Chapter Text
Chapter One
“We were expecting more of you,” the Queen said.
She sat languidly reclined across a chaise, long ropes of white pearl draping from her neck over her exposed breasts. Her skin was a light teal-green that shimmered faintly as she stretched, and had the uncanny appearance of scale. Behind her kneeled her handmaids, who whispered with tinkling laughter amongst themselves. The Queen propped herself up on one arm, her long legs sliding off the side of the chaise in a graceful spill of silken skirts.
Her eyes reminded Keith of a snake. Watchful and wide. And the hairs on his neck rose involuntarily under her gaze.
“Your Majesty—” he began, just as he’d practiced, “—Please allow me to apologise on behalf of the other paladins for their absence. They were required…elsewhere.”
He glanced sideways at Lance, who sent him a quick thumbs-up from behind his back. Keith narrowly reigned in the urge to groan. Allura would’ve killed him if he had.
She’d spent the better half of the past week drilling Keith with the lines he was to say during their audience with the Xenion Queen. So frequently, he might add, that her lessons had started to bleed into his dreams. And suffice to say those dreams had been less than pleasant.
The same treatment hadn’t extended to Lance. Who was apparently far less likely to anger the monarch. Though, Keith did distinctly recall that Allura’s instructions to Lance had been something along the lines of: shut up and smile. She’d phrased it more politely.
“A shame,” the Queen hummed, studying the long pointed nails at the ends of her webbed fingers. “Though I do suppose a matching ball would find itself quite low on Voltron’s list of priorities.”
Keith could feel sweat gathering below the neck of his armour. The throne room was thick with a damp heat that made the air twice as heavy, and it forced him to swallow against the knot forming in his throat.
“We are grateful for your invitation,” he said. It sounded forced.
But the Queen wasn’t looking at Keith anymore. Her gaze had shifted to Lance, regarding him as if he were a cut of meat and she, deciding the best method with which to devour him. Lance smiled nervously, shifting from leg to leg.
She stood, her necklaces rattling softly as she crossed the distance between them with long strides, “You have piercing eyes, Red Paladin.”
The Queen cocked her head, dark braids spilling over angled shoulders as she turned in an arc around Lance. She came to a stop in front of him and jerked his chin up with a pointed nail.
Keith didn’t like the look in her eyes.
“Thank—you?” Lance stuttered.
“Polite too,” she hummed, pleased. “I have decided. I will do you the honour of making your match.”
A few of the Queen’s handmaids gasped. Exchanging equal looks of excitement and glee.
Keith froze. His mouth had suddenly become very, very dry, and he was all too aware of the sound of his thrumming pulse in his ears.
“Perhaps I should introduce you to my daughter,” the Queen said, and her handmaids giggled. She blinked slowly, eyeing Lance from head to toe. “She would like you.”
Keith felt his stomach lurch. Allura’s instructions hadn’t detailed how to navigate this.
“It would be an honour, especially if your daughter is anywhere near as beautiful as you,” Lance said smoothly, sounding far less nervous than he should have. “But being a paladin of Voltron—in the middle of an intergalactic war, I don’t really have the time to dedicate to a lover… Y’know?”
Keith coughed, covering the snort that had almost escaped his mouth. Funny…that had never seemed to pose an issue before, given on each planet they landed, Lance flirted with any and all pretty aliens in sight. Two legs notwithstanding.
“But you don’t have a partner.” The Queen’s gaze had hardened to something flinty. “Do you, Red Paladin?”
“Well, I—um…” Lance shot Keith a cursory glance.
It didn’t take a mind reader to know what he was thinking. Lance’s blue eyes were wide, and his chest was rising and falling too quickly for Keith to consider entirely normal. Lance was panicking. Evidently having realised he’d walked himself into a trap, one he couldn’t back out of without causing offence.
“He does.”
The words had left his mouth before Keith even registered he was saying them. And then the Queen was watching him, with a downturn to her lips. Keith’s chest tightened, as if the weight of her stare were a vice that threatened to squeeze his ribs until they cracked.
She crossed her arms and brought a taloned finger to her lips, humming softly. Her calculative gaze roamed from Keith to Lance, and back again with a disconcerting gleam. Keith forced himself not to look away. Her scrutiny was somehow more uncomfortable than being chewed out by Iverson.
