I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The doors closed behind them, instantly cutting off the suffocating, juice-scented chaos of the grand ballroom. The orchestra in the distance now sounded like it was coming from another world.

Cherion let out a long sigh as he matched Zarius’s pace down the hallway.

”Well, that was one hell of an opening act.” Cherion murmured, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he looked up at his fiancé. ”I wonder if palace laundry can handle sweet juice.”

A low chuckle rumbled out of Zarius. ”If they cannot, I am more than willing to send a crate of Northern soap to the Capital. Under the circumstances, I consider it a charitable donation to the throne.”

Cherion laughed, but as they drew closer to the royal wing, his expression grew a fraction more serious. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. ”On a more serious note, Zarius... why did the King summon you so suddenly?”

”Nothing,” Zarius replied smoothly, his deadpan expression firmly back in place. ”The King didn’t initiate this. I did. I already requested an audience with His Majesty in my letter. I informed him that I wished to discuss about the subjugation in detail.”

”Ah,” Cherion noted, nodding in understanding.

Zarius stopped in his tracks, turning his tall frame to face Cherion completely as they reached the final corridor leading toward King Alderon’s private study.

Suddenly, the relaxed demeanor vanished, replaced by a tight, visible wave of worry. Zarius’s eyes swept over Cherion’s face, his jaw clenching slightly.

”I do not like leaving you out here alone,” Zarius admitted.

Cherion couldn’t help the bright, reassuring smile that broke across his face. He reached down, casually tapping the red sapphire resting against his collarbone. ”Hey, look at this. You gave me this necklace, remember? If someone messes with me, it’ll just go nope, boom, and launch them mountain. I’ll be completely fine.”

Zarius didn’t look entirely convinced, though a faint glimmer of amusement touched his eyes at Cherion’s sound effects. He reached out, his heavy hand gently squeezing Cherion’s shoulder, anchoring him.

”Listen to me carefully, Cherion,” Zarius commanded softly, his tone dead serious. ”The necklace is for emergencies. For everything else, you have your own hands. If you go back to that party, stay where there are people.”

He leaned down slightly. ”And if Yerel tries to corner you again, or if he pulls any more of his delusional, funny tricks... do not just spray your drinks at him. You have done enough of that for one night. Next time, pick up the heaviest crystal glass on the table and smash it directly over his head.”

Cherion blinked, his lips parting in an amused, disbelieving laugh. ”Smash a glass over the Crown Prince’s head? My Lord, that’s high treason.”

”I will take absolute responsibility,” Zarius countered without a single shred of hesitation.

He let out a short, frustrated sigh, rolling his shoulders. ”Find Ezek and Reiner immediately. Drag them by their collars and force them to stand guard next to you. I do not care if they are currently in the middle of trying to slit each other’s throats or kissing until they cannot breathe, make them do their jobs and protect my mate. Understood?”

Cherion laughed brightly, the image of Ezek and Reiner being disrupted completely dissolving his remaining tension. He playfully placed his hands against Zarius’s broad chest, shoving him gently toward the heavy mahogany doors of the King’s study.

”Yes, yes, I understand completely, my big emo Duke,” Cherion teased, his eyes crinkling. ”Go. Meet the King. Do your business. I promise to find them and stay surrounded by at least fifty gossiping nobles. Now, go before His Majesty thinks you’ve fled the empire.”

Zarius gave one final, lingering look, his fingers brushing against Cherion’s cheek for a brief, warm second before he turned, knocked, and disappeared into the royal study.

The moment the study doors closed behind him, the warmth vanished from Cherion’s face. A calm, thoughtful expression settled in its place. He took a slow breath and turned back toward the ballroom.

He had barely walked past the second intersecting hallway when a tall, imposing figure stepped out from the shadows, completely blocking his path.

Cherion stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Standing before him was a man dressed in sharp, midnight-dark attire that seemed to blend effortlessly into the shadows of the hallway. He had slicked-back, dark green hair and a pair of cold, calculative eyes that locked onto Cherion with unsettling intensity.

Karson. The Crown Prince’s aide.

”Ah, Lord Cherion,” Karson greeted, offering a smooth, perfectly measured bow that somehow managed to feel like it came with zero respect attached. ”What an unexpected pleasure to run into you out here, so far from the festivities.”

Oh, great. Yerel’s walking security system, Cherion thought, but kept his face perfectly neutral. He just tilted his head slightly, slipping into that lazy, ”I cannot be bothered” posture. ”Sir Karson. I could ask you the same thing. Shouldn’t you be in the ballroom with a bucket of water and some towels, helping your master scrub juice out of his dignity?”

Karson’s expression didn’t even twitch at the blatant mockery. ”His Highness is being looked after. I, however, was curious. Why wander off from the party all alone? The Capital can be a dangerous place for a young noble who loses his way.”

”I hardly think walking my fiancé to his private audience with His Majesty counts as losing my way,” Cherion replied smoothly, crossing his arms. ”And I did live here for quite some time.”

”Ah, yes. You did,” Karson murmured, his lips curving into a thin, humorless smile. ”But I must admit, Lord Cherion... the Duke looked remarkably energetic on the dance floor tonight for a man rumored to be on the brink of death, yet he moves with the strength of a healthy wolf. It makes one wonder if the rumors are merely a convenient theatrical performance.”

Cherion didn’t miss a beat. He let out a soft, mocking hum, stepping a fraction closer. ”What can I say, Sir Karson? Zarius got to dance with me tonight. Anyone would feel a sudden, miraculous surge of energy under those circumstances. Love does wonders for a man’s failing health, wouldn’t you agree? Or does the Capital faction lack the capacity to understand such simple concepts?”

Karson’s eyes darkened for a split second.

”If you’ll excuse me,” Cherion continued. ”I promised my Lord I would return to the ballroom.”

Cherion took a step forward, intending to brush past the green-haired man and end the encounter quickly. But as they passed, Karson’s voice came low and quiet, carrying a warning beneath every word.

”Have you really changed that much, Lord Cherion? Or have you simply become a very good actor?” Karson murmured, not even turning his head to look at him.

Cherion stopped dead in his tracks. His boots felt glued to the floor. His instincts suddenly screamed that something was off.

”Excuse me?”

Karson slowly turned his head, a smirk spreading across his lips.

”Don’t play innocent with me,” Karson whispered, his eyes locked onto Cherion’s stiff frame. ”Did you honestly think you could just erase the past? Tell me... have you already forgotten, or have you simply ditched the plan you personally brought to me?”

Cherion’s stomach sank. He quickly searched his memory for anything the novel had mentioned about this, only to come up completely empty.

”What... plan?”

Karson chuckled, a low, sinister sound that echoed off the walls.

”The plan to assassinate the Duke, of course.”