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Chapter Text

Merlin wakes to a low purr rumbling from his chest, a heated body pressed languidly against his back. Contentment rakes through his body, a pleasant lassitude curling through the air, the equivalent to floating in a tepid, pristine pond in the late afternoon of summer.

The heavy arm wrapped around his waist further settles his inner omega, the nervous vulnerability that underlays his heat nowhere to be felt. The air is rife with the mixed scents of both him and Arthur, along with the heavy perfume of slick, sweat, and the faint lingering tinge of mating. Though Merlin hardly finds it unpleasant.

He lazily stretches his arms out in front of him, slowly arching his back. His arse coyly grinds into the soft prick pressed against him. The crevice of Merlin’s arse grows wetter as slick escapes him. He snuggles back as close as he can, the languid undulations of his hips remain relaxed as the pleasant warmth of his heat steadily sparks back to wakefulness.

Merlin can’t be sure how many days have passed, though it has to be at least four, as Arthur’s rut was triggered and has since faded. But otherwise the hours have all blended together as they gave into their base needs, sleeping when their bodies allowed, regardless of the waking hour.

A pleased purr reverberates along Merlin’s back as the arm slung around his waist tightens. Arthur runs his nose along the skin behind Merlin’s human ear as he gently grinds his awakening erection into his omega’s needy summons.

The prince gives a sleepy hum as he splays his hand against Merlin’s torso. Arthur’s voice is low and raspy when he speaks. “Hmmm, not over yet?”

“Mmm not yet.” Merlin adjusts his head so as to expose the side of his neck. The movement has a harsh yet pleasant sting shooting down his spine. Arthur, the possessive prat, had taken to repetitively sinking his teeth into his claiming mark, assuring it will be as prominent as possible. The enthusiastic claiming has since left a smattering of bruises around the bite that reach so high not even Merlin’s neckerchief would be able to cover it.

Arthur’s fingers gently stroke the soft skin of Merlin’s sternum. The omega’s tail, which lays half pinned between them, gives a pleased shudder as he continues his dulcet thrusting.

“It’s waning though.” Arthur nuzzles forward, his voice just as raspy. He brushes the side of his neck against his mate’s. “Your heat scent is dwindling.”

Merlin hums, his eyes fluttering shut at the sating feeling of Arthur scenting him. “Mmm. I can feel it’s not as strong.” Merlin’s low voice draws the words together, his sentence ending on a hitched breath as Arthur’s stiffening prick slides into the slick coated crevice of his arse.

Arthur stills his hips, purposefully not meeting Merlin’s thrusts. His voice is gruff and lilts with tease as he bites the shell of Merlin’s human ear. “That’s a shame. I suppose you have no desire for me to mount you then?”

A wash of slick leaks out of Merlin’s hole, Arthur’s nose immediately catches the scent and he has to hide his smile into Merlin’s hair. Over the past days he’s learned that despite the strong front Merlin puts on, the omega is quite fond of taking it on all fours. Nearly as fond as Arthur is of mounting and relentlessly fucking him; though it’s always Merlin who is most eager for the prince’s rough and domineering disposition.

It shouldn’t be surprising that they meld together just as well in their mating preferences as they do in their daily lives. Which, really is really none that different as Merlin teases and pushes Arthur until the prince gives in and attempts to put the insolent brat in his place. Of course it wasn’t all heated aggression, they also relished in the slow and intimate joining of their bodies, deep rolls of hips, intertwined fingers, and enamored adulations of reverence.

“I didn’t say that.” The pout can be heard in Merlin’s voice as his thrusts grow more insistent.

Arthur chuckles lowly. “No. I don’t think you’d be able to, not with how unexpectedly virile you are, even if you’re in heat.”

“Well,urgh,” Merlin gives a frustrated grunt as he can’t grind back against his alpha’s prick with the irritating way the arse keeps moving his hips away. The fox’s ears flatten as he shoots a glare over his shoulder at the smug looking wolf shifter. “My mother is a rabbit.”

Arthur snorts, his smirk breaking into a full smile. The prince’s tail thumps heavily against the floor of their nest.

When Arthur still doesn’t meet Merlin’s searching thrusts, the omega huffs and rolls out of his prince’s hold. The omega lands on his knees, his thighs spread and shoulders pressed to the nest, putting him in a low presentation. He lifts his tail and slowly sways it side to side, the way he knows drives Arthur up the wall with desire.

Arthur doesn’t fight the way his instinct pulls him into motion, like a hooked fish being pulled by a line. He easily rolls onto his haunches and settles between his mate’s splayed legs. Arthur lays soft yet undeniably possessive hands on Merlin’s waist. The covetous touch has goosebumps rupturing along Merlin’s skin, the hairs of his neck standing on end, his ears perking high and swiveling.

“God,” Arthur groans as his eyes rake over the beguiling sight of his servant. “I will never tire from the sight of you.” The prince lets his hands stroke up and down Merlin’s heated sides, his hefty palms and strong fingers cradling his mate with breathless veneration.

His alpha’s touch is so light it’s merely a whisper against Merlin’s skin.

The omega gives a pleased yet asking whine as he glances over his shoulder, gaze lidded and supplicating. His eyes are glassy yet alert, framed by his dark lashes.

Arthur gives a pleased croon as his eyes slowly trace the fading bruises of the past days, left by his possessive fingers and greedy lips. It’s a sparse scattering of purples and browns painted everywhere from his alabaster thighs and rounded arse to the covetous expanse of his neck.

Merlin preens under Arthur’s gratified gaze. The prince too is covered in the remnants of their matings, bruises smattering his collarbones and chest, blunt scratch marks etched into the curve of his shoulders and down his back. The light of early morning sneaks in through the opening of the cave, casting him and their surroundings in dustings of gold.

Arthur’s ears and tail are held high and confident, his shoulders are pushed back and strong, his chin held high and arrogant in the way that Merlin would never admit he loves. The soft muscles of the alpha’s stomach lead down to his strong hips and the hefty cock hanging heavy between his legs. Just the sight of his prince has Merlin’s body eagerly expelling more slick.

Arthur’s eyes dip back down to Merlin’s presented arse, his fluttering hole weeping slick, as if begging to be filled.

The corner of Arthur’s mouth curls into a confident smirk as he brushes his hands down Merlin’s flanks and over the curve of his arse. He allows his thumb to brush over a fading bite mark before moving the digit to gently glide over Merlin’s overly sensitive hole, spreading the slick with his gentle movements.

Over the course of their mating Arthur had found that he already knew nearly all of his manservant. While there was the exciting thrill of being able to explore at his leisure, seeking out the omega’s most vulnerable areas, there was very little he wasn’t already attuned to. The familiar shape of Merlin’s arms, the pliant give of his skin, the vexing sparkle in his mischievous eyes. All things the prince had learned over through their playful shoves and stolen, lingering touches.

Pleasure crawls up Merlin’s spine and has his cock dripping precum onto the nest as the prince teasingly rubs at his entrance.

Arthur watches as his servant’s ears give a pleased shudder, his omega’s tail lifting high enough so that it curls back up towards Merlin’s nape. The fox’s eyes flutter, a soft moan spilling past his lips as Arthur inserts his thumb. Arthur’s ears give a pleased wobble. “I feel as if I should be saddened that your heat is coming to an end.” The prince drags his thumb out and replaces it with two fingers instead.

It’s not as if Merlin needs much preparing after their days of relentless fucking, but Arthur wants to take his time, the heavy calm of morning making his movements unhurried and leisurely. “Yet I can’t wait to get you back to the citadel so that I can take you on my bed. Perhaps even tie you up so that you can only cum from the pleasure of my cock.”

Arthur crooks his fingers and a bawdy moan escapes Merlin. “G-gods, Arthur.”

Arthur’s smirk grows as Merlin lifts his arse high into the air, clearly trying to incentivize his alpha to hurry. Yet there’s a part of Merlin that basks in the slow build, a part he can entertain far more now that his heat has started to wane.

“Would you like that?” Arthur’s baleful amusement is clear in his voice, Merlin not having to look back over his shoulder to know the prat is vaunting his dominion, relishing in his ability to turn his stubborn mate to a wanton, needy mess.

“Yes, sire.” Merlin presses the side of his face against Arthur’s cape that still covers the floor of their nest as he starts thrusting his hips back to meet Arthur’s fingers. He’s rewarded for his answer with another finger slipping into him.

Arthur groans contentedly. “Mmm, good. I shall do just that then, just as I’ve imagined countless times. Tying my insolent manservant up and putting him in his place.” The prince’s tail wags slow but happy as Merlin’s fingers twist into the fabric of his cape. “Though of course not until after I’ve taken you over my knee, smacking your arse until you admit to your disobedience.”

A low whine strains out of Merlin as he tries to thrust back harsher on the thick fingers slowly rocking in and out of him. His tail gives an amused flick before breathing out, “I– ah– knew there was a reason you– nngh– favor my snark. Sa– ah– sadistic prick.”

Arthur laughs, crooking his fingers again. “Just as you find any reason to be insubordinate." A deep groan tips out of Merlin as sparks of pleasure dance through his body. “Had I known you were aching to be put in your place I would have done something about it far sooner.”

Merlin stutters a gasp as Arthur’s fingers grace by the edge of his prostate, yet it’s not nearly enough to satiate the lethargic heat slowly burgeoning to life within his core. The deep raspy of Arthur’s early morning voice and the smooth scent of his arousal only furthers Merlin’s want.

The prince continues. “To think of all the times I could have filled your insolent mouth with my prick, or bent you over the table. Hell, the amount of times I’ve wanted to pull you over my lap and discipline you in front of the council, for them to see the power I hold over the most brazen git in the entire castle.”

“Please,” Merlin whimpers as the mental image of everyone knowing how completely he belongs to Arthur sings through his veins. “Gods, just mount me already, Arthur.”

As much as Arthur loves teasing his omega he doesn’t want the heady lust to cast away the calm and languid mood of early morning that encases them.

With a compliant hum Arthur withdraws his fingers and spreads Merlin’s warm, dewy slick over his cock. The prince’s prick gives an anticipatory twinge, precum leaking from his tip in expectancy.

Soft mewls sound at the back of Merlin’s throat as he waits for the press of his prince’s cockhead. It doesn’t take long for the blunt tip to press against him. The pressure gradually grows until it slips past his entrance.

Arthur grunts, his hands sliding back to Merlin’s waist. He takes a deep breath as he lets his hips slide forward, so slowly it’s almost torturous, until finally he’s fully sheathed in the divine clutch of his manservant’s arse. Despite their consistent mating over the past days Merlin remains just as sinfully tight as the first time he entered him, squeezing around Arthur’s shaft as if trying to trap him within.

A deep gravelly groan trembles out of Merlin as the heft of Arthur’s cock penetrates him. The pliant cushion of Merlin’s insides give way to the delectable intrusion that spreads his inner walls apart, momentarily tempering his aching need.

Arthur slowly exhales, giving him a moment to rein in his ardor and for Merlin’s body to adjust.

The prince uses his knee to spread Merlin’s knees wider, using his hands on the omega’s hips to angle his waist to give them a better angle. The adjusted position gives Arthur an even better view, the glistening pink ring of Merlin’s arse fanned around his cock.

When Arthur doesn’t start moving, still giving Merlin’s body excess time to adjust, the omega impatiently starts small thrusts of his own. Arthur sucks in a sharp breath as Merlin’s arse does a few small drags up and down the base of his cock. Before Arthur can think to reprimand him Merlin shifts his weight and tilts forward until the only thing left inside him is the head of Arthur’s cock, then slowly sinks back.

A guttural purr rumbles in Arthur’s chest as he watches his cock disappear into his omega’s wanton hole. His prick glistens with slick as Merlin laggardly eases himself back and forth, slowly taking his pleasure. Small sounds of want spill from Merlin, asking for more which Arthur does not yet grant.

