Archive of Our Own

“I am pregnant.”

Will drops the cup. The water spills around his feet. Macklin takes note of the way Will stares and his throat bobs, how his mouth opens and closes like the news baffles him. Then, Will’s eyes drop to his belly.

“Pregnant.”

“I found out when you were already gone. Have you felt the same physical agony that I had? It was as though my insides were being grated.”

He sees the moment when Will realizes things. There’s a kind of weight that settles in Will’s gaze, and his hand trembles as he drags it down his mouth.

Will’s feet slap over the puddle of water as he approaches Macklin and settles those shaky hands on his waist. Macklin’s eyes water, and even though still plain and flat, he feels the flutter in his belly like his pup that must be as big as a bean is joyful that their father finally knows about them.

“Do not jest about this, Macklin, or I swear—”

“I do not,” he says, words nearly cracking as emotions flood to the surface. “Will, we made a life, and it’s inside of me.”

Shock and disbelief war on Will’s face before he elicits a short laughter as he gently presses against Macklin’s belly. “You are carrying my pup. My pup.” Something like possession darkens Will’s eyes a fraction, and then his elation falters as their eyes meet. “Do they know?”

Macklin grits his teeth. He already knows how Will would react if he told the truth.

“Of course, they do. Shortly after I discovered I am with child, they had sensed it…and…they weren’t pleased at first. You could imagine how that had gone. But this child is still their blood, regardless of who its parents are. I’d been taken care of.”

Rather than relief, Will radiates with anger as he takes a step back and gives Macklin a look from head to toe, taking all of him.

“They know you are pregnant, and yet they let you leave Ianven alone. When you are at your most vulnerable. Days and nights by yourself, braving through potential dangers in solitude, because they did not care to at least lend a couple of soldiers to you. Do they care about this child? Our child?”

Macklin’s heart leaps to his throat. “Will, just because they did not disown me for falling pregnant with your child, does not mean they have finally loved me and our past.”

“But this child is their own! It’s a royal! They despise that you’d slept with a disgraced knight so much that they couldn’t even spare you sympathy and make this trip comfortable for you.” Will brushes a hand through Macklin’s sweat-dampened hair. “Look at you, you’re exhausted.”

“Please, Will, this is the most gentleness they could afford. It’s already a miracle that they heard my wishes and let me see you after everything that happened.”

Will exhales heavily. He picks up the cup and sets it on the table before looking at him again, fidgeting like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Like he’s holding himself back from touching what’s his.

“They will not be upset, will they…? That you are here with me. That you are letting me be a part of this child’s life. We are not going to wake up one day to swords at our faces.”

He cups Will’s cheeks and wipes the soot under his eye. These stunning blue eyes that will never fail to make Macklin feel like he’s looking at the most beautiful part of the universe.

“You have nothing to worry about. I swear it on every saint’s name.”

Will nods reluctantly, finally holding his waist once more. “I just…find it hypocritical of them, and severely fickle-minded.” Wrapping both arms around Macklin, he buries his face in Macklin’s neck with a groan. “God’s blood, I have missed you. So much, you have no idea. You came to me bravely…and with a child?” He pulls back, searching Macklin’s face. “A part of me is in you, despite how we were separated?”

Macklin cannot tell for sure, but there is something that stirs in Will, with the way he pulls Macklin even closer as if he wants to make them one.

Heat simmers within him.

Will’s lips softly touch Macklin’s scent gland before he breaks the tight embrace to look at him once more. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“…I didn’t want to attract attention, and to prevent the public from recognizing me. If they do, they might discover my relationship with a lowborn, and somehow, that I am an Omega. We are not going to breed a new scandal the kingdom might not be able to suppress.”

“Then no one must know that you are a prince.”

Macklin’s plans did not get this far. “Do you think Mack suits me?”

Momentarily, Will looks away. Uncertainty and doubts plague his posture and his tone. “Macklin, what do you expect from this? I want you. I want our child. I can’t even begin to describe how much having my own child delights me, but… I have nothing much to offer. Look at what I have,” he says, gesturing around them. “This is everything.”

The whole cottage is the size of Macklin’s private cabinet. Every part of it is stuffed in one cramped space. The hearth is just a simple stone fire pit in the center of the room. There’s no chimney; the smoke only filters out through the thatch roof and leaves the rafters black with soot.

There is little to no furniture, but it has a trestle table, a few rough stools, and a large wooden chest for Will’s belongings. Even the bed is nothing but a straw-filled sack on a raised wooden platform. The limited kitchenware hangs on the wall. It doesn’t seem like Will cooks inside.

“I don’t mind—”

“You say that now, but if you wait for a day that luxury falls into your hands, you will wait forever. I have to work for my meals and every day routine is repetitive and ordinary. My bed sometimes brings more discomfort than ease. And the bath…it’s a chore. Coming to me, you must understand that this life will be nothing like your life as a prince.”

Perhaps it will make things difficult for Macklin, and he will not like it, but tonight, he is not thinking with his head. He is thinking with his heart.

Shrugging a shoulder, he takes the cloak off and folds it over his arm. “You are my comfort. I want for nothing else.”

Will’s tense shoulders drop. He sits on the bed and pulls Macklin between his legs, pressing his face against Macklin’s belly. His fingers dig slightly into Macklin’s waist, making him gasp. “Mine.”

Macklin’s eyes well up. They are together.

“Yours,” he says, brushing Will’s hair. “Always.”

Will presses a kiss to his belly over the tunic and looks up at him. “Must you still need to hide behind that Alpha persona if nobody knows who you are? If you are to use a new name?”

It sinks into Macklin—the possibilities, the freedom, the taste of living a life being himself.

He’s in a village where nobody knows who he is. He doubts that these peasants have had the chance to travel to Ianven and see him closely.

“No, I don’t have to. I can be me here. I can be whoever I want to be.”

Despite the suddenness of things, Will smiles and stands up again to cup Macklin’s cheeks and kisses him—possessively, deeply, and slowly. Macklin’s lips are moist and loved nicely as their foreheads touch.

“Then be mine, my love. Nobody will tell us we can’t be together. I’ll do everything I can, give you everything I have. I’ll prove to your family that you deserve to choose how to live your life even if it’s not the life they want for you.” Will kisses the corner of his mouth. “I love you.”

Macklin hates lying. It is the reason his life was falling apart before meeting Will, and the reason he has resorted to running away just to be with his only love. But he will bear some of this guilt willingly. There is no more room for the fear that his family had filled him with his whole life…for now.

His first sennight in the village of Certare is filled with enormous adjustments. Macklin did not bring clothes, so he has to borrow from Will, who doesn’t even have a lot. Every single day, they wash every fabric and hang them behind the cottage.

When Macklin decided to run and find Will, he knew that he had to carry his own weight for the lack of servants. Will introduces him to chores that seem to never end and make him sweat so easily.

Meals are indeed bland and boring. They break their fast with dense and coarse rye bread, wine for Will, and occasionally, a hunk of hard cheese, before the sun fully rises and before Will heads to work, either on the fields or at the river.

For nuncheon, he often eats with Will on the fields, sharing more bread together. Onions are eaten raw for flavor. Once, a neighbor had generously given them some dried herring that made his mouth water and his stomach rumble.

Dinner is only made and served when all work is done for the day: pottage made of oats, peas, beans, and whatever garden herbs available which are mostly parsley or sage. Will promises that they would have a bit of mutton or rabbit on lucky days.

Macklin’s palate misses the savory meals back in the castle, but as long as he and his pup are not starving, this is enough. As long as it makes Will smile proudly and kiss his belly every time he says he is full, this table of monotonous and recurrent food is a feast.

The days here are more eventful than he’d ever had in the castle. Will wakes early to cook and leaves him to look after the house before Macklin eventually tires of reading the book that Will had loaned from the market cross for him.

It is severely dull, but Macklin always greets each day with excitement, for each day he wakes means a new day to embrace his being an Omega.

He has stopped wearing the fake scent. He does not block his scent glands either. He’s hidden the pregnancy-concealing potion at the bottom of the chest. Here, he smells like rosemary and lemon balm, and a hint of milk from the pup.

The first time Will had smelled his real scent, they nearly tripped over themselves as they took their clothes off and made love ‘til the wee hours. Will couldn’t stop licking Macklin’s scent gland, teasingly nibbling on it. He’d knotted him a few times.

This might not be the life that everyone dreams of, but it’s the life that makes his heart full.

X

Macklin insists on coming with Will to the river right after breaking their fast to lend some helping hand. The river is wide and deep, its bed easily visible. The fish congregate in the cooler, deeper pools beneath overhanging willow trees.

The banks are chaotic and wild, choked with those trees and dense beds of tall reeds and rushes, and alder bush. The paths are slick with mud and lined with wooden jetties where small, flat-bottomed skiffs are moored.

It is cooler and damper here, and much quieter than the fields. It smells strongly of freshwater silt, rotting vegetation, and the sharp tang of woodsmoke from the nearby village smokehouses.

Despite the unappealing appearance of the river, the gentle but constant shhh of water through reed beds, the croaking of frogs, the sudden splash of a rising trout, and the wet and heavy thud of oars hitting rowlocks give Macklin some semblance of peace.

Will stands slightly at the bow of the punt boat and skillfully flings a large, circular cast-net weighted with small stones. It spreads wide in the air and sinks rapidly, trapping the school beneath it.

Macklin grins and claps as Will tugs the net filled with perch. “You’ve always been great at everything.”

“…I thought you wanted to help.”

“Yes, but it looks gruelling.”

“You’d done more gruelling tasks and carried heavier weapons in the training hall, Mack.” Will looks up as a fisherman greets them. “Yes, I brought him again… He hopes to be useful. Omegas usually are,” he says pointedly.

Rolling his eyes, Macklin lets Will teach him. He attempts to catch some more perch, and nearly falls over as he drags the net back up. Will curses and grabs his waist before he could dive into the water, yanking the net onto the boat and dumping their catch.

“And this is what I meant when I told you earlier that you didn’t have to come. You are clumsier than a fretting mademoiselle.”

Macklin puts his hands on his hips. “How would I get better if I didn’t try? No one is born a master of anything! You should be encouraging me.”

“I agree. But you are pregnant, Mack. You’re carrying my child.” Will throws the tiny fish back into the river. “What if you slipped and hit your head? What if you drowned? I don’t want to bury the only two people I hold dear to me.”

“You are being unreasonable.”

“Am I?” Will raises a brow. “Try being a father.”

“And what do you call me?”

“A careless pup carrier.”

The sight of Will’s smirk makes Macklin bristle. He loves Will, but sometimes, Will makes him want to hurl a rock at him. “You infuriate me now. I don’t need you being overprotective. I wasn’t going to fall and die.”

Will’s expression turns serious as he transfers the bigger fish in a bucket. “You don’t know that. You and I have to be careful more than ever because the life inside you is helpless. It can’t protect itself, so I have to ensure that you are always safe. Don’t come with me anymore.”

“Lock me inside the cottage and come to it melting under blazing fire,” Macklin dares. “I am not fragile. They raised me as a capable Alpha. This is my first time fishing, so naturally, I will be clumsy. Were you not clumsy the day you stepped foot in the military?”

“I was not carrying a life inside me, and I had no one to live for. We are not the same, Mack. We will never be the same.”

“Fine.” He crosses his arms and looks away. “I apologize.”

“Forgiven. Now help me transfer the catch in the buckets.”

Hours fly by as they work at the river. Afterwards, they deliver their catch to the business cluster near the water.

The day ends with their hands full of bartered farm food. Macklin feels like he has achieved a feat far greater than a royal’s scintillating accomplishments.

The weekly market day is a noisy, sensory explosion that breaks the quiet monotony of the town of Almacen. Unlike the square in Ianven where gold and silver coins change hands frequently, the market cross is a bustling hub of survival, bartering, and community gossip.

Mounted on a horse, they enter a patch of open, packed earth surrounded by timber-framed buildings that turn into a slick mud-bath on rainy days.

The air is incredibly thick and pungent. They are hit by a wave of strong woodsmoke from cooking fires mixed with the fishy tang of the river, the earthy smell of un-brushed livestock, and the sour scent of spilled ale.

