Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Kon-El, your time has come. You're old enough now. I believe it's time you found your mate and provided me with an heir," Clark sighed. "After all, I'm not getting any younger.” Leaning back in his throne, the King wore a tired expression, the weight of ruling evident in the lines of his face. 

Kon remained silent, his jaw clenched but he knew better than to openly challenge his father's wishes, especially in front of the courtiers who watched their exchange with keen interest. This conversation had become all too familiar, a recurring theme in their interactions. Clark had tried to persuade him countless times before, citing the importance of continuing their bloodline, ensuring the stability and prosperity of their kingdom. But for Kon, the prospect of choosing a mate felt suffocating, he just couldn't find the appeal in having a mate, no matter how many times he tried to convince him otherwise.

"My lord, I... I understand," Kon finally replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within him. "But I'm not sure I'm ready for this. Choosing a mate is a decision that shouldn't be rushed.”

Choosing a mate wasn't like picking a sparring partner in the training yard. It wasn't a decision to be taken lightly, a mere matter of convenience or duty. It was about finding someone who understood him, who shared his values and aspirations, someone he could trust with his heart and his kingdom. And Kon couldn't fathom entrusting such a pivotal role to just anyone.

"I understand the importance of continuing our bloodline and securing the future of our kingdom. But..." He paused, searching for the right words. "I'm not convinced that finding a mate is the only way to achieve that. There are other ways to contribute to the prosperity of our kingdom, ways that don't necessarily involve marriage and heirs." 

Kon's words hung in the air, a silent challenge to his father's authority. He knew he was treading dangerous ground, questioning the traditions that had governed Krypton for generations. At the tender age of fourteen, he'd presented as an Alpha. It was like a sudden elevation to Krypton's treasured elite. He found himself entrusted with the leadership of the army, a role that felt as though it had been written in the stars since his birth. Despite his status as a bastard child, he'd always been lauded for his strength and talents. Yet, the warmth and praise he received seemed to flow more freely from others than from his own parents. Perhaps the affection he received from the outsiders, more than from his birth parents, had subtly warped his perception, though he never cared to delve into the matter. 

Clark listened to Kon's words, his expression unreadable. After a moment of silence, he leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense. "I had hoped you would see the reason, but I suppose it was too much to ask,” he said, his tone measured. 

…That hurts. He had always tried to live up to Clark's expectations, to be the perfect son and future ruler. Kon remembered when Clark first found out about him, a secret Lex had kept hidden. At the time, Kon was just five years old, naive to the world and its harsh reality. The shock and disappointment on his father's face back then still haunted him— Clark's furrowed eyebrows and tight-lipped sneer served as a reminder to him. No matter what he did, the label of bastard would always hang over him like a shadow.

"The duty of continuing our bloodline is a sacred one, passed down through generations of our family. It is not a responsibility to be taken lightly or dismissed. Your role as a leader of our people extends beyond the battlefield… it encompasses the preservation of our heritage and the safeguarding of our future. Choosing a mate is a necessary step in fulfilling that duty.”

Kon's jaw clenched, but he nodded, realising that arguing more wouldn't get him anywhere.

Clark continued, "I wish for you to attend a quest. Gotham is organising Batalha this year.” 

Batalha? He thought that tradition was out of practice. 

As if reading his mind, Clark explained. “King Bruce's son is of age and he was the first omega to grace the royal households of Gotham in many years. I assume you've heard the rumours circulating about his search for a suitor?”

Yes. He had heard rumours of the young prince's quest for a suitor, whispers that had spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom. The rumours surrounding the prince often portrayed him as possessing delicate features, like those of a porcelain doll. His complexion was said to be flawless, with skin as smooth as silk and a complexion that rivalled the purity of snow. His lips were described as soft and inviting, with just a hint of a smile that could enchant even the most stoic of hearts. And his eyes, oh, his eyes were said to be the most captivating of all, shimmering like pools of liquid sapphire beneath long, dark lashes. For whoever had the privilege of becoming the omega prince's mate was deemed the luckiest in the kingdom. Many coveted the chance to stand by his side, to bask in the radiance of his ethereal beauty and grace. 

But Kon didn't really care about that. The thought of his own father arranging a meeting with someone he barely knew to potentially become his mate— filled him with a sense of dread. The idea of being bound to someone he had no connection with, solely for the sake of tradition and duty, left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

He gritted his teeth and knelt down, taking his helmet off his head. Kon opened his mouth to protest but pursed his lips when his father raised a hand to effectively silence him. He may have taken liberties with his father's love for him at times, but he would never refuse a direct order from him. His fingers tightened around the edge of his helmet, the cool metal grounding him. 

“This is a chance few and far between. Bruce is being liberal even allowing people to court his son. Princes and kings from all over the realms will be attending the event for the hand of the young prince. It is also a way to secure a strong alliance with another country. There is no bond between kingdoms stronger than marriage.”

"Pardon me," one of Clark's advisers interjected, stepping forward with a respectful bow. He proceeded when the King nodded his approval. "You are nearly twenty now, Prince. And well-in-need of a spouse who can give Krypton a future heir. An unmarried king in the future is not a reassuring prospect for his subjects. The people want you to secure the future of Krypton…” He hesitated, his voice growing quiet. “They look to you for stability and hope.” The adviser's words pressed heavily upon him. He glanced around the room, noting the attentive gazes of the courtiers and the silent curiosity of the guards. Every eye on him as if the future rested on his shoulders alone. 

The image of a faceless omega— a stranger who might soon become an integral part of his life. The idea felt both strange and suffocating.

Kon sighed inwardly. He pushed his curly hair out of his eyes. “Would it please you, if I went?”

Clark gave him a thoughtful gaze. “It would please the people.” His answer was clear as day.

“Then I shall go.” Kon looked away, his gaze distant. “Tell me the date, and… I'll make the necessary preparations," He replied. 

Clark nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Very well," he said, his voice tinged with authority. "I will inform you of the arrangements once they have been finalised. I believe in you.” 

With that, he dismissed Kon, signalling the end of their conversation. Kon stalked off from the throne room, his steps heavy. When he reached the solitude of his chambers, Kon let out a long, heavy sigh. He removed his armour, the weight of the metal plates feeling like a physical burden on his already tired shoulders. Each piece clanged softly as it hit the floor, breaking the silence of the room. He collapsed onto his bed, the events of the day replaying in his mind like a never-ending loop. Staring at the ceiling, he ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to sort out his emotions. 

Dammit.

The palace garden lay before Kon, a peaceful escape from the training yard. The scent of flowers filled the air, bringing him a moment of calm as he strolled along the winding path. 

He yearned for his favourite spot, a quiet nook tucked away under the greenery's canopy. He needed a quiet moment for a while, even if just for a moment. It was his safe place, where every trouble vanished like morning dew. 

He remembered the days when he was but a young boy, timid and unsure, he often sneaked away to this secluded corner. Back then, he'd hide here after enduring the gruelling trials of his mentor's training. He'd curl up under the shade of a towering oak tree, nursing his bruises and wounded pride. It was a bittersweet memory— that would forever etched on his mind, but that was all in the past now. Thinking back, he felt sorry for that scared little boy. If only… 

His steps stopped. 

“Lois?” 

His heart sank as he spotted a figure seated on the stone bench, a book in her hand. His stepmother, Lois— the Queen Consort. For a moment, Kon hesitated, his footsteps faltering on the gravel path. His relationship… with Lois had always been complicated. 

Lois looked up from her book, her expression unreadable. "Kon," she greeted him."I didn't expect to see you here.”

Kon offered a smile that didn't reach his eyes, his gaze flickering to the book in his stepmother's hands. "I could say the same for you," he replied, his tone carefully neutral. "This has always been my special place.”

Lois nodded. “I know," she said, patting the seat beside her. "Your father told me about it. He said you used to come here often as a child.” 

Kon settled onto the bench, a comfortable distance from Lois. He glanced around the garden, the memories of his childhood flooding back. "It's quiet here," he remarked. "Peaceful.”

