The air is heavy with tension. And something else—something that hums between them like energy, making the room itself seem charged.
Alexander holds his breath, waiting for the moment Sebastian steps back, for a sign he can leave.
But the heat between them remains as intense as ever.
"Sebastian… the people are waiting. I have to go. I… I can't explain to them—I can't explain to *myself*—that this is all a mistake, that I'm sorry, I never thought this would happen—"
His voice breaks.
A muscle clenches in
The rest of the words go unsaid. Alexander swallows, throat dry, as the weight of them hangs heavy in the air.
But still Sebastian *stays.*
A step closer—until only inches separate them now. His gaze burns into Alexander's, leaving no doubt of the intensity in his eyes—or the intensity of *desire.*
His voice drops to a whisper—barely more than breath against Alexander's lips.
"You don't have to explain anything."
Another heartbeat. Then:
"Just be honest when you walk into that hall. When your heart skips at the sight of me… don't look away."
Then, slowly—deliberately—he lifts the dark silver crown and places it gently on the velvet stand beside Alexander's own.
A silent promise.
*I'm not leaving. I'm not hiding.*
And then, with one last unreadable look, Sebastian turns and walks toward the door.
Not as a guest.
But as a king who already knows what's his.
The moment breaks. And for several seconds, Alexander stands frozen, staring at the silver crown on the stand. Even now, it pulses like a living heart.
He looks toward the door where Sebastian just walked through. Then back to the crown.
He can feel the weight of the guests awaiting his arrival. The suitors who've come tonight, eager to win the hand of a prince.
But only one face is burned into his mind.
The thought sends a thrill of heat through him, stirring something deep within. His pulse thrums in time with his heart, as if their are somehow connected…
That, more than anything else, makes up his mind.
He picks up the crown, turns, and steps out into the corridor.
The hallway is eerily quiet. The sounds of the impending banquet reach him through the closed double doors at the end of the hall, but there's no sign of Sebastian.
A shiver runs down his spine. What is he *doing?* He's going to walk into a room of princes and suitors, with his dreams of the past six months suddenly turned real—
*And claim him as his own.* Alexander shudders as the thought comes unbidden.
But it's too late now. And something deep within him… *demands* it be true.
He draws a deep breath in a failed effort to steady himself, then straightens the gold-laced coat, brushes down his hair, and puts on his regal mask.
He can do this. He *has* to. Whatever happens between them, the world can never know.
So with the crown in place and a false smile on his face, Alexander pushes open the grand double doors of the banqueting hall.
The hall falls silent.
Every head turns. Kings rise from their seats. Princes freeze mid-conversation, goblets halfway to their lips. All eyes lock onto Alexander as he steps forward—radiant, poised, the golden crown gleaming under the chandeliers.
But none of that matters.
Because at the far end of the long table, seated not among the suitors but *at* it—one seat left conspicuously open beside him—sits Prince Sebastian.
His expression is unreadable.
But his eyes?
They blaze with quiet possession. Recognition. *Claiming.*
Alexander's breath hitches just once—but no one else sees it but Sebastian.
And in that single moment across a thousand candle flames…
The entire room vanishes.
There is only this:
*You're here.*
*I know.*
*I've been waiting.*
***
And then the moment is gone.
Applause. Cheers. A thousand conversations bursting into sound.
Alexander takes a seat among the princes, nodding at each of them in turn. But the only thing he feels is Sebastian's eyes upon him, burning in a way they've never burned before. The warmth spreads through him like fire, leaving him breathless.
The feast begins. But it may as well be happening in another lifetime for all he can pay attention to it.
It lasts hours. Course after course of food. Speeches upon speeches, toasts for the kingdom…
And through it all, the weight of Sebastian's gaze.
Alexander's skin tingles. Every time their eyes meet, he starts to see something more: not just the hunger from earlier, but a deep *need* in Sebastian's gaze that makes his pulse skip and his chest ache.
He can barely taste the food. He can barely remember to speak. Every breath feels like a challenge.
The banquet continues late into the night. The candles burn lower, the hall growing dimmer. But the heat between them only grows.
A thousand things have been said tonight. A thousand pleasantries, formalities, promises. But all that matters are the promises made in looks across the hall, the heat in Sebastian's eyes, the unspoken words that seem to speak louder than all of them.
*Soon,* he's saying. *Patience.*
The thought both thrills and terrifies.