“Oh—” with her gaze now on Keith, her mouth began to curl dangerously upwards, “—I see… It’s you, is it?” Keith’s confusion must’ve shown on his face because she clarified further, “You’re his partner.”
Warmth flooded Keith’s face, and Lance made a strangled noise beside him.
“Hmm…I can’t say I’m familiar with the etiquette of earthling courtship. But—” her gaze pinned Keith, “—I do know that the Galra are not typically so shy in displaying their lovers.”
Lovers. She thought they were… Fuck. Keith lamented saying anything at all. But Lance said nothing to correct the misunderstanding. So neither did Keith.
The Queen walked unhurriedly back to her chaise, and sat with a pointedly long sigh. One of her handmaids quickly offered her a refreshment but it was flatly rejected with a wave.
“You must understand, paladins, matchmaking is one of the few enjoyments afforded to me as queen,” she crossed one long leg over the other. “And it would appear that you have spoiled this limited joy of mine.” Keith wanted to interject, but her glare swiftly silenced him, “So, I will ask something of you in its place. A consolation prize if you please.”
A chill ran down Keith’s spine at the Queen's smile. Her teeth were small and sharp, like rows of tiny daggers.
She lent forward, propping her delicate chin into her palm. “Show me, your affection.” Her eyes held a worrying spark. “And do try to make it pleasing. Your welcome in my court might just depend on it.”
Keith didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. His feet had rooted themselves to the floor. How could their mission have gone so horribly wrong before it even began?
“Please, go ahead,” she made a sweeping gesture, “there is no need for shyness. We celebrate all love on Xenon.”
He turned towards Lance, with slow obvious reluctance. Lance was already facing him, and appeared to have taken a step or two closer, considering they were now almost touching.
“Great work,” Lance hissed.
“I didn’t say it was me,” Keith shot back, only fractionally louder than a whisper.
Lance huffed, “You didn’t say it wasn’t.”
“Neither did you.”
“Well…” Lance’s eyes flicked briefly to the Queen, “I didn’t expect her to ask for a show!”
“I do not have all quintant, paladins,” the Queen’s voice rang, and both Keith and Lance jumped at the sound. “I would have you know that my subjects vie for this position, to have the privilege of their Queen’s blessing over their union. And yet, you would waste my time?”
Lance's eyes flashed with alarm. “No, no of course not, your Majesty. It’s just…we…” His elbow nudged Keith hard in the ribs.
“We—We don’t usually have an audience,” Keith blurted. It sounded more like a question than a statement.
“Is that so?” the Queen didn’t seem to notice Keith’s uncertainty, and she took a thoughtful pause. Then she wagged a finger at her handmaids and they promptly turned to face the wall behind her. “There, you shouldn’t have a problem now that no one is watching.”
Keith had to fight the temptation to point out that she was in fact still watching.
“What did Allura say Plan B was again?” Lance asked in a whisper.
“There wasn’t one.”
“Fantastic.”
Lance was fiddling with the cuff of his armour, brows pinched in thought. The oppressive warmth had flushed his tan skin faintly pink. He seemed annoyingly composed, like he didn’t doubt Keith’s ability to get them out of this mess. It was gratifying to know he’d earnt such a level of trust from Lance. It was also equally terrifying. He’d never wanted this responsibility…
But it was his nonetheless.
Keith drew in a ragged breath. “Lance,” he said softly. “Try not to freak out when I do what I’m about to do, yeah?”
Lance opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then decided otherwise and instead gave a small nod. And Keith thought belatedly about the hundreds of reasons why, this was a really fucking bad idea.
He cupped the back of Lance’s neck to keep him still; if Lance tried to jerk away, their ruse would be effectively over. But it turned out to be an unnecessary measure, because Lance didn’t flinch, or even really breathe, as Keith leant slowly closer and brushed their lips together.
Keith felt Lance’s surprise in the slight jolt of his body, but he only hesitated for a second before he was leaning in and kissing back. His lips, stupidly soft against Keith’s own. He could feel the warmth of Lance’s hands on his waist, ghosting over his chest, tentatively gripping his shoulders. His touch was uncertain and cautious. But also…curious? The realisation sparked something dark and hungry inside Keith. Something he’d thought he’d buried.
He drew back, just enough to see Lance blink open his eyes. Keith could feel the lingering press of Lance’s mouth like a burn, and he felt the shock with his whole body when Lance’s gaze dropped to his own.
