And All the Prince's Men (haikyu)

𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 16

Iwaizumi is mid spar with a young trainee when he feels it. It is a guttural emotion, like a slice through his heart, emptying him out. Making him cold. He stops mid lunge, and he turns his head to the castle. No one else seems to feel it. The dread. The emptiness.

And then Iwaizumi hears it, faint in the wind but horrendously loud in his ears.

An inhuman wail reaches him.

Before he can register it he has thrown his sword to the ground, has run up to the castle and pushed his way through. Servants call to him in surprise, mostly friendly, some worried by his erratic behavior. He pays them no mind, the castle hallways still familiar to him even after all of these years. He takes the ornate steps two at a time.

He hears pounding on wood, frantic clawing, desperate calls unanswered. He turns the corner and he sees him. He sees Oikawa, banging on the door, sees Yahaba's conflicted face behind him, sees the guard's unmoving stances. And Oikawa looks over, as if he knew Iwaizumi was coming, and his eyes have no shields up, no attempt to seem superior, no desperation to pretend that everything is fine, no need to show himself so unaffected. Instead they are cloudy, lost and rimmed with tears. And they are begging him for help.

"He won't let me in," he hisses.

Iwaizumi wastes no time turning to the guards, "Give me the key."

"Iwaizumi, it's orders from the King." The guard mutters, trying to keep his eyes away from the scene. Iwaizumi steps into his line of sight.

"He wants to see his mother."

"Iwaizumi--"

"Let him see his mother!" Iwaizumi roars, because how can the world be so cruel? So indifferent? So callous?

The guard swallows at the roar, shame coloring his face as he pulls the key from his pocket.

Iwaizumi nods, taking it from his hands, "You can blame me if the King is upset," he offers, before turning the key and opening the door.

Oikawa wastes no time stumbling in, and Iwaizumi gives one glance at Yahaba--stay--before following after the Prince and closing the door.

Inside, the King has stood up from his chair, anger filling his eyes at the sight of the first Prince. His gaze sweeps toward Iwaizumi, who's look is it's own kind of fury: cold, righteous, and just begging to be provoked. Prince Tobio stands by the window, his own face twisted up into anger. But his is the grieving kind, with the world as its target and with tears caked down his face.

Oikawa is already beside his resting mother, fingers clutching at her limp hands. He is not crying; he is whispering, softly, words that not even Iwaizumi can hear. The Queen does not react, laid down in her bed. Iwaizumi already knows why. Has known since the moment he heard Oikawa's wail. Has known since he had felt the coldness seep into his heart.

The Queen is dead.

Oikawa's grip on her hands tightens as he stands. So tight, his knuckles are painted white. The King rises once more, "You're hurting her," he snaps, voice gruff and commanding.

That is when Oikawa loses it.

Iwaizumi had not seen it happen in years, but his eyes are not surprised in the slightest as the darkness seems to overtake the Prince. How his aura becomes palpable, suffocating, morose. How his horns seem to appear, thick and spiraling from his nestle of brown hair. How his hands grow talons, how his face scrunches into a snarl jammed with canines. How his ears pinch up and his thin tail lashes about in warning.

Prince Tobio lets out a startled noise, body moving back into the wall. Iwaizumi wonders if he has ever seen his brother like this. If he has always known the truth but never fully realized its implications.