Charles kept his head down, the hood of his cloak drawn over his face as the line of horses paraded past, their hooves thundering on the flagstones. The crowd moved around him in waves, their anxious murmurs filling up his head until it felt like he might just overflow. Only Raven’s small, slender hand slipping to grip his own tightly grounded him. He didn’t look over to see her slide up next to him, but he brushed up against her familiar mind with relief. He could always trust her to be a safe, reassuring presence amongst a huge crowding of minds up against his.
The horses came to a stop and the leader of the display dismounted, making his way up to a makeshift dais the crowd was gathered in front of, his perfectly coifed hair undisturbed even as rain drizzled down around them. The man stood in front of the crowd, his steely grey eyes sweeping the people below him intensely. Charles quailed under that gaze, ducking his head to hide behind the man in front of him when it seemed like he was the subject of the man’s gaze for longer than a half second.
When those eyes skittered away, Charles let out a shaky breath, and dared to lift his eyes up to the figure again.
The man was stunningly handsome, his dark hair combed back from his stern face, all sharp angles and cutting cheekbones. He was dressed in a deep blue military uniform, his chest overflowing with medals. There was a sash running across his torso, denoting his royal status, even as there was no crown on his head—but even without the sash, Charles knew who the man was immediately.
It was Erik Lehnsherr, the King of Genosha. His army had smashed through Westchester’s so easily it was almost comical, though there had been nothing funny about the way Cain had scrambled to send peasants out as cannon-fodder. Charles had watched his step-brother ranting and raving in the war room in those final days before Lehnsherr’s forces had reached the capital, the light in Cain’s eyes turned feverish. He’d looked at Charles with so much hatred that Charles had shivered in place, his telepathy showing him what Cain was considering, as Lehnsherr was nearly knocking at their door.
It was well known that Lehnsherr was an alpha, and without a mate. And Charles was perhaps the most eligible omega on the continent. He came from a good family and was one of the most gifted mutants that had ever existed—he was sure to bear mutant pups for any alpha that he mated with.
Cain wanted to offer Charles up to Lehnsherr on a platter in exchange for his own life, a bribe to get Lehnsherr out of their kingdom.
And Charles didn’t want any part of it.
So, just as Lehnsherr’s forces were spotted outside the walls of the capital, Charles had fled in the night—taking nothing but a small bag packed with a few clothes, a knife, and his father’s bible. And Raven, of course. He wouldn’t have been able to keep his sister from following him even if he had wanted to, and he hadn’t. He wanted to take the girl with him, as he was terrified of what might happen if he left her there, either from Cain, or from Lehnsherr.
And now Lehnsherr was addressing the crowd of gathered Westchester citizens for the first time since his blood-red banners had overtaken the silver-blue ones of Westchester, his wolf burying the leaping Xavier stag.
“People of Westchester. Your false King, Cain Marko, has been deposed. He has failed you.”
The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, but they weren’t with sounds of dissent—Cain was extremely unpopular in Westchester, and the only reason he hadn’t been deposed and Charles put on the throne instead was because Charles was an omega.
And omegas couldn’t rule.
Erik stared out at the crowd as those that had been following him on their own horses filed onto the dais behind him—other notable mutants, all members of Lehnsherr’s inner circle.
Charles had studied each and every one of them, as it was his duty to be familiar with the rulers of neighboring kingdoms and their intricate politics.
There was Azazel, standing closest to Lehnsherr. Then there were the Summers brothers, and McCoy, and Salvatore, and—
Charles debated making a run for it as the last figure stepped onto the dais, her shining, platinum blonde hair like a beacon through the dreary scene. How had he not felt the brush of another telepath’s mind against his own?
As Emma Frost stood on Lehnsherr’s other side, Charles drew his shields up as tight as he could and stepped slightly behind Raven, his heart beating fast.
