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The poets would lead one to believe that the wisteria gardens are the pinnacle of solace, filled with whimsy and romance and everlasting bliss, but Keiji begs to disagree.

He’d been tucked amongst the low hanging branches when the herald had brought news that his grandfather had succumbed to his illness. Had been admiring the spring blooms when they’d learned that rebels from the East had broken through the fortifying walls and were drawing closer by the minute, and where he’d broken fast minutes before spotting black flags that signaled the return of the king’s lifeless body in the distance.

They’re also where he currently stands as he digests the news that life as he knows it is all but over.

“You cannot be serious,” Keiji says, sapphire eyes narrowing as his mother slides a dagger across the table, a grim look on her own face.

He recognizes the emblem. A large open-mouthed lion with a serpent’s tail, paw raised to swipe at a diving owl. It belongs to the Southern kingdom, ruled by a childless widower known for his misogynistic values and tight rule.

“His prowess will settle the tensions once and for all,” his mother says, gaze sharp and unyielding as if she’s addressing one of the generals and not her only child. The same one she’s about to sell into a marriage of convenience to a hairless bastard with erectile dysfunction, thirty years Keiji’s senior.

“It is the only way out.”

Her hands, usually so comforting, feel like rakes clawing at the roots of his hair. And when he finally has had enough of the faux sympathy, he jerks away. Looks into her eyes. Really looks at her, his own heart breaking at what he sees.

The years of rebellion, of rationing and hardship, have done a number on her. And his father’s death had been the final blow. The needle that broke that unwavering poise his mother had exercised since she’d first arrived in the kingdom decades upon decades ago.

Crows feet crinkle at the edges of her eyes and the usual tenderness, the warmth he’s always associated with his mother are far gone. Instead, stands a woman who looks exhausted from carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, about to collapse with the slightest hum of the wind, and he feels a guilty knot build in his stomach.

And so, despite the tears burning in his eyes. Threatening to break free and stream down his cheeks at any moment, he takes a stuttered breath. Nods slowly and picks up the dagger. Turns the courtship offer over and over in his hands before pausing to study the emblem.

The Southern lion stares back at him, chest puffed, eyes piercing strong.

— — —

Spending time with Tooru has always made him feel better. There’s something about the mage’s ever calm and cheerful disposition that has helped pull him out of many a helpless situations and it is exactly what he needs in this moment.

He finds his friend in the medicinal gardens, humming to himself as he harvests nightlock.

Keiji watches quietly from the distance. The way Tooru pauses every few seconds to press his left forearm to his mouth. Forces back the wide smile that keeps seeping onto his face.

They clearly live two very different lives.

“Your Highness,” Tooru says, bowing deeply when Keiji approaches. The ends of his cloak are stained with dirt and he turns to drop a handful of herbs into a basket by his feet before reaching into the worn satchel on his hip.

“Tooru,” Keiji greets, accepting the blush red apple the other omega passes him and rolling it between his palms.

“What brings you here?”

That’s an excellent question. After news of his impending doom had disrupted his morning prayers, he’d taken it upon himself to excuse himself from his lessons. There were bigger worries at play than the drag of his calligraphy brush and closeness of his embroidery stitches.

Still, Tooru looks so serene, surrounded by the rows of flowers, many of which he’s planted himself, that Keiji can’t bring himself to ruin the other’s clearly good mood. So he settles for, “I was just taking a break and wanted to ask if you would accompany me on a walk.”

Tooru brightens at the proposition. Tucks his rusty sheers into his satchel and falls into step beside the prince as they head south, away from the castle and through the palace’s courtyards, the mage stopping every now and then to point out a new improvement he’s made to one essential mechanism or another.

Keiji has to admit, as he listens to Tooru launch into an explanation of a new defense system he just finished lining the walls with a few days ago — many of the previously outdated systems have seen substantial improvement. The exact sort of advancement his father had enthusiastically lobbied for.

And then died.

“Can we stop by the training grounds?” Tooru asks, one foot already extended in its direction before Keiji has a chance to agree. Not that the prince would say otherwise.

“Going to see Sir Hajime?” he asks, the closest he’s going to be able to get to a smile for the near future curling at the edges of his lips when the mage nods, cheeks pink. “Did you not just see him a few hours ago?”

“N—wait, how do you know that?”

“I saw the both of you when I was heading up to the temple this morning.” Exactly one hour before he’d received news that his life was all but over.

He leaves out the part about how he’d paused to watch. The way the rising sun had bled through Tooru’s chestnut brown hair just right, so that it’d looked like he was glowing, his delicate fingers resting on his beloved knight’s broad shoulders.

How he’d pressed his forehead against the alpha’s, words passing between fogged breaths, too quiet for anyone but the other to hear.

How Sir Hajime had held his slim waist between his palms, thick fingers digging into the other’s soft skin.

And how they had both looked so absolutely blissfully unaware of the rest of the world, too wrapped up in each other’s embrace. A picturesque scene that wouldn’t have looked out of place in any of Keiji’s fantasy novels.

Tooru looks at the prince curiously and Keiji clears his throat before gesturing towards the stairs that lead down into the training grounds, the sound of metal clanging against metal rising to their ears. “Shall we?”

— — —

The royal knights have been at it for hours, if the discarded piles of bent weapons and excess armor is anything to go by.

Keiji curls his fingers over the balustrade, eyes honing in on the alpha Tooru had come looking for.

The knights have just gathered in a semi-circle facing their commander, eagerly listening to whatever he has to say.

It must be rousing, Keiji concludes when the alphas explode in a round of raucous jeers, and then one of the squires on the far right edge of the circle is being shoved forward.

The knights hoot loudly. Slap the squire on the back as he picks his way to Sir Hajime, comes to a stop at attention, his right arm crossed over his body, fingers curled around the grip of his sword.

Sir Hajime looks over the squire before saying something else and then the knights are backing away in an eerily synchronized manner. Spreading out to form a large circle around the pair and hooting when Sir Hajime draws his longsword.

“Oh, he is so handsome,” Tooru sighs dreamily as he crowds in against Keiji for a better view.

Keiji agrees silently. As far as looks go, Sir Hajime was definitely favored by the Goddess.

His face is smooth, his jaw sharp. His hair tends to flop endearingly into his stormy green eyes and Keiji has heard his omega comrade wax poetic about them on more than one occasion.

Not that he blames Tooru in the least. How could he when the mage’s beloved alpha towers over the majority of his men, the very small deficit accounted for by thick stocky muscles that bulge when he raises his weapon. Instructs his opponent to do the same, brows furrowed in deep concentration.

The surrounding knights roar loudly as the two men begin to circle one another, shoulders square and forward, their legs slightly bent.

The squire chooses to attack first. Lunges forward as he thrusts his broadsword at his commander’s chest, stumbling when Sir Hajime parries it with little effort and steps to the side.

The squire pivots on his heel. Grasps the handle with both hands and swings at the other once more. And yet again, Sir Hajime swats the blow away as though it were a pesky fly, shifting just enough to follow-up with a well aimed kick to the squire’s side, sending the lithe body flying five feet back.

“Is this all we’ve taught you?” he bellows, voice echoing off the cobbled walls of the courtyard.

Tooru pushes up on his toes in rapt excitement. He’s nearly halfway over the barrier now and Keiji steps closer, prepared to intervene were the other to fall.

“Kick his ass, Commander!” one of the onlooking knights jeers and the others roar in agreement, pounding their feet appreciatively when Sir Hajime finally attacks. Swings his sword down on the squire who narrowly rolls away, his commander following relentlessly.

He brings his sword down harder and faster, lips pursed as the squire continues to roll away. Loses his weapon in sheer desperation to keep his head.

“Imagine what would happen if Iwa-chan were fighting at even thirty percent of his capacity,” Tooru says, biting back a smile at the squeal that follows another well-aimed kick, this time to the squire’s chest.

Keiji nods, flinching when Sir Hajime brings his sword down once more. Nearly decapitates his recruit in the process.

“Your weapon! Get your weapon!” another one of the more seasoned knights calls and the squire screams as though he’s being murdered before rolling away once more.

“I’m trying! He won’t let me stand!”

“You think the enemy is going to let you call a timeout to retrieve your sword, fool?” Sir Hajime sneers, though he does swing slow enough to allow the other to lunge to his feet.

“Get it!”

The younger man manages to grab his weapon, to his benefit, all bystanders conveniently ignoring the lack of strength and speed behind the Commander’s following swings.

