“I got you a job.”
Stiles Stilinski startles awake from the voice above him. The Omega had just finished a job half across the world, he saved an entire schoolhouse of children, and this had been the first time in days he had managed to catch a decent wink of sleep.
With her arms crossed, Lydia Martin stands in all of her glory, which means a sleek dress held up on her freckled shoulders by two thin straps. Behind her, the sun files through the window, making her dark red hair looks as if she wore a halo of fire around her perfect, pretty face. She could care less about Stiles's current sleep or lack thereof.
“What is it?” He asks, his words slurred from just barely waking up. The teenager-- hardly eighteen-- takes a porcelain hand and moves it through the blankets, searching for his lost phone in attempts to tell the time. The sun is obviously out. The last time he had looked out of the window, it had been so early in the morning the moon still reigned.
She doesn’t say anything, just throws him a folder that’s heavy with enough names and information to make even the most hardcore gossipers become flustered.
He pulls himself up from beneath his covers, until he feels the cement wall behind his head and naked back. Stiles doesn't mind the freezing air on his naked torso, considering the school he had saved currently sat in the middle of sweltering Libya in the beginning of June. He glances around the room, all of the other men who had once occupied this section of the barracks were strangely absent. Must be an important job.
Stiles picks the folder and quickly opens it, and almost instantly, wishes he hadn’t.
“Are you fucking with me?” He squeals, already thinking of the many, many ways this could go wrong.
“What? It was either you or me. He’s not into gingers, Stiles,” Lydia’s brows raise up in innocence as the other teenager thinks of a way to get out of this death sentence.
“So dye your hair!” Stiles bites, but plucks the first paper out of its stapled prison.
On the sheet, a picture of what Stiles is going to look like in a few short hours is shown. Minus his usual glasses and a much more pristine hairstyle. Beneath it, his new name and his brand new life.
“What kind of name is Genim?” Stiles rolls his dark doe eyes as he scans through the information. Nineteen, unclaimed, obscure royalty from a far-off kingdom . “Mom and dad died from a plane crash? How sad,” he frowns at the unfortunate life of Genim Aydin. After his parents’ death at the young age of seven, his peasant uncle took him away to live in an insignificant village until Genim was sent to boarding school when he presented as an Omega at 13-
“I’m going in--” Stiles would’ve choked if he had been eating anything. Instead, he just clutches at the dog-tags that hang around his neck, as if they were pearls and he were a middle-aged woman grasping for some sort of safety. “My status isn’t being hidden?!”
“We are talking about the heir to the Kingdom of Hale, do you think the royal family would be interested in anyone but an Omega?” Lydia sits down on the bed, carding her fingers through the stack of papers.
“I don’t know-- Lydia, they’re wolves. They can, like-- smell lies,” Stiles blinked up at her with a bewildered expression. “If I go there, they will know I’m not just some little Omega who has been raised with the only goal of mating an Alpha with a title. They’re gonn-”
“Stiles Stilinski, you are the best liar in this damn place aside for me,” Lydia’s voice came like a slap as her hands flew to his slender shoulders to shake him back to reality. “You’ve lied so well that the machines hardly catch it, if it all.”
“If you’re so good,” he grins. “Why don’t you go in my place?”’
Lydia laughs, as if the very thought had never dared to cross her mind. “I’m going as your Alpha attendant, if you go a bit further, you’ll see me,” she pulls out a paper three sheets behind.
There, Lydia’s hair is cut short and lightened to blonde.
“Lady Matilda of Aydin house,” Stiles speaks her assigned name aloud. “Alpha, attendant to Genim Aydin, 20.” He throws the paper away with distaste. “Why not a 22 year-old Beta?”
“If I were a Beta, I wouldn’t have total say over you, and if I were 21, an Alpha could rival me for their own chance of being your attendant, dear Genim,” she pats his thigh before standing up swiftly, straightening her dark dress as she does so.
“When do we leave?” Stiles sighed heavily with defeat, rubbing his temples for the headache that was going to eventually come.
Lydia smiled back at him, a glint in her eyes as she spoke. “Our plane leaves in four hours, brief yourself and get a haircut.”
“Be an agent, they said. It’ll be fun, they said,” Stiles whispered to himself as he combed his fingers through his dark hair-- or what was left of it. A few strands came back, caught by his palm; he only scowled at the pieces of hair before wiping them on his shirt.
In his other hand, the file was propped open for his reading. He had already went through it once, but he was good at his job for a reason.
“I thought when I signed up for the Covert Association for Omega Independence, I’d be killing knotheads,” he growled angrily at nothing particular. “Not seducing them.”
In the file, a set of pictures of the entire royal family of Hale were neatly stacked. Stiles took them out and went through every single one, even if his stomach turned.
He didn’t pause until he found his assigned target, one Prince Peter, the only Alpha of the Queen’s children.
The Alpha is handsome, at least in the picture, Stiles decides. He just turned 34, and for some reason or another, he has remained mateless for years after his arranged Omega had died a month before their ceremony under mysterious causes.
