Morning arrived in the northern lands, but the biting cold still lingered in the air. Heavy snow continued to fall, blanketing the manor
grounds in white. The courtyard was already covered in thick drifts, and some of the servants were out early, bundled in layers of wool and fur, scooping away the piled-up snow with shovels. Their breath rose in clouds as they worked, the crunch of their boots echoing in the frozen silence. It was another long snow day, quiet, harsh, and beautiful in its stillness.
Claren opened his eyes, still afraid of what he might see, but warmth surrounded him.
"Luren…" he murmured, a small smile forming on his lips as he hugged him tightly.
"You're awake?" Craige smiled, looking at his nephew.
"Uncle…" Tears welled up in Claren's eyes at the sight of him and the realization that he was safe. "Where is Prince Karin?" he asked,
glancing around with worry.
"He's alright. Come here."
Claren gently moved to Craige's side, careful not to wake Luren.
"Do you want to see Prince Karin and Miller?" Craige asked, grabbing a small fur jacket and helping Claren into it.
"Yes," Claren nodded, raising his arms so the jacket would fit properly.
They quietly left the bed and headed to the door, making sure not to wake Luren.
They saw Butler Serio pushing a cart full of food, the aroma wafting through the corridor.
"Good morning, Your Grace. Good morning, Prince Claren," he greeted them with a warm smile, his tone gentle and cheerful.
"Good morning, Butler Serio," Craige replied kindly, and Claren gave a shy nod, his small voice echoing the same greeting.
"Butler, did the two patients wake up?" Craige asked, his voice filled with concern.
"Yes, Your Grace. It seems they haven't eaten in two days," Serio said with a worried glance. "I believe Prince Claren hasn't eaten
either."
Craige looked down at Claren, who clutched his sleeve and avoided his gaze. The boy's cheeks were pale, and his stomach gave a soft growl.
"Are you hungry?" Craige asked gently, crouching to Claren's level and brushing a hand over his soft hair. "Let's eat first, alright?"
Claren nodded slowly,
"Yes, Uncle… I'm hungry," Claren said, pouting. "I only ate bitter fruits in the forest."
Craige's expression softened, his heart aching at the thought. "My poor boy… come, let's go to the kitchen. You can eat whatever you like," he said with a warm, comforting smile.
As they entered the dining area, Keith, Clara, and Rolen looked up from their breakfast.
"Good morning, Your Grace. Good morning, Prince Claren," they greeted politely, relief evident in their eyes.
Craige gave a small nod in response, his hand gently resting on Claren's back.
"Your Grace, your food is ready. Allow me to feed Prince Claren," the kitchen maid offered, bowing respectfully before approaching the child with care.
Craige nod his head gently. "Let him sit beside me," he said firmly but kindly, taking his seat.
"Yes, Your Grace," the maid replied quickly, helping Claren settle in next to him before beginning to feed him with gentle hands.
Claren smiled faintly, feeling safe and warm again as he tasted real food for the first time in days. Craige watched him quietly, making
sure his little nephew was truly home.
After breakfast, Keith looked at the Duke with a serious expression.
"Your Grace, Borg and Ione have something to report," he said.
Craige gave a slight nod, then turned his gaze to Claren and Clara.
"Clara, bring the child to see Prince Karin and Miller. Stay with him for a while and make sure he's alright. Also, tell Butler Serio to prepare breakfast for Luren and wake him up to eat."
"Yes, Your Grace," Clara replied with a respectful nod, then turned to Claren with a gentle smile.
"Come, little prince."
Craige knelt slightly to ruffle Claren's hair.
"I have to work now. If you need anything, ask Clara."
"Okay, Uncle," Claren answered with a warm, trusting smile.
With that, the three men-Craige, Keith, and Rolen, headed toward the Duke's office.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Rolen's voice turned grim.
"Three assassins have been captured," he said. "They're locked up in the dungeon now."
Craige's expression hardened, a dark shadow flickering in his eyes.
