#sbroyalty

The man’s body freezes again. This time he stops and examines Stiles closely for a drawn out moment that makes the younger man squirm before his muscles unclench. “I’m sorry too. For getting so mad. I assume that you’re not from around here, so it would make sense that you see no threat from the storm.” The man swipes at his face and tries to explain. “The freezing water may feel refreshing at first, but all too quickly the cold can seep into your bones. I’ve watched too many people be taken by illnesses brought on from the rain, warriors much larger than yourself who didn’t think that a little water could do them much harm.”

Stiles’ mind reels with the new information. He always knew that it was ill advised to spend a lot of time in the rain, but he was never allowed to play in it. He had just been happy for the opportunity, not considering the consequences in the slightest. His dad would be so upset with him.

One thing sticks in his mind, and he looks up at the man in surprise. “Wait, you said you watched many warriors fall? You’re a soldier?” If this man is a soldier, even if he isn’t part of the guard Elite, Stiles’ identity and mission in town is compromised. He takes a small step back towards the door, almost willing to risk the rain if it means escape, but the man’s mouth just quirks into a smile, one that is anything but friendly.

“Not anymore. It’s been many years since anyone has called me that.”

Stiles feels himself relax. Though there is still a slight risk of exposure, he has not given any indication that he knows who Stiles is. Perhaps if he did, the man would be more reluctant to yell at him. He wants to ask more questions about the stranger’s involvement in the King’s military, but he can see how tense he’s becoming waiting for Stiles’ response, so he lets it go. “Well thank you, for looking out for me when you could have left me alone to the storm’s fate. It’s true, this is the first time that I’ve come to the city, and unfortunately I’m not aware of all of its risks.”

This smile is softer, more genuine. “My name is Derek. I own this shop.”

“You’re a blacksmith?” Stiles’ attention is caught. He steps closer eagerly, excited by this news. “That’s amazing! I’ve never met a blacksmith before! Obviously, I’ve read books about the craft, but I’ve never known someone who is actually skilled in it. Do you work while it’s raining? Can I watch?” He blinks. “Oh, and my name is Stiles.”

Derek’s eyebrows are raised in surprise. Stiles feels his cheeks heat. “Sorry. I-uh. I tend to get a little over-excited sometimes.” He thinks about all the people who have avoided him because of it, because they were overwhelmed with the pace that his brain worked sometimes. Thank goodness for Scott, who never walked away from one of his tangents, letting Stiles work out whatever he was thinking verbally without backlash. Sure, sometimes Scott would just tune him out, but at least he never walked away.

Derek shakes in head, still looking surprised, but then a smile teases the corner of his lips. “No, I won’t work during the storm. But, I’d be willing to answer some of your questions, if you’d like.” Stiles nods his head quickly, excited for the opportunity. The smile widens. “Come on then, let’s get somewhere warmer to wait out the rain.”

Stiles scrambles after him without stopping to consider whether or not it’s a good idea. He’s used to having to over analyze everyone’s intentions, but there’s something about Derek and the way that he carries himself that puts Stiles’ guard down. Scott would smack him upside the head if he knew, but Scott also thinks that he’s reckless, so he’s used to it.

Derek leads him through a door at the back of the shop that opens on a modest living area. He gestures for him to have a seat, then moves to tend the fire without a word. Settling into a spot at the table, Stiles watches him bustle around the area with interest.

He can’t help but feel lucky being allowed to watch. Growing up, he never had much time to watch people do their jobs. Sure, he made a habit of hanging around the kitchen with the staff there, learning about how and why they did things a certain way, but it’s different with Derek. He moves with relaxed ease through the small area, mindless of the turmoil raging outside and of Stiles’ watchful gaze. As he stokes the flames, his hands are sure and steady, each movement deliberate but also soft in a way where Stiles expected something harsh. Stiles is captivated by the confidence he portrays in such a simple task.

Derek glances at Stiles from over his shoulder. “You hungry?”

He thinks about the question for a moment before shaking his head. Sure, he can feel the hunger gnawing at his stomach, but he doesn’t want to impose anymore than he already has. Derek narrows his eyes and stares at him for a moment before ladling something out of the large pot handing over the fire into two bowls. As he moves back to the table, he picks up a loaf of bread, then passes one of the bowls to Stiles.

“I said I wasn’t hungry,” he mutters, inhaling the smell of the stew deeply.

Derek settles into the seat across from him. “You were lying.” He meets his gaze briefly, holding his attention. “I was a soldier, remember. Now, eat up.”

Although the stew isn’t what Stiles is used to, it’s delicious. He shovels spoonful after spoonful into his mouth feeling greedy, but Derek doesn’t seem to mind. He gets done before Derek, but lets him finish his food before bombarding him with questions. As promised, Derek answers every one without complaint, pouring them both a cup of tea when it becomes obvious that Stiles is only getting started.

