Chapter Text
The woman smiled at the antics of her children. The two girls ran around each other in the room, the youngest, her son, clinging to her gown.
Through the window, she could tell that the sun had long dipped past the horizon, but she knew that her children had wanted to play, and breaking their little hearts was something she was never able to do.
“It’s time for bed, girls,” she said, tired herself. The two immediately complained, but she raised a hand, silencing them, “How about… I'll tell you a story.”
“About what?” The oldest child piped. The woman hummed.
“Get some blankets, and get comfortable, this is going to be a long one,” they all cheered, her son letting go of her only to grab a few pillows and blankets- most for her, some for himself. She only smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
When they all seemed comfortable, she finally spoke.
“I’m going to tell you the story of how my parents, your grandparents, united the six empires,” her crowd went silent, the middle child letting out an audible gasp. She smiled, “Once upon a time, in a land, far, far away…”
……
Alfred hummed to himself, fiddling with a few sticks. It was early into the evening, and he knew he should be heading back home, but it was just too tempting to stay outside. As a young, unmarried omega he knew that he could be shamed, but his family didn’t prescribe to the imported ideals from the European Empire, so he tried not to think about it.
Despite that, they would still get mad at him, staying out at night and all. The United American Kingdoms were crime infested, and dangerous, after the three hundred years of occupation by the European Empire had destroyed many people's livelihoods and cultures. After they were overthrown, just before he was born, drink had become people's source of entertainment.
He yelped as he tripped over a bottle, collapsing into the dirt. It was practically a trail of bottles that had been buried into the mud. He scowled, and spit at them, mumbling as he began to pull himself up.
He felt a hand on him and froze.
“Are you alright?” A thickly accented man asked him, and he looked up in fear. The man’s eyebrows shot up- as did his hands- and he mumbled something under his breath before saying, “I’m sorry, I forgot that Americans don’t like being touched… or helped.”
Alfred’s nose wrinkled at this strange man- no, boy, more than seventeen. Alfred pushed himself to his feet, staring at him.
“I’m not an American,” he said, confused, “Americans are the nobility.”
He looked down at his tattered clothing, before raising an eyebrow at the man. He was fiddling with a scarf, but his eyes were locked with his. The man paused for a moment, and he took a deep breath. Oh no. An alpha. That was why he was being so weird.
Fighting against his urge to run, he waited for him to answer.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “you were just so beautiful I guessed you must be.”
The darkness, and the color of his skin, hid his growing blush. The man gave a small smile.
“Who are you?” Alfred asked, crossing his arms over his chest. The alpha tilted his head.
“Oh, yes,” he gave a very small, awkward laugh, “My name is Ivan Braginski, son of Chestibor Braginski. He is an ambassador from the United Republics. We are just passing through.”
“You’re… an ambassador’s son?” An ambassador’s son called him nobility? Was this ambassador’s son… coming onto him?
Ivan nodded, a smile gracing his features, “Yes. And who are you?”
Alfred stuttered for a moment, before gaining his composure, “My name is Alfred. My family are the shamans and the jewelry makers of this village.”
“Alfred…” he mumbled, and Alfred nodded, “Well, I do hope to see you again, one day, Alfred.”
Alfred scoffed, moving to disappear into the forest. He could feel Ivan’s gaze on him until he disappeared, and he fought to ignore the growing blush trailing up his neck.
……
Alfred watched as his mother came in from work early, her mother agape. As soon as she laid her eyes on him he felt a sense of dread.
His alpha mother wrapped her arms around him. She was mumbling something so quickly that he could hardly understand her. He groaned, trying to wiggle away, yet her grip was too strong.
“Mom,” he groaned, gently hugging her back as her grip increased. He grit his teeth, trying to breathe in. She was crying. He noticed this only when her sobs became audible, “Ama… ama, what’s wrong?”
“I’ll be right beside you, I promise,” she said, “as will your fathers and your mothers and your brothers and your sisters. You won’t be alone.”
“Mom, what are you talking about?” he asked, and she finally released him, still holding onto his arms as if she stopped touching him, he would disappear.
“A man asked for your hand in marriage today.”
A chill went down Alfred’s spine, “And you said?”
She stopped looking at him.
“Yes,” she gripped his arms even tighter, “He offered me more money today than I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s an ambassador’s son. You’ll be far away, I know, but… you’ll have a good life. Not a life like this.”
She motioned around. They- his mother, his aunt, the two of them’s seven omegas, and his thirty-one siblings and eight cousins- split a five room house. It was all he’d ever known.
“I… I don’t want to get married.”
His mother nodded, “I know.”
“I… I want to become a shaman, like you!”
“I know.”
“Ama… mom,” he couldn’t stop himself from crying, reaching out to clutch her shawl, “You said I was special.”
“You are special,” she said, “and you have used your gift.”
Alfred stared at her, his mouth hanging open. Beneath his fingers, her shawl began to burn. She ignored it.
