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sabraeal · 1 year ago

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The Strong Pack Thrives, Part 1

[Read on AO3]

Sequel to The Lone Wolf Survives

Hardly two steps into the breakfast room and the scent assaults her: pork sausage with fennel and garlic, some root vegetable-- potato perhaps-- fried crisp and spritzed with lemon, charred tomatoes with spring onions, a milky sauce of indeterminate spice but what is there is certainly a lot. There’s more besides; an entire basket full of muffins calls to her, as well as small danishes laid out on a tray and topped with generous helpings of jam and custard. But none of those pastries cling to her nose, overwhelming her with choice. Eisetsu’s table had never been sparse, but this morning--

Well, no one would ever guess that they had all spent almost an hour trying to scrub char and pitch and dirt from their skin last night, or that what remained of her clothes had been resigned to the furnace, not the laundry. Thank goodness they’d thought to change before riding out after Ryuu; Eisetsu was no alpha to begrudge her a ruined gift, especially if the ruination was in his service, but still-- she would have spent all breakfast, wondering if she should bare her neck.

“Good morning, Shirayuki,” he calls out, his usual sunny smile sedate. It’s habit to ask if there’s something the matter-- or, more pressing, if there’s anything she can do about it-- but she remembers the woman locked in the suite upstairs, still wrangling with the after effects of Touka Bergatt’s long-term attentions, and bites it back. Obi hadn’t had time to delve into the details of just what happened at the masque, but it didn’t take much to gather that it hadn’t been the joyous reunion Eisetsu had hoped.

“Ah, yes.” She bustles over to breakfast, attempting to be chipper enough for the both of them. “Good morn--”

“Shirayuki!” The chair legs screech across the parquet before Zen catches himself, half risen from his seat. “Ah, I mean. Mistress Shirayuki. It’s pleasure to see you.”

A lord does not rise for a commoners. An alpha does not rise for a beta. And a prince, well...there is a reason why Zen coughs, awkward, before shuffling his chair beneath him. Eisetsu, for his part, only tilts his head, sending a curious glance her way.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” she replies with as formal a bow as she can make with a plate in her hands. “Lady Kiki. Sir Mitsuhide. It’s an honor to dine with you this morning.”

A raised eyebrow from Rugilia’s lord warns her that she has perhaps laid it all on too thick. Obi is a knight of the Royal Circle, an aide to the prince of Clarines; as high as the rest of them ranked, both by blood and inclination, they were his close colleagues. And if she were his, er...

I think I mentioned-- even now she fells the rumble at her back, the hot breath washing over her ear --that alphas like to take care of their mates, Miss.

...Ah, whatever she might be, she would know them. Not well, but enough that she wouldn’t need to bow and scrape. Ugh, this one little lie had seemed so simple when it was just between her and Obi, but now with Zen here, and Kiki, and Mitsuhide-- it’s unwieldy. Every action must be calculated, joy rationed in every smile, and--

And she’s saved from much more of it by a shuffle in the hall. Or several shuffles, perhaps even a scuffle, each one far more awkward than her own, until somehow all the jostling ejects both offenders through the door.

“Lord Tsuruba!” Eisetsu calls out, a hair too loud for the room. “And, er...Lord Tariga...? What a pleasure for you two to join us.”

Side by side, the differences between them are stark; not simply because of Tariga’s braid and Tsuruba’s scar, but because of the way they hold their faces. Similar features mold to distinct persons now that she can see that Tsuruba wields a bland politeness like a shield, making each twitch of his nose or lift of his lips a full expression in itself; or that Tariga’s brows naturally settle at a quizzical angle, like a constant question caught is between his teeth, ready to fall with every breath.

And yet, despite their expression, their scent shifts to a similar shade of skeptical, dubious that their presence at this table could be anything but tolerated, that their duty to attend might be anything but a burden to those already seated.

Ah. Shirayuki rubs at her nose. Strange. She’s not use to so much from a simple sniff. Perhaps she’s simply overstimulated; Eisetsu’s spread is far more pungent this morning, most likely to impress the alphas in the royal party-- or at least, who he assumes are alphas. Still, it pales to the banquets at the palace; there may be a glut of scents, a veritable feast for the nose, but it lacks the complexity of what the castle kitchens put out.