His heart was pounding. He breathed out a shuddered exhale. And he hadn’t meant to, but he was leaning in, and closing his eyes, and tilting Lance’s jaw with his fingers as he kissed him again.
Keith’s arm slid around Lance’s waist, his hand splayed across his lower back to pull him closer. And if Lance objected, he did a terrible job of showing it. Because Lance was kissing him harder, mouth parting against his own. He couldn’t stop the searing flush of heat he felt at the touch of Lance’s tongue. It was enough to make Keith dizzy.
Lance kissed like he argued. Unable to back down or cede control, refusing to let Keith lead without a fight. And Keith loved it. Loved Lance’s reaction. Loved the way his breath hitched when Keith dragged his lip between his teeth. Loved the feeling of Lance’s hands over his throat, his jaw, his hair.
When they parted, they were breathing in tandem, chests heaving for air. Their eyes fixed on each other, and Keith couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to look away.
He wanted to burn the image before him into his brain. Lance flushed pink, lips still slightly parted and kissed red, his eyes half lidded and dark. He’d done that. He was the reason Lance looked—
“I suppose that will be adequate,” the Queen said.
Keith jerked away from Lance as if he’d been stung, his whole attention swung back towards the Queen. He would never admit it, but at some point while kissing Lance he’d forgotten they weren’t alone in the room. It struck him now like a lead weight. The sinking reality of what he’d just done.
When he glanced again at Lance, he was turned toward the Queen, his profile impassive and lips pressed firmly together. Keith’s skin crawled. He tried to catch Lance’s gaze but he was looking resolutely forward, his hands fisted by his sides.
There was something about his posture, the way he held himself so stiffly tall and unmoving, that had a spike of dread blooming in Keith’s gut. What was Lance thinking? Keith couldn’t tell, and that terrified him. Lance was usually so easy to read, or maybe it was just that Keith had learnt to read him. Either way, his current calm stillness wasn’t normal. Of that Keith was certain.
The Queen excused herself, citing ball preparations in need of her attention. They bowed to her as she rose and left the hall, crossing effortlessly across the stones that formed a path over the shallow pools that bordered the room. Her handmaids hurried after her, holding the hem of her skirts to prevent them from falling into the water.
After the Queen’s departure, a demure servant rushed into the room, announcing she was to be their aide for the duration of their stay. She stammered a bit as she spoke. Keith hardly noticed the impediment. He was only half listening as she led them from the throne room.
The corridors were dimly lit by a faint cast of blue light that spread from crystals embedded in the walls. They were taller than they were wide and almost appeared cavernous, dimpled like rock and alternating between varying shades of grey-blue like stratum.
Ahead of Keith, Lance was asking the servant—Lena, she’d said was her name—a barrage of questions that she answered with nervous trepidation. He laughed at something she said, and her finned ears flushed violet.
His laughter sounded strange. Had it been anyone else Keith might’ve attributed the strangeness to the echo inside the corridor. But it was Lance and so Keith couldn’t help but notice the obvious tightness of his posture. The line of tension through Lance’s shoulders and the subtle stiffness as he inclined his head to Lena. It was clear to Keith that Lance was uncomfortable. It was also clear that he had been uncomfortable since earlier when Keith had—
No. Keith bit down on his tongue. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to dwell over something he had done on impulse out of necessity. But the idea that Lance had hated it to the extent that he was now avoiding him made Keith feel violently ill.
Keith reached out and was half horrified when he caught Lance’s wrist. He had only wanted to get his attention—not grab him. Lance cut off mid-sentence to glance down at Keith’s hand. Which meant, unfortunately, it was now too late to play it off as an accident.
“Something wrong?” said Lance.
He raised a single eyebrow, curious, but his gaze was otherwise steady. He looked frustratingly unbothered. And Keith was suddenly left wondering if he had imagined Lance’s discomfort. The Lance that stood before him seemed entirely at ease, relaxed and casual.
Until Lance’s eyes flicked back down to where Keith still held his wrist and his expression shifted briefly. No. Keith hadn’t imagined it. Lance was just trying to pretend nothing had happened. He was good at that.
“No.” Keith dropped his wrist. “It’s nothing.”
He brushed past Lance. Aiming to catch up to Lena, who hadn’t noticed their delay and was already halfway down the corridor.
It surprised Keith when, a moment later, Lance fell into step beside him.
“…Thanks,” Lance said softly. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You saved me back there.”
