Battle of scents
The air in the hallway became a battlefield, thick and cloying with the competing pheromones of two dominant alphas. Kyon's white tea and amber, a volatile mix of his public lie and his private truth, clashed violently with Cassian's bitter cedarwood. The scent was a physical presence, a suffocating cloud of aggression and territoriality. The butlers, caught in the invisible crossfire, lowered their gazes, their faces pale and their hands clenched into fists. They were trained to be silent, to be invisible, but they couldn't control the primal fear that coiled in their stomachs. This was a battle they were not meant to witness.
Kyon's smirk held steady, a perfect, unyielding thing. Cassian was a brute, using his pheromones like a weapon, but Kyon had learned to control his, to wield his own scent like a surgeon's scalpel. He wouldn't back down, not here, not now, not over Arion. Arion was his, a symbol of a deeper, more personal victory than any political alliance could ever be. He was the one thing Cassian had not, and would never, have.
Just as the tension threatened to snap, a new figure appeared at the end of the hallway: Cassian's own butler, a man with a nervous twitch in his eye. "Your Highness," he said, his voice a strained whisper, "the King requests your presence. He is waiting in the Council chambers."
Cassian's smile widened, a cruel, knowing thing. The interruption was a truce, a temporary ceasefire. He took a step back, and the oppressive cloud of their scents began to dissipate.
"A pity," Cassian said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "It seems Father can't bear to be apart from his favorite. He always found it hard to be in the same room with you, Kyon. You know what he says. 'A burden with all the beauty of his deceased omega wife, and none of the fire, tch…what a pity."
The words were meant to wound, a direct strike at Kyon's deepest insecurity—his omega heritage. Kyon's serene facade cracked for a brief, dangerous moment, a flash of pure, unadulterated rage in his eyes. But he recovered quickly, the mask falling back into place. He simply inclined his head, a gesture of polite dismissal.
"I will see you in the Council chambers, brother," Kyon said, his voice a low, melodic murmur.
Without another word, they turned and walked toward the meeting room, the two rivals side by side. Their footsteps were perfectly synchronized, but the chasm between them was a gaping void. The shared smirk on their faces was a testament to their shared nature: they were both manipulative, possessive, and willing to do whatever it took to win. And now, they both knew exactly what the other wanted. The game had just begun.