Chapter Text
Enjolras stared sullenly through the carriage’s window, watching the countryside outside pass him by for the twelfth day in a row. It had changed gradually and their clothes with it, replaced now by lighter garments that would keep the sweat on their brows to a minimum. Enjolras himself minded little, never having been much affected by the heat and rather preferring it to the harsh bite of winter. Even so, he thought longingly of Paris, of the city left behind which was sure to be smelling of autumn by now, completely untouched by the mild weather of the south. They were heading ever closer, each day milder than the last, but Enjolras could not enjoy it. The metaphorical noose around his neck was tightening with each mile they covered and not for the first time did Enjolras think that he would rather die, that he would rather go out in a burst of fire while still himself, as opposed to becoming the Prince’s property for the rest of his life.
Feeling equal parts enraged and desperate, Enjolras stabbed angry fingers at the knot of his cravat, seeking to loosen it and earning himself a stern look from his mother across from him. Her elaborate dress filled most of the small space of the carriage and Enjolras kicked at it with a vindictiveness he bothered not to conceal, freeing his leg and glaring at the abundance of lace as though it was at fault for the entirety of his troubles. His mother snapped shut her book and folded her delicate hands in her lap, pale and long-fingered like Enjolras’ own.
“I wish you would cease your fidgeting,” she told him, managing to sound both exasperated and lecturing. Even the jerky bouncing of her golden curls, arranged artfully on her head, managed to look indignant as she fixed Enjolras with a cold look. “You have made your views on the current situation repeatedly known and though I understand your displeasure, it will hardly help you settle into your new life. You should spend your energy on focusing on the positive side. By becoming the Prince’s omega, you will one day hold the position next to the most powerful man in all of France.”
Enjolras felt his features instantly darken to something more murderous, his forehead folding into a frown as he stared at his mother with narrowed eyes. “I will be nothing more than his personal breeder and you know it!”
“Enjolras!” cried his mother, outraged.
Enjolras raised his chin, unrepentant. “To turn one’s head away from ugliness does not make it disappear. I will not mince my words simply to spare your sensibilities - nor anyone else’s for that matter. If you wish to support these hideous customs, do not flinch from hearing them spoken aloud!”
His mother had paled considerably and Enjolras could see her battling the instincts which had been ingrained in her since childhood, forcing her to refrain from engaging herself in an argument. She was all but squirming in her seat, torn between bowing her head with sealed lips and letting herself vent. Enjolras was aware that as the years had passed, his mother had found it increasingly difficult to hold his gaze, the abundance of defiance and his constant inner fire coupled with the fearlessness with which he spoke often had people mistaking him for an alpha until they caught a whiff of his sweet omega scent.
“I wish you would refrain from talking this way,” she said eventually, her lips pressed into a tight line that ended in an unhappy downturn at the corners of her mouth. “You know how it upsets your father - all of us. We only wish what is best for you. Any other in your position would be honoured to be the Prince’s omega.”
Enjolras stared at her, incredulous in the face of such expert self-deception. “Honoured? Honoured, mother? Do you truly believe that becoming Prince Philippe’s breeder will be any different from becoming someone else's? Do you not see? We are all in the same, abysmal position. Each and every one of us. What does it matter what status the alpha has that we are to be chained to?”
His mother dabbed her upper lip with a laced handkerchief, before clamping trembling fingers around it. “This matter is closed, Enjolras. I do not wish to hear another word of it.”
“But it is not closed!” Enjolras burst forth, unable to contain himself any longer. His voice had risen, every one of his words sharp-edged with conviction and ringing true in the small space of the carriage. “This lack of equality is sickening! You, of all people, should be first in line to agree with me! Our sex has been nothing but oppressed for centuries, surely you cannot think it right, to be branded incapable of intelligent thought, incapable of learning and good for nothing but bearing children. And to be part of a society that glorifies this sort of behaviour and dominates the weak further by enforcing additional forms of power in the shape of monarchy disgusts me! How are we to be proud of being French when we are singled out in such a primitive fashion without even the benefit of doubt, when the people who rule us look out only for one another and all the others are merely there to do their bidding! Alphas may do whatever they please, meeting censure from no one while we are treated like possessions to be handed out at the appointed age only to be locked away for the rest of our lives, reduced to mindless breeding machines! Have you no pride, mother? No compassion for-”
“Enough!” his mother cried, her voice sharp despite the distinct quiver. She seized her parasol from where it had been propped against her seat and rapped sharply at the ceiling of the carriage.
