Castles in the Sky

Hate

Hello!

Chapter 1 warnings: Theme of arranged marriage and unhappy (but consensual) sexual relations. Angst. Please note, in the story's 'world', male omegas are referred to as wife/queen/bride, etc. This is no reflection of real world gender or sexuality, but a cultural norm unique to the historical ABO fantasy setting.

A/N: As always, these characters will change a LOT along their journey (you know I don't do omega oppression!). MG have the main storyline, with MA as side characters on their own route too. I'm not sure whether to write this as another short story (6 chapters) or a longer book (20+ chapters). Please let me know what you think - on whichever platform you're reading from!

Much love, Lore 🦋
(Twitter: @Avalore_8)

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I hate the way you don't meet my eyes - as though you really can't see me, right here at your side.
I hate the way you carelessly grip my hand and waist like I'm common farmyard livestock to herd.
I hate the way you drum your fingers in agitation upon your thigh as the holy man chants his verses - is there somewhere more deserving of your precious time?

Because more than anything, what I hate from the depths of my wailing, flailing soul, is the fact that by sunset you'll be my husband, and I'll be trapped here like this with you, until the day I fucking die.

//

The first few nights had been hellish. A sensation of being split in two - invaded and divided - by a torturous, white hot, driving fireplace poker. But little by little Gulf's body had succumbed to its bastard fate. Accepted it into numbness, until these days he simply loosened himself up to slick, put his ass in the air, and buried his face in the pillow as the King went about his nightly duties.

It wasn't that Mew himself was forcing the act. More so that each had been caged into this stranglehold of an arranged marriage - a political alliance between the royal houses of neighbouring, war-threatened kingdoms Mongkul and Busaba - rehearsing forewritten script to produce a unifying heir as quickly as their alien, awkward bodies were able.

So each eve since their wedding, Mew got himself hard elsewhere - honeysuckle-scented royal concubines taking turns to suck his honeyed cock in the next door room, perhaps? - then entered Gulf's chamber silently to fuck him from behind. Hard, brusque, business-like and perfunctory, coming inside with a solitary grunt, before striding away to the more pressing matter of leading his country at the age of 30.

Leaving his spouse - by name if not nature - with his buttocks raised there into the grasp of gravity, sobbing softly into that pillow as the palace's medical team emerged from shadowy wings to poke and prod and ensure every last drop of invaluable, royal Jongcheveevat seed made its way deep into his omega womb.

Omega, yes.

Youngest of that vaunted Traipipattanapong dynasty of pureblood, male omegas from the meadowed, mountainous lands of Busaba. Nephew to the alpha King of his own nation - though raised far from the castle, in a hillside cottage with matriarchal protectors, until the remarkable message came one unremarkable day that he was to be human makeweight in a peace deal thrashed out with Mongkul in unstable, mutinous times.

"Such an honour", the greying lady who dressed Gulf - the same lady who had raised him from her own nipple as wet nurse until then, 21-year-old queen in waiting - had murmured matter-of-factly from betwixt sharp pins in her pursed pout as she perfected the silhouette of his embroidered bridal suit. And the young man felt each of those pins as piercing stabs of betrayal to his heart.

So this was what he had been intended for all along? Like a goose fattened for its foie gras fate at the nobleman's table. His life, he saw then, had never, never, been truly his own.