The golden spires of the capital gleamed under a cruel sun, but inside the cold stone walls of the royal infirmary, Roxy felt as though he were drowning in shadows. As a male Omega, his very existence was a delicate balance of rarity and ridicule. In the eyes of the court, he was a precious anomaly; in the eyes of his father, King Axel, he was a renewable resource.

The scent of antiseptic and stale magic always clung to Roxy’s skin, a sharp contrast to the soft, jasmine aroma natural to a male Omega. He sat on a small wooden stool, his head in his hands. His skin was unnervingly pale, translucent enough that the blue veins in his wrists looked like bruised ink. Beneath his heavy velvet robes, the hidden bandages around his ribs were damp. He could feel the slow, rhythmic pulse of his own life force weeping from his pores—the silent tax of the miracle he had performed an hour ago.

The heavy oak doors of the infirmary swung open. Axel strode in, his presence suffocating the room. "The southern battalion has returned," Axel announced, his voice a low rumble. "Commander Vane and his lieutenants are fading. Get up, Roxy." "Father, please," Roxy whispered. "I’ve been in the wards since dawn. I just need an hour. My head is spinning. I feel... hollow. Like my heart is pumping water instead of blood."

Axel didn't look at the dark circles under his son’s eyes. He stepped forward, grabbing Roxy’s arm—not with affection, but with the firm pressure of a King demanding service. "Recovery? You are an Omega, Roxy. Your purpose is to provide and sustain this kingdom. Without your gift, you are just a fragile mouth to feed. Do not be useless. A Prince does not rest while his soldiers bleed."

"I am not a machine," Roxy murmured. "You are mine," Axel countered. He smoothed Roxy’s hair back with a jarring tenderness. "I keep you safe because you are precious. Now, do your duty." As they walked toward the west wing,

Sir Kaelen, a young Alpha knight, stepped forward. "Your Majesty," Kaelen said, his eyes lingering on Roxy. "The Prince looks weary. Perhaps he needs a protector who would prioritize his comfort. I would be honored to petition for his hand."

The air in the hallway turned frigid. Axel stopped. It wasn't the look of a father; it was a dragon guarding a hoard. "You? Roxy is the lifeblood of Aethelgard. He is a tool of the throne. If you speak of 'protecting' him again, I will ensure you have no tongue left. He belongs to me."

Axel shoved Roxy into the room where the dying men lay. "Father, stop," Roxy gasped, clutching his stomach. "My nature is killing me! You see the men standing up, but you don't see me falling apart. It’s a trade!"

"Enough melodrama," Axel snapped. "Heal them. That is an order." Roxy knelt by the first bedside. As the magic flared gold, he felt a violent wrenching in his gut. His own blood vessels were weeping, his essence leaving him to mend the shattered bone of the soldier.

He moved to the second man, then the third. With each "miracle," Roxy’s skin grew parchment-pale. By the time the final knight sat up, Roxy was leaning heavily against a stone pillar. Blood was trickling steadily from his nose. His vision tunneled until Axel was just a dark blur.

"There," Roxy panted. "They are... whole. Are you satisfied?"

Axel checked his watch, nodding. "Exactly. See? You survived. Now, clean yourself up and come to the hall. Try to be useful for once."

Axel turned and walked away. Roxy stood alone, the world tilting. A dark drop of blood hit the floor, then another, as the saturated bandages beneath his tunic finally gave way, unable to hold back the tide of the price he had just paid.