Loud, competitive shouting of ‘criers’ selling their wares pollute the surrounding. Cartwheels clatter on dirt. Sheep bleat amidst a background melody of a lone beggar playing a wooden flute.

The most crowded corner is the river yield. Baskets woven from river-willow are filled with smoked eels, dried trout, and salted pike. Fisherfolk stand behind them, swatting away flies and calling out prices.

In the field yield, sacks of coarse rye, barley, and oats are displayed. The rural household goods now sell heavy earthenware pots, wooden trenchers, coarse tallow candles that smell of mutton fat, and bundles of dried river rushes for cottage floors.

The village tailor has set up a small trestle table to display refurbished wool caps, reinforced leather belts, and sturdy patches. Some villagers bring their torn work-tunics, waiting on a bench while the tailor stitches them up.

Not everyone has a stall. Most businesses are only made of temporary wooden planks propped up on barrels. The poorest peasants have only spread a coarse linen sheet directly on the mud, piling their small garden yields—a handful of wild herbs and a dozen eggs. The permanent craftsmen, like the blacksmith and the cooper, have workshops facing the square. Their large wooden shutters are open and the window ledges boast of iron nails, horse-shoes and wooden buckets.

Before they left the cottage, Will had told Macklin that he wouldn’t find silk, fine spices, or gold jewelry in the market cross. Everything that is for sale is raw, practical, and locally sourced.

Finally, he finds what he is looking for. Will gets off the horse and helps Macklin down, and holds the reins as he leads the horse to the trader right beside the cooper’s workshop.

Macklin’s face falls. “Do we have to sell him…? He carried me all the way to Obera.”

“We have no use for a horse, and feeding it is costly. The money we’ll get from selling him can pay for a midwife, the food you will eventually crave, blocks of wood, clothes, and medicine.”

Will has to turn his back on Macklin so he won’t change his mind as he exchanges the horse for a heavy pouch of coins. The trader takes the horse to the back, and Macklin sniffles.

“You are too sentimental for a horse that wasn’t yours.”

“What?”

“That wasn’t your horse, Mack. I know all of them. That one wasn’t bred for the royals. It was a commoner’s horse. Why didn’t you take your own?”

Averting his gaze, Macklin rubs the back of his neck. “Because royal horses are easily distinguishable due to their size, their quality, and their behavior. Taking my own would defeat the purpose of my disguise.”

“That makes sense,” Will says, placing a hand on the small of Macklin’s back as they walk away.

As Macklin looks over his shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of the horse, Will gets riddled with insecurities. Of not being enough, of not knowing how to build a family after living on his own half of his life. He didn’t want to sell the horse, but his savings will not cover their needs. If he was all by himself, he could skip a meal and grit his teeth through hunger. He has never been more incapable as an Alpha.

Sensing his dismay, Macklin caresses his arm. “You are burdened.”

“I wish I had more to give you.”

“I am not asking for more.”

“But you and our pup deserve more than this. I shouldn’t be breaking your heart just for a sliver of the comfort you’d abandoned for me.”

 “You shouldn’t worry so much.” Macklin takes his hand and kisses it. “The gods won’t neglect us.”

Will escorts the village midwife into their cottage. She’s an older, respected woman who has successfully given birth herself many times. Though she holds no proper education, she possesses a lifetime of practical, hands-on anatomical knowledge passed from through generations.

Macklin has been experiencing some lightheadedness and physical discomfort that makes Will sick to his stomach despite Macklin’s reassurance that these are normal pregnancy symptoms. He’s been told that he’s going to waste money, but Will is not wasting anything if it’s for his family’s well-being.

The midwife, Edith, takes a vial of Macklin’s morning urine and holds it to the light of the window, examining its color, clarity, and sediment.

“Your body appears to be changing itself normally for your pup. As long as you do not see any abnormal discharge and it does not reek, I can guarantee that you’re healthy.”

She asks Macklin to lie down and lifts his tunic just enough to reveal his midriff. It’s still mostly flat, but with some softness on the belly. Edith coats her hands in fresh lard and firmly presses along Macklin’s abdomen.

“You are several sennights far along. The child is growing as it should and I do not feel strange lumps or placements that derail you from what is expected.”

Next, she checks Macklin’s eyes and his pulse, looking for signs of spiritual distress or demonic interference. “You have a solid faith for a man of your standing. Maintain it, and the baby will be blessed thoroughly.”

The small flask she takes out from her purse is filled with warm wine infused with crushed mint, mallow, and coriander seed to sooth troubled stomach and prevent miscarriage. She also gives Macklin a small, covered bowl of a thick, nourishing pottage made of egg yolks, barley, and honey.

She teaches them how to wrap the birthing girdle around Macklin’s belly for when it swells to protect the child from evil humors and ease Macklin’s labor.

Concluding the examination, she stands and wraps the shawl around her shoulders.

Will asks how she wants to be paid.

“However you wish, but my fee is deeply tied to the community’s goodwill. I could accept two fat river trout, or a wheel of goat’s cheese, perhaps a sack of winter oats…but for you, I can feel that you need a shoulder to lean on when the obstacles fall harder. This is a special child, my heart whispers, and I would be honored to be named a godparent. With that, in the winters to come, I could care for the child and you could help me with my harvesting.”

“Thank you,” Macklin says, smoothing down his tunic. “You have gentle hands and loving eyes. My pup felt at ease, and I would like for you to be their guardian.”

Edith bows and says a prayer as her hands touch their heads. Will escorts her back to her home.

As he returns, he kneels beside the bed and kisses Macklin’s belly.

“Come to us healthy and crying loudly. That is all I want.”

X

Leaving Macklin behind to handle their nuncheon, Will pushes a cart on the way to the business street to deliver chopped wood blocks.

Turning into a wider, drier, and quieter road, he halts as he hears a familiar grating voice and catches a whiff of Ambergris in the air.

Lord Fraser is in the middle of a conversation with a merchant, leaning against the overflowing wagon.

What the hell is he doing in Obera?

Will assumes that Macklin had let everyone know, including his suitor, of his decision to be with Will before leaving the capital. But he can’t help worrying. Lord Fraser cannot have come here to take Macklin back, can he?

Hiding behind a cottage, Will watches the two men, especially the conceited lord. He picks up some details from the conversation and deduces that Lord Fraser’s father is planning to start a business in Obera.

His jaw clenches as he remembers that day. The only thing that held Will back from laying his hands on Lord Fraser was his duty as a royal knight. Now, that title is gone and there’s no reputation to be put at risk if his fist meets Lord Fraser’s face.

Eventually, the merchant gets on his wagon and leaves. Will steals a hanging cloth from behind the cottage and wraps it around his head, leaving his eyes free. He takes a handful of dirt and smacks it on his scent gland.

As Lord Fraser walks away whistling, distracted by a parchment in his hands, Will leaves his hiding and closes in. He shoves Lord Fraser and watches the nobleman stumble and eat dirt as he lands on his face.

For a moment, as he sits up on the ground, Lord Fraser gawks at Will in shock. “You—”

He doesn’t get another word out before Will punches his face. Lord Fraser grunts, clutching his cheek in bafflement and pain.

“How could an Enigma be so pathetically weak?”

Lord Fraser stammers and then his eyes blaze with fury, nostrils flaring as he gets up. “I do not know you! Do you want me to skin you alive?!”

“Do it, then. You don’t live here, do you, My Lord? No one is going to protect you in Obera. All of your dogs are back where you truly belong.”

“What do you want from me?! My money?!” Lord Fraser takes out a handkerchief and wipes dirt off of his mouth. “I will not hand it to you so easily!”

“There’s nothing from you that I want, but listen to me.” Lord Fraser grimaces in disgust as Will steps closer. “You will not take what’s mine.”

Lord Fraser barks out a laugh. “You are a peasant! You have nothing to offer!” He spits on the ground, balling up a hand. “Now, let’s make it fair—”

Will knees Lord Fraser’s groin. The nobleman falls to the ground with a cry, clutching his crotch. Will walks off.

“You lunatic! Are you trying to kill off my future offspring?!”

Grabbing the cart, Will pushes it. He fights the temptation to run it over Lord Fraser.

He doesn’t tell Macklin about his encounter with Lord Fraser. The less chance of Macklin knowing, the less chance that they might cross paths. Will does lie about his bruised knuckles.

X

These days, Macklin has been craving intense sour and sharp flavors. He will kick up a fuss if he doesn’t get it and uses their pup against Will to make him cave.

Sitting on a stool, Macklin happily eats a brined river herring. The salt provides necessary sodium, and the preservation gives it a strong, satisfying taste.

Will has also gotten him sour verjuice and cider, along with a plate of raw leeks and wild garlic pulled straight from their toft.

He hides a grimace as Macklin dips the herring in verjuice.

“I see your disgust.”

“I am not disgusted,” Will says with a hint of amusement. “I am…perplexed.”

Macklin’s cheeks puff as he shoves another spoonful of food into his mouth. “Tomorrow, I want thick smearings of pork lard over my rye bread. Then, perhaps some thick cream skimmed off the top of a dairy cow’s morning milk. The pup is also requesting for some wild honeycomb stolen from forest hives.”

“The pup did not request for all of those.”

As if rehearsed, Macklin tears up. “Do you deny their simple wishes, Will? How could you treat your child like this? What a failure of a father you are!”

Fondly, Will shakes his head as he drinks some wine. “Alright, my love. Your wish—or rather, our pup’s, is my command.” His love inflates as Macklin grins and eats more.

He cannot help but feel emotional as he watches Macklin. There is dried sweat on the collar of Macklin’s tunic and his hair is uncombed. His cheeks are burnt from the sun in the fields. He looks far from the prince that he was in Ianven.

Will was orphaned too early, and now, he’s about to become a father. Every night, he silently asks the gods to protect his little family from whatever peril may come their way.

“You’re staring, but I cannot tell what you’re thinking of. What is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

Slowing down, Macklin swallows his food and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s so unbecoming of him that it makes Will smile sadly.

“Do you miss being a knight?”

Caught off-guard, Will blinks a few times as his brows knit in thought. The candle sways between them, serenading the shadows with silent music.

“I do, but not so much because I loved it with igniting passion. The military was merely a ticket out of poverty. Though, I long for the thrill that comes with the duty. I also miss the weight of my armor and the heat of my sword.”

“…I am sorry.”

“Do not be,” he says, putting more food onto Macklin’s plate. “Nothing means more to me than you.”

Walking under the sun, Macklin holds a hand over his eyes to shield himself from the blinding sun. “I don’t need another set of clothes.”

“You do. You keep stealing my tunics and breeches. Once, I caught you wearing my unwashed trousers. I didn’t say a thing because I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“But you chose to say it now that we are in public.” Macklin huffs, his ears reddening. “I steal them because they smell like you! I’m an Omega, Will. Have you forgotten? A pregnant one. I crave your smell all the time, and it doesn’t matter to me if you reek!”

“I am not sure whether I should feel proud or repulsed.” Macklin pinches him. “Ow! You’ve become so violent! Is it the pup again?”

“Don’t put this on our child. I am violent because you inspire murder in me.” Taking a deep breath, Macklin makes a sound like he wants to aggressively pinch Will again. “You are lucky I adore you.”

“Completely, Your Highness?”

“Shhh!” Macklin blushes down to his collar. “And yes, completely.”

They arrive at The Tailor’s Row. The workshop is on the ground floor of a narrow building. It looks slightly crooked with the upper story jetting out over the muddy street to protect the storefront from rain. A colorful sign hangs over the door depicting a giant pair of hand-forged spring shears.

It doesn’t have glass windows. Instead, a large wooden shutter is bolted and propped open into the street, acting as an outdoor display counter. On the ledge, the seamstress, Madame Eleanor, is organizing a few iron needles, buttons, and a roll of cheap, coarse grey wool to catch the eyes of passersby.

She brightens upon seeing them. “Good morrow, gentlemen. Does my shop interest you?”

“We would like to take a look at what you have and make a purchase, Madame.”

“Come in, then!”

