Where the Real Beasts Are

by kaistrex (weishen)

Chapter 12

Notes:

I thought this chapter was going to end up being one of the shortest at around 6k words, but instead it turned into this beast of 22k which is almost double the length of the second longest chapter 😂 How did this happen?! It means that this is my first ever 100k+ word fic though, so I guess I can’t complain too much. This should probably have been 3 separate chapters, but oh well, here's your happy ending! I hope it’s a worthy conclusion 😊

With the Hales bathed and dressed, the Stellaran servants fetch a dining table and chairs from elsewhere and food is brought to the guest room for a late lunch. For the Hales it may as well be considered a feast. 

They fall upon it ravenously, on cooked meats and cheeses and pies and candied fruits, delighting at the taste of spiced wine and apple juice and tea in equal measure. They insist on Stiles eating with them, and he readily accepts, though not much of the food passes his lips. The scenes he’d witnessed this morning are still enough to turn his stomach, and there’s still so much to worry about for the future: the announcement of the monarch’s death, Chris’ accession to the throne, announcing the Hales are alive. He’s infinitely glad to not be in Chris’ position at the centre of all this.

“I’m going to eat until I pop,” Laura groans around a mouthful of roast chicken. “I’m going to eat everything.”

“Not if I eat it first,” Isaac says around a mix of salad and some sort of stew, and then the two of them partake in some strange battle to see who can fit the most food in their mouths at once. The whole table laughs at their antics, until Isaac nearly chokes on a whole cherry tomato and Talia puts her foot down.

Stiles tells them of the beef consommé from the night of his arrival, and Derek leans forward in interest, agreeing that it had smelled delicious even to him as a wolf. He knows it takes time to prepare, so he puts in a request for it to be served come dinnertime.

“Though I’m not sure you’ll have room at the rate you’re eating now,” he jokes.

“I’m sure it will manage to trickle into the gaps,” Peter remarks, building an impressive stack of ribs beside his plate.

As they continue to eat, Derek tells them everything that happened since he was taken from the enclosure and given to Stiles as a birthday gift. The look on his family’s faces at that new piece of knowledge makes Stiles flush hot and cold with shame even though he knows their outrage isn’t directed at him. 

Derek is lighter in a way Stiles hasn’t seen since the Argents happened to him, lively as he tells the story, almost making it sound like an adventure, like Stiles was some sort of hero. Derek looks at him with eyes warm and fond, and Stiles can feel his cheeks pink even as he tries to set the record straight, but Derek rolls his eyes and hushes him, taking one of his hands in his to squeeze it.

“Everything that happened today happened because of you,” Derek tells him solemnly.

Stiles wants to point out that it was all to do with the plan Chris had concocted, leaving Stiles to be swept along like he was drowning in a raging river. But as he gapes around the table, everyone is looking back at him with gratitude, like they don’t doubt for a moment that everything Derek says is true.

“You used your spark. Without that, we probably would have failed,” Derek reminds him, and the rest of his family are nodding.

Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that. Using his spark was something he didn’t even think about in the moment. It just exploded out of him in desperation, responding in a way he’d never managed before, and it makes him shake to remember even now. That terrible moment is still a frozen image in his mind, every wolf held in place, that unknowable extent of Jennifer’s power almost their undoing.

Derek continues the tale, and when he mentions Kate’s visit, it sounds like he almost relishes saying her name, like he can still taste her blood in his mouth. When he reaches the part where they discovered Scott had been bitten, Talia is amazed – and outraged – that the Queen could do something so irresponsible so shamelessly. She immediately offers to help Scott through the coming full moon, and though her benevolence doesn’t surprise him, he’s touched by her consideration all the same.

With his story finished, Derek asks what he missed while he was gone, but it seems the only incident of note was Isaac’s arrival, already a wolf and forced into the enclosure.

Stiles hears then what happened to him on the night of his birthday feast, how some of the Argents’ men seemed to know what Boyd and Erica were, how they were followed from the feast and how Isaac bought them time to escape. Stiles assures him that they managed to get to Astran, how it was because of them that Kali came for Derek and inspired Stiles to inspect his collar.

Isaac sags under the weight of his relief. “I always feared that the next time I’d see them would be in that cage.”

“We’ll see them again in Stellaris,” Stiles promises. He’ll see to it that they’ll have a way to return, that their name will be cleared.

Talia tells them of how Chris came to visit yesterday evening, informing them of his plan before returning to the masquerade. Kali and Deucalion arrived in the dead of night, and Chris’ man who had taken Araya’s place was prepared with mountain ash ready for the morning. Kali and Deucalion refused to enter the enclosure until they could hear the Argents bringing Stiles and had a guarantee the gate would be opened again, and for the rest, Stiles was a witness.

Though the meal passes in mostly high spirits, it isn’t all smiles and laughter. One moment Laura is smiling at Derek as he tells them about Stiles’ father’s reaction to seeing him shift back for the first time, and the next, she’s crying into her custard tart, lashing out with a snarl when her father tries to comfort her and looking immediately terrified of how she just reacted. Another time, Peter’s stare goes vacant, and when he comes back to himself, he looks lost, staring around the table like he’s sure it’s just some sort of trick. Some new torment of Jennifer’s, perhaps. How many times must they have dreamed themselves in a situation like this? How long will it take until they no longer wonder if that’s just all it is?

Stiles goes to excuse himself more than once, sure he should give them some time as a family, as a pack, but is always encouraged to stay. It never takes much convincing. Though he’d been grateful for the quiet moment in his room while he left them to bathe, he doesn’t relish the idea of being left to that quiet now. He’s not sure he’d know what to do with himself if left to his own devices.

He finds himself glancing at Talia often as he sits there, watching the way she watches Derek, a barely there smile on her lips which radiates in her eyes. It’s so easy for him to understand what she sees. Next to the rest of the Hales, he’s reminded of how Derek had been when he’d first transformed back, showing just how far he’s come, how much healthier he looks. At home in his own body is how Stiles would describe it, something he knows the rest of his family will regain in time.

He thinks of his memory of Derek from when he was younger, when Derek had been eighteen and looked so mature. He looks that way now with his full beard and strong forearms extending from the rolled-up sleeves of his tunic, making requests of the servants whenever someone breathes a wistful sigh for a certain food, or reaching down to stroke Cora between the ears, feeding her a scrap of meat from his plate. Capable is the word that springs to mind, and it’s hard for Stiles not to just lean an elbow on the table and rest his chin in his palm and watch him, almost stunned by just how attracted to him he is.

It shouldn’t fascinate him so much, but this is the first time he’s been able to see Derek like this since he came to him: interacting with people other than Stiles, the first time he’s worn clothes in a social situation and – though it pains Stiles to think it – looking like a functioning member of society.

Eventually, Derek rests his cheek against his own hand, his thumb scratching idly at his beard as he turns to watch Stiles in return. There’s a lazy kind of looseness to him, except for in his eyes. His gaze is intense instead, like a mirror of the way Stiles had been looking at him just now, and his skin goes hot, realising it’s the same look Derek had been giving him last night.

Derek smiles in a way that says he’s trying not to laugh, and he flares his nostrils in explanation. It doesn’t take much to guess it’s a curl of arousal that Derek must be sensing from him, and Stiles playfully narrows his eyes and kicks him gently under the table, turning back to the food to find the rest of Derek’s family watching them with smiles on their faces. Thankfully, no one comments on it.

They continue to eat, pausing on occasion to try and coax Cora to join them, but she stays resolutely as a wolf lying on the floor. She shows the most interest when Peter holds a strawberry out to her – apparently always a favourite when she was younger – but all she does is tilt her head to give it an experimental sniff and then retreats again to lay her head back on her paws.

Eventually, miraculously, they all start to lose steam, sitting back with swollen stomachs and satisfied smiles. Laura looks longingly around at all the food she can’t manage and Derek gives her shoulder a reassuring shake.

“It’s not going anywhere,” he laughs.

“But I want it now,” she says, mournfully, eyeing a slice of fruit tart.

It’s not long after that that eyes begin to droop, and Laura, Peter and Isaac migrate to the bed in the next room to sleep while Stiles and Derek stay on the sofas with his parents who have both started to doze, leaning against each other. Cora is still lying on the floor, still awake. Stiles supposes she isn’t facing the same exhaustion as the rest of her family, not having gone through her transformation.

He and Derek sit in silence, in peace, Derek cuddling close to lay his head on Stiles’ shoulder, nose to his throat, until Virgil enters the guest room in the late afternoon, waking Derek’s parents from their nap.

“Your Royal Highness, the Argent King is requesting your presence.” That phrase sends a jolt through Stiles and Virgil elaborates at his momentary shock.  “It’s my understanding Prince Christopher was proclaimed King by members of his Privy Council. It’s yet to become public knowledge.”

Stiles takes a breath to settle his suddenly pounding heart. “Thank you, Virgil.”

Derek rises to his feet before Stiles has a chance to excuse himself.

“Derek, stay—” Stiles tries to implore, but Derek interrupts.

“No. We’ve tackled all of this together. I’m going to see it through.” He holds out a hand to help Stiles up and Stiles accepts it gratefully. He shouldn’t have expected anything less from him.

Talia looks like she’s considering coming with them, but Derek puts a hand on her shoulder to hold her in place, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Let me take care of this,” he tells her. “Stay with the others. They’ll need you here if they wake up.”

Talia squeezes his hand in acknowledgement. “Take care.”

“I will.”

They step out into the corridor where a Venatian servant waits for them. Stiles is sure none of them have been told who they’re hosting in this guest room, and this servant shows no recognition at all upon seeing Derek, though that isn’t a surprise. Every person in Venatia must know the Hale name – made famous by their ‘murders’ – but it makes sense that they wouldn’t know them by face. No other servants they pass pay Derek much attention as they move through the palace beyond vague curiosity, probably at seeing this unknown man at the Stellaran Prince’s side.

The air around the palace is quiet, the sort of hush that comes with fear of upsetting a particularly strict teacher. Everyone seems to be intent on their tasks, moving with purpose, their heads down. They know something has happened, but perhaps not what. They pass a side corridor at one point where a cluster of servants are standing close and whispering, but they snap to attention, wide-eyed, when they see who it is that’s passing and then hurry on their way.

The servant they’re following leads them up the same flight of stairs they’d taken to reach the ballroom on the night of the masquerade, but they continue down the corridor past the branching hallway that had led to the ballroom doors. As they near their destination, he wonders if Derek feels any trepidation at facing Chris after what he did to his sister mere hours ago, but a sideways glance shows no worries on Derek’s face.

The servant knocks on a heavy door further down, and at Chris’ cue to enter, she holds it open for Stiles and Derek with a bow, closing it behind them.

Chris’ study is simple compared to the rest of the palace, a solid oak desk carved with roaring lions up the legs the most ornate thing in there. Bookshelves line the walls to the left and right, and red curtains half-drawn across the window opposite the door block out most of the already failing light. They leave the room to be mostly lit by candles in the fixture overhead and a lantern sat on the desk. Chris stands behind it in front of a high-backed leather chair similar to the one in Stiles’ father’s study. He doesn’t look surprised to see Derek has accompanied him.

“Your Majesty,” Stiles says with a tilt of his head in acknowledgement of Chris’ new title. Derek, of course, offers no such greeting.

“I trust your family are having their every need seen to?”

“They are.”

There’s space for a ‘thank you’ on the end, but Derek doesn’t utter it, which surprises neither of them.

His bluntness hangs in the air for a moment, stifling, but then Chris shuffles some papers on his desk and gets down to business.

“Deucalion and Kali have agreed to put an end to the war. When news of my father’s death begins to spread, both sides will be ordered to lay down their weapons, and eventually a truce will be called. I’ve been in correspondence with your father since you’ve been here and he’s ready to withdraw your soldiers from the fighting at the signal.”

“You think they’ll hold to their word?” Stiles asks, and Chris gives a short nod, though it looks like it’s as much to convince himself as Stiles.

“They have no reason to continue to fight. If they had any intention to transfer their revenge to me, they would have taken their chance this morning. They’ve long passed beyond the city walls and will be well on their way to Astran.”

Stiles takes that mention of their revenge to question him about the plan he’d concocted that led to the Hales being freed.

“Originally, I’d planned to use Scott to draw them to the enclosure, when the time came for my father and Kate to turn him after he’d wedded Allison. Kali saw to the end of that.”

With Scott just days away from fully becoming a werewolf at Kali’s mercy, along with Stiles and Derek adding pressure with their vow to rescue the Hales before they departed – and what happened to Araya – it forced Chris’ hand.

