I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The study doors closed behind them, leaving the tense conversation on the other side.

Marielle walked down the broad marble corridor with slow steps, her skirts rustling softly against the floor. Beside her, Flio maintained his steady, measured pace, his hands folded neatly behind his back as his gaze remained fixed straight ahead.

They walked in silence for a few dozen paces, passing under the tall arched windows that let in the fading gold of the late afternoon sun.

”No wonder you looked like a grieving war wife yesterday,” Flio said suddenly, his voice completely flat, without a single trace of inflection. ”Watching her husband march off to the front lines, unsure if he’d ever return.”

Marielle stopped dead in her tracks, turning her head to shoot him a sharp glare. ”Huh?”

Flio didn’t flinch. He adjusted the gold chain of his monocle, wearing the same blank expression he’d probably use during an earthquake. ”Well. Since the Duke was entirely out of the question, it seems the foreign delegation decided to go for the sister instead. A logical substitution, from a tactical standpoint.”

Marielle let out a dramatic, suffering groan, rubbing her fingers against the bridge of her nose. ”Do not start with me, Flio. My head is already pounding hard enough to rattle my teeth.”

”I am merely offering an observation, Marielle,” Flio replied smoothly, stepping forward as she resumed her walk toward the living quarters. ”Though I must admit, seeing you caught off guard by a woman’s persistence is a rare form of entertainment.”

Before Marielle could craft a suitably biting retort, rapid, light footsteps echoed from the adjoining hallway. Elios appeared around the corner.

He slowed down as he spotted them, his eyes darting between Marielle’s deeply stressed expression and Flio’s usual stone face.

”Wait, who’s getting married?” Elios asked, catching only the tail end of their murmurs as he trotted up to join them. ”Did I miss something? Is one of the knights leaving?”

Flio didn’t say a word. He simply raised a hand and pointed a long, pale finger directly at Marielle.

Elios looked at Flio’s finger, then at Marielle, and immediately burst into a bright, genuine laugh that echoed down the quiet hallway.

”Please!” Elios snorted, shaking his head. ”Marielle and ’getting married’ don’t even belong in the same sentence! Unless, of course, the sentence is: ’Marielle has a brother or a friend who is getting married.’ No offense, Mari, but you literally repulse at the very thought of matrimony. You’d rather spend a month auditing troop rations in the freezing cold than sit through a wedding planning session.”

Marielle stood there, her arms crossed over her chest, staring at him with a deadpan, entirely unamused expression. She didn’t deny it. She didn’t even attempt to laugh along.

Elios’s laughter slowly tapered off. He looked at her tight jaw, then glanced back at Flio, whose face remained aggressively blank.

The silence stretched for three agonizing seconds.

”Wait,” Elios whispered, staring at her like she’d just announced the estate was on fire. ”No. Are you... are you serious right now? Married? You?”

”Betrothed,” Marielle corrected sharply, her tone dripping with annoyance. ”It is a proposal. Nothing has been signed, sealed, or finalized.”

”So you’re actually considering going through with it?” Flio chimed in, leaning his shoulder slightly against the carved wall trim.

”To WHO?!” Elios practically squeaked. ”Who on earth was brave enough, or insane enough, to pull a stunt like this?”

”Princess Iryna,” Flio answered helpfuly.

Elios stood completely frozen in the middle of the hallway. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again, but no coherent sound came out. The sheer absurdity of the statement seemed to break his cognitive functions entirely.

”Calm down, both of you,” Marielle snapped, throwing her hands up in utter defeat as she looked at their ridiculous faces. ”Stand down! Stop adding your collective panic to my existing panic! I have enough on my plate without you two gaping at me like landed fish!”

”I am not panicking,” Flio noted calmly. ”I am simply processing.”

”I am panicking!” Elios hissed. ”The Princess of Solaric? The one who looks like she could cut a man in half with a butter knife?! Marielle, if you two get married, the estate is going to explode! The sheer concentration of terrifying political energy in one room will collapse the roof!”

”We are not getting married tomorrow!” Marielle hissed back, stepping closer and jabbing a finger at Elios’s chest. ”I said I need time to think! I need to weigh the strategic benefits for the North against the absolute misery of having a royal spouse hovering around my daily schedule!”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, smoothing down the front of her fine silk dress with hands that were only slightly tense. She closed her eyes for a moment, mentally calculating the sheer amount of mental fortitude she was going to need over the next days hours just to process the sheer weight of the decision.

When she opened her eyes again, her expression was completely deadpan, stripped of all theatrical annoyance, leaving only a dark, desperate determination.

She turned her sharp gaze directly onto Flio.

”Flio,” she said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, low pitch.

”Yes?”

”I want you to head down to the lower quarters immediately,” Marielle ordered, leaning in slightly. ”Find the head butler. Tell him to open the west wing wine cellar and restock the main racks.”

Flio raised a brow. ”The west wing cellar? The one reserved for high-tier diplomatic banquets?”

”Precisely that one,” Marielle replied without a single hint of hesitation. ”Because if I am going to sit at my desk tonight and draft a strategic pros-and-cons list regarding a betrothal to a foreign princess, I have a strong feeling I am going to empty out the entire inventory by midnight.”

Elios blinked, looking between the two of them. ”Can I come? I feel like I need a drink after just hearing about this.”

”No,” Marielle said flatly, turning on her heel and marching briskly down the corridor toward her private quarters. ”You’ll only distract me. Flio, make sure it’s the heavy red vintage from five years ago. I intend to sleep tonight, one way or another.”

Flio watched her retreating figure until she rounded the corner, her skirts disappearing past the heavy archway. He let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, turning back toward the service stairs.

”Look at that,” Elios muttered, crossing his arms as he watched her disappear. ”She’s never refused a drink with me before.”

Flio glanced at him. ”Perhaps you should take it as a warning.”

Elios slowly lowered his arms. ”A warning for what?”

”That she is taking this proposal very seriously.”