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Summary
“What, who do you think you are? The King?” Merlin asked incredulously when the alpha said he would throw him in jail - how cocky was this guy? His hopes of making it work were crumbling by the second.
“No, I’m his son. Arthur.”
Of fucking course. Because of course the best alpha Merlin had ever smelled would not only be a total prat, but would throw him on the pyre himself if he knew Merlin had magic, omega or not.
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Or: Merlin is an omega who pretends to be a beta to remain close to Arthur. If only he wasn't in love with the prat, it would be much easier to bear.