We were at war and starving—desperately starving. The people were hungry, and scarcity was worsening by the day. Gold and silver were worthless if no one would trade. The supply wagons that arrived barely sustained a few. But Roham had not always been this way. The drought and famine had begun seven years ago, after the death of Tronodoro II. Prophets had declared it a curse upon our land. At first, we laughed it off—our fields had never been abundant, but we had irrigation systems and harvesting techniques that squeezed every remaining grain from the earth. Our culture celebrated innovation for subsistence. We were warriors at heart, trained since childhood to withstand hardship—even omegas at the bottom of society knew how to wield a blade.
War was always a last resort—but sometimes necessary. We didn't want to shed Roham blood. We reached out to the King of Neopolita—petitioned, negotiated—even sent envoys. But every answer shattered hope. Winter was coming, and we had to act before its cruelest months, or hundreds would die. I marched at the head of my army, leaving a trusted regent to sit the throne. I could not remain idle in a crisis of this scale. We rode forth, unannounced, seizing a town beyond the mountain—looting farms and stockpiles, killing only those who resisted. We left small garrisons behind to maintain order, then advanced until Neopolita responded—with formal threats. But their efforts faltered. They weren't ready for us. Our tactics were superior—our force overwhelming.
It was during this campaign I first heard of Seyrim—the omega prince who was to rule one day under the blue and white banner. I scoffed at the notion of an omega as king, assuming the throne would pass to an alpha. Still, intelligence is never to be ignored—the enemy must be studied. Lower-ranked spies had embedded themselves among the people—and even within the castle. Through them, I discovered the prince was beloved by the common folk, respected for his wisdom, yet overlooked by the court and his father, steeped in vanity. With each letter, my curiosity grew. Seyrim's ideas on war, whispered in palace corridors, surprised me—so sound and strategic that our advance would have failed with his guidance. Admirable, but too late for him to change the outcome.
Reaching the capital was easy. We encamped before the wooden gates. The stone walls were thick, but we had catapults, siege ladders, archers. Rather than assault immediately, I rode forth to speak for the king's surrender—promising mercy to the people if the crown were handed to me. My initial thought was to slay the ruler publicly—the rightful claimant—then raise my banner, torch their symbol, and marry his heir to unify our realms. I never sought monogamy, but if a royal pact strengthened the empire... who could resist?
At dawn, we readied the breach. Moments before our catapults fired, a general arrived to parley. Mounted proudly, he was accompanied by the best warhorse in Roham—loyal and fierce. He cast his helmet aside, then his cloak, and finally the royal crest—signs of total surrender. The gates swung wide. I braced for a trap, but saw their soldiers lay down arms, join us. The city was breathtaking—Neolia was said to be the most grand of Neopolita's cities, and now... mine.
Its streets were paved with smooth stone. Even the poorest districts were tidy—mud and debris were unknown. Citizens wore modest clothes layered thickly—so different from Roham, where we preferred to show strength and body with pride. But I had no time to admire beauty. I entered the grand white marble castle. Flags of surrender flew high as we passed through courtyards lined with dropped swords. I led my warriors to the throne hall's inner doors—my kingdom awaited.
When the doors parted and I saw the man upon his throne—it was his presence, not ornate tapestries or lineage paintings, that held me captive. Behind him, a glazed wall bathed him in sunlight, drawing attention to his beauty: gleaming eyes, an unbowed countenance, and the crown upon his head. My plan to challenge the king vanished. The heir to be sacrificed, the child cast aside—it was a coward's tactic. So I strode toward him, eyes blazing with purpose. The prince rose, extending the crown with symbolic dignity, his voice as melodic as rumor had suggested. I was enthralled. But this was war, not courtly games. The crown was mine, but my word would bind worlds.
His willingness to die for his people amazed me—Seyrim was everything they said. I'd expected hesitation, fear—but he stood resolute. Could an omega be taught to command armies? I wondered. His intellect could crush defenses that stood before us. This winter, with his guidance, we might even turn against Akasia...
