Chapter Text
“Father, I refuse,” Ilya persisted, face cinched in a scowl, “I cannot agree to this.”
His father had grown old, age did not make him kinder— stronger in his own convictions, vicious in his ways of handling his daily affairs, still mirthless and cruel as ever. Though he most likely would never admit it, the decade long war that waged on between the two neighbouring kingdoms wore him down to the bone. Years of no resolution would do that, the king who stubbornly never gave in, apparently had chosen to surrender his second born as a peace offering.
That is what had led to this preposterous request— Not exactly a request, his father never left any room for disagreement. But the thought of having to uproot his life, relinquish his freedoms, travel across borders to be entrapped in a marriage with a foreign omega he’d never laid his eyes upon— Ilya could not hide his discontent. The moment the talk of marriage had left the king, he’d shuddered in disgust.
Ilya enjoyed his life as it was, and frankly he never paid too much thought to the war that had been ongoing since he was a young boy, so what was it to him? His older brother was burdened with the endless responsibilities as he was next in line to ascend to the throne, and that left Ilya to tend to much more important matters — bedding the most beautiful omegas he could find, drinking himself to a drunken stupor as often as he could, hunting and horseback riding— those were the liberties he enjoyed. He would have it no other way.
A large hand smacked across his cheek, the pain burst through him making his skull ring and the sudden motion forced his head to the side. From the corner of the room, he glanced up to see a cruel smile plastered on Alexei's face.
“Stupid boy, it is not a matter of agreeing. It is a matter of duty— of which you have none, currently. I have been too easy on you, if you think you have a choice in this,” The King snarled, sturdy hands balling into shaky fists at his side, he turned toward the tall windows of the chamber.
Maps sprawled across the massive mahogany table between them, their kingdom’s territories marked in crimson, the other land marked in deep blue. The chamber was pungent with bitter herbs the court physician prescribed for the king’s failing joints.
Ilya’s hand came up to rest on his reddened cheek, the contact of his palm dulled the stinging ache a bit. His mouth was agape completely at a loss for words.
“You will depart to their capital in three weeks time. You will take residence in their castle—“
“Residence?” Ilya’s voice cracked with disbelief. “Among our enemies?”
“No longer enemies, that is the purpose of the treaty. You will wed the omega— they have more to lose, considering this is what they will be getting.” The king twisted his head back, scanning over Ilya for a moment, immediately turning back to the window while shaking his head in disapproval muttering something along the lines of useless.
Most likely because Ilya still found himself donned in the previous night's clothes, smeared lipstick along the collar of his shirt, smoke and liquor still lingering in the fabrics. If he’d been warned about this and not just ripped out of his chambers as soon as the sun stood halfway in the sky, he would have had time to present himself better.
“I refuse—“
“You will,” His father’s voice sliced through his protest, “The treaty demands a bonded union. Not some paltry marriage that may be dissolved at convenience.”
For a moment, Ilya could not draw breath. “You would have me breed him? Bond him?”
“I would have you fulfill your duty. You are not precious, as you seem to think. You are not exempt from service,” The king’s fist came down upon the table, scattering the tin soldiers across the map. “Do you truly believe they would trust our word alone after ten years of bloodshed? You cannot possibly be that daft, boy.”
Alexei’s laughter rang from where he was seated at the end of the table, one leg lazily propped up on the table.
“Little brother, you look white as a sheet.” Alexei's words dripped with condescension.“I for one, am delighted, finally a chance for you to contribute with something other than scandal. Don’t be so petulant.”
Ilya did not have it in him to chirp back, he stood in place, tasting copper from where he had bitten through his cheek in an attempt to keep himself from speaking.
God above, If only he could be struck down right at this moment, and be dragged to heaven or hell, most likely the latter— it would be a better fate.
“You shall speak your vows before God and king, and have the omega with your child. I do not wish to hear another protest, it is final. No more of this insolence.”
