The morning sun felt like a betrayal. Lord Arion woke with a pounding headache that felt like a blacksmith was using his skull for an anvil. He was in his own bed, but the events of the previous night were a blank, empty canvas. He remembered leaving the banquet, frustrated and in need of a drink, and a few blurred moments in the royal gardens. After that, nothing.
He tried to sit up, but a sharp, burning ache in his lower abdomen made him gasp. He looked down and saw it.
There, just below his navel, was a second mark. It was identical to the one on his neck, a deep, angry red bloom of claimed flesh. But this one was different. This one wasn't a claim of dominance—it was a mark that could only be made during a true alpha-to-omega mating. A mark of fertility.
His mind reeled. He was a true alpha, born to take, not to be taken. Yet here he was, with two marks and an ache that promised an impending, and likely brutal, heat. He hadn't had a heat since he was a teen, a rare occurrence for alphas. But the mark on his belly meant this heat would be different. Intense. Primal. And it meant he was now, for all intents and purposes, a breeding partner.
He stormed to the full-length mirror, turning to examine the mark on his nape. The faint scent of white tea clung to it, a delicate, floral fragrance that made no sense. His dominant scent of rain and earth should have overpowered anything else. He was the Black Tiger of the North, not some perfumed flower.
The door opened, and his loyal retainer, Sir Kael, stepped in, a bowl of ginger tea in his hands. He took one look at Arion's face and stopped, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern.
"My lord," he began, "Are you alright? Your… your scent is strange."
Arion's blood ran cold. He had been so focused on the physical marks he hadn't considered his own scent. He focused, trying to project his usual clean, dominant fragrance, but it was muddled. Submissive. And the faint scent of white tea was still there, a phantom that clung to him.
Meanwhile, Prince Kyon was in his own chambers, a knot of dread tightening in his gut. The shame from the night before was a cold, hard stone in his stomach. He was a prince, a symbol of beauty and grace, yet he had acted on pure, animal instinct and taken what he should not have. He had marked Lord Arion, a man he was supposed to court and impress, not dominate and claim. He had acted like a common brute.
He heard a gentle knock on his door. It was his attendant, bringing him his breakfast and the latest news from court. He went through the motions, forcing a smile, the sweet, cloying scent of white tea a suffocating veil. The entire kingdom believed him to be a demure omega, a beautiful prize for the highest-ranking alpha. No one would ever suspect the truth.
But he had a terrible feeling that Arion would not let this go. A true alpha with two marks, one on his belly, from an unknown attacker? The man would be a walking storm, demanding answers. And Kyon, with his fragile secret, was the only one who held them.