Sometime during their discussion, the rain stops. Stiles notices it immediately, sending his companion a concerned look. He doesn’t want to be kicked out now that the storm is over. The conversation has turned from questions about blacksmithing, to general discussion about the town and the life Derek lives, and Stiles doesn’t want to stop it. At his concerned glance, Derek just smiles slightly, pours himself some more tea, and settles in to continue their conversation.

And Stiles is so pleased. Derek gives him his undivided attention, which is something the he isn’t used to. Even in the castle, it’s hard for people not to get annoyed with his incessant jabbering. His teachers want to encourage his questions, but even they become overwhelmed by his curiosity. Scott too has learned to drone out Stiles’ rants. But Derek doesn’t tap out. He doesn’t yell at him for talking too much, or kick him out of the shop. Instead he listens closely, patiently explains his answers, and then listens more when they make Stiles go off on another tangent. When Stiles manages to make Derek laugh for the first time, he preens at the accomplisment.

What finally interrupts their discussion is the door of the shop being opened and a masculine voice calling out, “Derek? You here?”

The open expression on the older man’s face closes up as he calls out, “In the back.” Derek sends Stiles a apologetic look, at which Stiles shrugs.

Moments later, a large black man enters the room. He eyes Stiles suspiciously, before shrugging and setting down into one of the empty chairs.

“The fields survived the storm,” the man reports, reaching over and tearing off a piece of the bread without asking. “I wasn’t sure that they were going too, but they did. Every single one.”

Derek’s face relaxes again. “That’s good. You’ll have enough wheat to sell then?”

The man smiles brightly. “More than enough. I’ve just finalized the paperwork for the shop too, so it’s actually mine.” His laughter is boisterous. “Can you believe it’s finally going to happen?”

He laughs, slapping the stranger on the back. “Erica is one lucky lady, my friend. You will make a fine husband, Boyd.”

“I think I’m the lucky one, Derek. She’s-. You know that I’ve been in love with her for a long time.”

“I know. And I know you wanted to wait until you had enough money to take over the bakery, even though she would have married you before then.”

The man, Boyd, laughs again. “Yes, I know. But I wanted to be able to provide a good life for her. Now I can.”

Derek claps him on the back again, then turns and introduces Stiles, who was starting to feel out of place. He’s still considering how he can excuse himself when Boyd offers him a tight handshake and a bright smile. “It’s good to meet you, Stiles. Anyone who can get passed Derek’s gruff shell is good in my books.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but he offers Stiles a warm smile and the prince wants nothing more than to stay at his side.

It’s that thought that has him up and moving. “I should get going,” he mutters, trying to will his blush away. “Thank you for letting me wait out the storm with you, Derek. And for not throwing me out when I asked all those questions. And, uh. Congratulations, Boyd. It sounds like you have a lot to celebrate.”

When he makes a move to leave, Derek rises and follows him into the shop. “I’m not kicking you out you know” he tells him. “Just because Boyd is here, that doesn’t mean that you have to go.”

Stiles smiles, meeting the older man’s gaze. “Yeah, I know. But my brother is probably freaking out because he can’t find me. Besides, you should celebrate with your friend.”

Derek raises one of his hands to rub at the scruff on his jaw. “If you’re still curious about what I do, you can stop by tomorrow morning when I’m working and see for yourself everything I told you.”

A bright smile tugs at his lips. “I’ll be here.”

Even with the promise of tomorrow, Stiles doesn’t want to leave. He’s sure that he imagines Derek standing at the shop’s window, watching him walk away.

———

Scott freaks out when he gets back to the inn. He had been about ready to go to the Guard when Stiles turned up.

“Stiles! You can’t just disappear like that, especially when I can’t go out and look for you.” His hair is messed up, evidence that he had been nervously tugging at the locks for hours. “We should go back to the castle.”

The prince glares at his friend. “We’re not going back, Scott. I know that I worried you, but I was promised a week out here, and that’s what I’m going to get. Soon enough everyone will know who I am and I won’t have this type of freedom anymore. You promised we would attend the summer festival.”

Scott groans, trying to get him to see reason. “Yes, but that was before-.”

Stiles throws up his hands. “Before what? I already apologized for worrying you, but it couldn’t be helped. Derek wasn’t about to let me out in the rain, and besides, I thought you would be happy I was taking care of myself for once.”

“It’s not about the rain!” He tugs at the shirt Stiles has clenched in his hands. “This is reckless! We hardly know anything about this place and how dangerous it is. A random person let you into their home because the rain could turn deadly, something we had no idea about, and then you and I were separated for several hours. What if something had happened to you!”