—
The journey to the capital of the neighbouring kingdom stretched for twenty one days. Ilya rode at the head of the procession, which felt more like a funeral march. His plans of running away into the wilderness and letting the wind take him, were all but squalid as his brother made sure to keep a steady eye on him at all times, at their father’s behest.
Father had been too sick to join them, but still insisted on a grand showing— forty mounted knights draped in their crimson and gold livery, carriages filled to the brim with gifts and gold as dowry for the omega, banners snapping in the cold wind as they traversed. Posturing power, even though it was more of a surrender.
The kingdom unfurled before them, rolling green hills that gave way to dense forests and rivers that ran clear. It was significantly warmer than home, the heavy clothes he was clad in felt uncomfortable and stuck to his skin. They passed by a few villages that had yet to be touched by war, or perhaps had been rebuilt. Villagers stared as they passed some with curiosity but mostly barely concealed hostility. The capital city rose in the distance on the final day, grand white stone walls and soaring spires greeted them as the sun dipped just below the horizon, painting the skies an orange hue. It looked like a castle from a children’s tale, It was quite the opposite of his own, his home seemed more like a dark fortress if he compared.
They were met at the gates by an honor guard in blue and silver, no weapons drawn, but the threat was implicit. The commander, an older beta with silver hair, bowed his head with bare civility.
“Prince Rozanov. The king and queen bid you welcome. Your men will be quartered in the eastern barracks. You shall be escorted to your chambers in the royal wing.”
Ilya dismounted, legs still stiff and sore from days of riding. “We have travelled far, may we rest?”
The commander gave a curt nod, and the gates opened before them. He was led into the vast castle, lines of servants bowed as he walked by, curiously glancing up at him as he was led inside and then down a labyrinth of corridors. He caught a few fragments of their whispers, the Rozanov prince, oh poor omega.
His chambers were just as lavish as the rest of the castle— A bed large enough for five bodies, draped in deep blue silk, windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling overlooking gardens in full bloom, a bathing room with a marble tub already filled with steaming water.
Ilya opened the door to his chambers, dismissing the manservants that stood in front. He slipped out of his grimy clothing, and into the bath, finally letting out a sigh of relief as the warm water enveloped him.
Somewhere in this castle was that damned omega he’d been promised to against his will. The omega he would be expected to be bound to for life, and fill with his child. He sank further into the water, in dread.
—
As expected, the cathedral was grand, its vaulted ceilings disappearing into shadow even with the thousands of candles blazing. The pews were packed with nobility, all watching expectedly as Ilya stood at the altar clad in red and gold, a broach of his kingdom's crest pinned to his chest, golden crown bejewelled with red rubies placed atop of his ash blond curls.
He looked at the crowd once over, his men and his brother were tucked all the way in the back, closest to the doors. Ilya wondered if that had been intentional, so that they could stop him if he in a moment of haste decided to be a runaway groom.
Of course, he had not been permitted to see the omega before the ceremony, bad luck as tradition stated. So, he stood waiting, heart hammering away against his ribs as the ceremonial music suddenly swelled from the pipe organ. Ilya turned his head as the large doors at the rear of the cathedral were pushed open.
The omega entered, unveiled, the king and queen on either side of him. He wore white and gold, formal coat tailored perfectly to match his lean build. His dark hair was cut short, dark eyes carefully downcast. He was fine-boned and solemn, a pretty little thing. Even from a distance it was clear there was something overly composed about him. He walked down the aisle with measured steps, each hand resting upon his parents arms. Every inch of the dutiful son.
They drew closer, and the omega let his hands drop from the king and queen, who’d stopped right before the altar — handing over their only son. Ilya noted the way they looked over him with a warmth he’d only ever received from his late mother. The king leaned down to place a single kiss upon the top of his head, murmuring something Ilya had been unable to understand, it was apparently enough to make tears well in the other’s eyes.
The omega stepped forward towards the altar, as his parents took their seats at the front of the cathedral. Ilya caught the scent for the first time, when he stood right before him, eyes still downcast in politeness. Lavender, something akin to lingonberries, an underlying sweetness that unexpectedly made his instincts stir wildly.