Lois smiled. "Yes, it is," she agreed. "Sometimes, I come here to clear my mind, to find a moment of respite from the chaos of courtly duties.”

They fell into a companionable silence, the only sound the rustle of pages as Lois turned the pages of her book. Kon watched her for a moment, studying the lines of her face. 

He had never been close with his stepmother. Their interactions were polite but distant. Lois had married his father when Kon was already in his teenage years, and the sudden change in family dynamic was hard to accept. The gap between them had always felt too wide, bridged only by the occasional glances or brief conversation. He shifted slightly on the bench.

"Kon," Lois said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I know that things haven't always been easy between us. But I want you to know that I'm here for you, if you ever need someone to talk to…”

The queen closed her book and turned to face him. “Do you have something in your mind?”

Kon's gaze drifted to his hands, weathered and worn from years of training. He flexed them slowly, feeling the familiar calluses and scars beneath his fingertips. The skin toughened from often gripping swords and practising drills. 

He hesitated, unsure how to respond. 

Words had never come easily to him.

"I..." he began, his voice trailing off. “I didn't ask for any of this. I just want to find my own path.”

“What do you mean?” She asked. 

Kon sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Clark... he asked me to find a mate,” he confessed, his voice tinged with frustration. "And now, he wants me to attend Batalha in Gotham to ask for the prince's hand in marriage.”

It felt absurd to him, feeling this way. 

It was just a small matter. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. It was expected of him, sooner or later. As a prince, he knew his duty was to secure alliances and strengthen the kingdom, and marriage was a part of that duty.

“I had no idea,” Lois said softly, her brow furrowing in concern. A look of something akin to sympathy crossed her face— And there it was. The pity. The subtle shift in her expression that made something crawl under his skin. He hated that look.

“Your father means well,” she continued, her voice gentle, trying to make a point to him. "He wants what's best for you and Krypton.”

Kon shifted uncomfortably. "I know he does. But it doesn't make it any easier. I just... I don't want to be forced into something like this. I want to have a say in my own life.”

Lois nodded, her expression softening further. “I know. It's not easy to be caught between duty and personal desires. Your father sees this as a way to secure our future and strengthen alliances. He believes it's his duty to ensure that you’re well-positioned to lead someday.”

Kon looked away. “But what about what I want? Doesn't that matter?” Does it really matter? 

"Of course it matters," Lois said, reaching out to gently place a hand on his arm. "And I know Clark cares deeply about your happiness. He just... he has a lot of responsibilities, and sometimes he makes decisions that he thinks are for the greater good. It doesn't mean he doesn't value your feelings.”

Kon's shoulders slumped further. "I just wish there was another way. I don't even know this prince. How can I marry someone I don't know?”

Lois squeezed his arm. "Perhaps this trip to Gotham can be an opportunity, not just a duty. You might find that the prince is someone you can connect with. And if not, we'll find a way to address that.”

“I suppose you're right.” He repeated. “I'll do what's expected of me.” 

Three days later, Kon found himself in the heart of Gotham. The first thing he noticed on the journey was the stark contrast to Krypton; Gotham lacked the lush greenery of his homeland. The land was mostly urban, dominated by tall, stone buildings and alleyways. Market stalls lined the narrow streets, and the air was filled with the sounds of haggling merchants and the clatter of horse-drawn carts on cobblestones. The city's dark, brooding atmosphere was a far cry from the open, sunlit spaces of Krypton. But as much as the surroundings lacked view, the people of Gotham exuded beauty in their own right. The city boasted a rich cultural tapestry, evident in the ornate attire worn by its citizens, even those of humble means. No one in the city was without at least a single piece of jewellery, a stark contrast to Krypton, where everything, including clothing, was very simple.

Kon understood now what his father meant when he asked him to carry those ornet, jewel-encrusted gifts. 

He was led to a grand estate on the outskirts of the city, where he would reside before attending the ceremony tomorrow. The estate was an impressive structure, with high walls and intricate iron gates. The halls were lined with portraits of past rulers, their eyes seeming to follow him as he walked by. He had heard about the past murders of the late rulers, King Thomas and Queen Martha. They had been assassinated in a brutal attack while travelling through the city, a shocking event that had plunged Gotham into a period of mourning and unrest— The culprits were never found, and the mystery surrounding their deaths had become a dark cloud hanging over the city's history. Rumours and theories had swirled for years, yet there was no one to blame. 

He was given chambers a bit less befitting than his status. The room was modestly furnished, with a simple wooden bed, a small writing desk, and a wardrobe for his clothes. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of the city's history, and a single window provided a view of the bustling streets below. Though not lavish, the room was clean and comfortable. Kon reminded himself that he was, after all, a guest. He was sure every Prince and Kings that arrived here got the same treatment.

It was early in the evening when he lounged on his bed, having shed his armour, the soft glow of the setting sun casting a warm hue across his room. He looked out of his window at the view of the busy streets below, where people hurried along the sidewalks, their silhouettes moving against the fading light. The sun didn't stay longer in the sky here than in Gotham. He had heard that temperatures had a lower variance here. Gotham was too close to the coast to experience much climate change.

There was a soft rapping at his door.

"Come in," he called.

Gabriel entered and bowed sagely. "My Prince. If this is a suitable time to talk to you—”

Kon sat up, straightening his posture. "Of course," he replied, gesturing for him to enter further. "What is it?”

“I believe we should take this opportunity to learn more about these foreign lands. Gathering as much information as we can is prudent. It is always wise to understand the strengths and weaknesses of others.”

Kon raised his eyebrow. 

“We're not enemies with Gotham. We're guests here, seeking to foster understanding and cooperation between our kingdoms.” He stated firmly. “We're not here for a war.” 

Gabriel nodded. "Of course, my Prince. I meant no offence. It's simply wise to be prepared for any eventuality… Perhaps I am overly cautious.”

Kon leaned back, his dark blue eyes piercing through him. It was enough for anyone to trembled in fear. “I understand your perspective," he said. “But let us not forget that diplomacy can often be as powerful a weapon as any sword. I don't see how this can benefit us.”

"My Prince… forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I have served by your father's side in battle for many years. It is… wise to be cautious, especially in unfamiliar territory.” Gabriel looked down. He added. “And King Bruce is not to be underestimated. We should exercise caution in our interactions with him.” 

"No, my father did not specifically ask for this," Kon warily replied. "Though he did emphasise the importance of maintaining vigilance and diplomacy in all our interactions, especially in a foreign land.” His fingers traced the mattress patterns as he listened to Gabriel. Candlelight flickered across the room, casting shifting shadows on the tapestries. Though Clark hadn't directly warned him about Gotham, the underlying message was clear; tread carefully, for the stakes were high. He sighed, feeling the heaviness settling back on his shoulders. 

“Say,” Kon looked at the Beta. “After the ceremony, we could visit the market together. There's no harm in exploring a bit. It might provide valuable insights into this place.”

“A wise idea, my prince.” 

Chapter Text

Another unpredictably rainy day in Gotham where the storms could be no more severe than a drizzle in spring but today was not the case. Tim sat watching the rain pour down over the windowpane, craning his neck to examine each individual raindrop. They were supposed to be different. No one exactly likes the other, like fingerprints. At least, that was what his mother, Janet had said.

He shook his head in dismay, watching each drop landing on the windowpane and merging into a muddled mess.

He would have to take her word for it.

The room around him was quiet, the only sound was the soft crackle of the fireplace behind him. The warmth from the fire contrasted sharply with the chilly, rain-soaked world outside.

The day of Tim’s eighteenth birthday was not one he was pleased to wake up to. The sun was missing and the skies were grey. Eighteen marked the age where he would be presented to royal society, expected to charm men enough to find himself in the most favourable marriage scenario he could.

It was a tradition in Gotham, and moreover, before Tim got adopted by Bruce, he himself came from high society. So, it was expected of him. 

