When Charles woke up, he didn't immediately know where he was. He felt pleasantly sore and achy in places he hadn't for years. He cracked his eyes open with effort and looked around to see a plain room with wood-paneled walls and carpeted floors. There was a tub in the corner filled with steaming water not too far from where he laid on the bed and clothes thrown over a privacy partition in the same corner. After a moment, he remembered that he was in Max's room, the closer of their dwellings and so the chosen location for their tryst in their haste to find privacy.
Max.
Charles sat up abruptly, looking around the empty room. Max was gone. He slumped down into the bed, his mind reeling from the revelations last night. He didn't know that he had ever experienced such disparate emotions in one night. He had been so happy, overjoyed at finally having Max, having someone he chose not just because he wanted to have sex, but because he felt deeply connected to them. No, because he was in love with them. He could admit it to himself, nearly admitted it to Max last night. He should probably be warier of it, but it was better than his parents. They met a week before their wedding.
Having Max felt like fulfilling every deferred dream Charles ever had. Alphas Charles had lain with before were rough with him. They were stingy lovers who only cared for their own pleasure, fucking him hard whether he was wet enough or not. They would claim to want him, to love him, tell him their wish to lavish him with affection and presents. By the time they got to the bedroom, they only cared to sate their own desire and quelled his complaints with a lazy jerk of the wrist or knotted inside him to shut him up.
In contrast, Max was giving and methodical. He took Charles apart with his mouth and his fingers, not entering him until he was a writhing mess, begging for Max to fuck him. When he got inside of him, he was not gentle, but he wasn't overly rough either. He manhandled him and held him with a bruising but careful grip. He sucked marks into his neck and nipped at the skin but didn't break it, not claiming Charles fully. He pulled his hair, pressed him into the mattress and kissed him with force, but Charles liked it because he chose it. When he wanted it gentle, Max turned soft, slow but not lazy, and held Charles like he was something to be treasured, protected, loved.
Five years married to Cain, two years of taking lovers before that, but it was only last night that he ever felt the truest sense of pleasure brought about through mutual care and affection. He was ready to do everything possible to get that feeling every night. He told Max about Cain and Kurt, figuring if Max still wanted him with that knowledge, then Charles was prepared to try to make it work. He could find a place in Krakoa with Max and the children. He could find his way around being a blacksmith's mate. He could be charming with potential customers and help Max sell his wares in the marketplace. He could set up a school and get money that way to help support their household. It would be slow going, just small classes at first. Anya said their home was hardly a hovel, so maybe it was a cottage like Logan's inn or something similar, someplace with enough space for a couple and four children along with several other children to fit comfortably for a few hours in the day. He could teach the village children in the kitchen, he could clean and… well, not cook because he was horrid at it. When Max came home, he'd greet him with a kiss and help him clean away soot from his face. Then they would prepare dinner together and laugh with the children over their meals and retire to their room together at night. Maybe they would even have children together if Charles proved able and Max wanted. Cain and Kurt, Westchester, would be a distant memory.
It was a silly fantasy, one Prince Erik tore away from him in the space of minutes.
Charles fell back to the mattress, thinking of what he had seen in the prince's head last night. His mind was easily one of the most gorgeous Charles had ever read. His thoughts were orderly and easy to navigate, but the organization did not make it a cold place. On the contrary, there was a sea of emotion simmering underneath the surface. Charles couldn't believe he had ever thought the man to be cold or unfeeling. It was the opposite. He felt things deeply and fiercely, much like Charles himself. Maybe that was why they were such a match with each other.
Walking through Erik's memories, he saw the castle he grew up in, a large red structure on a hill overlooking the bay. He saw moments from Erik's childhood. His mother, Queen Edith, a kind beta who he was close to. There was his father, King Jakob, who he initially had fond memories of but those became few and far between the older he grew. His younger sister, Princess Ruth, was a beautiful redhead with a smile that showed too many teeth. She was an optimistic girl who completely adored her brother if the memories were anything to go by and the feeling was mutual. His wife, Lady Magda Maximoff, was a striking woman with long brunette hair and warm blue eyes. He saw moments of Lady Magda and Erik growing up together, from playful children to curious teens then passionate adults.
He saw the many tragedies he faced in his life. The death of his mother, who took ill and died when he was eleven years old. The years of strife with his father, who grew cold and distant after the queen's death. The death of his wife from complications of childbirth. His sister's death, a long drawn out affair that inspired a staggering amount of anger, grief, and pain. It shook Charles to the core, the deep grief that Erik felt holding his sister's body, only dwarfed by the overwhelming rage as he went after Shinobi Shaw, challenging him to a brutal duel that he ultimately won. Still, the viciousness of the fight was a shock.
