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Derek is tired. It feels like a cliché to say it, but the crown really feels heavy on his head. Heavy to an extent that he’s starting to wonder if his advisers have a point when they start yammering on about him getting married, if nothing else just so he could have a little help handling the realm.
It’s not that he minds the idea of marriage, but he’s a little busy currently making sure the Argents don’t find even the tiniest hole in Beacon’s defenses, because literally everybody and their dog knows they want to invade the minute they get a chance. So there’s not a lot of time to think about dating.
Not that dating is what his advisers have in mind, but Derek is a romantic. He’d rather die single and leave the crown to a named successor than have a loveless marriage for political or procreational reasons. He’s well aware that this is selfish, but literally everything else he’s done in his life has been for the crown and the country.
Even before he knew he’d end up on the throne he’d been fully aware it would be his duty to stand by Laura and work with her to rule the kingdom once she was coronated, so he’d studied and worked alongside her, right up until that devastating fire. He has no doubt it was an attempted coup, but he doesn’t know who did it – though more then likely it was on behalf of the Argents - and frankly, he hasn’t stopped ever since. He was only barely eighteen at the time, but that was enough, and he was crowned in a matter of days. Not even stopping to grieve, he’s spent the past decade building up defenses against the Argents on one side, and holding together collapsing alliances on the other, and he’s just… tired.
He sits back in his chair and rubs his eyes, tossing his pen across the stack of documents he needs to read through before the next council meeting the next morning. There’s a clatter as his manservant Stiles enters, and Derek can’t help but smile. There’s never been a more useless servant in all the realm, Derek is pretty damn sure. But maybe that’s half the reason Derek likes him so much. There’s literally no one like him.
“Brought you some food and ale, your Derek-ness,” Stiles says with his usual level of irreverence, and it’s a breath of fresh air in a royal court filled with either ass-kissing or barely disguised envy wrapped in icy politeness.
Stiles plonks the ale down, spilling a little, because he’s too busy being nosy as usual to watch what he’s doing. “The trading negotiations?” Stiles asks after a glance at the papers, and Derek has to heave a silent relieved sigh that there’s at least one person in his life with nothing at stake in court that he can talk to about this stuff.
“Yeah. They’re brutal. My mother had great relations with the southern isles, and they can’t seem to get into their heads that I can’t offer what she could, and they’re being difficult. I might have to just… cut off the silk trade entirely, because their demands are ridiculous, and I can’t fulfill them without cutting off something more important.” He groans, and reaches for the ale, because he really does need a drink now. “I’m not kidding, they won’t trade unless I let them use the same trade routes as they had before the fire, but...”
“Those go through Argent lands,” Stiles mutters, his neck twisting awkwardly as he tries to read the papers upside down, and damn near drops Derek’s food.
“Just- give me that,” Derek says, reaching for the tray with one hand, and gathering up the papers with the other. Stiles’ face is a mask of disappointment, but only until Derek hands the whole pile over. He can’t read them while he eats anyway.
“What, really?” Stiles says, taking them slowly as if expecting them to be snatched away.
“Why not? You’d read them behind my back anyway.”
“Well, yeah. But servants aren’t supposed to read these things. I do know that.”
Derek huffs, digging into the soft bread and cold cuts. “Kings aren’t supposed to let servants talk to them like peasants in a pub either, yet here we are.”
“Good point,” Stiles says with a grin, and drops down into a chair to read the papers.
It’s nice.
Derek never really had friends outside of his family. He hadn’t really needed them, what with he and Laura being close, and outsiders always presenting a risk. And after he was left all alone he barely had a moment to himself, much less time to cultivate relationships of any kind.
Stiles was a weird coincidence.
Just like Derek he hadn’t planned on his current course in life, originally having joined the court as a page, in the hopes of becoming a knight eventually. But it turned out that he was simply not cut out for it, and ended up doing odd jobs around the place until Derek’s old manservant had to leave to take care of his sick husband. In the hopes of the man coming back eventually, Derek dithered forever getting a replacement, and over time Stiles just happened to take over enough of the duties that now it’s his job. A job he’s terrible at, but Derek wants to keep him anyway. First of all because of times like these, where it feels more like having a friend than a servant, and also because Stiles just amuses the heck out of him. And Derek needs all the lightness he can get in his life.
“God, this is a mess.”
Derek looks up from his meal to find Stiles frowning at what seems to be the middle of the stack, making Derek wonder just how fast Stiles can actually read.
“Yeah. Hence my budding migraine,” Derek says darkly.
