Carte blanche - part 3
When Stiles wakes from his dreamwalking, he always feels a bit disoriented and dizzy. The passing of time when he walks is confusing - what feels quickly passing minutes can sometimes be days while hours upon hours can translate into ten minutes.
He turns his head and sees Scott sitting next to him on the bed, his legs crossed and elbows resting on his knees.
“You have been out the rest of the night. It’s dawn,” Scott says, studying him and Stiles groans as he sits up.
“Great. So, turned out the rumors are true and Lydia has the Sickness,” he starts, getting to the point because time is something they don’t have in abundance. Scott takes in a sharp breath.
“I’m sorry,” he says, anxiousness rolling off of him in waves. “How is Allison?”
Stiles sighs and scrapes his fingers through his short hair. “Probably not well if she’s attuned to Lydia. I haven’t seen her,” he admits. He’s neither seen nor sensed any of Lydia’s beasts with her, which is worrying. If they are roaming free and wreaking havoc either upon Lydia’s orders or as an effect of their master’s Sickness, it can easily mean disaster. Lydia is powerful and the beasts she has made contracts with are rather mighty monsters.
The realization dawns on Scott and he goes pale. “Allison was the one organizing the attacks upon Lydia’s orders.”
“Or any of her beasts. But most probably as it would explain how the beastlings could track our magical signatures,” Stiles agrees.
“What’s the plan?” Scott asks, and Stiles appreciates that he doesn’t take off immediately to search for Allison.
“Gerard is controlling Jackson and wants to provoke an attack. He may have gone off the deep end but knows that even his most loyal lackeys won’t go to war without cause in fear of angering the Heavens. If Jackson attacks, they can retaliate while justifying their actions,” Stiles explains, thinking aloud. “I don’t know what Gerard endgame is, but he has to be stopped.”
“He probably killed the Oracle so you couldn’t contact him.”
Stiles shakes his head. “No, he is not dead. I felt him for a second last night, he is just very well hidden. But I don’t doubt Gerard sensed me when we showed up and he wasn’t happy about that.”
“If he thinks you have ascended to Choose a Ruler, it’s understandable that he’s a bit miffed,” Scott hums and Stiles grins.
“Yep. No doubt he’s planned this for years. Then I turn up and ruin all the work. Imagine the horror,” he muses and Scott snorts.
“I want you to go and find Allison. She’s been the longest with Lydia so she’s probably the most affected,” Stiles starts to lists the steps as the plan solidifies in his mind.
Scott frowns, “I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“You won’t,” Stiles tries to convince him. “Derek will be with me and I can use my powers, I will be fine. And you are the one most likely to stop Allison if she goes on a murderous rampage,” he reminds Scott who reluctantly settles.
“I will help Derek get into the Palace and we are going to kill Gerard. Jackson will be freed and Lydia will be cured.”
“That’s all well and good if Gerard will be in the Palace.”
Stiles smirks. “You don’t have to worry about that. He definitely will be there.”
Scott squints at him and after a few beats he lets out a resigned sigh. “You know what? I don’t think I want to know.”
“A wise choice,” Stiles agrees.
“Don’t hesitate to call on me if something happens,” Scott reminds him as Stiles feels the prickling of Scott’s gathering power on his skin.
“I won’t. Go.”
With a last concerned glance thrown his way, Scott disappears.
*
When Stiles hears the soft but steady knocking on his door half an hour later, he is not surprised to see Derek entering. He’s fully dressed, clad in brown and black with a hint of forest green, ready for travel.
“Where is Scott?” he asks after glancing around the room before his eyes settle on Stiles.
“He had something to do and left,” he answers and doesn’t look away. They stare at each other for a few seconds and Stiles wonders whether Derek will ask. There is no doubt that he felt something, either when Stiles was walking or when Scott disappeared, but if he reveals that he felt something, that’s as good as a confession regarding his own magical abilities.
