The iron gates groaned open, their ancient hinges protesting the movement. Elias inhaled sharply, tasting the cold scent of the castle's stone corridors. It was ceremonial, deliberate—meant to humiliate, to make a performance out of his presence. Chains rattled around his wrists and ankles with every step, a symphony of submission orchestrated for the court's amusement.
He lowered his gaze as instructed—not too low to seem broken, not too high to challenge authority. Just enough to appear obedient. Still. Silent. Controlled.
The great hall stretched before him, filled with courtiers draped in silk, soldiers glinting with polished armor, and predators cloaked in gold. Some whispered behind fans, others leaned forward to appraise him with smirks. Elias felt their eyes like claws, scraping at his dignity. He gritted his teeth. Let them look. Let them see.
At the far end, atop marble steps, sat King Auren. The youngest king in history, born of war and reared in steel, an Alpha whose crown bore the weight of blood, betrayal, and command over armies. And now… Elias was his.
The guards halted him a few steps away. Cold stone pressed against his bare feet, knees trembling, but he did not fall. Not here. Not now.
The herald's voice rang out, polished and ceremonial: "Present the offering."
Elias lifted his head—just once. Enough to meet the gaze of the man who held his fate.
King Auren was not a monster. Not in the way whispered rumors had painted him. Sharp, intelligent, calm—his dark hair grazed his eyes, catching the light just so. And when his gaze fell on Elias, it wasn't fascination, nor humor. It was… irritation.
"Remove the collar," Auren commanded, his voice steady, cutting through the murmurs.
A collective gasp swept the hall. The guard hesitated. "Your Majesty, he's… unbound. He might—"
"I said, remove it."
Metal clicked. The collar dropped. For the first time in years, Elias could breathe.
Auren descended the stairs, each step measured, deliberate. He stopped just close enough that Elias could hear him without threatening him.
"You are not a dog," he said, voice low but carrying authority. "Hence, I will not treat you like one."
Elias's heart thundered, but he kept still. Not a bow. Not a tremor.
"Guards," Auren said, voice sharp again. "Take him to the east wing. Give him proper quarters. No one touches him until I say so."
Whispers echoed, but Elias did not look back. He could feel the king's gaze lingering even as the doors closed.
Down the silent hallways, Adam shadowed Crown Prince Levian. His footsteps were quieter than Lev's, not by choice, but by training. Omegas moved like ghosts unless called upon. But Levian always noticed him.
Outside the prince's chambers, guards stepped aside without comment. No one dared challenge Levian—the northern throne's heir, Alpha, ruthless, beautiful, untouchable.
The room smelled of cedar and leather, of firewood and quiet authority. Levian stood by the window, hands clasped, gazing at the courtyard below. His aura, dominant and crisp, filled the space, pressing against Adam's senses like the first bite of winter air.
"You're tense," Levian said eventually, not turning.
"No, Your Highness."
"You're lying."
Adam stayed silent, as expected.
Levian's amber eyes finally met his, softening ever so slightly. "Come here."
Adam obeyed, stepping forward. Levian closed the distance effortlessly. Gloved fingers lifted Adam's chin, inspecting him as though reading every secret.
"You're not wearing your suppressants," Levian noted.
"I ran out," Adam admitted.
Levian's lips curled into a slow smile. "Careless."
Adam opened his mouth to protest, but Levian's voice cut through: "You reek of Omega heat. Do you think I don't notice the guards watching when you pass?"
Adam's gaze dropped. "I don't want anyone to notice."
"Good," Levian murmured, thumb brushing Adam's jaw. "Because I'll make sure no one even thinks about touching what's mine."
It was possession—but softened, almost gentle. Adam could feel it seeping into his chest, igniting a mixture of fear and longing he had never known.
"Do you want someone to bring your suppressants?" Levian asked, stepping back slightly.
"No," Adam said quickly, shaking his head. "I'll manage."
Levian's jaw tightened, a flash of frustration crossing his features. "You shouldn't have to manage."
Adam didn't know what to say. This wasn't the cold, ruthless prince people whispered about. This Levian—this Alpha—was something else entirely.
"Sit," Levian commanded, pointing to the velvet settee near the fireplace. Adam obeyed. Levian poured two glasses of amber liquid.
"You don't drink," Adam said.
"You do now," Levian countered.
The first sip burned, but Adam drank it down, eyes locked on the prince. Levian studied him, a brow raised.
"You're too fragile for this court," Levian murmured after a long pause. "Too soft."
"I did not request to be here," Adam said quietly.
"No. Your father sold you here," Levian said simply. The truth cut deeper than any blade. Adam's past, his family, the chains—they were all here, all tangled together.
"You still belong with me," Levian added, voice colder now, yet undeniable. "Not them."
Silence stretched between them. Then Levian leaned closer, his lips brushing Adam's ear. "Your shackles are heavy, yes. But my crown… is heavy too."
Adam's chest tightened. Words weren't necessary. The weight, the power, the unspoken connection—it was enough.