☁️Zhongchi Oneshots☁️

Freedom [Part 1]

[Author note: please leave some requests for me to write about with these guys!! Also, happy pride!

Tags/Content Warning: Royalty AU, some swearing, Zhongli is called Morax for the first half of this, IDK how to write the Tsaritsa so I just made her mean oops, Tartaglia suffers the trauma of being alone so long *mostly in the next chapter*]

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The Tsaritsa was know for being a cold, heartless person even to her own subjects. She promised her people care and prosperity under her rule, but made the roles very clear; she was the one in power, and what she says, goes. Nobody thought she had a son or daughter to take heir to the thrown one day, simply because she would always be in power. Not to mention that she never even seemed to care for taking care of anybody but her subjects.

However, there was a rumor about a Snezhnayan prince living in the palace. Adopted, of course, but still a heir to the throne. Only those who were lucky enough to work that close to her majesty knew about the ginger boy's presence, and were told to keep quiet about it. Nobody disobeyed; since the last guards that spoke of him were now pushing on daisies.

He was raised only to be the strongest person to take over the throne if that time were to ever come. Day in and day out the young boy practiced self defense, not only with his fists but with all sorts of weapons. He practiced until he was able to beat up every guard living in the palace, which only took until he was thirteen years old. The young boy was battle hungry, and wanted to prove himself worthy as a knight, rather than sit back and be a prince.

The Tsaritsa had a soft spot in her dead heart for the young boy. She never spoke of where she found the young boy, nor why she took pity on him. Nobody needed to know that but her.

As time moves forward, children grow up. Her young boy was now twenty two, and bored of palace life. It was calming. He could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted only with the limitations of being inside. He didn't manage the army or talk to anyone but the knights inside the palace (which was very few) with his adopted mother keeping him a secret, hidden away from the world; it was a bit hard to do anything a prince normally would.

He craved battle. He wanted nothing more than to see the fear in his opponents eyes as he dragged his sword ever so closely to their necks. He never wished for a conflict or something bad to happen to his people because of this, of course, but twenty two years surrounded by the same people who have to pretend you didn't exist... It really felt like he didn't.

It wasn't even battle. Tartaglia craved something besides waking up everyday and training over and over again, and watching his mother being the cold leader she was. 'Take notes,' she'd say. 'For one day I will die, and you must carry on my legacy.'

"You look so gloomy my dear, paler than the snow on the ground." Her majesty spoke upon seeing her son gaze out the windowsill absentmindedly. Snapping out of his trance; he only sighed, feeling his mother dust a finger over his cheek. "A prince cannot be distracted with his emotions all the time."

"I'm not even a prince," He looked down. "You must be ashamed of me, mother. Am I not strong enough? Not brave enough? Why do you keep me away from my people?"

"I know very well you can protect yourself." She said coldly. "I do not doubt your abilities. I doubt our other kingdoms...If they know of your presence, they'll take you away from me. Whether to marry someone off or kidnap you as ransom. My intentions are not always cruel, Tartaglia. I simply worry for the safety of the one thing I feel close to in his fucked up world."