His eyes are blue enough to interest Stiles on a completely organic level; he’s obviously active in some way, or maybe it is just the wolf genes that help him stay trim. A strong jaw, dark hair, and pretty lips, he’ll be decent enough to help Stiles sell the lie of attraction.
“Just until December,” Stiles whispers to himself as he turned away from the pictures to look at the main points printed. December 21st, an assembly for Omega independence within the Hale Kingdom . Peter’s vote would be influential enough to sway tens of other countries to do the same.
The livelihoods of thousands of Omegas laid in Peter’s hands, thus, in Stiles’s own.
The plane was far from what Stiles had grown used to. Usually, the means of transportation was hiding between storage units in cargo planes. If he were lucky, he'd get a job where he had the privilege of flying in economy. This, by all means, had not been what he was expecting.
Lydia grinned at him in her two-piece designer suit, her hair lightened to a blonde she pulled off almost as well as the red, and, as per usual, nothing seemed out of its place on the intelligent Beta. Even the pilots were dressed to the nines in their stark white uniforms and slicked back hair, a strange contrast considering the only difference in their usual attire was the shades in camouflage.
Stiles tucked the file he had been obsessively reading and rereading for the past three hours underneath his armpits and straightened out the collar of his sweater as he walked towards the stairs of the private jet. He had never even known CAOI possessed this kind of luxury. Obviously, Stiles had been taking the wrong missions.
"This just got so much realer," Stiles announced as he took the first step onto the flight of stairs.
Lydia grinned. "Wait until you see the clothes, and the jewelry, and all of the shoes, Stiles! It pays to be royalty," she takes the file away from him as they meet at the entrance of the jet and throws it onto a leather seat.
"It's only June, and they're giving you access to this kind of lifestyle for six more months," Stiles shakes his head as he stares at the thrown file. His fingers twitch for it, even if he already knows absolutely everything within folder.
"Is it not perfect?" Lydia doesn't glance around as she slams the door shut. Which is good, because if she had taken a moment to look at the lot, she would've realized no one came to see them off. It wasn't unusual, nor was it surprising. The only person Stiles cared about was Lydia, and vice versa. In this particular line of work, it did better to keep one isolated with few if any loved ones. Stiles had made the rookie mistake one too many times.
"Definitely beats being ass-deep in the middle of the jungle, if that's what you're implying, Lyds," the Omega moves to the first seat he finds comfortable. He isn't given a large choice, considering there is only seven other seats on the entire jet.
"No, from now on, I am Matilda. Mattie if you're feeling particularly fond," Lydia tells him. She takes the seat directly in front of him, they face each other, and if this had been two years ago, Stiles might have become flustered from their lack of personal space.
"Fine, Mattie," Stiles bends back into his seat, crossing his hands behind his head as he readies himself for the moment of take-off. The pilots are in the front, no doubt preparing for the flight, when Lydia smacks a hard palm against Stiles freshly-pressed chino pants.
"No," Lydia scowls at him with her eyes full of surprise. "Prince Genim Aydin may have lived with peasants for a few years, but he was raised as a prince, and princes do not... do that."
"Lyd--Mattie, for real?" Stiles groans as he lets his long arms fall back to his side and straightens himself up. "We haven't even left the ground."
"And thank God for that," Lydia replies seriously. "You're a good liar, but even more than that, you are going to have to act as if you actually went through one of those brainwashing boarding schools for Omegas, do you understand? Prince Peter is not the only one watching, you're going to have to gain the love and trust of the entire royal committee if you're allowed even one second alone with him."
Stiles kept himself from heaving up what he had for a quick snack-- an MRE that tasted a bit sour even with all of the preservatives-- and nodded in agreement. His entire personality would need a total 360, but luckily, he was good at playing parts.
"Now, you're not going to catch Peter's eye unless Peter's eye catches you, understand?" Lydia tells him as she crosses her perfect legs. "Luckily, you're pretty."
"Why, thank you, Mats," Stiles rolled his brown-bambi eyes as she went on.
"No, what I mean is, he's going to make the first move because he's known to always make first contact. Once that is breached, it's your job to keep him interested."
"And how am I supposed to do that?" The Omega wondered aloud with real concern. He may be capable of disarming a bomb in less than ten seconds, but never had he spent much time with Alphas other than the mated few they allowed into the agency. Most of all of his operations hardly dealt with Alphas, and if so, their interactions were short and fleeting.
"I don't know," Lydia reclined back in her chair and stared at the frozen runway. "Just don't talk his ear off, maybe then you'll be fine."
Stiles's stomach twisted at her answer. The entire mission rested on his shoulders. If he couldn't hold Peter's interest longer than a few days, there would be nothing he could do, no way to sway the vote, nothing. He folded his hands over his face, wondering just how in the world he was going to be able to pull off a seductive tempter when he hardly managed to keep Lydia's attention half the time.
"Agents," one of the pilots from the front of the jet peaked from the cockpit, his face clear of frustration, obviously unaware of the weight and seemingly impossibility of the mission. "We're about to clear the runway, buckle up."
The Omega did as told with shaking fingers.