Chapter Text
Stiles rushed into the hall. King Stilinski turned; his lips wretched into a severe frown.
“You are late.” His voice was soft even as it echoed off the towering walls. His robes swished as he moved to open the doors of the council chambers.
“Time escaped me.”
“You mean your duties escape you. Where were you?” His footsteps were soft against the carpeting.
“I was overseeing the staff.” Stiles plucked at his sleeves when his father turned back to him. His eyes were steel and gaze piercing.
“Off with Scott. I do not doubt.” King Stilinski paused at the double doors that led into the chamber rooms.
“I-” Stiles couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“These trifles are no longer yours to enjoy. You need prepare. Yet, you continue to delay with these childish behaviors.” The King paused as he tried to catch Stiles’ eyes. “Must I tie you to my side?”
“No, Father.” Stiles clasped his hands and stood as still as he could beside his father. King Stilinski’s stare was like an oppressive weight on Stiles’ chest.
“In but two months, you will present to our citizens as their crown prince. You must be ready. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
“See that your actions reflect your newfound understanding.” Then, the King pushed open the doors and began another day of endless meetings with Stiles silent by his side. Stiles tried not to imagine what it might have been like if his mother hadn’t died 8 years ago.
“Scott, enough. We’ve done this how many times? Nothing bad will happen.” Stiles pulled on the rough fabric of his cloak. He didn’t need to look to know the wary look on Scott’s face. It was always like this right before they went into town.
“Stiles, your father. The King. He said-”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, I heard there is an oracle in town.” Stiles poked his head out of the stables. No one in sight.
“What do you need an oracle for anyway?” Scott groaned, but he fell into step beside Stiles.
“Maybe I want to know when I will meet my true love,” Stiles laughed. He was under no illusion. His future was set in stone from the moment of his birth. His life and his duty would be given in service of the country. All he had was the now. Once he was crowned as heir to the throne – nothing – not even his thoughts would be his own anymore.
Stiles wanted to take every chance he could to get away in the between.
“What are you really going to ask the Oracle?”
“Shouldn’t she already know what I want to hear?” Stiles shrugged.
“I went the year of the rains. She said that I would have to choose between my best friend and the love I’ve always wanted. Or something of the sort. I haven’t an inkling of what she might mean. I have my mom and you. The horses love me. I am satisfied.”
“Who can tell? Perhaps there is a lady in your future.” Stiles knocked into Scott playfully.
“It wouldn’t matter. I know that I would choose my best friend.” Scott bumped playfully back. “Besides, women don’t usually go out of their way to talk to the guy who smells like horse manure.”
“The offer of weapons master remains. With Harris moved to council the armory is the most peaceful part of the council.”
“No,” Scott shook his head hard enough to dislodge a lock of hair and have it droop over his face. “I like horses. No politics to handle. Just manure and feed.” Scott paused and peered at Stiles out of the corner of his eye. “How is the addition of Harris?”
Awful,” Stiles moaned. “I know he’s trying to make me look bad. And Father is taking him at his word. I just wish it could be different.”
Scott grunted in agreement and the two fell into a companionable silence.
“The new pony, Peonie, escaped her stable last night. I spent the night’s length chasing her.” Scott said. Stiles almost fell over from laughing at the image of Scott in his nightgown chasing a wild pony over the castle grounds.
“You aren’t going in?” Stiles asked at the opening of the temporary tent. Citizens streamed around them. Their arms were full. They jostled against each other, against Stiles and Scott. The murmur of the crowd was exciting. Or maybe it was the unknown beyond the tent.
“No, I’ve had enough of her for a lifetime.” Scott shuddered at the memory.
Stiles pushed into the dim tent. It smelled like lavender and burnt vanilla. She gestured at the seat across the table.
“Ten for a reading.” Her voice fell like flower petals around him. Beneath the veil, the Oracle smiled. She was beautiful with her fire-red hair and sharp eyes. Stiles could feel himself falling in love with her the longer he sat at her table.
She shifted. Stiles was unsettled. He could feel the grate of her eyes on his face. She began.
“You are stuck in the hold of two worlds. Each equally dangerous in peril. Seen and unseen. You flit to find a branch, little bird. You can only choose. But choose with care, young Prince. One world leads to death most certainly. The other leads to a chance at the life you crave. Misstep and that will end most unfortunately. Your choices are few and paths narrow.”
“I… prince?” The words were blending together. Stiles didn’t know which way was up.
“Yes, your Royal Highness Prince Stilinski.” She inclined her head in a semblance of a seated bow.
“How did you know?”
“I make it my business to know.” She leaned back with a self-satisfied air.
“And – What did you mean between two worlds?”
“Your paths are stone. When you reach the fork, you must choose a way. These paths will not cross again.”
“What is the choice?” Stiles’ voice felt raw. There was a weight on his chest.
“That I cannot share.”
“What?” Stiles choked out. His hands took flight in the air around him. “How can you not share? You’ve shared everything else. You must tell me.”
“I must not. That is not the role of an Oracle.”
“It is exactly the role of an Oracle.”
