Chapter Text
Shane stood beside his fathers throne, his hands crossed loosely behind his back. His thighs were aching from standing so still, the speeches and offerings from emissaries, nobles trying to gain his fathers favour, taking longer than Shane could care for. Or pay attention to. And yet, his face was set in a detached mask, staring blankly ahead into the hall, feigning interest.
His father had wanted him to attend, and upon noticing his unwillingness, had ordered him to be there. He knew his father was planning for his succession, wishing to hand over the sceptre and responsibilities to his only son sooner rather than later, which would give him the freedom to spend more of his time with the queen.
And Shane was ready. He’d studied for this, trained for this his whole life. He knew he was ready, had learned all there was to learn from the tomes and instructors. He was ready.
He honestly believed he could fulfill all the duties carried out as the king, could fill the role his father was so used to occupying. He firmly trusted he would make a good ruler. He’d read all the books, attended meetings and galas. He was good at it too, gave advice his father had started to follow more often than not, and he was known for his quiet but thoughtful words. He was good at it all.
Except for situations like these, that made him realize just how much of a king's time was spent listening to people outright lie to his face. Speaking of gratitude and submission when Shane could smell the hatred wafting off them in thick rivulets.
His sense of smell had always been extraordinary, better than anyone elses he had ever encountered.
Their society was built on pheromones and scents. But it was rare to tell someone's emotions from their scent alone, especially if you did not know them, and had no baseline of what their neutral scent would be. Mates could tell the distinct differences. Being attuned to another body as if it were your own could do that. But to be able to dissect a stranger's scent right away was unusual, or rather, unheard of.
With every scent being unique to a person, like a fingerprint, it was not a surprise that some of them could be described as unpleasant naturally. That was why there could not be a distinct indicator for unhappiness, for example, because it was not one smell. It showed in the way a smell changed. And that distinction normally took a long time to learn.
Except for Shane.
Shane may as well be a mind reader, able to understand the emotions even if they were hidden from everyone else. He could always tell if an emotion flipped, if spoken words didn’t carry the same sentiment. He could meet a person for the first time and instinctively knew what they were feeling, how their natural scent was being affected. It was his gift.
His fathers had been diplomacy. His mothers strive.
His was telling what people really felt in that moment.
It was something useful, naturally. Under interrogation, a person's scent would change. He could smell it, the way their adrenaline spiked, could tell the subtle differences if someone started to feel stressed, to feel caught.
More often than not, it didn't really matter in the end. If those people hated his father, his kingdom, it did not matter. For they were unimportant in the grand scheme of things, nowhere near powerful enough to pose a real threat to his parents, his kingdom or his life. Any if one of their own switched sides, defected, Shane could sniff them out. Their scents tended to turn sour and acrid when they lied to his father, the undertones strengthening when they spoke of loyalty. That was always when Shane knew. He could tell before they ran, could tell in the way their scent changed once they made up their decisions to act on their treacherous thoughts.
His father and Shane had devised a system for Shane to let him know if he scented such things. Shane would clear his throat once, then tap the fingers of his left hand against his thigh.
His skills were being kept secret from the public, and most of the castle’s attendants. Only his family, as well as his fathers most trusted advisors knew.
His father had always said a secret known by two people could only be kept if one of them was dead. Shane had found it rather morbid, back then. By now, he had learned his father was correct.
People were deceiving and cunning by nature.
Shane had learned to trust no one. Even with his skills, his keen sense of smell, he could still be lied to if that person was aware of his abilities. Scents could be artificially altered. Could be suppressed. Emotional reactions could be suppressed, trained.
There were truths not even his father knew.
To his family, he was an alpha. He hadn’t presented until late in life. And by that point Shane had learned to be secretive of his life, his very being, had learned to stay quiet.
Shane had learned the signs fast enough to hide what he really was.
An omega was not something the king would have wanted for a son. He’d never said so explicitly, but Shane could read the subtext in his face and scent. No one in the kingdom would accept an omega on the throne. Even with the talk of equality and opportunity to all, the reality was that omegas were still treated like lesser. Rarely seen as more than fertile partners, made to birth and create a family. And while there was power in that too, in political or business situations, omegas were overlooked. They should care for children. They had no business trying to build a career, to build fortune or power.
