The grand palace walls continued to drizzle outside. The sky was persistently gloomy, pouring silver over everything as though mourning something that had not yet been uttered. Silence filled the space in the East Wing of the Imperial Palace where noise should have lived—noise of arguments, of passion, of breathless confessions.
But for the time being, there was only the stillness between them.
Arm crossed, Lev leaned against the icy marble of the window frame and watched the raindrops pursue one another down the glass. Under the subdued light, his silver hair appeared almost white; his reflection was fragmented and skewed, much like his inner state. Though it wasn't politics that unsettled him, the talk with the council early that morning still rang in his mind. It was the memory of Valerian's scent lingering in the air.
Still so new. Still so attractive.
Valerian sat on the edge of the bed in the room he had been forced into, at the far wing of the palace, meanwhile. The cushions were still fluffed, the silk sheets untouched. Arms encircled his knees, drawn to his chest. Naturally, his keen eyes gazed at the locked and sealed door.
He was lovely even in rage. Particularly in rage.
Tightening around the slim silver chain that now ornamented his wrist, the Omega's fingers were a symbolic gesture. A donation. A prison.
Valerian murmured to nobody, "I am not a possession." But the chain differed, shimmering in the weak candlelight, silent and damning.
The door clicked only after hours had passed before the guards outside were changed. Opening just slightly, then more widely, a tall person entered; the torchlight from the corridor threw long shadows throughout the floor.
Lev.
Valerian did not rise.
"You didn't eat," Lev whispered in a gravel-like silk voice.
"No appetite."
"You will need your strength."
"I didn't seek your advice," Valerian said indifferently, not raising his eyes.
Lev came ahead slowly, the distance decreasing between them. "You're an Omega in my house." Now my responsibility."
Valerian stood. "I'm not yours."
Like smoke from a fire not yet extinguished, the terms lingered in the air. Lev's jaw stiffened, and for a brief moment, the pointed General flashed across the calm King. He, however, remained mute.
Valerian approached closer, almost rubbing Lev's chest. "You believe the world would bow to you because you have a crown? I have lived through too many men like you.
Lev's eyes remained fixed. "You've never met anyone like me."
A beat of silence. Then Valerian reached out and unhooked the chain from his wrist, letting it drop between them. "Then prove it," he whispered. "Don't chain me. Choose me."
Lev looked down at the chain on the floor, then back at Valerian, who had turned away, his back straight but his breath unsteady.
"You're bold," Lev murmured.
Valerian answered, not looking back, "And you're scared. Afraid of how desperately you desire someone you believe you can control."
"What if I want you for more than just control?" Lev spoke softly.
Valerian finally turned around, eyes sharp and wet. "Then fight for me. Don't lock me up like a trophy behind your walls."
The King walked to the door, then stopped with his hand on the knob. "Tomorrow. You'll have the freedom to walk the grounds. With a guard, yes—but not behind a locked door."
Valerian didn't answer, but he didn't need to. Lev could feel the fire behind his silence.
As the door shut behind him, Lev whispered under his breath, "I'm not chaining you to me. I'm chaining myself to you."
Back inside the chamber, Valerian let out the breath he'd been holding. His fingers still tingled where they'd grazed Lev's sleeve.
The war between them had just begun—but so had something else.
Something far more dangerous.
Something called longing.
As the wind howled beyond the castle and brushed against the frosted windows like a monster attempting to claw its way in, the fire crackled in the huge hearth. Though the outside temperature was freezing, the room had become hot with conflict.
With one arm behind his back and another clutching a wine glass he had scarcely touched, Lev stood before the massive glass doors. The pressure of his hold caused the amber fluid within to shudder somewhat.
With his knees to his chest, Valerian sat curled up on the velvet chaise lounge, wearing one of the cashmere robes Lev had handed him. It fell across his form as if it had been created for someone stronger, someone who belonged here. He did not, nevertheless. Still not yet.
Lev finally said, his voice soft and incomprehensible, You have been silent since I brought you back.
Valerian responded quietly, gazing into the flickering flames, "I am in a place I never wished to be." "Wouldn't you also be quiet?
Lev looked at him, then turned. You came here since I picked you.
And you always get what you want?
Lev's mouth corner curled into a smirk. "Valerian, I am the Eastern Territories' Alpha King; I demand, not ask."
Valerian raised his head then, eyes flashing. "You did not declare me. You carried me away."
Lev advanced, set the glass on the mantel, then bent down so their eyes were at the same level.
"There's a difference?"
Once again, the room fell silent.
Valerian wanted to lash out, to remind Lev that he had once been free. That his face had at one point been on billboards, not buried behind icy palace walls. But every time he opened his mouth, he saw the reality in Lev's eyes—the monster beneath the crown. Someone who viewed you as both their prize and possession could not be reasoned with.
But there was another side of him, a terrible, trembling part, that remembered the way Lev's hands had held him last night. Firm but not harsh. Warm, but not rushed.
He hated that he remembered it.
Lev's look changed just a little bit. "Are you scared of me?"
Valerian's lip curled. "Should I be?"
"No," Lev said, standing up straight. "I mean you to understand me."
"Then let me go," Valerian snapped, rising from the lounge. "You talk about understanding like this is something mutual, but you don't see me as a person. You view me like something owned.
Lev took a moment to answer. He strolled to the grand map fixed above the fireplace and traced a finger along its boundaries.
"I developed War Valerian. Before I discovered how to write my name, there was blood on my hands. I crawled from a pit of nothing to reach this tiara. I earned all I possess—this castle, my army, even my title—by force.
Voice soft, full of something more sinister than rage, he turned back toward Valerian. "But you… You entered the world with beauty and awareness given to you. You were gentle, unaffected by the blood and fire that made men like me."
Valerian crossed his arms. "So now I'm your trophy?"
Lev moved forward, then another, until they were face to face.
"No. You are the one thing I do not wish to obliterate. And that makes you hazardous to me.
Valerian flinched. "Why me?"
Lev exhaled deliberately and, for the first time, something vulnerable flashed behind his piercing eyes.
"Because even when you hate me, you make me feel… human."
Valerian's jaw dropped at that.
"I don't need another soldier," Lev said on. "I need something to anchor me. And I guess—he swallowed—"you might be that anchor."
The words hung between them, as if delivered in a tongue they both lacked the courage to believe. Still, for all his anger, Valerian felt his barriers start to crumble. Not crumbles—but cracks.
Then a knock at the door shattered the occasion.
"Your Majesty," a guard called from the other side, "The South has moved." One border letter arrived.
Lev's eyes sharpened immediately, his hand already reaching for his coat.
He declared fiercely before stepping to the door, "This conversation isn't over."
Along with the dying fire and the lingering perfume of Lev's cologne, Valerian whispered ", I never wanted to betray weakness.s," he tightened the robe about himself.
Part of him, however, already felt he was not.