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His father was a good man. That was what everyone told Stiles. They always called him a good man, or an honorable man. A brave and trustworthy man.
They never called him a dead man and Stiles thought that was more relevant.
People also tried to tell him that he’d had an honorable death, that dying to defend the royal family was the most noble way a person could die. Stiles didn’t really care about that. He cared that his papa wasn’t coming home and his mother kept crying and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
The worst thing they told him was that Gerard would be good for him. They told his mother, time and again, that boys needed guidance, and if she wouldn’t marry for herself, she should marry for Stiles. And how perfect a match they would make, a father for Stiles in Gerard, and a mother for his granddaughters in Claudia.
Their wedding day was more sombre than his father’s funeral.
It hadn’t been too bad the first few years. He stayed at his mother’s bedside as her bad days increased, or avoided Gerard, disappearing around the house or running to the village proper to play with Scott. He had lessons with the girls and those were alright.
Then his mother died. Very little was said by anyone about that.
His life changed immediately.
All of Stiles things were taken out of his room and put in the attic. Gerard told him, “We can’t expect the girls to share forever, they’re blossoming young ladies. You’ll just have to make do.” The attic got so drafty and cold that Stiles could barely sleep, so he took his blankets and slept in front of the fireplace. When Cook woke up, she teased him about the ashes on his face hiding his freckles, but she didn’t send him away.
Stiles' governess was fired and replaced with a tutor who was much more strict. Harris told Stiles that he was no longer allowed to join the girls’ lessons. When Stiles tried to complain to Gerard, he told him, “I can’t have you distracting the girls. They need a proper education, so that they can secure the most advantageous marriage.”
“I might marry well,” Stiles argued.
Gerard narrowed his cold eyes and smiled thinly. “Don’t talk nonsense, boy. Who would possibly want a skinny thing like you? Freakish eyes, and marks like permanent mud. You’d best pray your sisters’ husbands take pity on you.”
Since his time was no longer taken up with lessons, Gerard decided he should “learn to be useful.” He had the housemaid teach him all her duties, then he fired her. Then he did the same with the gardener, the butler, and the cook. “We can’t afford them,” Gerard had said. “You’ll just have to make do.” Then he would order two lace parasols custom made for the girls.
Lydia and Allison weren’t allowed to show him kindness now. Gerard claimed that if softness was shown to staff, they’d be disrespectful and shirk their chores. They ignored him as much as possible, and when they did acknowledge him, their tones were often sharp and harsh, to demonstrate that they’d learned how to “appropriately manage the staff.”
The worst was when Gerard’s daughter Kate visited. Unlike his granddaughters, she took great pleasure in being as cruel to Stiles as possible. If she wanted a cup of tea, he had to make it five times before she deemed it passable. He was always exhausted when she left, and thrilled to see the back of her.
Stiles learned to take solace in small things. A fraction of a smile, a hesitating hand, a well-appreciated meal. Some nights, when he went down to the kitchen, he found old school books by his makeshift pallet. He wasn’t sure which sister left them, but he devoured the books like food for the soul.
Stiles found that if he asked for work in town, there were many people willing to make use of an extra pair of hands. He also found that they were willing to lie about how much they paid him so that Gerard wouldn’t take all he made. The work wasn’t so bad, and he got to visit Scott while he was there.
If there were nights that he curled up next to the fire with tears staining his cheeks and hunger pinching his stomach, well, there was no one left to talk about that.
***
Sometimes Derek wondered if Councilmen took classes on how to be mind-numbingly boring.
It was important that he attend this meeting, and Derek really did want to hear about the topics. He’d been raised to know the importance of caring for your people and keeping their best interests at heart, so he tried his best to be attentive when his presence was requested. Unfortunately, he was finding it hard to keep his eyes open as Lord Quat droned on about manure tariffs.
“Thank you, Lord Quat,” his mother said, and as the lord took his seat, Derek prayed that meant he was done. “Lord Bennett, the floor is yours.”
“Your most Gracious Majesty,” Bennett said, and Derek’s mother give the tight smile only her family knew to be a grimace. “As you are aware, Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess Laura’s engagement to the second son of our Eastern neighbours has been set in stone for years. Her highness, Princess Cora’s engagement to a member of our Western allies is nearly finalized.”
“If I am aware, then why are you telling me?” Talia asked. Some of the lords in attendance chuckled and Bennett gave a great guffaw of amusement he clearly didn’t feel.
“Just so, Your Most Brilliant Majesty,” Lord Bennet said with a half bow. “I feel that now would be an appropriate time to begin seeking out an appropriate arrangement for his Highness, Prince Derek. I have prepared a list of appropriate candidates from both our southern and northern neighbors that I think will suit him well.”
Derek tensed in his seat. He'd known this day was coming, but he didn’t think he’d ever be truly prepared.
“Thank you for your forethought, Lord Bennett, but I don’t think we’ll be using your list,” the Queen said. Derek kept his features blank. He knew better than to think that would mean he’d be safe from marriage for a little bit longer. “I feel that the most advantageous marriage for Derek would be within our own kingdom. It is important for us to remain connected to our people.”
Many of the lords and ladies in attendance murmured approval and Lord Bennett gushed over, “Her Majesty's brilliance.”
“I believe a celebration is in order,” Laura said. “A rejoicing of our wonderful kingdom, and an opportunity for Derek to seek out a suitable match.”
The council was in agreement, and the conversation moved onto other topics that Derek considered much more important.
Laura leaned over toward him and whispered, “Fancy a trip to the village?”
Derek smiled. It had been ages since they’d had the opportunity to walk among their people, and the herald’s journey to announce the impending ball would be the perfect chance.
***
It was shockingly easy to lose one's sister, despite the fact that they were the heir to the kingdom. Derek had been right at Laura’s side, then she said, “Oh, sticky buns!” and disappeared. He hoped at the very least she remembered to grab one for him.
The village was packed with stalls and carts, and most of all, people. Some shouting their wares, while shop doors were open to the steady flow of customers. It was impossible to see Laura, especially when she had her distinctive long dark hair covered. In search of higher ground, Derek grabbed a post next to a cart and pulled himself up to balance on the edge.
It certainly made it easier to see, but he didn’t catch sight of Laura. Instead, he found himself watching the progress of a skinny boy.
The boy went from cart to cart, making trades and adding to his basket, or tucking an item under his arm. His load was quite large and he spun too quickly, nearly dropped everything he was carrying, tripped over a bucket, and then somehow righted himself and his possessions without hitting the ground.
