I Married the 'Mad' Heir

Ch 59: The Empty Room

The courtyard was full of noise and laughter. Jax was demonstrating how to hold a training sword, his giant hands making the wooden blade look like a toy. Corin watched with rapt attention, mimicking the stance. Millie and the other children were playing a complicated game involving sticks and a chalk-drawn kingdom on the flagstones.

Abel was supposed to be the king of the chalk kingdom. He usually loved it. He liked assigning silly laws—”Everyone must hop on one foot!” or ”All cookies are hereby declared treasure!”

But today, the game felt flat. The sun was too bright. The laughter was too loud. A restless, itchy feeling had been crawling under his skin since mid-morning.

He kept looking toward the manor’s back entrance, the one Orion usually used when he came to check on him.

Orion hadn’t come.

He’d said goodbye after breakfast. He’d been happy. Smiling with his eyes. But he hadn’t said where he was going.

Abel tried to focus. Millie was arguing that the ”treasure” (a shiny river stone) should be hers because she invented the kingdom’s national anthem, which mostly consisted of humming.

”Abel? Your Majesty?” Willem tugged on his sleeve. ”You have to decide.”

Abel looked down at the boy’s expectant face. He looked at the chalk lines, the sticks, the serious business of play. The itchy feeling got worse. It felt like a string tied behind his ribs was being pulled tight, tugging him back toward the house.

”I have to go,” he said suddenly.

The children stopped. ”Go where?” Millie asked, her hands on her hips.

”Inside. I need to find Orion.”

”But we just started!” Toben complained.

”He might be...” Abel trailed off. He didn’t know what Orion might be. Reading? Resting? Sad again? The thought of Orion being sad somewhere alone made the tight string pull harder. ”I have to go.”

He didn’t wait for their protests. He turned and walked quickly across the courtyard, leaving the chalk kingdom and its disputes behind. Jax called out, ”Everything alright, Captain?” but Abel just waved a hand, not turning back.

The manor halls were cool and quiet after the sunny courtyard. His boots sounded too loud on the polished floors. He went straight to their rooms.

The sitting room was empty. The teacups from the morning had been washed and put away. The window was still open, the curtains fluttering.

”Orion?”

No answer.

He pushed open the bedroom door. The bed was neatly made. Sunlight fell across the empty space. Orion’s book was on the bedside table, a ribbon marking his page. But Orion wasn’t there.

A little thread of panic, thin and cold, started to unwind in Abel’s stomach.

Maybe the library. Orion liked the library, the quiet corner with the green armchair.

Abel walked faster now, his strides long. He passed a maid carrying linens. ”Have you seen my husband?” he asked, his voice coming out more urgent than he intended.

The maid shook her head, eyes wide. ”No, m’lord. Not since this morning.”

The library was a vast, hushed space of dark wood and towering shelves. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams. The green armchair by the fireplace was empty.

Abel stood in the middle of the silent room, turning in a slow circle. ”Orion?”

Only the quiet rustle of pages from an old librarian in a distant alcove answered him.

The cold thread in his gut became a knot.

He left the library, his pace turning into a jog. The kitchens? Sometimes Orion went to talk to Cook about meals, or to get honey for his tea.

The kitchens were a hot, bustling chaos of clanging pots and shouting cooks. Cook saw him and wiped her hands on her apron. ”Lord Abel! What can I—”

”Orion. Is he here?”

Cook looked around, as if Orion might be hiding among the sacks of flour. ”Haven’t seen him since breakfast, my lord. He didn’t come for his midday tea.”

Abel’s breath hitched. Orion always had tea at midday. Always.

He turned and ran back into the main halls, ignoring the startled looks from servants. The gardens? The rose garden, the herb garden, the pond?

He checked them all. The sunny spots, the shady benches. He called Orion’s name until his throat felt raw. Ducks paddled on the pond, unconcerned. Bees hummed in the lavender. There was no sign of his husband.

The panic was no longer a knot. It was a living thing, clawing up his throat, making his heart pound against his ribs like a trapped bird. Orion was gone. Orion was missing. Something had happened. He’d fallen again. He was hurt. He was lost. He’d left.

The last thought was the worst one. It echoed in the hollow, dark place that opened up inside him. He left.

His vision started to tunnel, the edges going dark and loud. He stumbled to a stop near the stable yard, bracing a hand against the warm stone wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe. Not now. Not the dark place. Orion needs you to find him.

”Captain?”

The voice was quiet, steady. Familiar.

Abel opened his eyes. Kaelen was standing a few feet away, his sharp grey eyes taking in Abel’s pale face, his heaving chest. The Omega guard was holding a ledger book, but his attention was fully on Abel.

Behind Kaelen, leaning against the fence of the training yard, were Loren and Aster. They had been watching a group of new recruits spar, but now they were both looking at Abel, their expressions shifting from casual to concerned.

”Abel,” Aster said, walking over, his voice low and calm. ”What’s wrong?”

”He’s gone,” Abel choked out, the words scraping. ”I can’t find him. I looked everywhere. The rooms, the library, the gardens. He’s not anywhere.”

Aster put a steadying hand on his shoulder. ”Who’s gone? Orion?”