He explains what happened at the masquerade, how Allison giving Derek the clothes had been of her own accord but turned out to be a happy accident when he realised he could use it as a way to reveal to Kate and Gerard that Stiles knew the truth. That was the reason for Chris’ toast while he and Derek had been dancing: a thank you. He hadn’t intended to spark the confrontation the morning after Allison’s birthday, but with Derek out in the open, he didn’t have much of a choice, unable to risk doing nothing in case Kate realised who Derek was on her own and sent his plan up in flames. He used it to set in motion the events at the breakfast table, needing Stiles’ reaction to be genuine.

It’s of no consequence now, but Stiles still takes heart in knowing Kate didn’t recognise Derek at the masquerade without Chris to reveal him.

Before they leave Chris to all that he now needs to deal with, they work out the story that they’ll tell the public, the one they’ll stick to if the need to speak of it ever arises.

The vague idea they agree on is that the Hales were being held captive in an old, secret dungeon beneath the palace guarded by the direwolves, and Chris didn’t find out until only a few months ago. He allied himself with Stiles and his father, and they were working to free the Hales during his visit, but Kate and Gerard discovered the plot. There was a confrontation, the direwolves became agitated, and the King and Princess met with an unfortunate accident.

Derek grudgingly agrees to allow Chris’ role to be downplayed in the story in order to hopefully ease any tensions that might arise when the rest of Stellaris finds out the Hales’ ‘deaths’ were just a manipulation. Stiles knows it isn’t going to go that smoothly; the Argents name will still be disgraced once their story comes out.

But ultimately, the details won’t even matter. Within a few hours, the original story will have been lost in that usual way of rumour, until the only constants are that the Hales are alive and Kate and Gerard are dead.

They make no mention of Deucalion or Kali. That the King and Queen of Astran were somehow present is a truth that should never be shared.

With their story straight, they return to Derek’s family to relay the meeting. Chris told them to remind the Hales that they don’t need to stay cooped up in the guest room, but Stiles is sure it’s because he wants them to be seen by palace staff so that the news that they’re alive can start to trickle out beyond the palace walls. The more they’re seen, the better, particularly if it’s clear they’re free to go where they wish.

Dinner is served, including the consommé Stiles requested which is met with much enthusiasm, and then the Hales are ready for sleep again, this time hopefully more than just a nap. Stiles knows Chris has provided more than just this one guest room for them, but he wonders with an ache if they intend to sleep curled together like they maybe did when they were kept in the enclosure. It must be so natural to them now. Safe.

He can see Derek hesitate, torn between staying with his family and following Stiles, but Stiles makes the decision for him.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he tells him, giving a gentle squeeze to his wrist and a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Derek looks almost guilty, like he’s abandoning him, spurring Stiles to kiss him on the lips and offer a reassuring smile. It’s okay.

Derek pulls him closer to sweep his cheek back and forth over his neck before he steps back and Stiles lets his hand fall from his wrist.

It’s immediately lonely setting foot in their room without finding Derek already lounging on the bed or trotting inside as a wolf to make his shift back. That’s been their routine for months now. With the chaotic memories of the morning, it almost starts to blur, and he has to remind himself that Derek is safe, that nothing bad has happened to him. But this hovering anxiety of his is inconsequential. It’s Derek who has been through hell and back; he needs this time with his family.

Despite still only being early evening, Stiles has Virgil ready him for bed and he climbs under the covers in the hope that sleep will come for him soon so he can pass the night in the blink of an eye.

No such luck. Hours pass but sleep still eludes him, even after trying to while away the time reading one of the books Derek brought, the words turning to a blur on the page that he just can’t focus on. He doesn’t blow out the candles; he’s terrified of what he might see in the shapes that darkness brings, the way they always press in on his eyes. At least this way he can draw upon his memories of last night if his mind gets too heavy, can remember the way he’d found Derek seated on the edge of the bed in this same candlelight, the sight of Derek hovering over him.

He’s not sure what time it is when the door out in the sitting room clicks open, and he lifts his head from his pillow, listening hard. His heart leaps into his throat when the bedroom door opens, but it’s just Derek. He strips off his undershirt and pulls back the covers to crawl in beside him.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, scooting closer.

Stiles accepts his arm around him, humming as Derek’s warmth plasters against his back. “Always.” He lifts one of Derek’s hands to kiss the back of it. “Couldn’t you sleep?”

“I could hear you awake. Thought maybe you couldn’t sleep without me by your side,” he teases.

Stiles sniffs, airily. “Maybe.” It’s probably a sign they’ve spent too much time together if Derek can read him that well just by listening through a wall.

“Sleep, Stiles. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Perhaps you should follow your own advice,” he yawns, and Derek laughs quietly, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

It is easier to drift off with Derek’s warmth beside him, as he’s grown so accustomed to, and he wonders if it’s because of Derek’s presence that he sleeps without any bad dreams. He still wakes up some time before dawn, Derek now sat up against the headboard with one of Stiles’ hands in his.

“Go, if you want to be with them,” Stiles whispers, but Derek tilts his head to look down at him, smiling softly.

“I am with them.” He rests his head back against the headboard and closes his eyes. “I’m listening to their heartbeats.”

Stiles watches him for a minute or two, tracing his gaze over the line of his cheekbones and delicate eyelashes. He wonders if Derek is here with him because it’s Stiles who he’s used to sleeping with now, if it’s here where he feels the most at home.

Derek opens his eyes again and reaches over to sweep his thumb over his forehead. “Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, and Stiles does, the touch so soothing he sinks straight back down into comforting darkness.

He wakes again to sunlight peeking past the edges of the curtains, Derek easing himself from the bed and scooping up his undershirt to tug on as he hurries from the room. When Stiles scrambles into some clothes of his own and follows, he finds him in the guest room with his family, standing over them where they’re huddled around Cora on the floor.

“She started to turn back on her own but got scared again,” Derek explains at Stiles’ hand on his arm.

“Laura, pass me that blanket,” Talia says between murmured encouragement to Cora, stroking her hands down her neck.

They all have a hand on her in some way, like each of them is lending their strength or hoping to ground her from the fear she must be feeling.

“And what about Isaac?” Talia is saying. “You can come out and meet him properly, and we’ll get some more strawberries and apple juice, all your favourites. Whatever you want.”

“Perhaps this is too many people,” Stiles murmurs to Derek. “I’ll just—”

Derek catches him by the wrist as he starts to back away, the crack of bone reaching their ears, and Stiles halts, holding his breath, watching as Cora’s wolf body starts to shrink before their eyes. She doesn’t stop this time, and Talia sweeps her up in the blanket, cuddling her to her chest, and Stiles can just catch glimpses of Cora’s human head taking shape between the rest of the Hales crowding in close to hug her. Big, frightened brown eyes peek out over the top of the blanket.

“My beautiful girl,” Talia says, her voice wobbling, and Cora bursts into tears.

“M-Mommy,” she croaks in a small wavering voice, and Stiles didn’t realise his heart could break any further.

Peter climbs to his feet and turns away, running his hands through his hair and standing with his hands on his hips at the window, breathing hard. Derek looks like he wishes he had Kate Argent in front of him so he could kill her all over again. Stiles gives him a nudge, urging him to join Cora on the floor and Derek does, letting her wriggle out of their parents’ arms into his to rub her wet cheeks against his neck.

Joseph fetches her water and she guzzles down the entire glass, then Talia carries her into the adjoining bedroom to dress her, Laura close behind. Derek engulfs Stiles in a hug in Cora’s absence, a tight squeeze of happiness and sorrow, and Stiles feels helpless to do anything but rub a hand up and down his back.

She eventually emerges back in her mother’s arms, now wearing a pale pink dress that’s probably too long for her. Wrapped in the blanket, Stiles hadn’t gotten a very good look at her, but now he can see how small she is. She’s not as small as when she was eleven, but it still looks like her time in captivity has stunted her growth. She should never have been kept as a wolf that long. 

“It’s good to see you again, Cora,” he says, gently, as Talia takes a seat with her on the sofa.

She looks up at him with startled eyes, her cheeks pinking as she turns into Talia’s side, and he’s reminded of the way a child might try to hide behind their mother’s skirts.

Isaac takes a seat beside them and he’s barely gotten out a Hello when Cora is throwing her arms around his neck in a hug. He laughs and squeezes her tightly as Talia strokes a hand down her back.

“Are you hungry?” she asks her. “What do you want to eat? There must be something.”

Cora thinks for a moment but then shakes her head, and when she talks, her voice is scratchy, the sound falling away in places. “I’m not allowed cake for breakfast.”

“Oh, darling,” Talia laughs, looking like she might cry again as she tucks a lock of hair behind Cora’s ear. “You can have whatever you want.”

Cake is requested and an entire Victoria sponge arrives complete with fresh strawberries, much to Cora’s wide-eyed delight. She eats the entire thing and Stiles decides her stomach must have stretched to a bottomless pit during her time as a wolf; he doesn’t understand where she might be storing it.

The rest of the Hales inhale the food just like they did yesterday, in even greater spirits to have Cora sat at the table between them. Stiles manages to eat a little bit better today, amused by the way Derek keeps reaching over to load his plate up like he’s trying to make sure he eats well enough.

Virgil is there to help him dress once he’s eaten, and Derek accompanies him to their rooms to change into some of the clothes they brought for him from Stellaris. Stiles asks Virgil if he might request more clothes to be provided for Derek’s family; they have no belongings to their name, but clothes should be a good place to start.

“It’s already being seen to, Your Highness.”

Stiles thanks him, and when he’s presentable, he sends Virgil to ask if he might visit Allison.

“I would offer to go with you, but I doubt she'll want to see me,” Derek says once Virgil has left the room. 

“I’m not sure she’ll even want to see me.”

“She will. She’s not going to hate you. Even I know her well enough to know that much.”

Stiles looks at Derek with gratitude, taking strength from his encouraging squeeze of his shoulder.

Virgil returns shortly to announce Allison has agreed to see him, and he steps out into the hallway to find a Venatian servant waiting to lead him to the sitting room where they’d gathered after dinner on occasion. He’s almost expecting to find Kate and Gerard there too, Gerard standing by the crackling fireplace, Kate perched primly in an armchair with a glass of honeyed wine, those memories of being forced to endure time with them still so vivid. Instead, he finds only Allison and Scott sat together on the sofa, the grate as cold as the silence that seems to press in from all sides.

Stiles’ stomach clenches as if grasped in a fist as his and Allison’s eyes meet, terrified of what he might find there. She looks tired and wan, plagued by a poor night’s sleep, if she managed any at all. But she smiles, albeit small and tentative and a little pained, and it settles him to see that look of welcome. He strides into the room as Allison rises to her feet to draw her into a fierce hug. Her embrace in return is tight but steady, and when Stiles pulls back, her eyes are dry, though he’d guess it’s because she has nothing left to cry.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Tired. I—I just want to sleep.” Her voice is hoarse, and Stiles tries not to hear the echoes of her cries from yesterday as Scott carried her away.

Scott pulls him into an embrace, his solid strength heartening; Stiles is glad that Allison has had him by her side.

“I’m so sorry we couldn’t tell you what was going to happen,” Scott says, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Seeing you kneeling there—” He shakes his head like he can’t find the words.

“I’m sorry I doubted you.” Betrayal must have been so clear on his face when he’d been looking out at them standing past the enclosure fence; he’s ashamed to remember it now.

“Don’t be. You should never have been put in that situation.”

“How is Derek, and his family?” Allison asks, sounding frightened.

“As well as they can be. They’re enjoying good food and they managed to get Cora to shift back this morning. She had cake for breakfast,” he tells her with a smile

“That’s good,” she says, quietly. It’s weak and wistful, but he can tell that she means it. Her lower lip starts to quiver and she heaves a frustrated sigh, dropping her head into her hands.

“It’s okay, Ally,” Scott tells her, rubbing a hand across her shoulder blades. “It’s okay to cry if you need to.”

“But I don’t want to cry over them,” she says weakly, lifting her head to look at Stiles. “Not after what I saw them do. After what they were going to get you to do to your father. But all I can think of is when I used to play cards with grandfather when I was younger, how he always used to let me win. And all those hours Kate spent teaching me archery. You know it’s because of her that I wanted to learn in the first place. And then I just keep seeing her dancing with you at the masquerade. How beautiful and happy she looked.”

“They did love you, Allison,” Stiles reminds her gently. “I’m not going to think any less of you for mourning that part of them.” He’s been trying not to think about that revelation, that Kate and Gerard’s plan after Scott had been to make Stiles their puppet too. If Chris had wavered, found himself unable to close that gate and take the step to destroy his family, that’s a future Stiles would be living right now. It makes his stomach lurch.

“My father’s angry with me for staying. But I had to. I had to see—to know it was real.”