“I’ve shared what I can, Your Highness. I will share no more. Not even on threat of death.” She smirked. She knew already that he wouldn’t threaten her like that. Stiles frowned and stood. At the door, he paused.
“Are you sure you can tell me no more?” He asked. She rolled her eyes.
“No, my prince.”
With a nod, Stiles pushed out of the tent and squinted in the light. He didn’t see Scott. Maybe he got distracted by another rare animal. Scott was a sucker for rare animals. Maybe it was another zebra.
Stiles worked his way through the crowds. His hood pulled low over his face. It had been getting harder and harder to blend with the crowds with the rumors of his visits to the town being more commonplace.
“You there!” Someone called over the murmur of the crowds. Stiles did not stop. He walked faster. “Halt!”
Stiles turned to look over his shoulder. The guards were pushing through the crowd. Staring straight at him.
“You! Halt, thief!”
Stiles jolted. He ran. Stiles’ footsteps made a quick beat against the pavement as he ran from the guards. He could admit maybe today wasn’t the best day to go through the town center. But Stiles needed a break. He needed a moment away from the stifling nature of the castle.
The woods were close. Stiles darted into the trees, making a beeline through the woods until he couldn’t hear the guards anymore. Stiles slowed to a walk when he heard a shout.
The guard. Stiles rushed forward. He didn’t think twice when he saw the slightly swaying cloth of a tent.
Stiles ducked in through the back and tried to slow his breathing. It was warm in the tent. The embers of what was a fire smoldered in the center. To the left was a cot, near a wall of weapons. They were ornate. Precisely and professionally crafted. Fit for a king.
At the floor of the weapons wall, were a couple chests. They were ornate, almost glowing gold in the firelight.
To the right was a desk. There was a map on it. And next to the desk with the map, was a dark haired man wielding a sword. No, not a man. A god. His eyes shimmered in the firelight. Stiles was trapped in their glow.
“How did you get in here?” His voice was gruff, unforgiving. Stiles pointed to the tent wall he had come in.
“No,” The man, King, as it appeared by the crown on his head, “how did you get past the guards?”
“What guards?” Stiles asked. This was the wrong question, because the King’s eyebrows crushed in on themselves.
“You are not a very good assassin. I expected more from the Argents than a doe-eyed street urchin.”
The blade in the King’s hand wavered in the light. There was a triskele pressed into the hilt. A Hale. A King Hale. King Derek Hale. The Wolf King. Stiles shuddered.
“I’m not. I-” Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he had been this shaken up. He took a half step back, but got tangled up in something on the ground. He flailed as he fell.
He landed among the blankets and pillows on King Hale’s bed. He tried to get up too quickly. The blankets wrapped around his arms, then his legs and soon he was nothing but a tangled mess on the floor. Stiles heard the slice of a sword being sheathed.
Footsteps announced King Hale’s approach. Stiles watched from where he tied. Stiles watched as Derek squatted to be level with Stiles on the floor. King Hale’s thighs bulged. Stiles had to work hard to keep his eyes from drifting between King Hale’s legs.
“Who are you?” The King’s voice was like smelted steel. Liquid. Hot. Extremely dangerous.
“Stiles.” he said as he sprung one hand free from the blankets.
“What’s a Stiles?” King Hale didn’t make a move to release Stiles from the trap of bedsheets. He seemed to be enjoying Stiles’ struggles.
“Me. I’m Stiles.” The end of the blanket was trapped under his butt. Stiles was wrapped too tight to free himself without contorting himself into odd shapes.
“What is your business here? Stiles.” There was a laugh in his voice.
“I – uh. I got lost.”
“You lost your way … into my tent.”
“I see that. Thank you very much.” Stiles said. He finally freed his legs. He stood kicking the blankets on his way up. The Wolf King was clearly not familiar with chivalry.
“You would speak to me with such impudence?”
“I see that, Your Highness . Thank you very much, Your Highness. ” Stiles froze. He hadn’t meant to say that. But King Hale laughed loud and long. His eyes crinkled at the edges. At least he hadn’t created an international crisis. His dad would never get over that.
“You best away.” Hale turned Stiles to the place in the tent when Stiles had entered. Stiles looked over his shoulder once at the King who watched with raised eyebrows.
Stiles only stumbled through the woods for a moment before he ran into Scott again.
“Where have you been, dude?”
“I was – uh lost.” Stiles did not have a great reason for not telling Scott about King Hale. It felt like his little secret. And Stiles wanted to hold it close to his chest.
That night, Stiles tossed in his bed. He could hear the echoes of King Hale’s laughter and the tweeting of birds and the weight of something on his chest. Needless to say, Stiles was confused.
He tried to stand still as he was dressed. But he jittered with nervous energy. Even when Heather pinched him to stand still. He couldn’t.
At breakfast he ate as fast as he could without drawing his father’s ire at Stiles’ lack of decorum. But even when he was done he could not depart until the King had given him leave. So Stiles sat there and pretended to care about the change in the weather patterns to the north or the village that was flooded in the last rains. It was difficult.