Growing up, Tim had been groomed for such events, attending lavish balls and high-profile gatherings alongside his parents. He remembered his mother’s harsh guidance on etiquette and his father’s stern lectures on the importance of alliances. The memories felt like fragments of another life, distant yet vividly clear. 

There was little he could do but accept his circumstances, though. He hadn’t been thrilled about the whole married off thing. It wasn’t for him, he’d never found much of an interest in the whole process, although he hadn’t even presented as an omega until he was sixteen, so he hadn’t really had much of a chance to form an interest in it anyway. And now, as the day approached, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled in the pit of his stomach.

He recalled the day he presented, the shock and curiosity that had followed. The royal court had buzzed with gossip, and Tim had felt like a specimen under a glass. He'd spent long hours with advisors and physicians, learning about his new role and responsibilities, the changes his body and life would undergo. 

‘Drake heir presented!’

‘Really? As an Alpha?’

‘No, he presented as an Omega’

‘Useless! The King might as well keep him as a mere servant!’

It was the talk of the country.

He clearly remembered the maid, a pretty young omega whom Bruce had employed, perhaps thinking it would benefit Tim since Bruce himself was an alpha, and none of Tim's siblings were omegas. She had a stern demeanour, her voice sharp as she drilled him on the intricacies of omega life and what was expected of him. Tim often felt like he was walking on eggshells around her, afraid to make a wrong move or say the wrong thing. It reminded him too much of his late mother. 

He kept his lips clamped shut when she was around. The maid had a knack for finding fault in everything Tim did, whether it was his posture, his tone of voice, or even the way he walked. Sometimes her scoldings turned physical, leaving bruises on Tim's arms or shoulders from her harsh grabs or pushes. He cried, the first time. But then he saw how intently she watched him, waiting for a sign of weakness. After that, he held back the tears. It was overwhelming, and he’d often sought refuge in the quiet corners of empty Drake Manor, finding solace in the old library or the abandoned garden. Jason would find him there, anger flashing across his face when he discovered the truth. Tim had begged him not to tell Bruce.

He didn't want to make it into a big deal.

Tim was keenly aware of the restricted choices omega individuals faced, no matter their background or status. Their main purpose often boiled down to being a means for powerful men to secure alliances through marriage by bearing heirs. Though he wasn't enthusiastic about it, Tim had come to accept this fate, knowing it was beyond his control. He tried to fool himself, to convince himself that he wasn't essentially being auctioned off to the highest bidder. It was just tradition, he told himself. Tim should feel fortunate he didn't hail from a less privileged family.

He should be grateful. 

It was still his duty. Duty bound. Fate. It was his destiny. He couldn’t deny what he was. 

He sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead as he glanced at the clock. There was still time before the official ceremony began, and he intended to make the most of these quiet moments.

He glanced around his room, filled with gifts and trinkets from well-wishers: an intricately carved wooden box from the kingdom of Seattle, a finely embroidered silk robe from Keystone, and countless bouquets of flowers, their scents mingling into a heady perfume that made the air feel thick, a set of ornate goblets from the Duchess of Trenton. He noticed a particularly elegant silver bracelet, a gift from the queen of Tamarans, symbolising strength and resilience. 

A loud bang from the door interrupted his thoughts. Tim’s gaze fell on Dick as his older brother entered, a concerned furrow marring his brow. “Tim, you're late for the ceremony! Bruce is getting antsy—” Dick's voice trailed off as he noticed Tim, and his expression softened. 

"There you are," he said with a small smile, stepping further into the room. "I was starting to wonder if you were having second thoughts.” 

Tim offered a sheepish grin in return. "No, just taking a moment to gather my thoughts," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness. "But I'm ready now, I promise.” 

Dick nodded, his smile widening. "Good to hear," he said, clapping Tim on the shoulder reassuringly. "Because everyone is waiting for you downstairs!”

Oh that— His grin faltered as he glanced toward the door. He could practically hear the murmurs of the guests outside. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. It was as though a cold sweat had broken out on his skin, prickling with unease. Dick must have noticed the omega's discomfort as well, judging by the gentle and reassuring way he cupped Tim's cheeks.

"What's the matter, Tim?" Dick asked softly, his voice filled with genuine concern and Tim really wanted to cry, but he knew it would mess up the makeup the maids had spent hours applying on him. "You can tell me.” 

Tim swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry as he struggled to find the right words. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Finally, he managed to choke out a response, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I… I don't know if I can do this.” Tim admitted, his voice trembling. "I'm scared. I'm not sure if I'm ready for all of this. What if I make a fool of myself out there?”

Dick's expression softened further as he listened to Tim, his thumbs gently stroking Tim's cheeks in a familiar gesture that always comforted Tim at night whenever he had a nightmare. 

"Hey… it's fine to feel scared. It's normal.” Dick smiled but then his expression fell, a regret passing over his features. "I know you're not fond of this," he admitted, his tone heavy with guilt. "If it were within my power, I would call this off…” 

Tim sniffed, a wave of emotion washed over him, threatening to overwhelm him. God, he wasn’t ready to be a bride. He didn’t want it in the slightest. All he wanted was to help Bruce lead the kingdom, to be his little boy forever. He longed for the simple pleasures of family time, to curl up with blankets in the library and play "Knight and Princess" with Jason, their laughter echoing through the halls of the castle. Jason would always insist on being the knight, valiantly rescuing Tim from imaginary dragons and making grand, exaggerated speeches that left them both in fits of giggles. He yearned for the carefree moments in the garden, having a tea party with Alfred. He would miss sparring sessions with Dick in the training yard, where he always ended up being called the best fighter, showing off his skills even if he was an omega now. And he would miss the dance lessons with Cass in the dance hall, practising steps with her even though he had no one to dance with except her.

It’s your duty. 

You have to do this. 

You have to play your role. 

"Tim, you know, it's not just about tradition. You… deserve to be happy. And if this doesn't make you happy, then we need to—”

Tim looked at Dick, feeling a tightness in his chest coming back. "But what other way is there? This is how things have always been done. I don't have a choice.”

He had no choice; when he presented, it was destined for him. He should feel fortunate to have the opportunity to choose his own suitor, even if he wasn't ready yet. Unlike those living in poverty, they didn't have Tim's privilege. For omegas born into poorer societies, the reality was starkly different. Many faced the grim fate of being sold to merchants, abducted by those seeking to exploit their status, or worse, becoming commodities in bidding wars where their worth was measured in coin rather than dignity.

"There's always a choice," Dick said firmly. "It might go against tradition, but we can find a way. Bruce, he would surely understand. He cares about you more than any tradition.”

Tim shook his head, his fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of his dress. "I can't just walk away. It's not that simple.” He tried to muster a smile, but it felt forced. "I appreciate that. I really do. But I think I need to do this. It's part of who I am now, and I need to accept that.” 

Trying not to dampen Dick's moods on his special day, Tim replied jokingly, "This dress is the worst." He sniffed and chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood despite feeling turmoil in his heart. 

That earned a rueful chuckle from Dick. “You look stunning, Tim. Believe me, everyone's going to be in awe when they lay eyes on you." He pinched Tim's cheeks before adding, "And if anyone dares to say otherwise, they’ll have to deal with me.”

Tim giggled at that. 

He had chosen the attire with the help of Alfred and the other omegas, ensuring it was something he felt comfortable in. He had to admit, the outfit was gorgeous. It was a stunning white chiton, the colour reminiscent of freshly fallen snow, which perfectly complemented the paleness of his skin. The chiton was crafted from fine, lightweight fabric, draping gracefully over his shoulders and falling in soft folds to his ankles. Over the chiton, he wore a deep red himation, richly adorned with intricate gold embroidery and tassels, draped elegantly over one shoulder. The outfit was fastened at the shoulders with delicate gold clasps, and a gold belt cinched at his waist, accentuating his figure. Completing the look were golden laurel wreaths that adorned his head. The attire was both elegant and modest, yet the slit on the right side of the chiton would expose most of his leg if he walked a little too quickly.

