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Stiles hummed softly under his breath as he walked down the hall towards the royal throne room. He smiled and greeted the people he passed, occasionally stopping to make conversation and see how everybody was doing. There was an incredibly festive atmosphere enveloping all the werecreatures, magic users, and humans around, and it was infectious.
Christmas at the Hale Castle was the best thing. Don’t get Stiles wrong. He loved spending the holidays with his parents, but there was something about the Castle that just made everything seem so much more magical, exciting, and wonderful.
Stiles was the only child of Janusz ‘John’ Stilinski and Lady Claudia Scheim of Witcinder. John was the human Sheriff of Beacon Hills, one of the Hale Royal Family’s most important territories, and Lord Protector of the South Border, while Claudia was the Druid ambassadress for the five towns that made up the said South Border.
Stiles was a born Spark and while he had his pick of disciplines to dabble in, he decided to follow in his mother’s footsteps and become a Druid.
At first, Stiles had been content to work towards taking up his parents’ mantle as the ambassador for and guardian of the South Border. His training under his Mother’s old mentor had been going well and he had thought his life was set.
…But then, Derek happened in his life.
Or rather, Derek and his children happened in his life.
I. To Tree or Not to Tree?
Stiles waved in parting at the group of students he had been conversing with, trying to hide a yawn behind his other hand as he did so. He had stayed up all night looking through trade contracts and had fallen asleep at his desk sometime in the early morning. While the jolly mood around the Castle was lifting his spirits, he still felt sleepiness tugging at his mind.
He let out another jaw-cracking yawn as he meandered down the hall.
“Fell asleep on your desk again?”
Stiles whirled around, meeting Derek’s amused gaze.
His King looked handsome in a long -sleevedwhite shirt and a fitted waistcoat in red and black, the signature colors of the Royal Family. It was accented with gold buttons and a gold trim, and paired with sleek black trousers and boots.
Stiles felt he made a far simpler picture in comparison, dressed in a dark blue tunic, brown trousers and worn boots. Not that he’d wear anything else. He preferred the comfort of ordinary clothes to the robes those of his position usually had to wear.
“You should be lucky I have full control of my Spark, Your Highness, or I would have incinerated you to ashes where you stand.” Stiles’ threat would have been more effective had he not yawned the last few words.
“No, you would not,” Derek said, chuckling. “And for the umpteenth time, stop calling me Your Highness.” He stepped closer, breaching Stiles’ personal space, but Stiles was used to it. Werewolves had a different and very limited concept of personal space; Derek less so.
“So, what’s on the agenda today?” Stiles asked. “No trickster trio tailing you today?” He had to congratulate himself internally at that amusing play of words.
Derek’s lip twitched. “Actually, we need your help. It’s the tree.”
“Oh.”
Now that was a dilemma.
“Lead the way,” Stiles said.
Derek gently took Stiles’ hand in his and did so, and Stiles followed, trying to fight down the blush and the fast pitter-patter of his heart as their hands curled together seamlessly. He was thankful his magic hid most of his bodily functions.
When Stiles arrived at Derek’s quarters, things weren’t quite what he expected.
Because there it was, a massive evergreen tree sitting in the middle of Derek’s receiving room, but it was filled to the brim with flowers, baubles, stars, figurines, tinsel, crystals, and all manners of decorations.
Soft giggles broke through Stiles’ reverie and he almost didn’t catch the three bodies that threw themselves at him. No, wait, just two. The other one ran towards Derek instead.
“Stiles! Stiles! Do you like it?” Enzo asked, beaming widely at him.
Irish cooed. “Isn’t it the most beautiful tree ever?”
“I put my angel on there, Papa,” Levi said, arms around Derek’s neck.
“I see it,” Derek said, nuzzling his child’s cheek. “And I see Irish’s flowers and Enzo’s werebears.”
“Definitely the most beautiful tree I have ever seen, my darlings,” Stiles said, hugging the children in his arms tightly. “I love it.”
Seven-year-old Irish and the five-year-old twins, Levi and Enzo, were Derek’s children. They were orphans he had rescued last year from a massive internal pack war that engulfed the Zaphoni Pack and most of the adjoining territories in the Far South Region. The Hales had stayed far away from the debacle, but had offered help to the villages and towns that suffered in the aftermath.
Irish was their redheaded, green-eyed, gorgeous little flower. She was a silent one, and very few people were able to get her to come out of her shell. Those who knew her however, were aware that she had a mischievous streak a mile wide.