Everywhere he went, someone was calling out, or waving a hand in greeting. Despite his hurry, the boy was sure to acknowledge each one, offering a cheeky grin or jaunty wave. Without breaking stride, he snatched a doll right out of the air as it was tossed between two young boys and returned it to its crying owner with a wink. He nearly dropped his basket in the process, but he managed to catch that as well.
The boy moved with a fascinating sort of grace, like each moment was a narrowly avoided collision. Derek still couldn’t see Laura, so he decided to leave his perch and go talk to him.
That was easier said than done. Derek had to navigate through the crowd, and he almost lost sight of him a few times. When he finally reached the boy’s side, he said, “Good day.”
The boy glanced at him and gave a stiff, “Good day,” in return, then moved away.
Derek followed after. “It’s very busy here today.”
The boy glanced over his shoulder frowning at him. “It’s Saturday.”
Derek didn’t really know what the significance of that was, but at least the boy had responded. “Do you come here often?”
The boy snorted. “As often as I possibly can, but rarely on a Saturday.”
“Why?” Derek asked, moving in front of the boy’s path.
“I don’t like shoving past tourists. Excuse me.”
Derek suspected by the light shove he got that he was considered a tourist.
Undeterred, he followed. “Did you see the herald?”
“No,” the boy said, “but I think he tries more to be heard, not seen.” Derek laughed, and the boy finally stopped and turned around. “You’re not from here.”
Derek shrugged. “Near enough.” Just up the hill, really, but sometimes the distance felt like a hundred miles. “He’s announcing a ball at the castle.” Derek did not expect the boy to groan. “Don’t you like balls?”
The boy smirked at him. “Balls are neither here nor there.” Derek suspected he wasn’t only talking of parties. “They don’t really matter, since It’s not as if I’m invited. To common people like us, a ball doesn’t mean dancing and food and revelry. It means dozens of new dress orders all to be completed in a week's time, along with shoes, hats, carriage repairs, horse rentals. It makes for good money, but it’s exhausting and we don’t even get to see the fruits of our labour.”
Derek struggled to find a rebuttal for that. “Well, this one’s different. Everyone is invited. Anyone in the kingdom.” Laura was going to skin him alive.
The boy frowned. “Huh. Well, then, the dressmaker is definitely going to have work for me. I should go see him now.” He turned again to leave, and Derek caught his arm, nearly sending the apples at the top of his pile flying.
“So, will you come then? To the ball?” Derek asked eagerly.
“Maybe,” he said. “If I’m not too busy. Good day, sir.” He gave a half bow, that sent a berry flying across the street, and blended into the crowd.
Derek had never been called sir before. Plenty of other things suiting his station, and even some that didn’t, but nothing as simple as “sir”. He wanted to follow, but he quickly lost sight of the boy. Besides that, he really needed to find Laura and try to convince her to invite the entire village to the ball.
***
As soon as the carriage pulled out of the driveway, Stiles went down to the kitchen and flopped onto his pallet with a groan.
The prince's ball had generated more work than he’d ever done in his life, since everyone and their uncle was preparing for it. No one wanted to arrive at the palace in last year's fashions and ill-fitting shoes. Gerard had insisted on extra beauty regimes for both the girls and he’d been lecturing them all week about the importance of the evening. He ranted about securing Lydia’s betrothal to Sir Whittemore’s oldest son, grumbled about the boy's questionable parentage, and blustered about finding Allison a suitable husband, preferably the prince.
Just before he finally left for the ball, he made some cutting remarks about the state of the house, since Stiles had been so busy with working some of his usual chores had fallen by the wayside.
Tomorrow, Stiles would no doubt have to begin cleaning the house from top to bottom, but tonight, he was finally going to sleep more than a handful of hours.
Stiles rubbed his tired eyes as they started to sting. For a moment, he wished he could have gone with them to the ball. If he didn’t have the sort of life where he was worked to the bone from dawn til dusk only to start all over the next day, he could have had a nice evening. It would have been nice to spend a carefree night with friends in a beautiful castle instead of being so exhausted he wanted to curl up in bed.
He knew the castle was beautiful. He remembered walking through the halls at his father's side, but the memories were starting to take on a hazy dreamlike quality. He could no longer recall the paintings the gold frames held, or the exact shade of the walls. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d go to the ball just to brighten those memories. And maybe it would have made the memories of his father clearer too.
He might have looked through the castle, laughed with his friends, maybe even danced with that stranger from the market. The one with the bright eyes that stared too intensely, and the unusually dark hair that contrasted so well with his clothes, and the firm figure that--
Stiles rolled over and shoved his face into his lumpy pillow.
He wasn’t going to the ball. That wasn’t his life, and it never would be.
Scott burst through the back door. Stiles had barely had a chance to see him since the ball was announced, let alone actually talk to him. They’d both been too busy working.
“What are you doing?" Scott said, pulling Stiles to his feet. "Get up, get up, we have to go!”
“Go?” Stiles echoed. “No, Scott, we need to sleep.”
“You can’t just go to bed,” Scott insisted. “This could be our only chance to go to an actual ball.”
“So?” Stiles said.
“Don’t you want to see the castle?” Scott asked tugging him to the door.
“I can see the castle from here,” Stiles groused.
“I want to dance with Allison,” Scott said. “Won’t it be wonderful?”
“If you want to dance with her, you go to the ball,” Stiles said. “I’m tired, Scott, leave me here.”
“I can’t go by myself,” Scott said. “And everytime I see something, I’ll think ‘how amazing’, and then I’ll turn to tell you and you won’t be there, and it will ruin my night thinking of you all alone.”
Stiles felt his resolve shake. He vaguely remembered following his father around the castle. He didn’t remember details, only that it had been beautiful, and his father had loved it. “We can’t show up like this. Everyone is in new clothes. I should know, I made them.”
“I’ve already taken care of that,” Scott said. “Come on.”
Scott’s mount was waiting outside.
“Hector? Really?” Stiles said disdainfully.
“Hector is a good mule,” Scott argued. “He’s just not very good-looking."
Scott had worked at the village stable for years, and his boss liked him enough, Stiles was sure he could have had his pick of the horses there. “No one else wanted a mule, did they?”
Scott sniffed. “They just don’t know him like I do. He was so disappointed when all the others were rented out and he got left behind.”
Stiles gave a long suffering sigh and allowed Scott to boost him up onto Hector’s back. Ugly as he was, the mule would carry them both without complaint and still be fresh as a daisy when they arrived, where a lesser animal would be exhausted from the weight of two young men.
Scott tied Hector loosely outside the dress shop Stiles got most of his work from. Erica, the proprietor's daughter, stuck her head out the back door and hissed, “Hurry up!”
