(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.
Covering his face with faux gracefulness and a smile that achingly contrasted with what he felt from within, Louis walks into the dining hall, hand-in-hand with his bride. The statuesque walls of Yenshai manor stand proud with glorious candles lit in honour of their guests, gold and mahogany at its finest with paintings of great value hanging proudly. The hall is filled with the bustle of their servants, clattering cutlery and Liam's roaring commands.
Even with agitation running through his blood, for he is fearful of his omega's health, Louis squeezes the tenderness of Harry's hand as they walk; an assurance of something unspoken. He is aware that the omega must be hung about the fact that he was not the one who prepared for the guests' arrival or greeted them himself — he feels Harry's gloominess through their bond. Poor thing.
"It aches my hearty, darlin'," Louis whispers leaning towards Harry, their fingers detangling while Louis sets the very hand around Harry's waist, pulling the marginally shivering omega to his chest, pressing a honey kiss over his temple. "Your sorrow, my love; it burns me from within. Do not despair, 'wasn't somethin' you could have helped with. Your wellness comes before anything else." He murmurs against the silk-like curls, his hand comforting the omega with soothing rubs.
"I wished to be a perfect omega for once, Lou. For once in my entire being I wished to be good enough for you," he sighs, scenting Louis as they walk towards their awaiting guests. "Couldn't even handle two guests."
"You are well aware I do not care about you being the mockery of an image the aristocracy has set for an omega. You're perfect to me."
Harry offers him a shadow of a smile, never reaching his eyes as he masks himself into the perfectness of omega that he is to Louis, undoubtedly with straight posture and movements that flow flawlessly like water streaming down a mountain stream. "Good evening, gentlemen," Harry greets, offering both Zayn and the Earl of Irknair a pleasant smile. "I hope you like our humble home."
"Ever so gracious, flower," Zayn lets out a chuckle, taking Harry's hand and planting a kiss while offering Louis a nod. "Thank you for having us here, Duke Louis, it is a pleasure," he says, lips curled into a smile and eyes twinkling with hints of wine.
"Indeed, Duke Zayn, it's an honour to be here, Duke Louis," the Earl of Irknair grins, his eyes that represent the calmest of seas crinkling with cheeks rosy. The Earl is a youngling himself, no older than twenty, forced to carry the weight of his father's duty at a young age.
"It is lovely to have you all here. Harry and I hope your journey was not troublesome."
"Not at all, your royal highness. If anything, the roads have been maintained as well as gold under your supervision. Splendid work, must I say." The Earl of Irknair speaks, lilt slurred with alcohol, his smile unfaltering as he bows down to kiss Harry's hand. "A pleasure, lord Harold."
"The pleasure is all mine, Earl Horan. And please, do address me as Harry, I have quite many years left to be addressed with names that might suggest old age."
