I Married the 'Mad' Heir

Ch 57: The City

The morning was soft and golden. Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains of their bedroom, painting warm stripes across the rumpled sheets.

Orion woke up slowly, feeling a deep, quiet contentment. He’d slept well, dreamlessly. The worries that usually gnawed at the edges of his mind were silent for once. He lay still for a moment, listening to the peaceful rhythm of Abel’s breathing beside him.

Abel was still asleep, his face relaxed, one arm thrown over his head. In sleep, he looked younger, the lines of confusion and worry smoothed away. Orion watched him, his heart full of a tender, fierce warmth. This man. His husband. His strange, wonderful, complicated life.

He slipped out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake him. He padded to the window and pushed the curtains open wider. The sky was a clear, pale blue. Birds chirped in the manor gardens below. It was going to be a beautiful day.

By the time Orion had washed and dressed in simple house clothes, Abel was stirring. He blinked awake, his golden-brown eyes finding Orion immediately. A slow, sleepy smile spread across his face.

”Morning,” Orion said, smiling back.

”Morning,” Abel mumbled, stretching like a big cat. He sat up, his hair sticking up in all directions. ”It’s sunny.”

”It is. A perfect day.”

They spent the morning in their usual, comfortable routine, but today it felt lighter, sweeter. Orion helped Abel wash up, their movements easy and familiar. Abel hummed a tuneless song while he brushed his teeth. Orion made tea, the scent of bergamot filling their small sitting room.

They sat by the open window to drink it, the warm breeze carrying the smell of cut grass and blooming roses from the garden below. Abel sipped his tea, watching a pair of sparrows arguing on the windowsill.

”You’re happy today,” Abel said suddenly, his gaze shifting from the birds to Orion.

Orion paused, his cup halfway to his lips. ”Am I?”

”Yes. Your scent is... calm. Like still water. And you’re smiling with your eyes.” Abel tilted his head, studying him. ”Did something good happen?”

A flicker of guilt passed through Orion. He *was* happy. Excited, even. But he hadn’t told Abel why. He wasn’t sure how to explain it, or if he even should. It felt like a secret, a small, personal thing he wanted to keep close for just a little longer.

”Just a nice morning,” Orion said, avoiding Abel’s too-perceptive eyes. ”Good tea. Good weather. You.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Abel accepted this with a nod, though his eyes lingered on Orion’s face for a moment longer. ”Okay,” he said simply, and went back to watching the sparrows.

After tea, they went down for breakfast in the small family dining room. It was just the two of them; Abel’s father and stepmother were taking breakfast in their private apartments. The meal was simple—soft-boiled eggs, toast, fresh berries. They ate in companionable silence, the only sound the clink of cutlery on china.

Abel carefully buttered his toast, then offered half to Orion. ”For your happiness,” he said, as if sharing toast could transfer the feeling.

Orion took it, his chest aching with affection. ”Thank you.”

After breakfast, it was time to get Abel ready for his day. The children would be expecting him in the courtyard, and the guards had mentioned something about showing him the training dummies later.

Orion laid out Abel’s clothes: sturdy trousers, a soft linen shirt, a comfortable waistcoat. He helped him dress, smoothing down collars, fastening buttons. It was a ritual Orion had come to cherish. The simple, physical care of it. The trust Abel placed in him.

”There,” Orion said, stepping back. ”Handsome as ever.”

Abel looked down at himself, then grinned. ”Ready for adventures.”

”Have fun with Millie and the others. And don’t let Jax feed you too many biscuits before lunch.”

”I won’t,” Abel promised, already heading for the door. He stopped and turned back. He walked over to Orion, leaned in, and kissed his cheek, a quick, warm press of lips. ”Bye.”

Then he was gone, his heavy footsteps fading down the hall.

Orion stood there for a moment, touching his cheek where Abel’s lips had been. The simple gesture sent a wave of warmth through him. He smiled to himself, alone in the quiet room.

Then, he turned and walked back to their bedroom. His own preparations needed to begin.

He opened the wardrobe and took out the clothes he had carefully set aside the night before. Not his usual simple Omega attire. These were finer. A pair of well-tailored charcoal grey trousers. A crisp white shirt made of expensive cotton. A waistcoat of dark emerald green silk, subtle but elegant. A jacket to match the trousers, cut in the latest city style.

He dressed slowly, with more care than he usually did. He looked at his reflection in the tall mirror. The clothes fit him perfectly. They made him look... different. Less like the neglected son married off for convenience. More like someone who belonged in the world beyond the manor walls.

He ran a hand through his dark brown hair, trying to tame it. His green eyes looked back at him, bright with a nervous energy he hadn’t felt in years.

Today, he was going into the city.

And he was going to meet someone.