The room is small, cramped, and dim, smelling of lanolin, sharp wood-ash lye from cleaned linens, the sweet honey scent of beeswax, and iron soot from the smoothing wedge heating in the small corner hearth.

The floor is beaten earth covered in a thin layer of dried rushes. Dominating the center of the room is a wide, raised bench sitting directly beneath the window to catch the natural daylight.

Madame Eleanor’s husband sits cross-legged surrounded by scraps of threads, a block of beeswax, and his heavy iron shears as he fixes some breeches.

Along the stone walls are deep, heavy oak chests that keep that actual inventory safe from dampness and mice. Madame Eleanor unlocks them one by one.

Together, Will and Macklin look through the selection of second-hand garments made of russet and wadmal. A lot of them have been ripped apart at the seams and re-sewn inside out.

Will rifles through coarse trousers and tunics that have been modified, featuring thick leather patches pre-sewn onto the knees and elbows. One with reinforced shoulders catches his eye. He takes it for himself.

They rummage through the sturdy shirts, smocks, and braies made from rough local flax. He allows Macklin to get two of what he likes.

“Only two? If we don’t want to wash frequently, we might as well buy the whole chest.”

“Nothing about that is practical.”

“It saves time and energy.”

“It does not save money.”

Pouting, Macklin caves. He dumps the shirt and braies on Will’s arm.

While sifting through another chest, the door chimes. A customer comes in, asking Madame Eleanor for a specific clothing’s availability before they are shown to a chest right beside the one Macklin is checking.

The Alpha’s gaze rakes shamelessly over Macklin’s form. “I was not aware that a model had been employed by the shop. I would’ve come sooner if I saw you by the windows.”

Will stiffens.

Even though he and Macklin are not mated, he has been scenting him to let everyone know that Macklin is his. Moreover, the scent of Macklin’s pregnancy should have been enough for everyone to be warned.

“Did I give you the right to speak to him?” Will’s voice rivals the winter storm. “To breathe near him?”

Sensing trouble, Macklin looks at the other Alpha who was taken aback by Will’s reaction. Then, he touches Will’s tense shoulder. Only then does Will realize he has bared his fangs, but Macklin’s pheromones merely exacerbate his possessiveness.

“Calm down—”

He yanks Macklin closer by the waist.

“This one is mine. Back off.”

The other Alpha murmurs something under their breath as they bring a doublet to Madame Eleanor, and leaves with the packed purchase.

“…Did you just growl at him?”

Will has never displayed such primal possessiveness before. Because he couldn’t, and even before meeting Macklin, he never felt the intention to publicly claim ownership over anyone.

“I have never seen you act this way.”

The fire in his veins mellow. Will loosens his hold on Macklin. “Because I was always in my armor.”

“So beneath your helmet, there was a time you looked like you wanted to tear open someone’s throat?” Macklin chuckles. “Oh, I love this. My pregnancy is doing wonders to your basal instincts.”

Face burning, Will frowns. “Watch how you tease me. I’m going to punish you if you keep at it.”

Steering Macklin to Madame Eleanor, they have their purchases packed as he hands over their payment, some catch from this morning’s river work.

Will comes back from the field with a small sack of potatoes he was allowed to take home for his work, wondering if Macklin has successfully avoided overcooking their meal.

As he gets closer to the cottage, he hears Macklin’s voice—high, angry, aggressive. Will finds him in the middle of an argument on the street with Missus Agnes who appears to be inebriated again.

“You are already drunk before nuncheon! I do not care if you have an abundance of wine to drink, and I am not envious of it as I am pregnant, but you must be mindful! It’s broad daylight! Save your drinking and horrible singing for the dead of night when everyone is too dead tired to be awoken by your noise!”

“And why should I be mindful of you, of all people?!”

“Because like I have said, I am with child! I need peace and quiet! I am getting more and more sensitive, and you are not helping!”

Missus Agnes waves him dismissively. “I will not seriously take the opinion of an Omega who doesn’t even know how to behave like one.”

“What does that even mean?!”

“It means you do not know how to do things an Omega should be familiar with! People talk, do you know that? They have seen you embarrass yourself at the river, in the fields, and one of Madame Eleanor’s customers said you cried after pricking your finger! Do you even know how to wash clothes, darling? We have never seen you do it! It’s always that poor man that lives with you!”

Macklin looks like he is about to explode. “What does that have to do with me complaining about you being a nuisance?!”

As Missus Agnes cries foul at being yelled at by an aggressive Omega, Will rushes towards them and grabs Macklin by the elbow. He doesn’t apologize to Missus Agnes—the woman is irritating.

Pulling Macklin inside their cottage, Will closes the door and drops the sack of potatoes. “Care to explain what happened out there?”

“That alcoholic woman should get locked up! She annoyed you the other day as well, didn’t she? Because she kept hooting drunkenly about her torn shoes!”

“Forget it. She will not change for any of us. She has been like this long before I arrived her, I’d been told.”

Will fills a cup with water and makes Macklin drink, lip twitching as Macklin absentmindedly caresses his belly. He cannot wait to see it round.

He goes to the back of the cottage to check the pot. As expected, the fish looks like it’s about ready to be buried underground. Quickly, he remedies it.

X

Will has washed the bowls and the pot, and is now wiping the table as Macklin sits on the bed, swatting at mosquitoes with a spare shirt.

“Ugh, why are there so many of them all the time?”

“We live near the river.”

“Can’t you get rid of them? Let’s close the window.”

“If we close it, then it will get hotter and you will complain about that too.”

Macklin huffs, fanning himself with the collar of his tunic. “I am sick of these insects. They disturb my sleep and I hate waking up with bites all over me.  Do something about it.”

Will sighs, temples throbbing as his annoyance begins to boil over.

“Are you deaf? Look, they’re biting me again—”

“Because they are supposed to bite you and suck your blood to survive.”

“That is not the point!” Macklin swats at the mosquitoes again. “Back in the castle, not a single insect could enter my chambers no matter the season. I think these tunics are attracting them. The fabric is also itchy—”

Will slams the near-empty jar on the table harder than necessary. Macklin stops rambling.

“Are you angry?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Why are you so moody?”

“Because you keep fucking complaining about how hard it is to live her. I cannot fucking kill all mosquitoes, Macklin. I would have to dry the river, trim all the bushes, and whatever is causing them to multiply must cease at once, and I do not know how to do that.”

Macklin petulantly glares. “Alright…?”

“Alright?” Will scoffs, tossing the rag on the table. “No, you don’t understand it. You only think about how you could get comfortable, and yet you do not act on it. Do you know what’s on my mind every ticking second, Macklin? It’s how I could turn this fucking life upside-down and change it for the better for you and the pup. But I have little to no resources, and your constant whining is only vexing me and making me feel even more insecure about the future you would have with me.”

He picks up the rag again, wiping the table like he wants to scrub it to dust.

“Look around you. Do you see anybody rejoicing because they’ve gotten rid of mosquitoes? Because they’re now able to wear softer fabrics? No, because that’s impossible in Obera, which means you have got to stop running that mouth without thinking. Why do you complain when you know—if you have half a brain, that I cannot do anything about this? This fucking tiny cottage, these fucking mosquitoes, and that fucking itchy tunic? I am already afflicted by countless setbacks and hurdles because you decided, on a whim, to shift from luxury to poverty, and then dare expect that same quality of life you previously had. I have no fucking money for anything opulent, Your Highness.”

Macklin’s lips tremble.

“You wanted this. You wanted to settle for less. You do not get to make me feel inadequate more than I already do. You will never understand what it’s like to claw at dirty soil for some grain to eat because you are used to things being handed to you. I don’t care if you feel sorry for yourself because your family didn’t accept you for who you are but you will not act like them and not accept that this is my life. Unlike you, I don’t have any silver lining to delude myself with. If you want to be with me, then you will learn to live like me.”

“…Are you going to tell me again that we shouldn’t have met?”

Incredulous, Will folds the rag.

“Say it, so I can agree with you this time and say that maybe, I should’ve chosen Lord Fraser.”

Will moves before he could think. In three strides, he grabs Macklin’s jaw—not painfully, but tight enough to keep him from pulling away.

“Say that again.”

A tear rolls down Macklin’s cheek. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not? Because you know you do not mean it, right? You do not want Lord Fraser.”

The thought of Macklin being with someone else makes Will see red.

“No, I don’t.” Macklin’s face crumples as he cries. “I don’t, Will. I’m sorry.”

Hot tears wet Will’s palm. All anger and jealousy dissipate from his body as he kneels in front of Macklin and presses their lips together, tasting Macklin’s regret.

“I’m sorry, my love. Please forgive me for lashing out.”

Macklin hugs him tightly, gripping the back of his tunic. “Don’t you ever call me Your Highness again. I have already missed the way you say my name out loud because I have to hide again, so please, don’t deny me that endearment.”

He pours all of his self-hatred into the kiss he gives Macklin. When Macklin calms down, he helps him get settled on the bed before quietly gathering wild pennyroyal and mint, crushing them underfoot.

“There… It will repel the mosquitoes faster…”

Macklin watches him, wiping his face dry.

“…So you could do something about it. You didn’t have to yell at me. You were so mean.”

Will chuckles and drops a kiss on Macklin’s head before hanging some tansy on the doorway.

Sitting on a bench in Madame Eleanor’s workshop, Macklin mumbles as he patches us the farmers’ trousers.

“When I’m done with this, I will hang it on the window so that Missus Agnes can choke on her own spit when she realizes that I made this—ow!” He sucks on his bloodied finger for the third time. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Will didn’t want him taking on a solo job because he wouldn’t be there to watch Macklin, but after their fight, Macklin had felt so guilty that he had asked Will to take him to Madame Eleanor. She hired him as a paid apprentice.

So far, Madame Eleanor has taught him how to patch and reinforce, resize clothes to fit the children that would inherit them, and how to arm a doublet which he had been told he would only do rarely because only once in a blue moon does someone order a new piece of clothing.

He’s not allowed to work on animal hides, yet. Madame Eleanor had jested that he might shed a few tears again.

She comes over to look at what he’s doing, and gently takes the needle and the tunic from him. “This is how you must hold it, so you won’t hurt yourself.”

He watches her demonstration and mimics what she did. She pats his head before leaving him some bread and cheese to eat.

Macklin looks out the window as a woman carrying a winnowing basket passes by, her braided hair swinging behind her. She slightly resembles Farrah when she tilts her head back to soak the sunlight.

Have they not realized yet that he is missing…? Do they really not care?

Macklin shakes his head. He should be glad for that. He hopes that Farrah will be able to hold the fort for a little longer. Later, he will pray for her safety.

Once he finishes his task for the day, Macklin pockets his payment and makes his way home, cradling his lower belly that’s just beginning to properly swell.

The harsh sun fries him. Sweating profusely, he fans himself, and gets nervous as his vision blurs.

The fatigue is worsening, but he doesn’t tell Will. He tells himself it’s a combination of pregnancy and how he’d never had to physically exhaust himself like this, and it’s taking a toll on him.

As the feeling of lightheadedness aggravates, Macklin sways and nearly gets hit by an incoming wagon carrying produce. Someone grabs him in time and pulls him aside.

“Watch where you’re going, dolt!”

Macklin scoffs at the farmer, cupping his forehead. He is slightly feverish.

“Are you alright…?”

His nose wrinkles at the smell of burnt rubber. Macklin looks at who had saved him, and his eyes narrow as he recognizes the man.

He met Gabe, a Beta, on his third day in the village. Gabe had brought them bread and wine a few times and talked to Will shortly about work.

“I am. I merely felt dizzy.”

“Let’s get you home, then. William must be worried about you.”

Not wanting to get into an accident, Macklin lets Gabe hold his elbow as they walk in silence.

Will is fixing something on the door when they arrive, looking at them in confusion.

Gabe explains what happened, deliberately watering it down. Macklin feels like Gabe thinks he cannot handle an Alpha’s fussing.

Pulling him closer, Will sighs in relief when he doesn’t find an injury. “Thank you for looking after him, Gabe.”

“It’s nothing! I’ll see you at the river tomorrow? And feel better soon, Mack.”

