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Make You Love Me

Chapter Text

The thundering of his heart echoes throughout the cavernous dining room, or at least to Stiles’s ears it does. His shallow breaths only seem to swallow him up and if his father’s hand wasn’t resting on the small of his back he’d be succumbing to the blackness that tint’s his vision. When his handmaiden gently shook him awake this morning, he never expected that only twelve hours later he would be married, and to a stranger no less.

Prince Derek, or King Derek now that he and Stiles are joined in union, is a stoic, brick wall of an alpha. His muscles bulge through his royal waistcoat as he stares straight ahead, waiting for his mother, Queen Talia, to finish her speech on how blessed the Hale Kingdom is to have Stiles join their ranks as Omega Consort.

Stiles’s faux-tranquil smile, currently pulled tight across his lips, conceals how his mind is running a thousand miles per second, bouncing from thought to thought. He should have known his father had a trick up his sleeve. The extra oils added to his morning bath and the fact that Lola, his handmaiden, had been instructed to tie his corset unusually tight should have been warning enough. But he considered it nothing, brushing it off as Harris, his tutor, trying to show him for the hundredth time how a real omega should look.

He wasn’t informed of what was truly happening until he and his father’s carriage arrived at the front steps of the Luponian palace and even then, it had been a vague and thinly veiled explanation. Stiles’s father had peered over at him when a mask of confusion slid into place atop Stiles’s face, believing they were off to visit his friend Omega Princess Lydia and instead arriving at an unknown location. Offering an, “I had no choice” as his lone explanation, King John had turned and exited the carriage.

Stiles’s bewilderment only intensified and the warning signs of panic had begun to make themselves known. He opened his mouth to respond, his mouth suddenly parched, when the coachman unlocked his door and blinding sunlight filtered in. A hand rested mid-air, waiting for Stiles to take it. He examined the gloved palm, hesitantly glancing over the coachman’s shoulder at his father, wordlessly searching for consolation that everything was ok. Stiles finally offered his own hand when John nodded at him, encouraging him to step out of the coach. Deep breath. You’re ok.

Stairs were placed on the ground in front of him and Stiles peered around at his surroundings as he went down them. The dirt road they had traveled up was lined with trees, blooming with blazing red flowers. A large water fountain was positioned in the center of the pathway. What shocked him most, however, were the two figures and the castle standing erect behind them.

“King Stilinski, Omega Prince Stiles!,” one of the forms, a woman, standing poised and looking ever so regal, exclaimed, gliding down the stairs she stood on and towards him. Stiles would have inquired how she knew his name, however being one of two male Omega Princes in almost forty years has made him well known among all of Europe. “We’re so happy to see you,” the woman greeted, cheeks pulled tight with the blinding smile she sent his way, the grin appearing oddly wolfish when the sun glinted off of her pearly whites. There was a disgruntled looking man who remained on the cement ledges when the woman began to walk away, a deep frown marring his features as he stared ahead at the scene unfolding in front of him. The man had dark, almost inky locks, and features that blared the fact that he and the woman were related. Though the woman's appearance was more weathered. Her son, Stiles supposed.

“Dad?” Stiles asked, peering over at his father, voice cracking ever so slightly.

“Dad?” he repeated when his father doesn’t answer, alarm further rising in his voice.

His father ignored him, instead turning his attention upon the approaching figure. “Queen Talia, we thank you for receiving our presence in your beautiful country,” John politely exclaimed, stopping to bow in front of the Queen once he reached her. His left arm tucked behind his back as he curled the other around his abdomen before tipping his head forward. The Queen nodded her head as a sign of acknowledgment, though her gleaming emerald eyes focused solely on Stiles when doing so.

Queen Talia is the current ruler of Luponia, widowed by her omega husband passing away when her children were young. An alpha by birth who inherited the throne after Talia’s father passed the crown along to her when he grew too old to run the kingdom anymore. She had three children: Luke, the oldest and an omega, who married off to some southwestern European king six years ago, Derek, the heir to the throne and an alpha, and Cora, the youngest and also an alpha. Luke is also the second male omega to be born in the last half century, another reason Talia has taken to knowing who Stiles is.

Stories of Talia and the Hale family were almost as legendary as those surrounding Stiles and his omega status. What were Stiles and his dad doing meeting with them?

“It is our pleasure,” she paused to turn to the man on the stairs, faint smile still intact as she said, “isn’t it, Derek?” The man grunted, offering no other reply. Queen Talia raised a lone brow, silently demanding a verbal confirmation.

The man clenched his jaw, clearly not wanting to speak. “Yes,” he cleared his throat, voice hoarse from using it infrequently, “the Hale Kingdom welcomes you.” His eyes were sharp, undaring to soften even in the face of the two foreigners. The queen’s smile still lifted to its original position though, pleased with her son's admission.

“Please, let us further discuss inside,” she said, then turning on her heel and striding towards the castle’s entrance where two guards stood present. She didn’t bother to check whether her guests were behind her, knowing they would follow.

Except Stiles didn’t follow, instead he whirled around to face the King, trying again to get a response from him. “Father,” he cried, “I don’t understand. Why are we here?” Stiles’s eyes searched the King’s features, hoping, pleading for something in his expression to give a hint as to what was going on. Unfortunately, all Stiles was met with was an indifferent frown and a tsk, as if Stiles’s questions were childish nothings.

“It is not for you to understand. Now come,” John flattened the nonexistent wrinkles in his overcoat and reached out for Stiles’ arm, “we mustn’t keep the Queen and the Prince waiting.”

“No!,” he jerked his arm out of his fathers reach, ”What is going on! Tell me now!” Stiles commanded. The frustration and immense anger due to Stiles’s response were evident as his father’s face began to redden and a sneer graced his lips. “Listen you stu-,” he began to hiss.

“Stiles,” the Queen interrupted, “I believe you should come inside. It is much too cold outside for you to be standing in this weather.” It was currently summer in Luponia, the sun beaming down on its citizens while birds chirped in the evening air, however after a few moments of deliberation, he gave a faint nod, absently agreeing, “Of course your majesty.” He obviously wouldn’t be getting a response from his father so he might as well follow the one person who would answer him.

Stiles straightened, taking a step forward to abide with the Queen’s request, but was stopped by his father blocking his path. The King stared him in the eye, daring Stiles to challenge him before a terse behave escaped his strained lips. He tightly gripped the small of Stiles’ back, a stern force guiding him into the palace.

-

“No! No, I won’t do it!”

Stiles’s furious voice had rung throughout the royal office, engulfing the room’s occupants. Queen Talia’s expression was one of understanding as if she expected this reaction. Prince Derek, however, growled, bearing his teeth at the admission. “How dare you disrespect the Hale Kingdom in such a way,” he shot up from his chair, snarling his response, “we are the oldest standing kingdom in European history!”

This was the first time he spoke since they entered the room.

“Well if you’re so high and mighty, why are you begging the Stilinski kingdom for help?” Stiles spit back, dishing as much attitude back as Prince Derek gave. Immediately the prince went to lunge across the table, Stiles swearing he saw a flash of red in the prince’s eyes, but the queen’s hand shot out, grabbing his forearm to keep him in place.

She turned her head only the slightest, “This is not the time nor the place,” she placated, directing her words at the prince. Prince Derek returned to his seat, though he sent a deathly glare Stiles’s way while doing so.

As soon as Stiles and his father had taken a seat at the oak table stationed in the center of the room, Queen Talia began to describe how the Hale Kingdom’s crops were dying, failing to revive after the harsh winter they experienced. Luponia was experiencing the beginning stages of famine, the peasants slowly acquiring diseases before dying painful deaths. The Hale’s lacked the medical supplies and trained personnel to treat those who were dying and desperately needed help from another nation. Which, is where the Stilinski Kingdom came into play. After Queen Talia’s account, she uttered the one sentence that completely changed Stiles’s life.

“You and Derek will be joining our two countries together through your union in order to save Luponia.”

Stiles rightfully reacted the way that he did, shouting out his objections to the mere proposal of spending the rest of his life with the brooding man staring across at him. He had known the prince for such a minimal amount of time, yet he already detested the beast of a man. Prince Derek, however, had sat silent the entire story, his thick brows drawn together in displeasure at hearing how his people were suffering, his features only deepening at his mother’s admission of marriage.

“You will and that’s final”, his father interjected, sliding a piece of parchment Stiles hadn’t noticed before now towards him. “I have already signed over your hand in marriage to the prince.”

His heart dropped, the air leaving his lungs. Stiles stared down at the document, white noise starting to cloud his hearing. Words like mates, bound and lawfully united seeming to glare menacingly back at him.

When he didn’t respond, the Queen was quick to consol Stiles with reasoning as to why the union was a good idea. “Stiles, not only does Luponia need you, but your own country does too.”

