Scott faced the sea of people as the elder began her speech. Her monotone voice droned on like a lullaby, a buzzing noise in his ears, but the angry faces of his citizens demanded his attention. The tension in the crowd was palpable, and the look of outrage and apprehension was plain as day. It made him want to hunch his shoulders and lower his gaze to his overly polished shoes, to fold in on himself under their scrutiny. Doing so would only confirm what they were all thinking: people like him should not be in positions of power. What was King John thinking, making him their heir? Surely, he was not strong enough to bear the weight of an entire kingdom. He couldn’t have the conviction to guide the realm to prosperity, nor could his mental state be formidable enough to make sound decisions.

Scott felt like his rank was branded onto his forehead, bare for everyone to see.

Not that they hadn’t known before. He had presented seven years before, on national television to boot. He could still remember how his sweet scent had seeped out of his pores, enticing every unmated Alpha in the room. Like bees to honey, they say. His father’s disappointed face still haunted his dreams, his only legitimate heir was unfit for the position. The media ate it up though, and still does. He could imagine that they were having a field day now, making a new, ridiculous title for him.

“The Whore Prince” no longer applied anymore, but only because he was no longer a Prince. “The Whore King” would be an easy transition. Identifiable and familiar, but perhaps too much so. They needed to reinvent his image, something that fit his personal narrative.

The Omega King.

The oxymoron was almost enough to make him forget where he was, it sounded so absurd he could feel the laughter build up in his chest. It almost forced its way up his throat but was quickly squelched down as he let his eyes sweep over the crowd. The disbelieving outrage was enough to sober him and cut off his train of thought.

Scott straightened out his shoulders, clenching his hands at his sides that had begun shaking. He had to steel himself, there was no room for error, especially now.

He stood still for several more minutes, until he was finally instructed to face the old woman. They were about the same height, both standing at a measly five foot, three inches. He must look like a joke to everyone. The elder’s irises were pale. Perhaps at one point they had been a vibrant blue, but age had washed them out, leaving only remnants of the color they once were around her pupils.

“By the power vested in me and the late King John’s final order, you, Scott Nathaniel Wilkey, crowned eldest prince of Othebia, shall be named King, and ruler of this blessed land. May the Goddess bless your reign and bring prosperity to our great Kingdom.” There was no hesitation in the old woman’s voice as she reached up and placed the newly made crown on his dark curls.

Immediately, there was an uproar in the crowd.

Scott had watched his father’s coronation video recently. It had been a sunny day, much like this one, and his father stood tall and proud, only bending down so a different elder could place the shiny crown on his head. The crowd had cried out then. The camera panned across the happy, smiling faces. They had been excited for the hope a new King promised. An Alpha King.

They were screaming now as well. It was much darker, much angrier. His citizens surged forward, nearly breaking the soldiers’ ranks. What would they do if they got to him? Would they all fight to get a grab at him, tear at his clothes, his limbs? They would kill him, surely. Would they strangle him until he stopped breathing, beat him until he was unrecognizable? Would they perch his body somewhere up high, bruised and maimed, warning everyone what happens when anyone tried to break from their neatly labeled boxes?

For a few moments he was allowed to gaze in awe, frozen in place. The reality of everything sunk in. He was King. King of Othebia, a peaceful nation who hadn’t seen the face of war in a hundred years, was about to be thrown into a civil war, because of him. He watched as one of his personal guards who’d been placed in the lineup, crumble to the ground from a civilian’s vicious blow. It made his stomach lurch, even from yards away. Yet he still couldn’t bring himself to even turn his head away.

His view was blocked suddenly, by Alphas in white uniforms. The King’s royal guard, his father’s guard. They seemed to be saying something, Scott could see their mouths moving, but their words sounded like gibberish in his ears. He stood, uncomprehending, for several moments.