Macklin only nods and quietly enters the cottage, putting his payment on the table. He sits on the bed as Will laughs at something Gabe has said before ruffling the Beta’s hair.

As Gabe leaves, Will shuts the door and gives him water. “If you are still dizzy tomorrow, perhaps you should skip work.”

Macklin holds the cup but doesn’t drink. “How did you become acquainted with him?”

“Who? Gabe? He was the one that helped me start over when I arrived here. His grandfather had the tools I needed to renovate this cottage, and he’d also bartered some goods so I could have household wares.”

“Are you attracted to him?”

Will stares at him like he had grown another head.

“You heard me. I have never seen you be affectionate to anyone before, not even your fellow soldiers.”

Will laughs. “You’re being ludicrous—”

“Am I, or is there something I must know that you do not wish to tell me?”

“What the hell are you pertaining to? Are you doubting my loyalty now?”

“It’s hard not to when you’re touching other men right in front of me. And don’t think I have forgotten the rumors about you knocking up people left and right before you became my knight—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Macklin, that’s a rumor!”

He gets up and puts the cup on the table, tapping his foot in irritation as he looks Will up and down.

“Is it now? Then why did you only laugh whenever I asked about it? You’re an Alpha, Will, a maddeningly attractive one at that. Surely, you had bedded a lot of enticing Alphas, Betas, and especially fertile Omegas even while you were still a low-ranking soldier! Tell me now—is my pup not your first child?”

Will groans. “We are not talking about this.”

“Hah! So it must be true! You have a lot of bastards all around Elinlya! And my pup will be one of them too!”

“Of course not! I am taking responsibility here!”

“Then are you saying that you abandoned your 10,000 other children? By God, William—”

“I don’t know!”

Macklin’s jaw hits the floor. “You don’t know…?”

Will paces. “I don’t know if I had knocked someone up, alright? And if I did, they never let me know!”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Halting his exasperated pacing, Will looks at him with a mischievous smirk. “What could I have done? They called me a notorious knotter for a reason, my love.”

Enraged, Macklin raises his hand in a motion to slap Will, but the latter grabs his wrists and pushes him down the bed, hovering on top of him. “Let go!”

Will does not let him go. Will kisses him hard enough to bruise his mouth, and Macklin squirms, resisting, until Will shoves his tongue in and grinds down his already hardening cock. Instantly, Macklin goes pliant and kisses him back.

“I really don’t know if I accidentally got someone pregnant back then, but… it doesn’t matter now. You’re the only one I want to knot over and over again—your ass, your mouth, and if I could, I would put a pup in you every year. Keep you barefoot and heavy with my babies. Do you want that?”

Turned on by the thought of Will’s cock perpetually filling him, Macklin’s hips rock against Will’s. “I am still mad at you…”

“How unfortunate. Let me make it up to you, then.”

He still wants to fight, or to at least pretend to hate this, but Macklin is a slave to William’s sexual prowess. Spreading his legs wider, he gasps as Will eagerly ruts against him, sending spikes of pleasure up his spine. “The window—”

Cursing quietly, Will quickly rises and pulls the shutters, locking the latch before returning to Macklin. Their kisses get sloppier, needier, and more frantic.

Soon, clothes are on the floor. Will holds Macklin’s legs open and rubs their cocks while nibbling on Macklin’s throat and collarbone. “God, you feel so good…”

Sex has gotten more intense since Macklin got pregnant. He comes faster, his nipples fatter, and his cock more sensitive. Grabbing handfuls of Will’s hair, he pulls him up for another kiss and locks his legs around Will’s waist.

“Can you come just from this?” Will litters kisses all over his face and neck. Bracing himself on both hands, Will watches their cocks as they drag wetly along each other. “Have you ever thought about how fucking useless your cock is? It’s as large as an Alpha’s, and yet it will never know what it’s like to slide into some tight fucking cunny.”

Macklin whines, tilting his head back to give Will more access to his neck. He shudders as Will tongues his scent gland. “Don’t brag about the cunts you’d fucked—”

“I’m talking about your cunt, darling.”

Macklin moans as Will wraps a spit-slick hand around them. They thrust into the tight grip, his nails digging into the scars on Will’s back. “Fuck, I’m so close—”

“Come for me, my love. I want to feel you lose it against me.”

Will pinches the tip of his cock, and Macklin arches off the bed as he comes between them with a shameless mewl. Will rocks faster, chasing his own pleasure, and comes with a low groan.

They shake from their release, but as Macklin begins to soften, Will remains erect and smiles in mischief before closing his lips around Macklin’s puffy nipple.

“Ah!”

Will sucks and twists and pulls the stiff peaks until they redden and swell. Macklin slaps a hand over his mouth when Will bites down on one of them.

“I should’ve asked the midwife to give you something that would make your chest swell faster with milk. Gods, I can’t wait for when these nipples are tender and leaking.” Will tongues the circle of Macklin’s areola and sucks hard like he’s trying to force milk out of it. By the time he switches to the other, Macklin is painfully hard between his legs once again.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to want to have the first taste before your child—”

Another bite, and then Will soothes the sting with flicks of his tongue. “That’s a given. The Alpha gets to taste his Omega’s milk before I let my child suckle on these pretty nubs.” Will sniffs Macklin’s throat as his hands grope Macklin’s chest. “I can already smell how sweet it will be.”

Without letting Macklin get a breather, Will goes down on him with slow, wet kisses. Parting his legs again, Will laps at the cum on Macklin’s skin before taking his cock down his throat.

Overwhelming pleasure possesses Macklin and makes him see stars. Tears prickle his eyes as Will bobs his head while watching him, cheeks hollowing. His cock twitches when Will hums and swallows around his girth.

“Fuck, yes…”

Will lets Macklin fuck his mouth as he presses his thumb against Macklin’s hole. When Macklin shakes again, nearing a second peak, Will releases his cock before spitting on it. Macklin’s protests die down when Will slaps his balls. “Behave, or I won’t let you come again.”

Biting down his lip, Macklin tries not to complain as Will noses along his cock. A sharp gasp tears through him when Will lifts his ass a bit to eat his entrance ravenously.

Will would have to shove a rag into his mouth to stop him from moaning. Macklin writhes as Will sucks on the wrinkly skin around his hole before sticking his tongue inside. He feels it trace his walls and wriggle in his tight channel. “Please—” Tears trickle down his temples as Will fingers him while biting his inner thigh, scenting him there. He spurts once when Will tongues the underside of his cock. “Too much, Sir—”

Pulling back, Will slicks up his cock with saliva before gripping Macklin’s hips as he pushes the blunt head of his cock inside. “Gods, yes…”

They both moan as Will sheathes himself to the root. Macklin’s fingers sift through Will’s hair as he kisses him, whimpering as Will begins to move.

Gradually, Will picks up the pace. Their moans fill the small cottage. Will whispers filth as his hips snap, driving his cock even deeper inside of Macklin.

“Fuck, yes, Will—just like that—”

Abruptly, Will pulls out. He carefully flips Macklin on his hands and knees, before pushing his chest down with a hand on the back of his neck. When Macklin’s chest touches the bed, Will shoves himself back in with one brutal thrust that has Macklin screaming against the pillow.

His body jostles repeatedly. Will hammers into so roughly, so lewdly, and Macklin cannot get enough of it. Gripping the blanket, he turns his head to the side so he can breathe easily. “It’s so good—”

“Yes?” Will touches his lower belly and fucks him harder, looking down at where they’re connected. Macklin sobs as Will hooks a thumb into his ass, stretching him even more. “You’re moaning like a harlot. Our neighbors might think it’s because I do not fuck you enough.”

Macklin’s eyes roll to the back of his head as Will changes his angle and hits that spot inside of him that makes him drool. Will yanks him up and strokes his cock while nosing along his scent gland. Macklin fucks himself back on Will’s cock as he feels those teeth scrape his throat.

“I’m going to come—”

“Do it. Come like my good Omega.”

They will undoubtedly get knowing looks from their neighbors as Macklin comes with a cry of Will’s name. Hot strings of cum wets the bed and the pillow as tears run down his face while he spasms in Will’s hold.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight…”

Will fucks Macklin through it and shoves his face in the crook of his neck as he slams in one last time, hips stuttering as he empties himself inside with Macklin’s name leaving his lips several times.

Macklin’s knees give way. Will follows him down as he hits the soiled bed. Their ragged breathing fills the silence in the cottage, replacing the prurient moans and groans.

Will plants a kiss on his sweaty nape. “Fucked the jealousy right out of you, huh?”

He elbows Will’s ribs as hard as he can.

X

Macklin doesn’t know where Will had gotten the wooden tub, but Will promises that it’s clean. Once it’s filled with water from the well, Will helps him step inside before sitting behind him. The water reaches below their chests. Slowly, Will dips his cupped hands and lets the water dribble over Macklin’s skin.

Eyes heavy, Macklin leans back and gets comfortable while Will softly caresses his shoulders, arms, and belly. “You’re fixating on it.”

“I want to see you get bigger. You will look even more beautiful.”

Picturing himself with a stomach that enters every room first, Macklin chuckles at the image.

“I visited the midwife yesterday and asked about breastfeeding. The baby will drink so much from you that your nipples might crack and ache. Worse, the baby might tug on it hard enough to tear it off.”

“Don’t scare me.”

“I’m not scaring you. She said that it happens. So…when it aches, and you’re too sore to let him latch, I could drink from you first. I promise to do it gently. Just to collect your milk in a cup and feed it to our baby.”

Macklin’s shoulders shake as he stifles a laugh. “You are a disgusting pervert. The milk was already in your mouth. You can’t give it to the baby.”

“Ah, so that’s your concern, and not that I will drink from you too?” Will laughs as Macklin slaps his thigh. “I jest. She said she will give us soothing oil to treat your aching nipples…because they will.”

“The pregnancy isn’t even going to be the hardest part of this, is it?”

“No, my love, but I promise to be by your side for every second of it.  You will not do this alone. When it gets hard, please share half of the weight with me.”

Feeling the tears brim, Macklin closes his eyes. “I wonder what they will be. A boy or a girl. We have to think of names. I am not good at it.”

“…What about Alaric for a boy? It is a foreign name that I’d heard of once during my time at the borders, and it means ‘all-powerful ruler.’”

“My child will not wear the crown.”

“They don’t have to. They’re going to rule our world, my love.”

He smiles. “What if it’s a girl?”

“Beatrice,” Will easily says, as though he has given this a thought long ago. “For she gives us happiness.” He scents Macklin, and somehow, the combination of storm and fire, and rosemary and lemon balm blend perfectly. Gentleness within catastrophe. “Whatever they turn out to be, they will be so dearly loved and protected. They will never wonder what it would be like to be accepted.”

Macklin wants to cry.

“I just remembered… I do not know your family’s name.”

Will’s fingers momentarily halt, before resuming their languid tracing over Macklin’s stomach.

“My father fixed plowshares, shoed horses, crafted nails, and forged kitchen utensils.”

Macklin looks at Will.

“Smith?”

Gaze tender, Will kisses him. “I love you.”

He lets the tears fall.

“And I, you.”

Gravel crunches beneath the wheels as the carriage halts before the courtiers and the staff. A footman opens the door and lets Aiden alight.

“Welcome back, Your Highness.”

Aiden looks at their faces and nods at the servants carrying his luggage. The crowd parts to give him way as he enters the castle.

The royal family had travelled for alliance negotiations with multiple kingdoms with regards to Eyre’s and Maritria’s war. The unrest might potentially involve neighboring nations if they didn’t wisely plan ways on how to keep the Eyren king from taking interest in their lands.

He has gone back earlier than the king and the queen, but they are surely about to leave Quintus soon. Aiden just couldn’t bear the suffocating tension from the last conference.

Arriving in his chambers, he orders the servants to leave his belongings by the bed. Aiden removes his doublet and shoves the drapes to allow sunlight into the room. Everything appears pristine.

He’s browsing through some documents that have accumulated since their departure when he remembers his brother. Macklin wasn’t with the courtiers to welcome him. Aiden clicks his tongue in disapproval. Macklin couldn’t say his farewell when they departed the castle due to that sudden bout of active heat, and now, he still did not bother with courteous pleasantries.

