Archive of Our Own

“I’ll see you next month.”

“Next month.” The word lingered between the two of them before he said it again. “Yes, next month.”

She lowered her head, and her fascinator covered her eyes. However, he still saw the slight downturn of her lips. The situation didn’t merit anything more—no tears or solemn goodbyes. The next month would come and go, and they’d see each other again, next time in Brodia, afterward in Elusia; they’d cycle between one Kingdom, then the other until their guise to meet one another had concluded—no treaties to be discussed or recovery efforts to be divided between countries. There’d be peace and a day to come in which their only reason to meet would be reflecting on olden tales: their journey with the Divine Dragon to defeat Lord Sombron and their efforts to end the decades-long war between their countries. Neither dwelled on that future day, though, years away.

For now, they’d continue meeting, three consecutive days every month, as they had for the past two years.

He spoke up. “Come to Brodia the week of the equinox.”

“That’s over a month.” She paused, then added, “Forty days.”

“It’ll be worth it. Haven’t I told you before? It’s the week of Brodia’s annual tournament, held every spring equinox. There will also be a feast and other festivities.”

She lifted her head. “Perhaps in passing last year.” Then she teased, “So you’ll be fighting?—that’s the only way it could possibly make up for those ten extra days.”

He did not fluster at her schemes and did not stutter when he spoke. He’d learned better after failing to realize many of her jokes before. “No, I can’t, and I’m sure Brodia’s citizens would bore if I participated. But. . .”

“But?”

He stepped forward and tightened her cloak’s fur collar. “When you leave that week, let me come with you and stay in Elusia for a week—an early birthday celebration.”

“An entire week together. That sounds nice. Your kingdom, though, and Brodia’s court—”

“Alcryst can manage, and Citrinne will also be by his side. Plus, if last year’s anything to go by, the nobles should be busy that week, competing to see who can offer me the nicest gift. I’m sure of it. But if the court fusses, I’ll say it’s a trip for me to help understand Brodia’s future ally.”

Even as he justified his admittedly selfish decision, he spoke candidly, “It is important to understand one another, and time in your country is a part of that process.”

She chuckled. “Then, when the time comes, I will ensure Elusia’s court is quiet, too.”

He stepped forward and closed the remaining sliver between them. He then wrapped his arms around her waist, underneath her cloak, and as he spoke, his head fell into her fur collar. Locks of hair brushed against his skin, and the silk fabric of her dress scrunched beneath his fingers. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to, more so for your birthday.”

“Still. Don’t worry too much. I won’t get erratic if one or two of the former consorts slight me, especially once they hear I'll stay for a week. Besides, I. . .” He wavered—I allowed my father to bestow atrocities upon Eluisa—then finished his sentence, “They are justified.”

Ivy did not contend otherwise, even if she could—and he knew she could—imagine what he would’ve said if he’d spoken more freely. They’d discussed his unmerited apologies many times before, long debates within the quiet corners of each castle, at night away from prying eyes, surrounded by candles’ orange glow, once after King Hyacinth’s favorite consort had thrown her drink in his face, then screamed and shouted at him for several minutes—that was the first time he’d come to Elusia and had tea with several members of its royal court—another time after he’d witnessed one of the villages formerly raided by Brodia’s troops. In these discussions, he’d bear his kingdom’s sin before her, despite them being, at those times, just Ivy and Diamant, not Queen of Elusia and King of Brodia.

There was no reason to sour his departure, so Ivy remained quiet this time, standing still while he held her until a harsh wind tore across the open field. It dragged snow across their boots and whipped the velvet fabric of their cloaks into the air, even Ivy’s hair and necklace. He shivered—she was seemingly unaffected—and again, she laughed.

“When you come next time, it shouldn’t be as cold.”

“I hope so.”

Despite the harsh wind and cold numbing him, he held onto her for a minute more with his head still resting aside the curve of her neck.

A cool scent with hints of spice. Still soft, though. Like a meadow beneath melting snow.

She was an Alpha—him, too—but her scent did not irritate him, barring their time as enemies. It didn’t make him scrunch his nose in disgust, much less recoil like how Citrinne’s brothers’ or the court-Alphas’ scents sometimes could, even Alfred’s on occasion. Naturally, Ivy could smell his, too. But she didn’t comment on it and usually wouldn’t. Only once had she mentioned that she formerly loathed his pheromones; she’d described them as musky at the time. It seemingly no longer held true. Not for a while.

He never questioned how she would describe them now, and like all Alphas and Omegas, he could not smell his own pheromones.

For Ivy, it was a funny thing.

Something she couldn’t have imagined amid the war.

Certainly not when they crossed paths at Brodia’s castle.

She’d realized it after the ninth time they met; Diamant’s scent had slowly changed. The first time she smelled his pheromones, the scent had carried his grief and anger—most unpleasant, not dissimilar to burning wood and smoke. Later, she discovered his normal scent, heavy with notes of sandalwood and cinnamon. As he held her today, though, she smelled something different. His scent no longer carried cinnamon hints, instead replaced by a creamy vanilla, and the notes of sandalwood, while still there, had turned to something closer to teakwood. It was cooler, and she would’ve liked to believe if those who had described her scent did not lie—her retainers and Hortenisa who she trusted, among others—Diamant carried hints of her scent. But maybe that was merely wishful thinking.

Diamant pulled away and lingered for several seconds before he eventually bid his final goodbye and hopped onto his horse. As the horse began its trot, he glanced backward at her one last time. Then, when the horse galloped, he became nothing more than a speck in the distance.

Forty days.

It was a long time. Her heart stirred; the court would keep her busy.

And when she’d see Diamant again, it would be Spring in Brodia.

Diamant would ditch the heavy coats, excessive furs, and dark fabrics and instead replace his winter wardrobe with light-colored uniforms, cream-colored shirts: outfits with touches of maroon and golden cords; they’d contrast his hair, highlight his eyes, and he’d be all the more dashing.

After his early morning training, he’d spend many of his late mornings, nine to noon, speaking to Brodia’s commoners, sometimes outside the castle’s gates, but most often in the nearest churches. As King, he had to understand his people. So he tried to interact with them as often as he could.

However, today, he could not.