As soon as they were in the door, Erica thrust a pile of clothing at each of them. “Here, I’ll meet you there.”
“Wait,” Stiles said, staring down at the jumble of rich red brocade and buttery suede. “I didn’t order these.”
“What’s wrong with them?” Erica asked, crossing her arms.
“Nothing, I assume, if you made them,” he said instantly. Erica’s stitches were unparalleled in precision and her designs had a flare that her father’s had always lacked. “But I can’t afford things like these.”
Erica’s face softened. “They're a gift, idiot. I’ll see you there.” She disappeared toward the front of the shop before Stiles could protest further.
Stiles looked appraisingly between his own clothes and the garments in his hands. The red coat would be mid-thigh length and the sleeves looked long, so they'd probably reach all the way to his wrists, for once. The black trousers still held their color instead of being faded from years of use like the rest of his clothes. By contrast, the shirt he was wearing was too short to be fashionable, and his trousers had been patched three times. He really wasn’t dressed for a royal ball, and Erica’s creations were likely the finest clothes he’d wear in his life.
After he and Scott had changed, they went back into the courtyard behind the shops. Hector had been joined by Isaac. Though young, Isaac was quickly gaining a reputation for sturdy foot wear and when there were too many repairs for him to manage, Stiles reaped the benefits by picking up the extra work.
Isaac held up a pair of fur lined shoes.
“Oh, not you too,” Stiles said crossing his arms.
Isaac smirked at him. “Yep. But unlike Erica, I used the cheapest materials I could find because I knew you’d bitch about it. I don't know if they'll fit, but they lace up, so they should stay on your feet.”
Stiles laughed. “And that’s why I like you, asshole.” He kicked off his ratty shoes and slipped on the ones Isaac gave him, tying them as tightly as he could. “Can’t have me scuffing up their majesties’ floor, now can we?”
Isaac grinned at the results of his handy work. “Come on, Boyd promised he’d give me a ride up.”
“What, you don’t want to walk up that little old hill?” Stiles asked jerking his thumb toward the castle looming over the town.
Isaac snorted. “By the time I reached the top, everyone would be coming back down.”
Scott jauntily knocked on Boyd’s door.
Boyd’s great-grandfather had made a niche for himself making carriages and carts of all kinds, and he’d passed his business along with his name down to his son. Boyd had taken over for his father years ago when it came to building, but Vernon Sr. still enjoyed dealing with customers more than his son, so they made a good team.
“What did you get for us, Boyd?” Scott asked.
Boyd looked disgruntled. “You have to understand, it’s been a madhouse this week.”
“No kidding,” Stiles said. “The whole village was in a tizzy. I’m surprised there’s anyone left to go to this ball with how hard we’ve been working.”
With a nod of solidarity, Boyd continued. “I didn’t have time to start fresh, so I added benches into a frame I’d already designed. We lucked out with the weather since there isn’t a roof. But…”
“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked. Boyd wasn’t usually one to mince words.
“Look, it was a commission for a wedding,” Boyd explained and they all groaned. “The bride had a...unique vision. She wanted whimsical. Like a fairytale.” Boyd waved his arms in disdain. “When the groom saw the progress, he threw a fit and paid me to start over.”
Stiles couldn’t imagine a design so bad that Boyd would rather start over than try to work with the materials he’d already used. “Out with it.”
Boyd sighed. “It’s a pumpkin.”
“A what?” Stiles said blinked.
“A pumpkin,” Boyd growled. “It looks like a pumpkin.”
Stiles was sure his sleep deprivation had caught up with him and he was having a very strange dream. “I don’t believe you.”
Boyd rolled his eyes and led them around the shop. The area usually filled with carts and carriages waiting for repair or sale was empty except for one.
Stiles whistled. “Jesus, you weren't joking.”
“Yep,” Boyd said.
“So...orange,” Stiles said, looking for something nice to say and failing miserably.
“Yeah, she asked for that specifically,” Boyd said. “To make it look more realistic.”
Isaac shuddered.
“It’s perfect,” Scott said, clapping Boyd on the back.
With Boyd’s help, they hitched Hector to the carriage. Boyd waved them off, leading Isaac over to his own vehicle. Stiles took a moment to wish that Boyd had more than two seats in his own carriage and off they went. Out of the village and into the woods, following the winding path to the castle, and the waiting event.
***
When envisioning a royal ball, Stiles hadn’t really considered the sheer amount of food there would be. There were 13 platters of quail, and that was just how many were left when he got there.
As soon as they’d arrived, Scott had been set on finding Allison, but Stiles had gotten distracted by the tables lining each end of the ball room. He was slowly making his way down one side, sampling things he’d never seen before--really, what was that grey stuff?--and debating how much it would ruin his coat if he put some in his pockets.
He’d just put some sort of rolled up bacon delicacy in his mouth when a voice directly behind him said, “You made it.”
Stiles choked, panicked, coughed, and hit the back of a guard's head with the food that came flying out of his mouth.
“Are you alright?”
Stiles eyes were watering, but when he wiped away the forming tears, he recognized the man he’d met at the market the day the ball had been announced. The one he’d complained about to Scott because he had stupidly perfect cheekbones and no concept of personal space.
“Stop looking so concerned, he’ll realize it was me,” Stiles hissed.
The man frowned. “Who?”
“The guard I totally did not just spit bacon at.” Stiles took the man's arm and started pulling him farther down the table. “It had nothing to do with us, we were totally busy just looking at all this food.”
“Right,” the man said. “I haven’t really eaten yet.”
“Really? You should. This is a truly outrageous amount of food. We’ve all got to do our part so it doesn’t go to waste,” Stiles said. “I swear, if I stood here for a week I couldn’t eat all this food. And not because it would go bad either, which is, you know, gross, but because there’s so much of it. I mean, what even is that?”
“Well, this is duck skin, and that’s made from eggplant. These are mushrooms, but they're pretty bitter.”
“Ugh, I’m getting full and we haven’t even finished one side,” Stiles said with a groan. “Hey, is the guard still looking at us?”
The man glanced behind them. “Yes.”
“Shit,” Stiles said. “He totally knows it was me.”
“I don’t think that’s the reason,” the man said, a hint of a laugh in his voice. “Do you dance?”
“Hey, good idea,” Stiles said, tapping the man’s chest. “Get us to a different area to take some of the heat off.”
“Um, right.” He offered his arm to Stiles and led him out onto the floor with the other swirling couples.