He blinkingly looked at her. All the fight suddenly drained from his body as he sagged against the table in defeat. Queen Talia was right, Poland needed him. While Luponia was a hulking country with millions of citizens, Poland was tiny, it’s army and navy severely lacking. Luponia had the number one army and navy in the world while Poland had a forest of supplies and vegetation.

What choice did he have?

The seventeen-year-old, with tears heavy in both his eyes and his voice, nodded, accepting his future.

“Ok.”

-

Four hours later Stiles was found being pieced together by Hale staff after a scalding lavender and chamomile bath, meant to soothe his nerves. However, it only leaves his skin vibrating with tension. Currently, Kenna, his newly assigned handmaiden, is lacing up his corset, accentuating his soft curves.

“Gods, I cannot breath in this monstrosity”, Stiles gasps out, grabbing onto the nearest object to steady himself as the ties are pulled tighter. It feels as if his insides are having the life squeezed out of them.

“I apologize, your highness,” Kenna quickly supplies though not loosening the corset in the slightest, only tying and securing it in place.

“You express your regret and yet make no move to amend your injustices,” Stiles mutters bitterly. Kenna mutters a quiet yes, your highness before sliding the cool material of his wedding gown onto him. It’s a beautiful white dress with long lace sleeves, a high neck, and a billowing long skirt making him look all the virginal omega he is. Not to mention the rouge lipstick dotted across his lips adding to the mirage. Finally, a flowing veil is placed upon his head, nestled directly behind the crown he adorns.

Today he is to wed Prince Derek and become Omega Consort, trading up his title of Omega Prince. Any omega would be ecstatic about their wedding day, having dreamt of it since they were all but small pups. Every omega except Stiles.

He was dreading having to walk down the aisle. To hold onto the arm of a man who betrayed him and handed over to the future king of Luponia.

A strong knock resounds throughout Stiles’s room as a gruff voice pronounces through the thick wooden door, “It’s time, Omega.” The disrespect is present in the disembodied voice when no title is granted to Stiles, not even his own name. However, Stiles has quickly grown accustomed to the castle staff’s dislike of him.

In his minimal time in the Luponian palace, Stiles has been bumped, tripped, and called a bare-chested whore under mumbled breaths more times than he can count. He inhales and releases a deep breath before grasping the bouquet of flowers in his hands and pacing over to the door. Upon opening the door Stiles comes face to face with a squat man, his most remarkable feature the coarse curling mustache atop his upper lip.

“Let us go to the throne room,” Stiles declares, head held high how Harris taught him to as to not allow his staggering fear to be apparent. The man stiffly nods and gestures his arm to signify for Stiles to begin walking.

So, Kena and the other handmaidens saddled with the task of grooming Stiles for the ceremony grab the trails of his veil dragging the ground and carry it as he strides gracefully down the hallway, his spirit breaking with each step he takes towards his sentencing.

-

“Do you, Prince Derek, take Omega Prince Stiles to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

The heaviness of Prince Derek’s hand swallowing Stiles’s rests between them as it has since Stiles joined the Prince on the raised platform at the front of the room. The harsh countenance of his future husband remains unchanging as he responds to the question asked of him.

“I do”

“And do you, Omega Prince Stiles, take Prince Derek to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The priest turns to Stiles, wrinkled expression waiting expectantly for his response.

Suddenly, his mouth feels cottony, too dry to answer. Stiles is stricken with terror at the expectations currently weighing him down like a thousand pounds.

Unsure of what to say, he looks out into the crowd. His father’s lips are pulled down in disappointment at his lone son’s lack of courage. Stiles scans the noble men and women staring back at him further and, surprisingly, his gaze lands on Queen Talia’s.

She smiles the purest smile he’s encountered all day and nods the go-ahead to continue with the ceremony. The slightest upturn of his lips graces his face and Stiles blinks back the tears clouding his vision to return his focus on the officiary of his wedding.

Stiles clears his throat and distinctly states his commitment. “I do.”

The Prince straightens at the affirmation and a hint of a smile upticks across his mouth for a second before it’s gone in a flash and the same cold frown appears.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest calmly announces.

A chaste kiss that ends before it starts is placed on his lips, and, like that, Stiles’s fate is sealed.

Chapter Text

Celebrations of Luponia and Poland’s joining roar around him, as the rigid, uncomfortable chair Stiles is perched on is creating a soreness in his ass that he hadn’t expected to receive until later tonight.

Immediately following the wedding ceremony, the Queen requested for the newlyweds and guests to follow her into the dining hall where they would retire for the evening. Upon entering the grand hall they were greeted with lavish sweets and desserts on the back wall, numerous tables scattered around the perimeter of the room, and Hale staff with wine and other liquor pitchers waiting to serve the attendees hand-and-foot.

Before Queen Talia allowed for the festivities to begin she pulled King Stilinski, Stiles, and Derek with her to the center of the room and divulged an elaborate speech about how “perfect” the pair were for each other. She even took to comparing Poland and Luponia’s opportunity to grow together to their new found relationship. Throughout the monologue, Stiles and Derek had held hands and smiled at the gathering, well Stiles smiled while Derek managed a weak grimace. Stiles had never felt like more of a fraud in his entire life.

He and Derek had paraded around the room like the happy couple they weren’t, conversing with guests until Derek had finally been pulled away by someone and Stiles had been set free to do as he pleased. Of course, this meant the fellow Omega Consorts who had been hungrily watching him the entire night took this as their chance to pounce on the fresh meat. He eventually escaped when Serena (the group’s leader) and Mary (the second-in-command) had left for the powder room and the others mindlessly followed.

Currently, he’s sat in the corner of the dining hall at a random table he’d snuck off to, glad to be done with what seemed like endless conversations among substanceless Omega Consorts. Topics ranged from how many strokes they ran their brush through their hair to what meals they had prepared for their husbands to satisfy them. Stiles had had to hold himself back from physically gagging the entire hour or so he spent with them.

Stiles takes a sip from the red liquor in his glass, slowly swirling it in the cup as he does so. The rim and stem are gold, the rim decorated with priceless jewels to boast the wealthiness of Luponia’s royal family. After swishing the liquid around a few more times, Stiles sets the wine down to survey the gathered masses here to celebrate Derek and his’s union.

He isn’t familiar with a majority of the faces crowding the room. No friends and few fellow noblemen from Poland are present due to the abruptness of the wedding. His father is conversing with a Duke from a larger village in Luponia, attempting to form another alliance, Stiles is sure.

Poland is a lush country with rolling landscape, a bulk majority of the citizens making a living as farmers and healers. However, Poland is much smaller than most countries thus so is it’s riches. The Hale family and its loyal noblemen, on the other hand, are drowning in gold coins. So, Stiles’s father is taking the opportunity to use Stiles’s wedding reception as an opportunity to further Poland’s funds. Stiles doesn’t know whether to be upset at the fact that his father is exploiting Derek and his’s merger or respect him for his dedication to supporting Poland.

One of the few things Stiles and John still have in common after the many years following Stiles’s mother’s death is their commitment to Poland.

Derek is stood by the Queen appearing as bored as Stiles feels as his mother laughs along to some joke a stocky man dressed in fine clothing has told. At some point during the night, Talia had rounded the alpha up and dragged him around with her to expose the new king to the nobles and councilmen he’s now responsible for working with.

Stiles can’t help but admit that despite the unfortunate situation they’re in and the ill feelings Stiles harbors for Derek, the man is quite handsome. The dark locks atop Derek’s head are thick, something Stiles noticed during the ceremony, his jaw is expertly crafted, and the strong build of his body doesn’t hurt either. Had they met under different circumstance, Stiles isn’t sure he would have been able to hold himself back from relinquishing his v-card.

“More wine, your majesty?” a masculine voice suddenly questions, interrupting Stiles’s thoughts.

Stiles looks up and behind himself to be met with piercing blue eyes as they stare back. A young man, a beta judging by his neutral scent and a servant based off the worn cloths decorating his body, has a shy look on his face as he carefully balances a pitcher of liquor in his hand and awaits Stiles’s answer.

“Of course,” Stiles says, leaning to the side to give room for the man to top his glass off, “thank you.”

Stiles resumes the position he was previously at once the man has finished refilling his drink and the man goes to continue his path of refilling guests cups but hesitates before deciding to remain where he is.

“You look lovely tonight by the way,” he utters quietly, “your majesty,” he adds, eyes widening once he realizes he’d forgotten the title. “Forgive me, your majesty, for my boldness. I do not mean anything by it,” the man quickly follows, hoping to not have upset or offended the newly crowned Omega Consort.

Stiles blushes, taken off guard by the compliment. “Do not worry. Your flattery is much appreciated.” It’s the first praise Stiles has received all night that didn’t come from someone who was obligated to say nice things to him.

The servant smiles meekly at Stiles then turns to finally leave.

“Wait,” Stiles half-shouts, catching the attention of a few passersby who give quizzical looks before continuing on, “What’s your name?” After spending so long by his lonesome, Stiles is desperate to finally have someone competent to talk to. Not even his husband has uttered more than a few sentences to him throughout the night.

