It was already six in the morning when Dylan returned after capturing the two alphas who had attempted to assault Rowan—that by sheer coincidence, Rowan had been spared.
"Your Majesty, I'm here to report," Dylan said while bowing as he entered the room where Rowan had been resting just moments ago with Zalyric. But Dylan didn't even know that his king was the one nursing the stranger instead.
Without a word, Zalyric shoved the bottle of inhibitors into Rowan's hands. Then Rowan clutched it tightly, hugging it as though it were his lifeline.
"Unfortunately, one of them resisted," Dylan continued, "so I had no choice but to incapacitate him."
"Spare me the details," Zalyric cut him off coldly, moving back toward the chair.
"Ahem… d-did you, by chance, kill him? Oh, haha. You really don't have to d—" Rowan's voice trailed off when he caught sight of Zalyric's darkening expression and the way his eyes swept him from head to toe.
"I—I'm not delicious, sir!" Rowan yelped, clutching his body defensively.
At that, Dylan's mouth fell open in disbelief as he glanced between Rowan's flustered face and Zalyric's unreadable one.
"How disgusting. You're not my type anyway. Scram!" Zalyric scoffed, shaking his head as Rowan scurried out, bowing awkwardly on his way.
"Y-Your Majesty, my apologies for his behavior. I'll make sure he's disciplined during training—"
"Hah. Don't waste your time," Zalyric interrupted with a dismissive wave. "Now, what of the auction we were supposed to check yesterday?"
Meanwhile, when Rowan finally returned to the inn, he was greeted by the sight of River and Paul arriving at the same time. The instant their eyes landed on his arm, now wrapped in a stiff cast, both of them froze. Shock twisted their features before either could speak.
Then, as if the guilt weighed too heavily to stand, they both sank to their knees right in front of him.
"H-Hey, please don't do this!" Rowan blurted, nearly stumbling back a step as his free hand waved frantically while the injured one remained cradled in the cast. He forced a crooked smile, trying to break the tension.
"It's my fault anyway. Maybe I was just… too pretty, you know? So, they couldn't resist—"
"Please don't joke like that, Your Highness." Paul's voice was firm but carried a tremor of frustration. His head remained bowed low, his fists pressed against the floor. "This isn't a laughing matter. You were hurt under our watch… and that is unforgivable."
River, who had stayed silent, finally raised his eyes.
They burned with self-reproach, sharp as a blade drawn against his own chest. "We swore to protect you yet here you are, wounded. If His Grace learns of this, punishment will be nothing compared to the disgrace we already feel."
Rowan blinked at them, caught between exasperation and disbelief. "Oh, come on, don't be so dramatic! It's not even that deep—it's just a graze!"
He lifted his cast slightly for emphasis with the movement awkward but determined. "Look at me, I can still walk, talk… and I can definitely still wield a sword. Don't underestimate me just because of this."
Paul's eyes widened in dismay and he quickly shook his head. "With respect, Your Highness, you shouldn't even try. A single wrong movement could worsen it—"
Rowan huffed as his lips curving into a stubborn pout. "You're all acting like I've lost a limb. It'll heal in a few days, I'm sure of it. Don't kneel as though I'm dying and why are you so formal to me? I'm Johann, right?"
Despite his insistence, neither Paul nor River moved. Their loyalty anchored them to the floor as though begging for a command to either rise or suffer the weight of their failure. The inn's usual chatter faded into background noise, leaving the three of them caught in this tense moment.
Then Rowan sighed while scratching his head with his uninjured hand. "Really, what am I going to do with the two of you?" he muttered under his breath, equal parts touched and annoyed.
While Rowan, Paul and River were still tangled in their argument back at the inn, Zalyric walked into the foul air of an underground auction house. Here, the line between flesh and currency was thin where children was being sold to the highest bidder with their worth dictated by gender.
Alphas were forged into weapons of war and betas are reduced to menial servitude while omegas were condemned to prostitution as they were being purchased solely to warm their masters' beds.
"What a revolting stench. The air is thick with pheromones…" Zalyric muttered with a grimace as his gaze sweeping across the hall.
Onstage, the host stood proudly, voice oozing with mockery as he gestured toward cages that lined on the platform. Inside, children crouched on cold iron bars, stripped bare with heavy collars biting into their necks with their trembling bodies that's being displayed like merchandise.
"Those must be omegas, Your Majesty," Dylan whispered discreetly as they took seats in the shadows at the back.
Zalyric's eyes narrowed. "Some of them aren't even children. They've been seasoned." His tone was sharp, laced with disgust as he observed the frail, wide-eyed captives trying to cover themselves with their hands.
The host clapped once, drawing the crowd's attention. "Next, for a mere 100 golds—we have a dominant omega here! Twenty years old, trained and eager to serve. Skilled in bed, obedient in every way. A perfect companion to sate your desires!"
The hall erupted with laughter and jeers. Men leaned forward eagerly, some licking their lips while others waving their banners high as though already tasting ownership.
"300 golds!"
"500 golds!"
"1,000 golds!"
"5,000 golds!"
"Sold for 5,000 golds!" the host bellowed with a smug with victory.
The omega in question—a hollow shell of a person—was hauled out of the cage as two handlers gripped him by the wrists and ankles, dragging him away like discarded prey, his head lolling weakly as if his body had long forgotten dignity.
"Pathetic." Zalyric's voice cut through the din, cold and venomous. Then he rose from his seat, cloak shifting like shadow and gave Dylan a single, deliberate signal.
It was time to set the plan in motion though it had once been delayed by nothing more than a wounded knight named Johann.