The fragrance struck him like a wave—rich, intense, absolutely alpha. It invaded the corridor's atmosphere, causing every Omega within reach to shudder. But for him, it was choking.
Mirel stiffened as soon as he entered the grand hallway outside the royal bathhouse. Guards were motionless like statues, but their gaze was keen, following every movement the prince made.
Behind them, Prince Caelan stood bathed in golden candlelight.
He was not prepared to appear in court. Loose over his shoulders, a simple black robe hung damp at the sides, his chest a little visible, steam faintly curling from his skin. Darker when wet, his hair curled at the ends. Regal, wild, and considerably too aware of what he did to other people.
Mirel couldn't bear to meet his gaze.
"You are late," Caelan said, his tone silky over steel.
"I didn't get the summons till--"
Do not lie to me. The prince came near; the smell grew stronger. You were avoiding me.
Mirel tightened his jaw. "Would that be a felony, Your Highness?"
Caelan came to a stop only inches apart. "For anyone else?" No. You do belong to me, though.
Mirel's spine shuddered. Not because of the words—he had heard worse—but because a piece of him, the one he hid deep beneath the surface, responded. His Omega urges yelled for submission. Bowing to bow, to inhale that perfume and obey.
Mirel, however, had learnt to resist. The years he spent constructing internal walls. For a golden cage, he would not bend.
"Belonging is not the same as bonding," Mirel said. "You may chain a person, but that doesn't mean you own their soul."
Caelan tilted his head, curious. "Is that so?"
He stretched forward—not to strike or grab—but to delicately brush Mirel's jaw with the rear of his fingers. It burned from a touch so delicate, so close.
He whispered, "I wonder how long your soul will remain unclaimed. You blaze like fire stuck in glass. So lovely... but so brittle.
Mirel's heart roared, yet he stood strong. Then let it break.
For a long moment, neither moved. Then the prince left.
Walking past Caelan, he said, "Join me for breakfast tomorrow." Don't make me summon you again."
Mirel took shallow breaths in the vacant corridor. He was unsure if it was the threat or the invitation that struck him harder.
He knew one thing, though.
The chains were getting heavier.
Shirtless and shoeless, Valerian stood in front of the mirror, staring at the scar that stretched along his collarbone—a faint yet persistent reminder of a past he had never chosen. He stroked it softly with fury, not with regret but with anger. It was more than just a cut; it was a brand of subjugation, a chain imperceptible to the rest of the world but weighty on his spirit.
Adam walked inside softly, holding a folded piece of apparel as the door behind him creaked open.
"You'll catch a cold," he stated, gently placing a soft black robe on the chair next to him. As always, his voice was low and measured, but there was something unsaid in the way he lingered at the door.
"I'm used to the cold," Valerian said, not turning around.
Adam was quiet for a few minutes before speaking again, this time more gently. Lev is waiting in the garden.
Valerian mumbled, "He does like to play king of the cage."
Adam moved behind him, closer now, and softly covered Valerian's shoulders with the robe, his fingertips grazing the Omega's naked skin. "You wander in and out of your own will, Val; you are not in a cage."
Turning, Valerian eventually faced him. "Then why does it feel like every door in this mansion locks from the outside?"
Adam stopped himself from opening his mouth to respond. Valerian did not require responses from him.
The garden was dark and moonlit; the air was heavy with rose scent and anxiety. Tall and forceful in a long, dark overcoat, Lev stood by the water. Under the moonlight, his silver hair shimmered; his sharp stare found Valerian just as he emerged.
"You're tardy," Lev said, his voice even but staccato.
"And you're early all the time. Valerian retorted, "It's becoming predictable.
Lev's head turned a little as he watched the Omega with the same inscrutable look he usually wore. "I dislike being kept waiting."
"And I do not enjoy being called like a pet."
Lev came forward, the distance between them closing with each step. "You're mine," he said, voice low, nearly menacing. "You are not a pet."
Valerian gasped as the Alpha's hand stretched out, brushing a strand of hair from his face. Not because I purchased you. Not because I stated you. But because you made me want you… When I didn't think I could want anything.
For a while, silence held them both, a conflict of glances and unsaid words.
First to shatter it was Valerian. "Wanting something neither entitles you to own it."
Lev's jaws clenched, and for the first time, something primal flickered in his eyes. "Then tell me to let go."
Valerian opened his lips, but no words emerged. His chest burned with bewilderment. He despised the way his heart raced quicker near Lev, the way his perfume lingered in the corridors even after he left. He despised that he couldn't dislike him.
Rather, he backed off. "You wouldn't listen even if I did."
Lev didn't move; instead, his voice fell. "Try me."
The wind muttered between them, carrying rose bush petals over the stone route. Not turning around, Valerian left. Lev stayed where he was, fixed in place, his knuckles twisting into fists.
In his room, Valerian slammed the door more forcibly than was necessary. He exhaled a shaky breath and squeezed his forehead to it. His heart sounded too loud. His thoughts, too disorganized.
Waiting in the corner like a shadow, Adam was there once more.
"I heard voices," he murmured.
Valerian turned, eyes tired. "Lev thinks if he says the right words, I'll come running."
"And will you?"
Valerian left unanswered. Instead, he walked to the window and gazed out at the garden below, at the spot where Lev remained unmoving, as though waiting.
Adam started to accompany him, and their shoulders grazed. "Val, you don't need to pick."
Surprised, Valerian stared at him. "What?"
"You don't have to pick between love and freedom," Adam stated, "not if it's actual."
The words hung in their midst.
Valerian said quietly, "I'm sure either exists in nhhisme."