The time will come when they have to acknowledge it, Stiles just not sure when it will be. When Derek sighs and looks away, Stiles breathes easier.
“How long until we reach the Capital?” Stiles asks as he follows Derek out of the room.
“Approximately six days. Five if we are pushing it.”
Stiles worries his lower lip with his teeth as they along the empty corridor. “That’s too long.”
“You didn’t say you were in a hurry.”
“Now I am. So if you know a way in which we can make it in two or at the most, three, that would be appreciated.”
Derek comes to a halt and turns to Stiles. His expression is unreadable as he looks at him, and his tone is carefully neutral when he speaks. “If we ride beastlings and we take them through the northern mountains, we might make it. There is a canyon leading through the mountain that’s bordering Lah, Ha and the Capital provinces I’ve passed a few times before, but the road is dangerous and the ride will be demanding even with domesticated beastlings. I can manage, but I’m not sure if you can keep up.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Stiles reassures him.
After Scott left and before Derek came to get him, Stiles thought about shifting into his true form and dashing through the sky to the Inner Palace, not caring about being seen or being attacked, just wanting to meet Gerard and demand answers immediately. Sacred Beasts are the fastest creatures in all the realms, the journey would be lightning fast and nobody would catch him. For a few, desperate seconds he really wanted to do that. Then he remembered the state Lydia was in, and the cold certainty that Gerard must die turned his blood into icy calmness. For Gerard to die he needed Derek, and Derek couldn’t keep up with Stiles’ pace. Not unless Stiles allowed Derek to ride on his back and Sacred Beasts only allowed their Rulers that privilege, if at all.
“Okay,” Derek breathes quietly, holding eye contact with Stiles for a few beats before he resumes walking.
The hallway is deserted and this early in the morning the Triskelion resembles more to a morgue than a vivid pleasure house. Instead of walking to the gates where Stiles can see a few horses harnessed close by on the side, ready for travel, Derek turns right and leads them through the blooming gardens. A few employees are tending to the plants, pruning the grounds from weed and shaping the leaves with delicate equipment. They work in silence and don’t look up when Derek and Stiles pass them.
Stiles just opens his mouth to ask about Boyd when static suddenly skitters across his skin and the faint scent of ozone fills the air. He blinks, sees Derek tensing and in the next second the ground shakes while a deafening crush breaks the quiet and a beastling crashes into the gardens. Debris from the walls coat its iridescent scales, pelting to the ground as it turns around, breaking trees with a flick of its tail and tearing the soil with its claws.
For a few seconds Stiles is frozen, his muscles locked tight as he stares at the beast, then Derek is next to him in a flash, grabbing his arm so tight that the skin will bruise. He starts dragging Stiles back to the building but halts abruptly as another beast lands on the roof, its talons sinking into wood and marble like a knife cutting into butter. Both beasts are enormous, leaking power and rage in powerful bursts and Stiles doesn’t doubt for a second that they are controlled by Allison.
People in various states of undress are pouring from the building, their screams mixing with the shrill cry of the eagle beast as it flaps its wings and jumps from the roof, tearing chunks of wood and marble and giving chase in the crowd.
The dragon lizard hybrid in the garden flicks its tongue, scenting the air and his yellow eyes zoom in on Stiles with frightening intensity. Derek pulls his sword and pushes Stiles behind himself, trying to cover as much of him as possible. His shoulders are relaxed and his stance is steady, his eyes tracking the lizard’s every move as it’s slowly starts crawling towards them.
“There are beastlings saddled in the stables,” Derek murmurs quietly and Stiles leans closer, his fingers almost touching Derek’s back to catch everything he has to say. “Black bull and horse hybrids, hard to miss if they haven’t bolted in the commotion. When I tell you to run, turn and go towards the back, grab one and escape. I will catch up with you later.”
“Not to doubt you or anything, but even if you survive this gigantic snake thing and escape that enormous bird, how will you find me?” Stiles hisses. When the lizard hisses back, Stiles is not amused.
