Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/999565.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Inception_(2010)
  Relationship:
      Arthur/Eames_(Inception), Dom_Cobb/Mal_(Inception)
  Character:
      Arthur_(Inception), Eames_(Inception), Mal_(Inception), Miles_
      (Inception), Yusuf_(Inception), Dom_Cobb, Robert_Fischer, Peter_Browning,
      Ariadne_(Inception)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Fantasy, Renaissance_Era, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics,
      Werewolf_King!Eames, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat, Mpreg, First_Crush, Loss_of
      Virginity, Arranged_Marriage, Awkward_Romance, Bonding, Age_Difference,
      Coming_of_Age, Eames's_heart_thaws_for_no_one_else_but_Arthur, Size_Kink,
      Alternate_Universe_-_Renaissance
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-19 Updated: 2015-12-25 Chapters: 29/? Words: 130863
****** His Darling, Among Lilies and Roses ******
by grizzly_bear_bane
Summary
     Arthur felt as fragile as a little bird under the King’s wolfish
     gaze, even as the man offered him a gentle smile that nearly stole
     his breath away.
     To think, when he’d woken up this morning, not even his eldest
     brothers had their thrones, and yet Arthur would now have his before
     his seventeenth birthday.
     Just the thought alone, of marriage and…and of whatever came with
     being married, made him want to hide under Mal’s chair, like he used
     to when he was little, until the King chose her instead of him, as it
     was supposed to have happened.
Notes
     [ABOUT THE BIOLOGY: Basically, alphas knot, betas don't, and male
     omegas have a separate sex orifice for mating that, when they aren't
     aroused, is hidden in their perineum. :3]
     All I can say is that I've had this fic on my mind for a long time,
     and couldn't be more happier that tamat9 encouraged me to finally
     write it. Thanks to redxluna, for greatly aiding the research as
     well.
     Hope you all enjoy this as much as I do. :3
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Notes
     [now beta'd by jikeidannin]
++++
+
Arthur paced the floor of the parlor, his hands shaking. The king would be here
any minute. His heart thrummed with nervousness.
He wanted to go home, back to Milecomté, to his own rooms, to his mother and
father, his palace gardens, and maps of star constellations, where his life had
been simple, easy. There had been no such weight on him in his father’s
kingdom, where Arthur was the youngest of five and his sole responsibility was
to stand in his sister Mallorie’s shadow making sure her gown hems didn’t snag
on a rock or a crack in the pavement. 
To think, when he’d woken up this morning, not even his eldest brothers had
their thrones, and yet Arthur would now have his before his seventeenth
birthday. Just the thought alone, of marriage and…and of whatever came with
being married, made him want to hide under Mallorie’s chair, like he used to
when he was little, until the King chose her instead of him, as it was supposed
to have happened.
A fog was rolling in over the hills. It would rain soon. Arthur stood in front
the large, stone window, gazing out over the grounds and the Engston
countryside beyond the moat. He watched the groups of saddened beta royals
below leave the palace, carriage by carrage, now that the festival was over and
the King had an engagment prepared. Arthur picked at a minuscule snag in the
golden, embroidered hem of his short tunic and smoothed his hands over his
tights once more, making sure he looked presentable.
His older sister stood behind him, her chin resting on his shoulder. She
twinned their hands together. “I too am homesick for Milecomté,” she sighed,
“but I think you’ll grow to like it here.”
“I don’t know, Mal. What if—”
“You dislike him?”
“I don’t know him.” He shrugged. “I only know of his wars and the chaos with
which he gained his inheritance. He could be exactly like your ladies said—A
tyrant, a monster… Our families don’t exactly have a peaceful history, Mal.
Besides, even if he weren’t a werewolf alpha and king, he’s still older. He has
experience, he’s strong and powerful, and didn’t you see how everyone fawned
over him in his court? In comparison, I’m… I’m…” His shoulders sank.
“You are an omega,” Mal stated, “rare and prized, and a beautiful prince. Don’t
worry.” She planted a kiss on his cheek as footsteps and muttered voices echoed
from the corridor. “Just be yourself, Arthur.”
He attempted a half smile over his shoulder at her, watching her return to her
chair. Several of her ladies-in-waiting rushed over to him to inspect his
appearance one final time, before hurrying back to their place near Mal on the
cushions and couches.
Arthur’s throat was suddenly dry when the guard announced the King’s entrance.
He bowed low, trying not to let his eyes linger on the handsomely formed legs
under the King’s tights, or on the noticeable size of his codpiece below his
belted doublet. Arthur’s knees were a little weak when he kissed the offered
hand and its glittering rings.
“Your Majesty,” he managed to whisper to his feet.
“Now, now, young Prince,” the King spoke slowly, thankfully, so that Arthur
could understand his words, already well aware of Arthur’s limited grasp of the
language. “I don’t intend to be rude, but, if it is custom in your father’s
country to stare at the ground in front of your king, please know that in mine,
when being addressed, we look one another in the eyes.”
He swallowed, just as the King’s hand cupped his chin and lifted his face.
Arthur looked the man in the eyes for only the second time since the King had
ordered him to do so in front of the court the evening before. He felt as
fragile as a little bird under the King’s wolfish gaze, even as the man offered
him a gentle smile that nearly stole his breath away.
He quickly dropped his eyes. The King’s rumbling chuckle sent a shiver through
him, making him blush.
In all the sixteen years of his life, Arthur had never had trouble admitting
that he preferred living in his elder sister’s shadow. It was an opinion that
rang true now more than it ever had.
+
++
 
Arthur sat in the corner of his sister’s lavish parlor with his puppy in his
lap.
One of Mal’s ladies combed the dark curls framing his face and neck. He watched
his sister circle the tiled floor, the tiny jewels on her gown shimmering in
the sunlight.
An envoy from the Engston court had arrived in Milecomté that morning with
news. Mal had been pacing the floor since then, waiting for word from their
father.
She shooed away one of the younger girls, who’d politely urged her not to chew
on her nails. Mal had also long since removed her shoes.
The lady combing Arthur’s hair shook her head when Mal turned her back. “It's
grown past your shoulders, young Highness. May I trim it for you, after
supper?”
“Yes, please,” he smiled, happy to give her something to do, rather than
letting her fret like Mal and the others.
Mal paused in front of an old tapestry, her eyes nearly wild as she spoke.
“This meeting with the envoy shall be my undoing. I know it.”
All her ladies, even the one pampering Arthur, rushed to deny Mal’s claim with
hearty reassurances. His dog yelped at the commotion as Arthur remained out of
the way of Mal’s resumed pacing.
“If the Engston King is shopping for a wife and I am chosen? I will never be
able to see my Dominic ever again. That is no life I wish to live.”
“Is it true that the Eameses are werewolves,” one lady asked in a hushed voice.
“It is,” another answered, still braiding her nearly floor length hair as she
and the others continued to cluster near Mal. “His entire royal court, really.
No one knows how the first Eameses were turned, but the King, much like his
father, was born a werewolf. The King gives the bite only to his most trusted
and favored subjects.”
“I heard that the King’s grandfather descended from the mountains of Wolfshire
as terrible as a nightmare and sacked what was once land owned by the Cobbs for
their fortresses. Then once his son was in charge, he cozied up to the
Fischers, only to betray young Robert’s father and rob him of the Engston
crown, not soon after.”
“What of the wolf king’s son, the current king, then?”
“My husband has told me that he's a devil of a man, godly handsome and sharp,
but always hungry for war and conquest. His Lord Chancellor, a man from Sansar,
is perhaps the only man in his court who doesn’t carry a scar or two from the
King and his tantrums, other than the bite, of couse. The King's rage is only
exacerbated by his bloodlines.”
The eldest lady shook her head. “Don’t listen to such gossip, Marisol,” she
cautioned to the girl who'd asked.
“You call me a liar?”
“I call you and your husband naïve, madam. Tell me, what new news of the
Ensgton king shall we hear next? That he is secretly an omega, perhaps?”
Several ladies giggled. “Wouldn’t that be something? There hasn’t been a single
omega born in any kingdom since…well, perhaps our Majesty’s great-grandmother?”
“Indeed! So many generations of hot-headed alphas, with their beta subjects and
their beta wives and beta offspring.”
Mal ignored their chatter, but stopped her circling again, when Arthur caught
her eye. It was easy for her to forget the quiet boy sometimes. Most people
often did.
He joined her on the couch when she patted the cushion beside her. His dog
pawed up at his knees until Mal reach over and picked her up, her little tail
wagging at the attention Mal gave her.
Arthur was momentarily afraid of the tears he saw clinging to Mal’s lashes. “Do
you really think he’ll pick you? Can’t our father be swayed elsewhere?”
She shook her head, her eyes on the dog. “It happens, every so often, that a
king will be lazy in picking their spouse, so they’ll beckon every unpromised
woman or girl to their court so they can pick over us like so much food on a
platter. And no matter the rumors, or ties to the fallen House of Fischer or
the Cobbs, King Eames rules Engston. Any ruler of that kingdom is one best kept
in your family’s favor. A marriage to King Eames would guarantee an alliance
and protection.”
“But our brothers… They—”
“—are still nothing more than aging beta princes, with no kingdoms of their own
so long as our father lives. Meanwhile, Henry Eames continues to gain more
power.” She sighed. “You’re lucky, my Arthur. You are neither firstborn nor a
princess bred for being bartered off. You were conceived purely out of love,
and for that reason, you must never take your freedom for granted. Heed my
advice. Don’t hesitate in your affections for our cousin, Robert—”
“No, no. We only write each other, that’s all,” he cut in quickly, eyes wide.
Mal smiled fondly. “And yet you blush whenever you hear his name, and let’s not
speak of how giddy you are when a messenger comes riding over the hill from the
Fischer castle with one of those letters. What? He’s a very sweet boy!” She
tossed up her hands in mock defeat when he only narrowed his eyes, responding
with a glare. “Well, then when you are both older and have wives, you both
should still…write each other, as you said. Continue to share your feelings.”
He softened his glare. “We’re aren’t—I mean, we’re not…” He sighed, flustered.
“At least…not like you and Dom. You love Dominic very much. What’s that like,
Mal, to be in love with someone?”
Instantly he regretted asking when she looked away. Mal took several shaking
breaths, her eyes clouded with fresh tears as she offered Arthur a sad smile.
The guard stepped into the parlor, announcing their father’s arrival. The
Engston envoy followed King Miles.
Mal handed Arthur his puppy and kissed his cheek. “When the day comes that you
find true love, you will know it. It’s indescribable,” she explained, staying
close enough to whisper as they stepped forward, braced for their father’s
news.
+
 
The Engston palace was alive with music and festivities in celebration of King
Eames’ twenty-fourth birthday. The gardens were all decorated with tents for
pastry treats and wine sampling from the local wineries. Tall bushes were
trimmed into larger than life replicas of the King in his wolf form along with
his knights and assembled to illustrate scenes from his greatest battles.
Arthur kept his dog tucked under his cloak as he lounged on plush cushions with
Mal on a boat tour around the palace. He dozed in the afternoon sun while one
of Mal’s ladies helped her practice the King’s language.
“Your Highness,” the lady urged him gently with a smile, “you should pay
attention to your sister’s lessons. If, or perhaps, when, today goes well, and
she becomes the Queen of Engston, I imagine you’ll be here with her quite
often.”
He frowned. “Lady Nicole, please. You’re making my sister nervous.” He glanced
at Mal. She wasn’t listening to them, her attention long since gone, perhaps to
dreams of her Dominic, far away. “I hope the King doesn’t choose my sister. I
hope he picks someone else so that we can all go home.”
 
“Yusuf?” Eames asked with an unflatteringly tight voice. “Isn’t all this a bit
much?”
His Lord Chancellor hummed from his perch on the windowsill, peering out at all
the people below. The elder werewolf glanced over his shoulder at Eames. “Fear
not, my friend. You’ll thank me once you get to see these betas up close, scent
their lovely pheromones, catch a dance or two, see a slip of an ankle under a
gown…or at the very least, pick a few bedmates, if not a wife.” He shrugged.
“I understand all that, but—” Eames growled when one of the seamstresses pulled
the strings on his new doublet even harder than before, “does this bloody thing
have to be so tight?”
“Of course! Beauty is pain, and right now, alpha and beta kings, princes,
dukes, the world over, are envious of your kingdom and power. Why not make them
hate you even more by being the most strapping and seductive king as well? You
want every beta drooling on the floor when you arrive. The only thing they’ll
be hungry for is you.” Yusuf patted Eames’ cheek, laughing at the King’s angry
pout. He looked down suddenly, his eyes wide. “My goodness, your Majesty, I
think I rather like these tights on you.”
“Why?” Eames demanded, looking down at himself as if searching for a bug or a
snag in the fabric. “What’s wrong?”
Yusuf nodded appreciatively as the seamstresses finished their work. “Eamesie,
you may very well be the one man, in the entire world, who ought never to wear
tights. That codpiece on you is obscene.”
“Why for one second did I ever let you dress me? I have to change, I can't wear
this. Yusuf, I swear—” but he was shushed as Yusuf adjusted his collar chain
across his shoulders one last time and pushed him towards the door.
 
“His Royal Majesty, King Henry Eames, Ruler of Engston, Eameston, and
Wolfshire, Defender of the Isles, and Lord of the Northern Saxons,” the royal
court marshal announced as the King made his appearance in the sunlit hall,
flanked by his entourage and two massive grey and tawny wolves.
The place was abuzz with whispers, as most of the guests, who had never seen
the King in person, pressed past each other for a glimpse of the handsome
alpha.
Arthur quickly scooped his puppy off the floor, distracted by her nervous
whining.
He shushed her just as the King took his seat. Many of the women hurried
forward to kiss the alpha's hand. The only alpha princess was quickly escorted
out by two of the guards.
The King’s scent was very distinct, as were all alpha’s, but his, Arthur
noticed, was different. It held an alpha’s usual potency, but none of the
alphas Arthur had smelled before had ever reminded him of apples and cinnamon.
He caught a glimpse of the man soon enough. King Eames personified power and
virility even as he slouched, clearly bored, at the front of the hall. His
jeweled gold collar chain gleamed in the early evening light, its sapphires
complimenting his doublet and tights. Even his beard was trimmed finely. Arthur
could only imagine what he looked like under his clothes, and was surprised
that such a thought would even cross his mind.
“Your Highness,” Mal’s lady whispered to her, “you should go quickly to meet
him, before all the ugly girls scare him off.”
Mal didn’t look overly thrilled. She brushed aside Arthur’s hair and leaned in
close to his ear. “Thank you for coming here with me.” She kissed his cheek.
“You must be bored by all this spectacle.”
Arthur tugged at the collar of the amber and black tunic Mal had had made for
him to match her gown. He felt a sudden wave of heat wash over him in the
crowded hall, like he’d been struck with a fever that lasted only a moment.
“Are you alright, Arthur?” Mal eyed him closely. “You’re flushed, and
you...smell different.”
He frowned at her strange observation and shrugged as his temperature
stabilized. “Perhaps I’m just tired. I’ve never traveled so far out of the
kingdom before,” he supposed, even though his reasoning didn’t account for the
tinge of pain between his legs that had followed the temperature spike.
She nodded, her hand on his forehead. “Eat something. With any luck, this will
be over soon.”
Arthur wandered off towards a table piled with food as he groaned, voicing what
both he and Mal were really thinking. The line of women eager to meet the King
was long enough, even without those who were busy dancing and those sneaking
kisses with members of the King’s entourage wherever they found a secluded
corner or doorway.
By the look of things, the King’s festival could very well drag long into the
night. Arthur was instantly bored.
 
Eames suppressed the urge to yawn in front of the sea of betas princesses,
duchesses, and marquises throughout the hall, all dancing and intermingling
with his court.
The King sighed like a bull as he slouched lower in his chair, trying to get
comfortable, though his heavily ornate doublet still felt constricting. “Yusuf,
I swear I’ll rip your head off for this,” he grumbled, sitting with his head
propped in his hand.
“For a werewolf alpha inclined to ripping off heads, you certainly have a flare
for whining like a little child as well, your Majesty.” Yusuf quickly cleared
his throat when two of the beta princesses approached the King, ending his
conversation. He watched women curtsey, their breast nearly pouring out of
their low cut bodices, and the way Eames shifted awkwardly in his chair. His
cheeks were coloring, so faint only another werewolf would notice. Yusuf bit
his tongue to hold back his smile.
“That wasn’t funny, Yusuf,” Eames murmured.
“Oh, but it was, your Majesty,” he murmured back, close to the King’s ear for
show. “This is the sort of thing that ought to remind you exactly why this
festival is necessary. If you’re going to convince these people and any
potential new ally kingdoms that you support diplomacy and peace, then you’re
going to have to first stop threatening everyone, including me, with beheading,
and second, my friend, you’re going to have to learn how to talk to these
women," he continued over Eames' low groaning, “without blushing or scaring
them off. Consider this as… practice and the test itself, considering that
finding a mate is what this festival is really for. God knows, you haven’t
actually celebrated your birthday since you were handed the crown.”
“Ah yes, and I’m sure this will all make up for the mess I’m certain to make
once my werewolf rut sets in a week from now. Whoever I pick as my future queen
will certainly love witnessing me turn into a horny rage monster.” He rolled
his eyes.
“Nonsense. She’ll be flattered that the greatest alpha king to ever live would
turn into a ferocious beast, driven wild with the need to mate her. Highly
romantic.”
Eames grunted. “I’d rather be out hunting with you and the boys than sitting
through this, Yusuf. Look at how lovely the skies were today, and yet you’ve
had me cooped up in here all day in this stifling costume.”
 
Arthur spent most of the early evening watching the sun set, stealing grapes
from the table for himself and his dog, and wondering why the werewolves stared
at him and whispered when they passed by. His human ears couldn’t catch what
they said, but he could sense it. He hugged his puppy close and prayed that the
King would make a decision soon.
Perhaps if Mal were picked as his queen, it wouldn’t be completely terrible.
After all, it was clear, at least on the surface, that with their countries
united, the King could bring them protection and prosperity, take care of their
parents and older siblings…
What was more, his court and subjects didn’t seem to be very heartbroken or
hostile under his rule. They looked to the King with respect, and reverence to
those chosen from their former court for the werewolf bite.
He glanced over again at the King through a gap in the people clustered here
and there. He could see now how the Cobbs and Fischers could lose territories
to such a formidable alpha. The setting sun and lit candles played shadows
across the tight cut of the King’s clothes, highlighting his defined arms,
chest, and abdomen, and down his splayed legs. He reminded Arthur of the wolf
he’d seen on the edge of the forest once when he was younger, and the way it
sat in the damp grass, its mouth still dripping with the blood of its kill
while the pack continued to fill their bellies. The wolf had been watching
young Arthur, as if its eyes could see straight to the core of his fear and
awe. It had been equally intimating and…enchanting, just as the King was now.
Arthur stumbled as if drunk when a fresh wave of warmth spread through him
without warning. He blinked, trying to regain his composure.
“Arthur? How are you feeling now?” his sister asked as soon as she found him.
“I’m fine,” Arthur lied. Ignoring her frown, he asked, “Mal, am I doing
something wrong? Why are they staring at me?”
She heaved a great sigh. “They are staring because, as Lady Nicole told us
prior to arriving in Engston, had you been paying attention, werewolves despise
dogs.” She shook her head, watching Arthur’s shoulders sink. “Why on earth did
you bring her? What were you thinking, Arthur?”
Just as he prepared to answer, a voice drifted from behind him.
“Excuse me, young sir.” The man looked to be a guard. He eyed Arthur’s dog with
a thinly veiled, sour expression. “Dogs are not permitted in court. Allow me,”
he offered, his arms out to receive the dog.
“Will you take her to Lady Christine? She will keep her in our rooms.”
He gave the guard his dog reluctantly, listening to her whine and struggle in
his hands, trying to get back to Arthur.
Mal was trying to cheer him up though he didn’t notice at all. Without his dog
held his to chest, he could feel the true intensity of the fever now as it
rolled through him. He didn’t feel sick, only…hot. Uncomfortably hot.
Again, it dissipated as quickly as it had come, now replaced by the returning
ache between his legs. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, totally
unlike the pleasure his body would conjure up when reading one of Robert’s more
risqué letters.
And then he shivered, when the King’s scent drifted his way, stronger than
before, making the ache that much more severe.
Mal placed her hand on his cheek, her eyes searching. "Arthur, you... Oh my
god..."
"Mal?"
She smiled in awe. "Do you have any idea of what magnificent thing is happening
to you?"
 
“Breathe in that lovely beta scent,” Yusuf had been saying.
Eames did, inhaling deeply. “They all smell like various flowers,” he muttered.
“Indeed.” Yusuf smiled with content. “You have such a fine, fine garden of
flowers to pick from.”
“I hate flowers.”
The elder werewolf cut his eye at the King, at last letting a slip of his
irritation show. His brow furrowed at the odd, distracted expression on Eames.
“Something wrong, your Majesty?”
“No, just…a particular scent…” He inhaled again, using his werewolf senses to
dissect the scent so mingled with the other people surrounding it.
A group of younger girls and boys ran past Yusuf and the King, bringing the air
and the scent back. It was like Eames’ favorite melon dessert and prime
Wolfshire whiskey. Something else, something primal lay just underneath, making
Eames' mouth water and fangs descend, itching to bite and claim whoever
possessed that scent.
“Your Majesty?” Yusuf pressed again.
“Yusuf,” the King muttered, careful not to lose the scent, “there is an omega
here.”
Yusuf balked. “You’re right, sir. I think this festival wasn’t the best idea,
if it has caused you to lose your mind. There hasn’t been an omega in—”
“There is an omega here,” he demanded in a voice only Yusuf could hear. The
music stopped and the people all looked towards the King curiously when he
stood up abruptly.
“My god…” Yusuf whispered in wonder, looking out over the hall, searching.
Like a spark catching on dry wood, the scent traveled until even the humans
could detect its presence. As most of the people’s attention was turned inward,
looking amongst each other for the omega, Eames jutted his chin in the
direction of one of the tables. “Who is that in the amber and black?”
“That would be Princess Mallorie de Milecomté, from Duval. Shall I send for
her?”
“No. I’ll go to her, to be certain.” 
Those standing closest to the King quickly knelt as he stepped forward. He let
his nose guide him through the crowd, uncaring of the heartbroken women he left
in tears, as he scented a few of them and continued past, crushing their hopes.
He was soon met with a crowd of turned backs, distracted as they gathered
around the woman he sought and the boy Yusuf informed him was her brother.
Arthur felt his back touch the stone wall behind him. He and his sister had
been cornered and he hadn’t the slightest idea why. He wanted to melt through
the cracks in the stone and disappear.
The sea parted slowly as Eames’ presence in the crowd was made known. Eames
heard their murmuring as he approached, but he tuned out their senseless
chatter, knowing that they were all mistaken. The woman was the omega. Eames
was certain.
Until the woman bowed, moving her long hair aside for him to scent her.
The King buried his face in her neck for a long time. The scent was there, but
faint. Too faint to belong to her.
Arthur’s shock didn’t lessen with the werewolf King standing tall and broad
before him with only Mal between them. He stared at the King’s feet, wide eyed,
his lips parted, as the fever receded once again.
“Arthur,” Mal hissed, still bowing like the others, “for God’s sake, don’t
stand there. Kneel. Do it now.”
His mouth snapped shut, his cheeks coloring. He moved to kneel quickly, but was
surprised when the King’s hand caught his throat in a secure hold. He blinked
and found himself pressed to the King’s chest as the werewolf scented him, or
rather, was lost in the scent of him.
And Arthur was no better, lost in the King’s scent as well.
Arthur felt more than a little drunk when the King stepped back, the werewolf’s
eyes glowing golden before he blinked.
The King cupped his face in one large hand, lifting up his chin. “Look at me,”
he commanded, his voice low.
Arthur tried, shaking with fear as the King’s eyes pierced his.
“He’s an omega?” the crowd began to whisper.
“Impossible…”
“What use does any lover of women have with a male omega?” Arthur heard one ask
to another.
“Plenty… Just look at those legs and that adorable face…”
“He’s beautiful…”
“And smells wonderful…”
“Like Donatello’s young David…”
“Or a Botticelli youth…”
The King snarled, silencing them all. Arthur flinched at the sound and the
sight of the King’s bared teeth. He quickly dropped his eyes when the werewolf
turned towards him again.
The King’s fingertips traced his cheek before moving forward to scent him one
more time. Arthur clasped his hands behind his back, pinching his wrist,
knowing it would prove this to be some bizarre dream that would end, and end
fast, because this couldn’t be real.
“Young prince,” Arthur heard the King say, “I shall meet with you and those
present from your father’s household in your rooms once they’ve been prepared
for your extended stay. Rest for now. Perhaps in the morning you shall have
overcome your shyness by then.”
A few people laughed quietly, further confusing Arthur until he realized that
the King was still waiting for his response. He nodded quickly, searching for
his voice. “Yes…” he muttered at last to the King’s chest. “Yes, your Majesty.
Of course.”
His only saving grace was that he remembered to bow this time, though the
King’s back was already turned now that he and his Lord Chancellor made their
way back to the front of the hall.
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     My apologies if this chapter gets too...technical and anatomical.
+
 
Eames chewed on his bottom lip, lost in his thoughts. His men and wolves
watched him make several aborted attempts to go meet the omega formally. Each
time he stood and gathered his resolve, he changed his mind.
Yusuf sighed for the hundredth time. “Your Majesty, will you keep the young
prince waiting?” He was met with another of Eames’ whining growls and sighed
again. “We still have an appointment with the envoy and physician today. It’s
best not to keep either of them waiting.”
“Perhaps I should…give him a week or two to settle in before—”
“No, no, no, no, no, Majesty. A matter like this has to be settled at once.
It’s only been a night and a morning, but now that the parties are leaving,
word will spread quickly.”
“Doesn’t it always?”
“Your Majesty, we must have the doctor examine the boy today, because if we’re
not one-hundred percent certain that he’s an omega, your kingdom's future will
be a stake. A beta boy, pretty or not, is incapable of giving you heirs.”
“I already know he’s an omega, Yusuf. That’s not the problem.”
Yusuf studied him for a moment. He inhaled deeply, at once understanding. “He’s
causing an early rut for you, isn’t he?”
That was an understatement. His seamstresses had had quite a difficult morning
trying to fashion a codpiece that fit him comfortably. “Yes.”
“Which is why you need to see him now before you completely lose your wits.”
“I’ve already lost my wits. All I can think about, all I want, is just to tear
off his clothes and—”
“If you put off this meeting, and word reaches King Miles that his youngest son
is an omega still yet to be claimed, after however long your stalling takes?
His father will have every right to send for him and his sister, and you will
have to let him leave. Would you risk letting him go? His father is not your
ally. This omega could be married off to some lesser king at once.”
Eames’ brow shot up, his eyes glowing golden. “You think I would let him go?
Yusuf, you of all people should know not underestimate me.”
He frowned, putting his hand out to still the King’s pacing. “If the boy is
unpromised, you have no right to him.”
“I don’t?”
Yusuf stepped back, hearing his challenge. “You would rape the boy to keep
him?”
Eames’ mouth was open, ready to give a hearty ‘yes,’ but paused at Yusuf’s
disappointed glare. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Do you see what I mean, Yusuf,
when I say I’ve lost my wits? Of course, I would never defile anyone. Not in my
right mind, that is, but I feel very far from my right mind.”
The elder wolf still wouldn't budge.
Eames sighed, crossing his arms. “Fine. Have the physician and envoy meet with
us, then. Do it quickly. But I shouldn’t be in the room, when…” Just thinking
of the omega disrobing was—
Yusuf patted his cheek, bringing him back. “You have to be there, your Majesty.
He is your omega. You must set an example of restraint and control, and mostly
importantly, if you wish for this omega to be receptive to you, it would be
best to be near him whenever possible. Let him grow accustomed to your
presence, quickly.”
“How the bloody hell do I do that? His scent was drenched with fear last night
when I approached him during the festival.”
Yusuf shrugged. “His sister? Impress her, perhaps, and show the boy that you’re
not a horny rage monster.”
Eames glared as they walked. “I remember someone yesterday informing me that a
horny rage monster was highly romantic.”
He tossed up his hands. “I was drunk! You mustn’t ever listen to what I say
when there’s a room full wine and women, My King.”
“Sometimes I wonder how we ever manage, you and I.”
“Don’t worry, Majesty. When the day is done, we’ll all away to the forest on a
hunt and let you sink your teeth into something meaty. Perhaps that’ll get your
rut under better control.” So he hoped.
+
 
The Royal Envoy from Milecomté sat back in his chair, eyeing the Engston Lord
Chancellor with a smug expression. “Your Royal Majesty, and Lord Chancellor,”
he spoke carefully, framing his words as he admired the rings on his own hand
with a bored demeanor, “you must understand that, under these altered
circumstances, the previsions set forth by my father, his Majesty King Miles,
in the event that my sister, his princess, be chosen as your wife, have now
greatly increased, as I’m certain you understand, your Majesty. It is a great
honor to have an omega in our family. Therefore, we must take every precaution
to ensure that your kingdom can suit his and our needs best over any other
potential suitor.”
“Indeed, your Highness,” Yusuf nodded. “We would expect nothing less.”
The Envoy, Eames observed as he paid no attention to the issue at hand,
possessed none of his younger siblings’ grace or beauty. He glanced at the two
sitting on the far side of the room with a book between them.
“However,” Yusuf continued, passing documents across the table for the Envoy,
“we have certain stipulations, drafted here, that must be met before an
agreement can be made.”
Every now and then, Eames would catch Arthur looking up at him when his
attention drifted from the book’s pages. Their eyes would meet and Arthur would
quickly look away, a timid little smile playing at his lips. It tugged at
Eames’ heart and made him anxious to get the chance to be near him again.
The Envoy took his time reading over the long parchment before signing it.
“Very well.” He stood. “I shall depart to my errand in the north and return in
a few days to finalize our kingdoms’ union. Gentlemen," he bowed, not bothering
to address his siblings, "Good day."
No sooner had he left than the room began to fill with the King’s Parliament
leaders, the senior cardinals and high priests from the Church, and the
doctor's team, who ushered out the King’s entourage and all but two of Mal’s
highest ranked ladies.
Eames tried his best to act natural around Arthur with so many people watching
them closely. He had no idea that the day he’d faced a dragon four times his
size, alone and in his human form, would be easier to manage than simply
standing in a room and talking to his intended mate.
“Still shy?” he asked, teasing the quiet, blushing boy. “What a pity, however I
can hardly blame you with this audience we've collected.”
“Forgive him, your Majesty,” Mal offered, stepping beside her brother. “Our
Arthur isn’t used to so much attention.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that,” he muttered to her, his thumbs caressing Arthur’s
cheeks as he cupped his face, coaxing more color to the surface. “A beautiful
omega hidden in a world of betas?” he mused, “I only hope you’ll forgive me for
stealing your dear brother away from the suitors his father must have lined
up.”
Arthur glanced to his sister, envious of how she interacted so easily with the
people present, how quickly she spoke in their language. At last he found his
voice. “I didn’t know, before, your Majesty, that I was a…” He breathed in the
alpha’s scent, losing his train of thought. His skin tingled under the King’s
gentle petting.
"Lucky for me, perhaps. I may have never found you otherwise." The King looked
away, distracted as he was called into conversation with the political leaders.
Immediately, Arthur missed his attention, but there was something more pressing
on his mind. “Mal," he spoke softly, "I don’t understand. Why are all these
people here?”
“If I may, your Highness,” the eldest of the clergy offered. “We are his
Majesty's privy council, here to witness the confirmation of your omega status,
the report on your health, and most importantly, the blessing of your womb,
that you may provide his Majesty’s kingdom with a palace full of heirs.”
All the color drained at once from Arthur’s face, his ears rung, his stomach
felt as if it had turned to stone.
The doctor covered the center table with a large sheet and began placing his
tools to one side. The priests and cardinals began their own preparations as
well, circling the room slowly, filling it with their incense smoke and the
prayers they chanted.
The doctor’s assistants raised another sheet of linen in a corner where the
doctor led Arthur and Mal’s remaining ladies with instructions to change into
the bed gown he’d provided.
Arthur was speechless, too mortified to do more than let the ladies undress
him. He felt like a doll as the too large and terribly shear gown hung from his
shoulders. He shivered as the stone floor sucked the warmth from the soles of
his feet.
The room felt small and cramped, suffocating. He kept his arms crossed tightly,
his shoulders hunched as the doctor guided him towards the table. Eyes as wide
as an owl’s, he tried not to look at any of the unfamiliar faces surrounding
him while he searched for Mal.
The remaining sheets were propped up on poles held by the doctor’s assistants
around the table, creating a divider between Arthur and the others present. He
was beyond grateful for the seclusion the sheets offered when the witnesses all
crowded forward on the other side of the linen to listen.
“Your Highness,” the doctor prompted. 
His chest felt tight. “Where is my sister?”
From behind the sheet, the priest’s voice rang out. “Is it improper for a lady
of such high status to be present during the inspection, your Highness.”
Arthur flinched with surprise when the King appeared at his side and took his
hand. He was sure he would faint with every ounce of blood in his body now
rushed to his cheeks and ears. For a moment, he felt as if he’d die when the
doctor made him lay down on his back.
The King held his hand throughout the examination, stroking his hair, and
thankfully ignoring the stream of tears that Arthur couldn’t control when he
felt the doctor’s hands prodding his neck, chest, all the way to his pelvis and
across the soreness that plagued his most private area.
After a while, the doctor smiled. “Your Majesty, it pleases me to confirm that
his Highness is indeed an omega,” he stated. The room filled with happy murmurs
and praise for the King's good fortune.
The King’s chest swelled with pride. "Excellent, doctor. Thank you." The alpha
wasn’t trying to look between his opened legs when Arthur glanced up at him. He
was looking down at Arthur’s face with golden, hungry eyes, but his smile was
gentle, soothing even. Arthur found himself relaxing more and more with the
King’s hand in his hair and that calming smile gracing his full lips.
“Your Majesty, there is a problem here,” the doctor reported, causing a flurry
of whispers amongst the crowd.
The King’s grip on Arthur’s hand tightened. His brow rose in question. “What
sort of problem?”
The doctor pressed Arthur’s perineum again and nodded. “The womb has not yet
opened, your Majesty.”
“Pardon me, sir,” Mal’s eldest lady spoke softly, stepping forward past the
curtain of linens to take Arthur’s hand opposite the King, “I was Arthur’s
nursemaid when he was a child. Nursemaids are required to have a basic
understanding of both female and male omegas, you see. In the event that one
may be born, we are always prepared. What knowledge I have is limited, but
believe me when I say that these things are meant to happen at a gradual pace.
Arthur’s heat is only a day old, your Majesty. He informed me this morning that
he was in little pain, so I examined him myself. He looked to be at a perfectly
healthy stage of development.”
“How does a male omega's body conceive?” one politician inquired.
“The womb remains undetectable until an alpha, such as his Majesty, inspires
the first heat. An opening forms in the perineum tissue, creating a channel,
but this opening will remain hidden, once fully developed, protected by a seal,
much similar to a young maidens, until his Highness is made receptive by his
Majesty during copulation,” she informed them. “Which is why, doctor, I must
ask—Surely in another day or so, he—”
“I beg your pardon, Madam,” the doctor condescended, “but I think it best that
we leave his health in my hands, as I am the King’s royal physician.”
She clasped her hands in front of her, her eyes worried as she saw Arthur’s
tear streaked face. “Have you ever treated an omega, sir?” she asked,
politely. 
“You surely know the answer to that, Madam,” he scoffed. “Who among us has? But
I am trained, nonetheless. Now, if you will allow me?” When she bowed and
stepped back, he turned to the King. “Your Majesty, wherein such a channel
exists, no outward sign is yet visible. I must fix this at once, your Majesty.”
“But—” Arthur tried, but he was silenced by the doctor and priest as they
talked over him through the curtain.
Eames could hardly keep up with what was happening. With the beta doctor too
smug for his own good, standing between his omega’s legs with his hands on him,
Eames just wanted to run everyone off. His rut was getting unbearable, his
senses overwhelmed by Arthur’s scent, his proximity, the softness of those bare
legs he wanted to touch so badly. He cleared his throat. “You are certain this
won’t happen naturally, with time, doctor?”
“Oh yes, your Majesty, but I’m afraid that could be quite a long while. With
your permission, I could perform a simple incision to accelerate this process,
so that he may be ready in time of the marriage bed.”
Yusuf hurried through the curtain, his brow raised with growing concern. “I’m
sure that’s not—”
The King held up his hand and nodded at once, his eyes still golden and clouded
with his rut as they glared at Yusuf, ordering him to back down. “Do what you
must, good doctor.”
“But, your Majesty, please.” Arthur clamped his legs shut, trying to sit up. He
looked to the King with pleading eyes. “I—”
“Not to worry, your Highness,” the doctor smiled, patting his knee. “This will
be perfectly painless, and any discomfort should only last for a moment or so.
The King’s favor and God’s mercy will aid you to a fast recovery.”
 
Arthur spent the next several days in bed, unable to move without agony.
From the doorway, Eames watched Mal help Arthur with his signature on the
marriage contract. Their older brother stood at the foot of the bed, aloof as
ever.
The new physician met Eames in the next room. “Your Majesty.” He bowed,
nervously eyeing the werewolves lounged on the sofas and the wolves that paced
the rug.
"Doctor." Eames approached him at once, ordering everyone else to leave. “Has
he recovered?”
“He has, although… Your Majesty, I do not wish to meet the same end as the last
doctor, so I will not serve my hypothesis to you as fact.”
“That man was a fool,” the King growled, the taste of the doctor’s heart still
fresh in his mind. His omega’s blood still stained the study floor rugs. He
wished he’d taken his time when he’d killed the man. “I highly doubt that you
could do worse.”
“Thank you, your Gracious Majesty." He glanced over his shoulder at the boy in
bed. “It’s difficult to know anything definitive about omegas, as there hasn’t
been one in several generations, but from my understanding of the text I’ve
read, forcing his body to open faster only slowed things down more. The first
heat, you see, is most critical, because it could mean the difference between a
fertile, receptive omega and one that may never fully develop. Judging by the
look of it—”
“Look of what?” the King asked impatiently, tired with the man’s prudish
rambling.
“The… His...” He made odd gestures with his hands, his brow furrowed and ears
red. “I’m not entirely sure what to call it, to be honest. It is a womb, yes,
but the anatomy of male omegas is quite different—”
“Do they not perform the same function?”
The doctor’s eyes lowered, his whole face turning red. “Yes, that’s true. What
I mean to say is that…until his body is ready to…” he made more vague gestures,
“to receive you as his mate, his heat will not come.”
“But he’s already in heat. That’s why my rut—”
“No, sir. His heat was interrupted, therefore it has ceased, for now. Had the
doctor not rushed things, the omega would have been fully developed, fully
receptive perhaps, in a week. Now, it may be a month more before you can
successfully bond him, your Majesty.”
“His name is Arthur,” Mal spoke as she neared them, ending their conversation,
her eyes locking the doctor in a cold stare. “He is not a specimen, nor
chattel, doctor. I request that you not speak of him as such.”
The doctor stuttered, bowing awkwardly low before the Princess. “My apologies,
your Highness.”
“That will be all.” The King waved his hand, preventing the doctor from saying
more. “Yusuf shall call for you again if need be.”
As soon as the beta hurried off, Mal reached for her necklace and the tiny blue
bottle at its end. “Your Majesty, if I may, drink this.”
Eames eyed her and the drop of fluid clinging to the stopper. “What clever
sorcerous potion is this, daughter of my enemy?”
“I have learned over the years that one doesn’t have to be a werewolf or alpha
to underestimate women, your Majesty, you need only be a man. It is your choice
whether or not to trust me, intended of my most beloved brother.” Her smile was
calculated and sharp. “I offer you this drop of salvation for my brother’s
sake, not mine.”
“I nearly had your most beloved brother disfigured and unwittingly neutered by
a doctor who revealed himself to be completely incompetent, Mallorie.”
“And I sense the guilt and pain within you, which is why today, you must make a
fresh, new start with my brother if he is to be happy here.”
Eames glanced at Arthur in the next room. His brother was speaking over him to
Yusuf as if the boy wasn’t there. He studied Mal for a long time before
sighing. “If you attempt to poison me I will shift and kill you.”
“Of course, your Majesty.” When his brow quirked, she offered him the drop
again, pleased when he accepted it on his tongue.
He watched her carefully, as the potion tingled on his tongue. Within seconds,
he could feel his heat retreating gradually from the surface. He hadn’t noticed
how tense he’d been until his shoulders relaxed and his lungs issued out a deep
calming breath.
“As I’m sure you’re well aware, an alpha is not permitted to bond with their
intended mate until after their marriage. Ruts make honoring that extremely
difficult.”
A grin formed on the King’s face. “Who is your alpha, if I may ask?”
“One from your cluster of enemies, your Majesty,” she teased. “This was not
made for a werewolf alpha, so it will not last as long, but it should give you
some clarity now at least.”
He huffed as Mal’s ladies eased Arthur to sit up in the bed when Yusuf led the
elder Prince to his office. The boy looked trampled and tired, dwarfed in that
large bed, but let himself be propped up and given the cup of milk. One lady
bowed at the King and Princess before quietly closing the door, preparing to
dress him.
Eames turned away, his heart heavy. “I honor your optimism, Mallorie, but I
think… Even if I were stretched out on the floor and comatose, your brother
would still fear me.”
Mal hummed in understanding. The small jewels on her cap and interwoven in the
wrapped braid of her hair sparkled in a catch of sun. She made a show of
looking out of the window before speaking, choosing her words with care. “Would
my brother have reason to fear you, your Majesty?”
Eames’ eyes betrayed his thoughts for a moment before he breathed deeply. “My
father was not overly kind to my mother, which I’m sure is no surprise to you,
as I’m certain you’ve heard the stories of my family.”
“You make it sound as if cruel kings are more rare than omegas.”
“Point taken.” He chuckled bitterly. “I want to care for Arthur, except..."
"Yes?"
"These ruts will not make it easy for your brother to love me, Mallorie. And
that fact would be easy to come to terms with and accept if your parents only
produced ugly children, but unfortunately that trend ended after your elder
brothers were born…”
Mal laughed merrily. “They are the vainest of all, those brothers.”
“Your Majesties,” Mal’s lady spoke behind them, curtsying as she stepped aside.
“Prince Arthur wishes to have fresh air for a while.”
“Of course, Madam. I have been dying to see my brother out of bed.” Mal rushed
to him at once, embracing him tightly.
Arthur tried to ignore the King’s scent, fearing that his heat would come back
and along with it, more pain and discomfort. He bowed awkwardly. “Your
Majesty.”
“Your Highness.” Eames smiled, extending his hand for Arthur to kiss his ring.
“It gladdens me to no end to see you on your feet. Are you…still in any pain?”
Arthur was annoyed for a moment that he couldn’t stop or hide his blush. “Not
much, your Majesty.”
The King surprised both Mal and Arthur when he took to one knee, kneeling to
kiss Arthur’s rings.
“This unfortunate incident has quite humbled me, dear Arthur. I pray above all
else in this world that you forgive me. I swear it shall not happen again.”
Without thinking, Arthur snatched his hand out of the King’s grasp. He quickly
shook his head, smiling apologetically. “Majesty, you need not submit yourself
like this to me.”
Eames held out his hands as he stood. He shrugged. “I only wish to show my
sincerity.” He caught the chastising look Mal gave to her brother in his
peripheral view. He tried again. “At least the rains have past for now. You and
your sister and the ladies can now move about the palace without all us
werewolves smelling like wet dogs everywhere you turn,” he chuckled.
Arthur smiled a little but it quickly crumbled. He turned to Mal. “Where is
Sophie?”
The King frowned. “Who?”
“Sophie is Arthur’s little dog,” Mal explained.
Eames wrinkled his nose in disgust. “There is a rule banning dogs in the
palace. I abhor those weak little pests.”
“We were told as such, although, Arthur loves Sophie more than our siblings.
Perhaps that rule will have to change now or an exception be made, your
Majesty. For wherever Arthur is, Sophie will be there as well.” She followed
Arthur back to his bedroom where the ladies were still changing the sheets on
the bed. “Lady Christine, have you been keeping Sophie for Arthur all this
time?”
The lady shook her head, confused. “No Ma’am. I was never made aware that I
should. Arthur always keeps her with him.”
Mal crossed her arms. “Did the guard not send you my instructions at the
festival?”
“No Ma’am,” she answered with dread. “No guard ever came to me with Sophie.”
Arthur searched the adjoining rooms, returning empty handed. “Mal, what if
something terribl—”
“Not to worry.” Eames sprung into action, ordering the guard present to gather
others to search the grounds. He cupped Arthur’s face, rubbing his thumbs over
his cheeks though no blush appeared this time. “I’m sure the little thing is
just exploring the grounds, getting familiar with her new home, perhaps?” He
wanted to go on a search mission himself—anything to stop Arthur from looking
so devastated. “In the meantime… You requested fresh air, yes?” At Arthur’s
solemn nod, the King smiled. “Well, I always try to get in a game or two around
this hour. Would you like to join me?”
+
 
Word spread quickly. Every seat in the small indoor court was filled for the
King’s tennis match.
Arthur sat beside Mal and her ladies, in the center of the spectator's gallery,
trying his best to ignore the stares and murmurs. The people present certainly
saw the King and his men play court tennis on a usual basis, but there was
nothing usual at all about seeing an omega. Every neck was craned in Arthur’s
direction, trying to catch a glance of the boy who would soon be their King’s
mate. 
At first, he figured that it would be impossible to focus on the King’s
performance. He was wrong. Arthur sat quietly with his eyes on his own knees
for most the matches after the King removed his doublet, and then his chemise
during the second game. Whatever else was happening in the gallery around him,
he didn’t know. His senses all zeroed in on the alpha: his scent, his grunts of
exertion, his bare chest.
Mal liked to tease him about his affections for Robert, but what would she
think of him now? Silently panting and hot for the werewolf alpha as he won
nearly every game, always taking a moment to give Arthur a smile or playful
wink between serves. 
Even though the air was cool, sweat still clung to the King’s skin, making him
glisten in the light. Strange, dark markings like tiger stripes ran the length
of his right upper arm and across that side of his chest and back. He looked to
be capable of crushing Arthur’s skull in the crook of his arm. And yet, the
definition in those arms, the way his body moved, back and forth with the
racket, lit a fire of passion in Arthur that he never knew he’d possessed, and
he had no idea what to do with it now that that fire burned within him.
Arthur kept his legs closed as tightly as he could, praying that his heat would
not return. He prayed that he would never have another heat ever again, no
matter if he understood its full pleasures and benefits the way his former
nursemaid promised that he would with time. The very last thing he wanted was
to distract the King or end up cornered by a legion of betas again.
“The King’s putting on a mighty impressive show for you, your Highness,” Mal’s
youngest lady whispered beside him. “Oh, I shall envy you for the rest of my
days, Arthur.”
The King growled ferociously when he lost the first game of the second match
and crushed his racket. It should have terrified Arthur, but his body only grew
hotter still, that curious ache between his legs more pleasure than pain after
his misadventures with the doctors.
He shivered, a little breathless. At once, the King glanced his way as if he'd
been called, missing the ball and therefore losing the match. The gallery
erupted in disappointed murmurings, and even a few tossed Arthur nasty glares.
The King picked up his discarded short, sideless overgown and climbed into the
gallery towards Arthur.
The surrounding crowds were silent and still. Arthur had an apology ready on
his tongue, unable to meet the King’s eyes as the alpha stood before him, still
covered in sweat and half naked. To his surprise, rather than admonish him, the
King draped his overgown across Arthur’s shoulders.
When he looked up to speak, the King silenced him with a chaste kiss.
It lasted only a second, but it could have been a lifetime for Arthur. The
gallery erupted in applause and happy cheers.
 
His first kiss still tingled on his lips as the King spoke to Mal, inviting
them to an early supper.
“Oh, my Arthur,” Mal teased, still seated at the gallery waiting for the King
to be redressed in his rooms, “you are completely helpless.” She reached over
and removed Arthur’s hand from his face.
Arthur hadn’t noticed that he’d been touching his lips. 
He found himself doing it again as he walked beside the King towards the dining
hall. He tried keeping his fist balled up at his sides, but that only made him
want to reach over for the King’s hand. He couldn’t keep them behind his back
either. The King’s hand was already there, guiding him forward.
He still wore the King’s short overgown, tempted to bury his face in its fur-
lined collar just to breathe in more of the alpha’s scent.
Arthur's fingertips were at his lips again. He wished to find some reason to
make the King kiss him a second time, and startled out of his reverie when the
hand at his back suddenly pressed more firmly.
Eames had had a talk with Yusuf after the games had ended. He had to give his
Lord Chancellor and Princess Mallorie all the credit. Arthur, according to Mal,
was most uncomfortable confined in small spaces indoors and surrounded by
people. This dinner would be filled with members of Eames’ household and court
staring Arthur down once again and talking about and over him as if he were a
pretty painting rather than a person. In these such circumstances, it would be
damn near impossible to get Arthur to speak candidly.
Yusuf had handled the rest. The court would still have their dinner, but
without Eames and Arthur, as they had other plans now.
“Your Majesty?” Arthur frowned, watching his sister and her ladies walk with
the King’s Lord Chancellor in the opposite direction. “Where are we going? What
about…”
Eames let Arthur’s words trail off as they stepped out into a small garden.
Guards stood to either side of the small entrance and servants were finishing
the final touches for their small picnic. Vines circled the columns and crept
up through cracks in the stone benches and statues. The last of the autumn
flowers were in bloom.
“What do you think?” Eames asked, watching Arthur stare wide-eyed. The clouds
shifted overhead and sunlight sparkled in the center fountain.
Arthur stepped forward and without warning laughed softly and spun once, his
arms extended, his sleeves and tunic swaying like an opening rose, as he
breathed in the garden air, taking in the sun's rays. He stopped short,
remembering himself and knelt on the thick blanket. “Your Majesty, thank you,"
he breathed, his eyes still searching, "I love gardens. This one is beautiful.”
Eames could say the same for Arthur, wanting to see that rose bloom once more.
He joined him on the blanket, comforted by the relief still washing through
him. Never had he put forth as much effort to impress someone. He’d worked hard
during the games only to look over and see Arthur hardly watching him at all,
but now, this simple, overrun garden, with its peace and quiet, had won the
boy’s affections at once. “Yeah? Me too.” He gladly accepted the bowl of grapes
Arthur shyly offered.
“Have you seen our gardens in Milecomté?”
“Only with my imagination. There are great paintings dedicated to those
gardens, but I know they must pale in comparison to the real thing.” He forgot
to eat, watching Arthur again as he admired their little garden once more. “I’m
sure it’s laughable to some people that I would call this garden my secret
getaway, what with the guards and such, but…still…it’s…”
He sat down the bowl and reached for Arthur’s hand, gaining his attention.
“This garden may be your secret place as well, now. If you wish.”
Arthur looked at him with bright eyes and an even brighter smile.
Eames couldn’t help but smile too. “You have the loveliest eyes, my sweet
Arthur.” When Arthur’s smile widened, Eames felt his heart pound nearly out of
his chest. It was his turn to look away from Arthur, overwhelmed suddenly by
his feelings. “My goodness, what have I gotten myself into, boy?”
+
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     Eames' rut gets dangerously out of control.
+
 
Arthur’s dog was still missing, even after a full week of searching. Rumors
flooded the court and countryside that Eames must have eaten it, filled with
rage and jealous over the omega’s love for the little beast.
Eames sat in the parlor for Arthur’s rooms with his head in his hands,
listening to the boy cry himself to exhaustion in his bedroom.
Yusuf sighed when he walked in. He placed his stack of papers on the table and
sat opposite Eames.
Eames rubbed his face tiredly. “Please tell me you have good news.”
“Well,” Yusuf sat back, getting comfortable, “the campaigns in the south are
going well, the economy’s up and morale is high thanks to the coming wedding.
The ship with Prince Arthur's possessions should arrive by tomorrow evening,
and should remain in Hillport until it’s ready to depart with Princess
Mallorie… We’ve seized another fortress from the Fischers and your new warships
are close to completion, also—”
“For fuck’s sake, Yusuf," the King growled angrily. "I don’t give a bloody
damn. I meant with the dog.”
“Ah…” he nodded, unable to hold back his smile. “Well, Majesty, worst-case
scenario, at least you won’t have to share the marriage bed with it always
licking your face when you’re—” He cleared his throat when Eames' growl turned
threatening. “Just face it, Eamesie. Whether or not the dog is dead or halfway
to Sansar, one thing remains perfectly clear.”
“That my omega hates me, and probably thinks I really did eat the damned thing
too?”
“That you’re hopelessly in love with him, you adorable fool. You bloody hate
dogs! Now look at you.” He smiled again, when Eames glanced up at him with a
sheepish glance. “Instead of wasting your time sitting here alone, why not go
in that bedroom and rub those love pheromones all over him and pretty soon,
he’ll forget all about his stupid little lap toy.”
Eames leveled Yusuf with a contemplative gaze. He nodded, feeling only slightly
reassured.
That is, until the guard at the entrance of the rooms approached and
bowed. “Your Majesty, the guard from the festival is here, as requested.”
Yusuf tilted his head in confusion. “You… Oh no. No,” he warned, when Eames
stood and nearly ran to the door and the waiting guard. “Your Majesty, I think
we should discuss this first!” He chased after him, full of dread when he heard
Eames roar in the corridor.
Eames had the guard by the throat, his teeth bared.
Yusuf stepped around the King’s men, who had gathered in the corridor as well.
The wolves were already salivating. “Your Majesty,” he tried, “perhaps this
isn’t the best strategy.”
Eames was near shifting as the guard cowered under his hands.
“Your Majesty, I swear,” the guard trembled, “I was only following orders. I
just put the dog outside, that’s all. That’s all, I swear. I didn’t harm her, I
promise.”
“Where is it now?” the King demanded.
“I don’t know, she was sitting on the steps outside the door when I last—”
Yusuf turned away, grimacing. He could still hear the man choking before Eames’
claws tore into his throat. The two wolves rushed past his legs, happy to drag
the bleeding man away before they ate him.
In all the years that Yusuf had been a member of Eames’ household, and after so
many of Eames’ hunts, he’d seen enough of blood. He sighed in agitation over
the blood staining the floor.
Eames immediately turned on his men, his eyes golden and sharp, his claws still
extended. “If this mutt isn’t found soon, I will have all your heads! Do you
understand me? I demand this of all of you!”
Yusuf sighed into his hand as the werewolves rushed to do the King’s errand.
“Your Majesty, this is not at all what I mean when I say positive
reinforcement.”
Eames paced, back in the parlor, looking near frantic. “This has to be an omen,
Yusuf, it has to be.”
“Nonsense, Eamesie! Stop panicking. Everything will be fine.”
“No, it won’t be.”
Yusuf felt his dread return. “Have you spoken to Mallorie since yesterday?
Perhaps you should let her give you more of her potion. Your rut is getting out
of control again.”
“I am in control, Yusuf.”
Yusuf stared in disbelief as Eames paced the room like a hungry lion. “Majesty,
you licked that man’s blood from your fingers. Don’t you think—”
Eames sighed irritably. He stopped his pacing in front of Arthur’s bedroom
door, his hands balled into tight fist. “I need to hunt.”
Yusuf didn’t argue. If the King said he needed to hunt, it was best to let that
happen. Better this than one more family losing their breadwinner or son all
because of Eames’ murderous temper.
He sent word out to have forest on the north side of the grounds cleared of any
humans and had the groundskeeper secure wolfsbane around the area’s borders to
avoid Eames from ravaging the fields beyond. 
When the tasks were completed by the late afternoon, Yusuf sent word to Eames
readied his horse and the necessary supplies. Yusuf never shifted himself, if
he could help it. Not that he was unhappy being a werewolf; he simply preferred
more human methods, particularly when it came to hunting. Most times, he simply
enjoyed following the others on his horse, and spent the time running numbers
and lists through his head in anticipation of the work that would surely greet
him upon his return to the palace.
He spotted Eames just beyond the line the trees and trotted over. The King had
already removed his outer layers.
Eames was so on edge and ready to shift that his hands were shaking. “What’s
the word from the grounds keeper?”
Yusuf folded and secured the offered clothing to his satchel. “He informed me
that at least a small handful of boars have been pestering the farmers. The
workers managed to run most of the beasts into the woods,” he explained,
handing Eames a torn rag. “He has this for you. Says he found it caught on a
bush on the far side of the trees there. One of the beasts tore this from a
shirt when being chased.”
The King nodded and transformed into a great menacing wolf. His fur was a mixed
grey and tawny like the two wolves from his pack, though his bulk was twice
their size. He took off in the direction Yusuf had pointed.
No matter the King's rut-fueled temper, Yusuf's chest still swelled with pride
seeming him shift and run. He had only been a young man, the son of a duke from
Sansar, when Eames had been born. Eames had given Yusuf the bite
accidentally when he was just a toddler in Yusuf’s arms; he was that strong,
even at such an age. Yusuf had watched him grow and knew from the beginning
that he would be especially powerful. Sure enough, he’d bested both of his
elder siblings and had fought hard to gain the crown.
And he was still fighting. Eames would not be his father's son without
violence, but he was not his father. No matter his temper and sweet tooth for
war, Eames was by no means the tyrant and abuser his father had been. Yusuf was
just one of a legion of people who couldn’t be more relieved by that fact.
In a way, Yusuf could understand why Eames was so concerned over a thing he
hated. If the omega’s dog hadn’t been lost, and Yusuf loathed to admit this,
even to himself as he let his horse gallop wherever it saw fit, Eames very well
may have killed the little beast eventually. Dogs were no mortal enemy of
werewolves, but for some reason, they had the tendency to drive the Eameses mad
when around one for too long. But rather than have his pack with him to enjoy
this hunt and help him relax, Eames had them out searching from every tower to
every ditch so that his omega could be happy again.
It was a side of Eames Yusuf had always known had to exist in him somewhere. A
care and warmth that came from his mother, though Eames didn’t seem to
understand how to express those feelings or operate within them without some
form of aggression attached.
Not yet, anyways. It might do everyone a huge favor if the omega’s sister
wasn’t leaving in two days. She’d been a godsend in helping Eames and her
brother to communicate, and the way she’d corralled Eames’ temper the last
several days, Yusuf at least was eternally grateful for that.
Yusuf was pulled from his musings when he heard Eames howl just over the hill
as the clouds overhead opened with rain.
He stirred his horse toward his alpha, bewildered by what he saw. It was normal
for Eames to shift back when the hunt was over and he’d killed his prey, but
Yusuf had never seen the man cradle his kill before.
Except, when he dismounted and tied the horse’s reins to a branch, he noticed
that the killed boar was still on the ground. Eames was laughing hysterically,
his head thrown back and his shoulders shaking. He kissed the little black,
tan, and white ball of wet fur in his arms.
“Is that what I think that is?”
“Yusuf, this is blessing from God!” Eames proclaimed, holding the terrified pup
over his head, laughing again. He nearly knocked Yusuf to the ground when he
ran over to the elder werewolf. “The little mutt was almost in the boar’s mouth
when I caught them both.”
Yusuf eyed the dog with worry. Her fur was caked with mud and she was shivering
in Eames’ too-tight grip. She was clearly stressed. Sophie tried to leap at
Yusuf when he drew close enough. She whined loudly until Eames frowned and
dumped her into the elder werewolf’s arms.
Eames watched her wag her tail happily. He crossed his arms and grumbled,
“Well, it certainly likes you.”
Yusuf chuckled, letting Sophie lick his face. “Of course she does. I’m not
naked and covered in boar’s blood.” He cooed at her like he was holding a baby.
“She’s adorable!”
Eames wrinkled his nose. “She smells awful.”
“She’s adorable,” Yusuf corrected him, glaring, “just like her owner, your
omega.”
Realization struck Eames of a sudden. “You're right. Arthur will want to marry
me at once. Yusuf, give me the dog.”
“Why don’t I give her a bath while you…go bathe as well?”
Eames glanced down at himself, remembering that he was still naked and blood
spattered. He reached for Yusuf’s cheeks and kissed him on the mouth, getting a
speck of blood on Yusuf’s nose. “Whatever would I do without you?”
"I dare not entertain the thought, your Majesty," he muttered, watching the
King's hurried redressing and retreat back to the palace.
+
 
Mal’s study was a somber place now that she would be leaving soon. Her ladies
sat around her on her bed as she made plans for her departure.
“Lady Catherine, Lady Anna, and Lady Marisol, as much as I love you dearly, I
shall have to love you all from afar. You will remain here to look after our
Arthur. From my understanding, at least three or four ladies and two boys from
the Engston court shall accompany you in forming his attendants.” Each lady
bowed in turn, receiving Mal’s blessing. “Make sure that he maintains his
studies until a proper tutor is employed for his lessons, and make sure that he
eats well and exercises. Don’t allow him to waste his youth with his face
always in a book or oversleeping.”
“Are you happy, Ma’am, that you’ll be engaged to Dominic soon?”vone of her
ladies asked.
“I am,” she smiled fondly and reached over to tuck a loose curl behind the
girl's ear. “I have dreamt of this moment for so very long. He writes to me
often and sends me his small drawings.”
“How did you meet him? Was it at court?”
“We were children, lost in the maze at his uncle’s castle. He pretended that I
was his damsel in distress, but in the end, it was I who saved him from the
labyrinth. We’ve had a game ever since, in which we will send each other mazes
we’ve drawn. His aren’t very good, but I still enjoy them, nonetheless, and let
him win every so often.”
Arthur quietly slipped from the room.
As much as he wanted to enjoy every second he had left with Mal, hearing her
speak so lovingly of Dom only reinforced the fact that she was leaving. He’d
hardly spent a day of his life without her, even when they quarreled. They were
going to start their new lives, and even if Mal didn’t need Arthur, he still
needed her.
He flopped down on his bed. Soon, this room would no longer be his. When the
ship arrived from Milecomté with his possessions, they would all be placed in
the Queen’s court chambers, closer to the King’s.
It hadn’t quite hit him yet, all that was happening, but his fears still ran
rampant whenever he was alone. What if the King found him boring and they
didn’t bond? What if the King’s subjects hated Arthur? What of potential
poisoning plots, like the one that had taken their elder brothers’ mother
before their father remarried. King Eames certainly had an impressive list of
enemies.
And the scariest thought—What if the doctor had truly done him damage? It
wasn’t that he wanted to have children, or knew what to do with them at all,
but…if he couldn’t secure the King at least one son, his life would be over.
There were nunneries for divorced and unbonded beta women, but for a childless
male omega? He shuddered at the thought.
He’d tried one night, when the room was empty and the candles snuffed out, to
feel what was hidden behind his more familiar flesh, to the place that had been
embarrassingly proclaimed by the High Priests as his Sacred Omegahead in front
of the entire Royal Court. It seemed much too small, smaller even than a
woman's sex, he'd supposed, and as much as he tried to coax some pleasureable
response from it, none came. He'd fallen asleep that night unsatisfied and
further perplexed. 
All the ladies, councilmen, and court talk of childbearing and heats made him
dizzy. He’d nearly fainted when he’d been shown the nursery already filled with
cribs.
Two of his siblings had been stillborn. Mal’s mother died delivering her. Both
of his eldest brother’s first wives had died during their child delivering, his
third eldest brother’s first three sons had not lived past infancy and the
man’s daughter was still quite sick. Yet Arthur, insignificant little Arthur,
was supposed to produce the mightiest alpha offspring, miraculously it seemed,
for a werewolf king close to conquering the whole continent.
Arthur filled his lungs with a deep inhale and instantly felt calmer. He
blinked up at the ornate canopy overhead.
Eames readjusted his cloak over his arm and cleared his throat, startling
Arthur.
“Your Majesty, forgive me.” The omega stumbled off the bed to bow. “I didn’t
hear your enter.”
Eames smiled. “I’m not interrupting your thoughts, am I?”
“No, no, Majesty, I was just…” In truth, he had been scaring himself wondering
what sex with the werewolf alpha might be like. He blushed furiously. “I was…”
“You’re nervous." He shrugged. "Of course. Everything here is new to you; the
land, the language, the people, and with your dear sister scheduled to return
home, it must be challenging. I won’t even attempt to lie and say that I
understand what all this must feel like for risk of making myself look like a
fool.” He smiled. “However, I think I might be able to cheer you up just a
little bit.” At Arthur’s curious expression, he lifted his cloak.
Arthur lost all of sense of etiquette and composure seeing Sophie tucked in the
crook of the King’s arm. He rushed forward, hugging the alpha tightly. He took
Sophie into his arms like she was his child.
“Where on earth did you find her, your Majesty?”
“In the clutches of—” Arthur would be horrified by the real story. “Tangled in
a long curtain.”
“Oh thank god, and thank you, your Ma—Um…” He swallowed, looking curiously
sheepish.
Eames tilted his head to the side, confused, but he felt it now. He looked down
at his arm and the side of his wet doublet. He growled.
Arthur sat the dog on the bed. She immediately ran to the pillows and hid under
them. “Your Majesty, I’m so, so sorry. She only does that when she’s scared.
You’re just…unfamiliar, that’s all. I’m sorry.”
He wanted to put the dog in one of the cooks’ stoves and have her for a
snack. “She often pisses on alphas?” He would have to bathe, and burn this
soiled suit.  
“Well…no. She’s… Actually, she’s never done that before. She’s very well
mannered, and quiet. Usually. Perhaps you were holding her too tightly,
Majesty?” He swallowed again before approaching the King with an awkward kiss
for his cheek and hugged him again.
Eames felt as though his heart stopped momentarily when the tiny dog in his arm
had been replaced by a happy omega. He couldn’t be bothered with the dog
nipping at his boots. Arthur’s scent was all around him, enveloping his mind in
a veil of lust. He pulled Arthur back far enough to catch his lips.
For a while, that was all his mind registered. Not his tongue delving into the
omega’s mouth and tasting pomegranates, not the plush bedding under Arthur’s
back, or the ribbons he untied, exposing Arthur's neck, or even his hands on
the waistline of Arthur’s silk tights.
He ended the kiss abruptly, as if he'd woken up from a trance. His rut egged
him on to take Arthur now, but…it wasn’t right or proper. Only when they were
wed would god bless him with heirs. He would be damned, literally, if he
couldn’t resist his temptations and walk away from this bedroom.
“Majesty?” Arthur stared at him with wonder and surprise. He’d frozen when the
King kissed him, never expecting to end up with an alpha in his mouth in
exchange for a simple hug. It was scary, but his heart beat rapidly for an
entirely different reason than fear.
The King’s eyes were golden, his hold on Arthur firm and commanding, even as he
tried his hardest not to return to Arthur’s lips. “Well,” the King cleared his
throat, his hands still on Arthur’s hips. “That was...interesting. Um… Are you
alright, Arthur?”
He could only nod his affirmation. He leaned up a little to touch the King’s
lips with his own, wanting to feel how surprisingly soft they were. Filled with
hesitation, he dared himself to kiss the King the way the King had kissed him.
It was madness, but he was driven, nonetheless.
Hesitation soon transformed into determination. Arthur’s attempts to return the
King’s passionate kisses would have entertained Eames if they weren’t currently
muddling his mind into proceeding with the sin he wished to commit.
Maybe Arthur didn’t necessarily need to be a virgin on their wedding day, and
what would it matter if he bonded to Arthur now, when it was only going to
happen anyways, in a few agonizingly long weeks. And if Arthur’s omegahead
wasn’t yet prepared to be taken, well…there were always other ways to bed this
darling boy in the meantime.
Arthur touched his face and neck and it was all of the encouragement he needed.
Until Sophie lunged forward all of a sudden and bit Eames' face.
+
 
“You did what?” Mal proclaimed, floored by Arthur’s retelling of the evening.
Nightfall had long since arrived, but Arthur couldn’t sleep, so he’d tiptoed
across the parlor to Mal’s room.
He laughed and fell over on her rumpled sheets, Sophie in his arms.
Mal snacked him with a large pillow. “Thank goodness for Sophie! The Royal
Defender of Her Master’s Chastity and—what did Cardinal Bryant say? Your
maidenhead?”
“I have to be a maiden to have one of those.”
She snickered, tumbling over her brother. “Arthur, shame on you!”
“What was I supposed do? He was simply…there, and… Mal, he smelled really good,
and I just…can’t explain what comes over me when he’s near.” He sighed. “I am
entirely flustered, Mal. And I guarantee you that he thought I was a terrible
kisser.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Of course he didn’t.”
“Of course he did. Because I am terrible.” He buried his face in his robe
sleeves. “But I just had to try, to see what it was like to kiss someone. Do
you think he may have felt the same as I did, the first time he kissed me?”
“I think so. You two are destined for each other, after all.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Please stay, Mal. At least until after the wedding.”
“God willing, I will be able to visit you often, but…”
Arthur sighed, but smiled when he nodded. “I know, I know. You have to get
married yourself as well, soon. Which of our brother’s is giving you away?”
“Certainly not our eldest. I’m sure he’ll reserve himself only for your wedding
so that he can plant himself in the middle of all the attention, both socially
and politically. You know he works tirelessly to expand his celebrity at every
opportunity.” She laughed with Arthur. “Which of us will have a child first?”
She raised her brow playfully.
Arthur frowned. “You. I hope. So you might convince me that I shouldn’t be as
terrified as I am.”
“Oh, Arthur,” she sighed, taking his hand. “Trust me when I say that, when the
time comes for our children to be born, the process shall be much kinder for
you than me. We were born for this, but you, all the more so. Your children
shall be the masters of mine. Please remember to teach them mercy and
kindness,” she tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
He watched the fire burn for a moment before saying, “I wish there was more to
my life than that. You know?”
“You’ll rethink that once you hold your first alpha in your arms. Don’t take
your status for granted, Arthur. It has placed you in the line of Queen, and
not just any Queen, as I shall be. No, you will be the Queen of Engston. I
guarantee you that when your name is recorded in history, it shall not only be
because of your childbearing. I have faith in that.”
“You see, Mal, this is why I need you. Who will encourage me when you are—” He
was hushed with Mal’s hand over his mouth.
She looked far off before turning to him. “Listen, I hear something.”
He heard it too, muffled voices and men gathering in the parlor. Arthur crept
from the bed to listen through the door. He prayed the hinges wouldn’t squeak
when he pulled it opened just a crack and peered out. Guards were gathering in
front of his bedroom. “Mal,” he whispered, “come look.”
She held Sophie close to her chest and took a peek. “What on earth are they
doing?”
Arthur’s attempt to answer was thwarted by the chilling sound of a beast
growling from somewhere in the parlor’s shadows.
Mal paled. Thinking quickly, she pulled Arthur from the door and closed it
tightly, bringing down the wooden latch as well.
“Mal, what’s wrong? I want to see.”
He changed his mind when the growl was heard loud and clear through the heavy
door. The guards were shouting, there was a commotion, and then silence, before
screams rang out from the guards as the beast attacked them.
Mal and Arthur hurried to the bed’s headboard, holding each other tightly. He
had to put Sophie under his robe to silence her high-pitched cries.
They could hear thick paws padding on the floor and its claws scraping behind,
like its movements were clumsy, hopefully from a guard’s sword. It was clawing
at Arthur’s door and whining between growls.
Silence fell once more. Mal and Arthur held their breaths. It was now that
Arthur noticed the little dagger Mal had clutched in hands.
Something thudded dully against her door now, followed by heaving scenting and
the tap of claws.
Arthur was suddenly overcome with a short bout of fever and the telltale signs
of his body stirring with pleasure. It ended at once at the realization of just
what beast was behind the door.
His suspicion was only confirmed when a new band of guards entered the parlor.
“Your Majesty, for the love of god, please! We beg you to find your peace and
leave this place before more blood can be shed.”
“Someone send for wolfsbane and the Duke of Sansar! Go now!”
Mal’s arms surrounded Arthur, shielding his ears, but it was too late. The
scratching at the door ceased only long enough for more guards to be mauled.
The wolf’s mighty roar chilled them both to their souls.
“Turn away, Arthur,” Mal whispered, shaking as the hinges creaked. “This is all
a dream gone wrong. Don’t listen, my brother. Close your eyes and turn away. In
the morning you will wake with peace and happiness once more.”
 
Except, when day broke the next morning, and Arthur found himself still tucked
into Mal’s bed, he was hurried off at once, his eyes shielded from mess that
had been made of his and Mal’s doors and the bloody, scratched floor. He was
led immediately to the Queen’s chambers. They were still being hastily prepared
when he arrived.
Arthur was not deceived in the slightest. He was offended that the King and his
council would even think him such a fool not to know that last night wasn't a
dream.
Yet, even his sister pretended. She smiled kindly to the King and accepted his
invitation to attend breakfast eagerly.
It wasn’t as if Arthur would have declined—he wasn’t allowed to refuse the King
anything—but it hurt him that his sister would not at least ask him before
agreeing. He was exhausted from the prior night and wanted nothing more than to
retire to his rooms.
In the end, he gained his wish when he pretended a fainting spell and convinced
everyone of his need for rest.
He paused upon entering his new chambers and seeing the shipment of his
possessions from Milecomté in the parlor. In the hour he’d wasted sitting with
a room full of liars, not one of them had bothered to inform him that it had
arrived. Any hope he’d had of Mal staying longer disappeared, now that that
ship was in port waiting for her. 
He sent away the ladies that had followed him. Arthur sat in front of the
fireplace and allowed himself to weep for a little while. He was so overwhelmed
by this new world and its insurmountable stress, he wanted to scream, and to
smash whatever he could get his hands on.
He distracted himself with a checklist to make sure all of his possessions were
here and in tact. He almost cried again when he found the stack of letters he’d
kept over the years from Robert Fischer. He was tempted to write him a letter
now.
Only the words wouldn’t come. In their place was a bizarre pang from within, of
guilt, but what did he have to feel guilty of with Robert?
When the answer eluded him still, he opted to find comfort in reading his
favorites from the stack, but saw that a new letter had been placed with the
others. Arthur was lost in the prose of a poem Robert had written about his
late father. It angered Arthur to have missed the Fischer King’s passing. And
so much time had passed since Robert had sent it. He had to write him at once,
to send his apologies and prayers.
“What are you doing?”
Arthur spun, too startled to bow. His inexplicable guilt was returned in full
force as he faced the golden-eyed King.
Something was different about him, Arthur caught the change in his scent as the
King walked forward and took his letter.
He watched the King’s brow furrow as he read it. To his dismay, it was crumpled
and tossed into the fireplace.
“Majesty—”
“If you are to be my Queen, I cannot have you conspiring behind my back.”
“No, your Majesty. Sir Robert is a childhood friend. We simply write to each
other for company.”
“My company shall be more than enough for you, my Arthur. Now, discard these
things. They smell vile, like all Fischers.”
Arthur stepped back, his tears fresh. “I beg your pardon, your Majesty, but…it
hurts me to hear you speak of my dear cousin in such a way.” The King stared.
Arthur was unable to meet his eyes. “Please, your Majesty, my Intended, I
promise to never ask you of anything if you grant me permission to maintain my
writing to Robert."
“You will do as you’re told.”
“But, your Majesty—”
“I will not be made to repeat myself.”
Arthur turned, crying in silence.
The King watched Arthur shake his head and bow. He stopped Arthur from
retreating to his bedroom with the letters. “Do it here. I wish to see that my
will is carried out in full.”
“No.” The word was out of his mouth before he could control it. He braced for
the worst.
The King’s brow rose in shock. “You will listen. I am your king, your intended,
and your alpha.”
“I don’t care!” Arthur finally screamed. “You only want to marry me because I’m
an omega! You wouldn’t want me at all otherwise.” He wiped away his tears
angrily, watching Eames’ chest heave and his fists clinch. “You don’t care
about me at all, do you? And yet, if I hadn’t ever come here, if I had remained
in Milecomté, I wouldn’t have to feel like I’ve been locked in a tower without
windows and not even a mouse for a friend once my sister leaves—”
Eames roared, near shifting. Arthur cringed when Eames’ hands lifted him under
his arms and pinned him to the wall. He could feel the pinprick of claws
through his tunic and undershirt.
The King’s bulk held him where he’d been planted. He gripped Eames’ arms as the
werewolf leaned forward, fearing Eames would bite him, but instead, his
forehead pressed to Arthur’s as his eyes bore into the omega’s.
“Rest assured,” the King rumbled low, even more menacing than when his voice
had risen before, “that the second I would have learned of an omega in my
kingdom or abroad, unwed or taken, with or without child, I would have lain
siege to every village and castle from here to there, in order to claim you as
mine. Even your father’s blood would coat my sword if the old man dared to keep
you from me. I am a true alpha king, the conqueror of men, and you are my
omega. No one else has a right to you… Do you understand?”
Arthur wanted to struggle free. He closed his eyes. “Yes.”
“You are lucky to have me as your alpha. Who else would have as much restraint
as I, when all I want is to mate you now and damn the wedding.”
A loud whimper escaped Arthur when he felt those claws pierce his flesh when
Eames tightened his grip. 
“You will get rid of those letters and never write him nor speak his name
again.”
Arthur flinched when Eames buried his face into his neck to scent him deeply.
An appreciative growl rumbled up the King’s chest. Arthur wanted to melt into a
puddle of tears, so shaken by the werewolf still holding him trapped, but more
importantly, he was mortified by the way his body reacted to Eames’ bullying.
That intense ache had returned between his legs, an uneven mixture of pain and
pleasure.
Eames nosed at the blush on Arthur’s cheek before scenting him again. “See?” he
whispered into the curls covering Arthur’s ear as he finally let Arthur’s feet
touch the floor. “Your body beckons me. It is your nature. No weak little beta
could ever inspire that in you.”
“Majesty,” a woman’s voice spoke out just over his shoulder.
When the King turned, Mal swung her fist with every ounce of strength she had,
causing him to stumble back away from Arthur.
“How dare you?” he roared, his fangs fully descended.
Mal held her ground in spite the fear that had her trembling. “You promised
that you would come to me for more of the potion when need be, and yet I find
you here, intent to harm my brother?”
“You would do well not to challenge me, Madam. I am the King of Engston and
shall be treated as such, with respect.”
Her voice was calm when she spoke, her teary eyes now pinning him in place, her
anger radiating from her like heat from a furnace. “Your rut has caused you to
lose your mind, your Majesty. Forgive my overstepping, but any man, alpha
werewolf, king...whatever the case, who would harm an omega is deserving of
little respect. Now,” she crossed her arms, “do you feel better?”
Eames let slip his pain when he rubbed his jaw, surprised, because he truly did
feel better, like he had some grain of composure left in spite of his blinding
need to mate his omega.
He saw that the tips of his nails were red. When he glanced at the wall where
he’d had Arthur, the omega was gone. Only he and Mal stood in the parlor.
Mal was the first to speak. “Your Majesty, I respect and honor you, however, I
care nothing of your pride, so I will say this bluntly. Never touch my brother
in that way or say such things to him as you did ever again.”
“Is that an order, Mallorie?” he asked, his voice carrying none of his usual
power and weight.
“Take it as you wish, Your Majesty.” She bowed, mocking him with her glare.
They stood in the sunlight, at an impasse once again. Eames wanted her to look
away first, it was what everyone did in the presence of an alpha, and yet…
Eames finally growled and dropped his eyes. “I’m not always so…” He wanted to
say his behavior was purely animalistic.
“I do not care. You are not my intended, but Arthur’s. He knows nothing of
alpha heats or the madness they cause.”
She was right. Eames decided it was best to simply nod and leave the room than
to dwell on the fact that he did care about Mal’s opinion of him, and was
ashamed to think that she – and worse, Arthur – saw him as a monster.
+
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     Crossing my fingers that this is one of two updates for the weekend,
     because WOW this has 200 subscribers! You guys really love this fic
     and I really love it and you as well!
     <33333333333
     Enjoy!
+
 
Mal found Arthur bundled up under his thick quilts. He was staring at the
letters as they burned in the hearth.
Her dress ruffled as she sat on the edge of the bed and picked up Sophie. Mal
searched under the cover for Arthur's hand. It was shaking. She squeezed it
carefully.
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” he said. “Take me with you.”
“You know if I could, but…” She sighed, bracing herself. “Your place is here
now.” When he didn’t speak, she tried again. “I have never lied to you, and I
will not begin to now. The King is right, in what he said. Omegas produce the
strongest, healthiest children, and so they must be bonded with great alphas.
King Eames, he’s… He’s different; he is disadvantaged by his bloodlines. That’s
why his behavior was scary, but, Arthur, perhaps things will not always be this
way.”
“And what if they are? You did not want to marry him, so why should I?”
“If Dom was not an alpha I would still have to marry a king that was.”
“But you know Dom, and love him," he argued. "What about Robert? We could have
children together and be married, too. We couldn’t before, when I was thought
to be a beta, but that’s changed. Right? I could certainly grow to love him, I
think. Please?”
She shook her head sadly. “He’s only a beta, Arthur." It broke her heart to see
her brother this way. "I am so sorry.” 
They stared at the fire in silence as she stroked his hand.
“I hate you,” Mal heard him say. His voice was thick from crying.
She closed her eyes against her own tears. “You hate me?” she asked softly.
“Why?”
“Because you’re leaving.”
“I must, Arthur.”
“You’re abandoning me.”
“Of course not.” She turned, trying to embrace him, but he threw off the quilt
and moved away from her. “Arthur, please. You know that I cannot stay.”
“Fine! Then go!” He took Sophie from her and stood, his back turned. He pointed
at the door. “Go to your precious Dominic and your happy life together and
leave me alone. Go away!”
Several ladies rushed in at the commotion, but quickly stepped aside when Mal
hurried past them in tears.
+
 
Yusuf had half a mind to ride his horse straight into the palace. His feet
couldn’t carry him fast enough. He had to duck and dodge past his secretaries,
whose hands were filled with papers and reports.
He found the King in his chambers, still in his long chemise and dressing gown,
even though the afternoon sun shined brightly through the windows. His cup was
untouched and his breakfast long forgotten. His attendants and grooms hovered
by the wall, looking as if they'd weathered a storm. Yusuf had to admit,
however, considering, that a storm would have been better than what had
actually happened while he had been away.
Eames didn’t acknowledge the elder werewolf when the guard ushered him in.
“So,” Yusuf spoke quietly, “my trip to the provinces went well. The mayors,
however, left much to be desired personally, but…”
Eames groaned, rubbing his face. "God, I'd forgotten to sign the orders for
them."
“That's alright, I took the liberty, since we'd discussed it some time before.
How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been trampled…by a legion of carriages, then blasted by a cannon,
and maybe trampled again by that gang of satyrs who'd bested me on our mission
to find fairies when I was a child.”
Yusuf hid his smile, not sure if the King was joking or serious. “This was
perhaps the worst rut you’ve ever had, Majesty.”
“It was, Yusuf. Beyond a doubt. That fine little omega and his
damned...intoxicating hormones. No one had ever told me it'd be like this,
granted I'm sure by the look of things, I wasn't the only one caught by
surprise, that poor boy. And what's worse, with this powerful rut, I feel like
I've been carrying around two cannon balls in my codpiece all the while, all
because my stupid brain thought I'd be siring heirs by now." He and Yusuf both
grimaced when Eames shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "But it’s over,
finally, although…not bloody soon enough.”  
“I can absolutely agree with that, your Majesty.”
Eames looked at Yusuf. “Well? That’s it? Aren’t you going to berate me for not
listening to yours and Mallorie’s counseling?”
Yusuf sighed. “From what I’ve heard of…recent events? Eamesie, I think you’ve
suffered enough. What can I say that you aren’t already thinking yourself?”
He rubbed his eyes. “I have utterly ruined everything, Yusuf,” he lamented,
miserably. “I just... Before, he was just shy but he was curious. Now, he's...
And he'd been so perfect, when he kissed me back. Did I tell you yet, that he'd
kissed me?" He was lost in the memory for a moment. "I don't even remember
shifting that night and we're nowhere near a full moon, but...there I was,
licking splinters from my paws. I just let instinct get the better of me, after
that. And boy did it turn out perfectly! I’m sure my father is dancing in his
grave to see his son—”
“Majesty.” Yusuf sat on the edge of the table and lean forward, taking his face
in hand. “Eames,” he stressed. “Never think of that. You will always be a far
better alpha than either he or your brothers. What happened shall simply stand
as a test, that's all. A test that I have no doubt you will navigate through
with success. You would not be Henry Eames if a strong rut was your undoing,
after slaying dragons, sea monsters, and besting your brothers.”
Eames thought on the elder werewolf’s words for a long time, before he nodded.
“You’re right, Yusuf. Thank you.”
“Now,” Yusuf grunted as he stood on tired legs, “what shall his Majesty’s first
act of redemption be?”
He stood as well and took an apple from the bowl. He ate while pacing. “First I
think, for the good of the court and palace, at least, I should like to make
amends to the guards I…accidentally…maimed, with a modest trust of financial
security for their families.”
“Excellent, Majesty. I’m sure the Prince would also find such generosity to be
pleasing. It would demonstrate the care you have for your subjects.”
Eames tilted his head. "But I don't actually..." At Yusuf's glare, he cleared
his throat. "Yes, right. Good. That’s good, Yusuf.”
“And?”
“Gifts for Arthur. I’ve seen him admire his sister’s broaches. I shall have one
made to look similar to hers. I could have the jewelers fashion twins of all of
her ornaments.”
“Ah, no, Majesty.”
“Why not?”
Yusuf frowned. “I’m not sure that would be the safest idea. I was made aware
that, after your incident with the Prince, he and his sister had a falling out
of sorts. With her departure fast approaching, the good nature of their
relationship may be forever placed on hold, particularly after she marries King
Dominic.”
Eames didn’t want to guilt himself further by thinking of the part he surely
played in causing that rift. He shook his head. “You’re right. He must not be
made to remember unpleasant times.” Particularly when they were Eames' own
fault.
“But jewelry is certainly a great plan.”
“Right. Have the jewelers come to see me in the afternoon.”
“Majesty, it’s already afternoon.”
Eames halted and looked at his clock. “Goodness, where did the time go? I swear
if I never have another rut in my life, I would be the happiest alpha to have
ever lived, Yusuf.”
“From your lips...” He finished the saying by waving his hand towards the
heavens. “Which reminds me, shall I have Parliament begin preparations for the
Prince’s integration into the court?”
“Of course, of course," he waved his hand flippantly, "but whenever you have
time, I want you to stay on those jewelers to make sure that everything is
perfect."
He bowed, pleased with the King's renewed spirit. "Will do, Sire."
"And be sure to deliver them personally, and pay the utmost attention to his
reactions. I need to know how much he likes them."
"I'm sure he'll adore each and every one, Eamesie. Just be careful not to spoil
him."
"He is worth spoiling, and much more. Arthur is to be the mother of my
children," Eames mused suddenly, filled with emotion. "Everything must be
perfect. Everything.”
+
 
The next several days went by in a blur for Arthur. He would wake up panicking
from a nightmare and expecting Mal to be near enough to go to her for
encouragement, but remembering what had happened only made him feel numb
throughout the daylight hours.
In the evenings, he wished to venture to the secret little garden that the King
had shown him, but he always worried that the King would be there himself and
he had no desire to be in the presence of the werewolf alone.
He wanted to run to Mal when he saw her from afar, but when they sat together
at the King’s table for dinner, his words would get stuck in his throat.
 
