#but Izana POVs really like to luxuriate in the political intrigue and lore building

[sabraeal]

Come to Heel, Chapter 2

[Read on AO3]

It’s hair for which his brother’s beta is best known— not the richer auburn of Tanbarun’s nobility, nor the carrot-like hues familiar to more far flung nations, but a brilliant apple red; its bright sheen inviting enough to make even the most civil mouth water. Or at least it had been when she flitted through Wistal’s gardens, the second prince’s scent clinging to her as strongly as koko grass and sage; a curiosity to the court, uncertain whether she would emerge as a pawn in their games or a player.

Of late, however, the reports whispered in his ears speak more of her intelligence and cunning, of her determination and grit. A beta that would make a fine alpha for any that might try their hand at taming her. A waste of a sure talent, a certain lord and commander had written from behind his well-watched walls, with neither status nor inclination to bolster her. A judgment and offer both, neither of which Izana had been inclined to take.

But what truly set her apart from her peers— nay, what places her above even the most cultured of his courtiers, the loveliest of his court flowers— is the heady scent of her agitation. Beta she may be, but even an alpha would be hard-pressed to put forth a more enticing essence, both sweet and sour as it bursts in his mouth like the season’s ripest plum. Which is what she is fast coming to resemble the longer she perches in his salon, the long bones in her hands standing out as stark as a skirt’s pleats.

“I think,” she says, voice trembling with the effort of measuring each word. “That the amount of your attention will hardly overcome your instinct to disregard any advice you don’t wish to heed, no matter how reasoned.”

Oh, his brother’s beta might compose her complaint as prettily as she likes, but he long ago learned how to sniff out the kernel of truth from even the finest flattery. “Why, Mistress Shirayuki,” he hums, crossing one leg languidly over the other. “Are you calling your king reckless?”

Her mouth pulls perilously thin. He’s half-tempted to try to slip another strip of meat between them, if only to see if she might bite. “I’m saying that you think you’re smarter than everyone else, and you act like it. It’s a liability.”

Well now, that’s a bit bolder than he’s heard in some time. At least from lips other than his aide’s. “My my, do be careful, mistress. It almost sounds as if you think yourself more clever.”

His brother’s beta is conspicuously silent, her only answer an even deeper furrow of that stormy brow.

“Doesn’t this cause more than a few issues with your security?” Her shadow smirks as he tacks on a much belated and hardly heartfelt, “Your Majesty.”

Still, Izana allows himself to entertain the question. “Perhaps, if I were to attend Mistress Shirayuki in my official capacity.” He allows his lips to curl, drawing that even sweeter suspicion of out her. “But I doubt that there would be much interest harming one of the Master Herbalist’s esteemed colleagues.”

“Esteemed…? No.” Alarm sours her scent, fast enough he nearly coughs, eager to expel the flavor. “No, no, you can’t possibly mean…?”

One brow arches, a question rather than incredulity. “Why not? Master Lowen has already been established as one of your acquaintances. It would be a pity to let such a convenient cover go to waste.”

“It’s impossible!” By the blush blooming across those freckled cheeks— and the sultry scent of her chagrin— the words may have burst from her unbidden, but the square of her shoulders practically shouts that she stands by the sentiment. “You can’t just…pretend to know about herbalism. It’s taken me almost four years to learn just this much, and I’m nowhere near as good as—”

“I’m not asking to pass as one of your Lilias scholars,” he drawls, enjoying the spike of her scent as she struggles not to leap from her chair. “Just a competent enough pharmacist to convince the ones in Hyatess. I hardly think a backwater like that would expect anything more than decent.”

Her mouth purses, peeved now that the honor of her irreproachable profession has been impugned. Even now a retort foments behind that unassuming face, her agitation peeling back the thin skin of civility between them, showing the animal beneath hair by innumerable hair—

And yet, she’s saved from it, her shadow once again insinuating himself where he ought not. “It’s nice that you’ve got this little show all worked out, Your Majesty, but that doesn’t change that it’s you.   His Grace isn’t going to be happy if you traipse off without an entourage. Or at least a bodyguard.”

