****
Meanwhile Arion's frantic, desperate search led him back to the main plaza, where he found the tell-tale sign of the skirmish a discarded piece of Lorcan's distinctive silver velvet, stained with mud and a faint trace of the omega prince's sweet, spiked scent. His despair was absolute, until a shadow detached itself from a nearby alley.
It was Sergeant Varrus, clean-shaven and dressed in simple, but high-quality cloth, his stern face impassive. Varrus looked at Arion recognizing the desperate warrior beneath the rough cloak. and cut straight to the truth.
"Lord Arion," Varrus stated, his voice low and urgent. "Your son is safe. He is with Prince Cassian."
Arion's composure shattered. Cassian, Kyon's brother, the bitter rival, the man Arion had once served and whose love he had spurned to hold Aiden was to hold the ultimate leverage. The immediate fear for Aiden was replaced by a cold, murderous fury.
"Where," Arion demanded, his voice a guttural rasp. "Take me to him."
Varrus nodded grimly and led Arion through a labyrinth of secret routes to a heavily fortified, discreet mansion hidden near the diplomatic quarter—one of Cassian's safe houses.
They'll be a Duel of Broken Trust of course. Arion thought deeply.
Once there Arion burst into the main parlor, his gaze sweeping the room for threats. He saw Prince Cassian immediately. Cassian stood by a cold hearth, tall and imposing, his military uniform immaculate, radiating the potent, commanding aura of a high ranking alpha. His features were handsome, but hardened by years of resentment and war.
"Where is my son, Cassian?" Arion demanded, ignoring Varrus's warning glance. Arion drew the short, razor-sharp dagger he kept concealed in his boot, the only weapon he possessed.
Cassian's eyes, a cold, intense blue, flicked over Arion's appearance the worn clothes, the thin frame, the lingering signs of his ordeal before settling on the dagger. A slow, chilling smile touched his lips, laced with a dark, nostalgic cruelty.
"Always the firebrand, Arion. Even when you're reduced to a common omega," Cassian sneered, a deliberate cruelty aimed to sting. He waved a dismissive hand. "Varrus, leave us. And take that pathetic piece of scrap iron from him."
Arion didn't hesitate. He lunged, moving with the deadly, forgotten speed of the Dragon-Slayer. He wasn't aiming to wound; he was aiming to kill. But Cassian was ready. The Prince drew his own rapier, the sound of steel against steel slicing through the air.
Their fight was a desperate dance of familiar movements, a clash of broken trust and old, deep seated passion. The dagger met the rapier repeatedly, sparking against the stone floor. Arion's skill was still present, raw and fierce, but his body lacked the pure alpha power and endurance of his youth. Cassian was stronger, faster, and utterly unforgiving.
"Stop, Arion," Cassian commanded, parrying a wild, sweeping blow. "We can do this over and over, you know. I can disarm you a thousand times. You are tired, Arion. You are weak. You are no longer the alpha I loved, the one I used to spar with until dawn."
He slammed his rapier hilt against Arion's wrist. The dagger clattered to the floor. Arion staggered back, panting, the shame of his reduced state burning hotter than any rage.
Cassian lowered his weapon, his breathing steady. He stared at Arion, his gaze possessive and heavy with dark, controlling desire. "It won't bring us anywhere," he stated, his voice resonating with cold authority. "Fighting won't save your son, Arion. And it won't give you the satisfaction of seeing the Serpent fall."
He stepped closer, invading Arion's personal space, his powerful alpha scent a dominating presence that made Arion's heart hammer in his chest. Cassian leaned in, his voice dropping to a seductive, commanding whisper. "I have what you want, and you have what I need. We are finished fighting each other."
Cassian snapped his fingers once. The sound was sharp and final.
The parlor doors opened, and Varrus reappeared, carrying a small, blanket-wrapped bundle. Aiden. The boy was completely vulnerable and deeply asleep, the remnants of the sedative still holding him captive. He looked small, innocent, and completely helpless.
Arion's eyes locked onto his son. The fury drained out of him, replaced by a cold, agonizing terror. He would do anything.
Cassian watched the complete surrender on Arion's face and smiled, a predatory, victorious flash of teeth. He reached out and grasped Arion's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.
"Good. Now you understand the rules of the game," Cassian said, his voice dripping with possessive dominance, fulfilling the dark fantasy of the past years. "I know your secret, Arion. I know Kyon's secret. And I have the Serpent's heir. You belong to me now, Arion. You have no choice."
He let go of Arion's chin, stepping back and commanding him with a simple, potent gesture.
"Come here, Arion," Cassian commanded, his tone both shamefully degrading and devastatingly final. "You will not leave this house without my permission. You are my weapon, my informant, and my mate."
