The Prince of Kuraigana

Sanji’s heart dropped at the despairing, anguished howl rising from the woods.

Kuraigana was a small kingdom occupying a peninsula, surrounded by ocean on three sides and connected to the mainland by a narrow isthmus. Its main port town sat a few miles east of that strip of land, built around a harbor along the coast. Farther inland was a village beside the vineyards, where much of Kuraigana’s population worked. Beyond that, the road continued through miles of dark forest before reaching the castle, perched near the edge of the coastal cliffs. 

Sanji peered out the carriage window as they followed the road along the coast. The sun remained blurred behind constant cloud cover. Thin, twisted trees rose from the damp earth, crowded together until the forest became difficult to see through.

The place was desolate and depressing. Too isolated for Vinsmoke Judge to normally take much notice.

What Kuraigana lacked in population, however, it made up for in wealth. Its vineyards were the sole producer of several specialty wines coveted by world leaders and nobility, and the kingdom had more money than Germa and its conquered northern territories combined.

Judge wanted access to it.

He had sent a letter to Kuraigana’s ruling family requesting an audience and received an invitation to attend one of the king’s annual balls in return. Now the Vinsmoke family was on the last leg of the journey from the North.

Sanji shifted on the hard carriage seat, ignoring the glance Reiju gave him. She might be the least terrible member of his family, but she’d still been the one to fasten the bracelets around his wrists before they left Germa.

The heavy gold bands chafed whenever he moved. They looked ornamental enough to anyone who didn’t know what they were. Sanji knew better. Explosives had been fitted inside them, and Judge carried the remote that could activate them. A guarantee of Sanji’s cooperation.

Judge’s newest grand plan was another profitable marriage, and Sanji was once again the sacrificial spouse.

He was the least wanted son. Supposedly weaker than his brothers. Less durable. He’d failed to become the alpha Judge had expected and instead presented as an omega, complete with all the emotions his brothers seemed to lack. Judge had locked him in the dungeon soon afterward out of disgust.

Sanji had spent years down there, neglected and mostly forgotten unless one of his brothers decided they wanted someone to hit. Even that had eventually become boring for them. With little else to occupy him, Sanji had spent most of his time exercising and training in whatever ways the confined space allowed.

He’d gone into the dungeon at sixteen and come out nearly five years later because Judge had finally found a use for him – marriage.

An omega son could be traded to a wealthy alpha prince or princess. Any royal pups Sanji bore would carry Vinsmoke blood, giving Judge another connection to whichever kingdom had the misfortune of accepting the arrangement. Resources, military aid, trade agreements – Judge intended to extract whatever advantage he could from it.

He’d already tried once with the Charlottes. Judge had arranged for Sanji to marry Princess Charlotte Pudding, an alpha from an enormously powerful family. The wedding had ended in an assassination attempt against the Vinsmokes and a coup among the Charlottes before anyone managed to finish the ceremony.

Sanji still occasionally wished they’d succeeded in killing Judge. Especially now, when he was being traded off all over again.

The carriage jolted over another rough stretch of road, bringing Sanji closer to his next gilded prison. If Sanji was lucky, he’d be given the freedom to do what he wanted. But at the very least, it should allow him to make use of the traditional omega arts Judge had forced him to learn. Once Judge decided Sanji was marriage material, he’d made sure his omega son had something to offer a prospective spouse beyond his womb. 

Cooking had been the least objectionable part. Sanji liked it well enough. He enjoyed working with his hands and turning a collection of ingredients into something worth eating, although he’d never understood why anyone treated it as some great calling. What he’d enjoyed far more was the physical training Zeff had introduced him to, especially fighting with his legs instead of a sword.

After the disaster with the Charlottes, Sanji had expected to be thrown back into the dungeon. Instead, Judge had kept him out and ordered his omega training to continue while he searched for another suitable match. Sanji had even been allowed a bedroom again. He took his meals separately from the family and was generally expected to keep out of Judge’s sight, which suited him perfectly. The last year had almost been enjoyable whenever he managed to forget who he was related to.

All good things eventually ended for Sanji.

Ahead, the road curved through the trees, and he got his first glimpse of Kuraigana Castle.

The main spire rose above the forest against the gloomy sky. As the carriage continued around the bend, the rest of the castle came into view.

It was tall and narrow, built from pale gray stone and dominated by rows of pointed windows that stretched through several floors. Buttresses divided the outer walls into even sections, ending beneath steep triangular peaks along the roofline. At the center, the building climbed higher into a square tower capped by a dark spire, with smaller pointed turrets surrounding it. A massive arched window occupied several stories of the central facade.

The proportions reminded Sanji more of a cathedral than a fortress. Germa had been designed to withstand attack. Kuraigana looked built for some entirely different purpose.

They passed through an iron gate and onto the castle grounds. Several other carriages already stood along the drive, their horses being led away by attendants. Guests for the ball.

The Vinsmoke carriage stopped beneath the covered entrance. A valet stepped forward as the family climbed out.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” he greeted Judge with a bow. “King Mihawk awaits you in the throne room.”

Judge had called ahead on the Den Den Mushi after they entered Kuraigana to request an audience before the ball. He gave the valet a curt nod.

The man led them inside.

Sanji had expected another version of Germa. Instead, the castle felt older.

Germa’s halls were built around military function – fortified doors, bare corridors, soldiers stationed at regular intervals, everything meant to remind visitors that the kingdom existed for war. Kuraigana had none of that. Dark wood covered sections of the stone walls, and old tapestries hung between tall windows. Candles burned in iron sconces despite the hour, supplemented by fires blazing in enormous hearths wherever the halls widened into sitting areas. They did little to chase away the chill.

Portraits lined one corridor, many darkened with age. Other stretches of wall remained bare where something had once hung. The floors were stone beneath long runners, worn in the centers from generations of footsteps. There were no soldiers posted inside, and Sanji saw surprisingly few servants.

The place was warmer than Germa, yet it was somehow less welcoming.

The valet stopped before a set of carved double doors and opened them. “The royal family of Germa,” he announced. “King Vinsmoke Judge and his children.”

The throne room stretched several stories high, with narrow windows running along the walls and a row of chandeliers suspended from the vaulted ceiling. Fires burned in two broad fireplaces. At the far end, three thrones stood on a raised dais.

King Dracule Mihawk occupied the center. He sat straight-backed beneath the high stone arch behind the dais, dark hair neatly kept and a short beard framing thin lips already set in a frown. His eyes tracked the Vinsmokes from the moment they entered.

Princess Perona sat to his left, pink-haired and dressed in layers of black and white. The beta crown princess watched their approach with open curiosity.

Prince Zoro occupied the throne to Mihawk’s right.

Or, more accurately, sprawled across it.

His legs were spread, one arm rested heavily along the side of the throne, and his green hair stuck out around his head with little evidence that anyone had attempted to tame it for the evening. His chin rested against his chest. He was asleep. He was even snoring a little.

Sanji stared. The whole display read alpha so thoroughly that Sanji’s stomach tightened.

His brothers did the same thing – taking up as much room as they pleased, sitting however they wanted, secure in the knowledge that nobody would tell an alpha prince to straighten himself up and behave.

First the castle, now this. Apparently Sanji was, indeed, simply exchanging one miserable prison for another.

He took his place beside his brothers, although he stood at the end of the line rather than third, where his name would have placed him. He was only the omega, after all. Reiju stood beside Judge.

Judge towered over the rest of the family, broad enough through the shoulders that his formal coat only made him look larger. His long blond hair fell down his back in a heavy mane, and the ends of his thin black mustache curved upward into points. He had always known how to make himself look imposing without doing much beyond standing there.

“King Vinsmoke,” Mihawk greeted. His voice carried easily through the chamber. “You requested an audience before the ball.”

“Yes.” Judge stepped forward. “As I stated in my letter, I wish to begin negotiations that could benefit both our kingdoms.”

Mihawk waited.

“I have an omega son,” Judge continued, gesturing toward Sanji without looking at him. “Sanji. I would like to offer him to your alpha son in marriage.”

Mihawk’s expression remained unreadable. Perona’s didn’t. Her eyes widened slightly before she turned toward her brother. Mihawk looked at Zoro, too.

Zoro slept through both of them. A faint snore escaped him.

Perona looked back at her father. Mihawk returned his attention to Judge. “And what do you believe Germa has to offer Kuraigana?”

Judge’s mouth tightened faintly. “As you know, Germa is renowned for its scientific progress and military capabilities. A marriage alliance would give Kuraigana access to both. We would offer scientific assistance, military cooperation, and Germa’s support should your kingdom require it.”

Sanji kept his face still. Kuraigana had survived perfectly well without them so far.

“I have prepared a proposed marriage contract,” Judge continued. “If you wish to review it now.”

“No.” Mihawk rested one hand against the arm of his throne. “After the ball.”

His gaze moved briefly over Judge’s children before returning to him. “As you know, tonight’s gathering was arranged for my children to meet potential partners. I received your request and invited your family for that purpose. We will see how the evening proceeds before I consider a contract.”

Judge was silent for a moment before inclining his head. “Very well. I will leave the proposed agreement with your valet.”

Mihawk nodded once.

“We look forward to the ball and your hospitality,” Judge said.

“You are welcome in Kuraigana for the duration of your invitation.”

It was clearly a dismissal.

Judge turned and headed for the doors. His children fell into line behind him. Sanji hesitated long enough to glance back.

Prince Zoro remained slouched on his throne, sound asleep during what was supposed to have been a formal introduction to the family offering him a spouse.

Sanji already dreaded discovering what life with an alpha prince so much like his brothers would be.

Then he followed his family from the room.

Once the Vinsmokes had left the throne room and the main doors closed behind them, Perona turned to Mihawk. “Why didn’t you deny it outright?”

“Diplomacy,” Mihawk said. “Germa can be vindictive. I would rather appear to consider the match and dismiss it later than reject Judge immediately and invite retaliation.”

“They’ll be just as angry when you say no later.”

“Not necessarily.” Mihawk settled back in his throne. “If I determine that the terms of the proposed marriage offer Kuraigana nothing we require, then the refusal becomes a matter of practicality rather than insult. So long as Judge believes I considered his proposal seriously, the Vinsmokes save face. If he wishes to pursue a similar alliance elsewhere afterward, my rejection need not damage his chances.”

Perona frowned toward the closed doors. “I didn’t like the look of the other brothers. I hope they don’t cause trouble at the ball.”

Mihawk gave a small nod. “Alphas of that sort are often tiresome. However, I’m certain Judge will keep them under control if he’s serious about marrying his omega son to Zoro.”

Perona glanced past Mihawk. Zoro was still asleep in his throne, slumped slightly toward one side now, his breathing deep and even. Her gaze returned to Mihawk. “Why do you let him get away with that?”

“It keeps him from feeling embarrassed or ashamed when he is forced to sit through proposals such as this one.”

Perona sighed. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.” She looked at Zoro again. “You are making him attend the ball, though, right?”

“Oh, yes. Most assuredly.” Mihawk’s mouth tightened faintly. “I have yet to abandon hope that he might meet someone at one of these soirées.”

Perona smiled. “I’m glad you aren’t like the Vinsmokes. Or half the other royal families we know. Deciding on Zoro’s behalf who he has to marry.”

“Hn.” Mihawk looked toward his sleeping son. “If one must spend a lifetime mated to another person, love should be involved at the bare minimum.”

Perona’s smile widened. “You’re such a softy. Horo-horo-horo-horo.”

“Yes, well. Do not let it get around.” Mihawk looked back toward her. “My reputation as a cold, stoic aristocrat would be at stake.”

Zoro still hadn’t made up his mind whether he liked or hated Mihawk’s annual balls.

He knew why his father held them. Kuraigana was isolated, small enough that Zoro knew most of the people in the village and port by sight. Most families there were mixed in the ordinary way – alphas, omegas, and plenty of betas who attracted far less attention than either. If he or Perona were ever going to meet someone outside the peninsula, they either had to travel or bring people here. Traveling was a pain in the ass.

So once a year, Mihawk invited eligible nobles from other kingdoms and provinces to Kuraigana. Some families came every year, some only once, and there were usually a few new ones mixed in. The official purpose was diplomacy and maintaining ties with the rest of the world.

Everyone knew the other purpose – Mihawk wanted his children to find mates.

Zoro had been sleeping when Perona showed up earlier that afternoon and marched him to the throne room. She’d planted him in his throne and told him to stay there because Mihawk had a meeting before the ball and she didn’t want to hunt through half the castle when it was time to get ready.

Zoro hadn’t had anything better to do, so he’d agreed. Then he’d fallen asleep. Normally, either the arrival of their guests or Perona elbowing him before that would’ve woken him. For some reason, they’d let him sleep through the entire meeting. The last few days had been rough, though. He was still exhausted, his muscles sore from his heat and his sleep schedule completely wrecked. 

Perona woke him afterward and sent him off to bathe. She’d also chosen his clothes, which was probably for the best.

Zoro stood in front of the mirror in his room and tugged irritably at the dark coat. It was black, fitted through the shoulders and waist, with silver embroidery worked along the cuffs and lapels. Underneath, he wore a deep green waistcoat and a white shirt. Perona had threatened him with bodily harm if he changed into anything else. At least she’d left his trousers alone.

He’d bathed with scent neutralizer first, scrubbing carefully around the glands at his neck, wrists, and thighs. Heavy-duty scent blockers covered them now. He’d even sprayed himself with the spiced cologne Perona had bought him to make sure absolutely nothing leaked through. He checked anyway. Spice. Soap. Nothing underneath.

His natural scent was bad. He’d known that since he presented. There were pleasant omega scents – flowers, fruit, honey, vanilla. Perona had once described someone as smelling of roses after rain.

Zoro had gotten flowers, too. Unfortunately, his smelled more along the lines of paperwhite narcissus and crown imperial – heavy, musky florals with a sour, sulfurous edge underneath. Like skunk mixed with something faintly rotten. Too much of it in an enclosed room could make his own nose wrinkle.

He hated it.

People already took one look at him and decided he was some brainless brute. He was huge for an omega, heavily muscled, scarred, and usually carrying three swords. His voice was low. His face tended to settle into a scowl when he wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t need to offend anyone’s nose on top of it.

It was one of the reasons he both looked forward to and dreaded these balls. Maybe he’d finally meet someone he liked. Then eventually they’d have to find out what he smelled like.

Zoro had trouble imagining anyone staying interested afterward.

He pushed the thought aside and leaned closer to the mirror. His green hair was hopeless, but he brushed it away from his face enough to make Perona happy. He’d polished the three gold earrings in his left ear until they caught the candlelight. There wasn’t much he could do about the scars. One crossed his closed left eye. Others disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.

His size wasn’t changing, either. Zoro had spent most of his life training. Kuraigana’s forests were full of Humandrills, and the damned things had learned swordsmanship from the soldiers who’d fought across the peninsula during the civil war. They still wandered the old battlefields and ruins, and some came close enough to the vineyard or main road to become a problem.

Zoro also had a habit of taking a wrong turn and ending up somewhere he hadn’t intended to be. Being able to defend himself was useful. It was also how he’d collected half his scars.

He looked at himself for another moment. He was never going to be dainty. He wasn’t graceful, delicate, or particularly cute. He was just Zoro. He hoped somebody might want him that way. He didn’t have much preference when it came to dynamics. Alpha men came with stronger scents, ruts, knots, and instincts that could get difficult when they were worked up. Betas had fewer biological complications. Another omega would understand heats and nesting firsthand. Zoro could see himself with any of them as long as the person was a man. 

At least the ball had alcohol. Mihawk and Perona rarely cared how much he drank during these things, provided he stayed upright and reasonably polite. They also hired cooks and household staff from the port town whenever they entertained, which meant Zoro didn’t have to prepare anything himself.

He normally handled most of the cooking for the three of them. He was good at it, too. He just didn’t want to cook for a castle full of strangers. Cooking was something he enjoyed doing for his family. And, someday, his mate.

If he ever found one.

Zoro left his room. It took him almost forty minutes to reach the ballroom. The castle had somehow rearranged itself again.

He knew that technically buildings didn’t do that, but he’d lived there most of his life and refused to accept full responsibility for getting lost between the private residence wing and a ballroom he’d visited hundreds of times.

By the time he finally found the right corridor, the ball was well underway. Music reached him before he entered. The ballroom occupied much of the ground floor on the eastern side of the castle, with tall windows overlooking the formal gardens. Hundreds of candles filled the chandeliers and wall sconces, supplemented by fires in the marble hearths at either end of the room. The polished floor reflected the light beneath the dancers.

Mihawk had invited roughly twenty noble families this year. Some had brought only an eligible son or daughter and a parent. Others had arrived with several adult children, siblings, or members of their household. Altogether, there were perhaps sixty guests in the ballroom, enough to keep the floor busy without packing everyone shoulder to shoulder.

Most would stay overnight. Traveling from Kuraigana after dark was stupid even if they could reach the port before the last ship departed.

Zoro recognized people from several nearby kingdoms, along with a few families who had traveled considerably farther. The Neptune family had sent representatives again. A delegation from Skypiea stood near one of the windows, pale wings visible above formal coats and gowns. Several nobles from Dressrosa were scattered around the room.

King Wapol had apparently come, too. Zoro spotted Mihawk talking to him near the far wall and immediately headed in the opposite direction. His first stop was the drinks.

Perona was already dancing. She moved through the steps perfectly, pink hair bouncing around her shoulders while she laughed at whatever her partner had said. She could play proper crown princess whenever she needed to, even if this whole event was far more cheerful than her usual taste. Being beta spared her some of the nonsense that came with these gatherings. Nobody read a dance or conversation as proof that instincts had gotten involved. Still, she’d probably rather have hosted a séance.

Zoro took a glass of wine from a passing servant and moved toward the edge of the room. He stayed there for a while, drinking and watching. Couples crossed the center of the ballroom while other guests gathered around the walls or moved between conversations. Servants circulated with wine and small plates of food. Someone opened the doors to the garden, allowing cooler air into the room between dances.

A few people Zoro recognized from previous years were back. Some were probably still hoping to interest Perona. Nobody had ever shown much interest in him.

There were new faces, too. Several women – Zoro dismissed them immediately as he held no interest in them. A number of men were more promising.

One family caught his attention in particular. There were several siblings who looked remarkably similar despite their different hair colors. The red-haired man was lean and long-legged, his hair kicking upward in three distinct points along one side. The blue-haired one had a similar build, though his hair swept heavily across the right side of his face before ending in several spikes. The green-haired brother stood out more. He was taller and considerably broader than the other two, with his hair slicked back except for a pronounced cowlick.

The way all three carried themselves made their dynamics obvious even through the scent blockers.

Alphas.

Scent blockers were expected at gatherings this large. Putting dozens of unmated alphas and omegas together without them would turn the ballroom unbearable within an hour. Betas had it easier. Most barely needed blockers at all unless they were especially scent-sensitive themselves. Even so, small traces escaped here and there. Clove. Pepper. Cedar. Smoke. He caught sweeter scents from some of the omegas as people passed nearby, softened by blockers until they disappeared again. 

Zoro took another drink and looked toward the unfamiliar alphas. He should probably introduce himself eventually. Later. First, more wine.

The three brothers separated as the evening went on and began circulating through the room. Zoro saw all of them approach omega women at various points. The blue-haired one eventually stopped at the drinks table near him.

Zoro considered him for a second. He was here to meet people. Might as well try. “Hey.”

The man turned. His mouth curved into a smirk almost immediately. “Prince Zoro.”

“Yeah.”

“You look different awake.”

Heat crept into Zoro’s ears. Apparently this guy had been in the throne room earlier, too. Zoro shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “Requirement of the ball.”

The man laughed. “Yeah, I’d think so.” He took a drink, then looked Zoro over. “So, all set to knot my brother?”

Zoro blinked. “What?”

“Your prospective spouse.” The man waved vaguely across the ballroom. “Pathetic little omega, but he’ll spread for you easily enough.”

Zoro stared at him for a moment, then took a step back. “We’re done here.”

The alpha laughed again. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those painfully polite alphas. There’s no reason for it. We all know how this works. Alphas are in charge. Omegas are there for whatever we want to use them for.”

Disgust curled through Zoro’s stomach. He turned and walked away.

So much for that family.

He found another unfamiliar man standing alone near one of the windows a few minutes later. Dark hair, tattoos on his face, broad shoulders. He looked closer to Zoro’s age than most of the fathers and older brothers scattered around the room.

Zoro wiped his palm against his trousers before approaching. “Hey. I’m Zoro.”

The man nodded once. “Wyper.”

“First time I’ve seen you at one of these.”

“The Shandians sent a delegation. Three of us came from the guard.”

“That’s nice.”

Wyper stared at him. Zoro searched for something else to say. Wyper made no effort to help.

“You enjoying the ball?” Zoro eventually asked.

“No. It’s a waste of time.”

“Oh.” Zoro drank. “I mean, I guess I have to be here, so I kind of agree.” He glanced toward the dance floor. “Sometimes it’s nice meeting new people, though.”

Wyper hummed.

That appeared to be the end of that.

“Well.” Zoro gestured toward the tables. “There’s free beer and food.”

Wyper nodded. Zoro wandered off. Excellent conversation.

He made it halfway around the ballroom before Lady Hiyori spotted him. Zoro considered running. Too late.

She had attended nearly every one of Mihawk’s balls and cornered him at every single one. She was pretty, friendly, and apparently convinced Zoro would eventually develop an interest in women if she flirted with him long enough. He wouldn’t. He’d told her that. Repeatedly.

Twenty minutes later, Zoro finally escaped by pointing across the room and telling her that Princess Toko had crawled under a table. Hiyori immediately went looking for her. Zoro headed for the garden before she discovered he’d lied. 

Cool air met him when he stepped through the open doors. The ballroom opened onto a broad stone terrace before a short set of steps descended into the formal gardens. Paths cut between clipped hedges and dormant flowerbeds, with benches placed beneath old trees farther from the windows. Music still carried outside, softened by the distance.

For once, the clouds had broken. Stars covered most of the sky, and a thin crescent moon hung above the trees. Zoro stopped for a moment to look up. Kuraigana rarely gave them a clear night. 

Then the smell of tobacco reached him. A small orange glow brightened in the dark near one of the benches. Someone was already out here.

Zoro considered turning around. Perona would accuse him of being rude if she learned he’d ignored a guest, though. He took a fortifying breath and walked closer.

Blond hair came into view first, falling over one side of a face Zoro thought looked vaguely familiar. The light from the ballroom didn’t reach far enough for him to place him immediately.

The man wore gray trousers, a white shirt, and a red coat draped around his shoulders. A cigarette rested between two fingers. Something faintly sweet reached Zoro beneath the tobacco. Orange blossom. Omega, probably.

The stranger looked mildly irritated by Zoro’s approach, but his expression cleared almost immediately. He stood and gave a slight bow. “Your Highness.”

