Chapter Text
When they first meet, Dean doesn't think much of Castiel.
They're standing in the gardens of the palace and he's not impressed.
Not that it matters. He's not here to fall in love and have some kind of fairy tale ending-- he's here because his father, looking defeated, pulled him aside one night and told him he needed his help. See, they owed money. A lot of money. After their mother died, John had turned to alcohol for a while. Not enough to drive them to ruin, but when he'd snapped himself out of it after one too many nights losing himself to his grief, he'd suddenly been faced with the consequences of his actions. Sammy was getting older and showing such promise, he'd been invited to attend a special academy normally only reserved for nobility. And how could John say no? Sam was so bright and he was so hopeful about the idea -- it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, only even a possibility because John was good friends with the king, who had asked the academy to make an exception for his good friend's son.
But they couldn't afford it. Not on a measly blacksmith's salary.
So he'd gone to the wrong sort of people. The kind who you don't want to owe money to. And he'd basically sold them his soul.
"I wouldn't ask this of you if they would only come for me," He'd told his eldest, hand gripping his shoulder in a grip tight enough to hurt, but Dean could hardly hear it through the blood pumping through his ears, a sound so loud he could barely hear the rest of his father's words, "But they threatened Sam, Dean. They threatened to kill him. I thought I'd be able to settle the debt by myself, but they keep on adding more and more interests. If we don't pay it off now..." He sounded so pained, so frustrated at being unable to solve this by himself.
The words were out of Dean's lips before he'd fully registered them, "What do you need me to do?"
---
So that's how Dean ends up here, standing next to a near stranger in front of an altar. His name is Castiel, and he is king Charles' youngest son, the only omega in a long line of alphas and betas. Dean doesn't know all the details, but he does know that the boy only turned 17 a few weeks ago, and it was only then that his true nature had been revealed. A late bloomer, they had said.
It was almost unthinkable in their kingdom for an omega to remain unmarried past his fourteenth birthday, so his father had obviously, out of concern for his youngest, set about trying to find him a good mate. But no matter how many alphas he'd been introduced to, both princes and commoners, older and younger and gentle and rough, the prince had remained unimpressed. Which, admittedly, does make Dean wonder why he was chosen in the end.
Not that it matters. He's here for Sam, for his family. And as long as that dowry serves to settle his father's debt, that's all the cares about.
Nothing else matters.
---
Getting used to living with Castiel is odd at first. The boy is not shy per se, but he's quiet, and sometimes Dean will catch him watching him from across the room, and well -- that's just a little bit creepy. But he won't look away right away when Dean catches him staring -- almost as if he doesn't know he's not supposed to.
Seriously. Princes.
But overall, it's all going better than Dean expected. He was surprised, but the house that Castiel asked his father for is... well, rather simple. Almost cozy. Castiel has the bigger room, clearly the master bedroom they were meant to use together, but the very first thing he'd told Dean on their wedding night had been that he should feel under no obligation to share his bed -- that he'd thought Dean would want his privacy and arranged for Dean to stay in the room next door, if that was what he'd prefer.
Dean had been surprised, but also thankful, glad that he wouldn't be forced to 'perform' like some kind of kept breeding pet. Not that he knew what Castiel's plans were when it came to children, but hey. It's what he'd been expecting. Weren't princes supposed to care about having children and whatnot?
But so far, Dean's life has remained mostly unchanged. He's still allowed to help his father at the smithy, still allowed to visit his brother and go about his life. The only thing that's changed is that now there's a ring on his finger and he comes home to a different place.
It's... surprisingly okay, all things considered.
---
"What are you reading?"
Dean's leaning against the entrance to the library, which is basically Castiel's lair -- his husband (and isn't that a weird thought to have?) spends so much time in here, Dean wouldn't be surprised if he'd one day find his mattress dragged in here too, not even caring to try to pretend he wants to be anywhere else anymore.
