I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

King Alderon rubbed the bridge of his nose, leaning back into his high-backed chair. The desk before him was littered with rolled parchments, wax seals, and half-drained crystal goblets, but his mind wasn’t on the reports.

A quiet rustle of fabric came as the door opened. Harlond stepped into the room from the dim space near the bookcases, his boots barely making a sound against the floor. He held a leather folder against his hip, his face showing little emotion in the low light.

"You called for me, Your Majesty," Harlond said, his voice flat and even, completely devoid of the performative deference most court nobles put on.

Alderon didn’t open his eyes immediately. He let out a long, heavy breath that smelled faintly of sour wine and old paper. "The reports. What did the guard captain say?"

"They completed the sweep, just as you requested," Harlond replied, stepping closer to the desk. "The captain personally inspected the palace but found nothing, especially around the gallery."

Alderon opened his eyes slowly. His dark gaze drifted toward the curtain covering the hidden alcove behind his desk, the narrow, forgotten stone passage that wound straight through the castle’s thick foundation, connecting his private study directly to that quiet, dusty gallery.

"And the grounds?" Alderon asked, his voice dropping into a low rasp. "The perimeter near the lower gardens? The old servant stairwells?"

"Every corner has been searched thoroughly. From the upper galleries to the lowest servant passages, the guards inspected them all and found nothing amiss." Harlond said calmly. "The guards checked the stone paths, the drainage grates, even the tree line along the western wall. Nothing. No footprints, no forced latches, no signs of anyone lurking around."

Alderon sat in silence for a long moment. He reached out, his thick fingers tracing the rough edge of a silver paperweight on his desk. His jaw clenched, the muscle jumping beneath his pale skin.

"They found nothing," Alderon repeated softly. It wasn’t a question.

"There was nothing to be found, Your Majesty," Harlond confirmed gently.

Alderon let out a short, dry huff from his nose.

"It is late, Sire. You’ve been working through the night for three days straight," Harlond murmured, his eyes scanning the exhausted lines etched deep into the King’s face. "Perhaps the quiet simply made it seem worse than it was. A shadow in the corner of your eye."

Alderon turned his head slowly, locking his eyes onto Harlond. The air in the study grew suddenly cold, thick with the pressure that only a ruler who had held a throne through blood and paranoia could project.

"Is it?" Alderon asked softly.

Harlond didn’t flinch, but he closed his mouth, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment of the unspoken warning.

"I know the difference between a shadow and a man, Harlond," Alderon said, his voice deadly quiet, vibrating with a deep, instinctual certainty that made the hairs on the back of Harlond’s neck stand up. "I know that gallery better than anyone alive. I spent half my youth breathing the dust in that gallery."

He leaned forward, placing both palms flat on the desk.

"Someone was in that room," Alderon growled, his knuckles turning white against the polished timber. "I felt it the moment I stepped inside. Something was different. The air, the silence... even the room itself felt wrong. It was as though someone had been standing there only moments before. Someone had walked across that floor, stopped in front of those canvases, and looked at what was never meant to be seen."

Harlond kept his posture rigid. "If someone not bypassed the outer guards and reached that secret passage, Sire, it means..."

"It means someone has access they should not have," Alderon interrupted, his tone cutting like a blade. "Or someone in this palace knows routes that aren’t written on any map."

He thought of the canvases sitting in the dark of that hidden room, the thick, violent brushstrokes, the raw, ugly truths captured in oil and charcoal that no living soul outside his absolute confidence was ever meant to see. The mere thought of an unknown pair of eyes lingering over those images made a cold, vicious knot tighten in his gut.

"Increase the number of guards," Alderon commanded, his voice cold and firm.

Harlond raised an eyebrow slightly. "The outer perimeter is already reinforced due to the recent incident..."

"It is still not enough," Alderon snapped, his eyes flashing with a sudden, dark fire. "Double the guards inside. Position men in the inner corridors. The lower hallways, the servant passages, the gallery wing, and the private stairwells. I want two men stationed at every intersection between the wings and the central keep, night and day."

Alderon lifted his wine goblet, taking a long, slow swallow before setting it back down with a sharp clatter.

"I want every shadow inside these walls watched. If a mouse slips through that corridor again, I want its head brought to this desk."

Harlond bowed deeply, his arm crossed over his chest. "As you command, Your Majesty. I will reassign the inner watch personally before dawn."

"Go," Alderon whispered.

Harlond turned and walked quietly toward the heavy wooden door. As his hand reached for the iron handle, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Your Majesty," Harlond said quietly, "you should get some rest. You have hardly slept these past few days."

Alderon said nothing for a moment. His gaze remained fixed on the dark curtain across the room.

Then, at last, he gave a small nod.

"I will," he said.

Harlond watched him for another moment, clearly unconvinced, but he knew better than to press the matter. He turned back toward the door and pulled it open.

"Good night, Your Majesty."

Alderon was no longer looking at his desk. He was staring directly at the dark curtain covering the hidden passage, his hand resting on the hilt of the ornamental dagger at his waist, his eyes wide, but he did not move. He simply stared at the curtain, waiting.

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