Chapter Text
The city of Vaelwyn, once surrounded by carved brick walls and Roman concrete, now lies crumbled beneath blood not entirely its own. It was bound to happen, the fall of Vaelwyn at the hands of Lorvil, they had been offered—surrender dressed as alliance, as slow poison. The crown prince, Lando Norris, favoured the barbaric conversation with death itself over surrender to Lorvilial soldiers who only spoke in the language of taking.
"Draw your blades Commander, let these streets see my blood for once and for all. End your campaign." Lando challenged, knees on the ground, grit pressing into skin, looking up directly at the man who just destroyed his home; eyes still defiant—always defiant.
Lando’s expression doesn’t change when the man laughs, something in it already beginning to rot. Commander Carlos crouches, bringing himself level with him. “Patience, Your Highness,” he says lightly, “It does pay off.” His hand closes around Lando’s jaw, forcing his face up. “At least let Vaelwyn see her prince like this,” he murmurs. “On his knees.”
Carlos' grip tightens on his sword but halts before reaching Lando's throat as a panting soldier approaches them, "Prince Oscar wants him alive," he informs, "And unharmed."
Confusion flickers across his features. But then a sweet scent floods the surroundings, it takes a second for him to notice it—not blood, not dust, something beneath it. Sharper. Warmer. Too sweet for a battlefield. The alpha turns sharply, realisation settling in.
"An omega," he mutters, barely audible. His gaze lingers now, too long. Hunger replacing whatever there was before. He scoffs, leaning in, "You'd make such a pretty prize."
The journey to Lorvil passed as all journeys away from home do, bound with chains, and the quiet anticipation of a crown that'll decide his fate.
Lorvil stood glorious as always, more so with each passing day. The ivory walls complemented the umber roofs, a contrast of hues the Lorvilials had mastered. The ships at the ports swayed with the wind, while seagulls nested along the harbors. The streets gleamed with pride—another victory, a kind of kindness never extended to its captives.
This is the first time Oscar sees Lando properly, not in glimpses but in direct sunlight. Dark curls sticking to his head with sweat and blood. His tanned skin native to his kingdom, and his glacial blue eyes glazed with temerity. He was far from some helpless omega.
"So this was the boy who held Lorvilial army for weeks?" He asked George, his equerry.
"Indeed. He is Crown prince Lando of Vaelwyn, or was supposed to be. Now he's just Lando, a war spoil, as the soilders say." George remarked, already clocking Oscar's fascination towards the captured omega.
A war spoil, but his eyes are arguing otherwise. With that thought, Oscar moved towards him.
Lando's body ached all over, not because of physical exhaustion but with the realisation that these walls will be the confinements he'd have to live with—*if* he's fortunate enough to live. The fresh blood that oozed from his lip earlier has gone patch-dry, his scraped knees barely healed and his wounds would turn septic if not tended to soon.
But he doesn't need their mercy. He doesn't need the oh-so famous medicinal herbs of Lorvil. He doesn't want to survive death only to end up in a different kind of hell.
"You are to be presented in the Royal court straight away, Prince Lando." A firm voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he looks up to find a man far too noble looking to be a soldier. His hair sitting over his eyes in that princely swoop and his skin is littered with freckles and moles mimicking constellations in broad daylight.
"Don't you worry, your highness, I will personally escort him there," Carlos smirks, eyes never leaving the omega. His claiming scent filling the air before any verdict could be made. "He will be taken care of properly."
Oscar's fists clench visibly, "Make sure no one touches him—or any other captured omega before a verdict has been given." He finds Carlos' eyes with finality.
"Consider it handled," George, standing beside him agrees readily. "Though you must know you can only protect him so far, your highness." He mutters only for Oscar to hear.
The passage to the throne room is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the courtyard. A long line of armed guards stationed on both sides of the passage.
"You must only speak when spoken to," Oscar informs Lando as they approach the ivory doors catching the golden sunlight through the windows, waiting for them to shift inwards.
"That's it?" Lando's voice turns sharp, "First you take away my homeland and now you're asking me to give up on my right to speak?"
