The laughter of the nobles still echoed faintly through the marble halls long after the banquet had ended.
But in the Queen's private chamber, silence reigned—a silence heavy enough to break bones.
The ornate doors closed behind the Second Prince, Caelum, as he followed his mother inside.
"Mother—" he began softly.
"Silence."
The word snapped like a whip.
Her heels struck the floor sharply as she strode across the room, her silken skirts swaying with fury. Jewels glittered at her throat, but her expression was carved in ice.
Then, with a sudden, violent motion, she swept an arrangement of crystal flutes off the table. They shattered against the floor, scattering shards that glinted beneath the candlelight.
"That wretched boy," she hissed, voice trembling with rage. "That—filthy—creature dares to stand beside the King as if nothing ever happened?"
Caelum lowered his head. "Mother, please. Someone might hear—"
"Let them hear!" she spat. "Let them whisper that their precious First Prince has returned from the brink of ruin. Do they not realize what a danger he is? That monster should have been locked away years ago."
Her voice broke slightly, a sound half fury and half despair.
For a moment, Caelum saw not the powerful Queen Consort, but the woman consumed by her own schemes—crumbling under the weight of everything she'd built.
He stepped forward, quietly placing a hand on her arm. "Mother… please. You must calm yourself. Losing control will only feed their doubts."
She turned sharply toward him, her eyes flashing. "My doubts?You think I care for their opinions? It's you they'll doubt next!"
Her pheromones flared—sharp, heavy, intoxicating. The air itself trembled.
It was the pheromone of a dominant omega—rich and suffocating, laced with authority and venom.
The curtains swayed though there was no wind; the candle flames wavered, and the scent spread beyond the chamber, crawling under the doors like smoke.
Caelum's breath caught. His body reacted instinctively—every nerve screaming to submit, to yield. His lungs burned as he struggled to remain upright.
"Mother—"
"You dare tell me to calm down?" she hissed. "If only you were born stronger—born as something useful!"
Her words cut deep, sharper than any blade.
"If only you were a dominant alpha or even a dominant omega!But no—you're just a recessive.Weak. Dull. Unfit."
Caelum staggered back, gripping his chest as the oppressive scent pressed down on him like a weight.
"M-Mother, please…" His voice cracked, trembling as his knees hit the carpet.
Outside the door, his , Sir Eiran, stiffened. He could smell it too—the Queen's pheromones bleeding through the door, heavy and toxic.
He stepped forward, hand raised to knock—then froze. To interrupt the Queen in such a state was unthinkable. Yet to leave the prince inside was just as unforgivable.
Inside, Caelum's world blurred. His mother's voice rang faintly, each word sinking like poison into his skin.
"You disappoint me every time. Do you even understand what I've sacrificed for you? For this family? And this—this is what I receive? A son who can't even hold a room without trembling?"
Her pheromones pulsed again—hot, golden, intoxicating. The scent of power and decay.
Caelum's nails dug into his palms as he tried to breathe through it.
His vision flickered. His heart screamed submit.
Then—
A sharp voice broke through the storm.
"That's enough."
The heavy oak doors swung open, and Duke Armand, the Queen's father, stepped inside. His silver hair gleamed in the candlelight, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the scene—the broken glasses, the trembling prince, the queen standing amidst the chaos like a goddess of ruin.
"Father," the Queen began, startled. "You shouldn't—"
"You're being obvious," he cut in coldly. "Half the attendants can smell your temper from the corridor. Do you intend to let the entire palace know your true nature?"
The Queen's lips parted, but no words came.
"Subdue it. Now."
His tone brooked no argument.
Her jaw clenched. Slowly, reluctantly, she closed her eyes.
Her pheromones drew inward—tightening, folding back into the stillness of her skin until the air cleared once more.
Caelum collapsed forward, gasping quietly as the invisible weight lifted. Sweat dampened his collar, and his body shook from the effort of staying conscious.
Duke Rowan's eyes softened briefly as he glanced at his grandson—just for a second. Then he turned to the Queen again, his voice low.
"You forget yourself," he said. "Rage makes you careless. If anyone suspects what you are, years of planning will crumble overnight."
The Queen inhaled slowly, regaining her composure, though her eyes still burned with restrained fury. "He humiliated me, Father. Before the entire court—"
"And yet you're here breaking glass like a scorned debutante," the Duke said sharply. "Control your scent. Control your son. Control your temper."
Silence fell again.
Finally, the Duke turned to Caelum, who was still kneeling on the carpet, his breathing ragged. "Get up, boy."
Caelum pushed himself to his feet, head bowed, shame burning behind his eyes.
His mother looked at him then—not with affection, but with cold assessment.
When she spoke again, her voice was soft, even tender.
But it was the kind of tenderness that came with a leash.
"Do better next time, Caelum," she said. "Win back what he stole from you."
And as the Duke's cloak swept behind him on his way out, the scent of broken glass and bruised pride hung thick in the air—like a warning of what was still to come.
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