Leaving the documents, Aiden makes his way to Macklin’s solar and is not surprised to find no guards on the hallway as Macklin had dismissed all of them.

His steps slow down when Farrah exits Macklin’s room. The moment she sees him, she tenses, eyes widening.

“Your Highness—you are back—”

“I am. I was supposed to return with the king and the queen but I grew bored of the repetitive debates.” Aiden glances at the doors to Macklin’s chambers. “Have you been the one to check on my brother while we were gone?”

“Yes, Your Highness…”

“I see. He must have let you in when he recovered from that fever.”

He moves to enter Macklin’s rooms but Farrah stands before him, blocking the door.

“Your Highness, Prince Macklin is still unwell.”

“Still? What kind of illness lasts this long? Have you called for the physician?”

She gulps, clutching her skirts. “It might be contagious. He doesn’t wish for anyone to contract it.”

“And yet you could freely enter and leave his chambers? Servants have weak immune systems.” Aiden smiles. “Step out of my way.”

Farrah protests, so he shoves her aside before entering Macklin’s chambers and…does not find his brother.

The bed is perfectly made. There are no traces of ash as though the scent has been gone for a while. Aiden enters the cabinet—all books are on the shelves, and the windows are shut.

Slowly, he turns around. Farrah is pale, obviously terrified, but does not waver from his stare. “My brother is not here. He hasn’t been for a while, has he? Where is he, Farrah? Why are you lying to the crown prince?”

She doesn’t respond, probably because she doesn’t know which lie to say. Stepping closer, Aiden shuts the cabinet door behind her and walks her backward until her back hits the wall. They are so close she has to tilt her head to meet his eyes.

“Do not make me wrap my hand around your throat and squeeze the words out of your mouth.”

“…His Highness Prince Macklin has left…before the royal entourage departed for the negotiations.”

Aiden’s fingers twitch. Macklin fooled them right under their noses. “And where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Your Highness. That’s the truth. He…did not tell me anything.”

“Did he ask you to conspire with him or was this done out of your own foolish volition?”

“Prince Macklin made sure that my father and my brother had nothing to worry about in terms of medicine and shelter, Your Highness.”

He lifts a hand. She flinches. Aiden tucks the stray lock of her behind her ear and brings his face even closer. Her breath hitches as he eyes her mouth for a second.

“You should die for this. However…” Cupping the side of her neck, Aiden thumbs her scent gland. “I will let this slide and tell the court that you have nothing to do with my brother’s disappearance. You did not help him leave. You did not choose to turn your back on the king. I will pretend to be blind as I am a merciful inheritor of the throne.”

“…Is that the truth?”

“And now you have the guts to question me.” Aiden chuckles. “Of course, it’s not the truth. I cannot get rid of you yet, Farrah. You are very useful to me… particularly in between your legs.”

She blushes and tears her gaze away from him.

“You better thank the gods for blessing you with a cunt so perfect that I am willing to forgive this betrayal.”

Pulling away, Aiden blatantly eyes her heaving chest. “But do not make the mistake of thinking you are completely safe. You will be punished by my own hands. Thoroughly.”

He pushes her out of his way.

“Your Highness—what will you do…?”

“What else? I shall turn every stone to look for my brother and bring him back…with as little blood as possible.”

X

It is still dark—because the early morning light cannot seep through the slit beneath the closed shutters, when the noise wakes Will. Macklin is still deeply asleep next to him.

Wiping Macklin’s drool, he softly kisses the Omega’s cheek and extricates himself carefully from the embrace. Will drops a second kiss to Macklin’s belly and adjusts the blanket over him.

As he steps out, he quickly shuts the door so the noise won’t disrupt Macklin’s sleep. Will frowns at the sight of villagers huddled in front of a tree, whispering in confused tones.

He hears the sound of horses’ hooves, and his heart kicks seeing a small group of soldiers leaving Certare. He waits for them to disappear before weaving through the small crowd.

“What does it say?”

“I have no idea. They just plastered it here knowing none of us can read or write!”

“But they had mentioned the second prince. They are looking for him—”

Will pushes the last person out of his way, and stops in front of the tree. A royal seal is stamped beneath the poster. He skims over the text—castle…unrest…Prince Macklin…missing…reward for his surrender…

Missing? But Macklin said—

A winter chill runs through Will. Shoving his way through the crowd, he sees another poster and rips it off before he stalks back home.

His hands are shaking when he lights one of the lanterns. He hangs it overhead and shakes Macklin awake. “Wake up. Macklin, wake up!”

Macklin groans. Will paces, rereading the poster while Macklin sits up as he finally senses his anger.

“What’s that…?”

He tosses the wrinkled poster on Macklin’s lap. “Here. Read it, since you’re not actually a poor, illiterate peasant. You are the missing prince that they’re searching for.”

Color vanishes from Macklin’s face. He holds the poster, reading it before meeting Will’s eyes with a pair of terrified ones.

“You lied to me…? You fucking lied about your family knowing you’re here? Why? Why did you run away?”

“I had no choice—”

“You ran away while you’re pregnant— fuck.” Will clutches his hair, panting. “So this is why you travelled alone. They did not know. Why did it take them this long to realize you were gone?”

“I left a note telling them not to disturb me, and that I have food stored in my chambers. A servant of mine also helped me—”

Sitting on a stool, Will’s head falls into his hands.

“...Have the neighbors seen this…? What did they say?”

“Nothing. None of them have ever been to the capital, so they don’t even know what you look like. You know that. They can’t even fucking read the poster.”

Will looks at Macklin whose eyes shine with brimming tears.

“Does your family know you are with child…?”

“No.”

Will snatches the poster from Macklin and tears it into pieces before feeding it to the lantern’s fire. The smell of burnt paper wafts in the cottage.

“Why would you be so fucking reckless as to put not just yourself, but the pup and I, in danger, Macklin…?”

“Because I couldn’t take it anymore… They took you away from me without letting us say goodbye. And then I found out I am pregnant, and you were so far away that it hurt me so much, and it hurt you, and I thought that I should hear from you that you did not want me anymore. But when I found you, I only wanted to be together again.”

Macklin hangs his head, crying silently for a moment, before looking at him again.

“What did you expect me to do? I lied to you because I know you, Will. You would bring me back to the people that killed my soul. I’ve never had a love like yours, so indomitable, after losing my faith in life for what they did to me. You can be angry all you want, but I would do this again. I would risk everything again just to be with you.”

Will is furious, but he also knows where Macklin is coming from—from the same love that would make him just as reckless if he were in Macklin’s shoes.

He sits beside Macklin and pulls him onto his lap, letting Macklin cry on his shoulder while holding him tightly.

“I’m so scared, Will… What if they take me away…?”

 The thought makes his chest tighten like vice. “No one knows that Prince Macklin is an Omega. They will not suspect you. Here, you are not a royal. You are not an Alpha. You are not Macklin. You’re Mack, my love, my child’s home. We will be fine, alright…? As long as we are careful.”

Yet the fear doesn’t subside. Will hopes that they will be given more time before the inevitable.

And that’s what scares him—he doesn’t know what the inevitable entails.

Days pass. The soldiers don’t return. Because the villagers don’t even know what the posters say, they ignore it, walking past every single one without a glance. No one mentions it anymore—it’s no more important than today’s meal and how they will acquire it.

Will removes the posters and strictly keeps Macklin at home to cook and clean and work on re-patching commissions from Madame Eleanor.

A fortnight after the castle’s announcement of Prince Macklin’s disappearance, it is like nobody has even heard of it, so Will decides to take Macklin to the festival at the central market town.

The frenzied and colorful explosion of energy takes them in as they join the entire community where the social rules are bent for a night. Much to Will’s delight, the alcohol flows freely.

The kind of entertainment in a poor province’s festival is rough, interactive, and loud. A few low-ranking performers wander in from the larger roads. Instead of courtly lutes, they play loud bagpipes, hurdy-gurdies, and bone clappers as they sing bawdy satirical songs about greedy millers and henpecked husbands.

Several travelling actors put on masks to perform simple, traditional street plays that Will and Macklin enjoy while Will nurses a mug of ale and Macklin nibbles on bread lathered with melted cheese. Macklin’s laughter rings like bells as they watch an exaggerated slapstick comedy and dramatic wooden-sword fights that make the children cheer.

There are also performers doing handstands on beer barrels and some juggling burning torches and knives, collecting small copper coins or bits of bread in a hat.

Just to impress Macklin, Will participates in some of the rowdy contests. A lot of them are highly physical and often borderline dangerous, but he knows that it makes Macklin feel hot when he sees how strong he is.

For the first game, a terrified pig covered in lard is released into the crowd. Will fights everyone off and catches it, holding onto the slippery animal. They hand him a sack of assorted vegetables and grains which he dumps in a small cart to push around while he and Macklin meander.

When he finds a group of men wrestling each other, he leaves Macklin under a stall’s awning and joins the test of muscle. Stripping down to his trousers, Will steps into the ring of sawdust and challenges a man much bigger than him.

It takes a few minutes, but Will, despite the lack of training after his banishment, easily dominates his opponent with tricks he’d learned from the higher-ups during his days in the military. It doesn’t have a price other than bragging rights. Macklin rolls his eyes at him and helps him put his tunic back on, pretending to be irate as if he’s not shamelessly ogling Will.

For the night, the strict rations of daily life are forgotten and the province eats its wealth. Someone had donated a few older oxen roasted whole over massive open pits, filling the air with rich, greasy smell of burning fat.

Will and Macklin line up with wooden trenchers to get a rare chunk of hot, fresh meat, eating them with the skewers of grilled eel seasoned with wild garlic.

An older woman frying spiced dough balls in lard drizzles them with wild honey and gives them some. They thank her with some vegetables from their sack.

Macklin is already tugging at Will’s arm, complaining about his sore feet when someone announces a game of mob football.

“One last game, my love—”

“But I’m so tired from all the walking…”

“Then you can sit down at the side. You see, the one who wins will be hailed as Lord of Misrule, and he gets to play a fake king for an hour.” He kisses Macklin’s forehead. “Tonight, I’m going to be a skewed royal for you.”

Ignoring Macklin’s annoyed huff, Will makes him sit on a bench and hands him his tunic again.

The competition is rash and boisterous. Two groups of men compete to get a pig’s bladder stuffed with peas. A brawl breaks out not long into the game. Punches are thrown. Will manages to dodge most of them, and when he finds the prize, he shouts at his companions to follow him to the river bridge nearby.

By the time they put the pig’s bladder down, streaks of mud have covered his torso and he smells like he needs to wash for three days straight. Knowing that Macklin’s sense of smell has gotten more sensitive, Will dives into the river and scrubs himself clean the best he can, and returns with his fellow winners to the feast where he smirks arrogantly as he stands on a platform where he is crowned the mock king and dressed in a mock royal robe.

Macklin comes to him as he leads an unruly parade through the town, making the most absurd decrees he could think of while a horde of drunk men loudly sing behind them.

“By my royal command, all beasts of burden shall rest, and their masters shall take their place! Let the wealthiest farmers be yoked to their own wooden plows, and let them pull each other through the village mud while the oxen watch from the shade!”

Stingy landowners glare at him in shame, spitting crassly in humiliation.

“I declare a tax upon all clear heads! Any man caught speaking with a sober tongue or walking in a straight line before the church bell rings for dawn shall be deemed a traitor to the realm. His punishment shall be to drink a full leather jack of the alewife’s strongest brew without stopping to breathe!”

Macklin laughs against him as the intoxicated men demand more from the brewsters even though they could barely keep their eyes open and form coherent words.

“Let it be known that for the next three hours, all marriages are void and new ones must be made! I command the villages’ grumpiest old millers to take the local butchers’ fattest sows as their lawful brides, and they shall dance a jig together on the village green!”

Wives proceed to hide their geriatric husbands, much to Macklin’s entertainment. Will orders one of the men with greying hair to offer himself up. His wife weeps.

