Chapter Text
Louis was numb as he went through the motions of signing his life away. He thought maybe, just one or twice, he caught a glimpse of Harry out of the corner of his eye. But that was probably just wishful thinking.
He was held in the infirmary until nightfall, when his “sentence” would be carried out quickly and quietly. Not so quietly, though, that there would be no witnesses. He was purposely and publicly marched through the halls of Orioch, past several open doors and occupied conference rooms, before being led down to the dungeons.
Fear spiked for a moment as they lingered a little too long by an open cell—how easy it would be for the king to have him thrown in there and never heard from again—but abated quickly when a slab of false stones in the otherwise impassable wall were moved aside. The secret passageway was a little known remnant from the war that had been used to move and stow high value prisoners. Perhaps there were others in the royal family’s chambers that led into the woods or a safe house like the country estate, and as he stumbled down the dark and narrow tunnel he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that Harry would use them tonight. That he would be waiting for Louis as he emerged from the bowels of the earth and they could spend one last night together in each other’s arms.
But the only thing waiting for them on the other side of the castle walls was an ambassador’s carriage, which would not be suspicious whether seen at the city center or the borderlands of Turroch.
Louis was shoved inside rather roughly, but in such a way that the driver wouldn’t see him. He scowled at the closed door, hoping that the guard would feel his displeasure even if he couldn’t see it, when he realized that there was another body in the seat opposite him.
“Liam?” Seeing Harry’s personal guard was both a relief and a worry—he had more than a few trust issues with the rest of the guards and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d make it here alive. But Liam’s presence could have meant anything, and Louis wasn’t sure whether he should be worried for himself or for Harry. “Is… everything alright?”
Liam’s duties usually required him to school his face into a stern indifference, but he made an exception and opted for what he hoped was a comforting smile. “Didn’t think my lord would let you go without making sure the king kept his promise, did you?”
Louis swallowed against the knot in his throat and shook his head. “No, I don’t suppose he would.” Then, looking up at him, “A bit controlling, that one, don’t you agree? Must think he’s the bloody prince of Turroch or something.” Liam smiled politely in return, but didn’t comment. “He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Louis asked quietly, seriously.
A small smile played at Liam’s lips as he fiddled with the various weapons on his belt that were uncomfortably jamming into his thighs. “He asked the same thing of you just before giving me this assignment.”
The carriage lurched into motion then and halted their conversation. The fact that Liam had not really answered his question did not go unnoticed.
***
With the frequent stops for Louis’ back and bladder, it was four days’ ride before they finally reached the remote seaside village that was their final destination. Liam got out first, leading their driver away to his next fare and leaving Louis to slip away unseen. He hovered at the threshold of the quaint bed and breakfast, suddenly nervous. What if she didn’t recognize him? What if she’d moved on and had a whole new family that didn’t include him? What if she was disappointed and ashamed because he’d ended up in the exact same position she had, a position that she sacrificed everything to get him out of?
Louis tugged at the hood of his cloak, pulling it tighter and casting his face in shadow. He had almost decided he wasn’t going in when the door beside him flung open and Liam came out, followed closely by a shorter woman with graying hair and eyes that matched Louis’. Eyes that burst into tears as soon as they landed on him, washing away any doubts he might have had about their reunion.
“Oh, my baby!” she cooed, gathering him up into her arms.
Louis rested his forehead in the crook of her neck and willed himself not to burst into tears. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispered against her skin as he took in her familial scent; it was earthy and warm and sweet and soothing, like a honeyed dandelion tea on a sore throat. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I can’t believe you’re here. How are you here?” She squeezed him tight and he hissed in pain; his damaged ribs and shoulders protested the embrace, but he refused to let go even as she tried to pull away in alarm. “What’s happened, my love?”