That's okay, he could deal with it. 

“It's surreal seeing you all grown up. I feel like I want to cry.” Dick mumbled, reaching out an arm towards him. 

“Don't cry, you’ll make me smudge my makeup,” Tim said, his eyes glassy as he tried to muster a smile. The layers of makeup, meticulously applied by the servants, felt heavy on his skin, but he pushed aside the discomfort. His eyes itched with tears he refused to let spill.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady himself, reaching out to grasp Dick's hand, squeezing it. Glancing around the room one last time, taking in the familiar surroundings, he managed a small, forced smile for Dick. "We should get going," Tim said, his voice wavering slightly.

Dick nodded. "Yeah, let's go," he agreed softly, grasping Tim's hand before leading him towards the door. As they walked, Dick kept an arm around Tim's shoulder.

Once they reached the grand staircase, Dick paused, turning to face Tim with a gentle smile. "You know, Tim, you don't have to pretend everything's fine when it's not," he said softly. "If you're scared or unsure, it's okay to say so. We're family, and we're here for you and…” Dick looked at Tim. “If you need more time, if you're not ready for this, I can talk to Bruce—”

Tim's smile faltered slightly. "No," he said, his voice quiet. "I think... I think I need to do this. It's not just about me anymore, right?” It was never an option in the beginning. He shook the thought from his head. "I'll be fine," he added, trying to reassure both Dick and himself. 

He watched as Dick searched his face for a moment, seeking something he didn't seem to find. With a final sigh, he offered Tim his arm, saying, "Of course.”

They walked down the staircase, Tim felt nervous. He knew it wouldn't be easy. And Dick knew it too. Neither said anything else as they headed down, meeting Bruce and the others gathered below.

Chapter Text

The day of the ceremony came fast.

Kon adjusted his attire, a ceremonial outfit that reflected the traditions of his homeland. He wore intricately designed armour, the metal plates adorned with carvings that depicted the ancient symbols of his lineage. Over the armour, a deep red cloak was draped over one shoulder, fastened with a golden brooch emblazoned with a sunburst design. A leather belt, worn and practical, cinched at his waist, holding his sheathed sword ready at his side. His dark, curly hair, styled in an undercut, was slicked back neatly for today. 

When he stepped into the hall, Kon couldn't help but gape at his surroundings. To say the estate was more beautiful than the throne hall was an understatement. It was like comparing a candle to the sun. Kon gaped at his surroundings, taking in the grandeur and opulence of the palace. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from above, casting a warm, golden light that made the room glow. 

On either side of the room, tall, arched windows allowed streams of natural light to pour in, their stained glass panels creating a kaleidoscope of colours on the polished marble floor. The floor itself was a work of art, with intricate patterns inlaid in gold and silver. Musicians lined the sides, playing melodious tunes on stringed instruments. In the centre of the room, a long, ornate carpet led to the elevated dais where the thrones stood.

It seemed the king hadn't arrived yet. 

The air was thick with the scent of alpha, and tension simmered among the suitors even before the prince's arrival. They exchanged guarded glances and subtle nods, their unease palpable. Kon quietly grabbed a goblet of wine from a passing servant, blending into the crowd.

There were a few people that Kon recognised here. The first person he noticed was Bart Allen, the prince of Central, his old friend whom he hadn't seen for years since their days at the academy. The urge to approach him was strong, but he suppressed it; there would be time to catch up later. There was also Roy Harper, the prince of Starcity, Cassandra Sandmark from the Kingdom of Themyscira and from what the rumours had said, even the Princes of Markovia was arriving too. 

Kon made a face when he saw a particular presence, his expression tightening with a mix of surprise and distaste.

He saw Ra's Al Ghul, King of Nanda Parbat — isn't he married? sitting comfortably and drinking the wine with the other royals. He was wearing a green silk robe, his beards trimmed nicely. He was engrossed in a conversation with several dignitaries, including Queen Hippolyta of Scyhtia and King Orin of Atlantis.

Gabriel observed the subtle change in Kon's expression, a furrow forming on his brow. He leaned in, his voice low. "Is something troubling you, Your Highness?" He inquired. 

Kon's gaze lingered on Ra's Al Ghul for a moment longer before turning back to the beta. "It's nothing," he replied, waving his hand dismissively. "Just a passing thought.”

They watched the room fill with guests, Kon's attention was drawn to the prince of Central, who stood across the hall, engaged in animated conversation with other nobles. Despite the years that had passed since they last met, Bart never changed. His energy seemed to light up the room, his laughter infectious even from a distance.

"I should go and greet Bart," Kon said. 

Gabriel nodded understandingly. “If you say so, Your Highness.” 

Kon gave him a small smile. “I'll catch up with you later," he said, patting Gabriel's shoulder. 

Kon made his way through the crowded hall, he navigated past clusters of nobles and dignitaries, exchanging polite nods and brief greetings. The opulence of the room was overwhelming, with its high ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes and golden accents. The scent of exotic flowers filled the air, mingling with the aroma of rich food being served by attentive servants. Kon finally reached Bart, who was in the midst of an animated discussion with a group of lords. Bart glanced up, and their eyes met, sparking a smile of recognition on his face. Kon returned the smile, his own features softening with genuine warmth.

"Kon!" Bart exclaimed, stepping forward to embrace his old friend. "It's been far too long.”

Kon returned the embrace warmly, feeling a sense of familiarity wash over him. "It certainly has," he agreed, pulling back to look at Bart. "You haven't changed a bit.”

Bart chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "You flatter me," he said with a grin. “So, what brings you to Gotham?”

Kon hesitated for a moment, not quite sure how much he wanted to reveal. “Just some diplomatic matters,” he replied vaguely. "And you?”

Bart raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Ah, of course. Well, I'm here for the ceremony, obviously. Quite the collection of suitors. It's been a long time since such grand festivities graced our realm, right?” 

Kon nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Indeed, it has been," he agreed, though his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the impending ceremony.

Bart took a moment to survey the hall, his eyes flickering over the other guests. “It's not every day we get to see so many nobles and dignitaries in one place,” he remarked. “Everyone's talking about it.”

“Yeah. It does feel like a momentous occasion.”

Bart leaned in closer, "speaking of which," he said, his tone lowering just a touch. "Have you heard the rumours about the prince?”

Kon's interest piqued. “Rumours?” He raised an eyebrow. Bart nodded, glancing around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. 

"They say he's unlike any omega our kingdoms have seen in generations," he whispered. “There's something special about him, though no one can quite put their finger on it.”

Well, that almost made Kon laugh. “Special how? You know how these stories tend to get exaggerated.”

Bart leaned in even closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “I've heard everything from his exceptional intelligence to an uncanny ability to read people. You know how these tales grow with each retelling. One person sees a parlour trick, and by the time the story gets to the next kingdom, it’s a miracle.”

Kon shook his head. "Sounds like the usual court gossip to me. You know how they get it.” He glanced around the opulent hall, filled with nobles dressed in their finest attire. "Everyone loves a good story, especially when it involves us.”

Bart shrugged, a grin playing on his lips. "Who knows? These things always get blown out of proportion. But of course, rumours are just rumours. It will be interesting to see if there's any truth to them.”

The alpha considered Bart's words. "True. But an omega with such abilities? It does seem a bit far-fetched." He sipped his wine, the rich taste doing little to distract him from the conversation. "Still, if there's even a grain of truth to it, this Batalha could be more significant than we realise.”

Before they could continue their conversation, a hush fell over the hall as the herald announced the arrival of the King and Prince of Gotham. All eyes turned to the grand entrance. The heavy wooden doors slowly opened, revealing them.

At once, the sweet scent of omega flooded the room, a fragrance that seemed to permeate every corner. It demanded attention, drawing every gaze to the prince who stood beside his father, like moths to a flame. 

