Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

        Genosha is the largest kingdom in the Northern Hemisphere, ranging from the Alder mountains in the north to the Old Plateaus in the south, from the fertile plains in the east to the Great Desert in the west. Such is the extent of its lands that it would take a traveller three months to traverse it on horse. The land is rich and fertile, and the Elsean Ocean that surrounds the Eastern Peninsula, teeming with life.

The Alpha-Emperor, Sebastian Shaw, did not rule over his subjects with an iron fist, but through shrewd and cunning. After all, a general of a small army in the Genoshan heartland does not simply become the emperor of a vast kingdom through sheer good will. 

The wrath of the Genoshan Emperor, however, manifests itself in the form of the Genoshan Army. With over a hundred thousand soldiers in Infantry, seventy thousand in cavalry, fifty thousand archers, five hundred war elephants and the most advanced artillery, it is the largest and the most feared army in the known world. Commanding it is the emperor’s prodigy and a twenty-five-year-old Alpha, Erik Lehnsherr. 

But fate plays a game of its own, detached from the whims and wishes of mortals. And when it plays its hand, the Emperor Sebastian Shaw is killed by his own general.

What follows is a state of unrest in the kingdom. Shaw’s supporters sketch and plan to end the young alpha while the Genoshan Army sticks with its general. The alpha outwits the threats to the Crown and crushes his opponents. After nearly a year-long Anarchy, a new king rises to the Genoshan Throne.

On the day of the coronation, fifty-two smaller kingdoms, three hundred and eighteen tribes, and the Genoshan Heartland bow before the Genoshan Crown-- the Gen-el-Sar ; the God of Genosha.

-

Chapter Text

       Along the northern border of the Genoshan Heartland is a string of four small kingdoms: Westchester, ruled by the Alpha-King Brian Xavier, Colland, ruled by the Alpha-Queen Elaine Jean, Dundee, ruled by the Alpha-King Norton McCoy and Dacos, ruled by the Alpha-Queen Nina-Da-Costa. Together, along with a few city-states, they're known to the heartlanders as the Borderlands, or as a layman would put it-- Bard Lands.

Ensnared between the Alder mountains in the north and the plains in the east, the land here is a rolling plane of gently sloped mountains and wide, flat valleys. The soil is rich, too, nourishing and harbouring plantations of tea, grapes, melons, citrus, and berries. All the tea that reaches the Genoshan Palace are from the hills of Westchester, and the wine--raved all over Genosha for its fine quality and superior flavour-- from the plains of Colland. The flowing silk-- soft and light-- donned by every Genoshan lord and lord is cultivated and woven in Dundee. The soil here, however, holds secrets of its own, secrets one can decipher the deeper they dig into it. For the greatest produce of the four kingdoms is not what is grown above the soil, but what’s found below it-- diamonds.

The people of the Bard are intelligent, learned and cultured. The combination of nature and nurture and their innate knack for words and numbers have honed them into voracious traders and thinkers. Fifteen percent of thinkers, intellectuals and artisans of Genosha trace their roots to the Bard. 

The people adorn themselves with the produce of their land. They don intricately woven silks and parade around in jewellery, alphas and omegas, men and women alike.

Their culture, language, religion and beliefs are all in stark contrast to everything that of the Genoshan Heartland, and yet, the former Gen-el-Sar , Sebastian Shaw had given them free rein over the administration of their kingdoms. And as with everything else with the former emperor, freedom came at a price, a condition that the kingdoms fill the Royal Treasury handsomely. And handsomely did they fill it- with stout sacks of opal, jade, emerald, rubies, gold, silver, and diamonds.

But times had changed. The Anarchy had affected everyone alike-- rich and the poor, strong and weak. The winds of power had shifted. Other things had shifted, too. Chiefly among them was loyalty.

*

The Royal Palace, Gremklyn, Weschester

Brian Xvier walks the long corridor that runs along the palace walls towards his private meeting chambers. The weather outside is pleasant and the sun tender. This close to the mountains, Weschester doesn’t experience the full wrath of the midsummer sun that the Genoshan Heartland does. A cool breeze blows from the mountains, caressing the licks of warm air rising from the heated earth. 

Brian adjusts the drapes of his silk robe around his large belly and the varied layers of emeralds that cover his chest. Righting the crown on his head, he opens the heavy doors of the meeting chamber to the cackling of its inmates.