Or maybe, a traitorous part of her whispers in her ear, it has something to do with last night.

It’s-- it’s impossible. It’s not as if she hadn’t-- if she had never--

Well, a beta may not fly into heat or fall into a rut, but Shirayuki had certainly put a hand between her legs before. A few times, even, when the nights ran late and her mind still paced the lab’s floors, composing notes that wouldn’t make it to the page until morning. Something to...to ease the way to sleep. To shut off.

Ah, but in that carriage, shutting off had been the furthest thing from her mind. His hands had skimmed up her thighs, and she had wanted to-- to--

Do something. She hardly knew what, but seeing Obi there across from her after, unfinished and undone--

Her hands had itched, her lips stung. We can do more later, he had rumbled, too low, and--

Clink.

“Shirayuki!” Eisetsu springs to his feet, blinking owlishly at where she stands. “Are you quite all right.”

She glances down, and, ah...the plate rests in one palm, and in another, a piece of it, broken in the shape of her grip. “Oh, goodness! I’m, ah...”

When she dressed this morning, grimacing at the marks she could only hope a high collar would cover, the choice had not felt convenient let alone fortunate. But now, with heat flaring over her chest, threatening to spill up the column of her neck, she feels...armored, if not precisely comfortable. Protected, from scrutiny, at least.

“Please, don’t worry yourself.” With a wave of his hand, a footman appears to take it from her, scurrying it away into the kitchens. “I’m sure it was just...badly thrown. Flawed before it even came to the table!”

“Right.” Considering the expense for gilded dishware she would hope not, but there’s hardly a better explanation. “I just...is Obi coming down to breakfast?”

Zen blinks at her. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“My thought exactly, Your Highness.” Eisetsu’s mouth curves impishly as he tucks in behind his meal. “You are the one with the best opportunity to inquire as to his, mm, morning plans, aren’t you?”

As if the insinuation wasn’t enough, Eisetsu glances around the table, expectant. He’s anticipates their knowing looks, that the royal party will gleefully seize the opportunity to tease Lilias’s most famous lovebirds--

But it is only met with a quizzical silence. Zen’s narrowed gaze darts between them before he ventures, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“If you’re looking for Obi,” comes a soft voice from the hall, “I think I might be able to provide some assistance.”

They’d arrived here last night, all squeezed in on one carriage bench, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder like sardines in can-- him, Miss, and their little pup. No reason for it either; Master had hopped in with Eisetsu without a whisper of warning, Miss Kiki and Sir keeping pace on either of side of them in case of trouble. So they might have taken up the whole cab, letting Obi stretch out his cramped legs and letting the air carry away Miss’s troublesome scent. It’s just--

It felt right. Charred and dirt-stained and foul-smelling as they were, the moment he’d thrown himself to the cushions and Ryuu had followed, burying his nose in the rent beneath his shoulder, Obi felt...

Home. It was home. And Miss piling in on the other side, the sweet scent of her still there, strong beneath the smoke and soil--

His cock twitches, the mattress rising to cradle it, to give it far more attention than its due. He shifts, just enough that his groan is lost in the labyrinth of the pillow’s down, but it doesn’t help, doesn’t do anything but make him wish her soft skin was beneath his neck. Reminds him that he could sink his cock as deep as his teeth into something warm, into something that sighed at Miss’s pitch--

“Obi?”

It’s an effort to lift his head, to even turn enough so that he can see who shuffles at his bedside. His senses are addled by her scent, searching for it, yearning, but-- but the one in his room isn’t hers. Isn’t one he knows, not at first, not until his eyes finally focus and he’s met with blue in a moon-pale face, dark hair no longer long enough to tumble over his forehead. No, it’s cut to look just like his. In the market, a woman asked whether they were brothers, and he--

He needs to focus. “Ryuu...” Haah, his mouth is parched. “What...what are you doing here?”

