Carl was lying in bed, propped up by pillows, when he finished reading Craige's letter. His grip on the parchment tightened, the veins in his hand standing out as fury rose within him.
"How dare they attack my son?" he growled, his voice low but laced with burning rage, vibrating through the chamber.
Queen Lariana moved closer, her expression torn between anger and fear. "Do you think the southern faction is involved in this?" she
asked sharply, then her voice faltered. "Is Claren alright?"
"Don't worry, my Queen. Our son is safe," Carl said, leaning in to kiss Lariana gently.
"I need to speak with the Noble Council about this attack. I'll make sure they never make the same mistake again." He stood up from the bed, still fully naked, and began putting on his clothes with sharp, agitated
movements.
Once dressed, he returned to the bed and leaned in to kiss his beautiful wife once more. "When Claren returns, I hope we can finally fulfill his wish, to give him a sibling," Carl added with a teasing smile.
But as he stepped out of the chamber, that smile vanished. His jaw clenched, and his eyes burned with fury.
They will pay for this, the King thought, his rage simmering just beneath the surface like a storm waiting to be unleashed.
In the council chamber
Ten nobles sat along the long, polished table, each bearing the colors and pride of their own region from across the vast kingdom of Seravelle. The tension in the air was palpable, old rivalries and unspoken
alliances lingered like ghosts between them. The Noble Council, composed of twelve powerful families and the influential Temple, held authority second only to the crown itself.
Noticeably absent were the two Dukes who resided far from the capital. Their seats remained empty, cold reminders of their distance, both in miles and in loyalty. Though their presence was not mandatory year-round, tradition demanded their attendance at the Annual Noble Council meeting
As the King enters, all ten nobles rise from their seats and say in unison "All hail His Majesty, Sovereign of Seravelle."
"Be seated, Lords of Seravelle. We have matters of the realm to discuss," the King declared coldly, taking his seat at the head of the long table.
"The Crown Prince, Claren, was attacked on his journey to the North," King Carl began, his sharp gaze sweeping across the noble council, reading every flicker of reaction.
"We deeply apologize for what has happened, Your Majesty," said Marquis Edgar of the West, bowing his head respectfully, though tension was evident in his voice.
The King's voice grew steely. "To harm my son is to strike at the Crown itself. It seems there are those who dream of sitting on my
throne. But let me remind you, by law and by the blood of our ancestors, only one born of Seravelle's royal blood may claim this seat."
"Yes, Your Majesty. The attack occurred in the North. That alone suggests a scheme is unfolding," said Viscount Leal, his words bold, and.his finger raised to accuse.
"What exactly are you implying, Viscount Leal?" the King said sharply. His eyes narrowed. Leal resided in the capital but hailed from the North, one of those who had long resented Duke Craige, especially after the Duke purged traitors from his lands and severed old alliances.
"I merely speak of possibilities, Your Majesty," Leal replied, voice laced with venom. "After all, ambition runs deep in those with royal blood."
King Carl's jaw tightened, but he kept his tone composed. "Then I will consider your opinion as one among many… but I warn you all, my patience for treachery has its limits."
"My King, allow me to speak," Desmond said, stepping forward with a grave expression. "I have heard rumors... disturbing ones. Word has reached me that a man, said to be with child, was seen residing in the North. Such a thing has never been heard of in all of Seravelle."
Beneath the grand table, Carl's hand clenched into a tight fist. This must be the slave omega who escaped from Velgarith...
"I, too, have heard whispers in Velgarith," Viscountess Ingrid added, her voice calm but laced with concern. "They say that if a man is born an Omega, he carries the ability to conceive. It sounds absurd... but what
if it's true?"
"Yes, that is why I want to ask His Majesty's permission to visit the North, to see the man myself and request that he be blessed by the
temple," Desmond said, his tone deceptively respectful. "You know the temple condemns those not written in their sacred scriptures. I want to witness it with my own eyes and perhaps help them be recognized as one of us." He bowed deeply, but his smile hinted at ulterior motives.
Carl's jaw clenched beneath his composed exterior. What are they scheming now? he thought, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.
"I heard the Duke of the North has taken a man to be his Duchess," Marquis Cedric said casually, but his words were sharp as daggers.