Finally, after what had to be hours of endless talk, King Stilinski dismissed Stiles from the table. With a vague warning to be on time for the audience, Stiles was out of the door with a guard of three.
Make no mistake.
Stiles was not walking through the woods looking for King Hale’s campsite the next day. No, he was collecting berries. Maybe he didn’t particularly need to sneak away from his security detail to do that, but he did it anyway.
A thought occurred to him. Perhaps, King Hale would like a berry or two. Maybe he would like this flower Stiles found near a stump. And Stiles was a polite man. He was making good with a possible ally for his reign as king.
He would briefly go to King Hale’s tent and present King Hale with these gifts as a thank you for not killing him.
It was only right.
Stiles stashed his crown at the stump where he found the flowers and hurried towards King Hale’s campsite. He would be back before the guards started to worry.
As before, there was no one to stop him as he slipped into the back of King Hale’s tent.
King Hale was sitting in an ornate chair reading a letter. He folded it hastily before he shoved it into his pocket.
“You again.” King Hale’s eyes slid down Stiles’ body. It was like heat bloomed over every inch of skin that the king’s eyes touched. “You are the son of a nobleman?”
“No,” Stiles smiled, hefting the basket.
“I was not aware berry farmers were so well off in this Kingdom.” King Hale peered into the basket and plucked the flower from its set at the edge of the basket. He rolled the stem between his fingers and the petals of the flower briefly blurred to white. Then he set his eyes on Stiles.
Stiles understood. He might have done the same in King Hale’s position. So, Stiles reached into the basket and picked the prettiest of the berries. The one that was sure to be the sweetest. He pushed the berry into his mouth, noting the way Derek’s eyes rested on Stiles’ fingers, particularly those in his mouth.
The flavor burst on Stiles’ tongue, sending a wave of sweet through his mouth. Stiles let out a small moan. When he opened his eyes, he didn’t miss the heat that flushed through King Hale’s eyes. Or the rush of red that flushed the King’s cheeks and neck, and the bit of chest Stiles could see.
King Hale drew all of himself up. It was clear to Stiles why he was the Wolf King.
It wasn’t the violence and blood he spilled to the battlefield. He moved like a wolf – smooth and steady. Ready to pounce. Stiles felt the draw of fear slide up his spine. No, not fear. It wasn’t fear at all. Fear didn’t fill Stiles’ cock like this. Well, it did, but-
King Hale plucked a berry from Stiles’ basket. Slowly, he moved his hand to Stiles’ lips. The berry pressed briefly to Stiles’ mouth, requesting entrance. The king never broke eye contact with Stiles.
“King Hale,” Stiles breathed. He was short of breath, something about the width of Derek’s shoulders, the fit of his pants, the little bit of hair Stiles could see on his chest made it hard for Stiles to get air.
“Derek. Call me Derek.” The air was electric on the wave of his words.
Stiles opened his mouth to respond. He was going to refuse or maybe beg for Derek to fuck him on the dirt floor of this tent. He couldn’t have been sure which. Because Derek had pressed the berry onto Stiles’ tongue.
Stiles was all instinct. He closed his mouth on Derek’s index finger, careful not to bite down. The berry burst under the pressure. This one was more flavorful than the last. Stiles moaned, louder this time.
Stiles swirled his tongue around the bit of berry juice still clinging to Derek’s finger. Derek leaned in closer.
The two jumped apart when the clatter of an alarm sounded outside of the tent.
Derek cursed. Stiles could hear the footsteps of men running to and fro outside of the tent.
“Sire!” Came a cry from outside of the tent.
“What.” Derek called back.
“Royal guards have been spotted near the camp, sire! What should we do?”
Derek breathed out a harsh breath. He looked over at Stiles, then stomped his way to the front of the tent. That was Stiles’ cue. Stiles rushed out of the tent as quietly as he could.
It wasn’t until Stiles was at the stump where he had left his circlet, did he realize he had forgotten the basket. So much for his cover story.
It didn’t take long for Stiles to spot his guard. They were maybe a mile away from Derek’s camp. Stiles stayed as far back as he could and called out.
“What are you doing there? Come. We must return for the audience.” Then Stiles turned and hurried away from where he knew Derek, his eyes, and the basket of berries still on his floor were.
Stiles was not late for the audience. He had managed to slip in with a moment to spare. He was not spared the look of irritation on his father’s face.
This was the one duty that Stiles enjoyed. The people brought a problem and his father puzzled over a fix. As a child, Stiles attempted to find a solution quicker than his father and upon completing that would compare how the solutions differed. That was when he had first been invited to sit in.
Right now, the answers oft felt too easy. The problems repetitive.
There was only one novel problem. One question with no easy solution. That was why was Derek Hale hiding in their woods?
Actually, there were two questions.
The second was what might have happened if he and Derek had just another minute? Stiles squirmed and blushed to think of it.
He put it out of his mind each time the thoughts arose.
But it came back to him at full force when he lie in bed. His eyes closed, he played that moment over in his mind. He imagined the warmth of a weapon-worn hand wrapped around his own until he came in his own hand.
