"You can hide from guards. You can hide from the world." His eyes burned like frostfire, hunger coiling in their depths. "But you cannot hide from me."
The words struck like a blade. Soren's pulse shattered. Sweat beaded at his temple, streaking the powder on his skin. His collar clung damp against his throat. His breath came in shallow bursts, trembling like glass. He wanted to speak, to deny, to run but the door was closed, and the King was between him and freedom.
Then the weight of scent hit him like a storm.
Dominance flooded the air, sharp and intoxicating, curling through his lungs until every breath was a struggle. The suppressant clawed at his veins, but it was too weak, too thin against the tide of power saturating the room. Heat crawled under his skin, fever blooming like fire. His knees buckled. Darkness surged at the edges of his vision.
" I can't… breathe…"
His body gave way.
Ecclesias caught him before he hit the marble, sweeping him into his arms as if he weighed nothing. For a heartbeat, silence stretched a silence so heavy it bent the air. Then Kael moved, alarm flashing in his eyes.
"Your Majesty—this is madness. He's unconscious. Let me—"
Ecclesias turned his head slowly, his gaze shards of ice. "Do you think I need your permission to touch what is mine?" His voice was velvet stretched over steel, quiet but lethal. Kael froze, the weight of that gaze crushing the protest in his throat.
"Prepare the royal wing," Ecclesias said, already striding toward the door. "Heat the water. And clear the chamber."
Chel bowed low, his face pale. "At once, Your Majesty."
----
As the King's shadow vanished from the butler's wing, whispers bloomed like poison.
"Did you see? The King carried someone and as if he was like treasure."
"Do that mean Soren is an omega? Impossible."
"He's lucky… or cursed."
"Cursed? He'll be a queen now.... if he survives."
"Ugly as sin. How can that lowly thing be worthy to the king ?"
"Ugly? Say that in front of the king since he taking him to the royal wing?"
"He killed pretenders before. If this one fails… gods help him."
"Or crown him. The King's never looked at anyone like that."
Fear rippled through the servants. They had seen the King's wrath before. They knew what it meant when he moved like this calm, deliberate, merciless.
----
The corridors of the royal palace shimmered under golden light as Ecclesias entered, Soren limp against his chest. Royal attendants lined the walls, their heads bowed, their silence absolute. They did not speak none dared but their eyes flickered, betraying awe and fear. They had seen the King kill impostors before. And now, he carried this fragile figure as if the world itself bent around him.
The chief steward appeared, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the marble. "Your Majesty."
"Prepare the bath," Ecclesias commanded, his tone lethal calm. "Jasmine and sandalwood oils. Heat the water until it feels like breath against the skin. Lay out silk linens. And clear the chamber."
"Yes, Your Majesty." The steward's voice trembled as he signaled the attendants. They moved like a machine bath attendants rushing to pour steaming water into the marble pool, oils perfuming the air with notes of jasmine and sandalwood, laundry masters unfolding silk garments, intendant enforcing silence with a glance.
The bathing chamber was a cathedral of opulence white marble veined with gold, pools steaming like liquid glass, and the air perfumed with jasmine and sandalwood. Candlelight flickered against carved pillars, casting shadows that danced like ghosts. The water shimmered under the glow, its surface broken only by curls of mist rising like breath.
Ecclesias laid Soren on a cushioned bench near the central pool. His body was fragile, heat radiating through damp clothes, lips parted in shallow breaths. Sweat streaked the powder on his jaw, revealing glimpses of pale skin beneath. His collar clung to his throat, damp and trembling.
"Prepare him," Ecclesias said, his voice velvet over steel. "Gently."
The attendants moved like shadows, silent and precise, their hands trembling as they loosened Soren's garments. Warm mist curled around his body as they lowered him into the water. The temperature was perfect neither scalding nor cool, but a caress of heat that coaxed tension from his limbs. Ripples kissed his skin, carrying the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, mingling with the faint trace of Ecclesias's pheromones saturating the air.
Gasps broke the silence as the mask began to dissolve. Powder streaked away, revealing cheekbones carved like marble, lips soft and flushed, lashes dark against pallid skin. His hair floated like silk in the water, strands glistening under candlelight.
The attendants did not speak they dared not but their eyes betrayed them. Awe. Fear. Envy. Even Kael, standing rigid by the door, felt his breath falter.
When the bath was done, they lifted Soren carefully, wrapping him in silk. His body was limp, his lips parted in fragile surrender. The attendants carried him to the King's chamber, laying him on a bed dressed in ivory sheets.
Kael stared at Doren. His beauty shocked him. Kael feared the king would choose a plain future queen, yet Doren looked different from anything he expected.
"Not only his beauty." Kael thought. "Something sharp. Something dangerous. Something that will make the King addicted. " It unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
Candlelight spilled across his face, and for the first time, Ecclesias saw him without the mask.
Not the polished beauty of court masks, but something raw, devastating a face that could unmake kingdoms. His lashes fanned against pale cheeks, his lips soft as breath, his hair a dark halo against silk. Fragile. Untouchable. Perfect.
Chel's throat tightened. Even Kael, who had doubted, felt his breath catch.
Ecclesias dismissed the attendants with a single command, his pheromones flooding the room like a storm. They bowed instinctively, fear and awe etched into their faces.
"Leave," he said. "All of you. Except Chel."
Ecclesias sat at the edge of the bed, gaze fixed on the weakened figure before him. Damp hair clung to Soren's face, his lips pale, his breathing thin. The King lifted his hand, slow and controlled, tracing the line of his jaw then the corner of his mouth.
Heat surged through his veins, sharp and intoxicating.
What is this feeling? Hunger? Reverence? Or something worse?
His voice dropped lower, lethal in its calm. "No one touches him without asking my permission. " His eyes burned like frostfire, focused again on Soren, hunger coiling in their depths. "He will never leave my side."