☆ one week later ☆
The Royal Palace Plaza was a spectacle of political theater. Banners bearing the Dragon crest of Elysium snapped in the wind, and a crowd of courtiers, dignitaries, and silent, heavily armed guards gathered. Arion, dressed not in his Northern armor but in the simple, tailored clothes of a high-ranking Consort, stood beside his mother and brother.
They had just released Prince Lorcan, publicly exposing Cassian's desperate tactics, and now, the marriage ceremony was about to commence.
The silence was broken by the entrance of Prince Kyon. He strode onto the platform, magnificently arrayed in ceremonial robes, the Jade Heart glittering conspicuously against the dark silk. He was the image of the serene, dominant Omega Crown Prince—beautiful, untouchable, and supremely powerful. The crowd parted, awed by his presence.
Their eyes met across the plaza. There was no warmth, only a terrifying, complex acknowledgment of two masters of war about to engage in their final, public duel.
The High Priest began the ceremony, his voice booming over the expectant crowd. The vows were recited—oaths of loyalty, fealty, and union between the Alpha Consort (Arion) and the Omega Prince (Kyon). When it came time for the final acceptance, Arion's voice was clear and unwavering, cutting through the silence.
"I accept this bond, and this burden," Arion declared.
Kyon mirrored the intensity, his eyes glittering with cold triumph. "I accept this bond, and this future."
As the priest stepped back, ready to formalize the union, the moment of political transition arrived. Arion made his move.
Instead of a ceremonial kiss or embrace, Arion, with the speed of the Black Tiger, tore the velvet cloak from Kyon's shoulders and shoved the Prince back. He grabbed the decorative sword of the highest-ranking consort, which had been placed on the altar as a symbol of their union.
"The vows are sealed," Arion snarled, his voice echoing over the stunned silence. "Now, we fight for the price of this union!"
Kyon, utterly unsurprised, didn't flinch. His serene expression dissolved into a fierce, feral smirk. "A wedding gift, Consort?" he challenged, his voice amplified by his true Alpha rage, though still expertly masked to sound like a dominant Omega's fury. He snapped his fingers, and two Royal Guards rushed forward with his own practice saber.
The plaza dissolved into chaos.
Kyon and Arion engaged in a brutal, lightning-fast sword fight. This was not a public duel for show; it was a desperate, final confrontation fought with years of repressed skill and lethal intent. Steel rang against steel, the speed and ferocity of their exchange shocking the assembly. The courtiers screamed, scattering away from the platform.
Kyon fought with the lethal, calculating precision of a true Alpha, his movements fluid and unpredictable. Arion, powered by paternal fear and righteous anger, fought with the overwhelming strength of his Northern training. He was fueled by the bitter knowledge of Kyon's manipulation, the chemical lies, and the violation of their bond.
Arion finally found an opening. He disarmed Kyon with a powerful sweep, sending the saber clattering across the marble. He pressed his blade tip against Kyon's throat, pushing the Prince backward until Kyon was pinned against the Dragon Crest behind the altar.
The crowd held its breath. Arion was overpowering Kyon, publicly exposing the fragility of the "Omega Prince's" strength.
Arion's eyes were blazing, tears of fury and frustration mixing with his sweat. He kept his voice low, private, and utterly devastating. "Tell me," he demanded, pressing the blade just enough to draw a thin line of blood. "What did you win by doing all this? Was it important for you to do these things—the lies, the chemical enhancements, the political traps? What was the final, pathetic prize?"
Kyon, pinned and facing death, did not panic. The feral smirk returned, cold and utterly triumphant. "I win some freedom!" he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "Free from my father's grip and control from politics! Free from the lie of being a weak, disposable son! I took the power that was always mine and used the world's expectations to get it!"
"Freedom?" Arion scoffed, his arm trembling with the effort of control. He lowered the blade slightly, his voice cracking with emotion. "And what about the price of your freedom? What about Aiden?"
Kyon's eyes narrowed, the blue amber glittering.
"He is your child," Arion continued, the shame and pain pouring out. "Not just mine. He has never asked if you have ever been someone good! Are you happy that your own son of four years will start hating you? He may not understand why his father used him as bait now, but what about later? When he knows that his own father placed him in the crosshairs of a civil war just to win an argument with me?"
The question—a simple, emotional appeal concerning the heir—hit Kyon with the force of an unseen blow. The triumphant smirk vanished. For a single, fleeting moment, the mask broke completely. The calculating Alpha, the perfect strategist, froze, his expression raw with a pain that Arion recognized as genuine.