Regardless, the squire falls back. Raises the weapon in front of him and assumes a defensive stance, body crouched forward in anticipation. The rest of the pit falls silent as the pair begin to circle one another once more.

“You’re too impulsive,” Sir Hajime says, adopting a similar stance, though he looks far more at ease. “Not a bad tactic, but if you’re going to do it, you have to be positive you’ll actually stick the landing.”

He feints a forward jab with his sword, lips quirking when the squire stumbles back, clearly on edge. “And don’t be flailing around all over the place. Makes it too easy to control the flow. Remember, you want to lead, not follow.”

He brings his sword across his body, sharp and precise. “Focus, you’re running away.”

“Commander, you’ll kill me if I’m not careful,” the squire complains, but makes sure to step to the right instead of back, eyes locked on the other’s weapon.

“Should’a joined the healers if you wanted to be such a pacifist,” one of the observing alphas catcalls and the others erupt into laughter. “I’m sure Mage Tooru would have a field day with you.”

An icy chill drapes itself over the courtyard and Keiji finds his own body stiffening when Sir Hajime turns to address the alpha who had spoken, sword half drawn from his side, brows narrowed. “Mage Tooru would not have been as patient as me.”

The previous teasing lilt to his voice is gone and Keiji swallows twice as he watches all of the knights shuffle in place nervously. Beside him, Tooru shifts with anticipation.

“Mage Tooru could wipe out the lot of you with one wave of his arm. Don’t let his beauty fool you. He exercises more power in one pinky than all of your bodies combined.”

Absolute silence follows as the alpha comes to a standstill. Watches closely as his squire continues to circle.

“Commander, I didn’t mean—” the knight who had first spoken starts nervously, only to straighten his posture and look at his feet when Sir Hajime interrupts, tone icy cold.

“I know exactly what you meant and allow this to be your only warning: do not let me hear you speak ill of the mages ever again. They are what separates you from life and death on the daily and I will not tolerate any slander against them.”

He pins the squire with a steely gaze, lips barely moving when he says, “You either attack or defend. Choose. Now.”

The squire squeaks, mouth opening and closing silently, and Sir Hajime narrows his eyes.

“Defense it is.”

And then he’s moving. Faster than the speed of light. The sound of metal clanging against metal ringing out across the pit, overlapped by the squire’s labored breaths, his exhausted grunts as he tries to keep pace with Sir Hajime’s strength.

It’s a good faith attempt and he lasts far longer than Keiji would have ever anticipated, but eventually, fatigue wins out and the sword flies from the younger alpha’s hand. Bounces off the stone wall surrounding the pit as its wielder collapses with a thud of finality.

Silence overlays the arena for a few seconds and then the knights erupt in a celebratory howl. Surge forward to drag the squire to his feet. Slap him on the back and praise him for holding his own against their leader before surrounding Sir Hajime to congratulate him on his win.

The Commander looks as though he’s barely broken a sweat, a stark contrast to his comrade who’s clearly on the verge of fainting.

Sir Hajime, to his chivalrous nature, closes the two feet between them. Holds out a hand that his opponent shakily takes before saying, “Don’t look so down. You did well.”

“Held your ground better than Yutaro did his first time,” the alpha who had previously commented on the mages guffaws.

“You’re awfully chatty today, Kenji,” Sir Hajime raises a brow as the squire hobbles off to the sidelines. “Running your mouth on every topic under the sun like a goddamn Scholar and pissing off anyone who could ever be bothered to save your sorry ass. Perhaps I haven’t worked you hard enough today. Ten!”

All the other knights groan loudly and lazily swat Sir Kenji as they head to the sidelines to prepare for a grueling afternoon.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru calls before Keiji can stop him, waving furiously at the victorious knight. Said knight turns and squints in their direction, a wide smile spreading across his face as he waves back. Crosses the field and starts to climb the steps two at a time.

“Your Highness,” he says as he comes to a stop, right hand fisted over his heart, head bowed in respect to the prince. Keiji raises his chin in dismissal and watches as the knight relaxes. Turns to Tooru, that same easy going smile spread across his face. “What are you both doing here?”

Sweat beads his hair, slips down his forehead up close, and Keiji takes the way Tooru steps into the knight’s proximity. Cups his jaw and thumb over his cheek, completely unperturbed by the dampness on his palm and presses his lips against the alpha’s as the true testament to their love.

He looks away to offer some semblance of privacy, though it’s futile considering how they’re still curled around one another when he turns back.

“His Highness wanted to go for a walk,” Tooru says, gesturing in Keiji’s direction. “I decided to tag along.”

The knight hums as he wraps a thick arm around his omega’s waist before surveying Keiji with a raised brow. “Is everything alright? You don’t usually frequent the training grounds.”

That much is true. He prefers to keep to the libraries and gardens, for the most part. But he had desperately needed a friend today. Someone who would make his simple decisions without any malice, distract him from the uncomfortable thoughts racing through his head, and that person had been Tooru.

He wonders briefly if the knight knows more to his situation than he’s letting on. After all, a marriage of convenience would benefit the entire kingdom and as the Commander, Hajime would be the first to be alerted of any upcoming strategic advantages or need for better defense.

He bites his lip as he returns the knight’s steady gaze, eyes jotting between him and his bemused omega friend, before nodding slowly. “Yes. I just needed to clear my head.”

“Ah,” Sir Hajime nods and thankfully, drops the topic. Instead he turns back to Tooru. “I know you’re awfully busy, but we’ve run out of your healing salve, and those fools are definitely going to need it after I’m done with them.” He sweeps an exaggerated arm over his soldiers, all of whom are sprawled out across the dusty ground, pouring water over their sweat slick bodies in preparation for the worst.

Tooru smiles brightly. “Well, a batch takes forty-eight hours to prepare, but I can get started on it today. And you can send anyone who needs urgent care to the apothecary; I can heal them with—”

“Do not waste your mana on any of these idiots, no matter how much they beg tonight,” Sir Hajime replies through gritted teeth. “It’s damn time they learned some respect.”

“You’re really willing to let your men suffer over a lighthearted joke?”

“Wasn’t a joke. And they should know better than to speak your name from their filthy mouths; I think it’s time for some tough love. I’ve clearly gotten too soft.”

Tooru giggles. Pushes up on his toes to kiss the knight once more before resting his head on his firm shoulder. “My knight in shining armor.”

Something painful twists in Keiji’s chest and he’s more than grateful when one of the less fearful knights whistles lasciviously at the pair.

“Oi, Commander,” Sir Tetsurou drawls, combing a lazy hand through his messy hair. “You should save some energy for the next joust. Unless you want to give us a show, that is. I know I won’t mind.”

Sir Hajime growls under his breath. Turns to glare at Sir Tetsurou who responds with the confident shit-eating grin of a soldier who’s fought one too many near-death battles by his commander’s side to fear any actual retaliation.

“Keep your fucking panties on. I could take you with one hand,” Sir Hajime retorts before kissing Tooru hard on the mouth once again. “I have to go.”

“Okay,” Tooru says, eyes glistening with that desperate yearning that Keiji has grown so accustomed to.

“I’ll come find you in the evening,” Sir Hajime promises as he steps away. “The apothecary?”

“Yes, I have something to tell you.”

The knight nods seriously before clenching his right fist over his heart. Stomping his right leg and bowing to Keiji deep and low. Heading back to the grounds, strict commands ringing over the pit loud and clear.

“Come, let us leave them be,” Keiji says, cringing as the soldiers respond with the boundless energy of individuals who could march for three days straight without exhaustion, and though it takes a few seconds, he finally manages to coax Tooru away.

— — —

“Something to tell him?” Keiji asks, quirking a brow as they head back towards the castle. “Anything worth my time, perchance?”

He comes to a stop when Tooru does. Looks concernedly at his friend who is twiddling his thumbs.

“Well? Please do not tell me I should be worried.”

“No!” Tooru says, cheeks reddening when he realizes how loud he’s being. “No, nothing to be worried about.”

“Well?”

He can hear the echo of the knights’ enthusiastic calls as they join formation drifting across the courtyard. In the distance, the head cook’s twins come barreling out a side door, carrying a fluffy white cat with a pink bow. The sound of their giggling fades as they take to an empty corridor, sprinting full speed ahead.

“I think — I think I’m going to ask Iwa-chan to claim me,” Tooru says, voice so soft that Keiji has to replay his words a few times to comprehend what he’s saying.