Even though I was certain Seyrim was different, I ended up underestimating him. I thought I would fall for him at some point—that he would sense my pheromones and fall for me, that when he saw me fight he would be enchanted by my performance. Yet what I saw was coldness, indifference, and reluctance. He was never willing to give me his heart, not even after the first kiss when his body trembled in my arms. He simply left as if it meant nothing, no matter how aroused I knew he was. That creature was so slippery—yet I managed to seduce him. Still, at what point would I claim his heart? When could I say he was mine? Days passed; politics grew ever more intense. I had influence thanks to the omega. Everything in that kingdom belonged to me—except the prince. I intended to take him by all means possible. I promised to wait until the wedding, even though it was the hardest task of my life—especially after realizing how much pain that little being could endure. He did not know himself, nor his own sexuality. The idea of shaping him for me was incredibly promising.
I devoted myself to war and strategy, but my mind always wandered to his body, his face, even when far away. I found myself wondering what Seyrim would do when facing political difficulties in some region, or if we would dine together that day. Arien had already noticed but said nothing, only staying close to me—he trusted no one outside his own circle, so naturally he didn't want me emotionally involved with anyone not from Roham. I was no longer bound by such conventions. I would marry Seyrim, so naturally I would eventually have feelings for the other. I had even promised to be monogamous, but that was only so I could have a great strategist by my side.
I thought the marriage would be just one part of the conquest—but it became something fundamental and important. The moment when Neopolita would be completely mine—especially that masochistic omega who seemed to occupy more and more of my thoughts. It disturbed me to think I was hurt in some way, so I always tried to manage what might happen, dedicating myself fully to making that alliance succeed, searching for common ground, even creating ways for us to grow closer—whether by kissing his honeyed lips, which melted at the gentle touch meant to tame his tempestuous nature, or in moments of more intense contact, elaborate conversations with varied topics. I was learning the culture, the language of other lands, learning to live among that people—it wasn't bad to listen to his explanations. Seyrim was excellent in everything he did, devoted fully, and seeing his lips speak sweetly as he told the story of his own people was truly inspiring.
I lowered my guard. The wedding was the moment I thought I had gained everything—at my most confident, when the tattoo was placed on our fingers, arrogance overwhelmed me. I could only think, "He belongs to me." All that remained was to bite his neck, and everything would be mine. Yet, when I learned that information had leaked, my most irrational side took over. I attacked him without hearing his words. I realized how desperate, hurt, and frustrated I was—but still I wanted to hurt him, to wound him, to threaten him, even though deep down I knew I couldn't kill him. But maybe lock him in the highest tower room, make him never leave again, turn him into my prisoner of war—my trophy, my greatest treasure. These thoughts haunted my mind as I left him alone in that place. Was there someone infiltrating my most intimate council? Impossible—all those sitting in those chairs were war heroes and heroines, strong men and women who had proven their worth in battle.
Still distraught, I returned to the room intending to hear what Seyrim had to say. I felt restless—I hadn't imagined something so predictable could affect me so much. The kingdom of Neopolita had been taken by Roham, my people were already part of that place's reality, living and blending with local society, but I couldn't make the mistake of thinking everything was within my reach. There was always the possibility of spies, possible traitors—and that small cornered prince could be one of them. I crushed the letter found with his friend who had challenged me on the first day, threw it into the fire in the room without even reading the translation—I didn't want to believe it—but then I heard cracking sounds coming from the bathroom.
Someone was attacking Seyrim. I didn't need to think—wielding a sword was part of my life, my soul. I had spent my entire childhood training, participating in tournaments, earning battle scars, showing everyone who should be at the top. Yet I struck no blow—this assassin was slippery, moving through shadows with incredible agility. I turned my attention to the prince fallen on the floor and held his body because I needed to protect him from the world. The smaller one was so fragile, it seemed he might die. For more than three days, I stayed by his side—only leaving to coordinate the search for the assassin, or when I had to show myself in public. No one could know about the attack, so the story was only that Seyrim had a common malaise. I was blinded by my own deliriums and failed to notice how rash I had been. I almost lost my husband over something so trivial—I had no right to be angry, only to try to fix the situation.