His question seems to surprise the servant as he stutters to a halt at the omega’s voice. The man stares open-mouthed at Stiles, clearly not hearing what was asked of him. “Your name?” Stiles repeats, amused by the servant's confusion.

Straightening, the man fully faces Stiles. “Damien. My name’s Damien.”

Stiles, unable to shake hands with Damien since Stiles is royalty and Damien is a commoner, a Hale employee no less settles for a polite nod. “Nice-,”

“Stiles!”

King Stilinski is stood on the other side of the table, a brow raised in reprimanding at Stiles’s choice in company. He looks Damien up and down until Damien bows with a your majesty, taking the hint that his services are no longer needed, and disappears off into the crowd leaving the King and Stiles alone. John waits a few moments to assure Damien is far enough away before speaking again.

“The maids have readied the marriage bed. It’s time for you to consummate your nuptials, Stiles,” King Stilinski says, standing erect as he waits expectantly for Stiles to follow suit.

It seems the night has progressed farther than Stiles was aware of, time slipping rapidly through his fingers as he spent the night people watching and briefly interacting with Damien. He thought he had more time before giving away his virginity to a man who could barely stand him, but apparently, fate had caught up with Stiles and his duty to his country begged to be fulfilled.

Stiles gathers the hems of his dress so as to not allow it to get caught on anything and stands, pushing away from the table in front of him to join his father’s side. He tries his best to gather his bearings, hoping to stave off the impending apprehension as much as possible.

“Lead the way.” The sooner this was over, the better.

-

Crisp white fabric lay pooling at Stiles’s feet as he steps out of the confining material of his wedding dress. Next, the nimble fingers of his handmaiden Kena begin to unravel the strings of his corset. Instantly Stiles can fully breathe again with the crushing pressure of the undergarment gone. All he’s left in is a thin slip dress, the final layer of his armor.

Those on the royal court surround Derek and him in chairs near the wall, Stiles’s father and Queen Talia among those who have joined them in the bedding ceremony. Everyone who has gathered is present to confirm that the marriage has indeed been consummated.

Derek has already been undressed down to his briefs by his own servants, one of whom is an equally burly darker-skinned man who now stands quietly on the wall, waiting to be dismissed. They faced each other throughout the process of being unclothed, Derek as unmoving as usual while he stared Stiles down with an unchanging mask of indifference. With each article of clothing that was removed, rough flesh, tan from days spent out in the fields riding horses and training with swords, was revealed. The alpha’s chest is chiseled and peppered with coarse black hair, the same dark hair littering his thick legs and arms.

Surprisingly, Stiles had kept it together the entire process, his gaze locked firmly onto his husband’s. Only once he’d been stripped of his corset did the inevitable set in as well as the beginnings of panic. Stiles’s hands are minutely shaking and sweating as the priest from the wedding ceremony joins Stiles and Derek to give his blessing for their bedding ceremony.

“Good luck and goodnight,” are his final words as he and the rest of the rooms occupants bow. It’s their cue to enter the wedding bed and begin the last step in solidifying their marriage.

Stiles’s eyes trail his husband as they both pull the curtains back and closed on the bed once slipping under the covers. A spicy pinewood and hickory scent immediately wafted under Stiles’s nose. As shameful as it is, this is the first time Stiles has been close enough to actually detect Derek’s scent. It’s delicious and makes Stiles’s nervousness peak even more.

“How do you wa-”

Derek immediately reaches over to cup Stiles’s cheek and pull him into a kiss, interrupting him. The kiss is as lifeless as their first one, but quickly Derek moves over Stiles’s body and intensifies the kiss. Stiles is taken off guard, expelling a short high-pitched whimper at the intensity, not expecting Derek to kiss him with such enthusiasm and urgency, as if he’s in a hurry to devour Stiles.

Stiles is slow to react, allowing Derek to move from his lips, down his jaw and neck. Soft sucks and licks lead down his silk covered chest to his nipples before he softly cradles the back of Derek’s skull, trying to enjoy the ministrations. Stiles tries to relax into the cool furs beneath him and loosen the tension radiating all the way down to his bones as he stares up at the ceiling.

Suddenly he hisses, Derek, having slipped the thin straps of his slip down and exposing all of Stiles above his pecs and sucking wetly at his right nipple while tweaking the other. Slick begins to pool between Stiles’s thighs as his arousal peeks at the attention. With his free hand, Derek reaches beneath Stiles’s dress to peel his underwear off and fling them behind their bodies. Stiles is helpless to Derek’s actions and breathlessly gasps when a dry finger prods at his entrance. Luckily, he’s wet enough for Derek to plunge the finger in and pump in and out, caressing the walls of his hole.

“Derek,” Stiles breathily gasps as his hand shoots down to firmly grip Derek’s shoulder at the intrusion. “D-don’t stop.”

Shut up!” Derek spits.

The command feels like a sharp, stinging slap to the face. Stiles doesn’t understand what he’s done to be hated so wholeheartedly by the man, or, by select members of the castle’s staff. He inhales shakily, attempting to swallow the fresh tears trying to sprout. Derek doesn’t deserve the gratification to know he hurt Stiles deeply enough to make him cry.

Stiles blinks rapidly before peering down at the alpha. He hadn’t been paying too close of attention to Derek since they started so when he looks at the man, hoping to be met with a just as frazzled appearance as his own, he’s greatly mistaken.

He’s met with closed eyes. Derek must have slipped them closed at some point, possibly as soon as he initiated the ritual.

Immediately, Stiles feels like sinking into the ground at how embarrassed and utterly rejected he feels at the discovery. Derek’s too disgusted by Stiles to even grant him the privilege of gazing upon the omega. He feels like a fool for allowing himself to be so affected by Derek’s touch while the man can’t even bother to look him in the eyes. Allowing a sob to escape, Stiles turns his head to the side to bury it into the luxurious pillow underneath his head and allow his tears to freely escape down his plump cheeks.

Derek carries on, unaware of his husband quietly crying below him or the sour pheromones radiating from him and works his way up to three fingers pumping into Stiles. Broken sobs and moans are escaping Stiles without his consent as he lays there taking whatever Derek gives to him.

Finally, Derek shifts to insert himself into the Omega Consort, fingers squelching as they slip free from Stiles. Stile’s vision is focused on the curtains to the side of him, taking notice that the blurry figures behind it are beginning to exit the room since they’ve heard enough to know the marriage will be fulfilled. They’re kind enough, or cruel enough, Stiles isn’t sure, to allow the newlyweds to finish without spectators.

“Uhhh,” Stiles gasps, Derek beginning to enter him. The blunt head of his dick stings, however, Derek continues to press on, though showing slight mercy by going slowly.

Stiles grasps tightly at the sheets around him and braces himself for the increasing discomfort that is to come. Once Derek is fully sheathed, he pauses for half a second then slides out until only the tip remains and slams back into Stiles, picking his pace up directly after and giving the omega no time to recover from the intrusion. Stiles’s body bounces back and forth with the thrusts and Derek’s eyes remain closed, squeezing tighter the longer he pounds into Stiles.

Excruciating agony are the only words Stiles can think of to describe what losing his virginity feels like. It feels like literal fire is shooting up his spine and his slick production has slowed to a standstill. Though, a wetness Stiles refuses to think about continues to provide friction for Derek’s pummeling.

Stiles loses track of time and Derek’s movements as he stares off into space, salty water continuing to steadily slide down his face and further dampen the fabric under him. After what feels like hours, Derek’s hips begin to stutter and heavy pants above Stiles grow louder, signaling the alpha’s release is near.

As if the night couldn’t get worse, Derek growls out a name that rips the remaining pieces of his integrity to shreds, destroying him, as Derek cums inside of him.

“Paige!”

Teeth sink deeply into his neck, securing them as mates and the end of their mating. Stiles doesn’t have the strength to even cry out, desensitized to the pain already.

Derek’s chest rises and falls heavily with his breaths as pulls back from Stiles’s neck and out of Stiles’s hole. The alpha falls down beside him and finally opens his eyes to stare above him. Unbeknownst to Stiles, Derek is sporting a cloudy expression, mind lost in past memories of a happier time.

Stiles, however, remains unmoving, mind fuzzy with swirling emotions: disgust, shame, rage. After a few seconds, Stiles hears Derek shuffle and the weight of his body shift onto its side.

Without a doubt, today has been the worst day of his life.

Chapter Text

The morning after the atrocity Stiles called his wedding day, Stiles had woken up to a cold, empty bed. Sheets wrinkled and soiled with bodily fluids and, to his horror, small clustered stains of blood. Derek hadn’t left a note to explain where he had went and all signs that he’d be there had been erased.

Stiles had immediately curled into himself at the discovery and buried his face into his hands, shamed at the events from the previous night. He felt raw, inside and out, as if Derek had peeled away his flesh to expose his innermost insecurities while he spat acidic fire into every exposed crevice he could find.

