Tholan found Aurean in his chambers, seated at his desk, a quill idle in his fingers and his gaze fixed on nothing. He'd been turning over—again—how to approach Rythe after all that had happened when Tholan's voice broke the quiet.
"The Veldar family is here, my lord. They're waiting in the sitting room."
Aurean stilled. "All of them?"
"Your father, your mother… your siblings."
Annoyance flared, but he smothered it. "Very well."
When he stepped into the living area, the sight of Halric Veldar, his wife, and the assembled siblings drew no rise in him—only a calm, blank stillness. They looked different.
"Aurean," Halric began, voice low, almost pleading. "We have come to apologize. For… everything. I was wrong to disown you. We have changed. The family has changed. Please… come back to us."
The others echoed his words, each offering their own apology, halting and awkward.
Aurean listened in silence, sitting with one leg crossed, his expression unreadable. When they fell quiet, he spoke—calmly, almost softly, but each word cut like glass.
"You treated me worse than the lowest servant. I could have died, and not one of you would have blinked." His gaze swept over his parents. "You were cruel, selfish… monstrous, to do what you did to your own child."
He turned to his siblings. "You loved only yourselves, shutting me out simply because I was born an omega. And you—" his eyes locked on his father "—sent me to kill a member of the royal family. When I failed, you stripped away the only thing I had left—my name."
His tone did not rise, but the quiet certainty in it was heavier than shouting.
"I am not sad. I am not angry. I feel… nothing for you. And, come to think of it—" his lips curved faintly, without warmth "—I am grateful. You made me walk through hell, but I came back stronger. Strangers gave me the love my own blood denied me. I am in a better place now."
He rose to his feet. "Leave me in peace. I am no longer a Veldar."
Without another glance, Aurean turned and left the room. "Tholan," he called over his shoulder, "escort the guests out."
The door shut behind him, sealing the silence.
After sending his family away, Aurean retreated to his chambers. The water from his bath was warm, but it could not wash away the heaviness that clung to him. He climbed into bed, staring at the canopy above, his mind restless. The silence of the estate felt louder than ever, each tick of the clock dragging him further from sleep.
When slumber finally took him, it was not the peaceful escape he sought.
He dreamt of Rythe—of that first time he had pleaded with him during the haze of his heat. He could feel again the desperation in his voice, the way Rythe's eyes had searched his, torn between refusal and surrender. He remembered the hesitation, the moment the warrior's control had cracked… and then the rush of raw, unguarded intimacy that followed, as though the world beyond their bodies had ceased to exist.
The sensation lingered—heat, weight, breath, the burn of longing that felt both sweet and unbearable.
Aurean woke with a sharp gasp, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts. His sheets clung to him, damp with sweat, and his pulse thundered in his ears. He pressed a trembling hand to his face, willing the memory to fade, knowing it wouldn't.
That same night, miles away in the royal quarters of Ardan, Rythe lay awake on his bed, one arm resting over his brow. He had trained until exhaustion, hoping the ache in his muscles would drown out the turmoil in his mind. But when his eyes closed, they betrayed him—dragging him into a memory he had long tried to bury.
Aurean.
The press of his palms, the tremble in his voice, the raw vulnerability in his eyes that night.
Rythe remembered the way he had told himself no, over and over, and how that resolve had burned to ash the moment Aurean's body pressed into his.
He could still feel the warmth of his skin, the taste of his breath, the sound of his voice breaking in pleasure.
Rythe's jaw tightened. He rolled onto his side and stared into the dark, willing the images away. But the truth sat heavy in his chest, unshakable—no matter how far he kept himself, no matter what he told himself… that night was branded into him.
He did not sleep until the first pale light of dawn slipped through his window.