Stiles hadn’t danced in years, but his partner didn’t complain when he stepped on his feet. Stiles’ shoes were light in comparison to the sturdy boots he usually wore and the soft fur didn’t leave any scuff marks on the floor. After a few passes Stiles remembered enough to think of more than just counting his steps.
“What’s your name anyway?” Stiles asked.
This time, it was his partner's turn to stumble. “Pardon?”
Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. “Your name? Do you have one? I could keep calling you Surly But Handsome Man From Market’ if you like.”
That earned a huff of breath that was almost a laugh. “Derek.”
“That works too,” Stiles said. “Mine was more creative though.”
“And you?” Derek asked.
“Well, yes, clearly I’m more creative,” Stiles said grinning.
Derek rolled his eyes. “What’s your name?”
Stiles was prepared to launch into bemoaning the horror of his birthname when the song ended. The dancers clapped politely, then either took their positions for the next dance or moved to the sides of the hall. “Hey, do you think there's somewhere to sit?” He knew the point of a ball was to dance, but his exhaustion was catching up with him again.
Derek nodded, and with a look of determination, he started leading Stiles though the crowd. Stiles thought he must be glaring again, because people got out of his way quickly, averting their eyes.
After they left the ballroom and hurried down a hallway lined with paintings in ornate frames, Derek ushered Stiles into a sitting room.
Stiles eyed the spindly chair legs and fine cloth, some of which looked to be embroidered with actual gold. “How about somewhere to sit without getting arrested for sullying a precious heirloom?”
Derek glared at the chair like it had mortally offended him. “I don’t think this is an heirloom.”
“Maybe not, but it does look like it's worth more money than I earn in a year,” Stiles said easily. “Any of my friends would tell you, I have an uncanny knack for ruining furniture.”
Instead of laughing like Stiles had intended, Derek gave a quick nod and took Stiles' arm again, pulling him back out to the hallway and down to a set of french doors. There was a pair of guards standing at attention on either side, but they didn’t stop them from slipping out.
The garden had no lights of its own, but the tall windows of the ballroom spilled light onto the flowers, and made the water in the fountain sparkle. Stiles sat on the edge of it letting the wind carry droplets to his warm face.
“I didn’t realize how stuffy it was in there,” Stiles said. “The air is much clearer out here.” He started plucking at his clothing to get more air to his skin.
“Are you overheated?” Derek asked, sitting next to him on the fountain wall.
“God, yes,” Stiles said. “Ah ha!” He looked down at his feet and remembered he was wearing fur shoes instead of his usual threadbare shoes. He tugged at the laces until they came loose, then toed them off, letting them fall to the ground.
“What are you doing?” Derek asked.
Stiles rolled off his stockings and dropped them with the shoes. “Cooling off.” He turned to let his feet dangle in the cool water and sighed. “That’s better. I’ve been on my feet all day.”
“Doing what?” Derek asked.
Stiles shrugged. “Everything. You know, there are only 17 stairs between the bedrooms and the kitchen, but with the number of times I go up and down them, you’d think it was a hundred. Sometimes, I pretend that if I just stand there they’ll move on their own. I once spent a week imagining that I had a pet pig with wings.”
“A flying pig?” Derek said, eyebrow raised.
“Yes!” Stiles said. “It could carry things up and down for me, so I don’t have to get it myself. Forgot my pincushion? No problem, the pig goes and gets it. Linens need to be carried up? Off he goes.”
“But why a pig?” Derek asked. “And why a flying one?”
“Well, first of all, so his little feet don’t get tired,” Stiles explained miming the pigs tiny steps. “And then, you know how people say ‘when pigs fly’, right? It would ruin the dramatic declarations of anyone who saw him.”
Derek snorted, then quickly schooled his features.
“What’s wrong, can’t you smile?” Stiles teased.
“Of course, I can,” Derek said. “Anyone can smile.”
“But you haven’t,” Stiles pointed out. “Come on, smile for me.” He poked at Derek’s ribs, searching for the spot that would make him laugh. Derek had the kind of mouth that was made for smiling. Stiles knew it would light up his whole face when he did, and Stiles wanted to be the cause of that. He wanted a moment of sun to take home, a memory of this handsome man to live with on days he felt so alone he could barely breath.
“What are you doing?” Derek said, eyes wide. Stiles was certain that if he widened his eyes like that, he’d look like a fish, but Derek just managed to look a different sort of adorable. Was he ever not attractive? What would it take to ruffle him?
“Tickling you, obviously,” Stiles said. “I want to see you smile.” He knelt on the bench to get a better angle for tickling, then overbalanced and fell against Derek, who luckily had enough control over his body to make them fall to the ground instead of into the fountain. Stiles landed on Derek, straddling his hips and staring into eyes that sparkled with mirth. The corner of Derek’s mouth quirked up in amusement and Stiles wanted to taste the laughter that seemed almost ready to bubble out. He wondered how the fine bristle of Derek’s facial hair would feel against his face. Would it tickle, or itch, or scratch just right? Stiles thought maybe Derek would let him find out if he just--
He froze at the sound of a throat clearing.
“Your highness, midnight is approaching," said a pompous looking man in a white wig. His gaze flicked to Stiles briefly like he was a bug beneath his notice. "The Queen has asked for your presence for her toast,”
A hard weight dropped in Stiles’ stomach as he closed his eyes. “Prince Derek.”
Mortification heated his face as he scrambled to his feet. How could he have not recognized a member of the royal family? He’d lived so close the the castle all his life, his father had died protecting these people, and Stiles couldn’t even pick them out of a crowd. He looked down at Derek’s fine jacket and the medals that glittered on his chest. If he’d been paying more attention to Derek’s clothes than his face then perhaps he would have clued in. Even Derek’s familiarity with the castle should have been a sign that Stiles should stop and think. But he hadn’t. Instead he’d made a fool of himself by tickling the prince.
Stiles thought he saw dismay on Derek’s face, but then he closed his eyes for a brief moment and when he opened them, every inch of Derek conveyed the power and grace of his station. If Stiles had met him when he had that look in his eye, he’d never have made the mistake he did. Derek practically breathed princeliness.
“Yes, Lord Bennett, I’ll just be a moment,” Derek said, getting to his feet.
Stiles grabbed his shoes and shoved his feet into them. He tried to tie the laces quickly, but one slipped out entirely, so he put it in his pocket along with his stockings instead. He got to his feet and bowed hastily, nearly losing his balance. With his voice shaking with emotion, Stiles said, “Excuse me.” Then he turned tail and fled.
“Wait, where are you going?” Derek asked. “Stop!”
Stiles did not stop. In fact, he increased his pace from a brisk walk to a flat out run. He went past the doors that led back to the ballroom, and guards spilled out and started running after him.
