Help! Five Beast Alphas Want To Breed Me!!(BL)

Selthía;

I remain on my knees long after Zethar leaves.

The training field becomes void of sound, of heat, of purpose... Even the wind seems to hesitate, as though unsure whether it is allowed to touch me. My sword lies where it fell, half-buried in grass, and the metal dulled by dirt and shame.

Too late.

The words echo in my mind louder than any explosion ever could.

I press my palm to my chest, hopelessly trying to soothe the ache that threatens to tear me apart. This burning... shameful ache and hurt in my heart.

What was I thinking?

Elián encouraged me, and I charged forth like a horse in battle. I charged foolishly! What was I thinking? That I’d say sorry and all would be fixed??

Zephan has always been an emotional child. He may have grown into a distant man, but I know that’s a lie... a facade he put up to protect his heart.

Zephan feels deeply. And it’s a miracle he forgave me. Was I truly expecting the same of Zethar? My very stubborn... broken child.

I have survived war councils, blood-soaked scenes, and the weight of the crown I never wanted, pressed too early upon my head. I have survived burying my other half...

But this?

This is a different kind of wound.

I knew this would not be easy. I knew Zethar would not forgive me simply because I had finally found the courage to try to make things right. And yet, some foolish, fragile part of me had hoped that honesty might soften the blade... his blade.

Instead, it sharpened it.

I bow my head and bury my face in my palms.

I let myself breathe... and cry.

Suddenly, retreat seems like a bold, alluring alternative. The instinct is old. It is the same instinct that taught me distance was safer than devotion... that restraint could save me, and the boys from a love I didn’t know how to give.

I will not let it take me again. I will not let... distance be my response to a situation that demands my devotion.

I rise slowly, brushing grass from my palms, and cowardice from my heart.

My hands tremble, but I do not stop them. It isn’t a weakness. It’s proof that I still feel. That I feel deeply about the boys. More than I ever knew to admit.

I understand.

Zethar is not cruel. He is wounded. He forged himself because he believes dullness or softness is danger. He learned early that rage protects better than longing.

Unfortunately, I did that...

Not intentionally. But intent does not erase consequence.

Winning him back will not be done with apologies. He has outgrown words.

Zethar lives in action, in loyalty proven through blood and time. He does not want a mother... but he needs her.

If he will not accept a mother, perhaps he will accept something else.

Consistency? Presence...? Respect...

I will not reach out to him with grief in my hands like a weapon. No. For Zethar to give me a chance, I have to become someone he cannot ignore.

Someone who does not leave when he bares his fangs.

I straighten, as I struggle to strengthen my resolve, and then, suddenly... Arms wrap around me.

Although my eyes aren’t open, I instantly recognise that hold. That scent...

The sound leaves my chest before I can stop it. A sharp inhale—a broken breath. I stiffen instinctively, with years of discipline screaming at me to pull away.

But I don’t... I can’t...

Because I need this embrace. We both do.

Zephan.

He holds me gently, not like someone afraid I will shatter, but like someone who understands that strength sometimes needs somewhere to rest. His chin settles against my head, and I let myself melt into him... Into the child I never held as he’s holding me...

”I heard everything,” he says quietly, and I break.

”You shouldn’t have,” I whisper, with my voice thick with tears.

”I couldn’t help it. I had a feeling you’d need picking up after talking with Zethar.” He replies, and the smallest, weakest laugh escapes me.

To my horror, my eyes burn again, and I hold onto him, looking for an anchor to save me from drowning.

”He hates me,” I croak, and Zephan pulls back just enough to look at me.

His eyes are calm, steady, the same eyes that have always watched the world with a patience his twin lacks, and I reach up to caress his face. That face that dangerously mirrors Serenía’s face.

”No,” he whispers, and I tilt my head.

”He doesn’t hate you.” He adds, and I scoff bitterly.

”He said—” I begin, but Zethar cuts me off.

”He said he doesn’t need a mother,” He interrupts, and I blink.

