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Prince Gregory was never meant to rule.
Yes, he was the firstborn. However, everyone at court soon learned that the boy was sweet, innocent, and frankly a little touched in the head. A political nightmare, doubly so because adolescence left it clear he would be an Omega, even before he presented. His Alpha father was palpably embarrassed by his fey little son, and did what he could to encourage the boy -- heavily encourage -- to enter the priesthood, where he'd be safely out of the line of succession. He hadn't quite succeeded, Gregory being rather poor at taking hints, but he'd at least managed to keep the prince pious and pure. The more cynical courtiers, when deep in their cups, half-seriously speculated which would happen first: Gregory caving and being packed off to an all-Omega monastery, or the king finally snapping and the prince passing away of "a sudden illness", leaving his properly Alpha younger brother to succeed him as the heir --
Then the roof of a dining hall abruptly caved in on the King, younger Prince, and about half the court, killing all inside. Prince Gregory had been at a church service, and so was spared. Despite rumors of assassination, the royal investigation concluded that it was sheer incompetence: Lord Fernland, whose hall had collapsed, had always preferred to spend money on decorations and extravagant celebrations rather than petty things like maintenance, and so had failed to notice that the timbers holding up his roof had gone rotten, probably due to last year's intense rains. That it was stupidity rather than malice was proven by Lord Fernland himself perishing in the collapse, along with his three sons.
Now Prince Gregory was King Gregory, just as wide-eyed and sweet-natured as ever, but without any checks on his innocent folly.
The wolves of the court scented blood.
"Adrian - Adrian, what a pleasure to see you again!" Gregory -- King Gregory, he must remember -- beamed at him, grasping his shoulder and shaking his hand in a rather limp-wristed grip. "You've grown tall!"
Adrian smiled down at him, trying not to think Oh, what a sweet little fool.
They'd been friends as boys; that was why he'd been assigned this task. His father, Lord Greenwood, said it was high time he made himself of use to the family -- second sons were very well and good when the firstborn's health was poor, but, unfortunately for him, his elder brother had outgrown his frequent childhood illnesses when he'd hit the age of presentation. No one now would have suspected that Brian, barrel-chested, broad-shouldered, and nearly seven feet tall, had spent his childhood eternally sick as a dog and like to die. Alas, that left his younger brother and former replacement rather redundant, and his father suspected (correctly) that Adrian was a little too fond of the position that had once been all but guaranteed to be his. So -- this assignment served two purposes. The formal one was that it would benefit the family greatly if it succeeded. The informal one was that it kept Adrian out of the family's domains until Brian's doe-eyed Omega had popped out an heir, preferably more than one (but preferably not too many more than one).
So, his current task: gain King Gregory's favor, influence the poor sap to toss as much land and available titles their way as possible, and fend off anyone else who was trying the same game. His family wasn't picky about how he prevented the king from falling under anyone else's influence -- quite the contrary. After all, the king's cousin, currently next in the line of succession if Gregory perished without an heir, happened to be married to Adrian's older sister. His father hadn't quite instructed him to do anything against God and country, but hinted that, if it looked like they were in danger of falling out of favor and some rival family was stepping in to take their place...
Yes. Well, poor Gregory. A rabbit thrown to foxes, and completely oblivious to not just being among big red rabbits with short ears, long snouts, and bushy tails.
"It's good to see you too, your Highness," he said, careful to not show too much familiarity... yet. A part of him wanted to tousle the king's soft brown hair, the way he would have when they were boys. He'd been fond of the dear creature then. Though he'd understood ambition abstractly, youthful spirit and instinct had ruled him in those days, and instinct had said Gregory was a sweet soul who needed protecting. Yes, a year older or not, taller at the time or not -- he needed protecting. Alone of the boys who had been the prince's companions in that time, he'd seemed to feel that way. It had been a more innocent and pleasant time...
...and then all that had gone away when Gregory began to approach the age of presentation, and it had dawned on the old king that surrounding the crown prince with proto-Alphas (some of whom would turn out to be just very aggressive Betas) had failed to magically make him more like an Alpha, but would soon make him a fair-faced, tender-hearted Omega nestled in the midst of several hot-blooded young Alphas. Off Gregory had gone, nominally to prepare him for his "royal duties" but really to ensure he was holed up with white-haired, tight-lipped old Omegas at all times, and that had been the end of that. Such were the whims of royalty.
Pity the old king wasn't here anymore, eh?
It was almost too easy.
They'd caught up quickly enough, spending the day strolling around the palace with a break for a church service. King Gregory had obliviously waved off several courtiers along the way, insisting that it was the first time he'd seen his good friend for years (true enough) and business could wait until later (probably true, but something for which he really should have had a more coy excuse). Adrian needn't have worried about over-familiarity; Gregory -- ahem, King Gregory -- all but hung off his arm, chattering away and gazing up at him with those big, dark eyes. At first, the substance of his chattering was questions about Adrian's family, his taste in poetry (what taste in poetry?), and what he thought of the latest fashions from abroad, but then it turned to matters of court.
Namely, that he was terribly overwhelmed and had no idea what to do about them. The latest controversy was his attempt to give away money to the peasantry, having been moved by their poverty and inspired by certain religious verses, and his subsequent confusion over his courtiers criticizing him for "extravagance". Didn't they spend money on much more frivolous things? (Yes, but it was poor manners to point it out.) Was it not proper and pious to give to the less fortunate, and a sin to hoard excessive wealth? (Very proper and pious, and so it was exceedingly poor manners to point it out.) How could he pass by the destitute and downtrodden, and not stop to give them aid? (By putting one foot in front of the other.) And so on, and so forth...
