The royal palace halls buzzed with low conversation and echoing footsteps as the sun had long gone. With heads bowed, Omegas silently passed pillars and patios, their collars gleaming beneath the lanterns. Will was one of them, his footsteps quiet, practically reverent, as he proceeded toward the service wing.
He should have been exhausted—he had polished the heir's ceremonial boots, brought scrolls to the council chambers, and scrubbed the marble floors of the east courtyard—but he did not feel weary. Not particularly.
His thoughts kept revolving around the Alpha.
No, not only Alpha. Crown Prince Levian.
Tall, built like a warrior from the old stories, and completely indifferent to the disorder he left behind when he entered a room. Even now, his scent stayed clean, like frigid metal and winter wind, with something blacker curling underneath it.
Earlier that morning, while bringing a tray of fruit to the war room, Will had unintentionally picked it up. Without a word or a glance, the prince had walked past him, yet it had been enough to steal Will's breath from his lungs.
But Will's life changed with that visit. Within days, he was summoned to the crown prince's quarters—not as a servant, but as a personal attendant. A single collar was placed in his hands. Midnight black, with the royal crest engraved into the silver clasp.
He hadn't accepted it yet.
But the chains he wore were already breaking.
And somewhere, deep in his chest, something else had started to bloom—a rebellion he'd never dared feed.
He had never been so near an unmated Alpha previously. Not like that. Not one so strong, so unachievable.
Still...
Was the look in Levian's eyes his fantasy, or had the prince lingered? Just one instant. A flicker.
Sitting on the edge of his small bed, Will gazed at the wall. Dreams at the palace were merciless. He was aware of this. Omegas like him were not created for fairy tales. Their lives were contracts and chains, orchestrated matings, silent compliance. Not... not a prince's stare.
Standing, he shook his head and walked to the window. The royal gardens spread out like a sea of shadows below. The Crown Prince's chambers were somewhere far down the main wing.
"Fool," he murmured to himself, "He doesn't even know your name."
But on that evening, long after the torches had been turned off and the palace settled into its typical quiet, a gentle knock came at his bedroom door.
Will remained still.
This wing was deserted at this time. No one had any business here, even the other servants. Slowly, heart thumping, he opened the door.
Standing in the hallway, a man cloaked in black with his hood shadowing his face, the butler, Will, had his knees spontaneously give way.
levian
To know, he did not need to view the face. He knew the instant the smell struck him, storm-like and frigid.
Without a word, Alpha entered. The door closed behind him.
"I'm not here to frighten you," Levian said, his voice low. Under control. " Sit."
Will complied before he had time to consider it. His breathing stopped in his throat.
Levian opened the hood; Will saw him up close, saw him for the first time. midnightblack hair falling gently over his strong jaw, blazing silver eyes. For this chamber, this wing, this instant, he seemed way too noble. Still, here he was.
I've been following you.
Will squinted, unsure he'd heard right.
Levian said, "You serve with discipline," but you look up when you believe nobody sees. You are silent but not blind. And you don't react like the others.
Will dropped his head. "Your Highness, I—"
Levian stated, "Directly. As my Omega. I want you in my service."
The words entered Will's skin like a brand. His Omega? It went beyond merely a job. Claiming that was… that was.
"I am not bonded," the prince said, "but I will be." The court is very clear on it. They have someone in mind. I find their policies repulsive, though.
When at last Will spoke, "Why me?" his voice broke.
Silence extended. Levian moved forward. "Because I believe what I see. And I am weary of being lied to.
No further conversation took place that evening. Levian vanished down the hall like a phantom, leaving as fast as he had come.
The palace hallways were humming with footsteps and muted voices before the sun had even risen. As the globe outside remained cloaked in a sleepy evening, servants set torches along the long marble hallways. Prince Renne's quarters in the West Wing, far from the ornate throne room and courtly theater, stayed silent till the sound of knocking shattered the silence.
A strong voice from behind the door said, "Your Highness," adding, "Your council expects you in the court chamber at dawn."
Shirtless, Renne sat at the edge of his bed; his silvery hair hung over his shoulders like broken moonlight. His golden eyes were open wide and uneasy. He had not slept all night. The events of the day before — the attack, the Omega chained like an animal — still haunted him.
"I'll be there shortly," he finally said, his voice deeper than normal.
He rose as the footsteps vanished, went over to the carved wooden window, and flung it open. A wind blew in and brushed his skin. The training grounds below were empty, but all he could see was the boy—no, the Omega—being dragged into the castle gates, bruised but proud, eyes flashing with fire even when everything else about him screamed defeat.
He asked no one, fingers clenched on the windowsill, "What is your name?"
Soren lay curled on a small straw pile in the dungeons. The cold of the underground stone settled over his skin. His wrists still have shackles around them. The ones surrounding his ankles had nothing. The metal collar was still fixed firmly around his neck, weighing more on his self-esteem than on his body.
Near the bars, a rat scurried. Soren did not flinch. His mind was on other things.
He despised this location. He hated the silence, the way the guards looked at him—like a thing. He hated that the Crown Prince had seen him chained, weak, and trembling. Still, something about that Alpha's odor—fresh, cozy, and unsettling—remained on his senses. That smell had calmed him, if only for a moment.
He despised that even more.
He did not stop to gaze when the heavy iron gate opened. Another derisive guard or another kick to the ribs was anticipated by him.
These footsteps were sluggish this time, nevertheless. Light.
And then he heard it—a clear voice, the very same one that had spoken to him yesterday on the battlefield.
"You're not asleep."
Soren's eyes sprang open. Not in royal robes, but rather in a basic tunic, the Crown Prince stood just beyond the bars, his silver hair tied loosely at his nape.
Soren mumbled, resentment in every word, "Come see how your new dog's doing?"
"No," Renne said softly. "I came to talk."
Soren sat up gradually. "Talk? What could a Prince and a shackled Omega conceivably have to talk about?"
"I want to understand why you were on the front lines. Omegas aren't soldiers. You shouldn't be there.
Coldly laughing, Soren asked, "You believe I care what Omegas are 'supposed' to do?" You decide who fights and who cooks while sitting on your golden throne. You know nothing of the world outside these walls.
Renne didn't flinch. "Then tell me."
Soren gave him a look. The genuine tone in the Prince's voice threw him. He was at a loss for how to react.
"I battled since I had to," he said after a pause. "Because the world never gave me a decision. And because I refuse to kneel just on what I am."
There was a long silence.
Renne glanced at him, actually at him, and something changed in his look.
"I am offering you a position," he said abruptly.
Soren blinked. "What?"
"Serve under me, as my guard."
The Omega turned and laughed.
"You're psychotic."
Renne said, "Maybe. But you are strong. Smart. You fought like someone who has been taught. And I want someone like that—someone who views the world differently. You will be treated with dignity. No more chains.
Soren's pride screamed in protest. But another part of him — the part that remembered the way Alphas had looked down on him all his life — wlif whisperss was a rare offer. A chance, however twisted, to shift the balance.
"I don't serve Alphas," he said. "Especially not royals."
"You'd serve no one," Renne said, voice firm. "You'd stand beside me. That's the difference."
That made Soren pause.
"…You're still wearing your crown. I'm still in chains."
Renne met his eyes. "Then let's see if we can change that. Together."
Soren didn't reply. But his silence held more weight than any words.
Later that night, after being led to a proper room — still guarded, but warm and private — Soren sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing the collar around his neck.
He had accepted. Against all instincts, all warnings. Something about that Prince unnerved him.
Or maybe it was the way the Prince had looked at him — like he wasn't broken.
Maybe that was what truly scared him.