“You’re going to make a wonderful wife,” she pressed a kiss to his forehead, “I’m announcing it to the family tonight. You’re getting married tomorrow.”
“I… I don’t want to leave you behind,” he stuttered, “I don’t…”
This was all Ivan’s fault. Or maybe it was his… if he’d never gone into those woods, or if he’d listened to his parents and hadn’t stayed out so late, none of this would have happened. Ivan would have never seen him, and been drawn to him, and used his privilege to take him away from his family and drag him halfway across the world!
She ran her fingers through his hair, her eyes red and her face dull.
“Mom,” he said, “Will you cut my hair?”
……
He could hardly see past the veil covering his eyes. He had cried well into the night, after his mother had cut his hair short, his family trying and failing to comfort him. He refused to say any more to his mother- refused to even look at her as she clasped his arm in her own.
He didn’t know what was going on. In the morning he’d been delivered to the nobleman's estates just outside the village, and been bathed and given new clothes. These new clothes were heavy, and too warm.
His mother stayed with him. She, even though she was the shaman of the village, would not be marrying him. It would be a priest, and a traditional Slavic marriage. He didn’t know what that meant.
So he kept his head down, finding the music too loud and the stuffy house nothing like their outdoor marriages. The eyes on him were uncomfortable, and judging, finding every issue they could with his tan, freckled skin, his low birth, and the fact he wasn’t their religion.
His mother suddenly let go of him, and his head raised slightly to see the staircase he’d been led to. He stepped up the first stair, and then the second, til he was standing in front of a man with white and gold gown, heavily embroidered with allegories he didn’t know.
Ivan had his back turned to him, but when the man in a dress raised his hands, he turned around.
He looked well trimmed. It took until now for Alfred to realize just how much taller Ivan was, with white skin and strange eyes. Even his hair was almost white! If Alfred didn’t know any better, he would say that the man was a snow spirit.
He wanted to run away. He wanted to flee so badly.
But he didn’t. Because his mother needed the money. Because his family needed to know that he would be okay. Because this village needed a success story.
“I do,” the words were stale on his tongue.
“And do you, Ivan Braginski, take this omega to be your own. Do you promise to care for him, in sickness and in health?”
“I do.”
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Ivan stepped forward, reaching his hands out to pull the veil back. His hands landed on his cheeks, a smile gracing his features.
It was chaste. Alfred shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see the man who had ruined his life so close to him.
He held onto Ivan’s arm as he began to walk back down the aisle, suddenly realizing exactly how many people were watching. Where did these people even come from? Were they all part of the ambassador's caravan?
He stood closer to Ivan, unwilling to meet any of their eyes. Ivan did the work for him, a light smile on his face and an arm carefully unlatching from him so he could wrap it around his waist. The way his thumb ran over his hip should have been comforting, but instead it was more stressful.
His siblings hadn’t been allowed to come, but Zaltana was never one to listen to the rules. She stood just outside the door, her arms crossed over her chest and a blunt in her mouth.
Ivan flinched, Alfred breaking away from him to wrap his arms around her. They were supposed to be heading to Ivan’s room. She leaned down to whisper into his ear.
“You look beautiful little brother,” she said, “never forget where you came from. I’ll see you again, no matter where your husband drags you.”
She pulled the blunt from her mouth, and he accepted it into his own. She let out a small puff, giving him one final hug before sizing up Ivan. She was taller, but barely.
“Hurt my little brother,” she said, pressing a finger into his chest, “and I will hunt you down and castrate you.”
Ivan looked appalled that she was even speaking to him, let alone her tone of voice. He pushed her hand away, and she gave a small smile.
“Have a happy marriage,” she waved a hand to him, pressing a kiss to Alfred’s forehead as she disappeared down the halls. Alfred raised a hand as she left, wanting to grab onto her. Ivan still seemed to be recovering, until he sighed.
“Your older sister is different from mine,” he said, “mine is a… bit of a crybaby. Your older sister seemed like she wanted to kill me.”
“She does,” Alfred said, his voice unnaturally soft, “all my siblings do.”
Ivan stared at him, his eyebrows furrowing, “Why?”
Alfred’s eyebrows furrowed, and he looked at Ivan with confusion. When Ivan seemed to not know what he was talking about his lips pulled back, his eyes narrowing.
“Are you fucking stupid?” He sucked in smoke from the blunt, before blowing it out to the side. Ivan continued to stare, “You offered an egregious amount of money to a very poor, very traditional family of fifty in one of the most destitute villages in the Americas. As far as my family is concerned, you bought me like a cow. And they had to give me up.”
“It… it really wasn’t that much money,” Ivan said, sheepishly. Alfred gaped at him.
“But it was…” he’d seen the amount. With that money, his family could buy food for six full years.