Claim. Claim.

Claim?

The entire world feels as though it’s come to a stop, the soft spring breeze intensifying in Keiji’s ears, eyes widening when he finally understands. His best friend. His childhood friend, the one he grew up bunking lessons with—

“Praise the Goddess.”

“I know,” Tooru says, cheeks still flushed.

“Praise the Goddess!”

“Say something else, please.”

“When?”

There’s a lump growing in Keiji’s throat. Different from the one before. And he takes a moment to look at the other. Really look at Tooru and appreciate the way he’s blossomed into the beautiful omega before him, truly befitting of being the Commander’s mate.

“Tonight,” Tooru says, steadfast.

“You’re not going to have a claiming ceremony?”

“I’m not you, Your Highness,” Tooru says, a faraway smile unfolding over his face. Dreamy and incandescent, like someone completely removed from the cruelties of the world. “My womb doesn’t carry the fate of the kingdom. No one cares who or when or how I mate. And I want him. I just want Iwa-chan. If he’ll have me.”

“He would be insane not to,” Keiji finds himself saying and he means it.

Tooru is his closest friend in the world. Possibly his favorite and definitely one of the best. It’s clear Sir Hajime adores him and if there were ever two people fated for one another, Keiji is positive it would be them.

He’s just about to double down on just how much he adores the other. Sing his praises and underscore his genuine belief that Tooru deserves a happy ending when Mizoguchi steps out from a diagonal hall. Taps his wrist and looks pointedly at the prince, a silent reminder that Keiji is late to his lessons and has obligations that don’t involve riding off into the sun.

— — —

Lessons go just about as expected. Keiji isn’t quite sure what the purpose is anymore, given that he’s about to be traded like prized cattle in a fortnight. Still, he makes nice with his tutor who has no fault in his rotten luck and struggles through calligraphy followed by an hour of war theory and then classics.

“Perhaps we should stop here,” Mizoguchi sighs when he catches Keiji staring wistfully out at the rose garden for the hundredth time.

Keiji gathers his belongings without any protest and heads for the dining hall just as the sun is dipping behind the horizon.

His lessons tend to run late and he’s grown accustomed to eating alone. Looks forward to it, actually, as it is the only time he’s able to read for pleasure.

His most recent obsession is one he’d heard a few of the maids giggling about. An indulgently long story about a kingdom far, far away. An omega prince whisked away by a rebel clan on his wedding day, who slowly grows to love the rogue alpha who kidnapped him.

He keeps the copy at the back of his bookshelf, the cover swapped with one belonging to an older war theory textbook to minimize gossip. Partakes in a few pages whenever he has some free time and is just mulling over where he’d left off when he collides with something firm.

“My sincerest apologies, Your Highness,” Sir Hajime says as he turns to face the prince, head already dropped in excessive remorse. Two of his fellow knights peer out from beside him and Keiji feels his cheeks grow hot.

“No, no. It was my mistake,” the prince begins, scrubbing a frustrated hand over his face. “I failed to watch where I was stepping.”

Sir Hajime purses his lips as he takes in the prince’s clearly ragged disposition. The way his hair isn’t tamed as normal and the way he probably looks as though he hasn’t slept for days. “May I ask where you were headed?”

“Dining hall,” Keiji replies watching as the knight’s brows stitch together.

“Allow me to escort you.”

“That is not necessary.”

“Pardon my insolence, but I must insist,” Sir Hajime says, extending his right arm and Keiji sighs before looping it through his own.

The other two knights head off with respectful bows and Keiji nods before gesturing for Sir Hajime to lead the way.

They walk in silence for a few minutes and Keiji is just letting his thoughts drift back to his novel when Sir Hajime clears his throat. “I apologize for my boldness, but the queen has requested heightened security measures. I could not leave you in good faith to wander the corridors by yourself at this hour.”

Keiji scoffs. “It is barely sundown, and besides, I assure you that I am more than capable of defending myself.”

“And I do not doubt that. Still, your safety is my utmost responsibility and with the most recent developments—”

Keiji comes to a pause at this. Pulls his arm away and narrows his eyes at the knight. “So you know.”

Sir Hajime opens his mouth to protest. Closes it, once then twice before clenching his jaw and nodding slowly.

He feels as though a bucket of ice water has been dumped over his head. The magnitude of reality finally settling over him and he swallows a deep breath to steady himself.

“Who else?”

“Sir Tetsurou and Sir Keishin,” Sir Hajime answers truthfully. “The queen wanted to limit the number of people who knew.”

“Sounds like she already told plenty,” Keiji snaps, venom and bile rising in his throat. “Funny how you lot knew before me. Does Tooru know?”

“No, Your Highness.”

And for some reason, that small mercy is what holds Keiji together.

Tooru doesn’t know. Tooru, his best friend, the most free-spirited, lively person he knows. The only individual in this wretched place who walks to the beat of his own drum. Who has always indulged in the reverie that he would mate for love, convinced Keiji of the same. Treated the prince as an equal and not a superior — at least he doesn’t know.

Won’t look at Keiji with absolute pity as he curls himself around his precious knight’s arm. Kisses Hajime the way the characters in Keiji’s novels do before embarking on a life filled with peace and tranquility.

“Your Highness?”

Keiji shakes his head to reorient himself before turning to face forward. “Escort me to the dining halls.”

— — —

Sir Hajime looks full of apprehension when they finally make it to the hall’s entrance. Steps away from the prince, both hands curled around the hilt of his sword and drops his head respectfully. “I apologize for any unease I may have caused.”

Keiji turns to the knight, eyes glazing over his hardened hands and muscular build and the way the back of his neck is exposed in absolute submission. Bites the inside of his cheeks to refrain from chewing him out.

It isn’t the knight’s fault that he’s in this predicament and Sir Hajime has always been nothing shy of respectful and chivalrous. The knight of all knights, willing to give his life for the crown, blindly throwing himself into the mouth of danger to keep the royal family safe. The fact that he’s been cued into this mess, most likely deliberated with prior to any decisions being finalized, and has kept his knowledge private from his omega, suggests that there are greater stakes at hand.

Keiji shakes his head as he tells the other as much before pushing past the door, needing his novel, any paltry escape that will allow him to quiet the roaring thoughts in his head for a moment, now more than ever.

All plans of visiting a kingdom far, far away are immediately thwarted by the presence of his mother, however, the queen looking up grimly as he crosses the floor to the long dining table

“What is it?” Keiji asks, a chill crawling up his spine as he studies the queen’s face. Is acutely reminded of the fact that she is a ruler first and his mother second.

“Come,” the queen says, gesturing to the open seat beside her.

Keiji obeys. Watches warily as she pours him a glass of wine, allows the servants to plate his main before disappearing like ghosts.

The chipped sound of cutlery clinking against bone-china is deafening and he watches as his steak bleeds out across his plate, staining the white ceramic. It’s been a while since the queen has joined him for dinner, choosing to take her meals in her chambers more often than not since his father’s passing.

“How were your lessons?” His mother finally chooses to break the silence after a quarter of an hour has passed. The permanent knot in Keiji’s stomach twists painfully and he places his knife down before looking her directly in the eye.

“Really? That is what you wish to speak to me of?”

His mother ignores the outburst. “Mizoguchi-san tells me that you have moved on to covering monster wars. That is wonderful — you must be prepared to act in the face of any adversity, human or not. In fact—”

“Mother, what is going on?” he interrupts, too tired for casual pleasantries. Especially, in a situation he knows he won’t be able to bat his eyes and charm his way out of.

The queen sighs as she reaches for her goblet. Drinks deeply before setting it down, the red wine staining her upper lip.

“The wedding has been moved up.”

And for what feels like the millionth time that day, Keiji feels as though another bucket of icy water has been dumped over him. He clenches his hands into fists, eyes focused on the way the stream of blood is mixing with the fat on his plate, before seeping into his rice.

“When?” he asks, refusing to look at the older woman.

He hears the tell-tale sound of his mother imbibing once again. And when she finally answers there is nothing but pity and pure unadulterated exhaustion in her voice.

“Two nights from today.”

— — —

If he were a character in a novel, now would have been the time to make his grand escape. Saddle up his horse and flee into the darkness of the night. Leave behind his duties and commitments, the privileged life he had been born into, and think only of himself and his happiness.

He isn’t a character in a storybook, however, and the heightened security Sir Hajime had previously spoken of, he’s just realizing, was primarily meant to keep Keiji within the walls rather than any danger out.