Stiles clamps his jaw tight and stands up straighter. “Scott, I am not going back to the castle. I understand that you’re freaked out, but I am not going back. There are too many things that I want to do this week, things that I will do, so stop trying to convince me otherwise. We’ll just have to be more careful about getting separated.” He can tell that Scott wants to argue, but he bites back his comments.

“Fine. But if you go missing like that for hours again, I will go to the guard, I swear.”

Stiles shrugs, smiling brightly. “Fine, if it will make you feel better.” Now that Scott is actively trying to get him to pack everything up, Stiles finishes changing into his bedclothes, then falls onto the mattress. He smiles up at the ceiling. “Tomorrow, we’re going to the blacksmith’s shop first thing.”

Scott groans, but Stiles ignores him and closes his eyes.

———-

The market square is bustling with people when Stiles and Scott stumble outside in the morning, but Stiles knows where he’s going and he leads his best friend through them with confidence. Scott hadn’t seemed too pleased by the prospect of spending their morning watching a blacksmith work, but Stiles isn’t taking his lack of interest as a deterrent as he winds through the streets.

When they arrive, there is a small crowd gathering at the front of his shop despite the blistering heat. Several young women, each of them dressed in garb nicer than a trip to the blacksmith requires, cluster around the table where Derek is bent over and working. Stiles pushes past them, ignoring the dirty looks they shoot his way, in order to get a better view.

As if sensing him in the audience, Derek glances away from his work, scanning the crowd until his eyes catch on Stiles. His lips twitch, almost unnoticeable, with a hint of a smile. In response, Stiles feels himself beam.

It’s captivating, watching Derek put into practice what he had been explaining to Stiles the day before. Being able to recognize the process is exciting in a way that goes over Scott’s head, and it makes Stiles want to stand there all day. It doesn’t help that the strength in Derek’s arms, which had only been hinted at before, is on full display as he works, and that every so often Derek will look up and smile upon finding Stiles rooted in the same spot.

After about an hour of standing in the early morning heat, Scott leaves Stiles’ side (with clear instructions to stay put) in order to find them breakfast. Stiles hardly notices him leaving though. Sometime later, Derek puts his work aside to take orders and conduct business. Stiles watches as several people step forward to pickup completed orders, ranging from a collection of horseshoes, an elaborate lighting fixture, and (for a soldier’s order), one large broadsword which Stiles can is a piece of true craftsmanship.

Soon enough, there is a lull in people approaching Derek. He uses that time to move to Stiles’ side. “You shouldn’t stand in the sun too long,” he begins. “Your skin is already turning pink.”

Stiles flushes at the comment, already aware how the color will stand out against his pale skin. “Well if I burn, it’s your fault,” he states in response, enjoying the way that Derek’s lips curl up.

“I never said you had to come and stand in the sun for hours watching me do buisness. You’ve done that on your own.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Please, you knew as well as I did that I was going to show up today.”

Derek tilts his head, perhaps in agreement, and then mutters, “Well if you’re going to stand out here and continue watching me, at least move over here.” Curling one warm hand around Stiles’ bicep, Derek tugs him over to a little grove alongside his shop. The space is shaded, with a large barrel that acts as a perch.

All too aware of Derek’s grip on his arm, Stiles jokes, “What is it with you protecting me from the weather?”

Extraordinarily, the tips of Derek’s ears blush red. “Shut up and sit down,” he says in response, dropping his hand and turning away. “I have some repairs to finish before the next rush.”

Stiles reaches out unconsciously, gently pressing his fingers against Derek’s back. “Thank you.”

It’s a simple enough statement, but Derek smiles softly at it as though it were a gift. When he takes his station back at his bench, Scott falls onto the barrel at Stiles side.

There is an uncomfortable pause, and then Stiles asks, “how much of that did you see?”

Scott shakes his head. “All of it. Stiles-.”

“I know.” And, really, he does. “Scott, I know.”

All that Scott does in response is sigh, too deep, and pass him a thick slice of bread, settling in beside his friend to watch Derek work.

———

“Have you ever been to a festive before?” The question startles Stiles out of his daze. When he turns, Erica smiles over at him with a predatory expression. Stiles had had the great pleasure of meeting Boyd’s fiancé the day he went to watch Derek work. She had come by to tell Derek that Boyd had (finally) proposed, and seemed to recognize Stiles instantly. Ignoring Derek and the purpose of the visit entirely, she had pulled herself up to sit beside Stiles and Scott, and talked with them until Stiles couldn’t deny their friendship. Not that he would. As fiery as she is, Stiles bonded with her quickly, goading her until she gave up stories about Derek in his younger years. Derek, aware of the stories that they were sharing, shook his head at them and joked that their friendship would be bad for his health. Scott had watched each exchange with a frown that kept deepening.

