Archive of Our Own

It all starts with the words "Derek, you need to find yourself a suitable wife." and does a fifty foot drop downhill from there. In the years prior to this statement, Derek's two sisters had warned him, had told him that one day he would have his own kingdom to run and protect, and that one of his duties to it would be to marry someone who would help his kingdom achieve Happily Ever After status. He got his own kingdom, but now–three years later–he's standing in his mother's courtroom with his main advisor named Boyd on one side and Boyd's built-in protection slash girlfriend Erica on the other.

His mother sits on a huge throne bent from dogwood and willow branches, looking delicately dangerous. Her head advisor and the country-wide doctor, Dr. Deaton, is sitting next to her and looking as amiable as ever.

Derek's almost ashamed to say that he whines. "But Mother, my people are safe! They are well fed! No famish has befallen us and no war has tortured our young men! We are the best we've ever been, and I haven't had a mate through any of it, nor needed one."

"But your people do not feel safe without you being wedded." Queen Talia stands, her regal alpha power sweeping over the room. "No kingdom is completely safe, but it makes the people feel better if you've achieved HEA status."

"You knew this day was coming, little brother." Laura says quietly to him, her head bowed respectfully.

"Mother, I do not want to marry because I have to," Derek says, though he knows he's been defeated. "I want to marry someone I care for."

"And you will." His mother's features soften at the sight of her one and only son pleading before her. "Derek, it will not only help make your people feel better, but also your allied kingdoms. They feel much safer with you having HEA status as well. And you, my son," she says, tenderness overcoming her, "I fear that you are always too caught up in work. Your duties are important, but you must learn to enjoy the simplicities. I believe a princess will balance you out just perfectly."

Derek sighs, already knowing and accepting his loss. "What would you have me do?" He asks.

Talia smiles in content, mischief flickering in her eyes. That shine never seems to die out. "I do believe we'll have to prepare a ball."

Predictably, the ball goes to shit.

Derek tried to make it work, and he will swear up and down that the things that went wrong were not his doings. It started with him getting ready. His formal uniform had holes in it, so he had to wear an old one of his father's that drooped slightly on the young king, and how was he supposed to know that his mother wanted him clean shaven? Derek never bothered with a perfect shave because the Hale family men always had a thing for growing their hair back in a quarter of the time it took a regular man.

After a chewing out from his mother that ended with "Pish posh to it, you're going to be late to your own ball!", she had to rush Derek to the ballroom to get him there in time for his huge introduction. People had clapped and smiled, and Derek had almost hyperventilated at the insane amount of girls–no, women–donning bright dresses and neutral lipsticks since they heard that the king "likes his girls au naturale." He knew that his mother had invited ladies from his kingdom, her kingdom, and Laura's kingdom to the suitor ball, and any woman between the ages of 19-30 were invited to join the festivities. Derek himself is 26, and the woman just has to be old enough to bear him at least one child.

The actual ball starts out fine. Derek dances with the beautiful girls, all of them vying for his undivided attention; he escapes long enough to have a go at the chocolate fountain; he actually, you know, socializes. And then Peter–his uncle, his mentor, his...well...best friend–accidentally sets it off.

It being a firearm.

The crowd of almost entirely women and girls immediately erupts, screaming for unknown men to come and save them. It takes no time at all for a guard to grab Derek by the arm and drag him away from the scene. He's taken to the throne room, where the rest of his family is, and Peter is standing there with a sheepish grin.

"Sorry, nephew." He had said, and then went on to receive a good reprimand from Talia. He cowered like a dog.

Derek took that chance to bolt away and shut himself in his chambers, not even trying to hide his relief that the ball was over and done with. Now he sighs, laying out on his bed. "Two!" He calls out, staring at the ceiling and stretching his arms out on the bed. "I know you're here! You owe me two!"

A dark face appears from where Derek's bathroom is, but it's broken by a line of very white teeth. "Whatever, man." The owner of the dark face and white teeth digs into his trouser pocket and retracts a huge wad of crisp bills. He pulls out some crisp hundred dollar bills and whips them at Derek with his fingers, frisbee-style.

"I'm never gonna be able to buy Erica a house if you keep robbing me. Two thousand?" Boyd shakes his head in mock disappointment.

"You're the one who bets on the stupid things," Derek sits up, shoves the bills into the drawer of his night table, and looks at Boyd with innocent eyes.

"I knew I should've had less faith in your uncle." Boyd grumbles, acting a hell of a lot more upset than he actually is. Derek's known Boyd long enough to know that the man can't really get upset. He's a cool cucumber, and an even cooler guy when he's under the pressure of being a king's best friend and escort.

"Ah, you just let me win," Derek teases lightly.

Boys shrugs, then suddenly stiffens. "Your mother is on her way up here." He makes a face as he inhales. "She's definitely not overjoyed, but I think that's just some leftover stuff from Peter."

"Is it just me, or...shit, does she seem...excited?" Derek turns his wide eyes to Boyd.

Boys just shakes his head, ashen. "Not looking good for you, buddy."

"It's never a good sign when Mother is happy," Derek runs his face tiredly. "It means that she's been conniving."

As soon as Derek leaves the throne room, Talia's stern complexion crumples to a smile and her words of reprimand cease. Peter allows a smile to overcome his face as he pats his sister on the forearm. "A-plus acting, sis," he comments.

"And you as well, Peter." She says, letting a smile sneak onto her face. "It went perfectly."

They turn to the rest to the family, who are also barely containing their glee. "It's working," Lewis, Talia's mate, blurts.

"I'm so excited!" Laura claps her hands together gleefully. "My baby brother's getting a mate!"

"Hush now," Talia warns. "He may be able to hear you."

"And there's always the chance..." But Peter trails off, the thought too depressing to say aloud.

"Peter's right. There's always the chance that they'll reject the mating or never even see the possibility in the first place. This could always be disastrous." Talia continues for him, letting the family know how real the possibility of something going wrong is.

"And what if either of them fall in love with someone else before then?" Cora asks, worried.

"Cora, dear, both Derek and Stiles have been in love before. Their souls are already broken." Peter says delicately.

"But the love was not reciprocated for either boy," Talia says wisely. "And so their two broken souls have a chance at mending each other. They are truly soul mates."

Laura, through the euphoria, still manages to look skeptical. "We haven't even met this Stiles before, Mom. You're the only one who has. Not that I don't trust your judgement, but how can we do a whole family assessment to make sure he'll fit with the pack?"

Talia turns to her oldest, impressed but not surprised. "Stiles is...different. He's broken, he's young, he's inexperienced...but he's strong. And not only strong, but powerful." Talia smiles at her pack. "Stiles Stilinski will one day be one of the most powerful mages the world has ever seen." Her small but huge presentation of this boy shocks the family, and they're all wondering just who this boy is. "He's perfect for Derek." She says as a way to answer their collectively unspoken question, and then promptly walks out.