He swears unbecomingly as he heads for the stables, boots pounding harshly against the floor, his entire being no longer able to practice the demure poise he’s exercised since before he could walk.

Curses. Curses on his entire existence, his father’s and mother’s, too. This bloody institution known as royalty, the crown. He didn’t ask to be born into this wealth and luxury and he hates, he hates his parents for bringing him into it as well.

His breath catches in his throat as he pauses outside the stable, tears beading at the corners of his eyes as his thoughts pause on his father. On his genteel smile and protective hand. The way the man would have given anything to ensure Keiji’s safety, his happiness, and Keiji misses him. He misses him so fucking much. Wishes with all his heart and soul that he could somehow turn back time. Stop his father from armoring up and boarding that final vessel and leaving Keiji here by himself to deal with the absence himself.

His father’s warhorse, Talon, greets him with a loud whiny and he spends a good portion of the hour petting the beast, forehead pressed to its muzzle, sobs erupting from his chest in painful, drawn out bouts.

Eventually, the smell of manure and exhaustion wears out and he crosses over to the other side of the yard. Makes his way into the stockroom and crawls into the little nook he’d made for himself as a child. The place he’d escape to when the thoughts would become too loud, his mother’s insistent chastising that he hold his brush firmer, study for his exams harder, sit up straighter, blurring together until he was clenching at his hair, screaming soundlessly into the universe, begging for some peace and quiet. Just a moment of silence.

It’s set strategically into the wall. Shrouded by a thin layer of gossamer fabric that a much younger Tooru had charmed for one-way sight — anyone sitting inside the nook could see out, but not vice-versa.

Keiji exhales shakily as he falls back against a rough hay bale. Scrubs a tired palm over his face as he props his book up against his knees. Pulls it open and settles in to completely immerse himself, only to startle when he hears footsteps followed by the sound of a door being thrown open a few minutes later.

By force of habit, he shuffles back into the cranny. Pulls his cloak tighter around himself and hunches his shoulders in preparation of being dragged out of his hiding place by some overly zealous knight sent to find him like a trained bloodhound.

That is, until he hears a familiar giggle.

He peers out over the frame, fabric billowing in the breeze, as he confirms what he just heard with his eyes.

Tooru radiates absolute joy as he rests his arms on Sir Hajime’s shoulders, the two of them swaying back and forth to some melody only they can hear, shifting from foot to foot as they gaze into each other’s eyes, clearly partially inebriated.

Tooru laughs loudly when he takes a step forward, further into the stockroom, and Sir Hajime grabs his wrist. Tugs him back towards his sturdy body, the mage’s back hitting his chest, and drags his lips along his soft shoulder, up the side of his throat and across his jaw before guiding their mouths together.

It’s far more intimate than Keiji has ever seen them and he clutches his fingers in his cloak, heat rising to his cheeks when his friend moans against the other’s mouth. Curls his fingers in the knight’s tunic and presses closer.

Sir Hajime is a sturdy alpha. A force to be reckoned with, passionate and driven in all his comings. So it is unsurprising when he reaches down to cup the omega’s ass, thick fingers digging possessively into the other’s skin, pupils dark.

Tooru responds enthusiastically. The way any enamored omega would and should — that is, by leaning into the alpha’s touch, shoulders drooped to appear tinier, more submissive, his own elbows steady on the other’s shoulders.

He laughs light and loud when the alpha murmurs something obviously salacious, Sir Hajime curling his lips back to reveal a wolfish grin.

The knight’s expression makes him look so much younger, so boyish and free-spirited, much more relaxed than Keiji has ever see him and Tooru titters breathlessly when the alpha continues to speak, interspersing his words with sharp nips and kisses to the mage’s jaw, hands wandering and grabbing every which way. Pawing at the omega through the layers of fabric, his back, his stomach, his ass, touch grazing over his scent glands, lips following after, only to growl playfully when Tooru smacks his chest.

He doubles down with something else that elicits a similar reaction, except this time, he manages to catch the omega’s wrist. Brings it to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss over his pulse before pushing forward. Dragging his mouth upward, sloppy kisses to Tooru’s forearm, the inside of his elbow, the corner of his mouth.

“Wait, wait,” Tooru says, laughing when Sir Hajime tugs him in for a more proper, deeper kiss. “Iwa-chan, wait, listen to me.”

“Now what?” Sir Hajime asks, voice gravelly as he separates just a hair’s width, eyes still pooling with unadulterated lust.

Keiji feels a lump rise to his throat, his stomach twisting uncomfortably in a way he’s never experienced as he watches Tooru take the knight’s hands between his own. Turn them so that the palms face down and slowly bring them to his mouth, his alpha watching silently but mesmerized. A little confused as Tooru kisses over each and every knuckle. Every last scar.

“Tooru,” he starts, only to fall silent when Tooru finally peeks up at him. Uses those beautiful eyes, those long lashes that have rendered countless alphas speechless, Sir Hajime no different than the rest, and says, “I want you to claim me.”

Oh, shit. Keiji had completely forgotten about that part. What, with his impending wedding, pacifist attitude towards war theory, and complete oversight of the fact that they’re in a barn for fuck’s sake.

“You can’t be serious,” Sir Hajime says and Keiji wholeheartedly agrees with the sentiment.

“You don’t want me?” Tooru asks and though his voice is teasing, Keiji can detect an undertone of uncertainty.

Sir Hajime can sense it too and immediately backpedals. Grabs onto the omega and holds him close to his chest, his own scent permeating every inch of the room as he releases calming pheromones to counteract the other’s unease.

It’s dizzying and Keiji reaches out to steady himself against the concrete wall, breath coming in shallow gulps as he’s assaulted by the overpowering stench of a virile alpha, fighting to control his inner beast.

“Of course I want you. Why would you even think otherwise?”

“Then, why do you sound so shocked?”

“Because—because there’s a proper way to do things,” Sir Hajime replies as he turns the omega in his arms. Holds him steady by the shoulders. “I just wish you had told me sooner, so I could have planned something. Tooru, we’re in a goddamn barn. You can’t just tell me you want to bond — I’ll do it right here.”

The alpha’s pheromones are oozing with underlying frustration and he makes a slightly wounded noise when Tooru drags his eyes over his face, fingers hesitant as he reaches up. Drags them along the alpha’s cheek. Allows the other to lean into his touch. “I want you to.”

“But I don’t want that for you!” the knight exclaims and he sounds truly troubled. Keiji grabs the edge of his cloak and presses it firmly against his nose as he watches Sir Hajime cup Tooru’s jaw. Tilt his head back so they’re staring eye to eye, his own fingertips gently caressing the scent glands behind the omega’s ear.

“I don’t want to claim you here! You deserve so much more — a proper bed, some atmosphere. If you had just told me when you came to see me earlier, I would have prepared a blanket at least. Some flowers. We could have gone down to the riverbank or gotten a room in the village or something. Instead—”

His breath hitches when Tooru begins to nuzzle his palm. Slowly kisses it, long lashes fluttering against his skin in a manner that is telltale of the fact that he’s about to get his way.

“I don’t need a blanket, Hajime,” he says, voice steady and soft as he drags his kisses along the other’s hand. Takes the tip of Sir Hajime’s pointer finger and sucks it between his lips, and then does the same to his thumb. “I don’t need flowers. The only thing I need is you. You and your bite riiiiight here.”

He guides Sir Hajime’s free hand to his throat at that. Places it at the hem of his collar as he simultaneously pulls the fabric away.

Sir Hajime’s eyes dilate when they land on the omega’s scent gland. That sensitive patch of folded skin that only mates are ever allowed to see. Tooru’s are marred with old bruises and scars. Thick love bites the other no doubt left.

Commoner couples are able to engage in intimacy more freely and one look at Tooru’s body would prove that it’s a liberty that he takes great joy partaking in.

Ever since the knight began to formally court him, his porcelain skin has been far from smooth.

Keiji has seen them. Thick marks trailing up his legs, his thighs. Across his chest and the back of his neck. Stark evidence of an omega who has lost his modesty, his morals, and — dare Keiji say it — his mind.

And the worst part is his friend does not seem to care. Has never once tried to cover them up. Not like the noble omegas who’ve sworn purity before the Goddess, only to turn their backs on their oath once a handsome alpha catches their eye, trading prudence for passion and lying through their teeth when questioned about their purity on their wedding day.

