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“Lieutenant. You will take your prince to another castle, for safety.”
 
Never in his life had Mycroft found it so hard to leave his chambers. His knights waited, yet his gaze refused to stray from the man before him. His beautiful omega prince. His Albert.
 
The last clasps of his armour locked into place, and he let out a low grunt as the cold metal tightened around his chest. How heavy it felt - and how cruel the contrast with the thin silk nightgown clinging to Albert’s body, so light Mycroft could see the underline of his lithe figure underneath. A sight that truly was a promise of pleasure…soon to be stolen away by duty.
 
A shadow of disapproval crossed Lieutenant Milverton’s face, as he noticed his lord’s hesitation. “As you wish, Your Highness,” He said carefully, bowing his head, “But you must go now. The enemy is already at the river.”
 
“Yes… yes, I’ll come right now.”
 
But despite his own words, Mycroft stepped forward, fingers brushing the softness of his husband’s hair before he bent to press one last passionate kiss to his lips; one last taste of warmth before the march to war.
 
“Stay safe, my lord… my prince… my love,” Albert whispered. “Because without you, I cannot live.”
 
“I will come for you safe and sound, and I’ll have you back into my arms, sooner than you think. I swear this to you, on all things I hold dear.”
 
The promise was sealed with one last kiss and then, with visible effort, Mycroft stepped back. The warmth in his eyes drained entirely as he turned towards Milverton, who was still waiting by the door.
 
“See it done, Lieutenant. I will personally consider you responsible of your prince’s wellbeing during my absence.”
 
Mycroft paused only once more at the threshold – longing and regret crossing his face for a brief instant - before he turned away and strode past his knights.
 
 
***
 
 
Milverton had known it from the start: the prince had to go.
 
He had opposed the match from the first moment Mycroft’s gaze had lingered on that intrigant creature - a man made for silk sheets, wine and the idle pleasures of the flesh. Someone born to be a decadent bohemian prince, not a sovereign’s consort.
 
The realm needed someone completely different at its ruler’s side; a warrior, perhaps, or even better – a cunning strategist. Someone intelligent, cold and ruthless… Someone like Milverton. Instead, they had Albert, whose mild, lascivious touch had dulled Mycroft’s thirst for conquest, drowning it into useless sentimentality. Making their king unnecessarily weak and tender.
 
A kingdom could not survive on tenderness.
 
So when the order came - “You will take your prince to another castle, for safety” - Milverton had bowed, just as loyalty demanded, but inside he was already smiling.
 
Safety, he thought, was a mercy Albert did not deserve. The prince would be the first one to go; and then, should Mycroft be irremediably compromised by that weakness, then Milverton would make sure to get rid of him as well – and the crown, one way or another, would finally be his.
 
 
***
 
 
When Albert had offered his own hand in marriage - a gesture of convenience, meant to secure his brothers’ little kingdom - he had thought little of it at the time.
 
Of the alpha who would become his husband, he knew only what rumours painted in conflicting shades: some called King Mycroft bloodthirsty and cruel, others whispered that he shunned the most common worldly pleasures and harboured darker, unspeakable desires. It wasn’t surprising at all, then, that Albert had expected to live the rest of his own miserable life imprisoned into a gilded cage of iron and ice.
 
Instead, he had been pleasantly surprised to discover a man far gentler than the stories had ever allowed – if one was willing to look beyond the apparent coldness and the slightly stunted emotionality.
 
To Albert’s delight, they had proven compatible in more than one way: in mind, in temperament… and in the private tenderness of their shared bed. God willing, the omega had no doubt that before long the court would be filled with laughter of little princes and princesses running around. If the light spells of morning nausea he’d been enduring these past weeks were any indication, he might soon have to consult the royal omegologist.
 
But there were more pressing matters now; first of all, he had to reach safety – for the sake of his husband, his kingdom, and the fragile life that might already be taking root within him.
 