Eventually, echoes of cries of pain and pleasure had escaped him and he’d grown courageous enough to exit the wedding bed. As soon as his bare foot had touched the icy tile, pain skyrocketed up his backside and Stiles had gasped, falling back down onto the furs beneath him. Whether physical or mental, Stiles had no escape from the haunting night before.

It had taken multiple attempts before he was able to stand, managing to whimper minimally and meander his way into the cavernous bathroom attached to the bedroom. Kena, who had been bent over the side of his bathtub and filling it with lavender and chamomile, whipped around, a shocked exhale escaping her lips at the sound of the omega. She promptly lowered her vision at the sight of the Omega Consort’s naked stature and respectfully bowed as she whispered her apologies and greetings all at once.

“Forgive me, your majesty, I did not know you were awake yet. I hope you slept gracefully and peacefully.”

Stiles quickly covered himself at the sight of his handmaiden, embarrassed for her to see the trainwreck his body was, surely covered in bruises and regrets. “Of course,” he paused to clear his throat, his voice scratchy and weak at first use, “thank you for the bath. It is much appreciated.”

“It’s my pleasure, your majesty,” Kena lowly dipped into a curtsy. “The water is freshly warmed. You’re welcome to enjoy it if it so pleases you,” she then motioned to the iron-claw tub as a sign for Stiles to enter it.

He offered a meager smile before stealthily maneuvering himself around Kena and slowly lowering himself into the steaming water below him. He’d hissed at the initial contact but continued to submerge his limbs into the pool of water until he was completely in. The calm, soothing scents of the oils had enveloped him as Stiles lolled his head back to rest against the lip of the tub and allowed his eyes to slip closed in relaxation.

For an extended amount of time Stiles permitted the ambiance and bath to coddle and soothe his aching muscles in silence, but soon thoughts swarmed his mind of the name Derek dared to utter in the midst of their consummation. Paige.

Was she a past lover?

Dread began to fill Stiles’s stomach like a thick pool of sludge. Was she a current lover?

Unconsciously, Stiles slipped further into the water and further into a black pit of despair. Stiles clearly didn’t love his husband yet, but they promised themselves to each other in front of a crowd of their closest family and advisers. Stiles hoped the alpha could have enough respect to not publicly shame Stiles by having a lover on the side one day into their marriage. A putrid bitter smell began to drift from Stiles and fill the room as he stewed in his building anxiety.

An idea came to mind. Maybe Kena knew who Paige was. He just needed to ask discreetly enough that she didn’t know why exactly he was asking. He was unsure if Kena was still in the room, but decided to try his luck.

“Kena?” Stiles tested.

The sound of feet shuffling at attention emitted. “Yes, your majesty?”

At the reply, Stiles straightened and tilted his chin up a tad to appear more regal. Here goes. “Do you know of a Paige?”

“I’m sorry, your majesty. I don’t follow.” Confusion was abundant in Kena’s voice.

Was Kena attempting to play coy? Or did she simply not know who Paige was? However, based on the fact that Derek was the heir to the throne and current King of Luponia, everyone who worked in the castle had to know who Paige was. Apparently, Kena was reluctant to share details on who exactly Paige is, or more importantly, who she is to Derek.

Attempting a new approach, Stiles asked, “How long have you worked here, Kena?”

“This is my first week here, your majesty.” Surprised at the admission, Stiles eyebrows rose and he turned to look over at the maid. She was stood by the door, a basket of soaps and washcloths in hand, apparently waiting on Stiles’s word to begin cleaning him before Stiles questioned her. “I was assigned kitchen work prior to your arrival and been with you ever since.”

So she didn’t know who Paige was. Based on the few people Stiles knew in the palace, that left Talia and Damien, the servant from the wedding reception, to find out from who Paige was. Clearly, he couldn’t ask the Queen-Mother, Derek being her son and a fellow alpha. She wouldn’t give anything away to make her son appear poorly and her alpha not allowing her to defile another alpha in the presence of an omega. Which, left Damien.

Resuming his earlier resting position, Stiles slid his eyes back closed and motioned for Kena to begin bathing him. With each pass of the lavish cloth over him, Stiles’s skin began to reassemble, wrapping around his unprotected veins and tissue to chink back into place.

-

It’s days later and he’s mindlessly roaming the halls of the castle, now the lone Polish royal still in the castle. King John unceremoniously departed from the Hale palace in the early mornings of the day following Stiles’s wedding, farewells to his son nonexistent. While Stiles had been left to collect the broken pieces of himself and reconnect them, John had been in the plush, padded confines of the Stilinski stagecoach, hours away. Stiles wasn’t a stranger to John’s cold behavior though, so the brusque departure hadn’t added any more insult to injury than already existed.

Nevertheless, in his time here in Luponia, Stiles has spent the majority of it exploring the palace, painting, and essentially dying from boredom. He’d tried to find Damien, but to no avail and decided the conversation regarding Derek’s possible whore could wait.

He’s unused to having so little to do, however, since his father pegged him with tasks such as negotiating squabbles between peasants, formulating new ways to plant the countries fruits and vegetables and, unfortunately, taking lessons from his disgusting tutor, Harris, back in Poland.

Despite the toxic relationship that formed between Stiles and his father over the years, John still understood Stiles’s intelligence and utilized it. Something clearly Derek didn’t comprehend.

Stiles trails a finger over a portrait of a past monarch of Luponia, Queen Charlotte if he’s not mistaken, as he strolls down the hallway. Not a speck of dust is found on the pad of his finger. Clearly, Talia was strict on her staff to keep the place spotless.

He soon happens upon a doorway, and typically he’d continue on his path through the maze of halls as he has the past few days, except a figure catches his attention. It’s Derek, his absent husband who’s been unashamedly avoiding Stiles, sat in front of a burning fire, weathered book perched in his lap. Glasses rest on the slope of his nose, beard fuller than the last time Stiles saw him, and his royal attire adorning his toned body.

Stiles openly observes the alpha from the doorway, resting his weight against the frame and taking in every detail of the man before him. The extreme pain from how Derek scorned him over and over again during their bedding ceremony is tucked securely away in the recesses of Stiles’s mind, allowing the omega’s attraction to the man’s exterior to easily exude. Derek is everything, physically, any omega could ask for; full of muscles, perfectly tall, and good-looking, just to name a few of his redeeming qualities.

“Weren’t you taught eavesdropping is rude? Not to mention you’re staring,” a gruff voice murmurs, Derek not even bothering to look up from the text he’s reading.

Stiles is unabashed at being caught and begins to step further into the room. “I was taught. Doesn’t mean I listened.”

Shelves of books line the walls of the room, library, causing it to smell strongly of a sweet musky scent that wafts into the nose and lingers. A single couch along with two cushioned chairs decorate the space as well as pieces of parchment and open journals scattered across a coffee table. A bucket of ice next to the couch is chilling bottles of wine, though the ice has long melted.

Stiles takes notice of the novel in Derek’s grasp as he rounds an end table, Girl with a Pearl Earring.

“Interesting choice. You know he eventually beats her to death?” Stiles asks, sliding onto the couch adjacent to the alpha and pulling his legs up to sprawl across the cushions.

Derek clenches his jaw, pausing on the sentence his eyes were gliding along. “Luckily I’ve read this enough times to recite it back or else you would have ruined the entire story.”

Stiles hums, scanning his eyes lazily around the walls of the room. He wonders how many of the hundreds of books lining the wall Derek’s read.

“Not entirely. He also manipulates her into becoming his lover and forces her to choke the life out of a fellow servant before painting a canvas piece of her that he sells to the highest bidder after murdering her.”

Finally, Derek looks over at Stiles, though with a glare. His lips are drawn tight in a thin line of annoyance, a familiar image Stiles has grown used to receiving over the course of his life. For a moment all that is heard is the crackling of the fire before Stiles impishly smirks back, “There, now I’ve ruined it.”

Silence. The alpha returns his focus to the worn pages of the book, essentially ending their brief conversation.

Derek’s heart obviously hadn’t grown any fonder of Stiles in their time apart, apparent in the fact that anytime Stiles entered the same room as him he strode briskly out of it and the fact that this was the first time he’d spoken to Stiles since their bedding ceremony. Well, that was fine with Stiles. Not many people were partial to him and it’s never stopped him before.

Stiles barrels on as if Derek hadn’t gone mum, seemingly unaffected by being ignored. “So…” he enunciates, stretching the ‘o’ out, “when’s the next council meeting?”

The question seems to catch Derek’s attention, his thick brows rising in confusion when he turns back to Stiles. “Council meeting?” Derek inquires, interest lingering in the uptick of his voice.

“Yes,” Stiles nonchalantly replies, “There hasn’t been one since I’ve gotten here and I think it’s rather time we hold a meeting or else we’ll begin to fall behind on whatever treaties other countries have drafted and any complaints the Luponian’s may want to be heard.”