"I'm asking you to try not to give them a chance to reduce you further," Oscar replied with as much seriousness as he could gather for a tone so low. "Max will tolerate anything but pride that has no right to exist. He takes great satisfaction in shattering that particularly."
"Oh lovely, I had prepared such a colourful speech about how cowardly it was for him to break a pact that was sealed years ago." Lando's voice now was carrying a bitterness Oscar couldn't place. "But don't stress yourself, your highness, I'm not afraid of death."
"Death would be the kindest thing that could happen to you here," Oscar remarked with a hard kept neutral expression. "If you challenge him like this, you'd be just making it easier for him to treat you like a property—a war trophy."
Lando seemed to tense for a beat at this. "All I'm saying is," Oscar continues, "Don't put your head in the lion's mouth—"
"In his own den, I understand." Lando said, all his bravado still intact.
The ivory doors finally push inwards, revealing the massive hall adorned with the same ivory marble that adorns all its walls and the imperial throne. The hall feels cavernous because of the poised senators and attendees sitting on both sides of the hall. A long, sprawling red carpet directs the visitor's walk and stops at the throne, the same ivory, with lions on handrests and emeralds that catch light from the ceiling windows.
Max doesn't simply sit at the throne, there was nothing ceremonial in the way he claimed it—like a possession, pride and honour oozing from his unblinking focused eyes while his decorated sword sits by the armrest. The lightweight white and blue toga falling gracefully on his torso, with gold embroidery and a clasp on the shoulder embellishing the attire.
It still amused Oscar after all these years, how frightening his brother could look on the throne that it sends a chill down his spine every time he stands here, not knowing how his fate would twist at the hands of the emperor, because Max only ever knew how to break and take and tame. There was no place for uncalled pride in the emperor's rule.
Beside him sat a warm presence, Charles Leclerc, Max's omega and his mate. The omega exuded royalty in his very existence, the way he moved, the way he talked and sat. He's considered the most beautiful omega in the whole of Lorvil—the only person Max would care to listen to.
The herald's voice rang through the hall—loud, controlled, absolute, "Lando Norris of Vaelwyn. Accompanied by Prince Oscar of Lorvil and Commander Carlos of southwing army."
All the eyes turned towards them, some murmuring his fate, some commenting on the prince being an omega, some simply fascinated by the beauty of the fallen royal.
"Your majesty," Carlos addressed, fluidly kneeling and bowing his head, fist settling on his heart showing the practiced ease of years. "The campaign is concluded in our favour, your will has been carried out and we return victorious."
"Took you long enough with such a massive force commander," Max alleged, cold eyes boring into Carlos'. "Is it true Prince Oscar had to take hold because a certain omega put up such a strong defence that your years of training seemed to fail?"
The air in the hall went frightening chilly, no one has ever accused any commander of impotence. And here Emperor Max was, once again breaking all the imperial norms and spitting words sharper than forged steel just because he can.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but we were constrained from delivering excess damage to the city and its residents," Carlos justified, containing his faltering patience behind that trained discipline. "Prince Oscar wanted Lando alive and unharmed, and his strategy took time to penetrate the city walls."
That catches Max's undivided attention and he makes a subtle gesture and Carlos steps back to the side. His eyes immediately find his next prey, waiting and plotting to dismantle whoever stands infront of him.
Oscar is in movement as soon as he catches Max's eyes, his scent already thickening around the room to protect something that isn't his, and if Max notices he doesn't mention it—not yet.
Simultaneously Lando is grabbed forcefully and dragged to the center of the hall beside Oscar. Oscar bows his head, hand to chest in one fluid motion, protocol demands obedience, Max demands surrender.
"Perhaps Vaelwyn doesn't teach their princes to bow respect—or is it just an omega thing?" Max attacked, his face now holding a bemused smirk, leaning forward like a lion preparing to jump his prey.
Silence hangs like an open guillotine before Lando responds, chin still tilted upward, shoulders still square, if the chains weren't visible he'd pass as a non-captive for his pride alone.
"Vaelwyn only teaches to bow respect to people who earn it," he barked, his jaw clenched so tight it almost borderlines on pain. "Definitely not to cowards who knows nothing but to command and take."