Adrian kept a straight face and gently explained the facts of life to him, or at least a version that was palatable to His Highness. It was such desperately hard work for the royal tax collectors to bring in their revenues, and the courtiers felt that he was disrespecting their service by giving their hard work away so readily. Regular extravagance made the people proud by showing everyone what a prosperous kingdom they had, and the people appreciated it more than a few coins that would depart as quickly as they had arrived. Yes, it was pious to give to the poor, but it was properly the duty of the Church to offer them charity, not the king -- the king's duty was to give them order. ("Oh! Then I should give the money to the Church?" Good GOD no! Of course, his actual reply was more along the lines of higher powers always seeing to it that the Church would have just enough for the divine will to be accomplished, and any more being a temptation to corrupting luxury, etc.) And so on, and so forth...
Gregory was ever so grateful. "Oh, I wish they had just told me," he said, face shining with the force of his relief. "Why can't people ever speak clearly? And you, you explained it all so well..."
Good heavens, you could give this man ditchwater and swear it was ambrosia, and he'd loyally gag it all down. "Perhaps they were just afraid of presumption, Your Highness," Adrian said diplomatically. "The former king, God rest his soul--" In Hell-- "--was a great man, but his blood ran very hot, and he ill-liked instruction on any matter--"
Gregory's face closed off for the first time that day. "That he did." He looked pensive for a moment, gazing out the corridor windows and worrying at his lip, before the energy came back full-force. "But you at least told me! Everyone was angry at me, and they wouldn't explain it all to me, and even my old tutors wouldn't tell me! They just said a lot of nonsense about compromising with this fallen world, and everyone knows that's wrong, we must never ever compromise with evil, and I was so shocked when even my priest said that, except he put it as 'turning away from this world and focusing my prayer only on the next' -- You don't think my priest was afraid, too? But how could that be? A person of the cloth should never fear any mortal power..."
Oh, dear, dear, dear. Dear sweet Gregory. "Of course not... I'm sure he just hoped God would lead you to the right conclusion in time," Adrian said gently. "And, while a person of the cloth should never fear death for themselves, they might be concerned that some foolish action could cause them to leave this vale of sin before they could shepherd more lost souls toward the light. After all, even if ninety-nine sheep are properly kept within the flock, the loss of the hundredth is grievous in the sight of God, is it not?" Gregory bit his lip and nodded. "And priests have offended their sovereign through rash talk in the past. Your own father, in the Scarlet Rising..."
Gregory flinched. The Scarlet Rising had occurred when they were babes in arms, when a drought after years of poor harvests had resulted in widespread famine. The king had refused to do anything to ease the suffering of the peasantry (though Adrian questioned how much he really could have done), those with enough money to avoid starvation resented being driven to virtual penury by the ruinous price of grain, and dissident priests blamed the famine on divine judgment against the king's sins of the flesh. All of those things, with a seasoning of simmering hatred from certain southern lords who resented having chosen the wrong side in the last civil war, had led to a vast rising in the South, a wild stew of malcontents, mischief-makers, and men with nothing to lose. They had trampled their way to the capital, where the old king had quite unexpectedly thrown open the city gates, invited the leaders in, and promised to consider their terms.
The moment the leadership of the rebellion were too far in to run away, the gates had slammed shut behind them, the royal army poured out from the shuttered buildings nearby, and a monstrous show of butchery began. The revolt had many names before that day, of which one lesser name was "Scarlet" because of the color of their banner, but after that it was only known as the "Scarlet Rising", for the blood that ran so brightly between the cobblestones...
Without their leadership, the rebel rabble fell to squabbling, and were neatly divided and massacred by the better-disciplined royal troops. That had silenced any further dissent, and kept the realm in terrified peace for quite some time. Abroad, of course, it had provoked more horror. One particularly infamous story, which Gregory doubtless knew, was that a prominent priest among the rebel leadership, regarded as a holy man by peasants and lords alike before his ill-advised participation in the revolt, had fled into a church and clung to the altar, screaming that he was sworn to God and claiming the right of sanctuary. With bloodlust in full swing, the soldiery had decided they didn't feel particularly pious that day. Their sole concession to holiness was dragging him out of the church before they butchered him on its steps.
Thus always to traitors. But it had done a great deal to remind the Church that holiness only brought salvation to the extent the sovereign chose to indulge it.
"But I would never do anything like that," the current king said in a small voice. "Surely they know that?" Surely, which was why his courtiers had dared to show their contempt of him openly, or at least not bothered with doing a very good job of hiding it.
"Of course, Your Highness," Adrian said soothingly. "But they're all so used to the prior king, and no one can tell how power will change a man." Gregory nodded, staring down at his boots. "I'm sure they'll come to appreciate your..." Painfully Omega softness... "...personal character in time."
"I just wish somebody would explain all this to me," Gregory muttered. "You're the only one who's actually talked to me and explained..." He looked up at Adrian, his expression so painfully earnest that it provoked a twinge in even the cynical Alpha's heart.
And perhaps in another area, but it was best not to give too much heed to that. This was the king, after all.
"It was my pleasure, Your Highness," Adrian said with a diplomatic nod. "It was the least any subject can do for his sovereign."
Something about that response seemed to irritate Gregory. He looked away, then looked back, his face settling into a much more formal expression.
"In which case... as a subject." Gregory sighed, his gaze sliding away for a moment, then fixed it on Adrian. "I'd like... You should, that is -- You should continue to advise us on matters on which others might be obscure, so that we might better understand the affairs of our realm. It is said, after all, that every monarch should have a truthsayer, and, ah," Gregory licked his lips, "you are the first who has properly volunteered himself for such duty."
Adrian blinked down at him, and Gregory paled a little but stood firm, palpably biting back an If you like, of course.
Was he dreaming? Could it truly be this easy?
It was.