Cas (as Dean's taken to calling him in his head -- shut up, 'Castiel' is a freaking tongue twister) jumps a little at the interruption and seems a little flustered from where he's curled up on his favorite armchair, shoes abandoned on the floor, "Dean! You're home early." He tries to straighten up and look a little less undignified; not that Dean minds. It made for kind of an adorable picture, okay? Cas will nibble on his lower lip when he's reading and his brow will furrow when there's something he doesn't understand, and occasionally he'll repeat a word he's just read in a mumble, trying out the shape of the sound in his lips -- and okay, what, so Dean's been paying a little more attention these days, okay? He realized one day that he'd actively been avoiding his husband since their marriage (okay, so it was Sam who made him notice when he asked about Castiel's personality and Dean had no answers for him) and considering how nice Cas has been about the whole deal, well, Dean is trying to get to know him a little better. Which apparently requires a little bit of staring. Sometimes.
Dean clears his throat and comes in, leaning against the back of Cas' chair to look over his shoulder. He's a little surprised when he catches a whiff of cinnamon and something woodsy -- nothing too strong, just the faintest of scents. It's not unpleasant. Maybe Cas put on some kind of cologne? "Is that--" His thoughts get interrupted when his eyes finally focus on the pages in front of him and he laughs, "Cas, are you reading a fairy tale?"
Castiel turns a little red in the face, pointedly holding his book closer -- almost protectively, "We were always forbidden from reading them in the castle. If a book was not about History or Politics, it was off limits. The younger servants were always whispering about them, so I always wondered--" He pauses, looking down at the book in his arms, "I find them relaxing."
"Rebelling in your own way now that you're away from home. Way to go, Cas." Dean can't help his grin, leaning a bit closer, "I bet waiting for prince charming sounds a lot better than marrying someone against your will, in any case."
Cas' eyes lose focus for a moment, almost as if he's gone somewhere else, and then he shakes his head sharply and colors a deeper red, pointedly looking at his book, "It wasn't an imposition." His voice is soft, but it becomes stronger as he takes a deep breath and meets Dean's eyes, "When father asked whether there was no one in this realm who I'd be willing to marry, I said he was wrong. I told him I'd marry the blacksmith's eldest son -- I was just answering his question. I didn't think he would make it happen." Cas is up and out of his chair before Dean can recover from that revelation, his back to him as he pauses at the door, "I'm sorry you were forced into this marriage, Dean."
And then he's gone.
And with him, the smell of cinnamon and wood.
---
It's been a week since their conversation and what's worrying is that normally Dean should have run into Castiel by now, but he's yet to see hide nor hair of him. And okay, maybe he still doesn't know what to say after Cas'... semi-confession, but he's still a little worried, okay? Is the omega avoiding him? What's even weirder is that his meals have started tasting different, slightly off, not that Dean can detect any significant difference in the menu, and his mind is so troubled by all of this, he almost doesn't stop in time to avoid a full-front collision with a servant girl exiting the kitchen, carrying a tray full of food.
"Shit! Oh, hey, Claire, sorry about that, didn't see you there." Claire dismisses his apologies with a smile and Dean finally takes notice of the tray, a frown coming to his face, "Wait, is that for Cas? Is he sick? I haven't seen him all week."
"Prince Castiel has been staying in his room for the past few days so he asked me to cook your meals and bring his food to him upstairs," Claire pauses and gives him a look, as if she's thinking carefully of her answer, before seeming to make up her mind and continuing, "It's the fourth week of the month. He's in heat."
"Oh," And well, Dean's just standing there like an idiot, feeling a blush color his face as he connects the dots in his mind, "I mean, I see. I." But wait. "Wait." Something doesn't add up -- he frowns, "Did you say he asked you to cook my meals?"
Claire blinks and lifts an eyebrow at him, and Dean kinda likes her, because she's one of the few maids who's not afraid to look at him like he's an idiot when he's asking stupid questions, "Well, yes. Normally, he insists on cooking all your meals. When you are at the smithy, he usually spends time in the castle, getting cooking lessons from the head chef."
And. Well. Damn. Some of the best burgers he's eaten in his life, and he never knew that was his husband making them for him. His very much royalty husband cooking for him. Well, Dean feels like an idiot alright. "Oh. Um," He shakes his head sharply, "Look, here. I'll take it up to him." He takes the tray from Claire, who doesn't look too convinced by his offer, "Hey, it'll be fine. He won't mind." At least Dean hopes so.
In the end, Dean dismisses her awkwardly (he's still bad at that) with a thank you and starts the slow trek up the stairs, pausing outside Cas' room and shifting the tray to one hand so he can knock on the door, "Hey, Cas? I brought you dinner."