The hall went pitch quiet, any and all murmurs dying at his statement. Beside him Oscar goes stiff, his neutral face now visibly stoic and filled with dread.
But then Max sneered, his lips turned upwards at the sheer audacity. "What a sharp pretty mouth you've got there," he commented, eyes shifting to Oscar. "No wonder Prince Oscar wanted you alive AND unharmed."
"Your majesty, I—" Oscar tries to ease the situation but gets cut off by Max's gesture indicating that he's not spoken to yet.
"Tell me, Prince Oscar, why exactly it took you weeks to conquer Vaelwyn," Max asks, now gliding down the stairs unhurriedly, as if all this is almost boring to him. "Also I appreciate your decision to keep this precious defiant omega alive, it's not everyday you get to tame something leaking with pride and insolence." He comments reaching to the center of the hall and circling them, observing, trying to drain all of that rotten recalcitrance.
Oscar shifted his expression to that practiced neutrality again, "Vaelwyn's defence was remarkably formidable, your majesty, it—"
"Oh spare me the boring mechanical details, Oscar," Max interrupted with sudden change in expression. "Tell me how an omega held our whole army for weeks. Tell me about him." He said pointing sharply towards Lando who was still eye to eye with the emperor.
"They have quite different rules for their omegas. It seems they are allowed to be in higher designations and in certain cases allowed to lead too." Oscar explained, gesturing towards Lando. "Lando showed excellent war tactics mastery and defence knowledge that can only come from being passed down through generations."
"Spectacular," Max marveled, turning to Lando again with a dangerous grin on his face. "It seems your father atleast taught you how to fight, but it's not enough, is it? He made you a pure strategist, didn't he?" No one knew where Max was going with this and why suddenly he seemed so personally interested in Lando's family.
He continued, with a frighteningly low tone, eyes calm as if they had their prey right where they wanted, "Perhaps he knew it'd make you such a perfect breeding vessel with valuable qualities to pass on."
There, there it was, the blow that would get through even the strongest of soldiers. At this even Charles' eyes widened, Max was not backing off now and he knew it was only going to get worse.
Oscar's jaw tightens at the words, his hands fisted so tight that his knuckles are almost white, and he can no longer contain the spike in his scent. He's about to speak but then—
"YOU BASTARD—," Lando spats furiously, lunging forward to punch Max. But before he can even raise his fist, a painful blow lands on the back of his knees, making him fall to the ground, his scraped knees not helping as a hiss left his mouth. He's made to kneel forcefully and held by his shoulders.
"Prince Lando," Max jested, his expression oozing satisfaction at the first signs of crack in Lando's demeanour. But he's still Lando, still defiant, looking up at him without a trace of fear even on his knees. "You surely are not taught imperial mannerisms, is this how good omegas behave in your homeland?"
"I'd gladly show you how we are taught to behave as omegas if you free me of these restraints," Lando grits through his teeth. "But I assume you are too much of a coward who can't fight shit without an army."
At this the guard holding Lando down raised his fist, ready to knock him out with his armoured hand. Lando shuts his eyes tight, bracing for the blow, but it never came.
He cautiously opened his eyes, only to find Oscar standing between him and the guard, holding his wrist with so much force that the armour sees a dent in it.
Everyone witnessed the scene unfolding with dead silence. The senators and attendees began to cover their noses because Oscar's scent has flared, bordering possession and protection—or maybe both.
Prince Oscar was not one to lose composure, definitely not over political matters like these whatsoever. But was this political anymore?
"Oscar, release my guard," Max commanded, his face losing all the lightness and voice becoming dangerously restrained. For a moment it seemed like Oscar didn't hear the command, so he went again, tone fuming with frustration, "I said release my guard, Prince Oscar."
At this Oscar finally gauged the gravity of the situation, the thinness of the line he just crossed, he didn't meant to act so compulsively, not infront of the Emperor anyways, but now he can't do anything but steal a glance at Charles, who looked equal parts worried and helpless.
He released his grip on the guard who immediately adjusted his armour to ease the pain.