The way the bedroom doors burst open with a flair of extravagance draws attention to the fact that Alpha Talia Hale had been listening in on their entire conversation, but it's such a normal occurrence that it doesn't even bother Derek anymore. "Hello, Mother," he says.

Talia doesn't even bother with formalities, just closes the doors behind her and excitedly bustles Derek to his bed. "No time, my son! You must get packing. Since we've decided that a ball isn't suitable for a prince such as yourself, the court and I have come to the conclusion that you must go out and save your own princess." She's smiling, barely holding back her overblown excitement.

"I...what?" Derek all but screeches, clapping a hand over his mouth at the tone he just presented to his mother.

Talia just smiles tolerantly. "I'll be sending you out in two days to go on a quest to find your future bride." Derek is shocked into silence, and his mother takes advantage of it and plows forward. "I've already begun making arrangements. You will leave in two days' time with two horses and items to camp out. You will only be allowed one weapon, but I suggest your sword since that's what you have trained with the most. You will also be given a map, obvious provisions, and the specified amount of money allowed for the quest. Your provisions will only be as much as your horses can carry, and you'll also have to make travel plans."

Derek's face turns white at the thought of this venture, of the planning and preciseness that has to go into it. And he only has two days. "What about the location of princesses? Am I privy to that information?" He swallows the lump of anxiety in his throat just enough to ask.

"No, and that is why I have assigned a mage to accompany you."

"A...a mage!? Please don't tell me a kooky magus is going to be trailing me throughout this entire journey."

His mother almost looks smug as she says "Of course I wouldn't allow you to do this alone. And he has been hand-picked."

Derek's running through the many different ways he can get out of this. He's considering the traditional falling to the knees and begging, blowing up the kingdom with a nuclear magic bomb, or–his personal favorite and most likely–grabbing a rope to hang himself with. "I don't understand why–" he starts, his voice climbing high into a whine.

"He's the most promising mage that's been brought to us. He passed both Deaton's and my evaluation, and his father is the Sheriff of the Magical Intervention Squad."

Derek just looks confused now. "What does that prove? His father is in charge of the team that is sworn to kill him if he uses his magic for evil."

"That his magic is pure. He practices with pure intentions and no deceit. That's an important quality in a mage." Talia says gravely. "You have no more say. Rest well tonight, my son, for tomorrow you begin the planning."

She leaves Derek standing stunned in the middle of his old room, Boyd looking just as shocked just a few meters away. Talia is nothing if not punctual.

No matter how hard he tries, Derek cannot sleep. He's plagued by worries and fears. There aren't many mages in the world today, and there's a reason for that. They're dangerous, unpredictable, and most of them use their magic to meddle with stuff that isn't theirs. Mages have always been seen as a wild card. If a child is found to possess magical abilities, they are immediately carded as a potential threat. Then they're taken in by a master, who teaches them control, balance, and anything else that will keep them from becoming power-hungry bastards. Most mages are given an awful reputation because of how greedy and powerful they are, and Derek knows that this stereotype exists for a reason. All in all, mages pretty much suck.

And he's going to be traveling with one for god knows how long.

Derek rolls over, his bed suddenly too hot as he contemplates the predicament he's suddenly in. The quest isn't something he's too incredibly worried about. His father had gone on one, Peter had...almost every prince or King is required at least one quest in their lifetime. Sometimes to find a partner, sometimes to save the kingdom from ruin, sometimes just to prove their worth. But Derek still can't get over the thought of this mage. Will he be tall? Short? Skinny? Fat? Annoying? Evil? Will he insist on sacrificing animals and drinking their blood as some others have? Will he curse anyone who looks at him the wrong way? Will he be totally silent and let an assassin slit Derek's throat in the middle of the night? Will he be the one slitting Derek's throat in the middle of the night?

Derek groans into his pillow. His life sucks.

The mage and his father arrive early that morning. Derek can hear their carriage approach his parents' castle before the sun has even attempted to peak over the endless sea of trees. He can hear the restless pattering of the chamber-maids and other castle workers as they scurry to make everything perfect, and he can even hear the hushed tones of his mother and the Sheriff. Derek's met Sheriff Stilinski once, and he never forgets a voice. His son, though, is a mystery. He never even knew the Sheriff had a kid until yesterday.

There's a light rapping at his door and it creaks open to reveal Boyd. "Your presence is requested in the drawing room as soon as possible by your mother and Sheriff Stilinski."

Derek's eyes narrow. "Will the mage be there?"

Boyd shakes his head. "The Sheriff's son is resting. It seems that he's had a most...unfulfilling night's rest."

Derek snorts. The kid probably didn't get a full eight hours and whined about it, so now he has a luxury that Derek can't afford. Derek kind of hates and feels bad for the snoot. "Alright. I'll be down in five minutes." Boyd turns to leave but Derek stops him. "Boyd." Boyd turns expectantly, eyebrows raised. "Find out all you can about the kid. Anything and everything. I expect a full report back." Boyd nods and leaves for good this time, treading with a silence only a werewolf can manage.

He gets up and grooms himself enough to be presentable, throwing on a nice tunic and saddle pants. Not that he would be riding out today, but he feels prepared for anything in these clothes. And god knows he doesn't have a clue what to expect.

His mother and the Sheriff are, as expected, waiting diligently for him as they spread out maps upon maps on the huge study table, pointing to different areas as they trace landmarks with their fingers. He shakes hands with the Sheriff, and his mother hands him a long piece of charcoal.

"We need to sketch out the best course for you and Stiles to take," his mother says contemplatively. "We have to make sure you hit some major cities and small towns as you trek about, not to mention a few magical forests here and there."

The Sheriff rubs his face. "God, this would be much easier with Stiles here. I'm sorry he couldn't join us this morning, I'm afraid the department was having some trouble with some kitsunes last night. Stiles is the only one powerful enough to take care of them, so he was busy with that, plus warding the main station until late into the night. He wanted to be here, believe me, he tried to sneak down here at least once, but he needs to rest."

The Sheriff looks worried, and immediately Derek scolds himself for being an ass. Of course the kid has a good reason for sleeping. It's not like anyone can afford to be a stuck-up brat these days. The Hales accept the apology, even though it isn't necessary.

Then they get to work.

The second Derek can get away from planning, he finds Boyd. "What can you tell me?"