Enjolras had yet to steady his breathing form his outburst, his cheeks flushed with the passion of his speech and a hundred more words burning on his tongue. At the sight of his mother’s ashen face, however, he reined himself in with utmost difficulty and instead leapt from the carriage as soon as it came to a halt, seeking some fresh air to calm his righteous fury.
The carriage before theirs stopped as well and Enjolras glared at it, watching as his father and uncle emerged. His father took one look at him and crossed the distance between them in a few, long strides, bestowing upon Enjolras a glare which rivalled his own and was, if inspected closely, rather similar. Enjolras resented the family resemblance, wishing no familial bonds with a person supporting this primitive system of oppression. Even so, Enjolras could do nothing against the unfortunate fact that he had inherited his father’s aristocratic nose and lofty brow, as well as his mother’s delicate beauty and golden locks. His mother was referred to as an exceptional beauty and people never failed to mention that Enjolras resembled her very much. He was used to being called beautiful and it never failed to anger him; how it always came with a greedy glint in the eyes of the speaker - that or a sort of poisonous envy that was completely uncalled for. Enjolras cared little for appearances, was rather appalled by how it clouded people’s judgement, and only wished others would do the same.
“Why have we stopped?” his father demanded, casting his gaze about, no doubt looking for Enjolras’ mother, but she had not joined Enjolras outside despite being the one to have paused the journey in the first place.
Enjolras stubbornly held his silence, irritably brushing a golden curl form his eyes, which had escaped the bow at the nape of his neck. His father growled in annoyance, the sound reverberating through Enjolras’ bones as his instincts fought to instantly submit to the show of dominance. Enjolras, however, held his ground and though his hands were shaking slightly with the strain, instead of bowing his head, he raised his chin in defiance and refused to lower his gaze. His father appeared positively livid, a dark flush climbing his pale skin and Enjolras almost feared he would strike him were he stood, when the stumbling footsteps of his father’s manservant distracted him enough to regain his control.
“Wait here for me,” his father snarled at the servant, before stalking off into the direction of the carriage where his mother was still hiding. Enjolras scowled deeply and folded his arms in front of his chest, wishing nothing more than to be back home in Paris with Combeferre and Jehan.
If the Queen had not suddenly felt the need to explore the southern coastline of France and become obsessed with holding the protector’s ceremony by the sea, Enjolras would not feel the dread growing within him in such a way that left him unsettled and nauseous. There had been never any question about whether he would simply bow his head and accept his fate. Enjolras was not one to bow to anyone, despite the wild tales spun around his gender - and neither was Jehan, for that matter. Yes, they were omegas, but that did not mean they would simply roll over and do as commanded - least of all by an alpha. Enjolras had no intention at all of becoming the breeder to the Prince of France, soon to become King and resident tyrant of the country. He had never before had any qualms about voicing his opinions despite his sex or social standing and he certainly would not go against each and all of his beliefs by letting himself be dominated in such a medieval fashion. One would think that progress would have reached them by this point, but sadly that was not the case. Even so, Enjolras was not disheartened. He would not give up until he had brought change, he had sworn himself this long ago and he was not one to break promises.
The fact, however, remained that the original plan could not be executed. Combeferre and Jehan were miles away in Paris and Enjolras was trapped in such a way that fleeing would be all but impossible. Nothing short of sneaking away and stealing a horse at the next convenient possibility would save him from his fate, because even though the protector’s ceremony was no bonding, it was still far more power than Enjolras was willing to give to a brute such as Prince Philippe. He was under no illusion that he would get far without a protector, however. No unbonded omega could escape forced bonding or breeding without one, which is why Enjolras had agreed that Combeferre would fill that particular role. As his oldest and most dearest friend, he was the best choice Enjolras could make. Between them, they would have been able to protect Jehan long enough to escape Versailles and Combeferre had assured them that he had an alpha friend he trusted who was willing to take the position as Jehan’s protector for the time being.
Sadly, being spirited away by his family and the Queen had not featured in their plans of escape and Enjolras found himself growing increasingly restless. He had yet to come up with an alternate cause of action and time was growing short.
Across from him, his father’s manservant shuffled his feet, kicking up a cloud of dust and tearing Enjolras from his thoughts. He shot him a glare.
“Grantaire,” bit out Enjolras, irritated at the situation at large and ill equipped to keep it locked inside. Grantaire was merely the closest individual Enjolras could unburden some of his wrath upon and, Enjolras realised not without a twinge of regret, it was not the first time it had happened.