So Albert made no protest as his maids moved quickly around him, layering him in heavy furs and fastening his cloak tight against the cold. At last, he inclined his head to receive his crown right from Milverton’s own hands, letting the weight of gold settling over his hair.
 
There was no more time to lose.
 
Under his breath, he murmured a quiet prayer for Mycroft’s victory as he mounted the mare his husband had gifted him on their wedding day - a proud, spirited creature, as fierce and loyal as the man who had chosen her. Outside, the merciless winter wind howled in the night, carrying to their ears the distant, mournful toll of the war bells.
 
 
***
 
 
The forest was cold and covered in snow, slowing down the escort’s ride.
 
Good, Milverton thought, watching the prince from behind. The omega was riding near the front, unaware of the way the Lieutenant’s gaze lingered on the sweep of white fur draped across his shoulders, and on the delicate veil cascading from his crown before trailing behind him like a comet’s tail.
 
How fitting that the symbols of this man’s undeserved rank would be his downfall. And so near to his husband’s battlefield, too; Milverton loved the cruel irony of his own plan. After all, had made sure to trace the wrong path for their little envoy, luring them all towards an unsafe territory. No castle, no safe place would be on sight. No other way for this useless prince to survive the ambush that awaited them.
 
Milverton could already picture it: the heavy cloak dragging Albert down in his frantic flight, the fine veil catching on low branches… the shimmer of his white clothing, a silken beacon leading the hunters straight to the prey.
 
A small, heartless smile made its appearance at the corner of the older omega’s mouth.
Let the prince enjoy his illusion of safety for a little while longer tonight, he thought. Before the new day comes, I’ll have my revenge.
 
Actually, it took slightly more than Milverton had expected. They were nearly through the forest - he could already see the pale light of dawn breaking through the trees ahead – when the attack came without warning.
 
The first arrow came whistling through the trees, striking a knight square in the throat and making him crumple soundlessly from his saddle. A heartbeat later came the second, then the third – until the air resounded with the whine of arrows and the sound of startled horses.
 
Milverton did not call for retreat. He only raised his hand, and the men who had already sold their loyalty to gold moved as one, turning against their former comrades and slaughtering them on the spot. The few survivors desperately tried to cover their prince’s escape; a noble effort – and a useless one.
 
As the column broke apart and the ground became littered with corpses, Milverton watched the prince’s mare rear in panic and bolt away, out of the shadowed depths of the Wolf’s Wood and toward the pale expanse of open plain beyond.
 
The traitorous Lieutenant pressed his heels into his horse’s flanks, spurring it after the fleeing figure while two of his knights followed close behind. The thrill of pursuit burned through his veins; he could already taste his own inevitable victory on his tongue.
 
The hunt was almost too easy.
 
Albert rode as quickly as he could, but blindly, barely missing the rusted bear traps half-buried beneath the snow. The mare stumbled once, then twice, her hooves skidding over hidden iron.
 
And then, at last, came the sound Milverton had hoped for: a brutal metallic snap.
 
The mare let out a loud neigh - one of his hinder legs mercilessly caught into a bear trap -, and Albert was thrown into the snow, in a tangle of fur and white fabric.
 
Half-buried beneath the weight of his fallen mare, the prince pushed and twisted, the effort tearing a cry from his throat, until at last he slipped free from beneath the animal’s flank. The snow around him was no longer white, yet he didn’t dare look down at himself. The warmth trickling between his thighs was enough to tell him what he didn’t want to see.
 
What were the chances that the blossoming life in his belly could survive such a fall? Almost none, he knew.
And yet, even half-blinded by pain and sorrow, he still found in himself the strength to hope. If he lived… he was still young and fertile; there could be another chance. Another little life to conceive with his husband. Another beginning. If he could just reach safety. If he could just survive.
 
Albert fumbled with the clasp of his fur cloak, tearing it loose so he could move. Would he be able to run? Doubtfully so. After all, pain already flared with every step as he staggered forward through the snow, one hand clutched tight to his middle.
 