Shane had heard these vile words, witnessed the whispers, the sentiments the kingdom lived by. His father knew it too. He did nothing to change it. It was the order of things. Alphas were made to rule. Omegas were made to submit.
So Shane had stolen away at night, covered head to toe in a thick cloak, his face obscured by the black wool, and had visited a healer in town. The old woman had been short with her words but not unkind. Shane had used a different name when he’d explained his predicament, had asked for a suppressant strong enough so it would not only hide his distinction but also change his scent completely. To something strong.
She had warned him, back then. To suppress one's being so immensely came with risks. She had implored him to not use it regularly, had drilled into him that the abuse of such strong mixtures would render him infertile.
Shane had refused to listen. He could not afford to listen.
Being an omega was worse than being barren. There was no way for him to carry an heir himself, no way for him to ever get the chance of a family in the way he secretly yet desperately wished for.
He would find a different way to secure an heir to the kingdom. Find a wife to lay with, even if Shane had never looked at a woman and yearned for her touch. It had always been the only way he could carry this legacy, Shane had known since the day he’d realized what he was.
So Shane had been taking the medicine daily for the past six years. The healer sold it to him every three months, a new bottle of the tincture, her eyes sad when he came in for a new one. Shane wasn’t sure if she’d ever learned who he was, had never smelled the spike recognition tended to implore into one's scent. Instead, the woman smelled sad each time he came back. They both knew what the medicine had done to him, by this point. He hadn’t experienced a heat once in his life, had never felt that animalistic side of him roar. He’d never experienced the ache and pull the books described omegas would experience around their fertile window. He’d never produced slick.
His sex drive in general was non-existent. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched himself, or dreamt about being touched by another.
His scent, too, was changed so drastically, Shane could not even remember what he had smelled like, once upon a time.
Shane often refused to think about the implications, refused to mourn what he should have had, what he could have had. Still, sometimes in the dark of night, reality would hit him. He would sob into his pillow, the sound muffled as he pressed his face in tight, not to be discovered. He would never carry a child of his own, his body broken down beyond repair. Shane had to live with that fact.
A ripple through the crowd brought Shane back into the presence. He’d tuned out too much, paying little attention to what was happening.
The court was staring towards the grand entrance doors. Excitement was sharp in the air, tickling Shane's nose.
Something was happening.
“-the northern border. The leader has been captured and brought here for you. Your Majesty."
The door flew open then, two guards stepping into the throne room first. Each of them was holding onto a thick metal chain. It was clearly heavy, scraping against the marble floor as they dragged them along where it hung from their hands.
They pulled in a man, bound by his wrists and throat, the lower half of his face hidden beneath a metal muzzle. He walked with a limp, weighed down by the chains on his body and stumbled as the guards pulled at the chains viciously, just barely able to keep himself upright.
It took a moment for the scent to fill the large room.
Shane felt like he had been punched in his stomach, all air rushing out of his lungs in one go. His muscles locked rigid as he watched the display before him. The metallic scent of blood, like salt and iron, accentuated the scent currently occupying every inch of Shane's lungs. A tremor ran down his spine.
What the fuck was going on.
Shane fought back from snarling at the two guards, had to physically restrain himself and stop himself from jumping down from the podium and ripping the chains free.
What the fuck.
What the fuck!
Shane had no idea who the man was, being dragged along the long hall of the throne room, pulled forward like a bound beast.
He stumbled more than walked, favouring one arm, holding it higher in a clear attempt to keep the weight of his left arm that hung before his body uselessly. He kept his shoulders twisted, hunched in on himself, making the man seem smaller than he really was.
The prisoner, by all accounts, looked broken and beaten.
The guards came to a halt beside the general, pulling until the prisoner was between them, right at his fathers and Shane’s own feet.