Arthur’s arousal only grows as he watches Merlin’s slow movements. The way his impossibly small hole manages to swallow his cock, the flickers of pleasure that ripple through Merlin’s tail when he nearly gets that perfect angle, the small tremble that shudders through his arsecheeks when their thighs meet, it’s hypnotic.

Arthur gives a pleased hum, “That’s it. Just like that.”

“Ah- Arthur.” Merlin exhales shakily, arching his back as he preens under the praise.

Arthur watches his omega pleasure himself on his cock. He purposefully doesn’t meet Merlin’s thrusts, merely enjoying the glorious feel and view of his prick sliding in and out, more slick escaping Merlin each time until it spreads to his upper thighs.

“Fuck, Merlin. You look so pretty like this. Taking my cock like a good omega.”

The pleasant dull stretch of Arthur’s prick helps abate the worst of the want simmering through Merlin. The delicious intrusion fills the aching emptiness, helping quell the feeling of excess wetness. Yet each time he sinks down the length of his alpha’s cock Merlin finds it’s not enough, not with Arthur not moving, not when he’s in heat.

Merlin gradually increases both the force and speed of his movements, rocking back onto the prince’s prick with purpose yet still keeping a tepid pace, his need a low simmer rather than a frantic boil. He glances back at Arthur, wanting to see what expression his mate is making.

Gods. Lust flames under Merlin’s skin, with the slight prickle of annoyance. Arthur sat tall on his haunches, strong chin held high and a pompous smirk teasing his lips, the kind Merlin should really not find as arousing as he does. The prince’s golden hair is mussed from sleep, his eyes hooded and pupils blown with lust. It’s truly unfair that someone can be so handsome and a prince. Merlin tries to burn the image of Arthur into his mind.

The prince’s eyes drag away from the joining of their bodies to meet his mate's eyes. Merlin’s ear gives an annoyed flicker at the sparkle of cocksured amusement in the prat’s gaze.

“Wha– what?” Merlin’s breath hitches on the word as Arthur’s hand softly wraps around the base of his tail, his fingers trailing through the dark fur as Merlin moves his hips.

“It’s quite entertaining watching you shamelessly seek your own pleasure.”

Merlin's ears flatten as he petulantly gripes, “It’s not my fault that you’re not rising to the occasion.”

Merlin’s prey instincts shudder at the heat that flares in Arthur’s eyes, the shift in the air is so strong it feels as if the temperature around them spikes.

The prince’s hand darts from Merlin’s tail to his nape, pushing his cheek into the ground as he bends himself over the omega’s back as much as the position allows. A pitiful whimper breaks past Merlin’s lips as Arthur’s thumb presses into the smattering of bruises around his claiming mark.

A swell of adrenaline floods through Arthur’s veins as he holds Merlin down into submission. A part of his instincts revel at the idea that he is dominating the insolent tart, yet a far larger part of Arthur basks in the fact that Merlin willingly lets himself be handled as such, knowing his sorcerer would allow no other being to hold such dangerous authority over him.

“God,” Arthur growls against Merlin’s spine, his breath hot against the sweat dappled skin. “You are infuriating.” He is well aware of what the idiot is doing, yet the prince’s royal and umbrageous pride still flares.

The spike of domineering pheromones has a bubble of amusement nearly spilling from Merlin in a laugh. His ears give a pleased waver.

Arthur gives an annoyed huff before snapping his hips forward only to sharply rut forward again.

A throaty moan is punched out of Merlin as his body lights with the chuffed pleasure of knowing exactly how to goad his prince. Though it doesn’t take long for his smugness to fade in the bliss of having his alpha aggressively rut into him, his cock sliding in and out with lewd squelching sounds.

“Mine.” Arthur raggedly pants out as he fiercely shoves his cock deep into his mate, it’s both a statement of claim and reiterance that he is the one in power. It doesn’t take long for Merlin to get lost in the floaty haze of desire and ecstasy of omegan subservience to his strong alpha. Arthur preens as he watches the stubborn glint in Merlin’s fluttering eye fade to a befogged rapture, his pout lips parting to release his breathy sounds of indulgence.

The sweet scent of Merlin’s submission fills the air and quells the zealous ardor that spurred the alpha to prove himself. Arthur laves his tongue over the fervid skin of Merlin’s back as he regains his regard, slowing his thrusts though keeping the rolls of his hips deep and satisfying.

The prince’s strong hands drape over Merlin’s waist and hike up his hips up a few more inches. A high pitched moan echoes off the cave walls as pleasure spasms through Merlin, his alpha’s cock sinking deep and pressing against that wondrous spot inside him.

“Fuck, Merlin.” Arthur’s breath is ragged with shallow pants. “You make the most sinful sounds.”

“Sa– sire, alpha, so good. Fuck, right– right there, Arthur.” Merlin gives a particularly vulgar swirl of his hips that has a tense coil start to form inside of Arthur.

“Mmph. So– so bossy, omega.”

Something between a purr and a chirrup tumbles from Merlin, his tail giving a cheeky swish. A wave of fondness flutters in Arthur’s chest.

“I– nngh– want your knot, alpha. Please.” Merlin begs as he works to meet each of Arthur’s firm, deep thrusts.

Arthur drags his lips between his omega’s shoulder blades. “Mmm, you beg so prettily as well.” The tension gradually builds in his bollocks, each drag of his prick sending throbbing want through his body.

The muscles of Merlin’s thighs flex as his upper half writhes against the soft fabric of Arthur’s cape, the silken fabric rubbing against his nipple deliciously, sending little frissons to his leaking cock. Each thrust has his prick bouncing against his stomach, the rigid stiffness keeping it pressed too high to grind against the nest, leaving him aching for friction.

A pleased cry is knocked out of him when Arthur repeatedly strokes against his insides perfectly, sending a stream of precum spilling from his cockhead. Tight pleasure coils low and heated low in Merlin’s abdomen, the urgent need to be filled to knotted pulsates through every inch of his body.

The sensual sounds of pleasure that tear out of his omega has the knot at the base of Arthur’s cock expanding. With each pass, his knot is swallowed by the tight grasp of his mate's hungry entrance.

Arthur’s knot starts catching on Merlin’s rim and the prince has to purposefully roll his hips to ease the bulge in. The sensation has Merlin’s breaths coming out in harsh wanton exhales.

The pressure mounts in Merlin and the whispering tease of release stutters in his abdomen, he’s nearly there, but it’s not quite enough. The embers of pleasure burgeon into the fiery sparks of anticipated elation. The spike of need that crashes through him melds with his befogged bliss and subservient instincts. Merlin hiccups please as his submissive pheromones flare.

A domineering snarl rips out of Arthur as he reaches a hand around his mate and grabs his hot, aching prick. He encircles his fingers around Merlin’s firm shaft, precum smearing against his palm as he stokes from tip to base in time with his own thrusts. Merlin tosses his head back, nuzzling his panting face against Arthur’s cheek.

Another flutter of adoration flickers through Arthur but it is quickly overtaken by rapture as on the third stroke of his hand Merlin’s tail goes rigid between their bodies, quickly followed by the rest of his body.

The tease of his release finally peaks as his cock gets the friction he desperately needs and Merlin’s muscles seize up. His orgasm pulsates through every heightened nerve, his magic tingling along his skin and only enhancing the feeling. Cum gushes from his prick, smattering onto the cape and coating Arthur’s strong hand.

Arthur manages one more deep thrust before Merlin tightens around him and entraps his knot. The fervid spasms around his throbbing cock and the beautifully pliant moans of his mate easily send Arthur over the edge. Gruff groans and low rumbly growls push past gritted teeth as he presses his nose to the base of Merlin’s ear. The pleasure that erupts in Arthur is boundless as his bollocks tense and twitch, heated cum eagerly spurting from his prick.

Merlin’s ragged breaths puff against Arthur’s jaw and his neck as the omega leans up to nuzzle at him, both comforting and scenting him through the staggering release.

Arthur shifts his weight so as to not squish Merlin and falls to his side, taking his omega with him. The pleased purrs and the affectionate nuzzles have Arthur smiling softly into the side of his mate’s head, gently pushing into the touch and giving a low purr of his own.

They lay there in silence, the faint sounds of birds warbling their winter songs outside of the cave. The area where Arthur’s chest meets Merlin’s back is speckled with cooling sweat, the fox’s tail tucked below the omega’s side and out of the way to be as close as possible to his mate.

Arthur’s hand traces shapeless lines along Merlin’s torso, feeling the way his pulse is slowly settling back down under his hand. The content that pours off both men mixes together and fills the air with a heavy blanket of calm, the scent of a campfire on a summer evening.

A hot exhale rolls down the column of Arthur’s neck as Merlin gives a pleased sigh. “Never thought I would lament my heat coming to an end.”

“Mmm, if it’s any consultation I plan to fuck you on every surface in my chambers when we return.”

The sharp spike of arousal in Merlin’s scent has Arthur smiling.

Merlin turns his torso so he can better see the prince. “Even that might not be enough to satiate my edacity for you, sire.”

A sharp smirk crawls onto Arthur’s face, his hand slowly trailing down the soft skin of Merlin’s lower stomach. His fingers are a teasing touch as he caresses the juncture of leg and groin. “That’s only when we get back.”

Merlin’s brows pinch together as Arthur ghosts the pads of his fingers just close enough to his softened cock that it evokes a faint overstimulated and ticklish sensation. “No, I’ll take you over the polishing bench in the armory, in one of the stable stalls, against the wall in the throne room. All the places I’ve ever wanted to ravish you before.” He uses his arm to pull Merlin so he is flush with him again. He runs his nose along the ridiculously soft fur of his mate’s ears. “Well, nearly all.”

Merlin gives a pleased yet curious hum, still basking in the afterglow that weighs down his limbs. “Nearly?”

“Well, others might find it a bit crude if I were to take you on the balcony where anyone in the lower town might see.” Surprised intrigue sparks to life in Arthur’s mind at the shiver that runs down Merlin’s spine. “Or taking you like some cur on the training field. You have no idea how often I’ve wanted to just bend you over and breed you in front of my leering knights. Bastards can’t keep their eyes to themselves.”

A soft, amused snort spills from Merlin. “Now that I know why you were scenting me I shouldn’t be surprised by how possessive you are. Spoilt prat.”

Arthur shrugs the best he can on his side as he playfully bites Merlin’s ear. “Wolves are territorial.”

Another amused huff escapes Merlin. “Tell that to Gwaine. Pretty sure he’s had more trysts than there are days in the year.”

Arthur’s chuckle reverberates against Merlin’s back. “Yes, well, Gwaine is… Gwaine.”

A bright laugh bubbles out of Merlin and Arthur’s stomach flutters at the sound. A comfortable silence over takes them for a while, merely enjoying the presence of one another.

Soon Arthur’s knot softens and he’s able to slip out of his mate, followed by a stream of cum. Arthur’s instinct urges him to swipe it up with his fingers and try to put it back in but he doubts Merlin hasn’t already caught. With how long his heat has lasted, and the triggering of his own rut, Arthur would be surprised if Merlin wasn’t with child.

Images of him teaching a dark haired white eared kit how to use a wooden sword, flash through his mind. The thought has something fluffy and warm painting an eager smile on his face.

Arthur uses the cape to help clean off Merlin, only then for the omega to use his magic to clean the fabric. The prince has wondered why his mate doesn’t just use his magic to clean his body instead, but Arthur suspects Merlin merely likes being cared for, not that the stubborn fool would ever admit so out loud. Just as Arthur would never admit to enjoying looking after him.

The next few hours Merlin’s heat scent fades to a barely there sweetness and Arthur tugs on his trousers for the first time in days and meanders over to the edge of the cave, bracing himself for the swell of cold air that will hit his bare chest. That, however, is not what he is greeted with.

Before him is most certainly the same clearing, yet the forest floor is cushioned with grass and the trees are full of verdant leaves that sway in the warm breeze. The ground is littered with various flowers that butterflies float between, their floral scent a pleasant note on the air.