Boys looks around before grabbing Derek's arm and leading him to the gardens. "His first name is foreign and too hard to pronounce, so he goes by Stiles Stilinski. I haven't seen him yet, but I've heard he's not bad looking. He's eighteen, and a very promising mage. His mother died from a mind curse when he was twelve, and everything he knows he learned from her. Uh...his best friend is a king from a nearby kingdom...McCall." Boyd shrugs. "No one really knows much about him, he doesn't have many close friends. But apparently he can talk anyone into just about anything."

"Manipulation?" Derek muses, his eyes wandering to the blue sky.

"No clue. Like I said, no one knows too much."

"Seems sketchy," Derek says, and at that moment he hears a loud wolf howl from somewhere in the middle of the castle. Boyd's ears prick up as well. "I guess that's our cue."

And together they walk into the castle to meet the mage.

Okay, he'll admit it. Stiles isn't very excited to go on this quest. King Derek Hale, the guy he's accompanying, is apparently cold and aloof. Sure he's a good King, but he's kinda awkward. At least, that's what he's heard. Who knows how much is real and how much is just Scott spreading rumors? As his best friend, Stiles knows that Scott is one of the biggest gossipers: he lives off of drama. It's both amusing and infuriating.

He chews on his lip compulsively while he stands in he throne room next to his father, hands clasped while he waits for King Derek. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet as he chews, which makes his father press a firm hand onto his shoulder. "Sorry," he whispers, and then continues bouncing. His father just sighs and looks heavenwards, used to Stiles's antics.

"Forgive my son," Talia says after her howl, "he doesn't stay very near. We like to think of him as a restless soul."

"It's no problem," Stiles's dad says dismissively. "Stiles is the same way, but I don't think he can respond as quickly."

Stiles blushes under Talia's sharp gaze, looking down at his practical boots. They are striped with purple and maroon, the colors that mark him a mage. He also has a maroon cloak and a dark purple–almost black–undershirt. He has a starry brooch, not to mention a matching pendant to match that mark him as well. But under all the required clothing is where his real markings—his permanent markings—are.

The door bursts open and Derek stalks in, looking poised and emotionless. A large black man is following him, and Stiles can immediately sense the closeness of their bond. They're more than pack brothers: they're blood brothers, bound by the promise of the young. It's the strongest promise a child can make—Stiles should know, him and Scott made the same one fifteen years ago. He can imagine that Derek and his escort have known each other for somewhere close to forever.

That's why it kind of scares him when Queen Talia waves her hand dismissively at the black man, saying "You can go now, Boyd. Your services are no longer needed." Boyd bows quickly and hurries back the way he and Derek just came, and Derek watches him go with a sad little twitch of his eyebrow. "Now then." Talia starts, and begins briefing them on their quest and what they need to know.

Stiles kind of tunes her out since he's heard all of his from his dad, and he takes the opportunity to study Derek. He's seen the young king from far away, but never close enough to gaze at (and definitely appreciate) his beauty. Derek is everything you want from tall to dark to handsome, with black stubble smeared across his sharp jawline and light eyes to completely contrast the darkness of the rest of him. He has on dark riding pants with a white shirt, making him look extremely ruffian-like and even more enticing.

Okay, okay, Stiles is definitely swallowing some potential drool.

When Derek slides his gaze over to Stiles, the king is unashamedly judging everything about him from his scuffed boots to his slightly styled hair. Stiles can sense a little bit of wariness too, and he has to hold in a sigh of disappointment. Derek would be like all the others, thinking that Stiles is a lowly mage, just put on this planet to meddle with everything and ruin peoples' lives. And yeah, maybe messing with people via magic is extremely fun, but it's not like Stiles does anything worse than your average prank. Usually he's too busy helping someone or learning more to have time to pull beginner tricks. That was something he did with Scott to entertain them both back when they were younger, but never anymore.

He feels a sharp elbow in his ribs, and Stiles hazily looks around the throne room. Queen Talia is looking at him expectantly and Stiles bites his lip bashfully, feeling the blotches of color appear on his cheeks and neck as he heats up. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that your highness?"

Luckily, Queen Talia just looks amused. "Do you, Stiles Stilinski, promise to aid my son in his quest and protect him with the best of your abilities to bring him back safely?"

"I do," Stiles nods, and the promise feels oddly binding.

"Do you, Derek Hale, promise to travel with my son and protect him to the best of your abilities to bring him back safely from your quest?" Sheriff Stilinski asks, his voice pleading and threatening all at once.

Derek nods curtly. "I do." His voice is low and slightly gruff, and it makes Stiles bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Great!" Queen Talia stands, clapping her hands together once with an art of finality. "That means we can finish up plans and you two can leave early tomorrow." She begins walking, taking the Sheriff's offered arm and venturing out of the throne room. "Come along, boys." Hesitantly, they looked at each other and began following their parents, careful to stay at least a yard away from one another.

They stop once they all get into the drawing room, which really was too small for all four of them. "Derek's seen all of this stuff, but we need to go over it with both of you here and then make some more decisions. Here is the provisions list." Talia hands Stiles a parchment that has loopy quilled writing all over it. It has some simple food items, clothing, bedding, the budget, and–to his delight–a list of potions Stiles will be allowed to bring. Stiles is also relieved that he gets his own horse.

"Now, here's the castle." His father points to a spot on the map. "You'll start by traveling to the east, but after that you can use your great people skills" is that sarcasm that Stiles detects? "and divining to find the locations of princesses." Yup, definitely sarcasm.

"You'll also need to help judge character. Once a princess has been rescued, she has to undergo a screening process that your father has told me that you are familiar and well practiced with?" Talia asks. Stiles just nods. "Perfect. Assess the princess with Derek, and if she is fit bring her back to be wed. Of not, offer her instructions to the nearest town or help her get back to her imprisonment. Either way, just make sure the right girl comes back. She is to be a queen, after all." Stiles nods some more, because what is he going to do: disagree with a Queen?

Talia smiles in satisfaction and turns to her son. "Derek, have you chosen your weapon?"

He nods. "My sword."

"Perfect. Stiles, you may have one weapon to bring with you. Your staff does not count. If you need time to decide, we can always make sure you have it tomorrow."

"No, I have it, my choice is my dagger."

"Perfect." She pauses, then decidedly rolls up the map. "I imagine you two are exhausted with all of this. Sleep well, and tomorrow morning before sunrise you will set out." Talia places a hand on both of their shoulders. "Goodnight."

They mumble a goodnight to her and Stiles's dad pats his shoulder. Derek disappears immediately. With the help of a maid, Stiles makes it back to his room, where he gets to work. It's time to prepare the magical aspect of the journey. He spreads out his copy of the map, running his fingers lightly over the course they're taking.

Then he grabs one of his spellbooks and flips to the page he needs. He begins rifling through his luggage, because he knows that everything necessary for the spell is somewhere, he just can't remember where he put it...

