I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Cherion blew softly across the damp ink at the bottom of the page, watching the dark lines dull under his breath until they were completely dry.

He folded the cream parchment into three neat, even sections, slipped it into a heavy paper envelope, and brought the edge of the flap to his mouth. Licking the bitter strip of dried gum paste, he pressed the paper down firm with his thumb, sealing it tight. He picked up the brass signet ring sitting on the corner of the table, heated a small dollop of dark red wax over the candle flame, and stamped the Valtrane crest dead center across the fold.

”Reiner,” Cherion said, leaning back in his chair and holding the letter out.

Reiner, who had been lazily balancing a quill on his index finger near the window, caught the paper before it could even settle on the desk. He looked down at the seal, then back up at Cherion, his usual golden-retriever grin completely vanishing.

”Send it north. Back home. To your father.” Cherion said, his tone flat, even, and entirely serious

Reiner held the letter by its edges, his eyes scanning Cherion’s face. He didn’t ask what was inside, and he didn’t make a single joke about Cherion writing private notes to his old man behind Zarius’s back. When Cherion looked that deadpan, Reiner knew better than to play around.

”I’ll hand it directly myself,” Reiner said, tucked the letter deep into his inner coat pocket, and gave a firm, disciplined nod. ”Nobody else touches it.”

”Good. Go on.”

Reiner turned on his heel and slipped out the door, his boots making faint, quick taps against the stone corridor until the sound faded completely.

Cherion let out a long, slow breath, rolling his shoulders back and slumping slightly in the deep leather armchair. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the dull ache of a rising tension headache right behind his eyes.

At least that’s moving, he thought to himself. Now I just have to sit tight and wait for old Winston to decide whether he wants to spill his guts or take his masters’ dirty secrets to the grave.

He closed his eyes for two seconds, letting the quiet room wash over him, thinking he might actually get twenty minutes of peace before he called for lunch.

BANG

The heavy double doors of the study flew open with a deafening crash, slamming against the stone walls so hard the brass latches rattled.

Ezek, who had been standing guard just outside the threshold, instinctively drew his short sword halfway out of its sheath, his boots skidding across the floor as he spun around, his face tight with immediate threat assessment.

”Whoa, whoa, put the iron away, Ezek!” a sharp, clear voice barked through the dust.

Marielle marched right past the startled guard, her dark velvet riding skirt sweeping the floor, her sharp features set in an expression of pure determination. She didn’t even look at Ezek. She marched straight over to Cherion’s chair, grabbed him firmly by the upper arm, and yanked him right off the cushion.

”Hey... wait, what?” Cherion stumbled slightly, his slippers dragging against the rug as Marielle hauled him forward like a sack of grain. ”Marielle? What are you doing?”

”No time to explain. Come with me,” she snapped, her fingers digging into his arm with the determination of someone hauling away a particularly troublesome prisoner.

”I have legs, you know! I can walk!” Cherion protested, though he didn’t bother fighting her grip as she practically dragged him down the long corridor, past three thoroughly bewildered guards who wisely looked the other way.

She kicked open the doors to Zarius’s private study and shoved Cherion inside first.

Zarius was sitting behind his wide desk, a stack of troop supply ledgers spread out in front of him, a pen resting between his fingers. He looked up, his dark eyebrows pulling together in a sharp crease as he saw his sister haul his fiancé into the middle of the room like a captured intruder.

”Marielle,” Zarius said, his voice dropping into a low warning. ”What is the meaning of this?”

”Sit,” Marielle commanded, pointing a finger straight at Cherion.

Cherion raised his hands in surrender and quickly took a seat on the chair near the tea table. Marielle didn’t waste a single second. She reached out, grabbed Zarius by the elbow, and forcefully pulled him out from behind his grand desk, dragging him down onto the space right next to Cherion.

Zarius stared at her, utterly unimpressed, though he let himself be shoved onto the cushion beside Cherion without putting up an actual fight. He reached out, his long fingers settling naturally on the back of Cherion’s waist, pulling him half an inch closer as if to check if he was bruised from Marielle’s sudden invasion.

”Are you alright?” Zarius murmured quietly into Cherion’s ear.

”I’m fine, just slightly winded,” Cherion muttered back, smoothing down the front of his wrinkled tunic. ”Your sister is really strong, wow.”

Marielle turned it around, and sat down directly across from the two of them, leaning her forearms against the carved backrest. Her violet eyes darted between Zarius and Cherion, sharp, calculating, and completely void of her usual dramatic flair.

”I spoke to you about this yesterday, Zarius,” Marielle began. ”But Cherion hasn’t, so I will repeat it again.”

Cherion blinked, looking back and forth between the two royal siblings. ”Wait, what are we talking about? Did something happen when I was lost?”

”Iryna,” Marielle said flatly.

Cherion’s eyebrows shot up. ”The betrothal proposal from Solaric?”

”Yes,” Marielle replied, taking a slow, deep breath and crossing her wrists over the chair back. ”I’m accepting it.”

Silence hung in the room for a long second. Cherion looked at her in complete shock, his mind racing through the political map.

”Are you really sure about that?” Cherion asked carefully, leaning forward a little as though getting closer would somehow help him understand the situation.

”Not that I’m judging you,” he quickly added. ”I mean, I trust your judgment. You have excellent judgment. Truly. Remarkable judgment, actually. After all, you like me. Well, eventually. You didn’t like me at first. In fact, I’m pretty sure you actively disliked me. But you came around. Which proves that your judgment can improve with time.”

Zarius stayed quiet, his arm remaining firm behind Cherion’s back, his dark gaze fixed dead-on his sister’s face. He didn’t interrupt, waiting to hear her out.

A small, cold, utterly ruthless smile touched the corners of Marielle’s lips.

”Of course I’m not really fond of this,” Marielle said smoothly, her eyes glinting with a dangerous, familiar Valtrane sharp light. ”They think they’re buying a quiet, ornamental lady to secure their ties to the northern military.”

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous whisper.

”I am going to accept the betrothal, Cherion,” Marielle continued, her expression turning into something terrifyingly sharp. ”But only after I make Iryna sign a binding, multi-layered marriage contract that strips her family of every single piece of political leverage they think they hold over us. For both of our sanities, she will comply.”

”Marriage contract?” Cherion repeated.

”Yes. And not only that.” Marielle leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest.

”I intend to make certain that the Crown agrees to a few of my terms as well.”