He was a pretty little thing, nothing like what Kon had expected. The poets spoke of ethereal beauty, but they failed to capture his essence. The omega's beauty was not sharp like a sword's edge, nor as fleeting as a summer breeze. Instead, it was a gentle cascade of moonlight whispers, weaving through the tapestry of night, leaving a trail of stardust in its wake. His hair, a cascade of dark waves, fell in gentle layers around his shoulders, glinting softly in the chandeliers' warm glow. His attire clung to his form in all the right places, accentuating the curves of his figure without revealing too much. The heat settled low in Kon's belly when his eyes flicked to the slit of the prince's chiton, which lifted every now and then to give a tantalising glimpse of his—

Kon felt as if the arrow of Eros struck deep in his gut.

The crowd seemed to fade away. It was as though time itself had paused, allowing him to drink in every detail of the omega. An unfamiliar warmth spread through his veins. He barely noticed when Bart spoke to him. 

King Bruce made his way towards the imposing throne at the far end of the room, flanked by guards in ceremonial attire. The crowd parted seamlessly, creating a path for the king and his son. Prince Timothy took his place on the smaller throne beside his father. The rich fabric of his attire shimmered subtly, catching the light as he moved.

“Honoured guests,” he began, his eyes sweeping over the assembled nobles and dignitaries. “It is with great pride and gratitude that we welcome you all to Gotham. We gather not only to celebrate the bonds of our kingdoms but also to look towards the future with hope and unity.”

He paused, allowing his words to settle in for those listening. “In these times, it is more crucial than ever for our realms to stand together, to forge alliances that will ensure peace and prosperity for generations to come.”

The king’s gaze shifted to his son, a fond look in his eyes before he turned back to the assembly, his expression hardening. “We gather tonight to honour my son as he reaches the age of maturity. This evening marks the commencement of the Batalha, a contest in which you all will have the chance to compete for his hand in marriage. The victor, proven to be the most worthy, will be chosen and betrothed to the prince at the conclusion of these games. May the Gods be with us.”

With the formal declaration made, it was time to invoke the blessings of the gods. The herald struck his staff against the floor, and a group of dancers emerged, their costumes vibrant and flowing. They moved gracefully to the centre of the hall, forming a circle. The music began but the main focus was on the beta in the middle. Wearing a shimmering black gown adorned with intricate embroidery, she danced gracefully. 

That must be the princess. 

Kon had heard about one of the King's children who was a dancer, but seeing her in person was something else entirely. 

Her movements were fluid and effortless. The other dancers moved in harmony with her, their own costumes a riot of colours that complemented her attire. The dance was more than just a performance, it was a prayer, a ritual to seek the gods' favour for the upcoming tradition. As the music ended, the princess's feet came to a graceful stop. Applause rang through the hall as the other dancers bowed and dispersed.

But the princess— her expression composed— made her way to the king first, embracing him warmly. The king returned her hug with a proud smile. Then she made her way to her brother's side. The prince looked up and smiled at her. She returned his smile, her own expression softening, and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. After a brief moment, she whispered something in his ear, causing him to giggle. She straightened, her eyes scanning the hall briefly before she turned and made her way back to the other dancers. With a final, graceful bow to the assembled guests, she exited the hall with her troupe. 

The hall transitioned seamlessly into the next phase of the evening. King Bruce rose from his throne. The murmurs in the hall quieted as all eyes turned to him. 

"Let this evening be one of joy and unity. May our feast symbolise the friendship and goodwill between our lands.” With a nod, he signalled for the feast to begin.

The servants came out, bearing trays laden with exquisite dishes, and began serving. The tantalising aromas of roasted meats, spiced vegetables, and freshly baked bread filled the air. Crystal glasses sparkled in the chandelier's glow, and silverware gleamed next to fine porcelain plates. Kon found his own seat among the other suitors, Gabriel sitting beside him. When the first course was served, he forced himself to focus on the meal, yet his thoughts kept drifting back to the prince and the duel ahead. 

He noticed the way Prince Timothy interacted with his father, seated beside him on a smaller throne next to the king. They shared a quiet conversation. He strained to catch snippets of their dialogue, his eyes observing the subtle body language between them. The prince seemed a bit overwhelmed, his gaze darting around the room as he tried to focus on his meal. Kon watched as the king placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder, leaning in to speak to him.

Gabriel, noticing Kon's distraction, leaned in slightly and whispered, "You seem rather interested in the prince, Your Highness.”

Kon, startled by Gabriel's words, quickly shook his head. "No, it's not that," he replied. He took a sip of his wine before replying, keeping his voice low. "I'm just... thinking about the competition. There's a lot at stake.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Indeed. But your gaze has been following the prince quite closely.”

Kon forced a casual shrug, trying to appear nonchalant as he speared meat with his fork. “It's natural to be curious about the prize. I need to understand who I'm competing for.” He took a bite.

Gabriel nodded slowly, though a hint of doubt remained in his eyes. "True. But remember, my Prince, the Batalha is about more than just winning the prince's hand. It's about proving your worth and your intentions.” The beta then added, his tone softening slightly, "There is no harm in feeling a connection. Do not be like me, growing old without ever knowing the warmth of companionship. Life has a way of slipping by faster than we realise.”

Kon smiled, though his eyes held a hint of irritation. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned slightly towards him. “Gabriel.” he said, his voice smooth. “Sometimes I wonder if you enjoy overstepping your boundaries. Perhaps I should remind you what happens to those who speak too freely.”

Gabriel smiled faintly, inclining his head. "A jest, my Prince. I assure you, my intentions are always to serve and guide you.”

“Good.” 

With the final courses finished, the atmosphere in the hall shifted, anticipation growing. The main course had been enjoyed, and now all attention returned to the reason for their gathering. Servants discreetly collected the empty plates, while the room buzzed with whispered conversations and eager glances.

The herald, a distinguished figure in elaborate robes, raised his staff and prepared to call the names, setting the stage for the suitors to present themselves to the prince.

"Let us now commence with the next phase of our ceremony," he announced. "With gratitude for your presence and participation, I call upon each suitor to step forward and make their intentions known.” The herald's voice echoed through the grand hall, announcing the names of the suitors one by one. Each name stirred a quiet excitement among the gathered guests, eager to see who would step forward next.

"The first to step forward," he declared, "is the esteemed Prince Roy of Star City.”

The red head prince stepped forward. He made his way gracefully to the centre of the hall, where Prince Timothy and King Bruce awaited. A wide grin adorned Roy's face, and he exchanged a playful wink with the young prince, causing a delicate pink hue to tint the omega's cheeks. It was a subtle but telling reaction, one that didn't escape Kon's notice. 

Bruce greeted Roy. “Ah, Prince Roy, it's a pleasure to have you here. How is your father?”

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he replied, inclining his head respectfully. "My father is well, thank you for asking. He sends his regards and his best wishes for the success of this ceremony.”

Bruce nodded, pleased to hear the news. "That's good to hear. Please extend my regards to him as well," he said graciously.

Following the suitor from Themyscira, Bruce's expression shifted to one of surprise, a pleasure illuminating his features when he caught sight of Cassandra Sandsmark, one of the few female alphas present at the ceremony. Her gift for Prince Timothy, a beautifully crafted pendant adorned with intricate designs and sparkling gemstones. She presented it to the prince with a respectful bow. More names are called— Central, Scyhtia, Seattle, Trilonia. Kon couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment when his land didn't get called. His kingdom, while not small by any means, boasted a formidable army and a rich history of conquest. Kon had earned a reputation for his skill and strategic prowess, leading his forces to victory in battles that had secured his kingdom's prosperity. Even at the young age of sixteen, he had proven himself on the battlefield.

“Prince Kon-El of Krypton.” 

Kon made his way to the dais, his gaze unwavering, head held high. As he moved through the crowds, murmurs rippled through the room, whispers of anticipation and curiosity following in his wake. 

The young conqueror, people whispered. 

He reached the dais and stood before the majesty, bowing deeply. His posture was confident, yet respectful. Bruce regarded Kon with a discerning eye, recognizing the qualities that had earned the young prince his formidable reputation. There was no hint of a smile, just a slight nod of acknowledgment.