The next day Stiles was determined to act his station. He would not flail or stutter or lewdly suck on Derek’s finger. He would call Derek King Hale. He would introduce himself as Prince Stiles Stilinski and demand Derek – King Hale introduce himself properly to the Stilinski court.
Well, maybe not that last one.
He once more suffered through his breakfast and was out of the door at the first mention of a dismissal. This was certainly the last time Stiles would seek out Derek like this. There would be no more meetings without a chaperone.
The guards looked at him warily as he led them back to the woods, but Stiles ignored it. He was the prince, and they should be better at their jobs if they didn’t want Stiles to disappear.
Stiles pushed into Derek’s tent to see him leaning over his desk with intense focus. Stiles did not stare at the pert roundness of Derek – King Hale’s ass. Stiles leaned over Derek’s shoulder to look at the map. Lines crossed here and there. Circles were drawn just to be crossed out.
“You should send your men here and here. Then while the Argent’s are distracted on those two fronts send another troop through the middle. You have more soldiers and you should act like it.”
King Hale turned and stared at Stiles for a long moment before he scratched the notes of what Stiles said into his map.
“So, you are a spy?”
“No, I’m Stiles.” This time when Stiles smiled at Derek he thought he could make out a faint smile back.
What was the harm in waiting a few more days. Just a couple. Stiles wanted to enjoy that small smile. And Dammit. Did he not deserve it?
It was easy in Derek’s presence. When Stiles found Derek’s stash of books, Stiles had fallen into a dreamlike state. He was comfortable. The books were interesting. Stiles wasn’t sure how Derek had time to read and be a king at war, but he didn’t ask.
Stiles was just grateful for the excuse to remain. This time, when Stiles returned to the guards at dusk they did not blink an eye. They just looked him over, for wounds likely, before they silently followed him back to the castle.
“Where have you been off to every morning?” This from his father sat at the head of the table. Stiles jolted as his heart kicked into double time. He pushed a bit of cabbage into his mouth. It was delicious.
“I’ve been in the library.” Stiles hoped this was enough. He had often spent days on end in the library looking for information on one topic or another.
“I hope it wasn’t one of those frivolous fits you cling to.”
“No, Father.”
Over the next week, rain punished the lands. Stiles was forced to remain inside. Harris had told his father that a healer he knew told him that rain caused grave illnesses. Stiles tried to protest, but he was silenced quickly. This is how Stiles spent those days trapped in the castle watching the rain fall in overlarge splatters on the windows.
It was perhaps the worst week of his life. Everyday, he awoke to be disappointed that the rain had not subsided. Everyday he went about the business of a Crown Prince to be. With his coronation in less than two weeks, Stiles should have been very busy, learning the traditional speech. Instead, he remained preoccupied thinking of Derek and his broad back. Stiles could absolutely see the muscle shifting underneath his shirt some times.
If a person could think of a way to bottle and sell the visage of Derek, Stiles was sure it would be the most potent aphrodisiac.
It was much earlier than usual when Stiles pushed into the tent. It was like King Hale knew what Stiles was thinking. It was like he went out of his way to look…
Well… he looked like this.
King Hale was slouched in his chair. His hair tossed as if he had just gotten out of bed. He had one hand placed over his eyes. His chest was impossibly broad. Wide expanses of muscle and hair. Hair that trailed defiantly down. Daring Stiles to cast his eyes further until they reached the outline of Derek’s cock through the light fabric of his pants. It didn’t help that his legs were splayed wide, showing off those powerful thighs. There were few commands in that moment that Stiles would not follow to see Derek’s cock, uncovered and unclothed.
“Stiles?” Derek’s voice startled Stiles. He jumped.
“King Hale.”
“Derek.”
“Okay, Derek.” Stiles licked his lips. Derek had made no move to cover up or close his legs. Stiles was distracted trying to keep hold of any thought that wasn’t dropping to his knees in front of Derek and taking Derek’s cock into his mouth.
Stiles finally managed to pull his eyes away from Derek’s cock. And all he could see was the heat in Derek’s eyes.
Stiles turned and ran. Stiles spent the rest of the day palming his cock and coming to the thought of Derek spilling down Stiles’ throat.
To anyone who asked, Stiles was sick.
Stiles hadn’t meant to fall asleep in Derek’s bed when he went to visit Derek the next day. But when he opened his eyes again, there was a strange man standing over him, looking too closely.
“Quite interesting, Derek.” The man’s lips unfurled in an unsettling smile. Stiles gripped at the bedsheets.
“Peter, please.” Derek sauntered to the bed. The pieces landed into place. This was Peter Hale, last of the surviving Hales. Derek’s uncle. “Stiles, have you waited long?”
“When I told you to make allies with the Kingdom of Stilinski, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.” Peter did not take his eyes off of Stiles. They touched each part of his face and made Stiles feel nervous.
“Be plain,” Derek growled. It sent a wave of lust down Stiles’ spine.
“What? Am I not allowed to admire the beautiful, young prince you have managed to bed?” Peter’s words weighed on Stiles' chest.
“He is not. You are not.” Derek looked at Stiles. It was like he was seeing him for the first time.