As the concern begins to rise in the omega’s voice, an amused laugh erupts from Derek’s chest as he shakes his head at Stiles the same way a parent would at their child for a foolish comment. The latter clearly doesn’t understand the joke as he stares back, puzzled by what he possibly said that was humorous.

Derek soon realizes after a few passing moments of Stiles perplexed staring that the omega has no clue of what’s been happening right under his nose. He deadpans, taking pity upon the boy. “There’s been two meetings since the ceremony.”

What? Stiles jolts upright from his lying position, stunned at the admission. “Why was I never summoned?”

A thick brow rises. “You were expecting to be?”

The alpha can’t be serious. Stiles knows Derek isn’t the biggest fan of him, but to intentionally not invite him to vital meetings typically expected of current rulers to preside over is simply petty. Without his presence, the council lacks an alternate viewpoint on matters and recklessly risks Luponia’s future without his input. “Is that a trick question? Yes, I expected to be summoned. I’ve been here a week and no one thought to notify the Omega Consort of the country that not one, but two, council meetings had occurred?”

Stiles is bewildered at the brazen foolishness of Derek’s question. But yet again, mirth spreads across the newly-crowned King’s features. “You don’t get it do you?” The alpha asks, leaning forward, “You’re just another chess piece in a much larger game then you’ll ever comprehend.”

Chess piece? Stiles was no pawn to be manipulated or used to anyone’s advantage. He hadn’t survived his mother’s death at the young age of ten to then endure his father’s treatment while essentially running Poland himself, to be someone’s puppet. “I’m no chess piece in anyone’s game, especially yours!”

Derek’s smugness only seems to grow as rivulets of alpha musk begins to clog the evening air. The pine smell becomes pungent, Stiles resisting the building urge to cough. It’d just make the alpha more satisfied, pleased his scent was able to overpower Stiles’s senses. “Who said it was mine?”

And that, that stumps Stiles. If not Derek’s, then who’s?

“I’m no less an object in this complex game than you, but I’m aware of my involvement. Unlike you,” Derek adds after Stiles fails to respond.

Stiles’s face instantly flushes, upset at the fact that he’s completely ignorant to what Derek is talking about, not one to be kept out of the loop, and how Derek continues to degrade him. When he’d entered the room, Stiles hadn’t planned on arguing with the alpha, in fact hoping to start anew with his husband. However, Derek clearly didn’t have the same idea in mind and frankly, Stiles is up to here with being treated so poorly by the people closest to him.

“You know what, you overgrown, pompous, self-entitled, egotistical ass? All you’ve done is ignore me and berate me since my arrival and I’m through! I don’t know what delusions you’re talking about, but you won’t bully me or scare me away from my right to rule over this country. I’m the current Omega Consort of Luponia and that won’t be changing anytime soon,” Stiles states with finality, petulantly jutting his chin out.

The briefest flash of raw anger zings in Derek’s eyes before it’s gone in an instant. Derek’s lips coil into the smallest of grins that sends a surge of terror through Stiles before he relaxes back into his seat and flicks a wave somewhere behind him. “Boyd, Ethan,” Derek calls, two bodies suddenly emerging from a side room Stiles hadn’t noticed, “Why don’t you escort the Omega Consort to the palace gardens? I heard omegas like to go there when their suffering mental breakdowns.”

Derek spits the title with enough venom Stiles flinches as if he’d been called a common whore. He recovers quickly though once he realizes what Derek has requested of his personal servants to do.

“If anyone’s having a mental breakdown it’s you!” Stiles accuses, though it does nothing to deter Boyd and Ethan from roughly grabbing onto his upper arms. He tries to shake them off but their grip only grows stronger, erring on the side of painful.

“Unhand me, you fools! As your Omega Consort, I order you to unhand me!” Stiles demands. However, Derek nods his head as his consent for the servants to continue on, lips pulled into a thin line as he watches on.

When the two servants begin to jerk his body forward Stiles finally resolves to succeed this round to Derek, though he calls out one last time to the alpha, “You won’t erase me, Derek!”

A chilling voice echoes throughout the library and curls around Stiles in a crushing embrace as it follows him down the empty hallway. “Enjoy that fresh air, omega.”

-

“How dare he...” Stiles pants, pacing back and forth “toss me out as if I’m some insane psychiatric patient.”

He aimlessly kicks a pile of rocks lining the garden’s pathway, channeling his frustration into the movement. “Idiotic, rude-”

Stiles is abruptly interrupted when a solid weight runs into his legs, nearly knocking him over and eliciting a squeal in the process. After gaining his balance back, Stiles is poised and ready to berate whatever has run into him, however, he’s met with high-pitched giggling and tiny hands grasping at his breaches as the body attached to them scrunches the fabric.

“Maliaaa, Daddy’s gonna find you!” A voice yells from somewhere in the distance. Instantly, the child shrieks excitedly and tuggs harder at Stiles’s pants as they try to further hide themselves from their father behind Stiles’s legs. Unsure how to react to the alien toddler attached to him, Stiles stands stock still to try and act as a shield for the child in their apparent game of hide and seek.

A man soon rounds the corner, grey streaks flecked throughout his hair and regal attire adorning his body. His eyes are firmly set on the child, Stiles too thin to provide much of a barrier, and an immense smile is spread across his face. The child must not have noticed their father approaching until he scoops them up into his arms, the pint-sized toddler screaming at the action. “I gotcha, my little menace!”

The man tickles the child, a girl, Stiles realizes now that he can see the delicate curl of her lip and dress swathing her. Suddenly, Stiles’s heart aches, yearning for the same playful father-child relationship the two before him share. He quickly squashes the feeling though and fully faces the man to address him.

“Your daughter has quite the strong grip,” Stiles softly murmurs.

The man before him turns his attention to Stiles, appearing surprised by Stiles’s comment, too focused on his daughter to notice Stiles’s presence. He settles the young girl on his hip and answers, “Yes. Malia gets quite caught up in the game at times and forgets her strength.”

The mention of his daughter’s strength is odd, but Stiles brushes it off, surmising she may be showing alpha tendencies, though at a very young age, three or four, judging by the roundness of her cheeks. Stiles offers a bright smile to the man, “I’m Stiles.” He waits for the man to introduce himself as well before he decides on how to officially greet him.

Recognition flashes easily across the man’s features before he politely bows, “Peter Argent nee Hale.” Stiles easily identifies the surname as the Argent’s of Halla and Peter as the beta husband of King Chris Argent.

Stiles initially knew of King Chris Argent due to his infamous overthrowal of his father, King Gerard, who suffered from twisted fantasies that led to demented tirades and ruthless murders. However, Stiles, and much of Europe, knew of Peter due to his rather eccentric lifestyle. For instance, denying his royal ties for years, disappearing for almost five years to live among commoners where he eventually met his future husband.

Currently, the two monarchs are most notable for their taboo same-sex marriage which caused an uproar among many, especially because of its royal magnitude. Due to their inability to produce an heir, with Chris being an alpha and Peter a beta, both of their kingdom’s argued against their union. The only reason they were finally allowed to wed was Chris’s daughter, Allison, whom he had from a brief marriage to a foreign Princess, Omega Consort Victoria. Had she not been alpha, Peter and Chris would have never been anything more than lovers.

Immediately, Stiles returns Peter’s bow, the common greeting between unfamiliar royals. Though, with Peter being the uncle of Derek, he would soon become familiar to Stiles.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, your majesty,” Stiles says.

“Please, none of that ‘your majesty’ stuff. We’re family now. Call me Peter,” Peter requests.

The polite command catches Stiles off guard since most royals demand to be called by their official titles except by only their closest family. Warmth floods Stiles’s body, a giddy happiness at being so readily welcomed by at least one of his newly acquired family members tinging his cheeks pink. A shyness Stiles wasn’t accustomed to blooms and he readily nods his agreeance. “Of course, Peter.”

A kind smile graces Peter’s lips and for the first time since he was escorted outside, Stiles can discern the chirping of swallows and bluebirds alike as well as the sweet smell of nectar of surrounding patches of flowers. “Well, I presume congratulations are in order,” Peter offers, “You and my nephew just became newlyweds.”

Instantly, Stiles’s high spirits begin to dip at the mention of his husband. He does his best to fake an enthusiastic smile and ooze a scent of happiness. “Yes,” he weakly agrees, “congrats.”

Peter’s ears seem to twitch as if he were listening to an inaudible sound, but Stiles chalks it up to a trick of the eye, fatigue, and stress from earlier events messing with his mind. The beta’s posture stiffens, frown pulling at his weathered features, undeceived at Stiles’s offbeat behavior. “I sense you are not happy about the merger.”