The final toast is called—his father, the king, rising with goblet raised.
"To my son," he says, voice resonant through the hall. "May this night bring him clarity. May he find strength in choice… and a heart worthy of his own."
Polite applause follows.
But Alexander feels only one pair of eyes—the ones that haven't looked away all evening.
Then comes the moment:
The suitors begin to rise. One by one, they offer gifts—tokens of alliance, power, or devotion—to be placed before Prince Alexander's seat.
A dagger forged in starfire.
A scroll sealed with dragon's wax.
A ring humming with ancient magic.
Each offering met with polite gratitude… and silence from *him.*
Until—
Sebastian stands.
No gift in hand. No flourish of fabric or grand gesture.
Just quiet certainty as he walks toward the dais where Alexander sits—a path carved by silence alone.
And when every eye locks onto him…
He stops just short of bowing—and says:
"I offer no token."
A pause thick enough to cut blood on steel.
*"Because you already have it."*
The hall is utterly silent. Not a whisper, not a breath. Even the king stills, crown glinting under the last flicker of candlelight.
Alexander's heart hammers like it wants to break free.
*You already have it.*
The words echo in his skull—but deeper than that, they *resonate*, pulsing through his bones as if waking something long buried.
Then—flashes.
Not memories.
But *recollections.* Fragments breaking through:
A forest cloaked in silver mist.
A vow spoken beneath twin moons.
Hands clasped in shadow and flame—*his hand and Sebastian's*, bound by something older than crowns or kingdoms.
He gasps—and grips the armrest to keep from standing.
Sebastian doesn't move, but his eyes burn with knowing. *You remember now,* they say without sound. *Don't look away.*
And then—
From beyond the stained glass windows—a flash of light tears across the sky like fire given voice.
The Omegan moon... is rising early?
No—it's not natural light at all.
It pulses once… twice… then shatters into silver ribbons that spiral down toward the castle itself, as if drawn home by blood or oath or fate…
One streak lands—*not on stone*, but directly onto Sebastian's outstretched palm like flame accepting its master's will—
And he speaks two words that freeze time:
***"I summon."***
Everything stops.
The guests freeze.
His father's goblet hangs in the air, wine hovering just inches from the table.
And Sebastian—he stands with an outstretched hand, silver light burning with a brilliance that makes the candles dim. His gaze, still locked onto Alexander's, doesn't falter.
But there is no fear in his eyes. Only absolute certainty.
And in that moment —as the room seems to shudder—
A shadow appears at the far end of the hall.
The shadow stretches across the marble floor, long and sharp as a blade. It doesn't belong to any guest. It wasn't cast by candle or moon.
It *moves on its own.*
Then—slowly—the figure steps forward from the darkness between two pillars, as if stepping out of a dream that was never meant to be seen.
Cloaked in blackened silver, eyes glowing faintly like embers behind ash—stands another man. But not a man.
Something older.
The air grows cold. Alexander shivers despite the heat in his chest.
Sebastian lowers his hand—and turns slightly toward the intruder with grim recognition.
"You shouldn't have come," Sebastian says quietly. "Not here. Not now."
The figure tilts its head, voice a whisper that somehow fills every corner of the frozen hall:
***"You broke the pact… and called *him* before time."***
A pause—one that cuts deeper than steel.
***"Now I come to claim what is mine."***
And then—its burning gaze locks onto Alexander—
*"The Omega who belongs not to love… but to duty."*
Silence breaks like glass as time surges back into motion—
And chaos erupts in the hall once more…
But only one truth remains clear:
This night was never about choosing an Alpha…
It was about surviving fate itself.
***
The silence breaks first into whispers, then shouting—guests surging into chaos as they push back from the tables, crying out in shock and confusion. His father barks for order.
But all noise fades like distant wind as the cloaked figure's eyes lock onto Alexander's.
The world collapses around them, until there's hardly a sound remaining. Just their racing heartbeats. Just the two of them and the impossible truth between them.
*Alexander is an omega.*
And whatever pact was made… is about to end.
And yet—
Amid the chaos, Alexander doesn't move.
Not when the guards draw their swords.
Not when his father calls his name in warning.
Not even when the cloaked figure steps forward, hand outstretched like a reaper claiming what was promised.
His eyes stay fixed on Sebastian.
And something inside him—something deeper than fear, stronger than instinct—*roars to life.*
A heat surges through his veins, not of submission… but *defiance.*
He stands.