Arion, utterly defeated by the sight of his defenseless son, stumbled forward, the weight of the new reality trapped between two dangerous, alpha brothers crushing him completely. He had chosen sanctuary and found a new master. The revenge would have to wait. His son's safety came first.
Cassian's smile widened, a cold, dark expression of triumph. He reached out, his gloved hand tracing the curve of Arion's jaw, then trailing down to the base of his neck, lingering where the faint, jagged line of Kyon's mark lay hidden beneath the edge of his tunic.
"Good boy," Cassian purred, his voice low and possessive, completely falling into the role of the dominant alpha. His powerful alpha pheromones, deliberately released, washed over Arion, demanding submission.
Then, his fingers darted up to Arion's mouth. Cassian gently, but forcefully, ran the pad of his thumb across Arion's lower lip, a humiliating, intimate gesture of ownership. Arion flinched, his body recoiling instinctively from the unwanted touch. Arion tried to pull away, a deep, frustrated growl rumbling low in his throat. the last gasp of his alpha pride fighting against his omega biology and his paternal terror.
In the same instant, Sergeant Varrus, standing silent and grim beside the unconscious Aiden, acted. Without a word, he positioned the point of a long, thin dagger so the cold steel just barely rested against the soft skin of Aiden's neck. The movement was smooth, deadly, and precise.
Arion saw the gleam of the steel and the lethal seriousness in Varrus's eyes. The growl died instantly, choked off by terror. Arion froze, his entire body rigid, completely still. The message was clear: Submit, or your son pays the price. Cassian's eyes never left Arion's face. He saw the flicker of absolute terror and the moment of total surrender. He smiled, satisfied, retracting his hand from Arion's lip.
"Smart choice," Cassian murmured, his hand now moving to briefly touch Arion's hips, a possessive, shaming gesture. "Now, we discuss the terms of your stay. You are mine now, Arion. And you will be visible."
Cassian let go and walked to a nearby table laden with design sketches. "You will be my spymaster. Your job is to bring me Kyon's weaknesses and to discredit him publicly. You will need to move through the highest social circles, and you will need to look the part. Kyon made you a disgrace; I will make you a symbol."
He picked up a sketch a ridiculously elaborate garment made of sheer, clinging black silk, cut low and designed to be revealing. "I have designed a new uniform for you," Cassian said, his eyes glittering with a predatory excitement that was escalating with Arion's obvious distress. "Something truly befitting the notorious Dragon Slayer, turned omega. Something too sexy and revealing for a mere guard. Something to distract the enemy."
He tossed the sketch onto the table. "You will wear this. You will use your beauty to lure in Kyon's informants. You will come here every night and report to me." Arion snapped. He moved faster than Varrus could react, not to attack, but to slap Cassian's hand away from the humiliating sketch. The sound of the slap against the silence was sharp.
"I will not," Arion hissed, his voice trembling not with fear, but with a resurgence of cold, alpha defiance. He kept his eyes locked on the dagger at Aiden's throat. "I am your asset, Cassian, not your whore. You need my mind, my information, and my political truth. You need the Dragon-Slayer, not a silk doll for your court."
He pointed to a different sketch a high collared, form-fitting training tunic made of dark leather and sturdy linen, elegant in its severity. "I will wear this. It is a guard's tunic, designed for movement and practicality. I will be your informant and your guard. If you attempt to degrade me, or touch me inappropriately again, or force that ridiculous thing on me, I will ensure that the first information I leak to the Capital is the location of your safe houses. Do not test me. The life of my son gives me unlimited collateral."
Cassian stared at Arion, momentarily stunned by the warrior's sudden, hard assertion of control. He looked at the fierce, beautiful anger in Arion's eyes the unbowed spirit of the man he had always desired. The refusal, the challenge, the palpable danger it only served to make Cassian get way too excited.
A slow, delighted smile spread across Cassian's face. He let out a low, satisfied chuckle. "Fine. The tunic. I like a challenge, Arion. A simple outfit means you have to work harder to be noticed. I agree. The rules are: you report everything to me, you obey my direct orders, and you stay in this house. Try to escape, and Varrus won't miss next time."
Cassian waved his hand, dismissing Varrus with a glance. "Take the boy to the nursery. Ensure he is comfortable. Arion, come here. You will have your own rooms, but you will report to me now. Let's discuss Kyon's defenses." Arion, his heart heavy, forced himself to breathe. He watched Aiden carried out before he turned back to the Prince. He had won a small battle, securing his dignity, but he was still trapped in a cage of silk and steel, bound by the fragile life of his son.