“I have my ways,” Derek snaps at him, lowering his stance and shifting slightly, balancing his weight as he calculates best angles and strategies. Stiles tenses, ready to bolt upon Derek’s signal when the lizard suddenly screeches,jerking its head to the right. Its tail takes a considerable chunk out of the wall as it swishes.
Stiles blinks when he sees Erica standing in front of Derek, her white sleeping gown loosely held together with a pink satin slash. Her hair flies in tangles around her shoulders when she turns to face them, and a tiny part of Stiles’ mind that’s not flooded with adrenalin notes that she looks surprisingly young without make-up.
“Sorry boss, my turn. Take Stiles and go,” she addresses Derek, her eyes burning with fierce determination. The lizard shakes his head and blood splatters to the ground. When his focus shift to the three of them, one of his eyes is useless and Erica’s sword is coated in blood.
“Derek, we don’t have time for this,” she says before she spins around and concentrates on the lizard. It looks agitated and is not shy to express his displeasure with loud shrieks and aggressive body language. “Take the beasts and go! We will handle this.”
To Stiles’ complete surprise Derek nods and sheathes his sword before grabbing for Stiles’ arm.
“I will make it up to you,” he shouts over the noise, dragging Stiles away.
“Promises, promises,” Erica laughs, wild and free as she wields her sword, blood running down the gleaming blade in spidery rivulets.
They reach the stables and the hybrid beasts are a bit skittish, but still there. Derek hauls him over and practically throws him into the saddle before pulling himself up onto another one. Stiles totally appreciates the fact that he no longer has to share his personal space with Derek. He also doesn’t wonder why they are using saddles when the beastlings break into a gallop. Even while just warming up, they are fast. Stiles notes with increasing discomfort that they are also very selective in following instructions.
“How domesticated are we talking about?” he shouts to Derek as they run through the town, dodging panicked locals and rampaging smaller wild beasts.
“Ask Erica, she was the one to train them!”
Stiles swears.
*
Their escape is a blur and Stiles can only remember hazy bits and pieces. After they leave the city, the beasts up their already considerable speed and Stiles gives up even the pretend of control he has over his. It seems to follow Derek just fine and Stiles gives himself over to the rush. It’s the closest he has come to traveling in his true form since he has taken human shape and the taste of freedom sits heavily on his tongue, makes his throat ache.
Even though the heat has let up a bit, due to their grueling pace Stiles’ shirt sticks to his back, the light material damp from sweat. They have been riding all day, barely stopping for break and Stiles thinks he will probably tire sooner than their beasts. Derek keeps to the main road and they race through crop fields and surprisingly green wild panes, passing by hard working farmers and grazing animals. They come across a small, wandering deer horde and a few join to follow them, keeping up with the run and only falling behind when the easy, flat ground slowly gives space to a rocky, uneven trail.
Stiles notes the greener scenery with brief interest, but it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the closer they get to the Capital province the better off the land is. Magic concentrates in the heart of the kingdom and the Inner Palace houses the eggfruit tree bearing human eggs and is the residence of the Sacred Beast. Even if the kingdom hasn’t seen its qilin for decades, the magic is so ingrained into the land that it’s impossible for it to fade completely.
The beasts slow on the upward sloping ground, walking more cautiously and Stiles realizes that they have reached the mountain bordering the three provinces. The sky is bathed in the soft hues of sundown and Stiles wonders if they will stop for the evening.
He somehow manages to direct his beast closer to Derek, but when he asks, Derek shakes his head. “We either stop before we enter the canyon or we ride through the night, as swiftly and quietly as we can,” he explains, his gaze sweeping over their surroundings.
Stiles hums thoughtfully. “Will Boyd catch up with us?”
“No, he and Erica have other tasks than bodyguard duty.”