Abel nodded desperately. ”He was happy this morning. Then he was just gone. He didn’t say. He always says.” The logic of it was breaking apart in his head. Orion told him things. Orion didn’t just disappear.

Loren sauntered over, his usual grin absent. ”Maybe he just went for a walk? Took a carriage into the city for some air?”

One of the younger stable hands, a beta boy who had been mucking out a stall nearby, paused his work. He wiped his brow, looking hesitant.

”Speak, lad,” Aster said, noticing him.

”Well, sirs,” the boy said, shuffling his feet. ”I... I did see Lord Orion earlier. Around late morning. He came down dressed real fine. Not his usual clothes. He hired one of the carriages from the stand. Gave the driver an address in the city.”

The city.

Abel stared at the boy. The city. Orion had gone to the city. Alone. Without telling him.

The relief that he wasn’t hurt or lost was instantly swallowed by a new, confusing wave of hurt. Why wouldn’t he tell him? Why would he go alone? The city was big and loud and full of people like the ones who had broken his horse. Like Ashford.

Kaelen, ever observant, exchanged a quick glance with Aster. ”Dressed finely? Did you hear the address?”

”The Gilded Quill, sir. In the scholars’ quarter.”

Aster’s brow furrowed. ”A tavern? What business would he have there?”

Loren whistled low. ”Meeting someone, maybe?”

The words landed in Abel’s gut like stones. Meeting someone. The happy smile this morning. The secret. Orion keeping something from him.

The dark, loud feeling was rising again, but it was mixed with something else now—a hot, sharp ache he didn’t have a name for. Jealousy. Betrayal. Fear.

”We should go,” Abel said, his voice strangely flat.

Aster studied his face. ”Abel, if he went to meet someone, he might not want—”

”We should go,” Abel repeated, cutting him off. There was an Alpha command in it, rusty from disuse but unmistakable. It wasn’t a request.

Aster sighed, then nodded. He looked at Loren and Kaelen. ”Saddle the horses. Quietly. We’ll take the back gate.”

They moved with the efficiency of soldiers. Within minutes, four horses were ready. Abel mounted Angel, his hands gripping the reins too tightly. Aster, Loren, and Kaelen mounted up beside him. No one spoke as they rode out through the service gate, turning their horses toward the city.

The ride was a blur of crowded streets and alien noise. Abel led, Angel pushing through the crowds with an insistence that mirrored his own. His eyes scanned every face, every figure, looking for a glimpse of grey-green fabric, dark brown hair.

The scholars’ quarter was slightly quieter, the buildings taller, adorned with signs of books and scrolls. Aster pointed. ”There. The Gilded Quill.”

It was a narrow, respectable-looking tavern with a swinging sign. They dismounted, tying their horses to a post a little way down the street.

Abel started straight for the door, but Aster caught his arm. ”Wait. Let’s be smart about this. If he’s in there meeting someone, charging in might not be... helpful.”

Loren, ever the scout, had already drifted to the side. The tavern had a large, multi-paned window looking out onto the street. The glass was wavy and old, but relatively clean. He peered inside, then stiffened.

He turned back to them, his face uncharacteristically serious. He jerked his head toward the window.

Abel’s heart was a drum in his ears. He walked to the window, Aster and Kaelen flanking him.

He looked inside.

The common room was hazy with hearth smoke and soft conversation. His eyes scanned the tables, past merchants, past a group of men debating loudly over a map.

Then he saw him.

Orion.

Sitting at a small corner table by the window. The sunlight fell on his profile, lighting up his fair skin, his focused expression. He was smiling. A real, gentle smile Abel hadn’t seen often enough.

And he was not alone.

Sitting across from him, leaning forward as if sharing a secret, was an Alpha.

A stranger.

He was tall, even sitting down. He had dark brown hair, almost black, that fell just past his shoulders. He was fair-skinned, handsome in a strong, understated way. A single silver hoop glinted at his left ear. He was dressed in black, his shirt open at the collar.

And he was holding Orion’s hand.

Their fingers were interlaced, resting on the wooden table between the teapot and the empty pastry plates. The stranger was saying something, his grey-green eyes fixed on Orion’s face, a soft, intimate smile on his lips. Orion was listening, nodding, his thumb absently stroking the back of the stranger’s gloved hand.

It was a simple gesture. A quiet, connected moment.

To Abel, standing frozen outside the window, it was a world breaking apart.

The noise in his head roared to life, drowning out the city sounds. The dark place swallowed everything. The happy morning smile. The secret. The fine clothes. The city. This stranger. Their joined hands.

Orion had come here. To be with him.

He took a step back from the window, bumping into Aster. He couldn’t breathe. The ache in his chest was so vast and sharp he thought it might crack him open.

He didn’t make a sound. He just stared through the glass at his husband, holding hands with another man, looking happier and more at peace than Abel had ever seen him.

Aster’s hand was on his shoulder again, a firm, grounding pressure. Loren and Kaelen were staring at the scene inside, their faces grim.

None of them spoke.

Outside The Gilded Quill, on the busy cobblestone street, Abel stood utterly still, watching the quiet betrayal in the sunlit window, and the world he had painstakingly built with Orion silently shattered into a thousand unrecognizable pieces.