If you thought of disney’s Herculese then you are freaking spot-on with where I got this idea from.
If there was a price for rotten judgement, Ivan was certain he’d already won that.
King of Spades or not, the man certainly wasn’t worth the aggravation. His obnoxious grin, his flamboyant mannerisms, even the way he’d sashay into someone else’s palace like he owned the place.
How the blue-battered king would demand a guest seat right next to the king’s chair during dinner, how he’d insist on three trays of every dish, how he’d stuff his face full every single night without a care in the world.
Damn the way he insists on monthly visits, to keep up “good relations between kingdoms”. Ivan didn’t have the time for that! Damn how he’d show up all pristine and perfect, flashing his million watt grin. Damn his arrogant blond hair, shining as though it was worth the sun. Damn the stars behind saphhire eyes, damn the glasses framing them so perfectly.
Damn his overwhelming laughter, echoing through the hall of Clubs and ringing in Ivan’s ears. Damn it all.
Damn that king.
Ivan didn’t need help with redecorating his room, especially not from him. He didn’t ask for that incompetent man’s intervention. He didn’t need company walking through the halls, and he sure as hell didn’t need it in his private garden.
He didn’t need a goddamn flower, especially not one picked from his own rose bushes. He didn’t need “A little comfort”. He didn’t need the warmth he felt.
He didn’t need that. He needed none of that.
But he wanted it. Ivan knew he wanted it.
But he didn’t want to say it, because then he might need it. And so he won’t say it.
No matter all the obnoxious, intoxicating, affectionate, overwhelming attention King Alfred gave him, Ivan won’t say he’s in love.