It's suddenly unnaturally silent on the other side of the door and Dean starts wondering if maybe he should have just let Claire bring Cas his food, but then there's the sound of soft padding and Cas' door props open a bit. Cas leans against it, wearing an oversized shirt that exposes a bony shoulder through the wide collar (and Dean is pointedly not looking, nope) and he looks exhausted, eyes dilated and his face flushed and too warm and his hair a sweaty mess, and, god, but that sweet smell is stronger than ever, incredibly alluring and woodsy and smelling a little bit like the freshly baked pies he remembers his mother making before she died.
"Hello, Dean." His voice is rougher and deeper than ever, and, whoa, okay, not the best moment to get inappropriately aroused, Dean, what are you doing. You're just here to bring him food.
"Um," Dean brings the tray up between them almost like a shield, poking Castiel in the chest with it in the process, "Yeah, food. You need to eat."
Cas gives him a tired smile and takes the tray, giving the food a cursory glance before returning his eyes to Dean, "Thank you."
"Yeah."
They both stand there for a long moment, simply staring at each other, and Dean's having a hard time keeping his arousal in check, but god, he could spend hours looking at him like this, and possibly with no clothes included. Yeah, that'd be better, then he could lick him all over and---
"Dean." Cas is calling his name, and from the sound of it, it seems like he's been trying to get his attention for a minute now. Dean shakes his head and finally listens, "Dean, I really should... go back inside." Cas' breathing is getting faster and he's probably having a hot flash, so uh, yeah. Dean should probably let him go before they both do something they'll regret.
"Uh, yeah. I'll. Yeah. I'll be downstairs -- if you need anything, I mean. That came out wrong. Erm, not that I'm-- Uh." God, he feels like a fumbling teenager and he's older than Cas -- he should be smoother, not completely awkward.
Cas smiles at him, and that lovely scent becomes stronger, making Dean's heart beat faster, his heart sprinting in his chest, "We'll talk in a few days."
"Yeah."
It seems like Dean's vocabulary is currently comprised of nothing but idiotic sounding grunts, so he just goes quiet again, and they stare at each other for a moment longer before they both realize what they're doing and laugh sheepishly at their own idiocy, Dean shaking his head and Cas giving him a small smile and a final 'Bye, Dean' before closing the door.
Dean feels like he's walking on air as he makes his way back downstairs, still chuckling to himself as he goes back to the kitchen.
Claire is standing by the stove, preparing his own lunch, and he pauses on his way to get a glass of water, giving the girl a considering glance.
"Hey, Claire."
"Yes, lord Winchester?"
"Have you ever..." Dean hesitates here, but then forces himself to continue, "Say you met someone, and well, when you first met them, they didn't have a scent." He reaches for a glass of water, just for something to do with his hands, "And then, as time passed, and you got to know them, you started to notice... well, their scent. And it was really, really pleasant."
"Well, lord Winchester..."
"It's Dean. I've told you a million times."
"Not gonna happen. So as I was saying, Lord Winchester, if that were to happen to me." Claire pauses in her cooking to give Dean a knowing glance, before resuming her task, "I would consider myself quite lucky."
Dean stops mid-drink to glance at her, "You would?"
"Well, of course." Claire turns off the stove and moves to collect a plate, "Because that is how all the stories describe meeting one's lifemate."
That gets a snort from him, "Those are nothing but fairy tales."
"I wouldn't be so sure." Claire smiles as she goes on to serve his lunch, setting his plate down on the small kitchen table he preferred to take his lunches at, "After all, that's how Prince Castiel said he realized he was in love with you." And before Dean can even think of a reply, she is gone with a final, "Have a good lunch, lord Winchester."
Holy shit.
Cas is in love with him?
But, well, somehow, if he's being honest... the prospect doesn't seem that scary anymore.
Dean lets himself drop on his chair heavily, his body unable to hold him up anymore, and his eyes drift upwards, in the direction of his husband's room.
He'll wait until Cas' heat is over. He'll wait until they are both themselves, and then they'll figure this out. Together.
A tiny speck of hope flutters in his chest.
And then maybe... well, just maybe, they won't be needing a second bedroom for Dean anymore.