No, Tooru has never bothered to hide his love for his alpha. The way the two seem to live and die for one another. Two lovers who breathe the same air, their hearts beating as one, just like the legends the bards sing of.

“Tooru…” Tooru silences the alpha with a chaste peck on the lips. Shifts the neck of his tunic so that his entire scent gland is exposed.

“Please, Hajime? You promised you’d give me anything I wanted. And I’m asking — please, I want your bite. I want to be your mate.”

The responding growl makes Keiji want to double over and he squeezes his knees together as the scent of a rutting alpha assaults his senses.

Sir Hajime yanks Tooru towards himself. Forces him into a violent kiss that is far too passionate, all teeth and tongue and spit, the scene so incredibly visceral that it makes Keiji want to present.

Instead, he bites down on his bottom lip, hard enough that he nearly draws blood and watches Tooru purr happily, eyes closed as he grips onto the alpha’s thick shoulders. Allows the other to semi-lift him and carry him back towards a free bale of hay. Lay him down and scramble on top, lips still pressed together.

Sir Hajime isn’t in an actual rut, Keiji realizes — he’s far too in control of his actions for that. Every touch thought-out. Purposeful and intentional. From the way he lifts Tooru to unlace his cloak and spread it across the bale to the way he holds the omega to his chest with one arm, embrace so incredibly tender when he lowers him back down.

He isn’t in a rut, but Tooru has somehow managed to coax out the pheromones that would suggest he is. Suggest that being in sheer proximity of Tooru, the mere mention of having him as a mate, has the usually stoic knight so worked up that his body is responding in the most primal way possible.

Truth be told, Keiji isn’t even surprised. Tooru has always had this effect on alphas. Curried favor with any and everyone he’s ever been acquainted with.

Keiji has numerous memories from when they were younger. When Tooru would join him for lessons, the king and queen adamant that Keiji forge long-lasting relationships with his future court early on.

He remembers how Tooru was particularly talented. At said lessons and getting the pair of them out of them. How he was able to wriggle his way into the hearts of each and every one of their tutors with his big brown eyes, sweet scent, and thoughtful compliments.

As they grew older, experienced the throes of their first heats, he would often show up to lessons with flowers in his hair. Shiny little trinkets and homemade sweets. Gifts from admirers that he would eagerly share with the prince.

So, it was no surprise that he alone was able to charm the guarded knight in his arms. Managed to wrap the other around his little finger with no choice but to worship the ground he walked on. Because that is just who Tooru is. An insurmountably lovable individual with the enviable ability to have anyone and anything he wants.

Sir Hajime groans as he begins to work the omega’s shirt off. Helps Tooru rise, a possessive arm curled around his back, their mouths still joined as he grabs at the hem. Pulls it off in one swift movement before tugging the omega up and into his lap, right arm holding him steady as he starts on his boots.

Tooru squeals exhilarated when Sir Hajime turns him sideways in his lap roughly. Shoves the boot to the ground and then his socks. Thick, knee-high woolens, sheer white cuffed in lace.

“Your turn,” Tooru huffs breathlessly, eyes glittering with excited anticipation, perfectly manicured nails catching Keiji’s eye as the mage grabs at his mate’s tunic. Shucks it off and blindly tosses it to the side, absolute joy radiating from every part of his being as he ruffles the other’s hair, tumbles back onto the bale with joined laughter and hard kisses.

Keiji feels a thick pulse in his throat, his stomach turning over on itself when his gaze lands on Sir Hajime’s back. On the long scratches carved deep into the thick muscle, angry red. Scars that line up perfectly with each one of Tooru’s fingers. Allude to a cruel but well fought battle if Keiji didn’t know better. Hadn’t seen, time after time, how Hell would freeze over before the knight allowed another to land a mark on him. How only Tooru had been granted that privilege.

Some of the scars are scabbed over, most pink and raw. Stark testaments to the omega’s own innate possessiveness. His love for the handsome alpha he spends all of his waking hours thinking of.

The feeling in Keiji’s stomach only tightens as Tooru takes the knight’s face between his palms. Squeezes his cheeks as he places chaste kitten pecks on the other’s mouth, eyes glimmering eagerly.

Sir Hajime smiles against the touch, his own palm cupped around the back of the other’s hand, the sound of their mouths joining and parting so fucking loud, so fucking visceral. Dirty and sloppy and wet, growing more heated with every passing moment.

“Needy,” Sir Hajime murmurs when they finally part, his mouth a hair’s width from the other’s.

His rough fingers drag across Tooru’s pale clavicle. Over his chest, down his stomach, and over his groin, curling as they dip between his folds.

Tooru responds with a loud whine, high-pitched and drawn and then the knight is dropping down from the hay bale, knees pressed to the hard concrete floor.

Keiji feels faint as he watches the alpha hike Tooru’s legs up over his shoulders. Kiss his right ankle, the inside of his knee, Tooru’s breaths growing more harsh, more staccato, the higher the knight’s lips stray.

This would be a horrible place to be caught, Keiji finds himself thinking as he leans a bit further out of his nook, curiosity getting the best of him, despite the sirens in the back of his mind telling him to stop.

It’d earn him the unenviable title of a peeping tom. One who gets aroused watching his subjects mate. And yet, he can’t help it. The pheromones in the air mixed with his own lack of experience have gotten the bet of him.

As someone of royal blood, he has yet to lie with another. Every one of his heats has been spent alone sobbing into his silk pillows, his nursemaid denying him the heat toys the commoner omegas have access to out of fear of desecrating his purity.

His knowledge of mating is limited to what he’s picked up in passing. There is a certain decorum the palace servants maintain in his presence, so it’s been up to him to piece the crumbs together. And if he’s correct, Sir Hajime is about to—

“Oh!” Tooru moans, unrestrained and dirty when the knight’s mouth finds his cunt, fat and wet and so, so pink.

Keiji presses a palm over his own pubic bone to force back the warmth that pools between his own legs in response.

“Oh!” Tooru gasps again. And this time, his fingers find their way to Sir Hajime’s hair. Clench the the short spiky hairs as he presses the alpha’s face firmer again his cunt.

Sir Hajime grunts loudly in response. Lifts his chin just enough to look his omega in the eye. Hold his gaze steady as he drags his tongue over his clit. Once, twice. Laps up the slick sopping lewdly from the omega’s cunt, thick and rich, tongue flattening before he purses his lips around his clit and sucks hard.

Tooru screams, hips rising in response, the start of desperate tears trailing down his reddened cheeks as he thrashes in the alpha’s relentless hold.

“Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan.” He chants the alpha’s name like a prayer. As if it is the only word he knows.

His legs pillow the other’s head and he squeezes them together, knees locking behind the alpha’s neck, only to yelp moments later.

The sound pierces through the otherwise silence of the barn as Sir Hajime roughly forces his legs up and back. Parts his cunt and gives it a sweet kiss. And then another. And another.

Tooru wails in response, fingers curling in his fringe as he thrashes wildly in the other’s hold, chest heaving and breath catching in his throat with each additional ministration.

Slick is pouring from his cunt, emerging in thick, white blobs that slip between his folds. Pool at the base of his ass, a dark patch forming on his cloak, reminding Keiji of the way he soaks his sheets on the second day of his heats. And just when he thinks the scene couldn’t get any more obscene, Sir Hajime raises his head once more. Drops his jaw, a thick stream of saliva dripping from between his lips, directly onto Tooru’s sopping hole.

The omega sobs in return, pussy clenching and relaxing around the thread, eagerly drinking it up like a parched flower finding respite in a long-due downpour.

“Alpha,” he whines, when Sir Hajime returns to kissing and licking at his folds. Gathering his slick on the flat of his tongue and slowly dragging it over the expanse of his slit. Allowing his own want to drip back into the omega’s pussy, over and over and over again. “Alpha.”

“Hm?” the knight hums, the pads of his fingers digging deep into the omega’s soft flesh as he continues to lap at his cunt.

“Knot.”

“Knot?”

“I want your knot.” May the Goddess have mercy.

A knot — Tooru asks for it so simply, so eagerly. As though the mere mention of the concept isn’t something that rattles Keiji to his very core.

Based on what the prince knows about knots — they hurt. A lot. Most alphas have to force them. Cleave their omegas’ bodies in two with their girth. Rip them apart until they’re left broken, shaking with agony. And here his friend is, voice on the edge of hysteria for simply being denied the same.

Sir Hajime hums. Presses yet another kiss to Tooru’s clit before burying his entire face in his groin. Inhaling deeply and rasping, “You can’t take my knot yet.”