Whoever hadn't previously talked themselves into their king's good graces was an idiot.
Gregory ate up any explanation thrown his way, provided it was tailored to his delicate sensibilities, and was ecstatic to have life finally fit into his sheltered little world. That it enabled him to speak in something like a shared language with the average courtier was a bonus; he might be attributing wildly altered motives to them, but at least he didn't become overwrought at the mere notion of doing things in anything other than the most pious, generous, and righteous way. Nor was he in danger of hawking the royal jewels and giving the proceeds to the poor because vanity was a sin, it was a divine duty to ease the lives of the needy, and so on and so forth. (Or hawking anyone else's jewels -- Gregory's sincere passion for giving to the less fortunate and growing understanding of royal power sometimes combined in terrifying ways. Adrian earned his keep as royal advisor.)
For whatever reason, no one else seemed to pick up on the basic realities of Gregory's mind. Had knowing him as a boy helped Adrian at all? He couldn't fathom that it would make that much difference; everyone knew Gregory was a little touched in the head, everyone who spoke to him for a short time could surely tell how he was touched, and, from that point, it was a simple matter of phrasing everything in terms of order and generosity. That took creativity... often a great deal of creativity... but it could be done. They really should bother putting in the effort.
Of course, he was delighted they weren't. It made his life so much easier.
The only difficulty was that, well, he was an Alpha. He could never be fully alone with the king, which meant that he had to avoid any particularly controversial suggestions, because the guards were lousy bastards who talked. And the entire matter provoked some questions about the king's virtue, because common wisdom always suspected Omegas, particularly those in higher positions than those of "common wisdom", of secretly being hopeless wantons, with the guards paid well to pinch their noses and look the other way. (As opposed to Alphas, who were very hopeful wantons.)
All that infuriated Gregory, who somehow had convinced himself that Adrian was an Alpha of exemplary moral character, and was himself faint at the thought of any impropriety. "I nearly gave myself to the Church!" he had protested to Adrian as he wrung his hands. "I love God more than I could ever love any man -- surely all the realm knows this! How could anyone think that I would commit whoredoms and thus stain my role as sovereign and God's anointed?"
It had been a very long minute as Adrian all but bit through his tongue, thinking of the rumors of Omega monasteries turning into whorehouses (sometimes without bothering to charge) whenever their synchronized heats rolled around, of last decade's Holy Father being found dead with a broad smile on his face and a traumatized pageboy's knot still lodged in his wrinkled bottom, and every other stain on the glorious celibacy of the Church. And that was before getting into the Alphas, who were notorious to the extent that, if a priest was late for a sermon, every wag in the congregation inevitably muttered something about "have mercy on the man, he's still waiting for his knot to go down"...
He'd eventually gabbled out something about the people treasuring their sovereign's purity so much that the mere thought of it being imperiled drove them to unreasoning madness, which pacified Gregory a little. It underscored another matter which was rising to prominence, however: the issue of who would get to hopelessly ruin the sovereign's purity -- under the holy auspices of the Church, of course, verily, verily.
It was the miracle of transmutation that allowed the appalling sight of a senescent Alpha chasing after tender young flesh to be sanctified as a holy joining of two spirits. (Well, there was a hole involved.) It was the miracle of diplomacy that allowed Adrian to entertain, even for an instant, seeing his sovereign cast into the arms of that debauched toad to the east or the conniving witch to the south. The thought of Gregory, wavy brown hair plastered to his face by sweat, crying out as some squat, wheezing old man pushed his liver-spotted cock into the king's virgin hole... or that red-headed queen fastening a collar around his king's slender neck before making him whine and beg for her knot, as they said she did with every other male Omega that formed the circle of poets and singers that flocked around her like moths to a flame...
Alas, there was a reason diplomacy wasn't a sacrament. Its miracle was somewhat lacking. And so, even though the foreign ambassadors had gently hinted at very impressive rewards for ensuring that Good King Gregory ended up dangling from their sovereign's knot, Adrian couldn't countenance it. His Alpha instincts entirely aside, selling someone who trusted him so utterly for personal gain would haunt him for the rest of his life. His Alpha instincts included...
We-e-ell, it wasn't an entirely personal thing, now was it? He had firsthand evidence of how easily Gregory could be led by someone who had a hold on him. An ugly truth of life was that a young and naive Omega was often subservient to their mate, particularly if they'd been impregnated -- and by God and all the saints, the thought of Gregory blushing and squirming on some foreign Alpha's lap, on full display in some miserable consort's uniform, casting down his eyes demurely as a bejeweled hand greedily groped the belly swollen with its young...
It was absolutely of the essence, yes, that the country not become subjugated to some foreign power. It was not for his petty desires that he focused on this, but for the sake of their merry land and its own sovereignty, the body of its king being in this case symbolic of the legal state of the kingdom itself. For God, for country, for the people of this fair land, it was his duty to --
Oh God, talking to Gregory was rubbing off on him.
It helped with the negotiation, at least.
Fortunately, he could voice legitimate complaints. The eastern king, his age entirely aside, had acquired the notorious disease that swept the world like wildfire a decade ago, and rumor had it that it had left him scarred and likely incapable of siring any more bastards -- or legitimate heirs, in this case. That was quite enough to put Gregory off of him; the virginal Omega reacted viscerally to the thought of how much depravity the foreign king must have undertaken to acquire such pollution. (Adrian conveniently failed to tell him it only took once. That was why he, a young Alpha in the prime of life, had hitherto only been acquainted with his right hand. Disease had done more to assure sexual purity among the youth than all the dictates of the Church.) As for the southern queen, Adrian painted a picture of a decadent sophisticate incapable of viewing an Omega as anything more than another jewel in her collection, viewing the sacrament of marriage with nothing more than jaded bemusement -- what meaning did it have for her, when she already demanded exclusivity from every other male in her harem? So too would she regard their country, as nothing more than another territory under her domain, utterly indifferent to its customs and people. There could be no alliance with such an Alpha, only submission.
