I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The stone corridors of the Valtrane estate had survived centuries of sieges and bitter frosts, but they almost felt like they were trembling with how hard Zarius was moving. To the staff pressed against the walls, he wasn’t just their master, he was a terrifying, monochromatic blur of black silk and white face powder. A ”Monster Duke” exactly like the rumors said.

He wasn’t alone, though it felt like he was moving through the world by himself. Elios, Flio, and a frantic Marielle trailed in his wake like the tail of a vengeful comet. Behind them all, the guard who had delivered the message wheezed, his lungs burning from the effort of keeping pace with a man who was currently moving as if the world were ending.

Zarius didn’t hear the whistling Northern wind. He didn’t hear the clatter of boots behind him. His consciousness had narrowed down to a single, frantic fragment of a sentence, a single piece of information that cut straight through his usual calm.

Cherion. Something was happening to Cherion.

His heart, usually steady and controlled, was now pounding wildly against his ribs. He rushed toward the garden doors, his mind painting grisly, impossible pictures of what awaited him in the grey frost.

When he burst into the open air, he didn’t even feel the cold. His eyes swept across the courtyard, searching for a familiar figure, any sign that Cherion was okay.

He came to a sudden stop, boots scraping loud against the ground.

There. Cherion.

The boy was standing perfectly still, his back facing him, staring at something near the center of the yard. He didn’t look like he was screaming. He didn’t look like he was dying. But Zarius’s brain, bypassed by adrenaline, didn’t care. He lunged forward.

The impact was almost like a collision. Zarius seized Cherion’s shoulders with hands that were visibly, uncontrollably trembling. Before Cherion could even gasp a greeting, Zarius was spinning him around, checking him from every angle, movements quick and a little wild. He was checking for blood. Checking for tears in the fabric. Checking for a hidden wound or a bruise that shouldn’t be there.

”Cherion! Are you... speak to me! What happened? Where are you hurt?” The questions tumbled out of him, completely devoid of his usual aristocratic distance. He was turning Cherion this way and that, his eyes wide and wild.

Cherion’s hands, surprisingly warm, came up to catch Zarius’s wrists, pinning them in place. ”Your Grace. Stop. Please.” Cherion’s voice was a calm anchor in the Duke’s storm. ”I’m fine. I’m perfectly okay. Nothing happened to me. Look at me, I’m whole, and I’m right here.”

Only then did the tension leave Zarius’s frame, but it didn’t leave gracefully. It left like a snapped bowstring. He didn’t let go of Cherion’s shoulders, but his head dropped, his chin nearly hitting his chest as his entire upper body slumped into a heavy, silent bow of pure, agonizing relief. He stayed like that for a long second, his breath hitching in the cold air, just leaning into the reality that Cherion was safe.

A wet, pathetic, chattering groan finally punctured the bubble of their reunion.

Cherion casually lifted a hand, pointing a finger toward the fountain behind them. ”Oh, yeah... that happened,” he said, his tone was so flat, it sounded like he was pointing out something ordinary, not a man drowning in a fountain.

In the fountain, Philia was clawing at the stone edge, his fingers already turning blue. He looked less like a noble from the Capital and more like a half-drowned sparrow that had been put through a meat grinder of slush.

Marielle rushed to the edge, her concern evident as he looked at the mess. ”By the gods, what is he doing?” she asked. ”Is this some kind of palace custom we weren’t told about? Is this some kind of palace custom we weren’t told about? Or is he just trying to see if he can turn into an ice sculpture?”

Cherion, ever the diplomat, though a mischievous one, simply shook his head. He glanced at Philia, a small grin tugging at his lips. ”He just... lost his balance, Marielle. It’s quite slippery today, isn’t it? The ice can be quite treacherous if you aren’t watching your step.”

Reiner and Ezek, who had been standing guard nearby, stepped forward with guilty expressions. ”Your Grace, we apologize,” Reiner muttered, bowing low. ”It happened so fast. We didn’t manage to... intervene before he went over.”

Zarius didn’t even look at the fountain. He didn’t look at the shivering man who was currently turning a very unattractive shade of mauve. He just tightened his grip on Cherion’s shoulders. ”As long as it wasn’t you,” he muttered, his voice still thick with the remnants of his panic.

The Duke finally turned, his gaze fixing on the guard who had brought the news. The man looked like he wanted to disappear on the spot.

”You,” Zarius hissed. ”You told me Cherion was in danger.”

The guard, wheezing and clutching his side, struggled to speak. ”I...I didn’t finish, Your Grace! I only said Lord Cherion... I... I was trying to say Lord Cherion was in the garden with Lord Philia, but Lord Philia fell into the fountain! You ran before I could explain! It wasn’t Lord Cherion!”

Zarius’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened.

”And how difficult,” he said slowly, pointing toward the fountain where Philia was still clinging on for dear life, ”would it have been to simply say that he was the one who fell?”

The guard looked like he might actually collapse.

”I panicked, Your Grace!” he blurted out. ”Please... please remember, you were panicking too! You left before I could finish!”

There was a brief, dangerous pause.

Zarius just glared at him, his expression making it clear he wasn’t pleased, and that the guard’s delay wasn’t forgiven.

Elios stepped in then, his expression a mix of pity and irritation. He reached out and tapped the guard’s shoulder with a sympathetic, yet final, thud. ”Just give up,” Elios whispered. ”You’re wrong by default. Just take the loss.”

Zarius didn’t look convinced. His gaze lingered on the guard for a moment longer.

”Next time,” Zarius said coldly, ”if you have something truly urgent to report, try saying it clearly. Preferably about something that actually matters.”

Zarius turned his back on the guard, his eyes flicking momentarily to the fountain where Philia was still chattering his teeth uncontrollably. He looked at Flio.

”Flio. Take care of... that,” Zarius commanded, gesturing vaguely at the shivering heap of wet silk. ”Ensure he doesn’t die on Valtrane soil. I’m not in the mood for the diplomatic headache a dead noble would cause. Get him warm, get him out of sight, and keep him there.”

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, Zarius’s hand slid down from Cherion’s shoulder to his wrist, his grip firm and possessive.

”We’re going inside,” Zarius said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

He began to practically drag Cherion away toward the looming stone safety of the castle. He didn’t look back. He didn’t check to see if Philia had been hauled out of the slush.

He didn’t look back, just kept moving forward with long, quick steps, as if he truly believed that if he slowed down for even a second, the garden itself, or the very air of the North, might reach out and snatch Cherion back into the cold.