It was early March: a particularly nice day, moderate weather and clear skies. No courtier had vied for his attention after his training, and he didn't have any pressing duties to complete. But—

He sunk deeper into the tub—into the water that smelled like lavender. Two young tweenies had filled the tub, and the older one had nearly insisted on adding lavender. Your Majesty, would you like lavender oil added to your bath?—you really should; it helps with insomnia, so I’ve heard. It was only one of many questions-but-not-questions until she had diluted lavender oil with carrier oil and added the mix to the water. The castle’s staff were aware of his affairs, so when he was within the castle rather than elsewhere and told the chambermaid to have her apprentices prepare a bath, the natural question would be: is something wrong, your Majesty?

He’d lied.

It likely led to the lavender.

Though, truthfully, it was only a partial lie.

He'd explained to the chambermaid before she asked the inevitable question that his morning training had tired him after a poor night’s sleep. He’d concluded he merely needed rest before council in the afternoon. The chambermaid had bowed and did as asked, but not without telling the young tweenies why he was bathing at such an unusual time.

He lifted the wet rag laid atop his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Then a few minutes had passed, and the room was too bright, his head hurt, and an uncomfortable warmth had spread across it again. He glanced at the scar on his left arm before he closed his eyes and returned the rag to its rightful place. It cooled his head.

Thank goodness for the young tweenies. They’d been easy to please with bribery.

As they’d prepared the bath, he had waited aside in nothing more than a thin robe. But his body had burned, so he asked for a favor: a wet rag dipped in a solution of water, clove oil, and peppermint oil.

Peppermint oil?—the older girl had asked, then shook her head. Are you mistaken, your Majesty? I don’t mean to question you, but peppermint oil can cause skin irritation. She’d gone quiet afterward. He confessed right away that he felt feverish, then made his pledge: if they kept secret about his ailment and fulfilled the easy favor, he’d teach them how to wield an arming sword—at a later time, of course. It had brightened the younger’s eyes, and she had reassured him twofold no one would learn of his ailment while the older had left and gathered the materials.

Once the older returned, she'd handed him the wet rag and spoke for both her and the younger girl when she’d bowed, thanking him for his generosity and wishing him a swift recovery.

He hoped so, too.

He’d hold council and return to his chambers, rest for the day, and be better in the morning. No one—other than the girls—would know of his ailment. That was his plan.

And yet.

The clicking of shoes did not rouse Diamant. He slept, unaware of Alcryst’s predicament as he tip-toed across the room with his brow furrowed and a deep frown etched into his face.

Alcryst at first called his name, but it was futile. He did not wake—not until Alcryst tapped him on the shoulder. Even then, he remained dazed until he sat upright, and the rag slid down his face before dropping into the water with a faint splash.

“I’m sorry for waking you so suddenly. Everyone will soon be waiting for you in the grand hall. So please understand!”

“Ah.”

Alcryst bowed his head. “I’ll go now so you can get ready!”

Before he could compose himself and ask for the time, Alcryst had hurried halfway across the room. However, right before the doors, he slowed and then stopped. When Alcryst remained still, he uttered his name and asked if something was amiss.

Alcryst turned toward him, his head lowered. “You. . . I don’t mean to be ruder than I already have, but you smell weird.” He then looked upward into his eyes, and his voice became firm. “You don’t plan to hold council while in rut, do you?”

“I wouldn’t.” He said and then paused, “My next rut shouldn’t be until May, and I don’t feel agitated or uneasy. But does it smell like that?”

“No. I wouldn’t say it does. But,” Alcryst shifted side to side before he put his hand on his chin, “your scent’s heavy—overwhelming. It’s off—almost like someone else’s. You didn’t accidentally mate with someone. Or. . . did you?”

“No! Of course not! Brodia, even now, is hardly ready for change, much less a new Queen.”

“I shouldn’t have doubted you. I’m—”

He interrupted before another apology, “You’re fine, Alcryst. Thanks for telling me. I’ll ask Citrinne what she thinks once council’s over.”

Alcryst nodded before he left, and once out of the room, a minute afterward, he’d realized he’d never asked Alcryst for the time.

He sighed, long and exasperated, then stood, stepped out of the tub, and whisked on his robe. He’d forgotten: partly because of his pounding head and partly because of Alcryst’s comment about his scent. As he passed the mirror, he stopped and examined his reflection. Like someone else’s? He didn’t believe his brother would mistake the lavender oil for his scent, and if he assumed correctly, the council would soon start; the oil’s scent should’ve dissipated if that was true. He leaned closer and prodded at his cheek. A little flush—it was likely the fever.

He pulled back. There was no time for scrutinizing and worrying when a-most-difficult battle loomed, one of the tongue—of backstabbing and paltering. There’d be endless arguments under the crystalline chandeliers and high vaulted ceilings of the grand hall: funds, territories, infighting, festival planning; noble ladies covering their cherry lips with paper fans while dripping in the spoils of war, prizes of his father’s legacy—silk dresses, necklaces and bangles—and the men in tight cravats, especially the olden ones and his father’s closest associates, no different, hiding behind smiles and back-stabbing compliments. He’d keep the peace with a sword at his side. Hopefully, they’d get somewhere today. Likely not.

In the eyes of many nobles, at least half the court, he’d tarnished his father’s legacy and sullied his reputation, no longer the former perfect prince of Brodia instead, as King, foolish and soft.

You fought with Elusia’s people to defeat Sombron; it was every Kingdom’s interest to work together with the Divine Dragon at the time. Now that the Elyos’s biggest threat is gone, what makes you think Elusia won’t point their blades at us?—blood for blood?

Elusia’s people had been ravaged by Sombron. He pointed out many times Elusia did not have the resources to attack Brodia—not that Ivy ever would.

He trusted her with his everything.

But every so often, even two years later, one noble or another mentioned the matter.

Council drawled. They focussed on the logistics of the upcoming spring festival, feast, and annual torment. He listened to the discussions, men pointing at men as they barked at one another, answered questions, gave his solutions—more chatter, more speaking. It was back and forth for two hours as his fever worsened.

Diamant adjourned the meeting after two and a half hours.

The end was dull. Diamant clarified he'd need time to consider the council’s many propositions and assured the nobles he'd assess the clerk’s transcript and notes before the next meeting. Then he’d stood from the throne and strode out the double doors at the hall's opposite end.