The songbirds he had heard earlier are not those of winter but the ones that sweep between tree branches high above head. The only thing that saves him from questioning his state of mind is the fact that the knights are all still present, though they’ve doffed their armor to bask in the warmth of the sun.

“Princess!” Gwaine shoots up from where he had been sitting crosslegged with Elyan, braiding long strands of grass together. He takes a few steps forward before he thinks twice about getting any closer. “He didn’t eat you up!”

The knights are all smiling, eager to see their price after so many days. Leon and Lancelot get to their feet two, Percival and Elyan remain nonplussed with remaining sat on the grass. The tails of the standing men wag happily back and forth.

“What?” Is all Arthur can ask.

It’s Leon who answers, the man unable to hide his mirth. “Waves of magic would, erm, come from the cave. With each one more and more spring appeared.”

Arthur looks around with wonder but doesn’t leave the mouth of the cave, not willing to leave his mate unguarded. “Right.” The prince’s voice is breathy with awe before realization dawns. “Oh God, how far–”

“Only a couple miles.” Lancelot replies before Arthur can even ask. “It’s pretty much a perfect circle.”

Arthur sighs in relief before his face takes on a more serious expression. “Merlin’s heat is ending, we should prepare to continue the journey back in a few hours, be sure you’re prepared, we’ve already been gone long enough.” He pauses for a moment. “How… how long were we in there?”

Elyan finishes off his braid and stands, he stretches his arms out to the side, his feathers ruffling from the pleasant strain. “If you don’t count the first few days of Percy’s rut, seven days.”

“A week?!” Arthur balks.

“A week and a half if you count Percy’s rut.” Gwaine adds on. “And that’s not even counting the days between then and the bandit ambush.”

Arthur’s ears fold back as he rubs a hand down his face. His father is going to have his hide. “Alright. Just, be ready to leave soon.” The prince gives a lazy wave of his hand before turning back around and stumbling back toward his mate.

Merlin is still laying nude in the nest, tail swishing back and forth as his hooded eyes watch the shift of muscles in Arthur’s shoulders and the confident sway of his tail as he walks.

“Merlin.”

“What?” Merlin cocks his head to the side innocently, further exposing his mating bite, the twit.

Arthur walks around the cave, gathering up Merlin’s clothes before tossing them at the tempter’s face.

Merlin’s noise of dismayed surprise is muffled as his tunic lands atop his head.

“Come on, get dressed. We’re lucky no patrols have found us yet.”

Merlin adjusts the tunic until his head is pulled through the correct opening. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Arthur drawls as he struggles to get his own tunic on. “That we have been sequestered in this cave for an entire week.”

“What?” Merlin gapes, one arm completely through its sleeve the other stopped halfway through in shock.

“It’s alright.” Arthur soothes and then cringes at himself. The instinctual pull to be outwardly caring with Merlin, while not suffused in a cloud of pheromones, will take some getting used to. It’s not as if he doesn’t want to, but he can’t help but wince at the girlishness of it all. “But the longer we are out here the higher the chances that a patrol finds us.”

Gods, wouldn’t that just be Merlin’s luck? Finally mating with the royal prat he had been shoving his feelings down for only for a patrol to come across them and find he’s been an omega this whole time.

“Your secondary gender would be the least of our worries if we were found here.” Arthur supplies as if reading Merlin’s thoughts.

“What do you mean?” Merlin slides up his trousers over his smalls, his hand deftly latching the button for his tail hole without having to look.

Arthur opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally settling on. “It’s probably best if you see for yourself."

Merlin shoots him a wary look but nods.

It takes a while longer for Merlin to help Arthur back into all his armor. All the while the prince is staring at him like a besotted fool and Merlin can’t fight back his shy smile or flushed cheeks.

Merlin ties Arthur’s magically cleaned cape around the prince’s neck and after a satisfied nod makes to the cave entrance.

Before he can get too far, Arthur snags one of Merlin’s wrists and tugs him back, pulling his omega into his chest.

“Oof– Arthur, what the hell are–”

Merlin’s question is stopped short when Arthur starts scenting him. The thick tree-sappy scent of pine and sunny grass coats the omega.

“Sire, I’m pretty sure I already reek of you.” Merlin’s voice is muffled by Arthur’s neck. “Inside and out.”

A short pleased purr vibrates in Arthur’s chest and Merlin can’t help but snort. Nevertheless, he lets his mate scent him for peace of mind. Newly formed bonds are a delicate thing.

Once the scenting is done Arthur takes the lead to the clearing.

All Merlin can do is gape.

“So,” Arthur raises a curious brow, “this doesn’t usually happen?”

Merlin’s jaw snaps shut as he scowls at Arthur’s far too self-satisfied tone.

The knights snicker from where they are gathered in the middle of the clearing. It’s Gwaine who notices first.

“Oh shit. You bonded?!”

There’s a round of exclamations as each man gets to their feet, yet none dare to take any steps closer.

“Sire,” Leon’s frantic eyes look between the two, his rusty ears flicker nervously, his tail stiff. “If your father–”

“I know.” Arthur cuts him off sharply, not wanting any undue stress upon his omega, and certainly not right after his heat has ended. “I will see to it.”

Merlin rolls his eyes at Arthur’s posturing.

Arthur slowly allows the pack to ease closer and soon the prince is getting forearm shakes and shoulder slaps of congratulations. Once Arthur gives a small nod of his head in silent permission Merlin is showered in hair ruffles but none of the knights touch him more than that, not wanting to incur their leader’s wrath.

With nobody in rut and Merlin not at risk for going into heat again they opt for travelling in their shifts, leaving what meager supplies they have behind.

Percy takes the lead, his massive form and thick hide clearing the barren winter brush. Arthur and Leon flank either side of Merlin, Lancelot and Gwaine at the back. Elyan, flies above head, occasionally landing to ride atop one of Percy’s horns.

Usually Merlin would find the protective circle absurd, but with his lack of suppressants to hide his scent it has him feeling far more secure.

With their quickened pace it takes them only two days to reach Camelot. Of which Gwaine cajoles Merlin to tell the tales of his magic. With some extra goading from Lancelot and an encouraging nod from Arthur, he finally gives in.

The stories of Merlin’s heroics and struggles make the days go by fast. Though the hardest moment was when he revealed Balinor had been his father, making him the last dragon lord.

The pack had come to an abrupt halt and Arthur had nosed and nuzzled his mate, rubbing the fur of their maws together with an intimacy that had the others bashfully averting their eyes.

It’s late afternoon by the time they reach the outskirts of the city.

Shifting back into their human forms allows the frigid wind to bite at their exposed skin, sharp and sudden. The barren branches clack together as the gale stirs them. The distant winter sun casts long shadows but does little to warm the air.

Arthur scans over his pack with the same expression he wears before a battle. “We’ll all scent Merlin to cover his pheromones. It should be enough if we keep to the back entrance and avoid the main roads.” His eyes settle on Merlin. “We should get you to Gaius as soon as possible.”

“I’m fine, Arthur,” Merlin huffs, rolling his eyes.

Arthur has been fretting over him since they started the journey back. Newly bonded pairs rarely leave each other’s side; instincts run high in the first days, driving an almost suffocating protectiveness. It affects both people of a bond, but Merlin is far more seasoned with ignoring his instincts. Arthur may not voice it, but his worry shows in every glance he flicks towards his manservant and the way he hovers a fraction closer than normal.

He’s been eager to have Gaius look at the bite, to ensure there’s no sign of infection, no lingering strain on Merlin’s body after their mating. Merlin keeps insisting he’s fine but Arthur won’t settle until he’s been seen to.

A beat passes where nobody moves. Arthur clears his throat and steps back, nodding toward Merlin. Only then do the others approach, rubbing their wrists along his arms, mussing his hair, shoulders, and sleeves with playful ruffles. But none dare scent with the scent glands at their neck.

Merlin hadn’t realized how tightly his nerves had wound until the familiar scents of his packmates settle over him, easing the tension like a thread mending a torn cloth. The risks are real and dangerous, just as they’ve always been. But no part of him even considers hesitating as a possibility. The challenges may be different but the sentiment is the same. The glances, the whispers, even the danger that lingers beneath the surface of Camelot’s own court, will be faceless against Merlin’s devotion. He has always been willing to give anything for his prince, and nothing can change that. As his pack’s warmth settles around him, the weight of Merlin’s unfaltering loyalty beats steady in his chest.

When they finish, Merlin’s hair is a disheveled mess, his eyes soft, almost drowsy. Instinctively, he drifts back toward Arthur as the prince confers with the knights.

The streets are mercifully quiet as they wind through the lower town. Most citizens shelter inside, leaving only a few servants moving briskly through the bitter air, heads down, arms clutching baskets and buckets. Guards huddle as near to the doorways as their post allows, pressing close to catch any stray warmth that might leak through the thick wooden doors.

Merlin’s boots scrape against the frozen ground as they cross into the upper quarter, the worn stone slick beneath patches of thin ice. They all breathe steady puffs of white clouds as they move, rising in small bursts before fading toward the sky.

The guards at the back of the castle startle and stand taller when they see the prince approaching; not having heard word of his arrival from a footman nor from any of the stable boys who usually rush ahead to give warning.

Arthur gives them a firm nod as he plows past them, the knights following equally as quick, their bodies creating a circular shield for Merlin to be somewhat hidden. Blessedly neither alphan guard seems to notice Merlin’s pheromones in the swath of alphan scents that belong to the prince’s pack.

Once inside, the walls giving them reprieve from the wind and the worst of the cold, Arthur dismisses his men with a nod. “Go get some food… And bathe, you all reek.”

There’s some smiles, the knights knowing how to decipher their leader's compassion. Yet the knights hesitate, reluctant to leave before Merlin is safely hidden away, but they obey, secretly grateful not to face the physician’s sharp tongue alongside their leader’s side.

Leon turns and gives them both a onceover. “If you need anything, send word.” With that, the first knight turns to follow the rest of the knights, eager to have a proper bath.

An odd sort of tension loosens in Arthur’s chest. The relief comes quickly, sharper than it should, and he despises it the moment it settles. He knows his claim on Merlin is still fresh, his instincts heightened and raw because of it.

But he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his knights, his packmates, are unshakably immolatory. They have proven themselves beyond measure. Yet even knowing that does nothing to silence the possessive pull that eases the moment they are gone. It is instinct, nothing more, but it feels no less vile for what it is.

Gaius perks up the moment he realizes it’s Merlin entering through the door.

“Where the hells have you been?!” The mouse shifter sets down the tincture in his hands and hobbles around his work bench. Gaius’ anger only minutely deflates as Arthur follows in behind, gently closing the door.

Merlin’s ears flatten in a mix of guilt and reprimand. “Gaius, I–”

Arthur awkwardly clears his throat, taking a step forward he hopes looks far more confident than he feels. His ears and tail are unnaturally stiff as he fights the urge to fiddle with the signet ring on his finger.

Gaius raises an impatient brow, making it evident he is only holding his tongue due to Arthur’s title. The prince’s fluffy tail gives a stilted sweep as he hurriedly paces to the table and pulls out a chair. “Perhaps it would be better if you took a seat, Gaius.”

“I’d rather stand.”

The prince winces. “Yes, very well.”

In any other circumstance Merlin would find Arthur’s nerves endearing, yet he too can’t help but wilt under Gaius’ imperial eyebrow. Merlin’s animal appendages give a nervous flutter and Arthur has to stop himself from striding over and soothing his mate.

The beta’s face remains stoic as he waits for either young man to say something. Arthur opens and closes his mouth multiple times as he struggles to find an easy way to do this.

Unable to sit through his mate’s discomfort, it's Merlin who breaks the precarious silence. “Gaius, Arthur knows.”

