The soft glow of incensed candlelight flickered across the lavish chamber, illuminating two Bedni women entwined in an intimate moment.
Their lips brushed against each other with a teasing, languid grace while they cast playful glances at Prince Kylian Lemaitre, Crown prince of Onalith and their master.
From teasing, the girls delved into something more passionate. Their tongues slid into each other's mouth and their hands fondled with each other's breasts and soft moans occasionally escaped their mouth.
Sure, they were enjoying the sexual encounter. But it was for Prince Kylian.
Prince Kylian lounged in the opulent silk sheets, feeling the stir of desire rise within him, glaring as his cock rose in response.
Kylian's princely composure was momentarily undone.
But everyone knew the kind of creature the Prince could be if you caught his eye.
Kylian used a finger to direct one of the women to come to him.
She broke from the kiss, saliva dripping from her mouth as with an enticing sway of her hips, made her way toward him.
Her movements were fluid and mesmerizing, each step a calculated act of seduction. The tension in the room thickened, mingling with the heady scent of jasmine and amber.
But then, a jarring clamor pierced the sensual haze—the abrupt tolling of the castle's bells.
Each reverberation was a sharp interruption, crashing through the intimate cocoon of the room. Kylian's heart sank, and with a resigned sigh, he watched his arousal diminish, like a flame snuffed out by the wind.
"What the fuck could be happening by the eve of the night?" Kylian muttered, running a hand through his tousled hair. His voice carried a note of irritation, laced with curiosity.
The Bedni women with their practiced grace were unmarred by the sudden disruption and only began to gather their discarded garments.
One of them, a thin woman with weight in all the right places and raven-black hair, turned to face the prince. Her eyes held a knowing gleam as she said, "Surely, you have heard of the news."
Kylian rose from the bed with a fluidity that spoke of his noble upbringing. He approached the ornate mirror that dominated one wall of the chamber, pulling on the regal attire that marked him as a prince of the realm.
The mirror reflected his chiseled features, framed by tousled golden hair that caught the light. His piercing blue eyes, intense as a midnight sky, held a mix of smoldering desire and burgeoning authority. The glass surface traced the contours of his muscular frame, broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, a testament to both strength and discipline.
Through the mirror, his sight rested on the speaking Bedni.
"What news?" Kylian asked, his voice echoing off the polished stone walls. He adjusted the collar of his tunic, the deep indigo fabric setting off the sharpness of his eyes.
The woman chuckled softly. "Two omegas were found pretending to be something they were not. One was married to a duke—a beta duke."
Kylian's lips curled into a smile, the intrigue of scandal bringing a spark to his eyes. "That is indeed scandalous," he replied, fastening the last button on his coat.
The woman approached him, her fingers deftly wiping away a trace of lipstick from his cheek. Her touch was light, almost affectionate, as she smudged the mark to create a faint blush on his cheek. "Scandalous enough to be made an example to others," she murmured, her voice low and conspiratorial.
Kylian met her gaze in the mirror, a question forming in his mind. "What did the other omega do?" he asked, curious about the fate of those who dared to defy the rigid societal order.
Her fingers lingered on his cheek for a moment before she replied, "He was born wrong and to traitors. He is the son of the duke and the omega."
The prince nodded, absorbing the weight of her words. The air in the room seemed to shift.
"Is it the Duke of Blackwood?"
"Yes." The girl replied. "That aside, you look perfect," she said, appraising his appearance with a critical eye.
"Thank you," Kylian responded, gratitude threading through his voice. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a brief, heated kiss, a gesture of his appreciation.
With a final glance at the women, Kylian left the chamber. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, its echo fading as he strode through dim castle corridors. His boots struck the stone floors, each step punctuated by the urgent clanging of bells that seemed to seep through the very walls.
The execution grounds loomed ahead, thick with dread. A restless crowd had gathered, their faces flickering in torchlight. Whispers darted through the assembly like startled birds, a mix of morbid excitement and horror.
Kylian moved with the easy confidence of one born to power, parting the sea of onlookers as he approached the front. The wooden platform rose before him, stark against the deepening twilight. Three figures stood at its center, their features lost to shadow, but their postures spoke volumes.