Stiles gives a triumphant cry as he holds up the first and smallest ingredient: a white feather. The rest of the stuff he has put aside in a fairly easily-accessible place, so he grabs them from the corner of the trunk of supplies and places them all on top of the map he has laid out on the desk. He has everything he needs: four beeswax candles, a bowl, a pitcher of pure spring water, a single match, and the white feather.

He carefully sets the candles on the map in a spot respectively north, east, south, and west. Stiles then places the wooden bowl in the exact center of them on the middle of the map and pours the pitcher of spring water into it. His measurements are so precise that when the pitcher is finally empty the water in the bowl is so filling that it threatens to spill over the brim, but holds fast to the side. He sets the pitcher aside.

He gently dips his right index finger in the water and touches the side of the north candle. He repeats the process with the south, then the east, then the west. He lights the match and begins to chant. "With this flame, I call upon the spirits of the west," he lights the west candle. "With this flame, I call upon the spirits of the east," he says as he touches the flaming head to the wick. "With this flame, I call upon the spirits of the south." Stiles can feel the heat of the flame on the wooden match. "With this flame, I call upon the spirits of the north." Right as he lights the last candle, the fire from the match jumps and bites the tips of his fingers, singing them and causing him to bite his lips hard enough to draw blood. Stiles shakes the flame out, wincing.

The room is entirely dark except for the flicker of candlelight against his face, the faint warmth brushing his cheeks. Stiles sets the blackened match aside and picks up the feather between his forefinger and thumb. He places the feather in the bowl and stirs it clockwise with his right index finger for one minute, no more and no less. Then he plucks the feather from the tiny whirlpool and waits until it is entirely settled before placing it back in. Her stirs it counterclockwise this time, with his left index finger. In exactly a minute he picks up the feather from the bowl and holds it over the bowl in the center of the candles.

"Spirits of the winds, empower this symbol and watch over the traveler who carries it," he says rhythmically. He continues holding the feather over the bowl of water as he blows out the candles: first north, then south, then east, then west. He finally sighs when the spell is over and tucks the feather in his breast pocket. He disposes of the water and puts the candles away. There are small traces of wax in the map, but other than that there no evidence that Stiles ever did anything. Which is probably a good thing, especially since his rituals and such seemed to freak people out. Even his dad sometimes told him to "tone down the witch thing" when it seemed to get too overwhelming.

With that all done and taken care of, Stiles unlaces his boots, wraps his cloak tighter around his body as he curls up on top of the bed's blankets, and falls into a deep sleep.

Derek wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of someone opening his bedroom door. Immediately, he's on alert, jumping upright in bed and readying his fist for whoever comes through the door. Is it Boyd? An assassin? His mother, his sisters, a maid? He holds tight to the sheets with his unclenched fist. A figure comes shuffling in through the door, boots on and eyes closed. Derek's eyesight is a little better than your average human's–even in the dark–and it doesn't take him long to realize that the person standing at the foot of his bed is–

"Stiles?" Derek asks, leaning forward in his bed, his fist already coming down to his side. "Stiles." Derek says again when the mage doesn't answer. Stiles continues to stand at the foot of his bed, swaying slightly. His lips are moving, but just barely, and his eyes are flickering wildly behind his fluttering eyelids. By his heartbeat, he should be awake–even nearing cardiac arrest–but he stays sleeping. Derek moves closer, speaking louder now. "Stiles." Derek reaches forward to grasp the boy's shoulders and shake him, but before he can lay a hand on him Stiles's lashes out and seizes his wrist with a surprising strength.

His eyes snap open, but instead of being the doe-eyed brown from earlier, they're a bright, supernatural violet. They look far away, as if Stiles isn't here or now. His lips begin moving faster, a furious pace, and his eyelids are fluttering even though they're open. Derek can sense the power radiating from Stiles, pouring over every centimeter of the room and making Derek cold as ice.

Stiles's murmurings are getting louder now, more coherent, and Derek can make out a few words "Journey....danger....blood....stand....jaunt...." Stiles continues breathing words out, eyes open but sightless, mouth moving so fast the words are all bleeding together.

"...Stiles?" Derek squeaks, but the terrifying scene doesn't stop. Items in his room have now begun to move about, books flying open and lamps flickering. It feels like there's an invisible tornado wrecking havoc in his room.

And then, just like it began, it all stops. Stiles's mouth stops moving, and he is completely still. His grip on Derek's wrist is still iron, and Derek fears what might happen if he tries to move away. Stiles's eyes are glowing a blinding violet, and he opens his mouth again. Derek is surprised to hear clear, concise words spilling from it.

"You'll journey out into the land
Where once a thousand men would stand
And danger nips right at your throat
Blood drowning you to stay afloat
And when the the time is right to band
You'll overcome to take the stand
Though one will not survive this jaunt
Doomed to breathe the mournful haunt"

The chanting is lyrical. His voice is light and flits over the heavy words like a dancer with ribbon tied to their feet. Stiles repeats the words, leaving Derek with a pit of dread in his stomach. What did he mean "One will not survive this jaunt"? It makes Derek feel sick, but before he can try to break away again, Stiles's grip on his wrist weakens and his eyes roll up to the back of his head. He sways precariously in the air for a moment, and Derek barely had time to react as he falls towards the floor. Derek throws his arms out and catches the mage before he hits, and is relieved when he can feel Stiles's heartbeat return to an almost normal pace.

Stiles's chest is heaving, and his eyes blink open heavily. Derek is relieved to find that they're their normal color, and he sags with the emotion. Stiles winces. "What happened? I'm assuming I did some freaky mojo shit, because my head freaking kills," he moans, closing his eyes and laying his head back on the cool stone floor.

"Uh, you sort of sleep-walked into my room. You were mumbling absolute nonsense, and then your eyes were purple, and they were glowing, and there was wind in my room. And then it stopped and you chanted stuff at me."

Stiles looks interested, opening his eyes and sitting up. Derek can tell that doing this much pains him, though. "Did I say anything worth mentioning?"

"Just stuff like how someone's going to die and that blood will drown us and none of it sounded very good."

Stiles just chuckles, holding his head. "You can't listen to me when I'm like that. I never say anything that makes sense when I'm under."

Derek cocks his head, confused. "When you're...under?"

"Yeah, that's what Scott calls it, because it's like I'm under the influence of some kind of drug. He thinks it's sooooo funny." Stiles quips sarcastically. "I might do this sometimes, fair warning," he says softly, then gingerly gets to his feet. "Well, sorry to wake you. Glad we had this talk, with you being surprised and broody and me just being in pain. I'm really exhausted though, and it feels like my head is about to implode. I'll see you in the morning." And just like that the mage is gone.

