Arian keep on looking for Aiden his his hood hiding his face ,while the both boys were still run, The sudden burst of shared adrenaline faded as the rhythmic, desperate pursuit of the bandits' footsteps receded. Prince Lorcan kept his grip tight on Aiden's wrist, pulling them deeper into the shadows of a neglected service passage a narrow, damp corridor where the city's stench of refuse and stale water masked all other odors. They stood pressed against the cold stone, panting heavily.
Lorcan, though only six years old, he was already rigid with aristocratic displeasure. He immediately began smoothing his luxurious velvet tunic, inspecting the mud splatters with disdain.
"Honestly," Lorcan huffed, his voice catching slightly. "You are terribly loud for a 'shadow.' You should know better than to stray from your guardian in the Capital. This city eats lost pups."
Aiden ignored the insult, instead focusing on the new arrival. He was trained to observe, and Arion's lessons on scent identification were immediate. Aiden's nose, sensitive from months of tracking game in the north, picked up a strange, beautiful fragrance emanating from the older boy. It was overwhelmingly sweet, a rich aroma that reminded Aiden of the wild berries his Papa sometimes allowed him to pick on the rare, sunny days.
"Why do you smell like that?" Aiden asked, his small brow furrowed in curiosity. "You smell like strawberries and something else... something sweet, like warm honey. Did you steal a pie?"
Lorcan froze, his eyes a striking, cold green snapping to Aiden. His carefully controlled composure wavered. He was a young omega prince from a Southern territory, fiercely protective of his status and scent, a secret he maintained with expensive suppressants and controlling measures. The potent, innocent observation from the smaller boy was terrifying.
"It's not food, you ridiculous peasant," Lorcan snapped, quickly pulling his heavy silver cloak tighter around himself, a reflexive act to seal the scent. "It's my mother's special perfume. All proper young lords use it to mask the smell of the street. Don't be weird."
Aiden accepted the lie easily; Arion had never explained the complex, deadly social rules governing alpha and omega dynamics. Arion had taught him that scents meant danger (old blood, rotting food, smoke) or comfort (pine, clean leather, his father's own subtle, safe scent). He simply categorized Lorcan's scent as 'nice' and let the subject drop.
"My Papa told me only the scent of pine is proper," Aiden mumbled, adjusting the small, empty pack on his back. "I am Aiden. Who are you really? You said you were a prince."
"I am Prince Lorcan of the Southern Isles," Lorcan insisted, puffing out his chest. "I am here on a diplomatic visit that is currently being ruined by the idiotic civil war and now you. Why is your father allowing you to run around with criminals chasing you?"
"My Papa is the Dragon Slayer," Aiden stated with proud simplicity. "We came from the mountain to make the Serpent King pay for hurting Papa. My Papa is very strong, but he is looking for me now."
Lorcan squinted at the younger boy. "Dragon Slayer? That's an old title. Your father must be part of Cassian's forces, then. Everyone knows the Dragon Slayer was murdered by the Serpent King years ago."
"He was not murdered," Aiden corrected fiercely, stepping slightly closer to Lorcan, the sweet scent of the omega prince a strangely calming presence amidst the city's metallic grime. "He was hidden. He is stronger now. We are going to destroy the Serpent King's pride."
They continued to converse for quite a while in the shadows, the initial tension giving way to a shared, dangerous camaraderie. Lorcan was fascinated by the sheer barbarity of Aiden's existence living in the wilderness, learning to fight, and carrying a survival pack. Aiden was equally captivated by Lorcan's tales of palace life, silks, sweet drinks, and the complicated, vicious rules of court. The two children, one trained for hardship and the other for etiquette, were a perfect, distracting match.
"We need to move now," Lorcan finally declared, shaking his head. "They'll think we're long gone, and the maid is probably spreading rumors. I need to get back to my delegation before Father realizes I slipped out."
Aiden nodded, a renewed sense of purpose replacing the earlier childish awe. "I need to find Papa before he comes and finds the bandits first. He gets very angry when people mess up his plans."
They stepped out of the dark service passage and into a quieter, sun drenched street. Their conversation, however, had been too loud, too long, and too exposed. The very distraction they shared their youthful arrogance in thinking they had truly escaped was their undoing.
The bandits, who were far more cunning and desperate than Lorcan had assumed, had circled back silently, using the labyrinthine alleyways. They hadn't heard the boys leave the dark passage, but they heard the clear, young voices in the relatively quiet street.
Before either boy could react, two large, rough figures descended upon them from a rooftop overhang. One bandit slammed his hand across Lorcan's mouth, the rough leather muffling his terrified shriek, while the other seized Aiden. A strong, smelly cloth was immediately muffled over Aiden's small mouth and nose, cutting off his ability to call for his father.
Aiden fought back fiercely, kicking, biting, and struggling with the ferocity of a wildcat, exactly as Arion had trained him. But the bandit was too strong, and the cloth tasted sickeningly of grime and sour wine. The last thing Aiden heard before the world spun into darkness was the terrified, muffled sound of Prince Lorcan struggling beside him, his sweet, strawberry scent suddenly mingling with the sharp, metallic odor of fear. They were captured.
The sudden darkness that enveloped Aiden was terrifying, but even through the thick, sour cloth muffled over his face, he fought. He twisted, he kicked, he used his teeth every ounce of resistance Arion had drilled into him. He heard Lorcan struggling beside him, the older boy making high-pitched, desperate sounds of struggle.
The bandits were rough, quickly hoisting the small bodies. They didn't bother with a subtle retreat; time was gold now. They dragged the children through the narrowest back alleys, away from the bustling marketplaces where the guards held their sway.
Even in the terrifying throes of capture, Prince Lorcan's ingrained sense of superiority was unshakeable. He continued to kick and thrash, and though his mouth was covered, he managed to make muffled, indignant noises that clearly articulated his outrage.
"Mph! fmm! Let g-go! Do you know who I am? You filthy peasants will pay for this! Mph! fmf!" Lorcan's muffled screams were not those of pure terror, but of an arrogant, entitled rage fury that common criminals dared to soil his velvet and touch a prince of the Southern Isles. He twisted his head violently, attempting to spit on the bandit carrying him, even as the rough grip threatened to choke him.
Aiden, though fighting with silent desperation, heard Lorcan's muffled tirade and felt a strange mixture of annoyance and grim respect. Even now, the boy refused to submit.
The bandit carrying Aiden grunted in frustration. "Quiet, you little demons! The small one fights like a cat!"
"He's worth more than you think, boss!" the second bandit, carrying the squirming Lorcan, wheezed. "Look at those silks! And the colors! We'll get ten times the ransom we planned!"
Lorcan managed to twist his head enough to catch Aiden's eye. His green eyes were blazing with fury, and through the cloth, his muffled voice seemed to convey a single, indignant thought: I told you we should have been more discreet, you fool!
Aiden, now held securely beneath the bandit's heavy arm, his vision darkening around the edges, had a final thought before the fumes of the rag took hold: Papa will find them. Papa always finds the trail.
The bandits moved quickly, carrying the struggling, muffled princes deeper into the forgotten underbelly of the Capital, toward a dark, dilapidated warehouse near the docks a perfect, forgotten hideout where the ransom negotiations could begin. The silence of the abandoned district swallowed the muffled cries of the two captured boys.