Dark-haired, blue-eyed twins, Levi and Enzo, were special ones. Levi was the calmer older twin and was a werewolf, while rambunctious Enzo was surprisingly human. As the were- gene was dominant, it was rare to find twins of different orientations.
Derek had taken in all three kids immediately when no one came forward as their guardian. Now here they were.
“I thought you said there was an emergency. I was expecting a bare tree and the children fighting over the decorations.” Stiles cast a suspicious look at Derek. “Your tree looks quite lovely, if you ask me.”
“But it’s not done yet,” Levi protested, waving a hand in the air.
“Yeah, yeah!” Irish jumped up and down. “We’re still missing a piece!”
Stiles laughed. “But I don’t think there’s even space to hang another decoration from.”
“Nuh-uh! We saved you a spot!” Enzo shouted.
Immediately, all three cubs scampered from their arms and headed towards the tree. Irish pulled on a free branch near the top at the very middle, a spot nestled between one of Levi’s angels and a small white and red bauble that Stiles guessed was Derek’s.
“Everyone in the family gets their turn to put their decorations on the tree.” Derek stepped close to Stiles, his large hand enveloping Stiles’ own. “You didn’t think we’d forget you, did you?”
Stiles blushed warmly. Oh, his poor heart just skipped a beat.
II. To Hunt Your Heart
Stiles was twenty-three years old and on his final year of Druid studies at the Academy when he met Their Royal Highnesses Laura and Derek Hale of the Royal Family. The two had been visiting the Academy at the time and caught Stiles at the private library doing research, unaware that he was a Druid mentee. Never one to back off, Stiles mouthed off at them, Royalty be damned.
To make matters more complicated, the Royals had duties at the Academy. What followed was six months of constantly arguing with Derek – which was surprisingly frequent considering the fact that they were under different mentors and should not have seen each other all that often.
Everything became much clearer later on when it turned out that Stiles had been recommended for the highest position a Druid could attain, and that Derek and Laura had actually been evaluating him all those months.
At the age of twenty-three, Stiles became a candidate to be a Royal Emissary.
At the age of twenty-seven, he was inducted into the Council of Royal Emissaries to the King.
And at the age of twenty-nine, he was also frequently called upon to look after said King and his children, not that Stiles minded.
“Stiles! Stiles! Do you see my dress? Do you like it?” Irish asked, twirling around to show off her pretty dress, with its red, mesh-sleeved top and black flared skirt. She had black ribbons tied around her wrists and red ribbons around her bare ankles, and her flaming hair was tied up into a bun.
“You look gorgeous, my flower,” Stiles said, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. “Are you excited for your first Yule Run?” Irish nodded excitedly at that. “Well, go get your brothers too, and then we can show your Papa how nice you all look.
Irish ran off to the twins’ room, calling for her brothers.
The Yule Run was a long-standing tradition across the kingdom. Werecreatures, humans, sparks, and all manners of creatures and orientations were invited and welcomed. Even the Royal Family took part and were the ones to lead and open the whole event.
Stiles was busy picking up Irish’s discarded clothing when he heard the door creak behind him.
“Your daughter’s dressed and ready, Your Highness,” Stiles said, gathering all the scattered ribbons. “The twins insisted they could dress themselves, which probably means we’ll have to check on them now before they wear their shirts inside-out.” He turned around. “Also, have you–”
His words died in his throat as he looked at His King before him.
“Stop calling me Your Highness.” Derek rolled his eyes with smile.
Derek was wearing a red and gold tunic with a high neck and short sleeves that showed off his forearms. A leather belt to match was around his trim waist, and underneath he wore black trousers. His feet were bare. His hair was brushed back and he looked so handsome and regal and just… Stiles’ face was warm and his heart was going a mile a minute.
“You look… you’re… the clothes are…” Stiles cleared his throat. “You look wonderful, Your High– Derek, you look absolutely handsome.”
“Thank you.” Derek looked slightly bashful but also pleased at Stiles’ reaction. He lifted an arm and Stiles only then noticed that he had a cape with him. “Might I request assistance with this?”
“Of course.” Stiles stepped forward, gently taking the cloth from Derek’s arm. It was made of heavy cotton and was a deep red in color, darker than the King’s clothes, while the inside was black. Emblazoned prominently in gold at the back was the Hale crest, the triskele.
Stiles fastened the clasp at the front and couldn’t resist fixing Derek’s collar gently and smoothing away the nonexistent wrinkles on his tunic.
“You look quite handsome,” Stiles said softly. “So regal and proper, my King.”