Stiles understands. He knew that he was in trouble when he left Derek’s shop that first day, knew that it would only get worse if he spent more time with the older man. He didn’t need Scott to remind him of his station, or to point out that he was falling quickly into a deep hole of captivation that would rival the feelings he had for a certain redhead many years ago. But being around Derek, getting to know Boyd, becoming friends with Erica and her brother Isaac, it all meant more to Stiles than he had expected it would. And now, here he is on the last night outside the castle, trying to find a way to be excited about finally seeing the summer festival that he’s been dreaming about for years. Instead he’s caught in thoughts of saying goodbye.

Erica jabs his side and answers her own question with a sharp smile. “Obviously you haven’t. Normally festivals are times to be happy, but you look like you’ve lost something precious you’ll never get back.”

He tries to force a smile for her, but all he can think about is how soon their friendship will be over. “Scott and I will be leaving after the festival,” he explains. When looking at her open expression becomes too much for him, he looks back into the crowd. In the city square, people are dancing merrily under strings of lanterns, a jubilant celebration of the summer solstice and everything to come. Drink flows freely, conversations of business have been put on hold for the night as everyone takes the time to have fun. Truly, it is a glorious sight. “I don’t want to leave.”

She steps close enough to him that she can hook her chin over his shoulder and relax into his back. The casual touches that the people in the village exchange had startled Stiles at first. For several years, the only person comfortable enough to lean into him casually has been Scott. But all of the new friends that he’s made have been so open with it.

Of course, they don’t know who he really is, so Stiles guesses that their comfort makes sense.

“So don’t go.” She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You have no apprenticeships to go back to, and there’s plenty of opportunity here to take advantage of.”

“I wish it was that simple.” She pulls back and steps in front of him so that he can’t avoid her gaze.

“You’re young, Stiles. Figuring out how to make your own way comes with growing up. I think you’re just making it too complicated. I mean, look at Scott. He seems to be having a good time, not worried about what tomorrow will bring.” Sure enough, Scott is out on the dance floor, twirling a pretty girl named Kira around with a smile like the sun. “If you’re so worried about tomorrow, stop thinking about it and enjoy tonight. If this is your last night here for a while, don’t you want to make it count for something?” Her smile gets sharper and she reaches out to shove him. Not expecting it, he stumbles back into a warm body. Erica winks at him and then shimmies off to find her fiancé.

He’s not surprised when he turns around and sees Derek standing behind him, but he is surprised by how soft the older man looks. Although it was easy for Stiles to get under Derek’s shell after the day they spent together waiting out the rain, he has never looked so warm. Stiles can’t help how his whole body relaxes under Derek’s palms.

“Was she giving you a hard time,” he asks, helping Stiles steady himself.

His response is a snort. “When is she not.”

The smile that flits over Derek’s lips is all warmth. “Yeah, she’’s good for that. It just means that she likes you.”

His heart pangs. He has to turn away. “Yeah.”

Gently, Derek reaches out and touches his elbow, a question. Stiles shrugs and repeats what he had told Erica. “I don’t want to leave.”

The grip he has tightens almost uncomfortably. Stiles can’t look at him, doesn’t want to know if he looks indifferent at the prospect of Stiles leaving, or upset that he’ll be gone. Stiles can’t decide which would make him feel worse.

Instead they stand side by side for a while, watching the merriment that continues on around them without a care.

“You should join them,” Derek says finally, inclining his head at the dancers. Stiles can see Erica’s mess of blond hair, Boyd’s unburdened look of adoration, Scott’s mouth open with laughter. It makes him feel warm, seeing the people that he cares about look so free. Just like that, he unhinges his worry, allowing himself to consider everything that Erica had said. Even though he has to leave in the morning, he still has tonight for memories. After all, when he leaves and returns to the castle, everything changes. Eventually, the friends that he’s made with figure out who he is and that he was lying to them. Derek will know that he was a fraud.

But for tonight, he wants to be selfish.

His hand blindly seeks for Derek’s, and then he turns and answers his questioning gaze with a bright smile. “Come on then. You can teach me this dance.”

Derek scoffs, but allows himself to be dragged forward. They pass Isaac on their way to the dancers, and he cheers for them with a sharp grin. Stiles rolls his eyes at him but doesn’t stop tugging Derek forward until they’re pressed closed together in the center of the square.

The steps of the dance are easy to pick up. It helps that Stiles has already been schooled in the art of dance, enough to know how to follow the rhythm with his body. Other dancers welcome the new pair with bright smiles, not batting an eye that they are both men, and Stiles revels in being able to act so carefree. For one dance, he twirls Erica around, and for another, Scott jokingly takes his hand, but Stiles always comes back to Derek. And it’s so easy, falling in line with him, allowing warm hands to clutch at his hips without worrying about whether or not the action is proper, enjoying the way that he’s allowed to curl his body close to Derek’s as they move in time.