It’s said as a question but distinctly understood to be a statement, no room to deny the chastisement. Stiles scrambles to preserve the positive atmosphere from only moments before as it seems to slip like sand through his fingers. If only he had given a better performance at being content with his marriage to Derek. Now he’s ruined it.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to offend,” Stiles clambers, “The wedding honestly happened so quickly and I just haven’t gotten the chance to know Derek very well yet.” He pray is reasoning is suffice enough so that he hasn’t already lost an ally in the kingdom.

The displeasure, however, merely deepens. Stiles’s heart sinks.

“I see.”

Stiles racks his mind with what he could possibly say to renew being in the King’s good graces. He immediately spurts the first idea to come to mind. “Your daughter is gorgeous.”

And like that, Peter brightens and beams a smile so heartwarming Stiles has to physically stop himself from recoiling at the foreign emotion. “Isn’t she,” Peter says, fondness intertwined in his words, “This is Malia. Can you say hi, Malia?” He asks animatedly.

Malia hides at the question, turning from her position against Peter’s chest to snugly nestle into his neck. Peter chuckles, softly rubbing up and down her back in comfort. “She loves to pretend she’s shy even though she was just hanging off of you a few moments ago.”

“It’s ok,” Stiles placates, “I was outgoing enough as a child I could make up for her ten times over,” he jokes, heart jumping when Peter chuckles at the admission.

Stiles feels a renewed sense of nerve at the positive reaction and brazenly asks, “Do you know who Paige is?”

The question catches the beta off guard as it seems to sprout from out of nowhere. Peter unconsciously tightens his grip around Malia and his eyes become taught with uncertainty. “Why? Did someone say something to you about her?” Peter asks cautiously, serving to further raise Stiles’s suspicions of who the woman may be.

“Uhm, no,” Stiles nervously pronounces, “I heard the name in passing.”

Peter’s eyes narrow, clearly not believing Stiles. “Right.”

Stillness settles around the pair, an uncomfortable silence swallowing them as one is undecided on what the other knows and the other shifts from foot to foot, uneasy at the rapid change in ambiance. Deciding to try again, Stiles inquires, “So, do you know her?”

Peter stares for a moment, the air tense before he answers. “I do.”

“Is she-is she Derek’s mistress?” Stiles’s nerves are high as he attempts to maneuver cautiously through their conversation. It feels as though he’s sinking into a pit of quicksand, each move he makes only further pulling him down towards constricting suffocation.

Sympathy floods Peter’s face as he releases the strain winding his body tight. “No, she isn’t.” He moves to sit down with Malia still in his arms, suddenly appearing ten years older as the weight of whatever information he knows, weighs him down.

The image does nothing to lessen Stiles’s uncertainty in his husband’s faithfulness. “And yet, I am unconvinced,” Stiles grouses, continuing to remain standing so as to not to relinquish any authority.

“I assure you, she is not of concern anymore,” Peter admits, compassion and honesty present in his voice. “Her meaning to my nephew is not for me to explain, however, I recognize the cruelty of keeping you assuming she is involved with your husband. So, no. She is not Derek’s lover.”

Finally, Stiles allows himself to sag with relief and take a seat beside his uncle-in-law, allowing himself to believe the words spoken to him. “Thank you. That truly means a lot to me.” He tries to inject as much appreciation into his words as possible, hoping to exude gratitude for the assurance.

“Of course,” Peter sluggishly nods.

For a few moments, they bath bask in the sereneness of the castle’s gardens, though it doesn’t last long, a polished voice calling out to them.

“Your majesty, dinner is ready. The Queen Mother requests it to not be served until all of the royal family is in attendance.” An older, lithe man dressed in formal Hale worker’s attire stands waiting breadths from the palace entrance. HIs attention is focused solely on the beta, completely ignoring the Omega Consort. Great. Another person to add to the growing list of people that didn’t respect Stiles.

Peter straightens at the servants notification and returns to full height as he nods his acknowledgement. “Wonderful. We’ll be there shortly. Thank you, Geoffrey,” Peter says politely.

The servant bows respectfully. “Your majesty,” his response.

“Majesties.”

Confusion clouds the man's features as he looks up from the quick bow he was in the middle of, “I’m sorry?”

“Majesties,” Peter corrects, “You shall address both Omega Consort Stiles and me when speaking.”

Satisfaction and Stiles’s affinity for the beta blossoms to an even greater extent as the man sticks up for him. The servants face sours for the briefest of seconds as Peter retains the same stony expression in order to dismantle any defiance the worker may have. “Of course, your majesties,” he bites, stiffly spitting his apology.

Peter purses his lips as he assesses the poor excuse of regret before turning an impish grin upon Stiles.

“Shall we?”

Chapter Text

Polite conversation as well as the clinking of silverware against fine china fills the spacious dining room. The dining table is of considerable length and piled high with delectable cuisines. A platter with cheeses and grapes sits at the center as a form of appetizer while trays with an array of meats and vegetables are lined up perfectly to the sides of it. Servants hang in the background, refilling wine glasses and clearing occupant’s plates.

Stiles cuts rigidly through the veal on his plate, aware of his every movement as he seems to hold his breath due to who he’s sat beside. Normally, Talia would sit at the head of the table, but due to recent events, Stiles and Derek are now expected to. Derek sits at the very end so as to be the first person someone seated would see and Stiles to his left, the location of the next most important royal.

Peter had found a seat next to his sister with little Malia in his lap as she played around in her mashed potatoes while the two adults chatted, catching up on missed time. Everyone at the table appeared to be engaged in discussion with someone around them, completely oblivious to Stiles’s discomfort. He’d forgotten about the expectation of Derek and him to sit beside each other and had been unpleasantly reminded when the only available seat had been next to his husband.

Currently, the alpha is speaking with a high ranking Hale knight, Scott, if he’s not mistaken. The pair are conferring with each other about new sword techniques to be taught to the troops, Derek seems to be at complete ease as he talks about something so familiar to him.

Stiles is unsure of who the man beside himself or the one across from him is, but both are enraptured in dialogue with another person around them, leaving Stiles to entertain himself.

Soon Stiles’s overactive mind begins to grow bored and allow for a surge of anxiety to take root and spread. In the course of less than 48 hours, Stiles had acquired a husband, been abandoned for the last time by his father, and gained a somewhat ally in a castle full of people who couldn’t care less about him.

His chest constricts with emotion, his throat feeling as though it’s beginning to choke. Not to make a fool of himself, Stiles discretely takes a sip of water to clear the tightness wrapping around him. It helps minimally.

Listen to me Stiles. List ten things around you.

His mother’s voice echoes in the recesses of Stiles’s mind as he begins to name items surrounding him. Wine glass. Table runner. Platter of fruit. Butler. Tension begins to ebb as Stiles continues. Dinner plate. Peter. Malia. Water glass. The boa constrictor of panic that had slithered tightly around his throat slowly uncoils until all that is left is the hollowness Stiles has been carrying around for almost a decade.

“...Omega Consort Stiles?” The Hale knight Derek had been talking to is suddenly focused on Stiles. The knight’s expression and body is loose as the puppy-like features are smoothed into an open and curious stare.

Embarrassed to have not been listening, Stiles straightens, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

The man’s lips split into a boyish smile, clearly not put off by the lack of attention Stiles had paid him. “I asked if you’ve been enjoying yourself, your majesty.”

Stiles quickly clears his throat to respond. “Of course, I’m delighted to be surrounded by those closest to Luponia’s King and myself,” Stiles mindlessly supplies. Years of tutoring having taught him the most proper response to the question asked that it rolls off his tongue effortlessly. Of course Duchess Maria, I’m honored to be in your exquisite home, which magnificently represents the beauty of your country. Why yes Earl Lois, my father and I couldn’t be more pleased with the extravaganza you’ve displayed for us today.

Each reply becoming more false and drawn out than the last. Stiles couldn't remember the last time he’d genuinely meant what he said when he explained why he was enjoying himself.

Scott doesn’t seem to catch any falsehoods though as his smile only grows at what Stiles has said. “I understand the feeling. I was beyond enchanted the first time King Derek, Prince Derek then, invited me to sit alongside the Queen Mother and members of the Hale’s innermost circle. Still can’t quite believe it and it's been almost two years since that initial dinner.”

“If I’m remembering correctly, Scott,” Talia pipes up from four seats down, “you spilled nearly all of the beef stew onto your lap ten minutes into the dinner.” An amused grin pecks at the Queen Mother’s lips, as if she’s seeing a repeat of the scene unravel in front of her.

Scott has the decency to appear embarrassed over the matter, scarlet tinting his cheeks as he shyly smiles at Talia. “I was a bit nervous I guess you could say,” he offers as an explanation for the misdemeanor.

“I’d say you were a bit more than nervous. It took the staff almost two days to remove the stain in the rugs from all the wine you knocked out of servants hands.” Derek offers. A look so unfamiliar to Stiles on his face, Stiles would almost call it amusement. The white of Derek’s teeth are a shock to Stiles, as he’s only seen the mouthful of pearls a handful of times.

