Chapter Text
The spring was Shane’s favorite season. The sun was warm yet the breeze held a slight chill from the winter recently passed on. The flowers that began to bloom from the ground richly soaked by rain were the most vibrant.
It was on a lush spring day that his life ended.
His heart may have continued to beat even after the brutish savages descended upon their home, but his life as he knew it had truly ended.
Shane watched helplessly as one of the huge men held his father down by the heel of his boot. These men were dressed for the dead of winter. Fur coats and chainmail protected their large builds.
They were a stark contrast from Shane’s people. Dressed in loose clothing fit for the coming warm months, his neighbors all threw down their makeshift weapons when they saw their leader, Shane’s father, subdued on his back.
Even Shane’s normally calm mother had her eyes wide with fear. Yuna Hollander was not an easily shaken woman, but the sight of her beloved David covered in blood was just too heartbreaking.
Yuna and Shane were held tightly by ridiculously strong men as they watched the leader circle David like a wolf.
The man was tall as a mountain and just as broad. Blonde curls blew wildly in the wind, and his hazel eyes seemed almost cold as ice. His skin was fair like porcelain with scars that told stories of his past. The lazy way he gripped his blade revealed how little he regarded Shane’s village as a threat.
“You speak common tongue, da?” The leader brute spoke. His voice was deep and harsh like winter. Shane did not recognize his accent.
David did not answer him. Shane watched helplessly as his father merely stared at the invader. His heart hammered in his chest at his father’s defiance.
The man merely chuckled humorlessly. He swung his blade around to make contact with the vulnerable skin at David’s neck.
“They call you their leader.” The man stated, motioning to the people watching. “I was charged with killing their leader and taking their land for my father.”
Shane’s breath hitched as the blade pushed forward. His mind raced for a way to stop this.
“Do you deny them?” The man asked mockingly. “Are you too much of- how you say- coward to be their leader?”
Shane’s lips moved before he could stop them.
“Your father’s the coward!” He exclaimed, struggling against the man holding his arms. The man’s focus shifted from his father to Shane. “Sends you to do his dirty work instead of doing it himself.”
The smile that crept onto the invader’s face chilled Shane to the bone. It nearly pained Shane to admit that he would have been handsome in any other light.
The man stalked closer, right up in Shane’s face. Hazel eyes raked over Shane’s every feature as if drinking him in. There were several inches difference in their height, but Shane still kept his gaze firmly locked on this monster.
There must have been something that pleased him in Shane’s face because the brute smiled. This one was somewhat more pleasant looking. There was a sparkling glint in his eye that almost looked mischievous. As if this was a boy playing a prank rather than threatening to kill Shane’s father.
“What is your name?” The man purred.
Shane clenched his jaw. “Why? So you know what name to write on my burial?”
Shaking his head with a condescending click of his tongue, the man regarded Shane with a dramatically offended look.
“I am not going to kill you, дорогой.” (sweetheart) A hand reached up to touch Shane’s tense face. “Perhaps, you and I can come to an… agreement, little prince.”
Shane scoffed. “I am not a prince. We have no royalty here.”
The man’s eyes darkened. “You do now.”
Ilya had to steel his face to hide the twitch in his eye as one of his men slammed the boy down a little harder than necessary into the chair across from him. It would do him no good to show favoritism towards his prisoner at this point. Plenty of time for that once he truly had the boy in his clutches.
He watched as the boy, who still refused to give his name, shifted in his seat. Ilya knew he made the kid uncomfortable. His gaze was known to strike fear into even the most decorated soldiers let alone this tender little island boy.
“Tell me your name.” Ilya demanded. A hundred names came to mind, but he doubted any of them would be welcome. “I must call you something. I could give you name.”
“Shane.” The raven-haired boy snapped. Even angry, his voice danced over Ilya’s skin like silk.
“Shane.” Ilya tasted the name. It was fitting. The prince leaned forward, resting his chin in his palms. “I have a proposition for you. Prince-to-prince."
Shane rolled his eyes. It pleased Ilya to know his boy was not too frightened of him. “I already told you. I am not a prince.”
'I will make you one.' Ilya wanted to say. 'I will shower you in jewels and gold like you have never seen.'
“Whatever.” Ilya responded, instead. “You are your father’s heir and will lead his people one day. And, you were right, by the way.”
Shane’s dark eyes fluttered up to meet Ilya’s. The Russian prince could drown in those dark depths. Shane’s skin was tanner than his own, and the freckles that dusted all over his face made Ilya feel something stir deep within him.
“My father is a coward for not weilding his own blade.” Ilya continued, unbothered by the Russian soldiers in the room. They were all loyal to him, not his father. “He entrusts me, his heir, to make decisions on behalf. Your bravery makes me…curious.”
Ilya watched the haze of distrust come over Shane’s face.
“My proposition for you is this.” Ilya leaned back. “Come with me to Russia, and I will spare your people.”
Shane’s expression morphed through a delicious constellation of emotions at Ilya’s words. Disbelief, fear, sadness, anger. Painted upon his lovely face.
Ilya wanted nothing more than to dive into his boy’s head and bury himself so deep that he knew Shane better than Shane knew himself.
It was a shame when Shane settled a weary mask of frosty indifference to his face. Such political expressions, like the ones Ilya sees on the snakes of his father’s court, do not suit Shane’s sweet face.
No, his boy should spend his days lounging around like a kitten in a sun patch. He would smile up at Ilya with something as tender as love.
“And if I refuse?” Shane gritted out. His dark eyes challenged Ilya.
“You will board my ship with a bonfire at our backs.” Ilya responded calmly.
It was not the best start. Ilya was not a fool. Threatening the lives of his parents and people was not the ideal way to woo the boy, but there was no world in which Ilya was leaving this island without Shane.
He would rather his sweetheart board his ship as a political ally than a true hostage, but there would be plenty of time for groveling later if his hand was forced.
There were several beats of silence following Ilya’s thinly veiled threat. Each second, Ilya’s heart raced faster. He really, really didn’t want to have to use physical force on Shane. He hoped the boy wasn’t stupid and accepted the prince's offer. As Shane's face continued to race with thoughts, Ilya surveyed the boy's flimsy clothing. The smooth skin stretched across Shane's collarbone was on display from his loose-fitting shirt. As soon as they board the ship, his boy would need to layer on more clothes. Part of Ilya's nerves calmed at the thought of Shane drowning in Ilya's own furs, encased in his scent. Ilya would provide Shane with all the garments he could ever need to keep his warm blood comfortable in the frosty land of Russia.
“Fine,” Shane responded, sounding a little more defeated and less irritated. Thankfully, there were no tears in his eyes. Ilya didn’t know what he would do if the boy began crying. “I would like to see my parents and ensure they are unharmed before we leave.”
Ilya bowed his head. “Of course, дорогой.”(sweetheart)
Shane stood immediately, as if Ilya were diseased. Before the boy could flee, the Russian prince caught his wrist, pinning it to the table between them.
Those wide, dark eyes reminded Ilya of the deer he would hunt back home. So fearful. So bright. So perfect.
“Don’t you wish to know my name?” Ilya smiled, stroking his thumb across the racing pulse.
Shane swallowed. “I-I suppose.”
“Prince Ilya Rozanov of Imperial Russia.” Ilya flashed his dashing smile reserved for the pretty lords and ladies of his court. “Don’t worry, мой любимый, I will take good care of you.” (my sweetheart)
As soon as Ilya released Shane’s wrist, the boy fled. Not before Ilya could bask in the vision of pink, freckled cheeks.
Breathing in the sweet smell of island flowers, Ilya smiled, and for once, he was grateful to his father for this mission.