After a pause Keith said, “I thought you’d jump at her offer.” And then, casually: “You do realise her daughter’s a princess, right?”
“It’s called being professional.”
Keith scoffed. “You? Professional?”
Lance scowled at him. “Besides,” he lowered his voice, leaning closer, “you saw her teeth.”
“Teeth?” Keith asked, somewhat amused. “That’s where you draw the line? Not multiple arms, or tentacles for legs?”
“They were like a piranha’s! Can you imagine kissing that!” Lance shuddered. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Keith rolled his eyes. “Gee, glad to know I rank somewhere above a flesh eating fish.” The words were out before he could stop them.
You idiot! Why would you say that! Keith’s pulse sped with growing panic. Say something else, anything else!
But before Keith could speak again, Lance laughed. A genuine, real laugh that permeated the silence. Keith almost sank with relief at the sound of it.
“Buddy,” Lance said around a smile, “you do a lot better than that.”
“I do?” Keith said with real surprise.
“Of course! How else would you have managed to score the dashingly handsome pilot of the red lion? This,” Lance gestured dramatically to himself as though he was an actor in one of those old stage plays, “is premium merchandise.” There was a pause, then Lance said, “But I guess being the dark, broody, half-alien leader of Voltron does give you a certain leg up on the competition.”
Keith half laughed, half choked. Was he crazy or had that almost sounded like Lance was flirting with him? The very idea of it seemed impossible.
He snuck a quick look to his left. Lance looked even more flushed than he had in the throne room, which was odd, considering the corridor was cool. And the sight of his reddening neck had Keith unwittingly remembering the way he’d felt pressed against him. The warmth of his skin and the soft give of his mouth.
Keith wanted that heat again.
Fuck.
Before Keith had the chance to think of an intelligent response, Lena spoke, “Here is your room, paladins.”
She gestured towards an open doorway. Lance squeezed inside before him, stopping to stare upwards at the ceiling. It was domed like a cave, but instead of rock the ceiling was made of a continuous black pane with a texture similar to glass.
“Wow,” Lance said and inelegantly flopped backwards onto the bed that lay sunken in the floor at the room's centre.
Lena hurriedly pointed to some refreshments that had been prepared for them. She then left the room, explaining she would return to collect them before the evening banquet.
Keith stared after her, watching the rounded door slide slowly closed, until it finally clicked shut. Something clanged onto the floor behind him, and Keith jerked around to find Lance shrugging off his armour. Lance kicked off a second boot and it skidded across the floor.
“Why is it always, frozen tundra planet or ‘I hope you like sweating from your eyeballs’ planet?” he grumbled, lifting the chestplate over his head. “Why can’t it ever be ‘nice medium spring day’ planet.”
“Stop whining.” Keith leaned back against the wall. “This isn’t a vacation.”
Lance gave him a dry look. “How could I forget.”
He stood and began peeling off the under suit of his armour until it hung around his waist. Keith’s breath caught in his throat. Lance’s chest was smooth and tan and alarmingly bare. The naked allure of it was almost too much for Keith to handle, so he looked away.
But not nearly far enough.
Lance walked over to the table of designated ‘refreshments’ and picked up a tall narrow jug to inspect its contents. Satisfied it was safe for consumption, he began pouring.
Keith watched, eyes tracking the movement without thinking. The soft fizz of the amber liquid filled the quiet, bubbles bursting along the rim. Lance tilted the jug slowly, grip loose, fingers wrapped easily around the handle, muscles shifting slightly in his forearm. Keith noticed the way Lance’s lips pressed briefly together in concentration before parting—
And his stomach clenched. Too warm. Too aware. Too focused. There was nothing unusual about it. Just Lance pouring a drink.
And yet…
His jaw tightened. He looked away before his brain could make anything of it. Before it could mean something.
Lance turned, handing him a cup, oblivious. “They’d probably get suspicious if we asked for a second bed, wouldn’t they?” he mused, lifting his own drink. “Since we’re meant to be ‘young and in love’ and all that.”
Keith took the cup, fingers grazing Lance’s. Warmth crept up his arm, and this time, he did not look. Instead he swirled the drink in his cup, and forced himself to scoff.
“We could tell them you kick in your sleep,” he suggested.
Lance snorted into his cup. “Oh yeah, that won’t sound suspicious at all. ‘Hey, your royal highness, can we get separate beds? My dearly beloved kicks like a mule.’”
