Chapter Text
The spring season in London had blossomed with full force, bringing with it a riot of colours, debutantes with gleaming curls and corseted dreams, and the ever-watchful eyes of high society waiting to tear them all apart. The ton, already breathless for scandal, was delivered their feast early this year:
“His Grace, the Grand Duke of Blackmoor, to be mated to a Yorkshire lord.”
“An omega of no consequence save for his academic notoriety: Lord Severus Prince of Heathwick Hall.”
“The union is rumoured to be strategic.”
The details spread like wildfire through drawing rooms and dance halls, growing more salacious by the hour. While the city laughed, speculated, and judged, two estates on opposite ends of the country prepared for war in silence.
Grimmauld Estate, London
“Absolutely not,” growled Sirius Black, Grand Duke of Blackmoor, slamming his palm against the polished walnut table. “I won’t be shackled to some brooding academic with a bitter tongue and no title worth mentioning.”
“You will,” said the Queen’s secretary coldly. “You owe the Crown stability. The Black line is ancient and powerful, and you’ve refused every match for the last four years.”
“I’m not marrying a man who wears ink stains like fashion accessories,” Sirius muttered.
Regulus, lounging nearby with a cup of tea and not a care in the world, smirked. “He does write devastatingly sharp essays, though. I read one last month about magical law and bloodline prejudice. Very moving.”
“I don’t want to be moved by him. I want to avoid him.”'
“The Queen was quite clear,” came the Crown secretary’s calm voice. “You will be bonded before the end of the season. The contract has already been signed.”
Sirius’s jaw tightened. Severus Prince had agreed to this? Why? What could he possibly gain?
Heathwick Hall, Yorkshire
Snow still clung to the corners of the manor grounds when the messenger arrived. Lord Severus Prince stood beside the hearth, unreadable as always, but his mother, Eileen Prince, stared the man down like a lioness.
“Out,” she said after ten minutes of stiff conversation. “Leave us. Now.”
Once alone, she turned to her son. “Tell me you refused.”
“I did not.”
“You did not?” Her voice cracked. “Severus, they would use you. Display you like some strange little oddity next to that pompous brute.”
“I am not being used.” Severus said. “I am being bought. For repairs and for the family because that is what Heathwick is now.”
“You would mate with that boy?” she hissed. “That arrogant alpha who mocked your station, your words, your very scent, in front of half the peerage?”
“That was years ago.”
“It was public.”
Severus looked away.
Eileen turned, her dark skirts swishing like a storm, and snatched the acceptance parchment from the desk. “Then I shall go to the Queen myself.”
Buckingham Court
The Queen’s drawing room was awash in gold and velvet, silk-draped walls and a roaring fire that gave no warmth. Eileen stood tall in widow’s black, her silver-threaded veil pinned precisely, hands clasped before her like the blades they were.
The Queen raised a brow. “Lady Prince. I assume you come in protest.”
“I do, Your Majesty.”
“Your son signed the contract.”
“With due pressure,” Eileen said. “This mating, this farce of an arrangement, may suit your Crown, but it does not suit my son.”
“He is an omega of age. Your estate is failing.”
“I would see us ruined before I let him be bound to that man.”
“Blackmoor is a powerful title.”
“Sirius Black is a reckless, arrogant Alpha who would never treat Severus with the dignity he deserves,” Eileen spat. “My son is not some spoiled debutante desperate for a title. He has mind, and merit, and-”
“A family name that will not last another season without the Crown’s protection.”
Eileen stiffened.
The Queen’s voice softened, just slightly. “Lady Prince, the world we live in is not fair to Omegas without dowries and without political ties. Your son is brilliant. He’s known. But known for his mind, not his bloodline.”
“I would rather see him alone and dignified than mated to an Alpha who thinks he’s doing the realm a favour by lifting his chin.”
“You think this is my whim?” The Queen’s voice dropped like a blade. “The Ministry demanded a symbol. The North’s unrest grows louder by the day. Blackmoor is stability. Prince is restraint. Together, they temper each other.”
Eileen’s breath shook, but she held firm.
“I see,” she said coldly. “Then consider this my last courtesy.”
“Lady Prince-”
“If he is harmed” Eileen turned at the threshold, veil shimmering like smoke. “If Sirius Black treats him as anything less than his equal, you will find me at the gates with a wand and no patience for law.”
The Queen said nothing.
Only nodded once.
Meanwhile, in a dusky parlour in Grimmauld estate, Sirius stared down at a painted miniature of his intended. Smirking slightly, as if mocking the painter.
“Charming,” Sirius muttered.
“He hates you, you know,” Regulus said absently from the divan.
“Oh, I know.”
Grimmauld Estate
The Blackmoor drawing room had been aired, polished, and redressed before the Queen’s arrival. Black roses spilled from vases. Crystal decanters glittered with amber liquor and the scent of sandalwood lingered in the corners like a silent threat.
“I should have refused this farce,” Sirius muttered as he adjusted the collar of his deep navy coat, one hand tugging at the cuffs in irritation. “You would think they were announcing my coronation, not a forced bonding.”
“Do stop fussing,” Regulus said, lounging against the mantelpiece. “He’s a man, not a plague. You’ll survive.”
The Duke shot him a look. “You know he’s going to sneer at me.”
“I’d sneer too, frankly. You did call him a ‘melancholic ink blot’ once at the Solstice Ball.”
“I was eighteen.”
“Prince isn’t the sort to forget an insult just because it was fashionable at the time.”
Sirius scowled.
And then the footman entered, breathless.
“Her Majesty the Queen… and Lord Severus Prince with Lady Eileen Prince.”
Sirius straightened, his lips curled into the effortless smirk he wore like armour.
“Show them in,” he said.
The double doors opened, and the room seemed to still.
The Queen of Albion entered like a storm dressed in ivory silk and sapphires, her presence more potent than perfume. Silence followed in her wake, the kind laced with power. She did not smile, queens didn’t need to. She looked over the room as if assessing a chessboard, and all of them; Grand Duke, Omega Lord, noble mother, smug little brother, were just pieces to be moved.
Eileen Prince entered next, tall, darkly dressed, and unapologetically regal despite the faded lace of her sleeves. She swept into the room with the grace of someone who had nothing left to lose and no interest in flattery.
Behind her, dressed in elegant black with silver embroidery at the cuffs, stood Lord Severus Prince.
He was taller than Sirius remembered. He walked in with neither a powdered face nor a false blush and no jewellery save for a modest silver pin at his cravat. He still carried himself like a prince of shadows; quietly magnificent, infuriatingly untouched by the spectacle around him.
His gaze met Sirius’. His eyes narrowed, unflinching and unimpressed.
The Queen’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “We are all here, then,” she said. “Shall we begin?”