“I understand.” He does. More than once, he’s used his memory of what he saw yesterday to remind himself the people who put the Hales through so much torture really are no more. He’s loath to call it closure, but he can understand how she might need those memories herself to accept her new reality. “But you didn’t need to see any more of it than you did.”

Allison’s voice still sounds painful, and Stiles is glad when Scott calls for some tea and honey to be brought to them. It’s soothing to sit there cradling a steaming teacup with two of his closest friends. There’s a new bond between them, unspoken, but he’s sure they can feel it too. It’s similar to the bond he feels with Derek after the months they’ve spent living together so intimately, this new event in their lives tying them together, possibly forever.

“I didn’t know my father was going to use Derek being at the masquerade as part of his plan,” Allison tells him. “I really did just bring Derek the clothes so he could be with you.”

“I know,” Stiles assures her. “I’m glad you did.”

His words cut through her sorrow, just a little, and she gets the beginning of a twinkle in her eye, a ghost of all those times she’d teased him about ‘Miguel’.

“There were a few murmured questions when it came time to cut the cake and you were nowhere to be found,” she teases, a flash of her usual playful self bleeding through for the first time. It’s wonderful to see.

“I was busy.”

“I’m sure you were,” she agrees, as Scott actually laughs.

Stiles’ hand rises to his collar without thinking, and he’s taken back to the enclosure when Kate had tugged it down in front of everyone present. His stomach twists, sickened by a tendril of shame worming its way outwards that he knows he has no need to feel. He thinks of Derek instead, of how beautiful that night was. He’s not going to let her taint it, even now from beyond the grave. The way Scott and Allison are smiling at him helps push that feeling away.

She takes his hand, squeezing warmly. “I’m so glad that you have him.” 

“Me too.”

It’s so strange to think back on those years where he believed Derek and his family dead. It scares him to think about if that were really the case, to think about what he would have lost. What he would never have even found.

It gives him that tug in his chest again to be where Derek is, and perhaps his friends can see that longing on his face, because they get to their feet, pulling Stiles with them. Before he leaves, he tells Scott of Talia’s offer of help on the full moon and Scott sends his shocked gratitude. They hug once more, Stiles so glad that things haven’t changed between them, and then he leaves them in the sitting room to return to Derek.

When Stiles reenters the guest room, Derek is on the sofa with Laura and Cora cuddled up either side, all three lost in slumber. Stiles is glad to see it after Derek seeming not to get any sleep last night. His head is tilted back over the headrest, lips parted, with Laura’s fair hair cascading down his chest and Cora’s dainty hand clutching loosely at the collar of his tunic, and Stiles can’t help his smile at the heart-warming picture they make.

He dithers in the doorway for a moment, unsure if he should stay with Derek asleep, but Talia approaches him, placing a hand on his cheek and a solemn kiss to his forehead.

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” she says, her eyes full of emotion. “For the part you played in our rescue, but also for taking care of my son. If only we’d known he’d been delivered to you, I would have had no cause to worry.” Her voice is thick with unshed tears. Stiles can tell they aren’t going to fall, not here, and he’s glad. Too many tears have been shed already over this past day, no matter that most of them have been borne out of happiness.

She returns to her seat at the dinner table before Stiles can say anything in return, but he’s not sure what he would have said if given the chance. He doesn’t know how to accept their gratitude.

They’ve accepted him with open arms. They’d seen Derek kiss him, of course, but Stiles realises now that they would have heard their confessions of love when Derek came to fetch him after they’d bathed. They understand the depth of Derek’s feelings for him, unconditionally. Perhaps they’ve been able to sense the depth of Stiles’ feelings just like Derek did, after spending only a half a day in his presence. Perhaps they already understood it, needing only the visits to the enclosure to read how Stiles felt about him.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” Stiles says to the room, but he’s barely moved one step when he hears Derek’s voice, rough with sleep.

“Stiles?”

He turns back to see him with his eyes cracked open, lifting his head from where it was resting.

“Sleep, Derek.”

“I slept,” he assures him. “Stay.”

Stiles doesn’t bother pointing out that he was barely gone an hour. He can’t blame Derek for not wanting to miss a single moment of this reunion with his family.

“How was Allison?” he asks.

“Better than expected.”

He knows she was putting on a brave face, but he’d thought he was going to witness a lot more tears, that he’d find her much like she’d been upon discovering the truth about Derek and her family’s villainy.

Derek’s talking stirs his sisters, Laura speaking even with her eyes closed.

“Is there food?” she asks, probably still asleep.

Derek laughs and rolls his eyes, then rouses her fully, declaring to the room that perhaps they should take lunch outside in the open air. It’s met with equal parts eagerness to nerves. Stiles can understand it. There’s something about this guest room that feels safe, even to him, but taking some time in the gardens will do them a world of good.

Cora is still unsteady, so Derek carries her on his back, racing across the grass with her as soon as they get outside, her shrieking laughter carrying across the lawns and drawing the curious stares of the palace staff. The others follow more slowly, Stiles at their side, looking around almost warily like they’re noting the position of every gardener and passing servant, nervous of this open space after so long confined.

They let Cora pick the place for them to sit and wait for food to be brought out to them, Virgil conducting a team of both Venatian and Stellaran servants. Stiles instructs him to sit with them and eat once the food is laid out, a firm order the only reason he actually relents.

Stiles does worry about what might happen if any of the Hales accidentally let the wolf come to the surface, but thankfully the most that happens is the occasional blank stare around at the gardens, and Cora forgetting herself more than once and flicking out her claws to eat with.

It’s a blustery day, but it doesn’t dampen anyone’s spirits. The only downside is that Derek is careful to keep a bit of distance between him and Stiles as they relax there, unable to display the familiarity that they can when behind closed doors.

It’s from that lunch on that the Venatian servants seem to have learnt who the Hales are, and it’s later that afternoon that the palace seamstresses come to take the Hales’ measurements so they can provide clothes befitting their noble status. The news that they’re alive will start to spread now, and Stiles wonders how long disbelief at the rumours will last.

The full moon arrives two nights later, but it passes thankfully without issue, the Hales taking their first secret trip beyond the city walls with Scott to make sure he’s kept away from people as he finally makes his first transformation. Derek wouldn’t let Stiles accompany them, adamant that it would be too dangerous, and Stiles had to grudgingly agree.

It was tough to spend the night without him, but Derek returned in the morning extra loose and cuddly, crowding Stiles back onto the bed to sleep until noon. Stiles doesn’t mind. He might have gotten a better night’s sleep than that first night trying to sleep alone, but he still considers it making up for the time they lost. He dozes here and there, but mainly lays soaking in the peace that he knows is only going to continue.

He hears from Derek later that he managed to encourage his family to enjoy part of the night in their wolf skins, and Stiles is delighted to hear it. He knows how much enjoyment Derek takes from it; it would be such a shame for his family to link it forever with their fear and trauma. Cora apparently took the most convincing, scared that she might not change back again, but eventually she too joined in. Stiles just wishes he could have seen it.

Virgil arrives at his usual time in the morning, but retreats at the sight of Derek passed out with his face mashed against Stiles’ neck. His expression actually softens at the sight of them, much to Stiles’ amazement. He probably isn’t used to finding Derek as a human considering he always used to shift in preparation for his arrival. He’s never seen them together like this, or even how close they were before they confessed their feelings. If he ever did see Derek as a human, he was mostly lounging naked in Stiles’ bed, completely inappropriate. Over the past few days, he's been witness to so many easy touches – a squeeze to his shoulder or a held hand – the way Derek takes care of him, even making sure he eats. Virgil has probably been filing away all of these little things in an endeavour to see if Derek is worthy. That Derek has already brought him so close to a smile speaks volumes.

He visits Scott later in the day and is astonished to find him bright-eyed and energetic, declaring that it’s the best he’s ever felt in his life. He says it was scary at first, feeling something new and foreign and powerful rising up inside him like something else was taking over his body, but Talia instructed him how to take control.

In the morning, she gave him the name of a trusted werewolf family living in his kingdom who he can contact upon his return home, a family who were already known to him – though obviously, not what they really are.

When Stiles mentions it to Derek later, it only serves to sour his mood, and Stiles can understand why. They’d once considered those people their friends, and yet they did nothing when he and his family were captured. They let them down in their greatest time of need, along with any other werewolf packs they might have been close with.

Stiles wonders if other werewolves could have approached him or his father with the truth about the Hales, if they would have believed them. An Alpha would have just needed to transform in front of them, but then there was no guarantee that his father wouldn’t react as the Argents did. Stellaris stood with the Argents in the war. They may have given the reason it was because of the murders of the Hales, but how would werewolves have read it? All they would have probably seen was Stiles’ father handing the Hales over and declaring war on the Alpha King and Queen in Astran. And then when Stiles was given one as a pet… Even Erica and Boyd didn’t trust confiding in them, and Erica is Stiles’ childhood friend.

It’s a difficult situation, but Stiles won’t blame Derek if he feels that betrayal runs too deep to ever forgive.

His dark mood doesn’t last though. He brightens up considerably later that afternoon when he’s sat with Stiles on the sofa, Cora perched in his lap, waiflike, half-asleep. She’s watching the way Stiles and Derek are holding hands, linking and unlinking their fingers, and at a lull in their conversation she asks, “Are you getting married?”

Stiles and Derek share a look of surprise, but for Derek it immediately seems to turn to nerves. He turns back to his sister.

“We haven’t talked about that yet, sweetheart. Stiles is a prince. We’d need to speak to his father and get permission and—”

“Yes,” Stiles interrupts, and Derek whips his head round to stare at him in awe. Stiles meets his gaze, unwavering. Something settled inside him as soon as the word was out of his mouth, like he knows it to be true with every fibre of his being. “I’m going to marry you, Derek Hale.”

It takes a moment, Derek searching his eyes like he’s trying to work out if he really means it, but then a small, amazed smile blooms on his face, growing swiftly to overjoyed. He dives forward to kiss him, but they’re both smiling too hard to manage it properly. Peter makes a gagging sound from the next room, and they break apart, laughing.

Cora is beaming at them, and Derek’s parents are standing in the bedroom doorway with Isaac behind, Laura on tiptoes to look over their shoulders.

“You have our blessing,” Talia says, her eyes flaring red.

Derek’s eyes glow gold in return and he looks like he might burst with happiness at having his Alpha’s approval.

Dinner that evening really is like a feast, the food and laughter lasting almost until midnight with Derek’s family calling toast after toast. It’s a floaty kind of happiness that lasts for days.

 

*

 

The time comes for the announcement of Gerard’s death to be made official, and Stiles is there on the palace balcony when it happens. He stands alongside Scott behind Chris and Allison, listening to the cry go up after the herald’s proclamation.

The King is dead! Long live the King!

Long live the King!

Stiles doesn’t join the chant. He stares out at the sea of people instead, keenly aware that he’s living history. He’s shaped it. The Prince they’d encountered out in the woods in commoner’s clothes is now a King.

He wonders when Chris might hold his coronation. A couple of months from now? A year? A period of mourning for the previous king will be expected, especially considering Gerard was his father. He supposes it will depend on the public’s opinion of Gerard once all is said and done, if he’s considered worthy.

Over the next couple of days, Virgil sends some of their servants out into the city to visit a few of the taverns and gauge the current mood. It seems the public have been fed the rumour that the dead King and Princess met their end by the direwolves they kept, just as discussed, though there are rumblings of Chris having done the deed himself, or at the very least having pushed them into the enclosure out of greed for the throne. Some utter it resentfully and others with pride, some seemingly out of a widespread dislike of Gerard, and others because of a widespread love for Kate. Chris is in a precarious position. It remains to be seen which way public opinion will sway. They can only hope that when the war is announced to be over it will go a long way to steady him.

Over it all though has settled unwavering disbelief that the Hale family could still be alive, held captive all these years. It endures even in the face of eyewitness accounts from the palace. Stiles wonders if it would even be believed if the Hales were to be paraded in front of them.

The servants also bring news of how many of the citizens were fearful of the howls that came from beyond the walls on the night of the full moon, especially in the wake of how Kate and Gerard died. It’s a shame that the story that they have to tell only paints direwolves as dangerous, but it mainly just leads to the question of what they're going to do about the noticeable absence of Wolf.

He briefly considers saying Wolf has been left in Venatia if asked, but he doesn’t want to imply it’s because he’s too savage to remain as his pet. He knows that Derek has come to enjoy his wolf form, and it would be a shame to restrict him should he ever wish to shift and pad about the castle as he always used to or sprawl out in the gardens on a warm summer’s day. Another solution would be for Derek to make the journey home as Wolf, but Stiles would never ask that of him, not when having Derek as a human by his side for their return was part of the reason for all this, and not to mention it would hardly go unnoticed that Derek is missing from their party.