Charles could understand in some ways. There had been moments when he was certain he could kill Kurt and Cain and never feel badly about it. Something always stopped him. Maybe it was his father. Somehow Charles knew he would not want his son to be a murderer, so he refrained. Erik did not show any restraint. After that duel, tragedy still found him. Charles saw the king's possible death as Lord Sebastian Shaw attacked Krakoa, driving Erik and his children out of the city, where they fled to Logan's inn and eventually met him and David.
Charles was not altogether sure how to feel. He kept his own secrets, but he had been truthful about basic things, like his bloody name. At the same time, the prince had a good reason for the subterfuge. Then again, if he knew what was at stake for himself, why did he ever pursue Charles at all? Nothing could come of this. He was a prince, soon to be a king, Charles was nothing. No, he was worse than nothing, he was spoiled goods, secondhand wares, and foreign wares at that. He had no place in a castle's court except to be led in through secret passageways like a common whore. A rush of anger went through him. Erik should've turned him away. When Charles kissed him, he should've rejected him. It would've hurt but not as much as this, not as much as knowing what he would be missing when he was inevitably left behind.
Sadness swiftly overtook the momentary anger. He had thought his history was the biggest obstacle in their way, but this…
His eyes began burning just as the door to the room opened. He sat up and looked at Erik as he stepped into the room and froze when he saw Charles was awake. He was in clean clothes and his hair was tousled and slightly wet. Charles could make out marks along his neck from last night. Another stab of despair settled low in his stomach at the unfairness of it all. He held his emotions down. He would not cry in front of this man.
"Good morning," Erik said, breaking the silence.
"Morning… Prince Erik," Charles replied, testing the feeling of the name on his tongue. It wasn't horrible but felt strange.
Erik's face did something odd before settling.
"Just Erik. How are you feeling?" he asked.
Charles let a bitter laugh escape his lips.
"Is that an honest question?"
Erik grimaced but still looked at him expectantly.
"Well, all this time I've been getting to know Max Eisenhardt, befriending Max Eisenhardt, letting Max Eisenhardt become a fixture in my life and now he has simply ceased to exist, so I can't say I'm doing great at the moment," Charles replied sarcastically.
Erik grimaced deeper.
"He didn't completely disappear. I am him. Not everything was a front."
"Just your name and your occupation and the implications of your social status."
Erik conceded the point.
"Do you know— what do you know about me?"
"Everything."
"Then you know why I had to omit certain details about who I am and where I come from."
"I do. I even understand your motivations. That doesn't mean I have to accept it or forgive you for it."
"No, you don't," Erik sighed.
"I'm sorry, Charles. I'm sorry for the pretense. I'm sorry for involving you in my trouble with the Shaws. I never wanted to hurt you."
"It doesn't really matter what you wanted to do, does it? You have hurt me. This hurts me."
They were silent, their eyes locked on one another. Charles slowly felt himself beginning to lose the battle with his tears. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the emotion but his vision still blurred. He exhaled sharply against the weight settling in his chest.
"Charles…" Erik muttered, approaching the bed cautiously.
A single sob escaped him. He held his hand to his mouth to keep the sounds inside, looking down to his lap as he took a calming breath that barely made any difference. It was as if the walls were closing in around him. He had had a chance for something real with Max and Erik took it away. Charles wished he could hate him, but he felt more hurt than anything else. The bed dipped as Erik sat across from him. He rubbed his hands up and down Charles' arms comfortingly. He didn't fight the touch, knowing it was soon to be one of their last.
"You should've told me no. I would've been better off for it. It's not fair," Charles mumbled almost to himself.
"I know, I know," Erik whispered in reply.
Charles pulled back from Erik, shaking violently with repressed emotion.
"You don't know. You have no clue what you've just done. I've spent so long believing I'd never have anything like this, not even anything close to it. The things the Markos did to me were bad: the beatings, the drugs, the forced marriage, the captivity, but the worst part of it all was being so completely and utterly alone. No one to talk to, no one to connect with, no one to show me the barest amount of kind regard, no one to reach out to. I was left to fester in solitude and despair in the darkest corners of my own mind without a modicum of solace. Even when I got away, I thought Cain had ruined me in every way I cared about. Then there you are and I see a chance, an avenue for something I wouldn't even allow myself to dream of. Don't you see? You gave me something I had lived so long without that I forgot what it felt like. For the first time in a long time, I had hope. That has sustained me these past weeks more than I realized. And now it's gone," Charles lamented.
Erik's face showed his devastation at his pain, but Charles could not comfort or absolve him of the guilt, much too deep in his own stormy emotions.