Arthur daydreamed as he sat for his portrait in the parlor. His mind was far
away, to memories of sneaking from court with her to watch the stars outside in
the gardens, when he was a child. She would make him point out a constellation
and would then tell him stories of how it was formed. They would skip their
lessons to go into the palace’s library, to its hidden backrooms where Arthur
would watch in amazement as Mal created potions from the ancient scrolls.
The painter caught Arthur’s little smile. He snapped the Prince out of his
musings. “Your Highness, if your dog can remain perfectly still in your arms,
then I beseech you do the same,” he reprimanded. “It only takes longer when you
move, young master.”
“If he wishes to smile, let him,” the King ordered from his settee, but
Arthur’s smile was already gone and his spirit deflated with the sigh that
passed his lips. “And you will also take care in how you speak to him, Mr.
Daniels.”
“My apologies, Gracious Majesty. Um, Sire?” the painter asked the King shortly
after, “Shall I paint him in his current clothes, in his father’s colors?”
The King shook his head, glancing at Arthur and quickly looking away. “No, no
more amber and black. Paint him in the kingdom’s colors, my colors. And make
his hair a little longer about his shoulders.” He called over one of his
grooms. “Have the barber and seamstresses informed of the Prince’s desired new
style, my dear boy.”
Arthur’s eyes flashed to the King and followed the groom until he disappeared
through the door. The boy was older, broader in the shoulders, and his hair a
little lighter than Arthur’s. He didn’t understand why he would care or
entertain a single thought of jealousy towards the young groom or
possessiveness towards the King, but… Arthur sighed and shook his head at his
own mind’s ramblings, once again causing him to be chastised by the beta making
his portrait.
 
The night before Mal and her ladies’ trip back home, Arthur was dressed in his
chemise and robe and knelt in front of his plain wooden statue of the Great
Mother in the Queen's private chapel. With his rosary in hand, he prayed for
Mal’s safe voyage home and that her future union with Dominic be blessed.
He professed in his prayers, as he did every night, his desire to be happy for
Mal, even though he was miserable in his own affairs. He went to bed fighting
the urge to sneak through the palace to his sister’s room, to talk and gossip
with her into the early morning hours, just one last time.
In the end, he lay awake in his bed alone and cold in the Queen’s drafty
chambers.
 
"Highness?" The groom stood beside his chair awkwardly. "Prince Arthur?"
Arthur startled slightly, coming out of his musings. He turned from the window
and his view of the attendants loading Mal's carriages and stood to receive the
young man with a heavy heart.
He frowned at the parcel he was offered and opened it with hesitation. He
gasped, not needing to read the letter to know that it was from Mal when the
pendant of her treasured sorceress sigil clattered on the table’s surface.
He turned back to the window and saw her ladies stepping into their carriages.
The eldest lady and a guard chased behind him, trying to stop him from running
as he took the stairs two at a time. “You Highness, please! You’ll over-excite
yourself and cause harm to your delicate facilities!”
He didn’t care. He passed the men of the privy council, who were all talking in
the corridor across from the King’s chambers, he passed a secretary of the Lord
Chancellor who startled, his papers flying all around, and he ran faster still
when several more people called after him. Arthur stopped for no one. He had an
entire palace he needed to clear before he could get to his sister.
Mal paused, her hand on the carriage door and the other held by the attendant
to help her with the step. She glanced behind her at the palace and let her
tears fall freely. She said a prayer for Arthur and turned to enter.
Barking caught her attention and stopped her again. Mal’s heart soared seeing
Arthur hurrying from the palace, little Sophie at his heels, and a band of
worried ladies and servants trailing after.
Mal laughed through her tears. “My Arthur, stop! You will run Lady Catherine to
her death!” Her arms reached out to receive him, hugging him tightly.
He kneeled, kissing her hands. “I'm sorry for being so awfully unkind and
selfish to you, and now it’s too late for—” He was hushed and made to stand.
She planted soft kisses across his face and hugged him again. “My Arthur, my
precious brother, I am glad to share these tears with you, which have
transformed into tears of happiness.” She laughed again when she picked up
Sophie and kissed her head. “But we both know that the time for tears has
ended. You have to be strong and most mature now, in your duties.”
“Will you visit? Please? I’ll…I’ll have the King invade Dom’s country just to
see you again if I must.”
She chuckled. “I promise, as soon as I’m able. Did you read my letter?”
“Not yet. I saw your carriage and ran here at once.”
“I see that.” She hid her smile behind her hand from the ladies and guards who
stood a polite distance away, some of them still heavily winded.
“Your Highness,” the attendant prompted, his hand out for the carriage.
Mal smiled sadly at Arthur’s downturned face. She cupped his chin. “Don’t fear,
sweet Arthur, and stop those tears as well.” She took a moment to look at the
palace and breathe in the air of the surrounding gardens, committing it all to
her memory. “You will prove yourself to be an excellent Queen, I know for sure.
Now, be good, read my letter, take my words to heart, and soon, we shall see
each other again, happy and content with our children and our husbands. And
please, never forget how precious you are, don’t let anymore, not even the
King, take you for granted.”
“I will try, Mal.”
“I shall continue to encourage you and write to you whenever I can.”
“Mal, wait. Please,” he begged, taking her hand again. “Perhaps…one more day?”
“Our father has called me home and I must answer. Pick up your chin and carry
yourself with a high spirit. Do this for me?”
He sighed, letting her go, and nodded.
She kissed his face again. “Good bye, my Arthur.”
He stepped back, wiping away his unshed tears, and held his head high for his
sister.
He watched the carriages drive away, a host of feelings warring in his heart,
but he turned to the palace with resolve even though he had never felt more
small and afraid.
He was utterly alone now. He made a promise to Mal and to himself, nonetheless,
not to let her down as he led the ladies and guards back to his rooms, his
sister’s pendant still clutched firmly in his hand.
+
 
Eames' attempts to win Arthur's favor didn’t work. Not at all.
For weeks, Arthur was gifted, each day it seemed, with a marvelous chest or
pouch of some new token or two. Ropes of rare pearls, gold rings with rubies
and emeralds crafted from all over the country were presented, one after
another. Then, he received a set of cross pendants, each inlaid with sapphires
and pearls and tiny paintings of the Loved Son and the Great Mother. However,
according to Arthur’s eldest brother, Michel, who arrived not long after Mal's
departure, the gaudiness of the crosses was extremely blasphemous to the
religious practices of Milecomté citizens.
Yusuf found it curious enough that, after Arthur’s brother had them removed
from the omega’s possessions, the elder Prince was caught wearing one of those
crosses on several occasions with an ever-growing list of bizarre excuses ready
on his tongue.
Arthur was then given a set of pearl earrings. They scared him, as his ears
were not pierced. Their presence only made his brother assume that the King
expected him to have his ears pierced, so Michel ordered Arthur to have them
done at once. It only led to more pain. Large glittering broaches of polished
gold with precious gems, along with amber pendants and a glittering collar for
Sophie arrived a week later.
Even a set of various chains of office had been fashioned and delivered, if
Arthur so happened to prefer a more masculine style of ornament. His brother
lamented their creation as well, and had them removed from Arthur's possession
as he had with the crosses. A slew of necklaces more reminiscent of what the
ladies wore arrived in his parlor a week later.
Arthur took the time to admire each gift politely, his brother hovering over
his shoulder with a critical eye each time, but Arthur always had the same
response. “His Majesty is most gracious and generous in his gift giving.” The
chest would close and Yusuf would watch one of Arthur’s ladies carry it away to
be forgotten on a shelf somewhere.
Yusuf hovered one afternoon, rather than leaving once the chest was put away.
He watched Arthur bow and return to his book by the fireplace.
He waited until the Prince’s brother was distracted by a passing lady before he
approached the omega again. “May I?”
Arthur seemed surprised that he was still here, glancing around him as if the
King would show up at any second with his men and privy council again. He
nodded, his hand extended to the chair across from him. “Please.”
“How has your Highness been faring these past weeks?”
“I am content, your Grace. Thank you.”
“Only content?” Yusuf asked gently, leaning forward to see Arthur’s eyes under
his lashes.
Arthur glanced at him and then his brother. He nodded. “I enjoy my lessons in
the language and history, and dance as well, although…” His eyes drifted to the
corner but returned to his book before Yusuf could follow his gaze. “Yes, my
Lord, I am content.”
Yusuf drew closer still, lowering his voice. He placed his hand over Arthur’s
book to regain his attention. “Young Highness, if I may speak candidly, he can
be removed, if you wish.”
Arthur’s eyes grew wide. He glanced at his brother who was now looking their
way pryingly. “That isn’t necessary, your Grace,” he whispered. “My father has
sent him to watch over me, until…until I’m married.”
“Well, in that case, we are fast approaching the day,” Yusuf beamed, though his
smile faltered when it wasn’t reciprocated. He sighed and only spoke up again
once the elder Prince’s attention was drawn elsewhere once more. “Are you
certain that there is nothing his Majesty might give you that would ease your
troubled heart, your Highness? Anything at all?”
“Well…” His resolve crumbled. He closed his book and set it aside with a sigh.
“I am content.”
“Very well. I shall be off, though you are welcomed to call on me whenever you
have need.” He took his time in preparing to rise from his chair to look around
the room, searching for some clue here or there. He remembered to pay special
attention to the corner.  “If I may, your Highness, what is that there, wrapped
up on top of those scrolls?”
He caught the change in Arthur’s demeanor at once. A private smile etched its
way to his face. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure his brother was not
watching before he quietly and quickly hurried to fetch it.
Arthur sat down again across from Yusuf, unwrapping the bundle as if it were
the one gift he’d waited his entire life to receive. “It is my quadrant, sir, a
tool for star gazing.”
Yusuf accepted the large tool with rapt curiosity. “This is marvelous.”
He smiled fondly when it returned to his hands, but his smile grew weak as he
explained, “I can’t use it anymore. These windows don’t offer a good view of
the stars. I had a sextant as well, back home. It had to be mounted in a room
high up in the palace where I could see and map the constellations. I’ve seen a
planet or two as well, I think, although my study…was cut short, by my being
here.”
By now, his smile was nearly gone, but he eyed the quadrant with affection
still.
“If you wish, the King can have a new sextant fashioned for you.” At Arthur’s
hesitant frown, he pressed on. “He is forever remorseful for his…prior
blundering. My conscience is not burdened to admit that the King, though grand
and of the highest blood, is still prone to make a mistake or trespass when in
his rut, as is the case for all alphas. Rest assured, however, that when
bonded, as you will soon find, his ruts will be near undetectable then. Does
this at least give you some comfort, young Highness?”
Arthur’s relief was uncensored. “It does, your Grace, more than my words can
express.”
“This is your passion?” Yusuf asked, pointing to the quadrant.
“One of them,” he shrugged shyly. “But…”
Yusuf understood the Prince’s growing sorrow at once. His spirit had seemed to
soar but just as quickly fell when his brother’s familiar hand clasped his
shoulder.
“My young brother has no need for such things now, your Grace,” Michel
condescended and patted Arthur’s shoulder. “Such hobbies are for idle children,
not the future provider of the King’s heirs, as you understand, Lord Yusuf.”
Arthur could do nothing but watch his brother remove the magnificent tool from
his lap.
Yusuf frowned. “On the contrary, your Highness, many great minds often dedicate
their lives to studying the night skies.”
“Well yes, of course, your Grace, but as far as my brother is concerned, his
mind should now be geared solely towards pleasing his intended husband. Isn’t
that right, Arthur?” Michel smiled when Arthur nodded.
Yusuf rose to his feet quickly when the elder Prince turned. “If my may, your
Highness, I would like to keep this for myself, to use in my leisure.”
Arthur looked close to tears when his brother carelessly dropped his quadrant
into the Lord Chancellor’s arms.
Yusuf made it a point to wink at him when the elder Prince’s back was turned
once more. He bowed low to both princes before leaving, a plan already forming
in his mind.
+
 
 
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Summary
     Eames' luck turns around, and he and Arthur have a connection.
+
 
Eames let his paws sink into the muddy soil, his fur wet from the rain. Through
the carnage of the field and thick smoke clouds, he could see what remained of
his fallen soldiers.
He wasn’t pleased by the sight at all.
He raced through more scorched fields and swam through streams and creaks still
tinged red with blood until he caught the fresh scent of his long searched for
prey. Beyond the trees, the bands of rebels were marching back to their camps
to celebrate their victories. Eames’ generals followed close behind, bloody and
in chains. He howled, letting his entourage of werewolves, his pack, know that
he was prepared to attack.
The rebels didn’t see them until the werewolves were already upon them,
descending from the foggy hills with their teeth bared. In spite of the rebels'
heavy armor, Eames' jaws still smashed, crunching down on flesh and bone, his
claws carving deep gorges into their shields.
His great roar echoed over the countryside, drowning out the rebels’ screams
until the rain-drenched clearing was covered with more bodies and more blood.
Eames was still pulling arrows out of his chest and arms when one of the
rescued generals patted him merrily on the back.
“Your Majesty, this shall be the battle of the ages! Every man from here to
Hell shall quake in terror at the very mention of the werewolf ruler of
Engston, who, with a band of only seven werewolves, eviscerated an entire
legion of rebels.”
He stood with his pack, redressing only enough to be presentable for when they
reached the city. “Well, I couldn’t let a bunch zealous farmers get away with
killing my brigade, carting off my cannons, my guns, my horses…and certainly
not my generals,” he assured them in a deadly tone. He picked a bloody splinter
out of his teeth. “Besides, I need you all.”
“Indeed, your Majesty,” another general spoke, smiling. “There will always be
more boys to fill the empty boots of the soldiers, but none can easily replace
us.”
“No,” Eames corrected him, “that’s bullshit, you fool of a duke." The others
all paused to hear the King speak. "You are all supposed to be my most gifted
and unbeatable leaders in battle, who reassured me many times over the past
month that I need not trouble myself with the campaign, to focus on my marriage
preparations, as you all had the revolt under control. And yet,” he rumbled,
stepping into the smug general’s personal space, “I trusted you, and let more
boys fill those empty boots each time you all lost battles that ought to have
been easily won. Now what do I see, when I must appear in person to save the
last of you? How you led brigade after brigade to their deaths and turned these
once gorgeous fields into mass graves. That is what I see.”
“Ma-Majesty,” the general chuckled nervously, swallowing. “I’m afraid I don’t
understand.”
The King’s eyes glowed gold and he turned, knowing well that the generals would
follow. “I will speak more plainly then. I need you all alive so that each and
everyone one of you can explain to the council just how you managed to fuck up
this campaign as thoroughly as you did. And then, gentlemen, I will kill you
all myself.”
+
 
It was a rare occasion when Arthur managed to slip free of his brother and
attendants, who were now tripled with the Engston ladies and boys joining his
household.
He followed Sophie as she walked and sniffed wherever her nose led her. He was
a little worried to have her roam free after being lost that time before, but
walking Sophie was just one line of advice that Mal had left for him in her
letter. Sophie might not be so jealous of the children, she’d said, if she were
familiar with being out of Arthur's lap more often.
Arthur was only just realizing that he ought to have given her the collar the
King had made for her so she could be leashed, when she caught sight of a mouse
and took off behind it. He couldn’t shout for her or risk giving himself away
to the people who were no doubt searching for him, so he chased her as quietly
as he could.
Her little tail wagged happily as she burrowed behind a long hanging curtain.
Arthur stomped over annoyed and threw the curtain aside.
“Sophie!” he hissed. “Michel will whip us both if he finds us playing in a
curtain,” he chided, but his scowl softened when she looked at him through her
lashes, her eyes wide and innocent. He shook his head fondly and was crouching
to pick her up when he heard male voices drift down the corridor. Fearing that
it was his brother, Arthur pulled the curtain back and hid behind it, waiting
for the men to pass.
Even worse than his brother, it was the King and his Lord Chancellor whose
voices quickly grew nearer. Arthur knew he would be found in a matter of
seconds; the one person who could catch his scent in a great hall crowded with
so many the way he had during the festival and tennis match would surely know
his scent in the empty corridor now.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how angry I was, Yusuf,” the King was saying.
“They were so…pompous, so arrogant, even after nearly being led to their deaths
in chains by those rebels. I mean, my god, Yusuf, what has happened to my
generals?”
“They were your father’s generals before. They’ve grown complacent in their
power, lazy, and greedy, and in the face of a real challenge, they proved
themselves to be incompetent, your Majesty.”
Lucky for Arthur, the curtain was thick and heavy with the smell of dust and
age. The King and his Lord Chancellor passed, still wrapped up in their
conversation.
Arthur sat behind the curtain with relief, but Sophie wiggled out of his grasp
when he moved to stand. The dog bounded down the corridor and around the corner
after the King.
Eames sank into his chair with a tired sigh. He reached for an apple from the
table and began to slice it with his thumb claw. He ignored Yusuf’s reproachful
glare. “So what do you suggest I do?”
“Use a knife?”
“Yusuf.”
He shook his head. “On one hand, if you convict them of treason, you’ll gain
more enemies in the confidants and sons they leave behind, but on the other
hand, if you simply retire them to live quiet lives in their estates, then
there is no guarantee that they won’t simply turn against you anyways.”
Eames nodded. “I’ll retire them and call their sons to court, to be my
gentlemen-in-waiting or have the older ones become part of the pack.”
Yusuf stroke his chin, contemplating the plan. “You would keep the sons in your
sight, their fathers would be able to boast of their sons’ high statuses, and
in the end, loyalty is maintained. I like it. But there still ought to be a
trial.”
“To put the fear of god in those old fools,” the King agreed, smiling.
“The fear of god, indeed, Majesty. And I imagine that when no evidence of
treason is found, their subjects, for whom many of the soldiers were family to,
would not be very pleased and may want to overthrow those old masters.”
“What a pity that would be,” he lamented sarcastically, distracted by the faint
sniffing sound of a small nose circling his ankles. He slid his chair back,
startled to have missed the dog’s sneaking in.
Sophie jumped into his lap at once, happy to lick the traces of apple from his
fingers and hand.
Eames stared at her with a face twisted in distaste and confusion. In the end,
distaste overpowered all else and he dumped her onto the floor, only for her to
jump back into his lap.
Yusuf cooed in his chair, positively delighted. Eames stopped her from licking
his face, holding her away from him. She was tiny in his hands, and looked
sweet—since she wasn’t peeing on him this time around. She smelled faintly like
Arthur.
“I just want to rip you to shreds, you little mutt,” he murmured, “or drop you
to the river from my chamber pot and watch you drown—”
“Ah, Majesty?” Yusuf rose from the table.
Eames looked up to see Arthur hovering in the doorway. He stood quickly, Sophie
still in his hands. “Hello, Arthur.” He cleared his throat, but that didn’t
stop his stomach from twisting into knots.
“Majesty,” Arthur bowed politely, stepping forward with a peculiar expression.
“You…you look lovely. You always look lovely, but today, you’re…” Eames had no
idea why he was so nervous. He was the King of Engston and had already been a
ribbon tie away from getting into his tights once before. Yet still, he feared
saying or doing the wrong thing. Of all the times for Yusuf not to speak out of
turn, this was definitely not a good time to be silent, not when Eames
desperately needed his help.
“Thank you, Majesty,” Arthur said to his feet.
“Uh, here.” Eames dropped Sophie into Arthur’s arm. The rich forest green of
Arthur’s tunic made his eyes look dark and deep. Eames felt as if he were
contently shipwrecked in their seas.
Yusuf brought him back to the shore. “Majesty?”
He hadn’t realized how far into Arthur’s space he stood until the omega looked
away, distracting himself by kissing Sophie’s head.
“I apologize for interrupting your meeting, your Majesty,” Arthur stepped back.
“I’m glad, though, to see you play with Sophie.” The corner of his mouth
quirked up in a whisper of a smile. “She must really like you now. That’s
good.”
Eames’ rut was gone, but Arthur’s scent still made his head so foggy. His smile
was lopsided and wide.
At long last, Yusuf swooped in to save Eames from staring. “Majesty, I believe
you have an invitation to extend to the young prince?”
“Yes.” He blinked, feeling terribly awkward. He cleared his throat and stood a
little straighter and sure. “As you know, there will be a banquet tomorrow
evening to celebrate our approaching union. I would like for you, and your
brother of course, to sit at my side, but beforehand, I would like for you to
join me for dinner.”
“Oh certainly, your Majesty.” Arthur bowed. He fought the urge to tuck his hair
behind his ear, not used to its length yet. “I…look forward to it.”
After a long pause, he noticed that the King and Lord Chancellor were waiting
for him to leave so they could continue their discussion. He quickly bowed
again and carried Sophie out into the corridor, his ears turning red under his
hair. He couldn’t believe that he still couldn’t be in the same room with his
intended without making even a simple talk so painfully awkward.  
“I can’t believe I'm still so awkward, Yusuf. This is madness,” Eames grumbled.
“I’m a bloody werewolf alpha. I just ran across the country, scenting my enemy
for days, and then leveled their army, and yet…”
“And yet, you get tongue-tied around a pretty boy.”
He tossed up his hands in exasperation. “Exactly!”
Yusuf nodded. “I understand.”
“I can conquer nations, and draft tax plans and budgets in my sleep, but I
can’t give him a compliment without…being a bloody ogre. And tell me he liked
at least one of the gifts I sent him—Wait, don’t answer that. I already know. ”
He rubbed his face.
“Which is why I already have everything taken care of.”
“What do you mean?” His brow rose at Yusuf’s smug grin. “Yusuf, what were you
up to while I was away?” he questioned, circling him.
“Would your Majesty like to accompany me to an unveiling?”
“I would indeed, your Grace.”
Eames followed the elder werewolf through the palace, up the large spiraling
staircase in the tallest tower. Workmen and servants carrying building
materials and furniture up and down the steps paused to bow for the passing
King. He nodded at each man and woman, wondering when he’d signed off on a
construction project.
He nearly tripped when Yusuf led him through the doorway of the only room on
the landing. “My god, what have you done?”
Yusuf beamed at Eames’ wonder and laughed. “I’ve saved you, that’s what. Your
Arthur loves the stars,” he explained.
Eames scratched his head. “And this…thing…is used for…?”
Yusuf shrugged. “That’s for Arthur to know and you to improvise.”
Eames glanced over at him for only a moment before grabbing Yusuf and
enveloping him in a tight hug. Yusuf chuckled as Eames squeezed him in his
arms.
Eames pulled back to look at the elder werewolf. “Yusuf, I swear, if this
works, then you and I are going to celebrate, and then I’m going to draft a
decree making you my regent in all affairs, whether I be on my deathbed or out
in the fields of battle. I swear to you.”
Yusuf couldn't speak for a moment. “Majesty, I… This isn’t…”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Yusuf contained his shock and patted Eames’ back before heading for the door
again, feeling as if all the power in the world were now bundled up under his
hat. “Then let’s draft this decree first, before you get yourself piss drunk on
spirits and wake up hungover and forgetful in the morning.”
“Deal. Wait,” Eames called after him, “where are you going?”
“To handle Michel while you give Arthur his new gift!”
+
 
Arthur’s brother was waiting for him when he returned to his rooms. He grabbed
Arthur in the crook of his elbow and dragged him impatiently into his bedroom.
Michel eyed him crossly. “Where have you been, Arthur?” He inhaled deeply into
the omega’s neck and hands.
Arthur moved out of his reach, annoyed by his constant hovering. “I took Sophie
out for exercise and briefly spoke with his Majesty.”
“Without me?” Michel sputtered, eyes wide. “Are you daft, boy? I am supposed to
chaperone you whenever you step foot outside of these chambers. He could have
stolen your honor! Hell, anyone roaming those corridors with a prick could have
taken your honor, and then where would you be? Only petulant brats misbehave
like this, Arthur.”
The remainder of his tirade was put on hold when one of the boys stepped into
the room, informing Arthur that the King wanted to see him again.
His brother hurried to his mirror to make sure his clothes and hair were
presentable before taking Arthur’s elbow again.
Arthur rolled his eyes to the heavens as they walked. In spite of being
summoned by the King, his brother still took his precious time in escorting
him. He stopped to make pleasant conversation with several passersby and made
sure to call the attention of every beta woman that walked near enough, even
though he was long married.
All the while, Arthur was his bait to lure them in. They doted over Arthur's
hair and clothes and professed their excitement at the wedding and the prospect
of seeing him grow heavy with child. Arthur refused to blame his
lightheadedness on anything other than hunger.
Lord Yusuf turned the corner like a blessing long wished for.
“Prince Michel.” Yusuf bowed and kissed his cheek politely. “Just the man I
needed to see. I beg of you, please, accompany me to my office so that we might
discuss the shipment of gifts the King wishes to give to your father.”
“Gifts, you said?” Michel was intrigued at once, drawn in to any subject so
long as it circled back to money. “I’m all ears, your Grace.”
And just like that, Arthur was forgotten. The Lord Chancellor’s secretary led
him the rest of the way to the stairs and landing within the tower.
He took the steps curiously, momentarily fearful after his brother’s threats of
honor-theft. His hands were balled into fists and his shoulders hunched as he
walked closer, seeing the King standing next to a large draped thing.
Arthur assumed that it was his portrait finished, but couldn’t understand why
it would be placed in front of the window in a dust-covered tower.
Eames positively thrummed with nerves. He hurried to Arthur and took his hands,
guiding him into the room. He was a little heartbroken to catch Arthur’s
panicked glance over his shoulder. His ladies and boys fanned out close behind
him so that he wouldn’t have to be alone with the werewolf king.
“Majesty?”
Try as he might, Eames couldn’t think of anything clever or romantic to say, so
he ordered the sheet to be removed instead and stood back, out of Arthur’s way.
Arthur let his mouth fall open and blinked up at the giant sextant and its
intricate design. The frame alone was stunning, carved and fashioned into ropes
of warring dragons. The brass beams shined in the light of the setting sun. He
was grateful that the King and his attendants stood close by, ready to catch
him the moment his legs refused to hold him.
He blinked again only to find himself gazing into the King’s worried eyes as he
was lifted to his feet.
Eames took his face in his hands. “Are you alright, my darling?” He already
braced for the worst. Arthur’s hug took him completely off guard.
Arthur couldn’t help but weep tears of overwhelming joy into the King’s doublet
collar. He turned in his arms to look upon the sextant once more and noticed
the gold-plated quadrant on the table. “They are both so beautiful. I cannot
possibly accept any of this, your Majesty.” All along, he’d been silently
mourning the loss of his tools, and yet the King had been working tirelessly to
give them back to him, greater and more magnificent than any tool he’d ever
seen. And all this was his. This room, so secluded and quiet, peaceful, without
the clutter of so many people, was all his. He felt he would go weak again just
thinking about it.
Arthur’s attendants still remained close to him as the King led him to the
sextant. They admired the detail of its craftsmanship, though Eames’ was
focused more on the feeling of Arthur’s hand clutching the back of his doublet
and of the other touching on his arm.
Nearly as fast as the thought crossed Eames’ mind, Arthur took a small, shy
step to the side and awkwardly held his own hands. Eames frowned at the loss of
contact.
Arthur looked up at him, still blurry-eyed and smiling. “Do you enjoy star
gazing as well, Sire?”
Eames was prepared to lie, but opted for truth instead. “I much prefer botany,
actually.” He chuckled when Arthur wrinkled in his nose in response. “You make
it seem like its boring.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“No, no,” the King grinned. “It is rather boring to most people, I admit. But
sometimes…there can be real adventure in studying plants.”
His mood shifted, Arthur noticed, but he didn’t speak.
“There is a plant, for example, in the northern forests of Cobelståd that’s
rumored to have powerful capabilities,” the King mused. His spirits seemed to
dampen the more his explained. “When consumed, this plant serves as a tool for
lucid dreaming and navigating effortlessly through the deepest depths of one’s
mind.”
“That sounds extraordinary,” Arthur breathed, charmed by the King’s passion.
“I’ve been very close to acquiring this plant several times, but they exist
outside of this realm and only by conquering the country of its origin will I
ever been able to hold it in my hand and wield its power. It has been the cause
of much stress as of late. I imagine, for you, it would be akin to being
withheld from the stars.”
“Perhaps very soon you’ll be able to have your wish, Majesty,” Arthur offered,
feeling guilty that he would be so happy with his stars and tools while the
King had nothing.
“I shall receive news of the campaign in Cobelståd in the morning. God willing,
the report will be very promising, however, you need not trouble yourself, my
Arthur.”
“But Majesty,” he shook his head, glancing at the sextant reverently, “there is
no knowable way to repay you for such a wondrous gift.” He turned to the King
and was met by a hand on his stomach and a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Soon,” the King assured him, “you will grant me such blessings that will truly
be beyond recompense.” He kissed Arthur's cheek again and fought the urge to
growl when one of his own attendants approached him with news and requests. “If
you’ll excuse me, Arthur, I must go, but I do look forward to seeing you again
tomorrow.”
Arthur let him kiss his hand and forgot to bow before the King left. He looked
down at his flat stomach and narrow waist, but then remembered that people were
watching him.
He stood in front of the table, his back turned to the boys and ladies who were
now looking over the various scrolls and books and tinkering with the quadrant.
Arthur was happy to see that his maps had been brought up from his rooms. When
his hand rested on his stomach, at the same place where the King’s own hand had
been, he didn’t bother to remove it. A little smile played on his lips all the
while.
+
 
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
+
 
Arthur was beyond startled to find himself being pulled out of bed the next
morning.
His bedchamber was in disarray as his boys and ladies pleaded with his brother
to unhand him, but Michel couldn’t be swayed.
“Let go of me,” Arthur ordered reflexively, completely lost. "You're hurting my
arm!"
Michel shook his shoulders. “What did you do to the King?”
“What? Nothing! I don’t understand, Michel, why are you angry?”
“Did you…did you let him take your honor? Answer me!”
The ladies gasped in shock at his vulgarity.
Arthur paled. “Of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?”
“Because the King’s campaign in Cobelståd has failed. Therefore, King Dominic
has been able to reclaim two of his seized territories,” he explained. “And all
of King Eames' generals were arrested for treason this morning.”
Arthur placed his hands over his heart as it sank, remembering how much the
King longed for that campaign to succeed. He was torn, saddened by the King's
misfortune and guilty that he could not feel happy for the success of Mal's
husband. Yesterday had gone so well. It was a tragedy for the morning to ruin
the King’s day. “But…why are you blaming me for this?”
“The entire country is blaming you for this. King Eames has never lost a
battle, let alone a campaign. What did you do? Did you seduce him? Did you
provoke him to touch you? Anything that would distract him from his duties as
King, or…or something that would damn the marriage bed?" He paused for a moment
before his mind conjured a new theory. "Is it someone else? Arthur, who have
you been sneaking around with? Who did you give your omegahead to?” His grip
softened as Arthur covered his face and began to cry. Taking his hands, Michel
implored him more urgently. “Please, Arthur, for the Great and Holy Mother's
sake, this could be the death of you, do you understand, boy? Be honest with
me.”
“I haven’t done anything! I swear, Michel! I’ve been here with you, always.”
“What about before I arrived, when you were in your sister’s negligent care?
And you snuck away twice yesterday, and then when I returned from my meeting
with Lord Yusuf, you were still not here and your attendants, for all the good
they’re worth, were missing as well!”
“You Highness,” Lady Catherine, Arthur's former nursemaid, placed her hand on
Michel’s arm gently, “please be kind. You're scaring him. There is a perfectly
good—”
“Lady Catherine,” he looked at her with surprise, “do not tell me what to do.
You are not my elder.” He looked back at Arthur, skepticism and pity warring
over his face as he ordered, “Get dressed. We will go to the Queen’s chapel so
that you may properly confess. I have half a mind to call the physician so he
may examine you and then submit a report of your guilt or innocence, in order
to restore your good grace with the people.”
“No, Michel, please!" He wrestled free from his brother's hold. "I’ll go to the
chapel, but not that!” 
His brow rose at Arthur's pleading. He crossed his arms. “If you are innocent,
why do you protest a simple visit to the King’s doctor?”
"Your Highness, please,” Lady Catherine tried again, letting Arthur take her
arm and stand behind her. “Lady Marisol and I can both assure you, from our
witnessing his prior examine, that his protest is only from fear. Your brother,
Prince Gerard, was here as well and witnessed the doctor’s wrongdoing.”
“That doctor is dead,” Michel countered.
“Yes,” she nodded slowly, her expression masking her disbelief over how
oblivious the elder Prince was to his own words, “and his attack on Prince
Arthur's person is the reason why he is dead, your Highness.”
+
 
Arthur’s stomach would not cease its unpleasant flipping nor his knees stop
shaking until they’d left the chapel and, rather than go to the physician’s
offices, Michel escorted Arthur and his attendants back to his rooms.
He sank onto his bed, exhausted from his fretting. When Michel retired to his
own room to write a letter to their father, Lady Catherine sat on the bed next
to Arthur and petted his hair.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice embarrassingly cracked.
“Hush, my Prince,” she soothed. “Soon you shall be wed and your insufferable
brother will be returned to his duties back home. And when you’re with your
first child and the King is utterly smitten—”
“More smitten than he already is,” a boy cut in.
Lady Catherine chuckled. “When he is utterly bewitched by the sight of you with
child, you’ll never have to fear another doctor again. You’ll be able to pick
and chose who tends to you.” When he nodded, still looking overwhelmed, she
smiled. “Now, now my dear, what troubles you still?”
“Is it true that everyone hates me? I haven't done anything wrong, I promise.” 
She wiped at his tears as the others settled on the bed to comfort him as well.
“Prince Michel exaggerated, surely." She cut her eye at another lady nervously.
"Don’t cry, sweet Prince. So long as the King favors you, you have nothing to
fear.”
“But what if he doesn’t? He will blame me too, right?”
“We will make that impossible. Ladies, boys,” she clapped her hands to get them
all in attention. “Bring forth all of the King’s gifts, please.” She made
Arthur sit up and dried his eyes. “The quickest way to a man’s heart is not
just to let him know that you are his, but to show off his claim publicly. So,
that is what you will do.”
Arthur grimaced, uncomfortable with the idea, but he nodded, remembering that
Mal had left him similar advice in her letter. “It would make him happy.”
“Indeed, your Highness. Now," she stood as the chests of jewels were brought
forward and opened for Arthur to see, "which of these marvelous gems shall you
wear to dinner, and then what larger piece would you like to wear this evening,
for the court banquet?”
+
 
Arthur had never been to the King’s chambers before. He should have been filled
with pleasant nervousness, excitement. In fact, the only unpleasant feeling
should have been his earrings getting caught in his hair or having to leave
Sophie behind with one of the ladies, but his brother had ruined the afternoon
before Arthur could even step out into the corridor.
The way Michel looked at him as Arthur was dressed for dinner, and then, when
Lord Yusuf arrived to escort Arthur and his attendants himself, as it was made
known that Michel had not been invited to this dinner? It would have hurt
Arthur less to have been called a whore and disowned outright, instead of the
silence and glares.
What was worse, Arthur still had no idea what to expect once in the King's
presence. He cursed himself for not doing more to remember the happy feelings
that had buzzed inside him at the King’s teasing, or how young the King had
looked when he'd smiled, or how his chest had swelled with pride at giving
Arthur a gift he actually liked. All those things were surely gone forever, now
that the King had lost his bid for Cobelståd.
 
Eames stood still enough for his groom to place the silver and emerald chain of
office on his shoulders, but the boy’s hands shook so badly, the chain
clattered to the floor.
“F-forgive me, Majesty, I’m so—”
"You've been my groom for months, boy. Either do your job or get out," he
growled. Eames glared at him like the boy was a weed that needed to be trampled
or pulled. He cut his eye at the others who were drawing back the drapes and
setting the table. Everyone was fumbling, afraid, their heartbeats almost
deafening to his ears.
The boy finished polishing the chain and tried to fasten it around Eames' neck
again, this time successful. He bowed his body nearly in half before hurrying
off when the King dismissed him.
Eames paced in his parlor. His battle losses had him too on edge to function
without lashing out at random. For a moment, he considered putting the dinner
on hold, the banquet, even the wedding—until the usher announced the arrival of
his Lord Chancellor and the Prince. He turned to greet them but froze upon
seeing Arthur.
He was speechless when the omega curtsied instead of bowing. Gold silk peeked
through the decorative slashes in Arthur’s loose black, belted tunic when he
moved. Its wide neck hung low on his shoulders, giving Eames a glorious view of
his chemise.
“Majesty.” The lilted word issued from Arthur’s lips like a promise, caressing
Eames’ ears.
He extended his hand for Arthur to rise and kiss his rings. It was clear by the
tremor in the Prince's hand that he too was afraid of Eames. Arthur watched him
covertly, his eyes lifting from the floor to Eames’ face with trepidation,
misunderstanding the King’s silence. Even his attendants kept their eyes down,
as if waiting for Eames to snap and send them off. 
"Highness," he managed to greet him at last. "What a pleasure to see you
again." Eames took Athur's hands and pressed his lips to both of them before
kissing his cheeks as well. The relief in Arthur's face when he smiled so
brightly caused Eames' words to catch in his throat again. 
Arthur was stunning. How could Eames allow his heart to stay troubled when he
was too busy falling in love with the shy Prince? No rut or heat to enchant his
mind. Just seeing him, hearing his voice, having Arthur near, quelled Eames’
anger beyond belief, even before Lady Catherine cleared her throat loudly,
prompting Arthur to look her way. When she touched her hat, Arthur remembered
to tuck his hair behind his ear, revealing one of the pearl earrings he'd been
gifted.
Eames touched his jaw to see the swinging tear-shaped pearl. "They look even
better on you than I could have imagined."
Oh, if only they weren’t surrounded by servants and attendants.
Yusuf cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll leave you both to it.”
Eames managed to look at the elder werewolf long enough to nod and see him take
his leave.
Two servants stepped forward with a bowl of fresh water and a towel for the
king and prince to wash their hands. The table was covered with a sizable
selection of foods.
Five of Arthur’s ladies stood close behind his chair as the rest of the
servants and Eames’ attendants hovered near the walls. Eames was curious, but
didn’t ask why the women stood where they were.
“So, how is your sister?” he opted to ask instead. “I trust that you write to
her? Was her voyage home untroubled?”
“Indeed, Majesty, though, we haven’t written to each other yet.”
“She and her alpha have wed?”
“Yes, Sire. Two weeks ago. Michel informed me of this yesterday, in fact.”
“It was a treaty marriage?”
“Oh no, Majesty, although King Dominic and our father have been allies for many
years.”
“King Dominic, you said?”
Arthur paused, his spoon of soup close to his mouth. He looked up at the King
with dread. “Yes, Majesty.” He spoke softly. “He and Mal had been hoping for
this marriage for quite some time now.”
Eames sat back, looking grim.
Arthur swallowed and carefully reached forward to take his hand. “I deeply
apologize for bringing him up, Sire. I will be more mindful from now on.”
Eames pinned Arthur with his gaze, but the Prince never removed his hand. At
last, Eames huffed and brought Arthur’s hand to his mouth to kiss. “Perish the
thought, your Highness. I may regret saying this in a few years, but I prefer
for you to speak openly, freely, whatever your thoughts.”
Arthur’s smile of relief returned, warmed his heart and quelled Eames’ anger
again. “How are your other siblings?” Eames asked after a moment.
“Very well,” he supposed. “Gerard enjoys his envoy duties, and I’ve been told
that Paul looks forward to his upcoming promotion as a general. He wishes to
visit soon, if your Majesty permits?”
"Is he anything like Michel?" he teased.
"Not at all actually," he grinned. "He can be very kind and thoughtful."
“Oh, well then, of course! I look forward to it.”
“Thank you, Majesty. And, Michel writes to our father often, so I assume that
he and my mother are in good health as well.”
“You don’t write to your father?”
“No, Sire.”
Eames set down his wine, intrigued. “Is he a good man and king?”
He nodded. “His people love him very much.”
“Only his people?”
Arthur's eyes lowered to his soup. He shrugged. “I don’t know him, honestly.
Michel and Gerard live at the palace with him and my mother. Paul, who is of a
similar age to Mal, now lives in a castle near the borders, but…Mal and I have
always lived in the countryside. She raised me, with the good Lady Catherine,
of course. My mother was very young. She was one of Queen Marie's ladies
first, and from what Michel has told me, she was only meant to keep the King
company, as she did when Mal's mother still lived. Even she did not expect,
after being his mistress for so long, to ever conceive me. Whenever Mal is
summoned to return to court, I always go with her, but she isn’t called very
often.”
“I see.” He didn't want to voice his thoughts on the matter. Arthur seemed
content enough with his family, in spite of being treated as if he were an
illegitimate son.
Arthur was blocked for a moment by a servant cutting a large slab of boar for
the King’s plate. The meat was hardly cooked and bloody, but the King devoured
it.
Another servant placed duck on Arthur's plate. The portion was much smaller
than the King’s, but thankfully well-cooked.
He tore off bread and quickly gave it to the King when the alpha saw it in his
hand. He smiled, watching the King eat. He and Sophie were much the same when
it came to table manners. Regardless of the King’s invitation to speak freely,
Arthur swallowed that opinion down with his bread and wine rather than voice
it.  
Eames caught Arthur suppressing a yawn when the servants stepped back. “Long
night, or am I a terrible host?”
“No, no, your Majesty—Well, yes. I mean, yes, I admit that I neglected sleep in
favor of the observatory." He smiled sheepishly into his wine. "The skies are
so clear at night. And the view from the tower is quite beautiful.”
Eames rested his chin on his hand, listening to Arthur ramble about his stars
and theories, witnessing Arthur blossom more and more as he described his
favorite constellations. Eames had no idea what he said several times when
Arthur had to say a word he didn’t know yet how to translate or when he used a
word in Eames’ language incorrectly. Eames didn’t have the heart to correct
him. When Arthur spoke, full of confidence and grace, he wouldn’t dare to stop
him.
“Duval is a funny name for a country, actually,” Eames found himself commenting
when the conversation shifted and slowed.
Arthur’s laugh was boyish and charming. “It means ‘hooked shaped.’” He broke
off a small piece of bread and dipped it into his soup. He dabbed the borders
of his country on the edge of the bowl. “See?”
The servants cleared the table when they finished their main courses in
preparation for dessert.
Every now and then, Arthur would self-consciously touch his ears, playing with
the pearls or untangling them from a stray curl.
Eames caught his hand when it reached for his ear again. He smiled as he
admired Arthur’s long, slender fingers. Eames pointed to the small ring on
Arthur’s forefinger. “Where is this one from?”
“My mother. It had been a gift to her from my father when I was born.”
“And this one? What is this stone?”
“It was a gift from Paul, from one of his missions in the east. I think he
called it topaz. He gave Mal a matching one. This one here is my favorite,” he
showed him the large amber ring on his opposite hand. 
Eames studied them for a while before touching Arthur’s only bare finger. “I
think I like this one best of all.”
Arthur tilted his head. “Majesty?”
“Mine will go here,” Eames explained. “I like it already.”
“Michel says that I should stop wearing these others, when…” he dropped his
eyes, blushing.
“It seems like Michel says a lot of things, mostly out of turn.”
"He's right. If I am to be a...a good mate, then I should submit myself to you
and your household, instead of..."
Eames squeezed and kissed his hand. “Arthur, I’m not asking you to give up who
you were before. My only wish is for you to be who you are, with me, for me.”
He sighed when Arthur withdrew a little more. “I fully understand your
hesitation, in all of this. You don’t love me; that’s fine. But…I at least
would like for you and I to be friends.”
Eames found himself holding his breath for any sign from Arthur that he just
might, in time, want the same.
Arthur frowned, looking past Eames’ shoulder to the fireplace. “I… Majesty,
that is…far more than I could have ever wished for. Michel says that I shoul—”
“Oh, damn your brother, and pity his wife and children. What words did he have
for Mal, I wonder. Nothing kind, I’m sure. I don’t want a servant for my mate,
Arthur. Will you accept my offer instead of whatever tales he’s put in your
head?”
At last, brown eyes rose slowly, studying him, before Arthur nodded.
Eames stood, holding Arthur’s hand. He kissed it again. “Then I look forward to
having you join me, and this grand household of mine, officially, tonight at
our banquet.”
Arthur stood and curtsied. He gasped into the King’s mouth when he was
surprised with a kiss. 
He couldn’t help but think, standing in his room as Lady Catherine and the
others sewed him into his festival clothes, that perhaps Mal had been right
about the King all along. 
+
 
The royal court was alive with music and fanfare. The view from the windows
glowed in bright, multicolored fireworks. Joyful murmurings buzzed throughout
the hall, anticipating the arrival of the King and his Intended.
Everywhere, flags and banners were raised in the colors of all the representing
kingdoms. Wolfshire’s burgundies and yellows, Engston’s blues and grays and
Eameston’s greens, the white crosses of the Isles, and Milecomté and Duval’s
amber, black, and gold.
The tables were covered with displays of foods and wines, including the most
popular to the most rare dishes and desserts, from all the realms. Both the
King and Prince’s favorites, Eames’ treasured whiskey and meat pies, and
Arthur’s beloved waffles covered in strawberries and little cups of espresso,
were in great supply.
The King’s furs, his satin grey suit, and his thick and heavy chain of office
all underscored his piecing eyes the most out of all his fine features. No
matter that the celebration was in honor of his engagement to the Milecomté
prince, the court was still filled with many broken hearts and scorned
hopefuls, pining for King Eames' attention.
Their hearts were further shattered when the Prince arrived soon after. Eames
considered himself the most heartbroken of all.
Arthur’s soft marble colored doublet, reminiscent of wedding clothes,
complimented Eames’ darker hues. His suit was decorated with thin ropes of gold
embroidery down the sleeves, its hems all sewn with lovely ribbons that matched
the silk bow fastening of Arthur’s necklace, peeking from under his hair.
This detail struck Eames the hardest. The necklace had been one of Eames’
favorites and one of the only gifts to Arthur that had been a family heirloom.
However, Eames’ grandmother or mother had never worn it so perfectly. It had to
have been created for Arthur to wear, someday. The long, double strings of
pearls were gathered together by two little bronze dragons. The three large
rubies glittered on every catch of light in the room and only accentuated the
elaborate gold pendant with its sparkling diamonds and hanging pearls that was
pinned to the breast of his doublet.
The hall fell silent as Arthur and his company walked through the parting
crowd. Eames wasn’t aware of when he’d stood from his chair and stepped
forward, feeling as though all the beauty and wonders of the world had been
drawn up into one boy, or perhaps all else had simply fell away all together,
leaving Arthur as the only precious entity to remain.
Arthur and his party curtsied and bowed, his brother and Lady Catherine
standing not far behind. Eames found himself lost in the depths of Arthur’s
eyes again.
“Majesty.”
“Your Highness.”
Arthur stood on his tiptoes to kiss Eames’ cheek. The hall erupted in excited
whispers.
Eames’ lopsided grin returned. He hoped to feel those soft, shy lips again. His
heart soared when his wish was granted and Arthur kissed his other cheek.
Arthur blushed and chuckled into his hand when he stepped back, seeing Eames'
expression.
“Will you dance with me?” Eames asked some time later, cutting short Michel's
attempts to charm him. He'd watched Arthur tap and sway his hand in time with
the music on the arm of his chair for most of the evening and couldn't resist
the temptation free them both from the elder brother's meddling.
Arthur glanced from Eames to the floor bashfully. “Your Majesty, I’m not very
good at it, at all. I was always taught to lead, but now…the opposite has
proven quite difficult.”
“I’m not so good either, my Arthur, even after years of practice,” he laughed,
finishing his wine. “But who would dare to judge us for stepping on their toes
or knocking them over?” When Arthur joined him in laughing at the image, Eames
stood and extended his hand.
Their audience clustered near the walls, giving them an open floor. They danced
a volta, close and private, though the room was filled with watchful eyes. Each
time he lifted Arthur into the air, the fires of passion burning within Eames’
soul grew so much brighter, hotter. His hold was firm and sure for one who
claimed not to dance well. His lie amused Arthur, who himself only missed a
step once.
By the time the court rejoined them on the floor for a basse danse, Arthur and
Eames were inseparable.
 
When the festivities drew to an end, Arthur let his brother walk ahead and
quietly ordered the attendants to follow Michel. He slowed his pace until they
all disappeared around the corner. Quickly, he backtracked to where the King
and Lord Yusuf had been talking, near the hall.
He peeked around the curtains that separated this small set of rooms from the
larger court. They were in the company of the King’s entourage, but still they
talked mostly to each other as if his pack and brothers weren’t there.
“No, no, no, Yusuf,” Arthur heard the King say, “we cannot let them waste
anymore time. This wedding shall not be postponed any further.”
“I’m sorry, Majesty, but we have to wait for the cardinals’ return, and if the
weather persists, their voyage shall remain delayed.”
“They have until the end of the week, and after that…you’ll just find a priest
and have him perform the ceremony in a bloody cave, if we must.”
Arthur was only eavesdropping to see more of the King before going off to bed,
but he was distracted for a moment by the two wolves lounging in front of the
fireplace. He’d never really noticed their presence before. They frightened
him, even as docile as they appeared.
“Alright, we'll...figure something out to have the wedding proceed as planned."
"Oh, thank god. That's all I need to hear tonight."
"You are becoming so fond of him, Eamesie.”
“Fond? You don’t understand, Yusuf,” the King professed. “He…he has already
ensnared me. I am his captive, and he, the master of my heart and my mind.” 
Arthur stepped back, his breath catching. Panicking, he hurried away down the
corridor after his brother before he could be caught snooping.
That night, he lay in bed, wide-awake and staring up at the ceiling, trying to
figure out how to get his heart to stop beating so loudly. He tried to sleep,
but all he could think of was the King’s words. His cheeks hurt from smiling.
He couldn’t help it.
He wasn’t even tired when he crept out of bed, too filled with nervous
energy. Sophie whined from her plush little bed on the floor. He thought to
leave her in the room, but her crying would only wake his brother in the next
room, so he let her come with.
He crept outside with the help of a young guard and made the assent to the
tower in silence.
The guard held out his hand and went before them when they reach the landing.
Arthur peeked around the corner at the sound of muffled voices. He gasped,
surprised at what he saw. His smile blossomed again. The guard bowed low,
excusing himself, and joined the King’s man, back out on the landing.
The King was in his sleeping gown and robe as well, looking a little a sheepish
to be caught by Arthur in the observatory. “You’re supposed to be asleep, your
Highness,” he teased. “Prince Michel is not playing a proper nanny as he
should.”
Arthur laughed and blushed. “Majesty.” He bowed, staring at the King’s
slippers. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could I. Forgive me,” the King extended his hand for Arthur to take
it, “but…I was still intrigued by the sextant and wished to look upon it, only
to realize that I still had no clue just how it worked.”
Arthur stepped fully into the room and took the King’s hand. “If you wish, I
could…I could show you how, if you’d like, your Majesty.”
“Yes,” he nodded, his smile making Arthur’s grow. “I would like that very
much."
+ 
Chapter End Notes
     Super excited about the next chapter! :D
     *cues the wedding bells*
***** Chapter 7 *****
+
 
Eames took a deep, calming breath, as the morning sun’s light poured in through
the windows. His barber took the utmost care to trim his shadow of a beard and
combed his hair just right.
He was slipped into his chemise and tights, his codpiece stitched with
precision, his boots polished and latched. What little softness he carried
around his middle, he sucked in when his gold, woven doublet was laced and tied
snug. The seamstresses were sliding on his hose and adjusting his sleeves when
Yusuf walked into his rooms.
The elder werewolf wore his finest silk sashes and sharovary from Sansar. He
looked upon the King with pride. “This will certainly sound ridiculous, but you
glow, your Majesty.”
Eames’ smile stretched from ear to ear. “Not ridiculous, but true. I feel it,
like…my spirit has been washed clean and as pure as my Intended. I’m overjoyed
that this marriage will be one of peace and happiness, for both myself and
Arthur.”
Yusuf cleared his throat and hid the handkerchief that blotted a tear from his
eye.
“My Lord?” Eames asked, “are you…are you relieved that I didn’t ruin my
courtship totally?”
He laughed, but his voice was raw when he spoke. “My heart is filled, as it is
so often, with the pride of a father, though I have no sons of my own,
Majesty.”
Eames’ smile faltered, but not from sadness.
Yusuf stepped back when Eames stretched out his arms, his face a mock of
disgust. “You don’t intend to kiss me again, do you, Eamesie? Now you see why I
withhold most sentimentalities.”
Eames laughed merrily, cuffing his arm instead. “Shut up, you old fool. I pray
that your wedding gift makes up for your continual insolence.”
“I was supposed to bring you a gift, your Majesty?” he scratched his chin and
playfully grimaced. “Oh dear.”
 
Arthur’s rooms were abuzz with excitement as his attendants cleaned every
surface of his bedchamber, preparing it for the night to come. They rushed here
and there with arms full of new blankets and rugs and fashioned veils and
curtains to his bed’s ornate canopy.
“Your wedding clothes should be ready in a moment, your Highness,” the
seamstresses beamed.
He was presented with a platter of sweets from King Eames' cooks, but even if
he liked the taste of Engston food - he did not - his stomach would agree to
nothing, holding his appetite hostage. Sophie ate most of the treats out of
Arthur's hand as a lady combed and styled his hair for the small crown he would
wear.  
He glanced at the only other quiet person there. Michel sat in the corner like
a shadow, trying not to stand out, even though his book lay in his lap
forgotten. The elder Prince noticed Arthur’s stare and forced a quick smile
before looking away. Even though he had been distant their entire lives, his
silence was still strange.
“Are you troubled, brother?”
“Just thinking, that’s all.”
“Of?”
“Nothing, just that…” He sighed and dropped the book on the table beside him.
“You have nothing of our father in you. You look exactly like your mother,
and...and you remind me so much of Marie on her wedding day.”
Arthur was surprised by Michel’s words. He cleared his throat before asking,
“What is she like, my mother?”
He thought it over for a while before answering, “Cripplingly annoying,
but…pretty, graceful, and easily the life of a party, and she makes father very
happy, which for a man his age, is all he needs.”
He chose to ignore Michel’s slight in favor of asking him a new question. “And
Marie?”
“Oh, she was exquisite. The embodiment of what a queen ought to be, as was mine
and Gerard’s mother. What a shame that she was taken away so prematurely. She
treasured Paul and Mallorie, and all of us, really, and would have doted on you
as if you were her own, much like Mallorie has done," he mused. "She was a very
loving and gentle woman, until your mother came along. Then Marie transformed
into a nightmare," he huffed. "Gerard and I were certain that she would poison
father, rather than allow him to cavort around the kingdom with his whore,
but—” He paused, his mouth open as if an apology played on his tongue but it
wouldn’t come out.
"I see." Arthur’s eyes dropped to Sophie, as he too was lost for words.
“Your Highness, it’s time to get dressed,” Lady Anne informed him.
Both he and Michel stood at the same time. The elder Prince walked over, his
brow furrowed. He still looked pained, but in the end, he gave up searching for
what he really wanted to say to Arthur. He took Sophie and handed her to one of
the ladies before he cupped Arthur's face and kissed his cheek.
He stepped back and bowed quickly. “Arthur, I…” he muttered, his frown deep
set, but he smiled once more when he looked at Arthur. He bowed, more sincere.
“I will wait for you in the parlor…your Majesty.”
+
 
As early as dawn, the people ventured from the countryside to city, to stand
outside of the royal church and along the road that led back to the palace, in
the hopes of glimpsing their King and the future Queen.
All the court nobles in attendance were in their finest silver garments as the
King and Prince would be in shimmering gold.
Reverent whispers and admiration filled the church as Eames donned the new
crown of the united realms of Engston, Eameston, and Wolfshire for the first
time. He wore the sash of his grandfather’s tribe, and upon his shoulders
rested a long, trailing coat of white marble-hued scales and white fur from the
first dragon he’d slain. His chain of office glittered with amber, in honor of
Arthur’s father’s kingdom.
The court bowed as he walked down the aisle. His two wolves followed at his
heel. They sat on either side of the gilded pulpit where the high priests lit
their incense and candles and began the first ceremony for the King to give up
his former life as an alpha without a mate.
Eames tried not to fidget. It would only be a few hours before he and Arthur
would be officially wed, and yet it felt as if a lifetime stood between them.
Not to mention that his pack had seen right through his indignation at their
congratulating his imminent 'conquering of the Milecomté prince.' He put on a
mask of authority and indifference and did his best to ignore both his pack
and Yusuf, whose eyes were already wet with unshed tears.
But his inhale was audible when Michel and Arthur entered the mouth of the
hall. A crown of gold leaves, representing the long history of neutrality of
the House of Miles, was placed atop the young Prince’s hair by Michel, who wore
his own, more intricate version, before he took Arthur’s hand and led him
towards King Eames. Michel was in his usual black, but Arthur looked to Eames
like a young pagan god. His golden robes were long and billowed around his
feet. The sheer dark burgundy shawl hanging from his shoulder was clasped with
a large brooch from the King’s collection of gifts. He held his head high, but
his eyes were still on the ground, no doubt vigilant and careful of every step
he took.
The elder Prince bowed low before stepping away. Arthur curtsied and took King
Eames' hand. He had no idea he’d been trembling until the King squeezed his
hand. The alpha looked so rigid and strong, as if he got married everyday. But
as much as Eames made a show of looking stern, he had to bite the inside of his
cheek to stop from staring at Arthur as they stood before the high priests.
Arthur wasn’t so strong. He kept glancing over, hardly paying attention of the
priests’ ceremonies and words in yet another language he didn’t understand. He
blushed when he glanced over at the King again and managed to see a crack of a
smile from his otherwise serious face.
Eames squeezed Arthur’s hand again, chiding him silently to stand still. He
himself was nervous beyond belief, as if this wasn’t the most peaceful and
painless task he’d ever had to perform—but no one else needed to know that. He
wanted to look at Arthur too, but as King, it would extremely inappropriate to
do what he wanted to do to Arthur in a holy church, even though a few of these
people would be present tonight for the consummation. He let the claws on his
free hand extend discreetly, the pain a distraction from the thought of
consummating with Arthur.
A blush bloomed on Arthur’s cheeks and ears when the faint scent of arousal
drifted from the King. Arthur glanced from him to the priest and back down to
his feet. It was like he’d jumped in a freezing lake, the reality was that
jolting. This was happening, this was really, truly happening and he really,
truly was in the middle of vowing his life away to King Eames.
For a moment, he panicked and thought of running. To where, he had no clue, but
Eames squeezed his hand again and rubbed the top if it with his thumb. It was a
calming gesture visible to anyone with eyes good enough to see Eames’ gloved
hand move against Arthur’s naked one. Arthur tried to take a deeper breath, but
his clothes were too tight.  He kept his eyes open, trying not to blink,
knowing he would faint if he did.
He was dizzy when he and King Eames turned to each other and accepted the high
priests’ offering of ceremonial bread that they would break together and eat,
and the glittering cup of wine they would both sip from. Arthur didn’t know
that the sharing of food and drink was the final ceremony. He was a little
startled when the hall erupted in applause. He didn’t feel like he was in his
own body when they turned to face the witnessing court and the raining flower
pedals and showers of confetti.
Eames finally let himself relax and smile, not caring for decorum now that
Arthur belonged to him in the eyes of the church and law. He grabbed his waist,
surprising Arthur, and kissed him for far longer than was appropriate, though
kissing was the most innocent thing he could do, considering.
Outside of the church, the fanfare could only be heard for a moment before the
crowds’ cheers drowned out all else.
Eames helped Arthur mount his horse for the parade back to the palace. He knew
it would be difficult to talk and be heard in the midst of so much noise.
Nevertheless, he made sure his horse stayed close to Arthur’s and when the
Prince looked at him now, he return each nervous grin with a bright smile and a
wink that made both he and Arthur laugh.
 
In the royal court, they sat hand in hand, as each noble family presented them
with gifts. Eames cut his eye at Arthur’s mechanically polite responses as the
Prince was given chest after chest of jewelry.
“I have a rather insane theory that I’d like to run by you, my darling,” he
spoke low near his ear. When he gained Arthur's attention, he explained,
“Something tells me you that hate all of this.”
“Oh, I—No. I—” He blushed and gave up. He leaned in as close as he could,
inadvertently tickling Eames’ ear with his lips, “My apologies. I mean never to
offend you or your court, Sire.”
“Of course not. But?”
“But… Well,” he searched for the words as everyone around them tried to
eavesdrop over the music, “perhaps I’m just not used to Engston customs yet.
These are all magnificent, but I would rather—No, that’s not it. What I mean to
say is that I can only envision myself gifting them all to Mallorie, or…to
those people who stood outside of the church. Those women would look lovely
wearing the jewels from these chests or I see them even exchanging one or two
for meat and goods since winter will be here soon.”
“I see…” In truth, he’d never considered any of this.
“Majesty, I am still and will always be most grateful for everything that you
wish for me to have. Again, I beg you, I mean no offense, nor…wish to imply
anything about your court and countrymen.”
He kissed Arthur’s hand to help settle the Prince’s nerves. “We’re all still
trying to learn how best to accommodate you as a male wife, which, before you
was entirely unheard of. Blunders and assumptions will no doubt be common until
the court is able to learn more about you.”
He kissed the King's hand back and smiled. “You are my king and my husband. You
can do no wrong by me, Majesty.”
Eames chuckled fondly, though inside, Arthur’s immediate, blind devotion both
excited and frustrated him to no end. “I ought to have that phrase carved in
stone, for when the fog of our newlywed days clears and you see me for who I
really am. What name did Lord Yusuf coin for me? The Alpha Brat of Wolfshire?
Yes, I think that’s correct—And look who it is,” he proclaimed when Yusuf
stepped forward, “the old devil himself.”
Yusuf bowed and kissed Eames’ ring. “Majesty, Highness.”
“My Lord,” Eames greeted. “What great gift have you for us?”
“Your Majesty has always been gifted abundantly with my knowledge and wisdom.
What could be a greater gift than that?”
“Well, in that case, I shall starve on my wedding day and be cold and hungry
come the Winter Solstice.”
Arthur watched the two tease each other and smiled behind his hand when Yusuf
leveled King Eames with a reproachful eye.
“But as for his Highness,"Yusuf continued, "most rare and beautiful indeed, I
give to you the grandest of my houses and my new printing press, to join your
growing collection of tools in your observatory.” He bowed. “If it please you,
you may share these gifts with your husband, his Majesty.”
Arthur beamed, his spirit bright. “Thank you, your Grace. Not a day goes by
that I haven’t been grateful for all that you’ve done in helping me feel at
home here.”
Yusuf nodded and bowed, realizing now that Arthur knew full well who’d actually
gifted him the observatory. He grinned, but held in his mischievous laughter,
trying hard not to think of how the King would manage once he too learned of
Arthur’s dagger-sharp wit.
When the food and wine and conversation lulled, Arthur steeled himself before
standing, still holding the King’s hand.
The music and chatter stopped to hear him speak. “Majesty,” he bowed, “you have
bestowed upon me much affection and hospitality, which rank highest in my heart
among any gift I could ever receive, and so I wish to gift you as well, most
humbly. Will you accept these four thoroughbred racing horses from Milecomté?”
He turned and nodded at Michel who clapped his hands. Outside the large opened
the glass doors. The stable boys guided the four steeds in circles in the grass
for the hall to see each one.
Eames stood, his face alight with joy just at the thought of riding those
horses with Arthur or Yusuf through the countryside. “Your Highness would have
me spoiled long before our marriage was yet a day old!” He squeezed Arthur in
his arms as the hall applauded.
With a kiss, he guided Arthur to the floor for the first dance with his smile
still splitting his cheeks.
 
In the evening, when the dancing and feasts were done, they all gathered in the
garden for a play depicting the King’s greatest battles.
Arthur swallowed, a little buzzed from so much wine and in the cold air of the
candlelit grounds. He reached for the King’s hand and held it in his lap,
playing with the large rings on each thick finger.
He was kissed on the cheek just as the actors in the sea monster’s costume were
defeated by the singing man in the giant wolf’s fur and tail. 
+
 
The fire in the hearth bathed the room in a soft, warm glow. Arthur stood with
his arms out for his attendants to loosen the ribbons and ties on his sleeves
and doublet hems. He inhaled deeply, relaxing as he was freed from the rigid
confines of his tight, thick woven bodice and stepped out of the slender
hose. His chemise was exchanged for a sheerer, ornate nightgown. His silk
tights were folded with the rest of his clothes and taken away as the chests
for his jewelry was brought forward.
It was routine enough, this process of undressing for bed, only… This felt like
a ritual, preparations for a ceremony, or sacrifice, and in truth, it was just
that. 
As much as Arthur tried to remain poised and at ease, fear still began to build
as the minutes passed by, closer and closer to the King’s arrival. He cursed
himself for being so shy, wanting more than anything just for the opportunity
to ask someone if it was okay to be horrible at pleasing his husband on the
first try. And what if it would hurt, being claimed, like the doctor’s
inspection had? What would he do then? Would he be permitted to voice his
displeasure and distress? Arthur supposed most likely not. This wasn’t meant to
be a passionate act between lovers in the dark, but the consummation of a
contract. He simply hoped the King’s friendship would be worth all this when
the night was over.
Lady Anne was still brushing his hair when the first witnesses arrived in his
bedchamber. His attendants retreated to the walls and corner chairs as the
priests began their blessings around the room. Arthur’s hands were beginning to
shake when he knelt for his blessing and prayer. 
Shared whispers ceased when the King arrived in his gown and fur-lined robe. By
now, even Arthur’s breaths were shaky. He remained kneeling until the King
stepped forward and took his hands.
"Omega," King Eames addressed him ceremoniously, kissing his cheeks.
"Alpha," Arthur remembered to respond, a little annoyed by the audible sigh
that passed through the witnesses. 
As if sensing his anxiety, or perhaps feeling the same, Eames kissed Arthur’s
cheek and addressed their guests. “Leave us,” he ordered quietly, even to the
attendants.
The doors closed behind the last boy, the only sound the crackle and pop of the
wood burning in the fireplace, now that they were alone.
A part of him wished that at least one of his ladies could have stayed. The
King seemed so much larger than Arthur was used to, his presence that much more
overwhelming with no one else here. Arthur could only manage to gather up
enough courage to look about his chest, which was still something of an
accomplishment—better than staring at his feet. He huffed out a breathless
laugh when the alpha bent sideways to search for his eyes, a playful smile on
his husband’s face. For a moment, Arthur forgot his fear. This was, after all,
the man who’d sat with him in the observatory for the past two nights,
attempting and failing to identify a single constellation. 
Except, now, the King was removing his robe and furs, letting them fall to the
floor. Arthur was lightheaded of a sudden, seeing that his husband’s cock was
already hard for him under his nightgown. 
The King took his hands gently, his kind smile belying his lust as he breathed
deeply Arthur’s scent in his hair and neck. His voice was rough and low when he
spoke. “Are you well and ready for me, my Arthur?”
Arthur swallowed and took a step back, needing space, his heart beating out of
his chest. At last, he nodded. “Yes, your Majesty.”
His robe was taken from his shoulders to join the King’s by his feet. Even in
their gowns, Arthur felt as though they were already naked. The King took him
into his arms. He let himself be kissed, but did not expect his husband's rough
devouring so soon. He remembered the passion with which he’d kissed the King in
his guest chambers so many weeks before and tried to light that fire again. If
he could just do that, to propel himself forward, then he could get through the
night.
Arthur felt the back of his thighs touch the bedside table. Eames drew back,
keeping their foreheads together. His lips were kiss swollen as he gazed into
Arthur’s eyes with an all-consuming hunger. Strong hands traveled from his arms
up his shoulders and to his neck. Arthur gasped, startled when his husband
ripped open the front of his gown, revealing his chest and stomach. His skin
glowed in the firelight.
“Look at you,” the King purred, appreciative in his study, his eyes golden.
He held Arthur's hair aside to lay a trail of kisses over his neck, and hiking
up Arthur's gown to bare his long legs.
Eames drew back for air once more. His eyes locked with the omega’s. “Arthur.”
“Husband?”
He chuckled, delighted in the sound. “I was going to say that you may call me
Eames in private, as I like that best, however… I do enjoy hearing husband as
well.” Eames urged him to sit on the edge of the small table. Arthur was
panting, blushing and speechless when Eames lifted his gown high enough to see
his hardness. Reflexively, Arthur tried to cover himself, but Eames patted his
hand away. His fingertips traced up his thighs. He squeezed Arthur’s bare hips
possessively. “Kiss me.”
Arthur wet his lips as his gown was pulled over his head and tried to do as he
was told, but gave up only a moment later. Burying his face in the King’s
chest, he groaned miserably.
Eames frowned. He made Arthur sit on the bed against the headboard. When Arthur
drew his legs in close to his chest, Eames sat near him, rubbing his leg.
“Arthur?” He kissed the top of his head, as that was all Eames could see of his
face hidden behind his knees. “Darling, what’s wrong? Was I… We can go slower,
if you wish?”
“No, it's just that…” Arthur sat back, rubbing his face. “You’re so sure
of…what you’re doing and what you want, and I…" he shrugged, "I have no idea
what I’m doing,” he laughed bitterly. "You would gain more pleasure from asking
a nun to kiss you instead of me. I am handicapped by my ignorance while you
soar with confidence. Forgive me, Husband."
“There's nothing wrong with that, my darling. You've been cloistered all your
life like a maiden, while I’ve had the privilege of acquiring a bounty of
experience.”
Arthur’s shoulders sank, hearing him say that. Of course he wouldn’t be his
husband's first. He’d been silly and naïve to assume otherwise. The alpha
probably had a string of mistresses and youths everywhere, for who would or
could deny him? Arthur’s chest hurt to think of it. "Then..." he sighed, "I
fear there is no way that I might please you better, or even compare to those
others."
Eames smiled, taking Arthur’s face in hand. “You needn’t worry, my Arthur. It
is my duty to lead and be most knowledgeable in all things. Besides, what we
have is different, special, and most sacred, because you are my mate and my
omega. We are new to each other, even in regard to your anatomy. This shall be
an adventure and mystery for us to explore, together. Yeah?”
Arthur thought it over for only a moment before he nodded. “I will follow your
lead, Husband.”
“All you need do is just to let me love you and take care of you,” he assured,
hooking his hands under Arthur’s knees to pull him down the bed. He lifted his
gown over his head and smiled again when he heard Arthur gasp, proud that his
mate found him attractive. Hesitant fingertips traced his stomach and traveled
lower. Eames couldn’t hold back his groan when those fingers touched the head
of his leaking cock. “See? You’re already getting the hang of it.”
Emboldened by the change in his husband’s scent and his praise, he took Eames’
cock more firmly in his hand and felt him buck in his loose hold. He let his
hand fall to the side when Eames planted himself between his legs, his cock now
acquainted with Arthur’s. He let Eames kiss him again and tried to mimic all
that he felt the King do.
Eames reveled in his shy kisses and touch. He dipped his cock between Arthur's
legs, ready to coat it with the wetness he expected to find, but none was
there. Arthur gasped into his mouth as Eames’ hand felt about the hidden sex.
He kissed Arthur soundly and stroked his cock quickly, making him moan and buck
under him. His lips dragged across his collarbones, his free hand pinning
Arthur’s wrists playfully. Hushed sighs of pleasure filled his ears, commanding
him to touch or kiss deeper until Arthur was covered in a light sheen of sweat
and flushed from head to toe. 
He reached between Arthur's legs again. Still nothing. Not even as Arthur
writhed with Eames’ tongue rolling over a hardened nipple roughly. Arthur’s
back arched, his legs drawing closed around Eames of their own accord. Eames
pushed them back open, his lips trailing down his stomach.
Arthur’s eyes fell closed. He mewled, feeling embarrassingly faint under Eames’
unrelenting attention. He knew where his husband was headed as his lips passed
over his navel and the bed of downy curls just below it, or so he thought,
until pleasure bloomed from that new, unfamiliar place. He tried to see what
Eames was doing, disbelieving that someone – the King of Engston – would look
so hungry with his mouth latched to such a place.
Eames grew hopeful, and even harder, as Arthur nearly sung, but when he
withdrew, no wetness followed him. When he delved deeper with his tongue, he
was met with resistance.
Arthur shivered, feeling Eames’ thumb circle his perineum. A wounded scream
burst out of him as blinding pain seized his body.
“Arthur? Arthur, my god, are you alright? I’m so sorry.” Panicking, Eames
quickly tried to remove his thumb but slowed when Arthur jolted in pain again.
“Hey, hey.” He moved carefully over Arthur to his face. Arthur’s hands were
balled into angry fist; his lip would bleed if he bit down any harder.
“Darling, sweetheart, I’m sorry. Breathe, just breathe deep and slow.”
Arthur tried to look at him and relax, but his eyes blurred. He squeezed his
eyes shut against his tears. “Forgive me, Sire. I don’t know what to do.”
Eames wanted to ask if Arthur had had another heat since his examination, but
he already knew the answer to that and knew what that meant. He tried to stop
his spirit from withering, but his shoulders sank anyways. “Damn,” he cursed,
try to think of a solution, though there was none.
Arthur quickly wiped his eyes dry. “I’m sorry, Majesty.” His hands covered his
diminishing arousal, hoping Eames wouldn’t see it. “We can try again, in a
moment. I’m fine.”
“No, no. You’re just… You're just not ready yet, that’s all. It was not taken
into account that you required a full heat before your body could ever receive
me. I supposed, after what happened before, that it wouldn't take this bloody
long, but... Now the wedding was rushed for nothing since we cannot consummate
it properly.” He propped his head on his hand, still lying over Arthur’s legs.
Arthur tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He pulled the corner of the
sheet over his middle, not enjoying this nakedness at all now. “Do you…Please
do not regret marrying me, Husband.”
His eyes were downcast, his cheeks pinking, when Eames glanced up at him. With
dread, he realized how what he’d said had clearly come out wrong. He rushed up
to lay closer to Arthur’s face. He kissed and petted his hair until Arthur
turned his way again. “Well… In truth, it wasn’t…entirely for nothing.”
Arthur’s eyes were guarded, his frown deep set.
“There are still so many other parts of you that I may claim in the meantime,”
he explained, his brow raised impishly, trying to make Arthur happy again.
“I know you care nothing for those parts." Arthur muttered, wiping his eyes
again. "None of those parts are so important as the one currently denying us
both."
“Oh hush." His kissed Arthur's frown. "They are just as important to me. And
far less complicated than that temperamental omegahead, my darling, because all
those parts are attached to you as well,” he teased, and smiled, relieved to
see Arthur’s mood shift even just a little. “Like, for example…this elbow,” he
kissed it, “that I ought to acquaint myself with before it assaults me in the
dark of night if you should ever have a nightmare when we’re asleep together.
And then…there’s this hand, which I enjoy kissing as well, even more now that
its finger wears my ring." He kissed each finger and it palm. "And…your neck,
your very graceful, very perfect neck. Also, these little pebbles,” he
whispered, lingering to kiss Arthur’s nipples until they hardened again, “which
need a lot of attention.” He listened to Arthur’s breath grow labored and
unsteady as he moved the sheet aside. Eames waited until his back arched before
nipping at his ribs. He smiled against Arthur’s skin when the omega gasped at
being tickled.
“Majesty, please,” Arthur panted, watching Eames’ mouth and hands travel to
every single place they could reach. He was positively vibrating when Eames
found his way between his knees, his stubble tickling down his thighs. 
Eames longed to taste Arthur, was near to begging and calling the priests back
into the room for a miracle. Hearing Arthur moan, feeling him moved beneath
him, made him want to simply take Arthur any way that he could. He could have
oils brought in, slip his cock inside his lovely ass and make him scream, but
he would neither waste his seed nor fuck him as he might some common beta
youth.
He knew it was useless to check one more time, but he couldn’t help it. He and
Arthur both lost their steam when still no heat was inspired.
Eames flopped down on the bed beside him. “Well…” They looked at each other,
Eames disappointed and Arthur worried. “Do you want me to stay, or do you wish
to sleep and try tomorrow?” When Arthur’s eyes filled with tears and he turned
away, Eames sighed and got up. He was slipping his gown back over his head when
he heard Arthur speak.
“Majesty… Husband.”
“Yes, darling?” He turned glanced behind him. Arthur had the sheet wrapped
tightly around him as if air or the glow of the fire on his skin would turn him
green. It was endearing enough that Eames sat back down on the bed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I insist. Perhaps it’s just the pressure of getting married and
being in a foreign place, I mean, what were you doing to inspire your first
heat?”
“Nothing!” he laughed bitterly and shrugged. “I ate grapes and watched people
dancing.” 
“Then perhaps there may be some…unknown health benefit to these grapes for
omegas. We’ll have you eat a bowl of them in the morning and see. But you must
stop blaming yourself. This my first order as your husband.”
He forced a sad smile. “Yes, Majesty.”
“Good. Then, good night, my Arthur.” When he began to rise again, Arthur
reached for his arm.
“I… It is cold in here at night, Husband.”
“Oh, well… I will have someone stay here to stoke the fire for you, then, when
I leave,” when Arthur dropped his eyes and his shoulders sank, Eames quickly
added, “or…I could stay here myself…and keep you warm? At least, for a while
longer.” He was thrilled when Arthur held up the sheets for him to slide back
into bed. In truth, if he could stay here forever, he would. In the midst of
all that had gone wrong, this was one good result from the night’s events, to
discover that Arthur liked having him around, particularly when naked. “Would
you like for me to fetch you your gown?”
Arthur blushed and wrinkled his nose. “It’s in tatters.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“I didn’t mind.” In truth, he had been terrified, but Arthur was good at
keeping secrets.
Eames sighed, surprisingly content when Arthur let Eames nestle him to his
chest. From the awkward way his held his head, not tense or relaxed, Eames
could tell that Arthur was listening to his heartbeat against his chest.
He turned his head away to let the fire’s glow lull him to sleep, but he wasn’t
tired, and would have to return to his own bedchambers before dawn.
“Husband?” Eames heard Arthur whispered over the faint roar and crackle of the
wood burning.
“Yes, darling?”
“I promise that I will find a way to bring back my heat.”
He kissed Arthur's forehead and combed back his wild curls. “Perhaps in another
day, or another week, it will come. Don’t fret, my Arthur. It won’t be a long
wait.”
+
***** Chapter 8 *****
+
 
Yusuf pinched the bridge of his nose. He braced himself for the inevitable
storm he was about create. “Eamesie.”
“What?”
He took a deep breath. “You know very well that I care a great, great deal for
Arthur, but—”
“Oh for god’s sake, get out,” he groaned, turning his back.
“It’s been two and a halfmonths and still no consummation.”
“Do you think I don’t already know this? What the fuck do you think we do when
I visit his bedchamber every night? Hm? Do you think we hold hands and knit?”
“Majesty, I beseech you, as your humble advisor and as your oldest and constant
friend, take a mistress.”
Eames’ mouth was open to yell more, but he faltered. For weeks he’d been
pestered by every single person who felt entitled enough to preach to him about
his own marriage, tossing around accusations that Arthur was dishonest, not a
true omega, hidden under every word of false concern. But he’d not expected
this from Yusuf.
“A mistress, Yusuf? Are you insane?”
“You know that I would never suggest such a thing in any other circumstance,
but the situation is critical now. You punched your brother in the teeth,
Eames. Take a mistress, release the floodgates of tension, so you can bloody
relax.”
He only let one heartbeat pass to think it over. “No.”
“Eames—”
“I said no! I refuse to sully this marriage in any way! I shall not be my
father, or Arthur’s, sneaking around behind curtains and in the dark of night,
and then pretending to be so just and righteous in the company of my suffering
mate. If I have to wait the next three years, I bloody fucking will!”
“Only you know that that will be impossible. Your marriage would be forced to
be annulled long before then. If not for the sake of your future kingdom then
for Arthur.”
Eames rushed at Yusuf, grabbing his collar. “What have you heard? Who is still
harassing my mate?”
He gripped Eames’ hands and pulled them off, his headache making his own temper
short. “Everyone, Eames. Even you.”
“Bullshit. I’ve kept my promise to be patient and have said not a word that
would cause Arthur to—”
“He has confided in me.” At the King’s faltering, he nodded. “He has confided
in me that he hears you, when you leave his room unsatisfied. You kindly kiss
his forehead and make more polite promises and then you go outside his
chambers, you roar, you shift, and you destroy whatever you get your claws
into. And I know very well your tantrums, so this surprises me not at all. Did
you honestly think he wouldn't know the truth? Even I'm insulted on his behalf,
Eames.”
“Oh shit,” he groaned, covering his face. "No, no, no."
“He is at the mercy of a doctor who may have ruined his entire future, and he
has not one person here, save for me, who doesn’t make him want to...rush to
the tower and throw himself from the window, which, I am most pained to add, is
the exact reason why I was forced to bar him from the observatory. His only
comfort and I had to take it from him to keep him safe in these testing times.
But that was last month. How worse has his treatment grown since then?”
Eames couldn't look at Yusuf's accusatory glare. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’re his mate, Eames. Mates can withhold no secrets from one another. You’ve
just been blinded by your own needs—which is perfectly understandable, but this
is why you must either take a mistress or stop visiting his bed, or else this
wait will get even worse.”
“I can’t.”
“Eames.”
“I can’t. I refuse. Now go away and let me work.” 
+
 
Arthur could only be grateful that when he woke up, his eyes weren’t swollen
from crying.
He’d made a terrible blunder, for which he was most certain he would never be
able to fix.
He’d lied. He’d allowed for the King to visit his bedchamber one night and had
tried his best to pretend that he was ready. In truth, he still had no idea
what was supposed to happen with his body. Even his attempts to draw out his
sex with his own pleasuring hand when he was alone hadn’t worked. Surely, all
it would take was just…forcing whatever had to happen so he could finally make
his husband love him again.
He’d been wrong. And his poor husband… Eames’ mind was so clouded with
repressed lust that he’d bought Arthur’s lie, long enough to try to enter him
only to hurt him by accident. Arthur had never seen him so enraged, and knew
that he would never witness it again, for if the new month arrived without
mercy or salvation, he knew he would be celebrating the Solstice a head shorter
and in a grave, his family would be riddled with shame.
It was stupid, lying, but… He just couldn’t allow for one more week to pass
with the entire world so angry with him, and yet, all that had happened was
that he’d turned his husband against him as well now.
He hadn't seen him in days. There was nothing he could do to make the King
understand, so he feigned an illness and hid from the world for a week in the
hopes that when he resurfaced, his husband would be able to look at him again.
He had no idea it would feel this cold and empty without the King’s sun shining
upon him. He swore if he were ever forgiven, he’d never take his husband gaze
for granted so long as he lived.
 
