Chapter Text
Chapter 1
The Proposition
Shane Hollander had always understood the order of things. The ways in which society functioned that served the greater good, served his family, and served to protect his people. As Crown Prince, Shane understood his duties, even if he didn't agree with them.
To maintain order in society, the Fae had, for thousands of years, been divided into classes: High, Mid, and Low. Biases and negative associations with the powerless were encouraged, and inequalities and hatred grew.
The more power a Fae held, the more successful they were in society. Over the years, for all classes of Fae, the oppressive status quo repeated in a self-fulfilling prophecy. Fae society was stilted, stagnant, and immovable.
Today was the day it would all change. He knew the power he’d hold on to would still be strong. He would still be the Prince. His mother, Yuna, would still be Queen, and his father, David, the King Consort. But instead of absolute power, their titles would mostly be figurehead positions, with democratic relationships taking precedence, and the Hollanders agreeing to vote on important decisions.
It was his family’s fault that no Fae had been able to rise above their station without significant support from the Crown, despite any powers or success a Fae might have. Whilst technically possible, moving up in a station was, for all intents and purposes, impossible. Even for Fae with more than one power.
For thousands of years, the more power in one's bloodline, the more likely you’d pass on great power and abilities to your children. Hollander descendants routinely held three or four powers, but they hoarded their secret method to pass multiple powers to their offspring. Hollanders took their methods to the grave.
Propaganda assured the lower Fae that in exchange for having only a single power (or no power at all), Fae were blessed with long life. They were told that was all they needed.
Despite that. changes were won by Low and Mid Fae over the last few centuries. Now, Fae from all classes were experiencing great shifts in the power they passed to the next generation, with some Low Fae inheriting extremely powerful abilities, and some High Fae inheriting none.
High society slowly declined. The bricks and pillars that had stood for thousands of years were fading into dust, no longer relevant. All Fae began asking why their society had such a rigid structure when it was not making progressive changes that benefited all the Fae.
Shane knew better than most inheriting a great deal of power was not always a good thing. He had struggled to mask his abilities. Keeping a stopper on his power felt like a full-time job, a stranger lurching beneath his skin. This was the way of things. High Fae were taught from a young age that exposing their powers would give their opponents the key to their downfall.
Never speak of your power, Shane, his grandmother had berated him. They will use it against you. Shane’s only known power, to the world at least, was flight. The only people who knew of his other abilities were his parents. Inside, Shane believed it shouldn’t matter about powers. All Fae deserved to be treated equally, and that was that.
The unrest had begun with the servants. Feeling unprotected, unvalued, unpaid, and disrespected, they yearned for more. Fae felt trapped, unable to love freely, work freely, or want for anything above their station.
He knew that Yuna had asked her mother, Queen Harumi, questions about society. Yuna was kind and just and wanted a better future for her people, despite the past. Yuna was demanded to right the wrongs her forebearers had committed.
The day after Queen Harumi abdicated the throne, Yuna summoned the Ambassador of the Low and Mid Fae, Ilya Rozanov.
Rozanov was the leader and chief organizer of the movement that challenged the long-standing hierarchy among the Fae. Rather than dividing society into High, Mid, and Low Fae, he argued that all should simply be recognized as Fae. His proposal called for the kingdom’s resources to be shared more equitably among all its inhabitants, instead of reserving the most valuable assets for the wealthy and the titled.
It was a deceptively simple idea, yet one with the power to reshape the entire kingdom.
Hearing one of Ambassador Rozanov's speeches for the first time, Shane was moved by the power of his words, despite his fear of what this might mean for his position, his comfort, and society. He felt cautious excitement about a future in which Shane could be proud and not embarrassed about his legacy.
Shane dreamt of a future where Fae wouldn’t balk at being friends or lovers with Fae of any class, because class was only important when society said so. Fae were all cut from the same cloth and were to be treated with equal fairness and respect. Some Fae had wings, some had flame, or light, some had immense mind-power—but they all deserved the same good things from life.
His title had made it hard for him to find friends or lovers. He’d toyed with the idea of beginning something with Hayden, a Mid Fae at his university, but of course, it would never have been accepted publicly. Hayden studied law and but wasn’t eligible to practice at the higher levels due to his lower status. To Shane, that showed how a relationship with Hayden would never be equal or accepted.
