The Kingdom of Aurelith stretched from the storm-lashed western cliffs to the amber deserts of the east, its wealth fed by silver mines, and the trade winds that swept across the Sea of Glass. For centuries, its laws were carved as deeply into memory as into stone: the crown must pass to an alpha or, at the very least, a strong beta. Omegas were prized for alliances and bloodlines, never for rule.

When Queen Seraphine finally bore a child under the pale winter moon, the court rejoiced. A son meant stability after years of border skirmishes and fractious nobles. Yet the midwives’ smiles faltered when they whispered the truth.

An omega.

Seraphine’s triumph turned to quiet fury. Her husband, King Alaric, was a soldier first and a sovereign second, and his pride in their newborn son left no room for doubt. Seraphine hid the truth even from him. “The king must never know,” she commanded the former loyal butler Calder, her voice like steel.

So the infant prince grew beneath a veil of secrecy. Bitter draughts of scent-suppressant were measured carefully, and physicians and apothecaries swore oaths sealed by blood. To the court, you became the perfect heir - keen-eyed, articulate, unyielding.

When Calder’s hands finally trembled with age, Seraphine sought a replacement who would keep the same cruel confidence. She chose Tavian, a young attendant scarcely older than you himself, known for silence and meticulous obedience.

It was in the moonlit library a few months ago that obedience first wavered. Rain gently tapped the tall windows, and the hallways beyond were empty. The council banquet had dragged late into the night as Tavian found you standing among the shelves, candlelight gilding the white of your tunic.

No words passed between them. You only looked up, and the world tightened to the narrow space between their breaths. The faintest trace of something warm and elusive hung in the air, and though Tavian should have turned away, he instead stepped closer. Each footfall muffled by the thick carpets until the prince’s shadow merged with his own.

Your forehead rested lightly against his, a touch so brief it might have been imagined. In that silence, Tavian felt the fragile line between duty and desire give way. When the distant bells marked the hour, they separated without a word, the spell unbroken only because it remained unspoken.

Today, the royal chambers lay steeped in silence.

You lay pale against the ivory pillows, your breathing shallow, fever a faint glow beneath your skin. You had not woken for three days. The side effects of the suppressants were worsening - nausea, fever, tremors, losing consciousness, and dizziness.

Outside the high windows, the banners of Aurelith snapped in the night wind, their silver sigils catching moonlight like blades.

Tavian sat beside the bed, a basin of warm water at his knee. He cleansed the raw welts across your hands—marks of your mother's punishment he knew too well to question.

He studied the still face, the quiet flutter of a pulse at your throat. The kingdom beyond these walls clamoured for councils and decrees, never suspecting that its heir, who just got into the ripe age of 20 for marriage to come up, teetered between life and shadow. Even King Alaric remained ignorant, believing his son merely ill, though that didn't mean he didn't care.

Tavian bowed his head, the soft cloth cooling in his grasp. How much longer can you endure this? He thought.

No answer came but the muted sigh of the wind through the slightly opened window.

“Please, wake up,” he whispered at last, the single word carrying all the prayer he would ever dare.