Derek smiled, warm palms coming up to hold Stiles’ wrist and then sliding down his arms to his shoulders to his waist. It made Stiles’ skin tingle underneath his far more modest brown tunic.
A loud clatter brought them out of their reverie.
“Papa! Stiles!” Enzo came crashing through the door, surprisingly dressed from head to bare toes. He was wearing a miniature version of his Papa’s outfit, minus the high collar and the cape.
“Don’t you look adorable?” Stiles cooed as the little boy threw himself into his arms. He nuzzled his cheek. “Where’s Levi?”
“Here!” came Levi’s voice. He was scurrying inside as Irish pushed the door open for him. In his arms was a blue cloth.
“Thank you for bringing it, son,” Derek said, holding his hand out.
Levi nodded as Irish let out an excited high-pitched giggle. Levi looked at Stiles with a grin. “Go on, Papa! Give it!”
“Give what?” Stiles asked, confused.
“I have something for you,” Derek said, holding out the blue cloth. “Here.”
Stiles took it and his eyes widened when he realized what Derek had given him.
In Stiles’ hands was a cloak similar to Derek’s, but lighter in material and was a striking royal blue, the color of the Royal Emissaries. Printed on the back was a golden triskele on the back, but more than that was it also showed the silhouette of the Nemeton, the Royal Emissaries’ mark.
“Derek,” Stiles gasped, hands stroking over the golden tree. “It’s absolutely beautiful. But I… I can’t.”
“You can and you will,” Derek insisted. “I had this made especially for you.”
“Now we all match!” Irish shouted, holding up her own cloak, much shorter and in the colors red, white, and gold. She held up two more for Levi and Enzo.
Stiles stuttered. “W-We do. I… um… but…”
Derek didn’t say anything, just took Stiles’ hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. He smiled.
“Let’s run together.”
Stiles said yes, naturally.
III. Fast to Feast
If there was one thing Stiles knew best to do other than magic, it was cooking.
He was sure the royal cooks were better than he, but he was still quite a magician in the kitchen, thank you very much.
And what better way to celebrate the Yule season than food?
So it was in the kitchens where the three Hale children found Stiles, working alongside the royal cooks in preparation for the Yule Feast.
And oh, what a feast they had planned.
All sorts of meat that had been roasting for hours, slathered in sauces, oils and herbs. There was a traditional seafood dish, a Western goose dish, bacon, potato dishes, rice, beans, all sorts of breads and cheese, and the tastiest scones, puddings, jams, cakes, and tarts. There were barrels of wine and ale for the adult weres, and desserts galore for the wee ones. There were also all sorts of fruits and some vegetables dishes too, because Stiles was nothing if not insistent on feeding growing wolves something healthy.
“Watcha making, Stiles?” Enzo asked, popping up behind him.
Thank goodness Stiles was used to little people suddenly appearing, or else they’d have had one disastrous incident.
“It all smells so good,” Irish said, appearing on his other side.
Levi pushed his twin aside to get a peek. “Is it for us?”
“It’s for everyone,” Stiles said, waving at the tray he had been helping prepare before they were taken to the Banquet Hall.
“Yes! I want some!” Levi cheered, standing up on his tiptoes in his attempt to reach the scones.
“Children, the Feast starts in an hour. You can’t eat so much or you’ll spoil your appetites.”
Everyone in the kitchen paused as Derek walked in.
“I wanna scone!” Levi complained, pouting.
“Me too, Papa!” Enzo and Irish said, and all three flashed their father begging eyes and quivering lips.
Derek Hale just about melted. His Royal Highness he might be, defender of the people, decorated war hero, well-respected diplomat, and utterly beloved by his people, but immune to his children, he was not.
Then again, Stiles Stilinski, Royal Emissary, and adviser to the king, was just as weak.
“Here, just one each,” Stiles said, handing each of them the smallest scones from the bunch. “Now out you get from this kitchen before you eat all the food up.”
All three scampered off, laughing and snacking.
“We both give in far too easily,” Derek said, chuckling under his breath.
“We do,” Stiles said. He took one more scone and handed it to His King. “Here, because I know you want some as well. Don’t deny it.”
Derek smiled and took the treat, holding onto Stiles’ hand for a few seconds longer.
“You will join us at the table,” he said. It was not a question.
“I will, after long as I get all these out,” Stiles promised.
The King walked out, happily munching on his treat just like his children.
“Oh, you are besotted,” one of the cooks said, smirking. “Tis the Yule season, Stiles. What better time to take a chance.” She winked and hustled out of the kitchens with her tray.