Seyrim was willing to cooperate, but I sensed his actions were political—rational attempts to distance himself from the negative feelings of being unjustly accused. As for me, I could no longer endure my libido—I would try to ease circumstances in a way we both understood. Through sex. It was the way I thought we could become intimately involved faster, putting that episode on hold for a while. Never had I imagined feeling so good dominating someone that way—my sadistic side awakened. Of course, I was careful not to hurt him, only making his small body burn hotter. More and more alluring. His flushed cheeks, the way he whimpered desperately, how he wanted to be touched tenderly, teased, restrained. How could someone like Seyrim be so submissive and masochistic? I was not complaining—far from it. I had that possessive desire, wanted to dominate his wills, his desires, hear his loud moans as I sank into his warm entrance, spanking his flesh until it was red and swollen. I never tired of hearing, feeling, and losing myself inside his body. Until we could go no further—yet still I desired him so fiercely it was sometimes hard to let him rest. Even while forming war plans, even while searching for the culprit, I wanted to smell his omega scent, his sweet essence, to touch him, to bind his body, to punish him for being arrogant and rational.
I was caught in spring spells. And yet I still needed to worry—Seyrim wanted to discover the spy, risking too much. His plan was brilliant, but it would expose him to dangers he shouldn't face. Still, how could I convince him I was not worried only because of the war? It was obvious I could not be indifferent to the person I was married to. My plan for continental domination would continue, but I didn't want him dead. He wasn't part of my goals—yet I knew he was hurt for having been stabbed by me. I needed to prove I was serious about that marriage, about us.
I had never been someone who tied himself to only one person. I had my loves, some at the same time, warming my sheets on cold nights, staying by my side on sunny mornings, but that didn't mean I knew the deep feelings sung by the minstrels of Roham. Their stories were silly and childish. I loved many, took pleasure with all, but the way the bards sang was impossible—there was no room in my political plans to feel that kind of sensation: the usual nervousness of passion, the excessive worry, the restlessness. And now I was experiencing so many of those feelings I once believed I'd never feel—I was in love with the improbable. When I decided to take his hand, it was selfish intent—a strategy to calm the spirits of the people who were being humiliated and defeated by me. I didn't think that, at some point during our turbulent, contradictory, and exciting coexistence, I would feel so terrified at the thought of losing someone. Someone from the people who had for so long refused to trade, to share their bread no matter how much gold Roham offered—and yet I was there, embracing him, smelling him in the basement of that temple, seeing his face flushed by heat, needing to monopolize everything that came from that small vulnerable being—and at the same time the strongest creature I knew.
I couldn't say when those feelings began to surface. Our winter tale in the midst of war. I was reproaching myself for feeling that deep explosion of sensations. Arien reproached my actions for not trusting Seyrim. He thought I was surrendering too easily, but in my view, the enemy was no longer the kingdom I had fought for so many months. They could be opposition to my ruler, but never a real threat. At least, that's what I thought—I had lowered my guard again after my neck was bitten. I believed the plans would go as we had foreseen once we captured the traitor.
Jamal returned to the game. After years without hearing that name, he seemed more present than he should be, killing my messengers in the cruel way he always did. At what point did my brother gain supernatural abilities? I was worried, so I decided to lead my own war battalion to head toward Brizida, aiming to keep spirits under control, see the passage the prince had told me about, and prepare the ground. That's how I set off toward war, being both king and general of the army—I wouldn't stay behind those walls any longer. The prince would do the work of keeping everything under control; I trusted his strategic skills and undeniable charisma.
When I kissed him for the last time, I felt my heart tighten. I touched his cheek, seeing his face flushed. I would wait for my return, come back to his arms, and place a few more earrings on his body. That was my promise. I crossed the gates with regret, but it was necessary. Akasia had been infiltrated in my kingdom for too long, planning the moment to turn the tide. The post-war fragility was the perfect moment to strike. Besides, the politics were fragile—although public opinion was shifting in my favor, it was still too soon to claim it would hold. Akasia had always been a friendly kingdom to Neopolita; if they decided to wage war directly, their population would be divided. So they needed to destabilize the little I had gained in those long months—and Seyrim would be the key piece in that game. The omega could tip the balance, and his grandfather knew that. Eliminating or using the grandson would be crucial to executing his wicked plans. I would be on the front line to make sure the king's will did not come to pass. He was the most nefarious man I had the displeasure to hear of, someone I would later face in battle. Using his own grandson to achieve his goals—I would make him pay for the audacity of thinking he could challenge Roham and Neopolita.
