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“I still don't have a child with him,” Lando hissed-whispered to Charles, who was stirring his tea and looking over the sprawling beautiful garden ahead of them. “George already has Kimi— an alpha son, mind you, and Kelly had two omega daughters. Daniel was King Max’s very first consort and I— I have nothing. How do I even become queen in this case?”
“What are you even doing?” Charles asked curiously, returning his gaze to the worried Lando. “He is bedding you, isn't he? So what is the problem here?”
“He is, but I don't know, Charles— I can't seem to conceive a child no matter what!”
Charles' eyes widened. He had heard of previous consorts from previous kings that were unable to conceive and was promptly thrown out. It seemed like Lando was thinking of the same thing, since he was fiddling with his fingers nervously and looking at Charles expectantly. As his friend, Charles visited him in the palace often since Lando kept on sending invitation letters every week. He claimed he wasn't close with the other consorts, and he was getting more stressed at the favor currying that was happening often. It was King Max’s fourth year as the king, after all, and he still hasn't named his queen. The other consorts were getting restless, and so was Lando.
In becoming queen, there was a sequence. Entice the king, enter his harem, and seduce him until you are made queen. Very simple when put like that, but looking at Lando now, it was anything but. Charles pitied him, but at the same time, relieved that he was spared from this kind of future. He was almost chosen to be part of the harem, but it didn't go through since he was already betrothed with Carlos. During that time, the king’s hand, Lord Laurent Mekies, was going through the names of the prominent omegas across the continent, and Charles was one of them. His betrothal to Carlos wasn't announced earlier, so Laurent had thought he was still available to join the harem.
“Speaking of children, how is Ollie?” Lando asked, switching topics. Charles welcomed the shift in their conversation. It was somber, thinking that his friend might be thrown out for being possibly infertile. Charles smiled at the mention of his son. “He is an omega, no? How old is he? I think he'd have to be four by now?”
“Yes, he is four now, he had his birthday last month,” Charles said indulgently, remembering Ollie’s wide smiles at being presented with a pony. Carlos was far too indulgent, and Ollie was getting more spoiled. Charles had lost count of berating his husband not to spoil him too much lest he ended up being one of those tavern drunkards, but Carlos just wouldn't listen. He'd kiss Charles on the cheek and hold his belly, sniffing him. It was very annoying how easy Charles would fold.
Lando sighed, a hint of envy in it. “How nice it must have been. How was your conception successful anyway?”
In Ferrari, eating a lot of strawberries could increase the possibility of being with a child after an intercourse. Lando was from McLaren before he was transferred to Red Bull to be part of Max’s harem, so he doesn't know their customs. He had heard about papayas being substituted to strawberries in McLaren, but he doesn't know if it was true. He imparted it to Lando anyway, before he left. Before he came to visit Lando, Carlos told him he needed Charles to be present to a Ferrari council meeting regarding their borders with Mercedes, and Charles couldn't be late. It was still early— he came here at eight in the morning, and it was currently ten. The council meeting would be at four in the afternoon. Well, he did plan to linger around the Red Bull town square since he had heard they had those small wooden bull toys that Ollie was requesting for him to buy.
Lando had offered Charles to be accompanied by a Red Bull knight to the gate, but he refused. Lando was claiming that he might cross paths with the other consorts, and was worried about Charles. Charles simply laughed and went on his merry way. He knew the other consorts, he was familiar with them when they were still small children. George was a friend, that posh and haughty omega, and Daniel was a boisterous, cheerful omega, and Kelly— well, Kelly was the one he wasn't familiar with.
Lando had imparted with him some biscuits and cookies, which Charles was munching on as he exited the gardens.
“Charles?”
Charles paused mid-step and mid-chew, looking to his side. He hadn't noticed him, busy as he was. “Your Majesty.”
Max was alone, without entourage, yet still garb with his expensive kingly clothing. The lion crest in his pauldrons, the cape draped behind his back, and the sword on his hip. Charles ought to make fun of him for wearing that even without a battle, but chose not to. They had already made up, but their relationship was still fraught with fragility and past rivalries.
“I didn't know you were here,” Max said, surprised. He was smiling, though. Charles smiled back. “I haven't seen you since I visited Monaco for that joint council meeting with Ferrari.”
“I visited Lando,” Charles said, presenting the pouch of biscuits that Lando had given him. “Well. How are you, Your Majesty? How is your fourth year of being king? Not too troublesome, I hope?”
Max laughed and moved to walk beside him. “You might as well have jinxed it. It is troublesome. Just before I saw you here I was in the throne room, hearing all the grievances that everyone has to offer me.”
Charles had longed to be the king, once. When he still hasn't presented as an omega. He was equal to Max, once, both striving to be the most powerful man in the continent. But one of them was king now, and it wasn't Charles. One of them was wedded to an alpha and had accepted the restraints of his secondary gender, and it wasn't Max. Charles’ eyes fell once again on the sword that was on Max’s hip, the sort of weapon he was allowed before the truth of his secondary gender ruined everything.
He loved Carlos, and he loved Ollie, too, but he wished that things didn't have to be like this. He wished that alphas and omegas were given equal treatment.
Max caught his gaze, and his hands fell on the handle of his sword. Charles’ eyes widened when he pulled it out of its scabbard, held it horizontally with his other hand holding up the blade. It was shiny, made of the finest Mercedes metals, and Charles bit his lower lip, remembering the days he was allowed to hold them and fight with them. Fight Max with it.
“Do you want to hold it?” Max suddenly asked.
Charles looked up at him in surprise. “Can I?”
“Have you forgotten who I am?” Max said, snorting. “I'm the king. Who will stop you?”
Charles laughed, “No need to brag.”