There were whispers after his departure as nobles lingered, some wishing they’d had the chance to speak longer, though the next council would soon arrive, and others, mostly Alphas, debating what they’d smelled as the King had passed them on his way out.

Diamant had gone straight to his chambers, though not without delay. He’d stopped in the halls and sent one of the idling servants to fetch Citrinne. She eventually arrived, bolting through the doors as her heels clacked against the floor. She’d called his name and asked why he would adjourn the meeting, and when he did not answer, she told him the nobles were confused, gossiping, naturally. He half-listened and said his yes’s and I-knows.

Then she stood before him, and he raised his head, “What do I smell like?”

She put her hands on her hips. Her mouth went ajar, her face awry. “Huh!? That’s not—”

Then she froze, and while she remained silent, he said, “Alcryst told me I smelled weird, and—ah, don’t tell anyone, but I haven’t felt well since this morning. If you must know, that’s why I adjourned the meeting.”

“I—yes, I did want to know. But Diamant.” She gazed at him, her eyes stern, “You.” She pressed her lip into a thin line. “You didn’t sleep with an Omega in heat recently? Please, for goodness sake, tell me you didn’t. And don’t tell me you mated with someone.”

“No, I didn’t. Alcryst accused me of something similar. Why? Are you saying. . .”

“That you smell like an Omega?—yes, I am.”

He stared at her. He opened his mouth, but his tongue found no words.

“If you haven’t slept with anyone—ah, never mind. It's not possible. Not for you. I’ve heard tales of people who believed they were Betas until presenting as Alphas or Omegas within their late teens or twenties. But you've gone into rut once every year since you’ve reached thirteen, haven’t you?”

“Yes. I presented a month after my thirteenth birthday and had my first rut.”

“You said you felt unwell.”

“I do.” He pushed back his bangs, “I thought I’d die on that throne, sweltering in my clothes. Even now. This fever is hellish.”

“A fever. . . your scent. . .”

Citrinne bent forward. Her earrings jangled, and her eyes flitted back and forth before settling on him far-too-many seconds later. Her voice was soft, no louder than a whisper. Her declaration came and went no different than a leaf dragged by the wind; he’d nearly laughed. You’re in heat. That made no sense. Worstly, Citrinne was serious: the twist of her mouth, the slight wrinkle in her brow, and her narrow eyes, every piece worn no differently than when she would deal with pestering nobles, pushing her to be his messenger.

His shoulders slumped. He looked down past his legs at the old wood floor, tracing the knots and following the scratches.

She really thought, even if it sounded dubious—

“I’m in heat.”

“Not yet. I should’ve been clear. But,” Citrinne placed her hand on his thigh. “Oh, Diamant. I’ve been through them countless times. I’ll help you get through this.”

His gaze remained on the floor. “Are you sure?—positive I’m. . .”

He didn’t repeat the ludicrous word. Not that it was a bad word. It was just. Wrong. He was an Alpha all his life; it’d been a fact, no different than the ocean being blue—something his father always intuitively knew even before he presented. And when his first rut had come, Morion hadn’t batted an eye, much less celebrated (not unlike when Alcryst presented as an Alpha).

“Well, no. I think so. The answer should be clear within a few hours. In the meantime, I will inform Alcryst and ensure he delivers the news to the council of your unavailability. The castle staff also need to be informed. Then I’ll return with some pillows and blankets.”

“Pillows and blankets.”

“Most Omegas nest, myself included. Trust me. You’ll want them.”

He finally lifted his head and looked at Citrinne. “So, I really do smell like an Omega?”

“Yes—one about to enter heat. And that fever of yours, it’s something all Omegas must deal with while in heat. As I said, I’ll help you through it. It’ll be fine.”

Nothing could be done about the situation now, and the how-did-this-happen or why-did-this-happen could be solved later. Answers or explanations would not help him endure the coming days. He’d have to face the situation head-on with tact, no differently than a battle.

However, “Please, I know you’re Alcryst’s retainer and friend, but don’t tell him any details. Not yet. Tell him I’m in rut.”

“I understand. But you will—”

“Yes. When I have the palace’s physician do an examination, I allow him to be present. He should know.”

She nodded then stood, and before she left, she said she’d return as soon as possible. He told her not to rush; he wouldn’t die.

When the door shut, he finally undid his shirt’s buttons, tugging brashly as his finger’s fumbled with each. Once he’d finished, he laid down, fixed the pillows, and tried to rest. He’d managed an hour of sleep. Afterward, his efforts bore nothing. He tossed and turned as he sweated in the sheets, and his lower stomach welled with a troublesome feeling. Need. It was a tingling sensation, longing and horniness mixed into one, and when another hour passed, he sat upright and dealt with his erection (it did not help in the long term). Citrinne arrived shortly after that with a quilt and pillow, and she gave him two small pills, retrieved from her pocket, to hopefully quicken his heat. However, she was unsure if they’d work for him, considering their difference in build; he took them regardless.

By the evening, Citrinne was certain Diamant was in heat.

In hindsight, the first night was not terrible, certainly when compared to the second day. He managed to get bursts of sleep through the night, but they all brought dreams.

In the last dream, the most vivid, he laid on his bed, back to the mattress. The room was bright. When his vision had focused, she came into view. The light had filtered through her hair, bounced off her shoulders, and made her skin and hair glow. She had brushed a hair strand dangling in front of her left eye behind her ear, and with her other hand, she pressed against his chest before descending toward him. She wore the necklace he gave her—as she always did—and a satin slip lingerie dress, simple yet elegant with lace across the hem. White. Not black. She’d looked divine even when the left strap drooped from her shoulder, and he’d slid his thumb under the other. But then he’d awoken—right as she whispered his name, one syllable so sultry. It shouldn’t have been. Even though many greeted and addressed him with Your Majesty since ascending the throne, his close allies still used his name: Alcryst, Citrinne, Lapis, Amber, Jade, Saphir, Yunaka; they all used Diamant, sometimes King Diamant. But when she said his name, never adding the descriptor King, it became an aria—seemed to, at least: every syllable drawn just a bit longer, each intonation soft and airy.

Consciousness had stolen the opportunity for more arias. If she could’ve said more, he would’ve listened.