Stiles’ cheeks flushed in embarrassment as he followed after her.
The Feast seemed to go on for hours and hours, and yet the festivities never faltered. Stiles had never danced, ate, gossiped, laughed, and cheered so much in his life, as he celebrated with what seemed to be every person in the castle.
It went on and on until all of a sudden he found his gaze falling onto his King.
Their King had always been the silent, taciturn, and non-partying type, but everyone knew how much His Royal Highness loved Christmas. And Derek surely had not been idle during the entire affair. He was up and about, talking to everybody, sampling all the dishes, playing games with the pups, chatting with the Elders and the Emissaries, inquiring after the well-being of his people…
…and apparently dancing with his children.
“Come on, Papa! One more dance!” Stiles could hear Enzo shouting.
“Me too!” Levi waved his arms in the air.
Irish nodded in agreement. “And me! I want a dance too!”
“I only have two hands,” Derek said, laughing. He saw Stiles and held out a hand towards him. “Join us?”
And in that moment, Stiles felt a sudden surge of bravery.
He accepted Derek’s hand. “Of course, always.”
IV. The Most Valuable Present
The Royal Gardens were always beautiful and well-kept, but right now they were definitely something special: fairy lights around the bushes and the tree trunks, hanging bulbs from the branches above their heads, and crystal baubles scattered about that caught the moonlight and made everything glow.
Derek followed after Stiles silently and obediently, waiting for what the Emissary wanted to say when he requested a private conservation.
“I have a present for you,” Stiles told Derek calmly as he turned to his King.
Derek smiled, looking dashing and beautiful in the moonlight. “And I have several for you, as do the children. We can–”
“I would like to give you this one,” Stiles licked his chapped lips, “here, now, when it’s just the two of us, if you don’t mind.”
Surprisingly, Stiles wasn’t nervous. He knew he should be a nervous, stuttering wreck, but right now, he was calm, collected, and his heart was too full, too full of Derek and the children, to hide his feelings any longer.
“Derek, when I first met you, I was so frustrated by you,” Stiles began. “You were more than just my Prince and my Royal Liege, you were also a handsome, well-educated, stern, sarcastic, kind man. We argued constantly, yet it was fun and never with malice, and we got to know one another deeply until, in the end, I find that you have become the one person that makes me happy. And in the years that passed I came to love you more and more.”
Derek was staring at him, wide-eyed in amazement, and Stiles had to look away for a few moments to compose himself before he started doubting.
“It didn’t just stop with you. The kids – Irish, Levi and Enzo – they came into your life and mine, and I have loved them like they were my own. The four of you, you have become the center of everything in my life.”
“I just want you to know that, apart from some other gifts I do have for you, that my main gift for you this Christmas is, um, well, me.” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, looking down at his shoes. “And this extends to the children, too, but as their Father, I think you’re probably the one who would decide if I am welcome in your family…”
“Stiles.”
Derek was suddenly so much closer than before, hands coming up to cup Stiles’ face, forehead pressed against his, and Derek’s lips hovering just inches from his own.
Derek’s voice was a low and intimate whisper. “Do you really think, after all this time, that I did not love you or that I did not consider you my family? Do you really think that my family and my children do not love you just as much as I do?”
Stiles’ face was warm and his heart was beating so fast. “Er, um, I had hoped, but I didn’t… I’m just… I’m just an Emissary, and you are–”
Derek pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “A man, just a man, one so overjoyed that the love of his life loves him back, and loves his children too…” He leaned back slightly, looking over his own shoulder.
“…No matter how naughty they get.”
Stiles laughed as the children poked their heads out from one of the rose bushes. None of them looked the least bit sorry, and Stiles loved them all dearly.
“This is so romantic,” Irish giggled, clapping her hands.
Levi looked pleased as he asked, “Does that mean Stiles is Papa’s Mate now?”
“Does that mean Stiles is our Papa too?” Enzo asked loudly.
Stiles glanced at Derek, who smiled warmly. There was still a lot to be talked about, but for now…
“It means…” Stiles smiled. “It means I’m yours, and you are all mine.”
Cheers erupted all around and Stiles immediately found himself with an armful of children. He would have toppled over had Derek not been steady at his back to catch him, strong arms coming around to embrace them all.
“All I can say is finally,” Derek said, nuzzling Stiles’ cheek.
“Joyous Yule, Derek,” Stiles said, feeling his heart close to bursting with love for his little family. “I love you.”
“And I love you.”