A Planted Seed

From the beginning of his mutual alliance with the Rencalles, Aspen has been aware of the little bubble of emotion reserved solely for Ignacia that settled in the space behind his heart.

It took many things before he came to the conclusion that what he was feeling was more than friendship and closer to love. And, for good reason, it never occurred to him to question the nature of their relationship.

As alpha and beta, prince and subject, Aspen had always known that there was a gap in their compatibilities. In the eyes of society, an alpha-beta pairing is inherently weak, unconventional and heavily one-sided.

There would be no fulfilment on both ends if one could only receive and give by themself while the other existed without even able to sense their mate bond.

In high society, the taboo is even more pronounced.

For a member of the royal family, preserving the purest bloodline by marrying an omega of certain pedigree is an unspoken rule.

The expectation of a monarch to ascend to the throne would be to find an omega mate from a respectable noble family that has a history of producing alpha children from their omega parent.

Without meeting it, a throne candidate can be stripped of their right to run in the succession war.

For Aspen, hiding his feelings for Ignacia became not only second nature, but a need. There was little purpose and even less desirability in revealing his biggest weakness to his enemies.

They would do all they can to drag his reputation through the mud - the very one that he worked so hard to improve so that his own country's people wouldn't shun his previously renowned coldness.

His love for Ignacia is almost certain to bring his and his comrades' entire decade's worth of work down, and he refuses to let all of their efforts go to such waste.

The throne might be a means to an end for his own goals, but he knows the hopes that are riding on his ascension.

His supporters are following him for a reason beyond the promises he makes them, and disappointing them would be akin to cutting his path short.

So he controls himself. He waits. For the day that he can finally profess his love to the one who saved him.

Before, living was a nightmare, a hellish landscape of despair that he longed to be liberated from.

Until Ignacia, pain and suffering were all he knew for what felt like years.

As time passed with their partnership and oath of allegiance secured, Aspen grew to cherish his comrades, most of all Ignacia.

Her swiftness at dealing with impromptu troubles and calm, cool rationality whenever she was in work mode bolstered his own motivation.

When the road ahead seemed too long and too riddled with thorns to endure, she was the one who encouraged him over their daily tea time.

Just like the first time they met, her words were always spoken with honesty and a bluntness that rivaled his own curt speech.

"If you believe that you are no longer able to do it, don't. It would be a shame if you collapsed under excessive pressure, Your Highness." 

"What about you? What would you do if I were to fold under all the stress?"

"Well, I suppose I would have to carry you to the finish line. I simply cannot leave you alone when your dreams are so attainable."

"And how do you know that my goal is attainable? My supporters are few and far between at this moment. It seems more likely for me to lose myself in this arduous process of fighting my siblings."

"Have more confidence in yourself, Your Highness. Your people do see your efforts, as do I. Although, with all due respect, many have yet to forget the stories of your past. As I told you, your frightening image could use some work."

Outside of her duties, Ignacia indulged in his frequent questions about herself. She would banter with him like old friends do, teasing him back on occasion with cheerful, boisterous laughter that ballooned a terrible longing in the cavities of his chest.

She was the epitome of the sun, as she shone her dazzling light onto his tainted, wretched being and brought life back into his struggling, dead heart.

Too many times, he wished desperately to drop the facade of indifference that now seemed permanently glued to his core and reveal more than just the mask of impassiveness he put on.

He often wonders how she would react if he did.

Would she be surprised by how differently he behaves? Would she understand?

More importantly, would she return his feelings for her if she saw how much he loves her?

In the end, his thoughts always circled back to his desire to show his affection.

How he wished he could openly praise her silent strength, her unwavering composure, and her fiery, stubborn spirit.

But he restrained himself, and found more things to love about Ignacia instead. Eventually, he grew close enough to Ignacia that he could sense even the faint traces or her scent.

If they were sitting opposite each other during tea time, the wind would carry her scent over to him at times, and he relished in it as he sipped on a cup of tea.

If they were discussing plans in his office, every time she leaned over his shoulder to point out something, his mouth would go dry with want.

It was both maddening and such an honour to be able to catch a whiff of her muted scent with his heightened senses.

For once, his exceptional sense of smell was more than just useful for identifying the elusive and often deceiving intentions of nobility.

In no time at all, he became accustomed to the warm feelings Ignacia's scent evoked in him, and how smelling just a hint of hearth fire would spread a sticky, syrupy sweetness in his chest.

