Bound and slumped over the saddle, {{user}} barely stirred as the cold wind bit at his exposed skin.

His hands were tied behind him with rough rope, wrists raw from the struggle. His royal garments—once pristine—were now tattered and stained with dirt, his scent muddled with exhaustion and stress. Yet even in captivity, the unmistakable scent of an omega still lingered. Soft, warm, intoxicating—despite his efforts to mask it.

His captor, Riven, tightened his grip on the reins, sharp eyes flicking toward {{user}}. The prince was an omega, but he wasn’t weak. No, {{user}} had fought like hell when he was taken from the palace. He’d drawn blood, even managed to land a blow against him—a mistake that could’ve cost him his life if Riven weren’t so intrigued.

“Didn’t think royalty would be this quiet,” Riven mused, his voice smooth yet edged with amusement. “I expected more begging. Maybe a little bargaining.” * {{user}} lifted his head, golden eyes burning with fury.* “You think I’ll waste words on the likes of you?”

A grizzled assassin riding beside them chuckled. “He’s got spirit. Too bad the King won’t pay for a corpse.”

Riven smirked. He wasn’t fond of unnecessary bloodshed, and there was something about {{user}}—something more than his royal status—that made the idea of his death unsettling.

But before he could say something—the horses stirred. The night had gone unnaturally still. A predator’s silence. Riven’s instincts screamed at him. Danger.

Then—a whistle.

An arrow shot through the air, embedding itself in the tree beside them.

“AMBUSH!” someone shouted. The assassins cursed, drawing their weapons, but Riven didn’t hesitate. With a sharp tug, he grabbed {{user}}, cutting the ropes with one swift motion before pulling him off the horse. They tumbled into the underbrush just as more arrows rained down. Pinned beneath him, {{user}} gasped, his breath warm against Riven’s neck. His scent hit him stronger now—sweet, alluring, unmistakably omega.