The words clanged in Aerion's head like a prison gate slamming shut.
Married to me. Immediately. And an heir.
Each syllable reverberated inside him, not as sound, but as impact—shattering, choking, final. His breath caught, his vision blurred at the edges. The fortress he'd built around himself—made of solitude, silence, and sheer will—fractured under the weight of that command.
He couldn't breathe.
The Alpha's scent blanketed the room now, thick and inescapable, sliding under his skin like smoke. It crawled into his lungs, his bloodstream, his spine—triggering every buried instinct his Omega body had fought to silence for years.
Aerion staggered back a step, his fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms.
"You're insane," he rasped. The sound barely registered as his own. "You can't be serious. This isn't the damned Joseon Dynasty—people don't just get passed around like treaties. I'm not a… a broodmare!"
The word burst out like venom, hot with humiliation. His chest heaved. He felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with skin.
Theron didn't react with anger. Worse—he didn't react at all. His gaze was steady. Heavy. Tired.
"This is not a choice, Prince Aerion," the King said, each word flat, a gavel slamming on marble. "The Zenith Alliance's terms are clear. Their heir has demanded a full dynastic bond—sealed with a male Omega heir. Without it, we face economic collapse, political instability, and potential war."
Aerion stared, horror unfurling cold and slow in his gut. "So because the Fujiwara heir 'conveniently' fell down a flight of stairs, I get dragged from obscurity and thrown into your bed like a ceremonial offering?" His voice cracked on the last word, bitter with disbelief. "How efficient. The forgotten Omega, brought out of hiding when all your better options have burned."
Theron moved to the window, his back to Aerion again. The light framed his silhouette—commanding, remote. Alone.
"The Fujiwara situation was… unfortunate," he said, as though reciting a line from a press release. "But your bloodline makes you unique. And the Zenith heir specifically asked for a male Omega consort to symbolize rebirth. Unity. A progressive image."
Aerion gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "Progressive? Is that what this is?" He shook his head, vision swimming. "You exiled me for being born this way. And now that my biology finally serves your purpose, suddenly I'm valuable?"
He pressed his fist to his chest. It felt like something inside him was caving in.
Theron turned, and for the first time, his mask slipped. Just for a heartbeat. Enough for Aerion to see the weariness, the strain behind the eyes that were always too sharp, too unreadable.
"This isn't what I wanted either," Theron said quietly. "But what we want stopped mattering a long time ago. I never asked for this throne, this crown. But I carry it. Because I must. And now you must, too."
Aerion looked away. He couldn't bear to see empathy from the man who had just dismantled his future.
"Do you even hear yourself?" he whispered. "You're asking me to give up everything. My life. My freedom. My body."
He felt himself unraveling.
"Do you know how long I fought to be seen as more than this… designation? I earned every inch of space I carved in this world. And now, you're telling me it doesn't matter. That all I ever was… was a womb in waiting."
Silence.
Then: footsteps.
Deliberate. Steady.
Theron stopped just in front of him.
Aerion didn't look up.
"You won't be a prisoner," the King said. "You will be my consort. You will have power, access, status. Everything. And yes—your body will carry the future of this kingdom. But you won't do it alone."
Aerion's head jerked up, fury flickering behind tear-glossed eyes. "And that's supposed to make it better?"
The King didn't answer. He didn't have an answer.
Aerion's throat closed. Something inside him snapped. Not loudly—but like a thin thread pulled too tight.
"And if I say no?" he asked, voice ragged now. "If I run? If I disappear like I should've years ago?"
Theron's expression didn't waver. "Then we both fall. And so does the kingdom."
There it was. The truth.
There was no no.
Aerion swayed on his feet, heart crashing against his ribs. His body was reacting now in ways he didn't want—didn't understand. That deep Omega heat, the kind that lay dormant until a true Alpha issued a claim, had awakened. He wanted to claw it out of himself.
"Get out," he choked, suddenly needing space, air, distance. "Get the hell out of my head."
He shoved past the King, heat burning in his chest, shame trailing behind every footstep. The walls felt too close, the air too thick. He didn't look back. Couldn't.
But the King's voice followed him, calm and commanding.
"You'll be escorted to the lake residence. Your staff is already in place. The official engagement will be announced by dawn. I will not chase you, Aerion. But you must be there."
Aerion's hand closed around the doorknob, knuckles bone-white. He wanted to scream. To tear something down. But all he could do was run.
He bolted from the study, his pulse screaming in his ears. He ran down the corridor like the floor might vanish beneath his feet. And behind him, the future slammed shut like a steel door.
He had always feared being forgotten.
Now, he was being remembered for all the wrong reasons.
And as he fled, something new coiled deep inside him—a heat he hadn't chosen, a response he couldn't stop, a destiny he never wanted. It pulsed beneath his skin, a quiet betrayal from within.
The Omega had been claimed.
And the clock had started ticking.