His brother must be more fool than he gave him credit for if he still believes this irreverent mutt to be an omega. The pest doesn’t even lower his gaze when he speaks, those strange eyes fixed on him even as he helps himself to another shred of meat.

“It is not His Grace’s place to tender permission.” Izana lets his tone implying her knight might remember his own. “Though, for what it is worth, I do not mean to travel unprotected either.”

“Oh?” That grin slices like a knife, teeth peering through the gash. “So, what? Are you going to pass Sir Zakura off as a coachman? An apprentice? No wait, don’t tell me— the dog?”

“Of course not.” Though the last is tempting, if just to see if that man could bend his knees if the occasion called for it. “I assumed you would be coming with us, Sir Obi. After all”—he bares his own teeth this time, enjoying the way that shadow shrinks— “it would be odd for our dear master herbalist to travel without her paramour, would it not?”

To say the scent of the room becomes complex would be an understatement; it is a pity that his brother could not be here with a better nose to suss it out. It might save them all a bit of time if he could.

“We leave in two days.” Izana unfurls upright, pacing back behind the sofa, making sure both its occupants feel every inch. “Sir Zakura will give you further details as they are made.”

“But—?”

His hand snaps out— not a blow, but a firm press of his hand to her nape; a reminder. Trust his brother’s beta to take a royal request as a starting bid rather than a command. “Make your preparations accordingly.”

To his dismay, the mutt laughs.

“Beck and call, huh?” The man practically shivers with delight. “Looks like it might take a little more than that for some people to come to heel.”

*

As simple as the decision to don his pharmacist disguise had been, becoming Lowen comes with several logistical issues. Touka Bergatt may have been expelled from Clarines’ borders, but Izana is hardly fool enough to believe that he does not have his own spies in the capital, close enough to have a good idea of his comings and goings. The treasury might pay a hefty stipend to each of the palace’s staff— compensation commensurate with competence and loyalty— but there are always costs even a king cannot anticipate, human foibles that cannot simply be solved with an application of funds.

Master Lowen might walk freely in the North, certain that he would only be recognized as a companion of the much-admired Mistress Shirayuki, but here in his own palace, there are few and far between who would not wonder why His Majesty had dressed himself as a humble merchant's son. A half day’s ride would quell that particular problem, but, well— if personal experience had taught him that the disappearance of a prince between one post town and the next would cause a panic, he could only imagine the newfound degrees of hysteria that would be discovered should a king do the same. And to make matters worse, there was the conundrum of Mistress Shirayuki: she could not be seen departing Wistal in his company, but she must arrive in Hyatess with Master Lowen.

It only made sense to spread the news that His Majesty meant to decamp to one of the royal country homes— the one further south, out on some far flung promontory near Yuris. It was hardly his favorite of their properties— he hadn’t been there since he was little more than a boy himself, bored to tears looking at the ocean but never being able to touch— but it made for a secluded getaway to woo his would-be queen, and the domestics were downright giddy in their preparation. By the time he mounted the carriage steps behind his beloved, their excitement was at a fevered pitch, a few of them even bidding him good luck before the door swept shut behind him.

“Good luck,” Shidnote huffs once they’re past the palace proper, legs sprawling across the carriage’s cab. “Now what’s that for? Do your loyal followers believe that you might have trouble locating your cock, Your Majesty?”

Izana restrains the urge to grimace. Perhaps his bandit is getting a little too comfortable with his royal company. “Sir, I’ll beg you to remember that there is a lady—”

Of good breeding, he means to say. That he nearly does, until the aforementioned lady snorts. To her credit, she does raise a hand— a demure attempt at a muffle— but it’s no good. Her shoulders still shake, the scent of snow rising sharply in the stuffy cabin, vivid enough he can taste ozone on his tongue.