“Yes, I can,” Tooru whines, breath hitching as the knight drags his nose along his folds. Breathes in deep and dirty, as though he’s trying to commit Tooru’s scent to memory before replying, “No, you can’t. Not the way I’m going to fuck you.”

The words feel like a stab to Keiji’s groin. A sharp throb that travels up the expanse of his spine. Causes him to press his legs together, his own cunt throbbing with want as he watches the alpha kiss and lap at his friend some more.

The mage is a disheveled mess. Eyes blown wide, cheeks stricken with tears. His usually perfectly coiffed hair is slowly beginning to resemble a bird’s next from the constant fisting and Keiji feels his own heart stutter to a a near stop when the omega slowly lolls his head to the side, glassy eyes glazing over his hiding spot.

Thankfully, Tooru’s shrouding charm works, much to the prince’s relief, and his fingers find their way back to Sir Hajime’s hair. Thread themselves through the short strands as he forces the alpha’s lips back to his pussy. Purrs softly as the other resumes his ministrations.

The alpha seems to be almost addicted to Tooru’s taste. Grunts and growls like a famished beast, usual calm demeanor completely deteriorated. In its place remains an animal, completely starved for Tooru, for everything the omega is willing to give it and more.

“So fucking sweet.”

Tooru keens loud and sharp, fingers releasing their hold on the alpha’s hair to curl in the cloak instead. A soft flush has risen to the top of every visible inch of skin and Tooru whines once more before raising his lower back, rolling his hips against the alpha’s mouth.

Sir Hajime makes an approving noise in the back of his throat, lips still pressed to his mate’s leaking cunt, only pulling away every so often to lap up the stray drop of slick slipping down towards the other’s ass.

“Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan,” Tooru chants once more, right hand finding his fringe. He looks as though he’s at odds with himself. A helpless little lamb with zero sense of self-preservation, cheeks burning red, the insides of his thighs bruised. And he continues to call the alpha’s name until finally, finally, his voice breaks with a loud cry.

It’s tangible — Tooru’s pleasure seeps through every last nook and cranny within the dilapidated building. So, so sweet and unabashed and absolutely visceral. A thick ribbon of slick shooting out of him, much of which the alpha manages to swallow down. Drinks as though it is a taste of ambrosia, the nectar of the gods.

The scent blanketing the room is dizzying. Sir Hajime has been slowly releasing his own pheromones in an attempt to cover the omega, claim him in the most intimate way possible. It lends for a pleasant marriage, complimenting notes that interlace to create a potent perfume. Floral and musky and woodsy and lush.

“Are you alright?” Sir Hajime rasps, pressing his lips to Tooru’s groin, the side of his hip, tiny beads of slick lining his upper lip. The omega whines in response, a sharp piercing sound, chest still heaving before nodding slowly. His eyelids are fluttering. Open, closed, and Keiji can only imagine the high he’s currently experiencing.

“You taste so fucking good.” Sir Hajime chuckles as he kisses his pussy once more. The inside of his thigh before rising and Keiji feels faint.

The knight’s cock is swollen in desperate anticipation. Thick and leaking between his legs, inflated at the base half-knot.

He jacks himself off twice using the drops of cum gathered at the tip. Grunts as he kneels on the bale before steadying himself with a gentle hand on Tooru’s stomach, eyes locked with the omega’s.

Tooru reaches out with a trembling hand. Scratches the back of the alpha’s in a silent plea. One that is immediately reciprocated, Sir Hajime palming his hand, helping the omega curl his fingers around his length.

He exhales sharply and lowers himself on top of Tooru, left forearm pressed to the side of his head as he joins their lips once more, and Tooru moans. At the warmth of his alpha, the love of his life, growing steadily in his hand, his own taste coating the other’s lips.

He laps at Sir Hajime’s mouth as if he can’t help himself, stuttered purrs and keens dripping from his mouth the same as his slick, hand moving in tandem with the other’s. Shakily jacking the alpha off with desperation, a silent plea that makes it seem as though any additional delay will cost him his life.

Sir Hajime responds with a litany of bawdy curses and Keiji has to admire his friend’s ability to wholeheartedly enrapture even the strongest, the most chivalrous of knights.

Amongst social circles and across the continent, Sir Hajime is regarded as one of the extensively unflappable and virtuous. The jewel in the Akaashi crown.

There are widespread rumors, the making of legends surrounding the man. Ones that recount his strength, his courage. Regale his harrowing battle with the Red Dragon, his narrow brush with death.

He’s revered so wholeheartedly across the continent that he could have anyone he desires, the prince included. So his near obsessive behavior when it comes to Tooru, while unsurprising, is still jarring to perceive.

Keiji swallows harshly, hand slipping between his legs and pressing down on his groin to force back the heat as he watches the two kiss. The alpha’s nearly doubled in girth, Tooru’s delicate fingers struggling to keep up with the pace the other’s set.

The moans still remain, however. Loud and needy and so, so sweet. As is the scent permeating through the air. Sandalwood mixed with cherry blossom. A match made in heaven.

“Look at me, love,” Sir Hajime says before gently pressing between Tooru’s thighs. He still has one hand wrapped around himself, the other pushing Tooru’s sweaty fringe back off his face.

Tooru moans once more. Hastens his strokes before pressing the leaking head to his hole, slowly guiding the alpha into himself.

Both men hiss in tandem as Sir Hajime pushes inside, the silence of the room magnified by their stilted breaths.

They’re both looking at each other in a way that clearly relays something that can never be voiced, gazes so powerful, so penetrating. Almost as if they’re afraid to look away out of fear of losing the other.

A few aching seconds pass quietly as Sir Hajime continues to slowly slide in and when he finally, finally bottoms out, he pauses to tuck a stray lock of hair behind the other’s ear.

He’s wearing the gentlest of expressions, a far cry from anything Keiji could ever expect from the brutish knight. The way he holds Tooru, embraces him, like a delicate porcelain doll. A rare treasure that must be tended to with utmost care.

Tooru makes a soft rumbling noise in the back of his throat. Presses their joined hands to the side of Sir Hajime’s face, the knight’s eyes momentarily fluttering shut, too caught up in the tenderness of the moment.

There’s a light smile dancing at the corners of mage’s lips, widening when Sir Hajime turns his face. Kisses over his pulse, the base of his palm, the side of his thumb.

“Move,” Tooru says softly, breath catching in his throat when the knight concedes almost immediately. Rocks his hips forward before pulling back. Thrusting shallowly into the other’s heat, the pace building steadily.

The aftermath is immediate.

Tooru has always been loud. Someone who is constantly running his mouth amongst his friends, those he trusts. And he is no different in bed.

Sir Hajime grunts roughly when the omega keens. Pulls away from his mate to throw his head back. Present his throat, mouth wide open in a perfectly circular O.

The heat in Keiji’s stomach roars as he watches the pair cling to one another, Tooru digging his heel into the alpha’s bare hip in silent plea, a prayer. For more. More, more, more. And the other delivers with a series of thrusts that causes the omega’s entire body to quiver, slide up along the straw bale with every additional snap of his hips.

“I-Iwa-chan,” Tooru manages, his mate’s name sweet and elongated, the only other noises passing between them that of staggered breaths and the rhythmic pap pap pap of the knight’s hip slapping against Tooru’s groin.

It’s visceral — the crude sounds their bodies make every time Sir Hajime pulls back out to the hilt. Steadies himself before slamming back inside with so much force that Keiji is positive his friend’s insides will be bruised come morning.

The knight alternates long thrusts with quick, shallow ones. Intersperses them with quick kisses pressed to the other’s mouth, his clavicle, his throat. Anywhere he can reach, really. And Tooru responds with just as much desperation.

Locks his ankles behind the other’s back and alternates kissing and hugging the alpha to his chest, fingers skidding across his back, the other’s name slipping off his tongue over and over and over like an upturned pot of freshly churned honey.

Keiji jolts as his fingers skim over his own clothed cunt of their own accord, cheeks burning with humiliation as he takes a stuttered breath. Tries to pull his hand away from himself, head falling back as he continues to touch despite himself, and wonders how it would feel to be loved like this. To anchor himself to one person and one person only. Live and die for them, two halves of a whole. The very manifestation of the legends they were taught as children. The ones that claimed that humans once roamed the world with two heads and four arms and lived in harmony, their contentment the cause for the Goddess’s envy. The reason she split their bodies in half, cursed them to live out the rest of their lives searching for their better half.

