I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

"Ah, do pardon me for my thoughtlessness. I ought not to have soured such fine hospitality with talk of restless borders. Let us return our minds to this beautiful lunch and leave the frontier squabbles for another day."

"No, Your Majesty, the fault is mine," Gillian interjected quickly. "I brought it up in the first place. I should have read the room better before speaking of territorial disputes."

Zarius sat quietly beside Cherion, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharply observing every tiny shift in the room. He watched Cherion take another sip from the goblet before setting it back down and wiping his lips with a linen napkin.

The South, Zarius thought. A muscle in his jaw twitched, gone as quickly as it came.

To Zarius, Cherion’s sudden reaction made complete sense. Cherion was from the south, after all. Hearing that his old home region was caught in the middle of a sudden dispute, would naturally rattle him. A regional dispute sounded small on paper, but to someone whose roots were buried in that dirt, it carried the weight of real fear.

Zarius picked up his goblet of wine, swirling the dark liquid for a second before turning his gaze toward King Alderon.

"It is a minor matter, Sire," Zarius said smoothly, his deep voice cutting through the polite murmur around the table. "Though I am sure the local lords down there are headstrong, I trust the Crown has the means to resolve a simple regional boundary issue swiftly."

King Alderon raised his eyebrows, looking pleasantly surprised by the Duke’s comment.

Zarius tilted his glass slightly toward Yerel and the Solaric envoys seated nearby. "After all, if the Empire can secure peace with Solaric, sitting at the same table and sharing a meal despite standing on opposite sides of a battlefield not so long ago, I believe a small conflict in the South can be handled without unnecessary bloodshed. A wise ruler knows when to use a blade and when to use a quill."

"A noble sentiment, Duke Valtrane. And had they come to the negotiating table, I would have shared your hope," Alderon said, his tone heavy with absolute finality. "But when blood is drawn and our garrisons are put to the torch, restraint is easily mistaken for weakness. The Crown will handle this swiftly so that peace elsewhere in the empire remains undisturbed."

"If we wait until they push past the border, it will already be too late," Yerel chimed in smoothly, leaning forward with his elbows rested against the table edge. His eyes glinted with sharp ambition. "If we show hesitation now, they will mistake our patience for vulnerability."

Iryna scoffed softly, setting her goblet down on the crisp linen table with a sharp, clear tap. Her posture remained impeccably elegant, but her eyes flashed with irritation as she fixed Yerel with a direct look. "Must every minor friction immediately become an excuse for a military crusade, Your Highness?" she said bluntly, not bothering to sugarcoat her words. "A couple of burnt wooden posts at the boundary do not mean the entire region is taking up arms against you. I pray the Crown actually resolves this quietly, rather than dragging innocent border towns into an unnecessary bloodbath just to flex the imperial guard."

The High Priest inclined his head in solemn agreement, adjusting the heavy gold-embroidered stole resting across his white robes. His expression remained serene yet deeply reverent. "Her Highness speaks with a bold, necessary truth," the High Priest intoned, his deep voice filling the dining hall with calm authority. "The Temple shall keep the southern frontier in our daily prayers. We will light holy candles, asking the heavens to grant His Majesty divine wisdom and to protect the innocent from harm. Where there is faith and righteous purpose, bloodshed can always be minimized."

Gillian offered a sharp, confident grin, leaning back in his chair with grace. He swirled the dark wine in his goblet before looking directly over at King Alderon and Yerel. "Iryna isn’t wrong about avoiding a full-blown war, but His Highness has a point about sending a clear message," Gillian said. "If Auzelian needs a quick, decisive show of force at the boundary to quiet those border factions down, I can gladly lend some of our troops. A quick show of steel at the border line is usually enough to stop a minor friction from spiraling out of hand."

Zarius sat in silence, taking a slow sip from his goblet as he listened to the back-and-forth around the table.

His eyes quietly drifted toward Cherion. Beside him, Cherion remained completely silent, offering no commentary to the grand political debate unfolding around them. Though Cherion had left the South as a mere child to live in the palace, those roots were still his own. It was only natural for him to feel a heavy, quiet worry for the land he once called home.

A sharp, possessive irritation flickered deep within Zarius. He hated it. He hated seeing Cherion like this, burdened by a quiet sadness for a place he had been forced to leave behind.

Call him selfish, but Zarius didn’t care about grand political grandstanding or territorial posturing. Above all else, he wished the Crown wouldn’t make some foolish, aggressive blunder that would escalate a simple boundary squabble into a full-scale war, deploying troops, causing unnecessary sacrifices, and destroying the peace.

He wanted this resolved quietly, not out of heroic streak, but because he couldn’t stand the thought of Cherion carrying that weight. He wanted to strip away every ounce of worry from Cherion’s mind and keep him safe from the Crown’s reckless games.

"To the continued prosperity and peace of the Empire," King Alderon announced smoothly, cutting through the heavy atmosphere as he raised his gold goblet high.

One by one, the small gathering followed the royal command. Zarius lifted his own goblet. But as he tilted the dark wine toward his lips, his sharp gaze caught movement across the table.

Yerel was raising his glass, yet his eyes were not fixed on the King, nor the Solaric envoys. Yerel’s gaze was locked directly onto Cherion.

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