Chapter Text
Ferrant's smile was no longer merely sour. No, the first thing that Jaskier thought when his cousin stood over him was that he looked predatory. There was a cocky confidence that barely masked a quiet and calculated hunger that made Jaskier's skin crawl. For six months, Ferrant had lorded his presentation as an Alpha over Jaskier's head, growling and baring his teeth at him and laughing when Jaskier could only respond in the grumbles and yips of a pup. Flashing his status around like a weapon, Ferrant would smirk often rather than smiling, displaying his sharp canines that on occasion dropped into Alpha fangs. He wore impossibly tight trousers with pride, showing off the bulge of his newly formed dick that developed during his presentation, replacing the yet-to-be-specialised anatomy of a pup.
Jaskier's parents never voiced their disapproval. They were too polite and too forgiving to hold Ferrant to account at all, let alone as much as Jaskier thought that he deserved. The two of them were betas who ruled equally with compassion and heart. They took Ferrant in when both he and Jaskier were fourteen after Jaskier's uncle had died, but by then the damage had already been done. Ferrant's sadistic cruelty was irreversible, calcified in his corrupted heart. The only thing that had kept him in line was his clear place at the bottom of the succession line, a place which he had despised with a dark, obsessive passion. One of the things that Jaskier disliked most about his cousin was that where Ferrant lacked any respect for people, he held an unhealthily large amount of it for power.
Now, neither Jaskier, his parents, nor the people of Lettenhove were blind. They all knew that the chances of Jaskier himself presenting as an Alpha were slim to none. He had neither the temperament nor sharp edges of an Alpha, after all. However, he did have the qualities that were common amongst betas. He was charismatic and silver tongued, balanced, and sensible when he needed to be. He had a flair for the dramatics and the arts, but he had an accompanying academic talent in logistics and public relations. Jaskier was supposed to be a beta. His parents thought it. His tutors thought it. He thought it.
If only belief had been enough.
But now, the nobility of Lettenhove had fallen into a silent, desperate panic. Something as simple as the clock ticking into Jaskier's adulthood was enough to twist the careful balance of power like one of the knives that Ferrant kept pristine, just dreaming for an excuse to taste blood. The Pankratz line hadn't seen an Omega in centuries and so the legislation had not been updated to reflect the (admittedly, progressive) views of Jaskier's parents and Lettenhove as a whole. Tradition, once blissfully ignored, had become a honey trap, carelessness dooming Jaskier to future of uncertainty and hardship. As such, Jaskier's heirship slipped quickly, quietly yet solidly onto Ferrant's brow, just like the crown that would one day sit there.
If Jaskier had been someone else, this might not have been so bad. Lettenhove was a kind community, one where the few rotten apples that fell took themselves away to other lands, knowing that any attempts to poison their roots would be unsuccessful. Presenting as Omega in Lettenhove would have been safe if Jaskier was not of noble blood. At worst, he would have been overlooked by one or two headstrong Alphas. But being who he was, he was now something much worse than overlooked. Jaskier had become valuable.
Looking up at the dark shadows in Ferrant's eyes, Jaskier wondered whether his parents hard work all would be undone now, doomed by something as simple as their son's biology. Dread bubbled up in Jaskier's chest, choking him painfully as he struggled desperately to keep his head above the slowly rising waters.
Tradition ignored by ignorance was now very much Jaskier's reality. He cried in his parent's arms, still hot, sweaty and aching after his heat, as Ferrant stood preening.
"Please, Ferrant," Jaskier's father pleaded. His usual gentle beta scent was tinged with distress. "The laws are out of date. Let us change them, please. Jaskier doesn't deserve that fate. No one deserves that fate."
"Julian-" Ferrant stressed Jaskier's given name, lips quirking in a snarl when Jaskier's mother squared her shoulders in irritation, "-can be an asset."
"I am a person." Jaskier snapped, tears clogging his throat a little, dulling the sharp edges to his words, "I'm still-"
"It just so happens," Ferrant interrupted, for all intense purposes looking as if he hadn't even noticed that Jaskier was speaking, "that a friend of mine has recently decided it is time he wed."
