Chapter Text
On the maps of the continent, the Principality of Amara barely registered. A slide of the finger, tracing from the kingdom of Winchester – its tumultuous history visible in the often-redrawn frontiers – to the great empire of Enoch might pass it by entirely. It wasn’t rich like Talbot, ancient like the kingdom of Hel, not as unknown as Purgatorio. It simply was a little pocket of land sequestered away between the mountains. It was shaded in a faint pink on the big globe standing in the corner of Carver Hall, for little fingers to spin and pass by on bigger explorations, past the steep mountains, into the unknown wildness of the world beyond.
Outside of Amara the country was relatively unknown but for its most valuable craft. It was a small country that had managed to retain relative autonomy from its neighbors through extensive contracts and for – frankly - not quite being worth the invasion. While Amara had beautiful landscapes that made the romantically inclined heart soar, it had basically no valuable resources and a limited amount of arable land.
In the past the country had benefited greatly from its central location to various trade routes, but newly established routes enabled travelers to simply skirt past it instead of braving the mountain passes. Even though Amara used to be a staple of almost any journey in the past, now it was a mere possible stop when travelling to Enoch or Winchester. Amara, set in its ways carved out by its Lords, did not adapt to meet those changes. Thus, the centuries of effortless affluence were slowly coming to an end.
But not yet.
The High King of Enoch had, centuries ago, given a daring Lord of Amara the status of a Principality and they had managed to keep their freedom through wars, famines and other periods of crisis and peace alike for centuries. This was partially due to one thing that Amara did better than most other countries: they maintained a highly trained and specialized army. And, more importantly, efficient spies. Their numbers were relatively small, but the network of information and allies the Lords of Amara cultivated were vast and known across the continent.
This country was ruled by one family, firmly holding the line of succession in their grasp, always conscious of securing that the Lord of Amara would be an alpha of their bloodline. And this system had held firm for centuries.
Charles Novak, youngest son of the current Lord, had very little interest in the country. He was 15 years of age and merely the 4th alpha son in the line of succession. He therefore had the freedom to not care about any questions of politics or the demands of blood. He was a curious kid, always spinning that globe in his grandfather’s hall as a child, enamored with books and harboring an overwhelming desire to see beyond the boarding school his parents had sent him to in Enoch. His head was not filled with the facts and numbers of his lessons, but instead it held countless fantastic tales that took his heroes far, far away, across mountains and oceans. As far away from dull little Amara where everything always stayed the same and the people valued that boredom above everything else.
No. Charles had loftier plans than to become a mere cog in Amara’s wheels.
But tragedies happen even to the most optimistic of dreamers. A fateful fire at a family gathering in Carver Hall killed 12, among them Charles’ older brothers and within days also his father would succumb. There was no foul play at work; it was simply bad luck brought on by too much alcohol, a very dry summer, poor ventilation and the historical but very flammable 12th century ceiling made of painted and carved wood. And while his father managed to linger on enough for Charles to make a hasty return home, heart torn between grief and fear for the future, it was swiftly obvious that Charles’ dreams lay shattered at his feet. The Lord of Amara dedicated his last breath to impart on his son the importance of a stable rule, which could only be assured by the succession of the bloodline, and that it was his duty as a Novak to see to that, no matter what.
At 15 years, head full of stories, Charles found himself the sole heir of a kingdom, head of an army, owner of a vast fortune and husband to an equally young bride. Before him was a life of servitude to the land, its people and, most importantly, to his blood.
There was one thing that Amara cared about and that was stability. For 700 years the Novak alphas had ruled this country, for 300 years the Lords of Amara had held its borders against the ambitious expansions of Winchester, Campbell and Enoch and an alpha of Novak blood would rule on.
Hopes and dreams, Charles learnt all too quickly, didn’t matter at all when weighed against the wellbeing of a country. So he did what he had to do.
10 years later
Chuck paced his office, nervous and angry, while his cousin sat in the plush armchair with his hands steepled over his belly and a sardonic smile playing on his lips. Chuck tried to not pay him any attention, it wasn’t like it mattered. Chuck wouldn’t give up. He had plans! Big plans that lay beyond what Amara had to offer to him. Hopes and dreams came after the country, his father had made sure he understood that, hissing it to him while his clammy hand had wrapped around Chuck’s bony wrist in the terrifying grip of a man who was facing the certainty of death. There had been no denying his father. No ignoring the bride that had been put in his bed the moment Chuck had thrown earth into his father’s grave. If Chuck wanted out he had to first prepare his son to take over. He would need to sacrifice years of his life to this task, yes, but the moment his son came of age, Chuck’s duty to his bloodline and to this damned country was done. Chuck had fared just fine being the Lord of Amara at 15, his son would do the same.
If only Naomi actually bore him a son!
“Oh, will you relax, Chuck?” Metatron eventually said, chuckling to himself. Chuck shot him a glare. Metatron was the son of Chuck’s aunt. Only three years older than Chuck, highly educated and vying for the chance to prove himself. Chuck knew it, could see it in his eyes. And Chuck would have given it to him gladly back when he was 15, but his father’s words had shaken him to his bones. And Chuck could not defy his father’s dying wish. Metatron was not a Novak, neither in name nor blood. And he was not an alpha. While things had changed enough in the country that the novelty of a beta ruler would probably be tolerated, it was impossible for Chuck to hand the reigns over to Metatron. His mother’s sister’s son was not an heir who could sit on the throne. No, it had to be Chuck.