It’s the most fun that Stiles has had in much too long, made better by every unbidden laugh that escapes Derek’s lips before he can bite it back. A part of him knows that he’s risking too much of himself, that he should step back and politely tell Derek goodbye so that leaving will be easier. But when Derek pulls him away from the dancers and the brightly lit square, presses him back against the nearest building, and covers him with his body, Stiles lets himself fall.

Kissing has always been one of Stiles’ favorite things to do, though he has not had too much experience himself. There is something so intimate about sharing breath with another person, allowing oneself to open under them and delight in the closeness.

Kissing Derek is something else though, like nothing Stiles has ever experienced. It’s like being consumed and welcoming the consumption. Stiles presses in against Derek’s body almost desperately, brings his hands up to clutch at his hair, and holds on tight. In turn, Derek’s grip on his hips is strong enough to leave bruises. There is the faint taste of spiced wine on his tongue and a hint of the honeyed tart that they shared earlier, and Stiles chases the taste until Derek pulls back, panting and blurry eyed.

Immediately he buries his face into the curve of Stiles neck while he takes gulping breaths. Stiles relaxes his grip, but keeps his hands buried in his companion’s hair, carding his fingers through the locks.

Eventually, Derek presses a kiss against the tendons in Stiles’ neck, and steps back. He keeps his eyes downcast when he apologizes. “I’m sorry, for-.” Stopping to clear his throat, he briefly meets Stiles bewildered gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles feels the apology like a splash of cold water. He reaches for Derek before he has a chance to run away completely. “No, what? What are you apologizing for?”

He watches as Derek swallows. “I just-. It wasn’t proper of me to kiss you like that. I didn’t even ask if you wanted to before-.”

Stiles laughs, albeit a little hysterically, and pulls Derek closer. “Trust me, I wasn’t complaining.”

They fall together almost helplessly, with kisses just as sharp as the ones before, and just as desperate.

When Derek pulls back again, Stiles silently commends his strength for being able to pull away, all the while cursing him for allowing any space to separate them. This time though, he doesn’t move very far.

“Stiles,” he says his name like it weighs so much. “You leave tomorrow.”

It makes Stiles sigh deeply. He pulls his body away from Derek’s, cursing the distance but allowing it all the same. Something hollow pangs in his chest. He ignores it. “I know. You’re right.”

Derek growls, running one hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he tries to explain, oblivious to the fact that he’s making Stiles’ feel worse, not better. He looks like he wants to close the distance between them, but hold himself back. “But I can’t be with you, and then lose you. It isn’t fair.”

None of this is fair, Stiles wants to say. He wants to whine, curse the world for allowing him to find a connection only to be forced to cut it off without allowing the exploration of their possibility. It most definitely isn’t fair that Derek doesn’t even really know the person that he wants to kiss.

Where is seemed like a harmless game before, masquerading as a commoner to see the festival, now it just makes Stiles feel dirty. “I should go.”

Derek makes a hurt sound and tries to reach for him, but Stiles evades. “I don’t want you to,” he says, clutching empty hands.

Stiles just shakes his head, trying to bury the sadness choking him. “I don’t have a choice.” He shrugs one shoulder, trying to act like his stomach isn’t cutting itself to strips. “Besides, you said it yourself, it’s not fair to drag this out.”

Suddenly, Derek’s eyebrows rise up and he looks almost frantic. “Stiles, I-.”

“It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Derek Hale.” When Derek flinches back Stiles allows his voice to soften. And it isn’t fair to add it, not to either of them, but he’s already established his selfishness so he mutters, “Out of everyone here, I will miss you the most.”

He runs away before he has a chance to see Derek’s expression crumple. On his way back through the square, he runs straight into Erica and Boyd. The blond gives him a startled look which quickly becomes concerned.

“Stiles? But I thought-.”

“We saw you leave with Derek,” Boyd explains, glancing over his shoulder as if waiting for the man in question to show up.

“I’m glad I got to meet both of you,” he says. “I know that you will have a wonderful marriage.”

“Stiles.” Erica sounds alarmed.

He shakes his head at her and smiles sadly. “If you see Scott, will you please let him know I’ve gone back to our room. And tell your brother that I am pleased to call him a friend.” Gripping her hands tightly, Stiles kisses both of her cheeks. Turning to Boyd, he offers a handshake that turns into a tight hug.

“Take care of yourself,” Boyd tells him as he walks away. He forces a smile for both of them, then hurries through the crowd to get away.

——–

They meet up with the guard in the morning, early enough that the town is still asleep. Scott offers Stiles a sad smile as they begin their trip back to the castle, but keeps his mouth shut, giving Stiles time to himself. For most of the journey, the prince tries not to think about the people he’s leaving behind. It’s hard, when images of each one of them flicker in his mind’s eye like beacons, Derek most of all. It only took a week for them to find a place in his heart that he didn’t even know was empty. And Derek-.