‘Ah! look who decided to finally join us before nightfall,’ Norton McCoy exclaims. 

Brain rolls his eyes. ‘Forgive me for the delay, Norton.’ He feigns an apology just to rile the fellow king and smiles when it does the same. Bowing to the other two occupants of the room, he says, ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting the three of you for the second time this month?’

The kings and queens of the four kingdoms meet once in two fortnights to ensure the smooth sailing of trade in and across the Bard. Now and again, however, impromptu meetings like this one aren’t unfamiliar. Brian Xavier had to adjourn his court early that day when Sean had brought in the message that the heads of his three neighbouring states were waiting in his private meeting chambers. 

‘I think Norton called upon us just so he could flaunt his new pearl necklace,’ Nina says around a sip of her tea. 

‘Hey,’ Norton protests, ‘these strings are worthy of flaunting.’ And as if to prove just that, the man re-adjusts the layers of pearls around his gangly shoulders fondly. ‘And why wouldn’t I? I paid a grand sum just to get these beauties from the port towns.’

Brian Xavier snickers. ‘Your obsession with pearls is mildly alarming, Norton.’ 

‘Says the man who has a guild of diamond cutters at his disposal,’ Nina teases.

It is true, so Brian shrugs. ‘It suits me well,’ he says with a flourish, inciting a mix of snickers and groans from the others. 

They continue their banter as Sean enters the chambers to replenish the emptying pots of tea and platters of cheese and fruits. After helping themselves to another round of the morsels and beverages, Elise asks, ‘Why did you call upon us, Norton? Is there an issue that needs to be addressed?’

The light in Norton’s eyes fades and the thin frame of his shoulders sags. ‘I’m afraid there is.’ Setting his tea cup on the table, he continues in a voice devoid of its usual jest. ‘Remember Remyn?’

‘The city-state on the edge of the Southern Range?’ Elaine asks and Norton nods.

‘One of my traders bought in news yesterday that the city has been raided and sacked by the emperor.’

‘Again?’ Nina grits through her teeth. Her features sharpen with anger. ‘That’s preposterous! That’s the third city in the Bard the boy has sacked in two months. What does he want from us?’

‘Nobody knows the motive behind it. The army upturned the Manor and every house around it.’

‘And what about the chieftain who ruled it?’ Brian asks, concern lodging in the pit of his stomach. If the army has truly ransacked the city like the rumours says it has, they surely wouldn’t have spared the chieftain.

‘The chieftain is missing.’ Norton sighs heavily. ‘Nobody has seen him or his family since.’

Brian had heard rumours of raids conducted by the emperor's army from his own traders, but hadn’t made much of that news. Traders are notorious for exaggerating minor alterations and spreading rumours like wildfires. Furthermore, the year-long Anarchy had brought in friction between various factions of the kingdom, and small fights here and there had become common. But if more than one source is narrating the same story, there must be some truth to it. 

‘And what about the people of the city?’ Brian asks, because any kingdom is its people, and as long as the people are unharmed, then there’s still hope for restoration.

‘What else can you expect when the army is involved? Pillaged and plundered, as usual. I’ve sent some of my men with water, grain and medical supplies. It should grant them some relief,’ Norton says. 

Brian makes a mental note to send a retinue with Logan to Remyn with relief supplies, and when he voices it, Nina and Elise offer to send in their assistance as well.

‘The operations of the army are increasing in this region,’ Norton says finally, as if he’s just thinking out loud. ‘I see more soldiers parading through our lands than in the last year. The sovereign freedom of several kingdoms on the border of the Deep Forests have been revoked and they’ve all been annexed into the mainland. None of these kingdoms were given prior notice by the emperor. One morning his soldiers dashed in and plundered their homes.’

‘What are you hinting at, Norton?’ Brian asks, brow furrowed. 

‘Remyn is a day’s ride from here, Brian. If they’re coming for Remyn today, what stops the army from knocking at our doors tomorrow?’

‘They can’t do that,’ Elaine protests. ‘We have an agreement with the emperor. He can’t touch us as long as we do his bidding.’ She jabs a finger in the air. ‘Which we are doing!’

Nina shakes her head. ‘We had , Elaine. We had an agreement with the emperor. Do you think the new boy would even value an agreement we made with the man he murdered?’