“Shit,” Stiles spat. He couldn’t wait for Scott. He ran toward the carriages, listening as the castle guards shouted and clanked behind them.
Stiles could hear the village clock calling out midnight, the slow pounding at odds with his racing heartbeat. He rounded the wall of the castle and started down a staircase along its side. Five steps from the bottom, the shoe without a lace came off, and he nearly fell down the remaining steps. He turned to retrieve his shoe, but the guards were already at the stop of the staircase.
Where would I wear them again anyway? Stiles thought as he abandoned them. Long winter nights shivering by the fire came to mind, but he forced them out of his mind, and focused on making his tired legs carry him as fast as they could.
He reached the rows of carriages waiting for their owners to return from the ball. He dodged a footman and ng, knowing he and Scott had arrived late enough to be near the back.
The carriage appeared like a beacon in its orange glory. Stiles dropped to the ground and slid under it, smudging dirt on the front of his coat. A moment later, footsteps thundered by as the castle guards continued on. Stiles held his breath until he could no longer hear them.
“Stupid,” he whispered. Who the hell didn’t recognize the prince of their own kingdom? It was enough that he hadn’t recalled what the royal family looked like, he’d also been given a name and he still hadn't realized. How many well born ‘Derek’s' could there be? Stiles bit his lip to suppress a groan. He’d complained about the food. And the heat. To the prince. He’d teased the prince. And tickled him!
If the guards ever caught up with him, he’d be thrown in jail faster than he could stitch a hem.
There was nothing he could do until Scott came back to the carriage, so Stiles curled into himself and prepared for a long wait.The toll from the hectic week caught up with him again, and he fell asleep under the carriage.
It wasn’t the worst place he’d ever slept.
***
The royal family was incredibly close with one another. Derek loved Laura dearly, not just as his future queen, but as his best friend, and one of the few people he could truly be himself around.
That being said, when he walked into her room and saw the smirk that lit up her face, he could easily have killed her.
With a groan, he flopped down onto her chaise and buried his face in an embroidered pillow.
“You know, Derek,” Laura started. “I think inviting the whole village turned out quite well. They seem to have a splendid time, and nothing was broken or stolen.” When Derek didn’t reply, she continued, “In fact, I think it went so well, I’m going to petition to make it an annual event. Maybe we’ll have a whole festival. A yearly celebration with our people.”
“You mean a yearly reminder of my failure,” Derek muttered.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Laura said, but he could hear her trying not to laugh.
“He ran away.” Derek threw one pillow at her and grabbed another to shove under his head. “How could it have gone any worse?”
“Was he running from you or the guards chasing him?” Laura said, chuckling at the memory. “Did you do something to chase him away?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” Derek had been agonizing over every moment of the night before, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong.
“Well, you do tend to look like you want to murder someone,” Laura teased. “Especially at balls.”
“I didn’t smile enough,” Derek said morosely.
“You never smile enough,” Laura said. “It’s been trained out of you ever since that awful etiquette teacher.” She shook her head and waved the topic aside. “You’ll just have to seek him out and apologize.”
“I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for,” Derek said, pushing himself up into a sitting position.
“So?” Laura said. “That’s completely beside the point.”
“How will I even find him?” Derek asked. “He never told me his name.”
“You spent that long with him and you never got his name?” Laura said.
“I tried, but then we got distracted.” Laura leered at him and Derek rolled his eyes. “Not like that!”
“Pity,” Laura said. “As for finding him, Derek, the village isn’t that big, it can’t be that difficult. In fact, we’ll call Captain Finstock right now.”
“Why?” Derek asked. Their captain of the guard kept them safe but he did so in a very...unique fashion. Derek was convinced that it wasn’t so much that he was a brilliant strategist which he claimed, but rather his unpredictability that thwarted any dastardly attempts made against their family.
“We’ll need to arrange security as we search,” Laura said. “And he may know where to start.”
Laura rang for someone to fetch Finstock and Derek moved from the chaise to sit next to her on the sofa. They didn’t have to wait long before the Captain burst into the room.
“Your highnesses, worry not, I have it all under control,” Finstock announced.
“Good morning, Captain,” Laura said brightly. “Have you had any luck finding Derek’s mystery man now that you know he’s not a criminal.”
“Well, no,” Finstock said. “But I found his shoe.” He held up the fur-lined shoe like a trophy.
Derek heard Laura make a choking noise beside him, so he said, “Excellent. How will that help us to find him?”
“I have a plan,” Finstock said. He shouted for his assistant, Greenberg, who stumbled into the room holding a sheaf of parchment, and the Captain started gesturing wildly to the drawings on them. “See, what we're going to do is try this shoe on every eligible man in the village until we find the one it fits.”
Derek frowned. “I don’t think--”
“Hush,” Laura hissed. “That sounds brilliant, Captain. We’ll begin at once.”
Derek waited until she’d dismissed the captain before saying. “I really don’t think that’s going to work.”
“Shut up, it’s happening.” Laura rose and raced to her closet to change out of her dressing gown. “I need to watch this hilarity ensue.”
Derek considered pointing out that it would be a waste of resources, but then he imagined watching Finstock go through the village brandishing a shoe at people and decided to hold his tongue. “I’ll go get the horses ready.”
***
Following Finstock from door to door was just as entertaining as Laura had promised it would be. She and Derek kept their distance so that Finstock couldn’t hear their muffled laughter, but ensured they were close enough to hear what he said.
Most of the people were confused. They already knew they hadn’t spent the night with Derek and they didn’t need a shoe to prove it. One young man had frowned at Derek, then exclaimed, “I didn’t have that much to drink.” Another had said, “Well, it’s not mine, but I’d wear anything for him,” and Laura had giggled all the way to the next house.
Finstock made such a grand affair of trying on the shoe that despite their confusion, most men were happy to oblige. A portly gentleman well over twice Derek’s age, delighted to be included, had blushed a furious red that took over not only his face but his bald head,
Progress was slow, and they didn’t even make it past the outskirts of the village before they needed to return home.
For the second day of searching, Derek and Laura were required to attend to their duties at the castle, so they couldn’t follow Finstock. Instead, the captain sent every man who could fit into the shoe to the castle for Derek to inspect.
Laura laughed herself to tears, but after the 43rd man arrived, Queen Talia put a stop to it. She agreed to give Laura three days to complete the search, and if they didn’t find Derek’s “beau” they’d have to think of something else. Laura agreed readily, as this was much more time for watching Finstock make a fool of himself than she’d bargained for. Derek just hoped he’d come across the boy in that time.