Jaskier felt his body tense before the reality of the words really settled over him. A friend of Ferrant's. That would likely mean someone that he knew from before he came to Lettenhove. A noble from the heart of Redania, likely a driving force in the Witch Hunts that were tearing through the kingdom and invoking murmurings of war. People like that – people who carried such powerful prejudices – rarely stopped at one. A life as an Omega of a self-entitled bigot was not one which Jaskier would wish upon anyone. Not even Ferrant, who he sometimes spent evenings daydreaming about him finding himself in various horrible dilemmas.
"Ferrant, please," Jaskier's mother begged, "You can have whatever you want. Power? Sovereign power over Lettenhove if that's what you want. Just let us leave with Jaskier. Let us leave peacefully."
"I will have that anyway," Ferrant said calmly as if he were discussing nothing more than the weather outside. "But with what I'm being offered for his hand, I can have it tenfold."
Jaskier's parent's both stood. Jaskier whined as they left his side, pushing himself up to his elbows on quivering arms. The air felt colder as they stepped towards Ferrant, shielding him as if their bodies would simply be enough to save Jaskier from his future which was looking increasingly dire with each passing second. Jaskier couldn't stop the pathetic shiver that shook through him.
Through the gap between his parents' shoulders, Jaskier could see that his cousin was watching him. There was a satisfied smile ghosting his features and he was leaning back casually against the mantlepiece, toying with an ornate candlestick lazily with long and slender fingers that Jaskier used to be ever so jealous of when he saw the ease of which Ferrant could play the harpsichord or the pianoforte.
"Ferrent," his mother tried again, reaching forwards as if she could reach a far tucked away piece of compassion within his cousin's heart. "Please. You know what this means. You know what they might do to him."
Ferrant didn't even look towards her. His eyes remained fixed firmly on Jaskier. "I know precisely what it means."
"Then you know this is wrong," his father argued, his right hand hitting the palm of his left as if it would accentuate his point, "The laws are outdated. We can change them. The people would-"
"The people?" Ferrant laughed. "The people? My father always said that your love for the people was what made you weak. You've lost your heir. You have me now. I will make Lettenhove prosperous again. I will put us on the map. They will know us. Fear us. Honour us."
Jaskier let out a small little warble sound. It wasn't one that he'd ever made before, and it was so painfully omega that it made Jaskier flinch a little into himself. His parent's scents, as in sync as usual, spiked with a heart aching distress.
"He'll just embarrass us now." Ferrant spat. "I'm proposing a dignified future. Not a disgraceful one."
"Dignified?" His mother's voice was high and alarmed. "Selling him off like a farm animal is not dignified."
Ferrant shrugged, "Livestock holds value. If you're so keen on the comparison, then Julian is just like a prized-"
"Do not finish that sentence," Jaskier's father spat.
Ferrant stood slowly, rolling his shoulders back and cricking his neck before circling Jaskier's parents. When they didn't let him through, he shoved his way between them and crouched down in front of Jaskier. “My friend has been seeking an Omega for some time. He’s grown impatient with the noble families of Redania and their pompous pageants. But he requires an Omega of noble blood. And he likes them pretty.” He reached up and pinched Jaskier's chin between his fingers. Jaskier froze, terrified to even pull away. “He’ll be delighted.”
Jaskier’s father stepped forward, jaw clenched. “We will not allow this.”
Ferrant raised a brow, dropping Jaskier's chin and turning to face the beta. “Allow? You think you have a choice?”
“We raised you,” Jaskier’s mother said, voice cracking. “We gave you a home. We gave you safety. We treated you as our own.”
“And I am grateful,” Ferrant replied, tone almost gentle. “But gratitude does not outweigh my duty as the heir to Lettenhove.”
Jaskier, finally feeling brave enough to chip in, opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by the grating sound of the outside gates being hauled open.
"What was that?" Jaskier could hear the waver in his voice. He could hear the shaky tone and elevated pitch. He looked over Ferrant's shoulder to see his parents staring at each other, twin expressions of horror across their sheet-white faces.
"That is your transport," Ferrant said. "Now, the next part is up to you. Either you can fight and we put you in the carriage bound and dirty. Or you can comply and let the servants wash you up before you get in on your own with at least a scrap of dignity remaining."
"No," his mother laid her hand on Ferrant's shoulder. He didn't turn to her, nor did he brush her off. He just remained staring straight at Jaskier. Jaskier stared back, unable to look away, searching for something – anything – in Ferrant's eyes that gave him a shred of humanity to plead to.
