I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

”Reiner, be honest with me, where does one acquire a high-quality dreamcatcher in this fortress, or do I have to weave one out of spite and old bootlaces?”

Reiner froze, hand hovering over the silver tea set, eyes wide. ”Wait... a dream-what now, Master Cherion?” His voice had that perfect mix of polite confusion and pure ”I have no idea what’s happening.”

Nothing... forget it,” Cherion said with a small, teasing smile, then immediately flattened his expression like a ruler had run over it.

The dream had left a bitter coating on the back of Cherion’s tongue, one that no amount of lukewarm tea could wash away. Standing by the tall, arched windows of his room, he watched the frost crawl across the glass in crystalline patterns. He was still reeling from the dawn. Not just from the Duke’s bad mood, but from the dream, that sun-drenched, dusty training ground where the original Cherion had wasted his youth chasing a shadow.

Stupid, he thought. How could you be so desperate for a glance from someone who looked at you like a stain on his boots?

He felt a profound, skin-crawling disgust for Yerel, but even more for Cherion’s pathetic devotion. It was like wearing a jacket three sizes too small, drenched in someone else’s bad cologne, and realizing no matter how hard he tugged, he couldn’t take it off.

Cherion shuddered hard, like he’d just touched something freezing. The shiver started at his tailbone and worked its way up, leaving him rubbing his arms like he was trying to scrub away a bad smell. He wasn’t even looking at Reiner, too busy trying to shake off whatever weirdness was crawling under his skin.

”Master Cherion? Are you alright? Is it too cold for you?”

Cherion startled, his head snapping up to see Reiner standing by him. The bubbly man was watching him with a look of quiet, paternal concern, his hands busy polishing a silver tray.

”I’m fine, Reiner. Just... thinking about how much I hate the morning,” Cherion lied, offering a tight, weary smile.

Reiner paused, his expression softening a bit. ”I mean, yeah, starting the day with training sucks, but you look like you’ve just seen a ghost or something.”

”More like a memory of one,” Cherion muttered, rubbing his temples. Before he could get another word out, the door creaked open. A young maid stood there, looking a little out of breath and like she had no idea what hit her with all the madness suddenly swirling around her.

”Lord Cherion? Forgive the intrusion, but your presence is required in the courtyard. The Royal Envoy has arrived, you’ve been requested and His Grace is already there.”

He shot a quick glance at Reiner before adjusting the collar of his tunic. The red sapphire necklace was still there, snug against his neck. As he stepped into the courtyard, the scene was an absolute mess. Royal porters were hauling crates stamped with the King’s golden crest, puffing out little clouds of breath that disappeared into the grey sky, like they were trying to be dramatic for no reason.

And there, right in the middle of the yard, stood Zarius, looking like a human-sized rock that someone had forgotten to move.

The Duke’s bulky training plate creaked and groaned with every step as he began barking rapid-fire orders at the knights about the baggage, his back as solid as a boulder.

”Ah, Lord Cherion joins us at last,” a man in a very expensive and impractical silk cloak announced. The Royal Envoy bowed with a flourish. ”As is the custom for the subjugation, His Majesty has sent provisions, fine spices and ingredients for warming broths, and several trunks of silk-lined winter wear to ensure your comfort.”

He gestured to the crates being opened, revealing rich, thick fabrics and bundles of dried herbs that smelled of the South. Then, the Envoy stepped aside to reveal a smaller, exquisitely carved sandalwood box.

”And, per usual, the Ever-Burning Hearth Stone,” the Envoy purred. As the lid was pried open, a soft, golden radiance spilled out, hitting Cherion’s face like a physical caress. Even from five paces away, he felt a wave of gentle heat wash over him.

Cherion looked at the stone, then at Zarius. Cherion couldn’t tell what was going through his head, but the air around the Duke felt like it was vibrating with a suppressed, violent energy.

The Royal Envoy also mentioned a few other things the King had sent, stuff for the subjugation and, you know, for surviving the brutal winter in the North. Then, with an overly dramatic flourish, the Envoy added, ”And, of course, letters from His Majesty,” pulling out two ridiculously thick envelopes like they were treasure maps or something.

Cherion opened the King’s letter first.

To my dear Cherion.

We have heard the reports of the frost beginning to take hold in the North. It worries us to think of you so far from the warmth of the palace. We have sent these small comforts to ease your first winter. Stay inside, keep the hearth burning, and know that your health is our priority. We await the day the spring thaws the roads so we may hear of your happiness in person.

Yeah, that’s... sweet, Cherion thought, staring blankly at the letter.

But then, the Envoy’s hand dipped back into his satchel one more time.

”And... another letter for Lord Cherion. From the Crown Prince himself.”

The air seemed to disappear in the courtyard. Cherion grabbed the second envelope, the Prince’s personal seal glaring at him like it knew something he didn’t. And then, he could feel everyone’s gaze on him.

Cherion broke the seal, expecting more of the sappy nonsense from his dream. Instead, his eyes scanned a masterpiece of arrogant condescension.

To my dearest Cherion,

I hope this letter finds you in good health.

It is my sincere hope that you are adapting well to your new station. The King was most concerned about your first winter.

I truly wish you a serene and ’nice’ life with the Duke; I have always heard he is a man of formidable... focus. We truly wish you a pleasant life with His Grace, even if the Northern winds are a bit harsher than Capital embrace. Do try to keep your spirits bright, it would be such a shame if you became as humorless as a stone statue in that fortress.

Stay safe, Cherion.

I pray the Northern chill doesn’t make you forget the sun entirely

Cherion let out a short, sharp chuckle. It was a sound of pure disgust. He shook his head, looking at the letter as if it were a particularly stupid piece of trash. Does this guy really think he’s being subtle? he thought, a smirk of genuine loathing tugging at his lips.

Zarius, however, didn’t seem to care for the context. He spoke to the Envoy, his voice a flat, tectonic rumble that cut through the air. ”Convey my thanks to the King. The North acknowledges his generosity.”

Cherion blinked. He hadn’t even finished folding the letter before Zarius turned and walked away. The Duke’s heavy black cloak snapped like a whip in the wind as he began barking rapid-fire orders to the knights about the baggage, his back a wall of unyielding stone.

”Your Grace?” Cherion called out, stepping forward slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he should be inviting trouble or just getting out of the way.

Zarius didn’t stop. He didn’t even flinch. The Duke moved through the crowd of knights, his presence a dark storm cloud that ignored everything in its path, specifically the man standing by the glowing golden stone.

Cherion’s hand dropped to his side, clutching the letter. He felt a wave of profound confusion wash over him. What on earth did I do now? he wondered, watching the Duke’s retreating back. Zarius was certainly not in a good mood, actually, he seemed to be in the worst mood Cherion had seen since he arrived in the North.

”Well,” Cherion whispered to the empty air, ”at least the stone is warm.”