“Oh, right,” Stiles drawls, remembering a few things from their adrenalin fueled escape that now makes him incredibly curios. “It looked like not-a-whore Erica is surprisingly competent with a sword and if I remember correctly I saw not-a-whore Isaac pick up a fallen tree and throw it at one of the smaller wild beasts as it weighted no more than a flimsy scroll. I wonder what’s up with that?”
Derek smirks. “They are good people with many talents.”
“You mean your people. I think this whole bandit rebellion is on a bigger scale than you have let me believe. Just how big is your network?” Stiles wonders and Derek snorts.
“You are the one who keeps making assumptions about me. And Erica and Isaac don’t strictly count as my people, but they are sympathetic to the cause and make useful allies.”
“Stop it,” he hisses when Stiles gets close enough to nudge Derek’s leg with his toes. Stiles pretends not to hear him.
“Who are they?”
Derek moves his leg out of the way, but the new position must not be too comfortable because he decides to elaborate.
“I think Erica held a sword sooner than she could walk. She is an exceptional fighter and a skilled strategist. She also has considerable resources in her possession as she is the heir of the Reyes fortune. After the death of her parents she became the provincial lord of Rey,” Derek explains.
“Great,” Stiles says, feeling a bit faint upon remembering how he insulted a sword loving provincial lord. “Is Isaac of a similar background?”
“In a sense. Isaac is a Lahey and his older brother took over as temporary overseer after their father disappeared.” His emphasize on the disappeared suggests that no one would be sad if the father remained missing for eternity and Stiles thinks he’s better off not knowing the family history.
Then he registers the two provinces involved and inhales so suddenly that he starts coughing.
“You are a Hale. Derek Hale. You let me believe you were a riff-ruff nobody you complete and utter bastard while your family is one of the oldest in the kingdom,” he hisses when he can breathe again, furious with Derek and himself for being played so easily. To his complete astonishment, Derek laughs, the sound short and loud, and Stiles’ anger dissolves like sugar cubs.
“As I said, you are the one who keeps making assumptions about me.”
Stiles huffs and aims a kick in Derek’s direction and in the next second Derek draws his sword and raises it over Stiles head. He thinks that maybe he has pushed Derek too far and Derek finally decided that Stiles should pay for the annoyance with his life or at least stay quiet when a sharp, thin sound fills the air and Stiles watches as an arrow falls to the ground in slow motion. If Derek hadn’t blocked it, it would have gone straight for Stiles’ jugular.
“Thanks,” he breathes faintly as Derek turns his mount, facing where the arrow has come from and backing closer to Stiles, making him take a few steps back. Derek’s shoulders are relaxed and his arm is steady, but his jaw is set in a tight line as his gaze sweep over the terrain.
“You should run through the canyon as fast as you can. I will stall them until you are a safe distance away and will catch up with you as soon as possible.”
“Her,” Stiles corrects him, then explains when Derek makes a questioning hum. “Stall her, not them.”
Because Stiles knows arrows like this a thousand, has touched the carefully crafted wooden shaft with the tip of his finger and seen the sharp metal head bite into the soft flesh of beasts with vicious precision. He eyes the rock on his far left, and sure enough, Allison’s tell-tale click-click sounds fill the silence as she comes forward, silvery moonlight gliding over her form as she steps out of the darkness.
Stiles takes a sharp breath when he sees her. Allison’s hair falls in a tangled mess around her shoulders, her upper body naked and her skin human soft to the touch, her sharp bones arranged in a delicate structure until her torso spans and her four legs are covered in black, coarse horsehair ending in gleaming hooves. She’s partially shifted, stuck in-between transformation, clutching a bow in one hand and holding an arrow in the other.
Stiles knows that when a qilin gets the Sickness, their beasts with contracts remain loyal and follow their orders without problem. But without the steady moral compass of a qilin to guide them and tame their nature, as the qilin’s influence slowly fades, the beasts revert back to their baser instincts. No matter how much magic, human demeanor or reasoning a contracted beast possesses at one point, at the core it’s still a powerful great beast.
