I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

”I’m telling you, Lord Cherion, the Duke is going to absolutely lose his mind! He’ll love you even more in this outfit, if that’s even possible at this pace!”

Reiner was talking a mile a minute, full of energy. It was bright, loud, and honestly kind of exhausting for this early in the morning. He kept moving nonstop, hands everywhere as he tugged at the hem of Cherion’s shirt and smoothed down the shoulders of the vest. Meanwhile, Cherion just stood there like a wooden mannequin, trying to process the weirdly soft weight of the fabric against his skin.

No stiff, high-collared silks today. No gold-threaded embroidery scratching his collarbones raw. No suffocating layers of prestige. Instead, Reiner was fussing over a pair of sturdy dark trousers and a linen shirt so light it actually felt like his skin could breathe for once.

”What is this even supposed to be?” Cherion croaked, voice still rough from sleep as he let Reiner tighten a leather belt around his waist.

”Your armor for the day!” Reiner beamed, stepping back to admire his work before grabbing a thick, hand-knit wool vest. It was deep forest green, so dark it almost looked black in the room’s shadows. ”His Grace was very specific. ’Commoner clothes,’ he said. Though between us? This wool probably costs more than a merchant’s entire house in the lower districts. It is the First Date, after all!”

Cherion’s heart immediately went into full panic gymnastics mode.

He turned away from Reiner’s aggressively wiggling eyebrows and walked over to the tall, silver-framed mirror in the dressing room.

He didn’t see ”Villain Cherion” anymore. The tight, strained look of someone stuck in a script had eased. He looked... human. Maybe even approachable. Which was honestly a little unsettling. But still, as he adjusted the vest, he couldn’t ignore how the green made his eyes stand out. A small, accidental smile tugged at his lips.

The cold hit the moment he stepped outside. the kind of sharp Northern morning that made your lungs feel like they were being cleaned with mint. Cherion headed down the stone steps, his boots making a solid, satisfying thud on the granite, but stopped halfway when he heard raised voices.

Just a normal argument. Nothing fancy. Pure domestic chaos.

Near a plain, unmarked black carriage, a far cry from the gold-crested monstrosity the Valtranes usually paraded around in, Zarius and Marielle were locked in a low-voiced but viciously animated debate.

Marielle was at peak performance. Hands on hips, chin tilted like she was ready to fight gravity itself. ”This is blatant discrimination! Why am I being exiled to this freezing pile of rocks while you two get to wander around the city? I want to go with you, Brother!”

Zarius looked like a man seriously weighing the pros and cons of jumping into a frozen lake for peace and quiet. Arms crossed, massive frames casting a shadow big enough to block out half the carriage.

”It is not wandering,” Zarius replied. ”And it is definitely not for fun. I’ve told you three times, Marielle. Stay. Here.”

Cherion took a breath and tried to clear his throat. It was supposed to sound confident. It came out... soft. And kind of embarrassing.

Both siblings snapped their heads toward him.

Then came the silence. And yeah, it was awkward.

Cherion froze. Completely. Like a bug pinned in place under Zarius’s unblinking, red stare. But honestly? The shock wasn’t one-sided.

Zarius had traded his black-iron armor and the sweeping, fur-lined velvet capes for... this. He was wearing dark, rugged trousers and a charcoal-grey tunic that was clearly designed for stealth, yet it failed miserably because it clung to his broad shoulders and the hard planes of his chest in a way that felt, quite frankly, illegal. Without the armor, the man’s raw power was even more obvious.

They matched. They looked like a synchronized unit. A couple.

Cherion’s brain stalled. He tried to focus on Marielle, who was already lunging toward him to recruit him into her rebellion, but he couldn’t stop looking at the Duke. He looks... infuriatingly handsome, Cherion thought, his face heating up at a rate that probably signaled a medical emergency. How does he look better in any outfit?

And then, because his brain clearly had no self-preservation instincts, a thought slipped in: Yeah. He looks good without anything on, too.

Cherion’s entire internal system collapsed into screaming. Go back in the cage! he shrieked at his ”inner pervert.” Get back in the cage and stay there!

”Cherion! Tell him!” Marielle cried, grabbing his arm and snapping him back to reality. ”Tell my brother that I should come too! You don’t mind, right? We can go to the tea house and buy so many things together!”

Cherion blinked, trying to find his voice. ”I... uh...”

Zarius hadn’t moved. Still staring. His gaze slowly tracked over the green vest, the soft linen collar, the slightly messy hair.

A few paces behind the Duke, Elios was leaning against a stone pillar, watching the scene with a look of immense, long-suffering entertainment. He saw the way Zarius’s throat hitched. With a smirk that was entirely too knowing, Elios stepped forward and gave Zarius’s shoulder a subtle, firm nudge.

Zarius blinked, clearing his throat as if he’d just swallowed a handful of dry sand. The spell broke, and he turned his focus back to his sister, his expression hardening into something more serious.

”Marielle. Enough,” Zarius said, but this time, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. His voice softened, though the authority remained. ”I am not leaving you behind because I want to be cruel. I am leaving you because I trust no one else to keep this house in order while I’m gone.”

Marielle paused, her pout wavering.

”We have a guest,” Zarius continued, tilting his head almost imperceptibly toward the guest wing where Philia was currently ”recovering.” ”A guest who is currently quiet, but still dangerous. I need someone with Valtrane blood to make sure that guest stays in its cage. Can you do that?”

The mention of Philia acted like a bucket of cold water. Marielle’s eyes sharpened. Her shoulders squared.

”He won’t so much as sneeze without me knowing about it,” she promised, her voice dropping an octave.

”Good,” Zarius said. He tapped her arm softly, a rare gesture of affection that made Cherion’s chest ache in a strange way. ”And... I won’t forget. I’ll bring back something for you. Just like the old times.”

Marielle’s face lit up like a festival fire. The bribe was the finishing touch.

Zarius moved toward the carriage. Plain. Fast. Built to not be noticed. He stopped at the open door and turned, extending a large, calloused hand toward Cherion.

The gesture was so simple, yet it felt like a mountain was being moved. Cherion reached out, his smaller hand disappearing into Zarius’s. The Duke’s palm was rough, warm, and possessed a strength that felt like it could anchor Cherion to the earth. Zarius’s fingers closed around his, and it finally hit him, they were leaving the safety of the castle.

Just the two of them. Like a freaking date.

Zarius gave a firm tug, hoisting Cherion up into the private, enclosed space of the carriage. As Cherion sat, Zarius climbed in after him, the carriage groaning slightly under his weight.

The door shut with a heavy, muffled thud.

Everything outside, the castle, the servants, Philia, Marielle, gone. Now it was just the two of them, stuck in the quiet space as the carriage started moving.