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Stiles watches in utter confusion as Lydia rummages through one of her stacks. Arrangements? And - what the fuck - ceremony rites and rituals? She pulls out a slip of slightly-whiter parchment and delicately hands it across the table.
“Letter from the Alpha,” she says. Stiles takes it slowly, brows drawn together.
“The Alpha? Alpha… werewolf?” he asks. Trying to figure out this world is exhausting, he thinks. So, werewolves are apparently known, and he’s still involved with them. Noted.
Lydia gives him an amused smirk. “Yes, Stiles, the Alpha werewolf. The leader of the packs, our King, His Majesty?” She piques an eyebrow at him, like she’s enjoying this. “Your betrothed? Remember? Or has your ‘illness’ sparked up a sudden case of amnesia?”
When Stiles wakes up confused in another reality, he's catapulted into a series of events of which he has no control over. Now a Prince seemingly captive in his own quarters and with a mysterious mating on the very near horizon to who-the-fuck-knows, Stiles has to figure out how he got here and how to get back to his own reality without raising suspicion, if that's even possible. And, oh yeah: this other-Stiles' body isn't exactly human.