”That’s not the same thing as hating you.” He adds, and I swallow.

”He is stubborn,” Zephan continues, with a faint smile tugging at his lips.

”Impossibly so. He learned early that if he hardened himself enough, no one could abandon him again.” He adds, and my throat tightens painfully.

”And you?” I ask, barely above a whisper, and arms around me tighten briefly as he smokes bitterly.

”I learned to hurt in silence.” He replies with a sad smile, and hurts more than Zethar’s anger ever could.

”I failed you both,” I croak in shame as my head drops.

”Yes,” he replies without sugar coating, and my heart skips a bit.

”But you are here now.” He adds softly, and I swallow.

I nod, tears slipping free despite my efforts, and he gently pats my back.

”I don’t know how to fix this,” I confess, and he scoffs.

”You won’t fix it,” he says, and my brows crease.

’I won’t?”

”You won’t. You’ll build something new. Brick by brick. And Zethar will pretend not to notice until one day he does.” He replies, and I smile. I lean into him, allowing myself this moment of weakness, and he does not rush me. He never does.

”I promise,” I say quietly as I focus on him, gently patting me.

”I will try. Not with words. With presence. With consistency. With... patience.” I promise, and he hums.

”That is all we ever needed.” He whispers, and guilt smacks my heart.

He hesitates, then shifts slightly, as if preparing to step away. Instead, he looks down at me with something unreadable in his gaze.

”Would you like to see something?” he asks, and I blink, confused.

”See what?” He tilts his head without saying anything, and I realise that it’s an invitation rather than a command.

”Come with me.” He coos, and curiosity flickers through the grief, faint but real.

He releases me and helps me stand up. Dust my dress, untie it, and let down its sleeves.

He waits for me, and once I’m done, he starts leading the way.

He does not move far... making sure to walk at my pace as we leave the training field. The castle grounds seem quieter now, as though it, too, is holding its breath in anticipation.

We walk through corridors bathed in afternoon light, past servants who bow and avert their eyes, past doors heavy with memory.

Zephan leads me toward a lesser-used wing of the palace, one I have not visited in years, and my brows knot.

”Zephan,” I whisper in confusion as I look about the wing that looks mostly untouched by time or the workers.

”Where are we going?” I question, but he keeps his gaze ahead.

”You’ll see.” He replies, and I swallow.

He soon stops before a door carved with serpentine patterns that have worn smooth by time.

He hesitates... and then pushes it open.

The room behind the door is modest. Simple. And beautifully sunlit.

I step in after Zephan, and then I see it.

A small space arranged with seemingly meticulous care.

Cushions placed just right. Shelves lined with old training manuals and little relics. On the far wall hangs a faded banner from the boys’ earliest days as princes.

And tucked carefully on a low table... is a child’s wooden sword.

Old, rough but well kept... and repaired more than once.

My breath catches violently as I recognise it.

The first gift I ever gave Zethar.

”He never threw it away,” Zephan says softly when he catche sme staring.

”No matter how many times he said it meant nothing.” He adds, and I step further carefully.

As if walking into a temple... towards an altar.

”He keeps everything... Even memories,” Zephan continues.

”He just pretends he doesn’t.” He adds in a whisper, and my eyes water.

I reach out, fingers hovering over the wooden blade, afraid to touch it.

”He remembers,” Zephan says. ”Even when he says he doesn’t care.” He adds, and tears slide down my face now.

”Then maybe,” I whisper, ”it isn’t too late?” I question, and Zephan meets my gaze, something warm and hopeful shining there.

”No, it isn’t.” He agrees, and I inhale deeply.

This will take time.

It will take restraint, humility, and a kind of courage I have avoided for years.

But for the first time since my sister died, I do not feel like I am standing outside the family I helped raise.

I straighten my spine and smile at Zephan.

”I will earn him back,” I say quietly, and Zephan nods, pride soft in his expression.

”And I will help you in every way I can,” He promises, and gratitude floods my heart.