It’s Virgil who ends up giving the solution, revealing he’s informed the rest of their men that Wolf has been left to roam free and return to Stellaris as he chooses. Stiles is sure it will raise many whispered questions, but he’s a prince; it’s not like he has to answer them. Regardless, they’ll quiet in time if Wolf makes an appearance.

In the days following, the Hales start to venture out into the palace more and more, though they always move as a unit, none of them trusting their hosts enough to go anywhere alone. Only Derek is comfortable enough to part from them, but even then, he never goes anywhere without Stiles.

They take walks outside, visit the library, and even go to see the ballroom. Their footsteps and voices echo around the now empty space, both marvelling and blanching at Derek’s daring to have attended the masquerade. It’s bittersweet to think of now, knowing Derek could have stayed for longer that night seeing as Chris convinced his family not to act until the morning.

He barely sees the new King from that point on, which is no surprise considering how much work he now has to do, but Stiles does learn that the bodies of Kate and Gerard are lying in state at Gévaudan Cathedral for the public to pay their respects. That the caskets remain closed lends credence to the rumour of death-by-direwolf. He wonders how much of the bodies are even inside, if any.

They don’t stay for the funerals. Stiles in particular should perhaps at least be one to make an appearance, but Chris doesn’t request it when Stiles announces their date of departure. They’ve already remained in Venatia longer than their visit was initially supposed to last, and Stiles is loath to make any further delay. The Hales have been here long enough and, selfishly, he can’t wait to get home. He just hopes that having been present for his accession and not the funerals will combine to send the message that Stellaris approves of Chris and not his predecessor.

The Stellaris retinue lines up outside the palace in preparation for their departure, the citizens pressed right up against the palace gates in an effort to catch a glimpse of the Hales. This is an important moment, for them to see the once-captive family bidding the new King an amiable farewell. Stiles shakes Chris’ hand as is customary, as do Talia, as the matriarch of the Hale family, and Derek, in acknowledgement of all that passed between them during this visit. The rest of the Hales divide themselves between two waiting carriages as Stiles turns to his friends.

They said their proper farewells in private, so here Stiles just shakes Scott’s hand and kisses the back of Allison’s as is expected of him. Derek follows suit, though there’s a pause as he faces Allison. After a beat of hesitation, she holds out her hand and Derek takes it to kiss the back. Derek’s once-grudging admission of Allison’s innocence has turned into respect, and even gratitude for the things she did for him, manifesting towards her even while refusing to display the same feeling towards her father.

Stiles turns his back after one last smile, descending the steps to climb into Roscoe’s saddle. Derek has elected to ride a horse behind him instead of joining his family in the carriages. Stiles considers it a sacrifice, showing his face to the people they pass so his family don’t have to go through that overwhelming ordeal. He knows it’s different for Derek. Even if he’s not been human, he’s still been out amongst people, been present at other processions and walked at the heart of them. The sight of him alone will have to be enough to prove that the rumours are true.

Their company begins to move, taking them beyond the palace gates and amongst the people. Some stare open-mouthed at Derek, but most show no recognition; Stiles supposes they don’t have any real evidence to prove he’s really who he says he is. The crowd still makes a lot of noise, some cheering to see a prince, but Stiles isn’t sure what the most prevalent emotion is, and he’d guess that the crowd isn’t either. Venatian guards follow their procession to keep the people back, leaving them at the city gates when they’re free at last to begin their journey home.

Derek spurs his horse forward to ride at Stiles’ side now the decorum of the procession is behind them, and Stiles is glad to see that riding isn’t a skill Derek has forgotten. If he were human, he’d definitely feel the ache of the long ride this evening when they stop to make camp, but his werewolf healing will no doubt eliminate any soreness. He feels as light as the breeze ruffling his hair to have Derek riding by his side, still getting used to the fact that he doesn’t need to hide anymore.

Well, mostly. He still has to stay hidden the very first night of their journey, when he sneaks into Stiles’ tent at bedtime. The sight of him there makes Stiles’ heart race, pounding faster still as he wonders if they might be casting shadows on the wall of the tent for everyone outside to see.

The first thing Derek does is sweep him into his arms and greet him with a deep, knee-weakening kiss. Stiles tries to chase after his lips when he pulls back far enough to whisper, “I’ve always liked watching the way your hips move whenever you ride.”

“Derek!” he squeaks, wide-eyed. “Your family are outside!” His cheeks are surely glowing.

“They don’t care.”

“I care!” he hisses.

Derek chuckles, brushing his nose against Stiles’ cheek as he inhales.

They haven’t been intimate since the night of the masquerade, and it’s been simmering beneath Stiles’ skin, worse now than it had been when he’d just had Derek to look at, now that he knows what it’s like to have him under his hands. What it’s like to be under Derek’s. And there’s so much more he wants to explore with him, but there’s never been a good time with his family always just next door, just like they are now.

Despite his playfulness, Derek doesn’t push, but he still coaxes Stiles onto the bed that’s been erected just so they can lay together.

“The very first night we’re home, I’m going to have you all to myself,” Derek murmurs, so close their noses are brushing. “And Virgil isn’t coming in in the morning, and we’re going to eat breakfast in bed. Strawberries, and honey, and champagne.”

“Champagne?” Stiles laughs, quietly, trying to focus on the humour to distract himself from the image Derek is painting, from Derek’s lips so close to his, from his dwindling resolve. The guest quarters of the castle where Derek’s family will stay are far away from Stiles’ own. He’d already planned to coax him up there and is pleased that Derek is just as eager.

“Why not? I think we deserve a private celebration,” Derek says, his voice dipping to a whisper as he closes the last inch between their lips and kisses him languidly, thoroughly, a promise of what Stiles can expect when they get home. Stiles lets him, starving for at least this much. It’s still so new for Derek to kiss him like this, to kiss him at all, and it shivers through him like they’re being charged by lightning. He crowds forward to keep their bodies pressed together even as Derek pulls away.

“After all,” Derek adds, pouting playfully, “I didn’t get to drink any at the masquerade. Or get another dance.”

“You can once we’re home. I know my father will arrange a feast in honour of your return. We can dance as many songs as you like.”

“I look forward to it.”

“I seem to remember you avoiding every request for a dance when you were younger,” Stiles teases.

“And I still will,” Derek vows, brushing their noses together. “There’s only one person I want to dance with.”

His words make something in Stiles’ stomach go quivery, his cheeks immediately starting to ache with how hard he’s smiling, and Derek breathes a laugh through his nose, leaning in for a kiss. They sleep like that, face to face, and Derek is the first thing he sees in the morning when he opens his eyes.

One of the nights they spend outside under the stars, but it’s the only time they do. Being out in the open, the most they can do is lay side by side with just enough distance between them to be considered appropriate, and it makes Stiles’ fingers twitch being unable to even reach out and take his hand. They wake in the morning to find the rest of the Hales have migrated around them during the night, Cora next to Derek with her face in his neck, and that moment at least makes it worth it.

One morning, when Derek goes off to wash in the river a little way from the camp, Wolf comes trotting out of the trees and straight over to Stiles where he’s saying good morning to Roscoe.

There’s a wave of alarm at Wolf’s appearance, the story of the supposed savagery of the direwolves spreading even amongst Stiles’ men like they’ve forgotten ‘Wolf’s’ easy temperament from the time they spent with him before. The Captain of their guard even goes to draw his sword.

“Your Highness—”

“Calm yourselves. I’m in no danger,” Stiles assures them, kneeling down to pet Derek. “You’re never to attack these creatures. And you’d do well to pass that order on to every guard once we return.”

“Understood, Your Highness,” the Captain says, though he still looks unsure.

Stiles turns back to Derek, ruffling the fur on his cheeks. “Go on. I’ll see you back home.”

Derek pauses long enough to drag his slobbery tongue up the side of Stiles’ face and then he’s trotting back into the trees, leaving Stiles to groan and scrub at his cheek.

On one rainy morning, Stiles elects to ride by carriage instead, and Derek slips in with him just before they depart, perhaps hidden by the rain, but probably seen by at least one of their party to spread the rumour amongst their company like a flame to oil. Not that they’ve done much to keep their closeness a secret. Derek might have been sneaking into his tent under cover of darkness, but there was nothing to hide him whenever he emerged in the mornings.

Derek sits beside him and holds his hand, no matter that Virgil sits across from them. Though the old man doesn’t comment, Stiles is sure he can see him hiding a smile.

On the final day of their journey when they’re finally approaching the city, Stiles asks Derek if he’s sure he doesn’t want to ride in the carriage with his family, but Derek is resolute.

“If we’re granted permission to marry, I want everyone to remember how I returned by your side,” he tells him, quietly, steering his horse close.

If they are given permission, Stiles supposes things like this are something Derek is going to have to get used to.

“Whatever it entails, remember?” Derek reminds him when Stiles mentions it, smiling fondly. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

He rides behind Stiles once again when they make it to the city, keeping in front of the carriages and even waving at the astounded citizens as he passes. The cheers are almost deafening to see the Hales returned, open-mouthed amazement from many despite the fact that they would have already heard the news.

Just to be inside the city walls settles something inside Stiles, and he just wants to spur Roscoe onwards, gallop up through the city to the castle gates where he knows his father is waiting for him. It’s so difficult for him to keep pace with their escort.

He looks over his shoulder more than once to smile at Derek, glad to see him smiling in return. He even spots a hand or two waving out of the carriage windows and it pleases him that the Hales are able to manage even that much in the face of the overwhelming clamour.

The road curves, slowly revealing the open castle gate and his father standing inside at the top of the front steps with his hands behind his back, and Stiles can imagine how he must have been wringing them together waiting for their arrival. He’s barely drawn Roscoe to a halt before he’s swinging down to engulf him in a hug where he’s descended the steps to meet him.

They both sag with relief, would probably have dropped to the ground if they didn’t have each other to lean on.

Derek alights his horse and Stiles’ father draws him into a hug with just as much intensity, and then the carriage doors open, and Stiles laughs to see his father’s face flooded with so much amazement to have the Hales alive before him. He stands beside Derek to watch the reunion, greeting them with hugs and handshakes.

“And you must be Isaac,” his father says, releasing a heartfelt handshake with Peter and turning to the last person he needs to meet.

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty—” Isaac begins, preparing to bow, but his eyes go wide as the King envelops him in a hug.

“Welcome. Welcome home to you all.”

His father ushers them inside, and servants are already waiting to lead the Hales to the quarters that have been prepared for them. He’s sure that they need it, need some time to get settled and take a breath after all the excitement outside. Derek goes with them, but he throws Stiles a look of longing over his shoulder as he goes. Stiles shares the feeling even though he knows they’ll be back together soon.

A hand claps him on the shoulder and he turns to his father who draws him in for another hug.

“I’m so glad you’re home.”

“So am I,” Stiles says, allowing himself to feel like a child again for just a few moments.

They head to his father’s study to talk privately, Stiles already trying to order in his mind everything that happened since they left, everything he couldn’t tell in the space of a letter. He doesn’t mention what happened the night of the masquerade, but he can’t keep secret the fact that Derek did attend. He wonders if his father is able to read between any lines.

“I’m proud of you, son. Always have been,” his father tells him solemnly when he finishes the story, and Stiles feels his eyes grow wet, as they always do upon hearing those words from him.

He hears about the goings on in the castle in his absence but learns that it was mostly just a lot of waiting and worrying.

“Though Virgil did send me a few letters,” his father says, and Stiles’ heart skips a beat.

Here we go, he thinks to himself.

“I hear you and Derek have grown even closer during your time away.”

“We wish to marry,” Stiles says simply. His father’s eyebrows go up and his stomach clenches, hurrying into persuasion, to beg if he has to. “I know it won’t bring an alliance, or—”

“I’m not sure I want an alliance with any of the surrounding kingdoms,” his father says, darkly, and Stiles is inclined to agree. “Regardless, I think your friendship with Scott and Allison is more valuable than any other alliance we could hope to make, and you’ve already achieved what was thought to be impossible by securing peace.”

And not to mention, after everything, Chris owes them. He owes them big.

His father sits back in his chair, and butterflies churn in Stiles stomach at the beginnings of a smile on his face. “I think the public would look upon the union kindly. The Hales were always well-loved, and Derek especially was known to send hearts swooning.”

Stiles tries to hide a laugh behind his hand, but then the full extent of what his father is saying starts to hit home and his smile spreads too wide to cover. “So that’s a yes, then?”

“I believe it is.”

He darts around the desk to leap on his father for another bone-crushing hug, trembling with relief and sudden nerves and he doesn’t even know what.

“Thank you,” he breathes, and he feels his father shaking his head.

“Who would have ever imagined the two of you would...?”

Stiles has thought about that more than once. If Derek’s life had continued how it should have, would they have ever found themselves drawn together in this way? Or would Derek long have already married, this possibility never discovered?