Reluctantly, he pulled back and drew the hood from over his head. Her brows drew together at the sight of his bruised and battered face. She started to bring her hand there, but he caught it and guided it to the more pressing matter protruding from his midsection. Confusion turned to recognition, followed quickly by surprise and then concern. “There is… much to discuss.” That was an understatement. “But first I would very much appreciate it if you checked up on your grandchild?”
It wasn’t that Louis didn’t trust Niall’s assessment or the palace physician’s, but they were not omegas; they had never carried a child, and they were not his mother. He was surprised when Liam asked if he could stay for a while, but it would make sense that he’d want to be able to reassure Harry with a report from a proper midwife.
As much as Johannah tried to remain all business as she was examining her son, she had to leave the room for a moment to compose herself once she took a full inventory of his injuries. When she came back into the room her cheeks were blotched red, but her voice was steady. “How far along are we then?” she asked, pushing up the fabric of his shirt and tugging the blanket draped over his lower half down far enough to expose his stomach.
“’Bout six months, I think.” It was a lifetime and no time at all.
“Is that all?” She eyed him skeptically, gently probing the vast expanse.
“Niall thinks it’s twins,” he confessed.
She let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You’re still hanging out with that hooligan?”
“He’s not a hooligan.” His mother gave him a look and he conceded with a guilty smile. “Well, not anymore. He’s married now, house full to the brim with kids. Even has his own shop.” An ache settled in Louis’ chest as he realized he’d probably never see his best friend again. “I think you would’ve liked the man he’s become.”
She hummed, thoughtful for a moment. “Well, in this case he was correct.” She took his hands in hers and guided one toward a hard bump jutting out against the otherwise perfectly round curve of his stomach, “One head,” and then pressed the other one a bit deeper by his hip bone, “and another. Definitely at least two babies.”
“At least?” Louis gawked at her.
She shrugged. “We’ll be able to tell a bit better when you’re further along, but won’t know for sure until they’re here.”
The idea that Louis was carrying more than two babies was ludicrous. Twins were uncommon enough, but the fact that they ran in his family made it plausible. Any more than that and some other force would have to be at play. Something like… something like an omega artificially suppressing their heats for 10 years and then suddenly going off suppressants and flooding their body with so many pent up fertility hormones that they immediately get knocked up by the first alpha that even looks at them with god knows how many babies.
Yeah, probably something like that.
“But you can only feel two?” Louis managed, trying to quell the rising panic.
“But I only feel two,” she assured him, giving the bump a gentle pat.
Louis nodded. That was good enough for him. “And they’re… okay?”
“They are active and responsive, but I would also like to do an internal exam, if you would be comfortable with that.” At his bewildered expression, she realized that he must not have ever been under the care of an experienced midwife. How pitiable the care for most omegas in this kingdom was; even those with noble bondmates, it seemed.
Johannah explained the process to her son the same way she used to for all newly expecting omegas—he would bend his knees and open up his hips; when he was ready, she would begin the exam, feeling for any abnormalities or signs of impending labor—and Liam wisely excused himself for this part. It was a bit awkward and more than a little uncomfortable, but she always told him what she was doing and why she was doing it and when a foot jutted out in protest against the pressure she was putting on them Louis tsked in admonishment.
“Calm now, little one,” he said, rubbing gentle circles into the tender spot on his abdomen, “this woman is the smartest person I know and she’s doing what she can to make sure we’re both happy and safe.” Then, leaning forward in a stage whisper, “And between you and me, that’s not exactly an easy job, so give grandma a break, yeah?”
A small squeak sounded from beside him and Louis looked over in time to see Johannah swiping at a tear on her cheek. Her smile was radiant, and with the years of hardship and isolation that preceded her disappearance, it had been a long time since he’d seen it.
Louis had forgotten how beautiful it was.
“Grandma Jo’s gonna take good care of you,” she said, nodding to herself. “Meanwhile, daddy better start explaining how you got here.”
