When Alaric woke, sunlight already spilled through the curtains—soft and gold, filtering through the gauze like a veil.
For a moment, he stayed still, waiting for his mind to catch up to the present. His body felt strangely light, his head heavy—as if he had dreamed something half real and half illusion.
Then the faint scent hit him.
Peach and earth.
Warm. Soft. Elusive.
He inhaled again, slow, uncertain. It clung faintly to the sheets, to his skin, to the air itself—as if someone had been here. Someone whose presence lingered longer than memory allowed.
He sat up abruptly, his breath caught. "...Who was here?"
But the chamber was empty. Immaculate. Even the air had the hollow stillness of something carefully erased.
He pressed a hand to his temple, frowning. The last thing he remembered was the banquet—the crowd, the suffocating scent of omegas, the haze pressing into his mind. And then—
nothing.
No, not nothing.
He remembered warmth. A voice that spoke softly, firm yet gentle. A hand against his skin. And that scent—peach and clove and something grounding, like soil after rain.
The memory made his throat tighten.
When the door creaked open, Darius stepped inside, bowing. "Your Highness. You're awake."
Alaric's gaze flicked toward him. "Were you on duty last night?"
Darius looked uneasy. "No, Your Highness. I left after you dismissed me to rest. I... apologize for leaving you unattended."
Alaric's brows drew together, but his tone softened. "You needn't apologize. I was the one who insisted. You've never once failed your duty."
Darius hesitated, sensing something unsaid. "Did something happen, Your Highness?"
Alaric's gaze shifted to the open window, to the faint sunlight filtering through. "...I don't know."
There was a rare uncertainty in his voice. "Someone was here. I can't recall their face—or their voice—but I remember a scent. Sweet... peach, with the earth after rain."
Darius blinked. "A scent?"
Alaric nodded slowly. "An omega's scent. And not any ordinary one." His jaw tightened. "It calmed me. Completely. For the first time in years.But it also feels intoxicating at the same time."
That admission hung between them like a fragile secret.
Darius spoke carefully. "Should I investigate, Your Highness?"
Alaric hesitated. His instinct screamed yes, but some strange, primal pull told him no. Whoever that omega was, they had come and gone without leaving a trace. If they wished to hide, perhaps there was a reason.
And yet—he needed to know.
"No," Alaric said finally, his voice low. "There's a simpler way."
---
Later that morning, the throne room was abuzz with the usual hum of courtiers and advisors when the heavy doors opened. Alaric stepped forward, clad in white and gold, the usual coldness in his eyes replaced by something steadier—purpose.
He bowed slightly before his father. "Father. I have a request."
The King looked up from his scrolls, eyebrows raised. "A request? That's rare from you, my son."
Alaric's tone was calm, almost indifferent. "I've decided it's time I take a mate."
The hall fell into stunned silence.
The courtiers exchanged glances, whispers rippling like wind through tall grass. Even the King paused, disbelief flashing across his face.
"You... wish to choose a consort?" he repeated slowly.
Alaric inclined his head. "Yes. Preferably among the noble families. I request a gathering—of eligible omegas from the major houses. Within the next few days."
The King's lips curved into a slow, almost relieved smile. "At last. You've come to your senses."
Alaric's expression did not change, but inside his pulse beat faster. If I see them again... I'll know. That scent—I'll find it.
The King leaned back on his throne, clearly pleased. "So be it. I'll make the announcement today. The court and noble families will be overjoyed."
He turned toward his advisors. "See to it that the invitations are sent to every noble house by sundown. The Crown Prince's selection ceremony shall be held in three days."
The nobles murmured in approval, though some faces—particularly those of the queen consort's faction—twitched with barely hidden irritation.
But the King didn't care. For the first time in years, his son seemed willing to move forward—toward stability, toward power.
As the meeting adjourned, Darius walked beside Alaric down the corridor.
"Your Highness," he said carefully. "Are you certain about this?"
Alaric's gaze was distant, fixed ahead. "I don't care for ceremony or politics, Darius. I simply... need to find something."
Darius frowned slightly. "And what would that be?"
Alaric's lips curved faintly, though it wasn't quite a smile.
"A scent," he murmured. "One that will be mine."
And with that, he strode forward, leaving Darius behind as the court bells rang across the palace—
announcing the Crown Prince's Fiancée Selection Gathering.
---