“I,” Stiles started. He wasn’t fast enough because Peter chimed again.
“Of course, he is. Do you not see the resemblance in his face? You have to be a fool to miss it.”
“Peter. Get out.” Derek’s voice was low. Dangerous. A thrill of excitement coursed through Stiles’ blood.
“Ugh. Fine.” Then Peter took his sweet time sauntering out of the tent. He made sure to throw a wink to Stiles before he was full gone.
“Is that what you are, Stiles ? A crown-prince?” There was a weight to Derek’s voice that Stiles couldn’t place. It was almost accusatory.
“I’m not. A crown prince. My position-”
“Your position. I can only guess what that might entail.”
“You have tried,” Stiles tried for levity. Derek glared harder.
“I supposed you would have had me for a fool, Crown Prince. ”
“I am not – I am no crown prince.”
“Now you lie.”
“I haven’t been crowned as crown prince. I am just the prince.”
“Don’t weave words. Speak plainly.”
“I am. I – I do not…”
“What plot was this? What madness did you intend to drive me to?” Derek's eyes were wild. A rogue wind shook at the tent.
“Your madness is no fault of mine. I have done none of what you suggest. Instead, you throw your madness at me. You aim to make me mad, too.” Stiles threw his accusation at Derek with a point of his finger. He took half a step forward.
Stiles did feel mad. Every moment was Derek’s to control. He was a man of great gravity. So great, that Stiles’ mind and body revolved around only him.
“Why do you come here?” There was a raw edge to Derek's voice. They were close. Stiles could feel the heat emanating from Derek.
“I,” Stiles couldn't finish that. The air was heavy with all the words that could express what Stiles wanted to say. None of them would suffice.
“Do you report my plans to your father? To the Argents?” Derek was towering over Stiles now. His voice was the dark thunderous counterpoint to the loud shake of the trees outside.
“Do not bark at me, Wolf King.” Stiles pushed at Derek’s chest. “These are not my schemes. I have done nothing to earn this ire. Believe what you must.”
Derek grabbed at Stiles’ wrist, his eyes searching Stiles’ face. For what, Stiles would not dare guess.
Then Derek was kissing Stiles. The press of their lips was sweet. It was even sweeter when Derek licked into Stiles’ mouth, deepening their kiss. Stiles felt every caress of Derek’s tongue, his hands like a blaze washing through his body.
Stiles chased after Derek’s mouth when he pulled back. Derek laughed lowly the sound like the crunch of leaves underfoot. Satisfying and crisp. Derek rested his forehead against Stiles’. Their air swirling together in between the two.
“This is the sort of madness you drive me to. Do you understand? And yet, you continue to provoke me. Even standing here, so close, is enough for me to lose my senses.”
“If this is madness, let us go completely mad.” The muscles of Derek’s chest rolled under Stiles’ hand.
“I cannot. I must not.” Derek turned. He rubbed at his jaw with one hand.
“What better way to be mad than to share it?”
“You should not come to me any more.” The room was silenced at Derek’s declaration.
“You jest.”
“We are here to make an alliance, Stiles. I cannot do that by conflagrating the Prince at the first opportunity.”
“This be our 4th opportunity by my count.”
“Stiles, there can be nothing between us. Not now.”
“Then when?” Stiles pressed close to Derek. He tried to get Derek to meet his eyes, but Derek was stubborn. “Then when, Derek? If I am to understand you and I have been pulled together, and now you refuse me with vows of not now-”
“It was no vow, I swore to you.” Derek said harshly.
“My apologies, Your Highness. Then, I misunderstood your intentions.”
“Stiles…”
“What? Derek, you cannot flit between the branches. You need to land eventually. You should just hope the branches haven’t burned in the meantime.” Stiles ignored Derek’s flinch and left the tent.
When he finally made it to his bed, he flung himself face down on his pillow. The weight had returned to his chest.
It was nearly a week past. Stiles spent his time avoiding the woods, avoiding the town, avoiding Scott who asked many questions. He was especially avoiding those thoughts of Derek. They snuck to him when he was most defenseless. When he had just awoken. When he was distracted. When he went to sleep.
He had managed to smother those thoughts for a brief ten minutes before there was a knock on the door.
“Your Highness? The King requests your presence.”
Stiles wanted to scream and throw things. Instead, he pushed up from his bed, straightened his shoulders, and followed the servant to his father.
Stiles knocked.
“Enter. Prince Mieczysław,” his father started as Stiles approached. “You know I have been displeased with the performance of your current guards.” The King leveled a withering look at the guards in question posted at the door. “Thus, I have contracted a knight to act as your personal guard. This,” The King gestured with a hand, “is Sir Boyd.”
Stiles nodded. Sir Boyd was beautiful. He was all smooth muscle and serious stature. He reminded Stiles of Derek. Stiles did not want to investigate the pang that went through him at the thought of that king. Wolf King indeed. Stiles had never seen a wolf tear through flesh and devour a heart, but it seems he had been a victim to it all the same.
“A pleasure.” Stiles inclined his head as he had been taught.