As his last decree, Will announces that the hoarding of any kind is henceforth a crime. “I command that anyone who possesses a hoard of wild honey or fresh fish pie must immediately surrender half of it to the nearest beggar, or face the penalty of having their own face smeared with lard and chased by the village dogs!”

As the villagers fall in a heap of spectacular commotion, Will grabs Macklin’s hand and pulls him away. The noise softens the farther they go, ducking under roofed alleyways and slithering through narrow passages.

Will’s ale-addled mind clears when they find the quiet chapel.

It’s a small, low-slung architecture. A heavy, carved wooden screen separates the rectangular nave from the narrower chancel at the eastern end. The walls are thick wattle-and-daub while the roof is covered in the same straw thatch as their cottage. A modest bell-cot houses a single tarnished bronze bell at the western end.

Dried straw covers the ground they stand on. As peasants cannot read, the walls are covered in bright frescoes instead of texts from the scripture. The most prominent one is a painting vividly featuring terrifying images of fanged demons dragging sinners into the jaws of hell while on the other side are angels welcoming the righteous into heaven.

Visible through the rood screen, the altar is a stone block draped in a clean, hand-washed linen cloth. It holds a simple pewter chalice and a pair of sputtering tallow candles.

The chapel is dead silent, except for the wind whistling through the window frames.

“What are we doing here?”

Will glances at the altar and gently takes Macklin’s hands. They have gotten rougher from peasant work.

“I want to marry you.”

Macklin’s lips part but he says nothing.

“I don’t have rings prepared for this, nor written vows, and a priest would not recognize it—the castle would not acknowledge it, but we don’t need their approval. We only need God to know that my heart is yours for all of my life…so let me.”

Will suddenly feels out of his depth, but he propels. Who knows when they will actually be able to do this?

“My prince. My sovereign. I once knelt before your father’s throne and swore an oath to shield your body from steel, never realizing that my greatest treason would be failing to shield my own heart from you.

They stripped me of my armor, branded me an exile, and cast me into the wilderness to die. Yet, the only cold that truly petrified me was the thought of a world without you. I never asked you to follow me. I never wanted you to trade your lavish life for one of hunger, fear, and hiding in the shadows of a pitiful chapel.

But you came for me. You traded safety for my sake.

So…here, where no court can applaud us and now law will recognize us, I offer you a new vow. I have no kingdom to give you. I have no riches, no safety, and perhaps very little time before the horns sound at the gate. But I give you my blood, my breath, and my eternal fidelity.

Before God, who sees our hearts clearly even if His church turns its back, I take you as my husband. If the executioner’s axe is the price for loving you, I will walk to the scaffold with your name on my lips, grateful that for a brief, stolen moment, I was allowed to hold the king of my heart.”

Macklin squeezes his hands so hard that Will thinks he might break them.

“Do not call me prince. Not tonight. I tore those heavy robes away the moment I fled because a castle without you beside me is just a gilded cage. They told me our love was a sin against my blood, a disease that would ruin their name. Little do they know, I would rather burn in the ashes of this world with you.”

For a moment, Macklin doesn’t speak again as he tries to contain the tears, but they fall freely, and Will thumbs the wetness beneath his green eyes.

“Look at my hands, Will. They are calloused now, stained with the soil of this village, and I have never felt more royal than I do when these hands are held in yours.

I know they are hunting me. I know this small sanctuary could become our tomb. But it doesn’t matter… If the church calls us invalid, let them. God didn’t put this love in my chest just for me to smother it to please a throne.

And… and tonight, in this faux marriage that will be true in our hearts, I take you, my fierce protector, my beautiful exile, as my husband. I bind my soul to yours, past the reach of decrees, bloodlines, and iron bars. If they capture us, they can take my life, but they can never undo the fact that I chose you. In this poverty, in this secrecy, and until my very last breath, I am yours.”

Will kisses Macklin like it’s their last.

He takes him home, and makes love to him with all that he has.

The village is deep in slumber when Macklin comes to his senses, to the quiet sound of hooves and crunching stones beneath wheels.

Dread settles in his veins only a few seconds before the door is nearly torn off of its hinges as it is kicked by a soldier with a royal crest on his armor.

Body taut with alert, Will sits up, ready for a fight, just as Aiden walks in.

“Whatever you see or hear, keep it to yourselves or you will be dismembered and fed to the lions. Now get out and wait by the carriages.”

The soldier bows and steps out. The door doesn’t fully close.

Aiden hangs a lamp by the wooden shutters.

Scrambling off the bed, Macklin yanks Will towards him. “Brother—”

“Really, Macklin? You threw the castle away for this garbage?”

“This is our home,” Will spits out.

“Obviously, a rubbish one.”

Macklin’s heart pumps so fast that he feels quite faint. Fear and panic swirl within him. He knew that it was only a matter of time before their paradise was ruined. “How did you find us…?”

“I had a feeling where you would be despite that servant bitch refusing to cooperate. She was loyal to you, I would give her that.”

Bile threatens to rise. “Did you…?”

“What do you think?”

Macklin whimpers as Aiden walks around, taking everything in. Beside him, Will’s posture is tight with tension. But how would Will defend them? Aiden has a sword and he’d brought soldiers. No one in this village will dare help them.

“This is repulsive, Macklin. It is truly impossible for me to wrap my head around this madness of yours. What kind of love makes you so irrational that you would turn your back on luxury for a peasant’s cottage? Do you even eat three times a day?”

“I do! Will works hard for both of us!”

Aiden groans, massaging his temple. “I am not interested in knowing what kind of lowborn jobs this dishonored knight has been forcing your hand into.”

Sarcastically, Aiden gives him a look of pity.

“You were lucky that there was an emergency. The Eyren king was so unstable and every nation near his had to come together to orchestrate defense mechanisms which gave you some time to play house with this man. I must let you know…our parents are back and Father is livid. Meanwhile, our too soft mother—”

Aiden stops, sniffing the air. Macklin wishes he could disappear as Aiden’s eyes widen in realization. The crown prince stares between him and Will, and then looks at his belly, before his dementedly murderous gaze settles on the former knight.

“You dared plant your seed in a royal prince…?”

Macklin steps in front of Will.

“How long have you been hiding this? Did the servant know?”

He quickly shakes his head. He will do anything to protect Farrah…even if he doesn’t know whether she’s still alive. “She did not.”

“Liar.” Aiden’s breathing grows heavy. “Macklin, you give me nothing but problems after problems.” Unsheathing his sword, Aiden points it at Will as he grabs Macklin by the front of his tunic. “I brought your perfume as I figured you would live like an Omega while you were on the run. But this…I need what you were taking to hide the pregnancy. Show it to me, or I will skewer William onto this sword.”

Tear-streaked, Macklin trembles as he opens the chest and digs out the near empty vial of potion. Aiden takes it from him and uncaps it.

“Open your mouth.”

Left without a choice, afraid that Aiden might kill Will, he does so, and whimpers as Aiden dumps the rest of the potion into his mouth. He swallows it.

The vial shatters as Aiden tosses it over his shoulder. He then sprays the fake Alpha scent directly onto Macklin’s scent gland. “They cannot know what you’ve done. You cannot ruin my plans.”

Macklin throws himself to Will as Aiden wrenches the door open and calls for soldiers.

“Two of you—come here and bind them. Take William to the second carriage.”

As a soldier grabs Will and ties his hands behind him, Macklin drops to his knees, resisting the other soldier. “Please, Aiden! Don’t do this! We’re going to have a family!”

Even as he gets manhandled, Will still tries to calm him down, but the pheromones yield to Aiden’s fury.

Aiden signals the soldier to restrain Macklin like a prisoner.

“If you hurt him and the pup, I will kill you,” Will threatens as the soldier painfully tugs on the rope around his wrists, testing its tightness.

“I advise that you do not add any more to the list of your crimes. You will not like it when I get really mad.” Aiden tells the soldier to put a sack over Will’s head.

Macklin cries out, before a rag is tied around his mouth. Aiden himself drags him to the first carriage.

They move, and he sobs as the cottage is engulfed in flames.

X

As they travel back to Ianven, Aiden does not let him catch a glimpse of Will, not even his shadow. They stop to rest and replenish, and a soldier feeds Macklin while his hands are bound behind his back.

He doesn’t get much rest—his soul is a wreckage, his heart is in fragments. His Omega weeps. The pup is in agony.

As they enter the capital, he asks what would happen to Will.

“He is dead meat,” his brother says with the concern of a lifeless sculpture.

The sun has long set when they arrive at the castle. Nobody welcomes them. They must’ve been told not to, to lower the risks of a scandal breaking out.

Aiden leads the way to the throne room as soldiers drag Macklin and Will. Macklin feels nauseous. The king will be there, and he doesn’t know if bargaining might work. What would he even use as a bargain?

His mother is already crying when she sees him. The heavy doors fall shut loudly, locking the family and one fallen knight inside.

The king is as red in anger as his robes. “I am beside myself with rage at everything that I do not know where to begin.”

Macklin, even though shaking from fear, is unable to resist speaking acerbically. “What about that you were so worried I was missing?”

“Have you become so ill-witted?! You left on your own!” The king points a trembling finger at Will. “This commoner, Aiden, have him beheaded at first light—”

“Father, while that is my personal wish as well, a public execution will only hurt us. The whole kingdom knew that Prince Macklin was missing. They might suspect that William had a hand in it, and we do not want to face another predicament. The second a rumor about them eloping begins, it will be hard to extinguish.”

“Then what do you suggest? We cannot be lenient anymore.”

“He shall be thrown in the dungeon. Chained. Punished every single day. Let a slow, painful death claim him.”

“No!” Macklin looks at Will, whose head is still covered in a sack, as though they cannot even bear to see his face. “I will not allow this!”

“Silence! You are not a prince in my eyes right now, Macklin. You are a traitor. Be thankful that I cannot hold you in the same regard as this commoner. Aiden—have the soldiers take that one to the dungeon.”

Macklin sobs as Will is taken away. Will’s head turns in his direction, as though telling him not to worry, but Macklin knows that neither of them will be safe from hereon.

He could barely breathe when the doors closed once more.

Taking out a dagger, Aiden slashes the rope binding Macklin’s hands. “Now, we shall invite the Mintens.”

The mention of the noble family makes Macklin stop his crying. “Why…? What for…?”

The king answers. “I have approved of Prince Aiden’s proposal. To prevent you from running away again, fornicating with lowborns, and tainting my reputation, an urgent betrothal with Lord Fraser is deemed necessary.”

“No… No, please, Father! I don’t want to be with him!”

 “And while waiting for the betrothal, you will kneel on a floor of crushed stones—”

Aiden chimes in. “Father, pardon my meddling, but… the betrothal is enough punishment for my brother. Let’s not resort to anything physical. He must remain attractive—every inch of him, for Lord Fraser or he might not desire him if he garners more scars.”

Macklin glowers at Aiden. He knows why he’s ‘protecting’ him.

The king scoffs. “Then take him to his chambers, and make sure that soldiers are stationed outside.”

When they are finally in the privacy of his rooms that he has never missed, Macklin turns around and jabs a finger at Aiden’s chest.

“You know that a betrothal with Lord Fraser will fail. I am pregnant, Aiden! He is idiotic but he will know it’s not his!”

“He will, but the Mintens owe me a huge favor.”

“A favor…?”

“Lord Minten, Fraser’s father, impregnated a young noblewoman slated to enter the convent. I found a midwife to abort the child and paid her a hefty sum to get herself scarce. Right now, they do not know what I am devising, but when they find out the truth, they cannot hate me. They will learn to swallow their pride. Lord Fraser will learn to take that bastard as his.” Aiden glances at his belly briefly. “He won’t have to suffer for long, if I am honest.”

“My child will never be his!”

“There is nothing you can do about it. The Mintens will come and you will participate in the discussion of your engagement.”

Macklin looks around the bedchamber. Metals have been bolted outside his window to prevent an escape.

“Where is Farrah…?”

Aiden grumbles, loosening his collar. “Why do you care? She is alive and is still in the castle.”

“You spared her…?”

“You’re not the only one with a secret, Brother, but you are the only one stupid enough to get caught.”

