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Arc 1 – Omegaverse: The Hunter and the Omega Prince
Day 2 – Afternoon: The Escort Assignment
The midday sun slanted through the palace's arched windows, striping the polished marble floor with light and shadow. The great hall smelled faintly of lemon oil and the sharper, green scent of freshly cut herbs from the gardens beyond.
Kyle was perched — yes, perched — on the velvet-cushioned arm of an oversized chair, swinging one foot idly as Steward Halford read through the royal decree.
"…and in accordance with the Queen Mother's wishes," Halford continued, his voice droning but precise, "Captain Aldric Vale shall be formally assigned as personal escort and guard to His Highness, the Omega Prince, for the duration of the spring season."
Kyle blinked. Slowly. Then tilted his head in mock-innocence.
"So… babysitting," he said, sipping from the tall crystal glass in his hand. The drink was pale peach nectar, chilled enough for condensation to bead on the glass and cool his fingers.
Halford visibly fought the urge to correct him. "Security, Your Highness."
Across the room, Aldric stood in a loose parade-rest stance — broad shoulders square, weight balanced perfectly, expression impassive. His coat had been removed indoors, revealing a fitted black shirt under a sleeveless hunter's jerkin of dark green leather. His forearms were bare, the tan skin corded with lean muscle.
Kyle's gaze flicked down to the faint scuff marks on Aldric's boots, then up to those golden eyes.
In the Omegaverse, an Alpha's scent carried a truth their words could not hide. Even from this distance, Kyle could catch it — the faint base note of dark pine and cold rain, overlaid with something warmer, sharper… like amber touched by fire.
It was subtle now, restrained by courtesy and protocol. But it was there.
And it was aimed entirely at him.
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Escorting the Prince
After the decree, Aldric fell into step behind Kyle as he left the hall. The man's presence was like a constant shadow — quiet, disciplined, but impossible to ignore.
The palace corridors wound like a gilded maze, their pale stone walls inlaid with slender panels of painted wood, each depicting a different flower of the kingdom. The floors were mosaic — tiny tiles in soft cream and muted jade, cool underfoot.
Today's afternoon outfit had been chosen by Linette with what Kyle privately called dangerous enthusiasm.
A long-sleeved tunic of soft white silk, collarless but with a fine line of embroidery in pale silver along the edges. Over it, an open-front overrobe of midnight blue velvet, light as a whisper, the hems weighted with tiny crystal beads that clicked faintly as he moved. A slim belt of braided black leather cinched his waist, the clasp shaped like a fox's head in silver. His hair had been re-styled — half pulled back and twisted into a loose knot, the rest flowing freely down his back.
Even Kyle had to admit, the effect was… distractingly elegant.
The problem was, Aldric seemed entirely immune to palace etiquette's usual boundary of "don't loom over the Omega prince." His steps matched Kyle's so closely that the faint scent of rain-and-amber shadowed him all the way to the orchard terrace.
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The First Crack
On the terrace, a tea service had been laid — three-tiered trays of almond biscuits, miniature fruit tarts, and glazed apple slices.
Kyle reached for a tart, only to feel the faintest brush of air — and then, without warning, Aldric's hand closed lightly around his wrist. Not tight. Not hurting. But firm enough to still him.
Golden eyes met his, and for the first time, Kyle saw heat flicker there.
"Poison," Aldric said simply. His voice was still low, but the weight in it was heavier than any courtier's.
Kyle blinked at him, then at the tart, then back at him.
"…Seriously? It's fruit."
"I'll taste it first."
Kyle stared. "…You know that's usually my maid's job, right?"
Aldric didn't answer. He simply took the tart from Kyle's fingers — his gloved thumb grazing the soft inside of Kyle's wrist for the barest second — and bit into it.
The bite was slow, deliberate, and somehow carried a faintly possessive air.
Kyle tried to ignore the ridiculous jump in his pulse.
Great, he thought, this one's going to be the obsessive type.
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