“Yeah.” Zoro waved a hand. “You don’t gotta do that.” He sat on another bench nearby, leaving plenty of room between them. “I’m Zoro. Which I’m guessing you already know.”

“Sanji. You probably already knew that, too.”

Zoro frowned. “No. I don’t think we’ve met.”

Sanji went still for a second before taking another drag from his cigarette. “Then I suppose it’s good to meet you. Considering.”

Zoro had no idea what considering meant. He decided against asking.

Silence settled between them. Zoro looked up at the sky again. “Nice night.”

Sanji glanced upward. “Hn. I suppose you could call it that.”

“We don’t get many clear ones.”

Another pause.

Zoro was already running out of conversation. “You’re not enjoying the party much?”

Sanji looked back toward the ballroom. “Actually, it’s been rather nice so far.” His cigarette hovered near his mouth. “I rarely get to attend gatherings like this.”

“Mihawk has one every year. Some of the same people come back, but it’s good to meet someone new.”

“I suppose it is.” Sanji took another drag and studied him through the dim light. “You’re different than I expected.”

Zoro frowned. “What’s that mean?”

“Well, for one, you haven’t tried to get into my trousers.”

Zoro felt his face heat. “We just met.”

“You’re also not acting like a complete asshole.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

Sanji’s mouth twitched. “I expected another knothead alpha based on our first meeting.”

Zoro stared at him. “We’ve met?”

“You were asleep,” Sanji said dryly. Again.

Zoro frowned toward the castle. How many people had gone through the throne room while he was unconscious? “I usually don’t sleep through receptions. I had a rough week.”

“Hn.” Sanji drew from his cigarette again. “What do you do around here that tires you out that much?”

Zoro hesitated. He wasn’t about to tell a stranger the full truth about the last few days, so he borrowed from any number of ordinary weeks instead. “I train every day. Keep myself fit. Then I take care of the household.”

Sanji turned his head. “You take care of the household?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean the books? Giving servants instructions?”

“We don’t have servants.”

Sanji stared at him.

“It’s just us,” Zoro added. “We hire people from the village when we have guests.”

“Huh.” Sanji went quiet for a moment. “You must get a lot of privacy.”

“Yeah.” Too much of it. Zoro looked across the dark garden. The truth was that the castle could get painfully lonely.

The vineyard village sat on the other side of the fields, far enough away that visiting meant deliberately making the trip. The port town was farther still, near the isthmus. Between them were miles of woods, old roads, and stretches of ruined country nobody had bothered rebuilding after the war.

Most days it was Zoro, Mihawk, and Perona. Sometimes Mihawk traveled. Sometimes Perona did. Then it was only Zoro.

“You came through the port,” he said. “You know how far away it is.”

“Long carriage ride.”

“Yeah. Lot of woods between here and there.”

“I noticed.”

“They’re dangerous.”

Sanji looked toward him.

“The Humandrills know how to fight with weapons. Sometimes they attack people along the road or get too close to the vineyard. Guards patrol the main road and stay stationed around the village and port.”

“What about the castle?” Sanji said.

“Mihawk and I deal with them.”

Sanji’s brow lifted.

Zoro found himself sitting a little straighter. “I developed a new sword style for it. Three swords.”

“Three.”

“Yeah.”

“How the hell do you use three swords?”

“One goes in my mouth.”

Sanji stared at him. “Huh.”

“They haven’t copied it yet,” Zoro continued. “Probably only a matter of time. Then I’ll have to come up with something else.”

Sanji looked interested now. Actually interested. “I trained with a sword until I was sixteen,” he said.

Zoro turned fully toward him. “You did?”

“Since I was a child.” Sanji tapped ash from his cigarette. “Lately I’ve been using a kicking style instead. A chef who was helping with my training taught me.”

Zoro glanced down at Sanji’s legs before catching himself and looking back at his face. “What made you switch?”

“Practicality.” Sanji took another drag. “I’m expected to be capable of protecting any pups I might have someday. Kicking leaves my hands free.”

Zoro liked that answer. He liked it a lot. “Want to spar tomorrow?”

Sanji blinked at him.

Zoro leaned forward, excitement coming faster than his sense. “I usually go out to the training grounds around nine. We’ve got kitchen staff here for breakfast, so I don’t have to cook. We could go earlier if you want.”

“You want to spar. With me.”

“Sure.”

Sanji continued staring.

Zoro finally wondered whether he’d stepped directly into some etiquette rule Perona had forgotten to teach him. “Unless that’s not something you do.”

“I...” Sanji hesitated. “Can I think about it?”

Disappointment hit harder than Zoro wanted it to. He tried to keep it off his face. “Sure. I’ll be out there anyway. Just show up if you’re interested.”

Sanji nodded.

Zoro looked back toward the illuminated ballroom windows. He should probably return before Perona started hunting for him. “I better get back. Perona likes forcing me to dance when I disappear.”

“Don’t let me keep you.”

Zoro pushed himself to his feet. He shuffled awkwardly for a second, suddenly unsure what people were supposed to say when leaving conversations they’d actually enjoyed. “It was nice meeting you.”

Sanji looked up at him, but said nothing. 

Zoro waited half a second. Then another. He turned and hurried back toward the ballroom before Sanji could confirm that the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Sanji managed to avoid his brothers, his father, and even Reiju for most of the ball. He danced with ladies who wanted to dance, ate, drank, and made polite conversation with whatever nobles happened to corner him. Whenever he could manage it, he escaped into the garden for a cigarette and a few minutes alone.

He knew perfectly well what Judge expected from him. He was supposed to be making himself agreeable to Prince Zoro. Attractive. Available. The sort of omega an alpha prince would want badly enough to sign whatever marriage contract Judge shoved under his nose.

Sanji had no intention of making it easy for him. So imagine his surprise when the prince himself had joined him in the garden without seeming to have the slightest idea who Sanji was.

Zoro had been pleasant company, too, rather than the insufferable knothead alpha Sanji had expected after seeing him sprawled asleep on his throne.

The invitation to spar had surprised him even more. Omega training didn’t include sparring with alphas. An omega was expected to know enough self-defense to protect themselves and any pups in their care. Judge had made sure Sanji learned that much once he decided he was useful as marriage material. Anything beyond that was considered unnecessary.

Maybe Zoro was testing him. Perhaps he wanted to know whether Sanji was obedient enough to refuse something improper. Or perhaps he genuinely wanted to see if Sanji could defend himself.

Sanji thought back to what Zoro had said about the Humandrills and the empty castle. If those things were as dangerous as he claimed, self-defense probably mattered more here than it did in most royal households.

When Sanji returned to the guest suite assigned to him, Judge was waiting.

“I expected you to spend the evening working your way into the prince’s good graces,” he said. “Yet I never once saw you approach him.”

Sanji resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I talked to him in the garden.” He hated even giving Judge that much.

Judge’s expression changed immediately. “And?”

“He invited me to the training grounds tomorrow morning.”

Judge frowned. “To watch him practice?”

“Actually, he wanted me to practice with him.”

Judge’s mouth hardened. “You’re too weak for that.”

Sanji bit his tongue. He had heard some version of that since he presented. Too weak. Too emotional. Too fragile. Too much of an omega. 

But Judge locking him in a dungeon had done very little to make any of it true. There had been almost nothing to do down there for nearly five years. No books most of the time. No conversation. Barely enough room to pace.

So Sanji had trained. Push-ups against the stone floor. Squats until his legs shook. Handstands against the wall. Kicks practiced over and over in the limited space he had, using the upturned cot, then the steel bars and stone walls as targets. Whatever exercises he could invent or remember from the sword training he’d received before presenting. He’d gone into that dungeon a lanky sixteen-year-old. He hadn’t come out one. Judge either hadn’t noticed or had chosen not to.

“Still,” Judge continued, “if the prince requested it, you’ll comply. Wear something suitable.”

“For training?”

“For seduction.” 

Sanji’s stomach turned.

“Nothing gets an alpha’s blood moving faster than a good fight. If he knots you while we are here, I could claim the possibility of pregnancy and press the marriage negotiations immediately.”

Sanji curled his hands into fists. The gold bracelets shifted against his wrists.

“Whatever you say,” he said through his teeth.

Judge nodded as though the matter were settled. “Get some sleep. I don’t want you looking exhausted in the morning.”

He left and pulled the door firmly shut behind him.

Sanji wanted to pick up the nearest object and throw it after him.

Instead, because this was someone else’s castle and he possessed at least a little restraint, he yanked off his coat and threw it over a chair. He unbuttoned his shirt halfway, lit a cigarette, and crossed to the window.

Cold air poured in when he pushed it open. The last of the ball drifted up from below – music, scattered laughter, the faint rise and fall of voices from guests leaving the ballroom.

Sanji leaned against the stone frame and smoked. Zoro had been pleasant. Odd, but pleasant. He’d find out in the morning whether that held true in daylight.

His night passed uneventfully. He bathed, slept in a surprisingly comfortable bed, and woke to a fire still burning low in the hearth.

Loath as he was to follow Judge’s advice, Sanji did make sure he looked decent. He shaved and trimmed his goatee, brushed his hair until it fell neatly across one side of his face, and washed away the remaining scent blocker he’d worn for the ball. Then he dressed for training.

He chose the tightest breeches he owned, mostly because loose fabric around his legs was asking to get caught during a kick, and a fitted white shirt with sleeves close enough to his arms that they wouldn’t flap in his way. 

The clothes showed more of him than his formal wardrobe usually did.

Sanji paused in front of the mirror. He was lean rather than broad, especially beside alphas built along the lines of his brothers or Prince Zoro, but there was very little softness to hide beneath the fabric. Years of training had left his thighs thick with muscle, his calves defined, his waist narrow, and his shoulders stronger than most people expected from an omega. Even his forearms showed the work he’d put into keeping himself fit. He had never been dainty. Sanji rather liked that fact.

His gaze dropped to the heavy gold bracelets around his wrists. Those ruined the effect. But there was nothing he could do about them.

He hadn’t eaten yet, but joining his family for breakfast meant listening to his brothers make whatever disgusting comments occurred to them about his plans with Zoro. He could survive a few more hours without food.

Sanji waited in his room until close to nine, then set out in search of the training grounds. He found them more easily than he expected. The training yard sat behind one side of the castle, enclosed by a low stone wall with the forest visible beyond it. Packed dirt covered most of the ground, scarred by old footprints and weapon marks. A broad old tree grew just outside one corner of the wall, its branches reaching partly over the yard and throwing shade across the edge of the dirt. A wooden weapons rack stood nearby, along with two scarred practice posts that had been hacked and dented from years of use.

Zoro was already there, standing near the center. He wore dark trousers and a close-fitting black shirt with long sleeves pushed partway up his forearms. Three swords rested at his side.

Morning light turned his hair a brighter shade of green and flashed briefly against the three gold earrings in his left ear. He turned at the sound of Sanji’s footsteps. A bright grin spread across his face. “You came.”

Sanji had expected a smirk. The obvious pleasure on Zoro’s face caught him off guard instead.

“I did.” Sanji stopped a few feet away. “Don’t make me regret it.”

As he stepped closer, Zoro’s nostrils twitched, then he inhaled. Sanji almost asked what the hell he was doing before something changed in Zoro’s expression. For one brief second, he looked genuinely miserable. Then it disappeared.

Zoro looked away. “You smell nice.”

Sanji blinked. He took a breath himself. All he got from Zoro was the same heavy spiced cologne he’d noticed the night before, layered over the faint chemical edge of industrial-strength scent blockers. Nothing natural came through at all.

“Glad you think so,” Sanji said, brushing the comment aside. He stepped directly in front of Zoro. “So are we going to spar, or are we going to stand here sniffing each other all morning?”

Zoro stared at him for a second. He looked as though he wanted to say something, then apparently decided against it. “Yeah, let’s spar.” He reached for his swords. “You want one?”

Sanji’s attention caught briefly on the weapon. For a moment, the familiar urge returned. He had trained with a sword from childhood until the day his life went sideways. There had been things he hated about those lessons – Judge, his brothers, the endless comparisons – but he’d liked the sword itself. He’d liked learning what his body could do, finding the right angle, the right timing, the satisfaction of landing a strike because he’d earned it. He might have kept at it if fate had gone differently.

But Zeff had taught him another way to fight. 

Sanji glanced back at Zoro. “No. I think I’ll stick with my feet.”

If this was some test of whether Sanji could protect hypothetical pups, kicking would demonstrate that just fine.

Zoro nodded and drew one sword. He settled into a stance Sanji recognized immediately. That alone told Sanji Zoro knew what he was doing. Sanji shifted his footing and fell into his own stance. Zoro gave him a small nod, then attacked. He didn’t come at Sanji full force. He also didn’t insult him by barely trying.

Sanji pivoted out of the first strike and caught the next against the reinforced steel heel of his boot. Metal rang against metal. The impact traveled up his leg.

Sanji grinned. Oh, he liked this.

Zoro came again. Sanji ducked, twisted, and drove his heel toward Zoro’s ribs. Zoro blocked with the flat of his blade, but the kick still shoved him half a step sideways. His grin widened.

Sanji’s did, too. 

They moved faster after that. Boots scraped over dirt. Steel flashed in the morning sun. Sanji blocked one strike, dodged another, then caught Zoro across the upper arm hard enough to make the sword quiver in his grip.

Zoro laughed. Actually laughed. Then he drew a second sword. “You bastard.”

Sanji smirked. “You can handle it.”

Zoro adjusted as Sanji adjusted, forcing him to change angles and abandon combinations that worked the first time. Sanji had to pay attention to both blades, to Zoro’s shoulders and hips, to the slight shift of his feet before he committed to an attack. 

It had been years since anyone had pushed Sanji this way. He wasn’t being humored or treated as fragile because he was an omega. He had forgotten how much he missed it. He liked cooking well enough. Sewing had its uses. Household management was tolerable. Dancing could even be enjoyable with the right partner. None of it gave him this – his pulse racing, muscles working. The satisfaction of forcing his body to do something difficult and getting it right.

He’d been forced for a year to train in the traditional things omegas were supposed to enjoy. Sanji had always preferred this.

By the time Zoro finally lowered his swords, both of them were sweating. Sanji bent slightly, hands resting on his thighs while he caught his breath. Zoro was breathing harder, too.

“Not bad,” he said, grinning broadly. “That kicking style works pretty well against a blade.”

“It could be better,” Sanji said. He straightened and wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “You’re very good with those swords.”

Zoro shrugged as he sheathed one. “Nothing else to do but train and take care of the household.”

Sanji looked at him. “You’re not out conquering the local population?”

Zoro frowned. “What?”

“Taking advantage of being a prince,” Sanji said. His brothers did it constantly. Prince. Alpha. Male. To Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji, those three things meant any omega who caught their attention existed for them to use, whether the omega agreed or not.

Zoro’s expression shifted toward open confusion. “Uh. No. I don’t really interact with many people.” He sheathed the second sword. “Nobody’s shown interest in me that way, anyway.”

That seemed difficult to believe. Sanji looked him over again. Sweat had darkened parts of Zoro’s shirt, making the fabric cling more closely to his chest and shoulders. He was huge. Muscular. Scarred. Competent with a sword and apparently capable of fighting the weapon-using beasts wandering around Kuraigana. And somehow he seemed completely sincere.

Sanji found himself reluctantly impressed again. 

Then Zoro’s stomach growled. Loudly. 

Zoro froze. His ears turned red. “Sorry. Haven’t eaten yet.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Sanji said automatically. His own stomach was empty, too.

“Come on,” Zoro said. “There might be leftovers from breakfast. If not, we can make something.”

He turned and headed toward the castle. Sanji fell into step beside him.

Zoro kept glancing at him. Sanji noticed after the third time. He hoped the prince was appreciating the view. The breeches certainly weren’t hiding much, and Judge had specifically ordered him to make an impression. Yet, Zoro didn’t seem particularly worked up from the fight.

Sanji couldn’t decide whether that was encouraging or irritating. He hadn’t decided whether he wanted Zoro to bed him. Still, it would have been useful to know whether Zoro wanted to.

They entered the castle through a side door. Zoro immediately slowed, then turned left. Stopped. Looked down another corridor. Turned around.

Sanji watched him. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Yeah.” Zoro took another turn. Sanji followed.

They reached a staircase Zoro apparently disliked, because he stared at it for several seconds before choosing a corridor instead.

“You’re lost,” Sanji said after a moment.

“I’m not lost,” Zoro insisted.

“You live here.”

“The castle’s confusing.”

“You live here,” Sanji repeated.

Zoro ignored him.

Eventually, through luck or stubbornness, they found the kitchen. The temporary cooks hired for the ball were cleaning up from breakfast. Most still wore the scent blockers required while working events at the castle, though the kitchen smelled strongly enough of coffee, sausage, and hot bread that Sanji doubted anyone would have noticed much anyway.  

Zoro stopped in the doorway and hesitated. Sanji found that odd.

Zoro cleared his throat. “Do you mind if we get something to eat?”

One of the cooks immediately straightened. “Of course, Your Highness. We can prepare something.”

“I can do it.” Zoro took a step into the kitchen.

The chef waved him off. “That would hardly be proper, Your Highness. Please, have a seat. We’ll put something together.”

Zoro looked faintly disappointed. Still, he nodded and crossed to a small table tucked into one corner. He removed his swords first and leaned them carefully against the wall before sitting. Sanji took the chair across from him.

“I usually don’t come to this kitchen,” Zoro said, watching one of the cooks begin assembling their meal. “It’s empty when there aren’t guests.”

Sanji looked around. “How do you usually prepare meals?”

“There’s a smaller kitchen in the residence wing. I like cooking there.”

“You actually cook?”

“Yeah.” Zoro glanced toward the counter. “Probably wouldn’t know where anything is in here anyway.”

He sounded disappointed about that, too.

Sanji leaned back in his chair. An alpha prince who cooked. Odd. Then again, Zoro had said the royal family took care of the household themselves. Maybe he knew how to make a handful of basic meals because someone had to.

Zoro looked over at him. “I haven’t brought it up, but you’re related to those brothers I saw last night, aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately.” Sanji knew he probably shouldn’t openly insult them while Judge was trying to arrange a political alliance. He didn’t care. “What did those assholes say to you?”

Zoro looked startled. Then he grinned. “Asshole knothead stuff.”

Sanji snorted. 

Zoro went on. “If the light had been better in the garden, I might not have talked to you. I probably would’ve thought you were one of them.”

Sanji raised an eyebrow. “You really didn’t know who I was?”

“No.”

“And you invited me to spar with you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why?”

Zoro’s ears went faintly pink. He looked away. “Thought it might be fun.” He rubbed a thumb against the edge of the table. “And I liked talking to you.”

The admission caught Sanji off guard. Warmth spread unexpectedly through his chest. “You weren’t too bad to talk to, either.”

Zoro looked back at him and his mouth curved. Then he hesitated. “After we eat, do you want to see my rock collection?”

Sanji stared. Of all the possible invitations he had expected from an alpha prince interested in him, that hadn’t been one. Maybe it was some strange Kuraigana version of getting him into bed. “Sure.”

He was supposed to make himself available to the prince, after all.

Zoro brightened immediately. “Great.”

Sanji had to admit he liked that smile.

The cooks brought them a late breakfast of eggs, sausage, fried potatoes, bread, and fruit. Sanji would have added more red pepper to the potatoes. Otherwise, it was good.

They ate in easy silence. When they finished, Zoro collected both plates and stood. A kitchen worker intercepted him almost immediately. “I’ll take those, Your Highness.”

“I can wash them.”

“We have it handled.”

Zoro glanced at the sink, then surrendered the plates. Sanji watched the entire exchange. That was twice now. Zoro hadn’t merely offered to cook because he wanted to impress Sanji. He’d tried to clean up afterward, too, without hesitation. Nothing about the prince made sense.

They left the kitchen and headed deeper into the castle. Sanji had thought the place enormous when they arrived. He’d underestimated it. They walked through corridor after corridor, climbed one staircase, descended another, crossed a gallery, then passed through a heavy wooden door into a different wing.

The change was immediate. The rest of Kuraigana Castle was impressive in the same bleak way as the exterior – stone walls, high ceilings, old portraits, dark furniture, enormous rooms that never quite seemed warm despite the fires. This part felt lived in.

Thick runners covered the stone floors. Embroidered wall hangings softened long stretches of bare masonry, their designs worked in flowers, birds, vines, and geometric borders. Quilted throws lay over the backs of chairs and sofas. Cushions covered window seats beneath the tall windows.

Books were everywhere. Some stood neatly on shelves. Others had been left in small stacks beside chairs or on side tables. A music dial sat in one sitting room beside a cabinet filled with records. Even the furniture was arranged differently. Less formal. Closer together. Made for people who actually used it. Sanji glanced around as they walked. He wondered who had done all this. Princess Perona, probably. It seemed far too comfortable for Mihawk.

Zoro continued down the corridor, stopped in front of three doors, and opened the one on the right. He stared inside. Closed it. Opened the one on the left. “Oh. Here.”

Sanji stared at him. “You got lost finding your own room?”

“It likes to move,” Zoro said with reasonable factuality and stepped inside.

The suite was larger than Sanji expected. The first room served as a sitting room, with two deep chairs, a sofa, and a low table arranged around the fireplace. Another doorway led farther in, where Sanji caught sight of the corner of a bed. 

The same handmade touches from the corridor continued here. A patchwork quilt lay folded across the sofa. An embroidered cushion sat in one chair. Small framed stitching samples hung on the wall between shelves. Books occupied almost every available surface.

Sanji drifted closer to one stack. Romances. Nearly all of them. He pulled one free far enough to read the title. The cover showed an alpha embracing an omega beneath a flowering tree.

Sanji glanced at the next. Another romance. And another. There were etiquette books mixed among them, too. Household guides. Courtship customs. Traditional mating roles. Sanji recognized several of the titles. Judge’s tutors had used newer editions of the same sort of books during his omega training – rules for courtship, household duties, formal nesting customs, and the old expectations surrounding mates. 

Sanji’s eyebrow rose. Apparently Prince Zoro had very specific tastes. Maybe that explained the marriage proposal better than Sanji had assumed. Zoro might be looking for exactly the sort of omega Judge had trained Sanji to pretend to be – obedient, domestic, happy to keep house and spend his life tending to his alpha mate’s needs.

Sanji slid the book back into place. That could become a problem.

“Over here.” Zoro was already heading toward a large dark-wood cabinet occupying most of one wall. He opened the doors.

Sanji stopped and stared at what was revealed.

Shelves – entire shelves – full of rocks.

Some were tiny enough to sit on the end of a finger. Others were the size of Sanji’s fist. Rough gray stones sat beside polished pieces, crystal clusters, striped minerals, chunks shot through with metallic veins. Every one had a small handwritten label. Some included dates. Others had locations.

Sanji stared some more. They had actually come here to look at rocks.

Zoro pulled one from a shelf. “This one’s fluorite.”