He raised his eyes for the first time, meeting Ilya’s gaze directly. They were deep brown, almost black in the candlelight, utterly unreadable. His expression remained neutral, though his eyes hazy, with tears welling at the corners. He inclined his head in a small, proper bow.
“Your highness,” He greeted softly, in Ilya’s mother tongue. Had he learned? The alpha was at a momentary loss.
The archbishop cleared his throat, beginning the ceremony in a droning voice that spoke of eternal bonds and sacred duties. Ilya barely heard a word of it, too aware of the omega standing across from him, close enough to touch now.
“Do you take this omega as your mate, to honor and protect, to provide for and guide, until death parts you?”
Ilya’s mouth felt dry, he swallowed and forced the words out. “I do.”
The archbishop turned to Shane. “And do you take this alpha as your mate, to honor and obey, until death parts you?”
His eyes did not waver from Ilya’s, though his lashes lowered again. “I do,”
“By the power vested in me by God and by the crowns of our united kingdoms, I declare you bound in holy matrimony.” The archbishop raised his hands. “You may kiss your mate.”
With a bated breath, Ilya placed one hand on the omega's cheek, he flinched at the touch but still lifted his head upwards obediently. He leaned in and placed a small peck to his lips, just then the cathedral erupted in applause.
They pulled apart, and Ilya had to look away from the omega just so that he could mourn his life up until this point. His nights of drinking and endless fun, surely would be over, and he felt like crying too. He was a married man now, expected to act as such, anything he did from now— whether good or bad, would reflect upon this omega. He would be expected to claim him fully as soon as possible, and the thought made his stomach twist.
“Your people await,” The bishop hummed, hand gesturing towards the large doors.
They processed down the aisle together, the omegas hand resting lightly on Ilya’s arm, the touch was feather light, barely there. Through the cathedral doors they went out into the sunlight where crowds had gathered in the square beyond. Cheers rose from the assembled masses, citizens who’d come to witness their crown prince’s marriage to the foreign alpha and be brought peace at last. Ilya wondered how many had lost brothers or fathers to Rozanov swords.
The omega raised his free hand in a graceful wave, expression serene as they made their way to their carriage. The cheers only grew louder at that, and the fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on Ilya’s arm before relaxing again. The citizens' affection for the omega was genuine as they called for blessings upon him. None for Ilya, quite rude he supposed.
They swept into the carriage, a gilded monstrosity decorated with ribbons and flowers, for the short journey back to the castle. The omega sat across from him, hands folded in his lap, gaze fixed somewhere past Ilya’s shoulder.
“What is your name?” Ilya asked, honestly he hadn’t bothered to memorize it. His half baked plan of escape had been heavy on his mind for the last three weeks, such an irrelevant detail had not crossed his mind.
He was met by utter confusion from the other, his face drew into a grimace. “How strange. We just married, and you do not even know my name, Rozanov?”
“Well, I have been busy,” Ilya sighed, resting his elbow against the carriage window.
The omega’s eyes flicked over his face, then away. “My name is Shane.”
“Ah, Shane,” A distant memory of the name being mentioned to him an impressive amount of times rang true. “Beautiful name, for a beautiful omega.”
“You’re foolish to think you can charm me so easily,” Shane scoffed, arms crossed over his chest.
“Charm you? But you are already my bride, yes?”
Before Shane could respond, the carriage lurched to a halt. They had arrived back at the castle.
—
The banquet hall was decorated just as outrageously as everything else in this country, they had a penchant for over the top extravagance— that much he’d picked up on. Candles burned from chandeliers, casting the room in a golden light, long tables overflowing with roasted meats, fresh bread and pastries, exotic fruits, and wine in crystal decanters. Music flowed through the hall, down over the nobles that had already begun feasting and drinking, from his peripheral Ilya spotted his brother already stumbling out of his chair, being helped up by a few of their men.
