"Isn't Alpha Zarius the one who was cursed?"
"I've heard that his ancestor is the reason. They have a hint of ancient darkness in their veins. People are afraid of him because of this."
"As a child, he frequently visited the palace. There was nothing odd about the quiet boy back then. Just those eyes. You never forget eyes like that."
"My son aspires to be a man like him. A war hero. Brave, strong. But without the curse, of course."
"I heard he's attractive. Well, cursed or not, some things are worth the risk. Hihi..."
Cherion had been collecting this "information" for the whole week. From old attendants who remembered things only partially, gossiping maids, and from guards who thought they were wise.
He followed every rumor, every gossip, and discovered that the pieces only circled back to what he already knew from the book. Zarius Valtrane was cursed, feared, and yet admired. Nothing new or useful. The more he asked, the more depressed he became.
The only thing that was clear was that Zarius Valtrane's reputation was heavy and somehow not that flattering.
And how foolish of him to overlook the part that was cursed.
It was true that Zarius Valtrane had been cursed in the novel. But that was the extent of the author's generosity on the subject. Just one ambiguous note thrown into the background, never explained, never explored. Just an ominous label stamped onto the man until Yerel finally killed him at the end.
"Oh, this is just fantastic," Cherion pouted as he dragged a stick across the gravel in the garden. He gently tapped it against his forehead several times, making a gentle thud each time. "I'm getting married to a cursed alpha whose past the author didn't want to discuss. Excellent."
With a moan, he fell back onto the grass, the stick resting on his chest. The sun was warm on his skin, and the air was heavy with the scent of leaves and dirt. In theory, he should have been at peace here. But his head just wouldn't let him rest.
Leaving Yerel and Philia behind was at least one solace he could hold on to. For the past week, they had been rather unbearable.
Every time Cherion tried to just breathe calmly, Philia appeared out of nowhere with his arrogant little jabs. The man seemed to have made it his goal to become more annoying. However, Cherion had been too busy to think about Zarius to fall for the trick. He was too exhausted to engage in a verbal duel with an insecure fiancé who, contrary to the novel's portrayal, was not a good person at all.
But Yerel was worse. He took advantage of every chance to flaunt his budding romance with Philia. Their laughter carried through the palace like tin bells. Cherion almost choked on his own spit when he saw Yerel feeding Philia grapes beneath a gazebo.
Like hhuueekk.
He sighed, dragging the stick in circles on the dirt. "I wonder what my husband looks like," he murmured, mostly to the roses. "Handsome, they say. Handsome and cursed. What a combination. Like a poisoned apple."
The silence was broken by a cough.
With the stick still against his temple, Cherion jolted. He turned his head.
A man stood in the arch's shadow. Black hair, eyes like molten gold, they burned brighter than seemed natural. He was tall, broad, built like every main character rolled into one. The kind of presence that, just by being there, demanded attention.
However, something wasn't right. His skin was pale. He let out another cough that was so forceful that it caused him to stumble and bump into the wall.
"Hey..." Without thinking, Cherion dropped the stick. His instincts took precedence over his thoughts as he rushed closer. "Are you all right?"
The man looked up slowly. Cherion felt a shock in his chest as their eyes met for a moment. However, the stranger remained silent. He simply coughed again, the sound raw, and looked away.
Cherion paused for a moment before making a move. He muttered, "Uh... sorry," he muttered, as if he were asking permission from the garden itself. He grabbed the man's arm, which was colder than it should have been. "Come on, let's sit you down before you lose it. Relax, Sir, I don't bite."
Stiff as a board, the man resisted, but his knees gave way. Nevertheless, Cherion led him to a bench while muttering half a dozen apologies as he went. Once seated, the stunning man, for Cherion could see him as nothing more than that, just leaned back, his eyes unfocused and his chest heaving.
"You shouldn't be embarrassed," Cherion said, crouching beside him. His voice softened despite himself. "Everyone gets sick. Even heroes. Especially heroes." He gave a small, crooked smile. "Pretending otherwise just makes it worse."
The man didn't answer. He merely gazed at Cherion as if he were measuring something invisible. The man then stood up and walked away, his steps uneven but stubborn. Cherion just stood there, stuck on the path, watching him go.
Cherion let out a deep breath and wiped his face. "Strange man. Handsome, but strange. Probably one of those guards from the envoy." Cherion got up, brushing grass off his knees. "Great. I'll send someone before he hacks himself into an early grave."
He nearly ran into a maid who was rushing in as he turned toward the hall.
"Lord Cherion," she said breathlessly, bowing. "His Majesty requests your presence in the throne room."
"Now?" Cherion blinked, glancing back toward the garden where the sick man had disappeared. "What about that man out there? He was..."
The maid, obviously confused, tilted her head at him. "Man?"
Cherion massaged his temple. "Never mind. Just… send someone to check, please"
He whispered to himself about whatever mess awaited him this time as he followed the maid through the labyrinth of hallways. Probably some last-minute lecture about how to keep an Alpha war hero happy. Avoid nagging. When he glares, don't pass out. Even when you want to scream, keep a smile on your face. That kind of thing.
Cherion's suspicions were confirmed by the time they arrived at the throne room. With advisors and guards neatly arranged at his sides, the King sat on his seat, his expression halfway between stern and strangely compassionate.
"The day has come," the King said, his voice echoing through the room. "Tomorrow, you will depart for the North. A new life awaits you there, at the side of Alpha Zarius Valtrane."
A courteous smile appeared on Cherion's lips. Inside, though, he was screaming.
"And he will come to escort you himself," the King added. "He should arrive today."
Cherion jerked his head up. His smile froze. Today?
Don't tell me...
A guard strode in and bowed before he could fully comprehend the turn of events. "Your Majesty, the envoy of Alpha Zarius has arrived. They wish to greet you at once."
"Let them in," the King commanded.
Then the doors opened, and a man entered wearing the Northern colors of gold and black. The room seemed to become quieter and heavier with each step he took.
Beneath his strong, commanding movements, Cherion's eyes caught the faint echo of the cough, the pallor, and the weakness.
But when their eyes locked, it didn't matter anymore.
Startled blue against golden.
Recognition struck both at once.
The floor gave way beneath Cherion. The sick man from the garden, the one he had guided to a bench.
It was the Alpha Zarius Valtrane himself.