I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

"Ah, what a happy day with clear clouds and my two absolute favorite human beings!"

Marielle declared it loudly to the entire alleyway, her voice practically dripping with theatrical joy. She was walking right between them, her arms looped tightly through Zarius’s left elbow and Cherion’s right. Her bright, beaming smile looked wide enough to crack her cheeks, and she was practically bouncing with every few steps as they made their way through the bustling crowd.

The morning sun had completely burned away the early fog that usually hung over the capital, leaving behind a pale blue sky over the central market district. The street was already alive with the noisy clatter of wooden cart wheels, the boisterous shouting of fruit vendors, and the rich, roasted smell of street food drifting from row after row of colorful canvas stalls.

Zarius had managed to make himself presentable in a dark coat, though his hair was still slightly messy from being dragged out of the estate so suddenly. Beside him, Cherion walked with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, still looking suspicious of this sudden outing.

"I swear, if I had stayed inside that estate for another thirty seconds, my head would have literally exploded," Marielle added cheerfully, letting go of their arms to skip a few paces ahead toward a row of leatherworking stalls. "Exploded! Right onto the rug! And then Flio would have made a dramatic speech about cleaning up after myself before I bled to death."

Cherion watched her march toward a display of embroidered belts and leather goods, picking up three different pouches at once to examine the stitching with intense, energetic enthusiasm.

"Look at her," Cherion muttered quietly, shifting his weight closer to Zarius as they slowed their pace to keep an eye on her. "She looks like she just won a pile of gold coins. I was convinced she was on the absolute verge of a complete mental breakdown last night after what Iryna pulled, but she seems genuinely happy today. Is she just pretending the betrothal doesn’t exist?"

Zarius let out a low, amused huff, watching his sister aggressively haggle with an elderly merchant over the price of a small carved wooden horse.

"It’s quite the opposite, actually," Zarius said smoothly, his low voice barely carrying over the background noise of the market. "She is deeply, utterly stressed."

Cherion blinked, turning his head to look at Zarius in confusion. "What? How do you figure that? She’s practically singing down the alley."

"She always does this," Zarius explained softly, a faint, fond warmth softening the sharp, exhausted lines of his face. "Ever since she was a little girl back in the North. Whenever something pushes her into a corner, whenever the pressure gets so heavy that she can’t find a clean, immediate way out, she completely abandons the problem and adopts this hyperactive, cheerful mood instead."

Cherion frowned, his eyes drifting back toward Marielle, who was currently laughing loudly at a joke the merchant made while casually tossing two copper coins onto the wooden counter.

"She buries it under noise," Zarius continued, his tone turning a bit more solemn. "Little things can drive her into a terrible, foul mood where she’ll complain for hours. But when the big, terrifying stuff hits, like this whole royal betrothal mess with the princess, she becomes strangely cheerful whenever things get too overwhelming. It’s how she keeps herself from falling apart when things become too much. Usually, she has wine to help with that. Though I imagine even the wine is begging her to find another solution by now."

Cherion fell silent for a long moment, processing the observation. He watched how Marielle’s fingers twitched slightly against the leather strap of her cloak, how her eyes darted quickly from stall to stall, never resting on one place for more than a few seconds. The hyperactivity wasn’t joy, it was a frantic attempt to run away from her own thoughts.

Before Cherion could say anything else, Marielle came marching back toward them, holding up her newly purchased leather pouch along with a warm paper bag full of hot, cinnamon-dusted pastry knots she had picked up along the way.

"Alright!" Marielle announced brightly, shoving a warm pastry directly into Cherion’s hand before offering one to Zarius. "What do you guys want to buy? Tell me right now and I will pay for it. Anything you want! Let’s clear off this entire street! All this nonsense with His Majesty and Iryna must be disturbing you both so much, so the least I can do is buy out the market to make us feel better."

Cherion took a small, slow bite of the pastry, the sweet, warm spice hitting his tongue. He looked down at Marielle’s face, and noticed the tiny, subtle strain around her eyes, the way her posture was held just a fraction too rigid beneath her heavy travel cloak.

"Marielle," Cherion said gently, stepping closer to her and cutting right through her bright, hyperactive momentum.

Marielle stopped mid-sentence, a half-eaten pastry hovering near her mouth. "Hmm? What is it? Don’t tell me you want that giant carved bear. It’s enormous, Cherion. Where exactly are you planning to put it? But again, I don’t..."

"Are you willing to come with Zarius and me to one place?" Cherion asked softly, his gaze steady and calm despite her frantic energy.

Marielle paused. The bright, breathless smile on her face faltered for a tiny fraction of a second, her shoulders dropping just a fraction before she forced her cheerful mask right back up, tilting her head with a dramatic, sweeping sigh.

"Huh? What place?" Marielle asked, waving her pastry in the air. "Honestly, even if it’s the depths of hell itself, I’ll follow you two there. Though I really, really hope we don’t actually need to go to hell today."

Cherion gave her a small, genuine smile, letting her know with a quiet look that she didn’t have to keep pretending everything was fine.

Then, Cherion turned his head to look across at Zarius.

Zarius was already watching him, his dark brows slightly raised in complete bewilderment. His broad shoulders shifted under his dark coat as he stared back at Cherion with an utterly lost, questioning expression that clearly asked: Where on earth are we actually going?

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