“I have come to speak to you to put out a warrant for the Prince and Royal Omega, Charles Xavier. The last of the line of the Xaviers. As well as the adopted ward of the crown, Lady Raven Darkholme. Sheltering either of these two will result in the harshest of punishments upon your own person.”
Erik scanned the crowd once more, and Charles squeezed Raven’s hand. Oh, there was no getting out of the city now. There would be guards posted at every entrance and exit to the city, surely aware of what Charles looked like. It would be pointless, of course, to put out posters with Raven’s picture, considering her shapeshifting—but Charles was free game.
Charles shook in his boots at the light knock of a mind against his, a mind that shone in the same way every telepath’s did. He tried not to answer, to shut down any sign of mutation so Frost couldn’t sense him, but it would have been like turning off the need to breathe. Impossible.
Emma Frost zeroed in on him in the crowd, and stepped forward to whisper in Lehnsherr’s ear, the man inclining his head slightly to listen to her. The man froze as she withdrew, and those steely eyes locked onto Charles’ wide, frightened eyes. Charles didn’t stay to let himself be captured—he kept Raven’s hand securely in his and dashed through the crowd, pushing through the gathered citizens, and throwing back the hood of his cloak to clear his field of vision.
He hadn’t thought to ensure his clothing had no metal on it. And his shirt had metal buttons. Lehnsherr was, at least, as delicate as someone could be as they bodily tugged you backwards and up into the air, flying over the gathered crowd and to hang in front of the nobles assembled on the dais, his shirt straining to keep him floating in mid-air.
Lehnsherr seemed beyond pleased with his catch, even as Charles snarled.
“Prince Xavier. We meet at last. I’ve heard an awful lot about you. From your brother, as it happens.”
Charles was breathing heavily, unable to stop the smell of fear that poured out of his glands. Lehnsherr took a breath and exhaled, shuddering as his eyes flashed.
“Have no fear, omega. I will not hurt you. Marko did not have respect for omegas. But us Genoshans,”
Erik threw a cursory glance over his shoulder at his advisors arrayed behind him, then turned back to look appraisingly at Charles.
“We treat omegas like the sacred treasures that they are.”
Erik smiled, and drew Charles closer, still keeping him floating in mid-air by his shirt buttons.
“Now, my little Prince. What shall I do with you?”
Charles bared his fangs and hissed, though that seemed only to delight the King of Genosha.
“You know, I could spare your people, Charles. I could even spare your sister, out there in the crowd, crying over you. She must think I want you dead.”
Charles struggled weakly against the open air, his face burning with anger and humiliation.
“And you don’t? You just put out a warrant for me.”
Erik laughed, shaking his head vigorously.
“It’s true, I did just put out a warrant for you. But not for your head. No, I want you soundly in one piece. That’s very important to me.”
The alpha brought Charles even closer, so they were perhaps a foot apart.
“You could give yourself for your people, Charles. For your sister.”
Charles gaped at him, but Erik didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. The man wasn’t joking.
He swallowed, fear turning his blood cold.
“And if I say no?”
Erik scanned the crowd in a cursory, apathetic way, before fixing that intense gaze back on Charles.
“How many humans do you think live in this city, Charles? How many have targeted mutants, beat them, killed them? Even as they bow to mutant royals?”
Charles could feel all the blood drain out of his face, his hands clenching into fists.
“You wouldn’t.”
It was well known that Lehnsherr was pro-mutant, and that humans were treated as second-class citizens in Genosha—at least, what few humans remained in the kingdom.
“Watch me. So, what will it be, my little Princeling? You could be a pretty little martyr for them.”
Charles bowed his head and nodded; his mouth impossibly dry. Erik smiled at that and brought Charles even closer, close enough that he could kiss the omega. Softly at first, before lust and hunger won out and the kiss turned rough, Erik wrapping his arms around Charles’ waist and bringing him flush to his own, larger frame. Charles let himself be swallowed up by the alpha, his defenses shutting down.
It would be the most dangerous gamble he had ever made. But it might just pay off.