"Prince Kon," Bruce began, his gaze steady. "How is your father? I hope he is in good health. It has been a long time since we last spoke.”

Kon had heard snippets of their past camaraderie, tales of shared victories and mutual respect. But as time passed, those stories faded into whispers of distant memories, overshadowed by the silence that now defined their relationship.

"Your Majesty," Kon replied, tilting his head. "My father is well, thank you for asking.” He added. “He mentioned considering stepping down soon, passing the mantle to the next generation.”

Bruce's brows lifted in surprise, though his expression remained stoic. "I see…," he responded, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "That's a significant decision. Your father has served Krypton with distinction.”

Kon nodded. "Indeed, he has. It will be a great honour and challenge to follow in his footsteps.” He paused for a moment before he turned his attention to Gabriel and the other servants from Krypton. With a gesture, he signalled them to bring forth the gift he had brought from his homeland.

Approaching the king, Kon offered a respectful bow before presenting the ornate, jewel-encrusted gifts. "Your Majesty," he said. “As a gesture of goodwill and friendship from the people of Krypton to the kingdom of Gotham, I present these treasures. For you—”

Kon looked up and met Prince Timothy gaze. Up close, the prince was even more stunning. Long dark eyelashes framed wide, baby blue eyes that seemed surprised as the alpha extended the gift. His cheeks flushed a delicate pink. His lips curled into a small, appreciative smile and Kon found himself momentarily lost in the prince's beauty before regaining his composure.

"—And for the prince.” 

The prince accepted the gift, his fingers brushing against Kon's as he took it. The brief contact sent a shiver down the alpha's spine. His eyes widened slightly, the delicate pink on his cheeks deepening.

“Thank you. These gifts are truly beautiful.” 

Kon felt his heart skip a beat at the sound of the prince's voice. Dammit, he had sworn he wouldn't fall for the prince, and now— each word the omega prince spoke felt like a gentle caress, drawing him in deeper. 

Kon swallowed, trying to steady his racing heart.

"I'm glad you like them, Prince Timothy," Kon replied, his own voice catching slightly. His gaze lingered on the prince's face, taking in the way his dark lashes framed those blue eyes, the shy smile playing on his rosy petal lips. It was a smile that could make men to march into war. 

The hall, the guests, even the king, all seemed to blur into the background. Maybe it was just Kon. 

The prince looked up, meeting Kon's gaze directly. "I... I appreciate your thoughtfulness," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words were meant just for Kon.

Kon felt a warmth spread through his chest, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation. "It's an honour to be here," he managed to say, struggling. He took a step back, reluctantly breaking the moment. 

King Bruce watched the exchange intently, a furrow forming on his brow. He cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him.

"Prince Kon," he began, his voice carrying a hint of gravity, "Thank you for your generosity. I appreciate the gesture on behalf of the people of Krypton.”

“My pleasure, Your Majesty. It is my honour to represent my homeland here today.”

As he stepped back, he couldn't help but steal one last glance at the prince, who was now looking down at the gift with a small, shy smile. Not realising there were a pair of green eyes watching him.

Chapter Text

Tim adjusted the himation draped across his shoulder, tugging at it one last time. The fabric, soft and luxurious, felt almost foreign against his skin despite the countless times he'd worn it. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breath in. Breath out. He closed his eyes, grounding himself in the familiar rhythm of his breath. He had practised this for years— the countless hours spent rehearsing his entrance, perfecting his poise, and learning to maintain an air of serene confidence under scrutiny. He was no stranger to these events yet;

He shouldn't have felt this nervous.

Tim had trained for it all his life. Every step, every gesture had been drilled into him until it became second nature. He couldn't afford to mess up. 

The faint murmur of voices seeped through the heavy wooden doors of the throne hall, he steeled himself for the moment ahead. Nobles and kings from across the world had gathered for this evening's ceremony. Tim had heard from his siblings about the guest list: Markovia and Themyscira, the land of the Amazons, renowned for its fierce warriors and ancient traditions. Seattle, a new rising kingdom. Scythia, famed for its rich cultural heritage and formidable cavalry. And then there was Krypton— that last name made him pause. The kingdom of Krypton rarely attended such events, their presence here meant something important. Bruce had been silent when he heard the news. Tim didn't know what had happened between Gotham and Krypton, but he sensed a tension whenever the subject arose. Some truths were better left unspoken. 

There were rumours, of course. Whispers of a strained alliance, of past disagreements and unspoken grudges. That the Kryptonian delegation's arrival was not just a mere formality. 

"Why would they come now?" 

"Politics," Dick had replied with a shrug. "Or maybe they're just curious to see how much we've changed. Or how much we haven't.”

Tim considered Dick's words, knowing there was likely more beneath the surface. But he knew better than to push further.

Dick had mentioned it casually, perhaps thinking it would lift Tim's spirit but it only added to his anxiety. He imagined the faces behind the doors. Kings and princes, dukes and duchesses, all eyes that would soon be on him, judging every move, every word. The thought was a little bit daunting, and he could feel the anxiety building in his chest. 

Bruce must have noticed Tim's rising panic because his father's hand landed gently on the omega's shoulder, offering some semblance of comfort. At that, Tim sighed heavily and leaned his head against the older alpha's forearm, seeking solace in the familiar presence.

Though that moment didn't last long when the herald's booming voice echoed through the hall.

"Announcing the arrival of His Royal Majesty, King Bruce and His Royal Highness, Prince Timothy of Gotham.” Every eye in the room turned towards them. Tim did as he’d been taught. Wait by the door until it opened, batted off his lashes and tried his best at the smile he’d rehearsed over and over again, adding a subtle sway of his hips to his walk. Enough to keep those alphas at bay. 

But despite all the glitz and glamour poured onto him for this evening's ceremony; the embroidered robes, the jewels adorning his wrists and neck, the meticulous grooming— he'd never felt as exposed and vulnerable as he did now. Those eyes, assessing him from head to toe, made him feel like a piece of meat on display in a butcher's shop, evaluated not for his worth but for his desirability as an omega. The audacious whistles from the crowd were like hot irons on his skin. 

He wanted to run away, running where? He didn't know. He didn't care. He would run until his feet carried him off the palace grounds. He would run until the walls of Gotham were far behind him. 

Anything but this.

But he had spent the better part of the last three weeks preparing for his introduction to society against his own liking. He was duty-bound and he wasn’t the type to throw away his responsibilities because they were undesirable to him. He could power through anything, and would find the light in it all. That was what was expected of him. 

Tim's gaze flickered towards Bruce, his father's. The tightness in his chest coming back, there was a desperate desire to move closer, to find solace in the familiar warmth of his father's side. He could almost feel the ghost of his younger self, clutching Bruce's hand tightly during public events, the little pat on the shoulder that everything would be alright. But that comforting refuge seemed worlds away now. 

His steps faltered for a fraction of a second as the old instinct to seek comfort tugged at him, like a bird yearning for the safety of its nest. No. Not now. Not here. He forced himself to stand a little taller, to keep his distance.

He wasn't a child anymore. Not anymore. 

Tim kept his head higher, greeted the onlookers with a sweet smile, as if wearing a mask of sunlight. He had come all this way already. Why not just play along?

They made their way to the throne, feeling the eyes of the court upon them. He took his place beside Bruce, the throne room falling into silence. 

The ceremony was slower than Tim thought. Every moment felt like an eternity, stretching out endlessly as if time itself had slowed to a crawl. The murmur of voices became a distant hum, white noise, what an awful sound.

Bruce gave a few words of welcome to the guests. Each phrase was familiar, a well-rehearsed script for public events. As he spoke, Tim glanced at the crowd, his fingers drummed lightly against the armrest of his chair, a subtle attempt to release some of the pent-up tension. It was a nervous habit of his, something to do with his hands to take his mind off all the people around him. 