He sat at his table alone, his attendants all silent and equally sad. He stared
at his breakfast with Sophie falling asleep in his lap. He willed the bowl of
grapes to transform into anything else, like eggs, or meat, or even the cook’s
bland porridge.
Arthur’s stomach couldn’t handle another grape, no matter the color. He cursed
himself for ever mentioning the fruit to King Eames. He’d supposed Arthur’s
heat lay in the grapes, and at first, upon hearing of this, every married woman
in the court took to eating grapes as well, as if each one carried some magical
secret of arousal or fertility inside. Eames had been most upset when Arthur
declined a bowl at dinner after only the first week. Now his husband ordered
him to eat a great bowl of them twice a day, every day, and he had, for weeks
and weeks and weeks.
He plucked two of them from the stem and stuffed them into his mouth. He
couldn’t swallow them.
Lady Catherine placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head and rubbed his
shoulders as he buried his face in his hands.
 
Lord Yusuf encouraged Arthur to venture out. He wasn’t Queen, nor was he with
the King’s child, but he still needed to perform his other duties as the King’s
spouse. And it would take his mind off of fretting, or so Yusuf had promised.
He took three of his Engston ladies and one of the boys with him as he made his
appearance. At least, in front of these attendants, who had family and friends
at court as well, the nobles who passed them by didn’t outright mock or sneer
at Arthur. But he could feel it, the stares, the accusations. The very same
people who’d gifted him with houses and jewels and invitations to tea all
glared at him with contempt.
They thought he’d fooled the King and his physician. Or that maybe the botched
inspection had only been a ploy by both the House of Miles and the doctor –
whom they must have surely bribed – to create a false womb and sway the King.
It was clear King Miles had used his youngest son as a means to gain allegiance
with King Eames, having the dowry waved as well by sending a son and not a
daughter. Not that his father had ever been power-hungry or in debt, but
reality never prevented these people from conjuring up new conspiracies.
He was relieved to find that Cardinal Stewart was in his office.
“Your Highness,” the man looked up from his desk with surprise, but curiously
didn’t stand to receive him. “What a surprise this is.”
Arthur smiled brightly. “Your Eminence, I hope you are well.”
He smiled. “Out for a walk?”
“Yes, but… Actually, I came to see you specifically.”
“Is that so?” he said to his ledger. 
“Well… You are a very busy man, and I had hoped that you would have granted me
audience before your last trip, but you were called to conference in my
father’s country so quickly, I had missed you again.”
“So you came to see me this time? Well, that was very thoughtful, but as you
can see…I am still a very busy man.Now, if you'll excuse me—”
“Your Eminence,” one of the ladies whispered in surprise as they all stood
behind Arthur in shock.
The Cardinal’s brow rose. Finally he stood, looking past Arthur to his
attendants. “Leave us.”
Arthur nodded at them to go and watched them step out and close the door behind
them. When he turned back, the Cardinal was standing in his personal space.
Surprised, Arthur stepped back. “Your Eminence, I… Forgive me, but I don’t
understand.”
“Let me tell you something, your Highness. I am not a person you wish to test.
I am the link between god and our king. What I say, goes, and I am a stone’s
throw away from gathering your husband and the privy council and requesting
that this sham of a marriage be annulled.”
“But I—”
The Cardinal held up his hand. “Let me finish,” he gently chided. He tilted his
head, condescending as he sighed. “You’re very young and pretty and I’m sure
the King adored you during your courtship, but right now, you’re not even above
a concubine, as a beta whore would at least be of some use to his Majesty, but
you’re just…taking up space.”
Arthur stood numb and pale as the Cardinal placed his hands on his shoulders
and guided him towards the door. When it was opened into the busy corridor, the
Cardinal leaned in close to his ear. “Now you remember that the next time one
of your wenches tries to reproach me. Good day, your Highness.”
He stood there for a moment as his attendants rushed to his side. The lady
who’d spoken took his hand and urged him to walk. “I’m so sorry, your Highness.
I didn’t mean to cause your more grief.”
He kept his head held high but his smile didn’t reach his tear-filled eyes.
“It’s quite alright, my lady. I understand, and I thank you for your support.”
“Should we go to his Grace, Lord Yusuf, your Highness?” the boy asked. "You
could tell him how the Cardinal treated you."
“Oh no, that won’t be necessary,” he answered graciously. He swallowed back his
tears. “I’m tired. We’ll return to my chambers, so that you and others may have
the rest of the day to yourselves.”
 
His remaining attendants were eerily silent when he returned. He appreciated
the quiet as he headed straight for his bedroom, but after an hour passed
without so much as a word, he knew something was wrong.
He stepped into the parlor again and looked around. Sophie pawed and whined at
him, trying and failing to gain his attention. He eyed them all as they moved
about and sat together pretending to read books, some of which were upside
down. Lady Catherine was absent, which didn’t surprise Arthur as the older
woman was permitted her time alone in the evenings to tend to her own affairs,
but someone else wasn’t here.
“Where is Thomas?”
No one answered.
“Lady Rose, where is Thomas?” he repeated.
The lady curtsied low, as she cut her eye at one of the others nervously.
“Forgive me, your Highness, I do not know. He…disappeared not long after you
left.”
When understanding dawned on him, Arthur’s throat went dry. “Thank you, Madam,”
he managed to say.
He turned, not caring whether anyone bowed at his exit or not. His bedroom door
closed behind him. Arthur couldn’t make it to his bed, so he lay on the floor
in his sobs.
 
Eames was attempting to rub the headache out of his forehead when he heard the
soft click of his door open and close.
The boy hovered near the door as if expecting to be told to leave, but when the
King didn’t look up from his work, he stepped forward. “Majesty,” he bowed,
“forgive my intrusion. Your guards let me in.”
Eames stood, frowning. “Young Thomas, has something happened to Arthur?”
He shook his head, his blonde curls swinging about his shoulders. “No, your
Majesty.”
“Then—” He stopped himself when the boy stepped out of his shoes and rolled his
tights to the floor, stepping out of them as well.
Eames had to clear his throat when the boy’s belt clattered to the floor.
“Thomas, what are you doing?” he asked quietly, gripping the edge of the table
behind him.
“Pleasing his Majesty, of course. If his Majesty permits me.” He made a show of
stripping out of his tunic, and left his chemise behind on his pile of clothes
when he stepped forward.
Eames swallowed, his chest heaved, his blood a stream of volcanic fire.
Thomas let his hand cover the King’s and carefully loosed it from the table.
“Majesty,” he breathed, “I…I’ve never offered my body to anyone before. No one
has touched me.”
Eames let his hand be placed at the boy’s lips and then to his waist. He would
burst from his codpiece if he let one more minute slip by. The beta couldn’t
hope to compare to Arthur’s loveliness, but he had a body. A body that wasn't
complicated and was willing and so very, very tempting.
Thomas smiled lewdly when the King’s hands gripped his waist firmly. “Take me,
Majesty. Please? Use me for your pleasure.” He leaned forward to claim the
King’s lips, but was startled when one of those firm hands gripped his throat.
Eames squeezed the slender neck in warning. “Tell me, Thomas,” his voice
rasped. “Did my Arthur send you here to take care of me?” He could already
picture himself fucking the boy over the table at his back, those long legs
thrown over his arms, soft sighs and moans slipping from those thin lips as
Eames roughly deflowered him and emptied within him the seed that had been
building in his loins for so very long. His load would seem to never cease its
flow but the boy would take it all. Oh, if Arthur had sent him here, Eames
would never say another cross word to him again. He would worship him always
and forever as his god and treasure every breath he took and every bat of his
lashes. Every desire, tame or bizarre, would be granted to him at once, if
Arthur had mercifully given him this gift to tide him over.
Thomas smiled wider. “No, your Majesty, but I’m sure he’ll—”
“No?” His brow rose.
Thomas’ face faltered as the King grip on his neck tighten. He shook his head,
getting nervous.
“So you came here, of your own accord and your own mind, in secret?”
“Yes… Yes, Majesty.”
“And therefore intended to betray your master?”
His eyes grew wide. “Oh no, Sire, that was never my intention.”
“No?” He pushed the boy to the floor and roared in his anger. The two guards
outside the door burst in, their spears and swords ready, but Eames stilled
them with the raise of his hand.
Thomas rushed to his clothes, but Eames pulled him to his feet by his arm.
“You think me to be like other men, Thomas?”
“No, your Majesty," he whimpered. "Please—”
Eames held up his finger to the boy’s lips. “I want not to hear another word.
You will return at once to your father in the country, and never ever, ever,
step foot in my court again. Do you understand?” At his quick nod, Eames pushed
him to the guards. “Get him out of my sight.”
He turned and planted his hands on the table, hanging his head. Every muscle in
his body hurt.
 
His door opened again, an hour later. This time, his guard announced his
visitor as he was supposed to.
“Lady Catherine,” he tried to smile. “Has my banishing Arthur's boy upset you?”
She frowned. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, your Majesty.”
“Ah. Never mind then, but I am employing my cousin’s wife Ariadne to replace
Thomas for Arthur’s household.”
Her brow rose as she eyed the King and caught the faint scent of Thomas in the
air. “I see.”
Eames balled his hands into fist, trying to maintain control over his temper.
“Do not make assumptions, Madam.”
“I wouldn’t dare, Majesty.”
“Why are you here?”
She opened her mouth to explain, but released a heavy sigh instead. “Will his
Gracious Majesty permit me to speak freely?”
“I am busy, Madam. And have had enough of freely spoken words.”
“May I speak on Arthur's behalf then?”
He eyed her with suspicion. “What do you wish to tell me?”
She stepped forward with a kind smile. “Will his Majesty reconsider visiting
his Highness tonight in his bedchamber?”
“No, Madam. That won’t be necessary.” He cut his eye at her, expecting her to
protest his answer as everyone else always did to him these days, but she
curtsied, accepting without argument.
“Then… Perhaps you might invite his Highness to your table for your evening
meal?”
He sighed again, ready to refuse, only…he did miss the boy’s company. 
When he didn't answer, she tried for a different approach. “Majesty, if I may,
Arthur is still so very new to the world, but he grows everyday. I see it. The
little one who was always the most curious and quiet of all my charges is now
transforming into a kind and respectable young man. The pressures mounted on
his shoulders are high, after spending so much of his life as…well…as a
forgotten child.”
He listened as she spoke sincerely and nodded. “That is true. Say, you were the
one there for Arthur in the beginning, yes?”
“Indeed, Majesty.”
“I remember your words falling on deaf ears.”
“Some men are unable to tolerate a woman more knowledgeable than he in his
affairs, Majesty, even if Arthur’s person is my affair too,” she said. “But,
that is to be expected in this world.”
“Then… Tell me what you know about your affair.”
She smiled. “Stress, fear, anxiety, unhappiness… Those are the spirits that
kill a soul long before the body dies, Majesty. Perhaps in an attempt
to…admonish these evil spirits, the body rebels against its natural functions.
It could be an ill stomach in times of fear, or an aching chest after a
heartbreak, or even—”
“Or even a delayed heat,” he finished for her.
“Perhaps.”
He chewed it over and at last, he nodded. “Has to be. Nothing else has helped
him or even revealed the smallest of clues.” He scratched his chin, thinking
quickly. “I will do all in my power to mend things, and more importantly to
relieve his fears.”
“Thank you, your Majesty.” She bowed.
“And I shall also repay you for your long years of excellent service to
Arthur.”
“Oh that won’t be necessary, Sire. I have all that I need in my duties. I enjoy
caring for Arthur very much.”
“Very well. I must leave for a conference tomorrow and won’t be back until late
next week before the Saints Day, but…when I return, have Arthur come dine with
me.”
“I already count the hours until your return, your Majesty.”
 
The week passed. The King returned in the early morning before the Saint's Day
and sent word to Lady Catherine of his invitation.
“Get up, your Highness,” Lady Catherine ordered upon entering his bedroom. She
threw open the curtains and pulled back his sheets. “You must get dressed.”
He didn't feel well at all. A fever was coming on, like a bad omen, he sure of
it. He turned to her with dread. “Why? Have they come to send me away?”
“No, no, no, Highness. The opposite. The King has returned from abroad and has
invited you to—” She couldn’t finish her sentence. The ladies screamed in
delight and dragged him from the bed at once, preparing a new set of clothes. 
+ 
 
Arthur promised himself that he wouldn’t be nervous or shy. It was inevitable.
Sooner or later, he would have to learn to talk and what better time than here,
now that his life surely depended on pleasing his husband in whatever way he
could manage.
He would charm the King as he’d often done in the observatory. His husband
enjoyed listening to him pretend to misspeak in his language. His grasp wasn’t
perfect in truth, but when he made glaring mistakes, Eames always corrected his
grammar and vocabulary with a fond smile.
He sat at the King’s table, giving him elaborate answers to every question he
was asked, and made note to inquire about his husband's campaigns. All the
while, he toyed a large fray into the hem of his tunic, releasing all his
nervous energy out on the poor patch of fabric.
“You aren’t eating your grapes?”
Arthur eyed the bowl as if they would come alive and attack him. He glanced up
at the King and back to the bowl. “No, Majesty.”
“You aren’t hungry?”
The table was covered with a large plate of the bloody boar the King enjoyed,
as well as the soup he liked with bread, and other foods that he had never seen
before, but none of that food was for him. “No, Sire.”
“Oh. Alright, then—” Arthur stomach growled, cutting him off.
Arthur just shook his head at the bowl in front of him, not bothering to look
and see what the King’s expression would be. He gave up with a sigh and propped
his forehead on his hand. “Sorry.”
“Darling!” Eames dropped his knife. “You,” he called over a servant, “take this
away.” He shoved the bowl into the servant’s hands and pushed his plate towards
Arthur. “Eat.”
Arthur didn’t need to be ordered. He didn’t even care about the blood this
time. He ate the slab of boar as if he feared the King would change his mind
and bring back the grapes.
“You’ve been terribly neglected,” Eames muttered. 
Arthur shook his head as he chewed. “I’ve been ungrateful.”
“Arthur, you aren’t a bird, or Sophie. Take more.” He watched Arthur suck down
half the bread loaf. “I'm sorry. I really am. I promised you, before we were
married, that we would be friends. But… I have been a terrible friend to you,
if you can even call me that.”
He set down his knife and cleaned his hands. “No, it’s not your fault, husband.
I should have never been dishonest with you.”
“You would have never lied had I not pushed you to it.” He took Arthur’s hands.
“Whether your future is with child or without, I will and I must always love
and care for you first.”
"But...I failed you. I failed everyone, even my family."
"I failed you. As your husband, I should have been defending and supporting
you. But I promise, I will not fail you again." He shrugged at Arthur’s tears.
“If it comes to it, I’ll shift and run out into the country and…steal someone
else’s bloody baby. Hell, if I must—”
“Majesty, no!” Arthur laughed in spite of his tears, too tickled by the image
of the King as a child thief.
“Don’t tell me no. You will have to join me on this mission anyways. I could
not possibly handle a baby in my paws and run at the same time.”
“Majesty,” he tried to chide, but the King held up his hand.
“All I’m saying is that, in the event that you are ever gifted with a saddle
and not a horse, you will know perfectly well who and what that saddle is for.”
He couldn't help but laugh too, now that he had Arthur in stitches.
 
Arthur was invited to meals with his husband every day afterwords. He was
eternally grateful that each meal came and went with not one grape in sight.
They would sit for as long as they could, even having the table cleared in
favor of a game of cards, until Arthur stopped letting his husband win. The
King turned to hating cards overnight and refused to say why.
And then it happened.
He was breaking off bread for his and the King’s plate when he felt it; the
warmth that spread so suddenly through him it took him by surprise.
“Are you alright, my darling?” the King asked, still laughing from the
conversation. “If my teasing’s too harsh, well…get over it.”
Arthur laughed, shaking his head as the warmth subsided. “You are awful to me,
husband. Very cruel.”
Only the warmth didn’t totally disappear as is had in the past. Before, it had
been like a sea monster peeking its head and few scales above the water and
then vanishing as it swam, always at the same distance. Now, that creature swam
fully on the surface of the water, swimming closer and closer to the shore.
He pushed back his hair and squirmed in his seat, no clue of how much he’d
missed of the King’s new tale. Suddenly, a flash of pain made him gasp with
surprise and then…the pleasure took hold of all of him and left him gripping
his chair.
He didn’t know that his eyes had closed. When he opened them, his husband’s
eyes were golden. He stared across the table at Arthur as if there was no man
sitting in his chair, only wolf. Only hungry, starving wolf, locking his prey
in his unwavering stare.
“Arthur.”
He shivered, hearing his name spoke in such a rumbling voice. “Husband?”
“Finish your supper,” he ordered quietly. “You must eat all that you can now.”
In his fog, he didn’t understand right away what the King meant. Fear settled
into his stomach, at the thought of his husband losing control the way he had
during his rut and taking him right here before the servants and attendants.
Eames watched him eat in silence. He was terrified to let go of his spoon when
he was done, knowing what it would mean.
With careful movements, the King stood and addressed the servants. “That will
be all tonight. Thank you.” He looked down at Arthur with a thin mask of calm.
“Arthur?”
“Yes, your Majesty,” he breathed.
“Do you wish for me to join you in your bedchamber?”
Arthur’s mouth opened and closed several times as his mind tried to work over
his rising temperature. He didn’t know he’d had a choice in the matter,
only…now didn’t seem like a good time to start exercising his choices. He
nodded. The King was out of the room with his attendants following close behind
before Arthur could voice his consent.
He released the great breath he’d holding, but there was no time to sit here
and relax. His attendants helped him to stand and rushed him to his rooms.
His knees went weak the second he entered his bedroom. Quickly he reassured his
attendants that he was fine.
“Do you wish for us to stay with you, your Highness, when…” The lady swallowed.
Everyone fell silent as the King’s scent drifted into the room behind Arthur.
He turned just as a strange sensation tingled up his spine, making him gasp.
The attendants, though scared of the King’s presence, bowed out and took Sophie
with them, not waiting to be told to leave. The door clicked shut behind
them.  
Seeing the King’s golden eyes sweep over his body as he, no doubt, caught his
scent swirling in the air around them, Arthur could feel his pleasure blossom
renewed as his hidden sex awakened and released something slick and sweetly
scented from within him. When his husband touched his face and neck to kiss
him, Arthur’s skin burned with a carnal fever.
“Husband—” He was cut off by the King’s deep kisses.
Eames nearly lost it when Arthur moaned into his mouth. He barely got them to
the bed. Eames spared little time in tearing open Arthur’s tights and laying
him down. When he parted his thighs, they were glistening.
Arthur’s heart quickened at Eames’ predatory glare. He pushed himself back
further on the bed and moved the sheets aside as Eames freed himself from his
hose and tights. His husband was on him at once, attacking his mouth. In spite
of his fear, his body responded even more, his temperature rising. His belt was
broken and his tunic in scraps when both landed on the floor.
There was no time for soft touches and whispered words this time. It hurt when
Eames’ cock opened him. He cried out in pain even as his cock leaked on Eames’
tawny hair. Eames seemed to grow larger still as he thrust harder and deeper.
Arthur clung to his husband’s back, tears stinging his eyes, holding in the
sobs that soon turned to moans when his body began to adjust to Eames’ sex. It
was like nothing he'd ever expected. Eames' cock inside him was overwhelming.
His body hummed with every rock of his hips and his firm hands. Their scents
bled together and drove them both wild. 
He tried to keep his eyes open to see his husband’s pleasure, but even the
King’s eyes fell closed. He cursed and moaned above Arthur, shaking with the
force to maintain control.
Eames was able to glance at Arthur for a moment before the sight overwhelmed
him again. Arthur’s back was arched like a bow as Eames' thrusts pushed him
further into the pillows, his head tossed back, curls tumbling about that
lovely face, as Eames buried himself as deep as he could. So wet and tight,
Eames grunting and growled at the mere thought of being crushed in such a body.
Eames grabbed his face and kissed him until Arthur’s hips rocked against his,
begging him to keep moving. But his knot was soon to swell already. He could
feel his release building but he wasn’t ready even for this one time to end, in
spite of knowing that he would take Arthur again as soon as he was able.
He pulled out slowly, heartbroken by Arthur’s soft wince. He’d been too hard
and demanding in claiming his omegahead, and was certain he’d regret it the
moment he was no longer fogged by Arthur’s intoxicating scent. Eames rumbled
deep against Arthur's neck, settling him before he turned him on his side and
settled in closely behind him.
“H-husband, why did you stop?”
He soothed him with kisses across his shoulders and nape. “Trust me, darling,
I'm not abandoning you.”
Arthur looked truly feverish now when he tried to turn and see Eames’ face, but
Eames wrapped his arms around him tightly, a hand between his slippery inner
thighs to guide himself back into Arthur’s body. He felt about his omega sex,
raking his wetted fingers over taut balls, his smooth, weeping cock, and
through the thick, soft curls beneath his belly. He kept his hand close to
stroke Arthur’s cock and to hold his hips still. He moaned into his mate’s soft
hair, a strung arrow and bow himself now that the need to knot rose to new
heights with every pant and sigh that passed Arthur’s lips.
“Arthur,” he gritted out, trying to stave off the inevitable for just a moment
longer as he slowed to a pause, “Arthur, hold still now. Oh, god. This…this
will be over soon, I promise.” His guilt tinged his arousal, knowing that his
knot would surely hurt his omega more than anything in the past had. He was
already too tight and had to be sore from Eames' rough handling. He held him
tight, expecting Arthur to try to struggle away from the swelling bulge. To his
immense surprise, the opposite happened.
"Oh fuck!" Arthur screamed and came hard around the knot, shouting out a stream
of curses in his language, his only struggle the fight to keep himself from
being any louder. He dug his nails into the backs of Eames’ hands and in the
sheets in his effort to ride out his orgasm.
Was his knot always necessary in order to pull that kind of a release from his
omega? Eames would have laughed at the surprise, but he was fighting his own
battle now. Pouring his seed into Arthur’s constricting passage, he wanted to
shift and bite him, to give him the truest mark of a werewolf alpha’s claim.
This need rippled through his body so badly it hurt. He kissed along Arthur’s
neck and nipped at his shoulder instead.
He heard Arthur’s heavy breaths and felt his chest heaving in his arms. It was
enough to quell his inner beast. He squeezed him and closed his eyes just to
focus on those two things. He wasn’t out of breath himself, and felt more alive
than ever. He’d never bedded a human before, never knew that such small things
as hearing Arthur catching his breath and feeling his heart beating so fast
could make his love for the omega that much more severe. 
They lay together in the afternoon sunlight. Eames carefully moved enough to
prop his head on his hand. He watched Arthur stare into the fireplace, his
heartbeat leveled and steady, though his fever remained high.  
When his knot at long last released Arthur, Eames whispered into his damp
curls. “Darling?” 
“Hm?”
“Are you… Are you well?”
Arthur was sure that if the King’s knot hadn't held him in place, he’d still
have been unable to move. His field had just been plowed by a very enthusiastic
farmer, but his smile was bright and his spirits high when Eames turned him to
see his face. Laughter bubbled from his chest, his energy renewed as the King
gazed at him with loving eyes. He was saved. Everything would be perfect now
that his heat had at long last come and freed him from his chastity. “Yes,
Sire.” He blinked, a little dazed by his fever and sore. "Or, rather, no. I'm
not well at all."
Eames tilted his head at Arthur's funny expression, but his breath caught when
he felt Arthur's hips rubbing against his. He chuckled, parting Arthur's thighs
to lie between them again. "Then...what might your husband do to make you well,
your Highness?" 
+
***** Chapter 9 *****
+
 
Arthur squinted as Lady Catherine opened the drapes to let in the late
afternoon light. He stretched, yawning and heard one of his attendants clear
their throat. 
He looked around and promptly grabbed the sheets from around his ankles and
burrowed under them, his face and ears bright red. “I’m so sorry, everyone.”
As much as his lists of attendants had seen him naked throughout his life, it
was still embarrassing to wake up like this. He imagined he must have looked
like a wanton tavern whore, and felt so crippling guilty that his ladies and
boys had to tend to him while trying not to look at his bruising, or his come
dried on his stomach, or the state of the sheets, or the heavy scent of his and
the King’s sex clinging to everything in the room.
Lady Catherine held up her hands, her tone soft. “We perfectly understand, your
Highness. You are an adult now and a married omega. Do not fault yourself for
performing your most critical spousal duties." She couldn't help but stifle her
own smile when he groaned miserably. "One cannot be expected to bring forth
heirs without first putting in the work.” She felt about his forehead. “Your
fever is still high.”
He nodded, rolling into a cool spot on his pillows and sheets. He began to doze
again. “I’m starving.”
“Have coffee and pastries brought in,” he heard the lady whisper to one of the
boys, "and send for his Majesty."
Arthur groaned louder and pulled the sheets over his head. “Can’t I just sleep
in for a little while longer?”
“No, no, no.” She pulled back the covers and got him sitting up to put on his
chemise. She made him walk in circles around the room to wake him up more and
to assess his personal state. “You mustn’t repress your heat or delay
copulation when your fever is so high. Your Highness tried that yesterday and
it only made you unwell, remember?”
“When will it end?” he gritted, wincing a little as he made his way around the
room. 
He was exhausted. Eames was too demanding always. Even when he tried to be
tender. Worse, his husband's sexual drive had no end. He might as well have
been the one in heat, because every day he fucked Arthur until Arthur couldn’t
take anymore and still Eames wanted another round. Not that it didn’t feel
mind-numbingly good when he made love to Arthur, but he also missed being able
to just sleep at night.
He tried to sit on the edge of the bed, but Lady Catherine made him walk again.
“I’m tired…and gross…and...so very hot...and...thirsty. I’m dying, Madam, and I
need a bath.”
“Remember, we aren’t permitted to touch his Highness until your heat has ended.
If his Majesty were to catch any of our scents near your body during your
heat…” She trailed off, rather than say. “And in your weak state, it is unsafe
to let you bathe alone. Your heat willend, perhaps in a few more days.”
“Days?” It had already been a week. He crawled back into bed with Sophie. “I
won’t survive.”
“You’ll be quite alright, your Highness. Your heat would actually end at once
if you were to conceive a child, so strive for that today when the King
arrives.” 
 
King Eames had an important meeting with the privy council that morning that
had held him for several hours. By the time he slipped into the room, Arthur’s
fever had risen to its highest state.
He hated his heat and the constant wetness between his legs. No pleasure in the
entire world could outweigh the things this fever made him do. He’d stripped
out of his chemise again and had most of the sheets and pillows on the floor in
spite of the winter’s chill. His words slurred, his grace gone, and the only
thing his drunken mind could focus on was how he could acquire his alpha's knot
again. His breath was labored as he lay on his stomach with his hands between
his legs, trying to quiet his need, but it wasn’t enough. He groaned with the
aching need for relief.
“Arthur?” he heard King Eames whisper as he was joined on the bed some time
later.
He moaned in answer and pushed his hips back against his husband’s when he
settled over him. The King scented his neck and kissed a line down his back.
Eames’ hands scalded the flesh of his hips and thighs when they parted his
legs. “Please…”
Arthur was so close to coming already. With Eames’ tongue slipping inside, it
would only take a few seconds more. He groaned when two of the King’s fingers
pushed into him just as he began to tumble through his quiet release.
He was boneless when his husband turned him onto his back.
“Feeling better?” Eames asked. He sat up and started to strip.
“Feeling worse…” His hand returned between his legs as he dozed again. "I
need…more."
Eames kissed his lips softly, missing his taste and scent though he’d only been
gone for a little while. “Don’t worry, love. I’ve got you.” It was a dream
feeling Arthur stretch around his cock. Playing dirty, he hadn’t bothered to
remove Arthur’s fingers first. Now he reveled in the sound of Arthur moaning at
the top of his lungs as Eames drove in hard.
“Eames! You…awful devil!”
Eames laughed. "Yes, I very much enjoy hearing you call me that." He growled
with mirth as Arthur let loose a string of filthy curses in his language.
He watched himself take Arthur, his hands roaming freely when they weren’t
holding his hips. So far, he’d learned that Arthur enjoyed being touched, so
Eames touched him everywhere. His hands swept from his lips and neck down to
harden his nipples and tickle his ribs and stomach with rough fingertips, and
to press possessive marks along his hipbones and lower back.
Even as tired as he was, Arthur’s body still sung his husband’s praises. His
hips lifted to meet Eames’ when his quick strokes didn’t go deep enough, his
thighs locked around his waist. When Eames turned Arthur back on his stomach,
his spine arched and knees spread wide to entice his husband’s knot to swell.
 
Eames watched Arthur drift blissfully as his knot held them together. He petted
his shoulders, back, and let his hand rest over his flat stomach when he rolled
them on their side. He squeezed Arthur tight and hummed contently.
When the last embers of Arthur’s climax burned out, he yawned into his pillow,
“Have I conceived yet?”
Eames’ face lit up in a brilliant smile. He hugged him tightly again. “No,
but…it warms my heart, hotter than the sun, to know that you wish for our child
too. Soon, my darling. Soon, we will have our pack of little ones.”
Arthur felt Eames begin to move his hips again as soon as the knot went away.
His face and neck were littered with kisses as his pace quickened. Arthur’s
fever rose higher once more, as he was taken with gentle strokes and more soft
kisses. His body beckoned the King for relief.
It wasn’t that Arthur wanted a child, he just wanted to sleep.
+
 
Most days, Eames didn’t like to be a bully.
However, he did enjoy the silences that spread through every hall and corridor
as his heavy booted footfalls echoed off the stone floors.
The werewolves at court knew to hold their tongues, but a few of the humans
still seemed to forget. The werewolves knew he could hear every word whispered
from the humans that gossiped.
“I heard rumor that King Eames broke his lance twelve times on the first night
of the Prince’s heat.”
“Twelve times? How on earth does someone…that much in one night? My god, it
must be true then, that the Milecomté boy actually came from a brothel, if the
King broke his lance that many times in one night.”
“I’m only surprised the Prince didn’t drown in it all.”
“Hush, you two, the King is coming.”
Eames snarled at the crowd at large, sending several people scurrying out into
the courtyard. He smirked as he continued his walk with his attendants, certain
that no one would speak of his mate that way again. Who would dare?
 
Eames knew the moment he stepped into the room that he was going to get bad
news. Only the Cardinal and Lord Yusuf’s confidence were maintained; all the
other lords and dukes shuffled into their seats like punished children.
“So,” he began, “I know it foolish to hope for good news, but thankfully my
omega has given me enough spirit to remain content, at least for two articles
of bad news.”
“Majesty,” the Duke of Stoneborough warned, patting the sweat from his large
brow with his handkerchief, “there are no less than five articles of bad news
that must be reported.”
“Then figure out a way to condense them, your Grace.” Eames clasped his hands
and made himself comfortable, waiting for his day to be ruined.
Yusuf sighed and began to arrange each document in front of the King as the
others sat silently panicking.
“King Dominic has reclaimed another territory,” Yusuf explained first.
“Which one?”
“Hüstablen and its adjoining bridge.”
Eames’ claws dug gorges into the arms of his chair. “Which means that it will
be two reclaimed territories by the end of the week the moment the bridge is
restored."
"That was the second article of news."
He glanced to the heavens, wishing for nothing more than to return to Arthur's
bed. "Of course. And?”
“The outbreak of the flux was allowed to cross into the Eameston borders.”
Eames growled. “Lord Thompson was supposed to take care of that." He glared at
the old man.
"Forgive me, Majesty," the Governor stuttered, "I did not fully anticipate its
speed and ability to spread."
"No, but you were supposed to keep your people contained and closed off until
the sickness quieted. Apparently, you did not." He pinched the bridge of his
nose when the man failed to offer another excuse. He looked back at Yusuf. "Has
my—”
“Your family has been recollected safely into Wolfshire, yes. Provided that
they are still healthy, they will be brought here to Engston—”
“But not to court.” He pointed his finger at Yusuf, ready to order him to send
his family back if this were the case.
“Precisely, Sire. They shall be placed in your finest border castle, instead of
within the palace.”
"No, not the finest castle. Maybe the second finest."
Yusuf fought hard to hide his amusement. He nodded. "Will do, Majesty."
“Good.” He relaxed, though only a thin margin. “Continue.”
"Prince Arthur's coronation still needs to be voted upon by Parliament."
"It will wait."
"Your Majesty also needs to perform the final mating ritual as well," the young
Earl of Green said.
That was the last thing he wanted to think about. "I'm aware. Next?" 
“In order to rebuild your army, taxes must be raised in all areas of the
state.”
“Obviously,” he nodded without thought.
“But, your Majesty,” the highly decorated Duke of Roe, leaned forward, “surely
not all areas.” He placed a protective hand over his elaborate necklace.
Eames blinked. “Did you mishear me, your Grace? And might I remind you that
you, and every other soul in this realm, has men like your brother to thank for
the new taxes to your home.”
“Majesty, I beseech you—”
“Beseech your kin. I’m sure the disgraced general will be all ears to your
suffering.” He motioned for a servant to bring him wine. “What is the next
article of news?”
No one spoke. Eames cut his eye at Yusuf, not bothering to acknowledge to the
others. “I said, continue, your Grace.”
Yusuf sighed and handed Eames the largest document. “There are hard rumors that
King Dominic will also secure an alliance with King Miles within the next five
or six months.”
Eames stared into his wine, willing himself not to crumble the cup when he sat
in on the table. “How?”
“Queen Mallorie is with child. If the child is an alpha, then…” He didn’t need
to finish.
Eames rose from his chair and waved for the others to remain seated as he paced
slowly. “If I’m not mistaken, that alliance was meant to be ours, partly in
exchange for waiving a dowry for the Prince. How could some weak human alpha
entice that old man when I shall and will have guaranteed alphas—strong,
invincible werewolf alphas—every time my omega’s belly grows full with child?”
The Cardinal spoke up for the first time. “The stipulation was for whoever’s
heir that was produced first. It seems King Miles pines for grandchildren, in
his old age, and will take whatever he can get. And seeing as how Queen
Mallorie is months along while Prince Arthur has yet to conceive…”
Eames was hardly listening. He stopped pacing to touch the little amulet on his
necklace and vial of the potion that Mallorie had had tailor-made for his
werewolf ruts. He shook his head. “Just as easily as princesses are transformed
into queens, so do loyalties shift, from brother to husband, and friend…to
enemy.” He pulled the thin gold necklace until the clasp gave way. He cast the
potion into the fireplace and watched it burn bright purple. “Inform her
Majesty, Queen Mallorie, that her place here in my court has been forever
revoked. If I ever get to see her again, I hope she be in mourning clothes over
the death of her precious husband with the key to his kingdom tied around her
neck.”
“What of the Prince?” Yusuf asked, his eyes on his ledger.
“His sister’s alliance is with her husband," Eames explained. "Arthur's
alliance is with me.”
Yusuf refrained from voicing his opinion and instead asked, “New military
leaders must be appointed to replace the former generals, Sire.”
Eames turned from the window. “Indeed. I leave that task in the hands of
Cardinal Stewart.”
“With honor, your Majesty,” the Cardinal smiled.
“Majesty,” the Duke of Roe tried again, “I stand firm that our loses are due in
large part to mistakes made by the foot soldiers. If you would have my brother
reinstated, he could regain his honor by grooming your new men.
“No.” He leveled the man with a glare. “This time, I shall train them all
myself, to avoid any more ‘mistakes’, dear Grace.”
+
 
The sun had not yet risen. Arthur rolled over and shivered hard enough to wake
him fully.
He bolted upright with a gasp and laughed merrily.
He was freezing.
His heat was over.
“Oh sweet blessed Mother,” he prayed, “thank you. Thank you for your gracious
mercy.”
He climbed to the end of the bed to retrieve the fallen quilts and extra
sheets, bundling himself in them like a caterpillar in a cocoon.
“Today, we will eat, bathe, and—No, bathe first, and—Well maybe…do them both at
once!” The possibilities were endless. He had no idea when his next heat would
come, but in the meantime, he would enjoy the return of his sexless life, where
he and his husband could spend their nights watching the stars instead of
sweating on each other.
He was still smiling as he drifted back to sleep.
 
Arthur stared at Lady Catherine, unblinking. He waited for her to declare her
statement a joke, but no declaration came. She stared back at him, waiting for
his response.
“So…” he began slowly, processing each word, “even though my heat has ended, I
may still conceive a child?”
“Yes, your Highness. Heats only…draw out an omega’s true sex, and then
afterwards, they only inspire an omega and his mate to spend more time together
if no child was conceive in the months that proceeded.”
“And, because I can still conceive…that means that…I still have to have sex?”
“Yes, your Highness.”
“Oh. Okay.” He played with his food.
“Is something wrong, your Highness? Has he been unkind to you?”
“No, no. It’s just…” He hesitated on whether he could voice his feelings. “We
just…never did anything else but…that when my heat was here. Now that it is
gone, I figured that we could…” He shrugged. “I want things to be like they
once were. I miss the times when we used to laugh together, or when he would
hold my hand under the table—Not romantically, he only held my hand because he
thought I cheated at cards.” He smiled. “But it was nice.”
“Your Highness is too young for nostalgia,” she responded gently. “Think of
your future, Arthur. When you are with child, the whole realm will will love
you, and his Majesty—”
“Will forget that I exist the second the child is in his hands.” He propped his
chin on his hand and pushed away his food. “Has Lord Yusuf permitted me to go
to my observatory yet? And where is Sophie? I have been neglecting her.”
+
 
Arthur sat in the parlor that evening reading with his attendants. Or rather,
pretending to read.
Yesterday, at this same time, he’d been enveloped in the arms of King Eames. He
sat watching the fire burn in the hearth, wondering what his mate was doing, or
how his day had been. Arthur’s heat was over, which is his mind, he’d expected
the ability to walk farther than his bedroom without a fever would make his
husband want to spend time with him, maybe want to have dinner with him, or
join him on his walk through the gardens, or even to have the first chance to
tease Arthur about how embarrassingly loud he was during sex. The day had
passed, and still, here Arthur remained, bored and alone.
Even visiting the observatory hadn’t been the same without the King there with
him.
He hadn't realized that he'd grown so attached to the King's company, until it
was gone.
Maybe it was for the best. After all, the past two weeks of his heat had meant
that time spent with his husband boiled down to sex and nothing else. He was
sore and falling asleep into his book, so…maybe time alone wasn’t so bad. 
Arthur was happy to retire early that night.
His bed was cold, so he sat near the fireplace, on the rug beside Sophie’s
little bed, petting her to sleep. Every now and then when he’d stop, she would
crack open an eye at him.
He chuckled fondly. “You have to stop pretending, or else neither of us will
sleep tonight.” He watched her get up and shake her fur before trotting to the
bed. She pawed at the wood and looked back at him. “Sophie, no. Come here.” He
crawled over to retrieve her and put her back in the basket. “I’ve spoiled you.
You’re no good at all.” He covered her face in kisses. “You have to stay put
here. I promise I will hold you tomorrow. Now sleep.”
He laughed when she growled at her bed. He sighed. “Very well. Because you are
a brat and because this floor is too hard for me to sit on all night. Mal would
be very unhappy with both of us.”
His door opened. He stood up and frowned. “What is this?”
Eames smiled as he neared to kiss him. “I missed you all day, my darling. You
look surprised.”
“I thought you'd forgotten about me, Majesty," he muttered sheepishly.
"Really? Never."
Arthur smiled as well. "Well, it is very sweet that you stopped by to say
goodnight.”
“Oh no, darling, I’m staying.” He took Sophie by her scruff and handed her to
Arthur's lady, who bowed and followed the King’s attendants out of the room.
His face fell. “But… Husband, aren’t you sleepy? It's awfully late.”
“Believe me, I am exhausted,” he groaned, pulling off his nightgown. He
stretched lazily and pulled Arthur into his arms.
Arthur let him kiss his neck and shoulder. “I had thought that maybe
tonight...you would not want to…” He couldn't finish. Even after all they'd
done, he blushed terribly at the thought of sex. 
Eames blinked. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Arthur blinked back. “My heat is over.”
“Yes, thank god!" he teased. "I swear I lost a stone and a half tumbling around
on this bed with you.”
“So…you wish to lay with me again? Now?”
Eames was beyond confused. “Yes. Why?”
Arthur grimaced. “Perhaps tomorrow instead?”
Eames’ brow shot up. “Why can’t I sleep with you now?” He frowned and crossed
his arms. “Your heat's been gone for hardly a full day and already you tire of
me? Do you not want me here?”
What could he say when he’d already said too much of the wrong thing?
“Majesty, I’m sorry—”
“You would have me leave?”
“No, no. Of course not.” He just wasn’t looking forward to staying up all night
when he was already half dead to the world, but the last thing he wanted was to
make his husband angry.
“Good,” Eames groaned. “Come along then, my darling.” He took Arthur’s hand and
led him to the bed.
Arthur watched him get comfortable under the covers before following him in.
Eames tilted his head when Arthur just sat beside him. He propped himself up on
his elbow. “What is it, darling? Did you want to talk first?”
His brow furrowed, but he shook his head and lied down on his back, ready for
his husband to mount him. Instead, the King yawned and turned Arthur on his
side so he could snuggle in close. He felt a large hand move under the sheets,
slipping under his nightgown. Arthur tried to relax so Eames could get him wet
quickly. But Eames’ arm circled his waist and stayed there as he stretched and
yawned again.
“Good night, my darling.”
Arthur remained still, waiting, but as the minutes passed by, he could feel his
husband’s breathing change against the back of his hair. Confused now himself,
Arthur turned and lightly elbowed his husband’s chest.
Eames woke with a start. “What? 'm sorry, Arthur. What were you saying?”
“You… You fell asleep.”
He snuggled in closer. “Mhm.”
After searching his mind for a reason and coming up empty, Arthur simply gave
up and asked, “Why?”
Eames cracked open an eye and glared. “What, I’m only allowed to be in your bed
if we’re coupling? I already know that, but I didn’t expect you to be this
hostile about it—"
"No, I only thought that you—"
"—either way, I don't give a damn." He shrugged. "As your husband, I have a
right to sleep with you whenever I wish. Surely having me here to warm your bed
and sleep on your back isn’t all bad, is it?” 
Arthur didn't realize that he was covering Eames' hand under the blankets. “But
you did not want to do other things?” His hold tightened.
Eames grinned, dozing again. “Believe me, there’s never a time that I don’t
want to be inside you, Arthur. Even with your heat gone, you're still so very,
very tempting. As soon as I can manage to keep my eyes open, I just might take
you, but for tonight, I just want to hold you and sleep. It won't hurt, I
promise.”
“Oh.” The feeling he’d had the night he’d eavesdropped on Lord Yusuf and the
King’s talk of the wedding returned with total force. “I see.”
Eames groaned and turned with Arthur still in his arms. “I am a poor man
starved of my omega’s warmth and his lovely brown eyes, and beg you, my god,
to—” he yawned and didn’t finish.
Arthur lay over him as if the King were a human-sized pillow. Eames smiled in
his sleep when Arthur moved to lie fully on top of him. His chest rose and fell
like steady waves on an ocean. Arthur watched in amazement as his husband
transformed from the peacefully slumbering giant of fables into a snoring
beast. He figured that during his heat, he must have always been so exhausted
after their coupling that he’d never noticed how loud and aggressively Eames
snored.
He tried to keep quiet as he laughed into his husband's neck when the snoring
changed from scary to bizarre.
Something struck him then. Arthur couldn’t place a happier time than this
moment in all his life. Watching his husband sleep, he felt at peace for the
first time since he'd arrived in the country. He smiled to himself as he traced
Eames’ stubble and lips and cheekbones, and across the downy hair on his
chest. Here lay the werewolf King of Engston, in his bed, demanding his
attention, for the sole reason that he missed him. He'd missed Arthur. It made
him feel silly. But it hurt to think of the morning, when he would awake and
the King would be gone to his duties.
So, Arthur stayed awake for as long as he could, trying to analyze and make
sense of all he felt. Content, safe, loved.
In love, perhaps?
What had Mal’s advice been? That he would know when it happened. She’d been
talking about Robert at the time, but she was right. The way Arthur’s spirits
rose upon seeing a new letter from his cousin paled in comparison to how he
felt when his lips touched Eames’, or when the King stepped into the secret
garden and smiled his brightest seeing Arthur there with his ledger and books.
Even now, when Arthur moved up his body enough to plant a soft kiss to his
lips, it hurt, like the first sighs on his heat had hurt, as if his heart had
been snagged by invisible hooks from Eames’ chest that tugged painfully
whenever he moved too far away.
He kissed Eames again and laughed when the King muttered and turned them in his
sleep, now enveloping Arthur in all his warmth. Arthur rubbed his back and
studied the dark markings on his husband’s arm, trying to fight his own sleep
and losing.
 
Arthur was roused accidentally when Eames moved.
“Sorry,” Eames whispered, guilty. “I’m usually not so clumsy.”
Arthur stretched and yawned wide. “You’re leaving? But it’s hardly dawn.”
“I must go to prepare for a long day full of meetings.” Eames looked exhausted
still, but he willed himself to sit up.
Arthur caught his arm in a sleepy grip. “Just another hour?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You blow cold and then hot within a night?” He
smirked. “Ah, but I’m taking my comfort and body’s warmth with me and leave
behind a cooling, empty space. I see why you would have me stay now. Remember
that the next time you speak to send me away, my Prince.”
Arthur frowned, embarrassed. “Eames, please?”
He leaned over to kiss his face. “Arthur, darling, I’m sorry but I cannot
stay.”
“But must you really go this early? We were barely able to speak last night.”
“As much as I love conversation with you, I have to leave,” he yawned and moved
to stand.
Arthur sat up, his heart meaning to chase after its master. “Well, if not for
conversation then…perhaps another attempt at a child?” He blushed when that
offer caught his husband’s attention. “Or…practice?”
Eames smiled. “Knotting you will take time, and even more for the knot to
subside, which will make me even later for my meeting. Now, stop pouting.”
“I’m not pouting.”
“Yes, you are. And now you’re glaring…and now you’re smirking, which… Arthur,
what are you planning? And why are you lifting…your gown?”
“I’m not sure.” Arthur lowered his eyes, blushing and still holding the hem of
his nightgown to his chest.
Eames couldn’t take his eyes off of Arthur’s bared body. He groaned. Arthur's
soft skin still held some of the little bruises from Eames’ rough play.
“Perhaps you may be feeling some residual…affection…after your heat? Or
perhaps,” he teased, settling between Arthur’s legs without another thought,
“I’m just that damned good at bedding you.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “That sounds true.”
Eames’ face faltered as he looked at his mate with suspicion. “Really?”
"Yeah." Arthur nodded, smiling. “It wasn't all just my heat, save for those
days when I could not so much as remember my name from fever. When I was
feeling more like myself, I enjoyed…your attentions.”
Eames puffed up his chest, proud. “It felt good, did it?” He already knew, but
he couldn’t help but stroke his ego.
“When I was not so overwhelmed?” He nodded again, laughing at Eames’
expression.
“And you wish to feel good again, yes?” His eyes were golden as he kissed his
way around Arthur’s stomach.
“I wish for you to stay a while longer. However, I do wonder, will I feel the
same as I did in heat? My sex doesn’t appear to be so lively anymore.”
“Only one way to find out.”
Arthur propped himself up on his elbows to see Eames better, more curious to
see what his husband would do rather than from lust, until Eames’ stubble
tickled over his thigh. He gasped, seeing his cock disappear into Eames’
mouth. He tried to keep his eyes open. He thought it lewd to watch the King’s
head bob up and down, but he couldn’t stop watching, and wondered what it would
be like to perform this same skill on his husband.
But then, Eames’ mouth drifted lower, drawing out a now familiar ache and
pleasure. Arthur collapsed onto the bed, a long, deep moan passing his lips,
his eyes on the carvings of the canopy as Eames’ tongue did wicked things.
Eames held apart his thighs with one hand and with the other rose to seek out
his soft down, his cock, and his sensitive navel, then reached for Arthur’s
hand.
He blushed terribly and moaned louder, already desperate, when Eames guided him
to stroke his cock, bringing him on the edge of release. His back arched as
Eames toyed his nipples.
Arthur was speechless when Eames pulled away. His wetness made the King’s lips
and early morning beard glisten. “Majesty,” he breathed, his cock leaking on
his stomach at the sight.
With a triumphant grin, Eames rubbed his face on the sheets and climbed up
Arthur’s body with a devil’s mirth. He latched onto Arthur’s nipples until his
omega bit his lip to stop from begging.
Eames’ tongue slipped into Arthur’s reddened mouth, ready to catch his gasp
when his cock pushed inside him. He moaned, feeling Arthur’s release around his
torturously slow thrusts. “I’m going to miss my entire meeting because of you,”
he teased, slowing down the pace even more. “And possibly breakfast.”
“Forgive me, Sire,” he moaned behind his hand.
Eames grabbed his wrists and held him down. “No forgiveness. I’m going to
punish you for distracting me so.” But he paused, his hips stilled. Just
looking at Arthur’s face and seeing him in raptures, Eames forgot his plan.
Arthur opened his dazed eyes, his brow creasing faintly before finding himself
as lost in Eames' eyes as Eames was lost in his. Eames released his wrists to
hold his face with careful hands, brushing aside his wild curls and rubbing his
cheeks, his lips. “Arthur, I…”
Arthur’s heart hurt again. He rested his hands on Eames’ shoulders. He rocked
his hips as much as he could under Eames’ weight and leaned up to touch his
lips to Eames', silently begging for more of his kisses.
Eames resumed his lazy strokes, Arthur's hips meeting him halfway every time.
Their hearts beat together, their breaths shared, eyes never leaving each
other, until Eames couldn't hold back any longer. He held Arthur through his
release as he tumbled after him.
Sunrise painted the dark sky in whispers of pastels. Eames kissed Arthur
through his trembling and erratic heart.
“I never asked you before about these,” Arthur whispered, letting his
fingertips trace over the markings on Eames’ shoulder and arm.
Eames ducked his head in Arthur’s neck. He squeezed him in his arms as if
fearing he’d run or disappear. “You've never heard whisper of my family’s
history?”
“Yes, but… These are neither burns nor birthmark,” he mused, circling the
spirals on his husband’s bicep. “Right?”
“It is my birthmark, my blood. We Eameses all carry these markings. The witch’s
branding,” he explained softly as he was held. “You see, my family wasn’t
always so powerful. My great-great grandparents, Edward and Lilith Eames and
their children were humans, serfs, working for a tyrant. Lord Jonathan Fischer,
ancestor to Maurice and his son Robert, was made of the Devil himself. He and
his sons ruled with beatings, starvation, rape, and any other barbaric means of
torture they could come up with. They even turned their dogs on Lilith when she
was with child in the fields once, it’s been told, because she refused to be
Lord Fischer’s whore. However, they were not the Eames clan’s greatest threat.”
“The witch?”
“Yes, who was Jonathan Fischer’s wife, and her lover the werewolf Ruben the
Third. Their terror killed three of Edward’s sons, but it was the death of his
only daughter that pushed him to his edge. At dawn, he attempted revenge and
lost.”
“He was killed?”
“No, he was bitten. They all were, except for Lilith, who was later bitten by
Edward on the first full moon of their turning. The Fischer tyrant had no
inkling of his wife’s power or her attack on his serfs. It is said that he and
his sons actually laughed when the Eames clan descended from their homes with
not a weapon in hand. Only one of the Fischer sons managed to escape the revolt
and fled to the neighboring castle.”
“That castle was in Engston?”
“Yes. Engston had very little power or land back then.”
“And your family established Eameston, then. Where?”
“On the land of our former master." He smiled. "You see, the witch was
overjoyed at seeing her husband and sons fall, even if temporary thinking all
their wealth was now hers, but little did she know that while planning the
overthrow, Edward and his sons had also been gathering their strengths, using
their curse to the fullest advantage. They destroyed her and her werewolf, but
not before she was able to brand Edward’s sons with a final curse, these
markings the only physical proof of such. When the sons had children of their
own, they were born with it just as they were born with werewolf blood.
“No one save or our family knew what the curse was until some time passed.
Factions formed, brothers and their sons fought to overthrow one another as
power grew and the Fischers rose up again. Two remained in Eameston, the other
three formed Wolfshire at its border. Pitted against each other, they would
shift on the full moons and rampage through their brother’s lands. One night,
my grandfather and his uncle fought viciously over the rights to Wolfshire. It
was the first of its kind, not man fighting man, but beast against beast, each
dripping with the blood of the other. My grandfather got his teeth around his
uncle’s neck and wouldn’t let go until the other submitted.”
“Were they both alphas?” Arthur asked in amazement, deep in Eames’ tale.
“They were, but by the end of the night, one had changed. When my grandfather’s
uncle relented and gave up through his submission, the curse claimed its first
victim. He could not, even until the end of his days, shift back into his human
form. By losing, he gave up his right to be a man.”
Arthur gasped, shaking his head. “Impossible. No.”
Eames toyed with one of Arthur’s longer curls, his brow furrowed as he
navigated through his thoughts. “Not impossible,” he whispered. “When we fight,
we fight for more than power and dominance. Through our curse, we must also
fight for our right to be more than just a beast.”
“But…then…” His own brow rose as he studied Eames’ face. “That is how you’ve
come to lead over all your family?”
“Only those who have challenged and lost.”
“Like?”
“My brothers.” He smiled bitterly. “As my father did all but one of his
brothers, and his sister,” he explained. “I suppose, with a less volatile clan,
the thought of losing your blood forever in a curse would make one think twice
about letting anger and competition get the better of us, but we would not be
alphas without it. Sometimes, I look at my brothers and miss the old days.
Sometimes being near them is too much, so I send them into the forest after a
boar or deer to keep them out of my sight. The people of Engston certainly
think my brothers are my pets.”
“The two wolves in your pack?” He paled. “Eames…”
The guard knocked on the door, drawing their attention. Eames sighed, feeling
heavy when he kissed Arthur’s forehead and dislodge himself from the tangle of
Arthur’s legs, his cock soft when it slipped free.
“Eames, maybe just another minute?”
Eames’ smile was fond when he glanced back. Arthur rose as well and placed his
furs over Eames’ shoulders as he tied his robe.
He wanted to say ten million things to his husband, but had no idea where to
start. He hadn’t been prepared for the King’s revelation, and now that he had
to leave, he wished to follow him.
Eames kissed his forehead and hugged him tightly. “Back to bed with you. Get
some rest.” When Arthur bit his lip and lowered his eyes, his smile was sad.
“You needn’t ask, my darling. I shall be back as soon as I can. And I will be
thinking of you all the while that I’m away.” He pressed his hand over Arthur’s
stomach when he kissed his cheek.
Arthur sat on the edge of the bed when Eames left. He was tired, but try as he
might, he couldn’t get comfortable anymore. The bed was simply too big for just
one little person. One embarrassingly lonely, pining little person.
+
 
“Your Highness.” Lord Yusuf smiled at Arthur. “What a pleasant surprise this
is. Are you well?”
“I am, your Grace, thank you. Might we walk together for a little while?”
“For you, anything. I had been hoping I could speak with you, actually,
although, forgive me if I offend but, I did not wish to interrupt your…” he
waved his hands, searching.
Arthur blushed and nodded. “I understand fully.”
“Good, good. As you know, the Winter Solstice festival is almost upon us, and
while his Majesty has enjoyed planning the event all these past years, it is
impossible for him to find the time anymore.”
“That is what I wanted to speak to you about as well. I… I’ve been taught not
to interfere in my husband’s matters, but…it’s been a while since he and
I…were…together, which for me, if I may admit this to you, is worrying.”
“Ah, I see. You must forgive his Majesty. As much as I know he wishes to spend
every waking hour with you, the campaign against King Dominic has consumed all
of his attention this past week, and I fear it shall be this way for a while
yet.”
“Oh, I understand.” He frowned.
“Worry not, Highness,” Yusuf assured him. “If he neglects you, it is not from
malice or indifference to your needs.”
Arthur’s eyes widened, his cheeks and ears pink at the Lord Chancellor’s
meaning.
“But you know, if you help me with my request, I may be able to persuade the
King to take a break or two once the holiday has passed, so that you and he may
have your time together again.” At Arthur’s earnest nod, he explained, “It
would give the King’s heart a great boost if you would take over preparations
for the festival.”
“Of course. I’d be honored.”
“Really? Excellent, that’s perfect. I shall inform Cardinal Stewart so that you
two may began at once.”
Arthur stopped walking. “Cardinal Stewart?”
“Yes. He is in charge of all expenses for religious and festive events. I’m
sure he’d be thrilled to work with you.”
Arthur couldn’t get his brow to relax or his fist to unclench at his sides. Of
all the people in the world… “I’m sure.” He smiled with Yusuf, though his did
not reach his eyes the way Yusuf’s did. “I also wanted to ask your favor about
something? I have a plan for an observatory for the people in the city. It
would be a place where the undereducated could have an opportunity to share in
the explorations of the skies.”
It was Yusuf’s turn to stop now. He turned fully to Arthur with a serious face.
“Highness, that sounds extraordinary. As your first act as the future Queen,
this could bring you favor for centuries to come, to create such a magnificent
institution for the common people.”
“Thank you, your Grace. Will you help me with the proposal?”
“I’d be delighted, and know that once you’ve helped Cardinal Stewart with the
festival, he too will gladly sign on for this construction as soon as Spring.”
“Cardinal Stewart is in charge of such matters as well?” His heart withered
when Yusuf nodded.
“He’s old fashioned and not entirely enthusiastic about the sciences, but, I
think you’ll charm him into it easily.”
Arthur dug half moons into his palms and imaged for a moment the joy of
scratching out the Cardinal’s eyes. He forced another smiled. “I’m sure you’re
right, my Lord. Absolutely.”
"Shall I walk you and your ladies to his office?"
"No, no. That won't be necessary. I actually have a fitting I must be present
for in half an hour."
Yusuf beamed. "Something special to wear for the festival? Well, if you can, be
sure to model it for his Majesty when it's completed. The war is taxing his
very soul, Highness, but if there's one thing that would renew his spirits,
seeing you in a pretty new garment is definitely it."
He was able to honestly return the Lord Chancellor's smile this time. The man
wasn't entirely wrong, although Arthur could think of one much better way of
lifting King Eames' spirits. And if he was going to have to spend more than a
passing second in the Cardinal's company for the next week and a half, he would
need to fortify his own spirits as well.
+ 
 
“I knew it,” the King boasted, glancing up from his papers that night in his
bedroom. “That shade of blue is most exquisite on you, my darling.”
Arthur looked down at himself, happy too, to be in the colors of the King’s
household. “Thank you, Majesty. The seamstresses spent countless hours
perfecting every detail of it, for you.”
“Excellent. You shall be the diamond of the Winter Solstice ball. All will be
heartbroken and envious. I shall increase your seamstresses' wages for their
job well-done.” With a fond smile, Eames returned his attention to his work.
Arthur stepped forward. “Majesty…Husband? Will you spare a moment of your time
for me?”
“If only I could, my precious Arthur. A king’s work is never done,
unfortunately. Just this morning, I had an idea for a proposal to give to
Parliament in a few days that would make it possible to expedite your title
change from simple Prince to Queen, which has only increased my list of tasks.”
He was startled to turn and see that Arthur was standing beside him now, his
hair tumbling over his shoulders, the string on his chemise tied loosely under
his wide-necked tunic. He smelled wonderful.
Eames let his hand drift to Arthur’s thigh, petting the soft fabric of his
tights. He drew him to stand between his legs, willing to indulge just a
little. “What is it, darling? Tell me.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“Oh darling, I’ve missed you too. Please, stay and sit with me for a while?”
Arthur beamed. “Certainly. But first, I was wondering…" He steeled himself by
glancing down at Eames' knee and then to the ceiling. "I was wondering if…”
Arthur toyed with the collar of Eames’ jacket.
“If…?” the King prompted, soaking in the sight of the omega’s legs and how the
belt he wore showed off his lithe waist. He had to fight the urge to let his
hand go up any higher under Arthur’s tunic. He held back a lustful groan by
distracting himself with a sip of his wine.
Arthur ran his hands down his own tunic nervously, watching Eames under his
lashes. “Well, you told me to always be vocal with my wants and needs, and I…"
He swallowed. "Will you…will you ride me, my Husband? That’s what I want.”
Eames choked on his wine, staining the front of his shirt. “P-pardon? Arthur,
my god!”
He held his hands up, blushing terribly. “Forgive me, I… I don’t mean to be so
vulgar, and I don’t wish to bother your work, and I have tried to quell my need
alone several times these past nights, but…” He shook his head. His brow
furrowed in mute frustration and unsatisfied desire.
Eames managed to gather his wits after a long time staring.
Arthur blinked and just as quickly found himself in the Eames' arms being
tossed to the King's bed. He landed in the sea of pillows, his husband not far
behind, nestling between his legs. Arthur laughed as his new tunic and
stockings were torn to bits and discarded at the end of the bed.
Eames pressed his hips to Arthur’s, his heavy length swelling in his codpiece
as he bit Arthur’s neck possessively. “Tell me of these efforts, my love. Tell
me in detail, so that I might understand your plight most thoroughly.”
“The pleasures of my own flesh elude me, your Majesty," he panted. "I couldn’t
find the spot that you always touch when you...”
“Ah, yes. That is indeed a task best left to your alpha.” He hiked up Arthur’s
chemise and planted kisses down his stomach before his mouth delved low,
seeking the sweetness between Arthur's legs. “See how your body responds for
me, opens for me? And when I touch you, within, just look at how your essence
flows.”
Arthur’s voice rang out, singing his pleasure. “Such blessed, swift rescue,
Eames.” His head fell to the side, his hips rolled of their own accord, seeking
more of Eames’ touch, deeper.
“Oh, but darling, I haven’t saved you yet.” He growled, flipping Arthur onto
his stomach. “There is still your request that I must grant.”
He drew him up on hands and knees, positioning him just so. Eames traced the
dimples on his lower back and tugged apart his thighs, reveling the shiver that
raced up Arthur’s spine. He coaxed him open with skilled fingers and admired
the wetness he found there. With deft hands, the King freed his cock and pushed
into Arthur’s body. His strokes were only careful long enough for Arthur to
adjust. He fucked him in strong, deep thrusts, his hands firm on his waist,
pulling him back to meet each hard snap of his hips.
Eames watched his greedy cock ravage, his hips painting Arthur’s ass pink when
he fucked harder. His eyes went gold and he let his weight collapse over him,
pinning him to the bed to take him as deep as he could.
As the King rode the Prince with vigor, the guards outside his bedroom door
each glanced at one another awkwardly. The bed frame thumped against the wall.
Their cries of passion echoed through the parlor where the attendants sat
playing cards, and onward, through the rest of the King's privy chambers.
+ 
 
 
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
     Pretty hopeful that this will be the first of TWO updates for this
     weekend, because you all have been so lovely and supportive!
     Enjoy! <3
+
 
"Have your Majesty's efforts gone well thus far?" Cardinal Stewart asked, as
Eames redressed after his exam with the doctor. “Eventful, I hope.”
“In that case, Eminence, I regret to disappoint you.”
“Never, Majesty,” he chuckled. “I am very aware how most would see a Cardinal’s
vow of chastity as a heavy cross to carry, but I will say, Majesty, that in
your pursuit of heirs, I envy you not.”
“Oh, but you should,” Eames boasted. “Every morning, his scent is unchanged,
but every night that precedes it and every new one that follows leaves me in no
way unsatisfied. We sleep. That’s all, just sleep, and yet…I find myself always
counting down the hours just to get back to the quiet and peace I find in his
arms, as if sleeping in his bed were the greatest medicine for the soul.
Perhaps it is.” He smiled, his thoughts far away.
“But?” The Cardinal prompted.
Eames relented. “It does worry me, I can admit that. Omegas are supposed to be
molded for conceiving children. We shouldn’t have to work so hard. He's
probably just overstressed again, by all this pressure, so I try not to add on
my own. God, it's all ridiculous. My mind, my body, my nature wants offspring
and it drives me nuts sometimes, but my heart is content as is, your Eminence.
More than content, actually. And I know the moment our child is in his arms,
all feelings of wanting a child will disappear in favor of jealousy, now that
Arthur's attention would be focused on another besides me. It's madness!”
"It is your god-given right and duty, as King."
"I know." He sighed. “Well, I'm quite sure now that my rut is coming, it will
be an even longer wait until we're successful. I haven't become violent yet,
perhaps because we've bonded, but I still don't trust myself to be around
Arthur until it passes. I refuse to give him unwarranted stress all over
again."  
“Majesty, do not guilt yourself," he soothed. "An honorable mate would not keep
their womb closed to their alpha.”
“Then surely it must be me, because there is no more honorable and loving a
mate than Arthur.” Eames paced.
The doctor monitored his pacing. "What is your daily schedule like, Majesty?"
“I work long hours, I train with the soldiers for hours more, and then I try to
bed Arthur as many nights as I can, but often we simply sleep the nights away…
I miss meals, but make sure to eat as much as I can when I can to maintain my
strength, but being in the fields, not sleeping, I fear I’m not doing enough.”
The doctor scratched his chin. "What sort of…methods does his Majesty and the
Prince use whilst in coitus?"
"We… Well, I knot him, generally two or three times. More during his heat, of
course."
The Cardinal scratched his chin as well, contemplating possibilities. “Does the
Prince ever…mount your horn whilst you lay on your back, Majesty?”
Eames paused. “Not yet. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, the Prince must never sit upon your lap, Sire,” the doctor advised. “It is
impossible for him to ever conceive that way, nor anyone, for that matter.”
Eames took a step back, crossing his arms. “Really? That can’t be right,
doctor. His channel is very small. I swear I touch his womb when fully sheathed
inside him. There is no other place for my seed to go but to where it’s
intended. If others cannot conceive this way, I know my Arthur at least could.”
The older betas glanced at each other, their faces red, trying not to picture
the description.
At last, the doctor responded, “Well…your Majesty would never attempt to pour
wine into a cup upside down."
Eames’ brow rose in understanding. “I see, good doctor. I shall take your
advice to heart. What are some techniques that would be most beneficial, then?”
“His Majesty must always mount the Prince from above, with him laid on his
stomach for the seed to settle in his womb most firmly. Perhaps with pillows
beneath him to angle his hips just so." 
"But not on his back?"
"Your Majesty ought only do so sparingly. Viewing the Prince's male organ
during coitus may have adverse results."
"My goodness, I had no idea."
"However, for your personal comfort, Majesty, if you wish to view his face
while copulating in order to inspire your knot, then perhaps you may lay the
omega down on his side, as he would lay during sleep. That would work as well.”
“And not on his knees?”
“No, no, Majesty. The jostling of his hips in that position may dislodge your
seed when he moves.”
Eames frowned, knowing that scenario just had to be impossible, and, realizing
that both his Cardinal and physician were human betas, he knew as well that
these men had no idea what a knot was or how it even worked.
Cardinal Stewart patted him on the shoulder with a kind smile. "Perform the
final mating ritual, and all of this won't matter, your Majesty. Do that,
officially turn him into your obedient and submissive mate, and all your
troubles will be solved."
Eames frowned deeper and stepped back, dread filling his stomach. "Thank you,
Eminence, and good doctor. I shall reflect on your advice and adjust
accordingly." Before they could say another word, he turned, trying to banish
all thought of mating rituals and positions, but as his rut grew stronger, he
found it harder and harder not to act on the Cardinal's words and fully, truly,
claim Arthur as his.  
+
 
Arthur put his hands on his hips, annoyed. “His Eminence is late again?”
“Yes, your Highness. His Grace sends his sincerest apologies and asks—”
“That I wait for his arrival, as usual.” He waved the servant back to his
duties as his ladies and boy made themselves comfortable.
It had been the same routine the entire time they’d worked together. Arthur
would arrive on time, the servant would have an excuse ready and by the time
Arthur and his attendants had gone mad with idle waiting, the beta elder would
come with lists of errands for the attendants and servants and a longer list of
tasks for Arthur. The Cardinal meant to overwhelm him and make him quit, but
Arthur proved himself more than competent at every turn. What a shame that the
Cardinal’s imagined slights still hindered him from seeing that he and Arthur
had planned the greatest festival the court would ever see.
Arthur sighed as the time slipped away. He made a lazy stroll from bookshelf to
window before pausing in front of the Cardinal’s desk.
“His Eminence has a very nice view of the grounds, does he not, your Highness?”
his lady asked with a knowing smirk that Arthur returned.
“Indeed.” He knew it best not to pry, but the Cardinal’s ledger was open in
plain sight on top of his various books and maps. The more his finger grazed
the scribbled lines the harder his brow creased.
“Now Highness,” the Cardinal condescended as he stepped into the room, “you
must be careful never to peek at an intelligent man’s work or risk hurting your
little brain with all those numbers and tallies.”
Arthur didn’t bother looking up when he responded, “All of these tallies are
incorrect, your Eminence.”
“Your Highness,” he chuckled, “I thought King Miles would have had better
tutors for his children.”
Arthur pointed to the figures written atop each line. “These were supposed to
be increased by forty percent, as this note states, but your math has the
totals at,” he quickly did the math in his head, “seventy-five percent. And
then here,” he pointed, “this date is out of order from the rest and has
therefore made those dates to the right a day ahead and on the left, a day
behind. The twenty-second of June, you see, was on a Thursday, not a Sunday.
Remember that it fell on a Saint’s holiday?” He glanced at the man expectantly.
The attendants didn’t bother to muffle their snickering and whispering.
Cardinal Stewart’s expression faltered as he looked from Arthur to his ledger
and pulled it closer to examine his notes more thoroughly. He checked the
calendar as well, his face getting redder by the minute as he did his
calculations by quill and a scrap of paper.
In the end, he simply patted Arthur’s hand away from the page and closed the
ledger. He smiled. “Again, not any matters that should interest the King’s
omega. Speaking of which, all this timehas past without me ever congratulating
you, your Highness, on the late arrival of your past heat. Since then, you have
become the full moon lighting the King’s night sky—or so I’ve heard it said at
court.”
His fists balled behind his back with the effort to keep his hurt from showing.
He smiled politely. “Engston court is very much unlike Milecomté’s, Eminence.”
“In what way?”
“Surely you agree that what they consider a compliment is strange and
incredibly insulting to their King’s spouse, their future Queen.”
The Cardinal’s eyes narrowed before he grinned and shrugged. “Take no offense
from it, little Prince. I interpret it to simply mean that… Well, you spend so
little time at court, and so much time in private quarters with his Majesty,
some wonder if… Perhaps I should not say.”
Arthur glared when the Cardinal turned his back again, knowing very well
Cardinal Stewart itched to drive his knife deeper still, but the beta was in no
means foolish enough to go that far. “If, Eminence?”
“If…” He cleared his throat at Arthur’s innocent expression, unable to say
more. “Shall we get to business, your Highness?”
“Oh, I’m in no rush. Besides, we’re only here today to make a checklist in case
we’ve missed something, which won’t take long at all, as you and I have been
quite responsible so far."
"But this is a useless topic, Highness."
"It's just that I wish first and foremost to learn all I can about the ways and
words of my husband’s court, so…please help me in understanding this.” He sat
in a chair close by, pretending to think very hard. “Why would they compare me
to the moon and not the sun? I understand the moon’s fullness in this case has
nothing to do with King Eames’ shifting and simply to do with the brightness of
the moon’s light during the lunar cycle. But…his Majesty would only need the
moon’s light for two things: shifting,” he made a show of counting on his
fingers, playing the fool while his attendants continued to giggle, “and…" His
face fell. "Oh dear, your Eminence. I ought to tell his Majesty about this. Are
you not offended by such vulgarity as well?”
The Cardinal sputtered for a moment before clearing his throat, his expression
deadly serious. “His Majesty will be here shortly for our meeting, so I will be
sure to tell him what I've heard from court then for you. Shall we begin the
checklist?”
Arthur couldn’t hold back his smirk entirely. He extended his arm over the
Cardinal’s desk, inviting him to sit. “Please.”
Cardinal Stewart sat with an irritated sigh and began rifling through their
notes as Arthur wrote down his confirmations. Towards the end, the Cardinal
paused, eyeing Arthur critically before he asked, “I don’t mean to pry, but I
only wonder if spending much of your time these days with this festival isn’t
disrupting your pursuit to produce the King’s firstborn.”
“Of course not.”
“Well then, if you’re not avoiding time possibly spent with the King then why
have you closed off your womb to him? There ought to have been a conception by
now, surely, especially during such a long heat.”
Arthur had to scratch out the note he’d just written, so blindsided by the
invasive question that he made a mistake and had to start the sentence over. He
could feel his face getting hot with embarrassment as the Cardinal waited for
his answer. “Should such matters be of interest to the King’s Cardinal?” he
said at last to the paper, unconsciously pulling his rigid collar tighter
around his neck.
“Indeed, your Highness. As I care for his Majesty's well-being and the future
of the realm, as I’m sure you do as well, I see fit to offer you council on the
issue. I counseled the King this very morning, in fact.”
“Your Eminence is very charitable, but I must decline,” he managed to say.
“You wouldn’t want to find yourself out of the King’s favor again, Highness,
not so soon after falling hard the first time around.”
“I insist. I’m not worried.”
“You ought to be. His Majesty will grow tired of waiting.”
Arthur sighed heavily and put down his quill. “I know in my heart that would
never happen. To his court, I am only the belly carrying the King’s child or
not carrying it, but to the King, I am his mate.”
“Highness,” he teased, “there is hardly a difference.”
Arthur’s shoulders sank, his resolve at last broken after trying to dislodge
the beta from under his skin and failing. He took a deep breath, his eyes
stinging, because a part of him deep down knew the Cardinal’s words were true.
The Cardinal studied Arthur’s downturned face for a moment before speaking
softly. “There is, however, one simple thing that you could do, right now in
fact, that would both ease your troubles and make his Majesty eternally happy…”
His smile turned smug when Arthur glanced up at him. “Are you aware of the
steps necessary to making oneself the true and rightful mate of a werewolf
alpha and the Queen of Engston?”
Arthur frowned. “I am sure I’ve performed all but one.” His eyes fell back to
his lap.
“All but two, actually.” When Arthur looked up again, he explained. “So far,
you have bonded with the King and have begun your social work, although quite
poorly, due to your lack of a steady presence in the public eye of the court,
but apart from an heir, you still have yet to receive the King’s bite.”
“Bite? You mean…” His brow shot up, his mouth slack.
“It is both tradition and law within the Eames dynasty. Give the King your full
submission and in return, you receive the right to be Queen. No one has told
you this before? What a shame.”
“But would I not become a werewolf?”
“You would. As his mate, you and his Majesty would be of the same mind and
heart in all things—if you survive, of course. King Eames is a very powerful
werewolf, whose blood has proven too strong for more than a few humans in the
past. It's a very dangerous process.”
“The King turned you?”
“No. As much as it would have been the greatest honor of all, I am a man of
god, therefore not permitted by the Grand Church. Of course, I would have
accepted it at once. You seem troubled.”
“Doing this would be against my father’s faith. If I were turned, as his
Majesty's mate, he would become my master and my will would diminish, correct?
The Holy Mother teaches that, yes I should defer to my husband, but to
relinquish not only my whole power over myself but my humanity as well, would
be wrong. And if you say that there were others who did not survive the King's
turning, then…I've never been a very healthy youth. I know that I would
perish.”
The Cardinal smiled wider. “That’s good. You can refuse, your Highness. You
see, what many people try to ignore around here, is that the country is still
painfully torn in accepting the Eameses as their masters, because they too
believe such supernatural blood to be evil—”
“I never said that it was—”
“—so for you to refuse so graciously, it would unite the country at long last
and end the rebellions. Not to mention, it would ease your husband's troubled
heart not to put you at such high risk if he does not have to turn you, your
Highness.”
Arthur eyed him with suspicion, his mind trying to cover every angle of this
and still coming up short. He remembered Eames' story of his family's turning
and the curse. It filled him with even more uncertainty. Slowly, he shook his
head. “I don’t trust what you say. I don't trust you at all.”
The Cardinal laid his palms up on the table between them, his face neutral.
“Your Highness, I find it tragic that you expect me to be dishonest in such an
important matter of state. Personally, I think you and I simply got off on the
wrong foot, and I am willing to put it all in the past for the good of the
country. I admit I am especially hard on you, but only because I wish for you
to grow strong and to succeed here.” He rifled over his books and papers as he
spoke, at last finding the document he’d been searching for. He handed it to
Arthur. “You need not trust me when you say you have full faith in his
Majesty's love. In fact, I think very much that he would be proud to see you
take initiative on this issue, no matter the choice you make. You need only
sign this with your decision.”
He read over the statement to make sure he saw no trickery. “Do I have time to
consider my options first? I should speak with my husband.”
“You need only to consider the country and the good you will bring, your
Highness. Sign.” He watched him put quill to paper with the brightest smile and
chuckled as he admired Arthur’s signature once the document was back in his
hands. “Besides, his Majesty need not turn you when you’re already so
wonderfully pliable as is.”
Arthur's heart sank. He began to speak, but his husband was announced by the
guard and entered.
“Hush, hush, little Arthur.” The Cardinal put his finger to his mouth, mocking
him as if he were a child. “The King mustn’t know a word of what we’re planning
for the festival. Good day, your Highness.”
Arthur's eyes were still on the Cardinal when the King kissed his cheek.  
Eames' glance shifted from Arthur’s to the Cardinal’s. “Is something wrong, my
darling?” he asked, holding his face. 
Cardinal Stewart cowed him with his stare behind Eames' shoulder. Arthur gently
removed the King’s hands and stepped back. “No, husband, I’m quite well, thank
you.”
He watched them settle into easy conversation as he and the attendants took
their leave.
"I have just received the most troubling news, your Majesty," he heard the
Cardinal say before the door closed behind him.
+
 