The march lasted several days. There were small towns along the way that already flew my kingdom's flag, surrendered. According to reports, most had no conflicts, except for Brizida, the border town with Akasia, the place with the highest number of Akasians in the country—it was no surprise there was resistance. We slept in camps or inns along the road. I was eager for battle, yet something told me to return to Neolia. For nights, I dreamed of that impetuous omega—erotic and sometimes just lost in long talks about the stars. At times I lay on the bare ground staring at the sky. I was never a lover of nature, but even those small wild details held a special meaning.
I just didn't expect the ambush. I thought Brizida was under control, and even if there was trouble, my commanders would have done their job right. But Akasia had taken over every corner of that place, impaling the heads of Rohians as examples to those who dared rebel. The population lived under an authoritarian regime, curfew enforced, and a strong military presence in every alley. When my army was defeated, many prisoners were taken. Despite the number of dead, we were only a small infantry battalion—I didn't have full power. My last memory was feeling the sharp blade of someone extremely skilled, dressed in gold and green, with the Akasia symbol on their war uniform, long hair, muscles even stronger. It was the enemy's brigadier general. I was demoralized and destabilized. Before being captured, I mounted the nearest horse still alive, galloping toward the other side of the road. Arrows pierced my armor, tearing my skin. Some hit the mount, which collapsed. Unfortunately, I had to abandon the animal at the entrance before the soldiers caught up. It was... risky to enter the unknown forest—the border was marked exactly at the grass that anticipated the meadow. But I stepped into Akasia, running fiercely without feeling the wounds in my body. I heard the sounds of my pursuers; I couldn't die—not yet. I closed my eyes for a moment because of blurred vision; that's when my leg slipped, I felt gravity push my body down, falling into the ravine—I lost consciousness before even touching the ground. It was the end. And I couldn't say that I loved him.
—Seyrim...
Those were my last words—or so I believed. I opened my eyes thinking I was dead. I could still feel the open wounds, the warm blood. Dizziness came hard and the urge to vomit. I was clinging to life with the goal of seeing him one last time.
—Oh, great warrior, your will to live is extremely precious.— The voice I heard from afar was so hybrid I couldn't tell to whom it belonged. I didn't sense the characteristic scents of alphas or omegas—I wasn't even sure I could sense that in my condition. I just wanted to live. I was lying on a hard floor in a dark place. I didn't see the night; I only felt the cold. The silhouette approached, holding something to lean on and touched the sword wound.
—Do you want to live? Do you wish to wake up alive tomorrow?
—Yes.— I murmured weakly, about to fall into darkness again. I only thought about how to survive that clean sword cut on my belly.
—I will give you life, warrior, in exchange for the precious feeling you hold dearly in your heart. If you give it to me willingly, I will grant you the life you desire so much. If not, death will come for you before sunrise, and everything you wished for, everything you longed for will end here. Your grand destiny will be interrupted.— The voice was almost seductive, sweet. But what did it mean? I didn't understand the magic or what this exchange implied. But if there was a chance...
I thought of my people, of the hunger my death would bring. I couldn't lose that—not now. I needed to cut off the head of the general, conquer Akasia, and bring my people the food they deserved in the harsh winter.
—Do it. Heal me and I will give you what you desire.— I said with anger in my voice, feeling the blood leaving my body. That being illuminated the place, touching my chest. I felt something leave me, suddenly abandoning me; emptiness came right after. What did it mean? Then everything turned into pure darkness.
I opened my eyes the next day, feeling my body completely well, no pain, as if I'd never been wounded or cut before. I touched my uniform, noticing battle marks. It was all real—yet the magic had vanished. Next to me was the most androgynous being I had ever known. They didn't seem to have any gender. Watching me with curiosity, as if seeing a wild animal recovering.
—How long did I sleep?— I asked.
—Seven hours, twelve minutes, and thirty-five seconds.— They answered with the same expression. On their chest hung a necklace with a large, beautiful red crystal.
I leaned my body against the cold stone. Seyrim. He was my husband, my companion—and yet, I felt absolutely nothing when I thought of that name, or our moments together. They seemed empty and meaningless. I didn't remember the promise from the day before, only that I needed the prince of Neopolita to finish the war. I would use him for that, just as I had planned from the start. I had always been that way. Either way, I had my goal in mind. I would return to Neopolita and fulfill my purpose with the life that was given back to me.