Ilya and Shane, sat at a high table between the king and queen, overlooking the festivities. The alpha indulged, entirely occupied with the plate of meats in front of him— taking the next bite before he’d swallowed the first, filling the next glass of wine before the cup was even halfway empty.
Shane sat beside idly picking at his food, glaring at him whenever their eyes met. The omega turned and spoke quietly with his mother, he assumed it couldn’t have been kind words, as the queen leaned over slightly to meet him with a glare of the same magnitude as her son’s. He got the hint, and gulped down his last bite before placing his fork down.
The king had turned to him with cold hostility, as he’d poured wine from the decanter into his glass for the fourth time, and cleared his throat.
“I trust you will treat my son with respect, Prince Rozanov.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” He said between gritted teeth, forcing a tight smile, before taking a big swig of wine.
Some of it dripped down his chin, and he wiped it with the sleeve of his formal wear, turning to the omega to be met with another unapproving look.
Nobles approached throughout the evening to offer congratulations and blessings, most addressing Shane with warmth, complimenting his appearance and jewelry. Their words to Ilya were considerably icy, eyes assessing him like a potential threat, which was to be expected.
Shane handled each interaction with grace, playing his role perfectly. But Ilya noticed the way his jaw tensed when an elderly duchess made a pointed comment about hoping to see an heir within the year.
As the evening wore on, the wine flowed freely, the nobles grew progressively louder and more boisterous. Dancing commenced, couples twirled and spun across the polished floor in elaborate formations. The king and queen had excused themselves from the high table, to retire to their chambers for the night.
“You have not eaten?” Ilya pointed out, breaking silence between them, eying the plate in front of the omega that was still filled with meat and pastries. They had not moved from their seats all evening, the alpha was becoming ennuied with the festivities.
“Forgive me if I lack appetite on the evening I am to be—” He stopped himself, color rising to his face.
Ilya had no response to that, he pursed his lips in thought.
“Care to dance?” He asked, although it did not particularly interest him at all.
“Not with you,” The omega answered, too quickly. A grin curled on Ilya’s lips, he raised a brow, interest piqued.
“Oh. Another alpha then?” He teased, bemused as he saw the colour deepen in the omega's cheeks. “Is that why you cannot eat? Your lover is present?”
“That is not what I meant— I don’t.” Shane hissed, squinting his eyes at Ilya.
He sighed and brought his wine glass to his lips, taking a sip. “He must be seething, yes? His beautiful omega is now married to a probably more handsome gentleman.”
“Shut your mouth, I do not have a lover.”
Mercifully, the master of ceremonies, approached their table and bowed low.
“Your Highnesses,” he said quietly. “Your chambers have been prepared. Whenever you wish to retire.”
Shane sent him off with a curt nod, jaw tight at the implication.
Ilya pushed back from the table and stood, offering his hand to Shane, who stared at it for a long moment before placing his smaller hand in his palm.
They walked through the hall together as the nobles erupted in cheers and ribald suggestions. Led by a servant, they traversed through the arched doors, down torch lit corridors, up sweeping staircases. Servants bowed as they passed but kept their eyes averted, granting them what little privacy could be had.
They ended up in the oldest part of the castle, the servant who had escorted them bowed and retreated as they entered the wedding chamber, and closed the heavy door behind with a heavy thud.
Now they were alone. Ilya dropped his hand from Shane’s, as he scanned the room. It was prepared with obvious care, candles flickered at the window, a large four post bed that dominated the space had been sprinkled with rose petals, fresh flowers in vases set out on a small table, fruits and berries in a bowl beside them— the type one might feed a lover in afterglow— and a crystal decanter of wine along with two glasses.
Before he could speak, Shane already retreated behind the privacy screen in the room. Ilya made his way over to the table of delicacies and sat in a chair next to it, popping a few grapes in his mouth. At least he’d done his part, and the damned wedding was finally over.
After a few moments, the omega stepped out from behind the privacy screen. He’d redressed into a flowy white tunic, the silk touched just above his knees, it was laced across the front and up the arms, he was no longer wearing any jewellery, and his face was beet red.