Yusuf sighed, wishing for some spell to transport him through to the end of the
week. “What have we men done that was so cruel as to deserve god’s creation of
alpha ruts? Your Majesty,” he wanted to tell him that if he planned on stomping
a pace circle into his office floor then he ought to have a good reason why,
but he knew Eames, and knew how sensitive his ruts made him to even the
slightest teasing. “Will you at least tell me what’s got you so worked up?”
“Cardinal Stewart overstepped his boundaries with my mate—which isn’t even an
issue, considering the revelation it revealed.” He pulled the document from
inside his fur-lined overcoat and thrust it into Yusuf’s chest.
He skimmed it as Eames resumed his pacing. He snorted. “Well, what do you
expect? Of course if a human like Stewart, who begged you for months not to
bite him only because he was terrified, tried to convince another human, who
knows next to nothing about werewolves, into becoming that very thing, Arthur
would obviously say no.”
“But why, Yusuf? Why would he, my Arthur, say no without even coming to me
about this?” He crossed his arms. “And not just any no. Stewart said that when
he brought it up, Arthur aggressively refused at once, as if he’d been asked to
eat his own hair or something. I don’t fucking get it. He has no idea what
being human means in this court or what it would mean for our children. They
would be vulnerable, and forced to fight off human disease and, worse, they
would have to compete with other human heirs for their marriages and power. It
would not matter if their father was a great werewolf, they’d still be hardly
better than, say, Dominic’s children or Arthur’s nieces and nephews. But with a
pack of werewolf alphas, every kingdom would fall to its knees without
question. Think about it, Yusuf, think of the prospect of never having to fight
another war again for titles or crowns. Each child could have their own
territories and realms, and not have to battle over scraps like I and my
brothers had to.”
Yusuf sighed again. “Talk to him, Eames. Or, perhaps I could. I was human once.
I fought the battle and came out just fine in the end. Granted, you were a baby
back then, and the risks were not so high, considering, but I guarantee he’d
feel more assured if it was his mate or me telling him what to do, not some
coward priest like old Stewart.”
“What would it matter now? Arthur’s mind is set.” He slumped into his chair.
“Well, I suppose it’s for the best anyways. My conscience is cleared.”
“What do you mean?”
“I had been putting off bringing up the matter to Arthur since we'd first been
married, because you’re right, there are huge risks, particularly for him. I
listen as his heartbeat flutters and skips so easily and hear him lose his
breath quickly just the same, at night, as if the next deep inhale might be too
much for him. If he were turned, all that could go away. He would be strong and
never have to fear fever again, and our children would be pure and perfect,
or…it could kill him.” He rubbed his face tiredly. “And I guess, also, in my
heart I always knew he’d say no, so I never asked.” He shrugged, his temper
receding. “Now I don’t have to.”
Yusuf grimaced and finished his wine before saying, “Majesty…you still have
to.”
“Why?”
“It’s the law, set in stone by your father’s father. Arthur must be a werewolf
in order for your family and your realm to accept him as your mate and only
then, will Parliament grant him the title of Queen. That’s why your father
chose to…” He cleared his throat. “That’s how your mother…was turned. She was
forced the bite or else, you and your brothers would have been seen as
illegitimate.”
Eames’ eyes rose to Yusuf in a glare. Yusuf braced himself to be hit when Eames
stood, but the alpha only resumed his earlier pacing.
At last, Eames spoke though his voice wavered. “She lost her mind. Turning
changed her for the worst, I remember you telling me so, because she was forced
it, attacked.”
“Then you understand the predicament Prince Arthur has place himself into. To
deny your bite would mean the scorn of the country and of Parliament. I will
meet with him, Majesty, and change his mind for the better.”
Eames’ fists clenched. He wanted to go to his grandfather’s grave and dig him
up just to fling his bones across the countryside.
+ 
 
***** Chapter 11 *****
+
 
Arthur’s attendants weren’t used to seeing him angry, as if the King’s temper
had rubbed off on him, and now they all moved about the parlor in silence.
“Highness,” Lady Catherine spoke at last, “it is time to dress you for dinner
with his Majesty.”
Arthur stood from his chair in the corner, his book in hand. “I’m not going.”
He sat back down and continued to read.
“Highness? You must.”
“Tell his Majesty that I’m tired.”
“But, you love having dinner with your husband. Besides, if you are not there,
he will simply come here.”
“Then don’t let him. That is an order.” He stood again, taking Sophie with him
to his bedroom. “Don’t follow me.”
Arthur breathed in deep once the door closed. He let Sophie roam and sniff the
floor as he sat at his writing table, intent to send Mal another letter, but
what was the use, when she had not returned a single one send yet.
He heard the doorknob turn and click behind him. It made his blood boil. “Do my
orders not matter? Have I no say in my own household as well?” He sighed,
seeing who it was. “Lady Gretchford, I’m aware that you’ve just arrived, but if
you require education on your new duties here, then seek out Lady Catherine.”
The young lady didn’t leave. When Arthur turned to face her again, she was
toying with a pearl on her dress. “Yes, Lady Gretchford?”
She looked up nervous and curtsied. “Your Highness, I… I wish to be of
assistance to you—”
“And you shall be. Thank you—”
“No, I mean—Forgive my offense, I didn’t intend to speak over you. I don’t wish
to ever be so disrespectful again, your Highness.”
Arthur frowned when she didn’t rise from her curtsy or look higher than his
knees. “You have my permission to speak, Madam.”
“Thank you, Highness. If I may…I…would like to offer you my ear, for you to
speak your troubles to.”
“That’s very bold.”
“Forgive me, I just…”
“What is your name, my lady?”
“Ariadne, your Highness.”
His brow rose. He stepped closer. “You’re married to the King’s cousin?”
“I am.”
“And you are, then…a werewolf?” When she nodded at the ground, he stepped
closer still. “I see. And who is your father?”
“The Duke of Rhodes.”
“Then you are my cousin, Lady Ariadne.” At last, she relaxed, standing at her
full height with a small smile. “You were a lady-in-waiting for my sister for a
very short while. Why did you leave?”
Her eyes fell again, piquing Arthur’s curiosity. “I was, um, I was married
off—married to—the King’s cousin and had to be brought here.”
He frowned as he studied her. When she lifted her eyes again, he spoke. “Stay,
but close the door.” His frown deepened when she paled, her eyes wide before
she turned to do as told. “Is something wrong?”
“No, your Highness.”
He sighed, thinking quickly. “Help me out of these clothes, please.”
“Yes, your Highness, I’ll go fetch the others.”
“No, you are all I require.” He watched her closely. The more ribbons she
untied the more her hands trembled. She froze as if petrified when Arthur stood
in his chemise, removing his garter and tights. He handed them to her as he
slipped into his robe. She was only slightly calmer now that it was over.
“You’re very timid for a werewolf, if you don’t mind me saying, Lady Ariadne.”
She didn’t speak, so he tried again. “You said you wished to be my ear? But I
can’t trust you if you’re hiding secrets. Did your husband send you hear to spy
on me?”
“No! No, Lady Catherine brought me here. I just…” Her spirit deflated.
Arthur crossed his arms when he sat down at the writing desk. She sat at his
feet, her eyes downcast. “Look at me. Do you mean to be dishonest?”
“No. I only fear now that I have completely overstepped with you. I don’t want
to get into trouble.”
“There is no trouble here.”
“I mean…with my husband, because…”
“Because he does want you to spy on me. Why?”
“To regain favor with his Majesty,” she muttered.
He sighed and wondered for a moment if Eames knew what his cousin was up to. He
reached forward to pat her shoulder, but recoiled with surprise when she
flinched.
“Forgive me, your Highness.”
He reached forward again and cupped her face, raising it to look into her eyes.
He laughed suddenly. “We can’t be cousins. Cousins aren’t so similar as we are.
We must be long lost twins instead, because I when I look at you, I see myself
in a mirror of how I was when I was new to this country—only I was in tears, so
you are much stronger than me on that point, although, I still don’t
understand. You are a werewolf, but I frighten you.”
His brow creased when she dropped her eyes again. “Or, perhaps, the truth is
that you’re not afraid of me at all, but of someone else.” His suspicion was
confirmed by her continued silence. “We are of a similar age, I think. Yes, I
remember you now,” he spoke softly, rubbing her cheeks. “Mallorie and I stayed
at your father’s estate one summer while our home was being repaired after a
storm. You and I were no older than five then. I took the last apple from the
basket so you tried to throw me off the balcony and you were almost successful.
You settled for throwing a great rock at me instead.” He sighed with relief
when she laughed. “Where is that girl now?”
She glanced up, her hands playing with her dress again. “When we were so young,
did you ever imagine being where you are now?” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes
when he shook his head. “Neither did I.”
“Is your husband much like mine?”
“No, your Highness. The King is warm fire. His cousin is jagged ice.”
“Well…then, this is how it shall be between us from now on: I’ll just be Arthur
and you shall simply be Ariadne, not married, not Duchess or Prince, not even
cousins, but friends. I had been promised a friend when I was first married,
but he… Well, I was a little naïve to think things would go that way. Never
mind, though. We have each other.”
“I would be honored—Oh my goodness, your Highness,” she gaped as he gave her
one of his rings.
“A friend is what I need more than anything.”
Ariadne's hand covered the ring. Her small smile was back. “Me too.”
“Good. Then let’s speak as friends.” He moved to sit beside her on the floor.
She nodded. “My husband wants me to persuade you into accepting the King’s
bite, but I can’t. It has cowed me, greatly, to have taken it myself. But at
the same time, I wish for none of the conflict that plagues my household to
infect yours, so I must also tell you, from my own heart, that with these
werewolves, it is often best to do as they wish or have a great escape plan.
For if you don’t take the bite, then you must cater to your husband’s every
whim to keep him otherwise happy, which would mean giving yourself to him
totally. If you do accept it, then it may save you from your husband’s grief,
but cow you just as well.”
“Would it save you, if I did it, if you were able to persuade me as your
husband wishes?”
“Only so far as the day is long. I could give him everything in life he’s ever
wanted and still, my husband will always find new reasons to attack—” She
blinked up at Arthur and swallowed. "I'm sorry."
“Why on earth did you marry him? My sister and Dominic’s love should have been
enough to show you what true love looks like. Your father surely couldn’t
have—” He faltered when she dropped her eyes. “Ariadne?”
“There was someone, in King Dominic’s court, that I loved." She lifted her
necklace from its hiding place in her bodice to show him the tiny pendant of a
bow and arrow carved in the oval stone. "We would ride horses into the forests
and hunt from sunup to sundown. But I didn’t know the ways of court, the real
ways of court for unwed beta women. That if a man with a high enough rank asks
you to bed, it is no question or request, but an order. I said no to King
Eames’ cousin." She dropped her eyes again. "Perhaps I should not say more.”
“No, please. Tell me.”
She studied him for a long while before speaking, her voice tight. “He shifted
the next day while I was out hunting with my friend. He chased me through the
forest and left me for dead, after, but because I lived, he planted lies in
anyone’s ears who would listen, afraid that he would be imprisoned if they knew
the truth of what he'd done to me. He threatened my family and demanded my hand
in marriage to save his honor, and mine. But he's afraid that King Eames knows
the truth of what he's done, so he avoids him and the King's pack." When her
eyes filled with tears, she turned away. "Forgive me, I’ve said too much.”
“No, not at all,” he reassured her, wrapping his arms around her. He rested his
head on the back of her shoulder. “You have my favor, whatever good it may be
worth.” He held her hands when she turned back to face him. “If I…If I were to
take the bite, then perhaps I wouldn’t have to wait for a child to have enough
of the King's favor to free you from the nightmare you've been living in. I
promise I'll do everything in my power to—” He paused, hearing heavy familiar
footfalls and voices outside the door.
It was the King. “Quick, quick,” he whispered. “Go through the door there and
wait.”
The voices in the parlor ceased. Eames rushed past the guard, almost knocking
him over when he entered. He looked Arthur over and crossed his arms.
Arthur was struck by his scent and groaned internally. He was both aroused and
terrified, recognizing the King’s rut. Anything could happen now, good or bad,
depending on what he did or said next. He remembered suddenly to bow.
“Majesty.”
“You aren't ill. You aren’t in bed either.” His eyes searched the room, not yet
golden, though they could change at the smallest infraction. “Who was here just
now?”
Arthur swallowed and stepped closer, not sure it was the right thing to do. He
hadn’t spoken to Eames all day, and had no idea what the Cardinal had told him,
only what Lord Yusuf had said to Arthur upon seeing him that evening.
“Well? If you’re going to skip out on me, you’d better have a good reason,
Arthur.”
He sighed. If only he could have had more time to think things through. “I was
tired, husband, but Lady Gretchford wished to speak with me.” He sighed again
before forcing out his words. “She…has convinced me to…honor you and…” his
hands balled into angry fists behind his back, “to accept your bite.” Normally,
saying the right thing to make Eames happy made him feel happy too. Eames’
smile was infectious. Now it only made Arthur feel like Cardinal Stewart had
told the truth, about what it meant to be the King’s mate.
Eames cupped his face in gentle hands and kissed his cheeks. “Why didn’t you
say so? I was worried.” His brow creased. “Is everything alright, Arthur? Are
you sure? You must be honest in your heart, or else…” When Arthur nodded, he
kissed him soundly. “I shall begin preparing the ceremony for the night before
the Solstice.”
He blinked. “That’s tomorrow.”
“Precisely. Oh, my Arthur. You have no idea how much you’ve calmed my mind. I
hate it that I can’t stay here with you tonight, but my tasks for today won’t
be complete until late. But tomorrow," he smiled brightly, "we shall be
together.”  
Arthur was still shaking his head after the King left when Ariadne peeked from
behind the door. She set about brushing Sophie’s fur and putting her in her
little bed as Arthur remained standing with his palms pressed into his eyes.
“If you’re still allowing me to be your friend, Arthur, then I wish to stay,
without malice, that you’re a little strange.” When he lowered his hands,
glaring at her, she explained. “When others are angry or just thinking, they
pace and yell, but you stand still like a statue.”
“If I move, I’ll…” His hands balled into fists at his sides. He closed his eyes
and took a deep breath. “The first time I’d heard that I was supposed to become
a werewolf was this morning. Now, there’s no time to even prepare myself. I
swear, beggars who have to piss on the ground and sleep under ox carts have
less trouble than I do being an omega. I mean, I don’t understand,” his anger
grew, “I’ve always been a good and honest boy, I’ve respected my elders, stayed
out of trouble, stayed chaste until I was married, I’ve never once missed a day
at chapel, save for when I had my heat, I’ve studied and even out-taught my
tutors, and for what? I hold my tongue and defer to those above me, even when I
know more than they… I do everything I’m told to, and it’s never enough.” His
palms returned to his eyes. He tried to rub his tiredness out of his face.
“Now, he’ll turn me into a werewolf, or I’ll die in the process and they’ll all
still fault me for leaving him no heirs. I’m sure all those beta hopefuls who
wanted to marry the King are all so envious of my grand prospects. I miss being
a shadow, Ariadne. Being a puppet is killing my soul.”
He sat on the edge of his bed and patted the space beside him. They both sighed
with irritation when Sophie refused to stay in her bed. She settled into
Arthur’s lap without being scolded.
“But you’ve beat nearly every odd so far. You’re so near your breakthrough,
Arthur. Give the King a child and you’ll be able to forge your own path.”
He tossed up his arms in exasperation. “I want to cut out my womb and force
someone else to take it—if the thing even works, which I’m almost certain, it
does not. Lady Catherine left no book or parchment overlooked in educating me
about omegas. I’m supposed to be happy as a docile, little womb for my alpha. I
should have conceived the first time we lay together and now should be floating
in the glorious bliss that is an omega’s pregnancy. The King should have to be
barred from his conjugal rights, as an omega will try to conceive with a child
already in their bellies. They’re always hungry for it. I feel none of that.”
She let Sophie lick her face as she sat, thinking. “Has the King complained?”
“To Cardinal Stewart, of all people. I’ve read of kingdom unions in which mates
of two separate faiths or denominations marry and it causes conflict, but…I
could change my faith, easily. I prescribe more to Mal’s sorcery than tales of
virgin mothers and vengeful gods, therefore, I do not understand where that
man’s vendetta against me comes from. And it has hurt me to no end that the
King would think to support me on such flimsy surfaces, on his empty
reassurances, for his subjects to so easily push it from under my feet and
watch me fall.”
She nodded. “Jeremy told me all that he’s said to you. If the King were to
know, would he not have the Cardinal’s heart pulled from his chest and
devoured? You need to tell him that you’ve been mistreated.”
“I can’t. Not yet. The King only has two sides. Lord Yusuf sits on his right
and the Cardinal on his left. The Cardinal said I was the full moon lighting
the King’s night sky. I’ve heard far too many stories of bedmates and
concubines thinking that by simply opening their legs for their masters that
they have power. And they try to wield that power over stronger men
prematurely.” He shook his head. “The King sleeps at night. I need to make
myself his morning sun to rise and shine light over all his must see, to wake
him from his slumber. Then, I will be able to take the Cardinal’s place and
rejoice, with the King, in his falling. And I will also do right by you as
well.”
Ariadne smiled and leaned forward with excitement. “Your friendship is the
greatest blessing, Arthur.”
“As is yours, but don’t hold much stock in what I say just yet. So long as my
belly is empty, I have no power.” His shoulders sank as he glanced at his flat
stomach. He pulled his necklace from behind his chemise and showed to Ariadne.
“This was Mal’s last token to me before she left. It was supposed to bring me
good fortune, but since I have yet to hear from her, I wonder now if the
pendant was not cursed in one of her spells when she wrapped it inside her
farewell letter.”
Ariadne shook her head as she helped him into bed and tucked him in. She
resumed her perch on its edge with Sophie. “I still say that all’s not lost.
Not yet. If you just…pretend, for a little while longer, or say and do whatever
you can to keep the King’s heart in your hands, then who knows? If you can
never have children, at least he will know that you tried your best. And as
werewolves together, he would love you always.”
He turned on his side towards her with a sigh. “If I had known love came with
some many terms and conditions, Ariadne,” he grumbled, “then I wouldn’t have
let the King take my love without first demanding a few conditions of my own.”
+
 
Whether Mal’s pendant was cursed or not, Arthur still wore it under his gown
the next night. His bedchamber was as filled with witnesses as it had been on
his wedding night. Drapes and curtains had been reattached to his bed’s canopy
and the priests waved their incense and murmured prayers once again. Arthur
hoped at least, not knowing exactly what this ceremony entailed, that the King
would send them off again.
He’d spent the morning and afternoon in prayer, and in the evening, he'd read
as much as he could find of all the lore and histories of werewolves. Even
strong knights in battle died from a too potent bite, and the stories of babies
shifting in their mother’s wombs and tearing apart their stomachs had left him
unable to eat or rest, which already put him in unfavorable odds.
He sat at his writing desk as everyone milled around, waiting for the King's
arrival. He was finishing his letter to his brother Paul when Lord Yusuf
approached with a set of papers, a few of them blank. “What are these for?”
“Your final will and testament, as is required in such matters.”
He paled and averted his gaze as he regained composure. “This is really
happening, isn’t it? What…exactly…am I supposed to do when…”
The Lord Chancellor hid his grimace, though not well. “You will be turned, and
then together shift and mate as a wolf pair, your Highness. That is, of course,
if the King wishes to do so,” he hurried to add. “If you find yourself to be
more comfortable in your human form, which is perfectly fine, you see, you may
shift back into that form. Although, I caution you that the King is quite
comfortable in his wolf form and his wolf form is quite…enormous, and your wolf
form will provide you some modesties that your human form cannot, behind such
sheer curtains, so…” He couldn’t say more, seeing Arthur’s expression change
from nervousness to mute horror. He settled for patting Arthur’s shoulder and
stepped back to give the Prince space to plot out his will.
Arthur couldn’t swallow. He tried to breathe but his lungs wouldn’t work
properly. His skin felt clammy and hot, his heart beat so fast, he feared he’d
faint, but when he glanced up and saw Ariadne among his ladies, he was able to
relax a little.
She joined him at his desk to help him sort out the papers.
“I swear when this is over,” he grumbled, “if I survive, I’m coming after you.
Or at least, my ghost will.”
She took a frightened step back. “You don’t mean that, do you?”
“Of course not,” he tried to smile. He leaned in close when he next whispered,
“I’ll simply shift into a great beast and go for your husband’s throat and then
Stewart’s.” He winked and smiled, conspiratorial and teasing with her.
His laughter ceased when Lord Yusuf handed him the first document to sign. He
looked up at Ariadne. “Thank you. You’ve been good to me in this short time.
I've never really had the opportunity to spend time with someone my age, and
you've done nothing but make our friendship the best I could ask for. May I
leave some of my income to you? I wish to split the bulk of it amongst all my
attendants, especially Lady Catherine. And will you return to Mallorie to care
for her, if I'm gone?”
“You needn't think of such a future, your Highness. You’ll be fine.”
He shook his head with a sad smile. “I’m not strong like you, and I can only
pretend to myself that I am, because I know that you, and Lord Yusuf, and
everyone else here who is a werewolf can hear how my heart is already failing
me just from fear. I’m afraid to die and that fear of dying just taxes my heart
and brings me even closer to death.” He laughed bitterly as he signed the last
paper.    
“Your Highness,” Cardinal Stewart bowed as he arrived with the King’s grooms,
“are you ready to receive his Majesty?”
He tried not to let the scorn he felt for the Cardinal show in his face when he
assented. He only let his heart be charged instead with digging up some hidden
reserve of bravery he prayed had to exist somewhere within.
When Eames arrived, Arthur was kissed on his forehead, his hands shaking in the
King’s light grasp when they moved to sit in the center of his bed. His
attendants closed the drapes around them as Arthur was made to sit with his
back to his husband. “Are they meant to be able to still see us, Majesty?” he
whispered.
“They can hear us as well, regretfully, but they only need witness the bite and
your transformation, nothing more. Try to focus on me.” He massaged Arthur's
arms a little before removing Arthur’s robe and chemise collar from his
shoulders.
Even Eames’ hands held a tremor. Arthur turned around to look at him with worry
as those hands brushed aside his hair to bare the nape of his neck. His golden
eyes made Arthur’s heartbeat quicken more. Dizzy, he closed his eyes and
waited, mouthing more prayers, his hands clenched over Mallorie's pendant.
“For the last time, my Arthur, I must know that you are sure and ready to
receive me.”
He couldn’t breathe, his chest aching now, so he nodded.
“You have to say it, Arthur. Do you, Prince of Milecomté, accept the title and
duty of Queen?”
When the King’s hands traveled to his, Arthur held them tightly, steeling
himself. “I… Yes.” The breath of relief from King Eames gave him a chill when
the air tickled his neck.
“Then bow forward, for your King, my sweet and loving Prince,” Eames ordered
with care in a voice that carried to their witnesses. “For when you turn to
face me…you shall be Queen at last.”
Arthur could see Ariadne and the rosary held tight in her hands from under his
lashes before his vision when black with pain as Eames’ teeth sank into his
flesh. In and out his vision wavered, fading again as Eames healed the wound
with rough laps from his tongue.
He could hear and feel his heartbeat as if it were in his hands and pressed to
his ear. His panic shot through the ceiling first before calm flooded through
his veins. His heart’s tempo grew slower and slower, the sound further away. He
was dying.
Arthur blinked and found himself on his back against the pillows, the drapes
all open to let in the King’s physicians. He was neither breathing nor his
heart beating at all now, until Eames roared to send everyone in the room away
from the bed.
His teeth latched in the crook of Arthur’s shoulder and neck a second time,
harder than before, sending him into more blinding pain. But his heart was
beating again when the King withdrew. His attendants all cried in their relief.
“Arthur, talk to me. Tell me you’re alright,” Eames whispered.
His neck felt burned when Eames embraced him. Never before had the King’s scent
been more soothing and grounding. “I feel different, better, actually.” He let
a small smile break through his shock to meet Eames’ wide grin, happy to have
survived.
“Thank god.” He kissed Arthur’s face. “And I assume it didn’t even hurt you,
did it?” he teased, kissing his face again.
“But, Majesty, why has he not shifted yet?” asked one of the priests.
“Werewolves when turned shift at once. Is he still human?” His questions were
met with murmurs the King quickly silenced.
“My good ladies and lords, your graces, and your eminences, it is a message
from god not to tamper with that which is rare and perfect.”
Cardinal Stewart stepped forward, eyeing Arthur with open suspicion. “But your
Majesty must—”
“No, no, your Eminence. When god speaks, we must listen or suffer. I have
already bitten my mate twice. I shall not tempt god a third time. You have all
been witness to this, therefore the ceremony is over. Now,” he glanced at
Arthur fondly, “come receive your new Queen and take your leave of us.”
Each person bowed low and kissed both Eames and Arthur’s rings.
Lord Yusuf and Cardinal Stewart were of the first to make it out into the
parlor.
The Cardinal was pacing just outside the door, his face red with anger until he
finally noticed that eyes from the privy council were watching him. “It would
have bloody worked on Charlotte,” he hissed to Yusuf, “and if not, she would
have gladly taken the King’s bite five times if she had to, for the good of his
Majesty and his law. My niece would have been an obedient and devoted wife to
His Majesty from day-one.”
“Oh, give it up, Stewart,” The Earl of Green teased when he joined them in the
corridor, his arm over the Cardinal’s shoulder. “No matter how much favor the
King holds for you and your precious family, your lovely niece is never going
to be his wife and she’s never ever going to be the Queen of Engston. She lost
her bid.” He smiled when the Cardinal shrugged him off. “The omega from
Milecomté is here to stay.”
“He’s a wonder to us all,” Yusuf mused. “He was bitten twice and he remains
unchanged. It’s unheard of.” He beamed. “I quite like him!”
The Earl laughed as Cardinal Stewart stomped off. He leaned against the wall
beside Yusuf. “I like Arthur as well. I like hearing him sing for his Majesty
at the crack of dawn while I break my lance in the King’s groom out in the
corridor. Arthur’s not boring like the Cardinal’s snobby niece and he’s much
easier on the eyes. And he smells nice. And I doubt a Cardinal’s niece would
let the King teach her how to deepthroat him as I heard the other night, that’s
for sure.”
Yusuf shook his head, trying not to laugh while the Cardinal was still in
earshot. “Stewart will castrate you for saying that. He’s very fond of his
niece.”
“Let him try,” he scoffed. “I wouldn’t be where I am now if I could not trust
my nose, and it’s pointing me towards the Prince. The Cardinal’s finished.
We’ll all be praising the Good Mother or whatever she’s called, any day now. Or
perhaps tonight.” He glanced behind him at the closed bedroom door. “The King
did not seem very tired when we left, my Lord, and the near-death of one’s
beloved is sure to inspire complete and utter devotion from his Majesty to his
new Queen.”
 
As the room cleared, Eames watched Arthur slowly inhale larger and larger
lungfuls of air, as if testing their capacity. “How are you feeling, darling?
Are you certain you’re alright?”
Arthur nodded solemnly, his hands covering his heart. His stare was far away.
“I admit, it is a scary thing, to have lived in pain all my life and not know
it until it’s gone.”
He massaged Arthur's arms again. “So your body has indeed taken my bite, in
some form,” he noted, his eyes still golden as they studied Arthur.
“I think so too, Majesty, but I worry about my not turning.”
“Don’t. You’ve done what’s required by law.” He touched the angry red wounds on
the back of Arthur’s neck, sorry when Arthur winced under his hand. “These
scars will stand as testament to the ceremony. That is enough, under the
circumstances.” His hand lingered on Arthur’s bared shoulder, brushed over his
collarbone, and traced his bottom lip. He cleared his throat and looked away
before sighing. “Well, my darling, since you are feeling better, I suppose I
should take my leave as well.”
“You aren’t staying?”
“I want to, always, but… As I’m sure you noticed the first time you witnessed
my rut, you know that alpha and omega heats are quite different. Whereas you
need constant care during yours, during mine it is better than I handle it in
private.”
Arthur didn’t have to think it over long. It could be a problem in the morning
that Arthur had no wolf form, and if that were so, he’d find himself yet again
in trouble. He settled closer the Eames and let his hand disappear under the
King’s nightgown. “I don’t mind helping you through it.” He smiled. “Perhaps
then, it wouldn’t grow to be overwhelming, as it was before?”
Eames huffed. “You say that now. Wait ‘til I’m humping your leg in the middle
of the night and shredding the sheets in a tantrum. However…” He took in their
close proximity, feeling his rut getting stronger, both from biting his mate
and at the prospect of mating him as well. “However, I do suppose that things
might be a little different, from when I had no mate to where I am now, with
you.”
Arthur smiled at his knees. “You carried me through my heat… Let me carry you
through yours.”
+
 
Arthur trailed his fingertips down the length of Eames' spine and over the
curve of his ass. He watched Eames in the firelight as Eames stared at him,
sated and sleepy. Arthur glanced down at his own stomach, wondering if they’d
been successful this night, but afraid to ask. He thought hard on Ariadne's
advice before speaking. “Should our firstborn be named Henry?” he asked against
Eames' shoulder.
Eames smiled lazily. “You're just as impatient as I am, darling." He yawned.
"Well…Henry would be a funny name if we were to have a daughter.”
“You…” Arthur frowned. “You don’t wish for a son?”
“Oh, of course. Hell, I wish for a whole household full of sons. Who doesn’t,
but… I wish for a household full of daughters as well, I think.” When Arthur’s
frowned deepened, he explained. “You’re an omega, my dear, therefore, any child
we produce will be an alpha; strong, intelligent, born to rule, no matter their
gender. Or, in a rare case, we might also have an omega as well. But I would
like to see our daughters in their little dresses and long curls, stomping in
the dust all the human boys who'd dare to court them.”
Arthur hoped his relief at not having to fret over male heirs wasn’t obvious.
“But, wouldn't we have alpha daughters then?”
Eames shrugged. “Sure?”
“Alpha’s don’t carry children, or at least, aren’t prone to wanting to, I
suppose.”
“No." Eames grinned. "You’re right." He stretched and rolled on top of Arthur,
squeezing him in his arms. "We sire them," he emphasized as he entered his
omega again. A content sigh passed his lips as Arthur gasped with renewed
pleasure. “We sire lots and lots of them,” he purred in his ear as he began to
rock his hips.
Arthur found it difficult to form the right words in Eames’ language, so filled
with his sex. “How…how would she…manage, then?”
“Ah, I understand your confusion now,” he muttered between kisses. “You see, my
darling, betas and male alphas are all quite common, but male omegas such as
you and female alphas are different. Much like with your anatomy, and this
delicious quim you keep hidden from me when you’ve satiated yourself of my
seed,” he teased, growling as he pushed in to hilt and stayed there, making
Arthur moan, “a female alpha’s horn—though quite small, thankfully," he
grunted, "as there would really be no use of beta men otherwise—remains hidden
until aroused.”
Arthur moaned into Eames’ hair, feeling his release build as he met Eames’
strokes with as slow a roll from his narrow hips. He panted, “I remember there
was a female alpha who was removed from court soon before we met.”
Eames growled at the memory, his strokes faster. “Yes, well… Alphas, male or
female, don’t exactly get along very well in that setting, which may be the
greatest understatement I shall ever utter in my life,” he laughed as he hiked
Arthur's legs up higher, folding him in half.
Arthur chuckled, holding onto Eames' arms, and teased, “She could have stolen a
few of your potential betas that night.”
“Exactly.” He groaned when Arthur dug into his skin. His next stroke in was
much harder than the last. “Hell, she could have taken you, had she not been
removed.”
As if prompted by thought of losing his omega, his knot swelled. Arthur clung
to Eames’ back as he came with him, slow and hard, milking Eames’ seed further
inside him.
Coming down, Arthur held his tongue rather than ask his husband outright if he
had been intimidated by the alpha princess. Instead, he cradled the King’s head
to his neck, petting his hair. They panted together for a long while, in each
other arms, until the knot subsided.
Arthur didn't speak again until Eames was able to roll them. He breathed in
Eames' scent, laying over his chest. “I hope our girls grow up to be strong and
masterful, like Mal.”
Eames kissed the top of Arthur's head, frowning even though his words were
sincere when he whispered back, “So do I, my darling."
+
 
The festival was a grand success. Arthur glowed in his sparkling crown,
reminiscent of a holly wreath, and the fur cloak Eames had gifted him. Eames
was ever dotting as they sat together in their winter’s best to greet each
member of court and to accept their lavish gifts.
Eames was still littering Arthur's face with kisses, his lips currently
worshiping his dimples and eyebrows when he spoke. “I’m very proud of you for
pulling off this festival in so little time, Arthur,” he whispered in praise,
admiring the decorated hall once the crowds fanned out to dance and mingle.
“I’m sure Cardinal Stewart was most grateful for your help. You know, I had
suspected that the festival would still happen even if I was not here to
arrange it myself, which is why I acted ahead of time to plan your gift.”
Arthur expected more clothes and jewels and houses, but not the man who stepped
forward from the crowd. Arthur gasped and stood as his brother kneeled to kiss
his and the King’s ring.
“Majesties,” Paul bowed, stern and courtly.
“Sir Paul arrived yesterday and has been kept hidden under lock and key,” Eames
explained, standing with Arthur. “I was pleased to find that his military
expertise rivals only my own, so it is well that I should make friends with
him, rather than enemies,” he teased.
“I cannot begin to express my happiness, Majesty!” Arthur wanted to rush to his
brother at once, but it was too improper. He made sure to watch his brother’s
every move as the beta conversed about the hall and stole a dance or two from
several of Arthur’s ladies.
At the end of the festival, when the moon was high in the sky, Arthur led the
King and court out onto the grounds to reveal his own gift to Eames.
The small dragon screeched when the cover was removed from its cage. It was a
magnificent beast with red feathers covering its head and black scales along
its body and clipped wings. Eames kissed Arthur soundly and placed his chain of
office around Arthur's neck before he and his pack took off into the forest to
hunt down their dragon game.
Arthur was surprised and touched when the applause from the court did not cease
after the King left.
He caught up with Paul just inside the palace walls. He could hardly wait for
his brother to rise from kissing his rings again before he grabbed Paul’s hand
and led him into an empty corridor where Paul nearly tackled him to the floor
with his hug.
“Oh my god,” Paul marveled, circling Arthur with a charming smile. “The last
time I saw you, I was a soldier who could barely ride a horse! I was a bachelor
then, too! And you were only this tall.” He held his hand out in measure at his
chest. “Now look at you, your Majesty.” 
“Look at you! You’re a dashing white knight from Mal’s books, prepared to
rescue the fairest damsel in distress. And you’re growing a beard!” He wrinkled
his nose in distaste.
“Oh shit," Paul griped, "not my little sister’s fairytales.” He held Arthur’s
face as he laughed fondly. He sighed, his smile wider still. “My god, Arthur.
No wonder the King picked you. You’re lovely. And you look all of your mother.
There’s no way you’re a son of King Miles. I don’t believe it at—Oh, wait!” He
studied him with squinted eyes. “Yes, I see it! It’s the ears! You and Michel
could fly with these things. Neither of you have mastered father’s art of
keeping them closer to your heads like bird’s wings at rest, instead of always
out and soaring.”
Arthur had to smack his hands away and kick his leg when his brother refused to
let go of his ears. “Paul, please!” He blushed terribly and covered them under
his hair and hands. “Tell me about your wife. Is she here?”
“Back home, with her mistress. Her lady’s arm was injured during their
horseback riding lessons.”
Arthur’s eyes were wide, but he didn’t comment. “So you’re here all alone?”
“Unfortunately so. My mister, you see, could not travel with me either.”
He laughed, surprised. “You have a mister? Why isn’t he here, then?”
“He too was injured during that horseback riding lesson with my wife. It seems,
from what my wife and I have gathered, her lady and my fellow were once lovers.
I’m sure, that my Jocelyn is enjoying spending her holiday as a sweet nurse to
them both and will no doubt have a book’s worth of tales for me when I return
to Duval.”
Arthur shook his head, full of fondness for his brother. “Marriage has not
changed you in the slightest. I know Michel and Gerard must be very unhappy to
see you having so much fun.”
“Oh you’d love my lady. She’s book smart, sharp-tongued, beautiful… Mal adores
her and she Mal—which is why we left King’s Dominic’s court rather quickly. I
couldn’t have my wife pine for my sister!”
Arthur hid his brother behind a curtain when several nobles rounded the corner.
They all stopped to bow to him before continuing on their paths.
Paul peeked from behind the dusty, heavy curtain with confusion. “Have I missed
something, Arthur?” He frowned. “Your subjects are aware that you have at least
one attractive male sibling, correct?”
“I have doubts that it matters. They don’t like me very much and look for
reasons to spread rumors.”
As if turning a coin on its other side, Paul’s demeanor vastly changed. “Tell
me who they all are and I will gladly gut them and let my soldiers raid their
houses for spoils.” He crossed his arms when Arthur glared. “Does your King
allow for such disrespect? I had assumed he was a better man than that.”
“Of course he doesn't, but he’s busy with too many things for me to let him
worry. And, something that will make you proud, I hope, I am learning how to
stand up for myself.”
“By hiding your brother behind a curtain?” He smiled. “Clever.”
“I’m a student, not a teacher. Not yet.”
Paul frowned at Arthur’s downturned face. “Arthur? Don’t tell me you’ve grown
softer still under Mal’s care. I was only teasing. I meant no real offense.”
“No, it’s not that. I had only hoped for a moment that, when you surprised me
earlier, Mal may have been here as well.”
“I had actually meant to question you about that, but…wasn’t certain if it was
safe to pry. But, Arthur, you can’t expect for Mallorie to visit you if you do
not return any of her letters.”
He took a step back, dumbfounded. “Paul, no. I write her everyday and everyday
I look to receive some word from her yet none have come.”
“So it’s true, then, what I’ve heard. She’s been quite heartbroken in her
pregnancy that you—”
“She’s pregnant?!”
Paul cleared his throat and peered around them at Arthur’s outburst. “Arthur,
listen me. Arthur, listen. Be quiet. I see now what’s happened.”
“Well, I don’t. I don’t understand, Paul.”
“You know your husband and you also know his enemy.”
“But, Mal isn’t his enemy. She’s just—”
“Carrying his enemy’s child,” Paul lamented.
Arthur stumbled backwards. “No. No. I will speak to his Majesty and discover
the truth of all this.”
“Arthur,” Paul warned.
“I must. I mean… All our letters, all this time. He barred me from writing to
Sir Robert, but said nothing about Mal. He likes Mal!”
“Just be careful, alright. Don’t allow for the King’s conflict with Dom to
create conflict between the two of you. I like your husband, and am here as his
ally. He’s attractive, and as far as I can assume, he’s good to you. I would
hate to see him spoil that.” He steered Arthur back towards the music and
dancing in the hall. “Go be with your subjects now, and I’ll set about finding
all the knowledge I can for you. We’ll meet in the morning before I depart.”
+
 
Arthur was grateful that he could catch a moment of his husband’s time for
their afternoon meal the next day when Eames and his pack returned victorious
from their hunt. He needed to speak with him about Paul’s news at once.
He was nervous, like he hadn’t been in weeks, when Eames and his attendants
arrived in Arthur’s parlor. Arthur knew very well how seriously the King took
matters of state and knew that this war had not been easy on Eames
either. There was no doubt in Arthur’s mind now that he was the light of his
alpha’s eye, but King Dominic had been Eames’ enemy for far longer than Eames
had known Arthur.
Eames was smiling when he cupped Arthur’s face to kiss. He paused, his brow
furrowed.
Arthur looked at his funny expression with confusion, wondering if perhaps the
King could smell Paul’s scent on him. He opened his mouth to explain, but Eames
was already scenting around his neck.
Eames drew back, his eyes wide as a smile grew on his lips. “You smell
different.”
“Well, I’ve just returned from seeing Paul off. He hugged me. He left this mo—”
“—No, no, no, no, no,” the King waved. He took Arthur’s hands and kissed them
both. “Arthur, darling, your scent has changed. Do you hear me? You are with
child—”
“—He told me very distressing news that I…” He blinked and blinked again, his
voice tight and small when he managed to speak. “I… What?”
+
 
 
***** Chapter 12 *****
+
 
He felt dunked in ice water as Eames and his attendants stared at him in shock.
He glanced to Lady Catherine who was already in tears. “No… No.”
“Yes, darling! You’re with child!” Eames lifted Arthur into the air, dancing in
a circle with him in his arms as the attendants and servants cheered. He
planted kisses all over Arthur’s face. When he drew back, there were tears in
his eyes. He sat Arthur in his chair and knelt at his feet. “Oh my darling, my
love.”
Arthur’s hands were shaking when Eames held and kissed them. He was still
stunned to silence. All around him were happy faces, proud faces, that looked
at him with so much joy as they praised his husband's good fortune. Eames had a
surprised Lady Catherine in his arms now, spinning with her in his excitement.
The ladies were already planning clothes for when Arthur would begin to show,
and competing for positions as midwives.
Arthur sank down lower in his chair, his hands covering his stomach. He knew he
would faint if he kept looking down at his hands, so he closed his eyes and
tried to breathe. When Eames returned with more kisses and proclamations of
love, all Arthur could do was bury his distress about his sister and put on his
most convincing smile, until the reality of what was happening finally hit
him. “We're having a baby?”
“Yes, darling, isn’t it wonderful? We must prepare celebrations at once. At the
Solstice ceremony tonight, we’ll hold blessings and prayers, and then tomorrow,
begin planning tournaments and parties, and hold horse races and hunting
competitions, and tennis matches, and…”
Arthur let the King ramble on and on as plans began to form in his mind as
well. He’d done it, he'd proven the whole world wrong and was well on his way
to giving the King what he wanted. Eames was kissing his stomach through his
heavy clothes. A surprised laugh burst from Arthur at the sight and soon he
found he couldn't stop. 
His laughter doubled upon noticing that Cardinal Stewart was standing near the
door beside the guards. He must have walked in with some news for the King and
hadn’t had the chance to announce his presence. He stared at the sight before
him as if Arthur had transformed into the devil, or as if the King had his head
between Arthur’s legs, pleasuring him in front of everyone.
What was better, Arthur knew that in this moment, if he so much as asked, the
King would do just that in a heartbeat. What could the King deny Arthur now?
But no pleasure in the world could compare to watching the Cardinal storm out
of the room without a word.
+
 
The two retired to Arthur's bedchambers after the evening Solstice ceremony had
ended.
Arthur panted, gripping Eames' thighs as he rocked up and down in his lap.
“You’re sure this won’t…harm the baby…or make me…even more—” He yawned and
touched his flat stomach.
Eames laid his hand over Arthur’s, his smiled filled with affection. “No, no.
The doctor said I could fuck you like this. Don't worry, my darling.” Eames
gripped his hips, helping Arthur grind above him. “I definitely think
celebratory fucking ought to become a regular activity for us.” The sight of
Arthur straddling him, rocking and bouncing torturously slow, teasing Eames as
he lifted the hem of his nightgown higher, showing Eames more skin to touch, it
drove him wild. He sat up, wrapping his arms around his waist.
Arthur’s head fell back as he moaned, feeling Eames suck on his exposed nipple.
He opened his eyes when his back touched the bed. Eames held down his arms,
kissing him deeply as he pulled out. "No, come back," he whispered, clutching
half-heartedly at Eames' chemise.
He chuckled at Arthur’s sleepy whine and hushed him. “You just taste like the
sweetest wine,” he whispered, traveling down his stomach. “I need more of you
on my tongue first.”
He groaned, hearing Arthur’s soft sighs as he licked the underside of his cock.
He dipped lower when Arthur caught his hair in a tight grip that pulled when
his tongue slipped inside. He stopped to laugh against Arthur’s thigh. “If I
didn’t know any better, I’d think those whispers were prayers instead of filthy
swearing. Who taught you to say such dirty things?”
He arched his back, but Eames had his arms pinned down. “You did.”
“Oh, right.” He grinned when Arthur let loose a stream of curses again. “They
sound lovely in your language. Will you teach me?”
“Not now.” He yawned. “Just keep doing…what you’re…”
He moaned contently when Arthur’s hands went slack in his hair. He licked over
his tickle spot, expecting Arthur to laugh, but when he met with silence, he
peeked up. “Are you asleep?” He bit his thigh and was met with soft, faint
snores. Eames snorted. “Oh,” he laughed, righting Arthur’s chemise and tucking
him in. “Oh, you poor darling.”
+
 
Arthur pulled his cloak and furs more snugly over his shoulders. He suppressed
a tired sigh in the sunlit hall and yawned behind his hand.
He was certain now that his body had rejected the werewolf bite. Walking
through the palace on his afternoon rounds, he couldn’t smell himself, but the
werewolves as far as several doors down the way could. As if his scent was
enchanted, they almost knocked into one another as they hurried to him to bow
and kiss his ring, taking deep lungfuls of his scent.
Arthur’s brow furrowed as they allowed themselves the privilege of patting his
stomach, though only a day had passed since his scent first changed.
He had to cut his walk short and return to his chambers rather than catch
himself engulfed by more swarms of nobles.
The Lord Chancellor was waiting for him in Arthur’s study when they arrived.
“Your Grace, forgive me. I didn’t expect to be so held up by the court this
morning. I had hoped for the chance to sneak into the King’s kitchen for more
of those pastries you sent me, but…I was waylaid, it seemed, by everyone in
Engston.” He dropped into his chair with another yawn.
“Not used to the attention?” Yusuf smiled.
“Not used to so many hands reaching for my middle.” He yawned again. “I almost
miss being invisible. In Duval, you’re seen as divine to have a drop of royal
blood in you. Not here.”
The Duke chuckled. “Ah yes, that’s one thing I’ve never gotten used to with the
Engston culture. Everyone is so…”
“Touchy?”
Yusuf nodded. “I was going to say self-entitled, but yes, that too. They
consider their access to you and his Majesty’s person to be a birthright,
granted to them by the very hands of god, although you’re far more
accommodating than King Eames. The last time someone coughed in his vicinity,
it…wasn’t pretty.” Yusuf glanced at his knees bashfully and shrugged. “And, you
do have a wonderful scent, if I may say. You always did, but more so now.
Like…freshly baked bread and brewed red leaf coffee after a holy fast, or
seeing a loved one after a long time apart,” he mused. “It’s euphoric.”
Arthur muttered, “Sophie doesn’t think so. We were once so close, she would cry
if my attendants wouldn’t let her into my bathtub. Now, she won’t come near
me.” He cleared his throat, surprised that he was still choked up about it.
“She enjoys Lady Gretchford’s attention, so I’m at least glad that she has
someone to tend to her.”
“Worry not, your Majesty. I remember before my boy died, my late wife’s cats
shunned her all while she carried him, as if she’d somehow betrayed them. Well,
after our son was born, she and I could hardly spend time with him alone. The
cats had decided at once that our son was theirs.” He smiled sadly. “One even
bit my finger when I reached into his crib.”
Arthur returned his smile. “Would you ever marry again, if you don’t mind my
asking?”
Yusuf ducked a little, blushing. “I have thought about it, although now that
you’re with child, every lady in court wishes to be as well, and I’m much too
old for raising toddlers.”
He hummed after yawning behind his hand and played with the hem of his tunic
when he spoke. “Lady Catherine is considering remarrying as well, perhaps at
the same pace as you… In a few years, I feel she may ask to retire from court
for a more peaceful, private life, but no one ought to do so alone, don’t you
agree?”
Yusuf’s blush deepened. “That’s true. Lady Catherine is quite a wonderful
lady.”
“And an excellent cook as well, if you ask her very nicely,” he said in as
neutral a tone as he could muster. “I hear that Cardinal Stewart left for my
father’s country this morning?”
“Yes, yes, indeed. An unscheduled meeting with the Holy Council in Duval, but
the King has sent a messenger after him to tell him your good news.” He smiled
fondly.
Arthur hummed noncommittally before speaking again, hiding his smirk. “Cardinal
Bryant did not go with him?”
“That’s true. In fact, Bryant had no inclination that such a meeting had been
called.” Yusuf leaned in close. “I think it must be some secret gathering,
perhaps a high profile exorcist or something.”
“On Cardinal Stewart?”
Yusuf choked on his wine and tried to cover his surprised laugh. “With the
temper that man has, perhaps, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Well, I certainly hope his trip is promising, and I can’t wait to have his
blessing the moment he returns.”
Yusuf watched him yawn. “Overdue for a nap, Majesty?”
“No,” it happened again, “I hardly ever, especially not so soon after waking
late this morning.” He propped his head on his hand. “Anyways, the reason that
I asked you here was to discuss a few ideas I had for the palace in the coming
new year. I’ve heard many great things about the artists commissioned in the
city to paint portraits. Even the man employed regularly by my husband is quite
magnificent.” He rubbed his eyes. “Is there money enough for murals on the
ceilings and walls of the guest chambers and the royal court halls?”
“Similar to the King’s chambers? Certainly. If there is money enough for wars,
there’s money for art as well.”
“Good, good.” He blinked but had difficulty opening his eyes. He could feel
himself drifting off and could do little to stop it.
“Majesty?”
He stretched and sat up higher in his chair. “Also, for his Majesty, who is as
fond of gardens as I am, I would like to commission the landscapers from
Milecomté to liven up the gardens before springtime. And there was one other
thing… If you could assist me in writing a proposal for readily available
recreation for the peasantry.” He rubbed his eyes again. “For the next
festival, I would like to invite the mothers and children to the palace to see
the plays and receive small tokens from myself and his Majesty. And for the
King’s upcoming tournaments and games, if local archers or jousters could
compete as well…” His words were halted by yet another deep yawn.
“Well, your Majesty,” Yusuf frowned, leaning forward again to see if Arthur was
still awake, “there are many factors to consider first. Namely security for you
and his Majesty, then making sure that there’s room enough to accommodate them,
although we could hold preliminary competitions so that only the best and
brightest are here for the real games. But as for the children, I think that’s
a marvelous plan and don't see why we can’t implement it in due time for…
Majesty? Your Majesty?” He reached over to tap Arthur’s hand.
He stood quickly, feeling Arthur’s forehead. “Lady Catherine,” he called,
worried when Arthur refused to wake.
The attendants rushed in at once. Lady Catherine quickly went to work, feeling
his forehead and neck. She ordered Ariadne and Rose to loosen the rigid bodice
under his tunic before she pinched Arthur’s nose until he coughed.
“Oh dear god. Should I send for his Majesty?” Yusuf was already prepared to
call the guard, dreading what such a message would mean in the King’s ears.
She held out her hand to comfort the elder werewolf. “That won’t be necessary,
my Lord. Arthur has simply begun his resting, although, I would have much
preferred for him to be in his bed when this happened.”
“It’s not fever? You are certain, good Madam?”
“No, my Lord, it’s perfectly natural,” she explained, after calling the grooms
to help carry Arthur to bed. “At this very critical beginning stage in the
pregnancy, omegas sleep to prevent over-exertion and to focus all power in
preparing his womb to be the optimum environment for growing a safe and healthy
child.”
“Good,” he sighed. “I’m glad to hear. Shall I return later this evening, then?”
“Well, according to the records, resting may last several weeks. It will wax
and wan through the day to ensure that he eats, of course, but he will be in no
condition for meetings until it has passed, your Grace. If you could alert his
Majesty of this, it would be greatly appreciated.”
Yusuf’s initial wish to court Lady Catherine diminished at once upon being
taxed with such a request.
 
Eames would not listen to any explanation of omega resting from anyone’s lips
until he was present to see for himself. The soldiers were left with his pack
to train them, his bath and afternoon meal entirely forgotten, his secretaries
all scared and threatened not to open their mouths or get in his way, all as he
stomped from the field straight into Arthur’s bedroom.
He looked ready to kill everyone in the room, including Yusuf, and even the
child if it would make his mate truly ill. “It is not fever?” he asked for the
tenth time, even though he could smell and feel that Arthur was fine.
Lady Catherine assured him patiently as the attendants hovered. “No, Majesty.
This is perfectly in accordance to a healthy progression.”
He felt ridiculous. Not because of his agitation, but because he’d eaten
breakfast with Arthur this morning, and while the omega was still right here,
right under his nose sleeping peacefully, Eames missed him terribly. Weeks,
Lady Catherine had said. Weeks without hearing his voice or seeing him smile.
It would have been easier for the sun to have disappeared instead. At least
then, he would still have those slender hands holding his during mass, those
dimpled cheeks, his rich lilted voice, and even Arthur's testy glares. He
wanted to see him blush or laugh or make Eames feel stupid for still not
knowing how to operate the sextant in the observatory, when in truth, he only
feigned ignorance for Arthur's attention. 
It ate at his heart that Arthur wouldn’t wake or stir at all for several hours
more, until Lady Catherine managed to rouse him enough to swallow milk and a
bowl of porridge Eames didn’t consider to be big enough now that he would be
eating for two.
In the end, he required no convincing before agreeing to Yusuf’s suggestion
that their offices be moved to Arthur’s study and parlor for the time being. If
Yusuf could have had Eames’ worktable moved right next to Arthur’s bed, he
would have said yes to that too, in a heartbeat.
+
 
Eames sat at the large table in Arthur’s study, scratching his stubble as he
read through proposals and research. He heard whispering from Arthur’s room, as
he always had in the weeks that had passed, but something was different.
“How long have I been out?” he heard Arthur rasp and immediately raced from his
desk into the bedroom, hardly giving Arthur’s attendants room to bow and step
aside for him.
He’d never thought anyone with chapped lips and their cheek covered in drool,
their hair wild and tangled, could ever look so beautiful, but his Arthur
frowned at his stomach and poked it, his brow raising to find the faintest
whisper of a bump. He blinked up at Eames with a groggy, confused expression
and it tore Eames' heart to bits.
He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Arthur up to sit, and drew him into a
tight hug. “Darling.”
Arthur groaned, gripping his shoulders and clutching at his chain of office.
“Eames, no. I have—”
“I know, my darling, I’ve missed you too, I’ve—” Arthur threw up all over his
shoulder and back. “Oh, that’s what you’d wanted to tell me,” he grumbled
flatly, lamenting the loss of his favorite furs and doublet. He let Arthur lie
back down and watched as he proceeded to gag and ruin the pillow beside him as
well.
"Fuck," was all Arthur managed to groan before curling into an unhappy ball and
drifting back to sleep. The attendants hesitated.
“Your Majesty,” Ariadne tried, a handkerchief in her hand, “if you would…like
to…for the sick.” She grimaced.
All around him were horrified, pale faces, ready for him to fly into a rage.
Eames snorted. “It’s gone inside my clothes now, so I will just go have a
bath.” He walked stiffly to the door. “But do send for me, if he wakes again.”
 
Eames paced in the parlor, growling as yet another platter of food was sent
from Arthur’s room. He could hear his mate getting sick again from what little
Arthur had eaten.
He pinched the bridge of nose, unable to focus to Yusuf’s report. When the
chefs returned with soup that was quickly sent back as well, Eames snapped.
“How the hell do you expect for him to nourish both himself and the child if
you keep sending him inedible rubbish? I swear I will kill the lot of you!”
The head cook stuttered and turned to his servants with a pale face. “Send for
more of the pastries from yesterday.”
“Pastries?” Eames baulked. “Can an alpha child truly grow solid muscle and
maintain good health on sugar and dough, Mr. Treelock?”
“You’re right, your Majesty, forgive me.” He bowed low and snuck away to the
attendants still patting Arthur’s brow. “Lady Catherine,” the man whispered,
peeking over his shoulder at the King. “Help me. Please.”
Her recipe for zabaglione with strawberries worked wonders. Eames sat at the
table with Yusuf, finally able to relax, as the servants walked into Arthur’s
bedroom with a full plate three times in a row and left each time with empty
trays.
Yusuf paused his rambling about tax rises when Arthur crept from his room in
his robe and planted a kiss on Eames’ forehead. He smiled seeing the two
together.
“Your Majesty,” Arthur spoke in a low, exhausted voice as Eames kissed his
rounding belly. His hands on his hips was endearing as he irritably glared down
at his husband. “You have to stop yelling and threatening everyone. Even I
don't know what to do with me, so give them time to figure it out. They're
trying their hardest. Don't be a bully.”
The King’s loving smile didn’t falter. “I know,” he muttered into Arthur's
nightgown. “I just want you to be happy and comfortable. Both of you."
“I’ll be happy in seven months. And the little one is still as big a fist,
perhaps.” He frowned when Eames scented his stomach, not listening. “You
haven’t been taking care of yourself, have you?” He glanced at the Lord
Chancellor.
Yusuf covered his smirk. “I’ve honestly never seen him like this, your
Majesty,” he whispered.
“I can still hear you, your Grace,” Eames grumbled. He looked up at Arthur with
worry, his face still pressed to his stomach. “Your heart is beating faster.”
He stood quickly and pulled over a chair, making Arthur sit. “Are you alright,
darling?”
He yawned and swatted away his hands. “I’m fine, but please get some sleep
yourself. You’re getting skinny. And hairy.”
“He’s right, your Majesty,” Yusuf spoke. He gathered his books and ledger.
“It’s getting late in the evening. We’ll finish these in the morning.” He
smiled. “Good night, Majesties.”
When Yusuf left, Arthur blushed at the King's lustful stare. "You're very
excited, your Majesty."
"Of course I am! I've been waiting weeks for this! You know we aren't going to
sleep at all tonight, correct?"
"Oh Eames, I'll vomit on you again if you try to put that prick anywhere near
me."
+
 
As the days passed, Eames hardly got a day's worth of work completed now that
Arthur wasn't sleeping as much.
When he arrived from his bath in his own chambers, Arthur was in bed reading
one of Eames’ books on roots and herbs. He had to pause in the doorway as the
attendants blew out a few of the candles and cleared the room. Just to look at
Arthur with his furrowed brow and pout, concentrating on the text and tracing
the illustrations with his fingers, Eames was in heaven.
To turn the pages, Arthur had to lift the book up his folded legs to keep the
paper from catching on his little mound.
“You’re right, Eames,” Arthur mused when they were alone, “this is incredibly
boring.”
“Ah.” He smiled. “So that frown isn’t from intense interest, but of a failed
attempt to read big words perhaps?”
He blushed. “Funny.”
Eames sat with his legs crossed in front of Arthur, leaning over the book to
see how far he’d gotten. “I think I ought to redo these collections. There’s
just no reason why I put a pumpkin in the same book as fairy root and amethyst
thorns.”
Arthur glanced up with an incredulous air as Eames moved closer between his
legs. “You can read upside down?”
“Of course.” He shrugged.
Arthur’s brow rose playfully as Eames read the current page. “Hm. That’s pretty
impressive. I can barely read this scribble myself.”
“Oh stop, my handwriting’s not that bad. Yusuf once concocted a mean brew from
mixing these two herds in a tea. I swear I saw double for days, but the buzz
was divine.” He laughed with Arthur. “I still have an empty slot for the
somnacin poppy. I can’t wait to get my hands on it.”
Arthur paused his reading, his smile a little flat when he glanced back at
Eames. “Well…I’m sure…I could ask my sister to send some, for you.” His hands
gripped the hard covers of the book, his eyes focused on the pictures, trying
not to meet Eames’ eyes.
But Eames was too busy lifting Arthur’s nightgown. He placed Arthur’s leg over
his shoulder. “Has she written you recently?” he asked, kissing a trail along
Arthur knee and calf.
Arthur kept his eyes lowered to avoid glaring, unsure of the game Eames was
playing. He shrugged. “She hasn’t written at all, actually. I have written her
often though. Do you think perhaps she isn’t receiving my letters?” He gripped
the book’s edges harder when Eames hummed noncommittally and nipped at the
sensitive skin under his knee.
He didn’t feel as secure as he’d been before going down this road. Eames didn’t
dance around like this, especially when it came to something so important.
Arthur swallowed, as Eames still had nothing more to say. “But, no,” he
continued, “she would have written anyways. Not hearing from me would worry
her.” His heart quickened as Eames began to carefully finger him open. He
hadn’t felt so hot in a small eternity and hated that his husband would pick
now to bring out a small moan from his lips. He closed his eyes to stay
focused. “Eames—”
“You’re not getting any of her letters,” Eames responded at last in a low
rumble against his thigh. “That’s final, Arthur.”
Arthur was momentarily cowed by his husband’s stare. Eames wasn’t angry with
Arthur, he knew, but he wasn’t amused either. Arthur swallowed, unable to stop
the blush on his cheeks when Eames added a third finger. He closed the book and
set it aside, but he wouldn’t allow Eames to mount or lift him into his lap.
Eames sighed irritably. “Arthur, trust me. I love you and I know how much you
love your sister, and it does pain me to say this, but she is not the same
woman you knew before.”
“I don’t believe that. I want my letters, husband. You have no right to keep
them from me.”
“Oh, I don’t?” His brow rose in disbelief. “Well, well, my sweet little omega.
Tell me, then, since you are now my master, when her potions bewitch my
ambassadors, I don’t have a right to—”
“There’s no way she would do that.” He bit his tongue when Eames growled.
“I know her potion signature,” he answered flatly.
Arthur shook his head. “Eames—”
“Arthur,” he rumbled, and tapped his own nose as he stressed again, “I know her
potion signature. And when her messenger fell ill after breaking her letter
seal, you dare tell me I don’t have the right? I don’t have the right to stop
her from trying to curse you? Or, god forbid, worse?”
He wasn’t as certain when he shook his head this time. “She curses her seals to
all those not intended to receive her letters.” His hands covered his heart,
where Mal’s pendant sat on the end of his necklace. “And…I wear her sigil. This
can’t be—”
“Were you wearing that when I bit you, when you nearly died?” Knowing Arthur
didn’t need to answer that, he went on, “And when I took it off of you, later
that night, did you not at last conceive our child?”
Arthur moved farther up the bed to put distance between them. “Eames…I don’t
understand.”
His anger deflated sensing his mate’s distress. “Darling, I’m sorry. But it
happens. Families are torn by borders, war, and power all the time. I’m sure
Paul has told you about Michel’s impending coronation? Well, he too will be
looking for lands to expand Duval’s borders once he’s king. I have half a mind
to convince him against breaking his alliance with Dominic, so that when I
destroy the King of Runes, your brother’s kingdom will be ours as well.”
Eames tried to kiss him but Arthur put his hands out again, and let him go when
he moved to leave the bed. “I don’t want anyone’s kingdom, Eames, I want my
family.”
Eames stopped redressing when he glanced at Arthur. “They are not your family
when they abandon you, Arthur. We have our own family now. It’s only one that
matters.”
Arthur watched him leave without another word. He looked down at his hands
resting on his hill of a stomach and thumped his head on the headboard in
frustration. He turned on his side and was met with the wide vacant space where
Eames should have been sleeping and sighed, wondering if he hadn’t tried hard
enough, or if he’d tried too much and ruined any chance of seeing his sister
again.
+
 
Two more weeks passed. Arthur’s belly continued to swell, and with it came
decidedly awkward and ill timed new symptoms. As much as he tried to remain
angry and unbending with Eames, more and more he found that the only thing he
wanted to do was…bend, in the lewdest sense of the word. What was worse, his
omega sex took over his brain and made it increasingly difficult to be anything
other than blissful and content and horny.
They sat in silence in his bedroom. He watched Eames read peacefully and
scribble notes into the margins of his book. All he could do was fight the urge
to tear his clothes off and sit on his face—or at the very least, Arthur wanted
the power to ignore how uncomfortable his chest was. His agonizingly over-
sensitive nipples needed attention, but he wouldn’t touch them himself, not in
his husband’s presence, not with his chest getting softer and fuller. Moreover,
he was one hundred percent certain that he was wet beyond belief under his own
book.
He and Eames sighed heavily in unison.
Eames slammed his book closed and tossed it over the side of the bed. “I want
to fuck you. I can't stand to be around you when you're glowing and your hair
looks as soft as silk and your skin so flushed and I can't touch you.” His eyes
were golden when he breathed in more of Arthur’s scent. “Either send me away,
or…”
Arthur closed his book and set it aside. “Will you at least allow Paul to
exchange one correspondence between Mal and I? Just one. About her baby.” He
reached across the gap between them to hold Eames’ hand. He rubbed his stomach,
pleased when Eames’ eyes drifted to watch his petting. Arthur could see it in
Eames’ eyes. He wanted to touch Arthur's stomach so badly, he nearly whined
like a puppy when his glare met Arthur's imploring gaze.
Eames’ jaw clenched and unclenched as he thought. “Fine. One. Then no more. Now
get over here and let your husband see you.”
 
Arthur blushed, embarrassed by the desperate moans that passed his lips when
Eames dutifully massaged his tender chest and tortured his nipples. His chemise
was torn open and hiked aside as Eames drove up into him hard, but the more he
bounced in his lap, the more uncomfortable he became.
He was sure his cock was soft but he couldn’t see past his stomach.
“Eames…stop.” It took several tried to get past Eames’ lust fog. “Eames.”
Eames paled and quickly lay him down. “What did I do? What’s happened?”
Arthur chuckled as his husband scented him all over, searching for any hurts he
may have caused. “I’m sore already, or something. I don’t know.” He threw his
arm over his face. “But it’s terrible in your lap now.”
“I really enjoyed having you straddle me,” he frowned. “But the night’s still
young, and…you do taste really, really good.”
“No, no, no. It’s not enough. Damn it, Eames I need…something.” He growled in
frustration, surprising Eames.
“Well…” the King made a show of playing with the strings on Arthur’s nightgown,
his eyes lowered. He shrugged. “There are other things…”
“But we’ve done other things. They don’t feel as good.”
Eames found it hard to suppress the boast just fighting to get out of his
mouth. He cleared his throat. “What I mean is that there are other-other
things, like…”
“Like?”
“I could try fucking this perfect little ass of yours?”
Arthur’s brow rose. He stared at Eames as he felt his husband’s hands travel
south to massage his ass. He blushed. His mouth opened and closed, searching
for the right words, but Eames had that look in his eyes again. It ignited a
new fire in Arthur. “Will it hurt?”
Eames smiled lewdly and shook his head. “It’ll be fun.” He jutted his chin at
the pillows. “On your side, love.”
He used Arthur’s slickness to wet his cock and finger him open. He thrilled in
the little pleasant sounds Arthur made and how he rocked his hips back into
Eames’ deep touch.
“How does it feel, darling? Good?”
“Different,” he breathed. “But…” he moaned upon the third finger and winced,
but he spread his legs wider, letting one fall over Eames’ arms.
Eames buried his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck as he guided his slick cock
to his hole. He pushed in slowly with a groan. "You're just perfect anyway I
take you, aren't you, Arthur?"
“Eames,” he heard Arthur moan in surprise as he was filled.
He chuckled out another groan as he slid further inside, his hips meeting the
soft round of his ass. “My god, it’s like I’m taking you for the first time all
over again. Are you alright, darling?”
“Oh my god.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He smiled and gave an experimental thrust.
“Fuck,” he gasped, clutching the sheets, a blush blooming across his cheeks and
ears. 
He was still shaking with a breathy laugh when he took hold of Arthur’s hip.
“See? Told you.” He buried his face in Arthur’s hair and listened to his soft
panting. His strokes were slow and lazily. He moaned in his shoulder every time
Arthur pushed his hips back, but when his little noises didn’t rise above a
whispered moan, he knew he had to remedy the situation before Arthur got
frustrated again.
“Fuck, Eames. Fuck!” Arthur’s back arched against Eames’ chest, his legs
closing of their own accord around Eames’ hand as he worked his fingers into
his wetness, doubling his pleasure. Arthur melted into the sheets when Eames’
teeth caught the back of his neck. He growled when Arthur’s nails dug into his
thigh and laughed, panting in his curls. Neither of them was going to sleep
tonight with this new wonderful game to play. 
+
 
Ariadne hovered during the festival as Eames and Arthur accepted gifts and more
praise for the coming baby. As soon as Eames wandered off, she took his seat.
“Is everything alright, Arthur?” she asked. “You seem distracted—more that
usual.”
Arthur roused from his daydreaming. He laced his fingers over his belly. “Of
course, I feel as if I’m drunk on wine always these days.”
She laughed. “I've noticed. Some times, you sound like it too. But you and his
Majesty aren’t as joined at the hip these days," she whispered. "Is he still
treating you well?”
Arthur intended to say that the King treated him perfectly. In his fog, there
wasn’t a care in the world with a happy baby in his belly. As he patted his
stomach, however, his mind awoke for a moment. “I miss my sister. Every time I
hear from Paul, it breaks my heart. I just… My husband’s word was once a truth,
a gospel, to me, but I refuse to believe that my sister or her husband are as
terrible as the King claims. I must know for myself what’s happening, but he
keeps all information about the war from me. He thinks I’m content being left
in the dark.” He frowned, realizing that his hormones were convincing him that
he was, in fact, utterly happy in his ignorance.
“What do you plan to do? I could attempt to gather some grain of fact from my
husband about the war.”
“No, no. I simply went about this in the wrong way. I should not have ever come
to him with my largest grievance first. I have to start small, gradually climb.
I have the perfect approach, too, to test these waters again, now that my
dearest friend has returned from his travels.” He smirked, cutting his eye at
Cardinal Stewart as the man stepped into the hall.
 
Keeping his foot down was far harder a task than Eames had ever thought it
would be. He’d let Arthur send Paul away with his letter, and even before Paul
could return with Mal’s, Arthur had already asked him for permission to write
more. He’d said no, and regretted it, but knew he had to, even if Arthur was
upset. He watched his omega smile politely at an elder duke’s attempt to amuse
him. Eames longed to be near him.
He almost didn’t hear his doctor approach him. Whatever the man had to say
couldn’t be as important as wondering how the Earl of Green could possess the
balls to put his hand on Arthur’s stomach.
“Your Majesty,” the doctor tried again.
Eames sighed like a bull. “What?”
The beta dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief, searching for the right
words. “Your Majesty, if I may be so bold, this will sound quite unorthodox,
but…how long has the Queen been with child?”
Eames’ brow furrowed as he turned to face the man. “Is it not obvious, good
doctor?”
“Five months? Good, I was a little worried—”
“No, three and a half.”
The doctor’s face fell. “You are certain, Majesty?”
“I’m always certain.” He glanced at Arthur before grabbing the doctor’s arm and
pulling him away from the party.
Outside in the hall, Eames crossed his arms as he made the doctor to explain
his concerns.
“Majesty, the Queen’s belly is simply too large to only be three months along.
Perhaps there was some delay in his scent change?”
Eames ordered a guard to send for Lady Catherine. Her frown was deep set as she
corroborated Eames’ account.
However, the doctor only appeared less assured.
“Is it possible that omegas carry children for a shorter amount of time?” It
thrilled Eames to think that their child would come sooner than expected.
“Perhaps, Majesty,” Lady Catherine said, “only, my monitoring of his
development does not fit this estimate. All of his symptoms, his milk
production, his diet and mood, are all signs of a normal carrying.”
“Oh dear, your Majesty. It is as I’d feared, then.”
“Tell me, doctor,” Eames demanded.
“Forgive me, but if his Majesty, with his small frame, is already showing so
greatly for just three months, then complications are unavoidable, your
Majesty—” He was slammed into the wall at his back.
Lady Catherine placed her arm in front of the King. “Your Majesty,” she
pleaded, “he only wishes to insure your Arthur’s safety, and the child’s.”
Eames snarled and walked away as he tried to rein in his emotions. His claws
made his palms bleed in his fists. He was shaking, unable to take a deep
calming breath with his chest getting tighter and tighter as his anxiety
reached new heights. He wasn’t ignorant; he knew exactly what the doctor’s
words meant. Just the thought of losing Arthur made Eames want to shift and
rampage through the palace.
All this time, they’d rushed to produce a child, and now that it was happening,
Eames’ mind filled with a whole new set of anxieties.
+
 
 
***** Chapter 13 *****
+
 
Eames had been abandoned by his father when he was only a boy.
In the dead of winter, he had been taken to the very thick of the forest in his
sleep and left to find his own way back to Wolfshire. It was his right of
passage, from a pup to an alpha worthy of the title of heir presumptive.
He foraged for safe plants and roots to eat until he learned how to bring down
a deer. For three days, he'd been trapped in the pit of a cave with a troll and
had to fight his way out, but even then, he was in no way prepared for what
this alphahood would eventually engender…
Arthur was running through an overgrown forest in the early morning hours. His
legs were as strong as wilting flower petals, his clothes torn by reaching
branches, but he couldn’t stop. Even as the high roots caught his feet or the
limbs tangled in his long, dark curls. Desperate to free himself from
his pursuers, he swam across icy rivers and over snow-covered hills, his frail
heart pushed to its limits.
In the end, he wasn’t fast enough. The massive grey and tawny wolf’s teeth sank
into his tripped ankle. He cried out in pain and unsheathed his long dagger to
cut the wolf’s throat, to free himself. Only, there were other, younger wolves
now come to feast on his flesh.
Arthur tried to call out again, but the little wolf cubs had his throat, and
Eames his heart. 
"No!" Eames gasped for air as he woke in a cold sweat, his mind still lost in
the dream. He reached for Arthur in the dim glow of the firelight, his relief
immeasurable that he and the child he carried were still safe and peacefully
slumbering.
He hated this dream, the only dream his mind could form since receiving the
doctor’s warning. He was afraid for their child, he was afraid for Arthur, he
was afraid of waking up one morning and them both being gone from him.
He pulled Arthur into his arms and lay awake as the last log burned in the
hearth.
+
 
Bees and butterflies zoomed from flower to flower in the Queen’s private
garden. The younger attendants chased Sophie around the small pond. Eames
lounged with Arthur on pillows under a shaded canopy.
He lay on his back, his head propped on his arms, breathing in the open air. He
frowned and cracked a sleepy eye open to glare at Arthur. “Are you laughing at
me?”
Arthur glowed in the afternoon sun, wearing one of the many long, ornate gowns
his attendants had made for his pregnancy. He covered his mouth, but his
shoulders still shook. “Yes, your Majesty.”
“Why?”
He smiled, still rubbing his belly. “You’ve grown terrified.”
Eames paled and sat up, wondering how Arthur could have figured out his
distress. He'd ordered the doctor and Lady Catherine not to speak a word to
Arthur or risk burdening him with this fear and danger, but before he could
explain, Arthur laughed again.
“Eames, Majesty, you aren’t as dangerous as you think. You don’t have to be
afraid to touch my stomach just because it’s gotten bigger, you know. I only
laugh because you clearly want to, but you’re holding back.”
Eames blushed, swallowing his relief that it wasn't what he'd feared down with
his wine. But Arthur was right; he was being ridiculous. He cleared his throat
before sliding over on the pillows and lied his head on Arthur’s tummy.
“See?” He grinned watching Eames hum contently. “It’s not too bad.”
“You've got a strong boy in your belly. I can scent him now,” Eames whispered.
“His head is under your hand.”
Arthur quickly lifted his hand away as if resting there would harm…their son. A
boy he could already image looking just like a little Eames, or perhaps a
little Arthur and Eames. He blinked, his eyes prickling from the emotion that
swept over him like a wave. His mouth opened to speak, but his words stuck in
his throat.
Without warning, Eames' eyes turned golden and he howled low against Arthur’s
stomach.
Arthur pushed him away, gasping when the baby jolted. “Eames!" He lowered his
voice to a hiss when a few of the attendants looked their way. "Don’t do that!
He moved.”
“He did? His never done that before. Do you really think he heard me?” He tried
to howl again, but Arthur clamped a hand over his mouth.
“Do you mean to kill me? What if he shifts and claws a hole in there?”
Eames faltered. He hadn’t thought of that. “That…can’t happen?”
“You don't sound very certain." He eyed his belly warily. He felt a little
guilty that chastising Eames felt as good as it did. The King of Engston had
never looked so dismayed. Arthur's shoulders sank at the sight. He smiled.
“Come here,” he relented at last. "Nothing else has happened. We're safe."
“I almost don’t want to go to the games,” Eames grumbled, his eyes closed,
listening to Arthur’s stomach. “I’d rather be here. His little heartbeat is so
steady and strong.”
“I’ll be present for the tennis match in the evening, to see you play.”
He lifted his head to look at him, his brow furrowed. “Are you sure? Has your
headache lessened? What about the dizziness?”
“I’m fine. I’m actually bored laying around so much, and I miss watching you
snap when you lose.”
“But if you’re tired, you can always rest more.”
“No. My nesting isn’t supposed to start for another three months, after which,
I’ll be in bed for three more, and then…I suppose he’ll be here, and I’ll be in
bed recovering for a month even after that. I want to enjoy what freedom I have
left to use my legs and see the spring flowers before they’re gone.”
“I do love the new gardens. They’re magnificent,” he muttered, scenting
Arthur’s stomach again.
On the far side of the pond, Ariadne laughed when Sophie sneezed into a patch
of tulips.
Arthur glanced down at Eames whose eyes were closed again. Petting his hair,
Arthur spoke softly. “I never did thank you for making Lady Gretchford part my
household.”
“Of course, darling,” he muttered, trailing his lips over Arthur's navel
through his clothes, “only the best must tend to you.”
“I worry about her, though. She’s confided in me and what she’s said greatly
distressed me.”
Eames paused his kisses. “What do you mean?”
He thought over his words quickly. “Her husband is your cousin, correct? Now I
see why you hate your family. And… Well, he scares me. He’s even rude with her
in my presence.”
Eames paused again. “He has no reason to be in your presence, since my pack
isn't allowed near your chambers. When did this happen?”
“The other day while you were in a meeting with Cardinal Stewart. I knew he was
a scoundrel from what Ariadne's told me, but I still never expected him to
growl at me when I asked him to leave my parlor.”
“He growled at you?” He sat up, fuming. “Is he not aware that you are his
superior in all matters? Did he forget whose child you’re carrying?”
Arthur shrugged. “I’m only an omega. But I care not for myself. My fear is for
Ariadne. After what he did to her…"
"What did he do to her?"
"He never told you?" By the end of Arthur's retelling, his husband was seeing
red. "I can’t imagine if it had been me that he’d…” He rubbed his belly, his
eyes downcast. He didn’t have to say more when Eames glanced from Arthur’s
belly to Ariadne.
He leaned forward and kissed Arthur's cheeks. “He will be dealt with. Worry
not, my darling.”
But Arthur frowned. “Forgive me, but I have to wonder, your Majesty, what will
happen to Ariadne then? Women are always so disadvantaged, with their dowries
and possessions all belonging to their husbands. And when something happens to
those husbands, their wives often end up in dire states of poverty, if not
quickly married again. I doubt after all Ariadne’s been through that she would
want to lay her life in the hands of another man again so soon, if ever." He
watched Eames pick an apple from the bowl to eat while he thought over Arthur's
words. "We’re lucky, you and I. If we have daughters, they will always have
their own households, but what of daughters like Ariadne?” 
After a while, Eames snorted. “What are you saying, my darling? That beta women
should have rights to property? Then what would alphas and beta men have? What
about their brothers or sons?”
Arthur shrugged innocently. “What do beta women have now? What of the daughters
and sisters, your Majesty?”
Eames glanced at him before taking another bite from his apple. “I’ll think it
over later. Don’t let this matter distract you anymore, are we clear?”
Arthur feared that his attempt had failed. Silently, it worried him to no end.
What if he’d made Ariadne’s situation worse?
He, however, had no idea that the opposite was about to happen. The next
morning, King Eames set about crafting proposals for Parliament to amend the
property laws, which then led to discussions of education and workforce as word
spread. Divisions and new political factions, from within the privy council to
as far as even the servants who scrubbed the floors, rose up throughout the
kingdom. In the end, the only change was that widowed wives could keep the
property they’d shared with their late husbands, which was hardly enough, but
it was a decent start.
 