Gasps erupted around the chamber, followed by a ripple of murmurs from the shocked nobles.
"Where did you hear such a rumor? The Duke hasn't made any announcement," Viscountess Ingrid snapped, her voice laced with suspicion.
"I've never heard of such a thing a man with another man?" an old count whispered in disbelief, though his words were loud enough for everyone to hear.
The tension in the room shifted, no longer centered on the attack against Prince Claren. Now, the full weight of the council's attention turned northward, toward the Duke, his secrets, and the supposed scandal
brewing in the cold reaches of Seravelle.
King Carl let his gaze sweep across the council chamber. The nobles were no longer discussing Claren's safety, his son's life, but indulging in rumors and old prejudices. His hands clenched beneath the table, knuckles
white.
"We were summoned here to discuss an attack on the royal heir," he said coldly, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "Not to gossip like fishmongers in the market."
Silence fell, thick and uneasy.
"But Your Majesty," Marquis Cedric said, unfazed, "if such…unnatural unions are happening in the North, does it not concern the realm? What if Prince Claren was attacked because of the Duke's recklessness? Because the North is protecting something blasphemous?"
"Are you suggesting the Duke is involved in my son's ambush?" Carl's voice dropped low, dangerous.
"I am merely asking questions, my King." Cedric bowed his head, though the smirk never left his lips. "The North grows bold. Perhaps… too bold. The temple may not take kindly to it."
Viscountess Ingrid shifted uncomfortably. "The temple's stance is clear. They will not bless what they consider an abomination. If what the Marquis says is true, the Duke could be undermining our sacred laws."
Desmond stepped forward again. "Which is why I believe a temple envoy, a discreet one, should visit the North. I offer myself. As a servant of both crown and faith."
Carl leaned back in his throne, eyes narrowed. Desmond was too eager, too polished. This wasn't about recognition. This was about control.
They want to use the temple to bring the Duke down… and take the North with him.
"The Duke has long defended our borders from invaders," Carl said, voice steady but cold. "And he has never asked this court's permission for how he runs his household. Nor should he."
Whispers stirred again, this time more cautious.
"If the Duke hides a man who carries life within him," Cedric said darkly, "then he hides something unnatural, something dangerous."
Carl stood.
"That is enough," he growled. "Until Prince Claren returns safely and I have evidence of any wrongdoing, I will not entertain heresy
masked as concern. Do I make myself clear?"
The nobles bowed their heads, but their silence was heavy with discontent.
Carl turned, his cape sweeping behind him as he left the chamber.
Let them plot, he thought. I'll protect the North… and the omega… even if I must burn down half the council to do it.
The noble council began leaving the Palace one by one after the King exited the Council Chamber.
In a hidden place known only to them, Desmond and Cedric met in secret. Without a word, Cedric moved quickly toward his carriage.
As he stepped inside, Desmond suddenly grabbed him, his grip firm and voice laced with tease. "Are you saying we are blasphemous?"
Cedric didn't answer with words. Instead, he climbed onto Desmond's lap, his legs straddling him, eyes dark with defiance and longing. His breath was shaky, his heartbeat wild in his chest.
"Is this a sin, High Priest?" Cedric smirked, voice low and teasing as he traced his tongue along Desmond's neck, sucking greedily at the skin.
"Sodomy is a sin, Marquis Cedric," Desmond growled, fisting a hand in Cedric's hair and yanking his head back before claiming his lips in a brutal kiss. His teeth sank into Cedric's lower lip, drawing a gasp, then he plunged his tongue deep, devouring him without mercy.
Cedric laughed darkly, mocking the silence that hung heavy in the throne room.
"The King, speechless as ever. How can he protect the Duke when the temple spits out damnation and the people hiss with disgust? The council is nothing but a nest of decrepit old men, clinging to their scriptures and choking on their own hypocrisy. They'll never accept an act so 'disgraceful"
"Just like now," Cedric laughed darkly, breath hot and heavy. "A disgraceful act, isn't it?" His eyes gleamed with wicked delight.
"Disgraceful?" Desmond snarled, slapping Cedric's ass hard enough to echo in the carriage. "You mean like the way you beg for it like a common whore?"
Cedric only moaned, his smile drunk with lust as their clothes hit the carriage floor. Flesh to flesh, they surrendered to their desire.