Jo took the news that her son was technically carrying the royal heirs quite a bit better than Louis had expected, and leagues better than Louis himself had. She listened without judgment as he told her about his second bondmate, the unfaithfulness and betrayal, and hummed in approval at the actions he’d taken to protect himself this time. She was proud of him for ensuring the girls were well taken care of, for being strong enough to love again, for remaining selfless and curious and steadfast when it would be so easy to give up or give in. She told him, in no uncertain terms, how happy she was to have him back, but…
“My love, are you certain that this is what you want?” She’d heard the way Louis spoke about his life back in the city—his work, his friendship, his prince, his freedom. It was difficult and complicated, but there was passion there, and oh so much love. “You have been through so much. You built a life for yourself and I would never forgive myself if I let you give it all up when I should have encouraged you to keep fighting for it.”
Louis just sighed, resting his head wearily on her shoulder. “I’ve been fighting, mum; every day for my whole damn life.” She kissed him on the crown of his head and ran her fingers through his hair. “I think I’m ready to rest now.”
Liam stayed long enough for a good meal and a few stories from Louis’ childhood, but then it was time for him to return. It was a strangely melancholy goodbye in the midst of such a joyful reunion; soon Louis would have their children in his arms as constant reminders of his connection to Harry, but until then he had nothing to hold on to.
But of course Harry, the ever thoughtful romantic, had thought of that and Liam left him with a parting gift—a book and a letter, neither of which Louis could bring himself to read at the moment.
***
Louis settled in nicely with his mother—she’d been doing well for herself and everyone at the inn seemed to respect and adore her—and having her around was as practical as it was comforting; living with a midwife came in handy to quell his endless anxieties about all the things that could be going wrong.
But nothing was going wrong. The babies—and, by extension, Louis—were getting bigger, growing strong and healthy now that his life wasn’t in danger every minute of the day. Johannah had offered to pay for his room and board, but he insisted on working to earn his keep, though he was not nearly as useful in his current condition as he should have been. He was never very good in the kitchen, his limited mobility made him shit at cleaning, and his burgeoning midsection made him a bit of a liability when turning in the tight spaces between tables, but at least he could use it to hold the drink tray as he carried out beverages for the dinner crowd. Plus, being a heavily pregnant omega tended to earn him some extra tips (and the occasional harassment, but that was nothing new).
About a month into his new living arrangements, a new kind of pain broke through the constant ache in his back, wrapping around his whole stomach and tightening sharply. Before he could fully freak out about it—it was still much too soon—Johannah sat him down with a glass of water and told him to rest for a few minutes.
“The last few weeks are the hardest,” she explained when the mysterious pain did not return. “There is nothing to fear, my love,” she continued when his worried expression did not soften. “You can do this.”
Louis decided to take it a bit easier after that. He still worked, usually in the mornings before the aches and pains caught up with him, and then spent his evenings reading or drawing or listening in on the low din of conversation. The lodge’s location made it a common stopover for foreigners coming into and out of the city, and Louis invested much of his relaxing time listening for any discussion of the royal family. He quickly learned the words for ‘prince’ and ‘king’ and ‘omega’ and ‘wedding’ in multiple languages, and scribbled poor transcriptions of the conversations in which he heard them along with more detailed sketches of the speakers, later looking up the definitions or asking his mother to translate them.
Some were simply passing through and complaining about being harassed by the royal guard. Others were tourists that marveled at the splendor and wealth of the castle’s ballroom that was opened up to the public once a month. The minister of public works even came by once—the axle on his carriage broke and he stopped in for some tea while it was repaired—and commented that it was better than the shite they served at that week’s council meeting and Louis very nearly toppled out of his chair because this man had been in the same room as Harry within the last couple days.
The babies usually wore Louis out at an embarrassingly early hour, but this particular night they seemed determined to keep him up. Which was how he found himself sitting by the fireplace, his tired hands absently doodling in the paper propped on his belly. He was too tired to really follow the unfamiliar consonants and vowels being spoken by the only other two men in the room, but his ears had been trained well enough by then and he perked up at one of his keywords being spoken.
