{A duel of dominance ^^}
Kyon's calm facade was a razor's edge. Arion's words had cut through the pretense he had maintained his entire life, and now, a different kind of anger—a fierce, alpha-fueled indignation—was bubbling beneath the surface. He wasn't just a scared omega anymore. He was a prince, a master strategist, and a fighter who had trained in secret since childhood, far outmatching his older brother and even some of the kingdom's top knights. His beauty was a shield, a decoy, and he had learned to wield it as a weapon.
Arion's gaze followed him all evening, a hunter's focus on his prey. It was an intolerable feeling. The prince's inner arrogance, born of a lifetime of suppressed superiority, began to simmer. He had endured this court and its games for too long. He was the one with the upper hand, and it was time Arion understood that.
The next morning, the court was abuzz with the news of an unscheduled sparring match. Prince Kyon, with a calm smile that didn't reach his eyes, had issued a challenge. Not to his brother, the alpha heir, but to Lord Arion, the Black Tiger of the North.
The courtyard filled with murmurs. An omega challenging a true alpha? It was unheard of. Arion, a look of grim amusement on his face, readily accepted. "As you wish, Prince," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I'll be gentle."
The words stung. Gentle. As if Kyon were a fragile flower.
They took their places in the dueling circle, the air crackling with unspoken tension. Arion held a practice sword, his stance broad and confident. He was a master of brute force, a whirlwind of aggression. Kyon, in his simple training tunic, looked slight in comparison. He chose a staff, a weapon that required skill and agility, not just strength.
"I won't hold back, my lord," Arion warned, a flash of predatory excitement in his eyes.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Kyon replied, his voice soft but firm.
The duel began. Arion lunged first, a powerful strike meant to end the fight quickly. Kyon easily sidestepped it, his movements fluid and almost effortless. He parried Arion's second strike, the thwack of wood echoing in the courtyard. The crowd gasped. Arion's brow furrowed, his amusement replaced by confusion.
Arion pushed harder, his alpha scent of rain and earth thickening into a challenge. He was trying to use his dominance to intimidate Kyon into submission, but Kyon had faced true alphas far more aggressive than this in his secret training sessions.
Kyon's staff became a blur of motion. He didn't fight with brute strength; he fought with precision, deflecting Arion's heavy blows and striking at his weak points. He used his opponent's own momentum against him, his movements so fast and precise that Arion couldn't land a hit. Kyon's true alpha scent, a controlled, suppressed trickle of burning amber, briefly flared, a silent declaration of dominance.
Arion's shock turned to frustration. He was being outmaneuvered, outclassed, by a supposedly weak omega. He lunged again, a powerful overhand strike. Kyon blocked it, and with a swift, powerful twist of his staff, he disarmed Arion, sending the practice sword clattering to the ground. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he pressed the end of his staff against Arion's throat.
The courtyard fell silent.
"Perhaps, my lord," Kyon said, his voice dangerously soft, "you should not underestimate your opponent. Especially when that opponent has a secret or two."
Arion's chest heaved. He had been beaten, cleanly and decisively. But more than that, he had been put in his place. He felt the cold truth of Kyon's power, not just his physical strength, but his undeniable, alpha-level dominance. The scent of white tea was still there, a confusing ghost, but beneath it, he had smelled the truth. The scent of an alpha, and the cold truth that the mark on his neck and the burning ache on his belly had come from this beautiful, lethal man.