Tooru, in particular, had always loved that legend. Took it far more seriously than the rest of their classmates and stared dreamily out the bay-window, confidently proclaiming that his knight would come one day. On a steed with fur as white as snow and sweep him off his feet, nightlock, spider venom, and all.

Keiji’s royal upbringing has lent him many experiences, opportunities that others could only dream of. But as he watches his friend now, crooks his fingers against the dip between his legs, he can’t help the swirl of envy that twists in his stomach. At the way Sir Hajime is looking at Tooru as though he hung the moon. Whispering sweet nothings against his throat that elicit bell-like giggles from the other. The way they’re clinging to one another as though their very existence depends on proximity and the way Tooru’s head falls back, entire throat exposed as Sir Hajime thrusts into him again. Runs his tongue up the length of Tooru’s throat, moaning as he laps up the heady scent that’s risen to the top of his skin.

He’s jealous of his friend. Jealous of how Tooru was able to decide, no demand the alpha of his choice mate him without any exterior influence, no one to question his decisions, or force him to act otherwise. He’s jealous of how he felt Sir Hajime’s fingers on his waist, his lips between his thighs before deciding what he wanted. How the two seem content rolling around on a filthy hay-bale in the middle of the week, content to be in one another’s presence, not needing anything more, anything less.

Keiji wonders what that feels like — he may have power but he’ll never be free like Tooru; he’ll always be a servant to the Crown.

Tooru whines. Extra loud, extra long. And Keiji looks up just in time to see Sir Hajime sit up. Grab the other’s knees. Push his legs up and back, spreading the omega open in the most lascivious manner, thick rivers of slick slipping down into the omega’s pussy.

Something warm leaks between Keiji’s legs and he looks down in horror to see a dark patch pooling against his pants, unfamiliar twinges of heat shooting up his groin, passing through every last vein, down to the tips of his fingers, his toes, before dissipating like an unscratched itch.

He swallows thick and dry, the lump in his throat refusing to budge an inch as he turns back to the pair. Watches as Tooru reaches between his legs. Starts to furiously rub himself in tandem with his alpha’s thrusts, only to cry out when the other slaps his hand away.

“No,” Sir Hajime says as he fully lowers his weight onto the other. Takes one of Tooru’s wrists into each of his hands and kisses him deep and dirty.

The sight of his thick cock, heavy balls shining with his own cum, the omega’s thick slick, is obscene beyond belief and Keiji stares down at his hands. Still pressed between his legs, grazing over his clothed clit, trailing down the valleys of his lips, insistence on pleasuring him even though he desperately wants to stop.

He tries counting sheep. Thinks about the smell of fresh manure or the sigh of dead bodies on a battlefield. The same field his father lost his life on. The one Keiji had visited to collect ash for the the king’s funeral, effectively burning away all reveries of an easy, peaceful life with the fire that turned his father from man to dust. But every attempt proves useless and the unscratched itch remains.

“Alpha, alpha, please don’t stop,” Tooru chants, voice stretched thin and light like a harem courtesan’s. Sir Hajime growls at his words.

“Say that again,” he says, eyes pitch black as he swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. Kisses the inside of Tooru’s knee, the side of his ankle.

“Alphaaaaa,” Tooru sobs, thick tears dripping down the length of his face. “Alpha, I love you. Please don’t stop.”

And that’s it. All it takes. Gone is the patient, chivalrous knight. The one who’d come to them as a meek young boy. Always followed orders, remained undefeated on the battlefield, put honor and virtue about everything else. Steadily climbed his way through the ranks with a calm demeanor and permanent scowl.

Somewhere in between, Tooru had managed to enchant him. Conquered the scrupulous knight who had never so much looked in the direction of another omega. Refused to humor the concept of love.

He’s the same alpha who’s always bowed in Keiji’s presence. Honored hierarchy and valued respect. Head down, a stickler for the rules to a T.

But now, right now? He’s someone Keiji has never met before. A completely different side of him looming over Tooru, an alter ego the prince could have never imagined.

He sucks in a deep breath, presses down on his clit harder as he watches the knight fuck Tooru like an animal. Rutting and grunting and snarling as he pounds into the other, sharp thrusts encouraged by the omega’s sobs. The way Tooru clings to his shoulders, draws his sharp nails down the length of his back, carving new lines into the ones barely healed.

He’s no better, really. The way he’s thrashing and crying, one hand holding the knight close to his body by his neck, the other alternating between scratching up the other’s back and touching himself between his legs, his breath hitching furiously as he rubs himself raw.

He whines indignantly when the alpha regathers both of his wrists. Steadies himself with a hand pressed to the hay by his head, his own breath coming staccato sharp as he continues to fuck himself further and deeper into the other’s body, hellbent on marking, claiming the other and then it happens.

Tooru screams as if he’s being cleaved in two, the echo of his sobs ricocheting off the concrete walls as the alpha forces his knot into him. The base of his cock inflates just as it nestles inside and Keiji feels faint at the sight of Tooru’s usually flat stomach swelling with its girth.

This is followed by a second scream. Just as loud, just as visceral and Keiji forces his eyes up the pair’s body. To where Tooru’s skin has just been torn open, thick streams of blood seeping down the length of his shoulder, his body convulsing with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Sir Hajime’s eyes are wide. Bulging with an intensity the prince has never seen before.

It’s unsettling, the way the alpha’s usually kind and observant green eyes have dilated, his growls muffled against the omega’s skin as he sinks his fangs in deeper. Manages to widen his jaw without pulling away, the large chunk of Tooru’s shoulder still in his mouth.

Tooru whimpers. Hugs the knights close to his chest, thick tears welling in his eyes as two more orgasms, one immediately after the other, course through his body As he continues to rut against the other, desperately tries to pull the knot in deeper.

There’s something so intimately private about the way they move against one another. So much more than the violent fucking Keiji had just been made privy to.

And it only intensifies when Sir Hajime cradles the back of the omega’s head in his palm. Gently guides the other’s mouth to his own shoulder, his own scent gland without pulling away. Thrums his fingers against the other in silent signal to—

“Are you sure?” Tooru stutters through painfully pleasured gasps. He tries to lean back to look his alpha in the eye, but Sir Hajime keeps him steady. Gives a curt nod and a shuddering sigh before unclenching his jaw just enough to deepen his bite. Ensure it never disappears.

Tooru’s own hesitation lasts for half a second before he reciprocates. Drops his lower jaw, lips stretched to form an ‘O’ as he licks them. Once, then twice. Opens and closes his mouth as though he still can’t believe what’s happening.

And then, he drags his tongue up the length of the alpha’s neck. Does it again and again, before pulling it down across the other’s shoulder, over the darkened folds of Sir Hajime’s scent glands.

The alpha’s glands aren’t as pristine as Tooru’s had been, thanks to long hours spent training under the sun. However, it’s obvious Tooru doesn’t mind. In fact, the way he’s kissing and nuzzling the other would suggest that he’s ben bestowed the greatest gift known to man.

Keiji loses track of how long his friend spends grazing the other, but eventually it all comes to a halt.

The only indication Sir Hajime gives is an exaggerated huff, shoulders tensing as Tooru reciprocates the bite and Keiji feels his head spin.

Partnered claims are something of a myth.

For as long as he’s lived, he’s only heard a handful of stories about alphas requesting matching claims, wholly surrendering themselves to their mates.

Claims are meant to indicate possession. Ownership. Are an omega’s way of offering complete submission, complete autonomy to their alpha for life. They allow the claimer to exercise some level of control over their mate and are almost exclusively given by alphas. To allow oneself to be claimed is the epitome of surrender and trust.

Sir Hajime never ceases to surprise him.

True to his nature, Tooru keeps his jaw clamped for what feels like hours, the only sound in the room that of the pair’s harsh breathing.

Eventually, Sir Hajime gives. Releases his bite and licks at the open wound, lapping up any remnants of blood, the neat crescent that will scar and remain on Tooru’s person for the rest of his life, before coaxing the other to do the same with gentle shushes and swipes under his eyes.

Tooru is a full blown snotty mess. Pink eyed and tear-stricken cheeks as he drags the alpha’s face to his own. Kisses harsh, through spit and blood and stuttered purrs, Sir Hajime responding just as enthusiastically. And the only thing he says when they part is, “Thank you, alpha. Thank you.”

