I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The long table in the royal dining hall was laid out with heavy silver, cold porcelain, and crystal goblets that caught the warm afternoon light streaming through the high arched windows.

King Alderon sat at the head of the table, his heavy coat unbuttoned just enough to breathe comfortably after hours of dealing with state affairs. To his right sat Yerel, his fingers lightly tapping against the stem of his wine glass.

Beside Yerel sat Gillian and Iryna, while the High Priest sat opposite them, his sweeping white robes spotless and bright against the dark wood paneling.

And then there were Zarius and Cherion.

Zarius was basically playing personal bodyguard, sitting there like a dark, broody brick wall that took up half the dining room. He barely looked at his own food because he was too busy keeping a hawk-eye on Cherion.

Meanwhile, Cherion was next to him waging full-blown war on a piece of roasted pheasant, slicing it with intense, surgical precision like he was in a culinary exam, completely ignoring everyone across the table trying to make dramatic eye contact with him.

King Alderon gestured broadly to the lavish spread before them, a genuine, if weary, smile touching his weathered face as he looked around the grand room.

"It is a true pleasure to have such a gathering in the dining hall today," King Alderon said, his voice easily filling the high-ceilinged hall. "With state affairs pulling us in every direction, it feels like a rare luxury to share a proper meal with our honored guests from Solaric, the High Priest, and the North all at once."

"You are too kind, Your Majesty," Gillian replied smoothly, offering a polite incline of his head before taking a slow sip of wine. "We are honored by your warm hospitality."

"Indeed," the High Priest added, setting down his linen napkin with a faint, serene smile. "The palace feels considerably livelier with everyone assembled together."

As the serving attendants quietly circled the table to refresh the crystal goblets, the High Priest’s gaze wandered across the guests before settling on the empty chair beside Yerel’s elbow.

"Though I notice your fiancé is absent today, Your Highness," the High Priest noted casually, leaning his hands against the table.

Yerel put on his best customer-service smile. "Ah, Philia. I actually gave him leave to return to his home."

Yerel paused, taking a small drink from his goblet before continuing with a warm tone of admiration. "He really is quite remarkable. Even after coming to the capital and rising to his position, he has never forgotten where he came from. He insists on returning regularly, spending his own coin and time to make sure the children at the orphanage are well taken care of."

Iryna’s eyes softened slightly, a soft curve touching her lips as she set her fork down. "Oh, what a sweet, thoughtful man," she murmured, genuinely touched by the sentiment. "It is rare to find someone in the palace who retains such a warm heart for his roots."

"It is," Gillian agreed smoothly, resting his chin casually in his hand as he looked over at Yerel. "So that is where you met him, then?"

"Yes," Yerel replied simply, offering a brief, light nod. "I happened to cross paths with him at Havenwood."

Yerel offered no further explanation. He let his words hang in the air, his lips curling into a quiet smile as his gaze subtly drifted away from Gillian and locked directly onto Cherion. He watched Cherion’s quiet, composed face, searching for any flicker of reaction or recognition.

Cherion’s knife paused against his plate for a fraction of a second.

He didn’t look up, nor did he break the smooth, rhythmic motion of his fork, but every single word spoken across the table was sinking straight into his mind.

Havenwood. The very orphanage where Yerel first laid eyes on Philia and immediately fell terminal, love-at-first-sight sick.

"Is this the orphanage near the border of the South and the capital?"

"Precisely, Your Holiness."

Cherion quietly chewed his portion, filing the details away like a sponge absorbing water. Every little information dropped at this dinner table was free intel, and he was absolutely not above hoard-mode.

He might have missed this detail when he was reading the book. Who knows? Today’s random trivia might just save his skin tomorrow.

Yerel kept his eyes fixed on Cherion for a beat longer before turning his attention back to the rest of the table as Gillian spoke up again.

"Speaking of the South," Gillian said, shifting his posture as his tone turned from polite small talk to something far more serious. "How stand the diplomatic disputes there, Your Majesty?"

The casual atmosphere in the grand dining hall vanished in an instant. The faint, pleasant clinking of silverware came to a sudden, absolute halt.

King Alderon set his glass down on the table with a dull, heavy thud. His bright, welcoming expression completely hardened, his eyes darkening into cold steel as he looked toward the Solaric prince.

"There are no more diplomatic efforts," King Alderon stated, his voice flat and entirely devoid of warmth. "I received word from the border commanders. Talks failed."

Iryna blinked, her graceful posture stiffening against her chair. "Failed?"

"They launced a direct assault there. Two outposts were burned to the ground before the sun even rose. I am afraid talking nicely to them is no longer an option on the table."

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the grand room.

"Kh...kh!"

The sudden, violent sound broke the heavy tension like glass shattering against stone. Cherion had choked on his wine, his chest heaving as he covered his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing violently into his elbow.

Beside him, Zarius reacted in an instant. Pushing aside his own goblet, Zarius reached over, his heavy, warm hand resting against Cherion’s back with firm, steady pressure. With his other hand, he seamlessly slid a fresh glass of clear water toward Cherion.

"Easy," Zarius muttered, his deep voice laced with immediate, quiet concern as his large hand rubbed steady circles into Cherion’s back. "Take a sip. Don’t rush."

Cherion took the glass with a slightly unsteady hand, swallowing a large gulp of cold water as his coughing fit slowly subsided into a raspy breath. His face was flushed, but it wasn’t from the wine.

An attack in the South? Cherion thought wildly, his mind racing through the mental blueprint of the world he knew as he stared down at the swirling water in his glass.

That wasn’t supposed to happen for another... well, way later!

Beside him, Zarius’s hand lingered near the small of his back, grounding him as Cherion forced his shoulders to drop, composing his face back into a polite, embarrassed mask.

"Forgive me," Cherion murmured softly to the table, his voice still a little raspy from the coughing. "The wine caught me by surprise, its taste is just so good."

"Are you alright, Cherion?" Gillian asked gently, looking across the table at him with a sympathetic curve to his lips.

"I am fine, thank you, Prince Gillian," Cherion replied smoothly, setting the glass down.

While the rest of the table, Iryna, Gillian, Yerel, the High Priest, and the King, began discussing the alarming news of the worsening conflict in hushed, serious tones, Cherion leaned back in his chair. He felt the steady, protective warmth of Zarius sitting right beside him, but his mind was already spiraling through the rapidly shifting threads of the story.

They were hitting that plotline already?

Aaaah. Look, he shouldn’t be worrying, he really shouldn’t, but for some reason, his survival instincts were currently blaring like a fire alarm.

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