Meanwhile, within their own country, the political situation was still destabilized by the death of so many nobles at that one unfortunate dinner. Men and women of known allegiance had been replaced with obscure cousins, many of whom had never been important enough to be part of any alliance and so were completely unknown quantities. Stability would be best secured through a strong marriage. A marriage, say, with a good, loyal family, who had never raised arms against the crown (raising arms against the previous dynasty, of course, did not count -- that was why they were the previous dynasty), who held land in strategically important portions of the country, who already had ties to the royal bloodline and would gladly strengthen them further...
"Oh, do you have any in mind?" Gregory asked quite innocently, much to Adrian's irritation. Alas, he was deprived of his usual figleaf of pretending the guards wouldn't go running to sell their information to every noble in the kingdom the moment that their shift was over; this was a formal meeting of advisors, and he could feel the eyes of every aged figure in the room burning into him. They knew very well what his thrust was -- straight up Gregory's virgin passage -- and they loathed him for it. Those whose loyalties lay within the country's borders could at least appreciate his denunciation of foreign trash, even if they had different ideas who would make the best sire for the royal heirs. A third of the room were known agents of foreign powers, and one or two of the rest were probably for sale. He could directly bid for Gregory's hand... if he didn't want to survive to sleep in his bed tonight.
Adrian shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "I only wished to explain the factors at play to my sovereign," he said. "The responsibility for such judgments must ultimately rest in his hands."
Gregory frowned at him, but an old man was already rising from his seat, face reddening behind his mustache. Lord Whitshire, once a famed soldier, now overly fond of high living and eastern whores. Foreign money supplemented his lifestyle. The old king had tolerated it because he doubled as an informal ambassador to the eastern kingdom when the formal one was unavailable or tensions made it dramatically improper to be on speaking terms with him, but the current king hadn't been making such use of him... "This is an outrageous slander against a fellow sovereign!" he thundered, banging his fist on the oaken table. "King Edgar has never been proven to have such a disease--"
"The whole world knows it, and has heard of his depravities," interjected Lady Brightbridge -- a foreign agent, but a southern one.
"An unsubstantiated rumor!" Lord Whitshire made a sweeping gesture. "Surely, Your Highness, you understand the meaninglessness of the mean talk of low men?"
Gregory's cheeks pinked at that. "Adrian, do you think--" he began, turning to Adrian, but a snarl from Lord Whitshire cut him off.
"He has his own schemes! Give him no heed, Your Highness!"
That was a mistake. Gregory was his father's son in certain respects, and this was one. His eyes narrowed to slits as he turned on Lord Whitshire. "Are you my ruler, then?"
"No, but he is!"
The flush rose up from Gregory's collar, and he rose with it. "Lord Whitshire," he said, fixing his eyes on the old man. Alas for senility, Adrian noted, not feeling sorry at all. "You forget your place."
"I forget my place? When all the world sees that you turn first to him in all things, coyly simpering as you ask him for his advice, fluttering your eyelashes and--"
"Lord Whitshire. Sit down and remain quiet for the rest of this meeting, or I shall have you removed from the room."
The old man almost made it. Sitting down, mustache quivering with fury, he shot Adrian a red-faced glare; his expression darkened when Adrian returned it with an innocuous smile, but he kept his lips pressed together in a firm line. Only when Adrian turned away to take in the sight of Gregory buoyed up by cold righteous fury, quite unlike his usual gentle and submissive self, did he catch the not-quite-quiet-enough snarl of "Gaping Omega sl--"
"Guards," Gregory said clearly, "please escort Lord Whitshire out of this council." A moment passed. "He will not be coming back."
Lord Whitshire bolted to his feet again, knocking his intricately-carven chair aside. "I made your father, you simpering little bitch! If not for me, two rebellions would have had his head -- Lord Tarren would have had his throne, and you'd be dead or sucking cock in a brothel like the miserable slut you a--"
So this was what an Alpha looked like when the rage went to their head. Adrian resolved never to act like that -- at least, never in public. The guards advanced on him, and --
And that was the exact moment the room discovered that Lord Whitshire, while debauched, had not let himself go entirely to seed. The guards were Betas -- as was typical for guards, Omegas not being the fighting sort and Alphas being regarded as too rash, aggressive, and distractible by Omegas in heat to stand long shifts where a moment's difference could be the difference between safety and an assassin achieving their aim. Unfortunately, there was a gap in strength, and while numbers usually served to overcome an Alpha, a large, well-trained Alpha in a black rage was another beast altogether.
The guards went flying, and Lord Wiltshire roared and bull-rushed the king. Without thinking, Adrian got in the way, and took the charge full-on.
The air went out of him and his feet out from under him, and the combination of the floor impacting his back and the heavyset old man coming down on his front was like to kill him. Still, he recovered and landed a punch on the old man's face, knocking his head back; as blood ran into his mustache, the old man growled and brought an arm down across Adrian's throat, leaning forward and attempting to use his weight for a choke. Adrian hit the old man on either side of his head, palms flat, and staggered Lord Wiltshire enough to get a breath. Shoving the arm off, he slammed his forehead into the old man's nose, nearly knocking himself out but yielding a satisfying crunch. As the elderly Alpha recoiled, Adrian grabbed and shoved, rolling Lord Wiltshire's bulk off of him -- oh, God, air! Finally able to expand his ribcage -- to the extent of what his ribs would permit, them having come out the worse from the impact -- he gulped in air, ignoring the burning pain in his chest, and --
A heavy wooden chair came down on Lord Wiltshire. "Well? What are you doing?" came Gregory's angry voice. "Help!"
