I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The air in Zarius’s private chambers felt cold. It was thick with the cloying, medicinal stink, a smell that had become his unofficial scent over the last few months.

Zarius was propped up against a mountain of pillows that looked far too soft for a man who usually slept on stone. He looked... well, he looked like hell. There’s no polite way to put it. Every breath he took sounded like a rusted gate swinging in the wind.

On the nightstand, looking entirely too cheerful for the current situation, sat a scroll sealed with the golden sun of the Empire. A royal decree. A ”gift” from the King.

”A betrothal,” Elios grunted, his voice sounding like two boulders grinding together. He was standing by the hearth, though even the roaring fire didn’t seem to touch the frost in his eyes. ”He’s sending a... what? A leftover?”

Flio was quiet per usual, before then he looked up. ”It’s Cherion,” Flio finally blurted out. ”Your Grace, surely you’ve heard the talk? He’s not just some random noble. He was His Highness’s shadow. The Crown Prince’s... well, his most dedicated hanger-on.”

Zarius shifted, a low hiss of pain escaping his teeth as the movement agitated the rot in his chest. His eyes looked strangely hollow. ”I am aware of the name, Flio. I haven’t lost my hearing along with my health.”

”But to send him?” Flio pressed, his hands waving around like he was trying to catch the logic out of the air. ”The King is basically tossing us a used glove. Everyone in the capital knows the boy was infatuated with the Crown Prince. Obsessed, even. The rumors say he’d follow the Prince into a fire just to get a pat on the head. And now, suddenly, the King decides he’s the perfect match for the Great Wolf of the North? It’s an insult. It’s a total, blatant slap in the face.”

Elios stepped forward. ”You can’t possibly agree to this, Your Grace. You’re the Duke of the North. You’re the only thing standing between the whole Empire and the monsters at the wall. You can’t let them treat you like a dumping ground for the Crown Prince’s unwanted baggage.”

Zarius let out a shallow, rasping laugh that turned into a coughing fit. It took a moment for him to settle, his chest heaving. ”And what would you have me do, Elios? Send the scroll back with a polite note saying ’No thanks, I’d rather die in peace’?”

”I’m serious,” Elios growled.

”So am I,” Zarius countered, his voice suddenly sharp as a razor, despite the weakness. ”His Majesty has played his hand perfectly. If I reject this marriage, I am officially a rebel. I give them the excuse they’ve been salivating over for a decade to march up here and ’stabilize’ our borders. I am dying, not stupid.”

He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. The shadows under them looked like bruises. ”Besides... I want to know why.”

Flio tilted his head. ”Why what?”

”Why him?” Zarius murmured. ”The boy is the last of his line. His family was loyal to the Crown to a fault, almost suspiciously so. Why would the King part with the last scion of a loyal house? There is a motive here. Something deeper than just clearing out the palace pantry or getting rid of a lovesick boy.”

Elios snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. ”The motive is probably that the boy is a nightmare to live with and the King is tired of hearing him whine about Yerel. I’ve heard it. They say he’s got a personality like a winter thorn. Arrogant, prone to screaming fits if his tea is the wrong temperature, and completely, utterly delusional when it comes to the Crown Prince. They say he’s a brat, My Lord. A spoiled, sun-drenched brat who’s never seen a drop of sweat in his life.”

”A bad personality is the least of my concerns,” Zarius said, a small smirk pulling at the corner of mouth. ”They think they can send their ’used’ things up here to watch me rot. They think he’ll be a useful spy, or perhaps just a nuisance that keeps me from focusing on the wall.”

”He’ll be a disaster... probably,” Flio muttered.

”Perhaps,” Zarius said, opening one eye to look at his two most trusted men. ”But he’s coming to the North. He’s coming to my house.”

He paused, a sudden, heavy silence settling over the room. The wind rattled the windowpanes, a reminder of the unforgiving wasteland just outside the glass.

”Let him come,” Zarius continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low vibration. ”A little omega like him? He won’t be able to do as he pleases in this palace. He’ll either be useful, or he’ll freeze. It’s quite simple, really.”

Elios looked like he wanted to argue, to shout, to shake some sense into his Duke, but he saw his face. It was the same look the Duke had when he was leading a charge into a pack of shadow-beasts. He was so determined that nothing in this world could change his mind.

”If he tries anything...” Elios started, the threat hanging heavy.

”Then I’ll deal with it,” Zarius interrupted. ”If he’s a spy, I’ll find the leak. If he’s a brat, I’ll break his spirit. I don’t care if he spends his nights crying over the Crown Prince’s portrait. He is a hostage of fate now, just like the rest of us.”

The two men then walked toward the door, leaving Zarius to lay on his bed. His mind was a mix of pain and cold strategy. He didn’t know Cherion. He didn’t care about his past or his broken heart. He just saw a potential variable, a complication sent from the Palace that he intended to monitor until it either proved its worth or withered in the cold.

But for now, the Duke just waited. He waited for the cold to take him, or for the boy to arrive. Whichever came first.