*Aftermath of a wild passionate night*
The morning sun, a sharp contrast to the soft candlelight of the night before, streamed through the window, a brutal, unblinking witness. Arion woke with a pounding headache that felt like a blacksmith was using his skull for an anvil. His back ached with a deep, punishing throb, and his body was a map of new pains and familiar bruises. He sat up, groaning, and the cool morning air hit his skin, a shocking reminder of his nakedness.
He looked around the room, his eyes widening in horror. The elegant, pristine bedroom was a mess. A single blanket lay crumpled on the floor, candles were tipped over, and a vase, shattered into a thousand pieces, lay near the wall. His mind, still foggy from the remnants of Kyon's scent, slowly pieced together the events of the night before. The tenderness of their first kiss, the whispered promises, the raw, animalistic passion that had consumed them both.
His gaze fell to the figure sleeping peacefully next to him. Kyon, a picture of serene innocence, was curled on his side, a single sheet draped over his waist. His long black hair was a messy halo around his face, and his lips, slightly swollen from their passionate kisses, were curved into a small, contented smile. There was no trace of the wild, rutting alpha from the night before, just the placid, beautiful prince the world knew.
The memories came crashing back, a tidal wave of shame and raw desire. He remembered Kyon's body, strong and powerful, a testament to the lie he lived. He remembered his own submissive moans, his own tears, his body's desperate, animalistic surrender to his Alpha's will. He remembered the truth of his marks, the way they had burned and pulsed in response to Kyon's possessive touch, the way they had flared with a primal, overwhelming heat.
But more than that, he remembered the look in Kyon's eyes, the way they had glowed with a feral, possessive heat that was meant for him and him alone. He remembered the way Kyon had whispered his name, not as a Prince to a Lord, but as an Alpha to his Omega. He remembered the raw, powerful, and utterly sincere promises of a love that was just beginning to bloom.
He was a warrior, a Lord of the North, and he had just been taken, fully and completely, by a man who was supposed to be his omega. His face flushed a brilliant red. He was in love with a liar, a monster, a prince who had the power to bring him to his knees with a single glance. And he had never been happier.