‘You do make a valid point, Nina,’ Brian agrees. All around them smaller kingdoms have been snubbed, and city-states looted by the army, and Brian knows that several of those kingdoms had similar agreements with Emperor Shaw. If the new alpha can snub them, what indeed stops him from coming for the Bard?

‘We can offer to increase our tribute to the treasury,’ Elaine suggests. ‘The royal treasury has been left bereft with the Anarchy. The emperor will need to replenish it soon if he has to feed the heartlanders and keep his army running on its foot. We’ll make an offer to match the losses of the previous year in exchange for not hampering the freedom of our lands.’

‘And what if he doesn’t agree to that?’ Norton questions.

Brian has no hopes in his heart that the emperor will accept their offer and spare them. Shaw had been cruel, yes, but not like this. Shaw’s cruelty was intricately woven into his cunning. It was a powerful combination. More powerful, however, was his network of lackeys, of eyes and ears Shaw had all over the kingdom. Even a small uprising or dissent with the Crown was dealt with or twisted to the emperor's liking before it could fully form. Shaw made offers people couldn’t resist, lured them with honeyed words into his sophisticated traps, and tricked them into accepting his deals. Unleashing the army on his subjects was his last resort. However rare that happened, destruction was always guaranteed when it did. Therefore, any king or king, lord or lord with a lick of sense in them would have known better than to reject one of Shaw’s deals and incite his wrath on them. The boy, however, is different. He’s a young and hot headed alpha; a barbarian. All he probably wants is to conquer and loot. And a man who wants to loot will have no heart to listen. 

Even if they could somehow convince the emperor to spare them on behalf of a higher tribute, what then? The sizable share in the revenue that needs to be paid to the Crown would hinder the trade immensely. Their economy had already suffered from the year-long Anarchy. They can’t push their subjects back into sustaining bigger losses just when the trade has started to pick up.

‘He won’t agree to that,’ Brain says finally. ‘Kisos had offered to increase their share of tributes to the Crown, and see what happened to them.’ The Lord of Kisos died one morning after sustaining several injuries. The cause of his death was reported as a fatal fall from the back of his horse, but it’s an open secret that a regiment of the army had its hand in his death. The citadel and the few cities that entailed the kingdom were annexed into the heartland. Kisos’ army had revolted but to no avail. The kingdom’s small army had been wiped out from existence. Small or not, Kisos had an active army. Brian shudders to think what would happen if the Genoshan Army comes knocking on their doors tomorrow. Save for a band of soldiers who constitute the Royal Guard-- who, though gifted, are no match to even the ungifted soldiers of the Genoshan Army, and not at all a match to its Gifted Wing-- none of the kingdoms in the Bard have an army at its disposal. They are a land of traders and teachers, not warriors. If the Genoshan Army parades into their lands tomorrow, their options are either complete surrender or death. 

‘Why would he want an increase in the share of revenue when he can have the entire revenue for himself?’ Nina grits through her teeth. Her dark eyes are cast off onto the horizon beyond the window, glittering bright with something more than anger.

She’s not wrong, and Brian wouldn’t put it beyond the boy to raid their lands and sack the mines that run deep into the earth. After all, the Bard, to the Genoshan Crown, is a hen that lays golden eggs. Why settle for the eggs when the emperor can have the hen all for himself? The previous Gen-el-Sar , Shaw had acknowledged it. The emperor had offered protection to the Bard from outside in exchange for a steady tribute paid to fill the royal coffers along with a percentage of the land’s produce. It wasn’t a bad deal as deals go. For a matter of fact, it was Brian who had pushed his fellow kings and queens to accept the deal. And it only made sense to do so. The Bard is landlocked on all sides, and an alliance with the Crown meant access to the long coast and large ports that line the Eastern Peninsula and run out into the Southern Isles-- accessing which had been a herculean task in his father’s times. The alliance also gave its traders tax relaxations within the vast kingdom, which in itself amounted to considerable profits. The shadow of the Genoshan Army also gave them protection from the rogue mountain raiders and lone mercenaries who were notorious for raiding mines and looting them. All in all, it was a good deal and a win-win on all counts. Even though Brain and the others detested Shaw to the core of their beliefs, they had agreed to the deal, because, if an alliance with the emperor could benefit the people of his land, then Brian was willing to swallow his bile and abide by it.

