Chapter Text
It had always been the plan; the moment you had been told about your fate, about how your life was planned out, you knew that you were doomed to live it. Despite your high status and the power that would bestow you within the upcoming next two years, you had no choice or no say in this matter. In fact, your fate had been sealed the moment you excited your birth mother’s womb, screaming and crying to announce your arrival to the world. Back then, your parents had known the role you would play twenty-five years later.
Just like one of your fathers had been the prize, won by your other parents, so would you.
The sun hit the colored glass in the window, making colored spots stand out in the large room, the intricate pattern of the window shown distorted on the floor and furniture. Your small, silvery tiara that resembled twigs and leaves, felt heavy on your head.
“This has been a proud royal tradition for centuries, your highness; one that follows the duty of the throne and one that will continue with your own future children. It has kept your family tree strong for generations and your family’s reign long and prosperous. It was how your parents met, your grandparents and so on,” the elderly royal advisor explained, whose wrinkles became more prominent as he frowned at you from across the table, “this will not change merely because you don’t like it.”
You had never been fond of the stag hybrid who had spoken. He always wore his long robes with a kind of pride that made you feel uneasy, his long antlers covered in golden hoops from his many years of work. He carried himself as if he too was a royal family member, judging your every moment. He spoke down to you, critical of every independent thought you had. There was no need to change rules or traditions, if one were to ask him. How your parents valued him was beyond your comprehension, yet until you were mated and had been crowned, you had no say in his employment.
Your tail flickered shortly, white horse ears tipping backwards, exposing your displeasure at his words. Royal advisor or not, Lord Shepherd was an asshole. Sometimes you were convinced he thought of you merely as a breeding stock and nothing new.
“You know this is not up for discussion,” one of your fathers said from the end of the table, looking tired in his chair, his crown crooked on his head, his fox ears slightly drooped forward - you knew for a fact that he was annoyed with you even bringing your displeasure up, since it wasn’t really a new subject, “let us continue.”
“Changing the tradition results in major financial losses,” the royal advisor, Countess Romanova, in finance cheerfully added, the wolverine hybrid looking through some papers, not even looking up, perhaps hoping it would convince you, “I would not recommend.”
Your father pointed at her with a pleased smile, as if to ‘I said so’. You didn’t dislike Countess Milena Romanova as much as you disliked Shepherd, but at the same time, you never saw her focus on anything but the economy of the Kingdom. It was her craft after all, but still.
“You make it sound like a big market, where I’m the main prize,” you answered, your birth mother giving you an elbow in the side, together with a displeased huff. A wordless warning. She told you to shut up without the words escaping her mouth.
“It is very big market, your Highness. There is a lot of money in circulation during the entire challenge - it is very good for the entire economy,” Romanova continued happily, pointing to a paper with a bunch of numbers on it, the wolverine hybrid only pausing for a moment after a short glance at you, “apologies, my princess - but I’m afraid it is the truth.”
“We’re here so you may be explained how it will all function and course of the events,” your papa cut in, softness in his voice as your eyes met, his unicorn horn which you had inherited yourself, glimmering softly in the light of the large room, “We shall discuss your thoughts about it later, sweet heart.”
You pursed your lips, keeping yourself from demanding to talk about it now. You were to be twenty-five in one and a half years, then the competition would take place and you would be won like a trophy, forced to mate with whoever won the challenges. That wasn’t long enough to convince your parents to change your fate. Several of the other advisors pitied you, you knew this. You could feel the sympathetic looks that the knights, Dame Farah Ahmed Karim and Sir Alejandro Vargas were sending you, yet you refused to look at them.
You had half a year, then the news would be sent all over, to the neighbouring country as well, as far as possible, inviting packs to join the competition, to “win” your heart and the throne of Zerus.
“As an omega, your duty will be to bear the children, even if there is another carrier in the group, the first one of course being th–” you began to ignore the explanation that left Shepherd, already knowing what his point was. You got to choose a challenge or two, then they would send those out in a year, so that the entered packs knew what to train for. Then, half a year later, the competition would take place.
The room stunk of alphas. Of sweat, leather and the different scents of the many people that were in the room, all melted together. It stunk of your floral scent, upset with a burnt aftertone to it. Yet, there was no one to seek comfort with right now. As long as your parents were leaders of Zerus, you had no choice but to follow orders.
