Rythe stood at the edge of the training yard, arms folded behind his back, watching the hounds circle through the obstacle course with thunderous precision.
But his eyes weren't on them.
They were on him.
Aurean stood at the far end of the yard, shoulders taut, expression unreadable. He'd been quieter the past few days—quieter in a different way than before. The passive stillness he wore like a second skin had hardened into something deliberate. Measured. Empty.
It wasn't obedience anymore.
It was containment.
When Rythe issued orders, Aurean obeyed without hesitation—but never once made eye contact. When spoken to, his voice came low and clipped, every word perfectly placed and entirely hollow.
The silence didn't bother Rythe.
The absence did.
Something had changed after that night.
Rythe thought it would break him. That bringing Tallen into his chambers would drive home the depth of his place in the hierarchy. Instead, Aurean had stood beside the bed like a statue, unmoving, unmoved.
Unflinching.
Too unflinching.
And now—now the hounds were acting strangely.
When Rythe passed near Aurean, the beasts shifted. Slightly. Subtly. One would move to stand between them. Another would position itself closer to Aurean's side. The smallest—Gray, the runt with the wiry coat—actually growled once when a guard pushed Aurean too hard into position.
That had never happened before.
The hounds respected hierarchy. Obeyed it.
But lately, when Aurean walked among them, they rose. Not in challenge. Not in submission.
In recognition.
Rythe's eyes narrowed as he watched one of the larger males press his head into Aurean's side. The boy didn't flinch, didn't move—but a hand slipped down to scratch behind the hound's ears with effortless familiarity. The animal licked his wrist. Another followed suit.
"They're protective of him," Rythe murmured.
At his side, Captain Silen glanced over. "They've bonded."
"No. They've chosen him."
The admission lodged like a thorn in his chest.
He remembered what Silen had said days before—that omega instincts were unpredictable, that even the softest could hide fangs. That someone like Aurean could become dangerous if the wrong things were stripped away.
And now, those things were gone.
Rythe turned back to the field, the breeze tugging at his coat, the taste of iron sharp on the back of his tongue.
What are you becoming, little wolf?
He didn't speak the thought aloud.
But he knew—
He'd have to find out.
Soon.
The courtyard training yard was thick with heat and tension. A circle had formed—guards, handlers, even a few off-duty officers drawn by the scent of something cruel.
At the center stood Aurean, bare-chested and breathing hard, dirt smeared along his jaw. His wrists were scraped, his posture rigid. Just beside him, the young brindle hound lay whimpering—blood seeping from a shallow wound across its flank.
It had happened fast.
One of the trainers had claimed the hound disobeyed during drills. He raised his whip. Aurean, silent and unnoticed, had stepped forward, intercepting the strike with his own body.
The blow hadn't landed on the hound.
It had landed on him.
The yard had gone still. Then—someone laughed.
It spread like rot.
"Trying to play prince again, mutt?" one of the guards sneered.
Another shoved Aurean down to his knees. "You forget your place? That beast deserves discipline."
Aurean said nothing. He looked up, only once—just enough to meet Rythe's gaze, across the training ground.
Something burned in his eyes. Not defiance. Not challenge.
Conviction.
Rythe felt it like a pulse.
He stepped forward, slowly, until silence fell again.
His voice came low.
"If he wishes to trade his dignity for a beast," Rythe said, "then let him."
A sharp glance at the guard captain. "Strip him."
A beat.
Then, rough hands tore at Aurean's garments. His tunic was yanked over his head. The remaining fabric followed, scraped off with zero ceremony. Laughter swelled around him like smoke.
Aurean knelt bare on the dirt, spine straight. Exposed. Unmoving.
No covering hand. No plea.
His shoulders bore old bruises and new ones. His body was lean, etched with the remnants of noble softness now hardened by captivity. He bore it like armor.
Some laughed harder at the sight of him—commenting on the narrowness of his hips, the omega scent barely masked by grime, the sharp curve of his collarbone.
Rythe said nothing.
He waited.
But Aurean didn't cry. Didn't tremble.
He simply knelt—still as stone—his gaze locked not on Rythe, but on the injured hound beside him, who had crawled closer, nudging against his thigh.
The other hounds had stopped pacing.
One by one, they sat in the dirt. Not agitated. Not confused.
Watching.
Lareth, standing beside Rythe, leaned in. "This isn't how omegas usually respond."
"I know," Rythe muttered.
He should've felt satisfied. He should've seen Aurean's humiliation as a victory. But all he felt was a strange coil of unease. Like he'd reached for a leash and found it wrapped around his own throat.
Finally, he snapped, "Enough."
He turned to the guards. "Get him dressed. Lock him down. No food tonight."
The crowd dispersed, still smirking, still whispering.
But Rythe lingered.
He watched as Aurean rose with stiff, steady movements, naked as birth, and walked back into the shadows without once trying to hide himself.
He didn't look broken.
He looked like something pulled further inward—coiled, waiting.
Rythe narrowed his eyes.
He'd isolated him.
Now he'd see if that made him easier to control—
Or impossible to contain.