Aiden leaves him. Macklin hears the sound of chains being wrapped around the nobs.

Falling onto his bed, he cries. He soon realizes what Aiden meant about Lord Fraser not suffering for long—

When they marry, they will mate, and the bite of an Alpha that is not the pup’s father will kill it.

X

In his royal doublet that somehow no longer feels natural to him, Macklin sits in the conference hall with the king and the queen, Aiden, and the Mintens.

He only speaks when he is asked what he thinks of the preparations, and barely says anything useful. They do not seem to mind. Aiden and Lord Fraser are eager enough.

The Banns of Marriage will be skipped, and because he is of age, the betrothal will take place in the Great Hall by the next sennight. Lord Fraser and his father will stay in their own solar in the castle apartments until the official wedding ceremony. They seem none-the-wiser that Macklin was missing.

The king invites the Mintens to his private solar for a drink. Slipping away, Macklin follows Aiden down a deserted corridor.

“Aiden, please… I won’t fight the engagement, but let me see Will just once.”

“No. I am not stupid.”

Macklin stops. He is done begging. He is done hoping that his brother still holds some affection for him.

“Look at me, Aiden. Turn around and look at what you’ve done.”

Aiden halts. He turns, gaze inscrutable.

“When we were children, I used to follow you through these very halls. You are my brother. You are the future king, and I loved you so fiercely that I excused every cruel word, every cold look, every sharp edge. I told myself that you were just preparing for the throne. I gave up my identity just to earn a shred of your respect. And how did you repay that love?”

Macklin blinks the tears away. His brother deserves none of it.

“You dragged the only man who ever truly saw me. The only soul who loved me for exactly what I am and threw him into the dark to rot. You are murdering him, all while you plan to sell me off to a stranger like a piece of livestock, forcing me to scrub the scent of the man I love from my skin.

But this is the ultimate depravity, isn’t it…? You know what’s growing inside me. You know I carry his child. Our blood. And your grand, brilliant plan to put me in my place is to suffocate a heartbeat? To erase an innocent life just so your flawless royal lineage stays unblemished?”

Thinking of losing the symbol of his and Will’s love nearly makes Macklin’s knees buckle.

“I used to think you were just frigid. Now I see the truth. You aren’t a king-in-waiting. You are a monster wearing my brother’s face.”

He walks up to Aiden, eye to eye.

“But hear me now; you can hide this child from the court but you will never wash their blood off your hands, and you will never, ever possess my submission. I will look at you with nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred for the rest of my miserable days.”

Perhaps it is the trick of his mind, the way Aiden’s gaze seems sorrowful for a second. Macklin shakes his head and walks away. The only true thing about his brother is that he loves himself, and only himself.

As he was a part of the royal guard, Will knows every nook and cranny in the castle, and the dungeon is not foreign to him.

There had been several times he had to come down for many reasons, and never thought that one of them would be to get locked in here and go through the horrors he had inflicted on somebody once in the past.

The dungeons have no windows, torch slits, or arrow loops. Once the heavy iron hatch at the top of the stairs is closed, he is left in total, suffocating darkness. The only light comes when soldiers descend to torment him.

The air is stagnant and freezing cold. It smells overwhelmingly of human waste, rotting straw, mold, and damp stone. As it is the lowest level of the castle, groundwater constantly seeps through the stone walls, making the floor slick with slime.

Breaking the terrifying quietness is the sound of dripping water, the scurrying rats, and the echoing groans of the men that fell victim to his own vicious hands.

Since he was thrown into the dungeon, his wrists and ankles have been manacled. The chains are short so he can’t even sit down. His knees are chafed and bleeding just like the rest of him.

Aiden has come down a handful of times. Sometimes to watch the soldiers deliver the punishments, sometimes to be the one to hold the cudgel or the whip and strike him.

He alternates among torture methods.

Soldiers periodically throw buckets of freezing water over Will. Left in the pitch black, the combination of damp stone, cold water, and lack of movement cause his joints to seize up, his skin to crack, and his muscles to cramp. Will keeps his blood flowing by pushing against the solid walls or straining against the chains. He knows how to break a man; he knows how to keep one—himself, intact.

When Aiden is feeling particularly sadistic, he makes a soldier patch Will up, only to rip the bandage hours later and renew the wounds he’d given.

As soon as the day’s beatings come to an end, Will is wrapped in straw so he won’t die from the cold—not because Aiden cares for his life, but because Aiden needs him alive, barely, to be tortured again and again.

The physical torture isn’t the only thing challenging Will’s determination to survive. The darkness is as lethal a weapon as the cudgel, the whip, and Aiden’s fists. As a knight, he’s accustomed to the daily bells of the chapel; he will count the faint, muffled vibrations of the castle bell reverberating through the stone foundations to keep track of time, marking off the sennight day by day in his head.

He will also mentally repeat his knightly vows, catalog every piece of armor he once owned, and reconstruct his favorite battle formations step-by-step.

To block out the despair, Will replays every moment he’d shared with Macklin.

The memory of his face, the scent of his throat and his wrist and the inside of his thighs, and the whispers brought out by wandering hands. Macklin is a good mental shield against the blackness. Ironically, the very thing that got Will condemned has become his lifeline.

Staring into nothing, the chain clinks as he tugs at it. Pain shoots up his shoulder from where Aiden had battered it with a rock.

He hears Macklin calling his name as he closes his eyes, and holds on to it. What is he doing now…? Is he crying again? Aiden barely speaks when he’s in the dungeon, but Will knows that Macklin is suffering, for the pain from their separation translates to him physically, adding to the agony he already bears with from his daily punishments.

The hatch opens. Will doesn’t look up as the sets of footsteps come down. The orange firelight illuminates the dungeon as a soldier hooks the lamp on the wall.

Aiden’s nose scrunches. He sighs, head tilting in mock pity.

“You used to be at the forefront of wars but you’re now you’re rotting in your own mess. Ever since you ascended to knighthood, you’d been extremely popular in the military. The great knight of our generation, Sir William, who came from nothing. Alphas, Betas, and Omegas revered you like you actually meant something. And now, you’re reduced to this, because you thought you’d earned the right to defile a royal.”

“…Just do what you came here for.”

“All chained and purpled, and he still has the wrong spirit to tell me what to do. Very well. Let’s give him a taste of what he’s asking for.”

A soldier extends the chains so he can sit down. His bones creak and Will bites his tongue. The soldier tilts his head backward, and his swollen eye looks worse under the light. A thin piece of an old shirt is placed over his mouth and nose. He already knows what they will do.

Aiden himself pours the bucket of freezing river water directly over Will’s face. The wet cloth suctioned tightly against his mouth forces the water into his throat and nasal passage as he tries to gasp for air. His body begins to panic, but he composes himself. This will stop. Eventually. Aiden will not kill him…yet.

Putting the bucket down, Aiden yanks the cloth to Will’s chin. Will gasps, coughs, and wheezes through labored breaths. He grunts as Aiden yanks his head back.

“Macklin is getting engaged to Lord Fraser.”

The pain that bursts in his chest eclipses the agony in every part of his body. He thinks of their faux wedding, the vows, and how deep inside, he knew that he would never stand on the dais with Macklin.

“Ah. Is that anguish I see in your eyes? The whole castle is bustling through the preparations. Macklin and Lord Fraser will be engaged in two days.”

“…That fast?’

“So you can talk. Yes, William. In two days, the whole kingdom will recognize Lord Fraser as Macklin’s mate.”

The pain doubles. He feels like he is running out of air. “Why…”

“What do you mean? Macklin always been meant for greater things—”

“Why do you loathe me so? I sense hatred from miles away, and from the moment I stepped foot in the castle, I’ve always known you’d love to cut me open with your bare hands.”

Aiden stares, and stares, like he’s mentally calculating the positives and negatives of answering Will’s question.

“Because as much as the king despises you for deflowering Macklin, he also loved you so much more than I that he allowed you into knighthood at sixteen. Made you, a peasant, a captain of his elite cavalry that had only ever been tied to royalty and nobility, and let you be the face of every single war you have ever fought.”

Crouching to his level, Aiden’s voice lowers to something vicious.

“I had been training, William, even before you entered the military. I worked as hard as you did. And yet…for some fucking reason I can never fathom, Father would rather put you in the highest status of warrior than his own successor to the throne. Do you now understand…?”

Will smirks, then chuckles. “You are envious, then? Because the king has no confidence in you as a soldier, while I, who had no resources, earned his respect out of pure talent.”

Aiden smacks him so hard that his head whips and his ears ring from the pain. As the dizziness dissipates, Will chuckles again and laughs hysterically like he has absolutely gone mad.

“The crown prince is angry because he is weak! Because he has been defeated by a lowborn who had nothing! You think me better than you, Your Highness. Even though you detest me, you think me far greater a warrior than you will ever be. You envy my strength, my prowess, my lust for blood when I have the power to wring it, and my closeness with your brother. You fear that when we face each other in war, you will have to kneel for my mercy. What else do you fear about me, Aiden? That when the king’s mind deteriorates, he will forget you but remember the day he met me?”

“…You should get killed. You should get skinned alive and doused in acid. Oh, William, I want to punch through your chest and rip your heart out, and make you fucking eat it.”

“But you won’t…because you know I would come back from the dead to break every single bone in your body, and then I would follow you down to hell so I could do it again.” Will flinches as Aiden spits on his face, and grins. “Is that the worst you can do, Your Highness?”

“No.” Aiden takes a kerchief from a soldier and wipes his hands. “The worst I can do is let you know that when Fraser mates Macklin, he is going to kill your pup.”

The mad glint in Will’s eyes darken. “Is that so…? Then here’s what I have for you: every single child you will have, I will rip its head off its shoulder right in front of you and your wife. My words are true, Aiden. Isn’t it what I was known for? For delivering your enemies’ heads right at their families’ doorsteps?”

Aiden turns to a soldier. “Pour the rest of the bucket and the other one into him. Do not stop until he’s nearly dead.”

The hatch closes as Aiden leaves the dungeon. A soldier tugs the cloth back up his nose and mouth, and water fills his lungs again.

The Great Hall has never been this magnificent.

Tapestries displaying the royal crest intertwined with the heraldry of the House of Minten completely covers the stone walls. Fresh garlands of dark ivy, white roses, and sweet-smelling bay leaves wrap around the pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling.

Every iron chandelier and wall sconce is packed with expensive beeswax candles, making the hall glow with a warm, amber light that glints off polished armor and gold threads, filling the hall with gentle scents.

At the upper end of the hall, the royal family—the king, the queen, and the crown prince, sit on the dais under a towering canopy made of crimson velvet. Macklin stands at the center with Lord Fraser, elevated above everyone else.

The hall is packed to the doors with hundreds of guests—high-ranking men and women of politics dressed in vibrant silks and heavy fur-lined mantles, wealthy bishops in embroidered robes, and the royal guards standing as a wall of polished steel around the perimeter.

Macklin has been dressed more royally than ever. His chemise is made from exceptionally fine, bleached white imported linen. It’s spun so thin that it feels like silk against his skin; it also features delicate embroidery in gold thread along the high collar and cuffs. His legs are clad in tightly tailored, form-fitting woolen hosen dyed a vibrant, deep scarlet red, tied securely to his under-girdle with silk laces to ensure a crisp, athletic silhouette.

Over his shirt, he wears a padded, quilted doublet made of silk brocade. The fabric is a deep royal blue, woven with intricate metallic gold patterns. It fits snugly around his shoulders. It’s supposed to hug his waist as well but Aiden had discreetly adjusted it in his chambers, fastening the front with a row of a dozen of small, polished pearl buttons.

Accessories dangle on his ears, his neck, his wrists, and his chest. The heaviest one is on his head—a slender, gold circlet with alternating sapphires and diamonds. He feels like an ornament.

In front of the high-ranking noble witnesses, the priest asks Macklin and Lord Fraser to clasp hands and state their intent to marry in the future. Macklin hears himself but doesn’t register the words from the vow that someone else had written for him. It doesn’t come from the heart. Lord Fraser proudly smiles at him when he finishes reciting his vows, squeezing his hands, and Macklin nearly withdraws them.