Brian sighs. He’d known that the new boy would be a threat to them as soon as the Anarchy had begun and rumours of his killing spree across the kingdom had sprung up. Though deviously vulpine, Shaw was meticulous in his ways. All his steps were calculated and cultured, not impulsive and ruthless like the boy’s. But until very recently, the new emperor hadn’t given them a reason to negotiate that threat. 

They have to act fast now. They have to find a way to mitigate the threat to their land before it's too late; before the army comes marching into their lands. And if that happens, their cities will be sacked, their mines and reserves of gems plundered, the palace and cities pillaged, omegas raped, and the heirs to the throne taken in as prisoners of war or pleasure slaves. Even the thought of such a fate awaiting his own children sends shivers up and down Brian’s spine.

‘There must be some other way we can negotiate with the emperor,’ Brian says, caring little for the desperate tone his voice takes.

The occupants of the room fall into silence, pondering the possible prospects in the privacy of their minds. Outside, the sun has begun to sink on the horizon, its golden beams slanting on the city beyond the citadel. The wind has picked up velocity, blowing now with promises of a chilly night ahead. 

It’s Nina who breaks the silence. ‘There are other ways of doing politics, Brian. Trade and war are not the only ones,’ she says, gaze still fixed on the horizon.

‘What are you suggesting?’ Elaine asks.

‘The boy is an alpha, isn’t he?’ Nina smirks. It’s a statement more than it is a question.

‘You really should stop addressing him as boy, Nina . ’ Norton frowns. ‘You never know who's listening.’

Nina waves him off as though she doesn’t care less for what the emperor's lackeys would think of it. As much Brian admires Nina’s wit and bull-headedness, it’s what gets her into trouble most. He almost takes pity on Charles for having to end up as her son-in-law.

‘He’s an alpha, and a young one at that,’ Nina continues. ‘There’s one thing a young, hot headed alpha like him can’t refuse.’ She pauses for a moment for the thought to settle in, and then adds definitively: ‘An omega’s hand in marriage.’

Brian’s breath lodges in his throat as soon as he realises what Nina’s suggesting. 

No. It can’t happen. It simply cannot.

The other’s voices fall deaf on his ears as they discuss the possibilities and alternatives in the background. Brian needn’t listen to any of it to know what it all boils down to. A proposal for an alliance through marriage will hold value only if the omega is of royal blood. And there is only one omega of royal descent in all of Bard who’s eligible for marriage. His son, Charles .

‘--All the omegas I know of in the city states have already been mated or are too young for marriage,’ Norton is saying when Brian finally pays heed to their conversation. Even then, their voices are a faint echo devoured by the ringing in his ears and the wild thumping of his heart.

‘Please…’ Brian says, voice feeble and desperate. ‘Please, not my Charles.’

His peers bow their heads remorsefully in lieu of a response. Galvanised into action, Brian turns towards Nina. ‘Charles has been betrothed to your son since they were little, Nina. What about our alliance?’

‘Nothing’s going to change between us if our alliance breaks, Brian. Not in times of war.’ Nina sighs, and gets up from her seat. ‘Dacos will still continue to be a sister-state to Weschester, and we’ll still continue to be friends. I’ll find another omega for Roberto, and if it pleases you, a son or daughter of a Weschester lord or lord of court.’

‘No,’ Brian almost yells. ‘What would please me is not having to throw my son into the hands of a barbarian.’ He turns to Norton. ‘Tell me Norton, would you have offered Magilla’s hand in marriage to a barbarian if you could help it?’

‘Charles is our son as much as he is yours, Brian,’ Norton says, getting up from his seat. ‘We don’t want him to marry the emperor any more than you do. But we have no other option. And, I, too, would have offered my daughter’s hand in marriage if she was of age. But the girl is only twelve.’

‘There has to be some other way,’ Brain cries, pacing the length of the small meeting chamber. ‘There has to be!’ Moisture is beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes, blurring the ornate stools and tables around him. 

‘We’d be thrilled to listen to any other solution you might have, Brian,’ Elaine says, gently. ‘But until then, this is the best alternative we can think of. Marriage between our kingdoms will grant us immunity. Even you know that.’

Brian knows all of that, but he can’t--- He stops in his tracks. He turns on his heel to face his fellow king and queens and squares his shoulders. ‘And what if I refuse?’ he challenges. His mind knows the answer to the question, but his heart refuses to consider it.