The physician goes completely still, the same way Merlin does when his prey instincts kick in. His eyes slowly slide from the prince to Merlin, the boy’s eyes wide and watching. Gaius’ ears remain perfectly perked and stilled so as to not give anything away.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” The physician’s words are carefully placed as he tries to glean more information from his boy’s face.

Merlin heaves a sigh. “Gaius, he knows. About my secondary gender and…” Merlin sheepishly clears his throat.

“His magic.” Arthur finishes calmly, his ears slightly tilt forward and his tail lower so as to not come off as imposing, especially as the beta can’t smell his intentions.

Gaius opens his mouth, clearly about to refute the idea that his ward has magic, but Arthur quickly pushes ahead.

“And I would never do anything to hurt him, Gaius. Or you.” Arthur’s ears press even lower. “I know my father’s beliefs have made that hard to believe. But, I am not him.” He hesitates, voice quieter with remorse. “I used to accept the way he ruled without question. I thought it was the only way. But now I see how much damage it’s done.”
His gaze lifts again, brimmed with purpose. “I won’t let that damage touch Merlin. Not while I have a say in it.”

Pride flutters under Merlin’s sternum, his tail giving a few admiring swoops. A beat of silence passes before the omega notices both pairs of eyes have been turned toward him. Gaius’ gaze is questioning and Arthur’s nervous.

“That’s… that’s not all though.” Merlin rubs the back of his nape meekly.

Gaius hefts a sigh and pinches his brow. How is it that there could still be more? Then again, this is Merlin.

When he looks back to his apprentice the boy’s lips are pursed together. “It’s probably best if I just show you.” Merlin winces at himself as he traipses over to the patient’s cot and sits down, his legs hanging off the side. His ears are still pressed to his head, knowing the worst has yet to come.

Arthur shuffles over to stand by his shoulder and Merlin sends him a small smile, appreciating the prince’s attempt at silent reassurance. But it’s better for the both of them that Merlin be the one to break the news to the physician, the man who Merlin has come to see as a father and he as a son.

Gaius’ face immediately grows serious as he scurries over to the two. “Are you injured?”

“No.” Merlin’s voice lilts up as if unsure that is the correct answer. “Please, just… try not to get angry.”

Before Gaius can question anymore Merlin deftly unties his neckerchief and lets the fabric fall away.

The physician can only stare.

Merlin fidgets in his seat, his tail giving jerky twitches. Arthur stands with baited breath that is expelled in a startled huff when Gaius’ eyes finally dart to him.

The physician’s raised voice startles them both. “Sire! Do you have any idea what you have done?!”

Arthur moves his hands as if unsure what to do with them. “Gaius, I–”

The flash of dread and fear are replaced with a deep carved anger as the man’s upper lip twitches. “Was this before or after you learned of his magic? Is this some demented way of getting him to prove his loyalty to you?”

Gaius’ eyes flicker with gold and Arthur holds out his hands in a surrender motion. “No! I– Gaius, I would never! I love him far too much for that.”

The physician stills, eyes going wide before a skeptical calm overtakes his expression. He glances to Merlin whose cheeks have darkened to a shade of pink.

Merlin swallows hard. “We were ambushed by a group of bandits. Their leader used his alpha voice to command me.” Merlin’s nose scrunches in distaste at the memory. The low rumble from Arthur has the servant rolling his eyes. “Arthur and the knights stepped in and bested them despite being grossly outnumbered. After that Arthur had said he had suspected I had magic and was angry I didn’t use it to defend myself.”

Arthur grumbles, “You should have.”

Merlin ignores him.

The omega continues, “After a few days of not hiding my secondary gender Percival’s rut was triggered–”

Gaius’ eyes go wide as he looks back to the mating bite on his boy’s neck before darting back to the prince. “Is that not–?”

“It is.” Arthur growls, unable to help himself, thinking of someone else claiming his omega. “It’s mine. Merlin’s mine.”

Gaius’ expression grows noticeably flatter, though the heightened emotions of a new bond are to be expected.

Merlin’s tail gives a pleased wag before pressing reassuringly against Arthur’s now petulant crossed arms. “Percy’s rut ended up triggering my heat. Where I approached Arthur. –My pre heat–” Merlin interrupts himself. “I was still of sound mind, and after Arthur accepted both my magic and the fact I was an omega, I invited him into my nest.” Merlin grows bashful again, the tint on his cheeks deepening. “I… I had always wanted… but, well, Arthur didn’t know I was an omega and with the risk of my magic…” Merlin’s babbled words string together as he tries to explain.

Arthur starts releasing calming pheromones as Merlin starts to anxiously tumble through his words. Gaius risks a quick glance at Arthur to see an incredibly soft expression on his face as he regards his manservant.

“Well,” Merlin gestures his hand as if it ties all his thoughts together. “There’s never been anyone else. It’s always been Arthur for me.”

Arthur tries to fight down his besotted smile, though his lips still quiver. “It is the same for myself. Even before I knew Merlin was an omega, I had long since saw him as my only prospective mate. I knew nobody would ever complete me in such a way.”

Gaius’ eyes go wide as he watches his smitten prince so freely express his feelings.

Arthur glances to the physician. The prince’s cheeks are flushed yet his eyes are strong with his familiar tenacity. “I think we may be destined mates.”

At this even Merlin whips around, eyes wide in shock. Arthur raises a challenging brow at the fox as if daring him to counter.

The physician’s eyes visibly soften, yet the anxiety doesn’t leave his face. Gaius steps closer to Merlin to inspect the mating bite. “Sire, if your father were to find out–”

“I know.” Arthur’s fluffy ears press back with contempt. “If it comes to that, I will make my father see reason. Rest Assured”

Unsurprisingly Gaius is not assured, but with the bond having already been created there is not much else that can be done.

Arthur’s insides squirm as Merlin tilts his head to allow the physician a closer look. Gaius lays his wrinkled hands on either side of the mark. The skin around the claim has faded yellow bruising, the mark itself is a barely healed scar, the flesh raised and dark purple. The dark color and puffiness is a clear indicator that it was a deep wound, though it’s healing remarkably well.

Gaius tells the pair as much and Arthur’s shoulders slump with relief.

“I told you.” Merlin exasperates, sending a fond smile over the back of his shoulder.

Arthur opens his mouth to reply but a loud knock on the door interrupts. Merlin dives for his neckerchief and is quick to hurriedly tie it around his neck.

Only when Gaius is certain the boy is covered does he call for the person to enter.

All ears are tense and perked as the door creaks open. Leon stands at the door with two of Uther’s knights behind him. The first knight tactfully does not enter the room, instead standing at the threshold, his body blocking most view from the others.

“My Lord.” The dingo shifter gives a quick bow before dipping his head. “Gaius.” He gives a quick cursory glance to Merlin, glad to see he is still doing alright, before shifting his eyes back to his pack leader. “Sire, the king has sent his summons.”

Arthur does his best to fight down his grimace though his ears press back in dismay. The last thing he wants to do is leave Merlin’s side. But he’ll be damned if he lets Merlin anywhere near Uther, and certainly not while Merlin’s omegan scent is so obvious.

"Didn't I tell you to go rest?”

Leon grimaces, “Duty called, sire.”

“Very well.” Arthur gives a stiff nod. “I’ll be just a moment.”

“Yes, sire.” Leon gives a bow before shutting the door, giving the three men inside a moment more of privacy. The knights on either side of him don’t say anything, they merely stand on guard, not finding anything unusual.

With a sigh Arthur walks around the table to face Merlin, settling himself beside Gaius. “Merlin, you are to stay here and finish being looked over. I’ll convene with my father and the council about how we were ambushed and then delayed by Percival’s rut.”

Merlin’s lips purse into a pout, but the anxious flicker of worry in his eyes clenches around the prince’s heart.

“I mean it, Merlin. You are to stay here.” Arthur warns, earning a petulant huff and a reluctant nod.

“And Gaius,” Arthur starts firmly but his tone immediately softens into a something crinkled and flustered, his eyes focused on a spot over the physician’s shoulder. “I would– ahem, appreciate if you were to make sure that… Merlin’s body is erm unharmed after our… ahem, mating.”

Arthur uses the urge to scurry away from the man’s dryly amused expression to hurry toward the door and force himself to leave his mate behind. Yet he knows it’s for the best, this way Merlin can be properly looked over and any injuries and Arthur doesn’t have to worry about the fool being anywhere near Uther.

“Arthur,” Gaius calls and the prince turns around, his face flushed with embarrassment but eyes wide and attentive. “There is no person I would trust to look after Merlin more than you.”

The pride that swells through Arthur is evident even to the beta in the way he pushes his shoulders back and the small overjoyed smile that he fails to fight down. Arthur gives a deep bow of his head. “Thank you, Gaius.”

The physician gives a bow of his head in return and Arthur makes to the door, though not with one more longing glance sent back to Merlin.

Once the prince is gone Gaius turns his wry expression to Merlin who similarly has a quivering smile teasing his lips. The boy's tail slowly thumps against the hay stuffed mattress.

The physician gives an exasperated but fond roll of his eyes before growing serious again. “Merlin, you do understand what will happen if Uther finds out, don’t you?”

Merlin gives him a half shrug, his jubilance fading. “Just another secret to hide.”

Merlin continues to explain the events of the past day in more detail as Gaius starts a check up.

The winter air clings to the stone of the throne room, the weight of the made heavier by the frigid chill that presses down from the vaulted ceilings above. The few councilmen scattered near the king fall into a stiff silence as the prince approaches. Their eyes track him, their expressions unreadable but sharp, like scavenger birds waiting for the kill.

Uther sits high upon his throne, a refined heavy cloak draped across his broad shoulders barely concealing the low flick of his tail. His rounded lion ears are upright, though their slight forward tilt reveals a restrained irritation. The lines in his face, deeper than when Arthur last stood before him. The light of the high window, edged with frost, sharpens the shadows cast on his father’s imperious face.

"Arthur." The king’s voice carries through the chamber, cool and measured. "I assume your prolonged absence means you have completed your task."

Behind Arthur, the heavy doors close with a deep thud. Leon moves to stand guard within, while Uther’s knights remain stationed outside.

Arthur bows low, keeping his gaze trained on the stone floor for a beat before straightening, his hands clasped behind his back in a rigid hold. "Yes, Father. The bandits have been dealt with. We were outnumbered, but my knights performed admirably. Most of the attackers were killed. The few who fled will not risk returning." His voice is steady, but the tension in his shoulders threatens to betray him.

Uther's eyes narrow, unreadable. His tail gives a single slow sweep across the floor. "And yet it took you considerably longer than I would expect to deal with a simple band of thieves."

Arthur’s jaw tenses. "We lost the horses in the attack. A snowstorm followed shortly after. We were forced to shelter for several days. One of my knights also unexpectedly went into rut." He’s careful to not offer any more than necessary.

A ripple of quiet whispers stirs among the councilmen. The words ‘peasants’ and ‘knight’ carry just loud enough to reach Arthur's ears. His teeth grit behind closed lips.

Uther gives a small exhale through his nose, the barest curl of distaste in his expression. "A series of unfortunate inconveniences, then. I trust you handled it appropriately." His tone drips with a sharp undercurrent, as though daring Arthur to misstep.

"I did what was required." Arthur keeps his voice neutral..

There is a beat of silence as Uther studies his son with the cool patience of a predator watching prey circle too near. The flick of his ears signals a change in disposition.

"Very well," Uther says at last, voice smoother but no less critical. "The matter can be set aside. You will instead turn your attention to something far more pressing."

Arthur’s brows pull together. "Sire?"

"The Yule festivities begin tomorrow," Uther continues, voice like stone. "Dignitaries from every corner of the kingdoms have already arrived during your prolonged absence. Many have brought their most eligible heirs. You will see to it that you select a suitable mate before the season’s end."

The words land like a stone in Arthur’s stomach. His breath halts for half a second before he forces himself to speak. "What?"