As inconspicuously as possible, he captured their likenesses and the few phrases he could make out of their hushed conversation. They kept glancing toward the door, and their hushed tone and furtive glances reminded him of the meetings Richard used to hold with his shady associates. Even though they had apparently been expecting it, the loud crash of the wood slamming against the wall in the quiet stillness caused them all to jump and a dark figure ducked into the room.
He was well muscled despite his middle age and one of the largest men Louis had ever seen—alpha power and dominance rolling off him in waves and causing his inner omega to shrink back. As he came further into the room, eerily quietly for his size, Louis also noticed that he was wearing an eye patch and a permanent frown.
The mens’ eyes were wide and one of them stuttered out, “Lord Blackwood, I didn’t think you’d—“
A big, meaty fist slammed on the table as he hissed, “Do not address me by name. Ever.” It looked for a moment like he might strangle the man right there, but then he sat across from them, murderous expression gone as quickly as it had come, and slipped into a different language.
Lord Blackwood. This was Lord Blackwood. This was Lord Blackwood.
What was he doing this far out of city center? Why was he meeting with a pair of local thugs when he had palace soldiers at his disposal? Louis didn’t think they’d ever physically crossed paths before, but what if he recognized him from his days in the castle? Or the dungeons?
Any movement might draw their eyes, so Louis tried to make himself as small as possible in his chair, sneaking glances their way as his charcoal pen sketched their likenesses into his book. He once again picked up one of the foreign words for ‘wedding’ and paused to focus more intently on their conversation rather than their faces.
They were definitely using one of the more obscure languages in the kingdom, so there was little he could infer. He tried writing down some of the phrases, but he didn’t know how to spell anything and just wrote it out like it sounded, so he doubted it would make sense to anyone even if they were fluent in that language.
Frustrated, Louis gave up on his notebook, setting it aside so that it was barely visible wedged between his thigh and the chair cushion. One of the babies, no doubt agitated by the current rush of adrenaline, somersaulted, kicked what felt like a very vital organ and forced him to release a pained huff.
The room went silent as Louis felt three pairs of eyes boring into him. He kept his eyes on the fire, pressing a hand to his stomach and silently willing them to settle down—as if they could, now that a heavy set of footsteps started in his direction.
Blackwood, standing to his full height, loomed over Louis and pulled in a deep breath. He let out a satisfied hum, as if the scent of a pregnant omega pleased him. “You’re up late.” He could probably smell Louis’ rising fear as well, and that caused the corner of his mouth to turn up. “Your alpha should know better than to leave his mate, especially in such a vulnerable state. Perhaps I should teach him a lesson in etiquette.” He sniffed again, reanalyzing Louis’ pheromones. “Or perhaps you are… unmated,” he concluded.
He was insinuating that Louis was a whore, which was not an unlikely assumption for an unbonded pregnant omega. But Louis knew what this man did to prostitutes; what more would he do if he found out Louis knew who he was and had been attempting to eavesdrop.
Louis did the only thing he could think of—he pitched forward, clutching at his stomach, and let out an anguished, high-pitched whine. Most alphas wanted nothing to do with the birth process because it was long and their partners suffered and they were powerless to do anything about it. Unsurprisingly, Blackwood had the same distaste for it and backed away a few steps, a look of disgust settling on his face at Louis’ weakness.
Johannah came racing down the stairs in her nightshirt, drawn out of sleep by her son’s cry, and knelt by the chair. She had gone to bed early that night because she wasn’t feeling well, and Louis felt guilty when he saw the dark circles under her worried eyes. “What is it, my love? Is it time? Are in pain?” She noticed how his eyes kept flicking behind her and she turned to see three large alphas, all facing them. She narrowed her eyes at them, unintimidated and perhaps a little more irritated than usual due to the sickness and exhaustion. “Who are you?” she asked, focusing on Blackwood. “You’re not a guest here. You cannot be here at this hour if you are not staying here.”