Keith opened his mouth to retort—but before he could, his wrist comm crackled to life.
“Hey Lovebirds.”
Lance stiffened beside him. He turned to Keith, eyes widening with a commingling of horror and alarm. “Tell me that’s not—”
“Not to interrupt your romantic evening,” Pidge continued, with evident amusement, “but WHAT THE QUIZNAK WAS THAT?”
Keith exhaled slowly, willing himself to stay calm. “Nothing.”
“Sure,” said Pidge. “So you just accidentally played space politics with your tongue?”
Hunk’s laugh rumbled through the comm. “Gotta say, guys, you were real convincing. Queen looked thrilled.”
Keith could hear Allura in the background demanding answers, but before she could take control of the conversation, Lance unmuted himself like an idiot.
“Okay, first of all,” Lance waved his cup in the air, like he was making a toast, “technically, it was Keith’s idea.”
Offended, Keith said, “Excuse me?”
Lance shrugged, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who’d almost been forcibly engaged five minutes ago.
“Keith.” Allura’s voice was cold.
He closed his eyes. “Allura, I can explain.”
“Please do,” she snapped.
Keith opened his mouth—
“Because as I recall, we practiced this, Keith.”
He winced.
“For a week, Keith.”
Lance’s lips were pressed tightly together, his laughter barely contained. Keith glared at him. Fiercely. But Lance’s grin didn’t lessen.
“And after all that training, all that preparation—what did you do?” Allura asked, her voice rising in volume. “You panicked and kissed Lance? That was your big plan?”
Keith felt heat climbing up his neck. “It was a strategic decision.”
For a moment no one spoke. The comms went dead silent. Then—
Pidge burst into laughter. “A strategic decision?”
Hunk wheezed. Next to Keith Lance groaned into his hands.
“Intergalactic peace, Lance,” Pidge managed between gasps, “We had to make out for diplomacy—”
“I hate all of you,” Keith muttered.
But Pidge wasn’t done. “Okay, but genuine question—” her voice turned thoughtful, ”—when exactly were you planning on telling us you’re dating?”
Keith went completely still.
Lance spluttered, “We’re not—”
“Oh? Then you wanna explain why the Queen’s attendants just announced your ‘official union’ to the entire court?”
Keith’s stomach flipped. “She what?”
“Yeah, dude,” said Hunk. “Apparently, the Queen is really excited to celebrate her ‘new favorite couple’ at the matching ball.”
The matching ball.
The very public, very formal event where it now seemed they would be the centre of attention.
Keith’s fingers curled around his cup. He took a breath, but it didn’t help.
Lance let out a long sigh. “Oh my god.”
“I hope the two of you know how to waltz,” said Pidge.
Keith set his cup down with a little more force than necessary. “We are not dancing—”
The comm crackled again, but this time, Allura’s voice was sharp. Serious. “Keith, Lance, focus. We have a situation.”
Immediately, they straightened. The laughter in the background ceased.
“Define ‘situation,’” said Lance, already pushing his cup aside.
“We just intercepted a transmission on a known Galra frequency,” Pidge cut in, no longer amused. “It confirms our suspicions.”
Keith felt his blood turn cold. “They’re here.”
“Yeah,” Pidge said. “And they’re early. We thought they’d wait until all the guests had arrived, but something’s changed their timeline.”
Lance exhaled sharply. “So what you’re saying is, we’re currently standing in the middle of a palace full of high-profile guests and Galra spies—and now they’re what? Watching us?”
“Essentially, yes,” said Allura. “We don’t know how many, and we don’t know who, but the operative is already in place. Which means they’re studying their target. And possibly also… you.”
Keith glanced around instinctively, scanning the room, even though it was empty
The guards stationed throughout the palace. The attendants moving in and out of the halls. The high-ranking nobles from various planets, all preparing for the ball. Any one of them could be the operative. Any one of them could already be making their move.
Lance’s voice was quieter when he spoke. “Do we have any leads?”
“Not yet,” said Pidge. “Hunk and I are monitoring security. Allura’s maintaining diplomatic cover. We’re in position, but we need time.”
“Great,” Lance said, scowling. “So what do we do until then?”
“We do what we came here to do,” said Keith.
Lance stared at him dryly. “You mean play bait.”
Keith shrugged. “We wanted to draw them out. Now we know they’re here.”
Lance groaned. “I can’t wait to see how that goes.”