The warmth of the Virelian midday sun spilled into the emperor's audience room, gilding the silks and glass with a golden hue. The emperor's chair was nestled beneath a lattice of flowering vines, deliberately informal, deliberately inviting.
Aurean stepped in, freshly bathed, his presence elegant yet cautious — still not used to such grandeur being offered to him so freely.
The Virelian emperor, Emperor Arcael, beamed at the sight of him.
"Ah, my favorite guest!" he declared, rising to greet Aurean with the familiarity of an old uncle. "Come, come — sit. I've summoned you with happy news and an old tale."
Aurean gave a shallow bow. "I am honored, Your Majesty."
"None of that," Arcael waved his hand, motioning for Aurean to sit beside him, not across. "We don't stand on ceremony here, not with family… and you, dear boy, are nearly that by now."
Aurean flushed softly but sat.
Arcael poured them both tea himself, his rings clinking softly against the porcelain.
"I received word from Ardan this morning. Your… former empire," he said with a gleam of mischief, "has reinstated its lost queen — an omega, no less. What a scandal. What a triumph."
Aurean blinked, stunned. "The queen…"
Arcael nodded. "Elendra. That's her name. Strong woman, from what I've heard. And you'll be pleased to know who led the charge — none other than your brooding, glorious Rythe."
Aurean looked away quickly, face unreadable.
Arcael studied him for a moment, then smiled and leaned back.
"You know," the emperor said, almost wistfully, "the first time I met Rythe, he was barely fifteen." Not six years ago, as i told you the first time we met.
Aurean turned back, caught off guard.
"I was traveling incognito," Arcael explained. "One of those foolish little excursions rulers make when they want to remember how the world works. Bandits caught me — stripped my guards, broke three of my ribs. And then came this bloodied boy… like a fallen sword from the heavens."
Aurean's lips parted slightly.
"He fought like fire," Arcael murmured, eyes distant now. "Took three arrows. A blade to the thigh. But he didn't stop until they fled. Then he collapsed."
"You brought him here?" Aurean asked softly.
"I did. Back to Virelia. My healers mended him. I offered him everything — medicine, wealth, even friendship. Do you know what he said when I gave him a salve to erase the scarring?"
Aurean shook his head.
"'There's no need,'" Arcael quoted, his voice growing more somber. "'The scars will keep coming. I'm a warrior. And I have a family to protect. If I have none… then I'll fight to earn one.'"
A silence settled between them.
Arcael's voice gentled. "He never spoke of that day to anyone. Never mentioned our friendship to your court. And never once used it to force Virelia into an alliance. Not even when Ardan begged. Not even when it would've benefited him."
He smiled, sipping his tea. "In fact, all those anonymous methods we've used to manipulate the markets, intercept enemy treaties, and protect our borders? His ideas. Gifted freely."
Aurean's throat tightened.
Arcael gave him a sidelong glance. "He visits me, now and then. Brings wine. Chess pieces. Never stays long. But he visits."
Aurean couldn't find words. The image of a fifteen-year-old boy bloodied and broken yet burning with purpose, protecting strangers without question — it hollowed something deep inside him.
"You looked surprised," Arcael said softly.
"I… I knew he was strong. But not like that," Aurean whispered.
Arcael patted his arm gently. "He was forged in fire, my dear. And so were you. Perhaps different flames, but fire all the same."
Aurean looked down at his hands — once bruised, now healed. And still trembling.
He's always carried others. But who carries him?
Just as the quiet between Emperor Arcael and Aurean had begun to settle, the door creaked open with unmistakable mischief.
A figure leaned casually on the doorframe, arms crossed and smirking — Prince Eiran, the emperor's youngest son and renowned troublemaker.
Arcael didn't miss a beat. "Eavesdropping, are we, Eiran?"
Eiran walked in without shame, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. "You were speaking too quietly, Father. I thought perhaps your age was finally dulling your voice."
Arcael rolled his eyes with the fond irritation only a parent could muster. "And here I was enjoying a meaningful conversation without your sarcasm. Should've locked the door."
Aurean offered a polite nod, but Eiran's sharp eyes caught the tension in his posture.
He looked between them, then flopped onto one of the plush cushions.
"Well," Eiran said, eyes dancing with something unreadable, "you've been singing Rythe's praises so sweetly I almost forgot the world hates him."
Aurean stiffened.
Arcael raised a brow. "Must you?"
Eiran shrugged. "Someone has to balance the scales. I'm not saying Rythe isn't noble — he is. Brutally so. But let's not pretend he's some infallible myth. Most people don't like him. They fear him. Even in Virelia."
Aurean finally spoke, his voice soft. "Why?"
Eiran sighed. "Because Rythe only knows war, Aurean. He walks like it. Talks like it. Commands like it. He's not made of the softness people crave. And yes… he is not perfect."
Aurean didn't respond. He didn't have to. Eiran wasn't done.
"And let's not pretend his distaste for omegas is a secret. Everyone knows. He hides it well — he's always polite, even respectful. But cross him once? He never forgets."
Arcael frowned. "Eiran—"
But Eiran held up a hand, not in defiance, but in solemnity.
"I'm not condemning him. I'm explaining him."
He turned to Aurean now, more serious. "You already know this, don't you? My youngest sister — the one you shared quarters with — she's an omega. And Rythe… Rythe rescued her. She was kidnapped by slavers. Before Virelia could even mobilize, Rythe had tracked the bastards through three provinces. Alone. He brought her back home before the sun rose twice."
Aurean's brows lifted. "He never mentioned it."
"Of course not. He never does. But… that's Rythe. He saves you, then disappears. Doesn't want thanks. Just obedience. Loyalty."
Eiran leaned forward, his voice quieter now, serious.
"His disdain for omegas isn't out of cruelty. It's out of trauma. Do you know how many times he's been kidnapped? Beaten? Tortured? Three times. And every single one was orchestrated by an omega. Omegas disguised as servants, travelers, slaves — he let his guard down because they looked fragile. And they almost killed him."
Aurean said nothing. His throat constricted.
Eiran's words dug deeper than they should have. His chest ached with memory — the poisoned knife in his hand. The silence of the night he tried to end Rythe's life.
Eiran's gaze softened. "So when another omega betrayed him, tried to kill him… it wasn't just treason. It was reliving every scar he already had. That's why he took it so hard."
Aurean lowered his gaze, voice barely audible. "I was one of them."
Arcael, silent until now, sighed. "But you're also the only one he's tried so hard to keep alive."
A heavy quiet fell.
Eiran finally stood. "Well. I've disrupted your bonding long enough."
With a teasing wink, he was gone.
Aurean remained still, the emperor watching him.
In his mind, images swirled — the naked shame, the dungeon, the unseen rescues, the child that never was… and the man who bore it all.
How many times had Rythe bled… for others? For him?
Aurean's hand curled against his robe.
Not all wounds bled openly.