After a few moments, three guards came into view, weapons drawn. They prodded the old man before picking him up, but he was unresponsive. One of the chair legs had come down sharply on his skull; a bruise was already beginning to form on his bald scalp. As they dragged him away, he stirred and began mumbling, but it was nothing coherent. At his age... Adrian gave him even odds of making it through the night. His own aching head, his sore neck, and his screaming ribs did not sympathize.
"Adrian? Adrian, are you all right?" Gregory's voice verged on hysteria. The chair clattered to one side; he dropped to his knees by Adrian's side, cradling his head. "Say something!"
Adrian tried to manfully sit up, saw white, and opted to play the suffering hero. "It could hurt worse," he managed, praying that Gregory didn't try to hug him.
"Why didn't you do anything?" Gregory shouted, looking up at the room. There was an uneasy stirring.
"It was a fight between two Alphas..." one of the Lords -- Adrian couldn't be bothered to remember what name went with that voice, not now -- ventured. It was a perfectly reasonable objection, for all that an Omega probably wouldn't see it that way.
"Where does it hurt? One of you, get the physician -- my physician -- Someone! Anyone!"
Someone had the wits left to curry royal favor, from the sounds of a chair scraping back and feet hurrying out of the room. Adrian breathed shallowly and hoped this wasn't the sort of injury that lasted. Rationally: surely it couldn't be that bad, one never heard old soldiers complaining about their ribs. Irrationally: good God, the pain.
Gregory gripped his hand, bending over him with pale, drawn features. "Adrian?"
Adrian forced a smile. "Fine," he lied. "Just -- chest hurts. Don't touch..."
Somewhere in the room, there came a mumble of "Good luck getting rid of him now."
Gregory's head jerked up. "What?" he hissed.
"Merely reflecting on the fine young Alpha's valor and virtue," came the same voice, morosely. Adrian couldn't quite suppress a smirk, only for it to flee as a fresh stab of pain shot through his ribs.
"You should," Gregory said, squeezing Adrian's hand again and leaning over him. "It will be all right, Adrian... just hold on, it will be all right..."
Well, being fussed over by a sweet-faced Omega who happened to be the most powerful man in the country. There were worse things in life...
"My king, you shouldn't spend so much time at an unmated Alpha's bedside." Oh, God, please do. But he had to keep mouthing the right words, at least. "It's unseemly."
"I don't care," Gregory insisted, pressing Adrian's larger hand between his. "How much longer did my physician say you had left?"
Adrian sighed. That movement hurt less now, though sudden movements made him contemplate the sacred mysteries of life, suffering, and existence. "A month, Your Highness. And, after that, I'm to stop physical activities whenever they become painful."
"That awful brute," Gregory muttered. 'That awful brute' had deteriorated over several hours, then permanently lost consciousness, from what Adrian had heard; he passed a week later, thoroughly unmourned. Before his little outburst, he'd been one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. Afterwards, even his relatives apologized for his existence. It was sobering to contemplate. "I've doubled the guards on the council chamber. Something like that simply can't be allowed..." He ran his thumb over Adrian's knuckles and sighed. "Do you think he was possessed by a devil?"
A whole host of them, named Old Age, Frustrated Ambitions, and Seeing A Snide Young Brat Take Over His Old Role As Chief Royal Advisor. The strength of his reaction had been shocking, but old and powerful Alphas often had bad tempers and a palpable contempt for those they reckoned they could physically overcome, Omegas chief among them. Perhaps the only reason such reactions weren't more common was that Omegas rarely outranked such Alphas... "A matter best left to the priests."
"My priest just says it's something only God can know now." Gregory let Adrian's hand drop, though he still kept it between his hands. "Oh, Adrian. I miss you in the council chamber so much. Lady Brightbridge just keeps talking about how Queen Lillian is a lover of the arts and treasures her faith just as much I do, but I keep thinking back to what you said about her..." Gregory lowered his voice, as though they were being eavesdropped upon by anyone more than his guards. "And is it true that she's a heretic?"
Aha, of course that was the dividing line. Bless whoever had dropped that bit of poison in his ear. Adrian had avoided it because Gregory might be offended at him spreading scurrilous rumors about someone else's devotion to God and the Church, but if someone else had already sown the seed... "I can't say," Adrian said diplomatically. "I am under the impression that her policy of silence on matters of faith stems from the religious strife that tore through her country in her father's time. She dares not incline to one side or the other, lest she set a new blaze in her tinderbox of a realm. Of course, her mother was executed for heresy... and, while I have heard nothing but the utmost praise for the poetry and art coming from her inner circle, so too have I heard that it carries a distinct pagan tint, one which she does not discourage -- some even suggest she encourages..." A very, very diplomatic way of putting it. Her male Omegas hailed her as Fairy-Queen and Goddess of the Earth, and her affected modesty and weariness of such praise did little to disguise the grin behind her fan. A tad more understandable now that Adrian could appreciate the joys of being doted upon by a devoted Omega, but still... how many did the woman need? Could she even keep all their names straight?
"Goodness." Gregory blanched. "God have mercy on the woman's soul." He paused for a moment, gnawing on his lip. "It would be a virtuous thing to go to the poor lady, so obviously in need of help and guidance back to the true faith... but, from what you say, she's far too hardened to let a single Omega sway her, is she not? And there would be the danger of such a strong Alpha tempting my people into heresy..."
Yes, Gregory, do keep thinking like that... "Far too hardened," Adrian agreed. "I fear Lady Brightbridge, and those of her party, are too trusting and too moved by beauty." And the Fairy-Queen's generous donations.