“Shame,” Peter says offhandedly, careful not to jostle little Malia now snoozing in her father’s arms, “It was my favorite wine too. The bottles had been aging since the Battle of Gisors.” He appears mildly disappointed, the downturn of his mouth minimal.

“What are you on about, Peter?” A woman, an advisor Stiles presumes, near the other end of the table rhetorically asks. “You drank all three of them at last year's Lunar Festival.”

“Oh, right.” Peter says slowly, as if suddenly remembering the night.

“How could anyone forget?” The man beside Stiles questions. “You were so delirious from drunkenness that night you tried pulling Chris into the bushes for a ‘quick romp’ as you so brazenly announced to the entire village.”

The room suddenly bursts into polite laughter as everyone recalls the events of the aforementioned festival. Derek’s eyebrows are scrunched together, hand cupping his chest as he leans into the chuckling consuming him. Talia shakes her head disapprovingly, much like the older sister she is, though fondness for her brother shines through in the action. Scott and everyone else at the table laugh freely to form a chorus of sniggering.

Stiles sits and watches the scene unfold in front of him, feeling not for the first time, like an outsider. Its as if he’s a child again, invited to play with the other royal children, who had grown up together since diapers, yet never truly being welcomed into the faction. Eventually he’d became the outcast of the children and learned that “play time” was comprised of only Stiles and his dolls inside while the others played hide and seek outside.

He doesn’t belong here. Stiles is no less the fish out of the water he was in his younger years than he is now. He doesn’t belong here.

The sound of his chair gliding across the dining hall’s floor could be likened to silverware scratching across fine china with the way everyone immediately stops their laughing to turn to Stiles pushing away from the dining table. He quickly feels like a deer caught in the candle light, but swallows down the sheepishness to announce his departure.

“I’m feeling a tad ill. Think I’ll retire to my room for the evening.”

Stiles quickly curtsies as a sign of respect for everyone at the dinner, especially the Queen Mother, then swiftly exits the room. However, he’s not completely in the clear before someone loudly asks, “Gone and gotten him pregnant already have you, Derek?”

Goosebumps rise on Stiles’s arms at the question as his stomach seems to drop into the pits of hell. He’s not pregnant. Derek hadn’t knotted him and even more importantly, Stiles hadn’t been in heat. Thankfully, he’d had a few weeks before coming to Luponia, thus, wouldn’t be experiencing another one for two or so months more. The thought, however, of carrying a child made out of pure hatred makes Stiles truly ill.

He was out the door before he could hear a response.
-

Loneliness seems to swallow Stiles up as he perches on the end of the lounge chair in his room. He’s nibbling on the tips of his nails, a nasty habit he hadn’t ever been able to shake. Originally, he’d tried to stay in the room Derek and he had consummated their marriage in, but haunting memories from that horrid night kept him awake at nights.

So, Stiles had asked for another room. It’s a stray suite on the east wing that the Hale’s normally host guests in. The quarters are an obvious downgrade from where he’d previously been staying, but Stiles preferred this one instead. Less space for his mind to wander.

The air is still and the world outside is eerily quiet. All that can be heard are Stiles’s slow breaths and the occasional pitter-patter of bodiless feet. The calm is uncomfortable and all-consuming, causing Stiles’s fingers to begin to itch for a quill and sheet of paper to create some form of distraction from Stiles’s isolation.

Immediately his eyes dart to a desk nestled on the far wall. He’d been sitting there this morning while applying the rouge he always wears and he suddenly remembers an inkwell had been sat atop the surface too. A quill and paper are surely nearby too, Stiles thinks.

He stands, hastily approaching the desk in search of his consolation prize. A hand mirror, numerous necklaces and other jewelry, as well as a comb are all that litter the table. Of course when Stiles is already down, the universe decides to deliver another crippling kick.

Frustrated, Stiles releases a sigh, willing to give up on his search already. Maybe this was a sign for him to shut up and roll over for his husband. Or maybe, for Stiles to pack up his things and return to Poland, fleeing Luponia and his doomed marriage to Derek.

From the corner of his eye, Stiles can see a hidden drawer underneath the top of the desk. Quickly, Stiles rushes to yank it open to be met will stacks of paper and a singular quill with dried ink crusted onto the tip. Euphoria.

Stiles swiftly clears off the old ink, grabs all of the paper within the drawer to rest on top of the desk, and sinks into the desk chair. Unsure of where to start, Stiles leisurely dips the sharp tip of the quill into the inkwell and ponders for a moment what he wants to say.

Images of his mother on her deathbed, his father back handing him into a castle wall, Derek glaring down at Stiles’s presence, along with every other painful memory he can think of flash before his eyes. And like that, he writes.

Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air

Once he starts writing, the words flow effortlessly from his fingers. It’s as if his soul is bleeding onto the sheet, creating a beautiful tragedy of Stiles’s life to be read line for line.

There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

Stiles continues to inscribe his pain for what feels like hours, five poems total written, when a curt nock is provided on the bedroom door. His mouth tastes reminiscent of mothballs from not speaking in a while and his jaw cracks when Stiles opens his mouth causing him to be slow to answer. However, the door is pushed open before he’s able to speak and a familiar figure steps into the room.

His husband.

Stiles is shocked to see the man, expecting each of the dinner guests to have forgotten his existence once he’d left the dining area, especially Derek.

Immediately the alpha lurches into a spout over the evening’s events. “Tonight’s outburst was uncalled for and is not to ever be repeated again.” Derek exclaims, displeasure written all over his countenance. “Am I understood?”

Please, do come in. Stiles spitefully thinks. Instead he swallows the catty reply he had instantly formulated and remains silent as he tracks the alpha’s movements. Stiles’s sanity is slowly being drained from each interaction he has with his husband and he can’t seem to find the will in him to continue arguing and fighting with Derek. So, he’ll remain quiet. Allow the man to fight with himself since Stiles won’t be granting him the pleasure.

The man meanders around the lounge chair Stiles had previously occupied to settle into it himself. He moves around the space as if it is his own rather than Stiles’s, as if Stiles was the intruding guest and he the unsuspecting tenant.

Derek must expect Stiles to snap back a witty response too based off the anticipatory stare he send Stiles’s way. However, when Stiles doesn’t bite back, the thick brows resting above Derek’s emerald eyes rise in surprise before quickly returning to their original ill-natured position. Silence rings throughout the room for a moment before Derek shifts in discomfort at being ignored for probably the first time in his life. He soon continues on with the lecture he’d entered the room with when Stiles shows no sign of responding any time soon.

“Councilman Alexander had a point tonight when he mentioned your possible expectancy,” Derek begins. Stiles’s stomach clenches. “Luponia will be anticipating an heir rather soon.”

Derek pauses, expecting Stiles to react for once since he’s entered the room. Stiles, however, carries on staring blankly at his husband, though his mind is a whirlwind of reactions. Despite his young age, he’s always wanted children. In recent years, his heart eagerly yearned to finally have someone he could love and be loved back by in the form of a child that was half him and the mate he chose. Stiles had been no fool to imagine his mate as that person who loved him wholeheartedly, what with being a royal and how common arranged marriages were. But he’d assumed that he and his mate would at least tolerate each other, maybe even be amiable friends. Those had clearly been hopeless fantasies, however, as his current mate loathed him and Stiles wouldn’t dare allow for his child to be conceived in such an environment.

Derek huffs frustratedly, irritated at Stiles’s lack of dialogue. His lips thin before he continues the one-sided conversation. “I’ve notified your handmaidens to inform me the moment you enter heat so I may join you.”

That’s enough to garner a response from Stiles. He wheels around to fully face Derek and the preposterous revelation he’s revealed. “You will not!” Stiles commands, baring his teeth. Any thoughts of playing the part of silent observer out the window as heat flushes his face, blood pumping directly to it. “An heir was not apart of the agreement when we entered into this unfortunate arrangement.”

How dare Derek try to force himself onto Stiles without first speaking with him about whether Stiles even wanted Derek to partake in his seasonal heat. “You can’t possibly believe Poland’s resources were all that were to be expected of you when we wed?” The alpha asks, truly seeming surprised, bewildered even.

“It’s not what I believe, it is reality. We,” Stiles hesitates, forcing himself to keep Derek’s gaze “...fornicated before to solidify our union and that is the only time we will be joining together in such closeness again.”

Derek’s lips press even tighter together and Stiles can spot a vein throbbing in the man’s thick neck. “You can and you will allow me between your legs when the fiery throws of heat encompasses your body.”

Is this seriously happening? Stiles excused himself from one uncomfortable situation only to be chased down and harassed once again by, surprise, his husband. He’s exhausted of living a constant cycle of abuse and eternal sorrow.

“I’d rather throw myself from the castle towers to my death than grant you entrance to my most sacred anatomy again.” If Stiles weren’t so angry, he might be terrified by how seriously he considers following through with his threat.