"So, no, you don't know. And I... I wish I could show you what it feels like, the cold absence of something so warm and affirming, but I can't," Charles finished tearfully, his voice cracking on his last words.
The prince opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if unsure what to say or how to gather his thoughts.
"You knew it could never work, why would you give me hope?"
Erik leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together tentatively. Charles didn't push him away.
"How was I supposed to expect you? I never looked at anyone else after Magda. I never thought I would be able to open myself to anyone again and then I met you. You gave me hope too without even trying, you made me want for things I'd long dismissed. I thought I was strong enough to fight it. For both our sakes, I tried, but you are my equal and my likeness and I could only live with the distance for so long."
"Why couldn't you just be a blacksmith," Charles asked rhetorically, staying in Erik's embrace until the shaking that wracked his frame abated and he didn't feel like he was going to fall to pieces in front of him.
"I drew a bath for you. The children are awake and have eaten already. Anya is reading to them in the common room. I… I can stay with you until you're ready."
Charles shook his head after a moment.
"No, you should go. There is no point in delaying the inevitable, is there? Nothing can come of this. You will return to the capital for your throne and you'll forget all about me. What am I compared to a king? I'm just a disgraced whore with a son I have all but condemned to bastardry."
"Charles, you're not—"
"It's true in all the ways that matter in this world. Your reputation as a blacksmith would've been sullied consorting with me, much less your reputation as a royal. I won't be responsible for that," Charles answered, growing more confident with each word, cloaking his true feelings behind thoughts of propriety, principles, laws even.
As much as he hated Westchester's obsession with decorum, it certainly had its place. Charles was his father's son in many respects, but he had gained some valuable knowledge from his mother. He knew how to rein his emotions in, affect a mask of impassivity when necessary, wear society's mores as armor or even a weapon.
"Charles, you must believe that I view your reputation, whatever the world would say, as a mere trifle to who you are. It is inconsequential and does not reflect the man I know you to be."
"It does matter. What do you expect to happen?"
Erik opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no answer appeared to be forthcoming.
"Nothing else can happen," he concluded, his voice wavering the slightest bit with self-doubt. As much turmoil as the truth was inspiring in him, it seemed nonsensical that something as subjective as propriety could destroy something as powerful and passionate as the connection he had forged with Erik, but what else could he do?
I will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and not mad as I am now. If I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane, quite insane, with my veins running fire and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs. It is the hot madness they say afflicts omegas, that and that alone, he thought, holding onto his favored passages to keep himself steady and resolute.
"If this were to go any further, I could be nothing to you but your mistress to be spirited in through secret corridors and hidden tunnels for a few hours so you can take your pleasure and then turned back into the streets. It won't be like it is here with the children and us, because it can't be. To think any different is insanity and if nothing else, this most unexpected truth you have bestowed upon me has removed the wool from my eyes and I can see that I have been mad, foolishly so. I refuse to believe our acquaintance has been the result of anything else."
Erik reared back as if in shock. Charles let a bitter smile cross his lips as the next words, brought to mind by his literary heroine, sealed his decision.
"I can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstances require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I have an inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give."
A bolt of recognition went through Erik's eyes, but he still did not speak.
"I need to think of David. He is more important to me than anything else. I will not endanger him more than I already have, so a clean break is best. We haven't done anything that can't be erased or ignored by the people who would care. If anyone does, you can just say it was down to biology. I was in heat or something similar and the urge became impossible to resist. People will understand. You can find a proper consort, some Genoshan lord or lady or a prince or princess who has been raised understanding what it means to be a king's mate. That can't be me."
Preconceived opinions, forgone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by. There I plant my foot, he resolved.
Erik's silent gaze was heavy on him, but he did not look up at him. Eventually, the alpha left the room, the door softly clicking closed behind him. The emotions he had been suppressing surged up as soon as he walked out.
I am resolute. This is the right thing to do. Here I plant my foot, he thought, trying to make those words have meaning again.
He closed his eyes against the torrent wishing to flow out of him and bit his trembling lip to steady it, ignoring the unpleasant shivers going up and down his spine. It was a losing battle. It wasn't just this, it was everything, five years, ten years, fourteen years of pent up emotion that he had pushed down or tried to work through using sex or books but there was nothing to fall back on now, nothing to hide behind. His face crumbled and sobs he could not hold in were wrenched from him. He stuffed his fist in his mouth to muffle the sound as much as possible, not wanting to alert the children or Erik. All this time falling in love, living high off the hope it brought, and he'd forgotten that hope was a dangerous thing and love came with the very real risk of having his heart broken.