He presses one hand against his chest as they ride through the gates. His father is standing with the guard, a smile pulling his lips up. “Did you have a nice time,” he greets, sounding fond.

Stiles nods, dismounting to stand beside the king. “Yes. Thank you for allowing me the freedom.”

John runs a hand through his son’s hair. “Good, I’m glad. Now, get changed. I’ll have Mia start breakfast.” He must see something in Stiles’ expression, because his smile falls. “Stiles? Did something happen?”

He fakes a laugh. “Not a thing.” John waves off his guard and leads Stiles inside.

“You know,” he begins as they walk. “You’re a lot like your mother. She was stubborn, and kind hearted, and just a little reckless. And, like you, I could always tell when she was lying. When Stiles looks back at his father, surprised that he brought up the late queen, the king’s eyes are glistening with amusement. “If you don’t want to tell me, then that’s fine. But don’t think you’re getting away with the lie. I know you better than that.”

Moments like this, Stiles is grateful for his father. John may be king, and he may take those duties seriously, but he is so dedicated to being a good father. Instead of pushing Stiles onto his tutors and neglecting him, their relationship has always been a strong one.

It’s what makes Stiles open his mouth and state, “I met some people while I was in town, and even though I was only there just over a week, they mean a lot to me. Leaving them behind was hard.”

John’s mouth pinches down in a frown. “Did you tell them who you are?” Stiles shakes his head. “I see.” There’s a drawn out pause, during which Stiles grows reckless with waiting. Instead his father’s mouth quirks up the slightest bit. “There was someone in particular you met, wasn’t there?”

Stiles startles back. “You can’t possibly read me that well,” he grumbles, ignoring the way that his father’s delighted laughter makes him flush.

“Son, I know you better than you do. And trust me when I tell you, you may have your mother’s mischievous and curious nature, but I recognize that lovelorn look from long days watching myself in the mirror, fretting over whether or not I was good enough for the woman I loved.” He pats his son’s back, continuing the walk down the corridor. “Who are they?” Stiles’ response is a grumble. “You could tell them the truth you know. Someone of your station is guaranteed your throne no matter who you fall in love with, and all your mother and I ever wanted was for you to be be able to find love on your own.”

“It’s only been one week,” he exclaims, his heart racing at the prospect of what John is saying. “I hardly know him, and definitely not enough to offer him the place at my side.”

The king doesn’t seem surprised by the male pronoun. Instead he just laughs and gives his son a side-eyed look. “There’s no rush for marriage, you know that. I was merely pointing out that it is okay for you to like someone who isn’t of noble blood. And liking them doesn’t have to mean anything more than getting to know more about them.” He pulls them to a stop again outside of his chambers. “Stiles, your friends will find out who you are. Your coronation is coming up, and it is an inevitability. That doesn’t have to change the connections that you’ve made. Invite them personally to attend the events. Give them a chance to get to know the royal you as well as the person buried underneath.”

He turns to go, but before Stiles can walk away, John adds, “And remember, you haven’t yet invited anyone to accompany you to the coronation ball. Perhaps your someone would like the opportunity.”

The walk back to his rooms seems to take forever. A jumbled mess of the words his father said dance around in his head, each vying for attention. As soon as he’s cleaned up, instead of heading directly down to the dining room, he heads down to the barracks and calls for an audience with one of his favorite soldiers.

Jordan Parrish, only a few years Stiles’ elder, is a hard worker that is loyal to a fault. But he treats Stiles like a person and not just a prince, which Stiles appreciates.

“You want me to go get a new sword made?” The question is full of amusement.

Stiles scoffs at it. “I didn’t say you, necessarily. I just happened to notice this blacksmith while I was in town. His work was beautiful. One of the soldiers in Cordin’s command had a broadsword made, and it was impressive enough that I thought I would recommend the shop to you. And then, if you feel so inclined, you might share the information with the others.”

Jordan laughs, throwing the rag the had been cleaning his hands on over one shoulder. “You know, when I was younger, I trained alongside many people, but there was this one man that I was friends with. He was a good soldier, steady and dedicated. Quickly he rose in ranks, but he never forgot about the friend he had made before he got noticed by the others, and he helped me foster myself in this role instead of seeing it as a competition and tossing me to one side.”

He swallows, already seeming to know where this is going. “What happened to him?”

“He got tired of death, tired of burying his friends. When his older sister got pregnant with her firstborn, he handed in his resignation and moved into town. He’s a blacksmith now, working humbly, enjoying the change of pace.” His smile is slow. “But perhaps you already know that.”

Huffing, Stiles wrings his hands. “I just want to make sure that he does well.”