‘You know well enough what would happen, Brian,’ Nina says and continues with a sigh-- as though she’s already tired of the argument. ‘We approach the boy for an alliance through marriage with a lord or lord’s omega. True, the proposal wouldn’t hold merit as a proposal with an omega of royal birth, and the Emperor's Council may even consider it to be an insult to the Crown, but we’d be left with little choice. And if by some miracle the boy agrees to the proposal, we would have to leave Weschester out of any form of negotiation. And if he rejects, well…’ she shrugs. ‘We’ll just have to shoulder the blow, I suppose. And regardless of whether the emperor agrees to our proposal or not, Raven’s claim to the throne will be denied by the Bard.’

‘Nina, please…’ Brian pleads. He doesn’t care that his voice wobbles or that the moisture misting his eyes threaten to roll down his cheeks. ‘Our bond has thrived since the days of our forefathers. Please don’t let this ruin it.’

‘There won’t be much left to ruin if we don’t act now, Brian,’ Norton says, who’s nothing more than a hazy silhouette to Brian’s eyes now. ‘Besides, you were the one who had said that sacrifices were necessary in order to save a kingdom. Isn’t it?’

Even though they are Brain’s words parroted at him, the consequences under which he had said it are no match to the situation at hand. It’s one thing to gulp down his distaste for a man for the safety of his kingdom and one more to push his son into the jaws of a predator knowing full well that he wouldn't survive.

Nina drains her cup at last and approaches him. ‘I understand that it is a difficult decision to make, Brian. Take your time, talk to Charles and your family. But we have to act fast. If in two days we don’t hear anything from you, we’ll begin looking for omegas of age in our respective kingdoms. I hope to hear from you soon though.’ With that, Nina walks towards the chamber doors and pushes it open. ‘And one more thing,’ she says turning back, ‘our sons’ engagement is over regardless of your decision.’ Nina crosses the threshold and disappears into the long corridor, the tail end of her silk robe trailing behind her. 

Elaine follows in her footsteps, and before leaving, says to Brain, ‘We all swallowed our pride and agreed to negotiate with Shaw. This situation is no different. Good Evening, Brian.’

It is different, and vastly so, but Brian doesn’t voice it, too stunned to argue. After what seems like an eternity, Norton walks slowly towards him. Of his three peers, it’s Norton that Brian shares the strongest bond with. He catches Norton by the shoulders as soon as he’s within arm’s reach. ‘Norton, for the sake of our friendship-’ he begins, only to be cut off by Norton.

‘I would have stood by your side if it were a matter of friendship, Brain,’ he says. ‘But this is a matter of survival.’

Brian’s arms drop limp to his sides. ‘But Charles is my child,’ he says wetly.

Norton sighs and pats him once on the shoulder. ‘And so are your subjects. Think about them. Good evening, my friend.’

Brian’s knees buckle and he slumps to the floor. He stays like that till Sean comes looking for him hours after moonrise.

*

Charles stalls this time. If he shifts his left leg inwards and can use the movement to leverage a strike, Logan can easily defend the attack from his right. If Charles attacks from his right, he'll leave his unarmed side exposed for another attack from Logan. So he stalls-- moving slowly on both feet and eyes locked on Logan's movements-- waiting for an opening.

Winning would have been a petty task if the exercise of their powers were permitted. Charles could have gleaned Logan's strategy with a mere thought. That's probably why they aren't permitted, he supposes.

Omegas taking up arms is frowned upon in Genosha, and strictly forbidden in the Bard. As unfair and unjust as the treatment is, Charles has never been the perfect omega, much to the dismay of his mother. It would stir up quite a scandal if anyone within or outside their kingdoms comes to the knowledge that the Omega Prince of Westchester is wielding a sword, and that too, against an alpha.

Even though their sparring sessions are clandestine, Charles covers his head and the lower half of his face-- with the tail end of his robe that runs over his shoulder-- leaving only his eyes exposed, for it is also extremely scandalous for an unmated Omega to be exposing their faces and scents in the presence of another Alpha. 

Charles needs to just win another round. With the sun setting in the west, this is, perhaps, the last round they’ll embark on before supper. It’s been a tie so far-- Logan and him winning two rounds each. Charles needs to win just one more. If it were Raven or Sean, they would have begun to falter by now, but thanks to his powers, Logan stands, unwavering. 