Ilya stared dumbfounded as he looked him over, before reaching to grab another price of fruit out of the bowl.
“What is this?” Ilya asked, as he chewed on another grape.
“What do you mean? It’s my— we have to consummate?” Shane sputtered words indicating upwards as if he was asking a question. His hands bunched at the hem of the tunic.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? We must. It’s tradition,” The omega insisted, he stepped further into the room and sat himself at the edge of the bed, looking even smaller against the large frame of it.
“I do not care about that,” Ilya countered, leaning back into the chair, reaching for a glass.
“They will check the duvets come morning.” Shane warned, eyes pointed at him.
“And?” He picked up the decanter and poured himself a generous glass of wine.
Shane was still beet red, but he pressed on. “People will- they will talk, if I cannot get someone like you to take me on our wedding night—”
“Someone like me?” Ilya’s brows rose.
“You can’t be oblivious to the talk about you.”
He took a long drink of wine, pretending to think. “Care to let me in on this gossip?”
“Every person in this country, and probably the next one over, knows about your overindulgent ways.” Shane’s composure was cracking, frustration bleeding through.
“What does that mean?” Ilya asked, though he knew perfectly well what the other meant.
“You do nothing but frolic around, It would be humiliating if we do not—”
“I fuck for pleasure, not for duty.” Ilya interrupted, “I already entered this marriage, that is as much as I can do.”
The omega's hands were now balled tightly in his lap, as silence fell over them. “They say you’re a great lover.”
The words were quiet and said with disdain, but still a wide smirk bloomed across Ilya’s face, and he took another sip of wine.
“Ah, and you wish to try me, omega?” Ilya set down his glass and crossed his arms, studying Shane with calculated indifference. “You could have just said that.”
“Don’t be obscene,” Shane’s eyes widened, outrage wearing across his delicate features.
“If you beg for it, I will reconsider.”
“I’m not some common whore,” Shane spat, pressing his lips together. All traces of his practiced politeness had vanished.
“That is a pity,” He sighed, and reached for his wine glass again. “I could reduce you to that, if you ask for it.”
Ilya watched his words register, the stiffening of Shane’s shoulders, the deepening hue flaring high across his cheekbones.
“Did I offend?” He questioned, cocking his head to the side as a way to feign innocence.
“Your reputation precedes you, you know that?” The omega responded sharply.
His grin was impossibly wide now, baring a full row of his teeth. “How could you know? You have not had me yet.”
A frustrated sound left the omega, and he turned to make his way up the bed, crawling under the sheets.
“Seems it’s well-earned when people call you a profligate.” He huffed, back turned to Ilya, who forced himself to stifle a laugh.
—
Morning came too soon, Ilya had unexpectedly fallen asleep in the chair half drunk. After Shane’s outburst, he hadn’t dared to join him on the bed, there was a chance the omega might want to smother him in the dark of night, he’d thought.
Light rays peered through the window, stirring him awake, and he winced at the ache in his neck from the angle he’d been slumped in. He stood up from the chair, stretching his arms overhead with a groan.
Shane lay curled on his side, facing away, the covers pulled up nearly to his ears. His dark hair was mussed, one hand tucked beneath his cheek like a child seeking comfort. He stirred awake, as soon as Ilya stepped towards the window to peek outside. The castle grounds were already a flurry of activity despite the early hour.
Behind him he heard the rustles of the bed, and turned to see Shane sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“Good morning,” Ilya said, rubbing his aching neck.
“Is it?” Shane responded, uncertain. “Servants will come soon, to check if we..”
A deep sigh left Ilya, and he begrudgingly approached the bed, sitting on the edge and motioned for Shane to come closer. Surprisingly, he obliged and pushed down the bedcovers, crawling across the mattress, until he was in front of the alpha sitting up on his knees.