What the hell has Derek gotten himself into?

The morning comes too quickly after the late-night episode with the mage. Derek makes Boyd dump a cup of ice cold water into his face...repeatedly. It doesn't really work, and when he encounters Stiles out near the stables he is definitely not ready for it.

Stiles is bouncing and his fingers are fluttering as he ties crates to a dingy wooden cart. "Morning Your Highness! Ready to face the day?"

Derek feels a strange sense of déjà vu. Didn't he just say that he wasn't ready? Or maybe he didn't. He blinks heavily, shaking his head. "Probably not. How the hell are you so awake?" He's baffled when Stiles laughs at him.

"Here." A tin cup is shoved at him, a bit of the liquid inside sloshing out onto his hand. "Drink it. I promise you'll feel more awake." And though the mage is still laughing at him, Derek does as he says. "The effects aren't immediate, but you'll feel more awake soon." The moment the grainy drink hits his tongue, Derek is spluttering and coughing, trying to spit it back up. Stiles laughs again. "Yeah, uh, sorry. Forgot to tell you that magic doesn't exactly taste good."

"You think?" Derek hacks out, shoving the cup back at Stiles. "What is that?"

"Tea!" Stiles chirps back, dumping whatever was left in it out and then swinging the tin idly around. "It's got a lot of herbs and flowers and a little magic. That's the part that doesn't taste good."

Derek wipes his tongue on his hand, trying to get the grains off of it. "What the hell is the grainy stuff?"

Stiles pauses, making a face as he thinks about it. "I think it's a few grains of sand that got in there from the beet roots."

"Sand!? I just ate sand?"

"Technically you drank it."

"Consuming sand was not on my morning to-do list!"

"But you're more awake now, aren't you? My job is done! Success!" Derek glares at the gangly mage, and he raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay never mind. Sorry. I'll make sure the next magic tea I make doesn't have sand in it. But what are your feelings on dirt?" Derek's glare strengthens and Stiles yips a little, jumping upright as he begins to creep away. "You know, I gotta go check...on things. I'll be back." And he hurries to his horse, which is still in sight but quite a few yards away.

Derek watches him with unrestrained interest. He's odd, with odd ways of speaking and behaving and moving in general. Derek watches with surprise as Stiles takes the tin cup that had the tea in it and clips it to his own personal belt, which is tied tightly on his hip. It makes Derek wonder how much this mage knows about werewolves.

To a werewolf, it's a really big and intimate gesture to allow someone to drink from the same cup as you or eat from your plate, something that usually only pack does. Derek wonders if Stiles has ever really known a werewolf before. Obviously, with his dad being the Sheriff of the Magical Interventions Squad, he's encountered many werewolves. But maybe he doesn't know their ways. In that case, Derek'll have to show the kid a lot. It'll definitely be interesting.

Derek perks up as he hears his mother calling for him somewhere in the lower level of the castle. He looks to see Stiles also looking around wildly, on edge. "Cmon!" He yells to him. "The castle!"

Stiles nods and follows far behind him as they trek to their parents. It's not far from the stables and when they get inside they find both of the adults standing in the front foyer. Derek's sisters, aunt, uncle, cousins, and father are also there to see them off. He hugs them all, Laura whispering encouragement in his ear as she grips him tightly.

Talia is standing in the middle of the semicircle, her arms outstretched. "Come here, Derek." He takes long strides into her arms, and she presses her lips to his forehead. "You are my only son, and I will be proud of you no matter what. Bring back someone to rule your kingdom with." He pulls back and nods, emotion welling in his chest at his mother's words.

He looks and sees Stiles and his father locked in a similar embrace. Theirs is awkward and careful, but they hold onto each other like they're lost at sea and each one is the other's lifeboat. "Be safe, Stiles. I need to see you come home." He can hear the a Sheriff whispering in his son's ear.

"I will. Don't worry about me. You just keep to your diet. Just because I'm not around doesn't mean I didn't assign some people to watch your calorie intake." Stiles pulls away and grins knowingly at his father. "I promise I won't do any unnecessary stupid shit. I'll send you letters when I can, alright?" The sheriff nods.

"Adieu, Stiles."

Stiles shakes his head. "No, au revoir, Dad."

The sheriff smiles tolerantly. "Au revoir."

Stiles lets a soft smile rest on his face, and Derek realizes that there's sadness in that smile. Suddenly he feels bad. His stupid quest is the reason the mage has to risk his life and leave his dad and his country and his friends and responsibilities. Suddenly Derek wants to call the whole thing off, just go by himself. His eyes wide with unspoken panic, he looks to his mother to find her already staring at him. Her lips are slightly upturned and she shakes her head softly, as if she knows what he's thinking and is advising him against it.

Derek swallows and obeys, turning to Stiles. The mage has already turned away from his dad and is looking at Derek expectantly. "Well? Are we off then?"

Derek nods, leading the way out of the throne room and back to the stables. They mount their horses, Stiles's with the rickety old wooden cart and Derek's hooked to a tiny carriage that holds some simple food and shelter supplies. The sun is just rising as they head to the west.

In the horizon behind them, Queen Talia stands on the balcony that branches from the throne room, resting a hand on the railing as she watches them walk off into the distance. A hand appears beside hers, and she sends a wordless smile to the man standing next to her.

"What do you think?" She asks him, sighing as she watches the two boys disappear.

The chief of the Magical Intervention Squad shifts his weight, slightly uncomfortable and anxious as he watches his only son, the last family he has, travel further and further from his grasp. "I don't know what to think." He says finally. "Do you think they'll figure it out?"

Talia lets out a bark (no pun intended) of a laugh. "Knowing my son, he won't figure it out until yours jumps him."

The sheriff smiles wryly. "Well, knowing Stiles, he won't figure it out until your son is asking for his hand."

"The call Derek feels for Stiles will become strong enough eventually," Talia says. "We just have to wait for it to take hold."

"How long could that take?" The sheriff asks.

"Knowing how emotionally stunted and/or naive they both are? Months."

They both let out a collective sigh, sharing their fond frustration. "They'll figure it out." The Sheriff says confidently, and Queen Talia just doesn't have the words to disagree.

If there's one thing to be said about Derek, it's that he's silent. Unnaturally silent. And if there's one thing to be said about Stiles himself, it's that he's talkative. Unnaturally so. Stiles is actually proud of himself when he lasts thirty minutes, just long enough to cross the borders of Derek's tiny kingdom, without talking. Really, he should have been expecting the complete drivel that begins to pour out of his mouth and been able to control it. But, well...he's Stiles.