The wind picks up speed as the sun sets further into the horizon. Charles lunges in Logan’s direction to disarm him, just as Logan bends to attack his legs. Charles withdraws quickly to evade the blow and stumbles a few feet away from Logan. His foot catches on the tail end of the robe, plucking it from the careful drape over his head, and exposes his face.

Charles bares his stance expecting an attack from Logan, but it never comes. What comes instead is a wave of lust so potent that it threatens to upturn Charles anew. Logan is standing on the far side of the palace wall now, his sword all but forgotten in his hand, nose flaring, and looking intently at Charles. 

Though Charles doesn’t bother covering his face again, he’s quick to shield his mind from the torrent of emotions coming from Logan. He breathes shallowly to shake-off Logan’s strong scent that the wind is carrying to him. Though overpowering, it’s a familiar scent. Had it belonged to anyone other than Logan, Charles would be averse to it.

‘Logan, please,’ Charles implores. He knows that Logan is interested in him-- has been since Charles had presented as an omega. But Charles is already betrothed. Besides, Logan has been around since Charles was a babe. He sees Logan as an older brother, a mentor, a friend even. Nothing more than that could ever pass between them. Logan knows as much.

As if coming off a spell, Logan shakes his head, and raises his hands in surrender. ‘Yes, yes, I know.’ The heavy sword slides into its sheath on Logan’s hip. ‘You win,’ Logan says, as though alluding more to their predicament than to their swordplay. ‘Right, I should get going then.’ Logan sighs. ‘I should start before dark at the very least.’

‘Leave?’ Charles asks, sheathing his own sword. ‘But you just got here yesterday.’

‘I did. But the Majesty wants me to go to Remyn with relief supplies.’

‘Relief supplies?’ Charles asks, confused. ‘Why? What happened?’

Logan scoffs, uncharacteristically cruel. ‘Why don’t you ask your fiancé that? If he knows anything about it, at all.’

‘Logan, let’s not be like be like--’ Charles starts again, just as Logan bows stiffly and mutters an agitated Your Highness before taking off down the stairs, his mail chain clanking as he goes.

Charles sighs. To think that he and Logan had begun getting along again. 

The sun goes down completely behind the horizon. Whatever happened in Remyn?

*

The candles in Charles’ chambers dance wildly to the chilly winds from the mountains. It’s way past midnight, and yet, Charles can’t sleep. He twists and turns in his large bed before finally giving up on finding sleep entirely. The palace outside his chambers is quiet. The servants are asleep in their rooms. There’s no one to stop Charles as he slips past his doors, out into the hallways, and into the jasmine gardens below his balcony. A few guards are stationed on the outer perimeter of the garden walls, but Charles’ presence goes unnoticed. The moon is full in the night sky, and it shines brightly on the blooming jasmines beneath it. It would have been a beautiful night if not for the chill in the wind. It seeps into the folds of Charles’ robe and pricks his skin.

Charles hugs himself a little tighter, wondering about Remyn once again. He can’t seem to stop thinking about it. Did something happen to its people? Did the Emperor's Army get to it? Did it meet the same fate as Kisos? That explains the relief aid that father sent to its people. 

The dinner that he had eaten that night settles uneasily in Charles’ stomach. He shudders just thinking about the number of people that have died in the name of power in the last year alone. Is all that power really worth the raids and upheaval of peaceful civilisations- The alphas and betas who have lost their lives, and the omegas who have met worse fates? Is the emperor really so cruel that he would cut down the bowed heads of his own people? Charles grits his teeth. What’s to come out of all this bloodshed? And where’s the end to any of it?

Perhaps, what irks Charles the most is that he’s helpless in all of this. As a prince of a trader state, and as an omega, there’s nothing he can do. The power of the Genoshan Army is beyond anyone’s comprehension. 

Charles is so absorbed in his churling thoughts that he doesn't sense his father’s arrival. 

‘Ah, there you are, my son,’ his father says as he approaches Charles in a flurry of silks. Two guards trail behind him. ‘I’ve been searching for you everywhere.’

Charles smiles despite himself. ‘I couldn't sleep. What are you doing up so late?’

‘Matters of the state,’ his father mutters before coming to sit next to Charles. ‘Leave us,’ he says to the guards. The two alphas slink into the darkness of the night as ordered.