Gregory bowed his head and stroked the back of Adrian's hand. "Why are so many Alphas such proud and stiff-necked people?" he murmured. "Why can't they be more like you, Adrian? You were always good to me." His hand stilled. "Even when we were boys... the rest of my companions mocked me and bullied me to try to make me more like them, and my father just looked on and approved. You were the youngest, and yet you were the only one who tried to stand up for me. Isn't that what Alphas are supposed to do? Protect the weak? Why don't they? Why are you the only Alpha who's ever cared about me?"
Carefully, Adrian reached up, hoping not to aggravate his ribs. When a stab of pain went through him, he lowered his hand an inch; Gregory understood the gesture, though, and lowered his head. Oh dear, the guards would get paid a pretty penny to talk about this, now wouldn't they? Not caring, Adrian reached out and tousled the king's hair, fingers brushing over the cool metal of his circlet. "Your Grace," he said sincerely. "I will always take care of you, if you'll let me."
His hair was so, so soft. Gregory's fingers curled around Adrian's wrist, keeping it in a gentle hold. "Thank you," he said in a small voice. "I've always--"
He broke off and pulled away, the circlet going askew on his head. "I'm sorry," he said. Rosy-cheeked, the king rose to his feet. "I shouldn't keep you, you need your rest--" Looking at Adrian's hand, he startled as though he'd forgotten he was holding it; he hurriedly bent and pressed his lips to the knuckles, flushed red to the tips of his ears, and dropped it as if it was like to burn him. "I -- ah, um -- will -- will be -- We will t-take our leave of you now, Adrian, a-and wish you a s-speedy recovery so that you may serve us in, ah, the, the council chamber once more. Yes."
Then he turned and fled as though the forces of Hell themselves were after him, his guards following. Adrian raised his eyebrows, rubbing his knuckles where Gregory's lips had touched them, and grinned up at the patterned ceiling.
"So. Little brother."
"Brian." The angels had seen to it that his elder brother received full compensation for that sickly childhood: at nearly seven feet tall, with thick blond curls and a warrior's build, he looked like one of those old statues the pagans made of their gods. Adrian, who had much the same looks but a less exaggerated build, resented his presence in the court he'd unconsciously begun to think of as his territory. Praise be to God he was mated, or it would rankle him far worse that Brian was in the same city, much less the same palace, as Gregory. His big, brawny older brother around a naive little Omega...
"Not quite what Father thought you would achieve when he sent you to court, but he's not complaining. Not at all." Brian folded his arms over his chest and looked down at Adrian. "How is the big hero?"
"I've been worse." His ribs were mostly healed now, though Gregory continued to fuss over him. The king had grown more cautious in his emotions since that episode of unusual frankness, though that pretty little blush continued to reappear on his cheeks. "I'm sorry he hasn't favored our family more. If I told him it was acceptable for the crown to freely give away favors, we'd be one of these dreadful merchant republics by the time he was finished. He has very little capacity for moderation, and half-thinks it's heresy to show generosity to his allies without turning around and sharing it in equal measure with anyone who asks for it. Even his enemies. Especially his enemies." Adrian took a short breath. "I've recommended our relatives to good posts, and that's the most I can safely afford."
"No, no, no, no complaints, little brother. Weren't you listening?" Brian's smile showed teeth. "You've done so well. Dear, pious Good King Gregory. Who would have thought?" He raised his eyebrows. "You've risen very far in the king's favor, little brother."
Adrian's temper rose. Yes, yes, of course. If he claimed Gregory being the king had nothing to do with it, he'd be a laughable liar. If Gregory were some rosy-cheeked peasant, a servant in his father's house... He'd keep him as a concubine, and maybe even have a bastard out of him by now, but he could never marry him. Rank had its responsibilities. But for Brian to look down at him, and make it out solely as calculation... "I am simply doing what is best for my king and country."
"Of course," Brian said in a pacifying tone. "A king has needs. And this king is very needy, isn't he?"
Adrian felt a rare flush come to his cheeks. "I don't know what you're insinuating." Of course he did. "The king is a pious and innocent soul... perhaps needing a bit of guidance, but..."
"Yes, yes. An unmated Omega, his God-given instincts driving him to seek out guidance. And God has endowed our family with a great capacity for guidance."
Adrian's eyes narrowed. Hearing some ignorant, bluff brute insinuating that Gregory was little better than a common slut, desperate to be stuffed full of hefty Alpha cock --
Damnation. He had an erection.
"You don't know anything about the king or our personal relationship," he said coldly. The image of Gregory, cheek pressed to the pillow and circlet sliding off his head, begging for his good, hard guidance, wouldn't leave his head. "Don't run your mouth ignorantly, brother. The walls have ears at court."
"I say nothing that isn't being said at court and elsewhere," Brian said dryly. "There is, for instance, the rumor that the old king isolated Prince Gregory from boys his age and started shoving him toward the priesthood because he caught the two of you in, ah, a compromising position--"
"What?" That genuinely took Adrian aback. "Why -- How? I hadn't even presented yet! The prince hadn't presented yet!" His gut twisted. He would be lying, in retrospect, if he said he hadn't had a crush on the prince, but -- it hadn't occurred to him at the time. All it was then was a protective instinct and a warm, confused feeling that the prince was pretty and had such nice hair. He hadn't -- He wouldn't have --
"Oh, I know that. You were a little runt back then, weren't you?" Adrian bristled, but Brian continued, "No one who cares to spread the rumor wants to be bothered with such details as him being a half-foot above you back then, or when exactly either of you presented, or any of that. No, what they care about is that he's hot for you now and you knew him back then. It's so easy to make things up when they make a good story, little brother. And the more salacious the better, isn't it?"
"Do you have a reason for telling me these things?" Adrian asked heatedly. Brian chuckled.