Uther’s eyes sharpen. "You heard me. You have delayed this obligation long enough. By the conclusion of Yule, you will have chosen a mate to strengthen our kingdom’s alliances."

That’s five days away.

Arthur’s voice pitches up in indignation, not unlike a child crying about the unfairness of life. "Father, you can not be serious–"

"This is not up for discussion," Uther snaps, his voice dropping like a blade. His tail lashes once in sharp warning. "I have already stomached your indulgences. I allowed you to pollute my court with your hand-picked strays. Do not get it twisted. I am your King! You are Camelot’s heir, Arthur. My heir. You will do as you are commanded, or I will remind you what it means to defy me."

Arthur’s throat burns as fury knots low in his chest. The words on his tongue taste like ash, every instinct in him screaming to bare his teeth and defy the order. But he forces the rage down, bitter and choking. This is not the moment. Not with Merlin so newly vulnerable, not with Uther watching for any excuse to tighten his hold. The risk is too high. He grinds the words out flatly. "I understand."

Uther watches him for a long, deliberate moment, eyes narrowing as if waiting for some sign of rebellion. When none comes, the king flicks his hand in dismissal. "You are excused. Be prepared for the celebrations by noon."

"Yes, Father." Arthur bows stiffly, every movement controlled, before turning sharply toward the doors.

Leon falls into step beside him the moment the doors close. His ears are pressed back, his usual calm replaced with quiet concern. "Arthur…"

Arthur exhales slowly, voice even. "It’s all right, Leon." He glances briefly at his knight before continuing. "For now, see that Merlin rests. He is to take the evening off. Have Guinevere bring dinner to him and Gaius. Then have her return to me with Gaius’ findings."

Leon bows, though hesitates before stepping away. "Sire… the knights stand behind you. No matter what comes."

The hard edge in Arthur’s gaze softens for a brief moment. "Thank you, Leon. Though I’d prefer if no one else heard of this."

"Of course." Leon bows again. "Rest well, sire."

Arthur offers a faint smile. "You as well."

The following morning Arthur’s ears press to his head at Merlin’s familiar, grating wake up call. Though the next moment when the prince’s sleep addled mind processes his mate has arrived he sits straight up, his tail enthusiastically thumping against the mattress.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s usual reprimand is instead brimming with glee. He tosses the covers off and lunges toward his manservant.

Merlin just manages to place down the trays of food on the table before he is nearly tackled by the shirtless prince. “Arthur!” Merlin half-heartedly reprimands as the prat starts snuffling at his hair, the prince’s arms wrapping around his waist from behind.

Arthur frowns. He snuffles a bit more aggressively. “I can’t smell you.”

Merlin steps out of Arthur’s arms and stands so that his hip stubbornly juts to one side. “Did you expect me to go wandering through the castle not on suppressants?"

Arthur gives a small disgruntled huff, his tail flicking once behind him. "I still don't like it," he mutters, voice low with discontent. He wraps his arms around his manservant again, pouting into his dark hair. Though the wiggle of Merlin’s tail has Arthur feeling less petulant.

Merlin’s eyes narrow with exaggerated patience as he extracts himself once again. “Yes, well, you’ll survive. Unless of course you’d rather have everyone and their grandmother chasing my tail.”

Arthur growls under his breath. “That’s not funny.”

Merlin’s lips quiver with poorly hidden smile as he turns to properly set out the food.

Arthur’s tail gives a few happy wags before his eyes catch the tendrils of steam rising from the filled washtub.

"You’ve drawn the bath?" Arthur asks.

Merlin sends him a flat look over his shoulder. “Yes, while you were snoring like a bear. The knights weren’t the only ones who were stinking.”

Arthur lets the jab slide as a small smile pulls at the corner of his lips. “Come bathe with me.”

Merlin’s hands stumble over the polished cutlery, sending a fork to the ground. “I bathed last night.”

“Then bathe again.” Arthur shrugs, stepping around Merlin to and popping a grape into his mouth.

“I dare think you’re trying to spoil me, sire.”

Arthur’s eyes slowly drift down Merlin’s body then back up before his nose scrunches in distaste. The prince scoffs, “Hardly. I just doubt you got properly clean with nothing more than a bucket and rag. I know peasants are fond of rolling around in the dirt but–”

Merlin takes the few paces needed to grab a pillow from the bed to toss it at the prat’s head. Arthur easily catches it.

Merlin tries to glare, but his ears twitch at the happy swing of Arthur’s tail. After a moment of theatrical reluctance, Merlin sighs, fingers moving to pull off his tunic. “If I must.”

Arthur watches him with open fondness and a hint of hunger as they both strip down.

The water instantly draws a sigh from Merlin as he sinks into it, the warmth loosening the tension in his shoulders. There’s not much room between them but that’s hardly an issue. Arthur leans back with a satisfied hum, his tail curling lazily along the edge of the washtub. He watches Merlin quietly, letting the silence settle between them for a while.

"You'll be attending to me during the celebration today," Arthur says at last, his tone casual but deliberate.

Merlin opens one eye to peer at him, already suspicious. “And? I always do.”

Arthur’s stare holds an intensity Merlin was wholly unprepared for in the luxury of a heated bath. He sits taller.

“Merlin, do you trust me?”

Merlin’s mouth opens in protest but quickly snaps shut. His ears flick back in mild irritation. “ Do you think I’m in the habit of letting just anyone sink their teeth into me?”

Arthur chuckles softly, yet his smile is strained around the edges. “It’s just– my father has invited… prospects.”

“Prospects?”

Arthur shrinks in on himself. “Mating prospects.”

Arthur dips his head slightly, not wanting to see what expression Merlin might be wearing. “And my father has made his expectations... clear.”

Arthur reaches for him under the water, his hand finding Merlin’s wrist beneath the surface, thumb stroking gentle circles there.

“I’ll handle it,” Arthur swears, his voice resolute as he lifts his eyes back up. “Just… I need you to trust me. No matter how things may appear.” To his shock Merlin’s expression is surprisingly neutral.

“Arthur, do you know how many feasts I’ve had to sit through while you’ve twirled away with the nobles?”

Arthur purses his lips together, his ears folding back. “You could stand to be a bit more upset about it.”

Merlin chuckles, sinking back into the water. “I won’t pretend I like the nobles swarming around you, but I’m not letting you attend without protection. I’ve been hiding my secondary gender and my magic for years; this is nothing new. As long as I’m the one you’re pulling into your bed later tonight I’ll hold my tongue.”

Arthur smiles wolfishly. “I’ll do more than pull you into my bed.” He pauses, growing serious again. “But Merlin, if you need a moment just you and I, tell me. I’ll step out for a few moments.”

Merlin raises a teasing brow. “Careful, sire. I might start to think you care for me.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and flicks water at him.

The quiet settles between them again, the steam curling lazily around their shoulders as they soak, warm and close, each silently preparing for the weight the day ahead will bring.

The banquet hall is alive with merriment as the first day's celebrations begin. Servants scurry about, carrying trays laden with roasted meats, warm breads, and pitchers of mulled wine. The scent of pine boughs and burning cedar mingles with the rich aromas of the feast, it’s a balm to the flower perfumes and flared scents of the attendees. Pine garlands hang between pillars, supporting wood carved ornaments of various noble animals, from lions, stags, and wolves, to leopards and snakes. Laughter rings sharp and practiced over the soft melody of strings that floats through the hall.

Merlin stands behind Arthur’s chair, shoulders stiff beneath his tunic. His hands curl tightly around the carafe of highly watered down mulled wine, his jaw tight with aggravation. He keeps his ears high, tail still. His gaze flicks across the sea of nobles crowding the hall. They flock toward Arthur like flies to honey.

Merlin, for his part, has been doing an exceptional job of remaining outwardly composed as the vulturous nobles take turns vying for Arthur’s attention. Inwardly, however, he has been imagining each lecherous whorehound being thrown from the citadel by his magic.

Though the blow of jealousy isn’t nearly as harsh as it could be. Arthur has been pointedly giving anyone who approaches him little to no attention, going so far as to visibly act bored. Usually, Arthur would never be so blatantly disrespectful, the prince skilled in the art of courtly politics.

The vindictive pleasure that tingles down Merlin’s spine at the affronted or disappointed looks each person gets before storming off almost makes having to watch their loutish simpering worth it. Almost.

He still can’t get past the heated anger that curls through him each time a noble woman leans forward in to draw attention to her bosom, the way one may lift their tail in flirtatious sweeps as if trying to entice the prince, or tilt the way their ears forward in a false show of reverence.

All the while Uther’s irritation becomes more and more visible every time Arthur disrespects anyone who tries speaking with him. The king watches as the prince’s eyes stray from the person who he is speaking with to instead lazily scan the hall. How Arthur’s ears tilt away as if not truly listening to anyone who attempts to speak with him. Each infraction only billows the anger banked in his stomach.

With the heightened emotions of their bond, there is only so much Merlin can stand to watch, even with Arthur deterring the best he can.

Merlin eyes the woman caustically as she swans over to the prince, her long pink dress shimmering with garnets, her blonde curls framing her chest. A large, garish necklace made of emeralds sits just atop her collarbones, drawing attention to her chest.

The ears atop her head are pointed, a mix of beige and black, though they are just a fraction too round to be those of a wolf. Likely those of a Saxon Shepard (German shepard). Her tail is just the same, beige and black in color, though fluffy and well groomed.

Her tail is raised high as she sways to a stop beside the prince. Her painted lips curl into a demure smile as she dips into a curtsey. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Arthur.” She rises and offers her hand to be kissed. “I am Lady Eurwen of Northumbria.”

Arthur’s eyes dip to her hand, his face giving the barest hint of derision. The prince moves his hand as if to take her but at the last moment slides his hand slightly to the left, wrapping his fingers around his goblet. He gives a grunt and a small dip of his head in acknowledgment but nothing more as he takes a sip of his wine.

The corner of Merlin’s mouth twitches with mirth.

When her hand is not taken Lady Eurwen instead gently lays her hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Merlin’s smile falls from his face, replaced by a harsh glower as his magic crackles low in the pit of his stomach.

“Are you enjoying the festivities so far, sire?” She leans closer, bending at the waist to further accentuate her chest.

Arthur raises an unimpressed brow as he puts his goblet back down. “I find gatherings like this often have too many guests.”

Merlin’s ears give a flicker of amusement but he is still focused on the hand placed on his alpha’s shoulder.

“No need to be so coy, Your Highness.” The alphan woman titers. “Perhaps we could get to know one another better. I’ve heard you’re an excellent huntsman.” When there’s no reply, the woman continues, not easily deterred. “I myself love to hunt, as any respectable noble alpha does. Perhaps I could join you for a hunt in the morning?”

Merlin runs his tongue over his omegan fangs. Most of those who have approached Arthur so far have known when to give up. He glares daggers at the back of the woman’s head, wanting nothing more than to yank her by the tail to get her away from Arthur.

“My hunting party is already full.” Arthur lets his annoyance shine through a little brighter, unaware of his father’s gaze boring into his head.

"Oh, well, I’m sure you could make room.” Lady Eurwen flutters her lashes, “I could even ride with you, sire.”

Merlin rolls his eyes heavensward.

The Saxon Shepard trails her hand lower to Arthur’s chest. The prince stiffens, visibly and genuinely uncomfortable at the unwelcome touch. She leans so close that her lips nearly touch Arthur’s human ear and lets her hand fall to rest on his knee under the table. “Sire, my family breeds the finest hounds in the kingdom. You would be most impressed.”

“Allow me to fill your cup, sire!” Merlin shoves his way between the two, forcing Lady Eurwen to stumble back.

Arthur’s brows rise to his hairline at the sudden and unexpected interruption, though wholly welcomed. Despite Arthur’s goblet only being half-empty, Merlin takes his time to fill it.