Beside Charles, his father exhales deeply, a thick cloud of murky air leaving his lips slowly. His usually twinkling brown eyes look haunted. His mind is radiating such profound sorrow that Charles can’t help overhear it. As if caught for it, his father quickly builds strong shields around his thoughts, effectively shutting Charles off.

‘Everything alright?’ Charles asks, knowing fully well that it isn’t. 

‘Ah-’ his father begins to say something, but stops to scowl at Charles. ‘It’s cold out, Charles. You should be wearing a thicker robe.’ He removes the thick, woolen robe from his shoulders and drapes it over Charles’, fussing over it until it covers Charles completely. The king smiles at Charles, satisfied that now, Charles is warm and safe. ‘There. Much better.’

A small smile tugs on Charles’ lips. He pulls the robe closer still and sinks into the comforting scent of his father. ‘Did you want to talk to me about something?’

‘Ah, yes.’ Now, his father’s smile turns sheepish. ‘Yes, I did.’ He looks everywhere but at Charles, rubbing his palms together— a nervous tick.

‘How are your studies going?’ the king asks suddenly, feigning an enthusiasm Charles knows his father isn’t feeling. They’ll be beating around the bush then, talking about everything but what’s to be said, until his father feels like bringing up the topic of discussion. Another nervous tick. And if Raven is to be believed, one Charles inherited from his father. 

‘It’s hardly studies , Father,’ Charles reproaches good-naturedly. ‘It’s practice. But yes, it’s going well.’

The king looks around the garden now. A few of the saplings have grown nicely. The rest have barely breached the earth. ‘You’re growing your own herbs now, are you? That’s splendid! Splendid indeed.’

‘Yes, it’s for the best, really. In another fortnight all the saplings should have grown fully.’

‘Good. That’s… good.’ The king nods his head slowly, making Charles wonder whether his father had been listening to him at all. More hesitantly, the king asks, ‘Have you been corresponding with Prince Da-Costa?’

Charles resists the urge to groan. He has. But their conversations are dreadfully dull. Prince Da-Costa is dreadfully dull. Charles can’t believe he’d be marrying the alpha in six months’ time. That, however, isn't something you tell your father who has been excited for their union for as long as Charles can remember. So Charles simply nods and smiles. If his father attributes his silence to bashfullness, then so be it.

‘Oh. I see,’ is all his Father says, eyes downcast-- a reaction which Charles was not expecting. 

The king is quiet for another eternity, gaze fixed on a far away bench. An arch brackets it, encased on all sides by twines of jasmine. In the stillness of the night, their breaths are loud. Just when Charles begins to think that his father might make his excuse and retire for the night, his father says, in a voice barely above a whisper, ’What do you think makes a kingdom, son?’

Though surprised by the topic of conversation, Charles is quick to answer. ‘Any kingdom is its people, of course.’

‘Of course’. The king scoffs. The sound is very close to a sob.

‘Father-’ Charles starts just as his father turns towards him. The prince gasps, for his father’s face is twisted in pain, and tears flow freely down his cheeks. It shakes Charles witless to see his father like this. He has never seen his father this upset. The king is the most collected and sensible man Charles knows.

‘Father,’ Charles pleads, closing the distance between them to hold his father’s outstretched hands. Charles’ heart twists in his chest and tears crowd his eyes. ‘What is this about? Please…’ he trails off, voice going thick.

The king’s hands twist in Charles’ grip and he cups his palms in an odd parody of a beggar. Charles winces. The King of Weschester should never have to beg. His Father should never have to beg. Especially not from him.

‘As a father, I would have impaled myself on a sword than ask this of you.’ the king hiccups. ‘But I’m not asking you this as your father, Charles. I’m asking you— No, begging you, as a helpless king whose subjects are at risk of upheaval. Will you help me save Weschester, my son?’

Charles is too stunned to speak, voice a thick lump in his throat. What could have left his father this witless; this shaken? Wordlessly, he rushes to pull his father’s shaking frame into his arms and rubs his palms up and down his back. Charle’s own tears wet his father's robe in splotches. ‘Yes,’ Charles whispers when his voice finally comes to him. ‘Yes, I’ll do anything for Weschester. I’ll do anything you need me to. All you need to do is tell me.’

After what feels like an eternity, after the king has composed himself enough to converse, he does tell Charles.

Neither of them sleeps a wink that night.

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