"Only that it's pointless to deny what's going on," the older Alpha said. "You may be trying to be subtle, but the king isn't." Gregory wouldn't know 'subtle' if it accosted him in the street. "Get it over with once you're all healed, O great hero--" He jabbed a thumb into Adrian's ribcage unexpectedly, making him bite back a curse-- "--and give the king all the guidance he needs. For king, for country, for Lord Greenwood. Don't you forget it."
"You're forgetting something, Brian," Adrian said through his teeth, rubbing the spot where his older brother had jabbed. "I wait on my king's orders, not the other way around."
His brother bared his teeth in a smile. "Oh good," he said. "Just keep practicing that line, and perhaps someday someone will believe you."
Then he gave Adrian a shove and strode off, nearly knocking over a serving-maid as he headed down the corridor. Adrian glared after him.
Arrogant wretch. They would see who pushed whom around in the long run...
A few weeks later found him walking down the same hall with a far more pleasant companion. "It's so good to see you fully recovered," the king said, placing a hand on Adrian's upper arm. His fingers pressed in and rubbed a little, as though testing the firmness of the muscle; Adrian wasn't even sure Gregory knew he was doing it.
"I'm glad to be fully recovered," Adrian replied. "After all, now I can resume serving Your Highness in my proper capacity."
Gregory's cheeks colored. "I'm so happy."
They continued walking on peacefully. As Gregory's hand continued to feel up Adrian's arm, Adrian revised his opinion to Gregory definitely being aware that he was doing it, if not, perhaps, thinking about what he was doing. Well, let him. That was part of the fun of being a tall, strong Alpha, after all...
"There is something I, uh, that is, we have been meaning to ask you." Gregory straightened his doublet, gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance. "We have a request for you. A most important request, which..." He blinked, licking his lips. Adrian slowed to a stop and looked down at him; the king seemed grateful for the lack of any distraction. "Ah... Should I have sent a letter? I don't know... I mean, there is protocol, but... I mean, um. I just thought... since we know each other... Maybe I can send the letter afterward? Just for formality's sake? That, that seems good..."
Adrian waited for the flustered king to continue. Gregory chanced a glance up at him, flushed at the sight of his gaze, and looked down again. "I... We. Having considered all possible... possibilities... we have pondered long and hard on... the best option, as it were, yes. What is best for ourselves and the country. Within... Within the sight of God." Uncharacteristically, he scratched the back of his neck. He'd had that habit as a boy, but years of royal training had seemed to knock it out of him. "Having prayed and meditated on the matter at great length, our judgment is... That it would be best to seek out one of good breeding, proper moral character, and dedication... great dedication to the safety and security of this realm, which is by God's grace our domain... Proven dedication. Who has always shown chivalrous regard of our person, and... And... Um." He placed his fingers against his brow, grimacing. "My tutors would be so ashamed..."
"I'm sure they would understand, Your Highness," Adrian said, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. Over-familiar? Yes. Given where he expected this little sermon to end, that didn't matter now.
Gregory seemed to have temporarily lost the power of speech. After a minute, his eyes focused again and he managed, "These things being under our consideration, we have found only one... that is... There is a satisfying of our requirements, that -- There is one person who satisfies our requirements, which we have deemed necessary for the care and maintenance of this realm in the sight of God. And, being bound in these sacraments by the Church -- in anticipation of the most solemn rites which shall bind us forevermore to one soul, in Heaven as it is on Earth -- no, other way around -- We... do therefore propose a union which we pray shall be most satisfactory to all parties, and..." Gregory squeezed his eyes shut, then whirled on Adrian and grabbed him by the arms, staring up into his eyes. "Adrian, will you marry me?" he blurted out.
Now it was Adrian's turn to stop functioning, as 'yes', 'of course', and 'finally' warred on their way out of his mouth. He settled for a firm kiss on the mouth.
His king had such soft lips.
Gregory froze for a moment, then returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Adrian's neck. Ah, he was so cute. It took all the discipline Adrian had to not hook his hands under Gregory's buttocks and hoist him into an embrace, reminding his instincts repeatedly This is your king, this is your king, this is your king. To keep his hands occupied, he wound them through Gregory's soft hair. It felt so nice.
When they finally broke off, Gregory was beaming at him. "Oh, Adrian." He kissed him again, far too briefly this time. "I already asked your father for permission, but wanted to wait until you were--"
"When was this?"
Gregory blinked, looking as innocent as a fawn. "Er... two weeks ago, I think? Why?"
Ah. His dear brother's visit made more sense now. "Mere curiosity." He kissed Gregory, letting this time linger. "It would be my honor."
The brightness faded a little from Gregory's face. "Just your honor?"
"And my pleasure."
That brought Gregory's enthusiasm back in full force, and Adrian enjoyed the king's joyous attentions.
His entirely wholesome attentions, mind. They were not yet wed, Gregory was a pious sort, and Adrian was acutely aware of the guards' gazes drilling into his back. Oh well. Some Alphas might have found that exciting, but Adrian wasn't among them.
Wait until the wedding, wait until the wedding...
The wedding happened without incident. Adrian supposed some found such rituals entrancing, but he wasn't one of them. The only part of the ceremony he cared about was when he and the king were formally joined as one flesh in the eyes of God -- formally, the act came later -- and he could embrace Gregory publicly, the sweet man melting in his embrace. He could go on and on about the jeweled and embroidered black-and-gold doublet Gregory wore, with him wearing a similar but more modest one to emphasize his role as consort, or the various absurd entertainments the court had devised, such as blackbirds flying out of a pie, or the vast wedding feast -- but what was the point? Aside from the show of wealth and leisure, of course -- power demanded its performances. As a nobleman, he understood that.
As a man, they could have been married in a barn for all he cared.
