(Fictional a/b/o Elizabethan era-ish au)
Being an omega and the fifth in line for the title, the young lord of Chambriath was forced to believe that being wedded to the man of his father's choice and bearing his children was the only purpose of Har...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
All his life, from the moment he was touched by the air outside his mother's womb, Harry's fate had been decided. Harry is an omega—though rare, not completely uncommon. His father had made it apparent that Harry was to be wedded once he comes of age. His eighteen summers of life consisted of being prepared to be the perfect husband, the perfect person to bear a child with countless classes and training.
It was on the day after his eighteenth name day, while he was sharing the dinner table with his beta mother, the Duchess, and his alpha sister, Lady Scarlett, having their evening tea, that the alpha Duke of Chambriath had strolled in with a grin on his face—a rare sight for the household. His grin had enhanced tenfold when his eyes landed on Harry, walking up and embracing his child in a warm hug he had announced Harry's betrothal to the alpha Prince of Enshire.
Harry remembers the way he felt his breath escaping his lungs and refusing to enter again, how the words slipping out of his lord father's mouth felt like a sentence of his own death. But Harry refused to let his disquiet be known, instead, he smiled at his father, wrapping his arms around the sizeable man in return and not uttering a word.
His silence was taken as approval.
And here he stands with the lace of his sleeves scratching his skin with the pearls sewn on it, palms sweating with unease as the maids curl his hair with the clips. His mother is sipping wine along with Scarlett by her side, and his brothers are probably with his father at the altar, greeting the guests and doing their part as hosts.
Harry should be happy, he ponders, but all he feels is lost. He is being handed from his father's hold to another man's. Does everyone see him as an object they own or is it just him that feels that way? Yes, he knew this day would come, the day he'd be married to another, but thinking about it and living the moment is quite the contrast. A contrast he is unsure whether he likes it.
"Look at you all grown up," He hears Scarlett, his thoughts breaking into reality as he realises she's by his side when the whiff of sandalwood hits him, staring at him through their reflection in the man-sized mirror, her cheeks rosy from the wine and eyes shining with a sheet of tears. "I'll miss you, young one." She says pressing a kiss on his right cheek before walking towards their mother, the extra fabric of her gown trailing behind in her wake.
"You look gorgeous, my love," Miranda, his mother, says from where she's seated on the bed, her fingers styling Scarlett's hair and eyes on Harry. He's going to miss her, that's one of the things he's certain about, and he's not sure if he's ready to miss her, or Scarlett, or anyone at all. He is petrified that deep down he does not want to accept his fate, that he doesn't want to be sent away.
But Harry remains silent, just like he's been taught over and over and over again.
☽
The thuds of the horses' hooves against the grounds of the Capital of Enshire make Harry's heart race with a shiver of tension, his mind filling with thoughts of the uncertainty the horses lead him towards and his hands furiously rubbing against the fabric of his gown. Even his Mum's gentle words and faint, calming scent, and Scarlett's loving touches are not enough for him to breathe without feeling his heart exploding.