Jordan laughs again. “My Prince, Derek does well enough. He is happy with what he has. But, if it will please you, I will mention his business to some of the others. I know that many of them are in need of new weaponry.” His smile becomes something softer, more fond. “You know, amongst the soldiers, Derek is a legend. They know him as the Wolf, a nickname that he got when we were still young. To them he is a ruthless commander who never hesitates or backs away from a fight. The reality of it is that Derek is just a man. He is nothing to be afraid of. I will tell them about his shop.”

Stiles feels himself flush, thanks Jordan for his time, and then heads back inside. Despite the hunger making his stomach growl in protest, he has one more thing to do before he can eat.

“I would like this to be delivered to Vernon Boyd, owner of the Loaf bakery in the city.”

Greenberg looks away from the wrapped gift in surprise. “Your Highness, this is a gift befitting a monarch. You would like me to-.”

“Deliver it to Vernon Boyd. He just got engaged to an amazing woman, and I want to make sure that they are congratulated accordingly.”

Flapping like a fish, Greenberg watches Stiles as if trying to decide whether or not he is joking. When Stiles keeps his expression steely and serious, he nods and makes note. “I will see that it is done today, Your Highness.”

Expression breaking into one of pleasure, Stiles reaches out and casually pats Greenberg’s on the back, ignoring his wide-eyed look of surprise. “Thank you. There is one more thing. There is no need to let them know where this gift is coming from.”

“I-. Are you sure?”

“Indeed. There is a note wrapped in the parcel. It will explain everything.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Feeling pleased, Stiles finally allows himself breakfast. It isn’t exactly what Stiles wants, but it is enough for now.

———–

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” Stiles grumbles as they approach the town.

Scott, riding at his side, laughs. “Stiles, it’s fine. You’re overthinking it.”

“What if they’re mad and never want to see me again.”

“Then you will leave and not return, but Stiles, it’s not going to happen. I don’t know if you met the same people that I did, but they didn’t seem like the type to care about royalty.”

Tugging uselessly on one of his sleeves, Stiles scowls. The feeling of returning to town in his fancier clothes and wearing his father’s crest seems like too much. “They might care that the friend they made is actually the crown prince.”

Pulling his horse to a halt, Scott dismounts. His smile is bright. “Let’s go find out.”

Stiles joins him on the ground. Butterflies roll in his stomach at the sight of the bakery. Like Derek’s shop, there is a house attached to it. Through the window he can just see Erica’s hair. “Wish me luck,” he mutters, taking the first step.

Scott, who will be going to visit Kira instead, grins bright. “Tell them hello for me.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, pulls one ivory envelope from the satchel on his horse, and moves to the house. When he knocks, Boyd is the one to answer. He stares at stiles for a long moment without saying anything, taking in the wealth of his appearance. Then he grins.

“We were just sitting down for dinner,” he announces around his smile. “Perhaps you’d like to join us?”

Stiles exhales, feeling shaky, and nods. “I would like that.”

When he is invited inside, Erica hurries to his side for a hug. She holds onto him for a long moment, before pulling back and smacking him alongside the head. “You have some nerve,” she mutters around a smile of her own. “When your gift showed up, Boyd and I nearly passed out in shock.”

“You knew it was from me?” He had signed the note with his official name, not the one that they know him by.

Boyd chuckles and puts another plate on the table. “As soon as the new friend we had made, one of the only people to know about our engagement, leaves, we received an expressive package from a prince, who would have no way of knowing we even existed unless he had been masquerading in town in order to attend the summer festival. You can say that it was easy to put the pieces together.”

“It helped that, all of a sudden, Derek’s shop was being invaded by members of the guard Elite, stating that they had been referred there by a friend.”

Stiles rubs the back of his head, embarrassed. He had thought he was being subtle. “You’re not mad? I lied to you.”

Erica scoops a pile of potatoes on his plate. “You didn’t lie to us, not really. You just forgot to mention that you were the crown prince. But you befriended us honestly, gave us a part of yourself I’m sure that others do not get the chance to see. And then when you went back to your station, you didn’t forget and ignore us because we weren’t rich.”

The weight on his chest lightens. “So if I gave you official invitations to my coronation-.” He trails off, enjoying the way that Erica squeals in delight and Boyd break into laughter.

“Of course we’ll go! We’d be honored!”

Stiles laughs with them and takes a seat, the conversation turning from what all the coronation entails to other topics, light and casual and the same as if he had never left. After they finish eating, the nerves come back though. Erica picks up on it.

“Stiles, are you okay?”

He shuffles uncomfortably by the front door. “I-. I have to go see Derek now.”

Her smile softens. “Oh. That makes sense.”

Boyd reaches out and grips his shoulder. “If it helps, he misses you a lot. Gods know why, all you did was jabber at him all the time.”