Arthur tried his best not to waddle, but trying to walk in a normal way felt
unbalanced and sent pain up his ankles to his knees and settled into his back.
He was already out of breath when he and his attendants rounded the corner near
the court hall.
Several nobles turned up their noses and stomped off when they saw him
approach. To his surprise, he was stopped in his tracks when everyone else
greeted him with applause.
Confused, he turned to his attendant Jeremy and whispered, “Have I grown much
larger since they last saw me?”
“No, your Majesty—well, yes, but," the boy smiled, "that’s not the only reason
why they adore you. It's not hard to know whose voice the King has opened his
ear to. Just be wary of any new friends you gain who may have scorned you
before, your Majesty. I know for certain they will wish to shower you with
favor in exchange for your influence.” 
+
 
Lord Gretchford only spent three nights in the dungeon. Three days was all it
took for the sum of his crimes to have the Engston people rallying for his head
on a plate. Even if the werewolf had not been found guilty of rape, the charges
for forcing his way into the Queen’s chambers and endangering of the King’s
unborn child were both considered treason.
Though it had rained and thundered those three days of trial, the sun returned
as he was led out to the town square, kicking and shouting the whole way, until
wolfsbane was forced down his throat to prevent him from shifting. His only
mercy was that, as the King’s kin, whipping was not required, but his heart was
still sent to King Eames and his body burned at the stake.
Arthur was more than a little shaken by what he’d been told of the execution. A
part him wondered if he should feel guilty for causing the werewolf’s end,
until Ariadne, in her customary mourning clothes, sat on the edge of his bed
that night and kissed his cheeks when she tucked him in.
Arthur's smile was sad. "You are your own women now, and have no need for my
employment." Though he had no reason to fret, a part of him still expected her
to leave as she no longer needed his favor. 
She shook her head and took his hands. “You’ve given me peace and a whole new
life, Arthur,” she whispered, in tears. “Thank you. And although my new
responsibilities are great and shall be taxing, my first duty is still to you,
as your friend. Always.”
+ 
 
Ariadne attended the final race on Arthur’s behalf.
Eames sat docilely, licking his paws every now and then as she attached
Arthur’s ribbon to his gold harness. He watched her return to her high perch in
the stands. She smelled faintly like Arthur. Eames missed him already.
Lady Catherine had been keeping a close eye on Arthur's progress. Every week,
hers and the doctor’s reports were much the same. More worry, more stress for
them all to keep hidden from Arthur. His dizziness, his irritability, and
shortness of breath grew worse, but Arthur’s mood remained the same.
“It’s the child’s pheromones,” Lady Catherine had explained to Eames one
evening, when a spike of pain through Arthur’s abdomen had the omega crying and
laughing hysterically at the same time, “and Arthur’s own physiology cloaking
the danger from his mind to keep him at peace. This state of bliss,
unfortunately, will only last for a month more, your Majesty. That is when we
must begin to fear.”
Eames paced in a circle in the grass near his brothers and his pack. For a
moment, he wondered if his brothers could sense his worry. He growled at them
savagely until they hurried to sit under the shade of a different tree. 
Eames had always tried to be religious. On some deep level, it simply seemed
ridiculous to him. If poor men could pray to gods all their lives and still die
in poverty, crippled and sick, while an adulterous witch could brand a family
with the supernatural power of the wolf, or when a sorceress could blend a
potion to quell his rut, then what was a the point of gods?
Some times he envied how dutifully Arthur would pray before his shrine and
bless the farmers’ children with little gold coins after mass, always full of
faith and grace. Apparently, however, his country’s goddess was no better at
caring for her faithful than Eames’ god was to his. And yet, that goddess had
given Arthur peace, whereas Eames’ bite had nearly taken him from this world.
He was lost. If neither he nor Arthur’s faith would be able to save him and the
child in the end…what was left?
He regretted agreeing to the race. His head wasn’t in it, and he’d never won,
anyways. He was the largest wolf, but not always the fastest. He always came in
second or third and always had to accept the trophies the real winners gave him
out of some unnecessary sense of respect.
Even with his chances slim to none, he still made a wager with himself as they
all got into position for the signal at the head of the track. If he could win
this race today, he would count it as a good sign. If Arthur’s goddess or
Eames’ god were real in some capacity, they would grant him this sign. If not,
he had a mind to try the bite a third time.
The flag was waved. Eames took off as fast as he could, but three wolves raced
past him and the others. He set his sights on chasing them like they were
rabbits in the forest. Around each bend and up every hill and down through
ditches and tunnels, he pursued them, his spirits soaring when he overcame the
first of the three. The second tripped on a high root and almost took Eames
with him as he tumbled, but Eames persisted.
The last wolf was still so far ahead. He was quick and limber and jumped over
the creak as if he’d run this track a hundred times. Eames was almost on his
tail before realizing that it was his brother about to take the win.
Eames snarled, his claws tearing up the soil as he barreled down on the smaller
wolf, his muzzle dripping. They were neck and neck as the crowd cheered the
King on. Suddenly, his brother lashed out, snapping his teeth to scare Eames
off, but Eames snapped back, catching his brother’s leg. The smaller wolf
yelped but didn’t lose his footing, running fast.
Eames, with the taste of fresh blood on his tongue and the smell of his
brother’s fear in his nose, ran faster.
The pack stumbled into the hall with Eames on their shoulders after they’d
shifted back and redressed. Mead and wine was split on the floor in their rush
to celebrate.
“We bid you stay, your Majesty!” the Earl of Green shouted. “Drink with us!”
“No, no, Christopher,” another beta patted him on the back, almost making the
Earl fall forward. “There’s no spirits here that can satisfy the King after a
victory like that!”
“He’s right, Christopher.” Eames grinned, still high on adrenaline. “The
sweetest and strongest of spirits lies solely in the Queen’s cup, and I intend
to go drink my full of it this day.”
The hall erupted in cheers and rowdy encouragements as the King hurried off to
Arthur’s chambers.
+
 
Arthur lay in his rumpled sheets with Eames, still catching his breath. “Well,
your Majesty, you’ve made a mess of me and my bed,” he chided, his voice
hoarse, “and my clothes, and I’m sure your son is now traumatized.”
The small bottle of oil had been spilt everywhere in Eames’ urgency to prep
him. Pearls lay scattered in the sheets from where Eames had ripped open the
top of Arthur’s gown and chemise. His nipples, his neck, and chest were still
wet and bruised from Eames’ hungry mouth. The bottom layers of silk and his
chemise had been torn open as well, and were now covered in both Arthur and
Eames’ release.
Eames snickered, still caught in the afterglow. “You make it seem as if you and
your incredibly fuckable ass weren’t here.”
He had a point. It had been thrilling, in the moment, when Eames had burst into
Arthur’s room and ravaged him soundly. Sex on his back hadn’t been as
unpleasant as Arthur had expected it would be, until he rolled onto his side
afterwards and groaned, his back and hips both protesting. It had been a while
since last his husband had taken him. He was sore everywhere. It felt good.
Eames grinned over at him, smug to see Arthur still panting and dazed with his
hair wild, his cheeks rosy, and his lips a little kiss swollen. He caressed
Arthur’s nipple with his thumb, but moved his hand when Arthur sought to cover
his sensitive breast. The side of Arthur’s belly felt warm under his careful
touch.
Looking at the King, Arthur was suddenly overcome with shyness. It was
unbelievable to him that almost a year had passed. He’d gone from not knowing a
single thing about omegas to having a mate that he cared for and whose company
he found he deeply enjoyed. 
Everyday, Arthur still had to look at himself in disbelief that there was a
child inside him. A child that would be powerful and, like Mal had said so long
ago, would rule over this kingdom and protect the realm’s splendor. A little
prince, as Eames so often called him, that already seized his love. More so
than that, this child cemented Arthur’s place at the King’s side. There was
power in Arthur’s own hands now, when a year ago, he had had none.
His hand covered Eames’ as they felt the child kick for the first time.
“He’s showing us his displeasure at our debauchery,” Eames muttered, smiling
conspiratorially at Arthur.
“Told you.”
“The little prince will have to forgive me for being so greedy. His mother is
like a feast to a starving man. There's simply no help for it.”
Eames’ staring made his blush deeper. He tried to cover himself again with what
remained of his clothes.
“Don’t,” Eames whispered, taking his hand. “You’re beautiful. The sight of you
nourishes me.” He leaned forward to kiss him softly. His lips danced across his
jaw, down his neck to his nipples again.
“Eames, please,” Arthur panted, half-heartedly trying to push him away, but the
King held his hand behind his back.
He followed Arthur when he turned, his tongue still torturing the little nubs.
He smiled against his chest when Arthur moaned and twisted.
Arthur’s lips were caught again in deep, lazy kisses. “Are we at this sport
again? So soon?” he tried to tease, feeling Eames’ hand stroke his hardening
cock.
“No, my darling. Just for you.” He stroked harder. “Just to see you come undone
again, one last time.”
 
“If all our attendants disappeared tomorrow, we’d be utterly helpless,” Eames
laughed, giving up on figuring out how to help Arthur redress.
Arthur shook his head at the sight and opted for a nightgown and his robe until
he would be ready to receive his attendants again.
Eames stretched and settled in close beside him again. “What do you plan to do
with the rest of your day, my darling?”
Arthur made a show of playing with the robe’s velvet belt. “Well, I was going
to visit Cardinal Stewart, but I’m overdue for my nap, and that man has become
so hard to catch up with.”
Eames huffed. “You once asked me to give you an example of what an
understatement was. That, darling, was an understatement.”
Arthur was quiet for a moment. “You know, your Majesty, you are the one to
blame for it. You’ve certainly burdened him with a great deal of
responsibilities. I remember when we were planning the Winter Solstice festival
together he was always late and always, always distracted by other things.
Cardinal Bryant must be somewhat envious—albeit bored that he has so little
assignments while Cardinal Stewart has so many.”
Eames hummed. “I hadn’t considered that before. Well, Bryant isn't as well-
versed in stately matters as Stewart, and likes to live more privately, but I
can see what you mean.”
Arthur smiled. “I know for a fact—and I most certainly know he will deny this
out of courtesy and respect for you—that he would appreciate it greatly if some
of his responsibilities were taken off of his weary shoulders, especially now
that he’s getting up in age, of course. I think that if Cardinal Bryant were to
replace Stewart as your personal chaplain, that could keep Bryant busier and
Stewart less so.”
Eames wrinkled his nose. “Bryant has always come across to me as a little dull.
Do you enjoy him as your privy chaplain?”
“Very much so. His only ambition is to encourage my soul’s growth, to make the
right decisions for myself, which we’re still working on, and to stay on a
honest path. In my life, most people have always played my youth against me.
His neutrality is extremely refreshing.”
“I can imagine. Although Cardinal Stewart has served me well, at times he can
be a little biased and get carried away in his own personal objectives. You
know, Stewart was first my father’s Lord Chancellor, and when I appointed
Yusuf, I split their duties, so Yusuf wouldn’t be overwhelmed by his lack of
experience. Granted,” he mused, “that was nearly a decade ago. No reason now
not to grant Yusuf his full responsibilities. He has a natural talent for
matters of state. I often find myself envious. My father and grandfather were
both fierce in battle as well as law.” He smiled. “I’ve let Stewart and Yusuf
spoil me, truth be told. I’ve been allowed to be a brat without reproach,” he
muttered, glancing at Arthur, “which, I now realize, is yet another stellar
example of an understatement.”
“Don’t feel too bad about that,” Arthur yawned. “In a sense, I’ve very
fortunate to have been an omega, because if every one of my siblings were to
die tomorrow, Holy Mother forbid, I would be completely inept as a King.”
“That’s not true. Yusuf has told me about your proposals for public recreation.
They’re marvelous. And if another kingdom should try to invade, just drop that
giant sextant on the King’s head. All your problems would solved,” he teased.
Arthur ignored the blush creeping into his cheeks. “That reminds me, I need to
restore the ink for my printing press.”
“Should I be concerned that you’ve never let me see what it is you and your
attendants have been dong with that thing?” He shook his head when Arthur
didn’t budge. “I think Cardinal Stewart was more than a little jealous when
Yusuf gifted you his, though Stewart would never have the time to use it like
you do. Not yet, at least.”
Arthur felt more than a little proud of himself. He adored Yusuf even more now.
“Cardinal Bryant is soon to take his yearly pilgrimage to the Holy City. From
what I can suppose, Cardinal Stewart has always wanted to accompany him. I’m
sure he’s in need of a real holiday.”
“He’s never said a word to me. I would have given him leave to go.”
“Well, of course not, your Majesty. I doubt if he would ever ask. You would
have to order him, for his conscience to be cleared.”
 
Arthur’s smile was smug at the play held in the King’s garden that night.
Everyone was near tears watching King Eames’ acting debut as the comedy
unfolded. With natural talent, he starred as the valiant knight come to
outsmart the king to steal the princess. 
“Your Highness,” Arthur heard the familiar voice mutter next to his ear.
Cardinal Stewart leaned in close behind his chair.
His smile brightened when he turned to him. “Your Eminence,” he greeted
quietly, mindful not to disturb the play. He reached behind him to give the
Cardinal his hand, pleased when the beta begrudgingly kissed his ring. “What do
you think of the new gardens?”
He smiled before leaning in closer to Arthur’s ear. “You’ve had me demoted from
several of my positions, and carted off with that old fool, Bryant, until the
winter. Very clever.”
Arthur turned around more, as far as his belly would allow. He frowned and
touched the Cardinal’s hand where it lay on his chair arm. “Your Eminence,
forgive me, but I don’t understand how this has anything to do with me. My only
business is with satisfying my husband, as you once advised me, which I am very
grateful for having listened to your council,” he whispered with a practiced
air of sincerity. “I know nothing of how governments work, you see. So, you
must tell me, what exactly is it that you do?”
“Very funny, you little whelp.”
“Your Eminence, please, my husband will be extremely unhappy if I miss any more
of his performance, but do enjoy your trip with Cardinal Bryant. I look forward
to seeing you return in the winter.”
“Why, so you can play more of your tricks on me?”
Arthur blinked, and smiled at him sweetly.
+
 
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
     SURPRISE! ANOTHER UPDATE! :D
+
 
“You know, Lady Catherine,” Arthur panted while she and his attendants helped
him walk down the stairs, “I remember a time when I ran these stairs two at a
time to reach Mal. Now I can’t even see my feet.”
“I remember it well, Majesty. If you remember also, it was I who kept up with
you the best out of all who chased you,” she chuckled. “After all these years,
I’ve still got it.”
He had to stop moving in order to laugh with her. He secretly prayed that he
wasn’t peeing a little again and tried to settle himself, only to laugh again.
“I feel as though the cooks have been sneaking spirits into my soups and milk,
Madam. I feel a little drunk always. And though I despise grapes, I still find
myself missing wine.”
“You must try not to be tempted, young master,” she cautioned. “Wine only makes
children in the womb ill-tempered, and we mustn’t have that.”
“Definitely not. The last thing I need today is for his Majesty’s little titan
to kick a hole in my stomach on my birthday.”
The royal court was filled with happy faces and cheers when Arthur arrived. He
wanted to laugh again. He wanted to laugh every time a noble bowed or kissed
his hand that’d once pretended that Arthur didn’t exist. He was more than a
little certain a few of these new friends had no doubt conjured more rumors
about him. Perhaps they figured the child wasn’t the King’s or that Arthur was
a witch or something. He burst into a fit of laughter again, to which the
nobles all smiled and chuckled as if they were all in on the joke.
They murmured their approval of his golden olive wreath crown and his pale blue
silk as they cleared the way for him to join the King.
Arthur noticed at once that only one wolf sat near Eames, the other missing
from its usual place at the smaller wolf’s side. The wolf was watching Eames
with a stare that only wavered when the wolf felt Arthur’s eyes on him.
Eames helped him into his chair and kissed his cheek. Arthur rolled his ankles
under his long gown, trying to ease their soreness.
“Where is your brother?” The question was out of his mouth before he could stop
himself. He felt guilty when Eames’ smile faltered. “Sorry.”
Eames only had to show him the angry red, healing gash of teeth marks on his
hand for an answer. “You look lovely as always, my darling.”
He followed his husband’s lead. “You as well, although, your Majesty, you could
stand to have this trimmed,” he observed, touching Eames’ beard.
He laughed. “I’m bored with these people already, truth be told. I hate parties
like this.”
“Well, good thing this party isn’t for you, then.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be in the observatory with your scheming attendants,
toiling away with that secret project on the printing press?” He smirked. “I
thought so.”
“Even though that’s true, I haven’t be able to get up all those stairs in
weeks,” he frowned, looking sleepy, “and I have to show my face at court every
once in a while, or else they’ll keep trying to visit me in my rooms.”
“Quick, kiss me, they're all staring at us.”
He rolled his eyes and had to lift up from the chair and lean over and then
reposition himself in his chair when he drew back. “They haven’t stopped.” He
crossed his arms over his belly and teased, “And you call me and my attendants
scheming. At least our plans work.”
“Is that so? And where is your proof?”
Arthur sighed, his arms still resting over his mountain. He called over Jeremy
and whispered in his ear. He turned back to Eames to a smirk. “Well, your
Majesty, we had hoped to wait until your own birthday next month, but if you
must be pushy, I’m sending for it now.”
Eames’ mouth fell open. “That’s not fair. I haven’t given you your gifts yet
and already I shall have mine? Unacceptable.” He waved his hand to stop the
music and dance.
The first servants brought in furs and fabrics for new clothes, the second, an
ornate locket with the King’s picture inside.
The third servant brought in a horse’s saddle on a plush pillow. At first,
Arthur paid it little mind, before remembering Eames’ promise to go child-
stealing with him so long ago. The crowd of onlookers watched Arthur crack up,
seemingly for no reason.
“Sometimes,” Arthur muttered to himself in his own language so that no one else
could understand, “I fear for your sanity, husband.”
Eames laughed heartily as well, making Arthur smile that he’d been learning it
all this time.
The last gift confused Arthur. It was a huge, iron key placed on a pillow
beside a sealed scroll. He glanced at Eames but was given no explanation, only
an encouragement to open to the parchment.
“Blueprints, your Majesty? For…” He looked at the map more closely this time.
It took his addled brain a long time to understand. “Majesty, this is…”
“The observatory for the city, yes. I drew this plan myself, based on all
you’ve taught me.”
As the nobles all applauded, Lady Rose stepped to the side and bowed. “Your
Majesty, it’s here.”
Eames smiled brighter, looking at Arthur expectantly.
Arthur was still fighting back tears from Eames’ gifts. He blinked them back
and cleared his throat. “Jeremy?”
The boy came forward with a large book on a pillow and knelt before the King.
Eames sat forward, curious about the book’s significance, until he read the
title. He gripped Arthur’s hand and gawked before remembering that people were
watching. “You’ve had my book printed and bound?”
“Only just this one for now, your Majesty. And yes, your pumpkin entry will be
moved to the right book in due time.” He beamed. “You see, Lady Rose’s husband
has a penmanship similar to yours, therefore she was able to translate your
more…enthusiastic scribbling,” he muttered, his words slurring a little.
Eames ordered the music to resume and fore the people to continue their dances
as he sank into his chair and flipped through page after page, marveling over
this detail and that. “Even the illustrations?”
He blushed. “Well, to be honest, I had Jeremy copy those by hand, as we haven’t
figured out how to recreate pictures with the press yet.” He played with his
new locket while he watched the King get lost in his reading. “I was thinking,
with your permission of course, that these books could be very important to
hunters and farmers, or even to soldiers while on campaign, husband. With the
printing press, we could make several copies and put them in your library.”
Eames gave him a flat look. “Darling, if even my own mate thinks my personal
study is boring, no doubt everyone else will too. But…” he pondered, “then
again, I could make more condensed versions, like little pocket books and
such.”
“That would be wonderful.” And much easier to copy, Arthur assumed with relief.
Eames itched to take the book with him when they ate dinner with the party in
another hall. Arthur hid his smile as he watched the werewolf put on a decent
front and exchange polite banter with the guests closest to them.
Arthur finished devouring both his and Eames’ slices of cake and returned to
playing with his locket.
“Are you ready to leave?” Eames whispered.
He laughed. “So that you may obsess over your own book again?”
“That, and because you’re overdue for a, um,” he cleared his throat and
whispered the rest into Arthur’s ear, “a full body massage. I mean you must be
tired, right? And in need of affection, yes?” He gave him his most charming
smile.
A new wave of bliss washed over him. He was lost for a little while staring at
Eames. “Yes, husband, we can go, but… Would it be odd for me to have the rest
of the cake sent to my rooms?” He blushed, eying Yusuf’s large, half eaten
slice next to Eames and then cut his eye at the platter holding the untouched
slices. 
Eames chuckled, tucking one of Arthur’s curls behind his ear. “You're the Queen
of Engston and it’s your birthday. You can have whatever you want.”
Everyone stood when Eames got to his feet. Arthur was a little slower to rise,
but as soon as he did, he tilted sideways.
He blinked and found himself sitting again with worried, pale faces all around
and Lady Catherine fanning his face. He looked to Eames for answers, but the
King was nearly ghost white with fear as well.
Arthur laughed and reached for Eames' hand. “Perhaps I'm a bit heavier than I
thought. Will you help me try again?”
The nobles all held their breath as Eames took Arthur’s arm.
Arthur couldn’t understand what the fuss was about. He felt fine, giddy even,
but as soon as he was on his feet again, the only thing he saw was black and
all he heard was a hall filled with gasps as he fainted again.
 
“Leave us, please,” Arthur sighed to his attendants and the doctor when Eames
wouldn’t stop fretting. He turned to lay on his side in his sea of pillows.
“Eames, I swear, I’m fine. I just…got dizzy again.” He shrugged. “It’s happened
before. I’m more embarrassed than anything, now that my wits have returned.
Come sit with me?”
He didn’t expect Eames to swoop into the bed and cling to him, his arms
circling Arthur as if he could disappear at any minute.
“You’ve been dizzy before, but never fainted. You scared everyone.”
Arthur tried to turn around so he could see Eames’ face. “Has my scent changed
again? Or the baby’s?” Cold panic swept through him suddenly.
Eames moved around him quickly to kiss his face, sensing his distress. “No, no,
no. Everything’s fine.”
He watched Arthur close his eyes, calming himself with deep lungfuls of Eames’
scent. Eames frowned. In truth, everything was fine. Their scents hadn’t
changed. But that didn’t quell his fears, or the doctor’s, or Lady Catherine’s
and the attendants'. 
+
 
Something was wrong, but Arthur couldn’t put his finger on it. The way the
King’s doctor hovered near his chambers, the silences that gripped his
attendants whenever he winced at his back pain…he didn’t think any of it was
funny anymore. Eames was the worst. His scent and his touches had always been
pleasant, but now, simply hearing Eames’ voice irritated Arthur to no end.
“How are you feeling?” Eames would ask during their meals, touching and
scenting Arthur’s stomach and hair for the hundredth time.
“A little trampled, but well, considering how much he moves,” he would answer.
“Are you sure?”
“Very much so.”
And then a few minutes later, “How are you feeling, Arthur?”
He snapped one morning. Had he been anyone else, the King would have had his
heart for breakfast, but Arthur didn’t care. He hated Eames’ cloistering, his
presence, this palace, the entire world, particularly the baby.
“Will you not stop bruising my insides?” he growled at his stomach in the
middle of the chapel service. Heads turned to look his way, but no one said
anything, not even the high priests whose chants had been interrupted.
Then one day, the baby kicked especially hard and Arthur found himself
collapsed again.
He was more upset with himself now. He’d wanted to prove to everyone that he
didn’t need to be confined to his bed so soon, but even waking up on the floor
had terrified him to tears. Only when the baby moved again to get more
comfortable did Arthur’s fears subside.
When Lady Catherine demanded he stay in bed at all cost until the very end, he
didn’t argue this time.
+
 
Arthur was ready to curse whoever had dared to wake him the next morning. He’s
slept uncomfortably and alone the way he always did during the full moons when
Eames went into the forest with his pack. He’d tossed and turned in his bed all
night. His battle for sleep had been won at dawn, not enough time to rest at
all.
Therefore, nothing on earth could have been more important that remaining
asleep, but someone was making that impossible.
He cracked open his eyes when that insistent hand shook his shoulder again. It
was Jeremy. His hand was covering Arthur’s mouth.
“Majesty,” Jeremy mouthed, “don’t panic, but you have to leave the room with me
at once, as quietly as you can.”
Arthur was livid, but Jeremy refused to move his hand.
“Please, Majesty, I beg you. We must go where it’s safe. Quietly.”
He’d never seen the boy so terrified, and when he sat up, he could see that a
few of the other attendants were hovering in the doorway to the study, looking
equally afraid.
As soon as Arthur’s foot touched the carpet, a low growl rattled from near the
parlor door at Arthur’s back.
Jeremy froze, his eyes just over Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur filled his lungs
with air and silently took Jeremy’s hand, reaching for his little sheathed
dagger on the bedside table. He took a chance, needing to see what beast had
found its way into his bedroom before he could stomach ordering the boy to go
attack it.
He frowned, studying the creature. He couldn’t place its scent, but knew that
it was a giant wolf slumbering on his floor, blocking the way to the parlor. It
baffled him, that a beast would not simply eat him instead of opting for a nap.
He clutched the blade and swallowed the ball of nerves stuck in his throat. To
everyone’s great horror, he cleared his throat loudly to get the wolf's
attention.
The beast woke with a start, snapping its teeth reflexively, anticipating an
attack that didn’t happen. It yawned and shook its fur a little, splattering
the floor around it with black mud, revealing reddish brown fur under its neck.
The wolf didn’t look as menacing at all with his head down, looking a little
embarrassed that he’d been caught sleeping on the job.
Arthur’s shoulders sank and he laughed. “Jeremy, will you make sure I didn’t
piss myself, please? Oh, Eames,” he chided, waddling over carefully to the
massive werewolf still dwarfing the doorway. “What are you doing here?”
“Your Majesty, please,” Lady Marisol whispered. “This isn’t safe.”
He smiled. This wasn’t anything like the werewolf who’d destroyed the guest
room doors and attacked a swarm of guards in a fit of rut. Eames lied back down
on the floor, bowing his head. He was covered in mud, and possibly old blood
from whatever beast his pack had hunted, making his fur much darker and his
scent muddled.
Jeremy helped Arthur sit in a chair before fetching the bowl of water and
towels Arthur asked for.
Eames slunk over to his feet, trying to be as unimposing as possible. “You left
your pack to guard my door?” Arthur shook his head. “You didn’t hurt my real
guards, did you?”
Eames shook his head and neck, dirtying Arthur’s robe and nightgown. He watched
Arthur with eerily lucid yellow eyes and sniffed at his belly, licking it
gently, as Arthur cleaned his face.
Bit by bit the mud was washed away, allowing Arthur to scent him better. He was
surprised when a strange feeling settled in his stomach. It was a ball of worry
and concern that didn’t belong to Arthur.
“Eames, it’s very sweet that you cut your hunt short to sleep in my room, but
you frightened everyone and I still don’t want to think about the guards you
attacked.”
They’re safe, like you.
Arthur paused, meeting Eames’ stare. “So…you didn’t want a bath before? You
could have fit on the bed with me,” he teased. “At least…maybe your top half
could have fit on the bed. No need for a fire that way.”
Not safe. Eames brushed his nose against Arthur’s belly again before he planted
whatever he could fit of his head on Arthur’s knees, rubbing more mud on his
clothes. Suddenly his ears perked up. He listened with his head tilted for
moment before he sniffed Arthur again and took off through the parlor, leaving
a trail of mud in his wake just in time for Lady Catherine to walk in past the
attendants from the study entrance.
Everyone was silent, as if they’d allowed the dog in the house when their
mother had specifically order them not to. She walked around the room slowly,
trying to process what had happened here.
The attendants kept their heads down. Jeremy sneaked around her to stand with
the others, hiding the dirty bowl of water behind his feet.
Arthur looked the guiltiest. Not only was he out of bed, but mud covered his
hands and bare feet. Mud was everywhere. On the wall, the floor, Arthur’s
clothes, even a smudge of it was on his face.
She put her hands on her hips and heaved a great sigh. She didn’t have to say
more than that.
+
 
Eames couldn’t focus on the meeting. He didn’t care that his forces had crushed
King Dominic’s navy and taken three port cities, he didn’t care that the flux
outbreak had ended, he didn’t care that King Miles no longer wished to be his
daughter’s ally since she’d given birth to a Phillipa instead of a Phillip.
Arthur seemed well enough when he’d left him in the afternoon, though he slept
as deeply as the dead these days and ate little food when he was awake.
He was prepared to send the privy council off, so that he too could sleep for a
while, when Arthur’s boy barged into the room past the guards and whispered in
Eames’ ear, “The doctor needs you, Majesty.”
Eames' first instinct was to run, but he took a deep breath and then another
before standing to follow the boy back to Arthur’s chambers. He didn’t know
what to expect and feared hoping for the best or worse, so he counted his steps
in his head, trying to distract himself.
The doctor wiped sweat from his forehead as he approached, but Eames didn’t see
him. Three attendants left Arthur’s room with a small basket filled with bloody
towels.
“We tried to bleed his arm,” the doctor quickly explained, “to quell the
sickness that overtook his Majesty, but then we had much trouble stopping the
bleeding afterwords. The fever remains, only now, he is much weaker than
before. He asked for you, but we were not sure whether it was a fevered dream
or not.”
Eames didn’t need to hear more. When he walked into the room, Ariadne and two
others were trying to convince Arthur to stay in bed, but he refused, half
asleep and clearly out of his wits in pain. Eames stood in the doorway, staring
in shock, cowed by what he saw.
They all stepped aside as Eames slipped in between Arthur’s reaching arms. His
pale body was a furnace. Sweat clung to his skin, dampening his hair and the
thin nightgown he wore.
“Draw him a bath. Do it now,” the King ordered.
“Yes, Majesty. It will take a while for the servants to deliver the warm
water.”
“No. Bring it cold.”
“But, Majesty, that will—”
“Do it, I said.”
When the bath was prepared, he carried Arthur in his arms, hushing his
protesting groans and laid him in the cool bath with the utmost care.
Arthur startled fully awake at once, his nightgown soaked in the water. “Do you
intend to drown me, Paul?”
Eames hushed him again and soothed him with gentle kisses over his forehead. He
cupped his hands, not caring that his sleeves were now wet and washed Arthur’s
face and hair while the doctor and attendants stood behind him, watching
closely.
Arthur blinked the water from his lashes and nestled against Eames’ shoulder.
“Eames?”
He cracked a smile. “Feeling better?”
“I’m thirsty. Still burning. Why isn’t my sister here? She always cares for me
when I’m not feeling well. What did I do for her to neglect me? Did Michel send
her away?”
Eames was speechless, helpless to Arthur's weeping, but his application of cool
water brought down Arthur’s temperature. He was fast asleep when the ladies
dressed him in a dry gown and tucked him back into bed. Eames sat by his side,
watching his forehead wrinkle in nightmares as his temperature rose again.
Arthur’s hands clutched the front of his gown and the sheets covering his belly
in his sleep, muttering pleas for some monster in his dream not to hurt the
baby.
Eames couldn’t stomach it any longer when Arthur whispered for his sister over
and over again, begging her to save him.
Every day after was much the same. Everyone in the palace seemed to be on thin
ice, their breaths held waiting for word or a sign of change.  
Arthur lay on his side, clutching his stomach. Eames could hear his short,
pained breaths. “Eames?” he heard Arthur grit out. He rushed to his side and
let Arthur squeeze the circulation out of his hands. He kissed the pained frown
on his lips and the tears from his eyes. 
“You need to try to eat, darling.” His heart broke when Arthur groaned. “I’ll
help you. Then you can lie back down, alright?”
But Arthur either wouldn’t or couldn’t move.
“Come on, Arthur. You have to eat something.”
“I know what’s happening to me,” he whispered. “I don’t want to be scared,
but—”
“You’re talking madness, darling. There’s nothing to fear.”
He shook his head against the pillow, cracking his eyes open. “You still treat
me like the child you once knew before our marriage. I know what everyone’s not
telling me, Eames. I can feel death’s spirit hovering in this room, making her
decision to collect or leave empty-handed. Our child seems to be making a case
against me.” He gasped as another wave of pain gripped his body.
Eames huffed to cover his grief. “You’re too damned clever for your own good,
Arthur.”
“Is it really me, Eames, or is the baby unwell?”
“I’m…No one is certain. You smell healthy and so does the child, but… Look at
you.” He shook his head. “My bite did not take with you at all, it seems, but
being an omega was supposed to make this easy, simple, all on its own. Did we
try for children too soon? Are you too young still? Should we have waited a
year, maybe two? I have no earthy idea, Arthur. Lady Catherine has assured me
that first pregnancies are always hardest, but there’s more to this.” He
stopped speaking to listen to Arthur’s renewed struggle to breathe.
Arthur clutched Eames’ hands tighter. 
“I don’t understand,” Eames growled in frustration, unable to do anything to
ease Arthur’s distress. “You’ve done nothing to deserve this.”
Arthur tried to smile. “I at least have peace knowing that I did my very best
for you. I do intend to see this through for as long as I can. I promise.
You’ll have your son.”
“What bloody good is he without you?” he sobbed, trying to reach Arthur, but
his exhaustion was already pulling him back into a fitful sleep. Eames stumbled
back against his chair, rubbing his face. “My god, I blew it. All this time
I’ve had you I’ve taken you for granted. I bullied you, and have always put
myself first. I nearly killed you with my bite before, and now I’ve put you at
grave risk all over again,” he rambled. “I…let a blind need for an heir run you
through hoops and you in all your beautiful grace did everything I commanded of
you.”
He sank lower in his chair and didn’t speak further when the attendants and
Cardinal Bryant returned to the room with the holy wine and blessed linens.
Cardinal Bryant approached Eames cautiously. “Majesty, if you wish, I would
like to offer you prayers in your chapel tonight.”
He nodded in silence, knowing very well whose punishment this was and needing
desperately to answer for all the wrongs he’d done to Arthur before it was too
late.
+
 
It happened all of a sudden. Eames took one step into the privy council’s
meeting room when he was at once overcome with a crippling feeling of dread
unlike anything he’d ever known.
He took off in the direction of Arthur’s chambers at a dead run, nearly
shifting just to get there faster.
He could hear Arthur’s screams from down the corridor.
“Your Majesty,” the doctor greeted him with relief, “we were just about to send
word to you.”
“What the bloody hell has happened? Let me pass!”
The doctor shrank away from Eames’ raised fist, but he didn’t back down. “His
labor contractions have begun.”
“Oh my god,” he groaned. He wanted to crawl into the fireplace. “It’s too
early. He still has another month left.”
“No, no, no, your Majesty. This is good. Majesty, listen to me.” He and his
assistant had to guide Eames into a chair when Arthur’s scream cut through the
air again. “A month early gives us better odds and will free Arthur from
further hardship. There are still great risks in this, and…Lady Catherine and
the midwives cannot promise that this will end well, but this small blessing
may save either Arthur or the child yet.”
Eames tried to take deep, calming breaths, but every scream from Arthur set him
more on edge. Without warning, he lunged forward and grabbed the doctor by his
collar. “If you’re telling me lies, then you will die just like your
predecessor did.”
 
Arthur thought he knew true pain being cut open by the first doctor. He was
wrong. Every contraction had him seeing spots and pulling at the bedding. He
was a rabbit in a wolf’s mouth, an ant flattened under a brick. There was no
sense of time or consistency. He blinked and it was day, blinked again and it
was night. At the start of a new contraction, several ladies crowded his
bedside, but when the contraction ended, different ladies had taken their
place. He remembered being cold and too hot, but too weak to voice his needs.
Eames wore a path into the tiles in the parlor, fuming that he – the King of
this realm – was not allowed into the room with Arthur even though his screams
tore at Eames’ very soul. He collapsed into a chair and covered his ears.
“Eamesie,” Yusuf urged him, “we should go wait elsewhere. Try to distract your
mind from this—” He grimaced when Arthur screamed again. “You’ll pull all your
hair out before this is over.” But Eames wouldn’t budge.
Arthur covered his ears to block out the voices surrounding him. They didn’t
understand. He’d tried for hours to push and now he wanted to sleep forever.
Strong hands gripped his wrists and pulled them away from his face. He blinked
up in time to see Ariadne before his world drifted to black. He was roused as
soon as his eyes closed.
“Arthur?” Ariadne still gripped his hand. “Come on, Arthur, you can’t give up
yet.”
He was sobbing, so glad to see her face and feel her near him. She kept up her
encouragements until at last he nodded and steeled himself to try again. He
pushed with every ounce of strength he had for what felt like a small eternity,
but it still wasn’t enough.
“Arthur, you can do it. Just a little while longer,” Ariadne whispered, wiping
the sweat from his brow.
Eames sat with his head in his hands as evening turned to night and night to
daybreak. He glanced over at Yusuf, certain that the elder werewolf’s hair had
more grays than it had the day before.
Arthur’s screams were getting weaker. Eames rocked in his chair, counting his
breaths and then the tiles and then the frills on his sleeves. Before he knew
it, a servant was kneeling beside him, asking if he wished to take an afternoon
meal since he’d missed all others. He sent him away at once and resumed his
earlier pacing.
“Yusuf, this isn’t good. It’s been too long. What do you think has happened?”
Before he could answer, the doors to Arthur’s room burst open. Two of his
ladies ran out in tears with baskets full of bloody towels. More sobs could be
heard through the door before a baby began to cry. Eames ran in at once to the
dismay of Yusuf and everyone present.
Lady Catherine and the midwives were making quick work of cleaning the baby in
the corner. Lady Rose and Marisol sat on the floor, exhausted and weeping into
their bloody hands.
Arthur’s gown and sheets were stained with heavy bleeding. He looked so small
in the large bed as the doctor and his assistant tried their best to stop the
blood, but they were failing.
Eames couldn’t move. The smell of his mate's blood made him want to vomit and
or drive a sword through his own chest. Arthur’s eyes fluttered, his heart
losing its strength. He couldn’t hold Ariadne, though her hand was bruised from
his earlier grip.
Ariadne’s prayers wouldn’t cease. She refused to let go of Arthur even as the
doctor looked close to giving up.
Arthur’s mouth was slack, but he tried to speak. “Mal's…please…”
Ariadne loosened her hold on his hand when he pointed at the book on the desk.
She rushed over quickly and retrieved Mal’s pendant, slipping it into Arthur’s
hand.
Eames found himself roused from his grief when Lady Catherine approached him
with the baby. It was almost too unbelievable to hold their healthy son in his
arms while Arthur still fought for every breath. He was numb when he sat down,
cradling the child’s head, his eyes blurred with tears. He wanted to hate the
boy, but he couldn’t. His love washed over him, drowning him and choking his
heart when the baby peered up curiously at his father for the first time with
Arthur's eyes.
“Arthur?” Ariadne sat on the edge of the bed, feeling Arthur’s hand squeeze
around the pendant. Warmth radiated from his palm into hers. She gasped at the
power as it rolled through them both.
Eames moved to the bed, careful with the child. He could sense it as well,
Mal’s signature working slowly to restore Arthur’s breathing, then his heart.
The attendants all watched in silent wonder as the minutes ticked by, until the
power receded, leaving Arthur's body still threadbare in his strength, but
alive.
Eames held back his tears as the doctor was able at last to finish his work. He
let the midwives take the child to give to the wet nurse and reached for
Arthur’s hand. He kissed it with all the fire burning in his heart and smiled
when Arthur’s eyes cracked open enough to see him before falling into an
exhausted sleep, still clutching Eames' hand.
+
 
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
     ONE OF TWO UPDATES, BECAUSE I'VE LOST CONTROL OF MY BRAIN AND THERE
     ARE OVER 330 SUBSCRIBERS AND IT'S ALMOST CHRISTMAS, SO WHY NOT? O_O
     ENJOY!
+
 
King Eames’ heavy footfalls sounded off the hardwood and stone, silencing his
privy council even before he turned the corner and entered the room.
They bowed and took their seat around the table, not sure what to expect at
this impromptu meeting so early in the morning.
Eames stood at the head, his palms pressed to the table’s surface.
“Majesty?” the Duke of Roe spoke up at last, unable to handle the King’s
silence.
Eames glanced at each of them, before stating, “My noble lords and dukes, the
time for change is quick upon us. I wish to have my ambassador returned to
Runes.”
“Why?” the Earl of Green teased. “So your uncle can see King Dominic’s face
when we crush his army and sack his palaces?”
Just thinking of that put a big smile on Eames’ face. “If only that were the
plan.”
“Well, then,” the young werewolf frowned, “pray tell us, your Majesty, why is
your uncle returning to Runes?”
“I wish to initiate negotiations for…a treaty…with King Dominic.”
+
 
“On this day, the twenty-fifth of August, 1490, we gather in this holy place to
celebrate the birth…”
Eames paid the christening ceremony little mind. His eyes were focused on
Joseph in his arms. His little brown eyes were trying to soak in as much as
possible of all the glittering jewels and shining clothes the christening party
wore around him, the gold cup from which the priests baptized him, and the
sunlight glowing through the stained glass windows. His tiny fingers played
with the back of Eames’ hand. Every now and then, his eyes would rise to look
up at Eames before drifting in and out of sleep.
A dusting of coffee brown hair covered his little head, his eyelashes long and
his lips full, like his father's. When Eames kissed his forehead to settle his
soft cries, Eames found that the baby had Arthur’s dimples too.
Joseph was caught in the small wonder of watching Yusuf and Ariadne light their
candles, the amber flames casting shadows that flickered up to the murals on
the high ceilings of the palace chapel.
By the ceremony's end, Eames already had made a hundred plans for his son.
Joseph would have to grow to be the strongest and most powerful alpha in all
the realms, logical, precise in all judgments, merciful but unwavering as well,
a protector and leader, and a hunter as well as a man of science. However,
Eames knew that he had a great responsibility too, to his son, to not only be
the King who would teach Joseph how to rule, but the father needed to teach him
how to be a just and loving alpha—not daunting tasks at all for Eames and his
baby to accomplish.
“Well, my boy,” Eames whispered against his dimpled cheek when Ariadne and Lady
Catherine stepped forward, “you’re ready to become a true prince of Engston and
I, your father.” He gave him over to the ladies with the utmost care and
watched them leave, taking his heart with them.
+
 
Arthur blinked against his soft pillows, just waking from his nap in the late
afternoon.
He’d only managed to sleep the few hours that Joseph had been gone to his
christening. As if on cue, he always roused the moment he felt the child’s
presence in his room. He was fatigued, and still healing, a week after the
birth, and would be so for the rest of the month or longer, but catching
Joseph’s scent made him alert and content enough to miss a few hours more of
sleep.
Before Ariadne took her leave, she and Lady Rose repositioned all his blankets
and pillows so that he could lie on his side and see the child better. He’d
tried to ask them not to do this on the second day, but still couldn’t find the
words to explain to them why he’d rather stare up at the ceiling, or anywhere
else instead, during Joseph’s feedings.
Apart from Lady Catherine, all the attendants flocked around Lady Marisol to
coo and tickle the child’s nose. Arthur watched the lady free her breast for
Joseph to feed, even as Arthur’s own small breast still leaked with milk. He
balled his fists around clumps of the pillowcases and sheets, ready to weep and
not understanding why he was so emotional about it. All children of wealth and
noble birth had wet nurses who fed them instead of their mothers, and he was
still too weak to feed Joseph himself, the King’s doctor had told him.
Only, Arthur was sure at least that as an omega, his duty wasn’t just to
produce a child but to then feed the child as well. And while Lady Catherine
assured him that this was an antiquated omega urge that would pass, it didn't
stop him from feeling like he was already failing his child.
She sat on the bed’s edge behind him to comb Arthur’s tangles into more
presentable curls. She paused when she saw his frown. She moved closer, combing
her fingers through his hair the way she used to when he was a child having a
tantrum. She whispered in his ear, “At some point, your Majesty, you shall have
to forgive little Joseph for his impatience and the unintended harms caused
during his birth.”
The Lady's petting made him drowsy, even with his body’s insistence to stay
awake for the baby. He smiled a little at her teasing, but his heart was still
heavy. “How long until he’s moved to the nursery permanently?”
“One more week, your Majesty. Although, if you wish, I will take him toda—”
“No,” he said too quick and too loud. He blushed. “No, Madam,” his chest was
tight, “next week is fine.”
She smiled slowly, but Arthur didn't see it, his eyes still looking at Joseph,
a curious expression on his face.
“He is quite lovely, isn’t he?” she murmured.
Arthur watched Joseph’s little brow furrow as he looked around the room. “Yes,”
he whispered back, as if he'd never noticed before. “At first, I was so
relieved that he was finally out of me. I thought that I would be overjoyed to
be free to return to my own needs and wants. Instead…I only feel empty now. All
the things that held my attention before, I don't care about, and all the
things I never thought I'd enjoy, I only want more of.”
She nodded, still petting his hair. “You crave conceiving another child?” When
he nodded back, she chuckled. “That’s good. It is expected, but don’t let this
trouble your heart. In time, you shall have another.”
He nodded again. Lady Marisol was walking around the room now, singing softly
and patting Joseph’s back. “Lady Catherine, may I hold him for a bit? I think
I'm well enough now.”
“Of course, your Majesty.” She smiled brightly. “Marisol?”
The attendants hurried to help Arthur sit up, drawing down the blankets and
repositioning the pillows as Marisol transferred the baby with care. “Now,”
Lady Catherine spoke softly, “take his head with this hand and place him along
your arm. Perfect, your Majesty. You're a natural.”
The attendants sat around Arthur on the bed, their cheeks sore from smiling.
Arthur was more than a little nervous, terrified to do something wrong or make
Joseph cry. He readjusted the baby’s cap, the string tickling a smile onto
Joseph’s face. Arthur smiled back at him, looking into his own eyes under
Eames’ eyelids and past Eames' nose.
At once, Arthur heart was at peace. He felt more relaxed than he had in a long
time, peering down at the child he’d carried. His son, so unlike the terror
that had rampaged in his belly. This docile little smiling boy, Arthur could
easily love.
“He’s beautiful, your Majesty,” Lady Rose whispered.
Arthur smiled again when Joseph whined. The little bundle was trying to fight
sleep in favor of staring up at his mother, but it was a losing battle. His
little Eames lips parted as his eyes fluttered one last time.
“Well, your Majesty, never has the little prince fallen asleep so easily in
another's arms,” said Lady Catherine with pride. “He certainly knows his
mother.”
 
Ariadne didn’t understood right away why Lady Catherine had her summoned to the
Queen’s chambers at the end of the week. She was supposed to be catching a ship
back to Rhodes in Duval to visit her family, but any opportunity to see Arthur
was always well worth it.
These days, Arthur looked more alive than he had in months. He was sitting up
in his bed, his skin glowed, his hair shimmered, and in his arms, Joseph slept
soundly.
Every noble subject in the court hovered in or near his wing of the palace, all
there to pay their respects to the new heir.
Arthur didn’t seem to mind the attention at all, only…as Ariadne watched him
from her quiet place in the corner, did she notice something strange. Every now
and then, as nobles came and went, Arthur’s eyes would drift up from the
sleeping baby to the setting sun beyond the windows and then to the clock. It
wasn’t until the last cluster of duchesses and lords departed that Ariadne knew
Lady Catherine's intentions.
The older Madam sat on the edge of Arthur’s bed. “Your Majesty, it’s time for
your evening rest.” She repeated herself when he pretended not to hear her.
“His Majesty will be in the nursery to receive his Highness.”
He clutched the baby for a moment and made a show of checking Joseph’s bonnet
and swaddling cloth. "The time went by so quickly." He swallowed and nodded at
last, letting Lady Rose take Joseph into her arms. Arthur wiped at his eyes
quickly. 
“It’s alright, Majesty,” Lady Catherine assured him, rubbing his arms. “It’ll
only be a little while until you'll see him again. I shall care for him as I
cared for you and your sister and brother. Moreover, I trust Lady Anne to serve
your household as well, if not better than I did. Have peace, sweet Majesty.”
"I do. I would not trust him with anyone else." He nodded, stone-faced and
understanding, but still his heart broke when she, and the ladies chosen for
the nursery, carried Joseph away.
Lady Anne sat in the older madam’s spot, taking Arthur’s hand. “She’s right,
Majesty. His Highness will be in good hands. Find some comfort in knowing that
when you’re lying in has ended, we’ll visit the prince as much as possible.”
The doctor and Lady Catherine had ordered him to stay in bed for one whole
month. Only two weeks had passed. Arthur’s resolve crumbled at that. He sobbed
behind his hands.
Lady Anne looked to Ariadne helplessly. She was at his side at once. “Arthur,
it’s okay.”
“It’s not, Ariadne,” he cried against her shoulder. “How can I know that he
won’t look for me in the night and find me not there? What if the nursery is
too cold, or too hot? Or—”
She hushed him gently and took out her handkerchief to dry his eyes though his
tears wouldn’t stop. She smiled. “They’ll take good care of him. I promise.”
She whispered for Lady Anne to call the King. “It’s alright, Arthur. Joseph’s
safe. He’ll be just fine.”
+
 
“And so,” the Runes ambassador was saying, “now that her Highness, Princess
Phillipa, might have a new playmate in his Highness, Prince Joseph, I think the
only matter to settle would be this: When shall your country and my country
plan the wedding engagement, your gracious and majestic Majesty? In my
opinion…”
Eames tried to be inconspicuous when he rubbed his temples. All while he and
the court had sat through these negotiation proceedings, Eames had been
secretly negotiating with his head not to explode. 
He couldn’t stand to pay attention to the man for one more second. "I would
consider the children to be extremely too young - as young and new as our
proposal, even - to be promised to each other just yet."
"Ah, but your Majesty," he wagged his finger, "no doubt with Queen Mallorie's
unparalleled beauty and the fine, rich blood of my divine and mose just and
noble master, his Royal Majesty, King Dominic, running through her veins, there
will be princes the world over fighting for the princess's hand."
Eames glared. In spite of the fear scent drifting from the large man’s pits
whenever he moved his arms, King Dominic’s man was still as pompous as all
Runesians were, with his outlandish clothes and sweeping hand gestures. He
boasted of his sovereign lord as if he were speaking to a common beggar, not
the King of Engston.
There was only so much Eames could put up with, and right now, with his omega
alone and upset in his chambers and this arrogant man making a joke about
Dominic’s victory in Hüstablen, as if Eames would find his own army’s defeat
comical in any capacity, Eames had very much run out of politeness for one day.
He held up his hand. “Pardon me, Excellency.” He waved over Lord Yusuf and
whispered in his ear, “I swear on my life, that I will give you another title
if you take over this meeting before I eat him.” He stood with a strained
smile. “I shall consider these terms and resume these talks in one week’s time.
Until then, make yourself at home here.” He watched Ambassador Belger smile and
bow nearly in half before the man took his leave.
 
He felt as if he’d just returned from a long war when he slipped into Arthur’s
room. Eames just let his clothes and jewels clatter to the floor before
climbing into bed behind him.
Arthur awoke with a groan and blinked irritably at Eames’ cheeky grin only long
enough for him to realize who was in his bed. Eames had his nightgown up around
his chest, kissing his soft middle with worshipful kisses.
“Don’t.” Arthur blushed terribly and quickly pulled his clothes down again.
“Have you grown shy with me again?” He teased only a little, his brown
furrowed.
“I look hideous,” he muttered, covering himself with the sheets as well.
“No you don’t, you’re just insane, that's all.” He rested on Arthur’s shoulder,
his hand still tracing his navel and the faint, raised, pale lines on either
side of his stomach. “I like your little stripes. They’re proof, should we ever
doubt, that our little boy was in here.”
Arthur was quiet for a while, his hand over Eames’. “I miss him.” In truth,
he'd never expected this, yet even now, he was on the verge of tears again.
Eames hummed in agreement and pulled Arthur to his chest. “I think I shall make
plans for a new palace in the country, away from all the city’s worries of rats
and illness. Joseph is strong, but even the infants of werewolves must still be
kept in confinement for their health. As soon as you’re up for it, we’ll pay
him a visit. But until then, we must make up for sleep,” he yawned. "Precious,
precious sleep with my darling, hm?" 
+
 
Eames couldn’t hold back his smile. Arthur held his hand, his grip tight and
demanding as he tried his best not to run to the nursery once his lying in was
finally over.
All sense of decorum was gone. Arthur walked ahead of Eames, tugging his hand
whenever the King wasn't walking fast enough. Not that Eames minded one bit.
Just seeing Arthur out of bed, seeing him healthy and like himself again, in
his little dark blue and gold-trimmed tunic and baby blue tights, was worth it.
He wanted to wrap his arms around Arthur's tiny waist. And he'd missed the way
the skirt-like hem of the fabric swayed a little with the way Arthur walked.
Hearing the faint tap-tap of Arthur’s slipper-clad feet on the tiled floors was
heaven. He squeezed his hand.
Joseph was crying when they arrived. Lady Catherine and the ladies had never
looked so frayed.
“Your Majesties,” she greeted them. “The prince has, for unknown reasons, taken
up the sport of fighting sleep. Your Majesty,” she took Arthur’s hand, “he
needs his mother’s touch. Please.”
Arthur glanced from her and his husband nervously, but stepped forward to the
crib as the ladies bowed and moved aside. Warmth filled his heart upon seeing
his son. He hid his laugh when Eames circled his waist behind him. “He’s even
adorable when he being impossible, Eames,” he muttered as Joseph cried louder.
It took only a moment of Joseph lying against Arthur’s chest for him to quiet
down.
“Rub his back in circles, soothing,” Lady Catherine whispered. “Walk with him.
Just like that.” She smiled and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief after a
while of watching Arthur and Joseph together.
Arthur grimaced when Joseph drooled on his sleeve. Eames was ready with a cloth
to dry the baby’s mouth and nose. Joseph whined again, trying to squirm in his
swaddling cloth, but Arthur hushed him softly, his skill a thing of magic to
the exhausted betas.
“Perfect,” he heard the King whisper to Lady Catherine. He turned to face him
where Eames had sat in a chair, watching them with teary eyes and a chest
filled with pride.
Arthur blushed when Eames sent away the attendants and patted his knee. He sat
in his lap carefully, encased in Eames’ strong arms.
Eames beamed. “We need a portrait done,” he whispered. “A portrait of my new
lovely family.”
+
 
The early fall turned to winter again before Arthur received the visit he’d
been waiting and waiting for.
“Your Majesty,” Lady Anne bowed, “Sir Paul is here.”
He dropped his book at once and ran to see him.
“Look at you!” his brother proclaimed. “Your Majesty, the Queen now!”
He flattened out his tunic self-consciously, but frowned when he noticed Paul's
heavy limp and wooden cane. “What on earth happened to you?”
Paul looked around them at the attendants, all reading and doing their
needlepoint. “May we walk for a bit? I have much news.”
Arthur took him through his privy garden as servants trimmed the trees and
decorated the statues for the Winter Solstice.
“I was waylaid it seemed by every force on earth,” Paul explained. “Our ship
was hit with the flux first, which left me near dead in my wife’s arms for far
longer than you could imagine, then she became ill, though with a different
illness, the one that took my little Laura, so that was terrifying. I was glad
that I then made my way to Milecomté, because…well, Michel would not have told
any of us otherwise."
"What?"
"Father is terribly ill. In fact, as I stand here, there is strong chance that
he may have already departed from this world, Arthur. I know you didn't know
him very well, but I'm still very sorry to give you this news."
Arthur dropped his eyes. He stopped walking and glanced up at the sky. "It
seems that the cycle of life is merciless one. Mal and I bring life into the
world, while our father's is being taken away from it. Is he in good care? The
best care, at least?"
"Well," Paul grimaced. "Your mother has made plans to marry her lover, so
Michel has had her removed to one of the finer castles. Pray that he keeps her
there and not on the streets like I expected. Gerard has yet to see father, but
the old man is content, notheless, with the life he's lived."
"Good, I suppose. I'm glad to hear he's happy."
"And then," Paul continued, "upon my leaving for Runes, I ran into your old
sweetheart, Robert, that fucking brat.”
Arthur’s eyes went wide. He cleared his throat, unable to speak.
“And by ‘ran into’,” Paul was saying, “I mean to say that he tried to raise up
a small army against my city. Had I my full strength, I would have crushed that
little shit stain and his farm boys myself, but instead the deed had to be done
with a tiny band of my soldiers—”
“He hurt you?” Arthur pointed at Paul’s cane.
“Oh no, no. This is from jousting. The cold weather makes it hurt worse, but
it’s not as bad as it seems most of the time.”
“Then…what happened?”
“I captured him.” He nodded at Arthur’s paled face. “I did. I captured the
little rat Fischer King. It didn’t take much of anything for him to explain
himself. I swear, take away any true knight’s bread, and he’ll be fine. Take
away a Fischer's? I might as well have threatened to chop off his hands and
feet, or usurp his crown.” His expression turned sour when he asked, “You don’t
still write to him do you?”
“The King forbid it.”
Paul snorted. “If you had the chance to write him though, would you?”
Arthur’s blush was enough of an answer.
He laughed. “Who knew you were such a heartbreaker, little brother. You’ve left
poor Sir Robert’s heart in shambles. Serves him right.”
“Paul, I—”
“He’d thought to have you as his whore.”
Arthur sputtered and fell silent.
“You and him, you never actually… Oh, thank the Holy Mother,” he sighed,
relieved when Arthur quickly shook his head. “Good. Well, I suppose, not good
for Fischer. He planned to have his tiny, little kingdom with some beta queen
and you in his bed—before he found out that you were an omega. When he learned
of that revelation, you were already betrothed to King Eames. Now he only
wishes he’d seduced you faster, and thought crusading to reclaim his sacked
land would draw either Eames’ or Dominic’s attention. It failed. Poor fellow. I
would have felt sorry for him, if you weren’t my little brother. I even
propositioned him to be my whore, as pretty as he is, but…there’s simply no
help for that spoiled ‘personality’ of his.”
“You released him?”
Paul stopped walking and turned to him, his brow raised. “Of course. Should I
have kept him in my dungeon longer?”
“Yes,” he gritted out.
“Now, now, Arthur, don’t be so angry. He’s learned his lesson. And if he hasn’t
well…I shall definitely pity him when he tries to cross your husband. Eames
would be the king of Engston, Eameston, Wolfshire, whatever those others are,
and, Fischer’s kingdom within the hour.”
“ So you never had the chance to see Mal?”
“I did!” he whispered, as they passed two of the servants. “My family and I
stayed with her for a while.”
Arthur smiled sadly. “You saw the baby?”
“I did, yes…” His eyes searched for eavesdroppers before he leaned in close.
“Arthur, you understand why our talk of the Runes Queen must be kept secret at
all cost?” When he nodded, Paul took his arm and led him behind a tall statue.
“Take off your coat.”
“Paul?” Arthur startled when Paul reached for him. His brother’s hands went
under the back his tunic.
“Thank every god in the universe that you wear undergarments. Hold still!”
Arthur did as he told, too shocked to move, until he felt Paul slip a thick
stack of folded letters under his clothes, held in place by his belt.
“Turn around.” Paul made sure the letters couldn’t be seen before putting
Arthur back in his coat. “Now, I know how touchy my sister can be when someone
else peeks her letters, I haven’t dared to open any of them. Make sure that you
have total privacy, so no question can be asked and no King summoned to
question you either. Burn them all. Matter of fact, read the letters at one
time in front of the fireplace, so that as soon as you’re done, you can burn
them, or if someone surprises you, you’ll be able to destroy them at once.
Understood? There’s been rumors of a treaty, but no one, not even Dom, is
saying a word in case it falls through, so don’t get your hopes up, but I can
say, that Mal misses you dearly, and she longs for the day when all our
children can play and run together in peace.”
Arthur nodded quickly as they walked back into view, just in time for Lady Anne
to come looking for Arthur. “Thank you, Paul. When should I see you again?”
“Tomorrow. I would like to see my little nephew.” He grinned. “In the meantime,
tell me something about this Lady Anne of yours. I’d love to get know her
better.”
+
 
Arthur gave the letters to Ariadne for safe keeping and only kept the first one
on hand that night, knowing he had no time for all of them at once. He read it
once, twice, and a third time, while Eames was in his own chambers for his bath
and his own attendants sent off.
Inside, was a tiny portrait of Phillipa. There was no doubt in his mind that
his husband had been wrong about her. The love that she poured into each and
every word was all the proof he needed. The problem, as he had suspected all
along, lay with his own husband. King Dominic was as unrelenting with the war
as Eames was, no matter how much Mal tried. As long as Eames continued to
attack, she'd explained, the more Dominic was going to fight back. It was up to
Eames to lay down his sword first.
Arthur continued to sit on the floor, as the letter burned, thinking and
thinking and thinking. His attempts thus far had been met with much resistance.
What on earth could he do differently to persuade Eames?
He sighed, his head in his hands when the King arrived.
“Darling?” Eames called. “Are you well?”
“I am.” He got to his feet quickly and climbed into bed, making sure the letter
was completely gone.
Eames kissed his forehead. “I know you miss our boy. I do too.”
Arthur nodded, lying against Eames’ chest as Eames read his book in the
candlelight. It was the book with the mismatched pumpkin entry and blank page.
Blank page. Arthur smiled, snuggling up closer.
 
“Have you got a plan?” Paul asked the next day. Ariadne had given Arthur the
key to her guestroom in the palace for privacy before she’d left.
Arthur was still smiling brightly as he wrote Mal a letter for each of the ones
she’d sent. He glanced at Paul with cunning eyes. “I have.”
+
 
Eames decided to skip the Winter Solstice festival in favor of spending quiet
time with Arthur and the baby.
“There’s nothing in the world I love more than being here,” he mused.
Arthur smiled, playing with their boy. “Joseph and I have a gift for his
Majesty, don’t we?” He laughed when Joseph blew bubbles at him.
“A gift? You’ll spoil me even more than is possible, Arthur.”
“Two, in fact. Lady Rose?” Arthur called. “Bring the first, please.”
Eames perked up even more, seeing the massive book she brought in. “My
goodness, Arthur, when did you have time for this?”
Arthur smiled nervously. “It was nearly finished some time ago. It only needed
two adjustments.”
“I see!” Eames exclaimed, leafing through the book with excitement as Joseph
drooled on its edges. “The pumpkin entry’s gone. Now I don’t look like a fool.
And…” He stilled. “How did you…” He fell silent.
“I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of entrusting Jeremy to draw it.”
The illustration and accompanying details for the somnacin plant was all there,
on the pages as if it had been there all along.
“Yes, but…how did you know what it looked like, what it smells like?” he asked,
full of wonder.
“Lady Rose?” Arthur nodded at her to retrieve the second gift.
Eames’ jaw fell to the floor when the somnacin plant, with its amber leaves and
long, thorn-covered black roots, was glowing like a candle flame in the glass
case it sat in. Eames handled the case with a reverent eye.
“Arthur…what sorcery is this?” he whispered.
“It’s from Mal. I…” he swallowed under Eames’ gaze. “Eames, husband, Majesty,”
he pleaded, and took his hand carefully, his heart beating out of his chest,
“this is a peace offering. Full access to their borderlands for all the
research and resources you could ever wish for in exchange for peace.”
Eames studied him for a long time before he squeezed his hand. “Arthur, I
forbid you from ever gifting me anything ever again, because you make it bloody
impossible for me to even try to give you something for all that you’ve done
for me.” He admired the case again, his eyes soaking in its beauty.
Arthur’s laugh bubbled up from his chest. He’d been holding his breath.
Eames covered him and Joseph with kisses. Arthur returned his kiss and took
Eames’ face in his free hand, his eyes searching and his voice soft. “All I
want is for you to see this through, Eames. Do your part, for us, for Dom and
my sister, for our children, for the kingdoms…” He kissed Eames again before
the King could argue. “Just do your part. That’s all.”
+
 
 
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
     HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVR'YBODY! HERE'S YO SECOND CHRISTMAS PRESENT!
     ENJOY!
+
 
Eames realized that he had never known true fear until Lady Catherine’s lady
summoned him and Arthur to the nursery in the early morning hours. He took
Arthur’s hand as they hurried, still in their nightgowns and robes, flanked by
their sleepy attendants.
They could hear Joseph crying and screaming before they reached the door. The
corridors were cold from the February snow, but the nursery was comfortably
warm.
“What’s happened?” Arthur demanded.
The baby was still wailing and clutching his blanket as he sat up his crib, his
little gown in tatters, his cheeks wet and his nose running. He made several
choking sounds before gripping his blanket tighter, sneezing hard.
Arthur and Eames’ mouths fell open in surprise.
“Now you understand our predicament, Majesties,” Lady Catherine sighed.
The little black and mahogany-spotted pup whined loudly in dismay, sitting on
his little tail, his ears curled under. He toppled over on his side, unable to
stand on his paws. He sneezed again, shifting back. Joseph cried even harder as
he looked down at his human body, his brow furrowed in confusion. He reached
his arms out at once when Arthur neared to pick him up.
He rocked and patted him gently, feeling Joseph clutch at his sleeve. “It’s
alright,” he soothed, rubbing circles over his back. “See? You’re fine. When
you’re older, you’ll be able to control it. Right?” He glanced over his
shoulder, wondering where Eames had gone.
Eames still stood planted next to Lady Catherine. He wiped at his eyes quickly
and cleared his throat. “Is this the first time he’s done that?”
She nodded. “He was playing with his blanket and tickled his nose, making him
sneeze, and… It’s been happening for several minutes now.”
Eames stepped closer, his heart aching for the frightened little boy in
Arthur’s arms. Arthur continued to speak softly to Joseph, quieting his cries.
Eames circled his arms around them both, making Arthur smile.
“Let me take him for a bit,” Eames whispered. “There we go,” he sighed,
covering Joseph’s rosy cheeks in soft kisses. “Now, what’s all this fuss about,
hm? Is my big, alpha wolf afraid of his own shadow?”
“Eames,” Arthur chided, though he still smiled seeing Joseph stare at Eames.
“I’ve got an idea.” He handed the baby back to Arthur and ordered the
attendants to leave. When they were gone, he slipped out of his robe and gown.
Arthur frowned. “I’m not sure what…” He watched Eames shift and chuckled. He
sat on the floor across from the massive wolf as Eames sniffed at Joseph’s
back.
Joseph’s eyes went wide seeing the wolf. He tried to stand on his pudgy legs
and hid inside Arthur’s robe.
Arthur didn’t know how to remedy the situation, with Joseph sobbing again and
Eames whining in his own dismay. He moved closer to Eames and turned Joseph
around to face his father. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. See, look at how soft his
fur is.” His hand disappeared in the thick fur on Eames’ neck. “You can pet his
chest too. See?” He watched Joseph look from Arthur’s face to his hand and then
up at Eames. Arthur smiled when the boy finally reached forward.
Eames startled in surprise when Joseph grabbed at his fur and pulled out a
small handful. Arthur stopped the baby from putting it in his mouth.
Eames shifted back and groaned, clutching his chest. “Fuck me, that boy’s got a
strong grip. That hurt.” He stilled, noticing that Joseph was staring at him
again. He and Arthur sat in silence as the boy’s distressed lip quivering
turned into a bright smile.
They laughed together when Joseph turned from Eames to his mother over and
over, making sure Arthur had seen what he’d seen.
“My two naked alphas,” Arthur teased, shaking his head at them both when Joseph
tried to climb out of his lap to Eames for a closer look. “That’s right. He’s
your papa.”
Joseph gasped and fell back into Arthur’s arm when Eames shifted again, only
this time, his curiosity didn’t bring more tears. His smile turned shy, sitting
in the protection of Arthur’s lap. He giggled and squealed when Eames’ big nose
sniffed around his brown curls and dimples. He gummed at Eames’ face when he
caught it in his hands.
Eames stretched out on his side and tried to lick the baby, but Arthur swatted
his nose. Opting for a different approach, Eames howled low, making Joseph
shift so that he could lick him properly. Arthur moved, sitting Joseph on the
floor. He rested against Eames’ shoulder, watching Joseph try out his paws and
tail.
Eames howled again, but it was different. He did it over and over. Joseph
studied him, his head tilted before he yelped. The pup yelped again, longer,
trying to match his father when Eames howled again.
Arthur was close to falling asleep with the steady rise and fall of Eames’
breathing. Joseph nuzzled his hand, still throwing back his head and yelping at
the top of his lungs. Now that he was satisfied with his mastering of howls, it
seemed the little pup would never be quiet. 
No matter how endearing Joseph's song of howls was, Arthur felt terribly sorry
for Lady Catherine and the others, who at this point, might not ever sleep
again.
+
 
Eames hadn’t the slightest idea why his body was so upset with him. He’d
produced an heir. What more could it ask for? And yet, when his rut returned,
it was stronger than any he’d known before, as if it’d been building up
throughout all of Arthur’s pregnancy, waiting to attack Eames with force.
He canceled his meetings rather than risk a fight. Instead, he went looking for
his omega. Only, Arthur wasn’t in his chambers, or in the nursery.
Eames was on his way to the observatory when he finally caught wind of the
scent.
A heat scent. His eyes turned golden at once.
 
“Oh, your Majesty,” Jeremy sighed, walking beside Arthur in the fresh snow, “I
know you can’t wait until little Joseph is old enough to see such blankets of
white. The gardens are so beautiful!”
Arthur tightened his furs around him, beaming. He had only one more day left
before his heat would reach its full strength. It had hardly ever snowed an
inch in Milecomté, and he’d slept through last year’s snow here. He wouldn’t
miss this day for anything in the world.
Of course, that was before the wind carried Eames’ scent towards him. He had to
stop for a beat to gather his wits, momentarily dazed and feeling wet in his
underwear. “Jeremy, do me a favor?”
“Yes, Majesty?” He glanced from the approaching King to his Queen, who led him
quickly away from the others.
Arthur didn’t stop until they entered the thick, tall maze. When the coast was
clear, he opened his furs and coat.
“Majesty?” Jeremy was hit by his heat scent at once. His own clothes felt too
heavy for him. He helped Arthur reached under his tunic with nimble fingers,
trying not to think of how soft and warm his skin was as he held and retied the
ribbons and strings when Arthur took off his underwear.
“Majesty! What—”
Arthur laughed at Jeremy red face and wide eyes. “Take these and hide them
somewhere. Quickly, quickly.”
“But,” he swallowed, “your…your nether parts will freeze.” He paused, blushing
even deeper, understanding the plan. He smirked. “Thankfully his Majesty will
come…to keep them warm for you.”
“Precisely.” He and Jeremy snickered, conspiring as Jeremy hid the garment in
his satchel.
Arthur was presentable again when they left the maze. Jeremy’s blush was gone
as well, but he stayed behind the attendants, just in case the King got the
wrong idea.
“It’s the Lover’s Day,” Eames announced, kissing Arthur and scented him deeply.
“Isn’t it fitting that our heats should catch us on such a perfect day?”
“It’s something,” Arthur commented, feeling himself getting wetter by the
second, though the cold and snow kept his fever at bay. Perfect for teasing.
“Come and look at the gardens with us!” He smiled brightly, taking the King’s
arm.
Eames did like the gardens, but he liked feeling his knot in Arthur’s heat-
soaked quim even more. “Darling, it’s Lover’s Day. Shouldn’t we be rolling
around in bed, instead of wandering about out here?”
“Your rut is strong, isn’t it?” He smirked when Eames didn’t comment. “You
poor, poor dear.”
“I remember you once volunteering to help me through my ruts, yet now, you
leave me stranded, after months of seeing me pine and not take. And I know your
heat is building too. You’re flushed. Let’s go inside.”
Arthur let go of his arm and continued to walk and admire the snow covering the
shrubbery, humming noncommittally at Eames’ words.
“Arthur, please,” Eames muttered. “I am your King and I am beseeching you, with
all my heart, and I will whine and stomp my feet and shout if I must.”
He snickered, but moaned a little when he caught Eames’ scent again in the
breeze as he stopped to break off an icicle from a fountain. “You smell really
good.”
“I fuck even better, if you remember. Or will Joseph be walking and talking and
learning how to ride a horse before you allow me to pluck the ripe fruit from
your tree for my nourishment?” He growled when Arthur walked faster. “Look at
all the love and care I get for being so good to you,” he teased, walking
faster still. He narrowed his eyes when he caught up to Arthur. “Do you mean to
abandon me even out here in the snow?”
A mischievous dimple in Arthur’s cheek was all the warning Eames got before
Arthur slipped out of his heavy coat and ran laughing through the fresh
snowfall. 
It was instinctual for Eames to give chase. He was giddy, pursuing Arthur with
their attendants trying to catch up and failing as Arthur weaved and ducked
through surprised passersby all trying to bow and avoid a collision from Eames
at the same time. It thrilled the King. He slowed down whenever he got too
close to Arthur just to see where the omega’s feet would carry him next.
They neared the palace. Eames had to stop him now that they were inside, but to
his surprise, Arthur ran faster still and let his small frame aid him in
squeezing through the heavy throngs of people clustered here and there. He
followed the scent and laughed merrily when it took him to their secret garden.
Arthur knew it was futile to hide with his heart beating out his chest and so
out of breath that Eames could hear him, but still he stayed behind the vine-
covered column until Eames snuck up behind him, quiet as a mouse.
He pinned Arthur’s arms at his side as he captured his mouth in a claiming
kiss. “I ought to punish you for misbehaving the way you are,” Eames rumbled,
pulling open the collar of Arthur's tunic to drag sharp teeth across his neck.
“Running through the palace is very improper, but…” he let go only to grab at
the bottom of Arthur’s tunic, gathering the fabric up high on his thighs, “you
are a very, very improper boy, so breaking the rules is nothing to you, is it?”
He growled into Arthur’s neck when Arthur pushed his tunic back down, keeping
himself covered.
Arthur laughed, blushing when Eames still caught the string at the top of his
leg.
“And what is this, my darling?” he asked, feeling up the string to a garter
belt.
“A different style of tights. See?” He lifted his tunic only high enough to
show where his upper thigh peeked from under the lace string and dark blue hem
of his new silk tights.
“I do see,” Eames purred. “So what do you wear then, to cover your…”
Arthur swatted away his searching hands. “My undergarments are no business of
yours, your Majesty.” The devilish grin set between his angelic dimples had
Eames momentarily entranced. Arthur took off running again.
 
