mad-madam-m:

(Hey dear Anon! I don’t do mpreg, so please have a very angst-free royalty AU.)

Stiles fidgeted on the throne. Today was the day he would meet his intended groom, Prince Derek of Triskele. He was the only one of his numerous friends and retainers who hadn’t ever been to Triskele to meet the prince, and their stories both impressed and terrified him.

Sir Scott, Stiles’s best friend and personal bodyguard, had said Prince Derek fought like a demon and had killed a dozen ferocious Berserkers alone after they had ambushed his men.

Lady Allison, Scott’s betrothed and Stiles’s other personal bodyguard, said the prince was fiercely intelligent and stubborn, and could make even the hardest assassin cower with the intensity of his glare.

Lady Lydia, whose noble family had made numerous trips to Triskele over the past several years, assured Stiles that Prince Derek was most handsome and loyal, if a bit reticent.

All of it built a very intimidating picture, and Stiles was so nervous that he couldn’t keep still. 

The two large doors at the opposite end of the throne room swung open.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Derek Hale of Triskele!” a courtier announced.

Stiles sat up at the introduction, his heart thundering like a herd of horses.  A man strode through the throne room, his hair and beard black as ink, his face pale as the moon, his handsome countenance stern and foreboding. In his arms he held something Stiles couldn’t quite make out.

His heart beat even faster. Lady Lydia certainly hadn’t lied about Prince Derek’s attractiveness, but Lady Allison had not lied about his glare.

Prince Derek stopped in front of Stiles’s throne and bowed. “I am at your service, my king.”

Stiles clenched his hands so as not to show how they trembled. “It is good to finally meet you, Your Highness.”

Prince Derek straightened and held out his arms. “If it pleases Your Majesty, I have brought a gift.”

Stiles frowned. A gift?

Right then, the bundle that Prince Derek held poked its head up and yipped.

It was the smallest, blackest, fluffiest puppy that Stiles had ever seen.

“He is the smallest of the litter,” Prince Derek said. “I worried that he would not be suitable, but Lady Lydia said his spirit would matter more than his size, and I assure you he is the most spirited puppy I have seen in all my years of raising dogs.”

Stiles stood and walked down the dais for a closer look. The puppy blinked at him with huge, intelligent eyes, and Stiles melted.

“It is Triskelian custom to bring our betrothed a gift that suits them,” Prince Derek continued. “I know we have not met before today, but I hope–”

“He’s perfect,” Stiles cut in, and reached out to scratch behind the puppy’s ears. His fur was so soft, it felt like touching air. “He’s absolutely perfect.”

Prince Derek’s stern face slid into a small, genuine smile, and oh. Oh. Lydia truly had not exaggerated his handsomeness.

“I am glad you are pleased, Your Majesty,” Prince Derek said.

“Stiles,” Stiles corrected. “If we are to be married and if you are to be giving me puppies, then you ought to call me by the name that my friends and family do.”

“Stiles,” Prince Derek said quietly, so that only they and the puppy could hear. “I will do my best to be worthy of this gift.”

Stiles smiled the first truly happy smile he’d felt in weeks. “And I will do my best to be worthy of this one, my prince.”

Prince Derek frowned. “Do you mean me or the puppy?”

Stiles leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on Prince Derek’s lips. “Both.”