“Hey, Allison,” Stiles waves a little and her eyes flick to him from Derek. Her pupils are blown wide and instead of hiding mischief they shine dark with madness. Her tail flicks in agitation. “You just missed Scott.”
Her smile makes him shiver. “No, I didn’t.”
If he didn’t feel Scott’s presence in the back of his mind, that smile would make his blood run cold.
“Old friend?” Derek murmurs, his eyes fixed on Allison as he shifts a little and now completely blocks her from his sight.
“Scott’s lady love.”
Before Derek could comment on Scott’s poor life choices, Allison gets bored and fires another arrow at Stiles’ head. Derek cuts it in half with easy grace, then blocks Allison when she jumps at him with a conjured sword, its blade still vibrating with magic.
They fall into an intricate dance of sparring where each move whispers death. With every passing second it becomes clear that Derek can hold his own against Allison, his movements controlled and sure, his mind hyper aware. The more Stiles watches him the more he can see while people might defer to him and follow his lead in battle.
The realization makes him uncomfortable and with a tiny flick of his magic he sends a summon for Scott. Allison’s gaze shifts over to him as her senses pick up his spark, and her momentary laps of attention gets her a bloody arm, the wound gaping open from shoulder to elbow as Derek’s blade gleams red in the moonlight.
She backs away and they watch as the gash heals, tendons and muscles sticking together, leaving unmarked skin.
“Oh, puppy. I will break off your baby fangs and skin you alive,” she coos at Derek as she shifts slightly. “I will give your fur to Lydia so she can use it as a mat. Or a rag. Mutts like you should be lucky to even touch her feet.”
Stiles coughs. “Allison, I know I’m usually attached at the hip to Scott, but this,” he gestures at Derek, “is not Scott. So, not a mutt. I made a new friend!”
Neither of them seem to hear him, Derek looking as silent and scowly as Allison crazy, both too focused on each other. Stiles sighs.
“But if you want Scott, I can give you Scott,” he says as Scott materializes behind Allison in his true form, huge and snarling and looking a little worse for wear - probably from his previous run-in with his maybe-girlfriend. He attacks without hesitation and Allison deflects his snapping jaw with a shriek and a jab of her sword.
Stiles uses the distraction to steer his mount over to Derek. “Let’s go!”
“I could kill her,” Derek murmurs, his eyes fixed on the fight.
Stiles snorts. “I doubt it. But if you want to participate in a great beast lover’s spat, be my guest. I’m getting out of here!”
Stiles turns his mount and they break into a gallop. When he hears Derek following after a few beats, he smiles.
*
They ride through the canyon without further incident and Stiles thanks whichever bored god or goddess decided to amuse themselves with this adventure that they have made it out unscathed. The rocky ground gives way to a more forgiving animal trail, trees lining their sides and a valley spreading below their feet. Moonlight coats the landscape and helps a bit with shapes, but Stiles still can’t see too far.
“Welcome to the Capital province,” Derek says, and Stiles can detect a hint of exhaustion hiding between the syllables the first time since they’ve met. Even he feels tired and he’s not the mortal one in their little group of two.
“How long until we reach the Palace?” he asks and Derek cocks his head, thinking.
“Probably a day. We still have a bit more than two hours until sunrise, so if we ride without longer stops and at full speed, we can reach the Capital by sundown. I will get you into the Palace at night.”
Stiles nods. “Good. Let’s go.”
*
They have managed to escape numerous beastling attacks unscathed, yet they get ambushed by human bandits as they track through the forest, down the mountainside to the valley.
Stiles would laugh at the irony but he’s a bit preoccupied with staying conscious while Derek the wolf tears out throats and intestines with surprising ease. Because Derek, apparently, can turn into a wolf. He is huge and black and his eyes are as red as the splattering blood, the same color recently haunting Stiles’ dreams.
Stiles feels woozy from the blood and he probably drifts a little because one minute he hears screams and snarling and the next Derek’s concerned face swims before his eyes. He thinks it’s his concerned face from his eyebrows and scowl.
