One of the hunters backhands him across the face, and Derek giggles. Giggles. Some tiny part of his brain knows that is not an appropriate reaction to being hit, but he can’t help it. He has no idea what they put into the wolfsbane they dosed him with, but it is fantastic.
“Can you get him to stop?” the other hunter says. “The giggling’s freaking me out.”
The one in front of him stands back and frowns. “I’m beginning to think they gave us a weird strand. At least it’s keeping him from healing.”
Derek frowns. He can feel blood dripping down his arms, from a cut on his head, but it doesn’t hurt. He’s not sure if that’s an effect of the wolfsbane or…something else.
He tries to stand up, but his feet and arms are tied tightly to the chair, and he overbalances and manages to fall. Stiles would be laughing so hard at him, and the mental picture makes Derek giggle again.
The first hunter slaps a hand over his face. “This is ridiculous. We’re never going to be able to get anything out of him like this.”
“Sure we are.” The other hunter walks over and yanks Derek’s chair upright again. “I bet you being all floaty right now is gonna make you real cooperative. Right? You want to tell us about Scott McCall?”
Derek takes a deep breath and blows a raspberry.
Tag: magic!stiles
AU – Stiles studies magic.
Merry Christmas, theillustriouskid!
whose gift request included feral!Derek, magic!Stiles, and royalty!au (with commoner Stiles). Hope you enjoy what I came up with, and happy holidays!!
—
The castle guards come for Stiles while he’s putting on a simple show, transforming weeds to roses for coppers in the plaza. They don’t offer a word of explanation, not even a token complaint about him Practicing without a permit (which he would totally have, thank you very much, if he could just collect enough coppers to apply for one).
He knows his rights, though, and is still protesting them vehemently while the stone-faced pair drag him through a back gate and into the castle, along a series of what must be servants’ hallways, only to come to a stop in a richly adorned room that seems to lead right into one of the royals’ bedchambers.
He cuts off when he catches sight of an older man, clad in crimson velvet, watching him from where he sits on a simple wooden throne.
“Peter Hale, I presume.” It would be harder to guess, but the Hale royals are few and far between in the Beacon Hills these days. Most of the family was murdered years ago, in a vicious betrayal of treaty that sparked the Six Year War. Cora Hale, the youngest survivor and Peter’s niece, has long been married off in an advantageous match to the south, while the rightful heir, Derek… well, Stiles has only seen the man once, years ago and in passing, but he hasn’t forgotten that face.
shealwaysreads 