Then, the snap. The cold shield slammed back down.
Kyon let out a sharp, decisive snap of his fingers.
From the concealed side entrance of the palace, a Royal Butler—tall, imposing, and devoid of emotion—appeared. He was carrying a small bundle swathed in rich velvet. The bundle shifted, and a small, terrified face peered out: Aiden.
The butler carried the child with a brutal, functional grip, holding him tightly against his chest, displaying him like an object.
"You speak of consequences, Consort?" Kyon's voice was lethal, cold, and utterly terrifying. "Then let us introduce the main player."
The crowd, which had been silent during the duel, let out a collective gasp at the sight of the child. Maeva cried out, lunging forward, but Torvin held her back, his eyes fixed on the devastating scene unfolding on the platform.
Aiden, startled by the noise and the sudden bright light of the plaza, began to whimper, his small hands clutching at the butler's ornate uniform. The butler, however, merely adjusted his hold, keeping the boy firmly displayed, facing the confrontation.
Kyon, still pinned by Arion's blade, fixed his gaze on his son. There was no affection in his eyes, only sharp, possessive calculation. He was using the child as a final, cruel piece of leverage.
"You demand to know what I've won, Arion," Kyon stated, his voice ringing with chilling clarity, ensuring the guards and nearby courtiers heard his message. "I have won legitimacy. This is the Crown Prince's son, born of the Eastern Dominion's most honored Lord—now my lawful consort. He is the heir that stabilizes my claim and ties the East to the Palace permanently."
He twisted his body slightly against the sword tip, a deliberate movement of defiance that drew a fresh bead of blood. His scent, the overpowering burning amber and pine, began to aggressively flood the platform, forcing the few remaining nearby courtiers to stagger back, overwhelmed by the pure Alpha dominance.
"The boy is the symbol of my triumph over the King's weak lineage," Kyon continued, his eyes daring Arion to flinch. "He is the proof that even the Black Tiger of the North bows to the Serpent King. You ask if I fear his hatred? Children are molded, Consort. He will be raised here, in the Palace, knowing only the strength of his father's rule. He will learn to value power, not sentiment."
Arion felt a visceral, animalistic terror seize him. Kyon had weaponized their child, turning Aiden into the ultimate political pawn, displaying him not as a beloved son, but as a captured banner. The cold, brutal way the butler held the boy confirmed Kyon's utter lack of empathy in this moment.
"You won't break him," Arion vowed, his voice raw. He pressed the sword tip harder, the metal grating against Kyon's skin. "He has his mother's spirit, and he has my Alpha blood. You will never erase that honor from him."
"Ah, but I don't need to erase it," Kyon countered, his gaze finally flicking to the frightened boy. "I only need to control it. He is a child, Arion. Easily influenced. And you are about to prove to him—and to everyone here—that his mother is subservient to his father, the Prince."
Kyon lifted his chin, accepting the final pressure of the blade. "You have sealed the vow. You are my consort. Drop the sword, Consort, or the first lesson the Crown Prince's son learns is that his mother tried to murder his father on their wedding day."
The ultimatum was delivered with chilling, absolute authority. If Arion killed Kyon, he would be a murderer, forfeiting any claim to Aiden and ensuring his own execution. If he backed down, he publicly acknowledged Kyon's superior dominance and his new role.
Arion looked from Kyon's cold, triumphant eyes to the small, terrified face of his son. The weight of the vow, the political trap, and the threat to Aiden's life crushed his last vestiges of defiance.
With a shuddering breath that sounded like a sob, Arion let the ceremonial sword clatter to the marble. The sound echoed deafeningly across the plaza.
Kyon smiled, slow and victorious, his Alpha scent immediately dropping in intensity, replaced by the subtle, calming notes of the white tea façade, a signal to the traumatized crowd that the "scare" was over.
"Wise choice, Consort," Kyon purred, rising smoothly and adjusting his robes. He ignored the thin line of blood on his throat. "Now, butler. Take the young heir and his consort to the Royal Family's private quarters. The celebration is concluded."
Arion stood frozen, his rage turned inward, burning away the last remnants of his pride. He had walked into the trap, signed the contract, and lost the final battle, all in the shadow of his son. He was officially Kyon's, and the struggle for Aiden was now confined to the gilded cage of the Royal Palace.