Title: A Means To An End
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Rating: PG
Length: 2,158
Content notes: minor character death (canon), some angst

Summary: Cinderella AU. The King is dead and Prince Jim is next in line for the throne. First thing's first, though - he needs a wife, and Spock seems to have an idea of how to go about finding one.


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The King died on a quiet Thursday afternoon.

A funeral was held and the townsfolk piled into the streets, black coats and black shawls clutched tight around their shoulders to protect from the wintery chill. Children tossed flowers only to have them crushed underfoot and men held their hats in their hands, fingers worrying the stiff material. Women reached their arms forward to touch the King's carriage as it passed, horseshoes clopping slowly by on the cobbled roadway. The people were quiet, only the softest of murmurs and the rustle of cloth disturbing the silence.

The prince's carriage followed after the King's, smaller but no less regal, horses tall and broad as they tossed their manes and whickered at the crowd. A young man sat within, hair gold and eyes as blue as the summer sky, but a frown hung in place of his usual smile and his cheeks were pale with sorrow.

Whispers followed in the wake of the procession. The King is dead, they said. Long live the King.

Jim turned his head away from the window and stared at his clasped hands for the rest of the journey.

---

"You'll need to take a wife," Spock said, some days after the King's body had been burned and his ashes spread to the four corners of his land.

Jim had done the task himself, had scattered what was left of his father onto the cornfields, into the river, as was custom. He could still feel the lingering oily touch of ash on his skin.

He rubbed his palms on the knees of his britches and looked up at his regent. "Not really in the mood for company," he said after a moment.

Spock stared at Jim, face as blank and unimpressed as ever. Jim frowned and turned away.

Spock was a good man, fair and honest. He had served alongside Jim's father during the Kelvin Wars, had served under him after his coronation, had accepted the role of both official council and close friend. Jim had known the man all his life. He was as permanent a fixture in the castle as the stone floors and grand tapestries.

As annoying as he could be at times, Jim was glad he was still here, if for nothing else than a sense of continuity.

"Highness," Spock began, hands clasped easily behind his back. "You know I cannot relinquish the throne to you until-"

"I know," Jim said, leaning back in his chair, a hand rubbing at his temple. "I know. I just..." He glanced up at Spock, willing him to understand.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

Jim sighed. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, fingers linked before him. "Just never really saw myself as the marrying type, I guess."

It was an archaic law, as most were. Titles, especially those belonging to royalty, could not be passed along to any man or woman who remained unwed. It was a safety put in place by the Kings of old, to ensure a continuous line of legitimate heirs. It was a good law in theory, but now the theory was being put into practice and Jim felt his head throb under the weight of it.

They were in his father's study, the King's study. His study now, it seemed. Jim stared down at the ornate rug beneath his feet, bare toes curling in the soft fibers. He'd played in here as a child, made his father's desk into a fort and defended it mightily before retiring beneath to sit with his books and his toys.

Tilting his head, he caught sight of the wide bookcase built into the far wall. It spanned the length of the room and stretched just as high. A tall ladder on wheels sat mounted to the highest shelf and Jim found himself almost smiling, lips twitching with memory.

"I broke my arm there," Jim said, pointing, and Spock turned to look at the bookcase. "Thought I'd try climbing without the ladder and discovered that getting up was a lot easier than coming back down." He leaned back into his chair once more, sighing long and loud through his nose. "Feels like that now," he said. "Feels like I'm falling to earth and the only thing waiting to catch me is the stone floor."

Spock returned his gaze to Jim. His expression still gave away nothing, but his eyes were softer somehow, almost amused. "Highness," he began.

Jim held up a hand. "Please."

Spock inclined his head. "Jim," he said. Taking the chair across from Jim, he sat, hands setting over his belly. "If it is any consolation," he said, eyes downcast, as if searching for the words. "Your father had the same reservations."

Jim looked up, surprised. "About Mom?" he asked.

"About marriage," Spock said. "About what it would mean for him, about how it would change his life." Spock's lips pursed together, and Jim wondered if that was the closest the other man ever came to smiling. "Though he was a little less dramatic in his wording."

Jim stared at Spock. He wanted to laugh because surely that wasn't a joke Spock had just made, but he was too tired. His bones felt heavy with too little sleep and too much sorrow. "I didn't know that," Jim said. "They always seemed so happy together."

"They were," Spock agreed. He stared at Jim, gaze keen, assessing. "Marriage did change him," Spock said. "But I think, and you may agree, that it changed him for the better. It brought him a wife whom he loved. And a son."

Jim looked away. It was hard to keep his eyes locked with Spock's when the man's heavy focus was directed solely at him. It felt like Spock could see right through him, like his gaze could penetrate somewhere that Jim's could not. It made him feel open and exposed, made his skin itch uncomfortably beneath his clothes.

Shrugging it off, Jim stood. His limbs thrummed with nervous energy. He wanted to be outside, on his horse, riding through the countryside with the wind in his eyes and fresh air in his lungs. But he knew Spock wouldn't let him leave, not until this was resolved.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he began to shuffle back and forth across the rug. "Maybe," Jim said. "But he already knew Mom. They were at University together." He looked up at Spock. "I don't know anybody."

Spock inclined his head, disbelieving. "Jim," he said.