And now Hayden was married, he'd seen on Instagram, anyway.
Shane knew that he wanted that for himself one day. But he had not even admitted to himself that he was attracted to men, much less allowed himself to imagine being with anyone at all.
He knew that his work with the Ambassador would be critical. Shane wondered about Rozanov's powers. He knew that he had wings. Was he blessed with other powers? He couldn’t stop his curiosity about the man from quietly blooming.
His very prestigious law education had shaped the man he'd become. His law skills would make working on the cause a much smoother transition.
Shane was objectively very handsome, with soft features revealing his White Canadian father and Japanese Canadian mother. Shane had a sharp nose, soft, rounded cheeks, brown eyes not quite almond-shaped, a little more rounded, and lips made for kissing. He had constellations of freckles, as his mother liked to call them, smattered across his nose and cheeks. Shane worried they made him look immature, rather than handsome or sexy. His thick dark hair was often mussed and growing longer by the day. Keeping his hair longer was a silent act of rebellion against all the structure he maintained daily, holding his anxiety at bay.
His wings were one of his favourite features. Large and feathered, in shades of deep blue and white, they spanned two metres, which meant Shane was well-practiced in keeping them tucked politely by his side. Wing-spreading was generally reserved for affection, or for those you were most comfortable around, and for sex. There was a vulnerability in displaying your wings. Manipulating someone’s wings was a boundary kept for those closest to you. It was safer to keep your wings in check, close to your body at all times.
Shane looked good and wanted people to admire him. He never turned a compliment down, always politely offering thanks and ever denying the truth of it.
Today, as always, Shane dressed with fashionable purpose, a pair of navy YSL slacks sitting perfectly on his toned waist, with a crisp black t-shirt lazily tucked in. He finished the look with interesting rings collected over his years of op-shopping. He wore his grandmother's Heir Apparent ring and matching Crown, made of delicate gold with a diamond circlet, simple and timeless. His hair flopped lazily onto his forehead.
He tried to exude confidence in public appearances. Behind closed doors, of course, he came undone; panic attacks, anxiety, and fear of failure plagued Shane throughout his life. He spent hours every day worrying and ruminating. Structure and routine were critical for Shane and without them, he felt himself falling apart. His morning flight, work-out, and smoothie helped Shane to feel some semblance of control.
Shane could almost admit he was nervous and having difficulty concentrating during the peace negotiations. He could almost admit that one reason was Ambassador Rozanov, with his haughty, domineering attitude, those hazel eyes, his hair that curled around his forehead. Shane had seen Rozanov on television many times and, on occasion, around the palace, but they had never met in person. Yuna was apprehensive about Shane working with Rozanov, but she also knew Shane was their best option for success.
The negotiation was his first official meeting with Ambassador Rozanov. Shane found him smoking outside before the meeting had begun.
Rozanov was standing casually in a light grey double-breasted suit, a gold cross necklace peeking out from his white silk shirt and glinting softly in the sunlight. His white, feathered wings spread wide, stark against the dark grey of the colonial building. The way he stood brazenly in front of Shane made it obvious the Ambassador did nothing to make his wings appear smaller.
As Shane approached, Rozanov flashed him an aloof smirk and continued trying to light his unlightable cigarette.
Shane could admit that Ambassador Rozanov was a beautiful man, truly one of the most beautiful fae men he had ever laid eyes on. He had a sharp, chiseled jaw, plush lips that ended in a cupid’s bow, piercing hazel eyes, a crooked nose, and a hint of a golden tan, suggesting holidays somewhere where the sun shone over a lake. His delicate curls were slicked back today, with one pesky curl escaping across his forehead.
Shane swallowed, approaching him slowly.
“Ambassador, hi. I don't think you can smoke here. Maybe if you move to the dedicated area over to the right, it would make others more comfortable?” he said, with a tight smile.
Rozanov looked up from his cigarette, raising an eyebrow, and laughed, ignoring him.