His entire face had changed. The insouciant alpha prince from the throne room was gone. So was the awkward man who kept looking away whenever he said something personal.

Zoro held the mineral toward the window. The piece was mostly green, but faint bands of purple showed through when the light hit it. “Found it near the northern cliffs. Fluorite breaks along flat planes, so if you hit it wrong, it splits into these smooth faces.”

Sanji looked at the stone. Then at Zoro.

Zoro was already reaching for another. “This is quartz. Everybody knows quartz, but this one has rutile in it.”

Fine golden needles ran through the clear stone.

“Looks like gold,” Sanji said.

“Yeah, but it isn’t.” Zoro grinned. “That’s rutile. Titanium oxide. I thought it was gold the first time I found some.”

“You figured that out yourself?”

“Books.” Zoro pointed toward another shelf. “I’ve got three mineral guides. Well, four, but one’s terrible.”

Sanji laughed.

Zoro picked up a rounded gray stone and handed it over. “Look at the edge.”

Sanji turned it between his fingers. There was a waxy sheen where part of it had broken away.

“Chert,” Zoro said. “You can tell partly from the fracture. It breaks in curves instead of straight across.”

“You really know all this.”

“Yeah. I like knowing what I found.”

Apparently so. Sanji was bemused.

Zoro moved from shelf to shelf, showing him pieces of smoky quartz, calcite, pyrite, agate, jasper, and small fossils he’d found embedded in loose stone. A shallow wooden tray held sea glass and shells from the coast. Another contained feathers. Not common ones, either. One was barred black and white. Another had a deep blue sheen. A long reddish feather had a tiny label identifying where Zoro had found it.

Sanji picked it up carefully. “You collect these, too?”

“Sometimes.” Zoro shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “If I find something interesting.”

A small bundle of dried lavender hung from the corner of one shelf, braided together with pale thread.

Sanji touched it. “You made this?”

“Yeah.” Zoro’s ears pinked again. “Smells good.”

Sanji looked at the braid again. Lavender turned up constantly in the older omega courtship traditions he’d been forced to memorize. Protection, devotion, domestic peace – the exact meaning varied depending on how it was used. He had no idea why Zoro kept a braid of it beside his collection. 

Zoro quickly reached for another rock. “This one’s garnet.”

Sanji let him change the subject and went back to looking at rocks. 

The whole thing was absurdly enjoyable. Partly because some of the rocks were genuinely interesting. Mostly because Zoro was.

He became animated when he talked about them, hands moving as he explained where he’d found each piece and what he’d learned afterward. He knew which stones scratched glass, which reacted with vinegar, which broke in particular patterns, and which only looked impressive after being cut open. He’d clearly learned all of it from books and trial and error rather than any formal education.

Sanji found that strangely endearing. His experience with alphas consisted mostly of his brothers, Judge, and the short disastrous stretch he’d spent among the Charlottes.

Zoro might be the most adorable alpha Sanji had ever met. 

The thought should have been ridiculous. It wasn’t.

When Zoro finally finished showing him the collection, Sanji looked around the suite again. “You read a lot.”

“Yeah.” Zoro returned the last specimen to its labeled place. “I like books. Learned most of what I know from them.” He shut the cabinet. “And screwing things up until I figured out the right way.”

Sanji glanced toward the embroidered wall hanging. “Mihawk didn’t teach you?”

“He taught me swordsmanship. Basic household stuff, too, when I was younger. Mihawk doesn’t like servants around.”

“Basic household stuff.”

“Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. How to keep accounts. Things like that.” Zoro gestured around the room. “Most of the rest I learned myself.”

Sanji looked again at the quilt over the sofa. The embroidery. The cushions. The books on homemaking. Something clicked, though perhaps not the right thing. “You did all this?”

Zoro followed his gaze. “The sewing?”

“Yeah.”

“Most of it.”

Sanji stared at him. “You sew.”

Zoro frowned slightly. “Yeah.”

“And quilt?”

“Yeah.”

“And cook.”

“Yeah.”

“You clean.”

“Obviously.”

Sanji almost laughed. Instead, he looked around the room again with entirely new eyes. He’d assumed Princess Perona had softened the residence wing. Apparently Prince Zoro had. The giant scarred alpha with three swords, who fought weapon-wielding Humandrills and spent his mornings training, had embroidered the cushions.

Sanji had absolutely no idea what to do with that information. It was difficult enough imagining any prince doing his own laundry. Imagining an alpha king teaching his son how was even stranger. Half of it was the same domestic work Sanji’s omega tutors had insisted he learn. Apparently nobody in Kuraigana had bothered telling Zoro those skills were supposed to belong to one dynamic. Still, there was something gratifying in knowing not every royal family operated the way Germa did.

Zoro had wandered over to a small table near the window. He picked up a deck of cards. “Want to play?”

There was something hopeful in his expression again.

Sanji smiled. “I’d love to.”

Zoro was having a really good time with Sanji. Sanji was snarky. He spoke his mind. He didn’t bow and scrape around Zoro just because he was a prince, and he had a rough laugh that Zoro had started wanting to hear again almost as soon as it stopped.

He was also extremely good-looking.

Zoro had noticed that before, but the training clothes made it much harder to ignore. Sanji was leaner than Zoro, built narrower through the shoulders and waist, but there was nothing delicate about him. His fitted breeches showed powerful thighs and calves, and the shirt pulled across muscle in his arms and chest whenever he moved. He carried himself with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what his body could do.

Zoro liked the goatee, too.

And the hair.

And his legs.

He was trying not to think too much about the legs.

If Zoro hadn’t already known Sanji was an omega, he might have questioned it. Sanji looked quite alpha. It was nice in its own way.

Zoro had spent most of his life feeling as though he’d been put together wrong for what he was. Too big. Too scarred. Too broad. Too rough around the edges. Sanji didn’t look anything like the delicate omegas in half the courtship books Zoro had grown up reading, either. Maybe Sanji understood that feeling, too. 

More importantly, he seemed to like Zoro’s company. Zoro wanted that more than he cared to admit.

What he wanted most in life had very little to do with swords. He wanted to be someone’s omega. He wanted the old-fashioned version, too. A mate. A home. Pups, maybe, if they both wanted them. He wanted to keep the house and make the meals, mend clothes when seams split, keep track of stores, make sure everyone had what they needed. He wanted a mate who came home to him at the end of the day and expected Zoro to be there.

He wanted to belong to someone who loved him.

The romance novels on his shelves probably hadn’t helped. Most of them were embarrassingly traditional. Omegas who deferred to their mates, cared for their homes, raised their children, and trusted their spouses enough to hand over control in private, too. Zoro had read every one he could get his hands on. More than once.

He wanted that sort of relationship. He wanted to be wanted enough to give that much of himself to somebody. It was probably ridiculous for a man who spent his mornings training with three swords and fighting Humandrills when the need arose. 

But Zoro didn’t care. Mihawk had taught him that being strong enough to protect himself didn’t mean he had to build his entire life around fighting. It was a realization that had taken Zoro years to understand. 

When he was little, he really had wanted to be a swordsman. He’d lived at a dojo then, training every day with the other children and announcing with the absolute certainty of a child that he was going to become the greatest swordsman alive.

Then he presented. Early. Ten was young enough that nobody had expected it yet. 

His scent came in almost immediately – and it was awful.

The other children complained first. Then some of the adults. Scent neutralizers helped, but they were expensive, and nothing available in Shimotsuki completely covered it once Zoro got upset or tired.

Eventually, the dojo sent him away. He ended up at an omega orphanage. It hadn’t worked much better. 

The other children couldn’t tolerate his scent for long, either. The adults tried to be kinder about it, but kindness didn’t make anyone stop opening windows when he walked into a room. After a while, they cleared out an old garden room behind the main building for him. It had once been used for tools.

Zoro had thought it was great at first. He got his own room. It took him longer to understand why. 

Mihawk found him there years ago during a visit to Shimotsuki. Zoro had been outside practicing with a wooden bokken because there wasn’t enough room inside the little garden building to swing properly. Mihawk had watched for a while. Then he’d asked whether Zoro enjoyed swordsmanship.

Zoro, with all the confidence available to a lonely ten-year-old with bruised hands and nowhere else to go, had told him that he was going to be a swordsman when he grew up. Mihawk had taken him seriously. It was probably the first thing Zoro liked about him.

Then Mihawk had adopted him and he’d come to live in Kuraigana. And somewhere between ten and adulthood, Zoro changed his mind.

He still trained. He had to. Kuraigana wasn’t safe enough for him to stop, and Mihawk had taught him too well for those skills to disappear anyway. But Zoro didn’t want swords to be his life. He wanted a home. He wanted a family. He wanted someone to take care of.

Sanji laid down another card. Zoro stared at it for a second before realizing he’d completely lost track of the game. 

“You’re terrible at this,” Sanji said.

“I was thinking.”

“That explains the little mouse I see running on its wheel.”

Zoro looked up, startled. Sanji’s mouth curved.

Zoro grinned despite himself.

Maybe. Maybe this could be something. 

He tried not to get ahead of himself. Sanji was attractive. Zoro liked talking to him. Sanji had agreed to spar with him, eaten with him, looked at rocks for far longer than most people would tolerate, and had somehow managed to make cards interesting. It didn’t mean he’d want Zoro once he knew everything. Especially the scent.

Still.

Zoro looked down at his cards again. “Do you think maybe you’d want to stay longer?”

Sanji paused.

“When the rest of your family leaves,” Zoro added quickly.

Surprise crossed Sanji’s face. “I...” He glanced down at the cards. “Yes, actually. I would.”

Warmth spread through Zoro’s chest. “Good.” He tried to sound normal about it. He probably failed. “We can set you up in one of the guest rooms here in the residence wing instead of leaving you all the way over on the other side of the castle.”

Sanji smiled faintly. “I’d like that.”

Zoro’s hopes immediately started getting away from him. If Sanji stayed, they could spend more time together. Maybe spar again. Maybe Zoro could show him the vineyard. Or the cliffs. Or the old quarry where he’d found some of his better stones. 

Maybe, if they got to know each other properly, Sanji would start thinking about him as more than some strange prince who collected rocks.

Maybe his scent wouldn’t matter.

Zoro shoved his chair back. “Come on. We should tell Mihawk.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.” He started gathering the cards. “Then we can get your room ready.”

Sanji’s mouth curved again. “Lead the way.”

That proved more difficult than Zoro had intended. Mihawk’s study was somewhere in the western part of the residence wing. Usually. Even here, where he knew the castle best, sometimes things like to shift around on him. Sanji stopped commenting after the fourth wrong door. By the time Zoro finally found the study, he was fairly certain one of the corridors had deliberately put itself where it hadn’t been yesterday.

He opened the door without knocking. Mihawk sat behind his desk, reviewing a document beneath the light from the tall windows. Shelves covered most of the walls, packed with books and old ledgers, while a fire burned low in the hearth behind one of the chairs. A large map of Kuraigana occupied the wall opposite the desk, marked with the main road, vineyard, villages, and stretches of ruined country farther inland.

Mihawk looked up. “Ah. Zoro.” He set down the paper. “I was beginning to wonder where you had gone.” His gaze shifted. “Prince Sanji.”

Sanji inclined his head. “Your Majesty.”

“Can Sanji stay when everybody else leaves?” Zoro asked.

Mihawk leaned back. He looked at Zoro, then Sanji. Then Zoro again. “You understand what you are asking?”

Zoro frowned. “Yeah. I’m asking if Sanji can stay.”

Mihawk’s expression did that irritating thing where it became impossible to read. Then, he nodded. “Very well.”

Zoro brightened.

“I suppose it would be beneficial for the two of you to become better acquainted if this is something you genuinely wish to consider.”

Heat rushed into Zoro’s face. Was he that obvious?

“Great,” he said quickly. “We’re going to set up his room.”

“I will speak with King Vinsmoke on your behalf.” Mihawk gave Sanji a longer look. Zoro knew that look. Mihawk was assessing him.

Sanji seemed to recognize it, too. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Come on.” Zoro caught Sanji by the arm and pulled him back toward the door before Mihawk could decide they needed to have an embarrassing conversation about intentions.

Once they were safely in the corridor, Zoro released him. “We need linens first.”

Sanji glanced at him. “You know where those are?”

“Mostly.”

“That inspires confidence.”

“The linen closet moves.”

“Sure it does.”

They found it eventually. After opening six wrong doors.

Zoro gathered sheets, a blanket, towels, and two extra pillows. Then they started looking for the guest room. That took longer. Sanji had stopped even pretending he believed Zoro knew where they were going by the time Zoro finally opened the right door.

“Here.”

The guest suite was smaller than Zoro’s rooms but comfortable. The outer sitting room held a sofa, two chairs, a small writing desk, and a narrow fireplace set into the stone wall. The bedroom beyond had a carved wooden bed, a washstand, a wardrobe, and two tall windows overlooking part of the inner garden. Unlike with Zoro’s suite, the bath was farther down the corridor. 

Dust had settled over a few surfaces. Nobody had used this room in months.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Sanji asked. He was already drifting toward the window.

“No. Go ahead.”

Sanji pushed it open and lit a cigarette while Zoro carried the linens into the bedroom. He stripped the old cover from the mattress, beat some of the dust from it, and started making the bed. Fitted sheet first. Then the second sheet. Then the blanket.

Sanji stayed near the window, smoking and watching him.

Zoro tucked the corners tightly, smoothed the blanket flat, and added the pillows. Then he adjusted them. One higher. One turned slightly. The blanket needed folding back differently. He fixed that. Then he added one of the extra pillows near the headboard. Maybe Sanji would want the other one along the side.

Zoro reached for it and paused. 

Oh. 

He stared at the bed. He was nesting. In Sanji’s room.

Zoro dropped the pillow.

Sanji was an omega. Sanji would probably want to make his own nest.

Zoro backed away from the mattress. “You probably want to do that yourself.”

Sanji looked over from the window. Cigarette between his fingers, he wore an amused little smile. “It was entertaining watching you.”

Zoro’s ears went hot. 

“You can keep going if you want,” Sanji said.

“No.” Zoro immediately reconsidered the pillow arrangement. “I mean, you probably have a certain way you want it.”

Sanji’s amusement faded slightly. “Nesting isn’t really my thing.”

Zoro looked at him. “What?”

“I know how.” Sanji took another drag. “I was trained to do it.”

“But?”

“My instincts in that area are pretty lacking.”

Zoro frowned. “Why?”

Something passed across Sanji’s face. Gone almost immediately. “Let’s just say I didn’t have nesting material for a long time. And eventually I learned how to do without it.”

There was clearly more to that. Zoro could tell enough to leave it alone. For now.

He picked up the pillow again and placed it near the headboard. Then shifted the other. He adjusted the blanket. Stopped himself from adjusting it again.

Sanji had said he could keep going. Still, it wasn’t Zoro’s nest. He forced his hands away.

“There,” he said.

Sanji looked toward the bed. “Looks comfortable.”

Zoro nodded. Then stood there. Suddenly he had no idea what they were supposed to do next. He glanced toward the window. Then Sanji. Then the bed. Anything was better than continuing to think about nests.

“So…” Zoro rubbed the back of his neck. “You want to go look for rocks?”

Sanji laughed – that rough, scratchy laugh Zoro was rapidly becoming obsessed with. Something pleasant flipped low in Zoro’s stomach.

“That sounds fun,” Sanji said.

Zoro smiled. “Good.”

This, at least, he knew how to do.

By the time Zoro led him outside, most of the visiting families were already leaving.

Sanji paused beneath the portico long enough to light a cigarette while another carriage rolled down the drive toward the gates. Two more waited near the front steps while attendants secured trunks behind them. Beyond the castle grounds, the road disappeared between the trees beneath the same gray sky that had hung over Kuraigana since their arrival. Judge’s carriage was still there.

He turned his back to it and watched Zoro kneel beside an open wooden chest near the wall and start pulling out enough equipment to suggest he took collecting rocks considerably more seriously than Sanji had assumed.

A canvas satchel came first. Then a geological hammer with a pick on one end, two chisels, a hand lens in a leather case, a stiff brush, a folded cloth, several small canvas bags, squares of paper for wrapping specimens, a little notebook, and a stub of pencil. Last came a much smaller rock pick, barely longer than his hand, with a pointed end and flat hammer face.

Sanji took the cigarette from his mouth. “Are we going to mine these rocks?”

Zoro looked up. “We need tools to do it right.”

“Apparently.”

The geological hammer and chisels went through loops along the outside of the satchel. The smaller pick disappeared into Zoro’s pocket. The specimen bags were folded into one pocket of the satchel and the hand lens into another. Then he produced a pair of gloves.

Sanji shook his head with faint bemusement. “You really weren’t exaggerating about the equipment.”

“Why would I exaggerate about rocks?”

There was something deeply endearing about the genuine confusion in his voice.

Sanji took another drag. “No reason.”

Zoro slung the satchel across his body. Even prepared for an afternoon of digging through ruined stone, he still wore his scent blockers. Sanji could smell the same spicy cologne beneath the damp air and tobacco, but nothing natural made it through. Not even a trace. Zoro had to be using something stronger than the blockers Sanji knew.

Maybe he simply disliked people smelling him. Sanji could understand that.

“Come on,” Zoro said. “There are old ruins near the west wall.”

They left the drive and followed a narrow path around the castle. The manicured grounds didn’t extend far. Within minutes the clipped hedges and gravel walks gave way to damp grass, bracken, moss-covered stone, and dense forest. Ferns crowded beneath the trees. Wood sorrel spread low across the ground, and pale mushrooms grew from rotting logs where moisture collected.

The forest itself was darker than Sanji was used to even in daylight. Tall evergreens crowded together beyond the old walls, broken here and there by bare-limbed deciduous trees and stretches of ruined masonry. A bird called from deeper in the woods. Another answered.

Sanji glanced toward the sound. “Anything out here besides murderous monkeys?”

“Deer. Foxes. Boar. Birds.” Zoro stepped over a fallen section of wall. “Wolves farther inland sometimes. They mostly stay away from people.”

The ruins began just beyond the western edge of the maintained grounds. Sanji could still make out what had once been buildings, though little remained above waist height. Stone foundations cut through the grass. Sections of wall leaned at odd angles beneath moss and lichen. A collapsed arch stood farther ahead, leading nowhere.

Zoro stopped near a broad scatter of broken stone. “This used to be part of the old settlement around the castle.”

“Before the war?”

“Yeah.” He crouched and began looking through the rubble. “Most of the buildings were abandoned afterward. Some got pulled apart for stone when they rebuilt the village.”

Sanji leaned against what remained of a wall. “And you come out here to poke through the leftovers.”

“Sometimes.” Zoro picked up a stone, examined it, then tossed it aside. “There’s better stuff in the quarry.”

“Why aren’t we there?”

“Because you’ve never done this before.”

Sanji arched an eyebrow.

Zoro glanced at him. “And because I promised Mihawk I wouldn’t take guests to the quarry without telling him.”

That caught Sanji’s attention. “Why?”

“Humandrills. They’re more active beyond there.” Zoro moved a few feet and crouched again.

Sanji’s attention followed. The fitted trousers Zoro had changed into before they came outside did little to hide anything when he bent over.

Sanji took a slow drag from his cigarette.

Zoro was built heavily through the shoulders, back, and thighs, but there was some softness to him, too. His waist didn’t cut inward as sharply as Sanji’s. A little padding sat around his middle, visible whenever his shirt pulled tight. Even his jaw and cheeks were softer than Sanji had first registered beneath the permanent scowl.

It suited him.

Sanji’s gaze dropped lower. The plushness revealed by the trousers suited him, too.

“You finding anything interesting?” Sanji asked.

Zoro glanced over his shoulder. “Not yet.”

“I have.”

Zoro frowned before he saw where Sanji was looking. His entire face went red.

Sanji smiled around his cigarette. “I’m rather enjoying this expedition.”

Zoro turned away quickly and started examining the ground with considerably more concentration.

Sanji laughed. Adorable. There really wasn’t another word for it.

Under different circumstances, Sanji might have approached Zoro on his own. If there had been no Judge, no contract, no bracelets around Sanji’s wrists, and no expectation that he spread his legs for whichever prince offered Germa the best return, he might still have noticed Zoro. The bastard was handsome, awkward, competent, and apparently easy to fluster with one mildly suggestive comment. The combination was doing things to Sanji that he liked. 

“Found something.” Zoro’s voice pulled his attention back.

Sanji crossed over. Zoro held a grayish stone in one palm. 

“That’s a rock,” Sanji said snarkily on purpose. “Glad we came all this way.”

“Shut up.” Zoro brushed dirt away with his thumb. “Look here.”

He held it closer. A narrow white vein crossed the darker stone. 

“Quartz?” Sanji said, trying to remember from earlier.

Zoro looked delighted. “Yeah, this is milky quartz. See how cloudy it is?”

Sanji leaned in. Zoro took out his hand lens and handed it over. “Look through that.”

Sanji did. The white material resolved into tiny crystalline surfaces. “Huh.”

“Some of the fractures around here fill with quartz. If you follow the exposed stone toward the quarry, you find bigger veins and sometimes whole lodes.” 

Sanji lowered the lens. “Careful. Keep talking that way and I’ll think you’re trying to seduce me.”

Zoro nearly dropped the specimen. Sanji laughed again.

Zoro muttered something under his breath and wrapped the quartz in a square of paper. He wrote the location and date on it before slipping it into one of the canvas bags.

They moved farther through the ruins. Zoro showed him what he actually looked for rather than simply grabbing anything shiny. Changes in color. Fresh breaks in old stone. Loose pieces at the base of exposed walls. Places where rain and frost had worked material free over time.

He used the hammer sparingly. When he found something worth checking, he set a chisel against an exposed edge and tapped rather than swinging wildly. Sanji watched him work. Zoro could fight. Cook. Sew. Keep house. Apparently identify minerals by sight and split stone without smashing whatever he wanted to collect. It was becoming increasingly difficult to reconcile him with the useless knothead Sanji had expected.

“What’s the best thing you’ve found?” Sanji asked.

Zoro sat back on his heels. “Depends. I found garnets near the quarry once. Small ones, but there were a lot in the same rock. And there’s agate near the southern cliffs.”

“You go climbing around cliffs for rocks?”

“Sometimes.” Zoro pointed through the trees. “There’s a river farther west that cuts through the forest. I want to look along the banks one day.”

“You haven’t yet?”

“Not properly.”

“Why?” Sanji said.

“Humandrills.” Zoro picked dirt from beneath one fingernail. “They spend a lot of time around that part of the woods. Probably because there are old battlefields farther out.”

“But you still want to go.”

“There’s exposed rock all along the river.”

Sanji flicked ash onto the damp ground. “You’re willing to fight armed beasts to inspect river rocks.”

“There might be interesting ones.”

Sanji’s lips curved. The answer was both stupid and adorable. 

They continued along the broken foundations. The farther they went from the castle, the more plants took over the ruins. Moss covered entire sections of wall. Ferns grew through cracks between fallen blocks. Tiny white flowers spread through the grass where the canopy opened.