Max's attention shifted to Lando again, and he bends to look at him properly, as if accusing that this debacle is his mistake. In a stride, he grabbed Lando's hair in a painful grip, and tilted his head upwards in a way that bared his neck.
"How generous of Vaelwyn to send its omega prince to the battlefield unbonded and without a mark—threw your life to the wolves, didn't they?" Max hums with newfound interest, like a vulture clocking another weakness of it's prey.
"Every sheep thinks it's a wolf, My Majesty," Lando retorted.
"Oh my, my, little prince, you've got quite a mouth right there, I'm thrilled." With that he released Lando and descended up the throne in that same uninterested manner.
The hall fell into that chilly atmosphere once again, no one dared to speak after witnessing everything that just happened. But at the same time Oscar's heart pounded so hard he feared it might jump out of his chest, because now was the time to hear the Emperor's verdict. Lando's fate.
"I've decided your fate," Max announced with a finality no one was allowed to question. "He's yours, Prince Oscar." Oscar's head snapped up at this and his eyes widened, he couldn't believe what His Majesty had just said. "Take him, claim him, tame him. Do whatever you want with him, he's your vessel now," He continued with a knowing smirk. "I'm sure you can put that mouth to a better use."
The words left him cold.
"Y-Your Majesty, I think he'd be better suited at the strategy base of our empire. Clearly he'd be more resourceful there. I don't want him like that." Oscar tried to argue as practically as possible, though some part of him knew he himself was trying to convince the lion to leave his prey.
"Are you refusing my commands, Oscar?" Max asked, pressing upon the seriousness of his words. "He's a gift to you. You conquered half the south for this empire, surely you deserve its most prized prince."
"I'M NOT SOME OBJECT TO BE GIFTED," Lando shouted, his knuckles turning bright white. "I'm not your possession, or some breeding machine. I'm Lando of Vaelwyn, not someone's prized possession or a war spoil, and definitely not some helpless Lorvilial omega." He spat through gritted teeth, his chest heaving by the time he finished.
For once, Max didn't respond to him at all, he didn't thought it important enough to grace Lando's outburst with a reply.
Lando finally looked at Oscar, hoping for him to say something. Perhaps he was right, death was really the kindest thing that could've happened to him here.
Oscar was at a loss of words, because what would one even say in a situation like this. He wouldn't dare look at Lando because he knew what he'd see there, pure and unadulterated hatred. He reassured Lando earlier that he won't be treated like some war trophy, but now he was being treated exactly like one—more so Oscar's.
"That's unfair, Your Majesty," Carlos claimed loud enough for the whole senate to look his way. "By the rules of conquest, the most prized possession of the war is given to the conquering commander." He stated through barely controlled frustration.
"Bold of you to teach rules to your Emperor, Commander," Max's words and eyes now sharp like his sword that lay untouched beside him. "No rules are above the throne. I hope you understand that my words are final and I don't invite debates on them," he stated with no room for any further arguments.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty, that's not—"
"Enough!" Max cut him off by raising his hand and looked around as if challenging anyone to dare open their mouths. "Does anyone have a problem with this decision?" He asked, looking at Oscar, then at Lando and finally towards Carlos. No one uttered a single word.
"Simply lovely." He concluded and with that the royal court adjourned and people began to empty out of the hall.
The hall was deserted now. Oscar finally turns to Lando, who looks—hollow. Furious eyes and lashes weighting with unshed tears. Oscar knows he won't cry, not now, not here. He approaches him cautiously, his voice just above a whisper, "Lando, let's go," He tries to grab Lando's hand to lead him out of there.
"Don't you dare touch me," Lando quavered, yanking his arm away from Oscar.
"I won't touch you, but please this is neither the time nor the place," Oscar tried to reason as calmly as possible, as if approaching a scared animal. "Your wounds need to be tended to urgently, please come with me."
Lando yields finally out of pure exhaustion and the pain that keeps scratching the back of his mind, fogging the rational part of his brain. "You assured me this won't happen," he accused as if Oscar was the one who decided this fate.
"Come on," Oscar sighs, whatever this is, it's their fate now.
Perhaps in another life, Oscar would've met him under different conditions, under different skies. But for now, they are nothing but triumphant and fallen.