Instead, he awoke to a bed that frustrated him. It lacked her scent. He’d whined before rearranging the sheets and pillows, then scraping his work and doing it all again much to Citrinne’s amusement. She had offered to gather more blankets afterward.

The morning eventually passed, and the afternoon arrived, then the next day.

His lucidity waxed and waned.

He remained much the same till the third day when he began to improve, and by the fourth, he was eager to hop out of bed, pick up a sword or axe—any weapon that would slot nicely in the palm of his hand, around his calloused fingers, something weighty and large—and if that was too much, he would’ve even practiced ballroom dancing: anything to move his stiff joints.

That didn’t happen, though. The castle’s physician arrived the morning of the fourth day with an old leather briefcase and an unlovely frown that creased his forehead.

The physician prodded at his nape and grunted. Citrinne and Alcryst watched from across the room. Alcryst’s gaze mostly remained on his feet, but now and again, he’d look up at him, then Citrinne, and afterward, his gaze would dart around the room before landing on his feet again.

The physician was a Beta—a man his father trusted to conduct his check-ups while he’d been alive. His hair was graying, his hands bony and bumpy. Thankfully, he couldn’t smell his pheromones. He’d questioned, though; it was his job. How did you feel?—how would you compare your recent experience to your normal ruts?—where did you experience discomfort?—and many more questions that incrementally became more sexual. When the physician asked if he had “produced any slick” he’d stuttered when answering.

Eventually, the physician asked, “Is there an Alpha you’ve loved for a long time?”

He remained silent, then Citrinne spoke up. “I’ve never seen you ogle someone, much less fumble around like a love-stricken fool. Wouldn’t you agree, Alcryst?”

“I mean. . . Diamant never fumbles. I think that’s true even if he loves someone,” Alcryst turned toward him, “You always keep everything to yourself.”

Citrinne then said, “So, who is it?”

“A woman.” He said.

Citrinne huffed. “Out with it.”

The physician sighed and said, “As a humble servant, I do not need to know whom, but whoever it is, you must love them dearly. This incident is rare. There are less than ten recorded cases and only one book on the subject. I didn’t think I’d ever see an Alpha become an Omega or vice versa. To think,” his voice faltered, “our King. . .”

“You don’t need to fret.” He said, “Alpha or Omega—it may be hard to believe that my body has remolded itself, but I am still me.”

“Of course. But your Majesty, you are—I don’t mean this rudely—getting old for child-bearing. The former Queen had you in her early twenties and your brother as she approached her thirties. You’ll be twenty-eight next month. As an Omega now, you must conceive the Kingdom’s heirs, and a monarch often has many children. Perhaps, it’d be best if you hand your title—”

Aclryst stepped forward. “Diamant is still capable of being King, much more than I am. That position is his and his alone.”

“Forgive me, Lord Alcryst. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just if war would come and he’d be—”

“And why would war come?” Alcryst asked.

His brother’s voice was clear and well-articulated. The unexpected bravado delighted and amused him, so he did not interrupt. Citrinne bore a slight smile, too.

Alcryst continued, “Elusia is not a country of war-mongers; Brodia were the perpetrators in the past. Always been. Morion forced their hand, but Diamant will bring peace between our countries. So tell me: why would there be war?”

There was silence before the physician answered. “I’m not only concerned about war; it is a worst-case scenario. What about the royal court—what will they think? Will they still see his Majesty as the rightful heir to the throne? Most, if not all, of Brodia's rulers have been Alphas.”

“Diamant has already demonstrated he is more than capable. If—and that’s if—he struggles to handle his duties in the future, I will support him, just as I've upheld my promise to keep him safe. Surely, his future Queen will support him, too.”

Citrinne jumped in, “And the court always grumbles.”

“Thank you, Alcryst—Citrinne. That’s enough.” He turned to the physician, “I know the situation isn’t ideal. However, I would still like you to assist me.”

The physician bowed his head, “Naturally, your Majesty. I only wished to remind you of the various possibilities. Though I do implore you, you should make the necessary preparations to have a proper heir soon. But we can discuss children at a later date. Firstly—” The physician explained various necessities: bonding, heats, pheromones, medication, etcetera. His mouth flapped, and his hands followed, bobbing up and down as if the motion would enrich his points. Their discussion continued after breakfast downstairs ended, and the click-clacking of shoes began to resound in the halls as servants switched from their morning tasks to their midday ones. The physician finished not long afterward. It was due timing. His stomach had grumbled and implored the physician to the door, a bid farewell so he could eat his first proper meal after days of porridge and bland toast.

Citrinne and Alcryst should’ve said their farewells, too. However, neither did.

Once the door closed, the two remained still. Then a moment passed, and Citrinne said, “Now. Will you tell us? I’m sure you’ve wished to marry your secret mistress and make her your Queen for a long time. Whatever predicament is ailing you, we will help. But we need to know who. We are speaking about Brodia's future.”

“I agree,” Alcryst said, “I want to help. You deserve happiness, Diamant, and this person—she must bring you that in some way, seeing that. . . that,” his voice dropped a decibel, “well, your body has remolded itself for her.”

He looked at his hands atop the mattress. They had several scars. He’d received a gash on the front of his left hand during the battle that had delivered him his first medallion from Morion. Thereafter, he fought many more battles in Elusia.

It couldn’t be her. It could never be her. “I might love her, but she can’t be my Queen.”

“Diamant,” Citrinne said, “we are trying to help! You need to explain.”

His gaze remained on his hands. “She’s an important person. But the court would never condone it. And the people?—I think they’d loathe her even more. A kingdom’s Queen must enrapture and hold the people’s hearts, commoners and nobles alike. My body may have remolded itself to be with her, but it’ll never be possible. Let’s consider what has happened to be a bad accident. Besides, I should choose a nice daughter among the courtiers. It’ll help mend my relationship with the court, and father had already urged me to marry years ago.”

Alcryst spoke up, “I didn’t want to ask with the physician present, but. . . it’s Ivy, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer.

Citrinne spun toward Alcryst and shrilled. “You knew!?”

“I didn’t know. . . I mean, I had a hunch. When Ivy visited once, they were chatting in one of the parlors at night. I passed and heard her laughing. And that necklace she wears—”

He looked up with a begging smile. “Please, Alcryst.”