“No, I’m serious, who wrote up this crap? These people have been in this business for, like… hundreds of years, right? How has no one considered river transport yet? They could cut more than two weeks of travel off the main route, and probably almost as much on the secondary ones. And look at this!” he leafs back to a previous page, turning it towards Derek so briefly he has zero chance of actually reading anything. “I mean, if I didn’t know any better I’d say these demands are just a way to distract from something else, it’s so ridicu… lous….” he trails off, and Derek catches up just as Stiles starts talking again.
“Holy shit, the silk trade is all Argent! It’s the only thing that makes sense!”
The food turns to ash in Derek’s mouth. “My mother was close with the silk trade back then. She was friends with several trade heads. We… we had some of over them to visit. For months sometimes.”
“They could easily have facilitated the fire. Laid down all the ground work and gotten enough of their own people into court, ready for the signal,” Stiles says, voice thin, and Derek has to squeeze his eyes shut. The old castle is still standing, a burnt out husk at the north end of the capitol. Derek hasn’t had the energy or the resources to try and rebuild it, residing instead in the ancient fort by the river. He also hasn’t socialized outside of the absolutely necessary for almost a decade, and thereby hasn’t given the traitors another chance to insinuate themselves and finish the job. So clearly they’re changing tracks now, providing a distraction by being a massive hassle instead of buddying up.
But Stiles’ theory brings up one major question, and Derek stands up with a screech of his chair that makes Stiles flinch.
“Whu-”
“Come with me,” Derek orders, and then grabs Stiles by the arm when he doesn’t move fast enough.
“Uhh, okay, where are we going?”
“The council chambers.”
“Okay. Why?”
“Because I’ve had advisers reading through these trade negotiations for months now, and you put together the Argent connection in five minutes.”
The council chambers are dark, but Derek has spent hours upon hours in here almost every day of his rule, so he takes Stiles to the map on the wall before bothering with finding light.
“Uhh. Derek? I mean. Sire?”
Stiles’ attempts at politeness are jarring, and speaks to just how uncertain Stiles feels. But considering how many times he’s made unsubtle attempts at reading over Derek’s shoulder during council meetings, Derek is certain that his curiosity will soon take over, so he ignores him in favor of getting them some light. It’s not great, there’s a reason council meetings are usually held during the daytime, because the old fort is dark and damp, and even after lighting both the wall candles and several lanterns, the map on the wall is still partly in shadow. But it’ll have to do.
“Sire?” Stiles asks again, and Derek pulls him over by the shoulders to stand in front of the map.
“Stiles. You figured out the silk traders are a distraction. Now look at this map, and tell me what they’re trying to distract from. Ask me anything. Troop movements, alliance terms, fortifications. Whatever you need.”
Stiles turns around to stare at him as if he’s lost his damn mind, but Derek has spent literally years of his life making sure his borders are safe, and he’s not going to risk missing something now when he literally has a trusted friend pointing out a weak spot. “I’m not supposed to know those things,” Stiles says, but his eyes are already darting to the map.
“If it makes you feel better I’ll make you a lord or something. As long as you tell me where the Argents are trying to get in.”
There’s another moment of staring, and then Stiles turns to the map.
It’s the work of several hours, and by the time daylight starts creeping through the deep-set windows, the old map is criss-crossed with chalk marks, and Stiles has fifteen piles of documents spread all across the long council table.
Derek is feeling dizzy, because not only did Stiles point out the weak spot the Argents are working on, he also went through literally every defensive strategy with a fine-toothed comb, read through all the alliance terms, trade deals, supply lines, and military movements, and eventually came up with a whole new way of running the kingdom. A way that could very well make Beacon the most solid and well-defended nation on the map.
“Stiles, this is...” Derek has to swallow, because if all these fairly minor changes work out the way Stiles predicts, Derek might actually have a chance to breathe. For the first time in what feels like forever. “How do you even know all these things?”
“I break into your records room every night to read everything,” he says, most likely not aware of what he’s saying, as he’s reading intently and making yet more chalk marks. “Oh, and you need to shake up the grain production, you lose like ten percent every year because of poor storage. I think the farmers would be more than happy to make the changes, but they’re constantly trying to make up for the loss, so they can’t get the funds. Whatever you spend on the changes would be made up in maybe two years. Actually, you should make the lords pay for their local area changes, because I dunno if you’ve noticed, but they’re totally been squeezing wealth out of their farmers while you’ve been dealing with the Argents. You should increase their taxes too, because they’re assholes.”
Stunned, Derek stares at him for a second, and then barks out a helpless and slightly hysterical laugh. He’s felt so lost for so long, no one there with him to help him understand and see the big picture. His advisers are all well and good, but they each have their areas and tend to butt heads over details that end up not mattering in the long run. And here’s Stiles, pulling everything together, knowing things no servant should know, and brazenly using his knowledge to make things better. Not just for Derek, but for everyone.