Arthur immediately picks up on the out-of-place stiffness to Merlin’s frame. His ears are pricked and tail rigid. Merlin’s jaw is clenched tight, his face cold and sharp in a way Arthur hadn’t known it could be. The prince can only stare as his usually bumbling manservant exudes the venatic prowess of a predator.

Then again, Merlin’s shift is part predator, though Arthur’s certainly never considered him as such.

A part of Arthur wishes Merlin didn’t have to suppress his scent, just so he could know what his jealousy smells like. He can’t deny that it’s incredibly endearing. Merlin may be better at showing affection in their day to day lives, but he too still hides a lot behind barbs, jests and his blasé attitude; especially when Arthur is trying to rile him up. It’s oddly warming to see his fur get a bit ruffled for once.

Merlin’s sharp gaze slides to Arthur and the genuine irritation in the omega’s gaze morphs into vexed annoyance at the amusement in the prince’s eyes. Arthur’s ears tilt forward in a mix of apology and reassurance before quickly standing back to their proud height.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin nearly drops the flagon of wine.

Arthur has to fight to keep any fondness out of his scent as Merlin’s wide eyes flick back to him. They hold eye contact for a moment before the fox’s expression minutely softens, a faint rush of color forming high on his cheekbones. An exasperated huff escapes Merlin’s nose before he gives a quick dip of his head and moves back to his spot behind Arthur’s chair.

Lady Eurwen steps forward again, mouth open to speak but Arthur beats her to it. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the festivities.” The prince’s smile is sharp, and even Lady Eurwen knows not to ignore a dismissal from someone of higher rank, especially not in front of an entire hall of critical eyes.

More servants start rushing around with trays of food and the meandering nobles make their way back to their seats. The music softens. The hum of voices falls into an expectant hush as the musicians lower their instruments. The room dims beneath the weight of the moment as Uther stands to address the hall.

Uther rises from his seat, he lifts his goblet in one hand, his jaw tight and eyes stern. The light catches the hard line of his features and glints off his crown as his gaze sweeps across the gathered nobles.

His voice is even but carries that cold rigidity it often does. “Camelot extends its hospitality to you, as you gather here under the protection of this court for the Yule season.”

He pauses, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the room.

“These halls stand as a symbol of strength, of order, and of unity. May the days ahead be spent in celebration and in the forging of ties that will carry us into the prosperous seasons to come.”

His eyes flick briefly toward Arthur, though they carry the sharp promise of intent.

“It is my hope,” he continues, voice dipping colder, “that such gatherings allow new bonds to be made. Bonds that may strengthen not only noble houses, but the future of the realm itself.”

The tension in his shoulders never quite loosens. His tail remains still at his side, but his ears tilt with a faint stiffness. For a moment, he surveys the court.

“Enjoy what Camelot has to offer.” His tone softens slightly, though no warmth touches it. “And may your time here serve you well.” Before Uther can raise his goblet any higher to cue the end of his short speech, Arthur stands.

Uther’s stiffens, not having expected his son to move.

Arthur stands tall, regal and glowing in the candle light of the banquet. His ears are high and tail proud as he looks over the room. “If I may add on, father…” He turns his gaze to the king who gives him a curt nod, not unused to Arthur giving his own oration. And for Arthur’s sake this better be a way to smooth over his transgressions.

“I wish to thank everyone for making the journey here. Camelot is honored to celebrate in the festivities and preparations for yule with everyone here.” All eyes in the room are on him, animal ears held high and attentive with respect, their tails still. “If it is okay with you all, I would like to take a moment to thank my father.”

There’s a collected sound of simpered endearment from the hall.

Arthur raises his goblet higher as he glances to Uther. The king’s brows are raised in surprise though his royal facade otherwise stays in place. “There is much I owe to my father. But mostly I wish to thank him for this opportunity.” Arthur turns back toward the crowd, smiling. “My father has invited the finest in all the lands here in hopes that I might find a mate. And I am pleased to announce that I have already made my choice.”

The hall erupts into fervid whispers and barely contained murmurs. Merlin’s stomach drops out from under him. He watches half-stunned half-horrified as Arthur keeps talking.

“And it is with that, that I ask you to raise your goblets in a toast,” Arthur lowers his goblet and gestures Merlin forward with the guise pour more wine into his cup.

Uther is so blindsided he can do nothing but stare in visceral confusion.

Merlin’s feet feel like stone as he steps forward, his ears are pressed back in what looks like deference but is truly unease. Arthur is releasing calming pheromones, and part of Merlin is stupidly endeared at the action. He meet’s Arthur’s gaze for a single heartbeat in which the prince’s eyes implore the message ‘trust me’.

Merlin swallows harshly. He holds up the decanter and lets the dark liquid slowly pour forth, the rich maroon momentarily catching the light. The hall is still filled with murmurs and Merlin has to fight to keep his hands from shaking, though he isn’t sure if it’s from nerves or rage.

Arthur continues on, utterly steadfast in his conviction. “As I introduce my chosen mate to the court.”

There’s two gentle pulls on the back of Merlin’s neckerchief and before he can even right his decanter Arthur is tugging the fabric away. With a silent curse toward Arthur that the prat better know what the hell he is doing, Merlin stands taller and let his pheromones push through his suppressants.

The moment the fabric is pulled away the hall falls completely silent. Arthur turns his sharp smile toward the crowd. “Merlin of Ealdor.” He lets his hand come to rest at the small of Merlin’s back, just above the start of his tail.

There’s a lengthy pause where the various aggrieved expressions aimed toward Arthur nearly has the prince breaking out into giddy laughter.

Gwaine’s enthusiastic and genuine “Whoop!” bounces off the walls as he stands and starts eagerly clapping.

An empty and scattered unsure applause starts up from the crowd.

“EVERYONE OUT!” Uther roars with the bestial power of his shift, the deep and powerful bellow shattering the precarious tension of the hall. The king’s enraged pheromones flood the room, covering the scent of even the food.

The courtiers hasten to the doors, shoving at one another in the process, not wanting to earn any of the king’s ire.

Merlin gently places the decanter down and takes a single step before Uther turns his slit pupils toward him and seethes. “No, not you.”

Arthur places himself between his father and Merlin, a growl on the tip of his tongue. Out of the corner of his eye he manages to see his knights standing to the ready. Only taking his eyes off his father for a singular breath Arthur nods his knights away.

This is something Arthur has to do alone. And if worse comes to worse, he knows Merlin will protect the both of them.

The knights leave, though not as hurried as the rest of the hall, their slow and unharried gaits sticking out amongst the panicked mass. The musicians frantically gather up their instruments and all but trip over themselves as they follow the rest of the hall out, leaving a trail of sheet music in their wake.

The doors shut with a reverberating clunk.

Uther’s slit pupils bore into his spawn. “I ought to disown you!” Spittle flies from his mouth as he shouts. “Do you have any idea what you have done?!”

The king doesn’t give Arthur a chance to answer before whipping his head to the worthless weed. “And YOU–”

Arthur gives a warning snarl as he steps forward, putting himself in front of Merlin and posturing for a fight.

Uther pays no mind to his belligerent son as he barrels on. “If you were not already claimed I would have you dragged to the executioner's block.”

“Father! Please,” Arthur’s breaths puff angrily out his nose. “Just, listen to me. I beg of you.”

“You dare ask for clemency after humiliating me?!”

“You’d have never listened otherwise!” Arthur barks back. “And unless you want to find yourself a new heir you will listen to what I have to say!”

Uther bares his elongated incisors as he draws his upper lip back, but before he can snarl back an unfounded wave of calm snuffs the top most layer of his rage, the air filling with something warm and mollifying.

“Merlin.” Arthur bemoans.

The servant steps forward so he stood beside the prince. “You were about to bite each other's heads off.”

Calming pheromones.

Uther sneers at the omega. While the violent urge of his anger is quelled he is no less “You think you have any right–.”

Merlin bristles, the fur of his tail flares as his lip pulls back to reveal one of his omegan fangs. “I have every right to protect my mate. Your Majesty.”

The shift in the boy's scent is so steep and the words so brazen Uther finds himself at a loss of words for the utterly erroneous effrontery.

Arthur takes advantage of Uther’s stupefaction and cuts in. “You went against tradition when you chose my mother, a beta predator, as a mate. Do not stand there and act as if what I feel for Merlin is any different than what you felt for her.” A soft growl rumbles deep in Arthur’s chest. “Lest you intend to call her a mistake too.”

Despair mixes with the anger on Uther’s face, his eyes shining with contrite longing. “And look where it has gotten me!”

Merlin takes a step forward, his far less intimidating growl splitting the air. “It has gotten you a son who deserves a far better father.”

Disdain curdles in Uther gut, perhaps it is because he wishes there were times he had been kinder to his son. Or maybe it’s because he can’t deny that the boy’s spirit regrettably reminds him of Ygraine’s own tenacity. The king’s scent fills with righteous challenge, as if he were about to enter the arena to defend his queen. Uther’s eyes slide to his son. The king grits past clenched teeth, “I will hear you out. But,” Uther’s gaze sharpens as his tail gives an aggressive thwip. “It is nothing more than a courtesy.”

Arthur gives a steely nod, ignoring the way Merlin glares daggers at the king.
“I– words can’t begin to express how I feel for Merlin. He is the only one who speaks to me without fear, who tells me when I’m wrong without hesitation, sometimes even when I’m not.” A fleeting huff escapes him as his tail does a singular wag before his voice lowers again, steady and raw. “He never holds back, not for my temper, and certainly not for my title. He is insufferably smug, irritating, and never shuts the hell up. But God save me, I would mourn the moment he did.

“Merlin challenges me, humbles me, drags me from the edge when no one else would dare come close. Even when I don’t want him to. I need it. I need him. Merlin is no knight, yet he is ready to give his life in a moment's notice for mine, as you have seen yourself, even though I really rather he not.” Arthur purses his lips, eyes burning with fire. “I trust him with everything I am and I will ever become, and I will continue to love him for as long as my body can withstand.”

Arthur exhales a deep held breath as he runs a fervent hand through his hair, making his blonde tresses splay out wildly. “This isn’t some passing infatuation, father. It is etched into my very bones, scripted in the stars, intertwined with every wave in the ocean. What I feel for him lives inside me, it burns through my veins, anchors me deeper than stone.” Something primal and godless darkens in Arthur’s eyes as his voice drops to a low yet soft timbre. “And if you try to take him from me, you will not find your prince. You will find the new King of Camelot.”

Despite how accustomed Merlin has become with Arthur’s scent, the flare of darkness that seeps off the prince has a shiver raking through Merlin. The omega inadvertently gives off submissive pheromones in turn.

Arthur takes a step back from Uther and nearer Merlin but does give in to the urge to comfort his omega. He knows Merlin can hold his own, and certainly against Arthur himself.

Uther’s nostrils flare as the muddled, claimed, submission scent hits him. He glances between the two equally hostile glares.

There’s a long drawn out pause before Uther finally speaks.

“Unlike the boy, Ygraine was from a noble household.”

Arthur rankles. “One’s upbringing does not deem their value!”

Uther’s eyes snap to the louring omega. “Whom are your parents?”

Arthur moves so that his shoulder is placed in front of Merlin’s, his tail pressed against his omega’s side. “You don’t have to answer that, Merlin.” The prince sneers at his father.

Having enough of his son’s knot measuring contest Uther bristles, his tail rising aggressively. “If you want any chance of me accepting him into this court he does!”

The stunned shock that flashes over Arthur’s face is enough to tell Uther his son hadn’t expected to have actually been considered.

“You met my mother before, sire.” Merlin uses the title out of habit with the king. “Hunith, she came asking for assistance when our village was being raided.”

Recognition flashes on Uther’s face as he recalls the impromptu hearing. “The omegan rabbit.”

Merlin nods, something in his eyes still hard and unrelenting.

“And your father?”

Arthur butts in before Merlin can answer. “He doesn’t have one.”