Max offered him his sword, and Charles took it. It felt good in his hands, and he made an experimental slash, testing it out. It felt really good— it was as if he was back before he presented as an omega. Charles was smiling as he slashed the air, performing moves he used to do as a teenager. Max was looking at him, hands clasped behind his back. Charles couldn't read his expression.
“You look like it's your first time holding a sword,” Max observed, watching Charles do more sword movements.
“I might as well have been,” Charles said, holding the sword vertically, looking at Max behind it. “You know Ferrari and their omega traditions.”
Max smirked, crossing his arms. “Is that why you are wearing a gown?”
Charles curled his lips unhappily and thrust the sword back into Max’s hands. “It took time for me to get used to it. It was hot to wear, especially in cold weather. Must be nice, being an alpha.” Being the king, he didn't add.
Max’s face softened. He stuffed his sword back into his scabbard and walked up to Charles. “I missed duelling with you. I duel some of my knights before I go through with my duties, and none of them were on par. Or come close, like you used to do.”
Charles smiled bitterly, and he had lost all appetite for the biscuits. “Well. That's fate at work.”
Max scoffed. “Fuck fate. Do you want to duel? You still have it in you, though I don't expect anything less. You who pushed me off the road with your horse.”
Charles couldn't help but laugh. Max totally deserved it. He was such an asshole.
“Are you sure it's okay?” Charles asked, “Because I'm going to duel you. And I will beat you.”
Max nudged him on the rib, grinning. “Of course. You keep on forgetting who I am. I am the king, am I not? Who's going to stop me?”
Charles shrugged and raised his chin. He was out of training, but he was a natural, Seb told him. Once he had gotten a few swings here and there, a few experimental slashes there, he'd surely be back on track.
“Lead the way, then.”
Max placed a hand on his lower back, making Charles stiffen a little bit, and he led Charles into the training grounds. When Michael Schumacher was still king, he used to frequent this place. King Michael would hold those duels between children from other kingdoms— Ferrari, McLaren, Red Bull, Mercedes, the lot— and he'd crown the winning child with this makeshift wooden crown. During the semis, Charles would often fight Max.
Max tossed him a sword from the weapon rack, grinning. Charles caught it by its handle instinctively, frowning at the blunt edge and jagged handle. He turned it around in his hands, and heard Max laugh.
“I'll give you another one. You have to practice first,” Max said. “Does your husband not permit you to wield them?”
“There's no reason to,” Charles recalled taking care of Ollie, holding him to his chest when he was an infant and waking in ungodly hours of the morning whenever it cries. He still took care of court affairs, but mostly in organizing promenades and balls.
“That's a shame,” Max said, and unsheathed his own sword. The sunlight was caught on the tip of the blade, making it shine. “Were you stuck there in Maranello with only your child and husband?”
Charles didn't say anything, but he wasn't liking his tone. He was making it sound like it was so bad, taking care of his family. Like Charles had a better option somewhere, where he could continue to hone his swordsmanship and not wear gowns and dresses. Charles held the blade vertically, and pointed it to Max, handle above his palm. “Let us begin.”
“Eager?” Max grinned, and surged forward.
Charles parried his swings the best as he could, his old swordsmanship habits coming back the moment he was holding a sword. The footwork, the drilling that Seb pushed into his mind— it came natural, and he wasn't even thinking as he met Max’s blows repeatedly. It was midday, and the training grounds was open ground, the sun directly hitting their skins and forcing sweat out of their pores.
Their mini-duel ended with Max’s sword tip on Charles’ throat, and Charles had raised both hands in submission, breathing heavily. The training sword clattered on the ground beside him as he fell on his buttocks, blinking the sweat out of his eyes.
“That was good,” Max breathed out, “Would you believe me if I said that it's the best fight I've had since I became king?”
Charles wiped the sweat off his forehead and squinted into the sky. The sun was in its highest point already, which meant one thing. It was noon. He rushed to his feet and picked up the training sword to return to the rack.
Max walked up to him, the three buttons of his dress shirt already unbuttoned. His sword was held limply by his right hand. “Where are you going?”
“I have somewhere to go by four,” Charles told him easily, picking up the pouch of biscuits that he had left off before they duelled. He made a simple curtsy, “Good day, Your Majesty.”
“I will walk you to the gate, then,” Max said, taking his coat from where he hanged it in the rack. He shrugged it on his shoulders and led the way forward.
Charles’ red Ferrari carriage was waiting in front of the main palace doors. It was by the lion fountain, and he spotted the footman fanning himself from underneath the shade in the palace doors. When the footman spotted him coming, he had rushed to put the steps in front of the carriage door and waited beside the horse, fixing his hat.
“What time do we arrive at Maranello should we leave now?” Charles asked the footman.
“At three in the afternoon, my lord.”
Charles inwardly cursed. How troublesome. He was about to climb the steps to the carriage when he noticed the hand held out to him, which was from Max. Charles raised an eyebrow at the odd gesture. Max had never done this to him when they were children, even after knowing that Charles was an omega.
“Humor me,” Max said, still holding out his hand.
Charles took it eventually, and he boarded the carriage. Max stood in front of the door, hands clasped behind his back.
“I have enjoyed it,” Max told him with a smile. “We should do it again sometime.”
“If I have time,” Charles said, pulling the door closed. He returned Max’s smile with his own, “We shall leave now.”
Charles closed the door and slumped on his seat, squeezing his eyes shut. It was tiring, and his muscles were crying out in exertion. He wasn't used to it but— but he recognized it. He knew the feeling. Stretched, aching limbs, and the sweat drenching his back.
He felt the footman climb up to his seat, and Charles peeked into the window. Max was still there, standing, and their eyes met.
Charles waved at him, and Max’s returning wave was what he last saw once the carriage had rolled away.