Derek pats him down before he helps him sit up. When did he lie down?
“Stiles, are you hurt?”
“No,” he says and his tongue feels like dead weight in his mouth. “Just. The blood. Get it off.”
“What?”
“Blood. Off. Sick,” he bites out, feeling weak and nauseous. Derek helps him up and drags him a few feet away. Derek’s mount has been killed and other’s ankle is sprained enough that he can’t bear any weight. They have to continue on foot. When Derek realizes that Stiles is in no shape to walk, he kneels and arranges Stiles’ weight on his back, winds Stiles’ arms around his neck.
“Hold on.” Stiles gives a faint squeeze and tries to do as instructed. He feels Derek grab the back of his thighs, shifting Stiles’ weight as he stands. He lost his shirt and his naked skin feels warm under Stiles’ cheek. He smells of sweet magic and blissful death and disgusting blood. Stiles doesn’t know whether to cling or get away.
“Don’t drop me,” Stiles whispers as his stomach clenches and his vision fades.
He wakes when he feels something wet on his face. They are in a small clearing next to a trickling stream and Derek is washing the blood off.
“Hey,” he says quietly when he notices that Stiles is awake.
“Hey yourself. We won?”
Derek snorts. “We won. I thought you were injured but it looks like you just faint at the sight of blood. Literally.”
“Yeah, well. Some of us have a weak stomach, wolf boy,” Stiles scoff, sitting up and taking over from Derek. “Speaking of, what’s with your furry alterego?”
Derek’s half-smile is more like a grimace. That expression makes Stiles stop his vigorous scrubbing and he turns toward Derek, focuses on him.
“Half-beast. Sometimes it happens that a shifter is born from an eggfruit tree. Not often, but sometimes. My parents prayed for children three times and each time they have been gifted with a shifter.”
Stiles hums. “Happens in cases when magical bleed through is stronger from the tree. But three in one generation is rare. Your family must be incredibly blessed.”
When Derek laughs, Stiles can’t help flinching. “Or incredibly cursed. Some kingdoms may consider us humans with magical abilities, but this kingdom is not one of them. Gerard has a vendetta and he wants every one of us hunted down and executed.”
Stiles studies him. “Is this why you hate him?”
“I hate him for numerous reasons,” Derek answers as he looks at Stiles. “I want to kill him because he killed my parents. Most of my family. Many of my friends. Many who weren’t half-beasts.”
“So it’s for vengeance.”
Derek shrugs. “I’ve never said it was for a higher purpose.”
“Yet you lead a revolution.”
“I don’t lead,” Derek says, shaking his head, then decided to explain as Stiles raises an eyebrow at him questioningly. “I just want to kill Gerard, others want a revolution. They decided to band together and see how they can use the opportunity when I cut his head off. Erica and Laura and all other provincial lords and people in power, they play the game. I’m not an heir, I’m not a general. I’m just going to kill Gerard. That doesn’t make me a leader. Whether someone takes his place as Prime Minister in the Interim Council and continues the circle until a Ruler is Chosen, I don’t care.”
“You said that a qilin choosing a Ruler is a never-ending circle,” Stiles contemplates. “Because the Ruler will inevitably fail and the qilin will be reborn to start the cycle anew.”
Derek blinks, visibly startled as he tries to place what Stiles is talking about. When he remembers, he nods. “Yes. And ultimately, that’s why I don’t care what happens on the big scale. It will be the same script with different players put on repeat until eternity. I would rather concentrate on my part, keeping my interest on the forefront in the grand scheme of things.”
Stiles smiles.
He takes a long, deep breath and slowly lets go of the tight control he has on his magic. Derek has got on his nerves the minute they have met and the pull he has felt got stronger during the time they have spent together. Derek is power and magic bundled in tightly controlled fury, dripping pain and blood to the ground with a unique view of the world Stiles wants to see take root and grow, wants to nurture until thousand different branches sprout from the trunk and he can marvel at the path each one takes.
