•The Morning After•
The night was a symphony of agony. Arion lay awake in his bed, listening to the muffled sounds of Kyon's suffering. Each guttural roar, each pained whimper, was a dagger to his heart. His body, still reeling from the suppressant, ached with a strange, protective sympathy. He was a warrior, a man of action, but he was utterly helpless. His alpha instincts raged, wanting to break down the door and go to his mate, while his logical mind, his survival instincts, screamed at him to stay put. The conflict left him exhausted, a hollow shell of himself.
He finally drifted into a fitful sleep just before dawn, only to be awoken by a polite knock on his door. It was Sir Kael, his loyal retainer. Arion sat up, his body feeling like a battlefield. He looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes bloodshot, his face pale and drawn. The marks on his neck and belly seemed to burn brighter than ever, a beacon of the night's events. He had to face the day, had to pretend that nothing had happened.
He dressed in his usual armor and went to the dining hall. The air was filled with the usual morning chatter, but Arion felt a strange, detached sense of unreality. He sat at his table, forcing down a few bites of toast, his mind replaying the sounds of the night. He had to see Kyon. He had to know he was alright. He had to apologize.
He found Kyon in the royal garden, the same place where their lives had been changed forever. The prince was sitting on a stone bench, a book in his hand, his posture as perfect as ever. He looked utterly serene, a picture of delicate elegance. The morning sun illuminated his ethereal beauty, and the scent of white tea and gardenia was as strong as ever. There was no trace of the beast, no sign of the night's agony.
Arion approached him, his heart pounding in his chest. "Your Highness," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.
Kyon didn't look up from his book. "Lord Arion," he said, his voice calm and melodic. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Arion's mind went blank. The night's events, the tears, the fury, the roar of the rut, it was all a dream. A hallucination. A fever-induced nightmare. He had to be sure.
"The night," Arion said, his voice trembling. "Did… did it happen? All of it?"
Kyon finally looked up, his face a perfect mask of placid indifference. "I don't know what you're talking about, my lord. Perhaps you had a bad dream."
The words were a slap in the face. Arion's blood ran cold. He had opened his soul to this man, had shown him his deepest fears, and now Kyon was pretending it never happened.
"You were in rut," Arion said, his voice rising in anger. "I heard you. I heard you roar. You were in agony!"
Kyon's expression remained unchanged, but a flicker of something cold entered his eyes. "I believe you are mistaken, my lord. I was in my chambers, reading, until I fell asleep."
The lie was so blatant, so cruel, that it took Arion's breath away. He reached out and grabbed Kyon's arm, his fingers digging into the silk. "Don't lie to me," he snarled. "I know what I heard. I know what you are. I know what you did to me."
Kyon's eyes narrowed, a flash of pure alpha dominance, so quick it was almost imperceptible. He placed a hand over Arion's, his touch sending a jolt of subservience through Arion's body.
"Release me, my lord," Kyon said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "You are forgetting your place. I am a Prince. An omega. And you are a guest in my home. If you continue with these wild accusations, I will be forced to take action."
Arion's hand fell from Kyon's arm as if he had been burned. The sudden shift in power was so complete it left him dizzy. He had just spent an entire night consumed with worry for Kyon, and Kyon was now treating him like a complete stranger. It was a cold, brutal reminder of who they were, of the secret they shared, and of the power dynamic that existed between them.
Kyon smiled, the perfect, placid smile of a royal prince. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, rising from the bench. "I have a meeting with my father."
He walked away, his movements graceful and effortless, leaving Arion alone in the garden. The scent of white tea was a thick, suffocating presence, a lie that had become the truth. Arion stood there, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and anger. He had been played. He had been used. And he had a terrible feeling that Kyon would never show him his true self again. Kyon had his emotions back under control, and Arion was once again at his mercy.