Ever since his father’s manservant had died of old age four years past, Grantaire had taken over. He had come recommended by one of his mother’s servants, which was probably the only reason why he had not yet been dismissed. That, and possibly because of his uncanny ability to master each and every task at the last moment, despite the air of chaos which seemed to follow him wherever he went. His father complained about him incessantly, calling him clumsy and useless, not to mention that it was an open secret that Grantaire had an affinity for drink. He seemed to be forever enveloped in the smell of sweet wine mixed in with the sharp scent of the laundress’ soap.
Despite all this, he was one of the few servants who actually fulfilled their tasks well - even though his means were sometimes questionable - and one of the things Enjolras knew his father valued most was the fact that Grantaire was no gossip and knew not to repeat anything he heard. Though Enjolras remembered his father saying that it was probably because he was dimwitted, that he was most likely unable to string three consequent sentences together and that it was just as well. Enjolras resented such statements. He did not know Grantaire very well, but had overheard him talking to his friend Eponine on more than one occasion and though he could not say that he cared much for Grantaire’s sharp mockery and the rather dark flavour of his humour, Enjolras could firmly say that the man was not unintelligent; rather that he appeared to possess more wit than most of the court combined, if Enjolras was to be the judge.
“Mon seigneur,” said Grantaire quietly, once more cutting Enjolras’ train of thought. Upon looking up, Enjolras found Grantaire regarding him with an uncharacteristically somber expression.
Enjolras frowned. “I have told you before not to call me that.”
Grantaire inclined his head, though Enjolras thought there might have been a small twitch to his lips. “As you wish, Enjolras,” he amended. A moment later, his eyes were back on Enjolras and this time there was a graveness to his face which left Enjolras squirming uneasily inside. When Grantaire spoke again, his voice was pitched low and held an unmistakable edge of urgency.
“There is a matter of utmost importance that I must discuss with you,” said Grantaire, casting a hasty glance over Enjolras’ shoulder in clear anticipation of his father’s return, before re-fixing his gaze upon Enjolras. His eyes were very blue, Enjolras noted, a fact which had somehow escaped him before. “In private,” Grantaire went on, infusing each word with intent. “We will reach Marseille in two days. Please allow me to visit you then, after the others have retired.”
Enjolras stared at him, aghast. There was no beginning to describing how inappropriate the very suggestion of such a thing was. Even though Grantaire was a beta, just as any other person in a serving position, it was still completely unimaginable for someone other than a chaperone or family member to spend any amount of time in an unbonded omega’s presence. Not to mention in their bedchamber after nightfall.
Which was, of course, one of the reasons Enjolras instantly felt the urge to agree rising inside of him, simply for the act of defiance. He was his own man, he did not need to be watched like a naughty child in danger of sticking their fingers into the biscuit tin. And if the general air of urgency around Grantaire was any indication, it must indeed be vital to Grantaire that he speak to him and Enjolras was not about to deny him.
“I will leave my door unlocked,” said Enjolras quietly, then fixed Grantaire with a fierce look. “I do not need to stress that discretion is of the essence in this venture. Do not let yourself be seen.”
Grantaire’s gaze did not leave him, his look level and shining with an honesty Enjolras had never seen before on his face. “I will not disappoint you.”
For a moment, Enjolras cast about for a response, severely disconcerted by the display, but when a somewhat appropriate reply had finally been found, his father’s arrival cut it short.
“Return to your mother,” he barked at Enjolras. “And should I hear of you having distressed her again, I will not let it slide so easily. Am I understood?”
Enjolras tightened his jaw and refused to bow once more, though this time he forced forth a terse “Yes, father.”
His father gave a sharp nod, before turning sharply on his heel.
“Grantaire,” he said imperiously and Grantaire bowed to him obediently, though as he turned to follow he stole one last look at Enjolras, who looked back at him with a frown. It was to be their last exchange until Grantaire came to fulfil his ominous promise.
*
Two nights later found Enjolras pacing his room impatiently.
The rest of the journey had been uneventful and Enjolras had done his best to hold his tongue, instead forcefully investing himself in the books he had brought and wondering feverishly about the nature of Grantaire’s visit. What could his father’s manservant possibly have to tell him that was so important and required such an amount of secrecy? They hardly knew each other, after all, and Enjolras doubted they had ever exchanged more than a handful of words in the entire time since Grantaire had come to Versailles and entered his father’s service.