His pen pal. His secret friend of four years.

It had started so simply. Four years ago, Orion had been browsing a bookshop, a rare escape from his family’s watchful eyes. He’d found a small volume of poetry, bound in plain leather. *Whispers of the Sand and Stars* by ’Unknown scollar’. The name was foreign. The poems were unlike anything he’d ever read—full of vast deserts, lonely cities, and a deep, aching longing for connection.

On an impulse, a wild, foolish hope, Orion had bought the book. He’d read it in one sitting, hidden in his room. Then, heart pounding, he’d written a letter. Not to a publisher, but directly to the name printed inside the cover, care of a bookseller in the Central Empire. He poured out his thoughts on the poems, his admiration, his own feelings of isolation. He never expected a reply.

Three months later, a letter arrived. The handwriting was elegant, precise. The paper smelled faintly of sandalwood and old ink.

*To my thoughtful reader,* it began. *Your words found me in a distant city, under a different sky. You saw the heart of the verses, which is a rare gift...*

The famous ’unknown scollar’ had written back. A real letter. To him.

Since that day, they had been quietly exchanging letters. Once every few months, sometimes more. They wrote of books, of art, of philosophy. They shared fragments of their lives. Orion spoke of the changing seasons at his family’s estate, of his love for tea, of his quiet studies. He never mentioned his secondary gender, his family’s neglect, his impending marriage. That was a different world.

The scollar wrote of his travels through the vast Central Empire, of ancient libraries, of the scent of rain on hot stone. He was a scholar, a poet, a translator of dead languages. He wrote with a wisdom and a gentle melancholy that resonated deeply with Orion.

He was also, Orion had learned, an Alpha. It had never mattered in their letters. Their connection was of the mind, the spirit.

A month ago, a letter had come. The man was traveling. His work was bringing him to the western kingdoms, to Orion’s very city. He would be staying at The Gilded Quill, a reputable tavern near the scholars’ quarter.

*If it is not too forward,* the scollar had written, *and if circumstances allow, I would be honored to finally meet the person behind the words that have been a light to me these past years. Simply for a cup of tea, as friends.*

Orion had stared at that sentence for a long time. Fear, excitement, panic, hope—they had warred within him. Then, carefully, hiding his trembling hands, he had written back.

*I would like that very much.*

Now, the day was here.

Orion took a final look in the mirror, adjusted his cuffs, and took a deep breath. He picked up his cloak—a simple, dark grey wool—and left the room.

The journey into the city was a blur. He took a hired carriage from the manor gates, giving the driver the address of The Gilded Quill. He watched the countryside give way to outskirts, then to the bustling city proper. The sounds of carts, hawkers, and people filled the air. It was overwhelming and thrilling.

The carriage stopped on a cobbled street lined with tall, narrow buildings. The sign of The Gilded Quill swung gently in the breeze: a writing quill dipped in gold leaf.

Orion paid the driver and stepped out. His heart was hammering against his ribs. He smoothed his waistcoat, gathered his courage, and walked toward the tavern door.

He never made it inside.

Two Alphas, broad-shouldered and smelling of cheap ale and aggression, were lounging against the wall next to the entrance. They were dressed roughly, their eyes sharp and looking for amusement. They spotted Orion immediately—an Omega, alone, dressed a little too finely for the neighborhood.

”Well, look here,” one drawled, pushing off the wall. He had a broken nose and a mean smile. ”A little lost dove. Pretty feathers.”

Orion’s blood went cold. He kept walking, eyes forward, hoping to ignore them.

The second Alpha moved, blocking his path. ”Where you going in such a hurry? We’re just being friendly.”

”Please let me pass,” Orion said, keeping his voice level. He tried to step around him.

The Alpha with the broken nose grabbed his arm. His grip was like iron, biting through the fabric of Orion’s jacket. ”Not so fast. We’re talking to you.”

A jolt of pure fear shot through Orion. He tried to pull away, but the man’s hold tightened. The other Alpha laughed.

”Let him go.”

The voice was low, calm, and utterly cold. It came from behind Orion.

The Alphas looked past him, their sneers faltering.

Orion turned his head.

A tall man stood there, wrapped in a dark travelling cloak, the hood pulled up shadowing his face. All Orion could see was the firm line of a mouth and a strong jaw. And he could smell him—sandalwood, crushed lotus, and the dry, comforting scent of old parchment and ink.

A gloved hand reached out. It didn’t strike. It simply wrapped around the wrist of the Alpha holding Orion, the grip looking deceptively casual.

The Alpha grunted, his face twisting in pain. His fingers sprang open, releasing Orion’s arm.

”We were just—” the other Alpha started.

”leave, before i call authorities” the cloaked man said, his voice still quiet, with a beautiful melodic accent.