Kuzco x reader

Chapter 1: Boom Baby

The scent of lemongrass was inescapable when working in the palace.

According to the rumors that managed to pass through the supposedly 'tight-lips' of various patrons and aristocrats that made an appearance every so often, it was a scent that the enigmatic Emperor was obsessed with, and slowly but surely it became a scent that somehow covered every tangible surface of the surrounding area. Very much like the Emperor himself you assumed.

You, on the other hand, detested the smell of lemongrass. Perhaps in another time and another lifetime it would have been considered refreshing or ambiguous, but here, it was the most aggravating, stifling, and evidently pretentious scent you could have ever come across.

Oftentimes, in the chillier weather of the early morning, when dew still clung to the expensively potted plants of the palace steps, the smell of tang was lighter, and each swipe of the mop across the marble was slightly more tolerable and, despite the labor, sort of therapeutic.

That's how you could describe your life up until now. Since the day you could hold a mop or a broom in your small grubby hands, your life had been perfectly laid out for you in a series of events. Your parents, while no longer a part of your life, had beguiled you into thinking that this was the most ideal life you could have, that any expectations that are above moping the steps that led into the extravagant mouth of the golden head of the Emperor was not one worth daydreaming over. And for the past eighteen years that's how you've gone about, content with the monotony that accompanied the quiet peace of the often empty palace steps, the rarity of snotty aristocrats who should've been weighed down by all the bulky golden necklaces and head dresses, and the full-ish meal that you received after every working day.

The way all of that came to an end went a little something like this:

You got up just as the moon was kissing the horizon, walked a mile to fill your friend mr. bucket with semi-clean water, walked a mile back to then reunite mr. bucket with ms. mop (who was also only semi-clean), walked all the way down to the very first step only to be stopped halfway through your fine work by two guards holding incredibly sharp spears in a very unpleasant manner, who then proceeded to grab you by each arm and carry you off, you kicking and screaming convinced of your sudden and unwarranted execution all three of you unamused, bruised, and a little hysterical.

Now, the smell of lemongrass was dense and nauseating.

You tugged repeatedly at the folds of your dress, shifting uncomfortably at the way the stitching scratched repeatedly at a spot on your shoulder, exhaustion and frustration evident in the way you held yourself, annoyed from the way you have been waiting for the past two hours on the same fancy, avant-garde stage with a line of other girls. You were starting to reach the end of your tether, crossing and uncrossing you arms with a huff and a glare.

Lifting the hem of your dress you leaned down poking the short man in front of her with a finger to his chest.

"I'm leaving now." You gave him a saturated stare, taking a single step down from the platform with a distinct resolution. The other girls lined up gave you a look, watching with intrigue as the shorter man scrambled to get in front of you, blocking your path.

Echoes of singing were coming increasingly closer to the room and it seemed to grab everyone's attention but your own.

"You can't!" He screamed,  halting you in your steps. Your eyes widened ever so slightly, leaning back when his pleading form nearly landed on top of you in one fell swoop. The hands clutched in front of him gave the impression that he was most definitely praying to whatever deity was up there to give him patience, "And why not?" You asked, tapping you foot in bemusement. His panicked gaze as his eyes flickered to the entrance of the grand room was enough to show the years being slowly shaved off of his life.