One of the guards spun and kicked into the back of the prisoners knees, and the man crashed onto the floor hard. His knees cracked against the marble, and Shane could barely hear a muffled groan. His jaw clenched in sympathy at the loud sound, a phantom ache shooting through his own knees. Only hours of practice kept Shane from flinching in sympathy.
He wasn’t usually one to be overly sympathetic. While not openly at war, their borders had been under siege from smaller rebel groups and kingdoms. They were no match to his fathers army's might, naturally. They were no real threat. But every so often, their leaders were captured and brought to the capital, to be made an example of.
Never had Shane felt sympathy.
Logically, this time should be no different.
And yet…
There was a visceral need coursing through Shanes veins. He’d never experienced something like this before. The feral urge to rush down the stairs and strike the men holding the chains was overwhelming. He could already see it happening, as if he were watching this whole thing from a bird view. Shane running down the stairs. Punching the guards in the throat. Shane falling to his knees before the chained man, cradling his head in gentle hands. Pulling it to his own chest and holding him there, guarding the pained body with his, moving and acting as a shield. What the fuck.
Shane's knees were shaking, hidden beneath the layers of fabric of his court attire.
From the outside he looked regal and composed.
Inside his head, war waged. Shane couldn't take his eyes from the man below them, on his knees, muzzled and chained. Looking broken and humiliated.
No.
The man looked up, right into Shane's eyes, an ocean of icy blue. Shane could see the defiance there, the strength. He had been wrong. This man wasn’t broken.
It was impossible to pull his gaze away, he couldn’t stop staring into the man's eyes, as if he were the one being held prisoner by them.
The captain was still speaking. It was a struggle to listen. The sound of his voice reached Shane’s ears through cotton, dull and muffled.
“-make an example of this wild animal.” The disdain and hatred filled Shane’s nose just like it scratched in his ears.
Shane had to rip his eyes away from the consuming blue, instead focussing on the guards holding the chains. He wanted to slit their throats.
What the fuck was happening to him.
Shane forced his body to relax, forced his lungs to obey the rhythm he set in an attempt to calm down. He was in control. His fingernails dug into the fat of his palm, his jaw clenching hard enough to hurt.
His father didn’t speak for some time. Only after a long moment did Shane notice his father was staring at him.
Fuck. Had his strange reaction been obvious? Shane subtly pulled in a deep breath, trying to ground himself.
A mistake.
The scent of the alpha at his feet assaulted his senses once more, filling his nose and mind. It was almost like a physical sensation, the scent rubbing along his nose and down his throat. Into his lungs. Where it filled Shane's chest and burrowed in like a parasite. The man smelled unlike anything Shane had ever encountered before. The scent filled his body with warmth, a sense of right.
What the fuck.
It felt like pulling himself from quicksand, to return his focus to his father. To ignore the turmoil waging within.
Only when Shane's eyes were firmly on his fathers face, the king spoke.
“Soon enough, my only son will take my place. In light of this, this shall be his first decision to make.”
Fuck. What decision? Shane hadn’t been paying attention.
The whole congregation, everyone in the room, stared at him now. The pair of icy blue eyes felt like hot coal against his skin.
Shane continued to look only at his father, his breathing shallow to limit the smell reaching his nose from the prisoner.
His father inclined his head towards the man on the floor, the movement subtle.
They were asking him to decide the man's fate.
Fuck.
Shane felt his heart race in his chest, felt sweat building up along his back, cold dread settling into his bones.
It had never been difficult for him to decide such things, to answer these questions when they had been asked in private, in study. In the end, it was them versus his family. To Shane, such things had always seemed clear, those thoughts only enhanced by his father, stoked by the instructors.
Being faced by the question so openly shouldn’t be an issue. It couldn’t be an issue. He had to be loyal to his father. To the kingdom.
Shane knew what answer his father expected, what everyone in the room was waiting for.
It was a given, a simple formality for them to even ask. The prisoner's life was over.
And yet, Shane couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth, to utter the expected words.
He glanced at the man on his knees, shocked by the intensity of the stare still focussed on him. He had no idea why he was surprised. His body had been keenly aware of the mans gaze.
He could hear the way air dragged through the metal, the metal so tight it was impairing his breathing.