"You know this is probably going to be the longest trip I've ever been on. I mean I've journeyed to take care of odd magical creatures like ogres and dragons but most of them were just a threat to Scott's kingdom, so I really didn't have to go that far. This quest seems like it will take us really far away. Not that I'm expecting your princess-saving skills to be bad, just that we might not find any princesses. I know that I've never tried out my princess finding skills, so I have no inkling as to how that's going to go. Are you any good at saving princesses, by the way? Do you know if you're any good at it?" Stiles doesn't even wait for an answer before plowing forward. "I know that I'd suck at it because first off I don't have the muscle for it and well you definitely do, let me tell you, and oh my god I didn't mean it like that I'm sorry I promise I'm usually not this straightforward and I promise that it is not my goal at all to objectify you..." Derek glares at him.

"Not that you're someone who can easily be objectified! Or offended, for that matter! And you know what I think I'll just shut my mouth now." Derek grunts in agreement, and for a while there's nothing but the sound of their huffing horses between them.

He's quiet for a whole five minutes when finally an eager question bubbles to the surface. "So what are your feelings about this quest?"

Derek looks startled by the question, and blinks once. Since Stiles doesn't speak mute, he can't remember if one blink means "yes" or "no", and it wasn't even a yes or no question anyways. So Stiles plows on. "I obviously know what my feelings about this are, but I really need to get a feel for your feelings to actually know how to react. Do you get me?"

Derek shakes his head, but seems to be preparing himself to answer anyway. "I guess I feel like this whole quest is...unnecessary. I understand that werewolf-run kingdoms are stronger and considered stronger when the alpha—or in my case, the king—has a mate, but I'd rather not take all this time away from my duties to find one." His face is painfully blank. "And there's also the problem of if we find one, how do we know the mating bond is going to take hold? The bond between mates is a strong one, and not something you can make with a complete stranger."

Stiles nods, contemplative. "Yeah, I'm a little wary about this process as well. Actually the whole process is kind of messed up. Like, what if the king or prince dies on the mission? Or what if the princess is already in love with someone else? Or what if she's a lesbian?" Stiles turns to Derek with his mouth in a perfect 'o'. "What if the prince is gay?" Then, much to his surprise, Stiles watches in awe as Derek turns his head slightly away and pink tinges his cheeks. Oh my god. Derek is gay. Derek is gay.

This might just be the best day of Stiles's life.

"You're gay?" Stiles whispers, though they're too far from civilization for anyone to hear them, forget about caring that a king is gay.

Derek immediately whips his head to Stiles. "Bi!" He says quickly. "I...identify with both sexualities." His voice is quieter than usual, but still gruff.

Stiles nods. "Me too." Derek startles on his horse, looking surprised. "You told me yours, so it was only fair I told you mine." Stiles pauses. "It's becoming a lot more common you know. People revealing their true sexualities."

"With werewolves, we've never seen it as much of a problem." Derek shrugs. "If someone's your mate, he or she is your mate. No one can argue with that."

"Okay, that brings up something else I wanted to ask. Does every werewolf have only one mate? Because I think that it'd be too hard to find them then, especially since you've got the whole world to scope."

Derek's face screws up. "It's complicated. Every werewolf does have the potential for more than one mate. Especially if one dies, because there's always a chance of mating with someone else. You can mate with anyone you've fallen in love with, but there's really only one person who is your true mate. Some don't wait around for their true mate and just mate with a lover, but others have a deep moral obligation to find and mate with their one true mate only. It's really dependent on what kind of pack you grow up in and what the circumstances are." He pauses, thinking. "But the universe works in mysterious ways. Mates are naturally drawn towards each other, like being pulled together by an invisible string. Usually they'll find each other sooner or later, and they usually find out that they weren't too far from each other to begin with."

"And you? Are you waiting for your one true mate?"

Derek's pause is so long that Stiles turns from the gorgeous forest scenery to look at him. His face is blank, but the prince is obviously battling with himself about the answer. "I...can't afford to wait. Whether my true mate is out there or not is a truly trivial matter, especially when I have a kingdom to worry about."

Stiles nods, pensive, and then begins to ramble about the color of the trees and the rapid change they undergo between summer and fall.

They ride throughout the day, only stopping once dusk begins to threaten them. Normally, they would stay in a local tavern for the night, but at the moment they're right in the middle of two kingdoms, deep in the forest path. They both dismount, immediately getting to work on the plan they've been running through their heads. Derek starts unstrapping their supplies, setting up a teepee-like shelter, and feeding and watering the horses. The mage begins a more, well, unorthodox method of helping. Derek watches out of the corner of his eye as the mage sits cross-legged on the forest floor, wrapping his wooden staff in what looks to be blue and silver ribbon. He hums quietly as he does it, and once he's finished he stands again. He then begins to make a circle about him, dragging his staff in the dirt and leaves. It's a huge circle that encloses all of their camp, horses, and supplies.

Derek is building the shelter as Stiles walks purposefully to one end of the circle and pounds his staff on the ground as he chants, "I call thee, ye who guard the watchtowers of the west, to guide me through the darkness, and ensure my safety." He then repeats the ritual with the north, then east, then south. Derek just finishes with the shelter as the mage strides to the exact center of the circle and says, eyes closed, "In the shadows, evils hide, Ready to draw me from love's side, But with your help I shall be strong And banish all that do me wrong," The mage thrusts the hand that's not holding onto the staff into a small bag hitched to his belt. He withdraws something that looks like glitter and he disperses it into the wind as he says the last few lines, "Send them away, send them astray, Never again to pass my way, So mayst it be."

Derek's expecting there to be some kind of flash of light or boom or something to symbolize that the spell worked, but there's nothing except Stiles' sigh. The mage looks a little tired as he goes back around and breaks the circle in numerous places, and he sits heavily on a log as he decides to start a fire. Derek watches with wonder as the mage snaps his fingers and a flame appears, as if dancing on his thumb. He comes closer. "How did you do that?"

Stiles looks up wearily, putting his thumb on the kindling at the bottom of their makeshift fire pit. He retracts it quickly as the flames jump. "Magic," he says teasingly. Then he shrugs. "It's one of the first things my mother taught me about magic. She told me that fire is a balancing element, one that can create great destruction or sustain life. She said that once you have a hold on fire, you balance out one of your chakras." Stiles smiles thinly. "Basically, all mages learn how to harness fire, and the way you use that ability is usually what pegs you as an evil mage or a good mage, I suppose."

Stiles says it nonchalantly, but Derek can tell that fire is something mages hold special, and he doesn't push the issue more than necessary. "As much as I like exposing mage secrets to you and all, I'm exhausted from the travel, the spells, the prophecy, and lack of sleep in general. G'night."