Big eyes blink at him in a face he can’t quite reconcile to the shaggy mop of a kid he caught under Miss’s desk all those years ago. The one who hadn’t climbed a tree or caught fireflies or had a growth spurt that made his legs ache. The one who used to smell like the stockroom, herby and indistinct, like he caught a whiff of it through an open door, and now--

Now there’s a musk to it, a hint of something deeper. He’s changing; no, Ryuu’s growing up, and Obi’s not sure into who. Someone better than him, that’s for sure. “Breakfast.”

The smell might be different, less herbal tea and more...forest floor, but it’s soothing. Like a cool compress to a fever, the first stirrings of his rut eases. “Where at?”

If it’s one of those informal grab-and-go businesses, he might be able to make it. Just throw his loosest tunic over this whole situation and stuff his pockets full of food. In and out and no one the wiser. “The usual room.”

Which means the informal dining room. Same as the formal one, but no dressing up required. Grabbing encouraged, but not the going. “Right.”

Intimate, is what Eisetsu liked to call his breakfasts. Table right up close to the spread so everyone can comment on what is and isn’t going on a plate. Best seats in the house to witness his ever-growing situation while he got his bacon and eggs.

Damn. He’d really been hoping for a handful of that sausage. Betas keep their table bland-- they don’t know better, really-- but it was recipe from the old count’s time. Man might have been a bastard, but he sure knew how to spice a--

“Obi.” Ryuu stares at him-- no, through him, brows angled like arrows over his nose. “Last night you ate quickly and left.”

It was that or break his hand to keep from feeding Miss from his plate. Kiki had offered her half a scone and he nearly jumped the table.

“You don’t smell right either.” Those wide eyes squint, suspicion caught up in their corners. A knowing he’d rather the kid not have. Not about this. “Are you feeling unwell?”

There’s a stress on it, unwell. Like the way Sir said indisposed when Kiki spent three days locked in her room after Sereg, or Miss said unavailable when Yuzuri made the whole wing smell like butter and citrus.

“Me, pup? I’m in top form.” He gives his chest a rap, just to prove it. “That perfume rattled me a bit, I’m not too proud to admit it, but everything’s right as rain now. Problem is--” he leans in, conspiratorial “--it’s getting crowded around here.”

His mouth fouls up into a frown. “Do you need more suppressants? I made another batch before we left. I can get them now.”

“Ahh. No, no.” There’s nothing those can do for him now, not with a rut so close even his bones feel heavy, begging him to find someone to hold his weight. “I just. Need a bit. Just a day or two to clear out my nose before I play the good omega again.”

“Uh-huh.” Ryuu hasn’t gotten as far as he has at Lilias without knowing a lie when he hears it. But he’s also got experience in keeping secrets, and Obi knows: he’ll keep this one too, so long as it’s safe. “You’ll let me know if you need something. Or Shirayuki?”

“I’ll tell you.” That’s the last thing he needs right now, having her in here. But her scent... “Hey, Little Ryuu, do you think you could do me a favor?”

“Which is why he’s still in his room.” There’s a tightness around Ryuu’s mouth as he speaks, a grimace concealed through movement. He’s keeping something from them, holding something back, and by the way he can’t quite meet her eye, Shirayuki knows it’s not about the crowd.

“He’s not coming, then?” He nods, tight and quick, before turning to the buffet, plate already in hand. “Maybe he’s finally able to relax.”

The muffin drops from between his tongs, rolling across the table before he stiffly picks it up. “Maybe. He definitely slept.”

Guilt stings her nose, sharp and strong as vinegar. She wants to press, to ask just how he might know that for a fact, but Zen’s snort interrupts her. “That one? I bet. He’s practically nocturnal.”

“I don’t think sleep is the issue here,” Kiki hums, her smirk tipping into a wry slant.

“You know how he leans against a wall with his arms crossed sometimes?” Zen leans toward Ryuu, a grin stretched across his lips. “He’s actually sleeping.”

This time when heat gathers at her collar, it’s not pleasant. No, this time her stomach roils, and the flush spreads like steam, right up to the tips of her ears. “That’s--”

That’s because his work keeps him up at night, she manages to snap her teeth around just in time, and then by morning you expect him to sit at your heels.