“He will stay in the room that adjoins yours. He is under strict instructions to never allow you to leave his sight”
“Yes, Father.”
“You may leave. Do not be late for the audience tomorrow.”
“Yes, Father.” Stiles bowed then turned on his heel. He was aware that Boyd was shadowing him step for step. He tried not to let it bother him. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to sneak off to anymore.
Stiles didn’t sleep well. The bed had new lumps that kept his eyes plastered open.
Stiles felt drained. He dressed silently. The breakfast was dull on his plate. The library a poor substitute for the books in Derek’s tent. Even the book he had been reading was dull when read in the open expanse of a library instead of inside of a tent, dim except for the failing light of day.
“Your Highness,” This was Boyd. It was the first thing he had said since meeting Stiles yesterday. “It is time for the audience.”
Stiles heaved out a great big sigh and moved through the castle to sit at his father’s side.
“King Hale of the Hale Realm.” The announcer’s words struck ice through Stiles’ heart. He hadn’t expected Derek. Stupid. He thought. Derek all but told him he would arrive in court soon.
And still, Stiles was caught unawares.
“King Stilinski.” Derek inclined his head. “Crown Prince Stilinski.” Derek didn’t make eye contact.
“Wolf King.” Stiles’ father responded. “We have been expecting your party.”
“For your hospitality, we bring gifts from the East.” Stiles recognized that chest. It was the one that was stowed under Derek’s cot in the tent. The chest thumped heavily in front of the thrones. Stiles leaned forward.
“Well received. We shall determine for you a place you may stay while we discuss business.”
Stiles rushed from the throne room as soon as he reasonably could. His mind was filled with the little bits of Derek. His hands as he bowed. His broad back as he walked away. The easy confidence in his stance.
Maybe these swishing thoughts of Derek were what materialized Derek right in front of him. Derek was in a serious conversation with his uncle. Peter. Fang of the Wolf King.
“It does not matter. He will refuse-” It was like a line was drawn taunt. Their eyes connected. Then Derek looked away. There was no flare in his eyes. Not like the times before.
“Your Highness.” Peter said, smooth with a warmness in his eyes. Stiles only inclined his head and continued on.
Or at least he tried to. Stiles tripped over something on his way by and spiraled towards the floor. He braced for impact. The impact never came.
“Oh. Sir Boyd, thank you.” Stiles said from his arms. He did have nice arms. Stiles couldn’t resist the impulse to run a hand up one of them. “I am unharmed. You may release me.”
Boyd set Stiles on his feet.
More carefully this time, Stiles continued down the hall.
“I didn’t realize you took your job so seriously.” Stiles said with a glance over his shoulder. His footsteps stuttered as he made eye contact with Derek again.
Stiles went to the library. He had to resist the urge to go to Derek on the other side of the castle. Stiles knew which passages would lead him there. It would be too simple.
“Sir Boyd, you should sit with me. Pick a book.”
“I cannot.” Boyd continued to maintain his watch over the empty aisles.
“Surely you can. Tell me what you like. We will find a book to match.”
“It is not necessary, your Highness.”
“But it is. Let me guess, you enjoy to learn about the rich world of sea snails?”
Boyd’s face scrunched at the thought. Stiles laughed. “No? Alright. What about the science of elements?”
Boyd did not react.
“That’s a no, then. I got it. Here is a book of traditional recipes.”
“I do not like to cook.”
“Oh! I have this book on philosophy.” Stiles waved it in the air. There was a flutter of Boyd’s eyebrows and Stiles knew he was onto something. “So! A philosopher. Please,” Stiles held out the book. Boyd shook his head.
“I command you to read this book and report all of your findings to me.” Stiles tried. He was delighted when Boyd sighed and took the book from his hand. Stiles smiled brightly at him.
Stiles turned back to the shelves and who he caught at the door made his smile fall and his thump in his chest. Derek.
He looked furiously angry. At what, Stiles was at a loss.
It was right before break fast the next morning when Stiles realized. Stiles was standing at the door quizzing Boyd on his history. Boyd wasn’t giving much for Stiles to work with but short quips. Stiles was delighted, Sir Boyd was warming to him. He was sure of it. He had found out that Boyd was from a small town on the eastern coast. He had spent a great many years in service of his liege. His liege had lost all of his holdings and as such Boyd had been sent away.
Stiles learned all of this through guessing. Well, maybe he made it all up. Not learned.
Stiles thought he saw the barest hint of a smile from Boyd.
“Aha! You do smile.” Stiles crowed. And as it appeared, it vanished. Boyd’s eyes were focused on something over Stiles’ shoulder. He turned.
Derek was watching them with dark eyes. The expression snapped into place. Anger. Derek was angry at Stiles.
Stiles reached a hand to Boyd to guide him away and Derek’s eyes followed the motion before returning back to Stiles’ face. Then Derek turned on his heel and was gone through the door before Stiles could say anything.
And what better response to that than to go out of his way to rile Derek? Stiles didn’t think there was one.