Uther rolls his eyes, his anger mounting with each of his son's childish interjections. “Nonsense.”

“He doesn’t know who his father was.”

Uther doesn’t miss the near perfectly hidden release of anxiety pheromones from his son. Near perfect. He has never had a good grip over his inner alpha.

“His mother was claimed, surely they know who his father is.”

“Just because–”

“That is enough, Arthur!” Uther thunders before turning his blazing glare to the boy and tapping into his alpha voice. “Who is your father, boy?”

It happens too quickly for Arthur to give a counter demand.

Merlin’s eyes go wide and his head dips forward. “Balinor.”

Uther freezes and before he can blink the edge of a blade is pressed to his throat.

The unmasked rage that pours off of Arthur is feral and fetid. Everything about the wolf shifter screams alpha as he stares down his father, daring him to move. “Command him again and you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

“You’re a dragon lord?” The king’s eyes slide from his son to the serving boy’s. The king’s words are barely louder than a whisper, nearly covered by Arthur’s angry panting.

“You don’t have to answer to him.” Arthur commands, and he thinks Merlin will forgive him for it this once.

Uther’s eyes lock on the boy again, Merlin, but they do not see the trembling servant boy anymore. The air around him pulses. The weight of his bloodline clings to him like a second skin. Power. Raw and ancient. Untouched.

Uther’s jaw tightens. His pupils thin further.

Arthur’s scent burns thick with fury, the blade twitching slightly in his grip as though daring Uther to speak. The king’s lungs pull tight, the space between them charged with more than just dominance. The wrong word here will snap Arthur’s leash entirely. Uther knows it.

His tail flicks once, sharp, betraying the strain pulling at his control.

This is not a fight he can win.

The paths batter him with every breath. Power. Status. Legacy. Stability. The weight of his crown presses heavy against the back of his skull. Even now, his son holds the advantage. He has already claimed him. Already sealed the bond. To break it now would only shatter the prince’s utility indefinitely.

Uther swallows, throat tight against the blade.

His pride howls for him to refuse. Yet his reason leaves him no choice.

Merlin watches with confusion as everything about the king seems to calm. Uther lets his tail fall to its usual resting position, his shoulders press back and he stands taller, Arthur’s blade moving to stay pressed just below his adam’s apple.

As the silence drags on Uther’s tail makes small twitches Arthur has never seen him make before, the lines on his face deepen as he presses his lips together.

The fury does not leave Uther’s chest. It coils tighter, heavier, choking against the back of his teeth. His voice, when it finally breaks free, is hard as iron.

“You will proceed with your union.”

…

…

“What?” Merlin blanches at the same time Arthur does.

Uther pointedly looks at the sword held to his neck. Arthur warily lowers the blade but does not sheath it.

“You have my blessing to proceed with your mateship. It will likely take some time to prepare a wedding on such short notice, let alone get you trained in court etiquette.” Uther eyes Merlin distastefully, yet all Merlin can do is slowly blink in confusion.

“What?” Arthur asks again, his ears are pressed back yet his tail has a slight wiggle. “Just… just like that?”

Uther raises an unimpressed brow at his son’s slow uptake. “A dragon lord is the strongest ally a kingdom can have. Any bond made with the other kingdoms would pale in comparison, no matter how much land we would gain in return.”

It’s the truth and it physically pains him to say it aloud, but that kind of power and the protection that comes with it is invaluable.

Arthur stares at his father in utter disbelief at the utter hypocrisy of his words. But Arthur would be dumb to throw away this opportunity. If they get his father’s approval, the rest of the court will have no say in the matter.

Uther looks between their stunned faces before turning and making toward one of the lesser used doors, his robes swirling around him. “I shall make the announcement at the start of tomorrow's celebrations.” The king stops and twists back around. “For the safety of you both, the boy's lineage should not be revealed to anyone. The last thing we need is for everyone in the five kingdoms coming after Camelot.”

They nod dumbly and Uther fights the urge to roll his eyes as he takes his leave. The doors close behind Uther with a deep, final thud. The hall feels too far large now, set up for so many people, food and drink abandoned but still wam.

Arthur lowers his blade slowly. His fingers flex around the hilt once before releasing it entirely, the metal clatters to the floor. His chest rises and falls, each breath uneven, the burn of adrenaline still coursing through him.

Merlin remains beside him. His breathing is quick, but steady. The fox’s tail curls close to his leg, his ears flicking, his gaze stays fixed on the door. His presence alone allows Arthur to draw strength.

The prince swallows hard, his eyes finally pulling away from the door to find Merlin.

“He approved,” he says, almost as if dazed..

Merlin nods slowly. His mouth opens and closes a few times as his mind tries to comprehend what the hell just happened.

A disbelieving laugh spills from Arthur. Merlin looks at him as if he’s lost his mind and Arthur’s laughter merely grows more genuine. In the next moment he’s leaping forward and enveloping Merlin in a hug so tight he lifts the omega’s feet off the ground.

A startled laugh bubbles from Merlin as he returns the hug, though he’s quick to start smacking the prat’s shoulders to put him down. “Arthur! Oi, you big prat. Put me down!” The prince gives him a gleeful twirl before setting him down.

“This, Merlin, is the best outcome we could have gotten. It’s even better than I could have hoped!” Arthur smiles proudly. Unable to help himself, the prince surges forward and starts scenting Merlin.

Arthur’s scent is thick with pride and possession as he rubs his jaw along Merlin’s. The alpha’s scent is reassuring and heady, especially after such a tense ordeal, and Merlin can’t help but to melt into it.

It doesn’t take long for Merlin to start scenting him back, the fox grows giddy with the thought that everyone will know of their bond. That all the visiting dignitaries will keep their paws away from his mate.

Soon Merlin is scenting him just as egregiously, rubbing their necks together, rubbing his jaw over Arthur’s hair and playfully nipping at his ears, earning small bites of his own in return.

Once they are fully scented and the tension in the air has fully faded Merlin works through the momentary bliss of being scented to find his words. “Best outcome?”

“Yes!” Arthur’s smile glows, his eyes are crinkled and his tail wagging so emphatically it would likely hurt if someone were to be whacked by it. He walks around as he speaks, as if he can’t contain his energy. “The council can’t contest, not with my father’s approval. Had I been forced to challenge him I would have then had to convince the council. And God only knows how long that would have taken. But now, no one can oppose!”

Another gleeful laugh escapes Arthur as he gesticulates widely, still walking aimlessly before Merlin. “With my father still on the throne we can use the time we have to perfect any and all laws regarding the repeal of the magic ban. So when I take the throne we can immediately instate the repeal.”

Arthur runs an excited hand through his hair. “Of course, we’ll have to do most of our research at night, though that shouldn’t be a problem with you sleeping in my quarters. Of course the knights will help too, the more minds the better to think through every possibility and–”

The prince is cut short by a chaste yet enthusiastic kiss. Amusement sparkles in Merlin’s eyes as he pulls back, Arthur dazedly blinks at him. “Gods, and you say I prattle.”

Arthur's ears fold back with put upon annoyance, though they pop right back up, unable to maintain the facade. He lifts a tender hand to Merlin’s cheek, his omega leans into the touch, eyes soft and full of adoration. “You’re certain you’re okay with this?”

Merlin presses a gentle kiss to Arthur’s palm. “I’d do anything for you, Arthur.” There’s a brief pause before he adds on, “Though, I can’t say I’m looking forward to being forced through etiquette lessons.”

Arthur perks up. “Don’t worry, I’ll attend with you as often as I can.”

“So you can laugh at me?”

Arthur shrugs, failing to bite back his smile. “Maybe.”

Merlin’s ears give a cheeky wobble. “Prat.”

When they leave the banquet hall they find their pack waiting for them outside the door. Arthur leads them to his chambers where they all gather, either lounging on the bed and draped across plush chairs, he explains what happened.

At first the knights aren’t thrilled about Uther’s reasoning but Arthur doesn’t waste a moment to explain why this outcome is the best they could have hoped for.

It takes no time for them to fall into conversations about the logistics of magic and what they should first consider.

Uther stands before the banquet hall, the tension from yesterday is heavy in the air as the attendees stiffly sip at their goblets and murmur amongst one another. It doesn’t go past Merlin’s notice that as Uther addresses the hall he does not apologize for the events of yesterday.

Finally the lion shifter raises his goblet and turns to Arthur. “And I give my blessing to my son Arthur, and his mate.”

Arthur stands tall, radiating pride as he offers a hand to Merlin. The omega places his hand atop the prince’s and stands beside him. The hall erupts with cheers as Arthur lifts their hands high, presenting his mate for everyone to see.

The pair lock eyes with their pack who are cheering the loudest.

Merlin, for everything he is, is foremostly as stubborn as the night is dark. So, when he quickly learns to find he abhors sitting through Geoffry’s droning about what fork to use when he makes a point to skive. He often ends up sneaking off to the training grounds to watch the knights spar or to have secret magic sessions with Morgana.

Morgana has since joined their nightly rejoinders about magic, its morality and what laws would need to be put in place once the ban is lifted. Gwen too was also swept in when she and Lancelot officially started courting. The man couldn’t find it in himself to suspiciously sneak away at night, despite the duplicitous nature of his shift. Though of course everyone was happy to have the beta’s well thought input on all of the discussed topics.

The prince shouldn’t have been surprised when Merlin insisted that he remain Arthur’s manservant. Yet the alpha became somehow even more enamoured at Merlin’s insistence to stay by his side and tend to him. Uther complains about propriety and that his son’s mate, who will one day rule by his side, should not lower himself to such acts. All of which falls on deaf ears. Eventually, Uther finds it better for his health that he merely ignore the idiot and acts as if he does not exist.

Months go by and winter turns to spring and spring into summer. Merlin keeps saving Arthur and protecting Camelot, with the help of the knights and his magic. All the while helping Gaius in his spare time, tending to Arthur, occasionally sitting through a lesson without pulling his fur out, and taking fun magic breaks with Morgana. It’s a nonstop routine but Merlin wouldn’t have it any other way, especially not when every night he gets to lay beside his mate and tumble between the finest sheets Camelot has to offer.

“Wait!” Arthur rushes after George, the man who has taken on the handful of duties Merlin has willingly abandoned.

“Sire?” The armadillo shifter tilts his head to the side.

The servant stiffens with caution when Prince Arthur conspiratorially looks down both ways of the torch lit corridor, his ears swiveling and alert. George watches in part-confusion and part-concern as the prince pulls out a sealed parchment from the band of his trousers.

Try as he might George’s brows crease and his nose mildly crinkles at the startlingly unrefined action. Yet he still dutifully takes the offering.

Arthur lays a congenial hand on George’s shoulder yet its weight is heavy with significance. “Geroge, I need you to slip this wedding invitation in with all the rest before they are sent out in the morning. And under no circumstances is anybody to know about this. Is that understood?”

George’s eyes are wide with shock yet his gaze is stern with determination. He has always been staunchly loyal to the royal family and he will not sully the expectation that the prince can trust him with significant tasks. “Of course, my lord.”

Arthur firmly pats his shoulder before dismissing him. “Good. Off you go then.”

George gives a deep bow before doing his best to stealthily yet casually slink through the rest of the castle.

“Gods, no wonder your clothes stink so much. My shift is practically sodden with sweat.” Merlin bemoans from beside Arthur under the glaring sun. He had been forced to dress up, and so he’s wearing even more layers than he usually does. They stand on the castle steps, welcoming the guests that will be attending celebrations leading up to their wedding three days from now.

Arthur’s ears press to his head. “Must you complain about everything?”

Merlin’s lips quiver with the hint of a smile. “I need the practice. After all, I’m soon going to be a royal prat.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I’m the only one who can put up with you.” Merlin snips back, ignoring Arthur’s scowl. “Or wait, no.” Merlin taps a finger against his chin, imitating the image of someone who actually has a brain. “What was it you said? Etched into your bones? Interwoven in the waves?”