His heart beat a thousand paces a second. He slowed his run as he passed
several members of the privy council, thinking he’d lost the King only for the
werewolf to surprise him as he crept into an empty room.
“Come here, you little rabbit,” Eames growled.
Arthur cursed, struggling. “You cheated! You had to! Where did you even come
from?” He laughed as he was hoisted over Eames’ shoulder.
Eames dumped him on the nearest table, sending plumes of dust flying. He let
his claws cut deep gorges in the wood on either side of Arthur, listening to
his omega’s heartbeat skip. “I’ve lived in this palace all my life. I know
every trapdoor, nook, and second doorway,” he proclaimed, pointing to the open
door he’d come in from.
"Damn it all." Arthur was still laughing as Eames used his weight to pin him to
the table’s surface. “So you have bested me, cunning hunter.”
“You know,” Eames teased, making Arthur flinch when he grabbed his legs and
tossed them wider apart, “I’ve always thought the word cunning sounds so very
dirty.”
“It does sound like something else, doesn’t it?” He waited until Eames’ hands
moved before bucking hard and rolling out of his grasp. He cackled with triumph
as he ran into the adjoining room. It was dark from the old, closed drapes, the
floor gray with dust.
But the room only had one door.
“Oh no, you’ve trapped yourself again, darling,” Eames crooned. “Wherever will
you run to next?” His smile grew as Arthur backed himself against the wall. He
let him run around him only far enough to catch him in the doorway leading back
to the room they’d just left.
“No fair. You’re faster than me.” Arthur moaned into the old stone as Eames’
bulk trapped him against the door frame, his possessive hands circling around
Arthur’s front, roaming under his tunic to feel how wet he was between his
legs.
“So that’s what you wear under your clothes now. I see.” Arthur was bare under
the garter belt for his tights.
He panted desperately, gripping the stone as Eames worked two fingers inside
him.
Eames pressed his covered cock flush to Arthur’s ass, and roughly pulled apart
Arthur’s legs when they tried to close around his fingers. His freed hand moved
Arthur’s hair aside. He gripped his chin and bit the back of his neck hard
enough for Arthur to melt in his grasp.
“Eames,” he moaned, pushing his hips back. He turned and sank to his knees when
he was let go and helped untie the strings of his husband's codpiece. Eames’
hand gripped his throat tightly. Arthur took him into his mouth without needing
to be told.
Eames rested his head on the doorframe, covering Arthur as he moaned, choked,
and swallowed around him. He saw one of Arthur’s hands disappear under his
tunic. Eames found the omega dripping between his thighs when he made Arthur
stand and saw the spot of wetness on the floor.
He laid Arthur out on the table again, only now on his stomach to keep him
planted. Their game was over. Arthur wouldn’t run a third time, not this hot
and needing.
“Eames, the doors.”
Eames glanced behind them. Both doors were still open to the corridors, but he
didn’t care. No one in their right mind would risk his mauling to sneak a peek
at what they were up to, not even the attendants Eames heard hiding around the
corner.
“God, I fucking love these tunics,” he groaned, hiking the ornate fabric out of
his way like he was pushing aside skirts. He hummed in appreciation, smacking
Arthur’s hip. “I really, really, really do.” The sight of his bare ass under
his garter belt drove Eames to a near salivating state. He let a claw cut the
strings for the garter on his left leg and snapped them with his teeth on the
right before pulling down Arthur’s tights.
Arthur blushed against the tabletop. “That was unnecessary.”
“Hush, you. I like feeling your legs,” he whispered into Arthur’s hair, his
claws carefully raking up and down the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.
“They’re very nice legs that I've missed touching for months.”
Arthur’s mouth fell opened in a silent cry when Eames thrust into his wetness
and began fucking him open at once. He gripped the table’s edges for leverage,
though it was hardly enough. His moans poured out of him, echoing in the empty
room as they grew louder and joined Eames’ rumbling grunts and the loud smack
of their bodies connecting. “Eames, you’ll break me.”
“Oh god.” Just the thought made him quicken his pace. “Look at you, you
filthy…beautiful…evil little monster.” He parted Arthur’s ass to see his cock
disappear into his heat, his thrusts harder still, rocking Arthur and the table
both. He slipped a hand into Arthur’s hair, his other wrapped around his cock,
stroking him quickly, making Arthur spill over Eames’ hand, coating his rings.
Eames felt Arthur’s release bring him close to coming as well and withdrew only
far enough to keep his swelling knot from holding them together. Arthur
groaned, lamenting the lost knot as he felt Eames’ come slide between his legs.
Arthur was still panting when he turned and nearly slipped. He grimaced at the
mess Eames had made of the floor where his heavy released pooled under Arthur’s
boots. “Now I understand why I always come second,” he marveled. His tights
were stained down his legs with it as if he’d been ridden by a dozen men.
Eames’ codpiece and hose were ruined too.
“And…the necessity of knotting,” Eames added, staring down as well with
surprise, “to keep it all in you, I guess.”
“I had no idea that when you broke your lance that…that it was ever…this much.
My goodness, Eames, I could drown.” He smiled up at him and laughed when Eames
began to blush. “It’s a wonder that I don’t conceive ten children every time we
fuc—”
“Oh, shut up, Arthur,” he grumbled, silencing him with a sloppy kiss. “It’s
only because of my rut. How are we supposed to get out of here with all our
clothes destroyed? And there’s no way my horn’s going to fit in my codpiece now
anyways. Stop laughing, it’s not funny.”
“It is! Our rooms are all the way on the opposite end of the palace, aren’t
they?” He laughed into Eames’ neck when he almost slipped again. “God, I’m
still fevered.” He grabbed Eames’ hand to lick his come off of his rings and
nipped at his jaw. “We should have knotted.”
“I agree,” Eames groaned as another wave of his rut rolled over him.
Arthur closed his eyes as he inhaled Eames’ heady scent. “Well…since we’re
stuck here, we might as well…get stuck here.”
Eames was stopped from devouring Arthur’s mouth as one of his attendants
cleared his throat just inside the doorway.
Jeremy kept his eyes down but his smirk was apparent. “Majesties,” he bowed. “I
fetched both of your long overcoats, for when you’re ready to…finish your walk
outside in the gardens. I’ll keep holding them,” he stressed, “in the
corridor…for when you’re ready.”
Arthur’s face was bright red when the boy bowed and closed the door behind him.
One of the ladies closed the other door, giggling on the other side, no doubt
with her ear pressed to the wood to listen with the others.
“My attendants are so clever, Eames. They’ve saved us both.”
Eames' eyes were golden when he stared back at Arthur, his voice rough and
deep. “Darling,” he whispered in Arthur’s hair, “you know what’s going to
happen when I knot you, now that you’ve jinxed yourself with all your making
fun of my seed.”
Arthur let Eames lay him down again, but stayed propped up on his elbows to
continue his kisses up Eames’ throat. He paused, his eyes wide when Eames'
words registered in his fogged mind. “Damn you, Eames. Damn you and your ill-
timed ruts.”
+
 
“And?” Lady Rose asked, tying Arthur’s new tights to his garter.
“And I need new fabrics,” he yawned, “since the King enjoys destroying
everything I wear.”
“And?” Jeremy prompted, handing Lady Rose a belt of gold chain to fasten around
Arthur’s new tunic.
“And…” he sighed, “my scent has changed again.” He shook his head as the
attendants all rushed to shower him with hugs and kisses. “So we will need to
begin preparing for that very soon.”
“I’ll go tell Lady Catherine the good news at once, Majesty.” Lady Miriam
hurried to the nursery.
“Oh please let me be one of your midwives, Majesty?”
“And me as well? Please?”
Arthur blushed and laughed. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, I swear.”
“Majesty,” the guard announced from the parlor, “Cardinal Stewart is here to
see you.”
Immediately, the mood in the room dampened.
“Just a moment, I’m nearly redressed,” Arthur sighed. He turned on his way to
the adjoining room to look at each of his ladies. “Lady Anne, I pick you to be
in charge of the midwives along with Lady Catherine.” He hurried from the room
laughing into his hand as they all formed a jealous mob around Lady Anne.
“Your Eminence, this is a surprise.”
“Yes, but one that will surely be beneficial to you in the end, I hope.” He
smiled and took the seat offered to him.
Arthur smiled back and sat as well, still blissful in the afterglow of his and
King’s exercise. “What may I do for you, Eminence?”
“Your Highness, if I may offer my council, your behavior with the King today
was most…”
Arthur’s brow rose as the beta searched for the right words. He clasped his
hands in his lap, his head tilted in question. “Surely if you wish to speak
about the King, you would do best going to him instead, your Eminence?”
“I am where I ought to be, Highness.” He smiled. “My issue is not with his
Majesty.”
“I see… Continue, then.”
“Your behavior throughout the grounds of the palace was not becoming of one in
your high position. You see, your Highness, the spouse of a king should always
carry their self with an air of…spiritual integrity, and chasteness, and—”
“Chasteness?” Arthur stood from his chair, now glowing with anger.
“Your Highness—”
“Chasteness, your Eminence?” He scoffed. “I remember quite vividly a
conversation between you and I, when I was as new to this country as I was to
the touch of a man, and what you said to me was quite different than what you
say now. You berated me when I was chaste, saying that I was beneath the level
of a concubine, for being incapable of pleasing my husband. Now, you reproach
me for pleasing him too much?”
The Cardinal scratched his nose, embarrassed. “Your Highness, forgive me, I
only—” He was cut off by Arthur’s laughter.
He laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. Even his attendants snickered from
the doorway of his bedroom. He had to take several breaths to collect himself.
“Your most Gracious and Righteous Eminence,” he curtsied, and extended his hand
towards the main door, “remove yourself from my sight, please.”
“Your Highness, understand that—”
“Good day, your Eminence.”
The elder man stood in mute shock, and turned, but was stopped when Arthur
ordered behind him, “Wait. Turn around.” When the angered man did, Arthur
crossed his arms. “I don’t want to see you at court for a while—”
“You can’t send me away. His Majesty would be furious,” he huffed.
“Are you so sure?” He patted his flat stomach. When the Cardinal could offer
him no rebuttal, he smiled. “Guard? Escort him to his home at once and make
sure he stays there until I decide to call for him.”
He watched the old beta stomp out of the room with the guard close on the
Cardinal's heels. “Ariadne? Have the Cardinal’s office locked and his
secretaries sent home as well. Bring me the keys and all his ledgers once
you're done. I wish to see if his math has improved since my last peek into his
books.”
+
 
***** Chapter 17 *****
+
 
Arthur could remember a time when hearing the King’s heavy footfalls echo off
the hardwood and stones cowed him with fear. King Eames was a big man and an
even bigger wolf, which was why Arthur couldn’t fathom the Cardinal’s betrayal.
“Your Majesty?” Jeremy bowed in front of Arthur with a stack of small books in
his arms. “I found these in those drawers. They look handwritten, though…they
appear to be filled with stories instead of records.”
Arthur heard the King approaching as he eyed the books curiously. “Have them
sent to my rooms. I’ll look over them later.”
Eames stomped into the Cardinal’s office and found Arthur sitting on the edge
of Stewart’s desk, leafing through his records. His attendants had all been
gleefully pulling open shelves and emptying them on the floor. They dropped
everything and moved back against the walls, their heads down.
“Arthur, my darling,” he muttered gruffly, trying and failing to subdue his
anger over seeing the Cardinal's office in disarray. “Um, what the hell are you
doing?”
“I sent the Cardinal on a holiday, your Majesty,” Arthur explained.
“I know that. I want to know why.”
Arthur turned the ledger around so Eames could see. He didn’t have to say a
word.
Eames’ brow furrowed the further he read.
“My ladies, and Jeremy, please, continue your work.” He let Eames take the
ledger and watched him flip through several more pages. “At first, I’d simply
thought that his math was wrong—which, for an inexperienced treasurer, is a
mistake oft to happen, but the Cardinal is not an inexperienced treasurer. I
chose to give him the benefit of the doubt, in honor of the love and respect I
know you carry for him, but I had a hunch, and I followed it. Cardinal
Stewart’s ledgers and records are filled with these…‘miscalculations’ and in
his drawers, where documents for illegally sold properties and bribes.”
There was more. Much more, but he could sense Eames’ rage filling the room like
thick smoke from a forest fire. Everyone could feel it now as well. The
attendants shrank back even more. Arthur ignored his instinct to cover his
stomach and instead, he kept silent and let Eames have the time he needed to
get his anger under control.
Eames paced for a moment, his hands balled into fists, before looking at
Arthur. “How long do you think your resting will be this time around?”
As if on cue, Arthur yawned. “Perhaps the same time as before.” He was crushed
by the realization. He would miss the Cardinal’s arrest, his trial, everything,
too busy sleeping the month away.
Eames nodded, his fists still clenching and unclenching. “For discovering this
treacherous plot all by your own wit and intuition, when your resting has ended
and your symptoms more bearable, I will have you oversee these proceedings,
Arthur.”
Everyone in the room gasped. Arthur stared, wide-eyed, certain he’d misheard
the King. “Majesty?”
“All the evidence you need to compile is right here, but if more need be
unearthed, I want you to appoint your investigators and have that information
delivered to Lord Yusuf for Stewart’s trial.”
“Your Majesty,” Lady Anne spoke low, “the Queen may be resigned to his bed for
two months, if his symptoms are as great as before.”
Eames walked over to Arthur and cupped his still shocked face. “Then his Holy
Eminence will simply have to find some way to entertain himself while he waits
in the dungeon for the next two months, won’t he, my darling?”
+
 
“Master,” the tall stable boy panted, bouncing in his lap, “sir, my name isn’t
Arthur. It’s Ron—”
He slapped the brunette’s hip hard, glaring. “So long as you are under my
employ, you are whoever I say you are, understood?” He closed his eyes again as
his servant resumed his pace.
They were both startled by loud banging and the glow of torches outside the
window. Shouting could be heard from every corner of the estate before the
doors downstairs burst open.
Cardinal Stewart tossed the boy off and hurried into his nightgown and robe.
There was no time to figure out what was happening. He fled out of the room,
down the hall, but not before hearing the stable boy shout to the guards about
the secret door the Cardinal meant to escape through.
It didn’t matter. Guards were already waiting for the Cardinal outside in the
line of trees. He tried to turn and run for the stables, but more guards were
there to catch him.
The largest guard in the bunch him stomped forward and punched him as hard as
he could.
The Cardinal was fuming where he’d fallen in a puddle of mud. “How dare you,
you insolent mongrel! I am a Cardinal!”
The guard picked him up by his collar, sneering. “Yes, how dare I, when you’ve
been buggering my son, Ronald? My boy was employed here to tend to your horses,
because I thought I could trust you, you leech!”
“Oi, easy, Taft,” another guard shouted. “You’ve ruined his Royal Eminence’s
fancy robe and slippers! Don’t you know he’s a Cardinal?”
Stewart saw red and tried to break free from their hold when all the guards
laughed at his expense.
+
 
Arthur knew the second his resting and morning sickness had passed, that his
husband had changed his mind.
The was no buzz throughout his rooms about plans to ready him for the
investigation, no news on Cardinal Stewart’s condition in the dungeon. Arthur’s
relieved sigh that he could stomach his meal changed quickly to one of shear
annoyance and bubbling anger. The attendants finished dressing him in uneasy
silence.
Ariadne was in the parlor with tea when he and the attendants left the bedroom.
“Are you fond of ceremony, your Ma—”
“No.” He took his seat and crossed his arms. “Tell me what’s happened.”
She played with the ring he’d given her for a moment before meeting his eyes
again. “The King decided that Cardinal Stewart’s treason was too great the
personal insult too severe to wait a whole month to try him. He had the Earl of
Green take over the investigation…” When Arthur didn’t respond, she concluded,
“As well as the subsequent case, with Lord Yusuf.”
“So everything’s already been done? Just like that? Without me?”
She nodded. “Cardinal Stewart was executed on the third. The crows are still
picking at what’s left of his head outside on the gate.”
He sat forward and tried to rub his rage from his face.
“Don’t freak out,” she pleaded.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
Her eyes were on his stomach. “No stress this time," she muttered. "No
complications.”
He sat back with more force than he’d intended and gripped his hair. “Oh, of
course. I’d almost forgotten, after all those mornings of heaving my stomach
inside out and missing an entire month of my life because I was asleep. Thank
you for reminding me that my feelings don't actually matter now that the King's
child is inside me, Ariadne,” he griped.
She held up her hands. “I’m here for you, remember? I'm only telling you
truths. Don’t kill the messenger.”
He snorted. “I wouldn't, but Eames might, the second I doze off for my nap, as
he just gets so much done while I'm sleeping, doesn't he?” His shoulders sank.
He picked up his steaming tea. "Well, here's to the Cardinal. May his ego carry
him across the lake of fire and cloak him from the heat of the flames for all
eternity. Cheers."
 
“Arthur,” Eames shrugged, “I made a bad judgment call. There was no way you’d
be able to handle all this work in your condition.”
“I could have done it all from my bed, and had a secretary to fulfill all
errands.”
“It would have been much too risky. For this pregnancy, everything beyond your
bed is too risky for you.”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I had plans, Eames. Plans to set
his wrongs to right. The money he stole? Or the properties he took? Those
resources were exploited at a time when taxes are crippling your peasantry and
the country's farmers. They could do so much for their families and communities
with those resources. Now what's happened to them?"
Eames shrugged again. "They've been returned to the royal treasury where they
belong."
"So to you?"
"Yes."
"So that you may waste it on more gems and pearls for me?"
Eames' brow rose. "Arthur," he warned, "watch yourself."
"All I'm trying to say is just..." Eames was still glaring at him. His spirit
deflated, unable to attempt another explanation when the hundred he’d tried
already hadn’t gotten through Eames’ filter. What was the point of arguing now,
anyways? The case was over and Arthur was still only two and a half months into
his carrying. Arthur tossed up his arms and flopped back on the bed.
Eames wasn’t far behind him, getting them both comfortable in the pillows
before lying in between Arthur’s legs.
Arthur let him kiss his neck for a while before he asked, “May I speak?”
“Of course.”
“Can I—Could we take a break from having children after this one is born?” He
wasn’t surprised by the pang of guilt in his chest when Eames’ brow furrowed.
“I just feel that…I'd enjoy having some time for us to return to…” He locked
his fingers together to illustrate. “And I miss being able to wear belts, and
would love to spend more than four months out of my bed a year. I could go on
trips with you on the horses, and help Yusuf with his cataloging. And climb the
stairs up to the tower and my stars... At least until next spring?”
Eames chuckled, nodding. “I agree. I’m always more than a little jealous about
the lap time Joseph keeps getting and know it’ll be the same with this one. I
miss having you all to myself. I can just picture it now. My hands squeezing
your little waist, or holding you down as I stretch you open…” He hummed as if
tasting his favorite wine.
Arthur smiled, still staring up at the canopy with a new relief. He could
almost feel the heavy key to the public observatory in his hands. The sextant
still needed to be built, and Arthur was more than ready to see that happen. He
just needed to get through these remaining months in one piece and he would
have the time he needed. And when the next opportunity to prove himself arose,
he'd be ready.
+
 
Everyone, from Arthur to the midwives, to the servants who replaced the gold
fringe on the curtains and bed canopy each day, made sure to take every
imaginable precaution throughout the pregnancy. Arthur’s drapes remained
closed, the windows shut tight, his sheets and nightgowns changed every
morning. Herbal teas replaced grapes for the thing he despised most in the
world, and the only exercise he was allowed was simply walking to and from the
chamber pot when little Thomas decided to stomp on Arthur’s bladder. And he'd
thought Joseph had been a terror in his belly. Nothing compared to Thomas'
constant kicking.
Eames spent his nights in his own bed to keep his hands off and his nose clear
of Arthur’s scent. Arthur was restless beyond belief, stuck in bed with little
in the way of entertainment, save for his books and Lady Marisol’s attempts to
teach him sewing and needlepoint. That was, until Eames began to surprise him
with new books and the return of his history and language tutors.
Then, one day, when he was alone in his room, Ariadne presented him with a
gift.
He opened the box with a frown. Inside the velvet pouch was a hand’s length
object of polished wood, shining from its smooth lacquer coating. The wider
base tapered to a rounded tip, and at the center of the flat base, was a thin,
leather strap no wider than a few fingers could slip through. Confused, Arthur
picked it up by the strap and looked at Ariadne to explain. “What is this?”
She smiled. “Nine months is a long time to be without one’s mate. There’s a
craftsman in Eameston who makes these little toy helpers.”
“Little helpers for what? What am I to do with a toy?”
“Oh, Arthur,” she sighed. Even though they were alone, she still whispered it
in his ear.
His eyes went wide and he blushed at the toy swinging on his fingers.
“You’re welcome.” Ariadne chuckled. She was still smiling as she slipped into
her coat. “I’ll tell the others you’re taking a nap and ought not to be
disturbed. Have fun.”
Arthur kept a hand over his mouth, finding pleasure with the toy in the
mornings before the attendants arrived for his bath. In the afternoons, he
poured his heart into his lessons, and in the evenings when the old betas took
their leave, Arthur shared the scrolls and maps with Jeremy and his ladies,
telling them all he’d learned that day. He loved the old, dusty books the most,
but lamented their loss when his belly became too big to sit the books in his
lap. He tried to read lying on his side, but that only made him fall asleep
before the page could be turned.
And in the final months, as the heavy fall winds blew the heat of summer away
with the fruits and flowers, the chapels and monasteries across the realm
filled with prayers for the Queen.
Joseph’s first birthday was celebrated with gifts of new houses and titles, and
a stable full of prized racehorses from his father. But the baby cried for most
of the evening, missing his mother who was still stuck in bed.
+
 
Thomas was larger than Joseph when he was born. Arthur was in labor for two
whole days.
Eames wasn’t allowed into the room to see them for a week.
Arthur was on his side, sleeping in his sea of pillows with Thomas slumbering
under his protective arm when Eames walked in. Arthur stirred a little when
Eames kissed his forehead, and groaned as Eames carefully picked up Thomas to
see him.
He could have traveled back in time, looking at the mirror image of himself as
a child. His father had always remarked that Eames had been the biggest of his
three children, a true alpha, though unlike Eames, Thomas would never have to
rise up against his siblings. Eames would make sure of it. He tucked a little
blonde curl back under the baby’s cap and smiled as sleepy grey eyes gazed at
the light reflecting off of Eames’ silver chain of office.
Arthur groaned again when he stretched. His hand petted the space beside him,
but he dozed again as soon as Eames got comfortable.
He looked pale and a little thin against the pillows, Eames mused, stroking a
hand through Arthur’s wild hair. “You ought to always be on your best behavior,
big boy,” he whispered to Thomas. “Your mother went through a lot to have you.
And his loves you very much. Spoil that love and we shall both be in trouble
with the Queen.” He laughed quietly when Thomas offered him a goofy, dimpled
smile. “You have no idea what I’m saying at all, you adorable sack of potatoes,
do you, Thomas? Well, you’ll figure it out soon enough the first time Arthur
glares at you. And believe me, it doesn’t matter how cute you are, you’ll still
catch his daggers. Joseph did when he scratched Arthur’s thumb. So beware.”
+
 
Arthur fidgeted in his chair and heaved a heavy sigh. “Mr. Daniels, forgive me,
but I need a break.”
“A break from sitting?” Eames teased. “We’ve only been posing for an hour.” He
took Joseph and Thomas when Arthur glared.
Arthur stood with a grimace and walked a lap around the study. The artist’s
painting was turning out spectacularly, though the man’s time management left
much to be desired as always.
Eames rocked Thomas and let Joseph waddle on the carpet. “I’m the one who's
been standing this whole time. I wish I could sit. What’s got you so grumpy,
darling?” He frowned when Arthur clicked his tongue at Joseph when the boy fell
and began to cry.
Arthur quickly gave Joseph to the nearest attendants and walked another slow
lap around the room. “I wish I could sit too, but someone rushed me out of my
lying in for this portrait.”
“But Daniels is due to travel abroad soon. I wanted to be sure he could do this
before he left.”
“Mama, take!” Joseph ordered, tumbling over Arthur’s foot.
Arthur groaned when he picked him up, cutting his eye at the attendants for
letting the boy fall again. He kissed away Joseph’s frustrated tears. “It’s
alright, you’re already so good at running. We’re all very proud.” He turned to
Eames. “I’m tired."
The King handed Thomas to Jeremy. “Sweetheart, we’ll take a nap together once
Daniels’ is finished, yeah?” He tried to reassure him with a smile, but
Arthur’s expression was heartbreaking. “Do you really need to lie down? Is… Are
you alright, darling?”
Arthur blushed as he made sure no one but Eames could hear him. “I feel a
little like I…might have to call the doctor back, just to make sure that
I’m…healing…correctly…down there,” he muttered. “I’m sure it’s fine,
just…incredibly uncomfortable in that chair with Thomas in one arm and Joseph
bouncing around in the other.”
“Hurt?” Joseph gasped, clutching at Arthur and sniffing at him diligently the
way he'd seen his father do countless times, but his lip quivered in concern
when he looked from Eames to Arthur. “Papa, fix mama?” He clutched at Arthur’s
necklace and furs, his brown eyes filling with fresh tears as he looked to
Eames for help.
“Oh no,” Arthur groaned, covering Joseph’s ears. “Why can’t they remain as
oblivious newborns longer?”
Eames waved his hand. "I've cursed in front of him a dozen times. It's no big
deal."
Arthur was too tired to properly reprimand Eames for his confession. He kissed
Joseph again and rubbed his back. “Don’t cry. Papa will take care of me,
Joseph. It’s alright.”
“I promise.” Eames’ smile was unabashedly cheeky when he covered Joseph’s ears
again and whispered, “Arthur, I swear I bloody love when you call me papa. You
have no idea what it does to my brain.” He ruffled Joseph’s hair. “No need to
be embarrassed, my darling. Your little alpha boy only wants to protect his
mum, don’t you Joseph?” 
“That’s very noble of you, Joseph.” He put him back on the floor, thinking the
boy would want to run around more, but Joseph only stood at his feet, keeping
his balance by holding Arthur’s leg. He watched his parents speak softly to
each other with a critical eye, making sure Eames was making Arthur feel better
as he’d promised.
 
This winter was much colder than past years. Eames was bundled up in thicker,
heavier furs as he left his last meeting of the day. In the two months since
Thomas’ christening, the treaty with the King of Runes was still mostly up in
the air. Eames desperately wanted to relax tonight.
He was yawning when he arrived in Arthur’s chambers. Arthur and the attendants
were just completing their dance lessons with the tutor.
“There was a rug in the middle of this floor when I last visited,” he
commented, frowning. “What’s happened to it?”
Arthur and the attendants rose from their curtsying, snickering behind their
hand. “If they will be kind enough to permit me to lie and blame my poor
dancing skills on it,” Arthur explained as a few ladies giggled, “the rug had a
vendetta against me and wouldn’t let me dance properly. For it’s defiance, I
had the grooms roll it up and put it in the corner.”
“Of course, I understand.” He smirked. “And your dancing is now superb?”
Two of the ladies and Jeremy outright laughed.
Arthur cut his eye at them before returning Eames’ smile. “Absolutely, your
Majesty.” He gasped when Eames grabbed his waist and pulled him close.
“Well then,” the King said, “teach me what you’ve learned.”
He hadn’t been this close to Eames in much too long of a time. He swallowed.
“Majesty, as if I can remember such complicated steps with your hands on me.”
Eames’ brow rose. He squeezed the tiny waist in his hands. “Good point.”
As soon the door shut behind them, Eames hoisted Arthur on his writing desk and
pushed all its contents to the floor.
“Wait,” Arthur panted, “what are those?”
“Really, Arthur, now isn't the best time to let your attention wander to a
spilled stack of books.”
“But those aren’t my books.” He nudged at Eames to move back. His husband
nearly whined when Arthur plucked one of the books from the floor and began to
read. “Oh, I remember these!”
“That’s good, now I can fuck you. Perfect.” Eames found his path blocked again
with a hand at his chest.
“Jeremy found these in Cardinal Stewart’s office. He said they were filled with
stories.” He sat down at his chair and leafed through several pages.
Eames had to pace the room to quell his lust. “Why on earth did you keep them?
They’re probably cursed. They should have been burned with the others.”
“I’d forgotten about them,” he muttered, distracted.
Eames missed the blush that bloomed over Arthur’s face and neck. “What do you
intend to do with them now?” He honestly didn’t care, but thought it polite to
pretend. He glanced over his shoulder when Arthur didn’t respond. “What is it?”
Arthur swallowed. “This… Oh my… This is about me.”
“What?”
“I suppose this book began as a personal diary, but then…he's trailed off into…
He kept going with it, too.” He closed his legs and swallowed again.
“Fantasies.”
Eames stared at him deadpan. “Pardon? No, no, I understood what you meant, I
just… That old man, that I trusted and who spent plenty of time with you
unsupervised, was writing trash about you the whole time?”
“I mean…if you can call this trash. I loathe admitting this, but…they’re really
good, actually.”
“They?”
Arthur nodded, still distracted. “I didn’t know people crafted whole stories
about this type of thing,” he muttered, flipping through more pages, “but it’s
filled with so many things I’ve never even heard of before. What does frottage
mean?” His brow furrowed as if he were researching a scholarly document. He
turned the page. “Oh…that’s…oh. He’s drawn pictures.” He blushed, and closed
his legs tighter. “What position is this?” He turned the book sideways for a
better angle and blushed even brighter. “Wow.”
“Enough,” Eames ordered. “I don’t like you having this trash in your
possession. I wished I’d killed that man with my own hands now. To think that
he’d been conjuring up these tales about you, it’s unacceptable. It's vile.”
Arthur got up from his chair quickly and moved out of Eames’ reach when the
King made to take the book away. “Wait, Eames, look at this! There are
pictures, and… Oh my…”
Eames’ brow shot up higher as he stared at Arthur. “Are you getting off on
this?”
Arthur glanced at him sheepishly and shrugged.
Eames could almost taste Arthur’s arousal now, his scent a siren call. He
snatched the book from Arthur’s hands and read the page. “‘The little devil
harlot’—is he fucking serious with this, Arthur? The Queen of Engston and my
mate, ‘a devil harlot?’” He stared at the page, fuming.
Arthur squeezed Eames’ bicep, peering over his shoulder. “Keep reading.”
“‘The little devil harlot was lifted up high by his knees until only his head
and shoulders remained on the floor. The second pirate kept hold of his legs as
the first continued to pump the mewling omega full of his thick, white essence.
It trickled down his bottom and past his balls, as the captive had been ridden
hard by most of the others on board and his cup already well overflowed with
tokens from each of those burly men’—Arthur, for goodness sake! I’m going to
burn these, then drag him out of his grave and burn him too—”
“No, keep going,” Arthur pleaded. “I swear it gets better still.”
Eames turned to look at him, completely floored. “You’re honestly enjoying
this?”
Arthur pressed his body tight to Eames’ back, still peering at him from under
his lashes. He took one of Eames’ hands and put it under his tunic. His own
hand cupped Eames’ length through his codpiece. “Something tells me you’re
enjoying this as well, your Majesty, in spite of your outrage.” His smile
really was the devil’s, bashful and lewd all at once. “There’s a part in the
next paragraph about me choking on the captain’s horn as I’m ridden by two of
the other pirates at the same time.”
Eames swallowed, feeling dizzy. Arthur was right. He hadn’t exactly ever
pictured his sweet, innocent omega in this extreme of a fantasy, but the
thought of reclaiming him, after massacring all these weak betas who’d dared to
touch what was his…
He had Arthur on the bed, in the pillows, before he could blink again. Arthur
happily lifted his tunic and untied his stockings. He spread his legs wide, his
fingers skillfully freeing Eames’ cock and stroking it as Eames lay on his
side, the book open between them. Eames thrust his cock in Arthur’s grip as he
turned to a random passage in the book several pages along. 
“You’ve been captured again in this one, it seems,” Eames remarked, his fingers
pushed deep into Arthur’s heat. “‘The boy had led them on a merry chase, but
he’d grown tired and was nearly overtaken. His tunic had been ripped off and
discarded in the high grass some few paces back. He’d thought himself safe
hiding up in the trees, but the soldiers only climbed up behind him and pulled
him down. The smallest horn seized his tight, virginal channel first, shaping
the way for the others to follow after. The men rode the thieving omega with
delight, making him pay with his youthful body for what he’d stolen from
them’—good god, Arthur—‘Each man made a fountain with the boy, for as their
seed was pumped into him, the omega’s own essence poured out from his cock and
onto the grass.
“‘However, there were too many men still yet to ride him, and the boy’s
pleasure was nearly all spent. But, in an act of charity to these hungering
men, the omega freed his mouth from the cock he’d been suckling and suggested a
different passage for those left to use. Alas, as they rode him on his belly,
with a man under him and one over him, the soldiers found this path to be as
untrodden as his first passage had been. They rejoiced in his second
deflowering.’ Oh my god.” Eames moaned into Arthur’s neck as Arthur came around
his fingers.
Arthur pushed the book away. “Eames, please.” He pulled Eames over him, moaning
desperately when Eames grabbed his legs under his knees, mimicking the drawing
of the pirate, and drove into Arthur with abandon. He gathered his tunic high
on his chest to toy with his own nipples when Eames tore off his belt. He
stroked his cock quickly, his eyes closed and his lips parted. Eames grunted
over him, his hold on Arthur’s legs leaving bruises. Arthur was near screaming
when Eames’ thrusts pushed him up the headboard. His body was overcome with
rapture a second time when Eames’ knot swelled inside him. They collapsed
together.
“If you dare to burn those books,” Arthur panted under Eames’ bulk, still
trembling from his release, “then I swear to god, I will never let you fuck me
again. Ever.”
Eames hummed into Arthur’s hair, unable to say more than that.
+
 
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
     My apologies for missing the update last week! This in no way makes
     up for it, but more's on the way! Enjoy! :D
+
 
Eames wanted to run to Arthur’s rooms. He didn’t even bother to glance at the
people who bowed as he passed. The somnacin was ready. He and Yusuf had been
tested it all week. He itched to use it with Arthur.
He was contemplating sending Arthur’s tutor home early just to get back to
Yusuf’s study at once, but he almost ran over the elderly tutor when he rounded
the corridor.
“My apologies, your Majesty!” The feeble beta’s cane wobbled as he bowed.
Eames caught the man’s shoulders to stop him from bending any lower. “Nonsense,
Mr. Grant. It’s entirely my fault.” He paused. “You’re leaving awfully early.
The morning’s just over.”
“Oh, yes well, Arthur’s been so very studious lately, always with his head in
his books, so I decided cut the day short—if you don’t mind, of course, your
Majesty.”
“Yeah?” Eames’ chest swelled with pride. “That’s fantastic.” He rushed into the
parlor, smiling to see him still wrapped up in his book.
That was, until he realized what book it was. “Oh, for god’s sake, Arthur, is
that what you’ve been reading this whole time?”
Arthur frowned, turning the book upside down. “I still don’t understand this
one,” he whispered. “Eames, is this position really possible?”
Eames clenched and unclenched his fists. It took nearly everything he had in
him not to envision Arthur in such a shameless pose. He waved his hand when
Arthur tried to show him the page. He didn’t need to take a closer look. He
knew that position quite well.
“Can we try thi—”
“Arthur,” Eames warned, his hands on his hips.
“Fine,” he grumbled, slumping in his chair. “I didn’t mean to make you cross
with me.” He glanced up at him through his lashes. “Sorry, papa.”
His codpiece instantly became much too tight. Eames groaned and covered his
face, missing Arthur’s smirk. “Get up, little monster.” He pointed Arthur to
his bedroom. “Go. Quickly. Now.”
Arthur snickered and ran to his room, taking the book with him.
+
 
“You tricked me,” Arthur said glaring at Eames as Yusuf hummed about the room,
preparing the somnacin brew. “I thought we were going to—” he glanced at the
elder werewolf and couldn’t finish his sentence. He squirmed in his chair
again, blushing deeply.
Eames smirked. “You tricked your tutor first. You made him think that you were
studying, when in truth the history of the Isles was the last thing on your
mind. You needed to be disciplined.”
“No one’s ever done…what you did to me before.” He squirmed again, certain
Eames’ handprints would be on his sore ass for days now.
“I’d certainly hope not.” He shook his head when Arthur stared lustfully at his
big hands as Eames strummed them on the arms of his chair. “Although,” Eames
whispered, “I worry that you may have enjoyed it a little too much.”
Arthur snapped out of his daydreaming and glared again. He cleared his throat
loudly. “Of course I... Of course I didn't. That was cruel. Plus, I don’t see
why I have to learn about war and conquest, anyways. It’s not like it'll ever
be useful to me, of all people.”
Eames studied him for a long moment before he huffed. “It’s always good to be
prepared and knowledgeable in all circumstances.”
“Well…I’ve learned just as much from my history books as those others…”
Before Eames could comment further, the heavy, earthy scent of the crushed
somnacin leaves and soaking roots filled the room as the water boiled in the
pot.
Arthur was nervous when Yusuf handed him his cup. He saw Eames chug his down,
instantly getting drowsy. He peered into the cup suspiciously. 
“Drink it quickly the moment it cools,” Yusuf explained. “Then when you start
to feel sleepy, take the King’s hand so that you both can dream together. Have
fun.”
Arthur gagged at first on the surprising taste. It was incredibly bitter and
spicy, but he pinched his nose and drank it all. Eames was already asleep when
he glanced over. “Is his stronger, your Grace?”
“Werewolf blood burns through everything rather quickly, so yes. But also, he’s
just been drinking the brew relentlessly, so his body’s more used to it. Just
relax, Majesty," he assured him. "It’ll start to work soon enough.”
He was right. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier. He took Eames’ hand,
blinked, and found his vision a little blurry as he stood in the middle of a
moss-covered clearing in a thick forest. He was sure he was in the woods just
beyond the palace, but the trees were so much taller, the leaves and grass near
inpenetrable beyond the clearing. The smell of the somnacin followed him here,
clung to the misty air and down his nose. 
“How did I get here?” There was no one around to answer. He rub at his eyes,
but his vision was still unclear.
“Give it a few more rounds,” he heard the voice echo behind him, “and
everything will be clear as real life.”
Eames stood on the trunk of a massive, fallen tree. He eyed Arthur with wonder
when he jumped down. “Wow,” he breathed. “You look like an angel, glowing in
those lovely white robes and pearls. Beautiful.”
Arthur looked down at himself and only saw a plain, brown tunic. Nothing like
what he would normally wear. It was much too boring and frayed. “Really?”
“Yes, my darling. Exquisite. Even the silver crown on your hair glitters like a
thousand diamonds.”
But there wasn’t anything on Arthur’s head.
”And what do you think of these fine garments?” Eames puffed out his chest and
turned in a circle for Arthur to see. “We matched, though, these furs make me
look like a bear to your dove,” he beamed.
Arthur hid his frown. He expected to see Eames’ kingly clothes appear the way
they did in Eames’ mind, but Eames looked quite poor in his own clothes, though
it was obvious that Eames couldn’t see what Arthur saw, and Arthur could not
see the angel Eames saw. "Very handsome." He wondered what it could mean.
“So,” Eames smiled, “we can do whatever we want here. Any ideas, darling? Yusuf
and I have been building castles and scaling the mountains.”
Arthur thought it over for a long while. “Could we have sex on a cloud?”
“Ha! Oh, I love your imagination!” He strutted forward with his arms open,
ready to pick Arthur up.
But Arthur stopped him at the last minute. “Actually, no. I agree with what you
said earlier. I’ve been spending too much time with my head in the wrong place.
Let’s do something else.”
His arms fell. “Darling…but…”
He hushed him and closed his eyes, concentrating hard. "I know just the thing."
Eames was about to ask him what he was doing when a giant lungful of steaming
breath blew past him.
Arthur blinked, looking behind Eames. “It worked!”
Eames stood still as a statue for several minutes, trying to fathom what Arthur
had done. “Arthur…you dreamed up…a bloody full grown dragon?” He turned around,
in shock to see Arthur petting the dragon’s nose.
“Of course. He’s gorgeous. Even his scales are hot to touch!” He ran his hands
down the dragon's jaw. "What do dragons eat? Do you think we could fly on his
back?"
Eames tried to stay calm though he could feel the need to shift prickling at
the back of his neck. He swallowed. “Arthur, do you know what happens when we
die in a dream like this?”
Arthur’s hand stilled. “No.”
“Neither do I.”
He paled. "Oh...I see. I made a mistake, didn't I?"
"Well, on the bright side, there's some chance, you may be able to brag that
you're the only person in history to have every petted a dragon, depending on
what happens in the next minute or two. Take my hand." He inched forward, his
hand reaching out slowly as the beast's eyes zeroed in on Arthur as the perfect
prey.
As soon as Arthur stepped back, the dragon growled. A twig snapped under
Arthur’s foot and the next thing he knew, Eames’ wolf form had Arthur's arm in
his mouth, rushing them both away as the dragon’s wings expanded. They weren’t
fast enough. The fire that consumed everything around them was blinding just
before the burn.
They both woke up gasping for air as if they’d nearly drowned, still clutching
each other’s hand.
“What on earth happened?” Yusuf demanded. “Are you alright? Should I call the
doctor?”
Eames waved his hands. “No,” he choked. “We’re fine. My god, that was
exhilarating! Fuck me, Arthur, did you feel that?”
Arthur sank low in his chair, his eyes wide and his skin flushed. He blood
still felt like it was boiling in his veins. “That was…”
Eames jumped out of his chair, startling Yusuf. He quickly boiled more of the
somnacin to put them back under. "Keep a close eye on us, Yusuf."
"Of course, Majesty but—"
They woke up on a boat in the middle of a vast sea.
“What are we doing here?” Arthur looked to Eames. He still didn't feel well
from the first dream. 
“No idea. I haven’t figured out how to control where we land yet, although,
your dragon creation was impressive, Arthur. Think of a sea monster. Quickly.”
Arthur frowned, suddenly feeling exhausted. “But we died last time. I think I’d
much prefer sex on a cloud after all.”
“Come on, Arthur. Just once more?”
He sighed as Eames’ insistence.
They didn’t even see the monster under the water when it appeared beneath them
and swallowed the boat whole.
When Arthur woke up this time, he was on the floor, with a worried Yusuf trying
to pick him up. His skin tingled, his brain turned to a bowl of mush, his
throat raw, and his eye stinging. But still...there was something indescribable
about the whole thing, some entirely new feeling deep inside him. Dying in the
dreams felt like the greatest pleasure imaginable. As his first symptoms
continued to lessen, he could could his body reacting as if he’d orgasmed a
dozen times.
“Fuck, it just keeps getting better!” Eames proclaimed. He looked frayed, his
eyes wide. "Yusuf, you must come down with us! You wouldn’t believe what dying
is like.” 
When the three of them joined hands and went under, they were already
freefalling from the sky, hurtling towards the ground. Yusuf screamed the whole
way down. Eames and Arthur never lost their hold on one another.  
They all woke from the dream with a groan.
“I don’t get it,” Yusuf moaned, hurrying to a jar to catch his sick. "That was
horrifying, Majesty. Utterly terrible."
“Let’s not do that again, husband,” Arthur agreed. He clutched at his own
stomach. “I still feel like my insides are outside.” He glanced at Eames, but
the alpha was already up and mixing more brew. “I’ve had enough for today, I
think.”
“One more? Please?” Eames grinned as both Yusuf and Arthur groaned again. 
Arthur was saved by a message from his lady that Paul had arrived. He couldn’t
feel his legs when he first tried to stand, and had to marvel at Eames’
strength. The alpha didn’t seem affected in the slightest.
+
 
His head didn’t clear until he was nearly back in his rooms.
“Goodness, Arthur, you look like hell,” Paul said, looking him over worried.
“I’m sure,” he grumbled, finding a chair to sit in. He clutched his head.
“Are you alright?”
“Fine, fine. How was your trip?”
“Good. How are Joseph and the King? I hear you’ve had another little one.”
“They’re all doing fine. I doubt if you could honestly call the youngest a
‘little one’ though. I swear if I didn’t die the first time around, he nearly
took me out of this world even after he was born, but…I love that big boy. He’s
still growing so fast. Joseph as well. Granted, he’s certain to take more after
me than his father. And what of your family, Paul?”
“The wife is with child.”
Arthur rubbed his face. “That’s wonderful.” He was happy, but it didn’t come
through in his voice at all. He suppressed another groan.
“As is her mistress,” his brother said to his lap.
“Oh, Paul.” He tsked and really looked at his brother for the first time, now
that he could see straight. “You’re wearing black.”
Paul nodded when he sighed. “I am. That’s the main reason why I’ve come,
actually. I,” he glanced around the room, “I have a new letter for you, from
Mal, but my visit with her was cut short, you see.” He stared at his hands.
“Father has past. He…he died not long after your mother sent for me and Gerard,
as we were both abroad.”
Arthur opened his mouth to concur that he’d heard Paul, but nothing could come
out at first. What could he say of a man he’d hardly known to a brother who’d
clearly always loved that same man? “I’m sorry, Paul.”
He managed a quick smile. “Don’t be sorry for me, dearest brother. Feel for the
realm’s subjects, who are now under Michel’s command. He plans to run the
country like a convent.”
“Were you able to see him, father, before he died?”
The answer was clear on Paul’s face. “Arthur, we don’t have to talk about this,
if—”
“It’s alright. I remember the last time I saw him, he didn’t even speak to me.
So odd that he’s been said to have loved my mother and yet…”
“No, no, no, Arthur. That’s madness. They both love you very much. The problem
is that, as I’m sure you know well now as a sovereign yourself, that such a
high status often commands all the time a man has. You look at your newborn one
week and before you know it, they’re getting married and having kids of their
own, and you’re left on your deathbed wondering where all the time went. He did
ask about you, Arthur. He even sent you these gifts here.” Paul waved a hand at
the large trunk against the wall. He sighed, understanding why Arthur wasn't
overly impressed or reassured. He stood, looking pained. “As your older
brother, I’ll gladly permit you the chance to mourn in private for now, to give
you some time, and will return tomorrow.”
Arthur blinked out of his fog and stood with him. “Yes, of course. Thank you.
You must be tired from the voyage. I’ll send Jeremy and a groom with you to get
you settled in properly.” He watched him leave wanted to shout after him or
throw a book at his head. He hated when Paul behaved like his other brothers,
void of all comfort or care when it was needed the most. Arthur may not have
known the man, but King Miles was still—had still been—his father, and Paul
still his brother and still clearly in need of his own comforting.
He was dressed in the black mourning clothes he was only permitted to wear in
private, and laid on his bed to read his holy books, though they too possessed
nothing that would ease his mind. He had the attendants call on Eames, knowing
that his presence might do the trick.
The minutes ticked by to hours. Arthur had read the same page of the holy book
so many times his head ached again, but still the King had not shown.
He meant to have the attendants send for him again when the door creaked
opened.
Arthur sat up enough to see who was there, but frowned when he saw no one. He
was startled by the soft pitter-patter of scuttling feet on the floor. A small
wolf face and paws peeked over the edge of the bed as a second pup tried to
climb up the bedpost with no success before they both disappeared again.
“Joseph?” Arthur asked.
The larger pup leaped up the bed with the smaller one’s nape held firmly in his
mouth. Both wolves scrambled up the bed to lick and paw at Arthur as they let
loose a stream of high-pitched howls, proudly showing him their vocal skills.
Lady Catherine rushed into the room, flanked by her ladies and bowed quickly.
“Forgive me, Majesty. We were preparing their baths when Joseph caused his
brother to transform.”
“And they ran away, all the way here?” He beamed, laughing when the pups
continued to howl together, standing over Arthur’s legs.
“Our sincerest apologies, your Majesty.”
“Nonsense, Madam. I could do for some company. I'll have Lady Miriam call you
when they're ready to return to the nursery.” He turned over with a pleased
smiled. “Look at you, Thomas!” Arthur rubbed his ears and belly when the wolf
wiggled on his back beside him, watching his mother with love showing even
through his golden eyes and goofy pup's grin. "Your papa is going to hate that
he missed this, but hopefully that'll teach him a lesson not to ignore his
summons, wherever he is. He's probably still dreaming."
He’d never seen Thomas as a wolf before. The white and tawny pup was nearly
twice Joseph’s size though he wasn’t even a year old.
Joseph stopped his howling to watch Arthur dote on his little brother. He
whined and tried to climb over Thomas to claim his mother’s attention, but
Thomas rolled him off. They growled at each other, both showing off their
dominance to intimidate the other.
It was quite an endearing thing to witness until Joseph launched his head into
Thomas’s hind leg like a battering ram, trying to force him to submit, but the
larger wolf whined pitifully and pawed at Joseph until the smaller wolf fell
over. Arthur stopped Thomas from sitting on his brother.
“Alright, that’s enough, you two.” Arthur picked up Joseph the way he used to
with Sophie and turned on his side to snuggle with him, effectively separating
the two from fighting.
Only now, Thomas looked at Arthur giving his brother all his affection with
dismay. He forced his nose under Arthur’s arm until he could get most of his
body into the cuddle as well. Joseph and Thomas both licked Arthur’s face until
he laughed and petted them both to sleep. 
When Eames at last arrived in the early morning hours, all three were fast
asleep; Joseph still tucked under Arthur’s arm and Thomas sleeping half on
Arthur’s back and half on his head. 
+
 
“Where on earth were you?” Arthur demanded over breakfast.
“I was with Yusuf.”
“You had an extremely important treaty meeting that you missed, Majesty, and
your boys came to visit, but you weren’t here to receive them or my brother.”
“But darling, what can be done now? The advancements Yusuf and I have already
made with the somnacin are extraordinary. We could use it on our soldiers,
train them combat without ever having to step foot in a real battlefield until
they’re ready.”
“That’s wonderful, Majesty, but such a measure might be unnecessary, in the
event that the treaty meeting’s not postponed for a sixth time. You mustn’t
forget your promise. Peacemaking has to go both ways, and so far, if you don’t
mind me saying, of course, you’ve kept King Dominic waiting far longer than any
man ought to be made to.”
Eames watched Arthur butter his toast with a look that proved beyond a doubt
that he cared little for talk of treaties. He leaned in close with a lewd grin.
“You’re right, as always. Today, I shall be on my best behavior and tend to my
duties. But first…give me a place to sheathe my war sword and I’ll show you my
real peacemaker, darling.”
Arthur glared at him deadpan, feeling Eames’ hand slide beneath his tunic under
the table. He blushed, trying to hide his smirk. “Majesty, stop that.”
“Just allow my cannons to stay planted firmly in your trenches, darling—”
“Eames, stop,” he muttered. “That doesn’t sound as erotic as you think it
does.” But it was no use saying anything. Eames was on a roll.
“My phoenix in your nest… Serenade you with my silent flute…” He was even
winking and nudging Arthur’s arm. “Tickle your kidneys.”
Arthur tried to suppress his laugh too late, covering his mouth. “You’re worse
than I am with those books!” he hissed, still attempting modesty with the
attendants and servants watching them. “At least I memorized positions, not any
of those terrible innuendos.”
“Can you imagine how filthy those books would be if he’d truly known how alphas
and omegas copulate?”
Arthur grimaced. “No, no. I much prefer pretending that the books magically
created themselves, instead of thinking at all about the man who’d written
them.”
“Definitely true. Perish all thought of what I previously said. Now,” his brow
rose as he stood, “should I leave my clothes on when we get to your bed, or
take them all off? That’s the only question we ought to be contemplating.”
Arthur couldn’t agree more.
+
 
***** Chapter 19 *****
+
 
Arthur was awoken in the middle of the night by something heavy crushing his
left side. He wiggled out from under it, still dozing, until he noticed how
impossibly wet he was.
He moaned and choked fully awake. “Eames? What the hell?”
Eames groaned and stretched, mumbling something as he too woke up in a less
than wholesome state. Now that he was awake, he glanced over at Arthur. “My
rut’s tried to surprise us this time. The bastard.”
Arthur’s eyes went wide. “Oh no. Then you have to leave, Eames. You can’t
stay.”
“Why not?”
Eames’ pouting gripped at Arthur’s heart. “Remember, papa, it’s only been a
handful of months since I had Thomas.”
He hummed. “I do forget sometimes with his size.”
“Right. So, you have to leave. I’m in no shape to have another.”
“Thank god at least one of us has the capacity to think straight, darling. I’ll
go, and perhaps…see you when it’s over? You and the boys could go on a holiday
to one of your houses in the meantime.”
For some reason, thinking of leaving made Arthur’s chest hurt. He nodded.
“Good. Thank you, pa—Majesty.”
“Good night, my darling. And safe travels tomorrow, alright?” Eames leaned
forward to kiss Arthur’s forehead but instead his tongue ended up in his mouth.
They kissed feverously, grabbing each other’s nightgowns under the sheets.
Arthur summoned up his will power and nudged Eames back.
“Oh god. Sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Alright. I’m leaving this time.
Good night, Arthur.”
Arthur nodded, still feeling his arousal soak through his clothes. “Majesty.”
Eames threw off the covers to leave. The full force of his heady scent and
Arthur’s hit them both at once. Hard.
“This is bad,” Arthur panted, gripping Eames’ hair as he devoured his lush
lips.
“Not bad,” he muttered between kisses. He tore open Arthur’s gown. “We
just…must…be…careful.” He moaned when Arthur sucked deep bruises into his
stubble-covered neck. He grinned and pulled Arthur under him, his cock gliding
in his slickness.
Arthur managed to pull away for a moment. “Wait. Wait! Eames, get the oil.”
He moved to reach for it but groaned. “No, no, no, I can't have you there, I
need you here.”
Arthur’s head fell back against the pillows when Eames’ cock head push in. “But
we can’t. You’re rut is too strong now to risk it.”
“Darling, please? It’s been ages since we knotted. Just this once, like we did
before. If you ride me, we'll be fine.”
Arthur breathed in another lungful of their mixed scents and trembled just
thinking about that particular kind of stretch and fullness that only a knot
could bring that would send him into raptures long missed and much longed for.
He groaned in frustration. “I need it. Give it to me.”
He climbed onto Eames’ lap. They both shouted when Arthur sank onto his
throbbing cock and ground his hips. His nails dug into Eames’ chest as he
bounced, greedy and drunk on Eames' scent. Eames watched him ride his cock in a
daze, swallowed whole by the intensity of their fucking.
Arthur came quietly, tumbling backwards onto the bed as Eames lapped up his
come.
All sense of care vanished. Eames lifted him back onto his cock and groaned
when Arthur squeezed around the base. Eames had never fucked Arthur harder
before. He turned them, pressing Arthur's back flush against the bedboard and
covered him with his bulk, caged him in and floated away to the sweet sounds of
Arthur’s whimpering gasps, grunting when Arthur’s slender fingers scratched
deep in his back and shoulders. It was a dream, heaven, some ecstasy his mind
could not describe with the lowly words of mortals.
Arthur’s hair was wild around his flushed face, his lips bitten and red, his
skin was covered in bruises and nips from neck to chest, and all the while,
Eames held him captive in his lap in the embrace of his thick arms wrapped
around Arthur’s little waist.
In his rut Eames roared when Arthur bit him. He turned him around and kept him
pinned to the headboard, holding him in place with his teeth latched onto
Arthur’s neck. Though he was crushed between the board and Eames, Arthur still
pushed back into everything Eames gave him until they both came, shouting
curses at each other as Eames’ knot swelled.
“Eames?” Arthur muttered, still held in Eames' lap as they tried to regain
their bearings.
“Hm?” he heard Eames grunt into his heaving back.
“Am I dead? Did I die? Because that was…”
Eames tried to shrug, but his shoulder burned and his muscles had all been
turned to a bag of down feathers. “I think so…I know I died too. Definitely.”
“Oh…okay.” He winced when Eames tried to shift the knot. “Feel better?”
“Mhm.”
“Good… Let’s do that again.”
“The second I can feel my legs? Yeah, darling…we definitely ought to.”
+
 
Arthur was surprised to wake at noon and more than annoyed when he learned why.
Eames had left his bed in the early morning as he always did, but instead of
attending his meetings, he’d spent his time with the somnacin and didn’t summon
Arthur for breakfast in the hopes that the omega wouldn’t notice Eames
neglecting his duties again.
It was any wonder Mal’s husband hadn’t backed out of the treaty yet.
Whatever his and Eames’ pheromones had shielded him from feeling the night
before, Arthur definitely felt it now. He ignored all the giggles and hidden
smiles from the attendants and grimaced as he made his way to the King’s
chambers for an overdue breakfast.
He shook his head at his husband’s charming smile when he sat across from him.
Now Arthur knew where Joseph got his from; the kind of smile when he knew he
was trouble for scratching Lady Catherine and hoping to avoid Arthur’s glare.
“I’m surprised to see you so energized, your Majesty, considering the fact that
you haven’t slept since…” He eyed Eames’ neck where all his bites had
disappeared.
Eames chuckled, sharing the memory. He breathed in Arthur’s scent, remembering
how perfectly they had intertwined last night. His face fell. “Oh my god…”
“Hm?” He looked up from his milk.
Eames swallowed, bracing himself. “Your scent’s ch—”
“No. I told you before, your idea of a joke isn’t very funny, Eames. You’ll
jinx me if you say that again.”
“Darling…” He held up his hands. “I’m not joking. Your scent—”
“Eames, please. I’m too sore and annoyed with you. Don't push me.”
“Arthur, I’m telling you the truth.” His face told no lies.
Arthur’s mouth opened and closed twice before his eyes went wide.
Eames snorted at his expression and threw back his head with laughter. “Oh my
god. We’re having another baby.” He doubled over in an uproar of hysterics. “My
god,” he wheezed. “Oh, how I pity any girl who uses our method of
contraception, darling.”
Arthur stated back, before he snapped. “You certainly don’t pity me, though, do
you?” Before Eames could say more, Arthur tossed up his hands and shooed away
his attendants as he stood to leave.
“Arthur, what’s the matter with you?” Eames tried to embrace him, but was met
with a glare.
“I’m tired—Don’t follow me.” He was at the door when a thought struck him. He
paused. “Did you know this would happen? Was that the plan?”
Eames huffed. “Seriously? Are you…” Angrily he sent off the attendants.
“Arthur, of course I didn’t! It worked before, remember? You didn’t conceive a
child all those other times.”
“You weren’t having your rut those times.”
“Well…” He scratched his beard. “I’ll just have to be extra careful next time,
but…none of this stops me from being overjoyed. Arthur, we’re having another
baby. Aren’t you happy too?”
His hands balled into fists. “Eames, you don’t understand. I’m tired.”
“Then rest. You've been working so hard with the boys and on the observatory.
You deserve to rest.”
“No, I’m tired-tired. I meant what I said, Eames. I wanted a break, a chance to
do more than sleep all the time. I’m still…more than a little relaxed down
there from having Thomas," he blushed, embarrassed, "which I know you’ve
noticed, and my breast haven’t fully gone away yet," he crossed his arms self-
consciously over his chest, "but already, I’m having our third? My body cannot
handle this.”
“Arthur, I’m sorry. I am, but, darling, what can we do? What if we’re having a
girl? Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
His shoulders sank. “It would, yes, of course.” He covered his stomach. “That
would be lovely, but it would be just as lovely if we’d conceived her a year
from now.”
“I know, but…at least now, she won’t have to be so far apart in age from her
brothers. She won’t have to miss learning how to hunt with them, or their
lessons with the tutors. After she, or he, is born, then we could take a
break." He took Arthur's hands and massaged his palms. "Since we can't outrun
our heats while we're in them, I’ll figure out how to time these hellish ruts
in advance so we can plan this next time.”
Arthur sighed. “But what if we have another boy?” His eyes narrowed when Eames
grinned. He snatched his hands out of Eames' light hold. “Would you have my
belly remain full until we do have a daughter? You would, wouldn’t you?”
“No!” He tilted his head. “But…”
“Never mind.”
“Arthur—”
“I’m happy. I am. I’m just going to lie down. I’ll see you tomorrow for
breakfast, if my resting doesn’t start before then. If it does, well I
suppose…I’ll see you next month, won’t I?”
+
 
He did see him the next day, and the day after, and the day after that.
Arthur stared down at his stomach. “What’s the matter with me? Why aren’t I
sleeping right now?”
Ariadne shrugged, pealing an apple for him. “You’re still yawning, though.”
“It’s been three weeks and nothing’s happened more than that. My resting will
over before it's even begun. That's not normal.”
Everyone continued to ponder this as another week passed, especially Eames.
It didn’t hit Arthur until he was halfway back to his chambers from the chapel
that something could be wrong.
He slowed to a halt in the corridor and grabbed Ariadne’s hand. He excused the
attendants and walked quickly with her back to the chapel.
He sat down at the first pew they reached as if he’d swooned. “Ariadne," he
pressed his hand protectively over his stomach, "what if…what if I cursed the
baby by accident? What if… I mean, I barely sleep at night at all, and my
stomach is still flat! It should at least be a tiny bit rounded by now, but
nothing's happening!" He watched her face fall and lowered his eyes, unable to
look at her pained expression. "I was so upset to be with child again, and I’ve
been so cross with Eames, but I never wanted it to…to…”
“Oh no." She squeezed his hands. "Oh no, Arthur. We must go talk to Lady
Catherine.”
 
Jeremy was given the unpleasant task of giving the King Arthur’s message.
Arthur curtsied low when Eames arrived in the parlor. He felt like a scared
child, quaking where he stood, his shoulders hunched. He swallowed. “Your
Majesty—”
“Come with me.” Eames led him into his bedroom and made him sit on the bed as
he closed the door behind them.
Arthur wiped at his eyes. “Eames, I—”
“Hush.” He knelt at Arthur’s feet. “Arthur, if…” He cleared his throat. “If it
is as you feared, and the child truly is lost, then…then there is no help for
it. We will… We'll accept the child’s death and move forward—Arthur, look at
me—But, if your fears turn out to be false, then don’t fret." He took his face
in hand. "It’s still early. Too early for me to smell more than just your own
scent change. Perhaps this child is just different. It’s possible, but until we
can know for sure, then there’s nothing to be afraid of, alright?” He stroked
Arthur’s hands and kissed them, but Arthur didn’t look convinced.
Eames sat on the bed beside him and wrapped him in his arms. “It’s alright,
Arthur. I know my words are of little comfort to an omega fearing for their
child, but… Let’s give it another month, deal? We'll figure out what to do from
there.”
“But you promise you won’t be angry if… Because I swear, Eames," he pleaded,
gripping Eames' hands. "I swear I would never wish for something like this to
happen.”
“I know, darling, I know. I mean…worse case scenario is just that maybe I got
it wrong this time about your scent, or…maybe your pheromones are off, right?
Then you get to have to time you wanted, and you can spend every waking hour
reading those erotic books or finalizing the observatory, or even start on a
brand new project for the city, and we can go horseback riding together, dream
together, we can have more accidental sleepovers in the observatory like we
used to… Remember?”
Arthur smiled. “Of course I do." He wiped at his eyes again. "Those are some of
my most treasured memories.”
“Well, hey! Let’s do that tonight then. Would that make you feel a little
better, to spend the night looking at your stars?”
All it took was a shy nod and Eames cancelled the rest of his meetings for the
day. As the candelabras were lit throughout the palace, Arthur piggybacked on
Eames up the stairs in the tower with Eames’ grooms and Jeremy following behind
them.
+
 
“I don’t think Jeremy’s much comfortable around your grooms, Eames,” Arthur
whispered as he sat in Eames’ lap beside the sextant.
The boy was sitting off to himself, pretending to read while the grooms played
cards and glanced at him over their shoulders.
“Because most of my boys want to fuck him,” Eames said, matter-of-fact. “He’s
slight, delicate, and mysterious to them since he doesn’t spend much time away
from your ladies. Hell, some of the boys are probably envious and think he’s
sleeping with a few of said ladies.”
“I hope so…” Arthur let his head fall back on Eames’ shoulder and glanced at
Jeremy, pitying him for catching one boy’s glance and blushing behind his book.
He had a brief moment of remembering when Eames made him burn Robert’s letters.
For however wayward Sir Robert—King Robert—may be now, there had still been a
time when Arthur had imagined being more than friendly with the man, before he
knew the laws. Jeremy was a lot like he'd been, but Jeremy was a real beta,
like the boy now sharing more than a few glances with him. 
“Eames?”
“Hm?”
“If I were a beta, or even if we were both betas, would you still have wanted
me?”
The question was asked so suddenly and so quietly it took Eames off guard, but
it didn’t take any time at all to consider. “No."
"No?"
"No, no, no. Absolutely not. I know your kind, and if I were a wise beta, I
would know to stay far away from you.”
“But—”
“You, Arthur, and all your quiet, bookish charm, with your wicked smile and
soft hands, would have utterly and completely bewitched me. It would be no
secret, in the entire continent, that I pined for you, but you would have taken
one look at me and, seeing only a beast, would have scorned me most cruelly.
You would have assumed that I intended to possess you, but knowing you, Arthur,
you wouldn’t have realized that all the same I would have hoped for you to
possess me as well.”
Arthur turned around to look at him, agape. “That’s not fair.”
“Why not?” He grinned. “Would you have wanted someone who would woo you with a
dragon’s head or someone who could compose melodies and poetry for you
instead?”
“Well…”
Eames chuckled. “Precisely. You would have run for the hills, darling.”
“But what if I wanted you?”
He smiled, holding Arthur snug in his arms. “Then we would have been here, like
this, although, sadly without our little ones.”
“And we wouldn’t be married. We couldn’t be.”
“True.” His brow furrowed. “Would you have wanted a wife? A beta woman to have
children with?”
Arthur shook his head. “My heart can only bend in one direction. I would have
wanted you and no one else. And I doubt any woman would have wanted me,
considering the fact that I would be your boy, sharing you with your wife.” He
shifted in Eames’ lap so he could rest his head on his shoulder again. “I
wonder how many others must live like that?”
Eames shrugged, contemplative as well. 
They watched the night sky in silence until another thought came to Arthur. He
turned to look at Eames and smirked. “What if I were an alpha and you an omega
or beta?”
Eames at once made a peculiar sound and a strange expression. “You just
committed treason, Arthur,” he teased. “However…I can say that you as an alpha
would be terrifying. You little-boned people can be tyrants.” He laughed with
Arthur. “I’m a little afraid of Joseph on that count. He’ll still be big since
he’s an alpha wolf, but lean and compact and never as big as Thomas—Joseph will
hate that.”
“Let’s just enjoy the bond they have now, and…take shelter in a fortified
castle once they’re older.”
Eames laughed again. After another quiet moment, he muttered, “God, I would
have made one awful omega. I still bow in awe at what you’ve accomplished,
Arthur. Our boys are perfect—since they don’t have personalities yet.”
“Eames.”
“Of course, when they get older, we’ll be able to properly pick our favorites.”
“You’re awful.”
He laughed and kissed Arthur’s head. “Arthur?”
“Hm?”
He rubbed Arthur’s sleeves and squeezed his arms. “You know, if we’re not
having a baby, then…we do at least have that mind-numbing night of sex to
remember for the rest of our days, as it was…pretty spectacular.”
“It was,” he mused, laughing quietly with Eames, feeling his chest rise and
fall as he settled closer. “But?”
Eames sighed. “If we are having a child, then I am happy, because I love you,
and I love what we’ve created together.”
Arthur took his hand. “I know, Eames." He kissed his chin. "I love you too," he
whispered, "even if you’re beast who can’t write me poetry.”
+
 
“Good morning, your Majesty,” Eames bowed playfully for Arthur the next morning
after they dressed for breakfast.
Arthur’s eyes were on the servant’s trays as they covered the table with sliced
ham, fruit bowls, and quail’s eggs. He cleared his throat and smiled brightly,
fidgeting with his belt. “Thank you, Majesty.”
“You look lov…” Eames blinked when Arthur’s stomach turned. “Well,” he
grimaced, cringing as Arthur doubled over again, “do you think it’s—It is,
yeah? Oh darling, I liked these boots.” He watched the attendants help Arthur
to his chair. Jeremy looked miserable, trying not to touch anything as he got
Eames out of his soiled boots. “Feel better?”
“No,” Arthur moaned from behind a napkin. Putting him in the chair closer to
the food only made him sick again. “You’ll pay for this. Mark my words.”
“Believe me, I don't doubt that, my darling.” To the great relief of the
attendants and servants, Eames picked Arthur up and carried him out of the
parlor before another rug could be ruined. 
+
  
***** Chapter 20 *****
+
 
“This is a very peculiar child, Eames,” Arthur muttered, poking at his little
round belly through his clothes. “It’ll be no bigger than a peach when it’s
born. Are you sure you can’t scent its sex yet?”
Eames shook his head, distraction from all the people enjoying the celebratory
dances for Arthur’s birthday. He sat up in his throne and sighed. “The child is
healthy, Arthur. I scent nothing wrong with at all, it's just…being overly
mysterious, I suppose." He shrugged. "It’s an alpha, yes, but…”
“An alpha? This small?” Arthur couldn’t keep the apprehension out of his voice.
He sank low in his own ornate chair. "I don't know, Eames…"
He squeezed his hand. “Everything’s fine, I’m sure. We’re just…having an apple
for a baby this time around, instead of another sack of potatoes like Thomas.
Just enjoy your birthday, darling. In four and a half months, we’ll find out. A
nice surprise, yeah?”
“I suppose so.” He didn’t voice what he really felt, not this time, at least.
Something had to be wrong with this child. Four months, going in five, and
Arthur was only just beginning to show. With Thomas and Joseph, he’d been at
nearly his full size by this many months. He still had to have a resting
period, or that bizarre drunkenness he’d felt with the others. It scared him,
that Eames couldn’t scent the child. All of these things felt as if his body
was telling them they'd rushed too soon into having another child, but yet…His
body felt utterly normal, as if he weren’t pregnant at all. He could still even
fit into his tunics and doublets. Something strange was afoot indeed.
Eames laughed at him when they sat together for the birthday dinner in the
great hall, after the court had given their gifts. “You’re still tiny, but
you’re certainly still eating to two. May I have my slice of cake back, little
monster? No? Then I’ll remember this when my own birthday comes around. You
won’t even be invited.”
+
 
Arthur didn’t want to say anything at first, but now that yet another
unsuccessful treaty meeting with the ambassadors from Runes was over, he had
to. “Is anything actually ever going to come out of these meetings, your
Majesty?”
“Of course, darling…as soon as Dominic gives me my land back.”
“Eames, you stole that land from him. Is it not fair he gain that land back?”
“No.” Eames sat down next to Arthur in the garden, peeking over his shoulder at
the book he pretended to read. “That land was claimed fair and square when he
lost that battle. It’s mine.”
“You’re worse than the boys when it comes to sharing. And they’re only
infants.”
Eames’ whine came out as a low growl. He busied himself by playing with
Arthur’s rings. “I also don’t appreciate some of them referring to our boys as
twins. What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, hm?”
Arthur sighed. “It’s no secret that Thomas essentially pushed Joseph out of my
womb to make a nest for himself, Eames. People will no doubt refer to our apple
as making a set of three.”
“Triplets.”
“Exactly,” he muttered, distracted by Eames’ sudden pacing. “Eames, why are you
so anxious today?”
Eames looked up from the little grass doll he’d been making. “What? Who, me?
I’m fine. We’re just…enjoying the sunlight together, that’s all.”
Arthur snapped his book closed and rolled his eyes. “Go.”
The King tilted his head. “Darling?”
“Go play with Yusuf and the somnacin, Eames. Your fidgeting is making me
cranky.”
He sat down beside Arthur again. “Oh no, no. I’m quite fine here.”
“Oh, please, Eames. I’m boring you. Go.”
“Nonsense, darling. That’s impossible. But…” He stood and kissed Arthur’s
forehead and stomach. “I’ll return for dinner in the evening. Early.”
“You mean I’ll see you tomorrow morning when you sneak into bed at dawn and
wake me with sex.”
Eames frowned, scratching his beard. “We’re making loads of progress with the
batch Yusuf’s grown.”
“I’m sure.” He followed Eames back into the palace. “Well, if you do manage to
pull yourself away before midnight, I’ll be in the observatory with Ariadne.”
He didn’t bother to hide his sadness when Eames kissed his hand, knowing for
certain that the werewolf hadn’t even noticed.
 
Rather than spend the sunny day up in the tower with Arthur sulking, Ariadne
proposed a better idea.
She brought with her a spare cloak and distracted the attendants as Arthur
slipped into his rarely used riding boots. They’d snuck past the guards and
trekked quietly to his stable to retrieve their horses, bribing the stablemen
to keep quiet about Arthur being on a horse so far into his pregnancy—and
completely against the order of the King, the midwives, and the doctor.
Arthur let his horse wander through the forest and nibble on the grass every
now and then. He held the reins loosely in his grasp. “I just worry about him,
Ariadne, all the time, it seems.”
“Maybe the child worries him as well? Perhaps this is just distraction.”
“If he were worried, he’d be hovering nonstop. Some times, I look at him and am
convinced that he hardly cares. And his behavior has become…off, to put it as
lightly as I can.”
She frowned, stirring her horse to walk beside Arthur’s. “How so?”
He shrugged. “He snaps at the servants, he bullies the ambassadors, he… In
spite of my growing belly, he still takes me with the same reckless abandon
that he would if I weren’t with child, and he never sleeps anymore. And he
thinks it’s amusing that Thomas cries when he holds him. The boy doesn’t know
who Eames is, Ariadne.”
She was silent in deep thought for a long while. “Did you feel any different
after using the somnacin too?”
“As if my gut had been let out on the floor of Yusuf’s office. It’s horrible.
Within the dreams, I feel unstable and sluggish. Yusuf says they just hadn’t
figured out the right compound for me, but I don’t think I’ll be trying it
again.”
“Would the duke speak to his Majesty on your behalf?”
“I doubt it. Yusuf spends the most time with Eames, so surely he would notice
something amiss, but…” He shrugged, at a loss. “Between my husband and this
child, I don’t have the strength to focus on anything else. I know almost for
certain that the treaty will fall through. It’s taken too long, Ariadne.”
She glanced at the bump of Arthur’s round stomach under his cloak. “Wait…
What’s to worry about the baby now? Has something else happened?”
He gripped the reins. “This child…it feels like dead weight in my womb,
Ariadne. It hardly moves. I can hardly feel it kick… I’m due in a month and yet
look at me. I’m a horse in the middle of the forests, when you know how things
were before with Joseph and Thomas. Eames keeps telling me it’s healthy, but
why can’t he scent it? Why…” He pulled on the reins and stopped the horse,
dismounting quickly.
“Arthur? What’s wrong?”  She tied the horses to the nearest tree and hurried
after him.
He was clutching his stomach protectively. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t
breathe.”
“Then stop walking before you fall down. Look at me.” Ariadne sat him down
carefully on a log and kneeled in front of him, cupping his face in her hands.
“Breathe. Deep. Slow. Take my hands.” She massaged his palms, soothing. “Think
of something that makes you happy. Imagine yourself there with that thing right
now, and breathe.”
Arthur took a deep breath and moved to sit with her on the soft moss-covered
ground. “Thank you.”
She smiled a little, picking grass from the hems of her dress and underskirt.
“What was it? What brought you back?”
He rubbed his face. “Dancing a volta with Eames, back when… Goddess bless, I
was so terrible at it, but he thought I was just perfect. Everything I did,
even when I did it completely wrong, he thought it was perfect. Ariadne…” He
looked up at the light filtering in the treetops. He wanted to tell her that he
missed those days, but found the words impossible to voice.
+
 
Eames paced in Yusuf’s study, trying and failing to keep himself from getting
frustrated. “Put me under again.”
“Your Majesty…no.” Yusuf shook his head, massaging his temples. “I don’t know
what the hell we just saw down there, but I don’t want to see it again.”
They both turned to the door when the guard stepped in with Jeremy behind him.
The boy bowed. “Your Majesty, I come with wonderful news. The Queen is in
labor.”
The King beamed, delighted. “Perfect, excellent. We will be there before the
worst of the contractions end, Jeremy. Quick, Yusuf, we ought to pray for
Arthur and child’s good health, and then blend one more brew with the crushed
seeds. I want to know if it’s more potent if it gets to sit for a few days.”
No sooner had Jeremy left, it seemed, that he returned. “Majesty.” He bowed
again, smiling. “The Queen has delivered a healthy baby boy.”
“Another boy? Well, damn, that's a little—Wait he's finished already?” Eames
demanded, his eyes wide as he glanced from Yusuf to the boy. He looked at the
clock. Only two hours had passed.
He was admittedly terrified, even though the boy had said that Arthur and the
boy were fine, but he had his doubts as they made their way to Arthur’s
chambers.
 