Enjolras had been mere months away from turning fourteen when Grantaire had come to court and he remembered him being present when the result of his second test had been announced - another outdated practice the Queen refused to part with. Each newborn underwent a test to determine their gender, the feat a hard one when hormones and scent glands had yet to form. If the child tested positive as an omega, it was to be tested again after reaching their fourteenth birthday to ensure fertility before continuing to receive ‘appropriate schooling’. Should an omega have the misfortune to be infertile - and therefore seen as useless in the face of society - they were instead given to a pleasure house to receive ‘education’ there instead of regular omega schooling. The injustice of it all turned Enjolras’ stomach and he felt an involuntary shudder race through his body at the thought of being handed over to a whorehouse without even a glimmer of a better future somewhere on the horizon.
As an unbonded omega, Enjolras was not permitted to go anywhere without an escort and spent most of his time locked away with his fellow omegas at Versailles, being taught inane subjects without substance that revolved around nothing but proper etiquette and how best to please one’s alpha. Before Jehan, and with Combeferre being taught by different teachers, Enjolras had used to keep the company of Marius Pontmercy. Marius, however, had suddenly disappeared seemingly overnight three years ago, which had become the most hushed up scandal the French court had seen in a decade. His grandfather, Seigneur de Gillenormand, had aged more in the past three years than the ten before that, but Marius was not to be found and the circumstances around him vanishing an utter mystery.
Enjolras had been upset, of course, but he had also been powerless. Marius had told neither him nor Combeferre anything prior to his disappearance and left no letter or note. There was nothing else to be done until Enjolras was finally free of Versailles and his family and could dedicate himself to looking for his friend.
In the same year Marius had disappeared, Jehan and his family had moved to Versailles and Jehan had joined the omega classes. Enjolras had found it impossible not to like him and they had become fast friends ever since. Meeting Combeferre had become increasingly difficult as all of them inched closer to adulthood, but neither of them had given up on their friendship and soon they would be able to spend as much time with each other as they pleased. If Enjolras managed his escape, in any case, which, loathe as he was to admit it, looked rather bleak with every day that went by.
Tomorrow there was to be a ball in honour of the Queen’s arrival and the day after the preparations for the ceremony would start. The ceremony itself was to be held at the end of the week, after which they were to return to Paris. That gave Enjolras no more than three days, not counting the day of the actual ceremony, and he was no closer to a solution than before.
And if this was not enough, now he here he was, fretting over a night time visit by Grantaire of all people, which, should his family ever find out, had the possibility of ending rather nastily for both of them - though Enjolras was hardly naive enough not to realise that should they be discovered, Grantaire would be the one shouldered with the entirety of the blame.
It was ridiculous, of course. All prejudice aside, the likelihood of a beta accosting an omega was slim to none and Grantaire had never given any indication that he intended to endanger Enjolras’ virtue - and even if he did, Enjolras was quite capable of protecting it on his own.
Except that you are not, a little voice chose that moment to whisper somewhere in the very back of his mind. If he were so very capable, he would not have need of a protector at all, the very fact of which had Enjolras burning with shameful indignation. The thought of needing anyone at all, of the stories about being incomplete fed to every omega from infancy onwards holding even the smallest grain of truth, made Enjolras’ skin crawl.
And it was not merely the omegas who suffered beneath this alpha dominated world. Yes, they were by far the most oppressed, but betas were often disregarded entirely and their bonds dismissed as pale imitation of the one shared by an alpha and his omega. Betas were under-appreciated. They were used as place-fillers and servants, handed out the tasks and positions alphas thought themselves superior for. Unable to pro-create and stamped off as docile and good-natured, betas had no way of rising within society and were forever stuck as the invisible gender.
Enjolras was as outraged by this as everything else. If only the people were to open their eyes, if they would just see past all these endless prejudices which had been built over centuries, then they would realise that every individual was exactly that. And individual.
There were no boxes labelled with this and that, where one was to be stuffed into and locked away forever. Alphas were not all power-hungry brutes, omegas not merely mindless breeding machines and betas not simply bumbling fools to be paid attention to only when the occasion called for it. And bonding was not something reserved for alphas and omegas, but a base right between consenting adults no matter their gender and without censure from the rest of the world. If alphas were to spend less time forcefully bonding cowed omegas, they might have a chance to see that and expand their horizon beyond the aggressive, unbending line drawn by society.
When the sound of the door handle turning quietly finally reached his ears, Enjolras’ muscles were tense as a bow sting and his legs stilled for the first time since retiring to his rooms. He had left the door unlocked as promised and there was but one candle left burning at his bedside, carefully angled so the glow would not be seen underneath the door. Enjolras had yet to change into his nightclothes, unwilling to receive Grantaire in anything less than his shirtsleeves.