Shane looked younger than his years now, fiddling nervously with the hem of the flowy tunic. “We should have done it last night. Why didn’t you—”
Ilya interrupted him, and placed a hand on the back of his neck, leaning in to mouth along the side of his neck. He started nipping and sucking along his collar bone, the hollow of his neck, right at his scent glands, hoping to leave a few red marks— that would dull suspicions, hopefully. Shane whimpered, the most delicious sound he’d ever heard. It shot straight through him, and blood rushed to his cock.
As he pulled back, Shane looked at him with unfocused eyes. He waited for a moment, before he leaned back in and closed the distance, brushing his tongue into the heat of the omega’s slack mouth, earning another small sound.
A familiar sweet smell began to spread throughout the room, causing him to deepen the kiss while he trialled a hand up Shane’s side, thumb brushing over his nipple through the material of his tunic. He slid his hand down the curve of his spine, as soon as his fingers graced the curve of his ass, he winced in pain. The omega just bit him. He jumped back immediately, licking over his bottom lip, tasting metal.
“Should I assume that you're a half-wit?” Shane snapped, lips red with a few drips of Ilya’s blood. “You think I would let you take me right at this moment?”
Ilya rolled his eyes, and stood back up from the bed, he removed his jacket, unpinned his broach and placed it on the night stand, unbuttoned his shirt and discarded them on the stone floor.
“I have no intention of that,” He deadpanned. A half truth, “I was checking if you were already slick.”
Ilya was bare chested, headed back to the small table. He grabbed the decanter, and walked to the bed, spilling the last bit of the remaining wine onto the bedding. Next, he removed his trousers, standing unabashedly in his undergarments, ignoring the way Shane gaped at the outline of his hard length in them.
“You were checking if I was.. slick?” He repeated the words slowly, as if he hadn’t caught on to what Ilya was doing yet.
“Did you not say the servant will come by soon?” Ilya shook his fingers through his hair, to make it appear as it would after a steamy wedding night. He dropped down on the bed in front of Shane, who had not moved an inch.
“Are you?” The alpha continued even though he’d already caught the scent of slick in the air, “Wet?”
With a stunned expression, Shane nodded slowly.
“Leave a few marks on me too,” He stretched his neck to the side, and tapped with two fingers. Time was not on their side, at that moment a sharp knock on the door interrupted.
“Your Highnesses?” A woman’s voice, respectful and firm. “We must attend to the chamber.”
“Get under the covers. Pretend to sleep,” Ilya whispered, he stood up and opened the door as another instant knock sounded.
Three servants stood waiting, two elderly women and a younger man, all wearing the blue and silver livery of the Hollander household. They curtsied and bowed respectively, expressions neutral though their eyes were brimming with curiosity.
“Your Highnesses,” the older of the two women said. “Forgive the intrusion. We have come to verify the consummation.”
Ilya looked over his shoulder to see Shane was tucked under the covers again, and he stepped to the side and gestured for them to enter.
The older woman sniffed the air as she approached the bed, while the other two moved to retrieve the empty glasses and leftover fruits. She had picked up on the scent in the air, and nodded with an approving hum. As it seemed Shane was fast asleep, she didn’t pull back the bed covers all the way, instead just enough to spot a few of the red marks Ilya had adorned him with moments prior.
“I could not let him get a wink of sleep last night,” Ilya half way explained, placing a hand the back of his aching neck.
Another hum of approval. She then exchanged a meaningful look with the two other servants.
“The bond mark?” she inquired, looking over Ilya.
“Ah, that is— intimate. Somewhere very, very intimate. On both of us,” He murmured.
The servant’s eyebrows rose, but she merely nodded. “Of course, Your Highness.”
She turned back to the sheets, running her fingers across the wine stained fabric.
“We shall prepare fresh linens and have breakfast sent up,” the woman hummed. “Unless Your Highnesses wish to join the court?”
“Here,” Ilya said immediately. The servants exchanged knowing looks again, as if to say newlyweds wishing for privacy, how expected. They curtsied again before departing with the empty dishes. As soon as the door slammed shut, Shane shot up from the bed, a smile spread on his lips for the first time.
“They believed it?”