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King Alfor was overjoyed when he saw that Allura’s words were in Galra. He told Zarkon so the day after she was born.
“I bet it’s because we’re going to be in-laws.” The red paladin nudged his friend, who’d come to visit the newborn Altean princess. Zarkon’s skin darkened red, his eyes wide.
“Honerva and I… we haven’t… we don’t…” The Galra Emperor stammered, looking over at his wife, who sat with the queen and Alfor’s infant daughter.
"Well, perhaps you should.” Alfor said, chuckling and slapping his larger friend on the back. “It’s a rather fun process until the hormones kick in.” The two heard a throat clear across the room and turned to see the two women pouting at them, brows raised.
No one present knew how complicated life was about to become.
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The Galra medic inspecting the newborn prince Lotor noted that the words on the halfling child’s forearm were written in a foreign language. He recognized it as Altean, but knew that couldn’t be. Altea was destroyed. There were no native Altean speakers left in the universe. Nevertheless, he jotted it down in his examination log, though he doubted either Zarkon or Honerva – or High Priestess Haggar, as she preferred to be known nowadays – would deign to read past the results of the child’s physical.
If they cared to read his chart at all, that is.
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Allura knew some Galra. She knew certain words and phrases. Food, dress, please, and thank you were among the few. None of the words on her arm were familiar, save for princess. She certainly didn’t have time to learn what they meant now, while she was busy fighting a war against the very race the words hailed from.
Some days the words inked onto her skin frustrated her to no end. They certainly had before she’d come to terms with her prejudices against the Galra. She had wished so strongly that her soulmate wasn’t Galra. Possibly someone from raised under the influence of the Galra, in one of their conquered territories. You don’t have to be Galra to learn their tongue as your first language, right? She had utterly loathed to even glance at the mark on her forearm back then. Now, they gave her hope. If her soulmate was Galra, she resolved, the Voltron Coalition would one day find peace with the Galra Empire.
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The mystery of Lotor’s soulmate’s origins was solved once the Galra prince began looking into his Altean heritage. The alphabet matched, although it was difficult to tell at first since they were written in such elegant, looping script. He was absolutely dismayed. Altea had been destroyed. There were no survivors… Or were there? He was glad his father hadn’t cared to find out what Lotor’s words were. It would surely send Zarkon into a rage that would most likely end with another galactic purge of all Altean influences.
This thought led Lotor to think, though. Not all of the Alteans could have possibly been onworld for the destruction of their planet. There were merchants and traders who must have survived. So he set out in search of them, with much success. However, his soulmate was not among them. No Altean he’d met had spoken those words etched into his skin.
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Lotor’s voice came over the comms units, soft and velvety, requesting a discussion with the Paladins of Voltron and leaders of the Voltron Coalition. Allura had not expected anything like it. And despite her disgust for the Galra prince, his voice made her heart thump just a little faster in her chest.
After the Battle of Naxzela, Lotor brought his ship into the Castle of Lions to dock. Keith and Shiro cuffed him instantly and led him to the bridge, where the Paladins intended to debate the best course of action while resistance leadership looked on.
Prince Lotor did not look Galra, save for his purple skin. She had heard talk of him being a half-breed, though she did not know what breed Zarkon would ever have deigned to mate with. His flowing, silver-white hair didn’t match with any race she’d met so far, save for the one she saw every day when she looked in the mirror. Zarkon’s witch was Altean, but – no. That couldn’t be possible.
Allura sat silently across from Lotor, with Pidge to her left and Coran to her right. In her periphery, she noted that the prince was staring at her intently, though his expression was unreadable.
“Well he’s gotta be locked up at least,” Lance was saying. “No way he’s gonna waltz around here like he owns the place.”
Coran piped up from beside her, “We have a cell on one of the lower decks we can use.” Shiro nods, writing it down on his datapad. Keith also added it to his draft of the Voltron Coalition’s demands to Lotor.
Lotor’s voice shocks them all out of the discussion. “Will we be receiving any input from Princess Allura today, I wonder?” Allura’s mouth curled into a sneer, though she felt a blistering burn on her arm after the prince spoke.
“I would suggest,” Allura said coldly, “that you remain silent during these proceedings, Prince Lotor, unless you are directed otherwise.”
The look on Lotor’s face was one of absolute shock. He clasped at his arm, murmuring, “Stars above, it’s you.” And it clicked. He was her soulmate. Her words were on fire because they had just left his lips. And she’d spoken his in response.
“I – I apologize to the coalition, but I am feeling ill. I must retire to my chambers.” Allura said before racing out, leaving her soulmate behind.