Fuck.
Fuck!
Shane had no idea what to do, was caught between the expectations of everyone else and what his body screamed at him to do, what his instincts seemed to demand of him.
His instincts won the war.
He was the crown prince. He could do whatever the fuck he pleased. Shane had given everything to this kingdom. His youth, his freedom. His chance at a normal family. His body.
He wouldn’t deny the instincts forcing his body. He couldn’t.
He hadn’t felt his wolf in years, the omega living at the back of his mind. He had thought it had died long ago, poisoned by his own actions and need to rule. His need to be perfect, the perfect son, the perfect prince, and the perfect heir.
And just like that, here it was, back from its slumber and clawing at his mind, trying to force his movements.
For a split second, Shane was glad that no one else here had his powers, that no one in the room but his father would be able to tell he was in distress. His fathers gaze had changed, from expectant to worried. He could tell something was wrong. Shane could only pray the king could not tell to what extent.
Shane moved slowly, deliberately, with purpose. It gave him a sense of power, of calm. He was in control.
Shane crossed his fingers behind his body, his hands resting against the small of his own back. His fingernails left small crescent indents in the skin of his palms.
He stared somewhere past the prisoner's head. He couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t meet his gaze again.
The prisoner was dangerous. By all accounts, Shane should have him executed right away, done away with the danger he posed. Not just to the kingdom, but to Shane as a person. His wolf revolted at that thought, causing a physical flinch to rush through his body.
It was a loosing battle. His muscles shook with strain as Shane tried to hold back, tried to keep himself from giving into the wolf yowling in his mind. One would assume six years of suppression would grant him control over the beast. It was the opposite. Shane had never really learned to deal with the wolf, to separate the urges from the beast from his rational mind. He was losing.
Shane took slow steps down the podium, silence blanketing the halls. His thighs shook.
The sound of his shoes was the only noise, echoing off the marble walls and floor.
After eternity, the very next second, Shane came to a stop before the man, finally allowing himself to look at him again.
He hadn’t been prepared. The icy blue of the man's eyes bore into the warm brown of Shane's own.
Shane reached forward, noticing the twitch of the guard to his right in his peripheral vision. A movement as if the man wanted to stop him. Shane paid him no mind. Were he to move against the crown prince, he would be dealt with far more swiftly than the rebel to their feet had been.
Shane's hands moved slowly, deliberately, his muscles locking in a fight to keep his fingers from trembling. His fingertips brushed against the metal digging into the stranger's cheek, warmed by his body. He let his fingertips trail along the unforgiving metal, curly strands of hair brushing against his nails. He let his hand stretch out until his palm rested against the prisoner's cheek, his fingertips coming to rest against the metal lock at the back of his head. He could feel the strands of hair caught in the mechanism, could feel how tight it was wound onto the man's head. Shane’s touch looked almost loving.
The lock under his fingertips could only be opened with the captain of the guards key.
Shane did not even look at the man as he held out his free hand, palm up. The other remained on the man’s cheek. He kept his hand still, even if all Shane wanted was to caress his skin, gently stroke along his cheek until the indents of the metal would fade.
The cool metal key hit his palm in an instant.
The alpha at his knees looked at Shane with guarded eyes. His head tilted to the side, blue eyes searching for something in Shane’s own. Every movement seemed to register to the man, his eyes flitting about. Still he did not smell afraid.
Shane switched the key into his right palm, his wolf displeased by the loss of contact. Shane’s left came up to press into the muzzle, holding it in place. Then he unlocked it.
The metal clasps fell open with a soft click. Shane pulled the muzzle from his face. Shane dropped his hands, the muzzle held tightly in his hand, the metal still warm.
He was paying close attention to the man on his knees before him, his body ready to pounce. He watched the man gasp, taking breath like a drowning man coming up for air, filling his lungs for the first time. In an instant the prisoner’s pupils blew so wide, they swallowed the blue of his iris completely.
A low rumble resonated from the man at his knees, the sound starting out almost inaudible and growing in tone, causing all surrounding guards around them to spring into action. Swords and spears were against the alphas back, his throat and chest in an instant.