Fire and home was what he came to associate with Ignacia's scent, and he had thought that it would always be that way. Unchanging, unwavering, and deliciously ripe.

But now, he's no longer so certain.

As he flips through the documents on his table while listening to the low voice of his aide speaking to him, he wonders if he had really been mistaken about the difference in her scent.

Ignacia's scent is as irresistible as it is familiar to him.

For just a second, he thought he detected a change in the spicy undertones of her scent: a hint of sweetness that didn't suit her in the least. And it was strong, making her scent stand out in the crisp, warm air in his office.

Cinnamon, maybe. But he's uncertain.

When he glances at Ignacia out of the corner of his eye, he notices the slight paleness in her face, and it occurs to him that perhaps she didn't get enough sleep.

The upcoming meeting with the council has exhausted his mind, and who's to say that it wasn't also tiring her out just as it did him?

It seems a far more likely reason for the sudden change in her complexion and scent. What else could it possibly be?

Before he can dismiss the thought, a memory flashes through his mind - of overwhelming scents and a strange sense of contentment.

Everything in it is blurry, like he's looking through a murky, watery filter, and the only thing he can make out is the quivering of a woman's back.

In his memory, she lies underneath him, with her face buried into dark blue sheets and her hands twisting into the soft fabric.

He shakes the memory out of his mind, his mood darkening when he automatically recalls his latest rut.

Nothing about the feelings he was left with when he woke suggested that it was spent unpleasantly, and yet, when he opened his eyes to a stranger in his bed and an even stranger scent plaguing his nose, he couldn't believe that his memories held such fond, loving care in them.

There must have been some sort of distortion caused by his unexpected rut, for he would never have felt comfortable bringing a woman he didn't know or have feelings for into his den.

Just the thought of what transpired during those four days makes his eyebrow twitch and his mouth curl upwards into a scowl.

"Your Highness?" Ignes' voice knocks him out of that wretched headspace, and he banishes the useless thoughts in his head.

"Ah. My mind was elsewhere for a moment. You may continue."

This time, he refocuses all of his attention onto the task at hand, starkly aware of how much he has riding on today's meeting.

For the rest of the hour that they spend in his office exchanging information and formulating rebuttals to rebuke his opposers, Aspen remains firmly unbothered by the suspicions he unknowingly sowed for himself.

And when the time comes for them to make a move, he has all but put his previous interaction with Ignacia in the back of his mind for further examining later at night.

When they arrive at their destination, the guard outside the meeting room salutes him before announcing his arrival to the nobles who have already gathered inside.

The heavy doors creak open, revealing the faces of a dozen high ranking and influential figures of high society.

Unfazed by the attention shifted onto him, Aspen walks into the room with his head held high and his expression stoic.

Ignes and Ignacia both follow at his heels, and stand on both sides of the seat left for him, ever the competent and loyal subordinates.

Aspen situates himself at the head of the meeting table, crossing his legs one over the other and resting an elbow on the arm of his chair.

His golden eyes sweep over everyone at the table, daring them to make a comment about how he's foregoing the palace decorum by sitting so casually.

Of course, no one says anything about his supposedly lax posture.

Instead, the nobles stand to greet him, and once their greetings are returned, they too sit back down quietly.

Without further ado, Aspen begins the council meeting.

"As you all know, Mis Majesty, the emperor, has finally made his decision regarding who will be awarded the title of crown prince. Today's meeting is but a formality to ensure that I have all your agreements. After all, who would dare to disobey the will of His Majesty?"

A cowed silence chases the tail of his words. The meaning behind his declaration is not lost.

Oppose my position if you want. Nothing will stop me as long as the emperor decides it is mine.

Aspen eyes each and every one of the nobles in attendance, noting the nervous jitters of some, the calm facades of others and the tension in all of their faces.

He smiles wickedly.

"However, I am open to hearing your opinions. As the future emperor, I certainly have a right to better understand the thoughts of my vassals, don't I?"

"Certainly, Your Highness. We would love nothing more." says a noble sitting to his right, a few seats down. His sentiments are echoed across and along the entire table.

"Excellent. If anyone has second thoughts or doubts about His Majesty's bestowment of the title of crown prince on me, speak now." 

Or forever be withheld from their right to oppose my ascension.