For just as long as it took for someone else to take the burden. The moment a son would be born to Chuck, the race towards his freedom would start. And after that? After Chuck’s son was on the throne? Chuck didn’t care. He would no longer be blood-bound to duty.
But Naomi…! Damn her.
“You know, people are actually starting to gossip about a curse. That Milton women will bear you nothing but daughters!” Metatron spoke up, pulling Chuck out of his aggravated musings.
“Yeah yeah, haven’t we all heard it,” Chuck said dismissively. Chuck didn’t believe in curses, but it definitely was bad luck.
“Shame that this country is so stuck in the past. If only a woman could rule, little Josephine would certainly be up for the task! She’s a spitfire and knows what she wants!” Metatron commented. Chuck didn’t particularly know. He never spent time with his daughters, too disappointed in what they lacked and what they symbolized: another year of delay. He would share Naomi’s bed again, he would wait and if it was another girl then it would be all the same thing again once her heats returned. Year after year, lost to daughters! Even the council was starting to worry and the family treasurer seemed to groan as much as Chuck did when another daughter was born. It was, after all, another dowry to facture in. Having daughters would cost Chuck, but it was nothing that Chuck was interested in. Jo was… what? 9? Even he wasn’t the kind of neglectful dick who thought that girls that age should be anything but girls, free to roam and play and pursue their passions. Chuck repaid the disinterest he had in his daughters with making sure they had the freedom Chuck longed for. The freedom to be whoever they wanted to be. Of course, within the limitation that their gender afforded them. None of the girls were alphas, that much was clear, but whether they turned out to be omega or beta would remain to be seen. It made no difference, not to Chuck. An alpha, maybe, he could have used. Could have advocated for a change or an allowance for progress. But of course, none of that happened.
There was a knock at the door and Chuck groaned.
“Finally,” he said when the door opened to reveal a doctor who gave him a nod. Chuck found his expression hard to read, but he followed him to Naomi’s quarters. Naomi gave him a look once Chuck entered, a severe one and Chuck thought “well, that’s it. Another year wasted” but then he was guided over to where the baby was placed on a table, washed already and put in a blanket to keep it warm. It was a small, unsightly thing, wailing as it was. The doctor pulled aside the towel it was wrapped in.
And finally, he heard those much longed for words:
“My Lord, it’s a boy.”
Chuck stared down at the child, then up at the doctor. Chuck had seen the baby, had seen that things didn’t look quite right and the weighed silence of the doctor told him all he had to know.
Chuck sniffed then nodded.
“Finally,” he decided. “It’s a boy, that’s what matters.”
“The council-“ the doctor protested.
“Won’t need to know more. Thank you for your exceptional service, you and the midwife will be paid well. I hope we understand each other,” Chuck said and after a moment of hesitation, he got nods in return. Chuck turned around, not offering any comment to his wife, and walked back to the office.
By the time he returned to Metatron’s side, plans had already started to form and finally – finally! – there was a light at the end of this dreadful, soul-crushing tunnel. Metatron seemed startled to see Chuck’s bright smile.
“Metatron, I hope you’ll join us in celebrations,” he announced and slapped his hand on his table. “Ha! It’s a boy! To the devil with you and everyone’s ridiculous talk about a curse! Amara has its heir!”
“Oh,” Metatron said, quick to recollect his wits. “Then congratulations are in order, my dear cousin.” Chuck grinned. “Who would have thought. Lucky number 7.”
In the years of their marriage, Naomi had exchanged a mere handful of words with Chuck. When she married him, he had been harried, devastated by the loss of his family and the life of freedom he had envisioned for himself. Naomi, as an omega born into a wealthy family, had always known that there would be certain limitations to her freedom. This had become even clearer when she had been at the wrong place, at the wrong time when the fire devastated the royal family of Amara. Her duty was to bear Chuck alpha sons to secure his line of succession. And she had thought, foolishly, “how hard could it be?”
Hard enough apparently that people started speaking of a curse. When the first child wasn’t a son, people weren’t particularly upset, as these things happened. But after Josephine came Rachel and the birth was less joyously celebrated. After Hester, the newspapers printed some unsightly articles that were an affront to any respectable lady’s sensibilities. After Hannah, the council saw it necessary to debate Naomi’s aptitude as the Lady of Amara. After Anna Chuck had to personally intervene and refuse the hassle of divorcing Naomi just to try again with someone else. At the time, Naomi had been grateful, because it would have been a disgrace to her family, but at the end of the day, wouldn’t it have been better for all of them? Still, after Anna came Hael and even Chuck’s patience seemed to wear thin.
And then… Castiel.
Naomi was no fool. She knew that Castiel wasn’t the answer to Chuck’s problems, but the man was clearly determined to place all his bets on his first and only son.
Naomi wasn’t upset about the end of the scheduled heat intercourse one year after the other. If Chuck decided that she had done her duty, so be it. She would see to her daughters and Chuck would take Castiel’s education upon himself.
And it was odd, to some degree, to watch Chuck be so driven with any of his children. Naomi didn’t think that Chuck felt any particular love for Castiel. One of the few things that Chuck had ever said to her was that Castiel symbolized freedom. Nothing more, nothing less. He wasn’t a child, the way the girls were children to Naomi. He was a mere symbol, a tool.
She watched Chuck pour all of his energy into raising a perfect alpha son and worried about the moment it would all come crashing down.