The training courtyard was empty, save for Rythe and Captain Lareth—his most trusted guard, a broad-shouldered man with a thick braid down his back and eyes that missed little. Dusk painted the sky in bruised purples and reds as the two men leaned against the archway overlooking the lower kennels.
Lareth glanced toward the hound pens, where Aurean sat surrounded by the beasts like a ghost in their midst. "He hasn't broken."
Rythe's arms were crossed, posture rigid, brow furrowed in a scowl that had lasted too many days. "No. He hasn't."
He said it like a warning, not a compliment.
Lareth tilted his head. "You sound bothered."
"I am." Rythe's eyes remained locked on the boy in the yard below. "He was meant to be soft. Spoiled. He comes from a house of Alphas—purebloods known for dominance and pride. Even his older siblings are as traditional as they come. But Aurean..." Rythe paused. "He's... different. He never once asked to be spared. He does not flinch, does not weep, and I've seen him stand taller in chains than most nobles do in full armor."
Lareth scratched his jaw. "You're still stuck on him being an omega, aren't you?"
Rythe turned to him slowly. "Tell me it's not strange."
Lareth chuckled. "It's rare, yes, but not impossible. The omega gene doesn't always follow hierarchy. Sometimes it skips. Sometimes it lies dormant for generations. Sometimes," he added with a thoughtful grunt, "it appears in the one place it will cause the most trouble."
Rythe's jaw clenched. "Aurean as an omega makes him vulnerable. Useful, too, in the wrong hands."
Lareth snorted. "He's more dangerous than vulnerable, if you ask me. An omega with a mind like that? With that kind of restraint? He's not some weepy thing waiting to be claimed. He's thinking. Watching. Surviving. And if he ever goes into heat uncontrolled, don't think he'll just curl up and cry. He could charm or seduce half your staff if he wanted. He could tear through loyalty like a blade through silk."
Rythe didn't reply immediately.
Lareth lowered his voice. "Watch your soldiers. They look at him with scorn now, but that can flip the moment instincts get involved. Omegas like him... they don't just lie down. They turn tides."
A long silence followed.
Then Rythe spoke, quieter than before. "He isn't what I expected."
Lareth raised a brow. "And what did you expect?"
Rythe didn't answer.
Later that evening, as the moon cast silver light across the kennels, Rythe stood at the edge of the hound yard again.
Aurean was crouched in the straw, one arm around the gray she-hound, his other hand cradling a limping pup that had been injured during sparring. His eyes—tired, hollow—still held that strange glimmer of defiance.
He moved with care. Not submission.
The beasts deferred to him now.
Even broken and beaten, chained and scorned, he moved like someone who had not surrendered.
And something in that image stirred a feeling Rythe hadn't expected.
He should have shattered by now…
But he hadn't.
Rythe turned away with a sharp exhale, leaving Lareth's earlier words echoing in his mind:
Omegas like him… they turn tides.
Rythe sat alone in his war chamber, firelight flickering over scrolls, daggers, and the large battle map that rarely left the center of his table. Yet tonight, his eyes weren't on territory lines or enemy movements.
They were on the sealed report Lareth had left hours ago. A full dossier on Aurean—birth records, medical scrolls, estate logs. Rythe had read it once already.
And then again.
And then again.
Nothing made sense.
No mention of illness. No hint of scandal. No record of deviation or rebellion. The boy had been spotless—perfect, even—until the mission. Obedient, quiet, invisible. Too invisible.
The kind of invisible that meant someone had deliberately erased him.
Why?
His fingers tapped against the wood as he leaned back, jaw clenched. He could still see the look in Aurean's eyes that morning. Calm. Empty. Not broken.
It gnawed at him.
He'd had prisoners beg and bargain. He'd had enemies curse him until their last breath. He'd even had noble sons try to curry favor through seduction.
But Aurean?
Aurean did none of it.
He obeyed orders without flinching, endured punishments in silence, and never once reached for pity. Not even when the guards shoved him. Not even when servants refused to speak to him. Not even when Rythe stood inches away and made him kneel in chains.
It wasn't pride.
It was something else.
Containment.
A knock broke the silence.
Lareth entered, a brow arched. "You're still up."
Rythe didn't look at him. "How long has it been since you saw someone like him?"
Lareth hesitated. "Like Aurean?"
"A prisoner. A slave. A noble. Take your pick."
Lareth crossed the room, poured himself a drink. "Never. He's a puzzle."
Rythe's fingers flexed.
Lareth glanced at him sideways. "Is he under your skin, my prince?"
Rythe didn't respond.
Instead, he rose slowly, walked to the window overlooking the outer training yards where the hounds were kept. In the moonlight, he could just make out Aurean, tending to one of the pups again—this time, training her with a hand signal the trainer hadn't taught them.
The beast responded like it had known him for years.
Rythe's hand tightened around the edge of the stone ledge.
"He bends the hounds to him."
"He earns them," Lareth corrected gently.
"That should be my command," Rythe muttered. "My domain."
Lareth sighed. "You can collar a man, Rythe. Doesn't mean you own him."
Later that night, Rythe descended alone.
He found Aurean kneeling in the straw, eyes closed, the injured hound sleeping beside him. The pup's small head rested on his thigh like a soldier to his general.
Rythe stepped forward.
Aurean did not flinch. Did not bow.
He opened his eyes and met Rythe's gaze evenly.
"I told you," Rythe said, voice quiet, "I don't tolerate defiance."
"I haven't defied you," Aurean replied, tone flat.
"You haven't obeyed either."
A pause.
"I follow every command you give me, Prince Rythe," Aurean said. "But obedience is not loyalty."
That hit deeper than Rythe expected.
The silence between them pulsed—dangerous, coiled.
Finally, Rythe spoke, softer now. "You're not what I thought."
"No," Aurean replied. "I never was."