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare!” Citrinne said, “Alcryst, is that necklace—did he give it to her?”

Alcryst panicked, “Uh, he never told me. I have no clue, but. . .”

“But?”

Alcryst glanced toward him, then toward Citrinne. He swallowed. “I shouldn’t say—”

Citrinne stepped towards him and cocked her head, “You are going to tell me what you know, dearest cousin.”

Alcryst peered at Diamant. Citrinne moved closer, then he conceded. “The gemstone embellished in the bezel of Ivy’s necklace is one found in Brodia’s mines. It’s not a common stone, so I assumed someone wealthy must’ve given it to her, but as you’re aware. . .”

Citrinne finished, “Most of Brodia’s nobles despise Elusia.”

“Yes, and she’d received it during the war against Sombron, so—y’know. Sorry, Diamant.”

“Oh my! Even back then,” Citrinne turned toward him, “Have you two kissed yet?”

He opened his mouth, and though his voice usually boomed, when he spoke his one word, it was meek and soft and not unlike a baby bird’s first chirp. “Hugged.”

“You are—” Citrinne sighed, “I don’t even know! You’ve loved her for how long, and you haven’t even—”

His jaw moved and the words left his mouth before they’d formed in his brain. “I want to kiss her! I do! I want to hug her and I. . . I. . . “ He then realized what he’d said, yet nonetheless finished his declaration, “I want to do so much for her.”

A deep blush crept across his cheeks. He hunched forward and hid his face behind his hands. A King presiding over a country of warriors, stricken by love?—he was such a fool, and his heart, naïve. Having confessed, he saw her in his mind: cherry red lips and the beauty mark beside them; pale shoulders and long hair draped across the rounded edges. But Ivy was more than her appearance! Even if his still-lust-stricken brain said otherwise. She was a respectable woman who had carried her country's burden on her shoulders; she could command Elusia’s court as if it were twine in her hand to pluck or strum. And though the world had worked against her, she could still stand upright, straight and tall with unmatched grace.

“The other day, I said you smelled like someone else. I shouldn’t have said that then—not when I couldn’t put my finger on who,” Alcryst said, “But now, I think your pheromones have become similar to Ivy’s. It’s faint, but there. Something like snow.”

“Perhaps it’s fate,” Citrinne said.

He straightened himself and regained his composure. “Fate, biology—it doesn’t matter. The crown, the court, and Brodia’s people must come before my desires. She can’t be my Queen.”

The two remained silent, so he continued, “Alcryst, you were too young during most of the war against Elusia. Then the corrupted arrived and father sent you to the bridge to escort the Divine Dragon. Do you remember the time I left for my first campaign?”

“I do. You were sixteen, and I was still a child. I had yelled and cried to mom, confused and angry because I couldn’t comprehend war yet—why you and father were leaving—despite the long sessions with my tutors.”

He chuckled, “I had picked you up, and you wouldn’t let go. Then the years passed, and you grew, and I continued to fight in the war against Elusia—almost a decade. A decade of bloodshed, committed by my hand. Fathers and mothers; brothers and sisters; uncles and aunts; nieces and nephews; families torn apart, homes burned to the ground; children without parents stuck in the streets, fated to remain impoverished. How could I ever think of marrying Elusia’s Queen? Elusia will hate me—rightfully so. And Brodia will hate Ivy.”

Citrinne stepped forward, “Diamant. . .”

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said that. Please, could you two leave me be?”

The two left then, trailing out of the room. Afterward, he ate his lunch. It had tasted awful in his mouth, especially against his tongue, even more so when it’d move into the back of his throat, and he would stare at the scars on his hands as he held the silver utensils.

The remaining days soon turned to one day, then that last day passed. It was the morning—finally the day—but Ivy would not arrive until the afternoon.

He sat in front of the dressing table. Over the years, the fixture had remained underused, often dusty. Foot soldiers did not wear earrings, bracelets, or necklaces; they did not need agate boxes to store rouge nor hair pins to affix elegant up-dos. During his youth, he’d seldom found himself at the dressing table—only when his mother, the Queen, had dragged him to it, forcing him to sit still so she could do something about his eyebags. Her ladies-in-waiting would accompany her, and maids would stand off to the side, too. His mother’s trained hands would dance, whirling his grungy pre-pubescent self into a fairytale prince as she worked magic. Or something close to it. His mother’s grooming was a rare event, though, and only happened whenever he’d join his father to visit the Divine Dragon.

Nowadays, he’d begin every morning at the dressing table.

He grabbed the small jar atop the table and twisted the cap. It was half-filled with paste turned bumpy by fingerprint indents. He dipped his fingers into the scentless, cream-colored paste, tugged his morning gown’s collar down, and applied the paste to his scent gland.

He closed it before he scrutinized himself in the mirror. He practiced a smile, then another, but both appeared too forced, too big, and too awkward. So he abandoned the mirror and table and dressed instead.

Once bonded with an Alpha, he’d no longer have to hide his scent. Few knew of his turning: Alcryst, Citrinne, and the physician, naturally, but he’d also informed his retainers.

For everyone else, though, it was a secret. Many people had questioned why he suddenly lacked a scent. For those who’d dared to ask, mostly nobles, he never completely lied. He’d claim his plan to court a mate once the summer arrived. And when the court’s nobles would hear his answer, they’d go starry-eyed and ask if he knew x, y, or z—children or relatives—and then they’d puff their chest and detail all the skills that person knew: music, dancing, fencing, magic, and they could never forget to mention social skills or swordsmanship. He’d always say something along the lines of that’s wonderful; they must’ve worked hard. Then their heads would bob up and down as they said, yes, oh yes, before flaunting tutors or achievements.

Such heavy-handed flaunts never mattered; his response was always, ultimately, a lie.

He dressed into a fresh uniform and tugged at his collar. She would know he lacked a scent. There’s no way she wouldn’t.

Would she question him like others?

Ah, hopefully, if and when she did, he wouldn’t stutter. He wouldn’t lie to her.

He sighed and yanked on his gloves.

He had a plan formed in his head. But plans—when did they ever go correctly?

Sometimes. In battle, they had to.

He had memorized every word of his vow. It could not be the tale-tell mantra: in sickness and health, to love and cherish as always. Instead, it was a simple question. Please mate me. I’m now an Omega. Some words would go unsaid—even if we can never be husband and wife. They had to. His hands dropped to his side, and he turned towards the door.