The mage gives Derek a two-finger salute and crawls under one half of the shelter. "Don't worry about the fire," he calls out. "It won't burn out until I blow it out. Also, we should be warded agaInst anything, so don't think you need to stay up to keep watch or anything. You'll need your energy for your epic princess-saving skills." Stiles mumbles before laying down for good and rolling over to pass out. He's snoring within seconds.

"Goodnight, mage."

The morning starts off as terrible as it can.

First, a group of goblins decide that it's a good idea to ambush them the second the mage breaks the protective circle, and even though Derek's a werewolf he can't take on thirty goblins. Stiles is still too exhausted from all the protective magic to (ironically) protect himself, so he gets knocked out and dragged back to the goblin camp with them. It doesn't take too long for Derek to find the stupid goblins and break the mage from the high, wooden dangling cage and together they stomp out the goblins' fire and break their meat-roasting sticks.

Derek thinks that the rest of the day should go over well since its horrific beginning, but quickly finds out that his optimism is short-lived and unnecessary when they're attacked by a swarm of bat fairies. They're seriously five minutes away from getting out of this damned forest when it happens. Luckily, they're more prepared than Derek gives themselves credit for. The mage has some great exploding herbs in his knapsack that scatter them, and Derek uses his sword to slice the dazed fairies in half. The remaining ones are quick to fly off.

Once they hit town, Derek doesn't expect anything more for at least thirty more minutes, but finds himself unpleasantly surprised when the bartender hands Derek two drinks and says "For the gorgeous couple," and tilts her head towards Stiles.

Derek groans, muttering a quick "we're not together," before prowling back to their table by himself.

The mage, though, is overjoyed by the drinks. "Yeah, man!" He excitedly wriggles in his seat. Derek sets the drink in front of him and he inhales. "Aw, are these Fae Gins?"

Derek just crosses his ankles and looks down at the wooden table, cheeks burning. The tavern is dimly lit and he hopes Stiles can't see his pink face. "Yeah," he's embarrassed to admit. Fae Gins have always been his favorite, but are usually classified as a more feminine drink.

Stiles surprises him. "Awesome! I haven't had an authentic Fae Gin in ages!" Then he watches as the mage licks the whipped cream from the top, mumbles a few words as he swirls the liquid courage in its glass, and tilts his head back as he takes a long sip.

"What did you just do to it?" Derek asks curiously, taking a sip from his own.

Stiles looks outright embarrassed. "You heard that?"

"I heard you say something," Derek admits.

The mage swirls his drink absentmindedly. "It's just something my mom and I would do. She would make me a virgin Fae Gin to go along with her alcoholic one and we'd make weird toasts before drinking." He shrugs.

"What'd you toast to this time?" Derek's tone is kind, and Stiles shyly glances up at him from behind his drink.

"I uh, toasted to your muscles."

"You what?"

Stiles looks absolutely mortified. "Your muscles. You know, how you used them to save me from the goblins and helped me kill the fairies. Just toasting to your muscles." Stiles's face is burning and Derek is pretty sure his own is too.

"Oh." Derek says. Then he lifts his Fae Gin with a tiny grin. "To my muscles, then."

The mage's eyebrow quirks upwards in shocked amusement, and he clinks his glass against Derek's. "To your muscles." And yeah, maybe it's the weirdest thing he's ever toasted to, but then again...Derek never thought he'd be sharing a Fae Gin with a mage.

They finish their drinks and bed down for the night in a nice tavern with plenty of room. It's the first night of uninterrupted sleep Derek's had in a long time.

The morning brings a welcomed amount of excitement. Derek is startled (but not surprised) to wake up to an overjoyed mage shaking him and yelling a bunch of stuff he can't understand through the haze of sleep. "Wha?" Derek groans, rubbing his eyes.

"One of my trip spells!" Stiles says. "It's gone off! There's a princess in the area!"

Derek doesn't react in an extremely excited way, which must be the mage's cue to become even more so. Derek thinks it might be a way to overcompensate. He rubs his eyes and sits up. "What does that mean?"

The mage sighs and rolls his eyes. "It means you have to go and save her, dumbass," he says, and then his eyes widen as he slaps a hand over his mouth. "I just called a prince dumbass. Oh my god."

Derek just chuckles, rolling out of bed. "You said the trip spell went off? How does this lead to a princess?"

The mage gabs while Derek shuffles around to get all his clothing on. "Well a trip spell is cast with particular things in mind. In this case, it checks for royal blood. Then the spell alerts me of a location on this map here when it comes into range," the mage shows Derek an old map, one riddled with random silver, gold, black, purple, and red marks. "We're in the kingdom of Freck, and it shows that there's a princess nearby. Looks like your average Tower Gal." Stiles points to a golden speck on the map.

Derek fixes the collar of his tunic and turns to Stiles. "Shall we go, then?"

Stiles is actually bouncing as they follow the map to the tiny good spot, and Derek has to give the guy credit for his enthusiasm. Even though he knows he should be overjoyed—he might be meeting his future wife soon—Derek is instead feeling a little sick to his stomach. First, he doesn't know what kind of obstacles he has to overcome to get to this princess. Second, what if she hates him? Or he hates her? Then they'll be stuck together forever in a fit of mutual hatred, producing children that will grow up in a cold castle. Also, what if she hates werewolves? That would be the end of it.

Derek glances over at Stiles and realizes that the mage is not having any of the same scary thoughts Derek is. Instead, the kid is sprinkling some kind of herb throughout the air, trailing it behind him as he walks. "What are you doing?" Derek asks, sidestepping a huge clump that refused to break up in the wind.

"Luck!" Stiles chirps, barely turning around to answer.

"What?" Derek jogs a little to keep up, because suddenly Stiles is doing this ridiculous-looking jumpy thing as he scatters the herbs.

"This is dried clover. I'm spreading it around for luck! God knows you'll need it."

Derek growls. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's nothing against you," Stiles says quickly, not turning around to look, "but your first impressions aren't really that great." Stiles has the decency to turn and look at Derek. "You're going to need all the luck you can get." Then he spins and continues to sprinkle clover all over the fucking place. While he glares at Stiles's back, he wonder when the kid stopped being the mage and started to become Stiles.

Derek decides that this mage will probably be the end of him.

The princess is, surprisingly, easily accessible. She's just stuck up in a really high, ivy-covered tower with no way up or down. No problem. Derek is just about to start scaling the tower when Stiles points out that there's a much easier way. See that tree there, Derek? It's really close to her window and you're going to break your fucking neck if you try to climb the tower, clover luck or not.