He paused, taking in the scene. The condemned Beta and Omegas, were hand bound and made to face the crowd. Their eyes blazed with a desperate defiance that made Kylian's chest tighten. The air felt charged, heavy with unspoken judgment.
For a moment, pity tugged at him. What twist of fate had led them here? But the weight of his station pressed down, crushing sentiment beneath duty and ancient law.
The executioner stepped forward, a dark promise made flesh.
Kylian watched with bated breath.
This was not his first execution. But the grim ritual would never be something he would look forward to or deem appropriate.
The King's Hand stepped forward, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd.
"Before you stand the Duke of Blackwood, Tristan Favier, his wife, and their son." He paused, letting the whispers of shock ripple through the assembly. "Many of you may wonder what such esteemed nobility could have done to warrant this. You might think, 'Surely, these are among the good ones in Onalith.' But make no mistake – they are as rotten as they come."
He approached the Duchess, torch in hand. The flames danced dangerously close to her face, licking at her hair. "This woman," he spat, "is an Omega who dared parade herself as a Gamma."
Rough hands seized her, dragging her by the hair to the front of the guillotine. Kylian felt a jolt of recognition. He had attended her lavish parties, laughed at her wit, admired her grace. Now, she knelt in the dirt, fear etched into every line of her face.
The King's Hand loomed over her. "What do you have to say to the Crown and the kingdom you so shamelessly deceived?"
Her voice, once melodious at soirées, now cracked with desperation. "Spare my son. Please, I beg you, spare my son."
The crack of a slap echoed across the grounds. "There will be no mercy for you or your bloodline," the King's Hand snarled.
Just then, a hush fell over the crowd. The King and Queen swept onto the execution grounds, their presence heavy in weight. They took their seats beside Kylian, their faces masks of stern judgment.
The young prince gave his father a gentle bow and turned back to the spectacle before him, his jaw clenched tight.
The King's Hand turned to the executioner with a curt nod. "Off with her head," he commanded, his voice devoid of emotion.
"No! No!" The Duchess's screams pierced the night air. She thrashed against her captors, eyes wild with terror. "Please, I beg you! My son! My s-"
Her words were cut short as she was forced to her knees, neck positioned on the blood-stained block. The executioner raised his axe, its edge glinting in the torchlight.
A sickening thud. A collective gasp from the crowd. Then, silence.
Kylian felt his stomach lurch, but years of training kept his face impassive. He watched as the Duke, ashen-faced and trembling, was dragged forward next.
"Your Grace," the King's Hand sneered, "do you have any last words before you join your deceitful wife?"
The Duke straightened, a flicker of his old pride shining through. "I knew what she was," he said, voice steady despite his pale features. "And I loved her all the same. I regret nothing."
Another thud. Another life extinguished.
Kylian's gaze fell on the son, close to his age.
Tears streamed down the boy's face, but he stood tall, chin raised in defiance. The prince felt a twinge of respect for the boy's bravery in the face of such horror.
The King's Hand approached the boy, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "And what of you, little lordling? What do you have to say about the tainted blood that runs through your veins?"
The boy's silence hung heavy in the air, his tear-stained face a mask of grim despair. Without a word, he stepped forward, placing his head on the blood-slicked guillotine. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
The King's Hand nodded, a hint of grudging respect in his voice. "Brave and noble, little one. May the River of Glass guide you home."
As the executioner raised his axe, Kylian's gaze locked with the boy's. In that instant, the world fell away.
A surge of heat, electric and overwhelming, coursed through Kylian's body. His vision blurred, narrowing to those wide, terrified eyes. Every nerve seemed to cry out, reaching for this child he'd never met. The shimmer, they called it, a force he'd only heard whispered about, slammed into him with the force of a tidal wave.
Kylian's breath caught in his throat. The boy's eyes widened in shocked recognition, a mirror of Kylian's own realization.
The axe began its descent.
"STOP!" Kylian's voice tore from his throat as he leapt to his feet, arm outstretched.
The word echoed across the execution grounds, freezing everyone in place. The axe halted mid-swing, mere inches from the boy's exposed neck.
All eyes turned to the prince, his chest heaving, face flushed with a desperate, primal need to protect what was suddenly, irrevocably his.