“Your majesty.” A familiar voice, whose tone was so serious that it forced his brain to process the words, finally got his attention. He looked toward the man, who was wearing a navy-blue uniform of the Prince’s royal guard. His eyes were unreadable, even as Scott made a small noise, an involuntary whimper that he knew didn’t convey what he was feeling, but also revealed too much. “You need to walk. It’s unsafe, you have to move.”

Scott didn’t even care that he was being ordered. He just let the feeling wash over him, one he hadn’t heeded in years, and he turned around, legs robotically moving towards the palace. A hand fell over the small of his back, gently urging him forward, not that he needed it. He felt raw and vulnerable, and he was so tired of being watched for the moment. He just had to keep it together for a few moments longer. Just until he was no longer subject to the public’s eye.

Finally, the palaces gates snapped shut with a deafening clang. Scott dropped to his knees, all of the will leaving his body, his crown clattering to the ground in front of him. Now, he could show how weak he truly was.

The guards surrounding him were forced to stop abruptly, disgruntled noises of confusion and concern leaving their lips. Scott couldn’t pay attention to it, not when he was dizzy and slightly nauseous. How embarrassing would it be to vomit right now?

Then they were dispersing, and someone was kneeling beside him. “Scotty.” The man’s voice called out softly, too low for anyone to hear the informality, but with so much care and tenderness that Scott thought he was going to burst into tears then and there.

“Colin.” He managed to gasp out in response, his voice sounded weak and desperate. Like an Omega calling out for their Alpha. Colin wasn’t his Alpha and never would be, but he still wanted to be comforted. Anyone familiar would do at this point, but they were few and far in between, and Colin was all that he had at the moment. So, he held onto that, hoped that Colin would understand what he needed right now.

“I know, I know.” Colin soothed, shushing him lightly as his breath had started to become labored. Of course, he understood. He was the only one that ever did. “Let’s get you to your room so you can rest.”

Scott allowed himself to be helped up, the Alpha’s tan arm sliding around his waist to keep him upright. This steady arm would not let him shatter into a million pieces. At least, not in the Palace’s front lawn, where his servants could see. Royalty did not have the luxury of breaking down where so many eyes could judge him.

He vaguely heard Colin order someone to take care of his crown. Good. He didn’t want to see the cursed thing for any longer than he had to.

They were quiet as they walked towards his room. The only thing that broke the silence was his own occasional sniffling. His head was still swimming, but just being held like this for a moment, even if it was only because his legs were shaking too much to walk properly, helped clear his head a little. Scott looked up toward the guard, allowing himself a few moments to study his handsome face. His defined jawline and closed cropped hair. He remembered when it used to be a shaggy mess, how it used to fall into those warm brown eyes that were alight with excitement and innocence, but that was when they were children. He found himself missing when things were so much more simple.

Too soon, they reached the heavy set of wooden doors that lead into the prince’s suite. He would be moving into his father’s room soon.

“I’ll get your maids to start a bath for you.” Colin moved away from him to start down the hall.

“Wait.” Scott grabbed his wrist before he could even think about it, likely sounding desperate. He didn’t care.

He turned, his warm brown eyes searching his own. His breath hitched slightly, feeling like he might start sobbing again, but he swallowed and tried to regain at least a shred of composure. “Yes?” He questioned.

“Stay with me.” Scott managed, voice cracking. He took a deep breath. Being alone right now sounded awful. There were a billion things he probably needed to do, like meet with his Council, figure out what do about the riots outside his gates, figure out how to be King. Technically he was allowed this day, allowed to rest after being crowned. Normally the new King would hold a ball, commemorating their new status, but there was no time to do so and no guarantee he wouldn’t be assassinated by some hostile guests. “Please… I just…”

“I know.” Colin smiled reassuringly and Scott wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms. “Just calm down, bathe, get yourself put back together. We can have dinner together, okay?”

“Okay…” He breathed.

And they did have dinner together. It was nice and relaxing, like being with an old friend. Except Colin wasn’t just any childhood friend, and he wound up between Scott's legs that night, which somehow seemed inevitable.