Then Zoro stopped. “Oh.”

Sanji nearly walked into him. “What?”

Zoro stepped off the path and crouched beside a patch of low purple flowers growing among sun-bleached rubble.

Sanji looked down. “Lavender?”

“Yeah.”

It grew in one of the few open areas where the ruins had left the ground exposed, the soil thin and stony enough to drain despite Kuraigana’s damp weather. Zoro took out a small knife.

Sanji watched him cut several stems rather than pulling the plants up. “You collect flowers, too?”

“Sometimes.” Zoro gathered another stem. “This patch does pretty well because it gets more light than most places.”

Sanji looked toward the clouds. “Calling this light seems generous.”

“It’s Kuraigana.”

Apparently that explained everything.

Zoro sat on a fallen block and began stripping a few leaves from the stems. Then his fingers started working.

Sanji watched. “What are you doing?”

“Making a wreath.”

“A wreath.”

“Small one.”

“I can see that.”

Zoro twisted the stems together with quick, practiced movements, adding each new piece beneath the last.

Sanji smoked and watched the scarred, heavily muscled alpha prince sit in the middle of a ruined settlement weaving lavender. The contradiction should have been ridiculous. Instead, Sanji found himself staring at Zoro’s hands. The gold earrings. The line of his jaw. The concentration pulling his brows together.

“What?”

Sanji realized Zoro had caught him. “Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m allowed.” Sanji smiled. “Besides, you’re very pretty when you concentrate.”

Zoro stopped weaving. His face turned red all the way to the tips of his ears.

Sanji took another drag and enjoyed himself immensely.

Zoro bent his head and returned to the lavender. A few minutes later, he held up a small wreath, barely wider than his palm. “There.”

“It’s cute. The wreath.” Sanji waited for a beat. “You’re cute, too.”

Zoro’s fingers tightened slightly around the stems. His gaze dropped to the wreath again, but the smile was obvious now. “You really think so?”

The question caught Sanji off guard. There was no challenge in it. Zoro sounded genuinely curious.

“Yeah,” Sanji said. “I do.”

Zoro looked pleased in a way that made Sanji want to keep going just to see what else he could coax out of him.

“Pretty, too,” Sanji added.

Zoro’s ears went red again. “You already said that.”

“Worth repeating.”

Zoro looked down, turning the little wreath between his fingers. “Tch.”

But he was still smiling.

Sanji laughed softly and took another drag from his cigarette. Staying in Kuraigana was starting to look considerably more enjoyable than he’d expected.

Mihawk arranged to meet with King Vinsmoke before the Germa party was due to depart. Judge arrived in the same severe red coat he had worn the night before, his expression already suggesting he expected negotiations rather than conversation.

Mihawk received him in one of the castle’s smaller council rooms, well away from the private residence wing. A long table occupied the center of the chamber, with high-backed chairs arranged along either side and a fire burning beneath the carved stone mantel.

“Prince Sanji has been invited to remain in Kuraigana for a time,” Mihawk said.

Judge’s brows lifted. “So we’re signing the marriage contract.”

“No.”

The answer came quickly enough that Judge’s expression tightened.

“The contract is still under review,” Mihawk said. “My son would prefer to know yours better before making any decision.”

Judge considered that, then nodded. “A sensible arrangement. I will prepare for the family to remain.”

Mihawk’s gaze sharpened. “The invitation is for Prince Sanji.”

Judge went still. “It is highly improper for an unmated omega to remain in the household of an unmated alpha without a proper escort.”

Mihawk said nothing.

Judge leaned back slightly. “Unless, of course, you intend to make good on the arrangement should my son become pregnant during his stay.”

Mihawk regarded him for a long moment. “If such a situation arose, we would address it appropriately.”

Judge seemed satisfied with that. “I still believe at least my other sons should remain. Sanji is in a foreign country, and if he decides to leave, he will require an escort.”

Mihawk disliked the idea immediately. The three princes had made a poor enough impression during the ball, and he had little interest in extending their stay. Unfortunately, refusing outright would only give Judge another reason to claim Sanji had been left vulnerable in an alpha household. Germa also possessed a military considerably larger than Kuraigana’s. Mihawk had no intention of handing Judge an excuse to turn a marriage negotiation into a conflict if it could be avoided.

“Very well,” Mihawk said at last. “Your other sons may remain.”

Judge nodded.

“They will continue using the guest rooms presently assigned to them. However, the household staff hired for the ball will be leaving today.”

Judge’s expression shifted.

Mihawk continued before he could interrupt. “No meals will be served to them. No servants will attend their rooms. They will have access to the kitchens, laundry, baths, and other necessary parts of the castle and will be expected to manage for themselves.”

Disgust flickered across Judge’s face. Apparently the prospect of royal alphas washing their own clothing offended him on principle. “Very well,” he said stiffly. “I will make arrangements for myself and my daughter to depart today.”

Mihawk inclined his head.

“I will give this one week,” Judge continued. “At the end of that time, we will negotiate further.”

“One week is sufficient.”

“My ships will remain anchored near the port until then.”

Mihawk disliked that almost as much as he disliked leaving the Vinsmoke princes in his castle, but there was little reason to object. “Very well.”

Judge rose. Mihawk did the same out of courtesy.

“We will take our leave shortly,” Judge said.

“Safe travels, King Vinsmoke.”

Judge inclined his head once and left.

The door closed behind him.

Mihawk remained seated at the council table for several seconds, looking at the empty doorway. Then he tapped two fingers against the wood. “What have you gotten us into, Zoro?”

He left the room and made his way back through the public corridors, past the great hall and into the private residence wing. The difference was immediate once the heavy door shut behind him – fewer echoes, warmer rooms, familiar furnishings.

His study was where he had left the marriage contract the night before. Mihawk crossed to the desk, sat, and pulled the folded document from beneath a stack of correspondence. He had intended to review it later. Later had apparently arrived.

Most of it was exactly what he expected. Trade considerations. Scientific cooperation. Military assistance. Access to Germa technology under terms vague enough that Judge could interpret them however he pleased.

Then Mihawk reached the section concerning children. Any children born of the union would be legally recognized as part of Germa and retain fealty to Germa.

Mihawk’s mouth flattened. The wording was unacceptable. Zoro might be willing to marry into an alliance someday, but Mihawk had no intention of signing away every child connected to him simply because Judge had supplied the other parent.

He reached for a pen. The amendment was simple enough. Any child physically borne by Prince Sanji would be recognized as part-Germa and retain the rights associated with that lineage. Any child physically borne by Prince Zoro would remain a member of the Roronoa line.

Mihawk paused over the wording. It preserved Sanji’s bloodline without granting Germa blanket claim over every future child Zoro might have. Reasonable. Precise. And, given Judge’s assumptions about Zoro, likely to be interpreted in an entirely different way.

Mihawk suspected that might be useful in the future.

Sanji took the news that his brothers were staying with the same attitude he usually took toward anything involving them – resignation mixed with irritation. “So you want me to stage a successful seduction with my brothers hanging over my shoulder.”

“What I want,” Judge said, “is for you to remember that your obligation to this family is set in stone.”

Sanji lifted one wrist. The heavy gold bracelet slid against his skin. “I think this is coercion enough.”

Judge looked at it without expression. “You could decide at any time that you can live without your hands.”

Sanji’s jaw tightened.

“No. Your brothers are staying.” Judge’s voice hardened. “You will do what you are supposed to do. You will bed that alpha or make him fall in love with you. I do not care which, so long as the marriage contract is signed. Do we understand each other?”

“Loud and clear,” Sanji said flatly.

“Good.” Judge glanced toward Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji before looking back at Sanji. “I have also been informed that your brothers will have no servants while they remain here. That is unacceptable. You will attend to them.”

“I’d be delighted,” Sanji said sarcastically.

Niji sneered. “And don’t think you can get away with slacking or serving us garbage. If you do, we’ll know all that time you wasted in kitchens was useless – and maybe Father should do something about that chef friend of yours.”

Zeff.

Sanji’s fingers curled. “I’m not going to insult cooking by serving you anything that isn’t worthwhile.”

Judge looked impatient. “Enough. Do as your brothers tell you and secure this marriage contract. I will return in one week, and I expect the matter to be settled by then.”

Sanji said nothing.

“The Germa ships will remain anchored outside Kuraigana’s port until then.” Judge jabbed a finger toward him. “Do not imagine for one second that you can get away with anything simply because I am not inside this castle.”

Sanji’s lip curled. “You’re leaving your guard dogs.”

Judge’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly. And they have free rein to ensure you remain cooperative.”

Sanji’s stomach clenched. It was a threat his brothers would happily carry out, even without cause. He kept his mouth shut.

Judge turned toward his sons. “Keep him focused. Do not allow him to invent some way out of this. I am leaving it to you to ensure he succeeds.”

“Yes, Father,” Ichiji said. “He will not fail you this time.”

Judge gave Sanji one final look. Then he swept from the suite, cape trailing behind him.

The door closed.

Sanji barely had time to exhale before his brothers turned on him.

“Because of you, we have to stay in this miserable place another week,” Niji said.

“There aren’t even any women here besides the princess,” Yonji complained. “I call dibs.”

Ichiji ignored both of them. “We expect our meals at the usual times.”

Sanji looked toward him.

“We will dine in our sitting room. Our laundry will be done promptly. You will straighten the rooms and make the beds every morning.”

Sanji’s mouth tightened.

“And one of us will be keeping an eye on you,” Ichiji continued. “Whether you see us or not. So behave.”

Sanji gave him a mocking bow. “Whatever you say, my lord. Are we done here?”

Ichiji waved him away. “Go do what you are required to do, useless omega. We expect dinner at the proper time.”

Sanji didn’t answer. He turned on his heel and left the guest suite.

He made it halfway down the corridor before the anger finally broke through. He stalked through Kuraigana Castle with his fists clenched at his sides. For a few hours, he had let himself imagine that Judge and the others might actually leave. That perhaps, once Sanji was alone here, he could figure something out. Run. Hide. Ask for help. Anything.

The bracelets had a range. They wouldn’t simply explode because Sanji crossed some invisible boundary. Judge had to activate them. Sanji doubted he would leave the trigger with Niji or Yonji. Either one might press it for entertainment. Ichiji was more controlled. But Judge would want the satisfaction himself.

That meant escape was still possible. In theory. His brothers made it much harder.

If Sanji tried to disappear, they would come after him. And if they decided he wasn’t cooperating quickly enough, they could hurt him long before Judge returned. Unless Sanji had help.

His thoughts went immediately to Zoro.

Sanji slowed. It wasn’t as though the marriage proposal itself was a secret. Judge had already presented it openly to Mihawk. Zoro knew why Sanji had been brought here. What Zoro didn’t know was that Sanji had no choice in any of it.

He could tell him. Maybe not everything at once, but enough. The bracelets. His family. The fact that Judge was trying to sell him into an alliance and would punish him if he failed. Sanji could tell Zoro that he wanted away from Germa more than he wanted almost anything else.

The problem was that there was another option now. Sanji could go through with the marriage. That thought had seemed unbearable two days ago. Now...

Zoro was kind. Awkward. Competent. Handsome. Far more domestic than any alpha Sanji had ever met. He liked rocks and sewing and cooking. He blushed when Sanji flirted with him and looked genuinely pleased whenever Sanji came back into the room.

Sanji could imagine being happy with him. Eventually. Maybe.

But then there was the contract. Any pups Sanji bore would belong partly to Germa. Judge would gain exactly the foothold he wanted. Sanji couldn’t do that. He refused to have children only to watch Judge turn them into bargaining pieces the same way he had done with Sanji.

None of it had to be decided today.

Sanji had left Zoro rearranging his rock collection when one of the attendants summoned him back to his brothers’ rooms. He still had several days. Several days to think. Several days to learn more about Zoro. 

One thing he wouldn’t do was pressure him into sex. If Sanji ended up marrying Zoro, it wouldn’t be because he had trapped him with the possibility of a pregnancy. Sanji had some pride left.

He reached the private residence wing, went down the corridor, and knocked before entering Zoro’s suite. Zoro was exactly where Sanji had left him. He knelt on the floor in front of the rock cabinet, carefully shifting specimens along the lowest shelf to make room for their newest finds. He glanced up and his face brightened immediately. 

Sanji felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

“I almost have these sorted,” Zoro said. “Then we can make the new cards. I need to find the right book first, but I think I know where it is.”

Sanji chuckled. “I’m sure you do.”

Zoro studied him. The smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

Sanji leaned against the doorframe. “Sadly, my brothers are staying while I visit.”

Zoro frowned. 

“I’m also expected to wait on them since Kuraigana doesn’t keep permanent servants,” Sanji said.

“Can’t they do it themselves?”

Sanji snorted. “If they could convince someone to wipe their asses for them, they would.”

Zoro made a surprised sound that turned into a laugh. “Well, do what you have to do. I’ve got things to take care of, too, now that the guests are leaving.”

Sanji nodded. “Just be warned. They might show up unexpectedly.”

Zoro looked toward the hall. “I could lock the residence wing.”

A grin pulled at Sanji’s mouth. “Wouldn’t your father or sister still need to get in?”

“It’d be funny to lock Perona out.”

“And Mihawk?”

“He’d get mad.”

Sanji paused. “Why do you call him Mihawk?”

Zoro looked back at him. “He’s my adoptive dad, not my biological one. I’ve always called him Mihawk.”

Sanji hadn’t known that. “Must have been something, getting adopted by a king.”

Zoro shrugged. “I guess.” He returned one of the rocks to the shelf. “He’s just my dad, you know? Kind of cranky. Embarrassing sometimes.”

Sanji’s mouth twitched. 

“But he cares about me,” Zoro added. “That’s what matters, right?”

Sanji went quiet. “Yeah.” His answer came softer than he intended. “That matters.”

Zoro looked at him more carefully. “You don’t get along with your dad?”

Sanji laughed once. Bitterly. “That’s an understatement.”

Zoro shifted another specimen into place. “Sucks.”

Sanji huffed a short laugh. “Also an understatement.” He rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. “Let’s not talk about my shitty family anymore.”

Zoro pushed himself upright. For a second, he looked as though he might say something. Instead, he stepped closer. His hand lifted. Stopped. Then continued. He squeezed Sanji’s shoulder once.

Sanji felt the warmth linger after he let go.

Zoro had turned toward the table. “I think the rock’s in this one.” He pulled a book from the stack. “The blank cards are in my desk if you want to grab one. And something to write with.”

Sanji’s shoulders loosened further. He crossed to the desk and opened the top drawer. “Cards and a pencil?”

“Yeah.”

Sanji found them. Behind him, Zoro was already flipping through the book.

Sanji smiled despite himself, looking forward to spending a few more hours in Zoro’s company before dealing with his brothers again. 

Dinner was served later at Kuraigana when they didn’t have guests to entertain. Zoro had said good night to Sanji a little before sunset, after they finished labeling the new specimens and put away the books. They’d agreed to meet at the training grounds around eight the next morning. Sanji had obligations to his brothers now, and Zoro had his own chores to catch up on after two days of guests in the castle.

He started with the residence wing. The hired staff had already stripped the public rooms and guest spaces of most of the evidence of the ball, but nobody touched the family’s private rooms. Zoro preferred it that way.

He carried yesterday’s towels down to the laundry room, shook out one of the runners in the sitting room, and gathered two glasses Perona had somehow abandoned on opposite ends of the corridor. One of the embroidered cushions had been tossed onto the floor. He picked it up, beat the dust from it, and set it back in the window seat with the seam turned inward. Then he stopped and turned it. Adjusted the other cushion beside it. Better.

One of the woven throws had slipped halfway off the sofa, too. Zoro folded it over the back again before heading toward the kitchen.

The family kitchen was much smaller than the one used for banquets and visiting dignitaries. It sat between the residence dining room and an old service corridor, with a low beamed ceiling and two windows overlooking the inner courtyard. Copper pans hung above a long worktable scarred from years of chopping. Shelves held crockery, preserved fruit, jars of dried herbs, flour, rice, and whatever vegetables Zoro had brought up from storage that week.

A broad stone hearth occupied one wall, fitted with an iron cooking grate and hooks for pots. Beside it stood a newer cast-iron stove Mihawk had purchased several years ago after Zoro complained that controlling three pots over an open fire was stupid.

Zoro liked this kitchen better than the guest one. Everything was where he had put it. 

He rolled up his sleeves. Dinner didn’t need to be elaborate. Perona had eaten enough rich food during the ball to complain about it all morning, and Mihawk would eat whatever Zoro put in front of him as long as it was edible. Chicken and rice, then.

Zoro hummed under his breath as he worked. He had enjoyed the day. A lot. More than he probably should after knowing Sanji for barely a day.

He trimmed the chicken, set the bones aside for stock, then seasoned the meat before browning it in a heavy pan. Rice went into another pot with broth and herbs. He chopped onions, garlic, and carrots, added them to the chicken, then cleaned the knife and cutting board immediately rather than letting either sit.

Sanji had wanted to stay. Zoro caught himself smiling while he stirred the rice. Maybe the rest of the week would be as good as today. He could show Sanji more of the grounds tomorrow after they sparred. Maybe the vineyard, if Sanji wanted to walk that far. There were ruins along the southern road, too, and a shallow stretch of creek where Zoro sometimes found interesting pieces of jasper after heavy rain. Though, he should probably avoid suggesting rocks again immediately. 

Zoro checked the chicken, added a little more salt, then tasted the sauce from the edge of the spoon. It needed pepper.

By the time dinner was ready, the kitchen had been cleaned almost completely. The used pans were soaking, scraps had gone into the compost pail, the remaining vegetables were back in storage, and the counters had been wiped. Zoro transferred everything into serving dishes and carried them through the adjoining door.

The residence dining room was warmer than most of the castle. It wasn’t large enough for court dinners and had never been intended for them. A rectangular dark-wood table sat in the center with six chairs around it, though the three of them usually occupied the same end. A thick woven rug covered most of the stone floor. Two tall windows looked toward the sea, their heavy curtains already drawn against the evening chill. A fire burned in the hearth.

One of Zoro’s older embroidered hangings covered the wall beside it – crooked in one corner because Perona had promised for three months that she would fix the hook and never had. There were scratches in the tabletop. One came from Perona dropping a candlestick. Another was Zoro’s fault. Mihawk claimed three more were Zoro’s fault. Zoro disputed two of them.

Perona and Mihawk were already seated when he came in. Wine had been poured. They had also clearly been talking about something. Both of them stopped the moment Zoro entered.

Zoro set the chicken and rice on the table. He looked between them. “What were you talking about that made you both shut up when you saw me?”

Perona glanced toward Mihawk. Mihawk, at least, answered directly. “The marriage contract King Vinsmoke provided.”

Zoro paused with the serving spoon halfway to his plate. “Marriage contract?”

Perona’s expression changed. Mihawk folded his hands in front of him. “That is the reason the Vinsmokes came to Kuraigana. King Vinsmoke proposed a marriage between his omega son, Sanji, and my alpha son.”

Zoro stared at him, then over at Perona. For one hopeful second, he wondered whether this was some elaborate joke.

Perona shook her head. Mihawk rarely joked, anyway.

Zoro lowered the spoon. “Why didn’t you turn them down?”

“That’s what I said,” Perona muttered.

“As I already explained to Perona,” Mihawk said, “rejecting Judge immediately could have created an unnecessary diplomatic problem. I intended to give the appearance of considering the proposal before declining.”

Zoro frowned. “Then why are they still here?”

“Because you invited Sanji to stay,” Mihawk said. “If you are genuinely interested in him, I wanted to determine whether your feelings changed the matter.”

Something cold tightened beneath Zoro’s ribs. “I thought...” His voice failed. He swallowed and tried again. “I thought he might actually be interested in me.”

Perona’s face softened.

Zoro blinked quickly against the sting building behind his good eye. “You mean it was all pretend?”

“I don’t know that,” Mihawk said.

“You knew why he was here.” Zoro looked down at his plate. The tight breeches. The fitted shirt. The flirting. The compliments. The fact that Sanji had agreed to stay.

Zoro had thought maybe Sanji actually found him attractive. He’d thought Sanji enjoyed being around him. Maybe all of it had been part of getting Zoro to agree to some contract.

“I’ll refuse the proposal in the morning,” Mihawk said. “The Vinsmokes can leave.”

Zoro nodded once. He stared at the food he’d spent the last hour making. His appetite had disappeared. He made himself take a bite anyway. 

Sanji had listened to him talk about minerals for nearly an hour. He’d gone rockhounding with him. He’d laughed at Zoro’s stupid jokes and let Zoro make up his room and sat around playing cards afterward. Was it only because his father had told him to?

Zoro swallowed. He should have known better. They had barely known each other a day. Nobody had ever been interested in him before. Why had he decided this time would be different?

Perona started to say his name. Zoro pushed back his chair. “Leave the dishes. I’ll clean them later.”

“Zoro–”

“I’m going to my room.”

He picked up his plate before Perona could stop him and left the dining room.

The residence corridor was dimmer now, lit by wall lamps and the last gray light slipping through the windows. Zoro walked back toward his suite. He opened the door. His rock book was still lying open on the table. The new specimen cards sat beside it in Sanji’s handwriting.

Zoro stopped, then turned around and walked away. 

Getting lost in Kuraigana didn’t take much effort. This time, he did it on purpose. He followed a narrow staircase he barely recognized and eventually sat on one of the steps somewhere between two floors.

Zoro put the plate beside him, then drew his knees up and buried his face against them. How could he have been so stupid? 

He stayed there a long time.

By the time he moved again, dinner had gone cold.

The next morning, Zoro was already on the training field when Sanji arrived. He’d been out there since shortly after sunrise, working through forms until his shoulders burned and sweat dampened the back of his shirt. The sky remained dull and overcast, the castle rising pale behind him while mist clung between the trees beyond the low training-yard wall.

The hurt from dinner had changed overnight. Now he was angry. Angry at Sanji. Angry at himself. Angry that he’d let himself get excited over somebody after barely two days. He was going to tell Sanji exactly what he thought of the whole thing. Then he was going to tell him to leave.

Zoro finished the form and sheathed his sword as footsteps approached across the packed earth. Sanji came through the gate wearing looser breeches than yesterday and a fitted shirt beneath his coat, blond hair falling over one eye. A cigarette rested at the corner of his mouth.

“Glad we’re doing this this morning,” Sanji said as he crossed the yard. “I could use a good fight. My brothers are being particularly delightful.”

Zoro folded his arms. “Why did you pretend to like me?”

Sanji nearly missed a step. He caught himself and came the rest of the way into the yard. “That part wasn’t pretend.”

Zoro snorted. “Right.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Your father’s trying to arrange a marriage between us, and you weren’t supposed to help that along?”

Sanji took the cigarette from his mouth and drew on it slowly before answering. “I was.”

The admission hurt worse than Zoro expected.