"At least not anybody I want to marry," Jim amended. "There's the guards, the huntsmen, the professors. You." Jim shot Spock a look, mirth and mischief making him seem almost his old self. "Want to get married, Spock?"

Spock's lips pursed again. "Not today," he said.

Jim lifted his hand and resumed his pacing. "Well, there you go."

Spock pondered this as he watched Jim move, hands folding together neatly on his lap.

Jim crossed the room, pausing at the large window cut into the stone wall. The glass was frosted with ice, delicate patterns climbing and looping and when Jim breathed they all melted and ran together, tumbling down the pane like a raindrop. The kingdom lay beyond, trees bare and land covered with snow. He could feel the draft coming in around the hinges, along the windowsill. His skin prickled with goosebumps and he leaned into the icy cold touch of winter, let it sap the heat from his skin and bones.

Jim blinked. He should go talk to Bones. If anything Bones would at least let him complain and mope in peace without trying to soothe his feelings with logic.

"A ball," Spock said.

"Hm?" Jim asked, distracted. He turned, shoulders pressed to the wide stones, arms crossed loose over his chest.

"We shall have a ball," Spock said. "And we shall invite all the eligible maidens in the land to attend."

Jim's brow furrowed. "To what end?" he asked, not liking the determined set of Spock's mouth.

Spock stared at Jim, unmoved by his feigned confusion.

"Hold on," Jim said, pushing away from the window. "You want to throw a party for me and a bunch of unwed maidens and expect me to… just pick one of them? That's ridiculous."

"You said your discomfort with marriage lay in your limited acquaintance with the people of your land," Spock said, as if of the two of them Jim was the one being irrational. "You say you don't know anyone but by the end of the week you will know everyone. The prospect of finding a wife will be all the more easier."

Jim's eyes widened. "No it won't!" he sputtered, but Spock was already standing, hands brushing the wrinkles from his tunic.

"I will have the scribes begin the invitations," he said. "They shall be posted throughout the kingdom by tomorrow."

"Whoa, wait a second!" Jim said as Spock turned for the door. He hurried after him, hand catching his sleeve and pulling him back. "Hold on," Jim said. "I can't just-" His hands fluttered in the air, flustered. "Pick one."

"You can," Spock said, his tone aiming for comforting but with a commanding edge that made Jim feel like a chastised schoolboy instead of heir apparent to the throne. "And you will."

"There's a difference between a three minute waltz and actually getting to know somebody," Jim argued. "I don't know what your experience with dating is, Spock, but-"

"Highness," Spock sighed.

"You can't simply toss me in a room full of women and expect me to instinctively know which one is the one," he said, words running together in his eagerness to get them out. "What if we don't like the same things? What if we have different ideas on how the country should be run? What if she wants children right away? Spock, I'm not ready to be a father-"

"Highness."

"You need to give me more time. What about-"

"Jim," Spock said, and the word hung between them, laced with an edge of finality and a note of exhaustion. "This throne is not mine," he said slowly. "I cannot hold it indefinitely while I wait for you to make up your mind."

Jim's cheeks flushed and his hands curled into fists as a traitorous thread of defeat wiggled its way into his belly, settling there like a stone. "I just think you're being a little hasty, is all," he said, a last-ditch argument for a battle he'd already lost. "Don't you?"

Spock stared at Jim, something almost fond appearing through his blank expression. "The kingdom needs its king," he said simply.

Their eyes met and held, soft brown and icy blue. Jim's mouth opened but there were no words, save for the ones ringing in his ears. The kingdom needs its king.

Simple as that.

Responsibility and duty and everything he'd been born into and everything expected of him, summed up into five neat little words.

Jim's fingers loosened and his hand fell from Spock's arm. "Fine," he said, resignation heavy on his tongue as he stepped away, allowing Spock to pass.

Spock bowed his head and moved around Jim, the heavy oak door opening with a soft creak. Sounds from the hall, muffled before, filled the room as servants walked about, carrying on their daily chores as if nothing in their lives had changed. Perhaps for them nothing had. A Kirk had sat on the throne for the better part of a century now. And in a month's time, maybe less, the tradition would continue on. And on and on and on.

A hand settled on Jim's shoulder, gentle and warm. "Your father was nervous, too," Spock said.

Jim watched the servants pass by. "I miss him," Jim said, eyes itching with the tears he refused to shed at the funeral. "And Mom. There are things I would have asked them," he said, gaze dropping to his hands, to his bare toes curling into the stone. "About this. About what I should do."

"They were quite proud of you," Spock said. "Of the man you are, of the king you will become." His fingers squeezed into Jim's shoulder and Jim took the simple comfort for what it was. "I am certain they would have supported your decision, whatever it may be." He paused, pulling his hand away. "As will I," he added.

Jim nodded, thoughtful, quiet. Spock watched him, patient as ever.

After a moment, Jim straightened, shoulders squared, and drew a deep lungful of air into his chest, letting it out slowly through his nose. "Spock," he said.

"Highness," Spock responded.

Jim glanced at his regent. "Let's have a ball."

Spock dipped his head in acquiescence, hands folding neatly behind his back. "Yes, sir," he murmured before taking his leave.

Turning away from his regent and his servants and the fine furnishings in the hall, Jim retreated back into his study and quietly closed the door behind him.

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