Rin woke to cold sheets and a quiet room.
For a moment he lay still, disoriented, the remnants of fevered heat still fogging his mind. The scent that lingered on the pillow beside him was unmistakable — steel, pine, and an alpha's undeniable presence.
Alaric.
Reality caught up with him in one breath.
Three days — they had spent three entire days tangled together, driven by the relentless crash of his heat. He buried his face in his hands, mortified. Rin prided himself on composure, discipline, and self-control, but this time heat had shattered every defense, every wall, every carefully cultivated lie.
He, who survived four years without letting any alpha touch his life.
He, who pretended to be a beta because it was safer.
And now he had given in — to Alaric of all people.
A sound outside the door snapped him back: the twins, already awake, voices soft but moving closer. Rin shot to his feet, wincing as his body reminded him just how intense the last days had been. He dressed quickly, straightened the bedding to hide any signs of impropriety, and composed himself just as the door slid open a few inches.
"Papa?"
Rhen's voice drifted in.
"One moment," Rin replied, fastening the last button on his tunic before opening the door.
The twins stood there, both with worried eyes that looked far too old for their small bodies.
"Papa," Riven murmured, tugging his sleeve, "are you not sick anymore?"
Rin forced an easy smile.
"Yes. I'm fine now."
They both relaxed, shoulders dropping — until Rhen looked around the room and asked:
"Where's Mister Al?"
Rin froze for half a heartbeat.
Right.
He had awakened alone. There was no sign of Alaric — no presence, no voice, not even a note left behind. Rin hadn't allowed himself to dwell on it yet, but now, with the twins asking openly, the reality settled in.
"So he really left," Rin thought.
Out loud, he answered calmly:
"He must have returned early. Mister Al is a busy man."
"Oh…" the twins said in unison, disappointment plain in their voices.
Rin ushered them to wash before breakfast, trying not to show the strange weight pressing against his chest. Only when the children ran off did his thoughts spin freely.
Of course he left.
Alaric was a first prince — a man known for hating weak, dependent omegas who clung to powerful alphas for status or protection. Rin, a secret omega who had deceived him for years with scent-blocking herbs and false presentation, had no reason to expect anything.
Why would a man like Alaric stay after discovering the truth?
Rin moved to the kitchen and mechanically began preparing breakfast, chopping vegetables with practiced precision. His mind, however, refused to stay quiet.
He must be disgusted.
Disappointed.
He must regret everything.
The worst part was that he should feel relieved.
Freedom meant safety.
Distance meant survival.
I should be glad he won't bother me anymore.
He repeated it, stirring broth, forcing practicality into place. Yet there was a tightness under his ribs he couldn't dispel. A strange irritation simmered beneath his calm.
Why should he feel irritated?
He's the one who should be angry, not me. He's the one who was kept in the dark.
The twins returned, hungry and chatty, pulling Rin out of his spiraling thoughts. He set breakfast on the table and slipped into routine — helping them eat, packing their small satchels, and creating normalcy around them. By the time the dishes were clean, the household looked ordinary again, unmarked by the chaos of the last three days.
Rin walked to his apothecary, the comforting scent of herbs washing over him as he entered. Shelves lined with medicines and tinctures greeted him. The sight should have calmed him — yet he noticed three medicine bottles slightly misaligned.
His brow twitched.
He immediately fixed them, muttering, "Focus, Rin."
But his thoughts remained fractured.
No matter how he tried to bury them under work, they returned — to Alaric's expression by the river, the heat-fueled tenderness, the intensity in his eyes… the softness he had always pretended not to notice even years ago.
The pestle slipped in his hand.
He swore quietly.
This wasn't like him. He never let distractions into his workspace. He never let emotions drag him off logic. He ground herbs harder than necessary just to steady himself.
"Master Rion?"
Thomas poked his head in, carrying crates of freshly delivered supplies.
Rin cleared his throat and forced composure back into place. "I'm fine," he replied. "Just tired. Bring those over — there are orders waiting. And don't call me 'Master' so loudly."
Thomas grinned. "Still sharp-tongued, I see."
Rin flicked a sliced ginseng chip at him in response.
When Thomas left, Rin exhaled slowly.
Enough. There is work to do.
---
______________
Alaric arrived with swift footsteps, the clinking of armor and servants' bows marking his passage. The palace air was heavy with incense — the kind burned when death drew near.
He approached the king's chamber and found the queen consort and Caelum waiting. The queen's eyes were rimmed with red; Caelum's expression was stone, though tension radiated through his clenched fists.
"You're the only one he agreed to see," the queen consort murmured.
Alaric nodded without hesitation and pushed the large doors open.
Duty awaited him inside.
But before he crossed the threshold, his last thought was not of politics, nor war, nor royal expectations.
It was of a small apothecary in Vareth — and the omega sleeping alone in the aftermath of heat.
I'll return, he silently promised.
And then he stepped forward into the king's chamber.