"See that tree, Derek?" Derek mimics Stiles as he hoists himself up another branch. "Yes, Stiles, I see the fucking tree." He makes it up high enough that the can see through the window. The girl in there is absolutely gorgeous, with long strawberry blonde hair and huge eyes and lips. She blinks at him, giving him a calculating look.

"Are you here to rescue me?" She asks matter-of-factly, crossing her arms over her deep red dress.

"Uh, y-yes. I'm Prince Derek Hale."

"Thank god," she says, grabbing a small pack from the bed behind her. "I was getting very bored up here all these years." She clambers up onto the windowsill and looks at Derek pointedly. "You're going to catch me, right? Use that big bad werewolf strength of yours?"

Derek nods mutely, still a little confused as to what's going on. "Great. Three, two, one!" He flings herself from the window to Derek, and he barely has time to throw out his arms before she's barreling into them. "Good catch." She observes, smiling brightly before beginning to make her way down the tree. Derek sits dumbly on the high branch for a moment before following.

And as if Derek isn't confused enough, when he gets back down to the ground he finds Stiles and the princess hugging and chatting away like old friends. "Uh," Derek says, not really knowing what to say.

"Oh! Derek, this is Lydia. Lydia, Derek."

Lydia gives Derek a short once-over before flipping her hair and turning back to Stiles. "So how'd you get lucky enough to be traveling with this hunk of meat?"

Derek watches in awe as Stiles—the headstrong, confident mage—begins to blush, red and pink splotches appearing on his cheeks and neck. "His mom sent for us."

"Oh, so you're his protection?" Lydia waggles her eyebrows suggestively, then turns to Derek. "Well, Prince Derek, I want to get one thing straight: I am not interested in being your princess or queen or whatever else you might want me to be. I thank you for saving me, but I am an independent banshee who is uninterested in romance for the time being. You two, however," Lydia looks between the two of them. "You two have something. I'm not sure what it is, but there's something there."

"Banshees are...intuitive?" Derek asks slowly, still in a daze.

"Very. But there's enough sexual tension here that I don't have to be a banshee to sense it."

Stiles's eyes widen and the space between Derek's eyebrows crinkle as he watches the ground beneath the mage's feet begin to glow softly. Purple flowers start to unfurl from the ground, revealing tiny yellow pollen bulbs in the middle of each. It's the most bizarre thing Derek can think of that could happen right at this moment. Stiles's eyes follow the prince's and immediately he blushes, entire face blotching up. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he says quickly, and the flowers begin to retract.

"Stiles!" Lydia's voice is sharp, halting the flowers. "They're beautiful. Don't hide them."

For some reason beyond Derek, this makes Stiles flush more and he lets the flowers grow out again. Derek does have to admit that Lydia's right, though. The flowers are beautiful. "So ah," Derek clears his throat awkwardly, "You two know each other?"

"Oh yeah," Stiles nods agreeably. "We grew up together before her parents locked her away. It's been what, ten years?"

"Something or other," Lydia waves her hand dismissively. "Not important. What's important is getting you two back to Derek's kingdom."

"Why?" They echo each other, then spare a glance at one another before looking back at Lydia.

"Your country is rich, Prince Derek," she rolls her eyes exasperatedly. "I can feel wars and raids brewing on every border of your kingdom. You must get back so you can get married, and quickly."

"To...you?" Derek asks, confused.

"Of course not. You're dimmer than Prince Charming, it's a good thing you're devastatingly handsome. No darling, you're going to marry Stiles."

"What!?" Stiles takes the words from Derek's open mouth.

"Look at that, already speaking for each other. You two are a match made in heaven."

There's silence for a whole thirty seconds. "Lydia, what the fuck?" The mage blows up, waving his arms. "You think you can just come in on this quest, Prince Derek's quest, and tell him to give it up because 'well, you and Stiles have something.'" Stiles glares at her indignantly, and Derek sees the slight mist of his maroon magic beginning to form at his feet again. "No! That's not how it fucking works! You can't just skip through life and wave your hand and make anybody you want be together! Love and mates and life just don't work that way Lydia, and you just have to accept that! Derek there?" He points viciously. "Is a prince. Me?" He jabs himself with his thumb. "I am a mage. Have you forgotten what a mage is worth in society?" Derek watches almost open-mouthed as Stiles's magic engulfs the beautiful purple flowers like a poison as it causes them to wither up and die. It's awful, but not unlike a trip to the guillotine in town square, you just can't look away.

"Oh my god Stiles. Are you really so ignorant? Look at the way that wolf is looking at you!" Lydia points one perfect finger at Derek.

Stiles glares. "He looks like he usually does."

"No, not him. His wolf." Lydia impatiently waits for Stiles to look deeper into Derek, deeper into his soul, and Derek feels uncomfortable as he feels Stiles looking at him with a new pair of eyes. His wolf preens at the attention.

When Stiles is finished, his eyes focus again and he crosses his arms. "So what?"

"So what he says." Lydia snorts. "So what." She turns viciously to him. "So that means that you two are mates. You are his other half. Make him whole, finish him!"

Derek clears his throat. "I am right here, you know."

Immediately the two friends begin to blush. "Sorry."

Derek looks at them, then blushes himself. "Well it looks as if I've found the thing all wolves look for, but most can't have." Derek's eyes train specifically on Stiles. "And I mean, if you'll accept..." Derek stoops down to pick a little red flower from the earth. "I'd like to ask for your hand in marriage. Stiles Stilinski, mage and my mate, will you rule my country with me?" He holds out the flower.

Stiles stares at Derek for a minute, deep blue flowers spiraling up from the ground and rooting themselves around the couple. Bright red roses grow tall, soft petals brushing against their clothes. "I...well, sure."

Derek smiles his cute winning and smile and throws his arms in the air in a display of happiness. Stiles smiles a bit too, letting Derek pull him into a hug. Derek gently presses a tiny kiss onto Stiles's neck. "You smell so good. Flowers and a sweet Fae Gin."

"That's awkward. Not even a minute into our courtship and you're already smelling me." Stiles smiles as he jokes.

"Get used to it, because I'm not letting you go until you smell entirely mine."

Okay, Stiles has to admit that the possessive thing is hot. "What are our parents going to say?" Stiles suddenly asks, eyes wide. "Don't you need a female mate?"

Derek shakes his head. "My mother made it clear before you and your father arrived that I'm looking for someone who will help me run my kingdom. Stiles, that's you." He pauses. "Besides, I think they knew something we didn't."

Stiles stoops down, cuts a thornless rose free, and hands it to Derek. "Shall we go back to announce the news, my Wolf Prince?"

Derek shudders visibly, but extends his arm for Stiles to take. "Indeed we shall, my cunning mage."

Arm-in-arm, they embark on the journey home.