Diamant then began his morning. He spent most of it at the training ground, surveying the other soldiers, and when Jade and Saphir arrived, he sparred with them. Saphir noted he seemed to be facing an off-day; he’d made several blunders during their spar, and her axe had nearly scraped his cheek. Jade had suggested meditation. In the end, he returned inside and went to one of the drawing rooms for mint tea, the brew once recommended by Celine during the war against Sombron. While there, Alcryst joined him.

He’d been staring out the window when his brother arrived.

“I heard you were here. Do you mind if I—”

He turned toward Alcryst, “Of course, not. Your company would be great.”

Alcyrst took the empty chair across from him and said, “The festival is going well. We just finished the last preparations for tomorrow’s feast, and you—you’re waiting for her, aren’t you?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds awful. I’m not waiting per se. Relaxing.”

“Did you sleep last night?”

“A little.”

His brother let out a long sigh, “Diamant,”

He chuckled as he lifted his cup, “I promise, I got more than two hours.”

“Three?”

Before he sipped his tea, he said, “Four.”

His brother shook his head while he drank his tea. He then gazed at his face and grumbled that it must be why his eye-bags were worse than usual. The genetic trait ran within their family; neither could help they'd inherited the bad gene. He commented about Alcryst’s own eye-bags to which Alcryst replied that he always had them, but a King really shouldn’t. So he assured him he’d cover them for tomorrow’s feast.

He’d asked afterward about the time Alcryst spent preparing for the spring festivities: how the preparations had gone—if there were any problems. Alcryst divulged as he recounted specific events—crates that had gotten damaged, uncooperative nobles, among others—and, in between sipping his tea, he'd reply. During the conversation, Alcryst had rambled when he mentioned Lapis’s help, and he sniggered as he recalled Citrinne’s demands in the weeks before the festival.

Then a knock interrupted them. A soldier entered and bowed before them. “Your Majesty, Lord Alcryst. Elusia’s Queen and retinue will arrive at the castle gates shortly.”

He set his cup down and stood, “Are my escorts ready?”

“Yes. They are ready whenever your majesty.”

He turned to Alcryst, “Will you join me?”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude and ruin the mood.” His face must’ve gone dour because, right after, Alcryst said, “And Lapis had promised she’d help me train! So don’t worry!”

“I understand,” He said before he spoke to the soldier, “I’ll be right at the gate. Give me a moment.”

The soldier bowed once more before he left.

Afterward, Alcryst said, “Will you be okay?”

He crossed the distance between them, and ruffled his brother’s hair, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just,” His brother paused, then continued, “Don’t bottle everything up.”

“You’ve told me many times.”

“I know I have. But this time, I’m serious. You’re going to tell her, won’t you?”

“While she’s here, yes—or, at least, I hope so.”

“If she breaks your heart, we will drink once you return from Elusia. Amber must join us, too.”

He smirked, “Even if she doesn’t, let's. I’ll probably need such a night. Now then,” He said goodbye, then headed to the gate.

He glided through the archways and rows of soldiers along the stonewalls. His red cape sashayed behind him, and his boots rapped against the pathway. The soldiers stood, heads upward, bodies encased in armor, and lances in hand, at the ready. He’d witnessed the scene many times before, first when carried as a young boy, no older than five or six, in his father’s arms. Being so young, he’d oohed and aahed at the men, yearning to touch the, as his child-mind had determined, figurine-like men. So straight and unmoving. He no longer paid it any mind. Not for a while. His gaze remained forward, one hand on the hilt of his blade.

The gate was up, and he passed through. The escorts had congregated on the platform, strewn about in clusters as they chit-chatted. They frantically organized themselves just as he arrived; their armor's plates clinked as one plate would rub against another. The noise lingered in the air, but it was quiet once the highest-ranked greeted him. He ordered the soldiers to stand by and watched as Ivy’s retinue approached. It was not large; it had never been. There were several calvaries and a carriage centered around the horses, one he knew she wasn’t in.

He tilted his head upward and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand. A second passed, and her black wyvern hit the ground.

She was on its back one moment, and the next, stepping towards him. Not too fast. But a stride brisker than needed, one a dash improper for someone meeting on account of dry diplomacy. He also stepped forward, and they met in the middle. Forty days were over. He took a second to take her in, then swooped onto one knee and kissed the top of her hand. His lips remained on the glove longer than needed, and his grip even longer.

He lifted his chin, looked into her eyes while her hand was still atop his, and said, “As King, I greet you on behalf of Brodia.” He let go and stood once finished.

“Such a gentleman,” She said. She didn’t wear a fascinator; he could see her face, the mirth in her eyes, and the slight upturn of her lips. It was nice. Then she curtseyed, “I’m honored you would have me and allow me to enjoy your festivities. I look forward to these next three days.”

“It brings me joy to hear you say that. Please, allow me to escort you to your quarters. You must be tired. The servants will see to it that your belongings are brought inside and organized.”

The words were plastic. Ivy followed along with the charade of formalities, and after he’d offered to escort her, she said, “Let us go.”

He would’ve liked to hold her hand or link their elbows. Instead, he said, “The castle is filled with many courtiers due to the festivities, so, please, stay close to me.”

“Of course.”

Their fingers brushed against one another.

Only after the sun had dipped below the horizon and night arrived could they speak properly, not as monarchs but as individuals. No games; no plastic words. They escaped to one of the empty parlors through the dark halls, both in their nightwear. When they’d gotten together in private, they first hugged and laughed about the afternoon—Ivy teasing far too much about his demeanor—then took to the couch as they caught up. There were two candles lit. Hour by hour, the candle’s wax stem dwindled, and somehow, halfway through the stem’s life, they ended up sprawled across the couch—her atop him, back against his abdomen. His left arm had settled atop her stomach, and now and again, her fingers would glide across his burn scars.

Ivy spoke of Zelkov’s endeavors and Rosado’s pursuits within the arts, and she’d described her trip to Lythos and her get-together with the Divine Dragon in great detail. He also spoke about his time between their last meeting without mentioning his plight.