It took another two days to reach the village square, but by then, the townspeople were starting to know what to expect, so it was going much faster. Not fast, because Finstock was incapable of efficiency, but faster.
The stables took the longest time to complete because the young man there seemed very nervous and didn’t want to answer any of their questions. Despite his clear discomfort, Finstock lingered, trying to convince him to join the castle guard. “We need good strong men, McCall. Strong men!”
They didn’t really have any success until they visited Boyd’s Carriages and Carts. The owner offered to have his son try the shoe on, but when he was called up, he gave them a flat look and a hard, “No.”
“He’s not eligible,” said the woman by his side. Her eyes caught the fur shoe, which had been placed on an elegant blue velvet pillow for its journey about town. “Wait, let me see that.”
At Finstock’s instruction, Guard Parrish brought the pillow forward. “Erica, it's just a shoe,” Boyd said. “You know it’s not mine.”
“No, of course not, but--” Erica cut off then stepped back to address Finstock. “You should take it to a cobbler.” She said and pointed out the door. “There’s one two doors down.”
“You think it will fit him?” Finstock barked.
“No,” Erica said, rolling her eyes. “But he might be able to tell you more about it. Most of the people in this village get their shoes from him.”
“That’s actually a good idea,” Laura said. Derek didn’t think it could hurt, so they took their entourage two doors down.
They made sure to enter quickly so their trumpeter wouldn’t have to go on for too long. The cobbler’s shop was thankfully empty, except for the cobbler himself, who was working on a shoe behind the counter and asked, hesitantly, “Can I help you?”
“We’re looking for a cobbler,” Finstock said.
“I’m Isaac.” He gestured to their surroundings. “I make shoes.”
“You see this here?” Finstock said, brandishing the shoe at Isaac. “This is a very important shoe, and we need to find its owner.”
“Alright,” Isaac said, eyeing the shoe. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, we thought you could tell us what it’s made of,” Finstock said. “Clearly, it’s a very expensive fur, probably from a very rare animal. Hard to come by.”
Isaac’s eyes flicked over to the wall, and Derek saw that he was looking at a very large roll of identical fur. Its price tag suggested that “rare” was not the most common way it was described. Laura giggled next to him.
“And the stitching,” Finstock continued. “This is clearly a unique style. Very difficult. Would have taken ages to finish.”
This time Isaac’s gaze wandered to the fabric pulled taut next to his register, showcasing the three most basic types of stitches he could offer, the one that claimed to be the fastest, Derek recognized. The volume of Laura’s laughter increased.
“It’s perfectly tailored to size,” Finstock insisted. “So it would only fit a select group.”
“It’s missing the lace,” Isaac blurted out. “The holes for it are clearly right there. This shoe could fit anyone as long as they could get their foot into it.”
Laura burst out in full-on gales of laughter, but Derek didn’t pay her any mind, because the door to back of the cobblers shop opened.
Derek’s mystery boy’s eyes widened in shock. The shoes he was carrying tumbled to the ground. Then he turned on his heel and ran back out the door.
“Wait,” Derek called, but he was already gone, and the cobbler was blocking the doorway. “I’m going to lose him again,” he said, glaring at him.
“Actually, I think I know him,” Parrish said. “His father used to be Captain. They had a house on the other side of the village.”
“Lead on then,” Laura said. Her eyes glinted with determination. This wasn’t a game anymore.
***
In the days following the ball, Stiles had been set to work scrubbing every square inch of the house. It was tiring work to begin with, made worse because every time he thought he was nearly done a task, Gerard would come in and claim he’d missed a spot and force him to start over.
He hadn’t had the chance to return to the village or see any of his friends. He missed them, but he thought it was probably best for him to lie low for a while, in case a castle guard recognized him and hauled him in.
Gerard was finally distracted by the girls’ singing lessons, and Stiles was able to bring along the shoes he’d been working on for Isaac. The extra revenue from the ball was a boon, but he still needed the funds from the more regular orders Isaac asked him to complete. Those had been set aside while preparing for the ball since they weren’t rush orders.
He’d never expected to find Isaac’s shop swarming with guards.
Stiles didn’t stop running until he reached home, out of breath, his heart pounding, and his legs screaming with the effort. He didn’t lessen his pace in the entry hall. Instead, he raced upstairs to the attic and locked himself inside. He fell against the door and let his head bang against the wood.
Would Isaac tell them where to find him? They were friends, but that didn’t mean Isaac would jeopardize his own freedom to keep them from arresting Stiles. It probably wouldn’t be long before they arrived to take him away.
They must not have lingered with Isaac long, because the sounds of horse's hooves and people shouting began floating up to the window. Stiles cringed as Gerard’s voice rose to greet them.
He wasn’t sure what the guards had said to him, but Gerard's cutting voice was clear enough. “That delinquent? What has he done now? I assure you he will be punished immediately.”
“Shit,” Stiles whispered to himself, knocking his head against the door with a thump. He shouldn’t have come home. He should have just kept on running. Nevermind that the thought of leaving his parents’ house behind left an ache in his chest. He probably would never see it again anyway. If he’d just kept running he might have gotten away. Instead, he was stuck in the attic with no way out.
“He’s probably in the kitchen,” he heard Lydia say.
What?
Stiles hadn’t exactly been quiet running into the house. How had Lydia not noticed him go upstairs?
“The kitchen?” Bellowed a voice. “Why would he be there?”
“He’s almost always there,” Lydia said lightly. “His upstairs chores are finished, so where else would he be?”
“Upstairs chores?” The voice was filled with disbelief and sputtered as he echoed her. “Parrish! Go search the kitchen.”
“Allison will help you,” Lydia said. “But don’t be surprised if he’s...well, I’m sure he’s not presentable enough for company.”
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
“Well, he only has so many clothes,” Lydia explained. “So he’s usually very dirty. I think it’s because he sits too close to the fireplace. With winter just around the corner, he’ll only get worse. And with such little education… he wouldn’t know what to say, I’m sure.”
“What’s wrong with his education?” barked the voice.
“Now you see--” Gerard started.
“It looks like he’s been sleeping in the kitchen, Captain,” someone called. “This house is in good condition, but he clearly hasn’t been cared for.”
“What the hell have we been paying for then?” The Captain shouted. “We send you money every damn month as reparations to his family, and the boy doesn’t have clothes suitable for visitors? What the hell have you been doing with it all?”
“Well, I think the last payment bought my new parasol,” Lydia drawled.
Gerard sputtered objections, but Stiles was distracted by the sound of the door behind him being unlocked. He had to rush away from it to avoid being hit when it opened.