He watched as Grantaire stole hastily inside, silently closing the door behind him and remaining pressed against it as though the smallest movement further into the room would have Enjolras fearing for his safety. It sent a sharp spark of irritation through him. He was no spooked horse in need of reassurance and Grantaire should know by now that should he feel uncomfortable at any point, he would have no qualms about informing him of it.
“Thank you for trusting me,” said Grantaire in lieu of a greeting, his stance remaining relaxed and unthreatening.
Enjolras scowled, his nerves increasingly frayed with the amount of worry weighing on his shoulders these past few weeks. He had no other outlet but anger, for if he was to cave he would end up weeping instead and he rather feared himself unable to stop should he start. No, this was no time to indulge in self-pity. He would hear what Grantaire had to say and then move on to ponder his next step. Giving up was not an option.
“Tell me what you came here to say,” Enjolras demanded, impatience turning his voice sharper than intended. Grantaire however, did not appear fazed by his tone.
“Mon seigneur- Enjolras,” Grantaire amended quickly as Enjolras shot him a sharp look of censure at the form of address. “I wish there was a better way for what I am about to disclose to you, but I fear I have neither the time nor the eloquence to soften the blow. You have to believe me, however, that I am sincere when I say that I do not wish to upset you.”
There was this earnest look again and Enjolras swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He steeled himself, reining in his thoughts and raising his chin as he straightened to his full height - which was rather considerable for an omega.
“Just tell me,” snapped Enjolras, tired of circling the subject and unwilling to let dread pool in his stomach before having all the information.
Grantaire licked his lips, a nervous gesture underlined by the way he shuffled his feet. “I know not if you remember, but I came into your father’s service not long before your fourteenth birthday.”
Enjolras frowned, taken aback by the turn the conversation was taking. “I do remember.”
“The second test, I-” Grantaire swallowed once more and ducked his head, refusing to meet Enjolras’ gaze. “As your father’s manservant I had access to the result and I…manipulated it.”
Enjolras stared at him, his jaw threatening to slacken in surprise. “What?” it came out as a rather inelegant gasp.
Grantaire’s eyes flickered back off the floor and came to rest on Enjolras with the same, unwavering honesty that was slowly becoming a familiar expression.
“I did it to protect you,” he said quietly. “If anyone found out-” Grantaire trailed off, a pinched look on his face.
“Found out what?” demanded Enjolras, chest tight and hardly containing his wildly beating heart.
Grantaire passed a shaking hand through his wild hair and did not look at Enjolras for a moment.
“It was negative,” the words were so soft Enjolras almost missed them. Grantaire sucked in a sharp breath and visibly steeled himself, his voice firming as he clarified. “Your second test, it was negative.”
The shock could not have sat any deeper, not even had the ground suddenly burst open to swallow him whole. For a time, Enjolras feared he might never be able to speak again and when he finally did, it was weak, his throat hardly cooperating, and he did not recognise the voice as his own.
“You mean…” Enjolras trailed off, the final word burning his tongue as his lips refused to form it.
Infertility.
It hung between them like a an executioner’s axe, poised in the air and waiting to fall with the finality reserved for the times in life that brought with them change so profound that one was to wonder how they had lived at all, until this point.
There was a pained twist to Grantaire’s mouth. “Yes.”
Enjolras stared at him, unseeing, as he felt his world tilt on its head. It was as if everything had chosen to crash over him this very moment, everything he had been struggling with bore down on him like the ocean did a cliff, only that Enjolras was not made of stone, as much as he wished he was, and he stumbled beneath the onslaught. His knees gave and his vision swam, dark creeping in at the edges.
Warm hands caught him, closing around his elbows and guiding him backwards and onto the bed, depositing him safely on the edge. Enjolras blinked, then blinked again and took a deep breath, his eyes slowly refocusing. He found Grantaire kneeling at his feet, leaning against the bed, his fingertips ten gentle, grounding pressure points against his arms. Enjolras could not bring himself to dislodge them for fear of losing himself once more.
“Who else knows?” he asked, voice strained and unsteady, still.
Grantaire’s fingers tightened the smallest fraction and his blue eyes bored deeply into Enjolras’ own. “Not a soul, I swear it.”
Enjolras inclined his head in a nod, forcing his lungs into something resembling a regular breathing pattern once more. The ability to form coherent thought was returning, albeit slowly.