Then, the ceremony paused for a ritual to appease the Gods, with Cass taking centre stage. She moved with grace, her dance captivating the audience. The soft swish of her garments and the delicate sound of her footsteps on the polished floor created a rhythm. When the dance ended, the room erupted in applause. Cass bowed. 

Before she left, she leaned in close to Tim, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘Just imagine them in sleepwear.’ He couldn't help but stifle a giggle.

The evening went on with a feast. The long tables laden with an assortment of dishes meant to honour every kingdom present. The preparation had been meticulous, ensuring that for this night, everyone, regardless of their rank, would share the same food and drink, equality, Bruce said.

“Do you not want to eat?” Bruce asked. “I asked the servants to bring your favourite.” Tim blinked.

Slowly, he shook his head, movements deliberate. He brought the goblet of water closer, his nose nearly touching the rim. Each sip tasted bitter on his tongue. He swirled the clear liquid around, watching as it caught the light from the chandeliers above, but he couldn't bring himself to take another drink. The grand hall buzzed with activity, but to Tim, it all seemed like a distant hum. Plates clinked, and servants moved gracefully between tables, their trays laden with an array of sumptuous dishes. The tantalising aroma of roasted meats, spiced vegetables, and freshly baked bread filled the air, yet it did nothing to stir his appetite. He didn’t have the appetite. He suspected he wouldn’t for a very long time.

Bruce sighed. He reached across the table and plucked a platter of bread, placing it gently on Tim’s plate. The bread was still warm, its golden crust glistening with a hint of butter. 

"At least have some bread," Bruce urged softly. "You haven't eaten for a whole day today.”

Tim glanced at the platter, the perfectly arranged slices of bread. He knew his father was right, but the thought of eating felt like an insurmountable task. The anxiety that gnawed at his insides made the very idea of food unappetizing. His eyes drifted from the platter to the bustling hall. Nobles and dignitaries were mingling, their conversations punctuated by polite laughter and the clinking of crystal glasses, all seemed to blur together in a haze of sensory overload. He felt nauseous just thinking about it. He shook his head more firmly, trying to dispel the rising tide of panic. 

Tim waited, watching Bruce's hand hover for a moment before retreating. The older alpha sighed. "You know. The council is watching us closely tonight. They’re assessing every gesture, every word. You need to show them you're strong, even when you don't feel like it.”

Tim looked down, his hand a vice on the fork, as if gripping the last thread of sanity. "I know… It's part of our duty. I’m handling it. It's just overwhelming, that's all. I'm sorry.”

He was handling it… or at least, he told himself that. 

Bruce nodded, his eyes briefly scanning the room before returning to Tim. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on his face, accentuating the lines of weariness etched there. 

"It is overwhelming. And it's unfair. But sometimes, we have to do things we don't want to do because it's expected of us.”

Tim picked up a small piece of bread, his fingers trembling. He forced himself to take a bite, the taste bland and almost mechanical, but at least it was a start. "Just because I'm an omega?” 

Bruce's jaw clenched at the mere mention of Tim's status. Tim knew he had hit a sensitive spot. 

“It's not just that.” Bruce replied, his voice tense but controlled. “It is the delicate dance of power and politics, the alliances that safeguard our kingdom. Being an omega means you're seen as a valuable link in those alliances. I wish it were different, Tim. I… I really do.”

Tim knew Bruce was speaking the truth but sometimes, he wished for a different reality where his father's words were but a comforting lie.

He looked away, his gaze drifting over the opulent hall, a sea of faces blurring together. "So I have to be a pawn in their games?”

"You're not a pawn," Bruce said, his voice softening. "You're my son. And yes, our roles come with burdens, but they also come with the power to make a difference. This marriage can secure peace, it can protect lives.”

Tim pursued his lips.

“Tim, I know I'm asking a lot from you. More than any father should have asked. You're strong, you're smart and to me, you always have been. But the world is slower to change.”

Bruce looked down at him. And in that moment, Tim felt smaller than he ever had before.

“I hope you can understand this.” 

Tim swallowed hard. The lump in his throat was almost unbearable. 

“... I understand.” 

The hours dragged on, and now he found himself in a situation where the suitors introduced themselves. His eyes glazed over as the next first approached, bowing low before introducing himself with a rehearsed flourish. 

Their voices cut through the din, each one eager to make an impression. Tim forced himself to pay attention, nodding politely and blushing a bit as they spoke, just to appear engaged. 

Tim didn't know what to feel about these suitors. Sure, he knew at the end of the day, he had to choose someone to be his mate and vice versa, but there was no one who truly captured his interest. Not even the red-headed alpha. 

Roy Harper, the son of one of Bruce's closest allies, had always been a part of Tim's life. They had met when Tim was just a child, tagging along behind his older brother, Dick, at the Titan Royal Academy. Roy had been one of Dick's friends, and the three of them had trained together in the courtyard, sparring with wooden swords and practising their archery. Over the years, Roy had become like another older brother to Tim… someone he looked up to and admired.

It wasn't that the alpha lacked sincerity— it was just that their connection felt more like a well-worn friendship than the spark of something deeper. Tim knew that Roy was a good man, a loyal friend, and a capable warrior. He would make a fine mate for someone, but Tim couldn't shake the feeling that choosing him would be settling for what was comfortable and familiar rather than what was truly right for him. Tim sighed. 

There were others too, older alphas who came with their own achievements and reputations. They spoke of alliances and territories, of wealth and influence, all in hopes of catching Tim's eye and securing their place at his side. It made Tim feel a bit uneasy. Their attention felt more like an attempt to secure an advantageous alliance rather than a genuine desire to know him as a person. Not to mention those people who were already married, their wedding bands gleaming as they offered compliments and promises but still went into this ceremony. Tim found it difficult to mask his discomfort in their presence. He respected the institution of marriage and understood the complexities of political unions, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for their spouses. Were they aware of their husbands' intentions? Did they support their pursuit of a royal omega for political gain?

Each introduction blurred into the next, a monotonous procession of names and titles that held no real significance to him. 

Until he came along. 

Tim didn't remember what had initially caught his attention. At first, he didn't care much for the grandiose introductions, the polished words, or the extravagant gifts that accompanied each suitor. It was all part of the ceremonial dance he had been reluctantly thrust into, a dance where he played the role of a prize to be won.

But then, the prince of Krypton approached.

"—And for the prince."

Tim accepted the gifts. His disinterest faded as he inspected the necklace more closely. The sapphire stone, adorned by delicate filigree work, stirred a distant memory. It was reminiscent of the one his late mother used to wear. Similar yet different.

He looked up, curious about the prince who had presented it. Prince Kon-El stood before him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with raven-black hair that fell in soft waves around his face. His piercing blue eyes, a shade darker than Tim’s.

There was something different about him, something that set him apart from the other suitors. Maybe it was the genuine look in his eyes or the way he carried himself with a mixture of confidence and humility. Tim's gaze lingered on Prince Kon-El for a moment longer than he intended. There was a sincerity in the way he spoke and a warmth in his smile that seemed to cut through the formalities of the evening. Unlike the others, the prince didn't seem to be trying too hard to impress; he was simply being himself.

Tim had heard tales from other nobility about the infamous Prince of Krypton. The young conqueror, they say. Stories circulated about his early military triumphs and strategic brilliance, which had swiftly earned him respect and renown across the realms. His ability to lead his kingdom's forces to victory in battles that secured territorial gains and enhanced his country's influence painted him as a formidable figure in geopolitical circles even at a young age. Yet, as Tim gazed at Prince Kon-El, he realised he didn't know what he had expected— perhaps a murdering brute with an axe in his hands, or someone laughing like a maniac as he dragged captives to the chopping block? Looking at Prince Kon-El now, he couldn't quite imagine him that way.

"Thank you," Tim said, his voice softer than he had intended. "These gifts are truly beautiful.”

Prince Kon-El's eyes met his, and for a brief moment, Tim felt an unexpected connection. It wasn't the overwhelming, instant attraction he had read about in tales of romance, but rather a subtle curiosity, like the first light of dawn breaking over a shadowed landscape, casting hidden details.

