. His hazel eyes bore into Kurt with as much curiosity as skepticism. “You have not been to Siam.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but I have just come from Siam. It was a long journey, too …” Kurt sighed, a nostalgic smile lifting his lips “… tiring but exhilarating.” That lie was a bit more grey than white, but Kurt was a storyteller after all. He would be a poor one at that if he stuck solely to the truth. Kurt caught the twinkle of intrigue in the King's eyes. He thought he may just have the man hooked. He just needed to reel him in. “I would be more than happy to tell Your Grace all about it if he would be willing to accept my gift.” Kurt didn't present this ultimatum lightly, but he was running out of options. He had only just found a way to capture the King's attention. He hoped beyond hope that he would be able to keep it.

Those gathered around them – guards and merchants and commoners alike - became quiet once again. Kurt didn't think that a single person watching drew breath. He knew he hadn't. He held his breath, therefore stopping time in his own head, trying to devise another plan should this one fail.

When he couldn't come up with anything, he began to sweat.

“You may stay,” Blaine said with as dismissive a shrug as he could regardless of the knot blooming in his head. It was causing him a headache, refusing to be ignored.

Just like this man, and his many attributes, refused to be ignored.

“I will take the gift you've offered me,” he continued. “I will have you as my husband, and then your sister as my wife.” Blaine chuckled. It chilled Kurt's blood, but it also strengthened him. Kurt would let his heart grow cold if that's what it took to survive in this King's palace.

Whatever it took to ensure the well-being of his beloved Rachel.

“And why not? Tis no skin off my nose to have two spouses service me.” Maybe it will get this poison out of my system twice as fast, Blaine privately hoped.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Kurt said, bowing lower than ever to hide the smirk on his face.

The matter of his heart steadily drilling its way out of his ribcage he'd deal with later on.