It takes a breath-- several, all of them under the table’s intense scrutiny-- for her to catch herself, for her to calm enough to say, “I mean that he’s able to relax now that all of you are here. With you around, he doesn’t have to worry...”

About keeping me safe. She glances up at Eisetsu, his curiosity politely perked. “He’s had a long few days, I mean.”

“Oh, I bet. He’ll emerge sooner or later.” Zen smiles at her over the rim of his teacup. “He’ll sneak out of his room, prowling and hungry for lunch.”

“Oh.” Ryuu blinks from his position at the buffet. “He told me to bring him some kind of sandwich.”

Kiki’s brows lift. “A brazen request for an absentee.”

“He put in his appearances last night,” Mitsuhide reminds them, slicing into a thick piece of ham. For one, bright moment, she believes he might be on her side, that he might defend Obi as well, but then he adds, disgruntled, “Maybe he thought that would earn him brownie points.”

“Clever.” Kiki hums, unimpressed. “Give up time now for a little time to himself later.”

Zen glances down the table, smile brimming with his usual charm. “I do apologize, Lord Eisetsu. He’s usually better behaved.”

“Oh, it’s, ah, no trouble at all.” He spares her a startled look, a question she can’t possibly answer brewing in his eyes. “Last night the man told me himself that he planned to spend half the day in his chambers. Well deserved too, if I say so myself.”

It’s with a theatrical sigh that Zen settles back in his chair, the barest hint of a smirk lingering at the corners of his mouth. “Well, what do we think? Should we forgive him? He did inform the master of the house.”

Kiki sips, too delicate, at her tea. “He certainly laid the groundwork.”

“Agreed. However--”

“I don’t think Obi needs your forgiveness.”

It’s not until every eye at the table swivels her way, aristocratic eyebrows all raised to their loftiest arches, that Shirayuki realizes that she’s spoken. That it was her foot that has come down on the neck of this conversation. But now that she has, it’s too late to stop, to keep the words from spilling out like a tea kettle boiled too hot.

“He has spent the last week getting to the bottom of a conspiracy that none of you knew anything about until after we--” Shirayuki hauls herself short of, we told you. Eisetsu has proven himself a trustworthy ally, maybe even friend; she would hate to ruin it by informing him that the prince of Clarines had been a guest in his house without his knowledge. “Last night he not only delivered the culprits to you, but a key witness, and on top of that, saved...”

It’s impossible to put into words what Ryuu is to her. To them. How frantically her heart had raced when they found that bookmark in the forest, the terrible tearing in her gut as she traced the bloody patterns of their secret knock.

“Shira--” There’s the smallest scrape of a chair as Zen makes to rise, his hand lifting off the table to reach out to her, but--

But one curious glance from Eisetsu keeps him in his seat. Because, of course, to him Zen is merely her lover’s lord, an acquaintance that only reflects the favor he must shower on Obi.

“Ah...” There’s an apology in Zen’s eyes, but it’s only for her. “Of course, Miss Shirayuki. We were only teasing. Force of habit. For an omega, Obi always gives as good as he gets.”

Right. Because that’s what they know him as: an omega, an easy and eager target. Not the alpha who bows his head to earn his place. Not the man who--

“If you would excuse me.” Her chair screeches back as she stands, the room suddenly too small, too hot. She glances at Eisetsu. “My lord?”

He blinks back at her. “O-of course, Shirayuki. Was the food not to your liking? You’ve barely eaten--?”

“No.” She can’t bear to look at any of them as she says, “I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Shira--” Zen catches himself. “Miss Shirayuki, do you need someone to--?”

“No, I’m fine. Just...” She shakes her head. “I need space.”

Shirayuki’s hardly more than a few steps from the hall before she collapses against the wall, tearing at the neck of her dress. She’s sweating, cold and hot at the same time.

“What,” she gasps, pressing her head into her hands, “is wrong with me?”

#obiyukibingo23 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #abo au #ans #yes it is BACK because the bingo gods LAUGH in the face of my PAIN #and also because there is a handful of ladies who would not let me rest #this chapter is mainly set up for what is going to come after #more of it than i initially planned!#BUT HERE WE ARE #because if i'm gonna write abo i'm gonna make people suffer PLOT

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