“If you could break the circle, would you?”
Derek snorts. “What kind of question is that.”
“Humor me,” Stiles shrugs.
Silence descends over them and after a few beats, Derek speaks.
“If I had the power, I would,” he says quietly, and Stiles knows.
He gets to his knees and bows, his forehead almost touching the ground. The words break from his throat after decades of silence, an oath as old and powerful as Creation itself. Magic swirls around them in fluttering tendrils, invisible to the naked eye as they wave together in a maddening, unbreakable tangle. When Derek answers, the bonds snap into place and settle.
After a long, long time Stiles finally feels like he can breathe.
He will do this one last time before Derek’s promise of a world’s end.
*
Stiles has been wandering the Inner Gardens of the Palace for the last ten minutes when he finally stumbles upon Derek. He’s sitting in a cleverly hidden nook between evergreen rhododendron patches, way out of any used or unused garden trails. His ceremonial robes fan around him like a colorful landscape and he fiddles with the crown in his lap.
He doesn’t jump when Stiles sits down next to him, but his fingers twitch when Stiles leans back on his hands and looks up at the sky.
“Laura and Ministers are looking for you,” Stiles says, breaking the silence.
Derek scowls but stays silent. In the past few weeks Stiles got used to his silences and learned to read many of them. It’s still a work in progress, though, but at least now he doesn’t want to throttle Derek every ten minutes when he doesn’t participate verbally in a conversation.
After Derek accepted the title Stiles finally changed into his true form to get them to the Palace as fast as possible. The sheer, complete awe when Derek looked at him was almost enough to soothe the humiliation he felt over letting Derek ride on his back. Almost.
When they arrived, Stiles went to free Deaton and to get the Divine Registry back while Derek hunted Gerard down. Stiles tried to stay away from the bloody fights for everyone’s peace of mind, which was more or less successful. Derek killed Gerard and told the Council that he was the Chosen Ruler. As he had been stabbed quite a few times but refused to die, the Council reluctantly believed him.
Long story short, they came, saw and conquered rather spectacularly.
Laura and the rest came a day later sticking to the original schedule. They had been slowly filling ministry and government positions, drafting and scrapping plans concerning provinces and economy and lands, breaking and affirming political alliances faster than Stiles could say hello.
Most of them were scarily competent so Stiles left them to their own devices and annoyed Derek instead day and night.
“I won’t tell them about your awesome nook if you share it and let me hide from Deaton,” Stiles offers.
Derek’s answer is so fast and relieved it makes Stiles grin. “Deal.”
The official coronation will take place in three days, and after the ceremony both of them will go to the Sacred Mountain to receive the Blessing of the Heavens. Or something. Stiles is just looking forward to seeing Lydia above all. They couldn’t prevent Gerard from killing Jackson, but without Gerard and Jackson she is slowly healing from the Sickness.
Stiles leans back on the grass and lets Derek’s presence soothe him into a light doze.
He wakes to Derek’s fingers lightly tugging at his shoulder.
“Come on, time to face the music.”
“No.”
“Stiles.
“Derek.”
“Stiles,” Derek sighs, and Stiles grins.
“Derek.”
What Derek says next makes Stiles freeze for a heartbeat.
“What,” he whispers when Derek continues to look at him, annoyed and exasperated and a tiny little bit fond.
“It’s your name,” Derek says, his tone obvious and easy. His pronunciation was perfect.
It’s his name. His real name. His name no one knows, only the Ruler he has Chosen.
Not one of his previous Chosens have said it out loud.
He is still looking at Derek when he is hauled unceremoniously to his feet. He totally doesn’t squeak.
“Come on. I don’t have all day,” Derek mutters as he takes a hold of Stiles’ arm, leading him toward the Palace.
Stiles’ lips stretch into a small, pleased smile and he follows.
end