The iron gates groaned as they swung open, and Elias drew a shivering breath of cold, stone-scented air.
Chains clinked around his wrists and ankles—not for restraint, but for display. This was no prisoner's entrance. It was a performance. An Omega presented to the throne like a gift wrapped in shame.
He kept his gaze trained on the floor, careful to obey the unspoken rules: not low enough to seem defiant, not high enough to provoke. Still. Silent. Submissive.
The hall was a sea of silk, gold, and whispered curiosity. Courtiers leaned in to murmur among themselves. Some smirked. Some stared openly, sharp and predatory. Elias clenched his jaw, daring them to look.
At the far end of the hall, King Auren sat on the marble steps of his throne—the youngest king in memory, born of war, forged in steel. An Alpha with a crown earned through blood and betrayal. And now, Elias was his.
The guards halted him a few steps from the throne. The cold marble pressed against his bare feet, his knees quivering despite his best effort to stay steady. Not for them. Not for him.
The herald's voice cut through the tension. "Present the offering."
Elias lifted his head. Just once. Just enough to meet the eyes of the man who held his chains.
King Auren was nothing like the monsters whispered about in fearful tales. His gaze was calm, measured—intelligent rather than cruel. Dark hair brushed his eyes, shadowing them, yet it was the way he looked at Elias that unsettled him. Not with lust. Not with humor. Just… evaluation.
"Remove the collar," Auren commanded.
A hush spread through the hall. A guard faltered. "Your Majesty, he's… unbound. He has not been claimed—he might—"
"I said, remove it."
Metal clicked as the collar fell, and for the first time in years, Elias drew a full, unshackled breath.
The silence lingered, heavy and sharp. Then Auren rose from the throne, descending the marble steps with slow, deliberate footfalls. He stopped in front of Elias—not close enough to threaten, just near enough to be felt.
"You are not a dog," the King said, voice low and firm. "And I will not treat you like one."
Elias's heart thundered in his chest, but he refused to let it sway him. He would not be claimed. Not yet.
"Guards," Auren continued, "take him to the East Wing. Give him proper quarters. Until I say otherwise, no one touches him."
Whispers floated behind them, but Elias didn't look back as the guards escorted him away. Even as the doors closed, he could feel Auren's presence lingering—an invisible weight pressing against his skin.
In a quiet wing of the palace, Adam followed Crown Prince Lev down a silent corridor. His footsteps were light, measured—not from fear, but custom. Omegas were meant to move unseen, to remain shadows unless summoned. But Lev noticed him every time. Always.
The guards outside Lev's private chambers didn't even blink as they opened the door. Inside, the scent of leather-bound books and burning cedar filled the room. Lev's back was to Adam as he shed his cloak and moved to the window, staring out at the moonlit courtyard.
Adam remained at the door, hands folded, shoulders stiff under the weight of Lev's presence. The Alpha's scent—sharp, commanding, rich like clove and cold like winter air—washed over him.
"You're tense," Lev said without turning.
"No, Your Highness," Adam replied, careful.
"You lie."
Silence stretched until Lev finally faced him. His amber eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "Come here."
Adam obeyed. A few cautious steps. Then Lev closed the distance in two long strides.
Gloved fingers lifted Adam's chin, inspecting him as though searching for imperfections. "You're not wearing the suppressants."
Adam froze. "I ran out."
Lev's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "How careless."
"I wasn't—"
"You reek of Omega heat," Lev interrupted, his hand tracing the line of Adam's neck. "Do you think I don't notice how the guards look at you when you pass?"
Adam's reply was quiet. "I don't want anyone to."
"Good," Lev murmured, thumb grazing Adam's jaw. "Because I'll make sure no one dares touch what's mine."
The words weren't meant to terrify. They struck deeper, warmer. Possessive, yes—but not cruel.
"Do you want me to fetch the suppressants?" Lev asked, stepping back.
"No," Adam said hastily. "I can manage."
"You shouldn't have to manage," Lev said, jaw tight, voice heavy with something Adam couldn't place. Frustration? Care? Both?
Lev gestured to the velvet settee by the fireplace. "Sit."
Adam sank onto it. Lev poured amber liquid into two crystal glasses and handed one to Adam.
"I don't drink," Adam said.
"You do now."
The first sip burned through him. Lev watched, brow furrowed. "You're too fragile for this court," he said softly. "Too soft."
Adam's gaze hardened. "I didn't ask to be here."
"No. Your father sold you," Lev said. The words landed heavier than any chains. A father, a son, a prize presented like a rare jewel.
"I was meant to be a concubine," Adam whispered.
"You still are," Lev replied, voice chilly but firm. "But you belong with me. Not them."
Silence settled between them. Then Lev knelt before Adam, lowering his voice. "Yet your shackles feel heavier than mine. And my crown is heavy too."