The air was drenched in the scent of flowers. Stiles was reading aloud. His voice mingled with the sounds of birds and far away patrons of the gardens. Because of this, it took a touch longer than usual to notice that he and Boyd had an unexpected guest to their session of reading.
Stiles smiled when he noticed Derek lurking nearby. Stiles shut the book with a thump.
“Let’s do something else,” Stiles declared loud enough for Derek to hear. “You can teach me how you got these muscles,” Stiles laid a hand on Boyd’s admittedly impressive chest. “You’ll probably have to take this off, huh?” Stiles plucked at Boyd’s shirt. Then, Stiles looked up at him through his lashes.
Boyd was not the slightest bit impressed. He had a spark of laughter in his eyes, like he might burst at any second. Stiles opened his mouth to say more when Derek gripped Stiles’ wrist and pulled into a hallway near the gardens.
“What manner of game is this?”
“Nothing that would concern you.”
“And neither should it concern you. You have a reputation to maintain.”
“Save your wise words for another. This is my court, and I will do as I please.”
“Sire?” Boyd called from the doorway.
“Not now.” Derek and Stiles called in sync.
“You’ve made your intentions known. Leave me to mine.” Stiles continued with as much vitriol as he could manage.
“And what intentions are those? The intention of bedding your knight? A married man?”
“Someone is coming.” Boyd called from the doorway. Both men froze when the approach of voices became clear. Stiles pulled at the tapestry and tugged Derek through the passage it hid. Stiles moved through the passageway deftly. He moved with precision turning this way and that until he reached his bed chambers, and – why had he brought Derek here?
Boyd and Derek trickled in behind Stiles. Stiles crossed his arms over his chest as Derek perused the knick knacks and bobbles on the shelves.
“You’re married?” Stiles asked. “That’s something you inform your liege.”
“You didn’t guess it,” Boyd laughed a bit.
“And still you flirt. When I stand before you and watch?” Derek was focused in on Stiles, angry as ever.
“Wait. How did you know he was married…” Stiles trailed off as a thought occurred to him. “Please say it is not so.”
“It is,” Boyd said. Stiles could hear the laugh in his words.
“So, your liege did know.” Stiles said with a glare to Derek. He was quickly becoming unlikeable. “You sent him to me. To what? Be your spy?”
Now, it was Derek’s turn to look petulant.
“Of course not.” Derek turned away.
“He sent me to watch over you,” Boyd said.
“Watch me! I need no watch.” Stiles cried.
“He and your father seem to think otherwise.” Boyd, who had apparently recently developed a loquacious quality, said.
“I heard tell of some dangers in the kingdom. I was doing my duty. That was all.” Derek said. He refused to look at Stiles in his eyes.
“I’m not some hapless victim.” Stiles laughed as a thought occurred to him. “You reject me then send your men to be your spies. Are you mentally unwell?”
“I didn’t expect you to lose your senses around him!” Derek said, his anger returning in force.
“Yet another thing. You reject me then interfere out of jealousy whenever you can.”
“I’ve done nothing of the sort.”
“Do not think I haven’t seen the gazes you have cast my way. It only stands that you ask my father for an alliance of marriage.”
“I can’t do that.” Derek was looking at Stiles again. This time, Stiles felt a wave of embarrassment wrap around his spine. He stiffened. The weight had returned to his chest.
“Of course. Foolish of me to suggest such a vile prospect.” Stiles turned, to go where he wasn’t sure. He just wanted to get out of Derek’s gaze, out of the piercing heat that sliced through all of Stiles’ senses and left him with only one. Lo- Lust. Just Lust.
Derek gripped Stiles’ wrist. He pulled until Stiles was cradled in Derek’s arms as he kissed him deep and heady. Stiles clung to Derek like a lifeline. Like the world was awash in the feeling that was Derek’s lips, and Derek’s tongue, and his hands coasting across Stiles’ shoulders and back.
Stiles pressed closer still.
Boyd cleared his throat across the room. Derek pulled back first. Boyd be damned, Stiles wanted this.
“Do not doubt my desire for you. I would have you in every way I could, but this. This is a way I cannot. Please. Do not ask me to take you in this way. Not yet.” He paused. “That is a vow.”
Stiles searched Derek’s eyes. There was no treachery, trickery. Just the warmth that Stiles had come to know. Stiles nodded. He felt giddy, stirred inside.
“I must go.” Derek made eye contact with Sir Boyd.
“Come back to me? Tomorrow?”
“I will.” Derek caressed Stiles’ cheek.
When Boyd had led Derek from the room, Stiles flopped onto his bed. He could only think of the phantom of Derek’s hand on his cheek and tingle of Derek’s lips on his.
Boyd led Derek out through the tunnels. Stiles would need to ask about that tomorrow.
“You know the castle passages?” Stiles asked Boyd after he had been dressed the next morning.
“It is my business to know.” Boyd smiled.
“You married? What are they like?” Stiles peered at Boyd from the corner of his eyes.
“Erica is Derek’s master of strategy.” Boyd said it with some pride.
“It must be hard. I assume she is doing what all Masters of Strategy do and leading the troops.”
Boyd nodded at this.
King Stilinski appeared.