“Why have you not informed me of this sooner?” asked Enjolras.
Grantaire sighed and released him, though made no move to rise. “I thought there was little point in causing you distress and-”
Enjolras’ temper flared. “I am no damsel in need of protection!”
Grantaire pursed his lips and, once more, showed no averse reaction to Enjolras’ sharpness. It aided Enjolras in reining in his unfounded anger and he fought to regain control over himself.
“I realise this,” said Grantaire gently. “But you were young, still, and telling you would have achieved nothing.”
“And now?” asked Enjolras. “Why are you telling me now?”
Grantaire let more of his weight rest against the bed, draping his bent arm onto the mattress in an almost casual manner. “Because I know you wish no part in this charade and even if you did, no one must ever know about your situation.”
Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling an ache creep in from the back all across to his temples and ending in a dull, throbbing pain. “What do you suggest, then?”
Grantaire regarded him carefully. “I know you had plans with your friend, Combeferre. And Jean Prouvaire. Unfortunately, they are both rather far away at this moment and I will have to offer my humble services instead.”
Enjolras lowered his hand. “You wish to help me?” the words slipped out before the rest of what Grantaire had said caught up with him. He frowned. “Wait, how did you know about my plans with Combeferre and Jehan?”
Grantaire waved a hand, as if to brush away the question.
“I am rather more observant than people give me credit for, but it is of no consequence.”
Enjolras begged to differ and he silently raised his estimations concerning Grantaire’s intelligence a few considerable notches. It seemed his father had not been the only one to underestimate him.
“And of course I wish to help you,” Grantaire went on, his words turning dryer, if no less honest, as a sardonic smile twisted his lips. “Or do you think I kept your secret all this time to see you ruined?”
Enjolras scowled at him, not at all pleased at the appearance of Grantaire’s darker side. It had never before been directed at him directly, but Enjolras had seen it more than a few times in the presence of Eponine. It made it even harder to pin down the finer points of his character, it was utterly unnerving.
“I do not understand,” said Enjolras, attempting to hide his tiredness and confusion behind a frown. “Why are you doing this?”
Grantaire regarded him intently for a moment, but as much as Enjolras looked back, he could not decipher the thoughts behind his blue eyes. Just as he could not decipher the rest of him and it made him want to all the more.
“Because it is right,” said Grantaire finally and though Enjolras did not disagree with the sentiment, it was rather disappointing as far as answers went and did nothing to dampen his curiosity.
Enjolras wished to question him further, but could not find the right words to do so and Grantaire spoke again before Enjolras could attempt to form them.
“I have made a few turns about the palace to familiarise myself with it. It is unlikely we will be able to simply walk through the main entrance, so we will have to use the back corridors. You will make your appearance at the ball tomorrow and once everyone is occupied with the preparations for the ceremony we should leave as soon as possible. I have seen to it that there is a bag in the stables, already packed and ready, should we need to make a hasty exit. I would rather we not, but sometimes plans do not proceed as expected and it eases my mind to have a back-up.” Grantaire flashed him a smile and it immediately brightened his entire face, throwing Enjolras’ train of thought slightly off track, before vanishing again as quickly as it had come. “Be on your guard, either way, and,” he hesitated for a moment, voice and eyes both turning gentle as he finished. “Say what goodbyes you wish to say.”
Enjolras gave a terse nod, refusing to show that he was at all affected at the prospect of leaving his family behind. It had to be done and so he would do it. If they would not save him from this fate, he would have to save himself.
It was only a moment later, when Enjolras went over again what had been said, that he realised something.
“Wait,” he said, feeling the familiar pulling on his forehead as it folded into a frown. “You said yourself that Combeferre is out of our reach at this time, but surely you know I cannot travel without a protector. We will make no way at all before we are accosted.”
Grantaire found a sudden interest in the bedding, even going so far as to trace a finger across a laced end. “I realise this must be an inconvenience, but you will have to allow me to take your friend’s place until we are in Paris.”
Enjolras tore his eyes from Grantaire’s finger and instead raised his his gaze to stare at him. “My friend’s-” he said, bewildered, breaking off as his thoughts caught up with his mouth. “But you cannot- Grantaire, you are a beta, you cannot form the required bond of protection.”
Grantaire gave him one of his honest looks and it made something in Enjolras’ chest tighten for some peculiar reason.
“You will find that I can,” said Grantaire quietly, intently. “I will protect you and deliver you safely to your friends in Paris, should you allow it.” He paused, a sudden glint in his eye as he bared his teeth. “For I am no beta.”