“Come here,” Allison hissed.
“No, Allison, please, if I can just hide here long enough--”
“Why would you want to do that?” She asked expression bemused.
Stiles blinked at her. “Did you not notice the number of guards in front of our house?”
Allison rolled her eyes. “Yes, they always bring so many when the royal family is out and about. Let’s go!”
“Go where?” Stiles asked. “Please, Allison, I don’t want to get arrested.”
“They aren’t here to arrest you,” Allison said with a pitying look.
“What?”
“They’ve been going door to door for days with a shoe trying to find the owner,” Allison explained. “Prince Derek is desperate to find him. It’s all anyone's been talking about.”
“But why?” Stiles said. That seemed like more than just malice. He couldn’t have insulted him badly enough that the Prince would scour the kingdom for revenge, could he?
“You had best come down and find out, hadn't you?” Allison’s eyes sparkled as she pulled him to his feet.
“Lydia’s right, I’m not dressed for this,” Stiles said, digging his heels into the ground.
Allison shrugged. “That can only help your case at this point. Now, I know this is a big moment for you, but do you think Scott would marry me if my father got arrested?”
“What?” Stiles stared at the firm grip she had on his arm as she led him down the stairs.
“Nevermind, I'll just ask him,” Allison decided. She managed to get him to the front door before Stiles ground to a stop again.
“Allison, I can’t go out there.”
“Sure you can.” Allison took him by the shoulders. “Stiles, your life could become infinitely better by walking through that door. Aren’t you even going to try?”
Stiles wasn’t sure why, but the image that came to mind was his parents smiling at each other. How happy they’d been before it all fell apart. What would they have thought if they could have seen the life he led now? How he lived to work. To cater to others. It turned his stomach to think of how sad they’d be, when they’d once been such a happy family. If he was arrested, would that really be so much more miserable than the way he felt now? And if he wasn’t arrested, if those guards were really as outraged by his care as they sounded, how much better could his life become? The potential of it gave him the strength to push open the door and step outside.
Four of the guards were leading Gerard away as he cursed and sputtered. Lydia looked on, perfectly poised with a deceptively bland expression. The rest of the people assembled were all looking at Stiles.
“Um, hi,” Stiles said. Belatedly he gave an awkward, unbalanced bow.
A man dressed in vibrant purple brought a trumpet to his lips and produced a loud triumphant trill.
Stiles recognized the uniform of the guard captain, and it felt strange to see it on someone other than his father. The captain stepped forward and declared loudly, “We are in search of--”
“Thank you, Finstock, that won’t be necessary, I’ve got it from here,” Derek stepped forward, not sparing the captain a glance.
“But the shoe,” Finstock sputtered, gesturing to Stiles’ poor shoe, perched on an overly expensive pillow.
“It’s not needed,” Derek said. “I’d recognize him anywhere. Besides, he has the lace.” Derek reached out and took Stiles’ wrist, running a finger over the lace Stiles had tied there. His night had ended badly, but for a moment, it had been a breath of fresh air, and Stiles had wanted to remember that.
“Did you, by chance, come all this way to return my shoe?” Stiles asked.
The corner of Derek’s mouth twitched up in an almost smile. “No, not exactly.”
“Oh.” Stiles cringed. He still wasn’t sure if he was in trouble and he didn’t know what to say.
“I came to apologize,” Derek said.
Stiles squinted at him. “For what?” Was this some sort of trick?”
Derek blinked blankly, then turned to look at Princess Laura. She gestured eagerly for him to continue, so Derek turned back to Stiles, looking less confident than before. “For scaring you off?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Stiles said. One of the guards snorted and Stiles winced.
“Telling?” Derek said, then huffed. “Telling, but I’m not really sure why you left.”
“Well, I thought I’d insulted you.I mean, I'm pretty sure you aren’t supposed to talk to princes like that and you really aren’t supposed to touch them,” Stiles explained.
“Touch them?” Laura squawked.
“Never mind that,” Derek hissed at her, then turned an adorably earnest expression on Stiles. “I didn’t mind.”
“Then why did you sic your guards on me?” Stiles asked.
This time, Derek’s glare was directed at the captain. “I didn’t. I called out after you and they overreacted.”
The Captain stiffened. “Better to be over-prepared than caught--”
“Save it,” Laura cut in.
“So, I’m not being arrested?” Stiles asked.
Derek’s eyes widened. “God, no, not at all.”
“So all the guards here, and the searching…” Stiles gestured to the group around them.
“That was Finstock’s idea, and Laura encouraged it,” Derek explained.
“I’ve had a very entertaining week,” Laura said with a happy sigh.
“Great,” Stiles said. “Well, then, apology accepted, I guess.”
Derek nodded. “Excellent.”
“Good.”
“Terrific.”
A guard cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Your Highness?”
“Yes, Parrish,” Derek said, still staring at Stiles. Now that he wasn’t fearing for his freedom, it was hard not to notice how striking Derek looked in his dark blue coat. It brought out the shades of blue in his eyes, and made his already dark hair impossibly darker.
“Would it be possible for Stiles to answer a few questions? Sir Argent will need to be tried…” Parrish said.
Derek winced. “Um. I’m not sure you noticed but...We’ve arrested your father.”
Stiles bristled. “I noticed you arrested Gerard, who is most definitely not my father.”
“Damn right,” blustered Captain Finstock. “As if a bony windbag like that could hold a candle to Stilinski. No chance, no how, not in--”
“Yes, Finstock, we understand,” Laura cut in. “Stiles, were you aware that your father received a commendation for his sacrifice to save our family.”
Stiles nodded. “I still have his medal. Why?” It was cold comfort, but he kept it close. Sometimes the pin made him feel closer to his father.
“It wasn’t just a medal,” Laura said. “The crown made a promise to see to the care of you and your mother. She didn’t want to leave this house, so an agreement was made that we would send funds to her monthly. Upon her unfortunate death, the funds were sent to Gerard so that he could use them for your care and save the rest until you came of age.”
Stiles blinked at her. “I don’t… What are you talking about?”
Laura frowned. “Stiles, you didn’t know about the money at all?”
“Grandfather was very careful not to let Stiles see the letters,” Lydia said. “It was easy enough to know when they were coming. I’ve only seen them a few times myself. I asked him about it once. He said it was a little extra to make it worth keeping him around.”
“I’m certain it was never used on Stiles,” Allison added. “More often it was on some indulgence for himself.”
Stiles closed his eyes as anger coursed through him. He’d been working until his fingers bled and his eyes went blurry to scrape together a few more coins for food, while Gerard had been using his father's money on fine wine and silver plated candlesticks.