“Shut up.” Arthur turns his eyes back forward as Merlin’s cheeky gaze lingers on the flush of the prince’s cheeks. “I take it back. This isn’t going to work. We’ll need to get a proper divorce.”

Merlin’s ears give an amused flutter. “We aren’t even married yet.”

“Divorced before we are even wed.” Arthur tuts and clicks his tongue. He shakes his head disapprovingly, eyeing the road where a new set of hoofbeats can be heard approaching. “To think such a scandal will taint my reign.”

“Does this mean I get to keep a portion of the coffers?”

Arthur opens his mouth to retort but the words get stuck when he catches a glimpse of the approaching heraldry. He turns to fully face Merlin. “On second thought, we’ve been out here long enough. Why don’t you head inside and I’ll meet you after greeting the next envoy myself.”

“You think someone so skilled in diplomacy would be better at redirection.”

Arthur stares flatly for a moment before his ears spring back up. “Alright, fine. But you can use this excuse to have an early start on our lunch and even have a bath prepared.”

Merlin’s sharp eyes flick over Arthur’s shoulder. “Are they dangerous?”

“No. Just infuriatingly opinionated. And given your already surly attitude it would be best if I were to welcome them alone.”

Merlin’s mouth twists in uncertainty.

With a gentle sigh Arthur brushes a hand against Merlin’s cheek. “Have a bath drawn, love. I’ll be up the moment I’m done with this envoy and we can bathe and enjoy lunch, just the two of us.”

It’s not as if Merlin wants to stay out here withstanding the critical gazes and curious sniffing of any more invasive nobles. Merlin heaves a sigh though Arthur doesn’t miss the genuine relief that slumps through his mate.

Merlin takes a brisk step forward and rubs his jaw along Arthur’s hair. “I’ll be waiting for you, sire.”

There’s a flash of allure in Merlin’s gaze before he loops his arms with Guinevere and heads up the steps into the castle.

The envoy brings their horses to a stop in the courtyard and servants swarm to help them dismount and take away their bags and steeds. “Prince Arthur!” Cenred, the King of Essetir, the one who refused to give any assistance to Ealdor, readily dismounts and meets the prince half way for an eager forearm grasp.

“King Cenred.” Arthur nods to the jackal shifter as they exchange alphan scents. “Thank you for coming. Camelot is honored to host your household.”

“Of course.” The man smiles excitedly. “I wouldn’t miss one of Camelot’s celebrations for the world. Where else would we find such revelry and good drink?” The eclectic man is the youngest of the kings, and certainly the most lively, though he was not who Arthur was interested in speaking with.

“Perhaps we’ll get an even more grandiose show of your singing this time around.” Arthur muses.

Cenred tosses his head back with a genuine laugh. “So long as the wine is just as good I’ll be sure to serenade you and your mate-to-be. Where is the lady anyways?”

“Ah, there’s been a slight misunderstanding. Merlin and I are already mated. Though he was getting a bit overheated so he had to turn in early for the afternoon. My apologies that neither he nor my father could be in attendance for your arrival.”

“My, my,” Cenred drawls slyly, the overtly large ears on his ear wiggling with intrigue. “A male omega? And mated before the wedding? I hadn’t thought you were such a scoundrel, Prince Arthur.” The king playfully jests and Arthur half wonders if the man and his company stopped at the tavern on the way through the lower town.

Then again the few times Arthur met the man before he was quite rowdy. Though that should be expected from a king who lays about all day and drinks to his heart's content while his outlying villagers are left to be raided and pillaged with no help.

“Well, when you see him I’m sure you’ll understand why I couldn’t hold back.”

The comment earns another bark of laughter. “I am looking forward to it.”

Arthur clears his throat and gestures up the steps. “My staff will see you and your company to your rooms. If there’s anything else you need, don't hesitate.”

Cenred gives him a cordial nod before bouncing up the steps.

Arthur’s eyes are alert as he scans over each face and each animal trait as those from Cenred’s party follow their king. His heart leaps into his throat when he sees a set of pointed canine ears, not wolven, but similar.

“Sir Bleddyn.”(BLETH-in)

The knight nearly stumbles on a step when the Prince calls out to him. Short dark hair and pointed beige ears whip up at the sound of his name. He looks from Arthur to Cenred, the king merely waves him off and continues on his way. After all, the invitation had requested Cenred bring the knight along. Though for what reason the man couldn’t care less.

“Your Highness.” The knight comes to a stop before him in a deep bow, his black cloak fluttering as he moves.

“Am I right in understanding you are Sir Bleddyn?”

“Yes, sire.” The man raises back up. His alphan scent is brittle and nervous. Arthur takes a slow, deliberate breath as he eyes the alpha. He’s about the same height as Arthur, though his frame isn’t as strong. His skin is a shade or two tanner than the prince’s and he has brown hair and hazel eyes. He’s clean shaven and his jaw is on the verge of being strong yet is a fraction too narrow to come off as imposing.

When the silence stretches on for far too long the man nervously speaks again. “I don’t believe we have met before, Your Highness.”

“We have not.”

The man shifts his weight, not quite bowing again but offering a thin, practiced smile. “Forgive me, sire, but may I ask how you’ve heard of me? I was not aware my name carried beyond Essetir.”

Arthur tampers his pheromones the best he can and aims for something between apathetic and sharp. “Where do you originally hail from?”

The man’s ears flick upward in faint surprise, though amusement briefly glimmers across his expression as if indulging a strange question from his superior. “Ealdor, sire. It’s a small village on the border of–”

“Essetir and Camelot. My manservant is from there.” Arthur answers coolly, watching the flicker of smug self-assurance beneath the man’s composure.

“Oh!” Surprise flashes across the man’s face, his ears perking a bit higher before falling back to their regular height. “What’s his–”

“Bleddyn, do you have any children?”

He allows himself a small, easy shrug, as though the prospect of finding a mate is a casual certainty rather than a concern. “Not yet, sire. I expect that will come in time.”

“A mate?”

“No, sire. Not yet, anyways.”

“Mmmm. A prospective mate?”

“Not yet, sire.”

There’s another uncomfortable pause before the knight finally speaks up again. “Your Highness, may I ask–.”

Arthur dismissed him with a wave. “Perhaps you’ll get a chance to speak with my manservant later. For now, I must return to my mate. I’m sure we’ll see eachother again. I hope you enjoy the festivities.”

Bleddyn dips into a bow and turns tail, scurrying up the steps to chase after his party.

“Leon.” Arthur beckons his first knight over.

“Sire.”

“Follow that man, make sure his room is the one on the closest end of the hall. Set Gwaine to guard his door and accompany him to dinner this evening. Set Percy on guard outside his window, he is to have no route of escape.”

“Yes, sire.” Leon nods before turning back toward the other knights. Arthur smiles as he heads up the steps, eager to find his mate awaiting him in the washtub.

“God!” Bleddyn startles when he opens his door to find a knight of Camelot standing there as if waiting for him. The man’s a bit shorter than him but it’s clear he is a wolf shifter.

“Didn’t mean to startle you.” Gwaine gives a sharp smile. “Name’s Gwaine. I was told by Prince Arthur that I was to escort you to the banquet hall.”

Bleddyn frowns. It’s a well known fact that Prince Arthur is a strong alpha who, thanks to his shift, can be temperamental. Yet Bleddyn hadn’t found him volatile, certainly not in the same way King Cenred is, rather Prince Arthur was… odd. When speaking to him he couldn’t help but feel as if the wolf shifter was merely waiting for something to happen, for a coin to drop.

“I’m sure I can find my way. But I appreciate the offer.”

Gwaine shifts and slings an arm around the dog shifter’s shoulders. “Nonsense. Prince’s orders.”

Bleddyn stiffens beneath the wolf's arm but forces a thin laugh, as if trying to play polite. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to trouble the Prince’s orders.”

Bleddyn lets himself be led down the corridors and is all but shoved into a chair at the further end of the banquet hall. Most occupants are already present, though today is the slowest of celebrations, as most guests are scheduled to arrive tomorrow.

Cenred and the other royalty and high ranking nobles are sat at the head of the room, across from where Uther and his ward Morgana are currently sat. The main two chairs remain empty, where the betrothed couple will take their places once they arrive.

Bleddyn finds himself forcibly sat at a table where he is wedged between knights of Camelot. His attempts at cordial conversation met with cold silence. Still, he carries himself with an easy smile, lips curved in that oily way men wear when they believe their charm will eventually be recognized.

The wolf shifter stays standing behind him, as if guarding a prisoner.

The growing dread in his stomach only fattens as he sees not even the visiting royals have any Camelot knights guarding them.

What the hell is going on?

He takes casual sips of his goblet trying to come off as placid as unperturbed as possible.

And then he understands.

His eyes snap toward the betrothed pair, and for a moment his gaze lands on Merlin with a flicker of recognition that curdles beneath his polite mask. His throat tightens, and suddenly he can’t breathe.

Bleddyn shoots from his seat but before he can even get his legs straight he is being shoved forcibly back down by hands on his shoulders.

“Ah, ah.” Gwaine growls. “It isn’t time for you to leave yet.”

He turns around in his chair, pheromones flaring as he hisses. “Get your hands off of me.”

“Try and make a scene and whatever the hell The Prince has in store for you will be tenfold. I promise you that.” Gwaine rises to the challenge and flares his own pheromones.

By the time Bleddyn manages to risk lifting his eyes to the front of the room Prince Arthur is standing with a goblet raised, looking directly at him. His smile is practiced and regal, yet there is no mistaking the void of jagged ice in his gaze.

Prince Arthur’s mouth is moving, as if he’s speaking to the entire hall, yet all Bleddyn can hear is a high pitched tinny sound ringing in his ears.

The prince lifts his goblet and raises an expected brow, as if daring Bleddyn to not follow. The Essetir knight shakily lifts his goblet in a toast and nearly drops it as the hall breaks into applause.

Bleddyn downs the entire goblet.

He is only made to sit for fifteen more minutes, in which he doesn’t touch any of the food served to him, before the Camelot knight behind him forces him to his feet and forcibly leads him out through one of the servant doors. He is dragged to the deepest layer of the dungeons to await his judgment from Prince Arthur Pendragon.

The wedding unfolds beneath a sky so bright it is as if the sun itself has come to bear witness. The castle, gardens, and town are draped in silk and gold. Flowers decorate nearly every balustrade and roof eave in the city. Music fills the air, the jovial melody swirls around its targets before sweeping them up into celebratory dances. Laughter rises from the gathered crowds.

Hunith cries nearly from start to finish, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief that does little to stem the stream of happy tears. Her face glows with pride, watching her son stand with Arthur, his head held high, hand resting confidently in Arthur’s.

Uther sits at the head of the hall, his expression unreadable beneath the weight of his crown. He endures the long rites and endless formalities with the same stony patience that he usually bears. And yet, beneath the steel of his gaze, there is a quiet satisfaction. His son is not only secured with the most powerful mate, but one who has proven unswervingly loyal to Camelot and its throne. It eases his mind that Arthur’s mate is willing to take an arrow for him if needed.

The knights, never ones to waste a feast, see that neither Arthur nor Merlin escape the evening entirely sober. Tankards are passed back and forth with rowdy toasts, teasing jests, and playful jabs. Merlin’s cheeks are flushed with warmth, his laughter freely joining theirs. Arthur relaxes into the revelry, his usual precisely persona softening to let more of himself through, throughout it all his arm is practically melded to his mate’s waist. They drink just enough to feel the world hum pleasantly around them, but not so much that they forget the details of the day.

When the moon rises high and the last song fades into the buzzing summer evening, Arthur and Merlin finally retreat from the festivities.

In their chambers, they shed the heavy layers of ceremony and slip beneath the cool sheets, reveling in the love they have for one another. They fall asleep tangled with one another. The future sparkling with the promise of a golden age yet to come.

And they lived happily forevermore.