There’s a knock at the door not long later, after they’ve parted and Stiles has retaken his seat, and at his father’s cue, a servant announces Derek’s presence.

“Derek,” his father says in greeting as soon as the door is shut behind him. “I trust your family have everything they need?”

“Yes, thank you, Your Majesty. You’ve been extremely generous.”

“I hear that you wish to marry my son,” his father says out of nowhere, and Derek’s eyes widen, but only for a moment. He glances at Stiles and then faces the King, his back straight and shoulders squared.

“I do.”

His father regards Derek sternly, and Stiles has to hide a laugh again, knowing he’s just trying to make Derek squirm.

“Well, you have my blessing,” he finally relents with a smile, and Derek’s resulting look of wonder and growing joy is a sight to behold.

Stiles rises to his feet as Derek reaches out to draw him into a kiss, and Stiles sighs into it, soaking in the warmth of Derek’s palm against his cheek until—

“Get out of my study.”

They break apart on a laugh and Stiles looks to his father standing with his arms crossed, but he’s still smiling.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

His father jerks his head towards the door. “Go on,” he says softly, and Derek follows Stiles out into the hallway.

“Let’s go,” Stiles tells him, and leads Derek in the direction of his own rooms.

They pass many servants on the way, all happy to see him home, welcoming him with bows and curtsies, and Stiles can’t wipe the grin from his face. His father agreed. They’re getting married. He can’t stop glancing at Derek at his side, smiling wider still every time their eyes meet.

A sigh of contentment bursts out of him just from crossing over the threshold into his bedroom – their bedroom, he supposes, if Derek wants it – looking around at everything exactly as they left it. The clothes he’d worn while in Venatia will already have been taken to be laundered, but his other belongings like the books Derek took are already back in place, along with fresh figs and pears in the fruit bowl.

He turns back to Derek still standing in the doorway, taking in the room and Stiles standing in the middle of it.

“This feels like home,” he says, and it makes Stiles’ stomach flutter.

“It is. If you want it to be.”

Derek smiles at him, small and fond. “You know I do.”

Maybe, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still fill Stiles with delight to hear it.

He watches Derek step inside and close the door behind him, his hand lingering on the handle.

“A room has been prepared for me too, with my family,” he says, hesitant.

“I’m sure you’ll have no need to use it,” Stiles teases, but then he sobers, straightening. “Unless you want to be closer to them, then—”

Derek strides forward to silence him with a kiss. “I think I’m going to be quite comfortable—” He starts to walk Stiles backward, kisses him again. “—right—” The back of Stiles’ knees hit the mattress and they topple onto the bed, another kiss. “—here,” he finishes, grinning and brushing their noses together.

Stiles stares up at him, reaching up to trace a finger along the line of his beard, down to the angle of his jaw. His future husband. He surges up for another kiss at that thought, spreading his legs a little for Derek to settle more comfortably between, but he’s barely coaxed Derek’s tongue into his mouth when Derek is groaning and rolling away from him to drop his face to the covers.

“Virgil’s coming,” he all but whines, muffled in the material, and a laugh bubbles up Stiles’ throat, reaching over to rub at Derek’s back as he faces the door and waits for Virgil’s arrival.

Virgil knocks before he enters and doesn’t look surprised at all to see Derek already there with him. He sets the tray he’s carrying with a pitcher of water and two glasses on the bedside table and asks if there’s anything they need.

“No. Thank you, Virgil, that will be all.”

“I’ll have a bath prepared for after you’ve eaten dinner.” He heads for the door, but Stiles stops him before he can leave.

“Virgil? Take a few days to yourself. It’s been a long month for all of us.”

Virgil glances between them with a knowing look, and with a resigned smile he says, “Understood, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Virgil. For everything.”

“Thank you,” Derek says, and Virgil dips his head in a combination of a nod and a bow, and then he retreats from the room and closes the door behind himself with a quiet click, leaving them alone once more.

“You should have told him a few weeks, not a few days,” Derek murmurs, dragging his nose up Stiles’ throat.

“Is that how long you want to keep me here?”

“Longer, if I could,” he says, kissing Stiles’ cheek, and then he lays back on the pillows, coaxing Stiles’ head onto his chest.

He’d love to pick up where they left off before Virgil arrived, but they’ll be called for dinner soon. He wants to wait until they can close the door and know that it isn’t going to be opened again until at least tomorrow morning.

They lay in silence, warm and comfortable, until Derek is the one to ruin it.

“Isaac received some bad news. His father passed while he was gone.”

Stiles props himself up on an elbow in shock to look down at Derek staring up at the ceiling.

“Choked on his own vomit while he was sleeping,” Derek elaborates.

So, he went straight back to his ways and drank himself to death.

“How’s Isaac?” Stiles asks.

“I don’t think the two of them had a good relationship, but it was still a shock. I think he still needs some time to work out how he feels.”

Stiles’ expression must be full of worry, because Derek lifts a hand to stroke his cheek.

“Hey, he’ll be okay. He has more family now. We’ll look after him.”

That at least is perhaps one good thing to come of all this, if nothing else.

They’re called to dinner not long later and find Isaac has still made an appearance. He’s quiet, doesn’t say a word, but Stiles can understand why he wouldn’t have wanted to stay behind alone in his room. He ends up seated between Talia and Joseph, and Stiles realises it was a conscious decision on the part of the others when he sees how the two of them are with him. They touch his shoulder and squeeze his hand and keep his plate filled, gestures that he’s noticed amongst all the wolves. It is heartening to see that they will all be there to care for him even now that they’re home.

Dinner ends up feeling just like an extension of all the ones they shared in Venatia, just with Stiles’ father present and perhaps even more cheerful now that they’ve left that country behind. It’s strange to be back here and not have Wolf on the floor with his usual cut of meat, but it’s so much better having Derek finally at his side at the table.

His father reveals that repairs have already begun on the Hale Manor, had started as soon as Stiles and Derek left for Venatia. That he’d been so optimistic they would succeed fills Stiles with a fierce fondness.

The Hales express their heartfelt gratitude, but his father waves them away, assuring them that it’s the least he could do. The Hale land was never bestowed to anybody else in light of their ‘deaths’, what was left of the house remaining untouched as a constant reminder. Stiles knows his father always saw it as a personal failure to protect his subjects, no matter that he couldn’t have known. Even in his own mind, the skeletal remains of that house continued to lurk over the years, despite never having seen the wreckage with his own eyes.

They migrate to a sitting room once they’ve eaten, already with a fire crackling in the hearth, and it’s here that Stiles’ father raises his glass and announces the happy news of their engagement. It’s met with cheers and more congratulations and hugs from all of Derek’s family. Even Isaac cracks a smile, Stiles is glad to see.

“Now you’re home, I’m sure you’re looking forward to finally getting some more alone time,” Laura teases, and his father pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t even want to know,” he says.

Stiles’ cheeks must be a rosy pink, but when he and Derek are excused a minute later, he’s extremely grateful for Laura’s lack of tact. He and Derek would never usually be permitted to spend any time alone together before they’re married, but it’s hardly a secret that it’s already much too late for that.

They return to their rooms to find a bath has been prepared just like Virgil said it would be, but there’s a second tub beside the first. Stiles wonders how Virgil might have explained that to the servants who assisted him.

Derek reaches for him as soon as the door is shut, helping him out of his clothes with a kiss here and there, to the back of a shoulder or the inside of a wrist. It makes his heart pound despite it feeling entirely chaste instead of a promise of things to come. It’s impossible to hide how it’s affecting him though once his clothes come off, even if it wasn’t already completely obvious to Derek’s werewolf nose. It’s gratifying to see Derek is just as affected when he joins Stiles in his nakedness.

He’s tempted to usher Derek to the bed instead, use the baths for after, but Derek is already pulling him towards the wash basin and Stiles reminds himself there’s no rush. Much like the night of the masquerade, this is another moment just for them, and it’s with a jolt that he realises there are so many more waiting for them in the future. They might have been making do with stolen moments until now, but there's no need for that anymore.

They wipe each other down before Derek leads him to one of the baths – the one he’s always used, not the new addition – and steps inside. It’s only now that Stiles realises Derek intends for them to bathe together.

It’s a tight fit, Derek with his knees up and Stiles resting between with his legs over the rim of the tub, but it’s so peaceful to lay there in the warmth with his head resting on Derek’s shoulder, listening to his quiet breaths and the gentle lap of water.

There’s a lot of laughter when it comes time for getting out, Stiles struggling to manoeuvre himself and unable to get any leverage to stand. Derek ends up having to use his strength to lift him up into his arms as he gets to his feet. He's intent on carrying him straight to the bed, but at Stiles’ squawk about wet sheets, he deposits him by their towels with a huff.

Once they’re dry enough, Stiles eagerly lets Derek manhandle him onto the bed, sighing into his kiss when their bodies align for the first time since the night they were first together. It feels so safe to be blanketed by him, even while knowing he has no need to feel unsafe, not anymore.

They kiss and kiss, Derek slowly rocking his hips even though there’s no intent behind it like the last time they’d been together. Stiles knows they both have more in mind.

“How do we…?”

Derek pauses a moment before reaching beside Stiles’ head to his own pillow, sliding his hand underneath and pulling out a small vial of oil. Stiles stares at it, face flaming at the thought of Derek procuring it.

“I got a hold of it in Venatia,” he admits, shyly, and Stiles stares up at him in shock. “Just in case. But then there wasn’t really any chance of getting away from my family,” he laughs.

“You’ve been thinking about it that long?”

“Of course,” Derek says in surprise. “Longer.” He sweeps his thumb over Stiles’ bottom lip. “But we can do this however you want. If you want to. Or we can just do exactly what we did before—”

Stiles shakes his head. “I want to. I want you to,” he breathes, 

He’s long been fascinated with Derek’s sturdiness and strength, long wondered what it might be like – craved – to be at his mercy. He’s never played with inserting anything inside himself before, but it’s supposed to feel good, and he wants to know. He wants Derek to be the one to do it. His legs are already spreading a little wider, lifting his knees, and Derek nods.

“Okay. Like this.” He puts his hands to Stiles’ knees to lift them higher still until he’s bent nearly in two, and then he stops to just look down at him, down his chest to his cock resting heavy against his belly, down further still to where he’s tight and waiting.

Stiles starts to squirm, self-conscious under his gaze, and he tries to close his legs, but Derek exerts some of that immovable strength Stiles has fantasised about to hold him in place.

“You know, if just looking at you was all I was allowed, I’d happily take it,” Derek murmurs, sliding his hands down Stiles’ calves, disturbing the coarse hairs, making his skin tingle.

“I’m allowing you to have it all.”

Derek smiles down at him, leaning in to kiss the inside of one of his knees, scraping his stubbled cheek there and making Stiles' cock jump against his stomach. He opens up the vial and slicks up two of his fingers, the oil sliding down the side of his palm.

“If you want me to stop—”

“I know.”

Derek nods again and swallows hard, before reaching down between Stiles’ legs and swirling the tip of his middle finger over Stiles’ hole. Stiles draws in a short breath at the strange sensation, but relaxes, lets Derek rub against him there, circling. As Derek works his fingers inside, first one, and then two, he goes from squirming at the foreign sensations to gasping as Derek crooks them just right inside him and moans choking off in his throat every time Derek strokes a hand from base to tip.

He looks up at Derek hovering over him, struck by the look of wonder and hunger in his eyes.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he laughs, breathlessly, lifting a hand to push at Derek’s face.

“Like what?”

“Like—It’s too intense,” he whines.

“I don’t want to miss a moment of this.”

That isn’t something Stiles can argue with. He turns his face into his pillow instead, lets Derek continue until he’s open on three of his fingers and panting.

“I want—I want you,” Stiles chokes out, but Derek keeps going until he’s really sure that Stiles is ready.

When he withdraws his fingers, Stiles does his best to draw in a deep breath, looking down at where Derek is slicking more oil over the length of his cock, jutting outwards with the weight of it when he lets go.

Stiles swallows hard and licks his lips at the sight, but then Derek is settling between his legs and he has to take another deep breath to prepare himself for this. The head of Derek’s cock notches against him, and Stiles drops his head back to the pillow, breath catching in his throat as Derek starts to push, taking his time, pressing deeper, slipping in further still until he can sink all the way to the hilt with a sigh of relief. A broken moan tumbles from Stiles’ lips at the way it feels, his mouth dropped open and unable to close it. 

“Stiles,” Derek breathes, holding himself there, letting Stiles feel it. “Stiles, I need to—”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles gasps, making a sharp noise when Derek starts to thrust, drawing his hips back slowly and sinking just as slowly back inside until Stiles is urging him on, needing more.