Sanji exhaled smoke toward the side. “But then I got to know you, and I liked what I learned.” His mouth tightened. “If it were my choice, I wouldn’t marry you.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” Zoro’s arms tightened across his chest. “What I know is that I met someone I kinda liked, and then I found out you’re only here because of politics.”

“Not my politics. My father’s.” Sanji’s expression hardened. “He and I don’t agree on much of anything.”

“Then why did you agree to it?”

Sanji laughed. There was nothing amused in the sound. It scraped at Zoro’s nerves. “You think this is my choice?” He dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his heel. “I’m an omega failure. That’s what I’ve been told since I presented. The only use my father has for me is marrying me off for political gain.”

Zoro’s anger faltered.

“He’s tried already,” Sanji continued. “He’ll keep trying until he gets whatever alliance he wants, or he decides I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

Something in Zoro’s chest tightened. He still felt hurt, but this was starting to sound very different from what he’d imagined all night. “If you hate it that much, why didn’t you run away?”

Sanji stared at him for a second, then raised one arm. “You see these?”

The gold bracelets caught what little morning light made it through the clouds. Zoro had noticed them before. He’d assumed they were some Germa fashion he didn’t understand.

“They explode.”

Zoro’s arms dropped. “What?”

“Judge has the only key. He also has the trigger.”

Zoro looked from one bracelet to the other.

Sanji’s mouth twisted. “If I stop cooperating, he can take my hands off.”

For a second, Zoro couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I was hoping maybe I could escape while I was here,” Sanji continued. “Judge was supposed to leave. I thought there might be enough distance between me and the trigger for me to get away. Maybe you could help me.”

Zoro’s stomach turned.

“But he left my brothers instead. They’re here to make sure I behave.” Sanji caught the hem of his shirt and lifted it. Bruises covered his side. Some had already started yellowing at the edges. Others were fresh. Dark marks crossed his ribs and lower abdomen.

Zoro went still.

“They reminded me of my place last night,” Sanji said. His voice had gone flat. “According to them, I’m omega trash, and if I know what’s good for me, I’ll do exactly what I’m told.”

Horror hit first. Then anger. Real anger. Zoro’s hand curled around empty air before he forced his fingers open. “Would marrying me get those bracelets off?”

Sanji lowered his shirt. “Possibly.”

“And get you away from them permanently?”

“The first one is more likely.” Sanji rubbed his thumb beneath one of the gold bands. “The second? I don’t know.”

Zoro frowned.

“They expect me to bear your pups. Judge would probably keep checking in to make sure I’m doing my husbandly duty and bending over for you often enough.”

Heat rushed into Zoro’s face despite everything. “I wish you’d stop saying it like that.” His jaw tightened. “An omega bringing someone into their bed – into their nest – means something. Letting somebody that close. Trusting them that way. It’s not supposed to be something you do because somebody ordered you to.”

Sanji’s expression changed. The tension around his mouth eased, then he shook his head. “You are stupidly precious.”

Zoro forgot what he’d been angry about for half a second. “What?”

Sanji met his gaze. “I really do like you. I wish I’d met you under different circumstances.”

“Me, too.”

No one had ever called Zoro precious before. He wasn’t sure what to do with that. His chest hurt again, but differently now.

“We should talk to Mihawk,” he said.

Sanji lifted an eyebrow. “You think he can do something?”

“He might know how to get those off.”

“As long as he isn’t going to have me beheaded for deceiving his son.”

Zoro started toward the gate. “He only does beheadings on Sundays.”

Sanji barked out a startled laugh.

Zoro glanced back at him. That helped. A little.

They headed toward the castle together. Unfortunately, Zoro was still irritated enough to stop paying attention to where he was going. By the time he realized something had gone wrong, the corridor around them was unfamiliar.

A door opened farther down the corridor. The blue-haired Vinsmoke brother stepped out. Niji. He spotted them and immediately smiled in a way Zoro already disliked. “If you’re looking for somewhere to fuck, our sitting room’s empty right now.”

Sanji’s face went flat. Niji laughed and continued down the corridor.

Zoro’s fingers closed around the hilt of one of his swords. He could solve several problems very quickly. He forced his hand open. Skewering a foreign prince in a hallway would probably count as a diplomatic incident.

Sanji exhaled through his nose. “So. Residence wing?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to lead?”

Zoro sighed. “Fine.”

Sanji turned them around and led them back the direction they’d come. They crossed two galleries, went down one staircase, took another corridor, and eventually reached the familiar heavy doors separating the residence wing from the rest of the castle. Once they were through them, Zoro knew exactly where he was. Mostly. At least he managed to find Mihawk’s study without further assistance.

Zoro opened the door. Mihawk sat behind his desk reviewing correspondence. He looked up as they entered, then set the papers aside. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Sanji’s being blackmailed into marrying me.”

Sanji glanced at him. “Coerced.”

Zoro frowned. “Same thing.”

“Technically, no.”

Mihawk looked between them. “Explain.”

Sanji did. He told Mihawk about the bracelets, the trigger, Judge’s threats, and his brothers remaining behind to make sure he complied. Mihawk’s expression hardened. “Then removing you from their reach is the priority. Avoiding a war with Germa comes after that.”

“If you reject the marriage contract, at least Kuraigana is out of it,” Sanji said.

“No.” Zoro frowned at Sanji. “You said he’d just try to marry you off to somebody else. Or worse.”

“But that wouldn’t involve you.”

“It does involve me.” Zoro’s hands tightened at his sides. “You–” The words tangled. He tried again. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. All right? In any way.”

“Even though I hurt you?”

Zoro shook his head. “No.” He looked away for a second. “Even then.”

Silence stretched.

Zoro rubbed his palm against his trousers. “I like you too much for that.”

Sanji’s mouth softened, then twisted ruefully. “Trust me to find someone who might’ve made this kind of marriage bearable and then screw it up.”

“You didn’t screw it up.”

Sanji gave him a look.

Zoro amended, “Not all of it.”

Mihawk rested his forearms on the desk. “What would you have me do?”

Sanji looked down at the bracelets. “Ideally? Get these things off me, and I leave Kuraigana before Judge comes back.”

“That creates another problem,” Mihawk said.

“My brothers,” Sanji agreed. “If I disappear while they’re here, Germa will accuse Kuraigana of helping me.”

“We could make it look like Kuraigana didn’t help.”

Mihawk’s eyes shifted toward Zoro. Sanji did the same. 

“We could go through the woods,” Zoro said. Mihawk’s expression immediately turned wary. Zoro ignored it. “There’s an old route west of the quarry that eventually meets the road near the isthmus. I could take Sanji most of the way.”

“The Humandrill territory,” Mihawk said.

“Exactly.” Zoro stepped closer to the desk. “We make it look like something happened in the woods with the Humandrills.”

“My brothers would want proof,” Sanji said.

“Then they come with us for part of the trip.” Mihawk frowned. Zoro continued before he could reject the idea. “There’s the old floodgate crossing.”

The river narrowed several miles beyond the quarry, where an old stone control structure from before the civil war still crossed part of the channel. The channel marked the rough northern edge of the cultivated land; beyond it were the quarry and the forest leading toward the isthmus. One of the gates could be opened from the near bank, flooding the low stretch of road on the far side when the water was high enough.

Zoro had been told repeatedly not to fool with it, which meant he knew exactly how it worked. “We get Sanji across first,” he said. “Perona can work the release from this side. Once the gate opens, his brothers can’t follow.”

“And the Humandrills?” Mihawk asked.

“I can make enough noise to draw some of them toward the area before we leave.”

Sanji stared at him. “You want to deliberately summon the armed monkeys.”

“Humandrills.”

“I’m going to keep calling them monkeys if your plan is to invite them over.”

“It would make it believable.”

“It could also get you killed.”

Mihawk leaned back. “On that point, Prince Sanji is correct. There is no guarantee you would manage a group of Humandrills alone.”

Zoro’s jaw tightened. “We could still use the first part. Get Sanji past the crossing and flood it behind him. We fake the rest.”

“With what?”

“Noise. Fighting. Screaming.”

Sanji looked at him. “Zoro, you don’t need to go through all this trouble.”

“It isn’t trouble.” His voice came out louder than he intended. Both men went quiet. Zoro clenched his hands. “You don’t deserve to be forced into marrying somebody you don’t want.”

Sanji bit his lower lip. Then he nodded. He didn’t argue again.

Mihawk regarded them both for a long moment. “Before we stage attacks, flood roads, or antagonize Humandrills, I will determine whether the bracelets can simply be removed.”

Zoro relaxed slightly.

“If they can, then we address the second problem.”

“Do it fast,” Zoro said. “He’s only here for a week.”

Mihawk’s gaze sharpened. “I am aware.”

Zoro nodded.

Mihawk dismissed them shortly afterward.

Once they were back in the corridor, Sanji rubbed beneath one bracelet. “Do you really think he can get these off?”

“He can do anything,” Zoro stated.

Sanji looked toward the closed study door. “That much faith in him?”

“He’s Mihawk.” Zoro started down the hall. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“I still want to spar.”

Sanji blinked. “I thought you were angry at me.”

“I was. I am.” Zoro continued another few steps. “I don’t know anymore.”

Sanji caught up.

“You didn’t really have a choice,” Zoro added.

“No. But I still feel like an asshole.”

“You are an asshole.”

Sanji’s head snapped toward him.

Zoro’s mouth twitched. “Just not because of this.”

“Hey.”

Zoro bumped his shoulder against Sanji’s. A little harder than strictly necessary. “Come on. I wanna kick your ass. Make myself feel better.”

Sanji scoffed. “You say that as though you’re going to win.”

“I did fine last time.”

“I was holding back.”

Zoro snorted. “Sure.”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your own castle.”

“Right.”

Zoro kept walking. Sanji caught up easily. “Just you wait until you’re lying in the dirt, crappy swordsman.”

Zoro glanced sideways at him. The knot of anger in his chest hadn’t disappeared. Neither had the hurt. But Sanji was still beside him, and for now, that was enough.

Sanji felt terrible about how thoroughly he’d managed to deceive Zoro without actually meaning to. At least everything was out in the open now. He hadn’t lied when he said he liked him. If Sanji had ever been given the freedom to choose someone for himself, Zoro was probably close to what he would have looked for. Intelligent. Strong. Capable. Sweet in ways he didn’t seem to realize. He didn’t posture or treat everyone around him as beneath him simply because he was a prince and an alpha.

He was handsome, too. During their sparring session, Zoro pulled up the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, exposing his stomach for a moment. Sanji’s attention caught there immediately. Zoro was heavily muscled, but he carried some fat, too. A little at his stomach and sides, enough to soften the hard lines of his torso. Sanji liked that. It made him look solid and healthy rather than carved down to nothing.

The sparring seemed to help with the tension between them. Zoro still looked hurt sometimes when he thought Sanji wasn’t paying attention, but the anger had mostly burned itself out by the time they stopped.

Sanji sat on the low wall bordering the training ground and lit a cigarette. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “even though this whole thing had a shitty beginning, I’d still like us to be friends.”

Zoro glanced over. “Yeah.” He wiped the back of his wrist across his forehead. “Me, too.”

“Good.” Sanji took a drag. “Besides, you got me interested in digging through dirt for rocks. I need somebody to complain to about it.”

A small smile appeared on Zoro’s face. “Want to go out again this afternoon?”

“I’d love to.” Sanji wasn’t lying, either.

Lunch was still a little awkward. Neither of them quite knew where to put the knowledge of the marriage arrangement yet, and conversation stalled a few times when one of them wandered too close to it. By the time they headed back out to the ruins that afternoon, though, the tension had eased. The same comfortable rhythm from the day before returned quickly once Zoro had his satchel open and started talking about rocks again.

The sky was overcast, though the cloud cover had thinned enough to brighten the ruins. Damp moss covered much of the older masonry, and the ground still smelled of wet earth from the previous night.

Zoro crouched beside an exposed section of stone while Sanji searched through loose rubble nearby. Sanji nudged aside a broken piece with the toe of his boot. Something rounded caught his eye. He bent and picked it up. The outside looked unimpressive. Grayish. Rough. He turned it in his hand. “Oi.”

Zoro looked over. Sanji held it up. “What do I get if this is something good?”

Zoro stood and crossed over. “Depends whether it’s actually good.”

A considerably more suggestive answer came to mind. Sanji almost said it, then stopped himself. After everything that had come out that morning, the last thing he wanted was Zoro wondering whether every flirtatious comment had been another attempt to push him toward the marriage.

“Have a little faith,” Sanji said instead.

Zoro took the stone from him, turned it once, then looked more closely. His expression changed. “Oh.”

Sanji grinned. “That an impressed ‘oh’?”

“Maybe.” Zoro dug through his satchel and pulled out the short-handled rock pick. Sanji crouched beside him.

Together, they worked the stone carefully rather than simply smashing it. Zoro showed him where to place the chisel, then tapped along the natural weakness until the shell finally split. Purple and white crystals glittered inside.

Zoro grinned. “You found a geode.”

“I gathered that.” Sanji took one half and tilted it toward the light. The crystals inside were pale lavender near the edges and deeper purple farther in, with white quartz filling the smaller spaces between them.

Zoro looked absurdly pleased.

Sanji held up his half. “Something new for your collection.”

Zoro shook his head. “You keep that one. I’ll keep the other.” He turned his half over in his palm. “Something to remember today by.”

Sanji’s chest tightened unexpectedly. He doubted he was going to forget this day. Or any of the ones he spent with Zoro.

Two days later, Mihawk summoned them both to his study. Sanji had gotten used to the residence wing by then. He could almost find the study without assistance, which put him considerably ahead of Zoro.

Mihawk waited behind his desk with several sheets of parchment laid out before him. “I spoke with Judge,” he said once they were seated. Sanji immediately looked toward the papers. “I told him the bracelets were offensive to Zoro.”

Zoro blinked. Mihawk continued without reacting. “I explained that my son could hardly be expected to begin a proper courtship when another man had already placed permanent ornaments around his prospective mate’s wrists.”

Sanji stared. It was almost clever enough to make him forgive the phrase proper courtship. “And he believed that?”

“He understood proper rituals.” Mihawk’s gaze returned to Sanji. “Judge agreed to remove the bracelets if I sign an intent-to-marry agreement.”

Sanji shook his head immediately. “Don’t. I’ll figure something else out eventually.”

Zoro turned toward him. “Sanji–”

“I’m serious.” Sanji rubbed one thumb beneath the edge of the bracelet. “I don’t want Kuraigana tied to Germa because of me.”

Mihawk picked up one of the documents. “I have reviewed the agreement carefully. It is an intent to marry. It does not guarantee that a marriage will take place.”

Mihawk glanced down at the parchment. “The original contract stated that any children resulting from the marriage would be recognized as part of Germa. Otherwise, the terms are largely conventional.” He set that sheet down and lifted another. “I’ve already amended the wording. Any child physically borne by you would retain Germa lineage and citizenship.”

Sanji’s mouth tightened, but he nodded.

“Any child physically borne by Zoro would belong to the Roronoa line.”

Sanji glanced at Zoro. Zoro looked completely unbothered.

Something unpleasant twisted low in Sanji’s stomach.

If the contract specifically accounted for children Zoro might bear, then Sanji could only assume it meant Zoro intended to take other partners somewhere down the line. Alpha princes did that often enough. His brothers certainly did.

Sanji was leaving anyway. He had no claim on Zoro. It didn’t stop the sudden flare of jealousy. Zoro seemed perfectly comfortable with the idea, which somehow made it worse.

Sanji looked back at Mihawk before either of them noticed his expression.

“There is also no breach-of-contract clause,” Mihawk continued. “If the marriage never occurs, Judge can blame me publicly for terminating negotiations and preserve whatever dignity he believes requires protecting.” Mihawk folded his hands. “I would be willing to sign it.”

“Do it,” Zoro said immediately.

Sanji turned. “Zoro–”

“This gets those bracelets off.”

“And puts you in the middle of this.”

“It’s not as though we have to get married.”

The words hit harder than Sanji expected. He looked away before Zoro could see it. “True.” It was true. That didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed hearing it. “I’d still rather not put you in that position.”

Zoro frowned. “It’s my choice.”

That stung, too, though for an entirely different reason.

Sanji forced himself to look back at him. “It is,” he said. “And I appreciate your help. Whatever you decide later.”

Zoro turned back toward Mihawk. “Sign it.”

Mihawk regarded them both for a moment. “Very well.” He placed the amended contract back on the desk. “I will send word to Judge immediately. He will likely return to the castle himself once he receives it.”

Sanji’s stomach tightened.

“I will not permit him to insist upon an immediate marriage,” Mihawk added. “Kuraigana has enough obscure traditions that I can invent one more.”

Zoro’s mouth twitched.

“I’ll delay matters long enough to have the bracelets removed. After that, Judge and, ideally, your brothers can be persuaded to leave.”

Sanji exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”

Mihawk inclined his head.

Once they were dismissed, Zoro closed the study door behind them. “Come on.”

Sanji looked at him. “Where?”

“We need Perona.”

“For what?”

“To plan your escape.”

Sanji rubbed one wrist through the gold bracelet. “Getting these off would be enough.”

Zoro stopped. 

“I can make my own way through the woods once they’re gone,” Sanji continued. “I don’t want to drag you any further into this.”

Zoro looked irritated. “It isn’t trouble to help a friend.”

Sanji went still. A small warmth returned to his chest. “Still friends, then?”

Zoro looked at him as though the question itself were strange. “Yeah. We’re friends.” He started down the corridor. “And I expect you to write to me from wherever you end up.”

Sanji followed. “I can do that.” His steps felt a little lighter. “You’d better write back.”

Zoro glanced over his shoulder. “I promise.” 

The small declaration settled deep in Sanji’s chest. When he left Kuraigana, he was going to miss Zoro.

A lot.

Judge returned late the following afternoon. They met in the war room. It was a severe space compared with the rest of the castle, containing little beyond a long wooden table, a dozen high-backed chairs, and several faded maps mounted on the stone walls. A fire burned low at one end against the damp chill.

Sanji stood with his brothers along one side of the room. Mihawk occupied the head of the table with both copies of the amended agreement waiting in front of him. Zoro was conspicuously absent. They’d decided beforehand that was for the best. Zoro had many admirable qualities. Maintaining an indifferent expression while Judge discussed his future wasn’t one of them.

Judge approached the table looking considerably more pleased with himself than Sanji wanted to see. “I see Sanji’s stay has brought good fortune to both our families.”

“Hm.” Mihawk rested one hand on the contract. “Though I do have an amendment to make.”

“Oh?”

Mihawk pushed the document across the table.

Judge picked it up and read. Sanji watched his eyes move down the page until they reached the amended section concerning children. Then Judge laughed. “Ah. I see.”

Sanji’s stomach tightened.

“Your son intends to continue enjoying himself as any alpha prince deserves.” Judge sounded entirely approving. “I have no objection to this amendment.”

Sanji looked away as the same ugly flare of jealousy he’d felt when Mihawk first explained the wording returned. According to the contract, any children Zoro had outside Sanji would remain Roronoas. Judge naturally assumed that meant Zoro expected to take other partners. And Zoro had agreed to the amendment without batting an eye. Sanji had no right to care. He was planning to leave. That knowledge didn’t make the thought of Zoro bedding other people any more pleasant.

Judge reached for the pen and signed. Mihawk added his signature beneath the amended terms, then repeated it on the second copy.

“Now,” Mihawk said, setting the pen aside. “The bracelets. My son has been anxious to adorn his prospective omega with trinkets of his own.”

Sanji almost admired his commitment to the lie.

Judge seemed to find it perfectly reasonable. He reached into his coat and withdrew a small key. “Come here.”

Sanji crossed the room. Judge took hold of his left wrist. As he fitted the key into the bracelet, he lowered his voice enough that Mihawk couldn’t easily hear. “Do not mistake this for freedom, boy. We will be watching you closely.”

“I figured,” Sanji muttered.

The lock released with a subtle click, then Judge pulled the bracelet away. Sanji stared at his bare wrist. The second came off just as easily. Click. Gone. His arms suddenly felt absurdly light.

Sanji rubbed his thumb over the skin beneath the first bracelet. Red, irritated marks circled both wrists where the metal had rubbed since leaving the Germa ship. A few places were darker from repeated chafing, but that could be dealt with.

The bracelets were gone. His hands were safe. Judge couldn’t blow them off anymore. Sanji wouldn’t bleed out somewhere because his father decided he had become inconvenient. The tension that had lived between his shoulder blades for so long that he’d nearly stopped noticing it began to ease. He flexed his fingers. Once. Twice. All ten. 

Sanji tucked his hands behind his back before anyone could see how badly the removal had affected him and waited to be dismissed.

“This calls for a drink,” Judge announced, apparently forgetting whose castle he was standing in. “To the future union of our kingdoms.”

“Perhaps another time,” Mihawk said. “I have business requiring my attention.”

Judge’s expression cooled.

Mihawk rolled one copy of the agreement and secured it. “Your accommodations have been prepared for tonight. You have the same suite as before. I trust you and your other sons will depart in the morning.”

“Let us not be hasty.” Judge rested one hand against the table. “There are plans to be made now that an agreement has been signed.”

“It is an intent to marry,” Mihawk reminded him. “And Kuraigana tradition requires a period of courtship before any nuptials may take place.”

Sanji kept his face blank. Kuraigana tradition, his ass.

“I see.” Judge clearly didn’t like it. “I still wish my other sons to remain here. Someone must ensure nothing untoward happens to Sanji before the marriage can take place.”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed. His gaze moved past Judge to the three princes, then settled briefly on Sanji. “My preference would be for them to leave with you.”

Judge’s expression hardened.

“However,” Mihawk continued, “I have no desire to turn this arrangement into a military dispute between our kingdoms while Prince Sanji is still caught in the middle of it. They may remain under the same conditions as before.”

Niji shifted behind Sanji. Sanji could practically feel the complaint building.

“But understand me clearly,” Mihawk said. “Prince Sanji’s safety takes precedence over the negotiations. Your sons are not to interfere with my son’s courtship, and I will not tolerate them harming Sanji while they are guests in my home.”

Judge’s mouth tightened. “They will do only what is necessary to ensure Sanji’s safety.”

Sanji nearly laughed. He managed to turn it into a cough.

Mihawk’s gaze flicked briefly toward him. “Then we understand one another.”

He gave Judge a shallow inclination of his head and left the war room, taking his copy of the contract with him.

The instant the door closed, Judge turned toward Sanji and his brothers. “Do not let him out of your sight.”

Sanji’s small relief evaporated. Judge held up the bracelets. “Somehow, I suspect you are responsible for this.”

Sanji stared at them. They looked much smaller in Judge’s hand than they ever had around his wrists. He said nothing.

Judge apparently hadn’t expected an answer. “Come. I wish to freshen up before dinner.”

He started toward the door, then stopped. “Omega, you will see to the meal.”