He casts her a withering glance. A pity she is much immune. “Well, go on then, get it out.”

Her restraint doesn’t so much disappear as dissolve, girlish giggles just the same as they had been when Mother first introduced them: Arleon’s promising daughter and the prince without a proper coat.

“I’m sorry,” she manages, only after Shidnote turns his grin to the window. “It’s only that I had been thinking something similar…”

“Worse, no doubt,” Shidnote adds, too amused. “Knowing that brother of yours.”

*

City cedes to forest, and cobbled roads to well-packed earth. There’s no such thing as a quiet ride when it comes to traveling with Shidnote, and once Haki produces a set of cards and proposes a game the guards taught her— all the rage in the North, she promises, as if his aide needs an inducement to misbehave— all hope of it is scuttled. Whatever variation of match-three, run-four she’s brought them this time involves slapping, which his aide takes to with an enthusiasm that borders on aggressive.

“Why, if we were not such close companions, sir, I would be tempted to think you strike me on purpose,” Izana observes, shaking out his hand.

“Me, Your Majesty?” Shidnote hums, hand pressed earnestly to his coat, right where a heart would be if he had one. “But I would lay down my life for yours. Take an arrow, right through my belly. Suffer any torture to—”

He holds up a quelling hand. “Enough. Your dedication honors me, as always. But I cannot help but observe that you only seem to have such…unfortunate accidents when it is my hand reaching for the pot, and not the lady’s.”

His eyes widen— an act of innocence, belied by the twitch of his mouth. “Why, Majesty, are you saying that I should strike a lady? Even one so gracious and lovely as your—”

“I’m saying, that by my count, you should have had no interest in that pot,” Izana deadpans, “and yet, somehow, I am still the one wounded.”

“Count?” Shidnote’s brows raise to a thunderous degree, and ah, that had been a mistake. A slip of the tongue. Not one that would be soon forgotten. “This is why you get hit, Majesty, because you are a dirty cheater—”

“—it is hardly occult to possess the ability to count to seventy-two—”

“—has the carriage stopped?” Haki’s much-vaunted profile turns toward the plains on the other side of the glass, the scent of snowfall thick in the air. “Izana—?”

Shidnote holds out a hand, urging her back against the bench as he puts head and shoulders between her and the door. “Sit back, my lady, I’ll handle this.”

His aide might be a beta by inclination, but he knows how to stink up a place like an alpha— only the barest undercurrent of balsam and spice breaks through the alarmed musk filling the carriage, so strong his gorge rises, acid washing across his tongue. Only experience keeps the bile in his stomach; after all, a prince could not lose the contents of his stomach on a friendly visit to a vassal, no matter how uncivil the lord.

With a weary glare, Izana rises off his seat, reaching up to knock on the panel between carriage and driver’s box. “May I inquire as to the nature of our delay?”

“Ah, pardon, Your Majesty!” the driver huffs back, distracted. “Seems there’s a messenger for His Lordship. From the palace.”

Shidnote’s gaze meets his, brows hiked to his hairline, stretching the chasm cut across his nose. Though his aide might command a good number of eyes across the kingdom, there were few who would have news urgent enough— or near enough— to use one of the official messengers.

But Izana can think of one. His mouth curves, satisfaction sinking him deep into the bench’s cushions. My my, it seems his brother’s little beta might make this interminable trip interesting.

“Well, let him in.” he drawls, anticipation a steady thrum beneath his skin. “Let us hear what our master pharmacist has gotten up to.”

*

“Now, you know I’m not one to criticize, Majesty…”

A lie if Izana has ever heard it; Shidnote might not scold the way Haruka would, but he had his own way of letting his opinions be known. Mainly through loosing the sharp edge of that tongue of his. “But you’re going to start, I assume?”

Shidnote wipes the sweat from his brow, more weary than waggish. “I’m confused, is all. You’re the king, aren’t you?”

Ah, now this will be an interesting tack, to be sure. “I am.”