Derek manoeuvres Stiles how he wants him, ending up with his palms flat to the bed and Stiles’ knees hooked over his elbows. He leans down a little more, bending Stiles further in two as he speeds up his thrusts. The angle makes Stiles cry out, his toes curling as he fumbles to grasp at Derek’s shoulders, needing something to hold on to.

“Yes,” he gasps in encouragement, drinking in the sight of Derek over him, of his muscles rippling with every powerful, steady thrust even as his eyes try to roll back.

“Touch yourself. Let me see how you touch yourself,” Derek orders, sounding just as wrecked, and Stiles whimpers, reaching for his neglected cock bouncing on his belly with each of Derek’s thrusts.

It heightens everything, draws sounds out of his mouth he didn’t realise he was even capable of making, and he reaches for the discarded oil to help slick the way and make it even better. Derek growls at the sight and Stiles’ eyes go wide, his cock jumping in his grasp at a sudden spike of pleasure. He whines out a moan at the sound, and Derek must realise exactly how it’s affecting him because his eyes flare gold and then his fangs grow to their razor-sharp points with a snarl, and that’s all it takes.

Stiles’ body convulses as he comes with an almost sob, and it draws a whimper out of Derek, his hips losing their rhythm entirely as he thrusts once, twice, and then stills deep inside him with a stifled cry.

Stiles’ eyes almost roll back at Derek’s heat filling him, still stroking his cock to ride out the last of his orgasm. He finally stills with a shudder as Derek lowers his legs to collapse forward onto his chest, and they lie there, breathing heavily.

“That. That was. We are so doing that again,” Stiles announces, breathlessly, amazed that he even managed to string together a full sentence after what Derek just did to him.

It seems all Derek can do is laugh. He lifts his head to kiss him eventually, and then he climbs from the bed despite Stiles’ protests to fetch the washcloth to wipe them both down. After, he bundles Stiles into his arms and smoothes his hair back from his forehead.

“I love you, Stiles,” he murmurs, and in the warm glow of the candlelight, it sounds like a promise.

“I love you, too,” Stiles says in return, tilting his head for a sweet, simple kiss.

 

*

 

He wakes in the morning to the sight of a tray of strawberries and honey and champagne just as promised. His laugh turns to a sound of interest at the sight of Derek’s naked body which wakes him up immediately, all over.

“Who brought this up?” he asks, propping himself up on a pillow.

“I did.” He catches Stiles glancing at his state of nudity and laughs. “I did get dressed.”

“You should have woken me. I would have come with you.”

“I wanted to do something for you for once,” Derek says, holding out a strawberry for him to bite into and then eating the other half himself.

“You did something for me last night,” Stiles tells him around his mouthful, wiggling his eyebrows.

“And I’m going to do something else for you right now.”

“Oh?” Stiles asks, slyly, but his eyes go wide as Derek settles a knee either side of his hips, reaching back to lightly grasp Stiles’ cock at the base to line him up. “Oh,” he breathes, hands flying to Derek’s hips and mouth dropping open as he starts to sink down. “Did you already—?” he chokes out.

“Yeah,” Derek breathes, gasping as the head of Stiles’ cock slips inside where he’s already slick and stretched, and Stiles might be miffed that he didn’t get to see Derek do that to himself if he wasn’t so overwhelmed by tight and hot and holy fuck.

He stares wide-eyed up at Derek hovering over him, taking in everything: his heaving chest, his trembling thighs, his eyes out of focus like all of his attention is on the feel of Stiles sliding inside him. Like he’s never felt anything so good.

He sinks slowly all the way down until Stiles is fully sheathed inside, and Stiles knows with absolute certainty he isn’t going to last more than ten seconds. It doesn’t seem like Derek intends to let him. After a couple of tentative rocks of his hips, his movements grow in strength until he’s bouncing on Stiles’ cock. He’s a sight to behold, the sheer power of his muscles to move himself the way he is, his solid thighs, his cock bobbing with each downward thrust.

“So close, Derek,” Stiles chokes out, his toes ready to curl.

“Yeah? Come on, come on,” Derek encourages, leaning back on his hands to get better leverage, and Stiles can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Want to come inside,” he babbles. “Want to show every wolf who you belong to.”

Derek’s eyes flash gold with a burning intensity at those words, his mouth dropping open on a startled cry as his entire body shakes, and then he’s coming untouched in great spurts, shooting as high as Stiles’ chest. Stiles reaches for his cock, the motion clumsy, unpracticed at this angle, but Derek whines, his hips hunched where he shudders out his release, and Stiles can’t handle the sight of him falling apart. His hips jolt, thrusting him deeper as he comes, filling Derek up just as he promised.

Derek eases himself forward until he can drop his head to Stiles’ chest and stretch his legs out behind, the two of them sucking in deep lungfuls of much-needed air.

“Wow,” Stiles breathes, and Derek shakes with a quiet laugh.

He lifts his head and gives Stiles a peck on the lips. “Good morning.”

“Great morning,” Stiles corrects, still breathing heavily, his mouth hanging open as he stares up at the bed canopy.

Derek recovers before he does, climbing off of him to reach for the champagne. He tips a glass to Stiles’ lips a little too enthusiastically, leaning in to lap up the trickle that runs down his chin, which is innocent enough, but then he’s completely overt when he scoops up a spoonful of honey to drizzle all over Stiles’ chest.

“Derek!”

“Oops,” Derek says, deadpan, and then leans down to begin the slow, thorough task of cleaning him up with his tongue.

 

*

 

For nearly two days they stay in Stiles’ rooms, having food brought to them and left by the door, lying and dozing and sleeping tangled up in each other. And having sex. A lot of sex. They completely forget about the world that exists outside, until Derek lifts his head in the middle of the afternoon on the second day. He has his head cocked like he’s listening to something, and then he meekly half-buries his face in his pillow.

“What is it?”

“My mother says we’re expected to attend dinner,” he mutters, voice muffled. His ears have even gone a bit pink. Stiles starts to giggle; he’s never seen him look chastened before.

Derek begins to laugh too, and then neither of them can stop, wondering what everyone else must be thinking that they haven’t emerged, how much they must smell like each other after this, what the servants might think when they eventually enter the room to change the sheets. Hopefully not that Stiles has just been having some very happy alone time. 

When the time for dinner comes and they eventually emerge to make their way down to the dining room, they’re the last ones to arrive. Isaac tries to hide a laugh behind his hand as soon as they enter, while Laura outright cackles into her wine and Cora’s eyes go wide. Peter raises one impressed eyebrow while both of Derek’s parents look like they don’t know whether to laugh or hide their faces in their hands.

Stiles holds himself proudly even as his cheeks heat, infinitely glad that his father isn’t in possession of superhuman senses.

*

 

In the following weeks, the Hales slowly adjust to life living in the castle and Stiles can see a marked difference in them now that they’re out of Venatia. They’re hundreds of miles away from that foreign land, back amongst people who love them. Stiles just wishes they could have made their departure sooner.

He does wonder if any of the servants might have noticed the familiarity Derek has with the castle, if they might think it strange. They’ll probably just chalk it up to him having more confidence than the rest of his family, never imagining that it’s because he’s already been living here for months.

He does shift into a wolf occasionally, and the castle staff don’t bat an eye to see him. Either the full extent of the way Kate and Gerard died somehow hasn’t reached them, or they’re just so used to his easygoing presence from the months he spent living with them that it hasn’t changed their opinion of him. The kitchens ask if food needs to be provided for him, but under the ruse that he’s free to come and go as he pleases, it’s easy enough to pretend that ‘Wolf’ is happy fending for himself.

They go out riding a few times, either with Derek as a wolf so he can stretch his legs and run and run, or he’ll be on a horse beside him so Stiles can enjoy some conversation. Cora accompanies them once or twice, riding in the saddle in front of her brother, quietly taking in their surroundings with her quick, dark eyes and seeming content to just listen, to just be.

After almost being home for a month, Stiles receives a letter from Allison one afternoon and learns that her and Scott's wedding has been delayed. He just hopes that a delay is all it is and that Scott won’t face pressure to call it off entirely. He doesn’t believe Scott would ever agree to that, but it can’t be denied that the remaining Argents are probably going to heavily rely on the marriage going ahead.

Their relationship with Astran – for all of them – will probably remain rocky for years to come, but Stellaris will stay Venatia’s ally. They’ll be the most important country to do so in light of the fact that they’re the ones who should exhibit the most animosity.

With Stiles and Derek’s engagement still a secret from the public, he doesn’t include mention of it in his return letter. He also doesn’t want it to seem in any way like he’s gloating, even though he knows Allison would never read it that way. He knows she’ll only be happy for them.

With the Hales settled and better adjusted to life amongst people again, Stiles’ father calls for a feast just as Stiles guessed he would. He’s hoping that having them in the feasting hall surrounded by joy and laughter will finally be able to dispel the dark memory he still has of the moment six years ago when the herald announced the fire.

Places for the Hales are set at the top table in their honour, Isaac included, and Stiles makes sure Derek is sat at his side. The atmosphere is jubilant, almost giddy, laughter and cheers and toasts rising up to the rafters.

As soon as they’ve eaten their fill, they reach the most important part of the evening as the music begins, and Derek rises to his feet and holds out a hand.

This time, they dance without masks, song after song, and even when Stiles tires from the exertion of it, Derek slows them to no more than a gentle sway, no matter the lively pace of the music. He doesn’t part from Derek even when his father tries a bit of gentle prodding to get him to share his time with some of their other important guests. He did that already at Allison’s masquerade, danced with others when only Derek was on his mind and relegated him to just those two fleeting dances, a secret. He’s not doing that again. That the two of them are even standing here at all is a miracle after everything they went through; he’s not going to give into any pressure or squander a second of this.

He knows they’ll be the talk of the city come the morning, the Prince and the handsome Hale Lord inseparable from each other’s arms. He wonders how long it will take for predictions of marriage to begin.

More than once, Derek sways towards him like he might kiss him right there in the middle of the floor, and it’s only Stiles’ father’s amused intervention that stops them from conspicuously leaving the feast for the night at the same time. Their dancing may have made their feelings obvious to everyone present, but it will probably be best to keep it quiet that Derek is already warming their Prince’s bed.

As expected, the city is abuzz with gossip as soon as the sun rises, and tales of their time in Venatia have already entered the mix. His father was right that their people adore the idea of him and Derek together. They make it sound like a fairy tale, the way love blossomed between them at first sight when he laid eyes on Derek alive before him in the Argent palace, how he daringly rescued Derek and his family from the Argents’ clutches, how he shoved the evil King into the pit with the direwolves with his own hands. It gets more outrageous as time goes on, more glamorous, more heroic, doing nothing to capture the true fear and uncertainty they’d been living. It becomes the subject of song and poetry, and that’s still without any confirmation of their engagement. Somehow, a rumour of the masquerade even joins the others, about the handsome stranger Stiles had danced with, a talented partner who had borne a striking resemblance to Derek.

Their relationship only drops from being the most popular topic of conversation when the announcement of peace a few weeks later miraculously goes exactly to plan. But though their soldiers can finally return home, there’s new tension in the air now at any mention of Venatia. The peace they’ve secured is of little comfort to those with loved ones lost so unnecessarily, the manipulation with the Hales unforgivable. It might have been relayed that Kate and Gerard were the ones responsible, but it does nothing to assuage the resentment and suspicion that falls onto Chris and Allison, which will probably continue for years to come.

The peace may bring the return of their soldiers, but it also brings with it the return of old friends. Erica and Boyd have journeyed back to Stellaris in the hope of regaining their old life, currently on their way to visit the castle under the pretense of being due an audience with the King.

Standing at the top of the castle steps with his father, Stiles watches the carriage trundle through the gates, and is already descending before it rolls to a stop. The footman opens the door to reveal Erica’s pale, nervous face, but Stiles holds out his hand to help her down and folds her straight into his embrace.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t trust us to protect you,” he whispers, and she goes limp in his arms with a quiet sob.

“I’m sorry we didn’t come to you,” she cries, voice trembling. “We should have known that you could never be anything like them.”

He holds her tightly, resting his head on top of hers, looking over to see Isaac embracing Boyd.

To any onlookers, this will just seem like a tearful reunion after so much time away, which is exactly what everyone has been told occurred. 

It’s been declared that their supposed defection was under the King’s orders upon learning from Chris that the Hales were alive, and that their sacrifice was invaluable in negotiating peace with Astran, which isn’t too far from the truth. It’s because of them that Kali came to Stellaris and inadvertently prompted Stiles to inspect Derek’s collar.

Even still, Stiles knows it won’t be easy for them. Despite his father vouching for them, seeds of distrust have already taken root, particularly amongst the other Knights of Boyd’s Order, that sting of betrayal still lingering.

