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It’s not that Derek doesn’t trust Stiles – he doesn’t, but that’s not it – but rather that Derek can’t figure out why Stiles is here.
He’s thought about asking Stiles a few times, but they’re never alone, not even just with his closest advisors Being a king? A lot less private than being a prince had been. He’s used to having lots of people around him, but it’s grown significantly since his ascension. He’s only alone in his quarters, and even then there’s always guards outside his door, and regularly Boyd, Erica, Allison, Lydia, or Isaac meet with him for early morning briefings, quick meals, late night meetings.
During the day – the only time he sees Stiles, because well, he doesn’t yet trust him – he’s never surrounded by less than one of his advisors, two courtiers, and three guards.
It comes to a head about two and a half weeks after the arrival of the mage. Everyone has dispersed after dinner in the Great Hall, Derek walking with Allison, Isaac, and Boyd to his left, three guards and Lydia and Erica trailing them, Stiles and Scott to his right, quietly discussing the going-ons of Newoak as they make their way down the hall. He’s not paying attention to his surroundings, and apparently none of them are because suddenly, Kate Argent’s slipping into the hallway followed by a dozen soldiers, swords at the ready.
Within milliseconds Kate’s got Derek in a hold, knife pressed against his neck that, he can tell from the stinging as it begins breaching his skin, is wolfsbane-coated. He sees Allison, Boyd, Erica, Isaac, and Scott reach for their weapons, the guards start reacting, but then it’s slow motion as Stiles steps forward, glowing bright, eyes glazed over.
Kate drops the knife with a dull clatter, Derek spinning around just as it hits the ground and an earsplitting scream from the woman is soon joined by painful cries of all the soldiers behind her. Stiles grabs him, pulling Derek behind himself and the hand that’s not on Derek’s forearm raised, deep purple in color as he slowly closes it.
Kate and her soldiers continue screaming, dropping to the ground one by one and scratching at themselves until Stiles’ hand closes completely, the wailing suddenly turning to silence. Stiles drops his arm back to his side, letting out an audible whoosh of a breath as the entire aura around him fades, and when he looks back at Derek his eyes are that golden brown, again, blinking with wide eyes and Derek –
Derek is in absolute awe, not only at the magnitude of power Stiles obviously harnesses, but also his enormously quick reaction time. He swallows, feeling the slow drip of blood down his neck into his tunic. Stiles reaches out slowly with his free hand, now pale again as his other rests gentler on Derek’s arm, and brushes a finger along the cut on Derek’s neck. He can feel it closing up, the effects of the wolfsbane completely disappearing.
“Boyd,” Lydia’s sharp voice suddenly cuts through the trance they all seem in, and then Erica and Allison are carting Derek off toward the north quarter and his rooms as Boyd starts giving orders for cleaning up the bodies.
It’s later that night as Derek’s in his quarters, Erica looking out the windows as Allison sits near the fireplace, book open in her lap. The rest of the guard beside the four standing outside his door are still searching the palace to make sure no other defectors are hiding in the shadows. Though he’s supposed to be reading an old treaty the Argents had had with the kingdom of Rirainvhir to the north as their representatives will be arriving within the week, he’s instead been going over the events of the evening in his head, watching the flames dance around the ornate hearth.
“Bring me Lord Stilinski, please,” he suddenly says, voice near booming in the echoey, quiet space. Both Erica and Allison look to him, eyebrows raised, and it’s near ten seconds later before Erica nods, heading toward the door. Allison speaks soon after she leaves.
“He finally gain your trust?”
The amusement in her voice Derek knows stems from the fact that she very much trusts and is comfortable with him, and vice versa, and it’s strange until he considers all that they’ve been through together.
“He protected me and this kingdom.”
“And should I dismiss myself?” she asks, though she’s gone back to looking at her book. Derek looks at her, wondering what exactly she’s trying to get at.
“Just because you and your husband are interested in his best friend…” he starts, because he knows she can take as much as she gives. Allison huffs a laugh, closes her book and sets it on the table, rising from the chair and looking at Derek with a grin.
“I think I’ll retire now if that’s alright with you, Your Majesty.”
Derek rolls his eyes and gives her a wave of his hand, looking back down at the treaty in hand as she laughs her way out of his chambers.
It’s just a few minutes later that a voice breaks him out of his careful reading.
“You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?”
Derek doesn’t startle, but does look up quickly, the lack of footsteps he’d heard confusing because he’s a fucking werewolf, he can hear a heartbeat across a crowded room.
“Lord Stilinski,” he greets the man, who offers a slight bow in return. He’s clearly dressed in nightclothes, covered only by the thin robe he’s donned over them, and Derek glances over at his clock, sees exactly how late it actually is.
“I apologize if I took you from your slumber.”
“Not need for apologies, my king. I was reading when Lady Erica summoned me.”
The slight smirk on his face accompanying the unusual address has something Derek hasn’t felt in some time slithering down from his chest into his stomach and he gestures to the chair Allison had voided. Stiles takes it, walking soundlessly over to the furniture.
“Are you so quiet by nature or is something you do on purpose?” Derek asks, unable to stop himself even though that’s not why he was called here. Stiles seems momentarily confused by his question before his expression clears, and he does a graceful sort-of shrug. At the same moment, a sudden heartbeat reaches Derek’s ears, slightly faster than most human’s, and he realizes this is absolutely the first time he’s hearing Stiles’.
“A bit of both, I suppose. Hiding your scent, heartbeat, and footsteps from supernatural creatures can be advantageous in many ways, and I tend to do it without thought at this point.”
Derek nods, and there’s a short lapse of silence before he speaks up again.
“I wanted to personally thank you for what you did tonight. I doubt that any of my party would have been able to take Argent and her army down before she killed me.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Stiles replies, eyes dropping down to Derek’s neck for one second. He’d changed his shirt as soon as they’d gotten back to his quarters, washed up his neck and revealed that, as he’d assumed, absolutely nothing remained. Stiles’ eyes, however, remain there a moment too long.
“Lord Stilinski – ”
“Stiles,” Stiles interrupts, and at Derek’s questioning look continues, “I hate that title, if I’m honest. Just Stiles will do fine.”
Derek resumes.
“You’re obviously very powerful, which has me asking: why are you here?”
It’s Stiles’ turn for a confused expression.
“You could take over kingdoms of your own, to be doing essentially whatever you might want to do with your life, and you’re here. At my court.”
Stiles huffs.
“As much as I seem human, Your Majesty, I’m not. And I didn’t like the previous royal family any more than any of us would. I’m happy with the change in power, and I’m here to help you succeed.”
“That’s all?”
Stiles stares at him a long moment before responding.
“Ask me what you want to ask me.”
So Derek does, except not in the form of a question.
“Come to bed with me.”
“Presumptuous,” Stiles is quick to reply. Derek cocks his head to the side.
“Is that a no?”
And they stare, again, for a good few seconds before Stiles rises, from the chair, untying the robe he’d come in and letting it drop to the floor, only his thin nightclothes left. Derek doesn’t hide the slow appraisal he does, sliding his eyes up Stiles’ body until he reaches his face, a mask of surety, unnerving confidence. Derek lets out what can only be described as a low growl, rising from his own seat and pulling Stiles into a searing kiss, leading him to his bedroom.
Oh, this is going to be fun.