He watched as Gregory took the chalice from the archbishop and drank of the sacred heat-inducing elixir, cheeks flushing as he finished the last drop. "Well," Gregory said, handing it back to the elderly Omega and blinking. "That feels... odd..." A drop of the ruby-red liquid ran from his mouth; Adrian wiped it away with his thumb. His husband looked up at him, flushing more deeply.
"What does it feel like?"
"Oh. Ah... Warm all over, with everything seeming brighter, and..." Gregory hung onto Adrian's arm, absently rubbing his face against his sleeve. "You feel so good..."
The archbishop coughed delicately. "It will take a few hours for the full effect, Your Highness," he said in his reedy voice. "You should return to the banquet until then."
Gregory nodded, still feeling up Adrian's arm muscles. Adrian smirked down at him, then bent down to kiss his forehead and inhale deeply of his scent. The king's body was already preparing for his heat, but not there yet... The anticipation was excellent. His only regret was that, with the heavy crown on Gregory's head, he couldn't bury his face in the Omega's hair. Oh well, that would follow later...
The sun was down by the time they exited the wedding feast, to the sound of lewd yells and lascivious cheers. There had been a formal bedding ceremony, once, but it had been discontinued a century ago, when a celebrant took the feeling-up of the Omega a bit too far and ended up pounded into a bloody paste by the infuriated queen. Now, it was a matter of the sovereign and their consort making it to a semi-private location as quickly as they could, once the heat actually began, while retaining a scrap of dignity. Adrian slammed the door shut behind them as Gregory fumbled with the fastenings to his doublet, perspiration breaking out on his brow. His surcoat already lay discarded in a heap on the floor, the crown rolling about on top of it. Next came his shirt, and -- Perhaps the reformers were right, shrill, miserable sorts that they were. The nobility really did wear too many articles of over-elaborated clothing.
And Adrian couldn't remember quite why, at the moment. Once Gregory had his soaked hose off, naked as the day he was born, it really seemed a vast stupidity to conceal such a body. The smooth, flushed skin, the long, slender limbs, and the red, leaking cock, with those cute little balls and his dripping --
"You've -- you've still got your doublet on --" Gregory managed as Adrian pinned him against the bed, pushing his knees up to his shoulders.
Quite frankly, he couldn't think very well when he was this hard, and it had seemed most brilliant to him when he realized he only needed to get his codpiece and hose off. "Do you care?"
Gregory shook his head frantically, his gaze roving down Adrian's body. His eyes widened, which did wonderful things for Adrian's self-esteem, and he swallowed hard. "I-It's so big -- Is it going to -- I mean -- oh God -- For the love of God and all the saints, put it in me, put it in me --"
Adrian enthusiastically obeyed the order from his sovereign, drawing a shriek from Gregory as he plunged it in to the hilt. The hot, wet passage clenching around him felt like heaven itself. Gregory let out a little protesting whine as Adrian pulled himself almost all the way out, leaving just the tip inside, then cried out again as Adrian shoved himself back in.
"You're -- you're so huge -- You're going to split me open, oh God -- oh God -- please, more, for the love of God, harder harder harder --"
Gregory's desperate pleas continued as Adrian pounded into him, the Omega helpless to do anything but take more of his massive cock. Very happily take more of his massive cock, from the sounds of it. "Please, up a little -- Yes, like that -- oh God --"
"You like that?" Adrian panted, his fingers digging into Gregory's legs as he kept them pressed back. "You like my big, fat Alpha cock--"
"Yes, please, more -- I'm going to die, this feels too good --"
The agonized pleasure on Gregory's flushed face was adorable. A distant part of Adrian thought he truly would have died if he ever let some other Alpha claim him, let anyone else draw these noises out of his king. The rest of him was preoccupied with the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of the squirming Omega, sensitive almost to the point of pain and feeling about to burst. No wonder Alphas went utterly mad for this sensation. This was better than any of his fantasies. The reality of his king, the dear prince he'd known as a boy, pinned under him and begging for more of his cock, so hot and tight and slick with lust --
By the time Adrian felt his balls drawing up and knot beginning to swell, Gregory wasn't even making sense any more; he was just whimpering and trying to buck back against Adrian's thrusts, sounding mindless but happy. His seed lay splattered across his belly, with a few strings on his chest and one running off his chin. Adrian was primitively proud of making his husband come without touching his cock. He was such a perfect little Omega, so sweet and needy and desperate for his Alpha's cock, and oh, oh God --
Adrian's mind went blank as the hot seed rushed out of him, the base of his cock enlarging as he shoved it as far as he could into his groaning husband, giving a choking cry as the passage gave a little spasm and tightened around him. Oh God, oh God and all the saints. Oh God. He couldn't believe there was such pleasure in all the world, that heaven itself could contain such bliss.
Exhausted, he flopped down on top of Gregory; as it became apparent the angle wasn't perfectly suited to that, he hefted Gregory up, his arms easily supporting the smaller man, and managed to get the two of them into the bed. As the white-hot ecstasy ebbed, leaving a woozy bliss in its wake, he nuzzled Gregory's hair.
"Told you I'd take care of you," he said sleepily.
"Adrian," Gregory said, nestling into his chest. "My Alpha."
This felt so good. At the back of his head, there was a vague memory of ambition and scheming and all the rest of the things that made up the fabric of life, but right now, all that mattered was that it had somehow led to Gregory under him, with Adrian's cock lodged firmly inside him. Another spurt of seed pulsed out of him, and Gregory groaned and rolled his hips. Such a good Omega, oh God. Was it actually possible to die of pleasure? Over the course of this heat, he might find out.
"I love you," he murmured into his Omega's hair.
"Love you too, Adrian." Gregory ran his hands through Adrian's curls. "Love you so much..."
It was good to be consort to the king.