Arthur's cheeks hurt from smiling. “Oh, please my ladies, swear that you’ll
tell no one of my next words,” he teased, wincing as he was slipped into a
fresh gown and eased gingerly onto clean sheets and linens, “but…” His eyes
were teary when he smiled down at Albert. “I just love human babies so, so, so
very much,” he sang, cradling the tiny bundle in his arms.
He littered the baby’s face with kisses, full of praise and affection. “I love
your tiny, little head, your tiny little shoulders, your little body. Yes, yes,
yes, I do. Oh, my precious little Albert, you were so good to mommy. You put me
through unending fear throughout your whole carriage but now look at how
wonderful you are! I barely bled." He covered the baby in more soft kisses.
"Thank you, my sweet little boy. Don’t tell your brothers, but I do love you
most,” he whispered. “He looks just like his father, but he has all my quiet
disposition in him, thank the goddess.”
The midwives were still chuckling at Arthur’s rambling when the King barged in.
Arthur smiled as bright as the sun. “Your Majesty.” He bowed his head as the
others curtsied. “Come and have a look at your son. He and Thomas could be
twins.”
Eames grinned, but his relief evaporated as soon as he stepped further into the
room. He wasn’t smiling at all when he sat on the bed beside them. He sniffed
at Albert and then sniffed him again.
Arthur’s brow furrowed. “What’s the matter?”
“He’s human.”
“He is, indeed,” Arthur sighed fondly, playing with Albert’s nose. He glanced
at Eames, confused by his silence. “Do you want to hold him, before the wet
nurse takes him?”
Eames’ frown was hard set as he continued to study the child. “No, you keep
him. He’s too small to fit in my arms.”
Arthur wasn’t the only one to gasp when Eames stood. Arthur sat up straighter.
“Eames," he spoke low and careful, "I don’t understand.”
The King's smile didn't reach his eyes. “Rest. I’ll return to visit you in the
morning.”
“The morning? Eames, it's morning now. Oh not more somnacin, please! It's
alright to hold him. He won't break."
Eames leaned forward and kissed Arthur's forehead. He spoke softly in his ear.
"Darling, I said I'd come back tomorrow and I mean that. Rest and enjoy the
baby. I have work that finishing and I intend to do it now."
"No, you will not,” Arthur ordered, surprising Eames. “You will take your
child, Eames. Now.”
Eames crossed his arms, glaring from Arthur to the baby.
Arthur and the others could hardly believe what was happening. “Eames…talk to
me,” Arthur pleaded. “What’s wrong with you?”
Cold fear made Arthur shivered when Eames glared at the baby again with wolf's
eyes. He clutched Albert tighter. “Are you mad?” he whispered. “Eames, he’s
your son, not some…weak runt you can turn your back on like this. Where is your
head right now?”
“He’s human,” Eames muttered. “He is weak, Arthur.”
Arthur stared at him, gaping as if he'd been assaulted. “Am I not human as
well? He’s an alpha, he’s your son.” The midwives tried to keep him in bed, but
he refused. He grabbed Eames’ face defiantly, making him looked at Albert.
Surprised, Eames caught his wrist and moved his hand away. “Don’t ever touch me
like that again.”
"Eames, what's happened to you?"
"Nothing." He was stopped from leaving again when Arthur blocked his path. "Do
you forget who I am, Arthur?"
Arthur's heart skipped a beat unpleasant at Eames' tone. “I know very well who
you are. You’re a fool and a bastard.” The midwives gasped and pleaded for
Arthur to stop, but he ignored them. His growing anger made him tremble.
“You’re a idiot who would call the son of an Eames weak, as if your blood
doesn’t fill his veins—”
"Enough, Arthur," Eames warned. "Get back in bed."
“Arthur, what are you doing?” Ariadne whispered, begging with the others. "Say
no more. Please!”
“I didn’t make this child by myself,” Arthur hissed. “He’s your flesh and blood
too!” His eyes blurred with tears of rage when Eames moved him aside and
stomped off, growling at the ladies to get out of his way.
He didn't know what overcame him, seeing Eames like this, but it made his blood
boil in a way that scared even himself. “I swear, Eames, from now until the day
you die, you will regret this."
"Your Majesty," Lady Anne begged him, trying to get him back in bed.
He followed Eames out in the parlor. "When this child becomes a man,” he
shouted at Eames’ retreating back, “I hope to see our human son rise up against
his werewolf brothers and you, the same as you did against your father! I pray
he leaves you crownless for turning your back on him and daring to call him
weak, Henry Eames!”
Eames paused and turned with a look of rage straight from a nightmare before
resuming his exit.
“Majesty, no!” Lady Anne pleaded. She sank to the floor. “Arthur, do you have
any idea of what you've just done?”
Arthur felt dizzy, but the ladies were there to support him and take the baby.
He turned back to Eames and let loose a string of curses in his first language
until the main door to his chambers slammed shut hard enough for the walls to
shake.
+
 
Arthur’s lying in only lasted a week, but he was still barred from leaving his
chambers by the King’s Royal Guard.
"The delivery of firewood must be authorized by his Majesty," Lady Anne was
explaining, bundling up in more layers. She tended a fire fueled with book
pages and a leg from an old table.
He lounged on his bed in the afternoon, watching Albert wake from his nap. “I’m
not permitted to see my Joseph or Thomas, either?” He snorted when Lady Anne
tearfully shook her head. He bitterly smiled. “No matter. With what little time
I spend with them anyways, I doubt that they even know who I am. But I still
have my own little prince here with me,” he whispered, tickling a smile out of
Albert when he rubbed his nose on the baby’s brow. When he glanced up again,
Ariadne was standing beside the bed with a letter in her hand, her lip
quivering.
She sobbed and climbed on the bed beside him. “Forgive me, Arthur, but I must
beg you to apologize to the King or else he will send me away. He’s already
sent home half of your ladies and now he’s called for me as well. I beseech
you. Not for my own behalf, although I do not wish to go, but for your own, and
for Albert’s sake.”
Arthur let the wet nurse take Albert to the rocking chair. Sure enough, he and
Ariadne left the bedroom, the guards were already waiting in the parlor to
escort her home. Arthur's hands balled into fists. He wanted to beat the men
with another of the old table's legs, but he kept his composure and hugged
Ariadne in a tight embrace. “My conscience is clear, and so must be yours. The
King is being entirely unreasonable and still refuses to acknowledge his son,
so…" He looked down at his hands and shrugged. "I too refuse to acknowledge the
King as my sovereign. I will bend when he bends.”
“But you must bend, or your life—or Albert’s life—may fall into grave danger. I
know the King loves you, but love has never been enough to save anyone from a
King’s rage such as this or…your treason,” she whispered. "Many have been
killed for much, much less."
Arthur shook his head, taking Ariadne’s hands. “How can an alpha love his omega
and deny their son with the same heart? And if this is true, then how can I, an
omega, love an alpha who could be capable of such?” He looked down with tired
eyes. “I miss him. King Eames is very much like the sun. His warmth and light
are vital and without him, the whole world is dark and cold.”
“But the sun can also burn the flesh red and blind men,” Ariadne pleaded.
“Arthur, forgive me. You know I don’t intend to scare you. I’m sorry.”
Arthur rubbed his face. He laughed again, quiet and musing. “The goddess," he
said, looking at her small shrine by the fireplace, "the Blessed Mother, is
said to have created all things. In these days, I find my faith being tested.
What Mother would create a world as unfair as this one? A world in where brash,
raging alphas rule all, while the rest of us are created incapable of fighting
against their whims? This world in which I can hate the King with all my heart,
but love him so much all the same, with the full capacity of my being?” He
huffed. “But She has also created in me a heart that cannot deny my child the
love he is owed, and so I’ve chosen Albert over all else. Just…” he cleared his
throat. He slipped the smallest ring from his finger and enclosed it in her
hands. “Just make sure that Joseph and Thomas get a kiss from you before you
go.”
"And what will you do then?"
"I'll keep fighting. I have to."
+ 
 
***** Chapter 21 *****
Chapter Notes
     WOW! I did not know this much time had passed between updates! O_O So
     sorry! I am foolishly attempting to update several fics at the same
     time, and it's...well, it's going. But I also didn't want to rush
     these chapters either. New update schedule will hopefully be
     Wednesdays for this fic, so stay tuned folks!
     Enjoy!
+
 
Eames thought too late to lock his study door when he heard Yusuf enter his
chambers.
Yusuf huffed before stopping short, his hands on his hips. They both held their
breath until Eames got the spoon to drip the precise amount of dragon’s blood
over the cooling healing solution.
Eames sighed, feeling accomplished when orange steam rose from the concoction.
“This is ready to mass produce for the soldiers. Finally.” He glanced up.
“What?”
“I just tried to visit the Queen and was barred by your guards?”
His brow rose. “Yes?”
“Majesty, don’t you think it’s a bit much?”
“Not at all. You didn’t hear what he said to me.”
“Whatever it was, it’s easy to understand why.”
“Oh, it is? Are you calling me obtuse?”
“I mean only that he’d just…pushed a child from his body, and was immediately
snubbed. I’d have a few choice words to say myself, if I may speak bluntly,
your Majesty.”
Eames snorted. “You ask for permission after the insults have left your mouth.
Clever.”
Yusuf shook his head as a groom helped him out of his furs. He adjusted his
silk sash before joining Eames at the table. “I remember a former you that was
relieved when he thought Arthur wouldn’t be required to take the bite. God rest
his soul.”
“Well, thank you for your contribution on the matter. Now if you’ll excuse
yourself, I have work to do, but you can always help, if you wish.”
Yusuf sputtered. “Will you not see reason, boy? I’m too bloody old for your
tantrums, Eames, and so are you. You must adapt. Arthur has. His Majesty did
not wish to have more children, and now he does. You do not want human
children, and you have one. Take control.”
“I am in control, Yusuf.”
Yusuf tossed up his hands. “Fine, fine. I will say no more, your Majesty.”
“Thank you, your Grace.”
Yusuf waited, quietly, patiently, diligently assisting Eames in plucking more
petals for the next healing solution variant, waiting for Eames to finally—”
“Damn it, Yusuf!” On cue, Eames heaved a great sigh. “What you and Arthur don’t
understand is that werewolf alphas can’t have human children.”
“Impossible?”
“Try dangerous. That’s more like it.”
“Having children is a stressful endeavor. For all parents.”
“Made more so when you are a werewolf,” Eames stressed. “You don’t understand,
because you were human for half of your life. That child doesn’t smell like me,
he doesn’t carry my mark…”
Yusuf frowned. “An infidelity?”
“Rationally? Of course not. Are werewolves rational creatures? No.”
“Is it territorial?”
“I have no idea! All I know is that there is some grave disconnect between
myself and that child. Is there anything actually wrong with the little runt
himself? Probably not. And yet here we are. My fangs descended when I saw him,
Yusuf.”
Yusuf took a small step back. "Did you see him as a threat or as prey?”
Eames tracked the beta's small moment with his eyes. When he blinked, the flash
of gold coloring in his eyes had disappeared. He ordered a groom to fetch water
for somnacin.
"Majesty?"
Eames didn’t speak at first. His silence was answer enough. “It’s my blood that
would have had me…do something that a righteous king would not do to his own
child, Yusuf. I regret to say this, you know I do, but I understand my father
much better now than I ever have. He would have killed a human child without
hesitation, but I didn’t, therefore Arthur has attacked me unjustly and I shall
continue putting my foot down. It's my right.”
Yusuf rolled his eyes. “But your Majesty, if you can identify this troublesome
mindset, then you can fight against it! I can’t imagine the strength that lies
within Arthur, to defy you as he did, when his nature is to do the opposite.
It's incredible!”
“Well, rather he the King than I! As his alpha, it is my nature to lead, and
his as an omega to follow, but look at how he spits in the face of that!
Meanwhile, my nature cripples me. It would have him be made to obey, Yusuf. It
drives me to insanity. I would love to see the world through different eyes,
but apparently, unlike Arthur, it’s impossible for me. Clearly omegas are more
evolved.”
Yusuf wanted to agree wholeheartedly with that fact, but his own instincts
thought better of further provoking his alpha. He tried not shout at him. Eames
baffled him to no end. He took a deep breath and frowned. Eames behaved as if
his rut was in full swing, but his scent was unchanged. “Then what will you do
with the child?”
“Well, what can I do? He shall be given rooms here and shall remain as far away
from the succession as possible.”
“Arthur will never stand for this,” Yusuf muttered, shaking his head. He
paused, eyeing the King when the water was brought. Yusuf shook the jar Eames
placed on the table, surprised to find it nearly empty. “I’d almost forgotten
to tell you what my research found, on this poppy.”
“Hopefully nothing disastrous. Don’t tell me my teeth are going to fall out.
We’ve just managed to build in dreams.”
He continued to study Eames. “Turns out that our happy dreaming helper is a
distant, although not distant enough not to be a problem, but a distant cousin
to wolfsbane, which would explain why dreamsharing made Arthur so…well, drunk
when he used it and why too much makes me feel funny as well, though not as
severe as his. I trust it must affect you as well?”
Eames’ brow creased. “Not in the slightest. My blood must burn through it
better?”
Yusuf frowned deeper and muttered mostly to himself, “Or perhaps it manifests
differently with you. Not physically, but…”
“You know, Arthur was lucky,” Eames was saying, “that he wasn’t more sickly
than he was, before being bitten, or else he may have died even before we met,
Yusuf. His family, his brothers, and now Mallorie, since her second child is
very ill, they all have children who have either died or have weak hearts like
Arthur did. But Arthur’s so stubborn, he sees none of this.”
Yusuf frowned, still shaking his head. “King Miles never married women from any
strong or noble families and neither have many of his children, but Arthur has.
Arthur’s married into the strongest family there is, Eames. Albert will be
equally strong…in his own way.” He sighed. “Make him part of the succession.”
“I can’t. Any title, any scrap of land I could give him will be constantly up
for grabs.”
“So you’ve chosen the safety of your property over your own child?”
He slammed his fists on the table. “No! I have chosen my child!” He began to
pace, retracting his claws. “In four years for Joseph and five for Thomas, they
will take control over their own households. If rebels were to rise up against
either of them, they would be strong enough to defend themselves, even as
little children, little wolves. Albert will not. And do you think any of my
enemies will even dare expend resources to go after werewolves, even child
werewolves?”
“No, Majesty.”
“Will they attack a human prince?”
“Well…”
“And does Arthur understand any of this? No.”
“Then try to help him understand, but you cannot force him, Eames. And you must
absolutely apologize for all of this.”
“Why do I have to? He cursed me. He cursed this kingdom. He spoke ill of his
sons.”
“Have you not spoken ill of the youngest one?”
“It’s different.”
Yusuf's brow rose. He took another step back. "Well, Eames... You have at last
become your father's son after all. It makes me very...sad and disappointed."
Eames looked up, but the elder werewolf's back was already turned, his feet
taking him to the door. "Yusuf? Yusuf!" he called, but the beta was gone. He
sat at his desk and buried his head in his hands.
+
 
Arthur sat on his bed with his legs folded, his chin propped up on his hands,
his head throbbing. He watched Albert wiggle and wail in a fit in his lap. “Can
you feed him again perhaps?”
Lady Marisol shook her head. “No, Majesty. He won’t take more.”
Arthur sniffed Albert again and frowned deeper. “His scent is different.”
"He’s growing so fast.” Jeremy peered over Arthur’s shoulder. “Is that
normal?" 
“I have no idea. I’ve never spent this much time with my own children before.”
He laughed at the absurdity and sighed. “My crown for Lady Catherine’s wisdom.
I’m sorry, Albert, but I don’t know what you want. You refuse to sleep, you
aren’t hungry, and your wrapping is still clean.” He wiped the angry tears from
the baby’s cheeks.
He sighed when Albert continued to cry. “Well, my apologies that I’m not a
better host, Albert.” He leaned back and coughed hard in the crook of his
elbow. When he turned back, he huffed, crossing his arms. “There can’t ever be
any question of your birth, little boy. You, Joseph, and Thomas are absolutely
siblings.” He coughed again into his handkerchief. “Only you three seem to find
such great amusement in other people’s pain.” His chest hurt, but he still
laughed at Albert’s lopsided grin, shaking his head. “Silly boy.”
Jeremy hovered near the bedpost. “Are you alright, Majesty?”
“Fine, fine.” He waved his hand. “Great, now that Albert’s no longer screaming
in my face.” He picked him up when he started to whine again and held him
tight. “It's become so stuffy in these rooms. He wants out.”
Jeremy and the three ladies perked up at once. Lady Anne stepped closer. “Shall
I send for his Majesty?”
Arthur frowned. “No, why? No, no, I don’t want him here.”
“But, your Majesty,” she pressed gently, “certainly the time has come to mend
things?”
“Then all of this will have been for nothing. If I’d planned to cave, I could
have done that last week, or the week before. Forgive me if I sound to you as
an unreasonable child, but… What else can I do?” His smile was sad when Albert
looked up at him. “What of Albert?”
“What of Joseph and Thomas, Majesty? You must miss them. I know they miss their
mother. And you must miss your husband deeply, and he you,” she tried. “A mated
pair ought not live like this, Majesty. An omega is vulnerable without their
alpha, but at his side once more, you would return to your full strength
again.”
“And then what?”
“Well… you would have the King’s favor again. Wouldn’t that be wonderful,
Majesty? Think of how happy the boys would be to see you. Think of your
people.”
He stared down at Albert. It was tiring, physically exhausting him to not to
yield to such promises. His heart bled for his children, his body ached for
Eames…
He rose from the bed and walked with Albert, his smile more pleasant to see the
baby at last losing his battle against sleep. “For now, my Lady, I know that I
am where I need to be and doing all that I can, all that I must.” He kissed
Albert’s face. “I owe it to Albert, this child, who was first undesired, then
born a boy when we wanted a girl, human, without a werewolf’s strength and the
protective arm of his father… He deserves so much more than I can give. Joseph
and Thomas have the whole world, but this boy has only me.”
+
 
Arthur paced around his parlor, wrapping his robe tighter around his nightgown
once the doctor took his leave. His mind swirled in a storm of troubled
thought. Daybreak was almost upon them. No one had slept at all that night.
“He’s resting easier,” Lady Marisol spoke from the couch, cradling Albert.
“That’s a good sign, Majesty.”
“For now. I just—” The baby fell into a coughing fit again. Arthur hurried over
to take him from the lady’s arms, trying to calm him. He wiped the sweat from
Albert’s face, his eyes stinging in frustration. "I just wish this wasn't
happening."
Lady Anne and the others hovered close, all nervous when Albert whined.
“Majesty, shall we send for the King?”
“Please…Wait. No. Yes. I…” He hugged Albert tighter and sobbed, at last
breaking when Albert coughed again. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I
don’t know.”
She rubbed his arms. “Alright, your Majesty. It's alright.” She nodded at
Jeremy, signaling for him to go. “Everything will be fine. Just breathe. Albert
will be just fine now. Everything will be sorted. Breathe with me. That’s it.”
Jeremy rushed past the guards, surprising them. He took to the corridor at a
run. He made his way to the King’s chambers just as the door opened. He crashed
into Eames’ chest with a grunt.
“Good god, boy,” Eames muttered, helping him to his feet, grumpy and tired in
the early morning. His frown faltered when he realized who’d just run into him.
“What’s happened, boy?”
Jeremy skittered several steps back as Eames stepped forward. He swallowed, his
shoulders hunched, eternally in fear of the King. “Your…your Majesty, I… The
child has fallen ill with fever. His Majesty has asked for your assistance.” He
flinched towards the wall when Eames raced past him. 
Eames skidded to a halt he when arrived in the parlor. He grabbed the nearest
groom by the collar. “Why are the heaths empty?”
“Sir…you…we received no authorization this month to continue th—”
“Have you no common sense at all, you fool? Did you ever wait before for some
trivial document giving you permission to do your job? Do the cooks need
authorization to feed the Queen? Look at the floors and the furniture. Have the
servants stopped working as well?”
“N-No, sir, please! We…we didn’t know what to do after you… We didn’t want to
be—”
“I should rip your head off right where you stand!” He was interrupted from
saying more when he heard the baby’s crying. He snarled at the groom. “If that
child dies in my omega’s arms because of your stupidity, I will kill you.”
The boy stumbled back when Eames let him go. “Yes, sire. Forgive us, sire.”
All was quiet in the bedroom. Even the baby didn’t make a sound now. Eames had
to pause upon seeing Arthur. Even in his grief, the omega was beautiful. The
way he gently tended over the child, his love apparent, was godlike, angelic. 
Eames could understand why most people assumed his anger after losing battles
to Dominic was uncivilized. He carried himself in the highest air imaginable.
His was the great werewolf alpha king of legend; losing had bruised his ego and
he didn't much appreciate his ego being bruised. Only that was just a whisper
of where his anger had truly come from. It was that losing those battle meant
his soldiers had died for nothing. Thatenraged him. But that was nothing in the
face of this. Having to concede that Yusuf had been right, that Arthur was
right, it stung, yes, but once again, what being wrong had cost him, had cost
all of them, including this child, that made him want to shift and rampage
through the grounds.
Arthur wiped more sweat from the baby’s brow and tossed the cloth on the bed.
He buried his face in his hands. “I give up.”
“No, your Majesty, you mustn’t!” Lady Anne tried to take Arthur’s hand, but he
shook her off.
Lady Catherine checked over Albert again as Arthur paced. She leaned close to
Lady Anne and whispered, “Send for Cardinal Bryant. Quickly.”
“There’s no need,” Arthur bit out, sobbing. “Albert was never christened.” He
stomped up to the King, his voice shaking. “Damn you, Eames. Damn you for all
of this.” 
Eames caught him when he turned away, his grip on Arthur’s arms firm to keep
him from struggling away. “Arthur, look at me.” He shook him gently. “Arthur.”
He held his face, accepting the glare Arthur shot at him. “Arthur, I will fix
this.”
“If you don’t…” He grabbed Eames’ wrists. “I swear, if you don’t…”
“I will. Give me a few hours to tailor an elixir. Alright?”
Arthur nodded. He stepped back and watched Eames bark orders at the grooms
before he left. He wiped his face and turned back to Albert, his chest hurting
to see the baby coughing again. He prayed that they still had hours left, but
he had his doubts.
+
 
When Eames at last returned with the small vial, sunlight filtered through the
drapes. The ladies and Jeremy had fallen asleep on the couches in the parlor. 
Arthur was nodding off, sitting against the headboard with Albert bundled in
his lap. He roused at once when he felt the baby leave his arms. “Eames? No.
No, give him back. What are you doing?” He clambered from the bed when Eames
carried Albert to the rocking chair, thinking in his exhaustion that his worst
fears had been made real.
Eames’ brow furrowed in concentration, cradling the tiny bundle and dripping a
few drops of the orange liquid into Albert’s mouth carefully, counting each
drop.
Arthur stood close, shaking. His heart ached when Albert began to cough harder
and squirm. “Eames? Eames? Eames, please. What are you doing to him?” He knelt
on the floor beside them, wanting to tear the baby from Eames' arms. He
clutched a loose bit of the baby’s swaddling cloth and held his breath.
“I have to monitor him closely,” Eames muttered, his eyes still on Albert’s
pained face. When at last the coughing ceased, he gave him two more drops. “If
I send for food, will you eat?”
“Yes.”
“And will you rest after?”
Arthur nodded quickly, “Yes, whatever, of course. Just let him live.”
 
On the surface, they sat together in peace, watching over Albert closely,
counting down the time for the next drops until the bottle was almost empty.
“Arthur, get off the floor,” Eames said in a hushed voice, but still as a
commanding as ever.
Arthur shook his head, wrapping his robe more snug around his waist. “I’m fine
here.”
“Arthur.” Eames sighed. “He’s sleeping soundly—”
“But his fever—”
“Is breaking,” Eames reassured him quietly. “Get up. Eat. Please.”
Arthur wanted to argue, but he was tired. His eyes never left Albert as he sat
on the bed and pulled apart bread on the tray. They sat in silence again,
letting the minutes tick by, before Arthur looked at Eames' face. “You…you’ve
lost weight,” he commented before eating a piece of the bread.
Eames gave a sad smile. “Speak for yourself.”
“You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”
Eames glanced up from Albert before dropping his eyes. He wanted to tease
Arthur and say that it had always been Arthur’s job to take care of him, but
instead, he gave Albert three more drops and muttered simply, “I’ve been busy.”
“With the somnacin? I'm sure you have." Arthur nodded. "So have I.” He
swallowed, dropping his eyes as well. He picked at more bread. “I’ve had a lot
of time to think. I have made a big decision,” he added, matter-of-factly.
When Eames looked up at him again, something painful settled in his stomach.
“Oh?”
Arthur's eyes were on the meal he'd picked apart to crumbs. “Mhm.”
“Anything good?”
Arthur paused, his cup to his lips. “Not for you,” he spoke softly before
taking a sip. 
+
 
 
 
***** Chapter 22 *****
Chapter Notes
     Apologies for this being so late! D: I'm working on a good ten
     million fics, because my brain hates me.
+
 
Arthur didn’t say more for days as Albert’s strength returned.
He was overjoyed to see his household thriving again, but being dressed in so
many glittering jewels and rich fabrics made him feel as if he were putting on
a costume. As soon as his ladies placed his golden olive branch crown on his
head, he took it off.
His annoyance only grew into anger as the hour wound down. Eames was supposed
to have joined him in the Queen’s chapel so that they together could introduce
Albert to the court before seeing him off to join Joseph and Thomas in the
nursery. Eames was late. The palace was at a standstill, as all the nobles
hovered close to the Queen’s chambers, waiting for the King to arrive so that
they could be invited in at last.
+
 
Eames fidgeted on his throne, bored with the proceedings and annoyed by
Arthur’s stubborn silence.
Finally, he’d had enough. “Guard, hold the remaining visitors. Everyone, clear
the room.” He got up from the chair and paced. “After all this time, you still
choose not to speak to me?”
Arthur huffed and rose to his feet as well, handing the baby to the wet-nurse
he ordered to stay behind. “Because, your Majesty, when I do speak I am
punished for it. Punished for forgetting that I’m apparently not an equal to
you, as your spouse and as a person.”
Eames turned to him and frowned. “But you’re not. I’m your alpha; no one is
equal to that…”
“Ah, silly little me. Of course.”
“Darling, you…” Eames’ shoulders sank at Arthur’s expression. “Apparently I
misspoke. Fine. I’m sorry. It is not my intention to hurt you—”
Arthur walked away and snapped. “How can you misspeak what’s on your heart? You
meant exactly what you said. I’m beneath you.”
“Arthur, stop. Of course not.”
“No? Not when you override my wishes, not when you bully me, or let other
members of your court abuse me with their words? No? I am beneath you. I am.
Under your council, under the children you like, and even under your enemies,
that is where I’m placed.” He stepped back when Eames stepped forward.
“Arthur, I don’t understand your reasoning. Why now do you defy me?”
Arthur stepped back again, quick to wipe the tears that slipped from his eyes
as Eames continued to crowd him. He felt small, as he’d always felt small and
cowed. It made him angry. “You have so many faces, your Majesty. One is for
your charm, another for your anger, and so on, and I’ve kissed them all, but
the last face you revealed me, to Albert, I cannot stomach to see again—Let me
have my space!”
Eames growled and took several steps back, agitated and surprised by Arthur’s
outburst, but he didn’t move closer to him again. “You forget that all I do is
for you and our family.”
“You do for you and your family.”
“Oh, so now you don’t wish to claim our children as ours? What’s next?”
“No,” he wiped away more tears in frustration, “I didn’t say that. They are
yours because everything is yours. You took away from me everything and left me
cold and alone with Albert. It is your family, because you picked me, an omega,
to…to play a part for you in your legacy. I was planted here for no other
reason, and after all my attempts to prove that I can give you your heirs and
do some much more for you, you don’t care. You had me reduced to poverty, your
Majesty.”
“For which I have apologized ten thousand times, Arthur.”
“Your Majesties?” The guard bowed. “The Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Sansar,
Lord Yusuf is here.”
Eames handed Arthur his handkerchief. “Send him in.”
Arthur stared down at the white cloth and back to Eames. He refused to hide the
truth that he was crying. Though uncomfortable Yusuf was for unknowingly
interrupting their quarrel, he stayed for quite some time to discuss the
progress of yet another tax hike in the new proposal, and more new somnacin
findings.
When at last the Duke left, Arthur sighed. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“You invited him in as if we weren't talking. Were you even listening?”
“Yes, I was listening, but I am also still the king of these realms and have
duties I must tend to at all times. Again, I am sorry.”
“No, your Majesty, you’re not.”
Eames tossed up his hands. “What bloody good is it to grovel if you always
think my words are false?”
“You call yourself groveling?” Arthur stared at him for a long time before
turning to the guard. “Sir, please send our deepest apologies to the guests who
have not yet been permitted in. We’ll resume this in the morning. Until then,
Lady Marisol, have Albert returned to my rooms, please.”
Arthur stared at Eames again, shaking his head. “I’ve lived my entire life void
of respect,” he bite out, his fists clenching at his sides, “and for as far
back as I can remember, I’ve accepted that, thinking it was my fault, that it
was my place to be coddled and trampled over. How foolish was I, then, to think
that this new life here would finally bring forth the moment when I earned that
respect? And yet, here we are.”
“Arthur—”
“Do you have any idea what this feels like? Of course not. People like you are
so easy to withhold respect from people like me and then you lose your mind the
second someone dares to do the same to you.”
“I love you, Arthur. You are the only person I love. You alone have that.”
“Of course you love me. My womb carried your children. Since the day we met,
it’s always been about that.”
“I will not tell you again, that’s not true. I’ve told you as such so many
times, Arthur.”
“And showed me in so, so little.”
Eames paused, lost for words.
Arthur waved his hand in the direction of the nursery. “Think of your sons,
your Majesty, think of how strong and powerful they are. I did that. I
sacrificed myself and risked my life to birth those boys for you, and you know
I would do it again. Look at all I’ve done for you and all I intend to do! Your
people lived in terror of you until I reached forth my hands and comforted
them. I gave your countrymen a place where they could learn and have strong
minds, opportunities for their children to have holidays filled with gifts and
great feasts at your table, I provided the way for women to have security and
control over their households, and they all love you for that. Everyone honors
you, but where am I? Still begging you to accept your human son as being just
as good as the others!” He took a deep breath, his voice quaking. “But I am not
going to beg you for respect, your Majesty. Never. What’s not offered freely to
me, I refuse to give in return. You can strip away my household, you can even
throw me in the dungeons, I don’t care. I do not respect you and I do not care
for you beyond the love I have for our children.” He wiped his eyes.
Eames stepped back as if he’d been struck. “No, no, no, no, that’s not true.
Arthur, you can’t say that. It’s not true.”
“It is! It is.” He sobbed. “I don’t love you anymore.”
“Arthur, no.” He took his arms. “Look at you, Arthur. You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” He couldn’t meet his eyes. “If you push someone over, will they not
fall down? This is so.”
“No, I don’t accept this.” He caught Arthur’s face. “I do not accept this!”
When Arthur broke free of his hands, he couldn’t move to pursue him. “Fine, I…
I will add Albert to the succession, I will give him houses and tiles and
whatever you want, I will tear out my own heart and eat it for you, just… I am
begging you. What must I do? Is there anything in this world that I can do?
Please?”
Arthur turned his back, sobbing into his hands. Time passed in heavy silence
until Arthur nodded.
Eames had realized he’d gotten on his knees until his hands touched the cold
tiles. He breathed as if he’d drowning. “What are you terms?”
Arthur took several deep, steadying breaths, his face turned up to the painted
ceiling. He cleared his throat, his voice quiet. “Either you will grant me
permission to remove myself and the children from the palace—”
“No. No! Arthur, I will not—”
“Or, you will end the dreamsharing project. Lord Yusuf told me of it’s affects.
Either it is poisoning you or you are truly a monster. Some place in my heart
needs to know whether it’s the former or the latter. I don’t want to see
somnacin in your hand, I don’t want to see somnacin in your cup, I don’t want
to see somnacin at all anywhere in this palace, or I will take the children and
leave.”
Eames was back on his feet when Arthur turned to face him. He nodded. “I swear
that you will see me far exceed your expectations.”
Arthur nodded back. “I hope so. I really do.”
+
 
The following days passed quietly. Something had happened to the King and
Queen, but none of the court knew just what it was.
They had reasoned that Arthur’s lengthy absence had been due to another
difficult child birth followed by rumors that the child had been sick as well,
but now that Arthur was back in public view, back at the King’s side, it was
clear that they had changed.
Gone were their stolen kisses and whispering during court functions. All that
was left was a shade, covered in ceremony.
+
 
Arthur was awoken in the middle of the night by his worried attendants.
“It’s his Majesty,” Jeremy explained.
From the looks on their faces, Arthur didn’t need to know more. He slipped into
his robe and hurried to Eames’ rooms.
Inside, Eames’ doctor was in the midst of a losing battle to bleed the King’s
arm.
“Majesty,” the beta sighed, bowing to Arthur, “he is incapable of sleep and it
is making him ill.”
“No,” Eames warned, pointing his fingering at the man’s chest. “You will not
tell the Queen such lies.”
Arthur looked between them, taking a step back from Eames and seeing how the
werewolf tracked his movement, as Arthur were prey. “Your Majesty, what’s
happening?”
“Nothing is happening. Yusuf has informed me that my body is ridding itself of
residual somnacin, that’s all.”
“But you look awful, and pained.”
“No. I made you an oath, Arthur, and I fully intend to see this through, no
matter happens. My blood could turn green and my bones crumble, but I shall
fight for you, Arthur, and in the end, I shall have your love returned to me. I
swear.”
+
 
As Eames’ efforts to shake the somnacin poppy grew worse and worse, everyone
from Yusuf to the grooms realized that this condition was more serious than
anyone could have imagined. Eames’ inability to sleep quickly transformed into
an inability to stay awake, mixed between bouts of severe headaches that kept
him in bed anyways.
Several days turned into a week that turned into another. The court was more
than a little nervous by the King’s absence. Rumors flooded the palace walls of
the King fighting off a curse or disappeared from the realm altogether, perhaps
on a secret mission to seize Runes, but everyone working in and around the King
kept their silence.
Arthur paced in Yusuf’s office, fitting the urge to bite his nails. “The
council’s become anxious. I don’t blame them. In fact I blame myself.”
“Don’t, your Majesty. I aided him in his somnacin discoveries and did not do my
part to protect him and caution him from overuse. But what you have done was
necessary. He needed that push, that…fire under his feet to get him moving. You
have proven that you care for the King very much.” When Arthur didn’t comment,
Yusuf’s smile was sad. “But in all situations, there will always be at least
one consequence unforeseen. The question now is… Well,” Yusuf extended his hand
in invitation, “why don’t you come and have a look. Please.”
Arthur sat down at Yusuf’s desk as his secretaries hurried about the room in
preparation for the council meeting. He sighed, taking in all the stacks of
papers. “How long has Eam—his Majesty—been neglecting his duties?”
“We’ve been at a standstill with most of the proposals and projects, including
the new palace construction and…perhaps, most importantly to you, the treaty,
for quite some time, unfortunately.”
Arthur accepted each large parchment handed to him, the stack growing and
growing. He could feel more than a headache coming on. He nodded. “I see.
Stoneborough wants farmland protection revoked in order to turn them into
mining fields? He wants his peasantry's store houses empty of grain, then, is
that correct?"
"He is a man of money and only that."
"But without grain, how will his miners and their families eat?"
"Precisely. This proposal is something I personally do not wish for, thus it
remains ignored in the pile."
"And I see there is talk again on raising taxes in all the wrong places."
"How so?"
Arthur's brow rose. He shrugged, a little flustered the more he looked over the
proposals. "All the nobility fear the King. If he were to command them to jump,
they would fly, only it seems that their politics all magically line up
with his politics. His Majesty is too fond of them and their flattery, thus he
gives them everything they want, so long as it doesn't infringe on him
personally. Taxing the peasantry keeps all of them happy, therefore the King is
happy. But what I would like to see is some great initiative made to change
that. When I looked into Cardinal Stewart's records, I found that the bribes
and revenue circulating throughout this class is so grand, that if they were
all each taxed at the same percent of those far less well off, then the
peasantry would not have to pay taxes at all."
"The nobility sees higher taxes as an affront to their status."
Arthur frowned at the stack of papers. "Then that must be where the change is
made."
The Duke leaned forward, his eyebrow quirked. "What, hypothetically of course,
would be the best solution?"
"Convince them that sharing these responsibilities, that caring for their
subjects by paying more so those with less don't have to, grants them even more
status. Make paying taxes an act that gives them praise and prestige. Some way
of showing their wealth to the realm and their people through the amount that
they pay, I suppose. Something like that."
"And if they're all just too greedy for this to work?"
Arthur shrugged again. "Order them. There are penalties when farmers and the
lot don't pay their shares, so why not the same for dukes and lords? It would
certainly look impressive to the people."
"Hm." Yusuf mulled it over for a long time as Arthur resumed flipping through
the parchments. 
"So how has your Regency gone thus far?" Arthur asked after a while. "All of
this looks incredibly daunting, but are you making much progress?”
Yusuf sat back in his chair, a faint grimace on his face. “To be honest, I have
been only keeping this kingdom afloat. Eames and I have sailed this ship
together for a long time, but he has always been at the helm and I simply his
map, offering him a myriad of possible routes that he himself would chose from,
but now… I do not know his mind as well as I’d first imagined. I have no clue
what routes his mind would pick on any of these issues, or if going down that
course is the best for the realm, as we both know the King has on occasion
made...rather selfish decisions. No, only one person is truly capable of
knowing Henry Eames' mind and heart.”
Arthur paused his inspection of the papers to look up at Yusuf, surprised by
his expression. “What… what do you have in mind, your Grace?”
+ 
 
The privy council was pleasantly surprised to see Arthur accompany Yusuf to the
meeting.
“Your Majesty,” the Duke of Stoneborough spoke first as everyone bowed and took
their seats, “it settles more than a few of our fears to see the Queen is doing
well, even if, god forbid, our King is not?”
“Thank you, your Grace. His Majesty is quite well, but has requested a short
period of rest. As we all know, he is an alpha that works most tirelessly for
his people and is often all too willing to run himself to the bone in his
endeavors, for which we all very grateful, although,” he tried to tease, “his
sons may take issue with his time management.”
They all chuckled softly. The Governor of Wolfshire smiled as he added, “No
doubt the Queen agrees with the King’s sons?”
Arthur could only smile back politely before he took his seat. 
The first twenty minutes seemed to be devoted to each member voicing some
concern here and there and introducing, from the looks on most of their faces,
the same or similar proposals to the ones already spread out on the table in
front of Yusuf.
Arthur listened quietly to all of it, his hands folded in his lap to stop from
fidgeting, before he leaned over to whisper to Yusuf. “Your Grace, may I ask
you something?”
“Certainly. Anything.”
“When the King was my age, what had he accomplished?”
Yusuf’s eyes went wide, just thinking of the scope of it all. “When he was
nineteen, well, the first thing that comes to my mind is that he’d saved
Willow’s Edge from the White Dragon—”
“By himself?” he asked earnestly.
Yusuf glanced to the council, who were still waiting. He nodded. “Yes, Majesty.
No one else, not even I, would risk falling to that dragon, but he never
thought twice on it.”
Arthur took a deep breath and nodded, knowing what he had to do, then. “Thank
you.” He cleared his throat when at last he stood, his hands touching the table
and the scattered documents. “We have heard all of your grievances and have
come to a conclusion that will, god...god willing, make it possible to see
action taken on each of your requests. I have decided that, as your Queen, with
the assistance of his Majesty’s chosen Regent, to take up the King’s burden—”
The hall erupted in protests. He glanced at Yusuf, who gave him an encouraging
nod. “I shall-I shall take up the King’s burden until the time that he is well
enough—”
“Majesty!” the Duke of Roe stood, his face red with anger, “you have neither
the knowledge, the experience, or the leverage to do what you plan. You were
not born of this realm either!” He held out his hands and chuckled. “All of us
are deeply moved by your gesture, but it is only just a gesture, surely?”
“No gesture, your Grace. I am confident that all of us can make this work if—”
More men shouted over him. He cleared his throat. “—if we stick together...”
“The burden of King is not suited for one who bares children!”
“He’s right," the Eameston Governor chimed in, his werewolf eyes glowing dark
burgundy. "You are not an alpha or…or even…”
“Or even what?” Arthur challenged him. When the beta could only sputter in
response, Arthur glanced at the Duke of Roe. “Sit down, your Grace. I'm not
finished speaking.”
“I cannot, your Majesty. I cannot submit to you. You are no more capable of
holding this position than your toddlers are.”
Another beta stood. “He's right, your Majesty. We all kindly beseech you to
come to some reason. You have a newborn. Abandon this silly mission of yours
and return to your children. Lord Yusuf is a capable enough Regent to—”
“Enough!” The hall fell silent as the King appeared, followed closely by his
two grooms.
The betas all sat down quickly, but Arthur remained standing, looking at Eames
with a mix of concern for his health and fear that he would once again be
knocked down by the alpha, who had to share the same opinions as his council.
When Eames reached for the chair behind Arthur, Arthur quickly moved to help
him sit. Eames looked strong in his dark blue doublet and hose, his chain of
office sparkling, but Arthur knew that he was still rundown with fever, which
meant his patience was well past worn out.
“I asked for rest,” Eames growled, his face propped in his hand, “for peace and
quiet, and receive a hall filled with screaming old men instead?”
“You Majesty,” the Duke of Stoneborough spoke carefully, “the Queen was—”
Eames’ eyes were golden when they glared at the beta, who seemed so overwhelmed
by the look that he sat without another word when Eames ordered, “Silence, you
mewling toad.” He glanced at Arthur, clearly tired as he massaged his temples.
“Do you require my assistance, Arthur?”
He did, he really, really did. “No, your Majesty. Thank you.”
Eames nodded and rose to his feet. “Very well, if no one has any complaints, I
will be in my chambers.”
The older betas grumbled again once the door close, but order remained.
Lord Thompson rose, adjusting his overcoat in as dignified a manner as the man
could muster. “Very well, your Majesty. You… you may proceed with your…edicts.”
“Thank you, your Grace. You all need not fret. I understand my limitations and
am in excellent hands, guided by the always admirable Lord Yusuf. I only wish
to…” he tilted his head nervously, “make only a few…minor changes.” The older
betas groaned again. Arthur glanced at Yusuf for encouragement. “The tax
proposal has not been given authorization yet, and I wish to have final say on
the budget as well.”
“Your Majesty, please. What do you know of such things? What about a proposal
for funds to redecorate the nursery, or to paint murals on more of the
ceilings? That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s enough, gentlemen,” the Earl of Green stood, pinching the bridge of his
nose. “Arth—Forgive me, his Majesty—was responsible for exposing Cardinal
Stewart’s fraud,” he stated, stunning the hall into silence. “If not for the
Queen, his Majesty the King would have never had a case against that crooked
scoundrel. What order and justice that was brought forth as a result is all
thanks to the Queen. The National Observatories, in both Engston and now
Eameston as well, are also the Queen’s doing. I think we owe him, for the love
we bear the King and this realm, a chance to prove himself once again. I for
one am confident in his abilities.” 
When the werewolf’s words were received without protest, Arthur could at last
feel his shoulders relax. He took a deep breath, nodding in thanks Eames’ pack
member. “Now, the first order of business ought to be to tackle those oldest
grievances that have waited the longest to be resolved.”
“Such as?” the Engston Governor asked.
“Such as the treaty, which I think we all can agree has been collecting dust
while negotiations were stalled, for far, far too long.”
+
***** Chapter 23 *****
+
 
Arthur was more than exhausted when he arrived in his chambers after the
Parliament meeting to ratify the new tax laws. He was hot, lightly sweating,
and wanted nothing more than to undress and relax in bed with a book.
He sat up against the pillows after the attendants were excused. He tried to
read, but his mind kept wandering, his temperature still rising.
“No.” He dropped his book and lifted his nightgown with a groan. “No, no, no,
not now. Please not now.” He called for an emergency cool bath, and had another
thorough cleaning the next morning before dressing in the most rigid, thickest
clothes he had, anything to keep his heat scent contained.
+
 
Eames’ health was improving gradually. He could sense it by the clarity that
gripped him, even in his sleep. He woke up slowly, groaning. He’d fallen asleep
on his erection again. It hurt. He turned on his back and stared down at it as
his cock refused to let him return to sleep. He knew what he had to do, and
knew how he ought to do it, but rather than send a groom to give Arthur his
message, he instead found himself slipping into his heavy robe, his feet taking
him straight to Arthur’s chambers.
It was clear that the ladies and grooms were in the parlor to make sure that no
one – Eames – got into Arthur’s bedroom, but they were all fast asleep at this
hour.
He could smell Arthur’s bewitching scent as he neared the door. Inside, Arthur
was moaning softly, his back turned, lying on his side with his nightgown hiked
up over his hips and his hands moving between his legs.
At first Arthur didn’t know he was there. Eames’ scent mixed so perfectly with
his and had him rolling through his fourth orgasm before his mind could catch
up with him. Quickly, he sat up, pulling his gown back over his legs, the toy
phallus hastily pushed away.
Eames had his eyes closed, trying not to look at Arthur, but that only made his
scent that much more rich and thick. The spot where Arthur had lain was damp
when he hurried from the bed.
Eames tried not to breathe. “Arthur…”
Arthur felt a powerful tremor race through him. He closed his slick thighs
tighter. “Your Majesty, what… What are you…doing here?”
Eames stepped forward, the large bed the only thing separating them. He picked
up the toy by its little strap. Before he could think, he put it in his mouth,
tasting Arthur. 
Arthur felt a new wave of pleasure, and pain, roll through him. He whimpered,
catching Eames' attention.
Eames dropped the toy back onto the bed. His claws dug into the ornate wooden
post, keeping him his feet planted. “I…” He had to close his eyes again. He
prided himself on his newfound restraint, but Arthur was struggling. He
wondered if Arthur even knew that he’d sat on the bedside table, his legs wide
open and his gown twisted up in his hands. Eames shook his head and found
himself moved closer, his claws now buried in the next bedpost. “I needed to
stuff my cock in your peach—ah, sorry.” He cleared his throat and shook his
head again. “No. Sorry.”
Oh, how Eames' blood boiled at the sight of Arthur trembling. The werewolf in
him—no, just Eames, just all of Eames, every single part of him—wanted to pull
apart that thin little gown. He could envision his cock buried so deep, kissing
Arthur’s womb, stretching him with his knot, and filling him with his seed. He
could see Arthur’s belly grow, his chest soft and rounding, his scent change,
but he had to fight it. He had to fight it with everything he had. He sighed,
trying not to think of how painfully his cock throbbed behind his robe as
Arthur stood. “I… I needed to ask you in person if… Arthur… do… do you want me
to be here?”
Yes. Yes, more than life itself. Arthur’s body was calling to Eames so loudly
that he could feel a trail of slick run down to the back of his knee. He was
hurting, his omega sex burning, hungering for his mate to fill him with that
perfect knot. It had only been a day of suppressing that need for him but he
had no idea how long Eames had been fighting his rut. Eames’ eyes were sharp,
his presence overwhelming. Arthur longed to run into his arms and be taken, if
not for anything more than to quell the ache and wanting. “No. This,” he waved
between them, “it’s not fair.”
Eames swallowed and released the breath he’d been holding. He nodded quickly.
“Right. I had honestly felt the same. You’ve… I don’t want you to feel
obligated to me, or to have your body betray you.”
“Then what do we do? How can I stop…feeling like I’ll explode if you don’t take
me to bed?”
Eames closed his eyes again. When they opened, he was standing in Arthur’s
space, his hands covering Arthur’s on the table behind him. He let his forehead
touch Arthur’s, whose skin felt so feverish, Eames worried for a moment. “I
want you. I want your body, so badly, but I want your heart most, Arthur. If
we…” His claws dug into the table’s surface between Arthur’s fingers when
Arthur shivered again. “If you let me take you to bed right now, it will soothe
your heat, but if it’s not enough to soothe your heart, well… I think regret
last longer than heats do, darling, and I want you to know now that it was
never my intention to take advantage of you in your state, even though my own
state is… Well, it’s nothing you don’t think I deserve, I’m sure. But for the
sake of both our honor, I am leaving the palace until…I am well again, both
from my rut and from my indisposition.”
Arthur was taken aback by this. “Oh?”
It took everything in Eames not to change his mind. “Yes. I am confident that
the fresh air, and…and the space that you desire, will do us both some good,
after all.”
Arthur could only nod at first. “That’s… that is very admirable. Thank you,
your Majesty. It means…a lot to me.”
“Anything for you, Arthur. Anything.” Eames dared himself to touch Arthur. He
lightly combed back Arthur’s hair and the sweat on his brow. “Goodbye. I shall
return in a fortnight, god willing, to better times between us.”
“Majesty.” Arthur was going to need another bath as soon as Eames left, he
could tell. His body had never reacted this way before. His heart tugged, as if
caught in Eames’ aura as the werewolf kissed his forehead and trudged back to
the door.
Arthur collapsed onto the bed, trying to breathe as the strongest wave of his
heat gripped him. The toy smelled like Eames now. Arthur nearly fainted, at
once coming undone the moment it breached his aching body.
+
 
In theory, Eames leaving should have been a blessing, a chance for Arthur to
focus on his work and Eames his healing, but denying Arthur’s heat had what
seemed to be far worse consequences than Eames’. He remembered Eames telling
him once before that during their courtship, when they could not go to bed
together, that on top of his elevated temper, his alpha rut had him sore and
agitated for days, but that couldn’t possibly compare to an omega ignoring
their own heats, Arthur was certain now.
Arthur woke dehydrated and battling a fever. The guards, grooms, and even poor
Jeremy had to be barred from Arthur’s chambers in order to avoid incident. Only
that was the best of it. The worst was the sex itself. It burned, aching,
swollen and wetting itself without end. Walking, sitting, even bathing in cool
water was excruciating.
When Yusuf arrived, red faced with a handkerchief held tightly over his nose,
Arthur was in utter turmoil.
He lied on his bed, flat on his stomach in his robe. The attendants had every
window open, and stood fanning Arthur’s fever away.
“Yusuf…I don’t understand why… this… had to happen," he panted, groaning. "We
were… making so much… progress together.”
“Fear not, Majesty.” Yusuf handed the nearest lady two bottles, one filled with
a clear liquid and the other opaque white. “His Majesty urged me to make
something for you both. I tried to replicate your sister’s formula to suppress
the King’s rut, but he has informed me, it works only a little. Rest assured,
however, that his hunting trip is going well and his health is improving
greatly.” He stopped rambling when Arthur moaned loudly under his pillow.
“Anyways, with that being said, I could not make you a formula to end your
heat, as I feared it might have adverse consequences in the future, on your
reproductive abilities. Therefore, the clear one is a perfume that ought to
mask your heat scent, even at this state, and the other is a topical cream to
soothe your…um…your…” The ladies stared at him, expecting him to finish. Yusuf
quickly bowed low and cleared his throat. “Please send me word as to whether
they are beneficial. If not, I will gladly try my hand at another attempt.”
Lady Anne stepped forward. “Many thanks, your Grace.” She nodded, giving him a
quick curtsied. She placed her hands politely on the Duke’s shoulders, ushering
him out. 
 
The perfume worked wonders throughout the week, although Arthur’s sex could not
be quieted. It's ache seemed content to never ebb until another heat could make
for it this missed one. Still, he was able to rest, thanks to Yusuf's
concoction. 
As more days passed, his condition improved, thankfully in time for the meeting
with King Dominic’s ambassadors.
“Your Majesty,” Ambassador Belger of Runes bowed low with his partner, both
kissing Arthur’s hand, “you are as wondrously beautiful as your sister, my most
gracious Queen Mallorie.”
“Thank you, your Grace. I’m touched.” Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his
chair, a fan in his free hand. Only a few members of the court were present,
along with the privy council. Arthur was incredibly nervous.
“Your Majesty,” the second ambassador bowed again before continuing, “forgive
me, but… This is quite a surprise to be speaking to you and not your husband,
his Majesty King Eames.”
Arthur had to hold out his hand to stop the mummers that flooded the hall. “I
certainly understand your hesitation, as well as the court’s. The King and his
Regent, Lord Yusuf, Duke of Sansar have both placed their trust in me to carry
on these proceedings in the King’s absence.”
“And, if I may ask, Majesty, where is the King?”
“Eameston, where an important matter – though not more important than your
visit, of course – has caused his trip to be prolonged. Make no mistake,
Ambassador, that on a matter of this caliber, I make no plans to sign on his
behalf any treaty with you without my husband’s final, and always supreme,
approval of the terms we set forth today.”
That put the ambassadors at ease as well as the audience.
Arthur fought the urge to accept any wine or milk offered to him, keeping his
back straight, shoulders relaxed, and his face neutral, even though his fever
and ache had him longing for his bed. “I’m aware that King Dominic has new
terms, yes?”
“Yes, your Majesty. In the time that our proceedings were delayed and at times
altogether ceased, several other kingdoms made bids for our Majesty’s loyalty.”
“I see.”
“Emperor Saito in the east offered fifty warships and your brother King Michel
promised to train the Runes cavalry, although, as I’m sure you know very well,
the civil war in Duval has delayed any and all passage in or out of Milecomté.”
“I am.” More murmurs filled the hall for a moment. “However, Ambassadors, I am
willing to contest these offers on behalf of my husband, his Majesty. The
combined forces of the Engston navy and the Isle’s shipbuilding have been
proven to be far more superior than the Emperor’s own. And it is no secret that
my eldest brother is a man of money, above all else. He does not offer you his
services for a payable price, I’m sure.”
The ambassadors glanced at each other. “That is true, your Majesty. King
Dominic wished to have several dozen Engston warships in many of our previous
negotiations with King Eames, but that request was denied. And the King of
Duval, your brother, did in fact ask for quite a pretty coin in exchange for
his offer.”
“Then I propose a different method of payment, and will petition the King for
naval ships.”
The murmurs grew louder. The ambassadors glanced at each other again. “And…what
sort of payment does his Majesty request?”
Arthur thought on this for a while, thinking of what Eames would want.
“Hüstablen.” He held up his hand again to quiet the rise of whispers in the
hall. “It was a border city under King’s Eames’ control for half a decade until
King Dominic’s forces took it back.”
“Then you surely know, your Majesty, that this city was of Runes long before
falling under Engston rule. To return it would be impossible.”
“I don’t wish for that, Ambassador. My proposal is that the city be made
jointly owned, as a city where our two kingdoms might flourish together,
sharing culture and histories, and most importantly, it’s fort, in the event of
a outside attack from our shared enemies.”
The hall was stunned into silence this time around. The ambassadors stared
wide-eyed until both bowed. “Majesty,” Ambassador Belger said, “that would be
an unparalleled gesture of peace and unity. We will send word to Runes.”
Arthur kept his relief concealed. He nodded. “Excellent. Our kingdom hopes for
a promising response.”
+
 
A festival was held in honor of King Eames’ return to Engston and his defeat of
a dragon more huge and terrible than any of his past victories. Eames looked
healthy, refreshed, empowered by the showers of praise and fanfare, his
ceremonial armor and crown shining bright like the sun that he was to his
people.
In the eyes of the sea of happy, cheering crowds, no one in the world could
have complimented the King better than the Queen, whose flower crown and light
tunic, decorated with pearls made him appear as the embodiment of spring, of
soft, delicateness beside Eames’ hard metal and the sword at his hip.
Eames had ridden his horse in the procession through the city only as far he
needed to reach the Royal Court’s box in the stands. Arthur and the others had
stood to peer over the balcony as Eames had climbed the rafters to get to the
Queen and kiss his cheek. Arthur had smiled and the onlookers had cheered anew.
Arthur only stayed for as long as his presence was needed. Once the festival
and tournaments had ended and the banquet drawn to a close, his attendants
redressed him in less gaudy clothes. He made his way to the nursery while Eames
retold stories of grand adventure and conquests in the great hall.
+
 
“Your Highness,” Lady Catherine softly spoke, suppressing the urge to massage
her temples, “his title is your Majesty.”
Joseph’s little pout destroyed Arthur’s heart, but he dared not interfere in
Lady Catherine’s lessons.
“No!” In a fit, the toddler climbed down from the couch and stomped over to
Thomas, who sat on the floor in his werewolf form gnawing on a toy, and pushed
him over into the small pile of toys, making the pup cry, which then woke up
Albert, making him cry as well. Joseph stomped his foot, his little hands
balled into fists. “Mama is mama!”
Arthur picked up Thomas, patting his back as he walked to the cradle to settle
Albert with several of the ladies. “Perhaps the time is too early.”
The Lady sighed. “Your Majesty is right.” She looked extremely relieved.
“Werewolf children are not at all like human children. It’s difficult to
estimate when they become ready to begin their lessons in vocabulary.”
"You will teach them the language of Duval as well as that of Engston?"
"Of course, Majesty. Runes as well."
Joseph watched his mother smile as Thomas licked his cheek. When Lady Marisol
placed Albert in Arthur’s other arm, everyone cooed, fawning over the way
Thomas sniffed at Albert before touching his curious nose to the baby’s face.
Joseph shifted, tearing his little clothes and bit Arthur’s ankle.
Arthur startled in pain. “Ow! Joseph, stop it!”
“Oh, your Majesty!” The Ladies quickly took Thomas and Albert, nervously
looking from the Queen to Joseph.
“Are you alright, your Majesty?”
“Yes, I’m fine, I’m fine.” He shooed away Jeremy from inspecting his ankle. He
bent over to catch Joseph before the pup could run away. He shook him gently.
“Shift back.”
Joseph whined and squirmed, not appreciating the fact that he was now naked in
front of a room of fully clothed people.
Arthur wrapped him in a blanket, frowning. “Joseph, I don’t know what’s gotten
into you. That’s the second time this month. You’re still my firstborn. Only
you can hold that place in my heart. There is more than enough of my love for
both you and your brothers, so what has caused you to be so… terrible…”
Arthur’s face went blank as he looked at the boy who was his own little mirror
image and yet it was obvious now whose personality Joseph possessed.
Thomas stood on his hind legs with his front paws balanced on Arthur’s leg,
trying to get Arthur’s attention.
Arthur watched Joseph peer down at his wolf brother and wiggle, attempting to
reach down and pull Thomas up. He sat Joseph on the floor. Thomas looked from
his mother to his brother, moving to sit behind Arthur's leg, hesitant to be
near the other boy, but Joseph hugged him in apology for making him cry.
“Your Majesty?” Lady Marisol offered him Albert.
When Arthur cradled the baby in his arms, Joseph glared at him.
“You are absolutely too much like your father, little boy,” Arthur muttered,
his heart broken.
+
 
Arthur couldn’t sleep that night.
When his body’s eyes closed to sleep, his mind’s eyes looked upon Eames with
longing.
He refused to let himself succumb to such persistent dreams, knowing in his
heart that they were, truly only dreams. Their promises of happiness would not
carry into the waking world, after all.
+
***** Chapter 24 *****
Chapter Notes
     Sooooooo sorry this is late. I've been falling behind lately so the
     fic schedules are behind, but they're getting back on track soon,
     hopefully. :/
See the end of the chapter for more notes
+
 
Eames paced in his office. He sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time to
Arthur.
“Your Majesty,” Arthur spoke after a small lifetime of tense silence, “please
don’t be cross with me. Given the circumstances, I did what I had to.”
Eames skidded to halt to stare at him. He crossed his arms. “Let me make clear
this one thing before I share with you what’s on my heart. In the time span
that you took the title and responsibilities as Regent away from Yusuf, in the
time that I myself could not sit on my throne, you… Frankly, you were awe-
inspiring. You have a gift for politics and governing. It's beautiful. But I
don’t bloody care about politics, Arthur. What I care about is that I was gone
for two and half weeks and yet it has changed nothing! You look at me as if
you'll miss the power you’d gained more than you’d missed me, your husband,
your mate.” He heaved a great sigh. “Do you, honestly, still not care for me?”
Arthur shook his head slowly. “When I look at you, I see an alpha who
is willfully capable and easily powerful enough to reverse every single policy,
every law, every proposal that I have made, at a whim, or worse, you could
change your mind about signing the Runes treaty. When you look at me, you ought
to see an omega who is both…” he blushed, his eyes down and his hands balled
into fists of frustration as he forced himself to continue, “who is…afraid that
if I share what’s on my own heart, you will punish me in such ways. You ought
to see an omega who is tired of having to live with that fear.”
“Fine. I promise. Tell me.”
Arthur sighed and toyed with one of his rings. “I don’t trust your promises…
your Majesty,” he muttered.
Eames stormed to him and took his shoulders in hands. “Tell me. Lay bare your
heart. I demand to know now.”
Arthur inhaled deeply, meeting Eames’ eyes. “Your Majesty, I...I don’t know...
if I care for you the way you want me to.” His chest hurt.
Eames took the blow from those words with surprising calm. He let go of
Arthur’s arms. “Very well.”
Arthur swallowed. “What do you intend to do now, your Majesty?”
“Might I make a deal with you, at least? For you to stop calling me ‘your
Majesty’ as if you are some commoner and not my spouse?” When Arthur didn’t
respond, Eames clinched his jaw. He nodded. “Very well, indeed.” He smiled at
Arthur politely.
Arthur followed him when he turned to leave. “Majesty? What do you intend to
do? Tell me, please.”
“Something I should done much sooner had my head been in the right place. If my
gestures thus far have fail, I shall have to enforce some new method.”
“What does that mean?”
“Acceptance, on my part. Don’t let it trouble you, darling. Continue to stand
firm in your decisions.”
Arthur's feet stopped carrying him forward when he heard Eames' admission. The
pain that gripped him was that severe. He reached into the collar of his tunic
and chemise and withdrew the locket within. He touched the King's small
picture, reminiscing over what they'd once had.
+
 
Even after all this time, more than a few nobles still whispered about him, but
he’d long since stopped caring. They were the ones who went out of their way to
bow and kiss his ring, even though the former was all that was required by
etiquette. It was a transparent move, one guided by self-preservation rather
than loyalty or honor. After all, the Engston King was back on his throne, but
the Queen from Duval still held some sway over their continued favor and
positions at court.
Arthur was certain his ears were bright red under his hair, but he still smiled
politely as he made his morning rounds through the palace with his attendants.
Ariadne sighed again at his side, her veil flowing behind her. “Majesty—“
Arthur held up his hands, his eyes wide. “I didn’t say anything. Did I say
something?”
She glared playfully. “No, but your face is telling enough.”
He was stopped by another noble who fawned over his furs and jewels. He smiled
again until the lady passed. He made a detour, rather than complete his circle,
leading Ariadne and the attendants towards the nursery instead.
Down an empty corridor, he took off his crown, giving him something to look at
as he blushed deeper, searching for his words. “I just…think…that…”
“How much older is the King than you, Majesty?” She put her hands on her hips
as she walked, her gown rustling over the smooth stone floors. “I don’t
remember.”
“Does it matter? Yusuf is older than you, me, the King, nearly everyone, save
for Lady Catherine, and yet…you two…”
“Yes?”
He waved his hand between them before he sighed. “It’s just surprising, that’s
all. I mean you both no disrespect, you know that.”
In truth, ‘surprised’ wasn’t the word Arthur wanted to use. It was far beyond
surprising, and more than a little odd, to have stepped into Yusuf’s office and
found the elder werewolf circled in Ariadne’s little arms, deep in the clutches
of a passionate kiss.
“I like the Duke very much,” Ariadne stated. “He’s kind, charming, and quite
attractive. What’s more, he’s too mature to possess the ego of a younger man
and I have certainly had more than my fill of men my own age. One was enough.”
Arthur placed his little olive branch crown on his head. He took Ariadne’s
hand. “I know well the Duke’s kindness,” he smiled, “and his charm. He is truly
a gentleman among beasts. I am happy for you, Ariadne. Envious even,” he
muttered, after passing another cluster of bowing nobles. "Although, you are
very much deserving of the happiness you've been blessed with."
Ariadne touched his arm. “As will you be.”
He huffed, stopped again by more nobles who kissed his ring. “Your world was
nothing but the darkest, blackest of nights, and yet…compared to that, I feel
as though I’ve been complaining that my sun simply shines too brightly.”
“Give yourself more credit, your Majesty. Think of all you’ve accomplished, and
the future you’ve paved for the boys. The precedent. There are many people who
would hold you in high regard, if only they knew of how hard you’ve fought and
how much you've sacrificed.”
“And the whole rest of the country would call for my head on a spike if only
they knew as well. There have been enemies, betrayals, wars, villains abound,
but it was I who broke the King's heart. That, they would say, is the worst
offense of all.” His shoulders sank as he trudged along the corridor, trying
and failing not think of Eames.
+
 
Try as Arthur might, he couldn’t subdue the unpleasant feeling in his gut as he
sat in his throne beside Eames as the Runes ambassadors arrived.
The privy council, parliament, and all others who were in attendance still
looked upon the King as if his return to power was the herald of a new age of
prosperity—in spite of the fact that it was Arthur’s tax codes and Yusuf’s new
trade laws, among all of their various programs, that were bringing revenue and
peace back to the kingdom.
Eames kissing Arthur’s hand brought Arthur out of his musings. He glanced at
the King with a quick and polite smile.
“Ambassadors,” Eames greeted them, “I have good news for you and hope that you
have good news for me as well.”
“Majesties,” Belger spoke as they both bowed low, “it is with great joy and
honor that we inform you of his Majesty, King Dominic’s eagerness to form an
alliance between the two kingdoms.”
Eames squeezed Arthur’s hand as he proclaimed, “Then with equaled eagerness we
welcome this new bond.” He paused as the hall applauded and the ambassadors
bowed again. “And to demonstrate this, the Queen and I shall make voyage to
your King’s court, where the treaty shall be signed with loving heart and
honest hand.”
Arthur stared at Eames as the hall applauded and the ambassadors bowed again.
It wasn’t his place to speak as he had not been spoken to, but what would he
say if he could? He was speechless. At last, at long last, he would see his
sister again.
“As soon as plans are made for travel," Eames continued, "we will have you send
word to your King.”
Ambassador Haanraath beamed as he spoke. “Your Majesty, you are a most
diplomatic and generous King. We praise you and thank you for the provisions
you have set forth in this treaty and for your unwavering quest towards peace.”
The hall applauded again, but Eames held up his hand. The hall fell silent at
once. “It is true that I have had many accomplishments in my life and am most
certain to have many more. However, in order for a King to be righteous and
unwavering in truth and justice, one ought to accept praise and be revered only
for that which he has done with his own hand and his own mind.” He stood and
turned to Arthur. “If you wish to give praise and thanks, Ambassador, for the
provisions of this treaty and for, as you said, an unwavering quest towards
peace, honor my Queen.”
Arthur’s hand shot to his heart, his eyes wide as Eames applauded him, followed
by the rest of the hall. The ambassadors bowed and stepped forward to kiss his
ring, but his eyes stayed on Eames. “Thank you, your Majesty,” he muttered
before clearing his throat. “Thank you.”
Eames turned back to the hall as the ambassadors took their leave. “If I may be
frank with this court,” Eames said, “the Queen’s due honor and recognition are
long overdue. That is partly my fault, and the Queen’s own. Arthur has always
placed himself behind his endeavors, not in front. If any of us could possess
even an ounce of the selflessness that the Queen does, I think—I am
certain—that we would all be better men.”
Arthur watched the King speak, trying his hardest not to blush or hide in the
face of so much unexpected attention. “You’re too kind, your Majesty.”
Eames huffed, giving Arthur a little smile. “You once told me that if the
responsibility to lead a country fell into your hands, you would fail. I think
many here can say with confidence that the opposite of this is true. You proved
yourself to be far more than just a worthy Queen.”
“Majesty, you flatter me too much.”
Eames still stood tall, but he glanced at the floor for a moment and cleared
his throat. “I wish to do more than that, Arthur. Kneel, please.”
Arthur’s brow furrowed. It took him a moment to stand, weighed down by the
silence in the hall. The silver chain hanging from the clasp for his fur-
trimmed cloak swung like a little pendulum as he knelt before Eames, his eyes
obediently downcast. “Majesty?” 
Eames called forward a groom holding a pillow with a silver, ruby, and pearl
chain of office displayed in its center. The hall erupted in whispers.
Arthur glanced up, worried for a moment, then overcome with confusion, but he
said nothing as Eames was handed the pillow.
“For your loyalty, your good and honest works, and your dedication to the well-
being of this realm, I shall appoint you my privy advisor in all matters of
state.”
Arthur nearly fell sideways, staring up at Eames with as much shock as what was
felt by everyone, save for Yusuf. Many of the council members gasped outright,
clutching their own chains.
The King’s request would have been a total shock from any other king to his
queen and in any other kingdom, but for Henry Eames, the Werewolf King of
Engston, with all his realms and power, to grant such access to his spouse,
particularly an omega, was astounding.
The chain of office felt heavy on his shoulders, but when Arthur looked down at
it shining on his chest and touched its silver, his lashes wet, Arthur knew at
once that he wanted to die with this chain upon his person. In all his life,
he’d never dreamed of rising to such status. As a prince, even as a queen, he
was just figurehead, but this… this was…
He heard Yusuf clear his throat. He blinked up at Eames, remembering to pick
his jaw from up off the floor. “Th…Ea—Majesty…thank you.”
The court bowed as he stood, but he neither saw them nor heard their whispers,
his focus still on Eames.
Eames’ expression was proud, but Arthur could feel a tinge of sadness, the
barrier between them. He could see it in Eames’ eyes.
Arthur kissed Eames’ cheek, earning applause and reminding him that people were
still watching them. 
 
“Arthur,” Eames called after him, in the study behind the throne room once all
the hall had cleared in preparation for the council meeting. “One more thing.”
“Yes, Majesty?”
“I know you don’t usually care for gifts like this,” he explained, taking
Arthur’s hand, “but I want you to have it.”
“This was your mother’s?”
“My most prized possession, yes.”
Arthur admired the shining garnet stone and silver ring. “Your Majesty, I’m
touched, but I can’t accept this.”
“’Course you can. It looks exquisite on you. You deserve it.” He kissed
Arthur’s hand, a little smile on his face. “You know every time you blush, it
reminds me of that day when I kissed you for the first time, in the gallery.”
Arthur blushed more, his ears red. “Me? Oh, I don’t remember that.”
“Liar.” Eames chuckled. “Oh, yes you do. I remember hearing your heart skip
several beats in that gallery."
"I miss watching you play tennis."
"You could barely look at me back then. Nowadays, I’m just lucky when you
aren’t glaring at me.”
Arthur laughed. “Speak for yourself, great Werewolf King. I’ve always been
terrified of yo—” His smile faltered and he sighed.
Eames’ heart broke when Arthur lowered his eyes, his spirit heavy. “Arthur…I…”
He sighed too, searching for the words he needed.
Arthur gave him a sad smile and took a step back. “Thank you for this gift,
your Majesty.”
“Arthur, wait.” Eames stopped him from retreating with a gentle hand on his
wrist. He stood behind Arthur and wrapped his arms around him, his face buried
in the back of his shoulder and hair. “I’m… I’m immensely sorry for everything,
alright?” He held him tighter. “I am. I’m sorry. I have always been a fool to
you.”
Arthur closed his eyes, leaning a little back into Eames’ embrace without
thinking. He placed his hands over Eames’. “I know you are, but…" He moved
Eames' hands to cover his heart. "Can you feel that? Can you hear my heart now?
Can you feel and hear the speed of it's beating?”
His shoulders sank. “Yes.”
“Then you know that sorry isn’t good enough, Eames. Not to expel my fear or...
or to fortify my affections.” He turned to face him when Eames let him go. He
pressed his forehead to Eames’, his eyes down as he took the ring back off his
finger.
“Arthur, no."
He folded it in Eames’ palm and kissed his hand. “I’m sure your mother would
have wanted better than this, Eames. I can’t accept this now, because this is
part of an apology and it shouldn’t be treated as such. This ring is worth much
more to you than that and I want it to mean as much to me as well. So, when the
time is right, when we’re…when we’re both ready, then you may gift this to me
and I will cherish it forever. I swear.”
He caught Eames’ face when then the werewolf nodded and swallowed. He kissed
his tears and wet lashes, his hands softly caressing Eames’ jaw. His heart was
weighed down when he turned to leave, but he took a deep breath and let his
feet carry him away to the nursery to see the children, hoping, knowing that
real change could happen now.
+
 
Chapter End Notes
     AND ALSO:
     OH MY GOD! 500 SUBSCRIBERS?! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR LOVING THIS
     FIC. THIS IS A HUGE DEAL FOR ME! <3 <3 <3 <3
***** Chapter 25 *****
+
 
The light fog and drizzle swirled around Ariadne as she slowed her horse to
scent the air.
Arthur watched her quietly, guiding his horse to follow hers.
“There,” she whispered, retrieving an arrow for her bow without a sound.
He mimicked her, drawing his bow as well, mindful not to catch it on his beret.
They waited, listening for the sound of snapping twigs until the stag came into
view, grazing by a cluster of trees.
“Remember what I taught you, Arthur. Breathe.”
He took a deep breath and another before releasing the arrow. It was a near hit
that startled the deer. Arthur sighed as it ran off towards thicker fog, but
Ariadne’s arrow took the stag down.
“That’s still an improvement from last week,” Ariadne said, trotting her horse
over to the tree to pull out the arrow as their small band of hunting
attendants took care of her kill.
Arthur tiled his head, nodding. “I’ll accept that. Thank you.” He smiled as she
shook her head at him. It wasn’t until they led their horses further into the
woods that Arthur spoke again. “May I ask you a personal question?”
“I don't mind.”
“Well, you see, I’ve always been forbidden from hunting with the King—more
specifically, I’ve always been forbidden from being anywhere near these grounds
when he hunts, because he does so in his wolf form. Do you often hunt in
yours?”
Ariadne’s eyes fell. She cleared her throat.
“I’m sorry.” Arthur wondered what her wolf form looked like, but didn’t voice
this.
“I don’t ever shift if I can help it. I have a cellar on my land that I lock
myself in during the full moons. It’s not that I’m awfully dangerous, but I’d
rather not be caught anywhere someone can see me when I shift back.” She
blushed.
He blushed as well. “Oh. I understand.” He blushed harder when she smirked at
him. “Have you ever considered what it would be like to have a pack?”
He caught her glance at her hand. Arthur quickly stopped his horse. “Oh my
god…” His horse nearly collided with hers as he grabbed for her hand, seeing
her engagement ring. “Ariadne!”
She sputtered for a moment before finding her words. “You miss nothing with
those hawk eyes!”
“When did this happen!”
“This morning.” She lifted the hood of her cloak carefully over her jeweled
headpiece and knitted bonnet, blushing deeply. “it was unexpected, but no less
hoped for.”
“Oh, Ariadne, this is wonderful! No wonder Yusuf’s looked so frayed as of late.
I’m sure the Duke’s heart would have been forever shattered had you refused.
When is the engagement party?”
“Oh no, Majesty. We aren’t of a mind to do anything so showy and public.
Although Yusuf does love a good party, but I’d rather enjoy every single day
with him in peace than waste a single second of my time entertaining this
court.”
“True.” He laughed. “But knowing the court, they’ll all assume that Eames and I
put you both up to all this. I mean, really, who would honestly fancy a kind
and decent man like the Duke, hm? Why not some loud and brash wolf, as they are
the most desirable?”
She laughed harder. “But your Majesty, you know I only spend time with you to
get closer to the King!”
He clutched his pearls in shock. “Of course! They were right! They were always
right! Good heavens.”
“Majesty.” One the grooms hurried forward and bowed. “It looks like it might
storm soon.”
“Very well, sir. Lead the way.”
“Speaking of the King,” Ariadne said after a while, “how are you, if I may
ask?”
Arthur mulled it over, tilting his head. “Better. We’ve both talked a bit, here
and there. Apart from the painful fact that everything’s splendid, so long as
there’s no mention of Albert, we’re… we’re friends. Amicable. It’s
comfortable.” He smiled, musing. “He’s charming. He’s always been so, but it’s
different when he sees you as a colleague. He’s constantly pushing me past the
limitations even I set for myself, and is genuinely pleased when I excel. I now
understand why Yusuf’s put up with him all these years.” He glanced at her, a
small smile still playing at his lips. “Say, Ariadne?”
“Yes, Arthur?”
“Do you think, now that you are with an honest man, that perhaps someday you
might want to have little ones?”
“We’ve not yet discussed it. I was unsuccessful with my first husband,
thankfully, but with Yusuf, I think we would like to try, yes. He isn’t the
youngest man, but he would make a lovely father, wouldn’t he?”
“It would give me yet another reason to be envious of you. I have entreated the
King to make time for his children.”
“And has he?”
“Let’s go visit Lady Catherine and ask her.”
+
 
Eames crossed his arms and frowned down at Thomas. In his crib, the pup bounced
on his hind legs and fell over again and again. His little body couldn’t
contain his excitement at seeing his father.
“How long did you say it was?” Eames glanced at Lady Catherine.
“Two days, your Majesty, this time.”
“In total?”
“My goodness. It’s difficult to count that far, but I will say that his
Highness is very often not in his human form. With Joseph, he shifts when he
plays and such, but young Thomas simply prefers this form, your Majesty.”
He hummed, nodding as she bowed and took her place with the other ladies near
the wall. “I see.”
The once polished and ornately carved crib was scratched and gnawed beyond
belief. Thomas chewed at one bar, trying to free himself from the crib’s
confines rather than wait for his father to rescue him.
Eames chuckled at last and shook his head, secretly proud that his sack of
potatoes liked being a wolf best. It was always so relaxing seeing the boys.
Honestly, Eames enjoyed seeing Thomas best. His silly grin and pawing were
always worth the visit.
“Papa?” Joseph rubbed his eyes, trying his best to appear as if he hadn’t been
napping, but his yawn and heavy eyelids told the truth. He sat up, holding one
of the crib's bars to keep himself upright.
“Good afternoon, little prince.” Eames smiled. He held Joseph’s face, his
thumbs tickling his cheeks to make them dimple. Joseph blushed and giggled,
wiggling his legs, when Eames covered his face in kisses before setting him on
the floor.
Beside them, Thomas’ joy bubbled over even more to see that his brother was
awake. He whined, scratching at his crib. Eames picked him up by his hind legs,
swinging him upside down as he brought him over to play with Joseph on the
floor.
Thomas knocked his brother over accidentally, scrambling to bounce around
Eames’ legs, begging him to swing him again.
Joseph shifted, upset that Eames seemed so delighted to wrestle and play with
Thomas without him. It felt like a small eternity had passed to Joseph before
Eames scooped him up as well, sitting on the floor to wrestle them both.
Eames grimaced when Joseph tackled Thomas and bit his ear, making the younger
pup cry. “Careful Joseph,” he warned. “Thomas is big, but he’s still a baby.
Aren’t you, Thomas, my big scared boy,” he cooed, rubbing Thomas’ belly and
ears.
The attendants smiled, holding Eames’ chain of office after Thomas tried to
chew on it, but they all quickly and quietly rushed to Albert when the baby
woke up from his nap and began to cry. They hurried to soothe him, glancing at
the King nervously.
Joseph watched, alone, his father and Thomas at his right and Albert and the
attendants to his left.
“Oh, Thomas, no!” Eames cursed under his breath as Thomas peed on the carpet.
“Silly boy.” He picked him up, kissing Thomas’ nose as he carried him back to
his crib.
Joseph whined. He made to run to Eames, but he paused, never daring to bite his
father. One of the ladies picked him up and put him back in his crib beside
Albert’s, where the other ladies still held the human child. It was the final
straw.
Arthur and Ariadne were just about to step into the nursery when Arthur held
his arm out, pausing in the doors, just in time to see Joseph reach forward
over his crib to scratch Albert. He missed, his little claws catching Lady
Catherine’s arm instead, who had been carrying the baby.
To everyone’s surprise, Eames roared. “Joseph!”
His anger terrified the babies. Thomas burrowed under his blankets and Albert
cried louder. Joseph tried to hide in the farthest corner of his crib when
Eames stomped towards him.
He picked him up by his scruff, his face close to Joseph’s. “What on earth is
wrong with you? How dare you treat your little brother and these ladies like
this? Has Lady Catherine not taught you better? Or your mother? Albert is a
human. You could have gravely injured him, the same as you injured your nurse,
and if that had happened, if you had succeeded in hurting Albert, little boy, I
would have skinned your hide even before your mother’s wrath caught up you. I
never want to see you behave like this again. Understand?”
Joseph whined and cried, his tail curled up close to his belly and his ears
down. When Eames placed him back in his crib, he too burrowed under his
blankets, although Thomas’ butt was still visible from one end of his blanket
and his nose from the other in his own hiding spot.
Eames pinched his brow and sighed. He still hadn’t noticed Arthur and Ariadne
spying through the opened door when he glanced over and watched Lady Catherine
try to rock Albert, in pain, but the baby’s nerves refused to be settled.
“Madam?”
“Majesty?”
“Are you alright? Give him here.”
Everyone was stunned to silence for a moment as Eames held out his hands for
Albert, freeing Lady Catherine to check her arm. “Let’s have a look.”
“You are most kind, your Majesty.” She curtsied, watching Eames handle Albert
with the utmost care. He held the little baby in the crook of his arm, Albert’s
bonnet-covered head resting snug against his chest, his small bundled feet
cupped in Eames’ hand.
Eames peered down at Albert with a critical eye. “What’s wrong with him?”
Ariadne made sure that she and Arthur were still hidden from view as they
watched Lady Catherine glance nervously from Albert to Eames’ imploring gaze.
“Nothing, your Majesty. A little unsettled, perhaps, but…”
Eames sniffed him, catching Albert’s attention. The baby startled, expecting to
see one of the nurse’s faces. His bewilderment and curiosity made him forget
why he was crying.
Eames examined the thin, bleeding scratches on Lady’s Catherine’s arm and her
damaged sleeve.
“I’m fine, your Majesty. I swear.”
“Have the wounds cleaned and covered with clove ash before you bandage them.
It’ll lessen the burn.”
“Yes, Majesty. Thank you.”
“And don’t worry, madam,” Eames teased, although he still frowned down at
Albert, “you’re no more a werewolf now than when you woke up this morning.”
She and ladies breathed a little more easy at his words, but they all still
watched Eames, waiting for him to hand Albert back to Lady Catherine.
Instead, Eames continued to look him over. “Madam?”
“Yes, Majesty?”
“Is he supposed to be this small?”
“He is a bit under the normal size, your Majesty, but only just so. Human
children do not grow as quickly as werewolves, it seems.”
“Hm.” He nodded slowly. “He is Arthur’s little apple, indeed.” He chuckled.
“And…will he grow much in the coming year?”
Lady Catherine fought to hide her smile. “He has blossomed a lot already. He
is, after all, an Eames.”
Eames looked at her for a moment. He flashed her a quick smile that lingered
when he looked down at Albert again. “That's true. But he doesn't have any
teeth. See?"
She smiled as Albert tried to gum Eames' fingers when he opened his mouth. "It
will take time, Majesty."
"Oh. Madam?”
“Yes, Majesty?”
“Are his brothers careful with him? The nurses don’t leave them unsupervised,
correct?”
“Oh no, Majesty. Albert stays confined to his crib and to my care. Human
children, you see, spend most of this time sleeping and teething. The other
boys are much too large and rough. It isn’t safe.”
“Right. Well, make sure that Joseph and Thomas are careful with him always, and
that they are quiet, so that Albert may have the rest he requires.”
“Certainly, Majesty.”
“Especially Joseph.” Eames cut his eye at Joseph. He and Thomas both were
peeking from under the blankets at Albert. “He has a duty to lead and protect
his siblings. Make sure that he knows this and behaves accordingly. And make
sure that all your ladies are mindful of their health in order to prevent
Albert from falling ill.”
“Yes, your Majesty. We are all extremely cautious.”
“Good. Good. And—”
The creaking door caught everyone’s attention. Arthur blushed beside Ariadne.
He quickly stood up straight as the ladies curtsied in greeting. He sputtered
at first, but then took a moment to clear his throat. “Majesty, ladies. Carry
on as you were.”
Ariadne quickly gathered her dress as she stepped back for Arthur to close the
doors. She smiled at him brightly as he stared at her, lost for words.
The grooms opened the doors again for Eames to leave. Ariadne watched with
amusement as Arthur and Eames shuffled their feet, unsure of what to do or say
to each other.
“Did you and Lady Ariadne enjoy your hunt?” Eames said at last.
Arthur nodded quickly, self-consciously touching his damp hair, his beret, and
his clothes, making sure he didn’t look awful next to Eames’ clean and crisp
person. “We did! I almost took down a stag.”
“Oh…” Eames’ brow rose.
“Better than the last time when I completely missed,” Arthur explained.
“Oh, I see. Then that’s excellent, Arthur. I’m proud.” He smiled.
Arthur blushed. “Thank you, Majesty. Lady Ariadne is a wonderful teacher. Oh,
don’t forget that we have a sitting with Mr. Daniels for a portrait tomorrow
morning.”
Eames nodded. “Right.”
Arthur nodded too. “Right.”
“Arth—”
“Yes, Majesty?”
Ariadne cleared her throat to cover her laugh.
Eames scratched his chin. “Would you find it pleasing to take your breakfast
with me tomorrow before we see Mr. Daniels?”
Arthur could feel Ariadne’s stare. He cleared his throat again. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. That would be…pleasing, your Majesty.”
Eames smiled again, seeming to gather control over his fidgeting. He stood up
straighter. “Then I shall visit your chambers tomorrow morning then.” He bowed
his head politely, preparing to take his leave. “Good evening, Lady Ariadne…
Arthur.”
Arthur bobbed a little as Ariadne curtsied. “Majesty.”
“My goodness,” Ariadne sighed once the King and his grooms turned the corner.
“Shut up, Ariadne,” Arthur grumbled, ducking into the nursery.
+ 
  
***** Chapter 26 *****
Chapter Notes
     So sorry again, folks! I've been writing so many other fics! T___T
     (and thank you, tamat9, for pointing out those epic typos and grammar
     disasters in this chapter, my god, they were many!)
+
 
Mr. Daniels glanced at them and sighed again. “Your Majesty! Please!”
Arthur startled at Mr. Daniels’ raised voice. He sat up straighter in the chair
and touched Eames’ arm, silently asking the King not to lash out at the man.
Eames glanced at him the second the painter turned his back. “Troubled night?”
He whispered. “You were perfectly fine at breakfast.”
“I’m bored. Terribly bored.”
“Ah…” Eames chuckled.
Arthur’s thigh had to be bruised under his tights, but he would rather have
Eames pinch him when he nodded off instead of the painter yelling at him one
more time.
He winced when Eames’ claw pricked him again. Every time he blinked it seemed
more and more difficult to open his eyes. He moved minutely, but still Mr.
Daniels caught him.
“Majesty,” the man warned, “keep your fingers laced with His Majesty’s. Yes,
perfect.”
Arthur blushed and sighed, wanting to roll his eyes, but he’d be scolded for
that as well, he was sure.
Eames tapped his thigh, impatiently, his hand hot over Arthur’s. His neck
cracked when he stretched, but when the painter turned to them, intent to
speak, Eames needed only to raise his brow for the man to keep silent.
“Arthur?”
Arthur’s voice matched Eames’ hushed tone. “Majesty?”
“Has the Duke of Temborlocke responded to your letter yet?”
Arthur yawned. “No, Majesty. He still believes he is above reproached from
withholding the farmers’ pay. Apparently that money would be better spent
building his mistress a house.”
Eames growled. “Have Lord Yusuf draft an arrest warrant to be carried out upon
our return from Runes.”
Arthur startled again, blinking back his doze. “Yes, Majesty. Don’t forget your
meeting with the Baroness this afternoon.”
“Can’t that be postponed?”
“Again, Majesty?”
“Yes, again. I don’t want to see her.”
“She is your kin, Eames.” Arthur bit back his laugh when Eames whined.
“Wouldn’t the children like to meet their aunt, and she them?”
“No! Not today, not next year. Not ever, Arth—”
“Majesty,” Mr. Daniels gritted.
Then the worst happened. Eames sighed and crossed his arms, slouching.
Mr. Daniels stared. He looked to Arthur with pleading eyes, willing him to
persuade the King not to the ruin the portrait they’d already sat hours for.
“Majesty,” Arthur tried, yawning behind his hand.
Eames glanced over at him, his frown softening and his ears pink as Arthur
reached across them and took Eames' hand back, placing it where it ought to sit
on his thigh in the portrait.
“I don’t like you, Arthur,” Eames stated.
Arthur blinked back. “Neither does Joseph when I let Lady Catherine discipline
him.”
“You awful little demon thing. Stop looking at me like that.”
“Majesty.” Arthur patted his hand. “I will unleash hell upon you if your temper
tantrum costs Mr. Daniels and myself all these hours.”
Eames’ eyes narrowed. They locked gazes, for a moment forgetting to be so
awkward and unfamiliar with each other.
Arthur cleaned his throat, ignoring his blush as he looked away.
Eames followed suit.
His teasing did not lay dormant for long, however, when he griped, “Now I
remember why we no longer play cards together.” He sat up finally, pricking
Arthur’s thigh, though without malice.
Arthur fought the smile creeping onto his face. He stared forward, reposing
himself. “Because I always win?"
"Don't be silly, boy."
"You honestly forgot the staggering number of times I beat you, and let you
win, Majesty?”
Eames snorted, fighting back a grin as he too sat as still as a statue for the
happy painter. “You’re dreaming.”
“Fine. I'll prove it. Tonight. Bring your cards to supper, and we’ll see once
and for all.”
"Oh I so would, but I must meet with the Baroness, correct?”
“You don’t want me to reschedule her visit?”
“Of course not! It would be rude.”
“Ah… Right, of course. Quite convenient, your Majesty—”
Mr. Daniels turned on them both, pointing his brush at them threateningly.
“Majesties… please… just…hush!”
“See what you’ve done, Arthur?” Eames muttered, staring forward.
Arthur’s composure faded at last into a fit of snickering. Mr. Daniels sighed
loudly, shaking his head.
Eames yawned. “Bloody hell, this painting. What is the headcount for our
traveling party?”
Arthur frowned, thinking. “Three-hundred and sixty-four?”
Eames balked, turning towards Arthur. “What on earth? Who the hell are they
all—” He growled when Mr. Daniels cleared his throat.
Arthur smirked. “The list has already been narrowed down from five-hundred,
Majesty. They’re counts, dukes, your cousins, the dukes' cousins, nieces,
nephews, our attendants, your grooms, guards, the seamstresses, your pack,
their servants, our servants, everyone’s servants, most of their households…”
“Good god.” Eames rubbed his face. “And we all have to wear those foolish
hats.”
Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, still trying to sit still for Mr. Daniels.
“Those hats are court custom there.”
“They will look awful on us, as they do on their people.”
“Us? Oh, I’m not wearing one.”
“Then…why must I?”
“You know why. They are reserved for men, whether alpha or beta, and not
omegas.”
“Your sister's husband and his people are utterly ridiculous, Arthur. Just
because one pricks his spouse, he has to wear one of those things on his head?
There will be no more fabric left in all of Runes when we arrive with half of
our Engston court! Wait…no. As King, I must wear my crown, correct?”
Arthur glanced at Eames, pitying him none. “There is a special kind of hat for
a King, your Ma—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake! God damn these god damned hats!”
Arthur doubled over with laughter. "Oh, Mr. Daniels, I'm sorry! I swear!"
“Goodness, Majesty!” Mr. Daniels threw down his brush and tossed up his hands.
“I give up!”
+
 
They sat across from each other at supper, their attendants flanking the wall.
The ease of the afternoon had somewhat dissolved by the time Arthur had left
the nursery and arrived in the King's chambers. They ate in silence until
Arthur realized that most of the food on his plate had just been played with
and moved around.
He sighed. “We’ll be leaving for Runes in a few breaths, it seems.”
Eames put down his half eaten bread. “That’s true. You’re troubled?”
“It will be the first time that we…” Arthur sighed, angry with himself for not
being able to control his emotions. He couldn’t finish.
“The children?”
Arthur nodded down at his lap. “They’re all still so young. And we'll be so far
away. If something were to happen to us…”
“Darl—Arthur, don’t worry. Joseph and Thomas are—”
“Albert, Eames,” Arthur muttered to Eames' chest. “What of our Albert, who has
nothing?”
“Oh.” Eames sat back. "I see."
After a moment of tense silence, Eames spoke again. “I am still concerned about
his lack of teeth—”
“He can’t even sit up yet on his own, Eames. Of course he would not have teeth
yet.”
“I’m concerned about his constant lying down as well. Is that normal?”
“Yes. A thousand times so.”
“Hm.” Eames nodded. “I would like to recommend to Lady Catherine not to give
him such soft, mashed foods with his milk feedings. That can’t be good for
encouraging teeth. And she lays him on his back all the time. Must he be taught
to sit, or—?” Eames frowned. “Arthur, why are you laughing?”
Arthur shook his head. “He’s healthy.” He blushed. “I meant not to offend you,
Husb—your Majesty.”
Eames glanced up and nodded. 
Arthur sighed as Eames grew quiet and contemplative. “My apologies.”
“No, I just… There has not been one human child born to an Eames in…centuries.
It’s easy to forget, to... to misunderstand. Even as I am now, I’m still not
immortal, and yet…I still forget our short history. Arthur, do you think that
Albert would like—”
“No. I won't allow for him to be changed. He need not possess supernatural
qualities to be a strong or respected man, Eames. Just look to my brother
Paul.”
“Or you.”
Arthur sputtered for a heartbeat. “Majesty, your flattery is unnecessary.”
“I speak only truth. Albert already possesses so much of you. Even as a
toothless little log, our apple easily sways ones heart without effort.” He
glanced down at his hands, remembering how small Albert was in them when he’d
last held him. He huffed bitterly. “Indeed, being born a wolf in no way makes
one wiser than other creatures. Perhaps the blood makes us less so,” he mused
sadly.
Eames studied Arthur in the candlelight of the parlor, wishing he could touch
the tiny golden threads that sparking around Arthur’s velvet collar.
"Regardless, I… have lost much as a result of such blindness, and with a heart
smaller than any child's, pup or not.”
Arthur swallowed thickly, his chest aching as Eames lowered his eyes and
frowned. Arthur took a moment to formulate his words, although it was
difficult, distracted by his innermost desire to lay bare his heart to Eames.
“Majesty,” he whispered. “Eames… You know, I believe that… what is lost in life
often times is… able to be… replaced, or… or even regained.”
“Ah, but never the same as what was.”
Arthur smiled softly as he shook his head. He felt inexplicably nervous as he
spoke. “No. It’s better, your Majesty. Sometimes, it’s much, much better.”
+
 
The tears Eames shed gave him no embarrassment. They mirrored Arthur’s own, and
what could be embarrassing about that?
He rubbed Arthur’s shoulders, his fingers catching on the pearls, the soft
chemise peeking through, and the pale silk bows decorating the omega’s sleeves
as the titles and lands were named, all gifted to the child Arthur held.
Eames fought the urge to caution Arthur to be careful. The protectiveness he
felt, which was perhaps a tad extreme, kept Eames as close to Arthur’s back as
possible, ever watchful, ever worrying. But Albert could not be safer in anyone
else’s arms. Arthur cradled Albert’s little blonde head and his body, rubbing
Albert’s belly in soothing circles with the thumb of his free hand.
Arthur rubbed Albert’s soft, dimpled hands and legs, his lips whispering a song
in his language to the boy as the priests trickled holy water on Albert for his
baptism.
Eames squeezed Arthur’s arms gently, not thinking as he pressed a kiss in
Arthur’s hair. He remembered both Joseph and Thomas at their christenings, the
way their eyes had drifted from person to person, distracted by every candle
flame, every glitter and sparkle of jewel, and by the sun’s light shining
through each pane of stained glass.
But Albert only had eyes for Arthur, and Eames knew exactly why. He knew as
well that Arthur would not want to have to miss another christening in bed
post-labor. They would wait, and share this moment together from now on.
He kissed Arthur’s hair again before Arthur raised the boy to his lips for his
own kisses over Albert’s cheeks.
Eames knew then, totally, that he had been a fool. His love for both Arthur and
their son was boundless, and he would make sure that Albert knew that.
+ 
 
The morning of the voyage to Runes was filled with more tears as Arthur and
Eames gave their kisses and goodbyes to the children.
Arthur had not stepped foot on a ship in over three years. He glanced back at
Ariadne who was still waving farewell to Yusuf.
Everything was so different now. He was terrified, settling into his and his
attendants’ private quarters onboard. What would Runes be like? What would Mal,
with Dom and her children, be like?
Oh would he and his sister even know each other anymore? He hoped so. He hoped
that she would be proud of the person he’d become.
“Arthur?”
He turned his gaze away from his writing desk to Eames as the ladies and Jeremy
greeted the King.
“Majesty?”
The attendants pretended not listen in the cramped space.
Eames stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Are you comfortable in here? My room is
larger, if you wish to switch.”
“Oh no, we’re fine, Majesty. An extra foot or so wouldn’t be worth carting all
these crates and cases back and forth. Thank you, though. I do appreciate the
offer.”
“Good—I’m glad, I mean, that you…” Eames waved between them, trying to convey
his point and only succeeding in making the youngest girls giggle behind their
hands. “Well, if you need anything at all, I won’t be far.”
“Good, your Majesty. I’ll just be…working on some documents until supper.”
Eames looked as if on the tip of his tongue was a request to stay and work with
Arthur, but he grinned instead. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
As soon as Eames left, the girls began whisper to each other, still giggling.
“Oh, my ladies,” Arthur sighed, massaging his temples. “Even if the King were
not a werewolf, he can still hear you all through this thin wall. He’s just on
the other side of it.”
Jeremy’s brow rose. He smirked. “Well, your Majesty,” he said in a purposefully
loud voice, “at what times should we undress you? Should we remove your tights
and replace them before lunch or just before supper? Should we remove all but
your chemise afterwards for bed—” He ducked the slipper Arthur threw at him.
Arthur blushed furiously, chasing Jeremy in the tiny space. “I swear, I should
have left you all home! You’re all awful!” 
 