Rozanov went back to trying to light his cigarette, looking over at Shane pointedly. “Okay,” he said in his oddly alluring Russian accent. “But I am not here to make others comfortable,” as he finally lit his cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling dramatically.
Shane found himself glancing to where the Ambassador’s arms had fallen to one side, Shane’s hands flexing in agitation as his throat bobbed in embarrassment. Shane fumbled awkwardly, nodded and walked away.
Despite Fae living for hundreds, if not thousands of years, both Shane and Ambassador Rozanov were roughly the same age. But somehow Rozanov had an air about him of a much older man. Something that darkened behind his eyes.
After their awkward interaction, Shane tried to pull together the remnants of his self-respect and headed towards the boardroom, where he would meet Yuna, the Justices, and Rozanov.
Queen Yuna, resplendent in a tailored emerald pantsuit, black Louboutins, and emerald encrusted Crown, began the meeting as Shane and the four territory heads greeted one another. All four Justices were High Fae. Shane had known these Fae his entire life and greeted them politely. Despite knowing them for so long, they were still merely acquaintances.
The Fae may be conservative in their societal structure, but never in their fashion choices. Shane absolutely loved clothes and adored expressing himself fully through his fashion choices. It was clear that the people in this room agreed that, to the Fae, fashion was a form of self-expression. Shane liked to think it could be a quiet rebellion.
Justice Fabian glittered in a black sequined bodysuit, an oversized blazer, and tailored black slacks. Justice Wyatt wore a traditional yet contemporary navy suit, and Shane noticed he had a ‘Superfae’ pin on his sleeve. Justice Rose looked immaculate in a crisp beige suit, with a navy silk shirt French-tucked, the navy complementing her eyes. And finally, Justice Svetlana wore a low-cut blouse that showed off her lovely decolletage, with an A-line skirt and kitten heels.
The parties all shook hands and greeted one another politely. Ambassador Rozanov arrived just after the initial handshaking, prompting another round of handshakes and pleasantries.
Shane noticed the Ambassador appeared very comfortable with all of the dignitaries, complimenting them and making what Shane suspected were charming inside jokes to each Justice in turn. Shane had known all of them for his entire life and had never been able to form a comfortable rapport with any of them. Of course, the Ambassador had made quick, fast friends with everyone but Shane.
The boardroom was in the war chambers of the Palace. The extensive room had been tastefully decorated by his mother. Yuna delighted in beautiful things and had a flair for decorating.
Sleek and modern, the room featured warm lights hanging from the ceiling, spilling light over the large marble table. The dark tiled floor added to the room's coldness. White magnolias in vases starkly contrasted against the minimal decor. Thick, regal blue curtains covered the vast expanse of a window overlooking the exceptionally tended Palace gardens.
Rozanov caught Shane’s eye with a slow look. His hazel eyes filled with teasing. “You look pretty,” he said in a low tone, gesturing to Shane's crown and smirking again with that lopsided grin.
“Kind of you to say, Ambassador.” Shane managed to say. “Do you usually forego formalities in the presence of royalty?” Shane hoped he looked annoyed at Rozanov’s arrogance. He was also fighting the impulse to smirk back at the man. As pink rose to his cheeks, Shane hoped his freckles had hidden in the bloom of his blush.
Rozanov stared directly at Shane, darting his eyes up and down, surveying him with interest like a cat about to pounce. Shane coughed and decided to retreat. But Rozanov just shrugged, extending his hand.
“My apologies, Prince Hollander; manners escape me in the presence of royalty, as you say."
Shane was aware the Ambassador was making fun of him. There was no way of challenging the mockery, and even if he did, to what end? Shane knew there was no getting around this relationship.
The meeting continued, although the room was filled with a tension that Shane couldn’t quite place. Shane watched as beads of sweat formed on the Ambassador’s face in the heat of negotiations. He watched the way his brows furrowed whenever anyone stumbled over new terminology in place of old hateful words; politely but firmly correcting them with the appropriate new language.
"We do not speak of 'High Fae’ in the law now; we are equal. All fae," Ambassador Rozanov reprimanded when Yuna slipped up, giving Shane’s mother a pointed look.
