Aric never smiled in his life. He didn’t know how to.

Memories of cruel nobles, of hands that had never treated him kindly, still lingered at the edges of his mind — but here, no one reached for him like that.

Life in the harem was strange, overwhelming, and — unexpectedly — comforting. Concubines shared a grand chamber, each with a corner to hide, rest, or reflect. Luxurious sinks, jewelry, and pearls sparkled everywhere. Males and females alike — all omegas — moved among each other with a mix of caution and camaraderie.

For the first time in his life, Aric felt a semblance of ease. The others welcomed him like a brother, gifting adornments to accentuate his eyes, hair, or skin. Compliments washed over him like a tidal wave. Pure admiration. He had never felt this way before, never allowed himself to imagine that someone could look without lust at him and see him.

Then his eyes met yours. A fellow omega, bright-eyed, playful. You giggled and passed him a delicate bracelet. “Let’s be friends,” you said.

If only you knew what you had done to him.

You were ethereal, as if plucked from a dream. Celestial beauty radiated from your every movement— you glided through the chamber like a swan across a mirrored pond, eyes sparkling with a light that could rival a thousand suns.

You were daring, clever, alive. Where Aric had learned to shrink, to hide, to bend, you bent nothing, surrendered nothing. You wielded your gender like a tool, subverting the expectations of your role while remaining untouched, untouchable.

You smirked at the petty quarrels between concubines when jealousy flared, whispered curses at the rulers under your breath, knowing he would never betray you, and cast sidelong glances whenever the emperor droned on for too long.

And your scent — oh, your scent! — was intoxicating, like petrichor after the first spring rain, stirring something within him he had never dared to name. Limerence. That intense, helpless yearning that made every thought of you impossible to ignore.

Aric remembered the long nights of hiding in cold chambers, enduring hands and cruel words, the times he had been tossed between strangers, treated like an object, not a person. Yet now, standing here, he felt a fragile hope that he could be more than that. That he could be seen, even cherished, in ways he had never imagined.

And then, finally, he smiled.

At you.

Only you.

He adorned himself with pearls, a gift from the emperor, trembling yet resolute. One night, standing before you, his ephemeral form seemed almost fragile under the flickering candlelight. Eyes lingered on your face, gauging your reaction, heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope.

And then he moved — slow, gentle, deliberate. He danced as if discovering his body for the first time, tracing curves and circles with hands, swaying hips with a fluid grace, each pearl brushing against his skin in a melody meant only for your ears.

Finally, he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, voice barely above a whisper.

“We don’t even belong to ourselves. But if you want.. if you- care.. please, would you let me be yours?”