I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The afternoon heat in the Grand Salon had settled into a heavy, stagnant gloom, but the four northerners sitting near the arched windows weren’t paying much attention to the weather.

Elios slouched back in his chair, dangling a glass of chilled fruit wine between two fingers while his boot tapped a erratic rhythm against the polished floor. Beside him, Flio sat upright, adjusting his cuffs for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes.

Reiner and Ezek occupied the couch opposite them, looking like two statues carved from northern granite, silent, watchful, and deeply out of place amid the lavish furniture and delicate silk drapes.

"So," Elios drawled, breaking the silence and taking a slow sip. "How long does it usually take for a princess to finish a casual chat?"

Flio didn’t look up from his wrists. "As long as she deems necessary. Keep your voice down."

"I’m just saying," Elios grumbled, leaning sideways toward Flio. "Marielle looked like she was ready to skin someone alive when she walked out there. If the princess said the wrong word, we might be picking up the pieces of the courtyard."

"Marielle has enough discipline not to draw blood on royal grounds," Flio said, though his own eyes darted briefly toward the heavy doors. "Whatever they’re discussing, it’s political. We wait."

"Hope it’s nothing to worry about," Flio muttered under his breath, shrugging his shoulders slightly to settle his jacket.

"Guess we just have to wait until Marielle gets back before we actually know what happened," Elios whispered back, swirling his drink.

From across the room, a light, smooth chuckle broke through their hushed conversation.

Gillian had been lingering near the balcony doors, casually entertaining a small cluster of nobles, when he finally excused himself with a polite smile. He smoothed down the immaculate front of his ivory tunic and strolled over to where the northerners were sitting.

"You gentlemen look like you’re waiting for an executioner’s block," Gillian said, a warm, easy smile gracing his features as he gestured toward them. "Don’t be so tense. Take a breath."

Flio immediately straightened his posture, clearing his throat. "Your Highness. We’re merely keeping watch while Lady Marielle attends to her conversation."

"She’s fine," Gillian assured them, pouring himself a cup of water from the silver pitcher on the side table. He turned back, leaning against the edge of the dark table with an unbothered grace that felt entirely alien compared to the high-strung energy of the northern camp. "Honestly, it’s quite the opposite of something to worry about."

Flio and Elios exchanged a swift, sharp glance. Reiner’s eyebrows twitched, though he remained silent.

"Opposite?" Elios repeated before he could stop himself. He quickly caught himself and gave a loose shrug. "Well. If you say so, Your Highness."

Gillian took a slow sip, his eyes scanning the room as if noticing the distinct absence of two very prominent figures for the first time. "Speaking of missing people... where is Lord Cherion? And his fierce protector?"

Elios had just taken a hearty gulp of his wine. At Gillian’s casual phrasing, his throat locked up, and he instantly burst into a harsh, coughing fit.

"Elios," Flio snapped in a quiet, warning hiss, patting Elios on the back with enough force to rattle his ribs while offering Gillian an apologetic bow.

"You alright there?" Gillian asked, his lips twitching with amusement as he watched Elios wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve, face flushed bright red.

"Fine... fine, Your Highness. Just... wrong pipe," Elios managed to choke out, his eyes watering.

Flio quickly stepped in, smoothing his tone into the most diplomatic, formal cadence he could muster. "Regarding the Duke and Lord Cherion... they are currently taking care of things elsewhere."

Gillian tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with quiet mischief. "Oh? Are they taking care of official matters... or couple things?"

Elios let out a faint, strangled squeak, forcing his jaw shut so hard his teeth clicked.

Flio didn’t even flinch, though his hand tightened slightly on his belt. "Our lips are sealed, Your Highness. We are not at liberty to comment on the Duke’s private matter."

Gillian let out a melodic laugh, waving a hand dismissively in the air. "Very well, very well. I won’t pry into your northern secrets."

Flio hesitated for a fraction of a second, his mind flashing back to the tense, explosive atmosphere from earlier that morning, when Zarius had nearly torn through the estate in a cold, quiet rage.

"Your Highness," Flio began, his tone dropping into a genuine, earnest lower register. "On behalf of House Valtrane, I want to apologize for the Duke’s behavior earlier this morning. Everything has been completely chaotic since the poison incident, and the stress... it’s made everyone far too edge-bound. He was sharper with you than he should have been."

Gillian paused, looking at Flio with a faint, surprised blink before his expression softened into something remarkably gentle. He shook his head slowly, taking another leisurely sip from his cup.

"Apologize? For what?" Gillian asked softly. "I’m not one to hold a grudge over a man protecting his own. Besides, after everything we’ve been through since arriving here, there’s no need for such stiff formalities between us."

Gillian smiled, a genuine, relaxed warmth spreading across his face as he looked at the four northern men.

"After all," Gillian added casually, turning back toward his desk, "we’re family."

The word just hung there, threatening to freeze the wine right in Elios’s glass.

Flio froze mid-nod. Elios’s hand stayed glued to his glass, his jaw dropping slightly open. Across from them, Reiner and Ezek slowly turned their heads toward each other, their eyes locking in a moment of utter, bewildered shock.

Family?

It wasn’t just that the statement felt unexpected, it felt entirely ungrounded in reality. Auzelian and Solaric had only just barely managed to forge a peace treaty, bleeding over endless diplomatic battles, sharp negotiations, and years of bitter blood-feuds before ink was finally set to parchment.

Both sides were still treading on eggshells, measuring every word, every border patrol, and every guard movement with extreme caution. The peace was real, yes, but it was a delicate construct built on necessity and mutual respect for each other’s military might, not warm affection.

Yet here was the Solaric Crown Prince himself, tossing out the word family as if it were an undeniable, long-settled fact.

Reiner shifted on the couch, his heavy boots making a dull scraping sound on the rug. He leaned toward Flio, his voice barely a breath above a whisper. "Did he just say what I think he said?"

"Keep your face still," Flio muttered back through gritted teeth, his eyes glued to Gillian’s back as the prince casually picked up his leather ledger again.

"Are they really that close now?" Elios whispered under his breath, staring at Flio with wide, unblinking eyes. "What under the sun occurred behind our backs?"

Flio didn’t answer. Truth was, he didn’t have one.

He just stared at the floor, feeling the heavy, invisible gears of grand political shifts turning right beneath their feet, and realizing with a sudden, sinking feeling that whatever was happening, word was going to reach the rest of them soon.

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