Shane listened to the Ambassador’s heavy accent. He rolled his r's and enunciated his vowels, but his language was clear and precise. His accent was very attractive to Shane and he knew why Rozanov had captured the hearts of the peoole.
Yuna spoke earnestly, dipping her head in apology. "My apologies, Ambassador,” she said. “I will strive to do and be better every day. My entire family will, and all those closest to me. We want the same thing, Ambassador."
At this exact moment, Shane was idly staring at Ambassador Rozanov’s rather stunning beauty spot on his cheek, and watching how, when he smiled, it was swallowed in his dimple … and, god, Shane really didn’t need this distraction in the most important moment of his career.
Catching Shane's eye, the Ambassador raised an eyebrow in challenge. It was imperceptible to anyone but Shane. Shane chose to ignore the eyebrow and stared blankly at the marble table, shuffling the papers provided by his staff.
“I appreciate your acknowledgement of outdated thinking, Queen Yuna. And please, call me Ilya. We will be working closely together, and I must admit, as someone not raised amongst such privilege, these formalities bore me,” Ilya stated plainly but with a charming grin at Yuna.
“Of course, Ilya,” Yuna said confidently. “We extend the same to you. Please feel free to call Shane and me by our names, as well as my husband, David. David will be working closely with you on the division of finances towards the Democratic alliance and supporting policies in our Kingdom that are fair and just for all.”
“We have used the customary old formalities throughout the negotiation period, but I no longer want power imbalances present in our conversations,” Yuna spoke with a kind smile.
“Thank you, Yuna. Shane,” Ilya responded. His gaze landed on Shane with an intensity that made Shane want to spontaneously combust.
No, actually, Shane wanted to scream. His mother was giving up the power and control they had at the table to Rozanov, seemingly without a second thought. Shane understood why she must, but he was still coming to terms with the significant changes this would mean, especially for Shane’s own future lifestyle. Shane was pleased, of course, and supported the cause, but he secretly worried this new Shane would be seen as weak, immovable, or worst of all, unlikable. Especially compared to someone like Ilya.
Shane supposed that out of respect for their budding professional relationship, he should call him by his first name as Ilya asked.
Shane spoke next. “Ilya, I look forward to building a brighter future with you as the Ambassador.”
Even in his tailored (extremely well-tailored, mind you) suit, Shane could see the contours of Ilya’s firmly sculpted abdomen beneath his shirt—the width of his pectoral muscles staring at Shane. Ilya flexed his strong hands, licking his finger for page-lubrication. Shane’s mind went blank. Gods, please stop, Shane thought desperately.
Ilya’s muscular forearm pushed out of his shirt sleeve as it rode up his arm when passing documents to Shane for approval. His neck strained. Shane watched him in slow-motion pull at it, moving and stretching to one side, pulling at his shoulder on the other side. Suddenly looking like bone-deep exhaustion, Ilya rubbed his eyes, answering further questions from the table of Fae officials. Shane saw his exhaustion underneath the comedy, bravado, and kindness.
Representatives from the other regions were in agreement on the Treaty’s terms. Shane and Yuna held the most power; although their position was not absolute even prior to the uprising, it required sign-off from representatives in certain cases.
They would adjust this even more, bringing four new representatives who were deliberately not High Fae into the ruling group. Ilya had already been officially appointed as the Democratic Representative for the Fae. He’d been chosen in a landslide vote weeks ago. Many Mid and Low Fae had been roused by his commitment to justice, finally accepting their worth and fighting for what they deserved all along.
Ilya seemed so different from Shane. His no-bullshit, fierce nature and his often surprising ability to see every issue and person wholly objectively. Ilya had been brought up with next to nothing and could clearly appreciate beauty in the mundane. Shane could tell. Raised in Russia in a very conservative family, Shane had heard that Ilya had a reputation for poor behavior. Shane thought maybe he had just been struggling to be himself. At least Shane had always struggled with self-acceptance. Ilya casually complimented everyone in the room, always with something unique. He seemed so genuine.
For example, he was currently murmuring to “Sveta” about the beauty of her necklace. Then it was “You look like you have been doing good things,” to Wyatt, and a sincere “Don’t second-guess your professional abilities,” to a frustrated Rose. “You are my favourite diplomat,” was said with a wink to Justice Fabian. “You are making progress your mother would never have dreamed of making,” he assured Yuna
And in an aggravating tone to Shane, “You are so pretty.”