"Can I not at least negotiate terms beforehand?" Jaskier tried. His silver tongue had done him well before. He was good at this. If anyone could draft a contract that left him a decent loophole to worm out through, it would be him.
"Nice try, Julian," Ferrant laughed. It was condescending. "He doesn't negotiate. Especially not with people like you."
"Who is he?" Jaskier's father looked pained, like something was burning him from the inside. Vaguely, Jaskier wondered if people could really die from broken hearts, and if so, whether his designation would be a life sentence for more than just him.
"King Radovid," Ferrant smiled proudly. "Nothing but the best, yes? The start of a new prosperity in Lettenhove."
"Ferrant, no," Jaskier hissed, reaching up with a shaking hand to cling to his cousin's shirt, "You can't be serious. That man is insane. Everyone knows about those witch hunts he's sending out. He's starting a war. He's cruel, Ferrant, please, don't. You'll be killing me."
"Radovid the Stern, they call him," Ferrant said, "It'll be good for you, Julian. You were always a little too free spirited."
"Mama? Papa?" Jaskier was feeling so many things that he didn't even know what to focus on other than the fear fear fear fear fear...
"Are you crazy?" Jaskier's father's voice sounded weak. "He destroys what he owns. His land. His kingdom. His-" he trailed off, eyes meeting Jaskier's. Tears that matched Jaskier's own spilled over his cheeks.
"He rewards loyalty," Ferrant shrugged, "And what is a truer display of friendship than offering your own flesh and blood. He's also the king. He is paying handsomely."
"You want power?" Jaskier's mother demanded. "This is not how you get it. You will not be ruling Lettenhove. You will be a pawn for a tyrannical king."
"You misunderstand," Ferrant said cooly, "I do not want to stand alone for the sake of it. I want to shape a stronger Lettenhove. I want to rule with Radovid's blessing. His support."
"You're aligning with him?" Jaskier's mother physically took a step back, one hand halfway to her sternum in shock.
"Why wouldn't I?" Ferrant turned away to face her, and Jaskier felt like air could finally return to his lungs. "The witch hunts are cleansing the kingdom. Radovid rewards those who aid him."
"You're willing to sell your own family?" Jaskier father asked, voice pleading. "He's freshly eighteen, Ferrant. He's just six months younger than you. You're barely adults."
"One of you pack his things." Ferrant demanded. "Unless you want him to leave with nothing. The other, help him wash."
Jaskier tried to plead again, but Ferrant pushed him back harshly, growling in an Alpha tone that made Jaskier feel smaller than he ever had before.
"Do not make this harder than it needs to be," Ferrant growled. "And if you keep protesting then I'll have your parents sentenced to public execution."
Jaskier kept his mouth firmly shut.
"Better."
The next hour passed strangely. Jaskier felt his body slow down, yearning for sleep after the stress of just rising from his first heat. His mind, however felt dialled up to an impossible speed. He ended up stuck in a strange sort of limbo where he just floated.
His father washed him. His father's hands felt safe. His father's thumbs brushed his tears gently from his face. His father's voice whispered loving words in his ears between sobs of his own. His father was holding him for what was likely to be the last time.
His mother helped him dress afterwards. His mother wrapped him in the softest silks she could find that were cool against his still flushed skin. His mother brushed his hair as she smiled sadly at his father who fought and lost against the despair on his face.
His cousin threw his bag carelessly in the carriage. His cousin ripped him from his parents embrace and forced him up the steps. His cousin slammed the carriage door behind him and re-entered the manor house without even sparing a glance over his shoulder.
The people of Lettenhove stood silently on the streets at the carriage rolled past. The people of Lettenhove threw white lilies on the floor behind the wheels. The people of Lettenhove wore black. The people of Lettenhove cried, each of them grieving for the child that they saw grow and laugh and love. The people of Lettenhove held Jaskier's parents as they cried, guiding them away from the manor house and into the villiage.
Long after the dust had settled behind Jaskier's carriage, the people of Lettenhove packed their bags and departed, walking side by side with Jaskier's parents as they left the town that they once loved that now felt like nothing more than a graveyard.
When Ferrant woke in the morning, it was to an empty, quiet village. A ruler of nothing but empty houses and abandoned crops.