Sanji’s jaw tightened.

“Yonji will accompany you.”

Yonji groaned. “Why do I gotta babysit the omega?”

“You will do as you are told,” Judge snapped.

Yonji shut his mouth.

Judge strode from the room, expecting everyone to follow. 

Sanji fell into line behind his brothers. As they entered the corridor, he rubbed one bare wrist with the opposite hand. No metal. No locks. No explosives sitting against his pulse. But his brothers were still here. Judge was still here tonight. Sanji still needed a way out of Kuraigana without creating the international incident Mihawk was trying to avoid. But one of the things holding him to Germa was gone. Soon, the rest would be, too.

And he’d finally, truly be free.

Judge left the following morning with one final threat. “If you do anything to harm this union, I will turn you into a breeding cow for your brothers.”

The mere thought made Sanji shudder with revulsion, but he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to promise obedience when he had every intention of running. 

By the time Judge’s carriage disappeared down the drive, Sanji wanted badly to hit something. Fortunately, Zoro was waiting for him on the training grounds. Unfortunately, Ichiji followed several paces behind.

Zoro noticed him immediately. “What’s he doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on Judge’s prize breeding cow,” Sanji muttered. 

Zoro’s expression darkened. Ichiji ignored both of them and settled beneath a tree near the edge of the yard, arms folded.

Sanji deliberately turned his back on him. “Forget him.” He rolled his shoulders once and looked at Zoro. “I’m in the mood to kick your ass.”

“You still haven’t managed it yet.” Zoro grinned and drew one sword.

“Lies.” Sanji moved before Zoro had fully settled into his stance. His first kick came high. Zoro blocked with the flat of the blade. “You were on your back plenty yesterday.”

Zoro’s ears reddened. “Lucky shots.”

“Today they won’t be.” Sanji pivoted into another kick. Zoro stepped aside this time instead of blocking.

They moved across the training yard, boots scraping over packed earth and sending dirt scattering beneath them. Zoro was still better. Sanji had no problem admitting that privately. Zoro trained every day. He fought armed Humandrills often enough that mistakes mattered. His swordsmanship had the efficiency of something used outside practice yards. Sanji had skill and strength, but he’d lost years of proper instruction. It didn’t mean he made it easy.

He ducked beneath a horizontal strike, planted one hand briefly against the ground, and swung his leg toward Zoro’s side. Zoro caught the kick against his forearm. The impact drove him back half a step. Sanji followed immediately. Zoro twisted away before the next kick connected.

They traded ground back and forth for several minutes. Zoro had started anticipating Sanji’s hips instead of watching his feet. He was also keeping more distance whenever Sanji shifted his weight onto one leg.

Sanji noticed. He had already started noticing far too much about Zoro. The way his shoulders tightened before a stronger strike. The way his mouth pulled into a grin whenever Sanji surprised him. The little softness at his middle when his shirt rode up. The fact that he still smelled of nothing except blockers and spiced cologne.

It would have been nice to see how good Zoro became at defending against kicks after another month. Or six. 

Sanji blocked that thought before it went any further. He wasn’t staying. 

He slipped past Zoro’s blade and caught him behind the knee. Zoro lost his footing and hit the ground on one hand. Sanji immediately stepped back with a grin. “Took you down.”

Zoro pushed himself upright. “You’re still not going to win.”

From beneath the tree, Ichiji made an irritated sound. Sanji ignored him. For the next half hour, that became easier. Sparring always helped. It gave Sanji something physical to focus on instead of Judge, Germa, contracts, bracelets, and everything else waiting beyond the training yard.

Eventually, they stopped. Zoro bent forward with his hands resting on his thighs, breathing hard. Sanji wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. Ichiji was still there, watching. Sanji hated him for it.

A few more days, that was all. They already had the beginnings of a plan. Perona had helped them work through the geography the night before. They would wait long enough that Sanji’s disappearance didn’t happen immediately after the bracelets came off. Then they would arrange a day out. Rockhounding made the excuse easy. Zoro already spent time beyond the castle grounds, and Sanji had gone with him before. This time they would take horses and supplies for a picnic.

The first obstacle was the water crossing near the edge of the maintained territory. A narrow channel fed from the river toward the vineyard, controlled by an old lock and floodgate system left from before the civil war. When the gate was closed, the road crossed safely over the stonework. Once Sanji and Zoro were across, Perona would release the mechanism from the castle side. Water would surge back through the channel and cut off the crossing. Anyone following would have to turn around and take the longer route. That would buy time.

The channel marked the rough end of the cultivated land. On the castle side were the vineyard tracks and maintained roads; beyond it, the ground became rougher, with broken stone walls, overgrown tracks, and abandoned fields left from before the war. The old quarry sat farther along that route, cut into the rising ground before the forest closed in around it.

Past the crossing was the old quarry Zoro had mentioned before. He liked searching there because the exposed stone made it easier to find mineral veins. Beyond that, the forest thickened quickly. Humandrill territory. That was where the deception started.

Zoro planned to build several rough shapes among the trees beforehand using deadfall, broken gardening tools, and old scraps of cloth. From a distance, especially across the water, they should resemble Humandrills moving around the edge of the quarry. Not enough to withstand close inspection, but they didn’t need to.

Sanji and Zoro would spend some time pretending to rockhound. Then they would “notice” the shapes. Panic. Mount up. Disappear into the woods. Anyone watching from the far side of the flooded crossing would see enough to draw their own conclusions.

From there, Zoro would guide Sanji through the forest toward the isthmus. Once Sanji crossed the border into the neighboring country, Zoro would turn back. Alone. Bloodied. Distraught. He would tell them the Humandrills had taken Sanji. Sanji still thought that part was excessive. Zoro insisted it needed to look convincing. 

The plan wasn’t foolproof. It didn’t have to be. By the time anyone proved Sanji was alive, he intended to be far enough away that it no longer mattered. And Judge had reasons to accept the story publicly. A dead son was easier to explain than an omega son who had successfully escaped him. Accusing Kuraigana of deception without proof would make Judge look foolish and potentially expose why Sanji had wanted to run in the first place.

So now they waited.

Sanji looked across the training yard at Zoro. Zoro had drawn his sword again and was adjusting his grip. “Aren’t you tired?”

“No.”

“You’re breathing hard.”

“So are you.”

“I smoke.”

“That sounds like your problem.”

Sanji snorted.

Zoro raised the sword. “Again?”

Sanji glanced once toward Ichiji, then back at Zoro. A few more days. He could survive a few more days. And until then, he intended to enjoy whatever time he had left here.

Sanji settled back into his stance. “Come on, then.”

The days passed too quickly in Zoro’s opinion.

He liked the time he spent with Sanji, even if nothing was ever going to come of it beyond friendship. That was still more than Zoro had with almost anyone else. He’d already forgiven Sanji for the circumstances that had brought them together. In fact, secretly, he wished the marriage were actually going through. He could pretend they might have been happy together. That Sanji would still want him once he finally smelled Zoro’s real scent. That maybe everything Zoro wanted could have worked out after all.

But that was fantasy. Sanji was leaving, and whatever time they had left together was all Zoro was going to get. 

So he made the best of it. One afternoon, Zoro finally took him to the vineyard. One of Sanji’s brothers followed at a distance, but after the first several minutes Zoro mostly stopped paying attention to him.

The road dropped gradually from the castle grounds toward the cultivated land, and the forest thinned until rows of vines appeared across the slope. Low stone retaining walls divided the steeper sections, dark with damp and moss along the shaded sides. The vines ran in long, even lines supported by wooden posts and wire, most pruned back hard for the season.

The village sat beyond them, clustered around the winery buildings and storage sheds. Workers moved between the rows with baskets, tools, and small carts, while farther downhill a long stone building housed the presses and cellars. Zoro pointed out the older terraces, the newer plantings, and which sections produced the grapes used for the wines Judge was so interested in.

Sanji listened more closely than Zoro expected. He admitted he’d expected rows of grapes and not much else. Instead, Zoro explained how the slope affected drainage, why some vines were cut back harder than others, and how grapes from different sections were kept separate before blending. By the time they reached the winery, Sanji was asking questions.

They sparred in the mornings, played cards, wandered the castle grounds looking for rocks, and spent hours in Zoro’s suite talking about nothing particularly important. Whenever they left the residence wing, one of Sanji’s brothers usually shadowed them, an irritating reminder that their time was limited.

Worse, Sanji came back every day with new bruises. Sometimes there were cuts, too. A split lip. Finger-shaped marks beneath his shirt. Once, a dark bruise along his ribs that made him flinch when Zoro touched near it.

It gave their escape plan more urgency. Zoro wanted to go after the brothers. He wasn’t afraid of them, alphas or otherwise. He had three swords, years of training, and far more experience fighting brutes who wanted to hurt him than they probably expected.

Sanji always stopped him. “It’ll make things worse.”

Zoro hated that answer, but he listened. Instead, he doted on Sanji a little. He cleaned the cuts Sanji couldn’t easily reach and rubbed salve over bruises when Sanji let him. He gave him extra pillows for his room, offered to mend anything his brothers tore, and started keeping the drinks and snacks Sanji liked in his suite because Sanji spent so much time there.

Zoro had to stop himself from doing more. His instincts kept urging him to take care of him. Feed him. Make his room warmer. Fix whatever hurt. Give him somewhere safe to sleep. Treat him the way Zoro wanted to treat a mate. But he couldn’t. Sanji wasn’t his mate.

Omega pairs weren’t unheard of. They had a harder time conceiving together, but it could happen. Zoro had been sterilized after entering the orphanage because of that possibility – he was still male, after all, and nobody running an omega home wanted accidental pregnancies between residents.

It didn’t matter anyway. Zoro could like Sanji as much as he wanted. Sanji might take one breath of his real scent and be disgusted. And Sanji was leaving.

The day arrived sooner than Zoro wanted.

He’d gone out the night before and set up the fake Humandrills beyond the quarry, arranging deadfall, old gardening tools, scraps of cloth, and broken equipment between the trees where they’d only be seen from a distance. 

That morning, he and Sanji sparred the same way they always did. Then Sanji went to prepare lunch for his brothers while Zoro packed their picnic.

Zoro took his time. Bread. Cold chicken. Cheese. Pickled vegetables. Small hand pies. Apples. A jar of mustard Sanji liked. A little cake he’d made the night before. He wrapped everything carefully and fitted it into the basket so nothing would shift during the ride. He wanted every bite to be good. It was stupid. It was also the last meal he would probably ever make for Sanji. Zoro wanted him to know, even if Sanji never understood why, that someone had cared enough to do it properly.

They set out a little after eleven. The ride from the castle to the isthmus would take most of the day if they cut through the woods. They needed to reach the border before dark, which still gave them enough time to make the first part of the trip look leisurely.

Yonji followed them. Out of Sanji’s brothers, he was probably the easiest one to fool. He spent most of the morning looking bored and irritated that he’d been forced to come at all. He also hadn’t brought a horse, which meant he had to walk behind them.

Zoro and Sanji kept the horses at an easy pace, slow enough that Yonji could stay within sight without making it obvious that they wanted him there. The river crossing came into view ahead. The old lock cut across a narrow channel that diverted water from the river toward the vineyard. Stone walls rose on either side, with heavy wooden gates controlling the flow. When the lock was closed, the crossing remained dry enough for horses.

They walked the horses across. Zoro didn’t need to signal. Perona was watching from the old control house farther upstream with binoculars. The second both horses cleared the crossing, the mechanism released. Wood groaned. One of the gates dropped. River water rushed through the channel with sudden force, spreading across the crossing behind them.

Zoro glanced back. Yonji was still far enough away that he’d never make it before the water deepened. By the time he reached it, the current would look established enough that he’d have no reason to assume their horses had simply waded through.

Zoro and Sanji continued toward the quarry. Once they reached it, they dismounted and tied the horses where they could reach them quickly.

Zoro had brought his usual rockhounding satchel, with the geological hammer secured through one of the loops along the side. The little rock pick was in his pocket where he normally kept it, barely longer than his hand, with a pointed end on one side and a flat hammer face on the other. He carried it almost every time he came out here.

He’d already searched this area earlier in the week. On any other day, he would have enjoyed coming back. The quarry was one of his favorite places to look. Exposed stone ran along the old cut walls, and loose gravel collected below where weather had broken pieces free. With the geological hammer, he could scrape aside the surface gravel, loosen smaller chunks, or tap at exposed seams.

Today, none of it mattered. This was a performance.

Zoro crouched and slipped the geological hammer free from the satchel, using the pointed end to work through loose gravel while Sanji moved several yards away.

Every minute tightened something in his chest.

Sanji would be gone by tonight.

Sanji was supposed to give the signal once he was sure Yonji had reached the far side of the flooded crossing and was actually watching.

A few minutes later, Sanji straightened. “Hey. What’s that?”

Zoro followed where he pointed. One of the shapes stood between the trees. From here, he could see exactly what it was. From across the river, it would look different.

Zoro forced concern into his voice. “Shit. Humandrills.”

Sanji turned toward another. “There’s more than one.”

Zoro pointed farther into the trees. “I see five.”

They spoke loudly even though the river probably drowned most of it out. Better to sell it completely. “We need to get out of here.”

They hurried toward the horses. Sanji mounted first. Zoro glanced once across the river. Yonji stood at the edge of the flooded crossing with one hand raised over his eyes, staring toward the woods where they had been pointing. The shapes were visible. Even better, sunlight caught briefly on one of the old pieces of vineyard equipment Zoro had propped between the trees. From that distance, it could pass for a weapon.

Sanji had insisted they shouldn’t shout any warning to Yonji. Sanji wouldn’t explain himself to his brothers under normal circumstances. Doing it now would only make the scene look staged.

Once Zoro was mounted, he nudged his horse into a quick trot. Sanji followed. They left the quarry and disappeared into the woods.

They rode hard for the first half hour. That part wasn’t entirely for show. They really were close to Humandrill territory now. Groups of them – troops, according to one of Zoro’s books – moved through these woods often enough that lingering near the quarry was a bad idea.

Eventually, they slowed the horses.

The forest closed densely around them. Tall firs and pines blocked much of the gray daylight, their trunks rising straight through mats of moss, fern, and damp needles. Beech and oak appeared between them where the ground opened slightly, their branches tangled high overhead. Fallen logs rotted beneath shelves of fungus, and old stone walls surfaced occasionally between the trees, remnants of farms or roads abandoned after the war.

Kuraigana rarely got true sunlight. Even now, near midday, the woods remained dim.

Zoro guided his horse beside Sanji’s. “Think he bought it?”

Sanji shifted in the saddle. “Doesn’t matter. We’re away, and it’ll take time for Judge to organize a search if your father refuses.”

“He will.”

“Refuse?”

“Yeah. Perona will tell him everything went according to plan.”

Sanji nodded, then he checked the compass again. He had taken over navigation shortly after they entered the woods after explaining why. “I’ve noticed you have the directional sense of a drunk.”

Zoro still thought that was rude. Accurate, maybe. But rude.

“You decided what you’re going to do yet?” Zoro asked.

It was a variation of the same question they’d circled around for the last few days. Zoro had given Sanji money before they left. Enough to last a while if he was careful, especially once he crossed the border and could find work. Sanji had hidden most of it inside his boot.

Sanji adjusted the reins. “I’ll try to find work as a guard at an omega house. I know how to fight, and somebody will always need protecting.” 

Zoro watched him from the corner of his eye. Sanji sat tall in the saddle, shoulders square, one hand easy on the reins. He carried himself with confidence despite everything his family had done to him. Because of it, maybe.

Zoro knew he would be fine. It didn’t stop him from worrying. He cared about Sanji far more than he wanted to admit.

For the past few days, Zoro had let himself imagine the whole thing ending differently. A marriage. A home. Sanji staying. Something out of one of his romance books, only better because it was his.

But this wasn’t a story. Sanji had to leave. And Zoro would be alone again.

They rode deeper into the woods. The light shifted gradually as the cloud cover moved overhead, never becoming bright enough to cast much of a shadow. Water dripped somewhere after last night’s rain. Small birds moved through the branches, and once Zoro spotted a deer disappearing between the trees.

He listened constantly for heavier movement. Humandrills were rarely subtle when a whole troop traveled together. So far, he heard nothing.

A couple of hours into the ride, they stopped beside a shallow stream to rest and water the horses. Zoro unpacked the picnic. Sanji stared at the spread. “You made all this?”

“Yeah.”

Sanji picked up one of the hand pies and took a bite. His eyebrows lifted. “It’s delicious.”

Zoro’s face warmed. His omega side practically preened. “It’s nothing,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Sanji gave him a look. “Your domesticity never fails to make me wonder if I’ve just known shitty alphas.”

Zoro nearly choked on his drink. “I haven’t known that many, either.”

“Alphas?”

“Yeah. Mostly people who come to the balls once or twice a year.”

The thought of the next one made his chest ache. Another ballroom. Another line of strangers. Another night pretending he was looking for something he’d already found and lost.

Zoro looked down at his food. Sanji didn’t seem to notice. 

After they finished eating, they packed everything again, watered the horses one last time, and continued north.

The woods grew thicker as they went. The old paths narrowed, then disappeared beneath ferns, roots, and damp leaf litter. Pines crowded close on either side, with darker stands of fir beyond them and occasional stretches of old stone half-buried in moss. The air stayed cool beneath the heavy canopy. Kuraigana’s usual cloud cover flattened the afternoon light until everything took on the same dull gray-green cast.

Zoro listened as they rode. He heard birds, the soft clop of hooves, branches shifting overhead, and water somewhere off to their right. Nothing else.

Sanji rode a little ahead, compass in hand, glancing down at it now and then before checking the ground in front of them.

“You sure this is north?” Zoro asked.

Sanji looked over his shoulder. “Yes.”

“Looks the same as the other direction.”

“This is why I’m in the lead.”

Zoro opened his mouth to answer.

Something struck wood behind him. He turned. An arrow was buried in a tree trunk.

Then another arrow came out of the woods almost immediately. This one hit Zoro’s horse directly in the eye. The animal screamed.

“Zoro!” Sanji shouted.

The horse reared violently. Zoro grabbed for the reins, but the animal was already going over. He kicked one foot free of the stirrup. The other caught. The horse crashed sideways. Zoro hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Then several hundred pounds of dead weight came down across his legs.

Pain tore through his hips and knees. He shouted and tried to wrench himself free. Nothing moved. The horse kicked once, weakly, then went still. 

“Zoro!” Sanji’s voice came from somewhere ahead.

Zoro twisted around. Shapes were moving between the trees. Human, not Humandrills. Three men rushed from the brush on Sanji’s side of the path while another came in behind them with a short bow already half-raised.

Bandits. 

Sanji had barely gotten off his horse before the first man reached him. Sanji kicked him in the chest. The man flew backward into a tree. Another came at Sanji with a club. Sanji ducked under the swing and drove his heel into the man’s ribs hard enough that Zoro heard the impact from where he was pinned.

“Sanji!”

“I’m fine!”

More movement came from the woods. Too many. They’d been hidden all around the trail, using the undergrowth and trees to close in before either of them realized they were there.

Zoro grabbed at the ground and tried to drag himself out from beneath the horse. Pain shot up both legs. The carcass barely shifted. “Shit.”

One of his swords had been pinned beneath him. Another had fallen several feet away. The third was still at his hip. Zoro drew it just as a man rushed him with a spear. He knocked the point aside and slashed through the shaft, but the horse held him too tightly to follow through.

Zoro looked toward Sanji. Two men had reached him at once. Sanji caught one by the wrist, drove a knee into his stomach, then kicked the second in the jaw. Another attacker came from behind. Sanji twisted away from the worst of the blow and put him down with a kick to the knee.

There were still more coming through the trees.

A shadow fell across Zoro. He looked up just as a heavy wooden club struck his wrist. His sword dropped into the dirt.

“Zoro!”

Sanji was still fighting. Zoro heard another body hit the ground.

The club came down against the side of his head. The trees tilted. His vision spotted.

And then there was nothing.

Sanji came to in a small iron cage with Zoro curled beside him. His head was killing him.

For several seconds, that was all he could process. Pain throbbed at the back of his skull, keeping time with his pulse. The ground beneath him was cold and uneven, packed dirt scattered with dead leaves and pine needles.

Then memory returned. The arrow. Zoro’s horse going down. Men coming out of the woods.

Bandits, Sanji realized. Humans. He remembered fighting them after Zoro went down, kicking the first few hard enough that at least two hadn’t gotten back up. Then there had been more of them. Someone had caught him from behind, and Sanji had kept fighting anyway – kicking, spitting, cursing, trying to get back to Zoro until something struck him across the head. Apparently that had done the job.

Sanji opened his eyes properly. Night had fallen. The encampment occupied a small clearing deep in the woods, hidden beneath the dense canopy. A few lanterns hung from posts around the perimeter, their weak light barely reaching between crude shelters made from canvas and salvaged boards. One larger structure stood farther back, with several horses tethered nearby. A cooking fire had burned down to glowing coals.

The trees crowded close around everything. With Kuraigana’s usual cloud cover hiding most of the sky, Sanji couldn’t tell how late it was. Only that hours had passed since the attack.

Their cage had been shoved toward the edge of camp beneath the trees where the lantern light barely reached. Sanji shifted carefully. They still had their clothes and shoes, which was good. He checked his pockets, and found he still had the compass, his cigarettes, and lighter.

Zoro’s swords had been taken. All three lay several yards outside the cage beside a stack of other weapons, close enough to see and much too far to reach.

Sanji touched the back of his head. A lump had formed beneath his hair. “Fuck.”

He lowered his hand and turned toward Zoro. Zoro hadn’t moved. Worry tightened Sanji’s chest immediately. “Zoro.”

He shuffled closer. The cage was cramped enough that they couldn’t fully stretch out. Zoro had ended up curled on his side in one corner, one leg awkwardly bent beneath the other.

Sanji carefully checked him over. The horse had fallen across his lower body, but Sanji couldn’t find anything obviously broken. Zoro’s legs were intact. His hips seemed aligned. There was no blood soaking through his clothes.

His temple was another matter. A swollen knot had risen beneath his hair where the club had struck him. He looked pale even in the dim light.

Sanji brushed green hair away from his forehead. “Zoro.”

Nothing. 

His fingers lingered in Zoro’s hair. “Come on. Wake up. Zoro.”

A few seconds later, Zoro stirred. He hissed and squeezed his eye shut before opening it again. For a moment, he stared blankly at Sanji. Then recognition returned. He tried to sit up quickly and obviously immediately regretted it. Zoro clutched his head and groaned. 

“Easy,” Sanji said, catching his shoulder. “You got hit pretty hard.”

“I know.” Zoro grimaced. “Saw it coming.”

“And still let him hit you?”

“I was under a horse.”

“Excuses.”

Zoro looked around. His posture went rigid. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Bandits?”

“Looks that way.”

Zoro immediately pressed his hands against the cage bars. “We need to get out.”