Naturally, Ivy commented during their long chat how, when he greeted her at the gate, it had displeased her that she couldn’t smell his pheromones. But then she said she was happy, as they laid together on the couch, that it must’ve been a fluke. She’d smiled when she said that, and she’d fiddled with her necklace, twirling it in her fingers.

Your scent is so lovely. All the people we passed in the afternoon—it’s incomparable. Yours is so much better. It’ll be a shame the day you mate your Queen.

Will you be sad? He’d asked afterward.

What should I say? Do you not see us? If someone entered right now, what would they think? We’d cause a scandal. At least it would be a worthwhile one.

But that conversation was only a blip in the night. They managed to untangle before dawn, and each trailed to their quarters. He did not get any sleep. When morning arrived, he sat at the dressing table, applying the paste to his scent gland and concealer underneath his eye bags.

The tournament came first. It had always been a well-loved event, and this year was no different. Spectators went wild, some with their canteens of port or ale, tipsy or smashed, usually no in-between, others eager to pocket winnings from bets with friends as the combatants they chose triumphed, and others ready to shower the ultimate winner in flowers, bouquets in hand prepared to be chucked into the ring. The collective racket seemed to shake the surrounding mountains and pierce through the clouds. He’d watched from the imperial box alongside Ivy. He’d had to explain the customs surrounding the tournament to her; she’d hardly seemed thrilled, bored even as the day progressed. His retainers would slip in and out of the box to converse while Alcryst watched elsewhere.

There were three hours between the tournament and the feast. He’d taken a warm bath during those quiet hours before maids assisted him with a wardrobe change. Then the feast had begun: a multi-hour event that spanned until night, four courses each fitted with thirty of Brodia’s finest dishes. It all began with a toast led by him. Then it was more racket: drinking, gorging, chatting, dancing all around the long table as hundreds gathered together to celebrate spring.

Eventually, the event ended, and he’d gone to bed, too tired for another sleepless night. He sat at the dressing table once more when morning arrived.

Then it was time.

Ivy entered the parlor, donning a beautiful garment. Lavender-colored panels crossed, forming the bodice, and the same fabric created the dress’s sides. Tulle covered her chest, and lace made the short bell-shaped sleeves and embellished the dress throughout. The dress had embroidered flowers cascading around the train and a silk ribbon sash around the waist. The dress was spring if it could be spun and weaved into a garment. She sat across from him in the empty seat. A bowl of porridge was placed at it, sprinkled with berries and honey on top.

He would hate it if she stained her dress. It was a dumb thought, though; he knew she’d learned over many years every in and out of royal etiquette. He’d learned similarly. Yet he still said, “I noticed you didn’t eat much during the feast. I thought, perhaps, this would be more suitable for your palate. You must be hungry, so please feel free to eat.”

“Ah, it looks delightful. But I believe your judgment is misguided.”

“Misguided?” He asked.

She picked up the spoon. It seesawed in her hand as she spoke. “You have a large appetite. You must know.”

“Now, I know I eat more than my brother, but he’s six inches shorter than me, and I’d garner sixty or maybe seventy pounds lighter than me. You’re around his height, too. Maybe I was wrong about last night, but I wouldn’t say my appetite’s that large. Yesterday was a feast, a time to indulge. Do you think I eat like that every day?”

“I don’t know. It’s undeniable that you’re fit, but you seem like the type of man who could, iron stomach and all.”

“I wish,” He laughed as he crossed his arms, “There’s a reason I’m not having breakfast myself. And, as I said, it was a feast.”

“Yes, yes. A feast. And when we celebrate your birthday? What then?”

“Maybe I’ll indulge a little, certainly not as much as last night.”

“What should we have?” He thought, but Ivy said a second later, “Finger foods. How about that?”

“It’s different,” He said. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well,” Her eyes drifted to the porridge, “I can’t tell yet. It’s a surprise.”

“Should I worry?”

“It’ll be a fun surprise. Believe me.”

Ivy dipped her spoon into the porridge. With her head downward, gaze away, it lent him some boldness, and he said, “I also have a surprise.”

She froze, “When?” Her eyes darted up, “Now?”

“Right now.”

Her eyes burned into his, and his short-lived confidence crumbled. He rubbed the back of his neck and shirked away. They would spend the next week together, so it needed-said. But, when he opened his mouth, he stumbled on the word I. Silence overtook him after. Ivy waited, though, ever patient.

On their first encounter in the Somniel’s gardens, he’d learned about her fear of ghosts. They hadn’t even been acquaintances then, closer to enemies forced to cooperate, and Alcryst, at that time, had still held a tight grudge against her for their father’s death. If he hadn’t seen Morion’s death as his fault or understood his much-needed position—between Alcryst and him, one of them had to remain level-headed—perhaps he would’ve felt the same about Ivy, too. That night they met, though, she'd been quivering as she turned her head to and fro, searching the bushes and glancing at the flickering shadows. Monarchs weren’t allowed fears. Yet, he’d witnessed hers, no different than his own fear of magic.

He recalled that first moment. The shame. The informality. Then he said, “Sorry for my lack of poise.”

“Apologizing? This must be serious,” she said.

“A little. So. . . have you ever heard of a person's secondary gender changing? Remolding. . . y’know. . .”

“What about it? It's a rare phenomenon. Wait. Don’t tell me—you—”

“Don’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?”

He looked her straight in the eye, “Well, for starters, I’m not exactly a picturesque beauty: not dainty, slim, or pleasant smelling.”

“That is true. You aren’t dainty and certainly don’t smell flowery like most Omegas. Not that that’s a bad thing. Still, you're softer than you think. Not your physique—of course not. I mean your personality. Alcryst, when he’s not degrading himself, can be ruthless, and so can his retainers. You, outside of battle?—not so much.”

Her fingers grazed her necklace, and she continued, “See? You gave me this despite what I’d done. It hadn’t even been weeks since our fathers’ deaths. Considering our paper-thin comradery back then, you could’ve ditched or slandered me. The past-me wouldn’t have put it past Brodia’s crown prince to do such a thing. But you didn’t.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“Suppose?” Ivy scoffed, “If it were Alcryst, would he have done the same?”

He laughed. “No, but he’s warmed up to you since.”

“Yes, he has. Except that, yesterday, he stared at me throughout the tournament. Would you know why?”