The golden crown trembles atop his head—but does not fall.
"You say I belong to duty?" Alexander's voice cuts through the panic, clear and sharp as a blade forged in fire. "Then let it be known—I *choose* my duty."
Every head turns.
Even the cloaked figure stills.
And Sebastian?
He smiles—just slightly—as if he'd known this moment would come all along.
Because there is one truth no ancient pact can deny:
An Omega's true power isn't in submission…
It's in *consent.*
And Alexander hasn't consented to anything—
Except *him.*
It should feel like a betrayal—to defy an ancient pact and choose a mate in front of the entire court. But Alexander doesn't care.
Sebastian's eyes never leave his. And in their depths, a fire burns as bright as his own.
"I don't *choose* you for duty," he says, voice carrying across the stunned hall. "I choose you because… I have never been more sure of anything."
There.
The words said aloud—words that feel not like a confession, but a promise. A *bond.*
A hush falls.
Not magic this time—just awe. The weight of what Alexander has done settles over the hall like ash after flame.
He's not just defied a prophecy.
He's rewritten it.
And Sebastian? He doesn't bow. Doesn't kneel.
Instead, he steps forward—slow, deliberate—until they stand mere inches apart in full view of kings and princes, gods and ghosts alike.
His voice is low, meant only for Alexander… yet carries like thunder:
"Then let them see."
With that—he reaches up and removes his gloves one by one, letting them fall to the marble floor.
Underneath?
Hands marked with silver scars in the shape of ravens' wings—old wounds that pulse faintly now with matching heat from Alexander's chest.
*The marks were always his.*
"I waited," Sebastian whispers, "not because I doubted you would come…"
A breath between them—one heartbeat before destiny changes course—
*"But because I knew you'd choose me on your own terms."*
And as if answering their joined wills…
The Omegan moon outside *surges*, bathing the hall in silver fire—
And two crowns—not one golden, not one silver—but *both*, rise slowly from their stands…
Hovering above their heads,
Bound by light,
Bound by blood,
Bound by choice.
***
It should feel insane. Impossible.
Two crowns. Two kings.
But Alexander doesn't falter. Instead, he reaches for Sebastian's hands without hesitation.
"You will be my Mate," he says, low enough for them alone. "But you will be my equal. My *partner.* That was our choice… and it always will be."
Sebastian's hands still, but his eyes blaze with recognition.
*He knew this too.*
"Then I accept," he whispers back. The words are barely audible.
But inside those two simple syllables is a promise: one that can never be undone.
Alexander's lips quirk just slightly.
Challenge, now, in his gaze.
"Equal in all things?"
"Equal in all things," Sebastian agrees softly.
"No more secrets."
Sebastian's gaze doesn't waver. No hesitation. No lies.
"Everything," he says. "From now until eternity."
"No hiding," Alexander says, the heat of his mark pulsing through him. "Only truth."
"Every day," Sebastian promises. "No matter what it holds."
Their hands remain clasped, the marks beneath them shining as brightly as the twin crowns.
The moment stretches—thin as starlight, fragile as dawn.
Then, without breaking eye contact, Sebastian lifts one hand—still marked with the raven's sigil—and presses it over Alexander's heart.
"I swear," he says, voice rough with power and promise. "By blood and shadow… by crown and moon… I am yours."
Alexander inhales sharply.
It's not magic that seals the vow.
It's *choice.*
And in answer—he places his own hand over Sebastian's mark on his chest… then leans forward until their foreheads touch.
"Then come what may," he murmurs. "You're stuck with me."
A beat of silence.
Then—
A low chuckle escapes Sebastian. The first real laugh Alexander has ever heard from him. It rolls through the air like thunder after storm—and for the first time all night…
The tension breaks.
Somewhere in the hall—a single clap echoes out of nowhere.
Then another. And another—until even kings rise to their feet in silent tribute not to tradition…
But to *love* that dared defy fate itself.
And then the world explodes into cheers, every guest surging to their feet as one—applause like distant thunder.
But Alexander barely hears them. Because he and Sebastian still stand alone in the center of the hall, foreheads touching.
"I can't believe we just did that," he murmurs, breathless.
"Neither can I," Sebastian admits softly.
Then, with the heat of the mark under his hand, he leans in until his lips graze the shell of Alexander's ear.
*"My Prince."*