"Who sent them?" he asked coldly.
Just then, Borg and Ione entered the office. Both looked weary from the night's events, their cloaks still dusted with snow.
"Your Grace," Borg began, bowing slightly, "we've begun interrogating the assassins.
"The three drank poison, but we managed to save one. The other two died," Borg reported solemnly, his expression grim.
"The survivor gave us a name, someone posing as a merchant. We looked into it, but he turned out to be just a middleman from a southern trade group," Ione added, frustration flickering in her voice.
"We found a snake tattoo on their arms," Borg continued. "It's the mark of the mercenary group Serpent Mark."
Craige's brows furrowed. Before he could speak, Keith stepped in, his tone serious. "That group is infamous. They'll kill anyone, as long as the price is right."
Craige's voice hardened. "Keith, send someone to visit them. Quietly. I want to know who hired them."
"Yes, Your Grace," Keith answered with a sharp nod.
Craige turned to Borg and Ione, his gaze softening. "You two have done well. Go get some rest."
"Yes, Your Grace," they both said, bowing respectfully before quietly exiting the room, exhaustion evident in their footsteps.
----
Somewhere in the Southern Territory of Seravelle
"The assassinations have failed, my lord," the man reported, his voice low with unease.
A group of six nobles sat around a round table, tension thick in the air.
The lord clenched his fist, his jaw tightening as a grim shadow crossed his face.
"That was our only chance to eliminate the successor," one of the nobles muttered bitterly. "We can't afford to make another move now. The risks are too high."
"I heard a rumor…" another man on the left spoke, leaning forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "They say the Duke's lover is with child. If the King has no heir, he could name that child as his own."
"Isn't the Duke's lover a man? What a ridiculous rumor," the old man said with a look of utter disgust.
"He's an omega," the man on the left replied calmly.
"Interesting…" the handsome man murmured, running his fingers through his long red hair with a mischievous smile. "I must attend the Frostmere Festival."
The old man scoffed, his voice thick with disdain. "How could a priest be interested in that?"
"You wouldn't know how good it feels to fuck a man," the handsome man whispered with a mocking smirk, his voice laced with venom. "You've got no energy left, you fat, withering old man."
"Ridiculous! You are utterly disgusting, Archbishop Desmond!" the old man shouted, his face twisted in outrage and disbelief.
"Oh? Are we calling titles now… deposed Duke Armond?" Desmond sneered, eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
"That's enough! both of you!" Lord Cedric, the Marquis, snapped as he stood abruptly, his voice sharp and filled with fury. "Father,
Desmond control yourselves!"
"Marchioness Atthalia, I want you to spy on your husband. He is one of the King's most trusted confidants," Cedric commanded coldly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Yes, my Lord," the woman replied, bowing her head with a composed but wary expression.
"Everyone, dismissed!" Cedric ordered sharply, then turned to his bodyguard. "Take my father to his room."
The members of the covert council quietly filed out of the hidden chamber beneath the estate of the deposed Duke of the South, Armond Flenhaver. Only Desmond and Cedric remained.
As the heavy wooden door closed behind the last person, Cedric spun around, his voice rising with frustration.
"Why did you insult my father like that? You know damn well we need his support if we're going to overthrow the King!" His fists clenched at his sides, fury flickering in his eyes.
Desmond stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Cedric's waist before pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his forehead.
"Your father would collapse if he knew just how much you love being fucked by me," he whispered against Cedric's skin, his lips trailing down to his neck as his hand slid under his clothes, exploring with growing
intent.
Cedric tensed, eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you interested in the duke's lover?" he asked, a sharp note of jealousy threading through his voice.
Desmond chuckled darkly, his breath hot against Cedric's ear. "Hmm… I might be, if he turns out to be a beauty," he said, nipping at
Cedric's earlobe and teasing his nipples with wicked fingers.