When Isaac moves to greet Erica, Stiles goes to welcome Boyd, but the Knight holds up a hand to stop him.

“I can smell the claim on you from here, Your Highness,” he says, wryly. “It’s probably best I keep my scent off you.”

Erica giggles into Isaac’s shoulder, the other wolf laughing too.

“Is Erica’s scent going to be a problem?” Stiles asks.

“You’ll thank me for it later,” she says, mischievous even while dabbing at her tears.

He files that new piece of knowledge away as he welcomes Boyd and Erica into the castle for tea, leading them to one of the sitting rooms. He’s decided that they can hear the true account of what happened, a story to be passed secretly amongst werewolves. He introduces Derek to them too, watching in amazement the way his gaze zeroes in on Stiles’ neck as soon as he steps into the room, nostrils flaring.

Stiles definitely does make a mental note to thank Erica later that night when he lays spent and boneless and panting after some incredible sex that involved a lot of growling and licking.

“She really wasn’t joking. Erica.”

Derek grunts, his head flopped onto Stiles’ chest.

“Do you really not like it when I smell like other people?”

“Just werewolves.”

“But Cora hugs me all the time and you don’t react like that.”

“That’s different. She’s family. Pack. I know she doesn’t have any intentions on you. And I know your friends don’t either,” he continues over Stiles’ attempt to reason with him, lifting his head to look down at him with a grumpy frown. “But it’s not that simple to my wolf instincts.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Derek narrows one eye at him. “You’re going to use it against me, aren’t you?”

“If it gets us a repeat of what happened just now, are you really going to complain?”

Derek can only groan.

 

*

 

For just over three months the Hales stay with them in the castle, and Stiles has gotten so used to how lively it is to have them there. Meals are always full of laughter and good cheer, and it seems they’ve really made themselves at home, grown comfortable and content enough to even venture around the castle on their own.

He often spies his father with Derek’s parents, regaining the friendship they’d had in days past and the future marriage between their children bonding them closer still.

Now that Derek isn’t living under constant threat of discovery, Stiles thought that clothes would become more commonplace. Much to his delight, he finds that Derek always being naked when in their private quarters is something that never stops, only now, Derek makes sure that Stiles always joins him. He’ll reach for him as soon as the door is closed and strip him down, and more often than not it will end with them either rutting frantically or grinding lazily on the bed, and Stiles has no complaints whatsoever.

Though they're living in perfect bliss, there are still times when Derek will look haunted, when he’ll wake up gasping and Stiles will have to soothe him as best he can. You killed her, she's gone, tore off her head, she's not coming back. He lets Derek press his nose to his neck, breathe him in until he stops shaking. Your family are here. You’re all safe. 

On one of those nights, Derek lifts his head from Stiles’ throat, looking to the door.

“Cora’s outside,” he murmurs in explanation. “Come in, sweetheart.”

The door opens to reveal the shape of her hovering in the doorway in her nightdress, and Derek beckons her inside.

“Come on,” he says, pulling back the corner of the covers as Cora closes the door. “Did I wake you?”

“You felt scared.” She climbs into the bed beside him and curls close, Derek tucking the covers in at her back.

“I’m alright.”

“I know. Stiles always helps.”

Stiles can hear the smile in Derek’s voice even through the darkness. “He does.”

Stiles reaches over to stroke a hand over her head in a way he knows she still likes even as a human, and the three of them fall asleep like that, sleeping peacefully through to the morning.

When Derek brings up a need to talk later the next day, Stiles understands why Cora appeared at their bedroom door and it only serves to make his heart heavy.

“I’ve told my family that I won’t be staying with them once we can visit the house.”

“Are you sure? If you want to stay with them even until they get settled—”

“No. I’m sure. I’ll still be able to feel them in the bond, but if I’m apart from you, I won’t be able to tell if anything happens. I’m not ready for that.” He shrugs. “They’re not happy I’ll be leaving them, but they’re happy for us.”

“As long as they understand.”

“They won’t be far. It won’t be like when they were in Venatia and our pack bond was spread so thin we could barely feel each other.”

The Hale Manor is three hours from the city by carriage, faster on horseback, and faster still if Derek were to make the journey as a wolf.

 “I’ll be able to visit them anytime.”

“And they’ll be able to visit you whenever they feel like it,” Stiles reminds him. “You know they’re always welcome here.”

Derek kisses him in thanks.

 

*

 

It’s drawing to the end of winter by the time the house is ready for them, and though his father extends the offer for them to stay until the weather warms, the Hales respectfully decline, eager to finally be home.

Stiles and his father accompany them on the journey, and it’s bittersweet to be leaving the city with them after all the time they’ve spent there together, but Stiles knows it will be bitterer still when they reach the manor to find it immaculate and empty. It might have been built to the same specifications, but their possessions were all destroyed, and that special scent of home – so much more important to them than anyone else can realise – will be but a memory.

When Stiles returned home from Venatia, he had people here to welcome him, friendly, familiar faces he’s known all his life. The staff the Hales employed and housed on their property are long dead, more Argent victims, and it seems the Hales don’t want to replace them yet. Living as such a close-knit unit during their time in the enclosure, Stiles can understand why they wouldn’t be ready. He also understands Laura’s feelings when she says, “I want to wash linens and hang them out to dry, and I want to cook, and scrub floors. Normal, menial, human tasks.”

The rest of the Hales seem to share the sentiment.

Isaac comes with them. Stiles has a feeling he still would have even if his father had been here for him to return to. Isaac might not have been held captive for as long as the rest of them, but it’s affected him just as much, making him just as reluctant to part from all of them as they are to part from each other. An honorary Hale, Derek calls him, and it makes Isaac shyly glow with pride.

They follow the road southeast of the city, an easy journey to make despite the chill weather.

Stiles has memories of visiting the Hale Manor once, the house surrounded by forest like a secret lurking within. He’d always thought it strange that they didn’t show the building off like other noble families, choosing instead to stay shielded from the road, but with what he knows now, it makes perfect sense for them to favour the privacy.

They leave their escort camped further up the road, far enough away that the Hales will be able to shift and inspect the state of their land without fear of being seen. The men aren’t happy about leaving the King so far from protection, but little do they know he’s the safest he could be, surrounded by a pack of werewolves who would no doubt love any excuse to destroy any intruder in their territory.

They round a curve in the path and the house emerges from between the trees, its limestone façade lit a soft, warm gold by the midmorning sun. It looks pristine and so obviously new, nothing homey about it at all. Not yet at least. He hopes they can get there one day.

In his mind’s eye, he can still see the beautiful Victoria creeper that covered most of the left half of the house, turning the most striking reds and oranges in the autumn months. It will take years for that to return to its former glory, if they decide to grow it again.

The Hales are silent as they approach the front door and step inside, stranded somewhere between happiness and sorrow. It almost feels like they’re intruding stepping into this big empty house, furnished only simply for now.

Derek takes his hand and pulls him tentatively up the stairs, leading the way to where his bedroom was in the back left corner of the upper floor.

Stiles is planning to stand back and let Derek take in the room, let him work out how he feels to be back here – the same but so different – but Derek bundles him straight onto the bed against the right-hand wall. Stiles can tell it’s just to spread his scent here, to make this place as much of the home it can be in such a short amount of time. He rubs a comforting hand up and down his back, but Derek makes a displeased noise.

“I don’t want to be sad anymore,” he murmurs.

Though his words feel like a knife in his chest, Stiles smiles up at him, thinking of all the things he has to be grateful and happy and excited for, hoping the emotions will filter into whatever scents it is that he gives off. He watches Derek’s expression lighten before his eyes and lets his positive feelings manifest into laughter.

The Hales spend their first night there scouring the property and surrounding woods, reclaiming territory. It’s the first time they’ve explored their land as wolves apart from Talia, and it’s like it isn’t only the house that they’re seeing with new eyes.

Stiles sits out by the front steps with his father and Virgil, the only member of staff to have accompanied them up to the house. Derek and his sisters carried armchairs out for them to sit comfortably on, lifting them like they weighed no more than a glass of water. A brazier is lit to fight off the lingering chill of winter, and they wrap themselves in blankets with steaming mugs of tea. It’s so pleasant to sit there, surrounded by the simple peace of nature with the city far away. It’s something he hasn’t done with his father for many years now; he’s glad to be there together.

The wolves drift in and out, Derek returning the most often to wedge himself between Stiles and his father, tongue lolling out of his mouth in what looks to be a happy grin. Stiles will reach out to scratch at his ears whenever he comes by, and even his father pets him every now and then, lifting a hand to stroke once or twice down his neck. Derek is happy to let him, closing his eyes in bliss each time. Stiles loves how affectionate he can be like this, allowing them to be closer in a way where any human equivalent would just be considered strange.

Derek even lets Virgil give him a stroke every now and then, brushing up close to his chair and nudging at his hand with his nose. He’s warmed to Derek a lot more since learning of their plans to marry, mollifying his old-fashioned values. Derek had revealed a few days before their journey to the manor that Virgil had even smiled at him, a great feat indeed.

When his father begins to yawn and Stiles starts to follow, Derek nudges at them both with his muzzle, pestering them to go off to bed. Stiles directs Virgil to attend to his father and watches them head for the guest room that’s been prepared. No one has bothered to arrange one for Stiles here, even for appearances sake; everyone knows he’ll just sleep in with Derek.

Derek follows after him not long later, leaping up on the bed to sleep as a wolf as he always used to, but this time, Stiles can cuddle up close to him like they did back when they journeyed to Venatia. They stay on top of the covers, Derek’s warmth more than enough to keep Stiles cosy even while still being on the edge of winter.

Stiles strokes a constant hand down his side, near his belly, listening to Derek’s occasional contented rumble as he noses gently at Stiles’ cheek, tickling his skin with his whiskers. He sleeps soundly, only roused in the morning by Derek as a human pulling the covers over them both from either side to wrap them like a cocoon. Stiles squirms over to snuggle against his chest, pressing his feet against Derek’s calves to keep his toes warm and humming as Derek’s hand rubs up and down his back.

It ends up being how he and Derek spend most of their time while they stay there, wrapped up in each other on the rug in front of the fireplace in the sitting room or even in a blanket outside the house next to the brazier. They end up the subject of a lot of gentle teasing and fond smiles. Back in the castle, they can’t yet advertise what they are to each other like this, forced to keep it confined to their rooms instead. Stiles does enjoy the intimacy of that private space that’s been theirs to share for months now, but it is still nice to not need to hide.

His father and Virgil stay for a week, and Stiles a few days longer, wanting to give Derek as much time with his family as possible. Their own departure looms ever closer, a moment Stiles has been dreading, but it isn’t something they can put off.

He’d been expecting Derek to begin to waver as their time to leave grew closer, wondered if he might elect to stay for just a little bit longer and rejoin Stiles at the castle later. Stiles wouldn’t fault him for it, not after the separation they’d already been forced to endure, but he shows no signs of hesitation.

“But do you have to go?” he overhears Laura ask Derek when the time comes to say goodbye, sounding small and almost scared. “Can’t you stay, just for a little while longer?”

“Stiles has his duties, and I can’t part from him. You know I’m not ready.”

She heaves an unhappy sigh of defeat and throws her arms around his middle in glum acceptance.

“I won’t be as far away this time,” Derek assures her. “Our bond won’t spread so thin. We’ll still be able to feel each other there.”

She’s just as gloomy when it’s her turn to say goodbye to Stiles but she wraps her arms around him with as much force as she had her brother.

“I’ll look after him,” Stiles says, and she squeezes him tighter.

“I know you will. Make sure he visits.”

“I promise.”

He receives a hug from each of Derek’s family in turn, letting them rub one of their cheeks against his, like they’re layering their scent to give Derek something to remember them by.

Peter fetches their horses, and they descend the front steps to take the reins from him, Derek accepting a final hug and slap on the back. They swing up into their saddles, and with a final wave, they nudge their horses to a walk and leave the Hale Manor behind them.

“Are you sure?” Stiles asks, just before the house disappears from view.

Derek smiles at him, happy, no trace of doubt in his eyes. “I’m sure.”

The remaining escort left by his father awaits them at the main road, their camp already dismantled and ready to go. They fall in with the retinue for the return journey, battling a chill wind in their faces the entire way. Derek appears mostly unaffected by the cold despite a pink nose, but Stiles does manage to get him to shriek once they get home when he pulls icy hands out of his gloves and slips them up under Derek’s shirt right there in the entry hall.

The casual time spent at the Hale manor has led Stiles to forget himself, to act so familiarly outside the privacy of their rooms, but the gathered servants are all smiling, despite their averted eyes.

“Will Lord Hale require rooms to be prepared, Your Highness? We were unaware he would be returning to us.”