But Shane's omega had understood the sound for what it was.
Shane could smell the change in the air, the spike of spice as soon as the alpha dragged Shane's scent into his lungs. How? Shane was supposed to smell like nothing. His scent was fabricated specifically to elicit no reaction in anyone. It was like water, unassuming. Something forgotten in seconds.
But Shane could see it, smell it, subtle, unnoticeable to anyone but him. The alpha on his knees knew. Said man pulled another lung full in, his lips pulling back. Not in a threatening manner but more like he tried to taste Shane on his tongue. A spike of heat rushed up Shane’s back. He dragged his gaze away.
Shane let the muzzle fall to the floor, the heavy metal clanking loudly against the marble. He turned his attention to the guards around them, giving himself respite from drowning in the man at his feet. He raised his hand, waving the guards away.
Shane breathed in deeply once more, trying to steel himself, to calm his racing heart. A mistake. The pheromones from the man at his feet slapped him in the head, his breath catching in his throat. If he had smelled unavoidable before, he now was the inevitable. Shane bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood and gazed down at the man along his nose once more.
“Name.”
He stared down at the man, their eyes locked. He could see his chest rising, every breath just as deep as the one before. As if the man wanted to drink him in completely, memorize the scent of him.
“Rozanov.” His voice sent a shiver down Shane's spine. Only thanks to years at court did Shane manage to keep his neutral expression. Only thanks to the potions did his scent not change in a way he could perceive, revealing to everyone what was going on. For some reason, Shane was entirely certain the man was not fooled by the potion, could smell it on him just like Shane did.
“No.” Shane tilted his head slightly, towards one of the banners decorating the stone walls at the side. “Not any longer.”
The man didn’t protest. He didn't show a reaction at all. He simply continued to watch Shane. Shane felt as if the man was slowly undressing him with his eyes.
He stared down, trying to keep his chin high, trying and succeeding in looking haughty. His eyebrow rose slowly, just one. If they had to have a staring contest right here, then so be it.
Shane won.
“Ilya.”
It felt like someone dragged icy cold fingertips down Shane's spine, a shudder following the phantom sensation. Shane had to get a grip, and fast. That man…
“Good.”
Shane turned his back towards Ilya, slowly ascending to stand at his rightful place beside his father. His knees shook, threatening to buckle under his weight. What the fuck was going on.
His father shot him a glance and Shane could tell he was curious and concerned. Why was Shane acting so out of character. Shane had never before spoken to one of their prisoners directly, had never shown more than the necessary interest in a situation like this.
And still, Shane knew his father wouldn’t stop him. The king trusted Shane completely.
For the first time, Shane wondered if that was a mistake.
Shane moved to overlook the whole room, taking in the court present. His gaze purposefully flitted over the alpha still kneeling, refusing to let his eyes linger.
“No one will die today.” His voice was steady, clear. Neutral. Nothing like the wolf within, clawing at his skin, trying to get out, to break free. To go back down to the man still on his knees, looking up at Shane with wide eyes. Still blown black. Transfixed. Shane felt hot all over.
His words hit the room like a bomb. Immediately, the people of the courts began to whisper behind raised hands and sleeves. Shane ignored them.
“There will be no execution. Borrowing from the grace and benevolence of our king, this man shall be spared. He will work and serve, reminded every single day of his defeat to the crown. He will live a statement showcasing our power and strength, our grace. Our nation will never lose to the likes of him and his people.”
He couldn’t stop himself. His gaze returned to Ilya as he spoke, ignoring the contained chaos around them. His hands, however, were shaking, crossed behind his back. Neither his voice nor face betrayed his nerves.
“He shall serve me.”
The flash of lust across the alphas face went unnoticed by anyone but Shane.
“Take him away. Clean him, dress him. His appearance is a disgrace to this very throne room.” Shane's voice was soft still, calm. The confidence carried easily. Shane had been born into authority. Being obeyed was expected, normal. He finally turned away without another word, his heart beating rapid fire in his chest.
Fuck, why had he done this.