“Son, today you are dismissed from the council meeting.”
“But today, you will hear De- King Hale’s request for an audience.”
“That does not concern you. You must go fulfill the final alterations for your coronation robe. Are you ready?” Stiles’ father clasped his hands on his son’s shoulders. “You have prepared well. You will serve our people with courage.” King Stilinski smiled. “Your coronation will be the fruition of a great line. Honor it.”
Then King Stilinski was gone. There was a weight on Stiles’ chest, choking him.
Stiles tugged at the hemmed sleeves of his robe as Derek came through the passageway. It was as if the entire world shrunk down to just Derek when their eyes connected.
“Tomorrow is my coronation.” Stiles said. Derek paused to look at him.
“It is.”
“I want you to lash yourself to me.”
“I- Stiles. I cannot.” Derek ran a hand over his face.
“You must. If there is only one choice left for me to make for me, I want that choice to be you.”
Derek groaned softly.
“Tell me. Do you want me or have I been mistaken in your affections?”
“I want you more than the sun wants to shine.”
“So have me.”
“I cannot. I cannot put you in harm’s way. Not during this war. Being my husband… that would make you a most enticing target.”
“Oh.”
“But you have my vow. When we win the war, I will return and take you for mine own.” Derek said. His voice was soft and firm. He meant it. They were so close. Stiles’ eyes dropped to Derek’s lips.
“Seal your vow.” Stiles whispered.
“Stiles.” Derek closed his eyes against Stiles’ request.
“I am yours and you mine. We will be one. Take me now, on the eve of my coronation. That is what I want.” Stiles ran a hand up Derek’s thigh. Derek shuddered.
Stiles stood and pulled off his night robe revealing nothing underneath. Just hot skin, aching for Derek’s hands to span his body.
Stiles let Derek’s eyes drink their fill for only a moment before he moved to his bed. There he splayed out on the bed. Letting his arms remain long above his head. He was exposed. Uncovered, each part of his body revealed to Derek.
His cock twitched at the heat in Derek’s eyes as he stalked towards the bed.
“Come on Derek. This is for you. I am yours.” Stiles said. Then Derek was on him.
His hands contained lightning for what they did to Stiles’ body.
Stiles cried out.
“Hush now.” Derek whispered into his ear. His hot breath sent all the blood in Stiles’ body to his cock. “You want to be good for me, do you not?” Derek’s thumbs skated the insides of Stiles’ thighs.
“Yes,” Stiles gasped out. Stiles hands gripped at the bed sheets.
“Open your eyes.” Derek commanded from above him. “Very good. You are doing very well.”
Derek’s hand caressed at the head of Stiles’ cock. The press of pleasure had Stiles thrusting his hips into Derek’s hands.
“Have you any…”
Stiles reached under his pillow to produce a small vial.
“You were planning this.” Derek said, his voice rough around the edges. Stiles watched as he reached down to grab at his own cock. And it occurred that Stiles was still the only one bare. It was a grave error that had to be corrected. Stiles pulled at Derek’s pants, trying in vain to get them off.
“Turn over.” Derek said as he pulled Stiles hands off his pants. At Stiles’ hesitation, Derek leaned in to kiss him. “Beloved,” Derek warned.
Stiles rolled over to his knees. Over his shoulder, Derek had stood to pull off his pants. His shirt had been cast somewhere in the room already. Derek’s eyes were searing into Stiles. Stiles watched as Derek’s cock stood to attention in the dim light of the room.
“Derek, please. I ache.” Stiles whispered. He couldn’t bring himself to talk any louder. It was as if some spell had descended on the room. The bed shifted as Derek returned to his position behind Stiles. Bare. The thought sent a trill of pleasure through Stiles.
Derek nipped at Stiles’ neck, his shoulder, and ran kisses down his spine. Then his calloused fingers drifted lower to Stiles’ hole.
Stiles gasped out, at the first press of Derek’s fingers. Stiles hung his head as he adjusted to the feeling of being spread and filled, spread and filled. Then Derek grazed some unimaginable pleasure in Stiles. It was all Stiles could do to stay on his hands and knees.
“Good boy. You look so beautiful like this. Spread out for me. Speared on my fingers. I can’t wait to see you seated on my cock.” Derek’s words were like a hand wrapped around Stiles’ cock. He thrusted back against Derek’s fingers.
“That’s it.” Derek praised. He nipped at his shoulder again. Then pulled his fingers from Stiles’ hole.
“Derek, please.” Stiles gaped at the loss of Derek’s fingers. Then there was the press of something bigger – Derek’s cock. Stiles’ arms shook as Derek thrust inside of him. Derek’s hands were wrapped around Stiles’ waist.
“You are perfect. The way you feel on my cock. Fuck.” The room was full with the slap of skin, Stiles’ moans, and Derek’s praises.
It was too much.
“Derek, I-” Stiles cried as he came long ropes onto the bed. Derek thrusts picked up a faster pace. Soon, Derek was coming with a long moan. They collapsed together in the bed. Sticky with cum and sweat. Sated.
“I love you.”
“Forever.”