"Are you sure you still want to challenge the King?" Desmond murmured, his voice husky as his hand dipped lower, cupping Cedric's stiffening cock through his pants and stroking slowly, deliberately, his eyes never
leaving Cedric's.
"Ahhn… Yes… I'll make him pay for humiliating my family," Cedric moaned, his voice trembling with need. "You want him to suffer too, don't you?"
Desmond grabbed him, slamming him down onto the table with a force that stole the breath from his lungs. He leaned in, lips brushing Cedric's ear as he spoke in a low, dangerous growl. "You're up against the West and the North, both backing the King.
In one swift motion, Desmond yanked down Cedric's pants, the cool air meeting flushed skin. He smacked his ass hard—again, and again—until Cedric gasped, hips trembling, the sting blooming into heat.
"Fuck, Desmond!" Cedric cried out, voice raw, desperate. His fingers curled against the table's edge, body arching. He lived for this—the burn, the force, the overwhelming possession.
"You like it when I break you, don't you?" Desmond hissed, gripping his waist tighter. "Say it."
"Yeah—fuck, I love it!" Cedric moaned, breath ragged. "Put it in already, Desmond—please!"
Desmond chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with amusement and hunger. "What would your sweet little wife say," he murmured, unzipping his pants with slow precision, "if she saw you like this, bent over, begging me to fuck you like a common whore?"
He bit down on Cedric's nape, drawing a sharp gasp, then slowly pushed his thick length into Cedric's tight, twitching hole.
"Ahhh—yes! Fuck me harder!" Cedric cried out, his fingers clawing at the edge of the table as Desmond stretched him open, each thrust deeper and more punishing than the last.
Desmond grabbed his hips with bruising force. "Did you make contact with King Herald?" he asked between deep, relentless thrusts.
"Y-Yes—he said he'd move—ahh—soon!" Cedric groaned, pleasure sparking through every nerve as Desmond hit deeper inside him.
"That's good," Desmond growled, fucking him harder, rougher. "Still can't believe that old bastard sired someone this fucking pretty."
"He's just waiting for the right moment, fuck I'm close—!"
Desmond grinned and leaned forward, his chest pressed to Cedric's back as he whispered into his ear, "Then come for me, slut. Now."
With a strangled cry, Cedric shattered, his body convulsing around Desmond's cock, the climax ripping through him with blinding heat.
Desmond groaned low and feral, slamming into him one final time before spilling deep inside, his grip tightening like he never wanted to let go.
For a moment, all they could hear was their ragged breathing, the heavy scent of sweat, sex, and power hanging thick in the air.
Then Desmond licked the bite mark on Cedric's neck and whispered with a smirk, "You always fall apart so beautifully."
"What would your wife say if she saw this mark?" Desmond smirked as he zipped up his pants.
"Urgh, you talk and cum too much!" Cedric muttered, wiping the sticky liquid trailing down his thigh, a mix of annoyance and lingering pleasure in his voice.
Desmond laughed heartily, the sound echoing in the dim room. "But you like it."
Cedric rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah, right. I fucking love it," he growled, grabbing Desmond by the collar and crashing their mouths together. His tongue pushed in, desperate and possessive. Desmond welcomed it, their kiss turning wild, hungry, primal, like beasts who couldn't get enough of each other.
Breathless, lips red and swollen, Cedric pulled back just enough to speak between ragged breaths. "Can you… deliver the Omega to King Herald?"
"You mean the future Duchess?" Desmond's expression turned grim, his eyes narrowing as he weighed the consequences.
"Yes!" Cedric replied with a wicked grin. "Duke Craige will lose his mind the moment that omega disappears."
Desmond let out a dark, hollow laugh. "Are you sure you can handle the mad Duke of the North? Just imagining it… I can already see hell breaking loose."
"Don't be afraid," Cedric said, his voice low and laced with malice. "Let King Herald face the Duke's fury. While they tear each other
apart, we'll drown the King in misery."
A dangerous glint sparkled in his eyes as the plan slowly took form.