That seems to be the straw to break the camel’s back though as Derek appears to be experiencing an aneurysm with the way his eyes bulge and several veins seem to pop from his forehead now. Harris would be aghast to see a King and Omega Consort behaving in such a way. “You should be honored that I have even offered my body in such a way to you, you little whore! I bet you weren’t even a virgin with the way you were moaning my name so breathily our wedding night. You probably opened your legs so widely and eagerly in Poland for whoever looked your way, even omegas, and suddenly you’re so innocent and pure.”

A raging red monster that had been bubbling the last few comments of the conversation finally overflows as Stiles screeches for his husband to leave. “Get out! I want you out of here and as far from me as possible!”

The demand doesn’t seem to shock Derek as he swiftly stands to tower over the omega in an attempt to further assert his power. It’s as if he’s attempting to have a form of a pissing match with Stiles over the omega declining to allow Derek to essentially assault him. It’s no wonder the Luponian’s are known for their army when their Alpha King is so obsessed with aggression. “An heir will result from our marriage whether you like it or not and that I can promise,” Derek threatens.

Stiles is completely done with this exchange. “Out! I said out!” He thrusts a finger out from his body to point to the door since Derek can’t seem to find it.

At last, the man makes his way towards the exit, but not before turning back to glare at Stiles. “I’ll be waiting, omega.” His tone is full of icy daggers that send a chill up Stiles’s spine. Stiles holds his own though, returning the glower with as much intensity that’s being directed at him.

As soon as his husband departs from the room though, Stiles screams at the top of his lungs. No matter if he approaches Derek with good intentions or retreats to his own believed safe haven, he’s berated. He’s doomed if he does and doomed if he doesn’t.

Stiles picks up the closest thing to him, which happens to be the hand mirror resting on the desk, and sends it careening against the bedroom door. The glass of the mirror shatters, flying across the floor and leaving a momentarily satisfied feeling coursing through his body. “Gods, I hate it here!”

Suddenly, the day’s events seem to dawn on Stiles as they crash into Stiles like a titlewave all at once. The well of emotions he’s been battling with the entire day come bursting forth in the form of frustrated tears as Stiles wails, crying out for relief. “Mum...I need you, mum,” Stiles begs, salty tears rolling down his cheeks in rivlets. “I feel so weak I can’t stand it anymore.” A broken sob escapes from Stiles’s lips as his vision blurs from all the tears. He gasps in a deep breath once it feels as though he can’t breath, attempting to gain control over himself again.

“Your majesty?”

Stiles jumps at the sudden voice calling out to him. His mind is so clouded he’s delusional enough to believe it’s Derek coming back for round two to finish Stiles off.

Please,” Stiles pleads, “I can’t.”

Instead a lean figure approaches Stiles and ocean blue eyes are peering down at him with concern. “Damien?” Stiles asks, perplexed to be face-to-face with the Hale employee. He swiftly wipes the tears from his face and addresses Damien. “What is it?”

“Tea, your majesty.” Damien says, outstretching his arm for the omega to observe what he’s holding. For the first time since Stiles became aware of the servant’s presence, Stiles can see a silver tray balanced in Damien’s hand with a tea kettle, two creamers, and two small bowls along with cups resting atop it.

Relief courses through Stiles’s body at the otherwise trivial offering. “That sounds lovely.” Stiles releases a brief smile as he accepts the cup Damien offers to him, thanking him softly.

For a moment Damien stands in the background, waiting for a request from Stiles while the omega gently sips at the warm liquid. Stiles’s eyes sweep back over the tray in Damien’s hand as he begins to ponder over something. “Damien?” Stiles asks unexpectedly.

The man stands at attention at the mention of his name. “Your majesty?”

Stiles takes a second to let the tea roll over his tongue and the question turn over in his mind before he questions Damien. “Why are there two of everything?” Stiles hadn’t thought much of it when he’d first observed the items as his mind had been preoccupied with other concepts, but now that his mind has cleared, Stiles is perplexed at the duplication.

“Oh,” Damien blushes at Stiles noticing, “the King requests his own personal tea sets. Doesn’t like it if others have consumed from the same as him.”

Naturally. Derek can’t stand the idea of sharing, the possibility of being tainted from others impurity his only concern. “Of course,” Stiles murmurs, rolling his eyes dramatically at the ridiculous command.

Damien remains silent, no reasonable response for him to give as a servant. Silence quickly returns as the man hesitates before seeming to gather the courage to speak aloud what he was thinking. “Excuse me if I overstep,” Damien begins steadily, “but is something the matter Omega Consort Stiles?” Concern is rampant in his voice as his worry for the Omega Consort is apparent.

Touched at the distress the servant shows for him, Stiles shyly smiles. “No, not at all. Why do you ask?” It’s clearly a lie, but Stiles doesn’t find himself comfortable enough to speak with Damien of such private matters.

“It’s just….you appear to be troubled over something,” suddenly Damien’s eyes widen in alarm as a realization occurs to him, “King Derek did not hurt you did he? I heard him yelling quite loudly through the door.”

Grimly, Stiles replies, “No, King Derek did not lay a finger on me,” if he had Stiles may have surely murdered the man. “I’ve just had a bit of an unpleasant day, that’s all.” Stiles placates, hoping to calm any of the reservations Damien may have for Stiles’s wellbeing.

Damien releases a relieved sigh as the tension that had been building in his body liberates itself. “Good. I could not imagine the thought of you being harmed.”

Once again, Stiles is moved by Damien’s care for him though Damien seems to be alarmed at the words he has just spoken. “I am gravely sorry your majesty,” Damien instantly says, distress taking arm on his features as the servant becomes flustered. “That was unbelievably inappropriate of me. I beg your forgiveness. A hundred lashing would be too kind for my unforgivable comment.” Damien drops to his knees, tray still balanced in his hand, as he begins to beg for forgiveness, muttering unintelligible pleas.

“Please, call me Stiles.”

The request doesn’t seem to be heard by Damien as he continues to beg for his life to be spared along with numerous apologies.

“Damien.”

Finally, the servant seems to snap out of it and raises his head to meet Stiles’s gaze, though his eyes immediately drop to the floor once the land on Stiles’s honey-colored eyes. “Call me Stiles. Omega Consort Stiles and your majesty makes me feel like those snobbish men and women on the council.”

Damien seems to be stunned as his mouth drops open, but no words escape it. Stiles sets his tea down on the table and calmly treasures his wish. “Please, it would gladden me immensely.”

A shaky breath is set free as Damien begins to nod heavily. “Ok, Stiles.” A youthful grin splashes across Damien’s lips as he says Stiles’s name and following it with a childlike giggle. Damien appears giddy, excited to be embraced without warning by the Omega Consort by being granted the privilege to speak his name without proper titles.

Glad that Damien has at last accepted what Stiles has said, Stiles returns the whimsical smile as he feels freer than he has since his arrival in Luponia. “So,” Stiles pronounces, “tell me about yourself, Damien.”

“Well,” Damien starts, “me mum and da’s from Ireland but we migrated to Luponia when I was nine and now….”

Stiles leans back into the desk chair, getting comfortable to listen to what Damien says, hanging onto each word with rapt attention.

They talk for what seems like hours, Damien narrating his life story before the conversation morphed into childhood stories and exchanging of secret hobbies (Stiles admitted to collecting toeless socks) until finally Stiles lost track of all the chats they went through. By the end of it, the charcoal sky is bathed in stars and Stiles is yawning what feels like every second. Stiles felt like he was floating on air the entire evening with how elated he is to have finally found a true friend in the castle.

Both eventually migrated to the couch, Stiles from the desk chair and Damien from the floor, with Stiles currently leaning into the armrest and Damien slouched comfortably onto the back cushion.

“I can’t believe you put rats into your tutor's undergarments!”

“Yes,” Stiles sluggishly giggles through a yawn, “it served him right after forcing me to balance books on my head for nearly four hours.”

Annoyed at constantly yawning and ultimately admitting his tiredness, Stiles takes advantage of the lull in conversation. “Damien, I believe it is time to turn in. I’m afraid if I sit here a moment longer I’ll be asleep before I know it.” And Stiles means it, each blink of his eyes harder than the next to keep from remaining closed.

Damien relents, nodding his agreeance as he moves to stand. “Of course, your maj-Stiles,” Damien corrects, battling the rules ingrained in his mind about properly addressing royals all evening. “Sleep well and may the heavens watch over you tonight.”

Damien bows politely and turns to exit the room. “Goodnight,” Stiles returns right as Damiens goes to grab the door handle.

The man turns back, an elfin grin pulling at his lips as he answers back. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

None of Stiles’s previous insecurities have been resolved, in fact, more insecurities have graced his mind after today. But Stiles can’t help but to be merry over the past few hours’ events.

Celebration of the small victories he receives is all Stiles can do, as he isn’t sure when the next one will come.