It’s not only the servants who were surprised to see Derek again so soon. The citizens too had been brimming with curiosity to see him returned and riding at Stiles’ side, but he supposes it will just be more fuel for the marriage rumours.

“That won’t be necessary, Matthew,” Virgil says, descending the stairs from the direction of Stiles’ quarters. “Lord Hale already has a place to stay.” He gives Stiles his usual bow. “I’ve prepared a bath, Your Highness, to warm you up before dinner.”

“Thank you, Virgil. I’m in great need of it.” He almost says we but catches himself at the last moment. Not that he really needed to bother. The fact that Derek is following him straight up the stairs leaves no illusion to the servants below exactly where he’s going.

Dinner feels almost lonely that evening with just the two of them, his father swamped with important correspondence. The table has been lined with candles with a small glass vase of two winter roses between them, and it looks suspiciously like the servants have conspired to make this as romantic as possible.

He can’t help casting furtive glances at Derek as they eat, wondering if he’s missing his family already, if he’s going to change his mind.

“Stiles,” Derek eventually laughs in reprimand, “I’m okay.” He reaches for Stiles’ hand where it rests on the table, squeezing. “I have a life ahead of me again after so long of seeing no way out. After so many years lost. I’m going to live without regret, and that course leads here. With you.”

Stiles looks back into Derek’s eyes, so full of certainty and trust, filled to the brim with the love he has for the man in front of him.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” he says, simply, and Derek’s answering bashful smile might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

 

*

 

Their engagement is announced to the public the very next week and more outrageous verses sprout on the end of the already existing songs and poems.

Stiles would love to have their wedding on the same day as his birthday, the day Derek came back into his life even if it wasn’t known to him at the time, but his father puts his foot down there, adamant that those celebrations must remain separate. Stiles grudgingly agrees, but only if the wedding can happen before his birthday rather than after; he wants to be married to Derek as soon as he possibly can.

When they decide on the date of a month before Stiles’ birthday, the invitations are sent, including one to Chris and Allison. Stiles does want Allison to be there with all his heart, but he’s sure Derek is less than enthused to have Chris be invited. Unfortunately, there’s no way around it. In light of current events, this is a perfect opportunity to display their continuing alliance.

They both agree to attend, and Stiles, his father and Derek ride out to meet their party at the city gate when they arrive, an act to deter any abuse that might be aimed their way and exhibit support for their Argent guests.

Stiles wouldn’t have blamed Chris if he’d made the decision to decline the invite, even to keep Allison in particular out of potential harm’s way, but ultimately, that would have just sparked further hostility. This was the best choice he could have made.

The greeting from the Stellaran citizens is noticeably more muted compared to their reactions to processions past, and Stiles wonders if that might change by the time it comes for the Argents to leave. 

He looks back at Derek riding beside Chris, involved in what appears to be a cordial exchange of words, and gives him an encouraging smile when he catches his eye.

“I’m so happy for you, Stiles,” Allison says to him later that night when they catch a quiet moment just the two of them after dinner.

“Thank you.” A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and he doesn’t bother trying to fight it.

“I have to admit, I never thought you’d be getting married before me,” she teases, and considering she and Scott have been betrothed sweethearts for years now, Stiles can’t believe it either. It’s sobering to remember the reason why their own marriage was delayed, but though there’s a flicker of sadness in Allison’s eyes, her smile doesn’t fade at all.

Scott arrives a few days later to a much warmer reception than the Argents, not needing an escort up through the city. He has a beaming smile where he’s giving a final wave to the citizens nearest the castle gates, and when he draws his horse to a halt, he dismounts in an agile leap that has Stiles laughing. It looks like being a werewolf is agreeing with him tremendously.

He greets Stiles with a hug, and Stiles can feel an extra weight to it, that same new bond he’d felt between them before. Allison waits inside the entry hall to reunite with him, deciding it was best to remain hidden from the public eye.

Derek’s family have come back to stay with them too in the lead up to the wedding, and both parties do their best to avoid each other, taking separate meals. Stiles does manage to get Scott and Allison together to dine with him and Derek more than once, and he’s so pleased and relieved to find that, after a bit of initial awkwardness, they get along just fine.

The night before the wedding, Derek’s family are there to whisk him away as soon as they’ve eaten dinner, taking it upon themselves to keep the two of them separated until it’s time for the ceremony tomorrow.

Scott offers to join him in his room, to reminisce about old times and partake in a kind of sleepover like they used to when they were children, but Stiles knows having another werewolf – probably even just another person – in the room they share on the night before their wedding will wreak havoc on Derek’s senses. He might enjoy invoking that possessive streak, but unleashing it on their wedding night isn’t the way Stiles wants to go.

Instead, he spends a lonely and fitful night in a cold bed, but this time, it isn’t only Derek’s absence that keeps him awake.

He’s getting married tomorrow. Derek is going to become his husband.

He knows that Derek getting cold feet is hardly something he needs to worry about, but he still panics about everything else that could go wrong. What if it rains? What if he falls on his face walking down the front steps to climb into the carriage and breaks his nose? What if the cathedral roof caves in overnight and they have to push back the wedding?

Stiles isn’t sure he gets a single wink all night.

He does hear from Scott in the morning how Derek had tried to slip away many times during the night but was thwarted at every turn. It makes him feel slightly better to know Derek was just as affected by the distance as he was.

Virgil is there to dress him after he’s turned down even the thought of managing breakfast, helping him into a gold doublet with a white filigree design covering the torso. He stands staring at himself in the mirror, tugging on the hem and taking short gasping breaths. Virgil reaches up to smooth his hands over the shoulders to make sure it sits just so.

“All will be well, Your Highness,” Virgil tells him, earnestly, with a gentle smile. “It’s going to be a beautiful day.”

Stiles can’t remember the journey from his rooms down to the entry hall. He’s only snapped out of his daze by cheering that erupts from the gathered castle staff at the sight of him. His father holds out his arms to draw him into his embrace, but Virgil holds up his hands to usher him back, not wanting anything to upset his handiwork.

He rides in a carriage to the cathedral with his father, Virgil taking a seat out beside the driver, but the journey is slow going. The city is bursting with people, more than Stiles thinks he’s ever seen, filling the roads that should have been kept clear. There’s no need to worry that he might be late; he knows that Derek will be departing after him.

Thankfully, they reach the cathedral without incident. He looks up at the magnificent building as he climbs from the carriage, needing to take a deep breath as the dizzying height of it makes his head spin. His father directs him to turn and wave to the citizens at the gates when he reaches the top of the steps, a gesture Stiles would entirely have forgotten if on his own.

When they step inside, every guest has risen to their feet, and Stiles isn’t sure if he manages to smile or not as he looks blankly around at all their beaming faces as his father steers him up the centre aisle. Virgil is following behind, and he goes to take a seat in one of the rows near the back. Stiles grabs him by the sleeve and forces him all the way up to the altar with them, directing him to take a seat in the front row to the right despite his protests.

His father gives Stiles’ upper arm an encouraging squeeze before he takes a seat beside Virgil, and Stiles is sure he’s laughing at him. He’s too nervous to care, licking dry lips and letting his eyes dart around the guests in attendance.

Chris and Allison sit behind his father, Scott beside them, and amongst the other familiar faces he spies Erica and Boyd with their young son, holding him up so he can wave. Derek’s family sit in the front row on the other side from his father, though Talia is missing. It makes his hands shake to know that the next time he sees her will be the moment that he sees Derek.

Cheering outside starts to grow louder and louder, and Stiles’ stomach somehow ends up in his throat as it reaches a crescendo. The guests rise to their feet again and two men open the cathedral doors, revealing Derek ready to step over the threshold.

He’s wearing a doublet to match Stiles’, but instead the colours are inverted, gold on white, and it brings out the warmth of his tan skin. The sight of him snatches Stiles’ breath, but he can finally feel his face again, smiling so wide it’s barely contained on his cheeks as Derek walks down the aisle to meet him, his mother and Alpha at his side to give him away. Stiles is infinitely glad not to be the one doing the walking. He can’t feel his legs. It’s like focusing on Derek shrinking the distance between them is the only reason that he’s managing to stay upright.

They reach the altar and Talia kisses her son’s cheek before taking a seat with her family, then Derek is holding his hands and the ceremony begins.

The next few minutes all turn to a blur in his memory, all except for Derek’s smiling face, for Derek’s shaking hands in his, for Derek’s eyes brimming with joy and awe and love as Stiles says I do and they slide the rings onto each other’s fingers, simple gold bands with the Stellaris four-pointed star engraved once in the centre – and a crescent moon engraved on the inside.

At the permission to kiss his husband, they both lean in, slow and sweet. When they part, he looks to his father who has tears in his eyes, to Virgil whose tears are streaming down his face, and he laughs, bright and light as air.

With Derek’s hand in his, they make their way back down the aisle amongst cheers and applause, down the front steps of the cathedral to their waiting horses draped in caparisons of white and gold to take the processional route through the city to greet the citizens.

Since he entered the cathedral, daffodils have appeared seemingly from nowhere in the hands of all the citizens in attendance, just like they would be at one of his birthday processions. But this time, amongst all the yellow is a white variety: a symbol of their wedding day, but also a symbol for Derek. It represents the peace that Derek and his family’s return brought to the country and, as Stiles has been informed by Virgil, the pure love that Derek has for him. To Stiles it represents the colour of the moon.

There’s a bit more order on the roads now, a path cleared for their horses amongst the hundreds of people who came to congratulate them on their wedding day - though Stiles is sure more than a few of them are here to see the Hale Lord back to life.

Bombarded by cheering and whooping and whistling, Stiles’ cheeks ache almost immediately from smiling so hard, but he knows he wouldn’t be able to wipe the grin from his face today if he tried. Derek is smiling just as widely, and Stiles watches as he reaches out to pluck a stem from the air with his werewolf reflexes and rides closer to tuck the white bloom behind Stiles’ ear.

The whooping gets louder at the sight. Stiles knows the public loves Derek’s ready affection for him, the way it always makes their Prince blush. But he isn’t one to be outdone.

He waves to an older gentleman by the side of the road holding a yellow daffodil, and the man tosses it up for Stiles to tuck behind Derek’s ear in return. Derek grins at him, and then makes Stiles stomach swoop by leaning in to kiss him right there in the middle of the procession. Cheering roars in his ears as Derek tilts his head to kiss him more deeply, probably delighting at being able to make this ultimate claim in front of the world.

Warmth flutters in his stomach, marvelling that he could possibly be this lucky. They’ve a night of feasting ahead of them, of more dancing, and Stiles is going to take great pleasure in retiring together at the end of the evening and leaving no doubt in anyone’s minds exactly where they’re going.

Derek pulls back to brush their noses together, sunlight sparkling in his eyes of green and gold, the shadow of a daffodil petal falling on his cheek. Stiles’ heart is so full that he can feel it beating in his chest, tugging him forward like perhaps it always has, leading him where he was always meant to be, straight into the arms of his beautiful, tender-hearted wolf.

Notes:

After over three years, this is finally complete! I thought I’d have it finished within a few months of posting the first chapter, but such is life. If anyone reading this has been following along since the beginning with every single snail’s pace update, you deserve a medal 😂 I hope it was worth it! I really hope the writing didn’t suffer too badly in the middle from all the delays. I kind of feel like the latter half is of a better quality than the first (maybe that’s just me? Or maybe it’s because I’ve improved as a writer over the past few years? 🤞) so there’s so many things I want to tweak. Having spent the last four years with this fic though, maybe it’s time I let it go haha

I’ve posted a few extra bits and pieces over on tumblr if anyone’s interested of:

• Art in the style of a stained glass window
• Another photoset I did to mark the occasion of finally completing this (and here’s a link to the first one again if anyone missed it. Please don’t laugh at my sterek kiss manipulation attempt haha)
• Some headcanons that I had no room to work in

I might have a few other things to share like a random drabble of the scene where Allison drops off the clothes for Derek for the masquerade, and explanations for what each of the country names mean if anyone is interested. I’ll put everything under this tag on my tumblr if you ever want to check it out.

Thank you so much to everyone who has left a comment throughout the duration of this fic and the people who took a chance on this despite my absences, and shout out to nosetothewind94 and sternest for their art! I can say without doubt that this never would have gotten finished if it weren’t for everyone’s enthusiasm. I don’t really have fandom friends or anyone to cheer me on, so all your kind words are more valuable than I can say.

Don’t forget to check out my other fics if you’re interested, and maybe click the subscribe button in my profile if you want to keep up with what I write next, or as always, you can find me here on tumblr, or at my fic rec blog, Underappreciated Sterek.

Kudos/comments are appreciated if you enjoyed it, or even just sharing with your friends.

Thank you for reading!