Afterward, they exchange rings. Macklin tears up; he didn’t even get to do this with Will.

Their families bring out the expensive gifts—purebred hunting falcons, gilded armor, heavy gold chains, and illuminated prayer books.

Royal painters are dispatched to capture their likeness. The portrait will be hung in their future marriage chamber.

The solemnity evaporates into an absolute spectacle of joy and excess. The long trestle tables below the dais are instantly loaded with a multi-course banquet. Guests eat from silver plates, devouring roasted venison, wild boar, and swans re-dressed in their own white feathers. Hippocras flows continuously from silver pitchers.

Between the courses, servants wheel out massive sugar and marzipan sculptures. High up in the minstrels’ gallery, trumpets blare, and musicians strike up lively tunes with lutes, harps, and drums. Court jesters perform dangerous acrobatics over the tables, tumbling between the wine cups to make the king laugh.

Macklin is pushing the food inside his mouth while Lord Fraser rambles about the upcoming tournaments when Aiden approaches their table.

“May I borrow my brother for a moment?”

He doesn’t even turn to Lord Fraser to ask if he could go with Aiden, like what a good betrothed should. He just follows Aiden out of the hall.

They do not speak, but his heart spikes when he realizes they are making their way to the dungeon.

The stench slaps him when Aiden opens the hatch. It will surely cling to his clothes and hair.

Macklin’s hand flies over his mouth when he sees Will, and a sob tears through him. What have they done…? “Will—”

“Shhh.” Aiden kicks Will’s battered shoulder. Will groggily lifts his head, and becomes more alert when he sees Macklin. Lifting Macklin’s hand, Aiden waves it. “You see the ring, William?”

Macklin rips his hand out of Aiden’s hold and attempts to approach Will, only for Aiden to roughly yank him back. “Please—”

“Threaten me and my future children all you want,” says Aiden to Will, “but it doesn’t change anything. Macklin will never be yours.”

He doesn’t get to speak another word as Aiden drags him back out of the dungeon, and sprays perfume all over him. Macklin prays to the god that the pain ends soon.

It has been hours since the last beating ended, but Will’s whole body continues to burn from the inside. An ordinary man would be dead by now. He can still taste blood between his teeth.

He will probably die in a few days, without even meeting his pup with Macklin.

The hatch opens. At first, he assumes it is Aiden, finally coming to put him out of his misery, until he smells Cardamom.

Something in his neck pops as he lifts his head to watch Alexis descend the stairs with a lamp. This marks the first time he has seen him since he got imprisoned. Since the night he got banished out of the castle, even.

Alexis’ usual scampish demeanor is gone. He seems both pained and furious. “This is worse than anything you have ever gotten from the wars, Sir William.”

“I am not a knight anymore. I won’t kick you if you don’t call me sir…and I cannot move anyway.”

“You will always be a knight, and you will always be my captain.”

“Why didn’t you come down to beat me?”

“I always found a way to be occupied whenever His Highness Prince Aiden summons soldiers to the dungeon.”

“What about the night of my banishment?”

“I lied about being food-poisoned.”

“And my flogging at the courtyard?”

Alexis’ mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. “I was with a servant. But when they all scrambled to witness your flogging, I just retired to the communal quarters. I couldn’t bear witnessing your punishment. It didn’t make sense to me. You were not meant to take these beatings, to have your title and your armor stripped, and to be chained here. I couldn’t understand.”

Will hums. “It was well-deserved.”

Silence stretches between them for a long moment. Alexis simply watches him, as if committing every wound and bruise to memory.

“Sir, I have tried to ask discreetly, but either no one really knows why you were exiled, or they simply don’t want to speak. They said they would get killed if they told me what they heard. So I finally mustered the courage to come here, hoping to finally solve the puzzle.”

“Ask.”

“This has something to do with Prince Macklin’s disappearance, doesn’t it?” Alexis’ conviction falters but only for a breath. “We have always thought that you had a strange dynamic, but it never occurred to any of us that it could be something you might get killed for.”

Will allows himself a small smirk, reopening the cut on his lip. “We are…were lovers. And he carries my child.”

Alexis frowns at him. “But you are not an Enigma. How could you…?”

“Only one of the two princes is an Alpha.”

Understanding quickly dawns on Alexis. He looks away, processing the knowledge, and returns his gaze on Will with clear sympathy.

“It must pain you, then. The prince has just been engaged with that dumb lord.” At last, Alexis sits down on a block of stone, hands clasped. “Sir, I have always respected you to the point of worship despite my occasional insolence, and I have always believed that you would never do anything unworthy of sacrifices.”

“Where are you taking this conversation?”

Alexis meets his gaze dead-on.

“I pledge my allegiance to you. I will help you get out of here.”

Will’s sudden laughter resounds in the dungeon. “You are out of your fucking mind.”

“Maybe so, but I entered the military after hearing tales of your greatness from a ripe age of youth. I harbored admiration for you and none for the royals. I am literally here because of you, and I will continue to follow you. If I get killed, my family will know I died a man of honor.”

“…You madman.” Will deflates. “Alexis, I cannot leave without Macklin and our child—”

“Fret not, sir. I am handling it.”

“Handling what?”

“I have already talked to Farrah, the servant that looked after Prince Macklin before he ran away. In a sennight, I will come for you. Please try not to die.”

Will shakes his head but only in disbelief. “You are risking so much for me.”

“Just think that we’re going into another battle, sir. Truth be told, my priority has always been to cover for you and make sure you don’t get killed. I don’t give a fuck about that weakling they call a crown prince.”

Will chases the light that runs from him as Alexis goes. Even though he doesn’t want to, hope brews on its own.

X

Leaving the dungeon, Alexis makes his way to Prince Macklin’s solar. He nods at the soldiers outside. “The crown prince has sent for me to check on his brother.”

Given access inside, he finds Farrah pouring warm bath water into the tub as Prince Macklin gazes lifelessly outside the barricaded window.

Farrah lowers the bucket.

“Tell His Highness of the plan.”

Macklin turns to them, confused. Farrah walks up to him, nervous yet determined.

“My Prince, Alexis and I will help you and Sir William escape the castle.”

“…Did I hear the right thing or am I hallucinating?”

She takes Prince Macklin’s hands. “In a sennight, I will lace the soldiers’ water. They will fall unconscious in half an hour. Then I will fetch you, and we will go through the underground and wait for Alexis and Sir William at the west of Belar where the trees are thicker and we can hide better.”

Macklin tears up. “Why are you both doing this? Your lives will be on the line.”

“Sir William saved my life in a way only the gods will understand,” says Alexis.

“And you have saved my family,” Farrah adds. “Don’t be afraid, Your Highness. We will make sure the two of you will get to leave swiftly.”

Macklin hugs her. Farrah stiffens. No royal ever hugs a lowly servant. “Thank you so much. Both of you. I don’t know how to repay this—”

“Just stay with the captain.” Alexis turns on his heel, ready to leave. “Misery suits neither of you.”

Will’s heart refuses to relax. He doesn’t know when Alexis will come, but he counts the seconds anyway.

Then, the hatch opens, and Alexis descends to unlock the chains.

“We are actually leaving…?”

“Yes. The soldiers are out like a light. We do not know for sure how long the drug will be in effect, so we must move quickly.” Once the chains are broken, Alexis helps him to his feet, and presses him against the wall to steady him. “Can you walk by yourself?”

“Of course. I’d just been kneeling for too long.”

“Alright, then. Here---tunic and trousers.”

Will accepts Alexis’ help in getting dressed. Alexis steps back to take a look at him, nods, and hands him a sword in a scabbard.

His engraved initial on the locket stares back at him.

“They wanted to melt it down. I kept it in the armory.”

Will slings the belt across his body and clips the scabbard to his waist.

“We wait for a short moment. Farrah and Prince Macklin are currently taking the underground passage. It’s too risky for all four of us to head out at the same time.”

And so the waiting begins, but it is not long. When Alexis gives the signal, Will releases a shaky breath. All of his limbs scream in pain, but he doesn’t waver as they pass by unconscious soldiers on the corridors. Will traces the sound of Alexis’ footsteps as they navigate the unlit underground.

They share a horse; he gets behind Alexis. Riding to where Macklin awaits, the cold wind kisses Will’s wounded face.

When they get there, he spots silhouettes between the trees. Will almost smiles when he notices a body on the ground.

Farrah.

Alexis curses.

Smirking, Aiden holds Macklin beside him with a death grip on his arm. “You thought you could outsmart me.”

Will gets off the horse before it could slow down, and rushes towards them.

Aiden raises his own sword. “Come any closer and you will regret it—”

Regret will only come for him if he lets Aiden win another time.

Drawing his sword, Will charges. Aiden looks shocked, like he didn’t expect Will to still have a fight left in him after all the punishments. Then Aiden pushes away Macklin—who sprints towards Alexis—just in time to block Will’s sword.

Aiden may be weaker than Will, but Will has been tortured, and he slips up a few times, but manages to defend himself. Though Aiden is able to hold his ground, Will swears that he will not lose now.

The moment he knocks Aiden down, he doesn’t let the sword touch the crown prince. Will sheathes his sword, picks up Aiden’s, and saunters towards Macklin and Alexis to yank Macklin against him.

Breathing raggedly, Aiden pushes himself up. When Will senses that Aiden will lunge, he locks an arm around Macklin’s throat and presses the sword to his side. Macklin tenses and whimpers before relaxing, like he knows it is nothing but a ruse. Will would never hurt him and the pup willfully.

“Fight me and you will watch your brother bleed through a hole on his body, pierced open by your own blade.”

“This is cheating, you false warrior.”

“It is called using all of your cards.”

Aiden laughs. “You will kill your own lover and child out of spite? Then what is this treason for?!”

“Who knows? Perhaps I am nothing but an opportunist and a lunatic, deriving pleasure from the royals’ ruins. His blood will coat your name, Aiden. I will make my escape, and they will suspect no one but you. A battered prisoner, let alone his secret lover, cannot have killed Prince Macklin. Not only will you kill your brother, but they will also discover he was with child. I don’t think the king will be so heartless to ignore that. You already said it—he respected me more than you. He will go berserk if he loses his grandchild that might be an Alpha and its killer is nothing but the dastardly uncle.”

“Such delusion and tomfoolery—Father will never choose a traitor over me! It is not too late to put the sword down and hand over my brother, William. If you don’t…” Aiden runs a hand through his hair, eyes wild with panic. “I would spin insane stories about you that would make every single noble in this kingdom thirsty for your blood. I swear it. Do not underestimate me. This time, I will spare you no mercy. I will parade your corpse on the streets even if it breaks my brother’s heart. I have found you once and I will find you again. And…and the stake is even higher now, William, because Macklin is engaged to Lord Fraser. You are literally creating a legion of enemies!”

Will doesn’t let the threats get under his skin. “Get on the horse,” he tells Macklin.

Hurriedly, Macklin climbs the horse as Alexis scoops Farrah and clambers the other beast she had ridden to the forest with Macklin.

“I will have your heads too!”

Sword aimed at the crown prince, Will walks backward. Reaching Macklin, he gets on the horse and grabs the reins, kicking the beast hard enough for it to sprint. Alexis and Farrah follow in tow.

Macklin looks behind them, tears rolling down his cheeks. “He was already there when we arrived. I wanted to fight him, but I was worried about the pup. I’m already in so much distress.”

“I’m here now, my love. And we have friends on our side…not a lot, but two is more than one.”

“Where are we going…?”

“I don’t know.” Every span of land within Elinlya is under the royal family’s ownership. If they must, they will cross borders and seek asylum. “But I’d die fighting for you. For us.” He looks at the back of Macklin’s head. “Do you promise to never part from me?”

Macklin glares at him over his shoulder. “What the hell are you asking? Of course! I am running away a second time!”

“What if we make it so that if they take you, then they will have to take me too? For if they want you alive, then you must have your reason to be.”

“…That’s all I ever want, Will. You and I, through heaven or hell.”

“Good. Then be mine now. Completely.”

Elinlya hears Macklin’s cry as Will’s fangs sink into his throat, tethering their fates for life.

Fin.