“He’s just. . . erm, it's complicated—nothing to do with your personality or him no longer accepting you. In fact, it’s related to my remolding.”

Now was the time; it hit him. He rubbed his palms against his knees beneath the table and swallowed. Failure. What if he failed? Blundered. Stuttered. Sounded like an oaf. She tilted her head slightly. She did not often look quizzical, so when she did, it whisked his brain to mush. The plan. The plan. Remember the plan. His face felt hot, and, oh god, his ears must’ve been red. He took a deep breath and said, “Now that I’m an Omega, would you become my mate?”

Ivy stilled, and a minute passed. The silence hung heavy in the room. It made his mouth unbearably dry and his heart pound. But once Ivy opened her mouth, his heart froze. It waited. Stilled. Then she spoke her answer, and it started up again. She’d said, “Have you mentioned this to your advisors? What about Brodia’s royal court? If I mate you, you cannot bond to another Alpha. Will a Queen have you if you’re already mated? I’d like to but—”

He steeled his face. No frowns. “I understand.”

Not complete rejection.

Not acceptance, either.

She spoke quietly. “You love me.”

He shook his head. “Yes. You and only you. We can never marry, but I don’t mind. Mating is enough. And a Queen? I don’t need one if it means giving up this chance. So despite the court, despite my advisors, despite all of their likely appall and reluctance, if I could convince you, would you mate me?”

“How will you convince me?”

He stood from his chair and leaned across the table. Her skin was pale—a little make-up on her face: concealer, foundation, lip gloss, eye-shadow. He pressed his thumb against her bottom lip. “We could start with a kiss.”

“Right here?” She glanced toward the door, then back at him, “What if someone intrudes? What if they,” her voice cracked, “they hear us?”

“They won’t.” He said.

He withdrew his thumb before he circled the table and stopped before her. She said nothing as he bent forward and cupped her cheek. He gripped the table's edge and steadied himself. His heart remained calm this time, his mind clear, so he crept toward her lips unabashedly. The tablecloth bunched underneath his fingers as he got closer, and the porridge?—forgotten. He saw pink—her lip’s color not unlike the tulips that grew in Firene and the many other flowers people would pluck and covet and hoard.

Everyone—commoners and nobles alike, even Brodia’s worst snobs—could admit that Ivy was a beautiful woman: perfectly dressed and presented. The lip gloss was smeared, though. Imperfect. He did that. The image spurred him further.

Then their lips connected.

One kiss—too chaste.

He pulled away afterward but still lingered above her.

He wanted more. So much more. But he was a King, in the middle of his castle filled with courtiers, maids, and soldiers—all up and about with the sun—in an easily accessible room, despite the soldiers guarding the door against the barging-in sorts of people. However, the guards would allow passage if someone came with a pressing emergency.

Ivy grabbed his collar and pulled him forward.

Another kiss.

Not chaste. Nothing of the sort. All men and women would succumb to their desires at least once, some more than others. Even monarchs were not immune to desire’s temptation: a hand curling around the heart, squeezing it until the tension burst free. He had not expected it. She bit his bottom lip and shamelessly prolonged the dizzying, lust-filled affair, drenching him in her pheromones. Not that he minded. She was like the blizzards that would befall Brodia every so often in the dead of winter when the days became their coldest, and people would gather around the hearth, cradling warm cups of tea. No one would know when the blizzards would come. They’d simply come and go and disrupt the mundane days.

He sunk into her and allowed himself to be consumed despite the potential consequences. Even the cold snow could be warm.

Ivy released his collar and drifted away. They caught their breath, then she said, “If we’re going to disregard our reality as respectable monarchs, all or nothing. I won’t settle for half-ass attempts.”

“Noted,” He said. The kiss was only the beginning, a key that unlocked the gate to many more possibilities. He had tip-toed around intimacy with her for so long. But now? He looked Ivy in the eyes and said, “Let’s go to my room.”

Another morning began at the dressing table.

He moved the earring's back through the piercing in his ear as he leaned toward the mirror and held his ear. It slotted nicely, and once in, he slid the pushback on it. He gazed at the white diamond for a second, then left.

He no longer needed to apply paste to his scent gland to mask his scent. Everyone knew he’d become an Omega with the secret revealed over a year ago. However, he'd still use the table’s mirror to help put on his lone stud every day, the earring worn no differently than a wedding band. It had been almost two years since he received it and the bond upon his nape.

Today was the fifth anniversary of his father’s death.

Perhaps it was a disgrace to brandish the earring before his father’s grave. After all, he’d received it from the woman who’d very well stopped him from retrieving his body—who’d made it impossible for him to bury his father in a proper place, between the mountains of his homeland, instead of the unmarked grave in the land of his former enemy.

But, having worn the earring every day since receiving it, he was not apt to go without it. Besides, that same woman had marked him, too, and the bond on his nape could never be undone.

Once finished preparing, he rode to the Royal mausoleum. Its vault contained many of Brodia’s past Kings, alongside their Queens, and some with children, too. He was not supposed to ride at the doctor's discretion, but went against it just for today; no doubt someone would chastise him: Citrinne, Amber, Jade, maybe one of the high-ranked servants or soldiers if they were so bold, whoever found him first. He had not mentioned his plans to anyone except Alcryst. He’d only told him in case someone requested his presence while out.

He wanted to be alone. Completely alone.

Once there, he sauntered through the markers, engraved with golden-lettered names of his ancestors, and slowed as he approached his father’s grave. He did not need to look at the golden letters. Even though he’d only visited twice—once for the funeral procession, another alongside close friends—he knew the grave’s location, its surroundings branded in his mind.

His lips trembled, then he sat on his knees before the grave. He placed one hand on his stomach before he opened his mouth and rambled. Words poured out for at least half an hour, and he expressed many thoughts, many events which had happened, and he reflected on the coming turn in his life: parenthood. Eventually, he stood and left the grave, and when he returned to his horse outside the building, snow fell from the sky and coated the landscape.

She’d come in a week—stay for a week. Come again and again because they weren’t married, only mates. The days were long, the nights restless, but indulging in her beautiful cursive and the slight teases that almost always translated poorly onto paper would liven his mood and erase his pains and aches, even if only for a day.

So when he returned to the castle, he wrote Ivy a letter and signed it with, sincerely, your lover.