"You finally brought the Prince of Elarion, Hajim," King Herald said as they entered
the throne room, his voice laced with satisfaction.
Luren's stomach churned with nausea at the sight of the man who had murdered his
parents and plunged the people of Elarion into years of suffering.
The king's expression shifted from pleased to visibly irritated as his gaze fell on
Luren's rounded belly. Rage flushed his face.
"You never told me this omega was pregnant!?" he barked, his voice booming through the hall.
"Forgive me, brother," Hajim replied quickly, lowering his head. "I only learned of it
the moment I saw him."
Desmond stepped forward, his arm wrapping protectively around Luren's shoulders. "King Herald, there must be a misunderstanding"
Herald's brows furrowed, suspicion darkening his features.
"Luren is mine," Desmond declared, his tone sharp and unyielding.
Herald's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "What nonsense are you spouting? I sent Hajim to Seravelle to find him and bring him to me."
"What you need is an omega to bear a child, but Luren is already pregnant."
"I can kill the baby so he can carry my child instead," King Herald said with a menacing
smile, his words dripping with cruelty.
Luren's hands clenched into tight fists, rage burning in his chest. Every fiber of his
being screamed to lunge at the man and tear him apart for daring to threaten the lives of his unborn children.
"I have a gift for you," Desmond said smoothly, his eyes narrowing, "in exchange for letting me have Luren."
The King's expression shifted, his amusement fading into a calculating seriousness. "It had better be worth losing an omega."
"Bring him here," Desmond ordered his men.
Moments later, two soldiers entered, dragging a boy in a plain robe, one in training to become a priest. His delicate features and shoulder-length hair gave him an almost ethereal beauty, though fear clouded his wide eyes.
"Archbishop?!" the boy gasped, looking desperately toward them for salvation, unaware that it was Desmond himself who had delivered him into this nightmare.
Luren felt his stomach twist violently, his protective instincts surging as the King's
grin widened at the sight of the boy. Then, Herald's gaze slid toward Luren, cold and predatory, making his blood run cold.
"Are you the father of his child?" King Herald asked with an air of authority, his voice
cutting through the hall like a blade.
"No," Desmond replied flatly.
"Then the rumors are true, the mighty Duke of the North has fallen for a man." A sly
smile spread across the king's face. "Well, don't worry. The Duke will soon meet his end. My soldiers report that he is badly injured, and now that they are outnumbered, it's only a matter of time before the East crumbles… and Seravelle will be mine." His laughter echoed, cruel and triumphant.
A chill ran through Luren's veins at the king's words, his fingers instinctively curling
over his belly as if to shield the life inside. His heart pounded painfully, fear and anger tangling inside him. Yet, even through the cold dread, he clung to a fragile thread of hope. He refused to believe Craige would fall, not him. Somewhere deep in his chest, he knew they would meet again. They had to.
"Put both omegas in the Velvet Chambers," King Herald commanded, his voice cold and
final.
The soldiers stepped forward, hands reaching for Luren and the boy.
"King Herald, you can't take Luren! I already gave you an omega!" Desmond protested,
his arm wrapping protectively around Luren's waist. His voice shook with barely contained fury.
The King's lips curled into a mocking smile. "I'm not convinced that boy can bear
children, but Luren… Luren clearly can. As long as he isn't carrying yet, I want him at my side." His gaze lingered possessively on Luren, making Desmond's blood boil.
"You can't do this!" Desmond's voice thundered through the hall.
Herald's eyes hardened, his authority cutting through the air like a blade. "Did you
forget where you stand, Archbishop of Seravelle? This is my kingdom—my word is
law." He leaned forward slightly, his smirk turning cruel. "Besides… your little lover is already waiting for you in your chambers."
Desmond's fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened, his heart hammering with rage and helplessness.
"Take them!" the King barked, and the soldiers dragged Luren away as Desmond's
protests were drowned out by the echo of heavy boots on stone.
They were dragged through a massive stone door and pushed inside.
"Are you both okay?" a voice asked.
Luren turned to see who had spoken. Four men stood before them, their faces pale and
weary. Each bore bruises, their thin clothes hanging loosely on their battered frames.
"I'm okay… but what is this place?" Luren asked, scanning the room.
"You're…pregnant!" one of the men exclaimed, his eyes widening the moment they landed on Luren's swollen belly.
Luren gave a small nod. "Are you all omegas?" he asked softly.
"Yes. I'm Gin," said the man with tan skin, his voice hoarse. "And these are Nim, Lian,
and Kali."
"I'm Luren," he replied with a gentle smile. "It's good to meet you."
A younger boy stepped forward hesitantly, his hands trembling. "I-I'm Teo… I'm also an
omega," he stammered, his voice cracking with fear. "I thought entering the temple would keep me safe from Velgarith… but I never knew…" His eyes brimmed with tears, his lips quivering. "I never knew the Archbishop himself would deliver me into this nightmare."
"Don't worry, we will leave this place," Luren whispered softly as he patted the man's
back, trying to give him comfort.
"How?!" the four of them asked in unison, their voices trembling with both fear and a
flicker of hope.
"My husband and his men will save us," Luren said with firm assurance, though his own heart was pounding in his chest.
They all sank down onto the carpet. There was no bed in the chamber—only a large worn rug spread across the cold floor.
"Do you always sleep here?" Luren asked quietly, glancing at their bruised faces.
"Sometimes," Kali replied, her tone heavy with resignation. "We have a bedroom next door, and there's space for the two of you as well. But… the King prefers us to stay
here most of the time. That way he can come whenever he pleases." Bitterness edged her words.
Luren's hand trembled slightly as he unfolded a small piece of paper he had hidden. His eyes widened as he read the short message:
"It's me, Mara. I will get you out of here."
A spark of relief lit in his chest. Without hesitation, he crumpled the paper tightly in
his fist and tossed it into the chimney, watching the flames devour the words
before anyone else could see.
Then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sudden sound against the heavy door made everyone flinch.
The heavy door groaned as it opened. Two servants entered, pushing a cart piled with
steaming food. Their heads were bowed low, their movements careful and quiet.
"This is your dinner," one of them said flatly, placing the dishes on the table across
the room. Their tone was dull—too dull, as if practiced.
The others hurried to the table, hunger outweighing caution, but Luren stayed where he sat on the carpet, one hand resting against his stomach.
As one of the servants passed by him, he leaned in just enough to offer an arm, his
whisper barely audible beneath the scrape of plates.
"We heard you were captured. Noel sent word. I am Luis—mercenary spy."
Luren's gaze sharpened, though he kept his expression carefully blank. Noel… he was
still out there, watching. Monitoring Velgarith's every move.
"Thank you, Luis," Luren breathed so faintly it could have been mistaken for a sigh. "Send
this to Noel: it's time to gather the forces. Soon… we strike."
Luis's eyes flickered, the only sign he understood.
"And listen," Luren added, pretending to steady himself on Luis's arm. "Find Mara.
She's hidden among the soldiers—Craige's people. She will help you."
Luis gave the smallest of nods, his posture still that of a humble servant.
The second servant moved closer, setting a jug of water on the floor beside Luren. He
leaned just enough to speak.
"This is Jay. He is also one of us."
Jay bowed his head low in the manner of a servant, but his voice carried quiet strength.
"Duchess… I am from the North. I know Mara. If she is here, I will find her."
A flicker of warmth touched Luren's eyes. He forced a faint smile, as if acknowledging
good service, then whispered, "Then hope still walks among us… unseen."
The two servants returned to their cart, blending back into their roles, leaving behind
only the faint scent of food—and the promise of a hidden rebellion.