The meeting went on for too long and you stopped paying attention. You should probably have listened to the explanations about everything, but you found yourself unable to care. The practical things when it came to the competition, where the great amounts of packs would have to sleep, the general logistics of so many people, of the places where the competitions had to take place. Ideas from the last one, a little over twenty-five years ago, when your parents had met. What was expected of you.
You found yourself unable to care.
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The competition had many different purposes. It kept any royals from being on the throne too long, it kept the bloodline fresh, it made it possible for a common person to become a royal.
You had been told that, over and over again. As if it was supposed to make you go ‘ah, yes, alright, I’ll abandon any dream or ambition then, to follow what you've decided on my behalf’.
Your hooves echoed as you stomped down the long halfway, angry puffs of air leaving your nose as you steered towards the room, followed closely; you knew your parents would want to talk to you, yet by the mere sound of the footsteps, you knew it wasn’t them who followed you. It would have surprised you if they did, as they tended to discuss your behavior with you during dinner.
Frustrated with this entire scenario, you almost kicked your door to your room open, an angry sound leaving you as you stormed towards your bed, dramatically collapsing upon it. Your tail swished from side to side as you pressed your face into the duvet. You hadn’t closed the door behind you, knowing those who followed you would do so - which they indeed did.
Neither Lady Beatrice, your lady in waiting, nor Dame Kate Laswell, your personal knight, said anything as you laid upon your bed, feeling like the anger overwhelmed you so much that you could barely breathe without being upset.
Born into expectations which you often felt strangled by, knowing you would never escape them no matter how much you tried. If you refused to follow what was expected, you would be known as the one who was unable to live up to them. A spiral you could never run from.
You were known throughout your country and the neighbouring ones, for your beauty and elegance; a talented young omega, who on her twenty-fifth year birthday, would marry the strongest pack, then you would birth beautiful children, who would be just as polite, graceful and desired as you were.
… At least, that was what your birth mother attempted to make it seem like you were like that. She really did try her best.
The only problem was, that you were far from the polite, graceful and talented daughter she liked to tell other nobles about. You knew for a fact that she had gotten a headache more than once from your antics. Too often perhaps.
Your father and papa had told you off more than once, begging you to behave, just for your mother’s sake. To let the pack have a ball or party, free from dramatics or rude comments.
You didn’t consider it rude yourself; you told the truth, plain as it was and put down boundaries. Why were you supposed to deal with people behaving like you were either an actual horse to be sold or something made of glass? That an omega like you, a unicorn hybrid, wasn't supposed to have opinions or talk back to rude betas or alphas, despite the fact that you were going to be a part of the ruling pack of the country once you reached twenty-five.
Your three parents all wondered where you got it from, the bluntness and wildness, while you and your younger brothers wondered why they didn’t understand; you couldn’t control or shape your child if you weren’t involved in its development. Your fourth parent had been the most involved, yet she had died when you were only five.
They never spoke of her. Your brothers were born after, never knowing her, not like you did.
Jealousy was a nasty personality trait. Yet, it was often that you found yourself jealous of your younger brothers. They had the possibilities to choose their future packs themselves, not forced to settle with whoever ran the fastest or was the best at fighting. They would no doubt come find you later, to hear how the meeting went, no doubt already knowing from gossip through the servants.
It was Laswell who dared to break the silence first, ever the brave knight.
“Do you wish for us to do anything for you, my highness?”
You laid silent for a moment, your tail swishing a little less, before you raised your head a little, “will you arrange for me to run away?”
Kate chuffed at your question. She had been your knight for as long as you could remember and you sometimes wondered how she put up with you.
“I’m afraid not, little horn. I would have to join you then and I despise travelling in the snow,” she dryly remarked, the lion hybrid stretching for a moment before sitting down next to you, giving your back a pat, as you lowered your head into the duvet again, “how about a bath instead? or, even better, you express your feelings and we talk about it.”
“Why not both?” Beatrice added to Kate’s suggestion, a small bleating sound following as you heard her hooves cross the room and you felt the bed sink down on the other side, “A long bath always helps.”
“I do not wish to be married off like a prize,” you said, before you raised your head, looking over at Beatrice and Kate, “I wish to fall in love. Like they describe in the books, in the songs, in the plays, in the myths that I’ve been told all my life.”
“Well, I’m afraid that's not really a possibility,” Kate answered, ever the optimistic, her tail curling around your leg for a moment, “yet, you could learn to love whoever you end up with.”
“What if they’re awful people?”
“Then you must teach them to be kind ones,” Beatrice happily offered and you groaned, hiding your face in the duvet once more.
It seemed as if you were destined to be unhappy.