Arion's world was a void of darkness, a deep, dreamless sleep that was a welcome escape from the fire in his veins and the humiliation of his defeat. When he finally stirred, it was to the soft rustle of silk sheets and the distant chime of a grandfather clock. He lay in a bed that was too soft, under covers that smelled of white tea and fresh lilies. He opened his eyes, and panic immediately seized him.
This was not his room.
The chamber was grand and elegant, a stark contrast to his spartan quarters. Moonlight spilled through a tall, arched window, illuminating a collection of books, scrolls, and delicate porcelain vases. A suit of ornamental armor stood in one corner, its polished surface glinting in the pale light. This was Prince Kyon's private bedroom, a place he, a suitor, should never have seen.
He sat up, his body sore but no longer ablaze. The fiery heat from his marks had subsided, replaced by a dull, aching thrum. The omega suppressant had done its job, bringing him back from the brink of a brutal heat. He ran a hand over his neck and belly; the marks were still there, a constant reminder of the night's events, but the agonizing burn was gone.
The door clicked open, and Kyon entered. He was dressed in a loose silk robe, his hair unbound and falling in a black cascade over his shoulders. He carried a small basin of water and a clean towel. He walked to the bedside table, placing them down with a quiet finality.
"You're awake," Kyon said, his voice as calm and collected as ever, as if nothing had happened. He sat on the edge of the bed, his presence instantly filling the room. Arion instinctively tensed, ready for another verbal assault, another demonstration of power.
But it didn't come. Kyon dipped the towel into the water and began to gently wipe the dried blood from Arion's face. Arion flinched, but Kyon's touch was surprisingly tender.
"Your lip is cut," Kyon murmured, his gaze fixed on the small wound he had inflicted. "And my face... well, it's just a scratch. A fair trade, I suppose, for my bad temper."
Arion stared at him, bewildered. This was not the arrogant, cold-hearted prince from the library. This was a man who, in the dead of night, was tending to the wounds he himself had caused.
"Why?" Arion's voice was a hoarse whisper. "Why not just let me burn? Why save me?"
Kyon paused, his hands stilling. He looked at Arion, his blue eyes holding a profound depth of loneliness. "Because a secret like ours cannot be discovered. Not by the guards, not by my father, and certainly not by your alpha rivals. You have my claim on you, and that makes you my responsibility. An omega in heat, alone and unmarked, would have been a scandal. An alpha in heat, alone and marked by an 'omega,' would have been a disaster."
He dipped the towel again and began cleaning the blood from Arion's chest, his fingers gently tracing the jagged edges where he had torn Arion's clothes. "We are bound now, Arion," Kyon continued, his voice soft. "And our survival depends on our ability to trust each other. I need you to understand that I am not just a political pawn. I am an Alpha with a right to my own life. And I need a partner who can stand by me, a partner who understands that strength isn't always loud, and power isn't always overt."
He pulled back, his gaze unwavering. "You are my mate. You are my most powerful ally, and my most guarded secret. You are my omega. And I will protect you from anyone who tries to take that from us. Even from yourself."