“Apologies, ma’am,” he said, nodding his head. “I was visiting some old friends and we lost track of time.”
Her head whipped around when Louis whimpered again and then snapped back to them. “You will take your leave now,” it wasn’t a suggestion, “and you two will return to your rooms.” As they started to walk toward the foyer she added, a bit softer, “Breakfast is at 6 if you wish to continue your visit.”
Louis would have laughed at his mother’s professionalism, but she was looking at him with such concern. “I’m alright,” he assured her. “I’m not in any pain. Well, no more than usual.” Her anger began to flare up, this time at him, and he added, “I was in distress, though. He- that man, he’s dangerous. I thought he was going to—“
He didn’t know what Lord Blackwood was going to do, but the fact that he was scared was enough to placate his mother. She understood better than most an omega’s instinct for danger; it tended to come from experience.
“But he didn’t hurt you?” Louis shook his head. “And you’re not having contractions?” He shook his head again and she blew out a deep breath, the tension leaving her shoulders, and slapped him firmly on the knee. “Don’t scare me like that again or it’ll be the real death of me!”
Louis took this to mean that he was forgiven, and so he pulled out his notebook. She knew about his little hobby, even indulged him with bits and pieces of gossip she picked up about the royal family. When he handed her the paper and she deciphered his poor excuse of a transcription, she sounded out the letters until something made sense. Once she was able to ascertain what language they were speaking, it became much easier.
She paused in the middle of one phrase, muttering a few variations of the foreign word before settling on the most likely one. “Oh, Louis.” Her voice was a sad whisper.
“What does it say?” Louis asked, trying to peer over her shoulder. The word he saw written there made him more afraid than Lord Blackwood.
Assassinate.
Louis had been correct in hearing that they were talking about the prince’s wedding. He now knew that in that same conversation, there had been talk of an assassination. So many pieces started to fall into place—the king was facing civil unrest because of widespread famine; it was why he needed to form the alliance with Sandira. But the famine wasn’t due to drought or blight. The water supply was polluted because someone was preparing for war.
No, not a war… a coup.
Harry, the royal family, the whole country was in danger, and Louis knew exactly who and when and where and, most likely, why. He could try getting a letter to Harry, but what were the odds it would arrive ahead of the traitors and make it directly into his hands in the midst of hosting and wedding preparation duties?
“I have to go,” he concluded. Two hard kicks to the ribs protested the idea, but he just huffed in contention.
“The babies could come any day now. And you would be arrested if they catch you in the city.” She wasn’t telling him he couldn’t go, just pointing out the facts. “I could go in your place. My conviction was a long time ago; no one would be looking for me.”
She was shivering and Louis reached out to tighten the shawl around her shoulders. “The journey is long and you’re ill.” She looked like she was about to protest, so he added, “I don’t want to risk my children losing their grandma.”
Using the ‘g’ word was the trump card and they both knew it. Johannah sighed and gave him a defeated look. “Alright, you win.”
Louis rested his head against hers, thankful that there was at least one less thing for him to worry about. Everything else, though… there were no good options. Though there was a chance the castle guard was prepared for an eventuality such as this, Louis wasn’t sure he could live with himself if something happened to Harry and he could have prevented it. But there was also every chance that Louis couldn’t prevent it. They could have closed off the entrances to the city. He could make it halfway down and then go into labor. He could arrive too late to stop anything and still be arrested and hanged.
He couldn’t reasonably go, and he couldn’t bear to stay.
Louis wrapped his arms around his stomach; he would be putting them at risk too, if he went to try and warn their father. “What am I going to do?”
“You make the choice you can live with.” Johannah swept her hand across her son’s cheek, brushing away the silent tears falling down his face as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “Or the one you can’t live without.”
And in that case, it was never really a choice at all.
“I need a horse.”