“We’ll see it gets back to you,” Derek promised. “Every penny, he’ll pay out to you.”
“With what?” Stiles said. “My parent’s house and furniture?”
“He has another house,” Allison said. “Much farther away. Aunt Kate lives there. I can find you the address.” She led a few guards inside, presumably to Gerard’s study.
Parrish asked Stiles about his life with Gerard in great detail. Derek stuck by him the entire time, offering support and encouragement. Allison and Lydia were extremely helpful in filling in details that Stiles had forgotten. He’d never felt closer to them. They’d never been allowed to talk to him, so he’d never really considered that even though they weren’t treated as servants, they’d hardly escaped Gerard’s cruelty. Lydia had a naturally curved body that Gerard had tried to diminish with “diets” that nearly starved her, and Allison had spent hours against a wall ‘perfecting her posture’.
By the time they were finished, the guards had a lengthy list of charges to bring against Gerard and enough proof for each one.
“I’m so sorry, Stiles,” Derek said. “This never should have happened. All the guards take great pride in caring for their own. We won’t let you slip through the cracks again.”
“Are there others?” Stiles asked. “People like me that the crown in supposed to be caring for.”
Derek nodded, and took Stiles’ hand. “We’ll check in on all of them. I’ll organize the guards myself to make sure they’re not being taken advantage of.”
Stiles took a shaky breath. The certainty in Derek’s tone went a long way to soothing Stiles' anger. He couldn’t reclaim the years he’d lost, but if the royal family was true to their word maybe he could go forward from here with a new life. He didn’t mind work, and it wouldn’t be bad if it didn’t feel so futile. Caring for himself and working instead of caring for the whole household would feel like a vacation.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Stiles said. “That would mean the world to me.”
“Then consider it done,” Derek said. He still held Stiles’ bare hand between his gloved ones and didn’t seem inclined to let go. Stiles didn’t really mind. Derek’s hands were warm and the gloves soft. But the guards were all staring at them.
Stiles eyed Derek for a moment longer. “Was that all?”
“Well, no,” Derek said. The group around them seemed to lean forward in anticipation, and Derek glared at them, then guided Stiles over toward the apple tree at the side of the lawn. It wasn’t more than four horse lengths away, but it gave the illusion of privacy. There was a bench there that Stiles’ mother used to spend hours on. Stiles sat down and Derek kneeled in front of him, reaching out to touch the lace on his wrist again. “I was looking for you because I wanted to asked you to marry me.”
Stiles felt his eyes go wide as saucers. “What?! You barely know me. We’ve met twice.”
“I know,” Derek said.
“This isn’t some sort of fairy tale,” Stiles said sputtering. His head was spinning and his heart wanted to beat right out of his chest. The life he’d envisioned out from under Gerard’s reign sounded wonderful enough, but a life with Derek, a life being looked at with bright eyes like he mattered...but this was madness. That was not his life.
Derek sighed and rose from his knee to sit next to Stiles. “Everyone always laughs at fairytales and says they’re unrealistic because they have short timelines. That you couldn’t possibly love a person so quickly. But I’m a prince. I have been all my life, and I will be until the day I die. It’s a luxury for me to have already spoken with you so much, and so candidly at that.” He turned to Stiles looking beseechingly at him. “And I really feel like I know you. From the way I’ve seen you interact with others, to the way you are with me. I love the way that you know your own mind, and aren’t afraid to share it, and how you treat me like a person instead of a title. I want that. I know you haven’t had much time, but I think that I could love you. I know I’d like to try.”
Stiles took a deep breath and looked at the house. What was once a happy home had become a prison for him and he wasn’t about to trade one cage for another. But deep in his bones, he felt like he could be happy with Derek. He looked back at the prince, leaned forward and whispered, “When pigs fly.”
Derek's laughter must have caught him by surprise, because Derek grinned, bright and happy and full before schooling his features again.
“Oh my god!” Stiles said jumping up. “You have bunny teeth! That’s why you don’t smile.”
“It’s not good etiquette to--”
“They’re adorable!” Stiles insisted, forgetting himself enough to succumb to the urge to cup Derek’s face in his hands. Derek gave another smile, more tentative this time, with just a hint of his ridiculous teeth showing.
“Seen any flying pigs lately, by chance?” Derek asked.
“Why, I’m pretty sure one was helping me with my chores just yesterday,” Stiles said. “It must have flown off, so you’ll have to take my word for it.”
Derek stood, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ waist. “You’ll marry me then?”
“Yes,” Stiles said. And it felt right to say it. It felt even better when Derek tugged him closer to press their lips together, kissing Stiles thoroughly enough to make him see stars.
Laura and the guards cheered, Lydia and Allison sighed in relief, and someone handed Captain Finstock a handkerchief.
***Epilogue***
Stiles learned very soon that nothing happened quickly for the royal family. Weddings took months to organize and guests took weeks to arrive. He didn’t mind, he used the time to discover what he really wanted in his life, and to really get to know his betrothed.
There were a lot of things he still needed to figure out, but one thing was for certain: He adored Derek. Their initial affection had grown so much Stiles felt like his heart was overflowing every time he saw him. Even their arguments left him feeling loved and cherished beyond measure.
All of Stiles’ friends lined the steps as he said his wedding vows. Stiles had been told again and again that when the ceremony was finished he was to go straight to the carriage. But in those months, he’d gotten to know Derek and he knew he really wouldn’t mind as he stopped to hug each friend in turn.
“This never would have happened without you,” Stiles told them.
“Stop, you’ll wrinkle your jacket,” Erica said, brushing at the beautiful gold and white coat she’d made him for his wedding day.
“Just don’t lose your shoes this time, ” Isaac said with a cheeky grin and a glance at the shoes on Stiles’ feet. They were leather and fur just like he’d worn to the ball, only this time, the quality was so high, Stiles would barely let them touch the ground when he put them on.
“They’re waiting.” Boyd pointed to the carriage at the end of the steps, and the footmen holding open the doors. Stiles laughed at the subtle shape, reminiscent of the orange monstrosity he’d arrived in that fateful night, with its delicate gold metalwork and pristine white siding.
Scott was crying harder than anyone into his handkerchief, but he managed to say, “he’s waiting.” As he turned Stiles back to Derek.
Derek smiled as he took Stiles' hand and led him down to the carriage.
“Are you happy, Stiles?” Derek asked, as they waved to all the people watching the carriage pull away.
“It’s a dream come true,” Stiles said. And he kissed the smile right off Derek’s mouth.
*******