“Brilliant deduction.” Sanji had already reached the same conclusion. 

They checked the cage together. The bars were iron and set close enough that neither of them could squeeze through. The cage had a solid frame across the bottom as well as the top, so tipping it over and digging underneath wasn’t an option.

Sanji tested the door. Locked. He backed up as far as the cramped space allowed and drove his heel into it. The cage rattled violently. The lock held. He kicked again. Nothing.

“Stop,” Zoro muttered, pressing a hand to his head. “Before you bring the whole camp over here.”

Sanji lowered his leg. “Worth trying.”

Zoro sank against the bars. “I’m sorry.”

Sanji frowned. “For what?”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Sanji clicked his tongue. “You didn’t arrange for bandits to shoot your horse.”

“I knew the woods were dangerous.”

“The other option was riding straight down the main road where my brothers could catch us.”

Zoro looked down.

“This isn’t your fault,” Sanji said. “It’s shitty luck.”

Zoro pressed his fingertips carefully against his temple. “I think I would’ve preferred the Humandrills.”

Sanji huffed. “At least you know what to expect from them.”

“Exactly.”

Sanji turned his attention outside the cage. There had to be something they could use. Zoro’s swords were the obvious choice. If they tore strips from their clothes, tied them together, and weighted one end with a boot, they might be able to snag one and drag it closer. Maybe. Assuming the makeshift rope held. Assuming they could maneuver a sword through the bars. Assuming nobody noticed.

Too many assumptions.

Sanji checked his pockets again. Cigarettes. Lighter. Compass. The bandits hadn’t searched them thoroughly. They’d apparently taken the obvious weapons and the picnic basket and called it good. Sanji didn’t know what had happened to his own horse. Zoro’s was dead.

Movement appeared between the trees. Sanji went still. Two men carrying lanterns were walking the perimeter of the camp. They talked quietly as they approached, complaining about somebody’s card playing and whether there would be rain tomorrow.

Then they noticed that Zoro and Sanji were awake. Both stopped. One of them laughed. “Well, look who’s up.”

Sanji’s expression flattened. The man stepped closer to the cage and looked them over. 

“Too bad the boss says we can’t have any fun.” He grabbed crudely at the front of his trousers. “I’d love a turn with either of you.”

His companion laughed.

Sanji smiled without humor. “Your knot’s probably the size of my little finger. I doubt anybody would notice.”

The man’s face twisted. He kicked the cage. Sanji had hoped he might get stupid enough to come closer.

The second man caught him by the shoulder. “Forget it. Boss said leave them alone.”

“He insulted me.”

“And the breeding houses pay better if they’re in good condition.”

Sanji went still.

The other man looked at Zoro. “We’ll have a harder time getting much for the scarred one as it is.” Then his gaze moved to Sanji. “The blond one’ll bring a pretty penny if you don’t fuck him up.”

The first man spat through the bars. 

Sanji jerked away before it hit him. “Go choke on your own dick.”

They laughed again and continued along the perimeter. Sanji shouted another insult after them. Neither bothered looking back.

“Fucking bastards,” he muttered, then turned toward Zoro – and stopped.

Zoro’s eye was wide. His hand had risen to his neck, covering one of the heavy scent blockers he always wore.

“What?” Sanji said.

Zoro stared at him. “They’re going to sell us to a breeding house.”

Sanji frowned. “Me, yes. I’m an omega.” He gestured toward Zoro. “You’re an alpha and the prince of this country. Once they figure out who you are, they’ll probably ransom you.”

Zoro’s hand pressed harder against his neck. “But I’m an omega, too.”

Sanji stared. For a second, the words didn’t register. “What?”

“I’m an omega.”

Sanji’s thoughts stopped. 

Zoro. Huge, scarred, three-sword-carrying Zoro. 

Zoro, who fought Humandrills.

Zoro, who Sanji had spent the entire week assuming was an alpha.

Zoro – an omega.

And suddenly the contract amendment made sense. Any child physically borne by Zoro would remain a Roronoa. Sanji had spent days getting jealous because he’d assumed that meant Zoro intended to take other partners. It hadn’t needed to mean that at all. 

Zoro’s breathing had quickened. “What if they don’t ransom me?” he asked. “What if they sell me, too?”

There was real panic in his voice. Sanji had never heard that from him before. Zoro had been irritated, embarrassed, happy, hurt, angry. Never afraid.

Sanji moved before he thought about it. He dropped onto his knees in front of him and put both hands firmly on Zoro’s shoulders. Zoro’s knees were drawn up between them in the cramped cage. “Hey.”

Zoro looked at him. Sanji held his gaze. “I’m not going to let that happen. We’re getting out of here.”

For the first time since Sanji had met him, Zoro looked genuinely frightened. Something fierce rose in Sanji at the sight. He already knew he felt more for Zoro than friendship. He’d known it when jealousy twisted through him at the thought of Zoro taking other partners. He’d known it when leaving Kuraigana started hurting before he’d even gone. He’d known it when Zoro promised to write. 

Maybe he hadn’t wanted to put a name to it. He didn’t need one now. Alpha or omega didn’t matter. Zoro was Zoro. And Sanji was getting him out of this cage.

“We’re getting out,” he repeated.

Zoro watched him for another moment, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Sanji squeezed his shoulders once and turned back toward the door. He inspected it more carefully this time. The lock itself was substantial, but the hinges were on the outside. Sanji leaned closer. Simple pin hinges. Old ones. The cage door had two iron straps ending in rolled knuckles around vertical hinge pins. If Sanji could drive those pins upward, the door could come free from the hinge side without touching the lock. He could reach them through the bars. He just needed something narrow and strong enough to get beneath the bottom of the pins.

Sanji checked his pockets again. The compass was useless unless he broke it apart, and even then the metal was too thin. “Zoro, you got anything in your pockets?”

Zoro blinked, then started checking. His hand disappeared into one trouser pocket. He paused. “Oh.”

“What?”

Zoro pulled something out. The short-handled rock pick. It was the same compact tool Zoro had carried at the quarry, short enough to fit into a deep pocket. One side had the small flat hammer face; the other narrowed into a pointed pick. The bandits had taken three swords and somehow left him armed with geology equipment.

Sanji held out his hand. “You and your precious rockhounding.”

Zoro passed it over. 

Sanji looked at the pointed end, then at the hinges. “I could kiss you.”

Even in the dim light, Zoro flushed. 

Sanji stretched one arm through the bars. The angle was miserable. He had to press his shoulder against the cage and twist his wrist to reach the lower hinge, but he managed to work the narrow pick beneath the bottom of the pin. He levered upward. Nothing. 

Sanji adjusted his grip and tried again. The pin shifted.

Zoro leaned closer. “Can you get it?”

“I will.”

Sanji worked slowly, rocking the pick beneath the pin and levering it upward a little at a time. Metal scraped quietly against metal. He paused whenever the sound seemed too loud. Eventually the pin lifted far enough for Sanji to catch it between two fingers. He pulled. The pin came free. “One.”

Zoro’s expression brightened.

Movement flashed beyond the cage.

“Guard,” Zoro warned.

Sanji pulled his arm back immediately. He handed the pick to Zoro, then reconsidered and took it again. “Give me room.”

There wasn’t much room to give. Sanji sat directly in front of Zoro, hiding most of him from view, and tucked the rock pick beneath his thigh against the dark ground.

The two guards approached again. Neither stopped this time. The crude one grabbed himself through his trousers and leered. Sanji gave him a look of pure disgust. The man spat toward the cage, then they kept walking.

Sanji waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. The lantern light moved farther through the trees.

He pulled the pick back out. The upper hinge was harder to reach. Sanji had to stand in a crouch and put almost his entire arm through the bars, stretching until his shoulder protested. The pick caught beneath the pin. He levered. It moved. Again.

The encampment remained mostly silent behind them. The cooking fire had gone dark. A horse shifted near the larger shelter and stamped once. Wind moved through the high branches. Sanji kept working. The pin rose. Finally, it came loose.

Sanji caught it before it hit the ground, and exhaled. “Both out.”

Zoro shifted onto his knees. 

“When I get this door loose, we move fast,” Sanji told him.

Zoro nodded.

“Your swords are right there. Grab them first.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to pull the hinge side toward us and slide the door sideways. The lock’s still dropped, but if there’s enough play in it, we should be able to clear the frame.”

“And if there isn’t?” Zoro said.

“Then I kick something until it does.”

Zoro almost smiled.

Sanji gripped the iron door. “I’m serious. Once we’re out, straight for the swords, then the woods. We don’t stop.”

“I trust you.”

Sanji looked at him. Three simple words. Something fierce tightened inside his chest again. Zoro trusted him. After everything.

Sanji curled his fingers more firmly around the door. He was getting Zoro somewhere safe. Whatever it took. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Sanji pulled. The hinge side shifted toward him. The lock held the opposite edge loosely against the frame, but there was enough room once Sanji angled the door. He lifted carefully. The weight surprised him. Zoro caught the lower edge before it could drop. 

Together, they eased it free. Sanji leaned it against the outside of the cage rather than letting it fall. Then he squeezed through the opening. Zoro crawled out immediately behind him. Sanji turned and put the door back into position. He slipped one of the hinge pins loosely through. From a distance, it looked closed. That might buy them a few seconds if the guards glanced over without approaching. Probably not much more.

“Go,” Sanji said.

Zoro ran to his swords. He gathered all three, sliding them into the belt at his waist, then ran back to Sanji. 

Sanji caught his hand. Then they ran. 

They plunged into the forest without a light. The darkness swallowed almost everything within a few yards. Sanji kept moving anyway.

Branches caught at his clothes. Ferns brushed his legs. Roots rose unexpectedly beneath his boots. Behind them, the lights of the encampment flickered between the trunks. Sanji focused on putting distance between those lights and Zoro.

He held Zoro’s hand tightly.

Zoro’s palm was warm and damp in his. His breathing remained rough behind Sanji, but he kept up. They ran until the lantern glow disappeared completely. 

Sanji stopped behind a thick tree. Both of them bent over, breathing hard. “Wait.”

He pulled out his lighter and compass. The flame illuminated the needle for only a few seconds. Sanji oriented himself. He knew where Kuraigana’s coast was in relation to the isthmus and port. “We’re going northeast.” He snapped the lighter closed.

Zoro looked into the darkness. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Sanji said. “I don’t want to risk a light yet. You good running in the dark?”

“I’ll follow you.”

“Keep an ear out for Humandrills.”

“I will.”

“Anything else, too.”

Zoro tightened his hand around Sanji’s.

“Keep up,” Sanji said, then they started running again.

He did his best to keep them away from trees and avoid the larger roots, checking the compass whenever they stopped long enough to risk the lighter. 

As they moved, his mind kept returning to the same thing.

Zoro was an omega.

The clues had been there. The way Zoro had arranged Sanji’s bed almost automatically before catching himself. The nesting. The cooking. The sewing. The way he cared for the residence wing and fussed over Sanji whenever he was hurt. The traditional romance novels. His complete scent suppression. The heavy blockers and cologne that hid every trace of what he actually smelled like.

Sanji had seen all of it. He’d simply interpreted everything through what Judge had told him. Alpha Prince Zoro. 

He wondered whether Zoro hid his dynamic because of exactly what had almost happened tonight. A large, capable alpha prince could travel through dangerous territory with relatively little concern about being taken for a breeding house. An omega prince was a different target entirely.

Zoro had his reasons. Sanji could ask later. Right now, it didn’t matter. If Zoro had been an alpha, Sanji would still have pulled those hinges apart. He still would have fought his way through the camp for him. He still would have held his hand while they ran.

Maybe the revelation changed what Sanji understood about Zoro. It didn’t change what he felt.

They continued for close to another hour before Sanji finally judged the risk of a little light worth taking. He found a dry branch, wrapped his handkerchief around one end, and lit it. The makeshift torch wouldn’t last long. It was enough for now.

They moved faster with the ground visible. The flame threw enough light over the roots and low brush to keep them from stumbling, though the woods still pressed close around them. Tall trunks rose on either side, black against the weak orange glow, with ferns and moss crowding the ground beneath them. The air had grown cooler as they traveled, carrying more damp and salt than before.

Eventually Sanji heard something different beneath their footsteps. Water. Waves. “We’re close to the coast.”

Zoro listened. “Yeah.”

It made sense. The bandits needed supplies. A camp somewhere between the coast and the inland roads gave them access to both travelers and whatever could be moved by boat.

The trees gradually thinned. Pines gave way to lower scrub and wind-bent brush, and the ground became rockier beneath their feet. The smell of salt strengthened. Somewhere ahead, waves struck the shore in a slow, regular rhythm.

Then they broke out of the forest. The coastline stretched ahead beneath the dark sky, a narrow strip of pale stone and coarse grass running between the woods and the water. Low cliffs broke the shore in places, their edges dark against the sea. Farther out, the water was almost black beneath the cloud cover, with only a dull sheen where the sky reflected across it.

To the north, Sanji could make out the narrow land around the isthmus, little more than a darker shape dividing sea from sea. The border. The place he’d spent days trying to reach. He could cross it, right now. Keep going north. Disappear. 

Sanji looked at Zoro. Zoro’s clothes were dirty and torn. Blood had dried near his temple. He was limping slightly after being trapped beneath the horse, even though he kept trying to hide it.

Sanji looked toward the isthmus again, then east along the coast. The port was that way. Safety was that way. For Zoro. “We’re going to town.”

Zoro looked at him. “The border’s right there.”

“I know.”

“This was the plan.”

“The plan changed when a bunch of bandits tried to sell you to a breeding house.”

Zoro opened his mouth.

Sanji cut him off. “We get you somewhere safe first.”

Something moved across Zoro’s expression. He nodded. “Okay.”

They followed the coast east. It took another two hours. They stayed near the shoreline whenever possible, using the water to keep their direction and avoiding the main road in case the bandits were searching for them. The cloud cover helped hide them, though it made the night darker.

Eventually, lights appeared ahead. Kuraigana’s port town. Sanji had seen it only briefly when his family arrived. At night, it looked larger.

Lanterns lined the main streets and harbor. Warehouses stood near the docks, their broad doors facing the water for cargo coming off the ships. Shops and taverns filled the streets farther inland, with residences built above some of them. Masts crowded the harbor, and even this late, men still worked along the piers preparing several vessels for departure with the morning tide. Most of Kuraigana’s trade passed through here, including its wine. 

A guard station stood near the entrance to town. Two guards straightened when Zoro approached. “Your Highness.” Then they noticed his condition. “What happened?”

“There are bandits in the woods,” Zoro said immediately. “We were attacked and captured. We got out.”

Both guards became alert. One glanced at Sanji, apparently catching the omega scent beneath the dirt and seawater. “Were they taking captives for the breeding houses?”

“Yeah,” Sanji said.

The guard’s expression hardened. 

“I need to contact Mihawk,” Zoro said.

“This way, Your Highness.”

They were taken into the guardhouse, a small stone building with a desk, weapon racks, a few bunks farther back, and a Den Den Mushi stationed beside a ledger.

Zoro called the castle. Sanji stood nearby while he explained. Bandits. The ambush. The cage. Their escape. The port.

When he finished, Mihawk’s voice carried faintly through the receiver. “Remain there. I will come for you.”

Zoro hesitated and his gaze went to Sanji. “What about Judge?”

Sanji’s attention sharpened. A pause. Mihawk answered. “Judge is already at the castle looking for Sanji.”

Zoro looked at him. Sanji nodded once in understanding.

“Okay,” Zoro said into the receiver, then disconnected. He turned toward the guards. “We’re going to wait at the tavern. When my father arrives, tell him that’s where we are.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

They left the guardhouse.

Sanji expected Zoro to choose one of the taverns along the main street. He didn’t. Zoro kept walking. Straight ahead, for once. Toward the docks.

Sanji realized where they were going when they reached the waterfront. Ships lined the piers. Some were secured for the night. Others were still loading. One merchant vessel near the far end had men already casting off lines.

Zoro stopped. “You have to go.”

Sanji looked at him. “Your father’s coming.” 

“And Judge probably won’t be far behind once he finds out where we are.” Zoro nodded toward the ships. “Get on one before that happens.”

Sanji stared across the harbor. One of the merchant ships was preparing to leave. He had money. He could pay for passage. Or work for it if he had to. This was what they had been trying to accomplish all week.

“Yeah, I should,” Sanji said quietly. He turned back to Zoro. “You’ll be safe?”

“Yeah.” Zoro gave him a tired smile. “I’ll tell Judge you went to the restroom.”

Sanji laughed softly. His chest hurt. “I’ll write. As soon as I can.”

Zoro’s smile faded into something gentler. “I know.”

Sanji studied him for a moment. Zoro, an omega. Sanji still hadn’t entirely wrapped his head around that. It didn’t matter. He knew one thing clearly. He was going to miss him for reasons that had very little to do with friendship. “Don’t let anybody sell you fool’s gold.”

Zoro’s mouth curved. “I won’t.”

“You better not.”

“You better go.”

Sanji looked toward the merchant vessel. The last line was being untied. He turned back to Zoro. “Take care of yourself.”

“You, too.”

Sanji started toward the ship. After several steps, he stopped and looked back.

Zoro still stood beneath the harbor lantern, green hair tangled, clothes dirty and torn from the woods, dried blood at his temple. His expression was held tight, giving little away.

Sanji lifted one hand.

Zoro did the same.

Then Sanji turned and hurried toward the departing ship.

Zoro stood on the dock and watched the ship leave.

Sanji had made it aboard. The crew finished hauling in the last lines, and someone pulled the gangplank back onto the deck. Sailors moved quickly beneath the harbor lamps, calling to one another as they prepared to clear the pier.

Zoro stayed where Sanji had left him.

The harbor was still busy despite the hour. Water knocked against the pilings beneath the dock. Lanterns burned along the waterfront, their light catching on wet boards and the sides of moored ships. Somewhere farther down the quay, cargo was still being loaded onto a vessel bound south in the morning.

None of it held Zoro’s attention.

The merchant ship began to move. His hands curled into fists. He’d known this was going to be hard. He hadn’t realized how hard.

His chest hurt. His throat tightened until every breath came rough, and every instinct he had screamed at him to stop Sanji from leaving.

Sanji was supposed to go. That was the entire point. He was finally free. Judge couldn’t blow off his hands. His brothers couldn’t drag him back if they didn’t know where he’d gone. In a few minutes, Sanji would be outside Kuraigana’s harbor and headed somewhere Germa wouldn’t look for him.

Zoro should have been happy for him. Instead, he could barely breathe.

The ship moved farther from the dock. One of its smaller sails caught the wind and filled.

Something broke loose inside Zoro. A keen rose from his throat. Loud. Painful.

Zoro clapped a hand over his mouth, but it did nothing to stop the sound. Another followed, higher and raw enough that his throat hurt.

People along the docks turned. Zoro didn’t care. He couldn’t stop. He’d held his omega instincts in check through the escape plan, through the ride into the woods, through the long night that followed. Even when Zoro had watched Sanji walk toward the ship, he’d managed to stand there and let him go.

Apparently seeing Sanji actually leave was different.

His mate was going away.

Zoro knew Sanji wasn’t his mate. His body didn’t seem interested in the distinction. The keen carried across the dark water.

A figure appeared at the stern of the departing ship. 

Zoro couldn’t make himself stop keening.

The figure climbed the rail and jumped. He disappeared over the side. A splash broke the harbor surface.

Zoro lurched toward the edge of the dock. For a few terrible seconds, he saw only dark water. Then a blond head surfaced and started swimming toward shore.

Zoro’s keen broke around something that might have been Sanji’s name.

By the time Sanji reached the dock, his hair was plastered against his face and his clothes clung to his body. He caught the edge of the pier and hauled himself up, boots scraping against the wood. He closed the remaining distance fast, caught Zoro, and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sanji said. “I’m here, my omega. I’m here.”

Zoro buried his face against Sanji’s neck. Orange blossom. Tobacco. Salt water. Sanji. He breathed him in deeply.

The keen finally started to falter. The next sound came smaller, followed by another, until all Zoro could manage was a rough sniffle against Sanji’s throat.

Sanji held him through all of it. One hand rested between Zoro’s shoulder blades. The other cradled the back of his head, careful of the injury near his temple.

Zoro’s fingers tightened in his shirt. “You were supposed to go.”

Sanji gave a soft huff near his ear. “I’m supposed to ignore it when my mate calls for me?”

Zoro went still as his breath caught for a completely different reason. He lifted his head. “Mate?”

Sanji met his gaze squarely. “If you’ll have me.”

Zoro’s chest gave a painful little squeeze. 

Sanji’s expression stayed serious despite the water dripping from his hair and running down his face. “I’m still an omega.”

“I don’t care.” The answer came out immediately. Zoro pressed closer even though there was barely any space left between them. “I want you.” His voice caught. “Only you.”

Something in Sanji’s expression eased. He raised one hand and rested it against Zoro’s cheek. “Then you have me.”

Then, he leaned in and pressed his lips gently to Zoro’s.

Zoro had read hundreds of kisses in romance novels. First kisses. Mating kisses. Desperate kisses in doorways and gardens and bedrooms. He’d wondered what his own would feel like often enough to embarrass himself. None of those thoughts helped him now.

Sanji’s lips were warm despite the cold harbor water. Zoro’s eye fell shut. His hands stayed clenched in Sanji’s wet shirt. Zoro felt the soft kiss down to his toes and his lips tingled where they touched.

When Sanji withdrew, Zoro could still feel the pressure of his mouth. Sanji traced his thumb along Zoro’s jaw. Zoro leaned into the touch again.

Then reality caught up with him. There was still something Sanji didn’t know. Something that could change all of this. Zoro swallowed. “I have to tell you something.”

Sanji’s thumb paused. “What?”

“My scent.” Zoro’s stomach tightened. He almost wished he could take the words back. “It’s bad.”

Sanji waited.

“I mean really bad.” Zoro touched one of the blockers at his neck. “That’s why I cover it completely. It isn’t pleasant. I don’t know if you’ll be able to stand being around me without these.”

There. He’d said it. Sanji could still change his mind. There were other ships he could get on, still in the harbor.

Sanji looked at him for a long moment, then one corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ll chance it.”

Zoro blinked. “You will?”

“I just jumped off a moving ship because you made one sad noise.”

“It was more than one.”

“I know.” Sanji pressed his palm tenderly against Zoro’s cheek before his expression sobered again. “I’m more concerned about what my father’s going to do when he finds me still here.”

It was a problem. A very large one. Zoro thought about the signed agreement. “Then we’ll get married.” His face heated the instant he heard himself say it.

Sanji’s eyebrows rose.

Zoro pressed on. “That’s what Judge wants.”

Sanji’s mouth slowly curved at one corner. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“And he thinks you’re an alpha.” Sanji glanced toward the harbor, then back toward him. “So as long as nobody corrects him...”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

The idea settled between them. Judge would get his marriage. Just not the marriage he thought he was arranging. Zoro felt a small, vicious satisfaction at that.