The sharp scent of clove spikes, enough that even a few paces away, Izana can perceive it. “And so everyone’s supposed to wait on your pleasure. That’s the way it works.”

“It is.” Mostly. Though he certainly knows better to test that particular privilege with Mother.

“Then why were we the ones who raced across the damned country just to squat in some backwater and wait?” Shidnote crosses his arms over his chest, casual lean belied by the rigid line of his shoulders. “I know those two deciding to skip town a day early wasn’t part of the plan, but all that should mean is that they’ve got to cool their heels longer. Not that the king of Clarines cuts his romantic getaway short to beat them to the inn.”

“As far as anyone else is concerned, the romantic getaway has not been interrupted in the slightest.” Though he would have to send his wife-to-be a very lavish gift for her gracious acceptance in the sudden change of plans. “It is not as if the king and his future consort would mark the departure of two messengers. Especially when one will return in such short order.”

“That’s not the point.” Shidnote sighs, scrubbing a hand over his scar. “The point is that you heard they’d get to the rendezvous ahead of you, and you tore out of there like you’d been told the place was on fire. You want to share why? Because I have to admit, Your Majesty, I don’t see it.”

And he wouldn’t; for as much as Shidnote had played alpha for his band of merry bandits, keeping them in line with the skill of his sword and the strength of his scent, it’s not his natural inclination. His lot might have marked their territory, the boundaries of that little outlaw town stinking of his musk to deter other alphas from thinking them easy pickings, but he wouldn’t think of a space like this— an inn’s room, large enough to hold a bedchamber and parlor, meant for well-off but transient occupants— as a place to declare dominance over all those who entered.

But that shadow would. Pity Shidnote didn’t have the nose agree.

Izana’s mouth quirks, wry. “Because it is important to start every battle with the high ground.”

The scent of sweet apples floods his mouth, the bright taste of honey chasing its heels, and his pulse quickens, anticipation making her flavor all the sweeter. It’s faint— faint enough that she must be at the stairs, idling as her knight carried their bags up behind her. There’s no scent to mark him, masked and suppressed as he is, but the sing-song of their conversation bounces down the hall, heralding his presence clearer than any footman. Giddy, that’s what it is; her scent and his voice, both barely contained.

At least, until boot heels scuff right outside the door. The shadow hesitates; Izana may not be able to catch his scent, but that man catches his, his silence ringing as loud as any alarm. But it’s not one his brother’s beta hears, not when she’s too busy fumbling with the door, trying to fit the key properly in the lock.

“There,” she sighs, key finally sliding home. “Let’s get our things inside, and then maybe we can take a look around before Izana—”

“—Miss!” her shadow yelps as the door swings open. “Maybe you should let me—?”

It’s too late, her boots have already crossed the threshold, that banner of red unfurling as her hood falls back, a sight as tempting as her scent. It’s followed by her eyes, flitting over the parlor as a butterfly might a garden, never alighting for much more than a moment as she takes in the whole. “Oh, I didn’t think it would be so nice! I wonder…”

Her flight stutters as it lands on Shidnote, still as a statue against the far wall, before it drops, searching every surface until she finds—

“Oh, no.” A sour spike of dismay floods his nose, her head shaking in slow counterpoint. “No, no. Absolutely not!”

He lifts his brows, letting a languid leer curl his lips. “What is the matter, Mistress? Surely you can’t take exception to your esteemed colleague sharing accommodations?”

“No, that’s not— it’s not the accommodations,” she blurts out, flushed and fragrant. “It’s…it’s…”

Izana adjusts the silver-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose. “It’s…?”

“Well.” Her shadow coughs, covering a smile. “The fur coat’s a bit much.”

#izanayuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #1000 followers #my fic #abo au #come to heel #ans #i always think i'm going to get farther in these chapters #but Izana POVs really like to luxuriate in the political intrigue and lore building #literally had to cut a whole scene from the carriage being like #AIN'T NO ONE GOT TIME FOR THAT