+
 
***** Chapter 27 *****
Chapter Notes
     *slinks back to blow the dust off this fic* Is anybody still here??
     Mega apologies for the huge delay. Life, babies, other fics, a JOB,
     and even more fics, just kinnnnda kept this fic on the shelf. Kinda.
     Okay who am I kidding? XC
     AFTER OVER 700 PEOPLE HAVE NOW SUBSCRIBED TO THIS FIC??? AND IT'S
     BEEN HOW MANY YEARS SINCE AN UPDATE? D':
     I'm nervous, I'm underslept, and I'm hoping you all still enjoy the
     read! If you can, please, please, please comment. Comment if you like
     it, comment if you hate it, and stick around for a possible second
     chapter tonight or tomorrow for Christmas Day! <3
     A few years(?) ago when life was simple, I did a His Darling chapter
     marathon release for Christmas, and it was awesome. I'm hoping with
     all hope that I can trrry to squeeze another chapter in today or
     tomorrow just to thank everybody for keeping this fic close and for
     all the encouraging and inquiring comments. I appreciate them all!
     And thanks as always to tamat9 and velificantes for proofreading and
     helping whenever yall could! <3
+
 
The seas were foggy the early December morning that their ships saw the lights
of Runes on the horizon.
Runes was not always a country fashioned in opulent detail or style. Prior to
the Cobb dynasty, its beauty rose solely in their architecture and engineering
up such jagged coasts and high mountains. Its shores were some of the most
difficult to maneuver out of any Eames had seen given the type of waves known
to batter these coasts.
However, such conditions only made for a spectacular port. No wood for docks
and piers on these sharp-cliffed shores, but mighty stone enchanted and carved
from the land itself. Marble capped each carved pier, the ports outer walls
covered in sea vine and the gold chains leashed to the ogres made to guard and
operate them. Beyond, on the far side of the shore, even larger creatures with
their pulleys and cables worked hard to drive a massive, curved wall in closer
from the outer waters, creating a tidal wave.
Eames stood on the bustling deck, watching the wave lift and guide their ships
closer to the docks where more men and beasts were ready to usher them safe and
snug against their respective piers. The wave crashed over the smooth stone,
flooding the platforms and swirling down the rows of drains that led the water
back out to sea.
“Your Majesty,” a guard announced, “Queen Arthur.”
Eames turned to greet him as the deckhands and guards paused to bow for Arthur
as he cleared the stairs. The hard winds held Arthur’s hair captive, his lovely
pearl color tunic and bear fur-lined cloak rustling about him. Beautiful. “Are
you well, my Queen?”
Arthur nodded, sweeping his ringed hands across the railing, looking out at the
docks. “I am, your Majesty. My attendants are not. Is this port system with its
waves really necessary?”
Eames chuckled, grimacing. “My grooms would ask the same if they too were not
so sickened.”
Arthur nodded, a hint of a smile gracing his rosy cheeks. He stood on tiptoes,
leaning on the railing to peer down to the stone platform where betas and
alphas both moved together, pulling ropes as thick as tree trunks from the
ship, tethering it as the last strong ripples from the waves rushed past their
legs and swirled down the many drains. “Majesty—“
“Darling?“
Arthur smiled a little, pausing to brush his hair back. “Majesty,” he said
softly, “I will be sending letters from the voyage to Lady Ariadne. You may…”
He tapped his fingers on the railing, his brow knitted as he gathered his
resolve. “If you have letters as well that you wish to have delivered, you may
have your secretary carry them… together, yours and mine.”
Eames forced his face to remain neutral, nodding curtly. “That would be…” He
tilted his head, thinking twice. “No need,” he informed him, watching Arthur’s
face fall. “I have already arranged for the transport of my correspondences to
Lord Yusuf.”
“Oh! Right. Of course.”
“I am teasing you,” Eames informed him, then, smirking devilishly.
Arthur’s frown only deepened. “Oh,” he flatly remarked. “I see.”
Eames leaned against him, his brow arching, softening Arthur’s scowl as he
pressed his elbow into Arthur’s side. He grinned as Arthur rolled his eyes. “I
would have my letters bound to yours forever—for strictly political reasons, of
course. And no, this is not my worst attempt ever at being flirtatious.”
Arthur shook his head, sighing. “Do you… Never mind.”
“Tell me. Am I being too—”
“Oh no, I simply… meant to ask if…” Arthur search for the words, rubbing his
cold hands together before Eames offered him his own gloves. His ears grew hot,
his cheeks warming. He studied the alpha as Eames looked out at the high cliffs
and inhaled the salty air, his chest rising and falling under his heavy furs
and doublet. Beautiful. He felt silly, censoring himself now. “It has been more
than three years since my sister and I last shared company. What if those years
and children and a husband, a kingdom and its wars, what if she and I are no
longer familiar?”
Eames took a step back carefully, needing to ground himself in this moment
where the timid, fearful boy he once knew now peered out of the wiser, stronger
youth now standing before him. Arthur's brow was knitted, jaw tight, his narrow
eyes focused on the waves as if to find his answer there. He covered Arthur's
gloved hand and kissed it. “I think back to the day of Joseph’s birth, when it
was her magic that saved you, not my blood. You and her have a bond that is
unbreakable, strong even in years and distances. You are not the boy you once
were, no, but she will love the young man you’ve become.”
“And what of her husband?” Arthur asked more gravely, his brow raised as gilded
orange and red carriages that were round like great pumpkins circled the
winding road, steep down the hillside. “He too is surely a different man now.”
Eames laughed, spotting the over the top hats worn by the carriage drivers.
Forgetting himself, he pulled Arthur close and whispered playfully in his ear,
“You turned my cannons from his borders. If it were possible for one to love
you more than I do, he may very well prove to be the most capable man for it.”
+
 
Arthur frowned from the clothes he was expected to wear to the Runes two
seamstresses and their excited faces then to his own attendants. “Oh my.”
They stood around him, all stiff and awkward in their own low cut but high,
thick, ballooning shoulder sleeves, their bright yellow chemises barely
covering their breasts but exploding through the slits along their arms down to
their wrists. They stepped on each others skirts, rigid in their corsets, with
Jeremy near waddling to move in the large, stuffed doublet and hose, his large
and feathery hat heavy on his head, his tights as multicolored as the suit and
their gowns were.
Arthur sighed, forcing a smile that only strengthened at the thought of what
Eames would surely look like in his clothes. “This… is…”
“A combination, your gracious Majesty,” one seamstress said, her Runes lilt
soft as she spoke Arthur's language, rather than Eames’, “of your dazzling
omega beauty and of your fierce but charming masculinity.”
“Oh… splendid.” He cut his eyes at his snickering attendants. “Alright then.
Let's see how this works!”
+
 
“Majesty,” Jeremy politely chided again, toying with his own frilly cuffs as he
reminded Arthur not to worry his.
Arthur sighed, or rather tried to. He had been squeezed into a tight but
voluminous gown of all the various shades of blue, the neck low, shoulders
ballooning and sleeves much like his attendants though covered in silk and
ribbons and jeweled clasps. The skirts were all left open like a coat train,
revealing light blue tights and a bejeweled codpiece that did not rest well
between his legs. But the fur overgrown trailed so far Jeremy had to keep it
from catching in the corners or statues as they made their way slowly out of
their shared rooms with Eames.
Arthur choked, seeing the King in his own ballooned and brightly colored
clothes. He curtsied, feeling his ribs protest.
Eames frowned, extending his elbow for Arthur to take. “Are you well in… in
that?”
Arthur could only shake his head at first. “It's difficult to breathe in this
corset. You're lucky.”
“Bullshit!” Eames whispered, rubbing his waist. “I'm in a corset! Have you ever
heard of such nonsense? They squeezed me into a corset and then stuffed my suit
with padding to make me look as big as I was before!”
Arthur snorted. “Well… your hat, your Majesty, is simply a thing of wonder.” He
smiled, reaching up to feel the wide brim with its fur and feathers nearly
obscuring Eames’ face, and the silk ribbon tied under his jaw to keep the heavy
hat in place. A little silver figurine of a wolf stood howling up at the
tallest feather from its place on the velvet band, and tumbling down the back
of the hat, the bright blue band swayed nearly to the floor. “What a sight,
Majesty.”
Eames growl turned several heads in their direction. “Oh so the little peacock
has a sense of humor,” he teased back.
“If you can call me such. With this fur train and the little fox tails on the
end I may be more beast than bird.” He frowned, studying the fur framing his
chest and belted tightly above his waist as he pet its softness.
“And your chain of office is…” Eames cleared his throat. “My apologies.”
“Oh no. What's wrong with…” He frowned only deeper when he followed Eames’
gaze.
“Were we in your mother country of Duval, it would be obscene.”
“It is.” Arthur had to fight the urge to pull his chemise higher up on his
chest or tug the overgrown to hide it, where his chain of office and the
necklace to his hidden locket did nothing but draw ones eye directly to that
low swooping neckline and his pale little rounds nearly spilling out of his
undergarment.
Eames pointed his chin. "What necklace is that? Underneath?"
"Nothing!" Arthur quickly leaned away, covering his heart the corset had the
locket tight against his skin. "I... I didn't know that I even still had
breasts from my last carrying, even this small, but this bodice leaves nothing
hidden.” He blushed, realizing, as he covered his chest with the feather fan he
was given, that he had not had many occasions to be naked since Albert's late
carrying. Before now, it had seemed ages ago since Albert had been born, but
indeed, not much time had truly passed.
He looked at Eames, catching him staring as if in a daze. He elbowed him, but
only found himself surprised by how naturally they fell into holding one
another, with Eames’ arm circling his belt, his large hand resting on his hip.
He stood a little apart from Eames, that hand now falling to his lower back. He
glared at his smirking attendants, and the King's grooms who smiled right along
with them.
The corridor led to a checkerboard patterned parlor just beyond the Great Hall
where King Dominic’s court danced and chattered in waiting for their arrival.
King Dominic had never been young to Arthur during his and Mallorie’s secret
and scattered courtship. He was a stout man now, his belly soft, his hair
greying at the temples, but his smile was one Arthur could not easily forget,
his hair peeking wild from under his large, golden hat. His suit sparkled, the
train of his dragon scale overgown pooling at his feet.
“Goodness gracious,” Eames swore under his breath as he and Arthur stood before
him. “What the hell is that?”
“Eames, stop it,” Arthur hissed, smiling as Dominic stood and approached him,
kissing both of Arthur’s dimples soundly. “Your Majesty.”
“Little Brother of My Heart’s Keeper!” The King proclaimed, his northern accent
as thick as a knife as he hacked through Eames’ language. He beamed, proud as
his court applauded them. “You grow fast!”
“I did!”
Dom glanced at Eames, eyeing him. His smile tightened. “King Eames. A
pleasure.”
Eames’ smiled tightly as well. “Likewise. Your palace and kingdom are both…
lively.”
Dominic hummed, nodding slowly, speaking to Arthur in his language rather than
Eames’, his accent even heavier but he spoke with a practiced ease. “So
uncultured, Arthur. What a pity that your magnificent brain and beauty could
not be paired with an equally magnificent husband.”
Arthur looked to Eames’ frown, relieved that it was one of confusion. He
laughed nervously at Dom. “Well,” he replied, unable to remember the last time
he’d spoken the language of his country and kin, “my wish is only that this
treaty summit will help you to see that I did indeed marry such a man.”
“Hm.” Dom smiled at Eames again before he extended his hand to the throne
chairs positioned beside his and Mallorie’s. “For your Majesties.”
“Where is my sister?”
“Ah yes. She wish… uh, surprise to you?” Dom sighed as he sat with them,
laughing merrily as he leaned down cozily to Arthur, speaking his language once
more. “Arthur, brother under God and Goddess, your assistance, please, so that
your… ‘gentleman’ may understand me.”
“You mean to say that Mal wishes to surprise me?” Arthur said, trying to subdue
his laugh when he glanced to Eames and saw how offended his frown was at Dom’s
mangling.
“Of course.” Dom grinned, his hands steepled over his stomach as he spoke to
Eames. “See you, Wolf King,” he teased, tickled by the hall's applause, “I
speak language of Engston perfectly!”
Arthur took Eames’ hand and squeezed it threateningly.
Eames huffed, smiling. “May I become so fluent in Runes in turn.”
“Easy,” Dom assured. “Take words, then… mash them together! Runes!” He laughed.
“Or so, tell people to me, come from other country.”
Arthur's face fell for a moment before he sighed into his hand. He laughed at
Dom's pointed stare. “Mal was a cruel girl,” he explained to Eames, “who would
not so much as glance at Dominic until he learned to say ‘I love you’ in our
language. At first it did not go so well. Mal was not impressed.”
Eames propped his chin on his hand, leaning on Arthur's chair. “I love you,” he
said in Arthur's language, his voice low and graveled. “The most romantic
language of them all and one not spoken nor heard enough.”
Dom’s eyes grew mischievous watching them. “What beautiful love,” he sighed,
amazed and delighted.
Arthur and Eames blushed, sputtering, but it was Eames who spoke first. “Thank
you.” 
Dom chuckled before he turned his attention to a young maiden with wine.
Eames feigned a close examination of the decorated pearl on Arthur's ear and
smirked. “His accent is much more funnier than yours, and I recall you having
none of his trouble when learning my language. Is he a little daft?” He grunted
as Arthur elbowed him, hardly feeling it through the thick padding in his
doublet. 
"It's a ruse," Arthur whispered. "Dom speaks five languages. Yours," he said,
pointing to Eames' chest as the alpha sat stunned, "he speaks, reads, and
writes even more fluidly than I do."
“Oh look!” Dom pointed to the high balcony as a raven appeared on the flower
covered railing. “Your sister!”
The court turned to the bird, the musicians playing a darker, slower tune as
the raven fluttered its wings, blowing bright green smoke from beyond the veils
behind it.
Arthur sat forward, gripping the arms of his chair and startled a little when
his hand covered Eames’ for a moment.
The raven flew down, swooping back up in a circle, again and again until the
green smoke formed a whirling wind, thick and ethereal. They all gasped as the
raven disappeared into the smoke, vanishing.
And there she was as the smoke collapsed and began to clear, the emeralds
sparkling on her extravagant dress, her rings, and large necklaces and crown,
her long hair like a waterfall over her shoulder. The back of her collar rose
high, like woven vines, framing her face and neck.
Arthur found himself standing, speechless, in awe, not only of her beauty but
of the shocking power of her sorcery. Her smile left him feeling spellbound as
she picked up her skirts to hurry to him, nearly knocking him down with her
embrace.
Her cheeks were wet against his when she kissed his ears. She held his face
fondly. “My dearest. Just look at you.” Overcome, she peppered his face with
more kisses. “The greatest gift the cold winds of the Winter Solstice could
have brought to me. My Arthur. You rose to glory just as I knew you would, and
you are still yet ascending, Privy Advisor of the King of Engston.” She
chuckled, taking her throne beside Dom, eyeing Eames with a look Arthur
couldn’t place. “We’ll talk more later.”
Later could not arrive soon enough for Arthur. For all of Dom’s own elaborate
gifts, of jewels and plays and dances alike, it was only proper that Eames
reciprocated in equal if not grander measure, but most importantly, with his
agreement at long last to the proposed engagement of Phillipa and Joseph. And
the treaty, unrolled and presented on silks like the very sword Excalibur
itself upon a table that was not nearly long enough to support the whole
document.
Arthur himself had to read, word for word, first in the language of King
Dominic’s for his court, then for his and Mallorie’s own Duval, and lastly in
Eames’ for his court and those join alliances in attendance.
He wasn't alone in his struggle not to yawn by the time he’d finished. 
"Well," Dominic sighed, clapping his hand on Eames' shoulder, "it is with my
greatest honor," he said to his people with Arthur translating to Eames in a
hushed voice, "to welcome a former foe turned brother for life. May we both
reap the bounties of this more glorious new partnership."
Arthur stepped back to let the two grumbling Kings decide who would sign their
name to the treaty first. He found himself in Mallorie’s aura, her gentle hands
on his arms.
She kissed his cheek softly as he joined the applause that filled the room.
“Don’t be fooled, my Arthur,” she murmured in his ear, “they all clap for you,
and for what you’ve done for our countries, for our families.”
Arthur glanced around the Great Hall, catching more than a few eyes sneaking
glances at him in open wonder and curiosity.
+
 
The years apart did feel as long as a lifetime. Away from Mallorie, away from
the world. The Engston islands and its continental peninsulas, which Arthur had
yet to even see with his own eyes… it all felt so far removed from time itself,
given the distances. And that palace, with Joseph and Thomas and his little
apple Albert…
“You miss them,” Mallorie said to him softly, as they sat together on a
fainting couch in the corner at the private party in her parlor, lazily playing
a game of chess.
He lay against her side, missing the way she combed her fingers through his
longer hair the moment she paused as he took one of her pawns. “Always. But I
had expected to see your little ones by now? How is your newborn James?”
Mallorie resumed her petting. “My Dominic is being very cautious with them
both. They catch fever so quickly in this season, and with guests, even family,
he isn’t inclined to take risks.”
“I understand. Albert’s own welcoming into the world was…” He looked to Eames,
who stood in the middle of the room’s guests with Dom teaching him hand to hand
combat a little too roughly. “Well, not a kind one for his health.”
“He is so precious,” Mallorie cooed. “All three of your sons are. I absolutely
adore the little portraits you sent of them.”
He smiled sadly, still watching Eames laugh with Dom as they were encouraged to
a rematch, their hats long gone and their long overgowns as well. “Yes…” He
hadn’t yet noticed Eames’ weight gain until now, so much more healthy and so
much like the alpha from their late courtship. “And your daughter is beautiful,
Mal. I trust that James is already as charming as his father.”
He lost himself for a moment, watching Eames and Dom circle each other, how
Eames withheld his strength, careful and mindful, respectful even, of Dom’s age
as they tussled. In the heat of the hearth’s roaring fire, their skin glistened
a little. He thought of those hands and Eames’ broad shoulders, his full lips
framed by his beard…
Mallorie was laughing quietly, letting Arthur play both his hand and hers on
the chessboard. “James’ nurses are smitten. He reminds me of Paul sometimes for
how mischievous his little smile is…” She tilted her head, studying Arthur for
a moment. “What troubles you? Your letters of late seemed more than a little
distracted.”
He roused himself a little, playing another game against himself when
Mallorie’s white cat pounced into her lap, demanding her attention. He touched
the little ivory knight to his lips, catching Eames’ eye before they both
quickly looked away. “I… have grown out of my childhood understanding of love,”
he mused, only confusing her more. “The more I find my footing as a Queen, even
as an omega, the more I… For a while I felt as though I was… drifting away.”
Her fine brow furrowed. “From?”
“From him," it hurt to admit, even after all their conflicts. "And in our
darkest hour, rather than bring me back to shore, he let me drift on, until we
were both lost at sea.”
“And now?”
Arthur took a deep breath, watching Eames dance with one of Dom’s young nieces
in a sea of Dom’s cousins as musicians played a lively tune. He shook his head,
smiling softly. “Well… we’re back on the shore…”
“But…”
“But it’s… rocky and… loose sand. Our feet have not stood on this shore
before.”
“Of course! Give yourselves time to find your footing.”
He sat up, turning to her. “You and Dom have always seemed so… perfect.” His
shoulders sank. “He clears a path and honors every move you make, but with
Eames, wherever I step, it always happens to be right on his heels.”
She glanced at Dom, her own smile as mischievous as Paul’s would be. “Come with
me.”
“Where? At this hour?”
“Oh, Arthur, you don’t need a chaperone. You’re an adult.”
He let her pull him to his feet, his ribs rebelling in the corset. 
She rolled her eyes at his frown. “You have the soul of a man older than Dom.
Come.”
She shoved him onto her bed before closing the door the behind them, snickering
at Dom’s protests to see her leave. “He has no patience for privacy,” she
explained, “and I know your wolf would soon join his prying.”
"Not if he wants my affections returned. Though, as of late he has been
handling himself quite well." Arthur shouldered out of his dress and broke the
strings on his corset, taking the deepest breath he could before collapsing
back onto the hill of pillows with her cat in his arms. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Everything! I don’t think you’ve had a bad day in your life, let alone the
storms I’ve weathered.”
She rested her cheek on his stomach, holding a pillow close. “Every day is it’s
own challenge, Arthur. You forget my husband is an aged man and our children
are sickly.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry.”
She waved it away. “Dominic’s mother, if you remember her, she died last year.”
She smirked wjhen, rather than feign condolences, Arthur held his tongue,
remembering the cruel woman well. “Before that day, this palace, this family,
and my husband were all stones, and I the flower jostled between them all. His
sisters made plots against me, charges of infidelity, his brother in the Holy
Mountains, at odds with my spells even more harshly than your Eames was.”
“For which I apologize a thousand times.”
“It remains the same,” she said softly. “At the head of every storm, there lies
a prior generation of conflicting and battling winds and with their influence
hanging over the heads of their children, there can be only more turbulent
weather afoot. The Wolf King has the ghost of his father, Dominic has his
mother’s.”
“But you all smile and dance together now?”
“Yes! I threatened to curse every womb and every seed in this family if they
did not let my husband and I have our space, to formulate a marriage of our
making, and to govern and to raise our children our way, not theirs.”
Arthur huffed. “I’m no wielder of magic, and Eames needs no ghost or family to
fuel his tempers and whims.”
She hummed. “Where is his temper now?”
Arthur opened his mouth to speak, propping himself up on his elbows, but he
caught her knowing look. He blushed, lying back down. “I… He… No. I…”
She reached for his hand and rubbed his palm. “Oh there it is!”
“Funny.” He huffed. “Imagine, living in a world where men acted out of the
simple kindness of their hearts and not with rewards in mind.”
She sighed wistfully, teasing. “That is why we have sons. Sons of the two
greatest kings in the western realms. May they be strong in their hearts and
soft in voice and pride.”
“Hear, hear, damn it all.” He glared at her chuckling. “At least someday my
Albert will have a kindred spirit in your James and Phillipa. My cubs, I am not
so sure.”
“I have full faith in them as well. Their mother holds every one of the most
key positions of influencing rule, both as Queen and now as the strongest
member of Eames' council. They will know from you not to second guess their
spouses or treat them unfairly.”
Arthur looked at her as she yawned, wishing they could remain suspended here in
time for just a little while longer. He studied the ceiling. “I missed this.”
“More than anything,” she agreed. “Letters can’t compare.” She sat up suddenly,
eyeing him, her brow playfully arched. “Particularly letters that never reach
their intended recipient. Tomorrow, I must speak with your Eames on this
matter.” She rose, offering him a hand. “Shall I be harsh with him or soft?”
He laughed, cradling her purring cat close as she paced with mock vengeance. “I
love him,” he whispered, seemingly to no one but himself. “Am I a fool, Mal?”
She paused in front of him, holding his cheeks. “No.” She kissed his forehead.
“Only a fool would treat that love as if it weren’t the most important thing in
the world, but you have always held it highest over all things. You would not
be so torn as you are if it did not matter to you. Continue to nurture it,
guard it.”
He covered his hidden locket against his chest. “I do.”
“Good. Now go to your fool. I fear he and Dom may be sparring again.”
“Why must alphas always play at killing each other?”
“Werewolf blood breeds aggression.”
“Ah! And thus we find the culprit of our shared troubles,” Arthur sighed,
slipping on her robe as they both returned to the parlor.
+
 
***** Chapter 28 *****
Chapter Notes
     MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!
     Apologies for typos and errors! It'll get proofread in the morning!
     @_@
     For now, I hope you all enjoy! >:3 And thank you all so much for the
     wonderful comments and love! <33333
+
  
“And so you see, fine ladies and gentlemen,” Dominic said, circling his guests
in the expansive, sunlit study, “were it not for King Eames’ love of flora, we
would not have this most greatest wonder in our midst.”
The crowd gasped at Dom pulled away the drape covering the somnacin plant in
its glass case.
Arthur shifted on his feet, his hands idly holding his ribs in yet another
corset and elaborate dress. A week had passed and he was well over ever wearing
a tight fit to his clothes every again. He glanced to Eames at his side, wary
of Eames’ unreadable expression.
Servants of the Runes King offered each person a small bundle of the leaves
with its plucked thorns housed within.
“Take one,” Dominic encouraged, “and steep it in a bedtime tea, or burn it at
your bedside, and dream as you have never dreamed before.”
Mallorie placed a little bundle in Arthur’s hand. “It is truly an altogether
different world in the realm of dreams. Who knew that such a thing were even
possible? That we could… unlock new frontiers in our minds, see new worlds,
build new worlds and new beings,” she said fervently, her eyes alight with
passion.
“I know that feeling well,” Eames replied, taking the bundle to scent before he
placed it on one of the servants’ trays to be returned. “But alas, this plant
is not for every soul to consume. It can be an untamable beast, Mallorie.”
“Oh but you and Arthur must explore the somnacin’s magic further to find just
the right means for reaching the realm of dreams. Dom and I have a greenhouse
for growing the plant so that we may dream together every evening. It’s
exquisite.”
Arthur’s brow rose. “Everyday? Oh, Mallorie, but… you just had a child?” His
heart sank as she looked to him with confusion. “This plant can be dangerous,
Mal. Eames and I, we… When we dreamt together, it made me ill, and separately,”
he paused, glancing at Eames before he took Mallorie’s hands, imploring her. “I
dare not seek to command anything of my older sister, but you and Dom must be
careful.”
“Oh, Arthur,” she sighed, “we knew well such sickness, but that only drove us
to keep pressing further until we could withstand it. What could possibly go
wrong? It’s harmless.”
Dominic agreed. “It’s true. I had hoped to share dreams with you, Eames. And I
am certain Mallorie and Arthur also enjoy dream building together? But if you
must insist…”
“We must,” Eames stressed softly.
“Pity.” Dominic tsked, shaking his head. “I had thought you to be a fearless
king of adventure, Eames,”
Eames took the slight in stride, smiling. “I do so truly loathe disappointing
you above all others.”
Arthur watched Eames glare at the back of Dom’s head when he and Mallorie were
pulled into conversation with several curious betas.
Eames unclenched his fists, taking a deep breath.
Arthur took his hand, guiding them away from any listening ears. "This isn't
good, Eames. I worry about them."
"I do as well."
"She could have endangered the life of her child," he sighed, raising a hand to
his forehead. "This isn't like her at all. Should I try to talk to her again?"
It nearly broke Eames' heart to hear Arthur so frantic. He held his face,
caressing his cheeks. "Sleep on it. It's clear that they do not wish to hear
such warnings at present. They both look to be in good health, at least.
Perhaps we alone may be anomalies when it comes to somnacin."
Arthur shook his head. "I only hope my fears are exaggerated."
"Let's not stress just yet. Mallorie's as sharp as you are." He hoped. 
“Thank you,” he heard Arthur whisper close. Eames glanced at him and tilted his
head. “Whatever for, darling?”
“For keeping your promise to me.” He squeezed Eames’ hand, the gesture saying
more than a thousand words.
Eames watched Arthur move to where Mallorie stood admiring another bizarre
plant in a glass case. He smiled when Arthur glanced back at him, feeling his
cheek redden as he cleared his throat and joined them.
+
 
If Runes hats didn’t shield from their cold, blistering winters, Eames would
have snapped and torn his off in front of the whole court, etiquette and
brotherly alliance be damned.
The snow had fallen around them like flower petals all day and now, after more
parlor dancing and court ceremonies, they all gathered in the snow-covered
southern garden, their eyes to the heavens as Arthur introduced them all to the
night sky’s constellations.
“And what is that one there?” One nephew asked, pointing to a cluster of stars
just above the line of trees of the east.
“Demetrius’ Chariot.” The wind whipped Arthur’s hair about his hooded cloak,
his eyes bright as he seemed to make the constellation glow as he pointed out
and traced all the stars together. “It is said that he and his winged stallion,
race across the skies of the Igokra Sea, shielding the Sude people from our
northern winter winds. You see, the cluster of stars just beyond it is Lady
Onyx, his soulmate.”
“Pardon,” Eames heard Dominic whisper beside him, tapping his knee for his
attention, “you are looking at the wrong star.”
Eames scowled, finding Arthur’s revelation of the Runes King’s fluency to the
true, but he bit back his words, his expression soften at Dominic’s grin.
“I know. It is it difficult to see much beyond the… radiating spirit that your
heart orbits around. It is that way with Mallorie too. Tomorrow night, she will
illuminate this sky with her brilliant fireworks, to mark the Winter Solstice,
and I will see none of it for the sight of her in all of her majesty.”
Eames cleared his throat, nodding curtly.
“And for as long as you and I have fought and shed blood, gained and lost and
gained again our borders, I can very well understand why you would be so
enthralled by him. It is clear he was quite… persuasive,” he purred, full of
lewd suggestion, “in guiding you to where we are now, here at last.”
Eames swallowed his growl, remembering that Arthur was near him with his
audience. Nevertheless, his glare cut Dominic deep.
“Forgive me,” Dom whispered back. “I do not mean to dishonor him with my words.
Our spouses simply do not have the same tools as we when aiding us in our
decisions, particularly when we alphas have our minds set for war. They know
that one thing and one thing only will ever cut through a war fog. I must admit
I did not peg little bookworm Arthur as a seducer.”
Eames meant to argue, but he held his tongue for a moment, stunned, for he saw
only himself reflected and echoed with those words. Had he not viewed Arthur in
much the same way? Had he never been lewd when speaking of him? His glare
hardened, but not with more anger. With shame. “He used his brain. And his
heart…” He smiled, taking a moment to admire Arthur and breathe in his crisp,
vibrant scent in the cold air. “And he forced me to use mine, good King. I
found myself wildly incompetent for not doing so sooner… Hm.”
He stroked his beard, leaned in close to Dom, as if to share some deep and
critical secret, their hats pressed together ridiculously, but he ignored them.
“You see, it's simple really. When I stopped to look at Arthur, to really look
at him, past all of the glamour and intrigue of being an omega, I saw someone
who, without his… very ‘seductive’ intellect and his persuasive compassion,
could truly grow into a Queen for the ages. And while winning wars is indeed a
specialty of mine, I think for both your sake and mine, it is critical I share
this advice with you. I learned the hard way, and am still suffering for it.”
“Say no more,” Dominic muttered, sitting back, his brow rising. “I see your
point. You are much more wiser than I thought you would be.”
"Is that a compliment?"
Dominic laughed, rising to follow the court when Arthur moved to guide them to
another spot of the gardens where a sextant had been made ready for
demonstration, saying not another word.
 
Eames could not find rest easy that night.
He lie awake, his thoughts and circling—orbiting—around one central force.
Arthur's scent, his image, the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch… He
would give anything to have just one chance of turning towards the pillow
beside his and finding his omega sleeping there. Just one chance to say… But
Eames’ words had so often been the spark to their dynamite.
He felt lost, without knowing what could bring them both together again.
And yet, he lay awake in the bed, his eyes on the ceiling's shadows, happy.
There was no paradise beyond the reach of Arthur's heart, but he knew that now.
He knew that well. He wanted nothing and no one but Arthur. Not land or hellish
herb for dreaming, not more gold or titles, not even his crown. He had been an
alpha and werewolf king with a feeble heart so easily swayed by conquest and
lust, but Arthur had molded it, patiently and unforgiving, into a heart strong
enough to honor Arthur's love and keep it closest.
And he knew now that nothing could change that fact.
+
 
Arthur was already wincing by the time he stepped into the parlor to meet Eames
for the summit’s third day of activities. He paused, forgetting his sore ribs
the moment he saw Eames speaking in a hushed voice with several of his
attendants. The boys were carrying something large, covering in a thick sheet.
“What is that?”
Eames hurried to him with a smirk as the attendants struggled, following him.
He pulled back a corner of the sheet, grinning as Arthur gasped.
“Where did you get this book?”
“Hush, hush, Arthur.” Eames glanced around them, blocking the book from the
guards’ view.
Arthur’s eyes widened as he pulled back more of the sheet, the elaborate
binding and painted covered, the golden page trims and their hidden pictures.
“This is… The only written history of the continent, written and compiled by
nearly every kingdom to rise and fall in the last dozen centuries, it’s…  been
‘lost’ for decades now, and…” He looked at Eames’ excited face. “Did you steal
this?”
“Well…” Eames shuffled his feet.
“Did you steal this for me?”
“No, I simply found it and then lost it again in… in your library… when we
return home.”
Arthur laughed breathlessly, his eyes narrowing at Eames as a smile formed.
Eames hummed, pointing his chin at the attendants to quickly carry the book
into Arthur’s room to store in one of his trunks. He leaned close, shrugging.
“Better than somnacin, that thing. Much better gift, in my opinion—”
He stumbled back with Arthur's weight suddenly upon him. The kiss to his cheek
was so sudden, Eames stood stunned, holding Arthur's corseted waist. It lasted
for only a moment, but it left him off balance and dazed.
Arthur smiled breathlessly, mirroring Eames’ flush. “There’s um… another small
party, Majesty, in Mallorie’s chambers again, after the court ball is over.”
Eames stepped back. “Is that an invitation?”
The attendants were all eerily quiet now, listening. Arthur nodded still, his
heart pounding.
“Will Dom and his cousins be there as well?”
“I don’t believe so?”
"Excellent," Eames purred. “I shall count the hours until I can be free of his
irritating presence.”
 
The court ball proved, however, to be more lively than anyone had expected.
Wine poured from fountains, the floor filled with dancing and chatter. Arthur
found himself sitting and watching, sipping his wine as Eames and Mallorie
danced, her husband as well entertaining a cluster of generals near the
musicians.
He wasn’t sure of what do with himself. His spirits had him wanting to attempt
one of the dances, but he’d been bold enough for one day simply kissing Eames’
cheek. A shame indeed that he found himself considering the most trivial things
in the world to be bold! But he was simply out of practice, in a plethora of
things.  
His heart had been hardened for so long, he felt trapped behind glass, able to
see and feel, but unable to access just what he wanted.
Mallorie sat beside him, still catching her breath after a fast-paced dance,
wine sweetening her scent. “Have you and your alpha switched bodies, Arthur?”
“What do you mean?”
She leaned on the arm of his chair, propping her chin on her hand. “Think back
to that first day with me. A court ball, dancing and wine and one lone, grumpy
soul upon a throne and another,” she said, turning her gaze to Eames who stood
laughing with a group of ambassadors, his eyes finding Arthur’s even through
the crowds, “lost in the sight of him, his beauty. Will you go to him as he
once did, searching for your scent and yours alone?”
She left him battling with himself to find the answer. But not for long.
He down his wine and stood, catching several eyes at once, including Dom’s, who
shouted, “Have you a request, young one?”
He did. Damn his fear and damn time itself. He did not need to wait to be
moved. He could do that all of his own and he would, no matter where it led
them. Stepping graciously through the parting crowds, he approached Eames, his
eyes on the waiting musicians. “La volta.” The hall filled with gasps.
“Please.”
Eames hesitated at first, but the floor cleared for them, the court forming a
captive circle as the drums, flutes, and strings began to play the intimate
tune.
They danced on the edge of the crowd’s circle, falling into step as if they’d
danced the volta a thousand times, and perhaps they had over the years. The
only dance where they felt sure footed, unneeding of grace or fears of stepping
on toes. Shoulder to shoulder, they circled and pranced, touching hands,
smiling even as their hearts beat harder than the drums.
Arthur was lifted as Eames turned, his breath suspended in the air with him
before his feet touched the ground again. He panted at the strength in Eames’
arms, his shoulders, his grip tight on Arthur’s waist as they spun faster.
Breaking away, he circled Eames, surprised and thrilled by the predatory power
he felt in that act of closing in on him. It coursed through his veins, warming
his limbs, his chest near spilling from his bodice as he was caught and lifted
higher still, their bodies pressing close enough to remember more stolen kisses
and promises of company in the late night hours.
On and on, they twirled and danced close, in a forest of eyes and yet alone at
sea.
 
Drunk on wine and floating higher than the snow clouds in the night sky they
stumbled together down shadowy corridors, and past guards eyes never left their
posts even as Arthur and Eames hurried past.
“Forgive me,” Arthur whispered close. “I should have thanked you better than I
did for that most wonderful gift, my Eames.” He pulled his face to his, his
kiss searching and hungry and hot, so familiar and yet so new that Eames forgot
to kiss him back first. Those soft, plush lips pressed against his then, slowly
devouring them, his tongue bringing a moan from deep in Arthur’s chest.
His back pressed to the massive window, his hands tugging at Eames to come
closer.
His nipples harden, bare in the cold corridor as his dress and corset found
themselves pooled on the floor at their feet. He moaned, gasping as Eames’
beard tickled down his neck, his hands searching for the ties in his stocking
and codpiece.
“Eames…”
His head fell back. He shivered with those lips tracing his jaw before he was
turned, his chest flush against the glass now. He rose on his tiptoes, his own
hands searching now, grasping Eames’, their fingers lacing as his ass was
filled with a sex so thick and so long missed and pined for that he sobbed, his
omega sex weeping slick between his thighs as Eames pumped, harder… harder...
Arthur gasped, waking with a start. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, but his
bed was still cool from the night air. He clutched at his nightgown, looking on
the bed beside him to find himself totally and completely alone.
“Oh what a cruel, cruel dream after such a wonderful dance!” He flopped back
down, covering his face in embarrassment for how heavily his heart was beating,
his fever…
He hurried from bed to pull the drapes back from the closest window, using the
moonlight to see what he already knew had to be true.
Arthur lifted his nightgown and saw that his pale inner thighs were damp with
more than just sweat.
He righted his gown and sighed, leaning against the window in exhaustion.
“Oh Holy Mother, why must you complicate things? We were just beginning to
kindle a little fire, but you demand an inferno, hot enough to burn a city!” He
gripped his hair in frustration. “Well…” he glanced back over his shoulder at
the empty bed. “I hope you’re happy, Great Mother. The heat cometh, and it is
very, very angry at me for my past neglect. Damn it all.”
+
 
The final days of their summit were days of several agonies. Arthur wanted so
much to curl up in Mallorie’s bed and never leave on that last day, but it was
time to return to his children and time to retreat to his ship quarters where
he could weather out of the worst of his heat in peace and private.
“It’s bittersweet,” he mused, hugging Mallorie again as they spoke of his
awaiting sons. “Promise me that you and Dom will come to Engston soon. I cannot
stand so much time apart from you.”
“Of course. When our little ones are well in the spring, I think, then we will
set sail.”
“Promise me.”
“You have my word. My most beloved brother.” She kissed his brow, hugging him
tightly. “In the meantime you must write me everyday… but be sure to take care
of your heat first,” she murmured, chuckling at Arthur's blush. “Be good to
yourself.”
“Reconsider your relationship with the somnacin,” Arthur heard Dom say to Eames
before receiving more hugs and well wishes from the man. “And you,” Dom said in
Arthur's language, “continue to culture your Wolf. I enjoyed his company!”
“And I, yours,” Eames replied before Arthur could, stunning the Runes King.
“You are not the only alpha with a trick or two up your impossibly large
sleeves, good King.”
Dom gave a hearty laugh, squeezing Eames’ and Arthur's arms. “Charming,” he
gritted out, forcing his smile as much as Eames was, “to the last breath… we
can always hope.”
+ 
 
A storm brewed over the sea for the first five days on the voyage back to
Engston.
Delaying them.
It was a nightmare.
Arthur moaned in his bed on the sixth day, torn between sickness from the
merciless waves… and his heat.
It was worse than he could have imagined. His body throbbed, aching, to the
point that tears clung to his eyes when he closed his legs, but he wouldn’t
dare uncross them. Even after he’d given his attendants leave, to find refuge
on the deck with fresh air and put distance between himself and Jeremy in
particular, Arthur still sat rigidly on his bed, praying that the winds would
blow harder. He needed his own bed in his own bedroom, locked away from… from
the panting, growling wolf pacing the floor just beyond the wall at his back.
In his rut.
He could hear Eames, swore that he could smell him too. That heady scent seemed
to come through the boards.
Arthur refused to undress. He would keep his calm. As much as his body fought
to rebel, he would remain in control. If Eames could do it, so could he.
But why, really, he no longer knew. Why wait? Eames had fulfilled his promises,
had given Arthur what he’d asked for… and if the dreams that plagued Arthur
each night held any insight into Arthur’s mind and heart, then Eames had earned
his love again, hadn’t he? What else could pass between him and Eames but this
act of…reconnecting?
But how could he be sure that this was right?
What if it had been denied heat all long that had brought them together thus
far?
Another bout of heat rolled through Arthur, leaving him moaning in pain as if
he were once again sixteen and under the doctor’s knife. He needed comfort.
He needed…
“Eames.”
It was a plea, barely a whisper, but the room beyond the wall went silent as
Eames ceased his pacing.
Arthur startled when the door burst open. Eames looked ravenous and ravishing,
to Arthur as he always did, but now, the alpha called to Arthur with his body
and sharp gaze.
He welcomed Eames in without hesitation, fevered as Eames locked the door
behind him.
When he smiled, Arthur could see that Eames’ fangs were still descended, his
golden eyes assessing Arthur’s state. “You called for me…my Arthur?”
“Yes.” Arthur frantically lifted his tunic, untying his tights. He sat on the
edge of the small bed and tore down his underwear. “Eames, I can’t wait any
longer. Eames… It hurts, it hurts.”
Eames nearly drooled like a dog when Arthur opened his legs and touched
himself, a hand over his hardening cock and balls as his other hand parted his
aching flesh to show Eames how wet and famished he was. Eames pounced with a
growl, on his knees, his fingers digging into Arthur’s thighs as his tongue
pushed into Arthur’s sex. He moaned, feeling Arthur tremble under his hungry
mouth.
Arthur panted, dizzy with the air now filled with the scent of his heat and
Eames' rut.
When he began to sink to the floor, Eames caught him, lifting him back up onto
the bed. He tossed Arthur’s legs over his shoulders to make sure he stayed in
place this time before latching onto Arthur again, his tongue as deep as he
could manage.
Being so roughly handled and devoured drove Arthur wild. “Eames, please,
please! More!”
“It’s alright, my darling,” Eames rasped, climbing up to cage Arthur under his
bulk. “Let your King, your alpha, take care of you."
"Yes, please take me."
"You see this cock?”
Arthur shamelessly licked his lips, his cheeks red. “Yes, your Majesty.”
“I’m going to stuff it all in your little peach. That ought to soothe it just
fine, being filled, don’t you think?”
Arthur came, sobbing then, his come spotting his garters and the buttons on his
clothes.
“Look at how hard you make me, Arthur.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Yes,” Eames purred, stroking Arthur harshly. “Your dagger is indeed quite
sharp.”
Arthur moaned, keening as Eames rubbed his heavy cock over his wet opening.
“Oh… my goodness… Eames.” His mouth fell open as Eames breached him. It hurt,
as it had the very first time their bodies joined. He could feel himself
stretching as Eames worked his way in.
Eames shuddered out a deep, rumbling moan, nearly collapsing over him. “Sweet
ambrosia. You are as a virgin to me once more. My beautiful, beautiful
darling.” He growled, smirking. “Oh no, darling,” he sweetly cooed, thrusting
shallowly. “You see? There’s no way I can possibly fit all of this cock in such
a tight, little thing, can I?”
“Please!”
“You can feel how deep I am already." Eames ran a hand under Arthur's waist.
"How further can I go, I wonder?”
“More, Majesty. Husband!” Arthur yelped when Eames fully encased himself,
thrusting hard. Arthur was near sobbing when Eames pulled out again.
“Get this off. Hurry,” Eames ordered, helping Arthur to free himself of his
restrictive belt and bodice as he tore off his own, ripping both their
chemises.
He paused, seeing Arthur naked.
Hanging from a thin necklace was not only Mal’s pendant but the locket Eames
had gifted Arthur for his birthday, when he’d been pregnant with Joseph.
Eames touched its jeweled surface, struck suddenly by the memories. The fear
he’d felt throughout those months and the pain Arthur had endured, first for
Joseph and then tenfold for Thomas, it all came back, making Eames eyes blur
for a moment with unshed tears. All this time, throughout their differences and
distance, Arthur had kept this locket over his heart.
One of Arthur’s slender hands covered his, gently guiding him to touch his
fevered skin. The softness his body had had from having their last child and
producing milk had all but vanished in the months they’d been apart. Arthur’s
body was firm, tight save for his chest, his scent thick and bewitching to
Eames’ senses.
As Eames pressed back into his heat, his hands covered Arthur’s lean waist,
running down his groin and up his folded legs and down again to his ass. He
pushed Arthur up the small bed with every hard, claiming stroke of his hips,
holding Arthur’s legs high and wide.
They could both feel it, as if their hearts were between their legs, they could
feel it as if Eames’ own heart was beating out of control. He was close, his
knot would swell. How long had it been? How many sleepless night of tossing and
turning, missing Arthur, staving off his rut… His knot would hurt, and with
that he knew a seed would be planted. It was inevitable.
He groaned in agony as he withdrew halfway, stopping. “Arthur, I’m… I want…”
Arthur tried to lift his hips to encase Eames’ cock, but Eames gripped those
hips and held him down. “Eames?”
“You know…what will happen if we…”
It took a small eternity for Arthur’s brain to process what Eames couldn’t say,
but seeing Eames struggle and shake sobered Arthur quickly. He had a choice to
make. It was his. He could say no and Eames would stop. Eames was on the brink
of it now, waiting for Arthur to make up his mind… Arthur could say no and
everything building between them could continue to flourish, his position as
advisor could continue, but also… deep down… he did want to, need to, say yes.
“Eames,” he panted. “Can you swear to me that…that what we have…what we’ve
begun to build together…won’t change?”
Eames’ gaze was earnest even as his eyes glowed golden with the effort to keep
himself from coming. “I swear. Arthur, I swear. You mean so much more to me
than this.”
Arthur felt Eames begin to withdraw more. “No.” He took Eames’ hands and lifted
his hips, his body swallowing Eames’ cock and squeezing around it, begging
Eames, promising him that he wanted this too.
Eames moaned as he lowered his weight, burying himself deep. It was all he
could stand. His knot swelled, larger than ever before. His arms wrapped around
Arthur’s waist as he felt Arthur’s breath catch. Arthur hissed and whimpered,
clutching Eames through the pain.
His release seemed to never want to end, leaving him with barely enough will
power to keep his hips still as his cock throbbed. He kissed the tears from the
corners of Arthur’s eyes and held him, trying his best not to collapse fully on
top of him.
Arthur shaky hand found its way to Eames’ hair when Eames nuzzled his face and
neck. His pulse was under Eames’ lips. Eames trailed his kisses down to his
shoulder and bit him hard, making Arthur come. As Arthur sung his name, Eames
could feel Arthur’s body contract around him in ways he never had before, as if
Arthur were draining him of his blood, his soul, all that he had been and all
that he was, Arthur took into himself.
This, Eames realized in wonder, this was a true bonding. A bonding between
mates destined for each other, that no country, or title, or pride, nor selfish
ambition could ever break. Not a marriage contract, not even heats, could force
this kind of bond. Through love and trust alone had this bond been solidified.
 
In the chaos of his frazzled mind and panting, Eames felt Arthur’s slender
fingers search his hand.
They slipped off his mother’s ring.
Eames watched Arthur study it for a moment. He took it, sliding it down
Arthur’s finger and kissed his hand.
+
 
 
***** Chapter 29 *****
Chapter Notes
     YIKES! It's starting to take forever to post updates! D: Life wants
     to go sideways nearly everyday, but I'm still cranking out whenever I
     can. ALSO for Black Mamba fans, the last two chapters are almost
     ready too!
     Hmm.... What else? Oh right! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO TAMAT9 TODAY, AND TO
     MYSELF TOMORROW! :D
     Enjoy, everybody!
===============================================================================
++
+
 
They ran through the palace hand in hand after the welcoming parade.
Or rather, Eames nearly dragged a yawning Arthur through the corridors filled
with familiar faces all bowing and ducking out Eames’ path toward the nursery.
The nursery which, Arthur was stunned into silence to find, was in total
upheaval.
“Look at that,” Eames said, beaming as he squeezed Arthur’s hand. “Three little
Eameses terrorizing their poor nurses. Do you ever have moments when you think
this is all a dream, darling? Just look at how perfect they are.”
Arthur’s smile was slow coming, but his heart soared to hear Eames’ pride for
their children. “More than I can say, husband,” he answered carefully, wincing
when Thomas, whose pup form was twice as big as it had been, crashed into
several servants in his excitement to see his parents. “Goddess bless…”
Eames turned Arthur in his arms, pressing him back against the doorframe. “And
we’ll have more little ones, yes?”
Arthur guided Eames’ hands to his stomach, covering them with his own. His eyes
studied their hands for moment before he looked at Eames. For the very first
time Arthur saw a future with Eames and their children and he wasn’t afraid or
hesitant to take that plunge. He had power to wield, and a true partner with
which he could truly shine. “Yes. Yes we will.”
They didn’t make it inside the nursery, not until after they’d stumbled back to
Arthur’s chambers and mated again, over and over, as if their heats had never
ended.
+
 
Ariadne stood a little at a loss in her guest rooms in the palace. All around
her, attendants, her attendants, buzzed and hurried about here and there,
preparing for the wedding. One she herself had been ready for for far too long.
Joseph and Thomas ran circles around her, giggling in their little doublets and
hoses. Arthur held a sleeping Albert in his lap, juggling his quill and small
ledger, smiling fondly at her. “After today, Lover’s Day will become the
official day for weddings in Engston,” he teased. “You mark my words...”
With fingertips dipped in golden paint for Sansar tradition, she touched the
embroidered shawl and sarong she’d wear over her wedding gown later as she
paused in front of the table lined with her bridal ornaments and gifted jewelry
from both Arthur and Yusuf himself.
There was a time when such things would have had her turning her nose away,
discarding all glamor and ceremony for the more plain, more simple, more
practical. She had been a fierce and aggressive girl in her youth and once
freed from her former marriage, she’d grown strong willed and independent once
more.
Well… That was before… him.
“Yusuf,” she heard Arthur purr, bringing her successfully out of her
daydreaming with his ever deepening voice and brightening smile, and a newly
rounding belly to match.
Yusuf was the only man who could ever make her feel as if sharing a bond,
having a mate for life were not a death sentence or punishment. He was a man
who filled her heart with hope and cemented it with such a worldly yet humble
disposition, whose age and wisdom had worn down the roughness of manhood and
had enveloped her only in love and the highest honor.
“You simply radiate at the sound of his name,” Arthur sighed, his hand idly
resting on his stomach before he smoothed out Albert’s dress and bonnet.
“Goddess bless, this shall be a year overflowing with gifts, indeed for us
all.”
She playfully scowled and rubbed at her blush as her ladies brought forth her
wedding gown. She tilted her head, her heart seeming to skip a beat when she
saw it. “Are those silk…”
“Interwoven to look like a dragon’s scales, but a bit more elegant? Yes,” he
said, scratching through yet another item on his list. “I remembered that
drawing of yours in the book of fairy tales you gave to the children from your
own childhood. You had said her gown was your favorite, so…”
She huffed, shaking her head. “You are impossible, Arthur,” she sighed.
He paused and sat down his quill. “Have I done too much? I was… admittedly a
mouse at my own wedding and planning yours has just been a dream, that… Just
say the word and I can pull back.”
“No,” she said, smiling as she approached. She hugged his neck sweetly, kissing
his ear as she whispered, “You are impossibly too good to me.” She stood back,
admiring the seas of her and Yusuf’s favorite flowers and streams of vibrant
red and pearl  lanterns carved to illuminate a forest on the walls and
corridors leading down to the chapel where she was certain an even more magical
sight awaited her.
“For my old friend turned newest sister? I’d give you the world.”
She eyed herself in front of the mirror. Even her chemise was elegant. “I feel
a little… Well, I'm not sure, really. My first wedding, I could not enjoy and
that marriage was so…” She shook her head and heard Arthur’s chair creak and
the little pearls lining the formal silver and royal blue chlamys he wore over
his loose, belted tunic clatter and ping together as he stood.
He hugged her waist with his free hand, his crown shining as he rested his chin
on her bare shoulder. “It's far behind you.”
She wiped away a tear. “It diminished my spirit and tainted my heart.”
It angered her to still recall those days, those years, so vividly. “To think,
you and I had stayed up in your room nearly half the night when I was sent to
you, do you remember? We feared that you would end up caged as I was but
instead, I found the door to mine forever opened, by your unwavering grace.”
She paused, seeing how oddly Arthur was eyeing her. Her own eyes narrowed with
suspicion. “What?”
Arthur busied himself for a moment with patting Albert’s when the baby stirred
before he asked, “I don’t mean to be intrusive, but… what’s Yusuf like?”
She smiled. “You work with him everyday.”
“No, I mean… You know.” His eyes narrowed as he smirked. “What’s… he like, when
you and he are alone together and his mind isn't racing with tax proposals?”
“Oh! Arthur, I’m impressed.” She shrugged, lifting her arms to slip into the
under layers of her gown. “However, I must confess, I do not yet know what he’s
like. We’ve never…”
“No?” He had to look down at Thomas patting his leg, the boy’s rosy cheeks
rounding with a pout. “No, Thomas, you heard Lady Catherine and your father and
my own instruction. No shifting today.”
“Mama,” he whined, rubbing his eyes cutely. “Please.”
“Tonight,” Arthur promised him sweetly, glaring at Joseph who was scratching
the floor with a little rock near their toys. “Tonight you may shift before bed
but you cannot before. Your attendants spent all of the last week making your
suit. And Joseph’s,” he said, making his voice louder to startle Joseph, who
quickly hid his rock and rubbed at the ruined floor. “Behave, my princes.”
“Yes, your Majesty,” they said together, both pitifully sad now, but Arthur was
eyeing Ariadne again, his brow raised at her in question.
She shook her head. “We’ve been waiting for… Well, tonight, I suppose,
con...considering…” Her bodice was beginning to feel awfully tight at the
thought, realizing that tonight would indeed mark the end of their lives as
separate and courting beings. They would share houses now, and titles, a name…
a bed. She took a deep breath. “I wonder how long it's been for him. I would
hardly count my former husband’s attention as experience. We’ll end up bumbling
through the night in embarrassment.”
Arthur laughed quietly. “Did I look so spooked on my own wedding day? I think
the two of you will… find… your stride… in time. Or as soon as tonight,
perhaps. The Duke is a very… capable and dedicated man when it comes to matters
of state.” He smirked. “He shouldn't disappoint, I think. And you, with your
knowledge of certain wooden toys and the books I know you stole when I was
abroad, I think he ought to be more nervous than you. You'll have him blushing
for weeks on end, I suspect.”
Ariadne nodded slowly. “I like the sound of such a prospect.” She laughed with
her ladies.
“Madam?” One asked, kneeling to stitch the hem of the dress, “Do you fancy
having many children with the Duke or only a small few?”
Both Ariadne’s eyes and Arthur’s widened. She sputtered, glancing at him in
time to see Joseph crash into a table when chasing Thomas, knocking over a vase
that startle his brother into shifting to his wolf form, destroying his suit.
The large cub whined, falling over Joseph into the spilled dirt and flowers,
ruining Joseph’s clothes as well to Arthur’s dismay.
“Oh no!” Joseph sat up, his face losing his happy little dimples. “I make a
mess, Thomas!” They gasped, looking to their mother.
She grimaced as Arthur turned his gaze heavenward. Joseph and Thomas both
hurried to sit on the floor at her feet, hiding under her dress as Arthur gave
a great sigh. “Arthur?”
“Yes,” he answered to the ceiling.
“Will you grant me one last wish?”
“What?”
“Forbid me from having children, please.”
He snorted and dropped his gaze to his sons peering out at him from under
Ariadne’s gown. “Whatever for? Wouldn't you like to go grey at twenty as well
from the stress?”
“I have a feeling Yusuf may not have the heart for so many ripped suits.”
He hummed, scowling down at the pup the size of a knee high dog standing on
hind legs, licking Arthur’s hand in apology, his little cries breaking every
heart in the room, save for Arthur’s. “Did I tell you, Ariadne, Eames and I are
praying for girls from here on out?”
She only grimaced harder, her thoughts of tonight for now thankfully distracted
as her high spirits returned. “If only that made a difference. I did try to
send you crashing off a balcony when we were children.”
“Damn, that's true,” he sighed at Albert as the baby yawned at him. “We're all
doomed, apple.”
+
 
Yusuf's heart seemed to wither for the hundredth time that morning when a
thought broke through his excitement. “Majesty?”
“No.” The King continued his pacing around Yusuf and his grooms as they sewed
the Duke into his doublet. He pointed at Yusuf’s nose when Yusuf tried to
argue. “Yusuf, hush.”
He scowled. He knew it was for the best, but come hell or high water or the
greatest day of his life still he could not rest. “I forgot to sign those
contracts you sent.”
Eames glared, still looking like the boy Yusuf had cultured, sharp in the eyes
like his father but gentle in his smirk. “Stop. My Arthur took care of it.”
“But—”
“No.”
“Majesty, have you forgotten that—”
“That my Athur drafts up proposals when we make love or counts figures aloud in
his sleep, no.” He laughed, squeezing Yusuf’s shoulder. “Relax, old man. All
the meetings, all the signings and draftings have either already been taken
care of between Arthur and I, or they will be moved to fit in a holiday for you
and your bride long enough that you will both return grey templed but happy by
its end. Now not another word about work.”
“Of course, your Majesty.” He sucked in his stomach for threading and hooking
of clasps down the front of his doublet. “But, there is also the question of
taxes from the treasurer we still consider.” He blushed as Eames sobbed and
tossed up his hands.
“Good heavens! Although…” Eames paused, turning to him with a dreaded
expression.
Yusuf shifted his weight, nervous. “Oh dear. What did we forget?”
“Oh, it is a matter of the highest importance. How could we have possibly
overlooked it? And here I had possessed full faith in Arthur to take care of
every matter.”
Yusuf stilled the seamstress’ hands, ready to run to his office and summon his
his aides at once, trousers be damned. “Yes?”
“Oh yes.” Eames stuffed Yusuf's mouth with a handkerchief and kissed his cheek.
He pointed a threatening claw at the seamstresses to continue their work before
he patted Yusuf’s cheeks. “Today, you marry your sun, your moon, and your
stars. One more thought of work and I will throttle you to the chapel, dearest
Duke.”
Yusuf scowled, freeing his mouth. “Funny, your Majesty.” But he could not
remain in irritable spirits. The handkerchief the King had grabbed was one of
hers, the little A in each of the four corners stitched by her own hand.
He pressed it to his heart, petting its silk. “I cannot recall the number of
years spent resigned to thinking that I would never have reason to love again,”
he mused. “She as well, I imagine.”
It was truly terrifying. Most days, Yusuf could not concentrate on anything
other than the sound of her sweet voice, the soft rustling of her gowns, or her
quiet sighs, nor think beyond her scent in his nose or how the sun cast the
faintest shadow upon her breast and rich, silky hair… He would surely make a
fool of himself tonight and all days and years to follow. Give him a diplomatic
challenge or civil unrest at the borders any day and he could tackle them, but
being married to Lady Ariadne, that was a whole other matter.
“Would you and Lady Ariadne have even considered marriage, were it not for my
busybody Queen catching you two snogging in the office? He is one stubbornly
persuasive little devil if not anything else.”
“This is true, but I'm glad to have had help. She and I had both had our
reservations about going forward.”
“And with good reason,” Eames growled. “That… dog piss of a cousin of mine. One
of Peter Browning’s bastards I should have banished right along with the lot of
them rather than letting him roam free within the realms from court to castle
tarnishing whatever good there was left of his name.”
“You gave him a chance to make a gentleman of himself, Majesty. I would not lay
fault at your feet. My only hope is that I may restore her happiness.”
“Consider it already done. You made the finest husband and father then and
shall be one for all others to model henceforth. Well,” he teased, winking,
“except for me, of course.”
Yusuf eyed him flatly. “Of course, Majesty.”
+
The lanterns casts the chapel in magical shadows and a golden glow in the early
evening.
Yusuf could not help but fidget with his sashes at the altar and the jeweled
hilt of his ceremonial sword at his hip, his heartbeat quickening with every
second that past as the priests performed their rituals, uniting him and Lady
Ariadne in marriage.
If he were honest with himself, in spite of the day to day planning and the
execution of the King’s own events, the Duke was not a lover of such long
procession and ceremony. A small chapel, even the matchbox of a chapel in
Ariadne’s manor, and a priest, with Eames and Queen Arthur there with them, and
maybe the pack and council perhaps would have done the job perfectly for him.
Ariadne as well, who also preferred a more modest spread.
However he found himself unable to complain with her standing with him, hand in
hand, in her veil and her painted hands and a gown that rivaled his own suit.
The lanterns, the guests, the magnificent church, it all seemed as if a fairy
tale and it was fitting for them. Their finding one another and falling so deep
into their blessedly uncomplicated love, it was indeed like a fairy tale.
Through her veil, she was smiling softly at him, but squeezing his hands. The
King leaned close, clearing his throat as Arthur grinned behind Ariadne.
The hall was silent, waiting for Yusuf to cease his daydreaming in favor of
speaking.
“Ah…” He swallowed, glaring when Arthur snickered.
Ariadne leaned in close, whispering. “You do?”
“Yes!” Yusuf proclaimed, blushing as the guests quietly murmured in fond
laughter. “I… I do.”
He could almost feel the sighs of relief around him. He blushed at his bride,
his heart lightening by her efforts to contain her laughter.
Ariadne fought the urge to keep her eyes down to shield herself from to world
seeing her own nerves, but there was more to it. Her hands trembled in Yusuf's,
her spirit thrumming with excitement as the priests performed more rights with
her now. “I do.”
Tonight, Arthur had planned a romantic, but stiffly formal reception for them,
but they'd had other plans. There would be time for romance, indeed, it had
been there from the start of their secret courtship, but what would truly
delight them now, was to share their wolf forms. Neither Ariadne nor Yusuf had
chosen to be wolves and for so long, they'd had fought against revealing those
sides of themselves with as much effort as possible, but now she was ready to
take that leap with him, to grow into her powers as he had.
+
 
Arthur sat scanning the crowds at the reception, ignoring Eames as he stuffed
his face full of duck.
“Darling,” the King warned him, “believe me, they're not here.”
“Well, where could they be? You don't think they're… already…”
“Bonding?” Eames snorted. “If this were you and I in celebration of our union,
as we are now and as they have been for some time now, where would we be?”
Arthur sat back, his frowning softening into a smirk. “Your points are valid,
husband,” he muttered, his eyes still narrowing as he glanced at Eames.
Eames cleaned his hands and mouth before kissing Arthur's cheek. “Shall we bow
out as well, wife?”
Eames’ hand lay heavy and warm on his belly. Arthur smiled and shook his head
even as he rose with Eames to leave, a warmth already building beneath his
thick clothes.
+
 
Ariadne was waiting for Yusuf with her horse tittered to a tree, their ladies
and grooms already waiting by a carriage with spare clothes. He tied his horse
next to hers, letting them graze together.
“This is a perfect evening, isn't it?” He moved her hood back from her face,
kissing her deeply against the nearest tree, his hands slipping under her cloak
to squeeze her little waist. He felt breathless as their lips parted.
She closed her eyes and pulled him by his hands towards the thicker woods.
He chuckled. “Ready, my Lady?”
She hurried into the forest without warning, laughing as she disappeared past a
thick cluster of bushes.
He found only her shaded clothes when he followed after. Up the hill, she
stood, four-legged with a rich, clay colored fur, and one hind paw, he was
charmed to see, was snow white.
Her tail was slightly tucked, her ears a little rigid, until Yusuf shifted with
her, shaking out his grey and mahogany coat, his tail wagging like a dog’s as
he trotted up the hill to her. He nuzzled her cheeks and neck, and nipped at
her ear tenderly, happy when she relaxed and toppled him over before she took
off deeper into the woods.
He huffed, shaking grass from behind his ear as he stood, and caught her
peering at him from behind a bush, so playful and alive in her wolf form. He
ran to her, then, joining in on her game of chase and tag through the forest
until at last they reached the cottage hidden away, where their servants were
already settling into the nearby house, their drapes drawn, granted them full
privacy as Ariadne and Yusuf shifted back.
He hesitated, still unsure about walking even the little ways to the cottage
nude, but he paused when she took his hand.
“You know,” she said behind him, still out of breath, “we don't have to go in
just yet.”
He hummed, never daring, even now, to turn to her and see her unclothed, as if
they were still courting. He startled then, remembering his own body and moved
to cover his front.
Only, she pressed against his back, kissing his shoulders softly, his hands
taking his. “Shall we play some more?”
It the most erotic thing Yusuf had ever heard, and coming from that soft, small
voice, he nearly fainted, but he cleared his throat, his eyes still closed. But
he turned to her nonetheless and held her close.
Her huffed laughter brought a blush to his cheeks. He looked at her, struck by
her beauty. Her hair loose and wild, her skin slight in the bright moon through
the shadows of the overhanging trees… Her nipples were hard against his hairy
chest before she stepped back and began to shift again.
She nuzzled his hand before leaping away to a cluster of trees, a wolf, but
still her eyes held a fire Yusuf was entranced by as she peered at him over her
shoulder, her tail swaying.
He joined her without a second thought, his paws leaving soft tracks on the
damp moss and dirt as they hurried back into the thick of the forest.
+
 
Arthur refused to let his nerves show. He had done this enough times by now to
be more at ease with his position, and yet he still remembered that first
meeting as Regent as if it were still happening now. He sat watching the
proceedings with his back straight, shoulders tense under his loose, golden
tunic but his head was held high, his olive branch crown sparkling and his
quill moving gracefully across his parchment as he took notes.
At the opposite end of the table, however, Eames was slumped in his own chair,
nearly dozing while his treasurer bickered with his generals.
“Your Majesty,” his most weathered general spoke, his fists propped on the
table as he stood, “while I obviously support the Queen’s efforts for peace
with the Runes King, we stationed soldiers and our men grow restless daily.
You're paying able bodied men, I say the very best of men, to grow soft in
belly and earn their bread through boredom.”
“Which,” the Duke of Stoneborough cut in, “is far less expensive than keeping
them on campaigns, Gracious Majesty.”
“They aren't lapdogs,” the general argued back, followed by low murmurs from
his fellow generals.
The King nodded slowly as he sat up more. “Indeed they are not. However it is
clear that the Duke is also correct. Lord Yusuf have you the latest report?”
“Yes, Majesty.” Yusuf rifled through his documents, his new wedding band
glistening when caught in the early sun’s light. He adjusted his glasses,
reading, “In the last three months alone, trade between our realms and Runes
has generated a sixty percent increase in revenue here and is expected to
plateau at thirty-five percent, come year’s end.”
“Compare that to where we were last March,” Eames told the scowling general.
“We do best at peacetime. Of course,” he continued, holding up his hand to stop
the general from speaking, “that is not to say that all war is dead. It is our
goal in this new year that our armies and our navy shall turn its eyes towards
aiding in international conflicts where they may arise and we also must
envision a future where our lands and borders and ports abroad shall be flanked
with a military presence as well.”
The council erupted in inquiries but briefly, their gazes traveling with Eames’
towards Arthur as he stood.
Their faces were alight with fondness, unable to maintain the council’s many
irritations at the sight of Arthur’s little belly so round under his braided
belt.
“Thank you, your Majesty. What the King is proposing, noble Generals, is an
army, small in size but no less skilled, whose interests would be solely in
aiding and protecting the people, working alongside them in times of conflict
and natural disaster as a national guard and with a division trained
exclusively for a reserve army in the event that such is needed.” He walked as
he spoke, his hands clasped under his belly.
And like hawks his cluster of aides were ready to circle him and gather round
the table with their maps and a chair Arthur had not asked for, as he paced. He
propped his arm on the Earl of Green’s chair and pointed to respective coastal
and city points where Xs marked the spots. “These will be permanent bases, you
see, which will not only house and train the soldiers but within these lands
their families may find lodging as well.”
The council all leaned forward to examine the maps thoroughly.
Arthur caught Eames staring. He moved to stand beside his chair, warmed when
Eames gave up his seat for him and rested his heavy hands on Arthur’s
shoulders, playing with the little frills lining the swooping neckline of his
chemise. Arthur gripped the hem of his tunic under the table, his skin tickled
by Eames’ touch. The meeting could not drag on longer. They would both perish
if it did.
Eames’ thumbs were petting circles up and down the back of Arthur’s neck and
shoulder blades, his claws teasing Arthur with their sharpness and with a
certain promise as one caught in a frill and tore its stitch, when Eames
paused.
He was looking towards the door before the guards swing them open for the
messenger to hurry through. He kept his hands in Arthur’s shoulders to keep him
from standing in alarm with the others when the bloody and battered boy
collapsed before them.
Eames growled at Arthur’s aides to help the boy into the chair they'd carried.
He knelt in front of him. “Send for water and bread. What hell have you escaped
from, boy?”
The boy shook his head, his eyes only seeing Arthur as he stammered.
He found himself standing as the boy spoke in his language, his heart falling
even before the boy could gather his words.
“Prince Gerard has… be… betrayed King Michel and… Prince Paul.” He nearly
choked on the water he was given. “Prince Gerard, he… He has made an alliance
with King Robert.”
“But why?” the Duke of Roe grabbed the boy’s collar as Arthur quickly explained
the boy’s words to the council. “What sort of fool would break our alliance in
exchange for one with King who has no land and no kingdom at all?”
Eames had to wrestle the Duke’s hands away from the boy. Behind him, his fellow
werewolf, the Earl of Green snarled at the council to make them stand back. He
brushed a spot of dried blood from the boy’s hairline, finding a small gash
underneath. “Whose messenger are you, lad?” He turned to Arthur when the boy
only shook his head. “Am I not translating it well?”
He paused when the boy raised a shaky hand past him, as if unseeing all but
Arthur.
Arthur approached slowly, taking the bloody ring with numb fingers. “Michel’s…”
The hall erupted in protests. Eames stood at a loss, his frown severe. “How did
this coup transpire?”
The boy shook his head, struggling as he at last looked to Eames. “We were…
attacked in the courtyard before a treaty was to be signed between King Michel
and Prince Gerard to end the civil war and form alliance against King Robert.
Only… it seemed when Prince Paul arrived, everything changed.”
Eames’ eyes glowed. He turned to the other werewolves present from his pack.
“Go to Milecomté at once. If your passage is barred, send word without
hesitation. You," he said, pointing to the generals, "we will reconvene to
further discuss both this situation and the expansion of my forces. Go with the
servants, boy. They will provide you with lodging."
He paused, turning to Arthur as the council and servants all scattered to
follow his orders.
Arthur was sitting in a chair not far. His fingertips were still stained with
drying blood as his hands splayed over his stomach, unconsciously guarding
their child, his face unreadable as he stared at the ring he'd placed on the
table.
Eames stood beside him, unsure with how to move forward, but one thing was
clear in his mind. "Arthur, please retire to your rooms to rest. We must not
allow such stress to linger in your heart. It will be days until we may know
what's happened. I cannot allow you to overburden yourself with worry until
then. Now more than ever."
Arthur shook his head. "I need to know what's happening to my family, Eames.
All my years, I thought Michel to be...cruel and heartless. And that Gerard was
simply a man consumed by cold indifference, but this...  How could I have been
so wrong? If he has turned on my brothers, if they... If Paul is..."
“Have patience, and have faith, my darling.”
He hugged his stomach tighter, his shoulders sinking. “Pray that’s all we
need.”
+
 
Arthur's mind remained a war of worries as the days past and more rumors of
conflict spread throughout the kingdom, but he still smiled when Eames arrived
for breakfast. “Good morning.”
He startled nearly out of his chair when Eames hurried forward and knelt in
front of him, his face pressed to Arthur's round belly.
Arthur combed his fingers through the King’s hair, frowning then.
“Unbelievable. You’ve been waiting for exactly five months to do this, haven’t
you?” He watched Eames take deep inhales around his entire stomach. “We know
already from my state that they are a human child, but what sex, Eames? Well?
What is this one, then?”
Eames sat back and sighed miserably. He shook his head.
Arthur’s shoulders sank. “Oh Eames, not another boy! Lady Catherine won’t
survive another alpha male in that nursery—”
He snorted, unable to keep up his act. “Girl.”
“—and we…” Arthur sputtered. His voice cracked. “We’re having a girl?”
“We’re having a girl.” He beamed, taking Arthur’s face in his hands. He kissed
his forehead when Arthur peered at his stomach, his heart soaring. “We're going
to have a girl, Arthur. God damn finally.”
 
 
 
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