It helps. The three of them laugh as they see him off, Erica giving him one last hug before he goes. “It will be okay,” she whispers in his ear. As he winds through the streets, he hopes that she’s right.

Instead of going to his front door, Stiles goes to the shop. He knocks hard, hoping it’s enough to draw Derek out. Luckily, it is.

When he opens his mouth, face pulled into a scowl, Stiles gets to watch him freeze in surprise. He’s just as beautiful as Stiles remembers.

“Stiles.” His name is a breath. “What are you doing here?”

“Well. Um, I thought I should apologize for sending all of those soldiers here. Apparently, if Erica is to be believed, you’re being invaded by them. And uh, I wanted you to do well, not to overwhelm you, so I’m sorry.” He’s rambling. “And I’m sorry for not telling you who I was. When I came to town, it was to have a chance to be a normal person before I was crowned, but then I met you and everyone else, and you all accepted me for everything that I was without question. That had never happened before, and I loved it. And you-. Oh, it was so easy to fall for you. Scott was worried, because he knew what I was feeling and that we would be leaving, and he had a right to be concerned. And when you kissed me, it felt like falling in the best way, and leaving you was so hard, but I did.” Derek is starting to look overwhelmed and more than a little concerned, but Stiles barrels on. He has to. Otherwise, he’ll run away without getting the chance to fully explain.

“Then my dad mentioned that he just wanted me to be happy, no matter what, and it got me thinking, very selfishly, about how happy I was with you. That night at the festival was the best one that I’ve ever had, even though I was sad about leaving, and even though it was cut short. But it was good because you were with me, seeing me as I am, and it made me think that maybe I was too hasty in running away. But I was afraid of telling you the truth, afraid that you would feel betrayed and that you wouldn’t want me anymore. My dad said that I could never know that if I didn’t try, so I guess this is me trying.”

When Derek stares at him, open mouthed, Stiles thrusts the invitation against his chest, ignoring the way that his hands are shaking. “This is an invitation to the coronation in a few weeks. I was going to ask you to come as my date, but thought maybe this would be better for you. Erica and Boyd agreed to go, so you can always go with them. Or! Or you don’t have to come at all, obviously. I’m not making you do anything.”

He backs up a few steps, trying not to stumble on his weak knees. “Okay, well I think I’ll go. Thank you, Derek. Uh, have a good night.”

Turning around, he makes to flee. A hand on his wrist drags him back. He’s turned around, pulled against a hard chest, and is being kissed before he can understand what’s happening. When his brain catches up, his hands are already buried in Derek’s hair, pulling at the locks, trying to get closer.

He keeps making low keening noises as Derek grips his hips. When they pull back for air, Derek’s eyes are bright. He doesn’t let Stiles go.

“I’m not upset with you,” he whispers into Stiles’ mouth, kissing him again before continuing. “When you left that night, all I could think about was what I was letting slip through my fingers. And I did. I let you go, afraid of getting too deep and then losing you to distance. When Erica and Boyd figured out who you really were, at first I was thankful that you were gone. I thought that knowing you were royal would make everything easier. It would mean we never would have worked anyway. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about how much I wanted you, how much I wanted to be with you.”

He rubs one hand across Stiles’ cheek, smiling softly. “And now you’re here, offering something I didn’t think I could have. And I still want to be with you.”

Stiles lunges up to press their lips together again, greedy with the feeling of being so close. Derek tugs him backwards, into his shop and further, into his room. Stiles allows himself to be led, feeling dizzy and wanted and warm.

When Derek presses him down on the bed, blanketing him with his body, Stiles holds onto him tight.

The frenzy relaxes into something more intimate, the kisses less biting but deeper. Stiles body is a pool of warmth, mendable clay under Derek’s hands. At one point, Derek tries to pull back, tries to quell the fire burning them up. But Stiles doesn’t let him get far, reassures him that everything is okay, pulls him back into the fire.

They rock together, and Stiles feel so complete, so grounded. As morning begins to break they curl up on Derek’s bed, sweat slick and satisfied. Stiles feels so much hope it threatens to break him open. And when Derek smiles gently at him and breaks into awed laughter, Stiles allows himself to relax into sleep.

———-

Stiles is dressed in the finest clothes he owns, an outfit designed specifically for this moment. He feels suffocated by the finery. On one side of him, his dad stands proud. On his other side, Derek is a comforting presence, dressed in an expensive suit. He looks beautiful, and if Stiles wasn’t so terrified, he would be distracted with thoughts of getting him out of the suit. Instead, he’s too concerned with everything he’s about to do.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is warm. “You’re shaking. You need to calm down.”

“Aren’t you nervous at all,” he hisses in response, tugging at his sleeves. Beyond that curtain, everyone waits in anticipation for their prince, ready to welcome him, ready to look at him for guidance.

Derek smiles easy. “I have you, prince or not. That’s enough for me.”