“I'm glad you like them, Prince Timothy.” 

Tim's cheeks warmed, though his expression remained composed. "I… I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” Tim found himself holding the prince's gaze a moment longer, drawn by an inexplicable pull, like a moth to a flame that promised warmth rather than destruction. His fingers traced the necklace's delicate design, the sapphires cool against his skin. 

"It's an honour to be here," Prince Kon-El replied with a slight bow, stepping back.

Tim smiled back. 

When the night finally drew to a close, Tim found himself alone in his chambers. The flickering candlelight, softened by the velvet drapes that billowed gently in the cool night breeze, cast dancing shadows across the room as he paced back and forth. The scent of lavender and sandalwood from the candles mingled with the faint aroma of freshly cut roses placed in a vase on his bedside table. In his hand, he held the necklace he had received earlier. Tim turned it over in his fingers, marvelling at the delicate filigree work that adorned the silver chain. Alfred had urged him to eat dinner before bed, but Tim had declined, insisting he wasn't hungry. Despite the ceremony’s end, summoning the appetite to stomach anything proved impossible.

Sighing, Tim moved towards his bed and sank down onto the soft mattress. He stared up at the ceiling, the weight of the day settling heavily on his shoulders. Slowly, he opened his fist to gaze at the necklace once more. The sapphire stone, in particular, captured his attention— the deep blue hue shimmered softly, reflecting the faint candlelight.

It was more than just a beautiful gemstone. 

Tim knew from his readings that sapphires, especially ones of this rich blue colour and clarity, were rare and highly valued. Sapphire of Elysium. They were coveted not just for their beauty but for their scarcity and the unique characteristics that set them apart from other gemstones. The thought that Prince Kon-El had chosen such a precious gift weighed on his mind.

As Tim carefully placed the necklace on the nightstand, preparing to retire for the night, the door suddenly swung open with a creak. Reflexively, the omega's hand darted under his pillow and closed around the hilt of a small dagger he kept hidden there. It was dark, and he couldn’t immediately see who had entered his—

"Tim," a familiar voice drawled from the doorway.

Tim's tension eased slightly when he heard the voice. He let out a scoff, relaxing his grip on the dagger. "Jason," he replied. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. What are you doing sneaking into my chambers?”

Jason stepped further into the room, his figure outlined by the soft glow of candlelight that flickered against the steel armour he wore. His gaze trailed over the dagger that Tim held. Tim noticed the look, quickly tucked the dagger under his pillow before walking over to Jason.

The older alpha leaned against the doorframe. "Just checking in on you after all the festivities. You looked like you could use some company.”

Tim scrunched his nose. "I don't need anyone to babysit me. I'm fine,” he retorted. The omega's words came out sharper than he intended, but he couldn't help it. Everyone was always treating him like he was some sort of fragile glass. 

Jason glanced around the room, noticing the untouched dinner tray and the general disarray. "Fine, huh? Are you sure about that?"

Tim looked away, his shoulders slumping slightly. With a frown, he sat down on the edge of the bed, the day's exhaustion finally catching up to him.

Moving closer, Jason took a seat beside Tim on the bed and draped an arm around his neck. "Come on, someone's got to keep an eye on you.”

Tim rolled his eyes but didn't shrug off Jason's arm. "You stink, you know that?" he quipped, glancing sideways at the alpha.

Jason raised an eyebrow, amused. “I was just out patrolling Gotham. It's not exactly fragrant out there.”

“Bruce sent you here?”

Jason released Tim from his grasp. 

"Bruce didn't send me if that's what you're wondering.” He hummed. “It was actually Dick. He thought you might need a little moral support… after the big event. You know how he worries.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He's worried about you, Tim. We all are.”

Jason's words hung in the air, mingling with the flickering candlelight that painted dancing shadows across the room. Tim glanced down at his hands, his fingers idly tracing the intricate patterns on the bedsheets.

"But I'm fine," Tim finally said, his voice softer now, lacking the bite from earlier. "Just... processing everything.”

There was a moment of silence between them, the only sound the crackling of the candles and the faint rustling of fabric as Jason shifted beside him. Tim would never admit this, but the alpha had a way of making him feel safe, even when everything seemed to be falling apart. 

Jason rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture of his when he was trying to find the right word. He broke the silence first. "So, how was the ceremony today? I'm sorry I couldn't be there. There were reports of bandits causing trouble. Bruce needed me out there to make sure they didn't get too close to the city.”

Tim's lips pressed into a thin line as he considered how to respond. “It went well… lots of speeches, congratulations, the usual stuff.”

Jason tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied Tim's face. "That doesn't sound like the whole story," he said quietly, watching Tim's fingers fidget with the edge of his nightgown sleeve. The soft silk whispered against his skin. 

Tim glanced up at Jason, searching his face. “It's overwhelming and you weren't there… I mean, I get why, but—” His gaze dropped to his hands, now clenching the fabric of his nightgown. 

An emotion flickered across Jason’s face— something Tim couldn't quite identify. He reached out, placing his hand on Tim's hand. “... I understand.” His voice was steady. “If I could have been there, I would have.” 

Tim nodded, but the tension in his posture didn't ease. Jason sensed there was more going on beneath the surface. Exhaling softly, his gaze swept around the room, landing on scattered items and an untouched dinner tray before settling on the necklace lying on the nightstand. The deep blue sapphire caught the flickering candlelight, casting a mesmerising glow.

Jason raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "That's quite a piece of jewelry," he remarked, nodding towards the nightstand. "Where'd you get it?”

Tim followed Jason's gaze, his eyes settling on the necklace. He felt a wave of mixed emotions wash over him as he recalled the moment he received it. But instead of sharing the truth, he hesitated. “It's nothing. It's just a gift from one of the visiting dignitaries," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "They thought it would be a nice gesture.”

Jason's eyes narrowed slightly. "Really? Seems like an awfully grand gesture for a random dignitary.”

"You know how they are. Always trying to impress.”

“I suppose so.” 

Jason shifted his weight on the bed, adjusting his posture as he considered Tim's response. 

“Say, there's a celebration in the market tomorrow," Jason suggested. "Why don't we attend? It might be a welcome respite from the palace.”

Tim looked up. "Oh? I hadn't been informed. What's the occasion?”

"Just a local festival," Jason replied with a faint smile. "Music, food stalls, maybe even some games. It could be a good distraction.”

There were festivals in Gotham during the spring, where hymns rose like prayers on the wind and offerings to the gods adorned every altar. Streets donned tapestries of gold and crimson, mirroring the bounty of the season. Children would run through the streets, laughing and playing, while performers entertained the crowds with music and dance. It was a time where the city would take a break from its usual shadows, embracing life in full measure.

For Tim, these festivities were a distant dream. He rarely went out, especially not to public festivals. Being an omega in the royal family had its downsides. On top of that, having a protective father like Bruce meant his movements were often restricted, and his safety prioritised above all else. Still, the idea of escaping the confines of the palace, even if just for a day, was appealing.

"Do you think Bruce would let me?" 

"I can handle Bruce.” Jason scoffed. There was a look on his face, as if to say what's he gonna do? “I'll tell him it's important for you to get out and clear your head. Besides, I'll be with you the whole time. He trusts me to keep you safe.”

Tim could already imagine the vibrant colours of the market, the lively music, and the tantalising aromas from the food stalls. It was a world so different from the rigid structure of royal life, a taste of freedom he rarely experienced. Soon, he knew, all of this would change. He wondered about the kingdom he would soon be married into, the lands he had never seen, and if he would ever have the chance to explore beyond his new home. But for now, he felt he deserved to enjoy this brief taste of freedom and joy before all of that. Just this once, he dared to break Bruce's rules.

“Alright.” Tim said. “I think I'll go.” 

Jason’s grin widened, and for a moment, the weight on Tim's shoulders felt a little lighter.