Sir Hajime gives him an indulgent smile. A gentle kiss on the forehead that is so reverent, so affectionate, that it makes Keiji’s heart hurt. Reawakens that shy little pup who still lives deep in his chest, clenching his books and watching his peers frolic through the palace gardens, hand-in-hand, sharing hugs and kisses and everything he was forbidden to partake in.

Was constantly reminded of his purpose, his standing in society, and how he must keep himself pristine for his future suitor. That his own prince would one day come. Sweep him off his feet and onto a snowy haired steed, much like Sir Hajime had Tooru, before riding off into a happily ever after. And he feels so deeply for that pup, so much sadness, so much sorrow. Wishes with all his heart, that he could have been given a chance to experience even a fraction of what it’s like to be loved so completely. Without any inhibitions of fear or shame. If even for a second. Mourns a love that was never written in his stars.

“Don’t cry, my love,” Sir Hajime says, dragging a gentle finger down the other’s cheek, across his cheek and over the slop of his nose. His free hand is still fisting the omega’s hair, the messy locks at the top of his crown now, and Tooru only purrs even louder.

— — —

If Keiji had believed the pair to be previously enamored, it is nothing compared to after bonding.

As soon as they’d managed to catch their breaths, the knight’s knot deflating just enough for him to pull it out, accompanied by a thick stream of slick and cum bursting from his mate’s cunt, he’d rolled Tooru onto his knees.

Pulled the aching, exhausted omega up and over and spent a good quarter of the hour with his face buried between his cheeks, Tooru’s mournful cries echoing through the barn, his delicate fingers ripping shreds of hay from the bale as the alpha brought him to the height of pleasure. Over and over and over again. Licked and sucked at his tender pussy, his swollen clit before mounting and fucking him in a way that could only be described as predatorial.

Keiji has long lost count of how many times his friend has fallen over the edge. Sunken to his elbows as he slams his hips back. Sucked the alpha’s knot deeper and deeper into his body, gasping and sighing as the knight alternated between pulling him to his knees, hugging him close, his sweat-slick body, pert nipples and glistening cunt fully exposed to any onlookers, and forcing him back onto all fours, snarling and growling as he thrusts over and over into the other with the virility of a starved, caged beast.

His own cunt continues to throb with want as he watches them copulate for what feels like hours at an end.

It takes a while, but finally, finally, they collapse on the bale. Arrange themselves so they both fit on the mage’s soiled cloak, Tooru’s head resting on the other’s chest.

“I will get you some tea in the morning,” Sir Hajime murmurs, placing his palm tenderly on the omega’s stomach. Rubbing gentle circles over his womb.

Keiji draws in a sharp breath at the mention of the tea. Commoners use it to prevent unwanted pregnancies after their promiscuous escapades — a concept completely unheard of amongst nobility. Sexual encounters are a part of marital duties and noble omegas are meant to birth heirs worthy of continuing their alpha’s lineage. The very thought of interfering with the natural process would send most if not all into a frenzied panic and yet, here the knight is, refusing to force such duties on his new mate.

Given Tooru’s independent disposition, he supposes this would be welcome news, and so he’s equally shocked when the mage shakes his head. Turn’s his face into Sir Hajime’s shoulder and kisses his pec before peering up at his alpha shyly.

“No,” he says softly. “I don’t want it. Not anymore. I’m your mate and I want your pup. I want a family with you.”

He places his own hand on top of the knight’s and squeezes tight. “I hope you will give me one soon and will pray to the Goddess that it has your eyes.”

Those are rousing words if Keiji has ever heard any. And they clearly have the same effect on the alpha if the way he rolls over onto Tooru suggests anything.

“Well, in that case,” Sir Hajime starts salaciously, peppering sopping kisses across the omega’s face, down his chest. Tooru giggles, bubbly and lightheaded, and then a few seconds later, the sound of sloppy kissing resumes.

Keiji huffs loudly before he falls back against the wall. Grits his teeth as he tries to ignore the heat reigniting between his legs, the pool of cool slick beneath him sticky and uncomfortable.

It’s going to be a long night.

— — —

He’s startled awake by a loud bang.

“What in the Goddess’s name are you two doing?” Sir Tetsurou’s incredulous voice fills the small space.

The newly mated pair scrambles for Sir Hajime’s cloak. Quickly throws it over Tooru’s bare body, Sir Hajime shifting so that he’s shielding his omega from his comrade’s leering gaze.

“Looks like someone got lucky last night.”

“Don’t look at him,” Sir Hajime growls. Sits up straighter in an attempt to further shroud his mate. It doesn’t do much, but Keiji supposes it’s the thought that counts.

“You know, Commander, with how much you like to preach and act like you’re better than the rest of us, I would have assumed you’d at least picked a better venue. Then again, I know how persuasive Mage Tooru can be.”

“Get fucked,” Sir Hajime says, annoyance vehement in his tone. “I just mated; I don’t want to see your ugly face. And don’t say his name.”

“Don’t look at him. Don’t say his name — do you hear yourself? What the hell do you want me to call him? My darling?” Sir Tetsurou responds, just as sarcastically.

“At least have some fucking common sense and turn the fuck around.”

“I’m not the one who fucked my omega in a barn,” Sir Tetsurou responds, but then immediately obliges, his wide back facing the pair as they scramble for the remainder of their clothes. Keiji watches out of the corner of his eyes as the alpha bundles his mate into his pants and two layers of shirt — his own tunic settling over Tooru’s.

“Are you alright?” he murmurs, resting his chin on Tooru’s shoulder as the omega quickly laces his cloak under his chin.

Tooru nods, cheeks flushed pink. “Yes, I must have lost track of time. But I’m okay.”

“Why wouldn’t he be okay?” Sir Tetsurou drawls over his shoulder, ruffling his hair messily. “Based off your condition, I can tell he had a grand ‘ole time.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Sir Hajime snarls as he snatches his own pants off the ground and dusts them off. Starts to guide them over his muscular legs, one at a time, followed by his boots. “What the hell do you want?”

“The prince is missing.” Oh, shit. He never went back to his room. “The queen has ordered a search party. We’re departing in ten,” Sir Tetsurou says, finally turning around and glancing over Tooru who, despite his modest dress, still looks and smells like the pinnacle of frivolity and sin. “I know this isn’t the ideal situation, but I would like to offer my heartiest congratulations. I know this has been a long time coming and —”

“Kuroo, get out.” 

The raven haired alpha smiles sheepishly before raking his fingers through his hair once more and nodding. “I will depart with the first search party and let the others know you will be along shortly.”

And with that, he’s gone, the sound of his heavy boots clipping against the stone-paved floor growing distant with each additional step.

Sir Hajime sighs loudly. Drags a heavy hand through his hair, perfectly mimicking his second in command before turning to Tooru, brows furrowed. “I know this isn’t—”

“Iwa-chan, it’s fine.”

“It isn’t fine. It’s—” Sir Hajime starts, only to fall silent when Tooru cups his jaw. Inadvertently causes the alpha to nuzzle into his touch.

“Listen, duty comes first. I get it. I get it. I’m a knight’s omega and the prince is my friend. I’m worried about him. You go, I’ll be fine.”

Sir Hajime still looks hesitant as he turns to kiss the other’s palm. Holds Tooru steady by the wrist before pulling him in close to his chest.

“I’m going, then,” he says, voice laden with longing, as though he’d rather do anything but.

“Go.”

The knight takes a hesitant step back with his right foot. Doesn’t let go. “I will take you somewhere nice tonight. Somewhere clean where we can be alone.”

“I will look forward to it.”

“And I’ll bring you a present.”

“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll love it.”

There’s an awkward pause before Sir Hajime softly mumbles. “I love you.”

It’s heart-wrenching and Keiji feels a sliver of guilt when Tooru beams. Huddles in close to his alpha and peppers a dozen sweet kisses over his face before pressing their mouths together. Kissing him deep and slow, a gentle, “I love you, too,” slipping from his lips when they part.

They remain that way for a few more seconds, foreheads pressed together, breathing in the same air before Sir Hajime finally pulls away. Holds the back of Tooru’s hand to his mouth before turning over his shoulder.

Tooru watches the other depart, a wistful look on his face as he rubs over his stomach and Keiji half expects him to follow his mate out the door.

Which is why, he nearly topples over in shock when the other starts towards him, Cheshire grin on Tooru’s face as he jerks back the gossamer veil, rubs his belly and his claim and smirks, “So, the missing prince likes to watch other people mate, does he?”