You have to run, a desperate little voice urged inside his mind. For Mycroft. For your future little ones -
 
A couple of steps later, agony lanced up the omega prince’s leg as another bear trap clamped shut around his ankle, its teeth biting through silk and skin alike.
 
 
***
 
 
By dawn, the sky was black with smoke and Mycroft still stood at the head of his army, as the enemy’s banners fell one by one. Victory had come quickly.  Too quickly, perhaps; he should’ve expected some cruel trick to happen.
 
And yet, the first stirrings of dread came not from the battlefield, but from the thunder of hooves approaching through the haze. A lone rider, armour splattered with blood, broke through the ranks and tumbled down the horse – falling heavily on his knees before the king. Mycroft recognized him instantly – it was one of the men assigned to his consort’s escort.
 
“My lord!” The knight gasped. “The prince - he was betrayed by your Lieutenant and attacked. We were ambushed in the Wolf’s Wood, not far from here. Milverton lured us in the wrong direction. The prince has managed to flee, but -!”
 
Before the man could even finish, Mycroft was already in the saddle, turning his horse and spurring it forwards before the knight could draw another breath. From there, he rode like a man possessed, heedless of the calls that followed him, heedless of friend or foe.
 
Trees blurred past as he entered the forest; branches tore at him, snow and ash smearing his face as he followed the trail of ruin left behind. Soon, the path became littered with broken arrows and corpses of fallen men and horses, but he could not give a single damn about them. He barely spared a glance at them – just to make sure Albert and his mare weren’t among them.
 
They weren’t.
 
Which meant that his prince was still alive; he had to be. All Mycroft needed to do was to find him and bring him somewhere safe. And then his traitorous Lieutenant would pay for all of this; Mycroft would make sure to send him through hell and back, before giving him the sweet relief of death.
 
Ahead, a glimpse of white through the trees; the forest thinned at last, giving way to an open stretch of plain where the snow lay mostly untouched – exception made for one fallen horse, and four human figures.
 
Mycroft’s heart staggered; he could see his beautiful prince now, struggling in the red-stained snow.
 
He spurred his horse again, fury roaring in his veins. The two knights turned toward him, but they weren’t even able to defend themselves; Mycroft met them head-on, steel clashing against steel, his rage lending him a strength that bordered on madness. The first fell with a single swing; the second he struck down in passing, not even slowing as the man collapsed behind him.
 
“Albert! I’m here, my love!” He shouted.
 
Milverton turned at the sound, seemingly surprised to see his king right there. But that distraction wasn’t enough to stop his nefarious intents; the traitor’s sword was immediately lifted higher, poised for the final blow.
 
Mycroft had no time to reach him.
 
In a fit of desperation, he hurled his own sword at Milverton; but in that single deadly motion, fate betrayed him. His former Lieutenant didn’t even see it coming; before he could move against his victim, the blade struck home, right through him.
 
For an instant, Mycroft thought he had saved his prince. But then Milverton staggered back, the sword slipping from his grasp, and Albert swayed too, eyes wide with disbelief, a startled look frozen on his face.
 
The blade had gone clean through them both.
 
Oh no.
Oh, God, no.
 
Mycroft’s mind initially refused to understand what his eyes saw. Then Albert’s lips parted in a soft, broken sound - almost a sigh - and he crumpled forward into the crimson snow.
 
“No -! It can’t be! Albert – stay with me!”
The king was off his horse before it had even stopped, stumbling through the snow to catch his fallen prince. He gathered Albert into his arms, drawing his limp body against his own chest.  
 
Albert’s eyes fluttered open once, meeting his, and a weak smile finally touched his lips again.
 
“You kept your promise, my love,” He whispered. “I’m in your arms again.”
His breath trembled once more against Mycroft’s lips, in a final kiss - and with that, he was gone.