Feeling his racing heart as Ilya looked into his rosy face, Shane knew he clearly had a problem.
Shane had been pretending he didn’t know these things for a while. He could almost admit he’d been obsessively thinking about Ilya for months. In dreams, and daydreams. He was stuck on thoughts of him, refreshing his social media, watching all of his press interviews, trying to find a trace of who he was outside of all of this.
No way would he act on any of his thoughts, especially the ones that left him breathless while he was alone at night. They were going to be colleagues. Shane needed to control the power imbalances between them. So, Ilya-shaped thoughts were completely off limits. No matter what.
Plus, they had important professional obligations. Yuna had requested that Shane directly oversee each part of the formal restructuring alongside Ilya, educating him on changes that needed to be made internally to the Crown.
The meeting came to a close. Ilya shook hands with kind eyes, his many thanks going around the room.
Shane let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding the whole meeting and hugged Yuna. This was a monumental step forward, towards peace.
His mother and the Justices stepped out of the room.
This left the two of them standing rather awkwardly, looking at one another.
Ilya glanced directly at Shane as the silence swallowed them. A clock bell rung—a reminder that time existed beyond these walls. Ilya did not look away. Instead, he stretched his wings out, arms moving from side to side, shaking out the stagnation of a meeting that had gone on too long.
Shane instinctively copied Ilya’s movements, stretching and moving as Ilya surveyed him, eyes glacing up and down; swallowing him. Ilya looked over Shane’s wings, as Shane's hand twitched at his side, containing the nervous energy that surrounxed him. Ilya watched Shane so closely, now.
Neither of them folded their wings back. They didn’t retreat from the blatant, brazen display. Shane knew then that something had shifted between them. He felt himself getting hard through his pants, as he shifted, readjusting.
Ilya stepped toward him, circling Shane, before he took more steady steps, leaving their faces a breath apart.
Shane felt Ilya's warm breath on his neck as Ilya surveyed Shane intently. He was so close now. Shane's neck arched slightly, adjusting to the feel of Ilya. He knew instinctively that he needed to move out of this dangerous situation. To retreat. But he couldn't bring himself to.
Instead, Shane locked eyes with Ilya—inclining his head in question, looking up at him. Ilya was huge, everywhere. His body, his forearms, his neck, it all bulged and consumed and stretched as moved a hand to grab Shane's chin, tilting it up towards him; his hand stroked languidly over Shane's plush pink lips. His mouth instinctively parted for Ilya, as he rubbed his thumb over them, Shane sucked at Rozanov's thumb, as his head inclined, Ilya purred in satisfaction, "You are so eager, Prince."
"Fuck you, Ambassador," Shane said in a hushed voice, stifling a smile. The pulsing in Shane's heart quickened, as he breathed him in. Shane's eyes were blown wide, as he licked his lips, staring at Ilya's beautiful cupids bow, a snack waiting to be eaten.
“I am very much looking forward to knowing you, Shane Hollander. We will meet later without all of the other boring people. Maybe you will come to my room at the Royal Apartments?” Ilya said. His mouth rose on one side into a lazy smirk. “You must be careful with these wings.” Ilya gestured towards Shane, waggling his eyebrows in a way that kind of looked deranged, he pulled away slightly, the lack of contact left Shane desperate.
Shane's wing jerked uncontrollably, as he grazed the back of a vase behind him, as it precariously knocked back and forth, refusing to topple over.
Despite all of his rational hesitation and fears, Shane didn't think he would be able to deny himself this.
Shane shifted his mask to show the cool indifference that he wore in public.
“I'll see,” Shane said as he tried to sound as casual as possible, failing miserably as his voice was hitched and somewhat breathless. ”I might knock on your door tonight, if I have any free time.”
Ilya responded simply with a shrug and cool indifference, “I might open.” He turned swiftly and walked away.
Shane could have sworn Ilya's ass muscles flexed as he sauntered off.
Shane's wings trembled.
He was so fucked.