Sanji’s hand was still on his cheek. Zoro covered it with his own. “I’m really glad you’re not leaving.”

Sanji stepped closer until their foreheads touched. “So am I,” he said, voice softening. “So am I.”

They ended up waiting in one of the port taverns for Mihawk and Judge to arrive. By then, several hours had passed since they’d escaped the bandit camp. Sanji’s clothes had dried stiff in places from salt water, sweat, and dirt, and Zoro’s weren’t much better. Sanji had managed to get a new pack of cigarettes and lighter, since his had been soaked. The tavern was warm and crowded enough to make the contrast with the night outside noticeable, with low beams overhead, scarred tables, and a fire burning near the back wall. The air carried beer, smoke, cooked meat, and the faint muddle of scents escaping cheap blockers worn by the sailors and travelers packed into the room, talking over drinks and late meals while Zoro and Sanji sat together near one of the windows.

Zoro had already finished one mug of beer and was halfway through another when the door opened and Mihawk entered. His gaze found Zoro immediately, then moved to Sanji. He didn’t say anything about Sanji still being there. “I’m glad you’re both all right.”

Zoro nodded.

Judge came in behind him, already looking irritated. He seemed prepared to find Sanji gone. Seeing him still sitting beside Zoro visibly threw him off. For a moment, he said nothing. Then his expression settled. “Yes. We’re very glad both of you are all right.”

Sanji’s mouth tightened slightly, but he didn’t answer.

Mihawk had already arranged for a physician in town to examine them before they left. Zoro had bruising from the horse falling across him, along with a swollen temple and a headache that had earned him strict instructions to rest. Sanji had the lump at the back of his head, several fresh bruises, and enough scrapes from the woods to need cleaning, but neither of them had anything broken. The physician had also asked, as routinely as he’d asked about vomiting or blurred vision, whether either of them had been bitten, forcibly scented, or injured around their glands while they were captive. They hadn’t. 

By the time they were cleared to leave, the night had grown late. Mihawk had brought a small open carriage rather than the enclosed one used for formal travel, with a raised seat in front and a canopy overhead. He took the reins himself. Judge rode in a separate carriage.

Zoro climbed into the carriage with Sanji beside him. The horses started forward, carrying them out of the port and onto the coast road. For a while, nobody spoke.

The road curved along the cliffs before turning inland, dark woods stretching away on the other side. The sky remained overcast, though the clouds had thinned enough in places to let through a little moonlight. Sanji sat close enough that their shoulders brushed.

Zoro glanced toward Mihawk. “We’re getting married.”

Mihawk looked back at him. Then at Sanji. Then returned his attention to the road. “Very well.”

That was it. No surprise. No argument. No questions.

Zoro exchanged a glance with Sanji. Sanji’s mouth curved. Zoro shifted closer until his shoulder pressed fully against Sanji’s. Then, after a second, he let himself lean into Sanji.

Sanji adjusted without complaint and settled against his side.

The horses carried them toward home.

Once they were back at the castle, Judge Vinsmoke swept Sanji away almost immediately, insisting that he needed to comfort his son and personally make certain he hadn’t been harmed.

Zoro caught Sanji’s hand before he could go. His fingers held on for a few seconds longer than necessary.

Sanji squeezed them once. “I’ll be fine.”

Zoro reluctantly let him go.

Judge noticed. Sanji could tell by the way his eyes narrowed, though he waited until they were well away from the residence wing and back among the guest chambers before saying anything. “Why do you smell like the sea?”

Sanji resisted the urge to look down at himself. His clothes had dried hours ago, but apparently a swim through the harbor left evidence. “We had to get away,” was all he said.

Judge studied him. “I would be taking you back to Germa for punishment if I hadn’t seen that alpha clinging to you.”

Sanji’s jaw tightened. “We’re getting married,” he said flatly. “We’re going to be mates.”

A pleased smile slowly crossed Judge’s face. “Apparently you can follow orders.”

Sanji said nothing.

“Now get out of my sight. But if I catch even a whiff of the two of you leaving the castle grounds again, I’ll lock you up until the day of the wedding.”

Sanji gave him a withering look, turned on his heel, and left without another word. He didn’t slow until he reached the residence wing. Zoro was waiting just beyond the main door.

“Are you okay?” he asked immediately. “Did he say anything? Is he taking you away?”

Sanji pulled him close. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Zoro pressed against him at once.

“You and I are going to get married,” Sanji continued. “We’re going to become mates.”

Zoro stayed there for a moment, tucked against him. Then he pulled back, sounding serious. “There’s still something we need to deal with. Because you might change your mind.”

“I don’t think anything could change my mind about you.”

Zoro made a despairing face. “Come with me.”

He led Sanji down the corridor toward his chambers. Or attempted to. Sanji realized after the second wrong turn where Zoro was trying to go and quietly steered him toward the correct staircase. Zoro pretended not to notice.

Once they were inside Zoro’s rooms, he stopped. “Wait here.” Then he disappeared into the adjoining bath and shut the door behind him. 

Sanji poured himself a drink from the decanter while he waited and set out a second for Zoro. He knocked back the first quickly, then poured another and took his time with it. He was still a little chilled from his plunge into the harbor despite having dried hours ago. A hot bath and clean clothes would probably be smart before he managed to catch something. 

He finished off his second drink, then lit a cigarette, standing by the window he cracked open. By the time Zoro returned several minutes later, Sanji was halfway through it.

Zoro stepped through the doorway shirtless, wearing only the dark trousers he’d had on earlier. Sanji knew immediately what he’d done. The scent neutralizer was gone. So were the blockers. Zoro’s natural scent filled the room.

Sanji stopped with the cigarette halfway to his mouth. 

Pungent. That was the first word that came to mind. Heavy floral notes rolled through the room, unmistakably omega but nothing like the sweet orange blossom Sanji carried. Zoro smelled of paperwhite narcissus or crown imperial in full bloom, rich and musky with a sour, sulfurous stink underneath that reminded Sanji of skunk spray and overripe flowers. 

It was powerful. Sanji smoked enough that his sense of smell had never been particularly good. Years of cigarettes had dulled it, especially compared with someone who didn’t smoke. He could still smell Zoro easily. 

Nobody would mistake that scent for an alpha’s. Alpha scents tended toward spice, earth, leather, smoke, woods. Omega scents were floral or sweet. Zoro was definitely floral. Unfortunately, his flowers stank.

Sanji wouldn’t pretend the smell didn’t affect him. It did. It was strong enough to sit heavily at the back of his throat. But Zoro stood near the bathroom doorway looking nervous, his shoulders tight and his eye fixed on Sanji’s face, waiting for the reaction he’d clearly spent years expecting. Somehow, he looked smaller.

Sanji stubbed out his cigarette, then he crossed the room. Zoro didn’t move. Sanji wrapped both arms around his waist and pulled him close. He lowered his head to the scent gland at Zoro’s neck and deliberately breathed in.

Zoro went rigid in his arms.

Sanji took another slow breath. “Truthfully?” he said.

Zoro swallowed. “Yeah.”

“It’s not pretty.”

Zoro gave a startled laugh.

Sanji went on. “But I don’t give a shit.”

The tension started draining from him.

“You sure?” Zoro asked. “I know it’s pretty terrible.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Sanji straightened but kept both hands at Zoro’s waist. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Zoro’s mouth turned up.

“We’ve all got something that isn’t perfect,” Sanji continued. “I smoke like a chimney.”

“You do.”

“Thanks.”

“You brought it up.”

Sanji snorted. “Also, I think I suck at being an omega.”

Zoro’s expression changed. A little shy. “I’ve always wanted to just be an omega mate,” he admitted. “Take care of my spouse.”

That explained quite a lot, actually. Sanji had been taught enough old courtship etiquette to recognize it now that he knew what he was looking at. The food. The extra pillows. Offering to mend his clothes. Keeping his favorite drinks and snacks around. Tending his bruises whenever Sanji let him. All the little ways Zoro had been trying to take care of him were traditional omega gestures. Sanji had spent the entire time thinking Zoro was simply an unusually domestic alpha.

Sanji smiled. “See? It’s already working out.” 

He leaned in and brushed another kiss against Zoro’s lips. Zoro kissed him back.

When Sanji drew away, he glanced toward the bathroom. “Let me use your bath, and then do you want to find out what two omegas can do in bed?”

Zoro’s face went crimson. Then he put both hands against Sanji’s chest and shoved him toward the bathroom. “Hurry up.”

Sanji laughed and disappeared inside.

The wedding took place two months later. That gave Mihawk enough time to send invitations across Kuraigana and farther abroad, mostly to allies he considered worth trusting with news of his son’s marriage and a few he wanted to rub their noses in.

Sanji had spent the two months before the wedding in the residence wing, though he still hadn’t moved into Zoro’s rooms. That had been Zoro’s decision. Traditionalist apparently meant traditionalist in every sense. Sanji knew the old etiquette well enough. His tutors had drilled it into him along with everything else – who could enter an omega’s nest, when sharing it carried courtship meaning, and how much weight an invitation into a mate’s private space was supposed to hold. Zoro actually cared about all of it.

Sanji had been allowed into the suite. He’d spent plenty of evenings there. They kissed constantly, made out on Zoro’s bed, and had done enough fooling around that Sanji knew exactly how red Zoro could turn when he whispered something filthy into his ear. They’d learned plenty about each other without crossing the one line Zoro wanted to save for after the wedding. Sanji still slept in his own room afterward. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sanji had told him once.

Zoro, already pink around the ears, had answered, “I want to do this properly.”

Sanji had kissed him again and let him have it.

So on the morning of the wedding, Sanji dressed alone. The clothes Mihawk had commissioned were formal without being stiff, cut close through Sanji’s shoulders and waist and worked with subtle embroidery at the cuffs and collar. The colors were pale enough for a wedding but stopped well short of anything Judge would have called excessively omega.

The flowers were another matter. Lavender had been woven through a narrow crown with small white blossoms tucked between the stems. Sanji turned it once in his hands before settling it over his hair. Traditional omega wedding flowers. Zoro had chosen them. 

Sanji smiled at his reflection. “Precious bastard.”

Mihawk had opened the old chapel for the ceremony. Sanji had only seen it once before, when Perona had shown him around the castle during the first week. Then it had been dark, dusty, and mostly unused. Now the place barely resembled itself.

The stone floor had been scrubbed. Old wax had been scraped from the candle stands and replaced with fresh tapers. The narrow windows had been cleaned until the gray daylight actually passed through them. Lavender and greenery had been tucked along the ends of the benches and around the small handfasting table at the front.

Guests filled the benches on either side. Mihawk’s allies occupied most of the front rows. Perona sat near the aisle in black and white, looking far too pleased with herself. Being beta meant she had none of the scent concerns that came with packing so many alphas and omegas into the chapel. The Vinsmokes had been given respectable places close enough to satisfy Judge without granting them any importance beyond what diplomacy required.

Judge looked smug. Sanji tried not to ruin the ceremony by punching him. He stood at the front beside the handfasting table and waited.

The chapel doors opened, and Sanji forgot about Judge entirely.

Zoro entered beside Mihawk. His wedding clothes were pale instead of the dark colors he usually favored, mostly white with soft pink worked through the embroidery at the collar, cuffs, and sash. Unmistakably traditional. His swords were absent for the ceremony, though Sanji knew all three waited in the residence wing. Around his head rested a crown of lavender and small white flowers, the same as Sanji’s.

Sanji’s chest tightened. Zoro looked nervous. He also looked happy. Very happy. And very omega.

Anyone who knew what they were looking at could see it in the choices. The flowers. The way Zoro had dressed. The fact that he approached the handfasting table with his hands empty and his head slightly bowed until he reached Sanji. The old omega courtship customs he’d insisted on keeping wherever he could.

Zoro’s scent gave nothing away. The blockers were hidden beneath his collar and cuffs, and his usual neutralizer had been applied thoroughly before the ceremony. Beneath that sat the spicy cologne everyone already associated with him.

Judge shifted in his seat. Sanji noticed immediately. The man’s smug expression faltered as Zoro came to stand opposite him. His eyes went to the flower crown. Then to Sanji’s. 

“What’s this?” Judge muttered.

Mihawk, stepping toward his seat, looked toward him. “Tradition.”

Judge frowned. Mihawk said nothing else. Sanji had to bite the inside of his cheek. Of all the lies Mihawk had told during the last few months, calling Zoro’s omega wedding customs a Kuraigana tradition might have been his favorite.

Zoro’s eye met Sanji’s. His mouth twitched.

The officiant stepped forward before either of them lost composure. The handfasting cord rested across the table between them, braided from white, soft pink, and yellow ribbons, with narrow strands of lavender woven through it. Traditional omega colors for both of them. 

Sanji held out his hands. Zoro placed his over them. The officiant began wrapping the cord around their joined wrists. Once. Twice. A third time. The knot settled between them.

Sanji looked down at their bound hands. He’d spent years having things fastened around his wrists because somebody else wanted control over him. The explosive bracelets. Restraints. Judge’s ownership dressed up as family obligation. This felt nothing like that.

Zoro’s thumb brushed against the side of his hand. Sanji looked up. Zoro was watching him.

The officiant began the vows. They were simple. Commitment. Protection. Household. Loyalty. The promise to treat the other’s body, name, home, and future as something entrusted rather than possessed. 

Sanji liked that part.

Zoro went first. His voice was low at the beginning, then steadied. “I take you as my mate. I’ll keep your home with you, share what I have, care for you when you need it, and stand beside you when you don’t.”

Judge’s brow furrowed again. Sanji almost smiled.

Zoro continued. “I’ll give you honesty. I’ll give you loyalty. I’ll make a place for you in my home and my life for as long as you want it.”

Traditional omega wording. Home. Care. Place. Zoro offered it without embarrassment.

Sanji loved him for that.

The officiant turned to Sanji. Sanji tightened his fingers around Zoro’s. “I take you as my mate. I’ll protect what we build together, care for you when you need it, and trust you when you tell me you don’t.”

Zoro’s eye softened.

“I’ll give you honesty. I’ll give you loyalty. I’ll make a place for you in my home and my life for as long as you want it.” Sanji deliberately used the same words.

Zoro’s lips parted slightly. Sanji smiled at him. If Zoro wanted to be traditional, Sanji could meet him there.

The officiant tied the final knot. Their hands remained bound as they exchanged rings. Then came the kiss.

Sanji leaned in first. Zoro met him halfway.

Applause filled the chapel. Perona cheered loudly enough to earn a look from Mihawk. Sanji didn’t care. For several seconds, neither did Zoro. By the time they separated, Zoro’s face had gone pink beneath the lavender crown. Sanji wanted to kiss him again just to make it worse. Instead, he settled for murmuring, “Pretty.”

Zoro’s blush deepened.

The reception filled the grand ballroom afterward. Tables had been arranged beneath the tall windows, leaving the center of the floor open for dancing. Lavender and white flowers from the chapel decorations had been carried through here as well, worked into greenery along the tables and window ledges. Hundreds of candles brightened the room. Food covered the long serving tables. Wine from Kuraigana’s vineyards disappeared almost as quickly as bottles could be opened. 

There were speeches. There was dancing. There were far too many people wanting to congratulate them. Judge spent most of the evening looking satisfied with himself. Sanji found that almost funny now.

Judge believed his omega son had successfully married an alpha prince. Judge believed any future children Sanji physically bore would strengthen Germa. Judge believed the contract had worked exactly as intended.

He had no idea that both members of the marriage were omegas. No idea that Zoro’s wedding flowers meant exactly what they appeared to mean. No idea that Mihawk’s convenient “tradition” had allowed Zoro to marry exactly as himself while standing in front of a room full of people who still thought otherwise.

Sanji hoped Judge remained ignorant for a very long time.

Eventually, the expected part of the evening arrived. The newlyweds were allowed to disappear.

Sanji followed Zoro into the residence wing, where the noise of the ballroom gradually faded behind them. Zoro was quiet on the walk. Sanji knew him well enough now to recognize nerves.

When they reached Zoro’s suite, Zoro stopped just inside the door. For the first time, Sanji was entering knowing he wouldn’t be sent back to his own room later.

Zoro touched the flowers still resting in his hair. “They’re probably crooked.”

“They’ve been crooked for hours.”

Zoro frowned. Sanji laughed and pulled him closer. “Leave them.”

Zoro’s hands settled at his waist. 

There was another tradition waiting between them – the mating itself.

Zoro had been very clear about what he wanted from that, too. Traditional. Sanji hadn’t teased him when he admitted it. Much. Zoro’s face had gone scarlet anyway.

Now he looked nervous again.

Sanji touched his cheek. “Still want this?”

Zoro nodded. “With you.”

Sanji leaned in and kissed him. “Good answer.”

Later, when the lavender crowns had been set aside and the formal clothes lay abandoned, Sanji got exactly what he wanted from the night – Zoro’s mating bite.

And Zoro, blushing furiously despite everything they’d already done together, got the traditional mounted mating he’d wanted from Sanji.

Afterward, Zoro touched his bite every few minutes, as if reassuring himself it was really there. 

By the time the Vinsmokes finally left Kuraigana several days later, Judge had returned to threatening Sanji about maintaining the marriage, producing heirs, and remembering what was expected of him.

Sanji listened with considerably less fear than he once would have. He stood beside Zoro while the Germa party prepared to depart.

Judge gave him one last hard look. “Do not ruin this.”

Sanji glanced at Zoro. Zoro wore his usual blockers again. His swords were at his hip. He looked exactly like the alpha prince Judge believed Sanji had married.

Sanji reached over and took Zoro’s hand. “I don’t plan to.”

Zoro’s fingers threaded through Sanji’s. Sanji squeezed them.

For once, Judge Vinsmoke had gotten exactly what he wanted. He simply had no idea what he’d actually arranged.

A little over a year later, Sanji was still living at Kuraigana Castle. The separate room he’d occupied during their courtship had been abandoned almost immediately after the wedding. His clothes had migrated into Zoro’s wardrobes, his cigarettes appeared in dishes near the windows, and his books had started filling the gaps between Zoro’s rock guides and ridiculous collection of traditional omega romances.

Zoro didn’t wear his scent blockers nearly as often anymore, even if he still used neutralizer. Sanji wasn’t going to lie and claim he’d learned to love Zoro’s scent. He hadn’t. He smoked more, opened windows when the weather allowed it, and occasionally buried his nose in his own sleeve when the smell got particularly strong.

Zoro called him an asshole. Sanji kissed him anyway.

They figured it out. Which, Sanji had discovered, covered most of how marriage worked.

He was standing in Mihawk’s study one gray afternoon when the Den Den Mushi on the desk adopted Judge Vinsmoke’s scowl. He’d been working with Mihawk on vetting new glass suppliers when the call came. He thought Mihawk would pass the Den Den to him, to deal with Judge, but he hadn’t. 

Sanji understood why Judge was calling immediately – apparently, Judge had finally decided to check on his investment. 

“Yes,” Mihawk said, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m aware it’s been more than a year.”

Sanji leaned against the edge of the desk, failing at not rolling his eyes at the conversation.

“It is not my concern that your son hasn’t gotten pregnant,” Mihawk continued. “And, as you know, according to the amendment we signed, any children my son bears are Roronoas.”

The Den Den Mushi’s face tightened. “I’m aware of the contract.”

“Then I fail to see the problem.”

Judge bristled through the snail. Sanji grinned. They had never told Judge that Zoro was an omega. At this point, Sanji hoped they never did. No one outside the family knew, either. Zoro spent most of his time indoors now, anyway, and with his blockers and neutralizer, there was little reason for anyone to question what they’d always assumed. 

Judge had apparently spent the last year believing Sanji had simply failed to get pregnant. Sanji was mildly surprised there hadn’t been a letter yet accusing him of being useless, frigid, or not spreading his legs often enough for his alpha husband. He was sure one would arrive eventually.

“Is there anything else?” Mihawk asked with polite disdain.

A pause. “No. Keep me informed if there are any changes.”

“Very well.” Mihawk disconnected the call. The Den Den Mushi relaxed. Mihawk looked at Sanji. “Your father is annoying.”

Sanji snorted. “Understatement.”

He turned toward the sitting area. Zoro occupied one corner of the couch with his feet propped on a cushion and a bowl of popcorn balanced on the considerable curve of his stomach.

Pregnancy suited him.

He’d taken to it with the same enthusiasm he brought to everything domestic, reading everything he could find, rearranging parts of their rooms for the pups, sewing far more tiny clothes than any infant could reasonably need, and arguing with Sanji whenever Sanji suggested he might want to sit down for five minutes.

Today, at least, he was sitting.

Sanji crossed toward him. “Need anything, love, before I get back to the vineyard paperwork with your father?”

Zoro looked into his bowl, then waved him away with greasy fingers. “I’m good.”

Sanji smiled at him. His husband. His mate. Pregnant with their pups. 

Sometimes Sanji still found the whole thing absurd. Judge had spent years treating him as a stain on the Vinsmoke name, locking him away until he finally decided Sanji’s omega status could be useful for an advantageous marriage. And somehow, after all of that, Sanji – the unwanted Vinsmoke omega – had ended up being the one who impregnated his mate. 

It still made him grin whenever he thought about it.

Zoro’s sterilization had made the reverse impossible anyway. Whatever had been done at the orphanage had ensured he couldn’t impregnate anyone, though it had never affected his ability to carry pups himself. It had worked out rather conveniently.

Their lives had settled into roles neither Judge nor Sanji’s old instructors would have predicted. Sanji had never become particularly interested in being a traditional omega. Instead, he’d ended up helping Mihawk manage the vineyards.

He’d started out learning to understand the accounts and shipments after asking if Mihawk needed a hand with anything, then became interested in how the grapes were grown, harvested, pressed, fermented, blended, and aged. Within months, he’d gotten involved in nearly every part of the process. According to Mihawk, he was good at it.

Zoro, meanwhile, had gotten exactly what he’d always wanted. He kept their home. He cooked, cleaned, managed the household stores, repaired whatever needed mending, filled their rooms with things he’d made, and was already planning how he wanted to arrange the nursery.

Sanji handled the vineyard. Zoro handled them. They were both perfectly happy with that arrangement.

Sanji had no desire to thank Judge for anything. Ever. Still, if the bastard hadn’t tried to marry him off for political gain, Sanji might never have ended up in Kuraigana. He might never have met Zoro.

So Sanji had sent Judge a card at Yule – that was as much gratitude as he was getting. 

Zoro reached into the popcorn bowl, found it empty, and frowned.

“You knew it was almost empty,” Sanji said.

“I was hoping it had changed.”

Sanji snorted. “You want me to make you more?”

Zoro considered it, then shook his head. “Think I’ll nap.” He set the empty bowl aside, rested one hand over the curve of his stomach, and closed his eye.

A few moments later, a soft, contented purr filled the study.

Sanji’s heart lifted at the happy, peaceful sound rising from his mate.

End