And now that he’s thinking about it, Derek realizes that Stiles has been doing this for ages already. Spilling soup on Derek while reading over his shoulder, and then offering some small suggestion while he’s mopping up. Or stumbling over a chair because he was reading Derek’s papers while trying to sweep the floor, and then muttering useful commentary while rubbing his sore knee. And Derek never even noticed how he took the suggestions unquestionably or how big changes came from those small suggestions.
He trusts Stiles. Trusts him more than anyone else at court, probably more than he’s trusted anyone since his family died, and on the tail end of that thought comes the notion that he could lose Stiles. Lose him to another job or a family crisis or, hell, any random thing that could happen to any servant. Or if Stiles fell in love and got married and left Derek all alone.
That thought is completely unacceptable, and Derek is aware he’s not exactly going about this the right way, but he’s so flustered and worked up over all these realizations that he does what comes to mind first.
“Hey, Stiles… what would change if I got married?”
Stiles doesn’t even look up from the papers. “Hm?”
“If I got married. Would that change any of your plans?”
“Depends on who you married. Could be awesome for politics if you married a foreign ally. And it could help your reputation, which isn’t that great, to be honest.”
“What if I married a commoner?”
“Man, the people would adore it. A real fairy tale. Could give you a big ol’ boost in the eyes of your lowest subjects.”
Derek sits down slowly in the chair next to Stiles, watching his crooked grin as he makes more notations. There’s chalk on his cheek, and Derek reaches out to wipe it off. He leaves his hand there, thumb stroking gently, and Stiles doesn’t even notice.
“What if that commoner was you?”
Stiles snorts so hard the papers flutter. “Oh, man, the court would flip its shit. And if I did end up with that kind of power I can tell you right now that there are at least five dickheads that would be banished immediately.”
“Name them, and it’s done.”
This finally makes Stiles look up, and his face when he realizes Derek’s hand is on his cheek is both beautiful and hilarious, eyes wide as saucers and jaw slowly dropping. “What?”
“Marry me.”
“Are you… you’ve lost your mind!”
“No. If anything I’ve finally come to my senses,” Derek says fondly, letting his eyes take in everything, and wondering why he never thought he could do this before. “I’ve been an idiot. I’ve longed for someone to stand by my side. Someone to help me and guide me. Someone who loves and protects the realm as much as I do. Someone I can cherish and adore. And you’ve been here all along.”
“You… you don’t want me, you want… someone… I dunno! Someone else!” Stiles says, his face cycling through so many emotions Derek can’t keep up. He wants to, though. Wants to properly get to know every single one, not just the snark and the wry grins. Derek wants to know what Stiles looks like happy. In love. Sad. Tired. Jubilant. Sleepy. Hopeful. Sneaky. Teasing. He wants to know it all.
“Someone else isn’t the one I trust with my life. Someone else isn’t the one I don’t know how to do without,” Derek points out, but Stiles still looks mostly shocked and confused. “Unless, of course… you don’t want that?”
It hurts to even say it, but Stiles has a choice. Had it been anyone else Derek would have felt like he was asking an impossible question, because saying no to your king comes with the inevitable risk of displeasing him, and for most servants that prospect is too terrifying to allow them anything but a yes.
But Stiles has never hesitated to order Derek around or say a flat out no to stupid requests, and it’s been a sobering experience, truth be told. Stiles is probably the one person in court who doesn’t care about saying no to Derek, and right this moment that’s more of a blessing than Derek could ever have imagined.
For a long, painful moment Stiles just stares. Stares seemingly into Derek’s soul, and Derek lets him look. Lets him see the sincerity and the fear.
“Lord Matthew,” Stiles says finally, and Derek is confused.
“Excuse me?”
“You said name them. Lord Matthew. Matt. I would prefer a hanging, but banishment and seizing of lands will do, because he’s a rapist and a general douchebag who treats servants like slaves.”
Derek is having a weird mess of emotions, because on the one hand, wow what a dick, but on the other…
“Is… is that a yes?”
A smile is tugging at Stiles’ cheek, but then he turns back to his papers. “Well. I dunno. We’ll have to wait and see if you’ll agree to my terms.”
“Your terms?”
“Yup! Matt and his pals gone from court, my buddy Scott getting a decent position around here, and you’re gonna woo me properly. I know we kinda have to marry right this minute for my protection, but don’t expect me to just give up the goods because you slap a ring on it, Sire. And speaking of which, start thinking about a plan for your successor, because I can’t give you biological children, sorry.”
All through rattling off his list Stiles’ smile only gets bigger, and Derek can’t help but want to kiss it. So he does. And despite his request to be wooed, it turns out Stiles doesn’t mind.
End.