“I’d lost more than that gambling at horse races,” Ivan said, as if it was supposed to be a comfort. Then his head shot to the door, “we need to go now. My room. Alright?”
“Wait- what?” Alfred said, trying to get away as a hallway and up a staircase, despite being a pampered rich boy, Ivan was strong enough to hold him until he was unceremoniously shoved through a door. Alfred whipped around, trapped in a room the same size as his house.
The size gave him pause. He knew the nobility lived in luxury but…
“Are you okay?” Ivan asked, still standing by the door. Alfred’s head whipped to him, and he snarled. Ivan sighed, “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
“Like what?”
“You told me you have a family of fifty, what’s that like?”
“Well, we live in one of the bigger houses in the village, um… My alpha mother has seven omegas. I have over thirty siblings with more on the way. My aunt lives with us so I also have almost ten cousins.”
“One of the bigger houses! So jewelry makers must be semi-nobility in your village,” Ivan smiled. Alfred shook his head.
“By bigger I mean a little bigger than this room.”
Ivan froze.
“But… what do you do when someone has a heat?”
“...Annoy your siblings?”
Alfred crossed his arms over his chest, feeling adequately judged, smoke billowing from his lips. When Ivan finally noticed he began to move again.
“So, how old are you? I’m seventeen,” he began to come closer, Alfred scurrying away from him.
“Sixteen,”
“What’s your favorite color?” Ivan said, ignoring his antics to dig into a closet.
“Black… or blue,” he heard Ivan mumble something about wearing black to a wedding before pulling out a blue coat, heavily embroidered with beads. It almost seemed like his mother’s regalia.
“Take the dress off,” Ivan said, tossing him the coat before tossing him a pair of pants. He pulled out a shirt with a hood made of thick fur, laying it out over the bed.
“What?” Alfred asked, fiddling with the coat.
“You…” Ivan paused, “you know why we’re here, correct?”
Alfred got the hint, a snarl lighting his lips, “Absolutely not.”
Ivan sighed, “When do you go into heat?”
Alfred’s eyebrows furrowed, “You never ask someone that.”
“Well, I’m your husband now, and I asked,” Ivan said, beginning to get annoyed. He knew what he had been told to do. He knew this is why the nobles and the peasants hardly interacted- the peasants had no culture. Alfred stayed silent, a glare on his face, and Ivan sighed.
He stepped forward, backing Alfred into the wall. How dare someone behave like this towards him? Specifically a peasant with a sob story. He could admit Alfred's story was strange, but that didn’t mean he got to be disrespectful to him.
“Why are you being so difficult now?” he grunted, “I suppose there really is a reason the peasants are the peasants. God hath cursed them, and blessed the nobility.”
He slammed his hand against the wall, a sneer on his face. Alfred’s eyes told a different story than his body. His body, that cowered away from him, and knew his place, and his eyes, that glared.
Alfred slapped him.
“The creator made us equal, gringo, ” Alfred hissed, “get away from me.”
“The creator?” Ivan raised a brow, before giving a chuckle. Americans and their false gods, “If he made us so equal, then why do I have it all, and you share nothing?”
“You prick,” Alfred said, his eyes beginning to water. He felt sick, still trapped against the wall.
“Are you going to cry?” Ivan said, suddenly catching himself. A sadistic part of him wanted to see Alfred cry, but he knew that would probably upset his father, “Please don’t.”
“‘Please don’t’. Please don’t? What the fuck is wrong with you people?!” Alfred gaped, “My father was right. You people became rich because you are completely heartless. Because you take and take without a care of who you hurt!”
He shoved past Ivan, before realizing he was completely trapped. If he wasn’t the perfect baby-making omega then Ivan’s father would call the marriage off. His parents needed that money.
He sniffled.
“My… my heat comes once a year,” he said, “in the early fall. It normally lasts about five days.”
“Only once a year?” Ivan asked, not even paying attention to what Alfred was saying. He knew his sister went into heat every few months.
“No food, no heat,” Alfred said, wrapping his arms around himself, “Um… I’m sorry for being difficult. It’s in my nature. You would have known that if you decided to have an actual conversation with me instead of marrying some random omega you met in the woods.”
Ivan was silent for a moment.
“We… we will need to be back at the party soon,” he said, coming just close enough to press his lips against Alfred’s neck. The other stiffened.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but my father has to believe we… consummated. If we don’t do it now, he’ll come in tonight and watch . I’d rather that didn’t happen. I shouldn’t have been cruel to you, but I don’t want my father anywhere near my bedroom.”
“...watch?” Alfred gagged, “What the fuck is wrong with you people?!”
“It’s an old custom,” Ivan sighed, “imported from Europe. My father… is a European. He believes in many of their… ideas.”
Alfred scowled, placing his hands over Ivan’s.
“Do… do what you need.”
“Thank you for being patient with me,” Ivan whispered, and Alfred let go of the breath that seemed stuck in his chest as Ivan’s lips traced his neck.