I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

"Just look at him," a whisper hissed from behind a thick brocade curtain in the east corridor. "Lord Cherion is practically glowing. Smile from ear to ear, he is."

"And why wouldn’t he be?" another voice replied with a snicker. "Lord Philia is headed back to the palace soon. Good riddance, I say. It’s only natural he doesn’t want to look at that face a second longer than necessary. Not after His Highness chose Lord Philia over him."

Cherion didn’t slow down, his steps echoing lightly across the polished floor. He heard them obviously. But strangely? He didn’t care. Not even a little.

Reiner, however, was another story altogether. Walking half a pace behind Cherion, his jaw was set so tight it looked like it might snap. He shot a glare toward the source of the whispering, effectively silencing the chatter.

Cherion fought the urge to chuckle. The servants were half-right and entirely wrong, which was pretty standard for rumors. Was he happy? Absolutely. Overjoyed, even. Reiner had let slip earlier that morning, having heard it from Flio, who’d received word from the border scouts, that a royal carriage had already been spotted coming in. The "taxi" from the Capital was finally within reach.

As for that whole Yerel-choosing-Philia situation? Cherion almost wanted to stop and explain, but honestly, what was the point? He didn’t feel like some abandoned lover. If anything, he felt like someone who escaped a burning house, only to realize the arsonist decided to torch a different building instead.

Whatever, he thought, adjusting his sleeves. Let them gossip. I’m busy enjoying the peace and quiet.

For the past few days, Cherion had basically mastered the art of avoidance. slipped through the mansion like a cat, carefully making sure he never crossed paths with Philia. And weirdly enough? Philia had played along. He’d been... quiet. Subdued. Like getting "politely kicked out" as Cherion had so generously phrased it during the fitting, finally popped that shiny royal ego bubble.

The morning air felt a little too nice for his mood as he stepped into the dining hall, really hoping this would be their last breakfast with their "guest."

The meal was... well.

Philia sat across from him looking like a sad, expensive flower. Just staring into his tea like it personally offended him. No snide comments. No passive-aggressive jabs. Just... silence.

Zarius, on the other hand, seemed to be vibrating on a completely different frequency. He was stoic as ever, yes, but there was a looseness to his shoulders. Like a man who just finished a very long, very annoying task.

After the plates were cleared and Philia had drifted off toward his rooms, Zarius lingered. His gaze landed on Cherion, clearly clocking the not-at-all-hidden excitement on his face.

"You’re quite happy today," Zarius remarked.

"I don’t know what you mean," Cherion lied poorly, his grin widening despite himself.

Zarius didn’t say a word. Instead, he stepped closer, his large hand reaching out. Cherion froze, his breath hitching as Zarius’s fingers found the corners of his mouth, and then, very slowly, he pushed them upward, forcing the smile wider.

"I like it like this," Zarius murmured, his gaze dropping to Cherion’s mouth for a heartbeat too long. Then, with a subtle shift, he pushed the corners down, forcing a ridiculously dramatic frown. "This, however... this gloom... I hated it."

Cherion’s heart went absolutely feral in his chest. "I... I should go," Cherion stammered, feeling his cheeks flare with a heat that had nothing to do with the fireplace. He looked away, unable to sustain the intensity of Zarius’s stare.

"Your Grace!"

The moment shattered as Elios appeared at the doorway, looking frantic with a stack of urgent-looking scrolls. Zarius let out a small sigh of frustration. He stepped back, giving Cherion’s lower lip a light tap.

"Go on then," Zarius said, his voice returning to its official tone, though the warmth remained in his eyes. "Good luck with your dancing lesson. Try not to trip over your own feet."

Cherion nodded quickly, a shy smile returning as he watched Zarius walk off with Elios. He stood there for a second, touching his own lips where Zarius’s fingers had just been.

The dancing lesson. Right.

It had been his idea, a sudden realization that had struck him in the middle of the night. If they were going to the Capital a.k.a the party. There would be formal ceremonies. And Cherion, for all his newfound confidence, danced with the grace of a newborn giraffe on ice. He’d asked Zarius for a tutor, and here they were.

He made his way to the dance hall in the north wing, Reiner and Ezek trailing behind him like twin shadows. The room was a bit chilly, but gorgeous, polished floors so shiny they made Cherion question his balance just by existing

The teacher arrived shortly after, a stern, bird-like woman named Madame Varo who seemed to have a personal vendetta against slumping shoulders.

"Posture, Lord Cherion! Head up! You are a Valtrane, not a wilted stalk of celery!"

The next hour was a blur of one-two-three, one-two-three. Cherion moved, stumbled, corrected, and moved again. It demanded focus and a willingness to follow the music, two things he didn’t exactly specialize in, given his usual strategy was freestyle and confidence.

"A break," Madame Varo finally announced, looking slightly winded herself. I will return shortly."

Reiner went to Cherion, and patted his shoulder, "I’ll be back with refreshments, Lord Cherion. Don’t pull a muscle while I’m gone."

"I’ll show Madame the way," Ezek added smoothly, already stepping in as she headed for the door after asking for directions.

And just like that, the room fell silent.

Cherion stood in the center of the vast, empty space. He hummed a few bars of the waltz Madame Varo had been using. He took a step. One-two-three. He swayed to the left, his eyes closed as he tried to feel the rhythm without the pressure of being watched. He imagined the grand hall in the Capital. He imagined Zarius in his suit, reaching out a hand.

He swung into a turn, his coat flaring out around his legs. He then completed the turn, a small, triumphant laugh bubbling up in his throat.

But the laugh died before it could escape.

He didn’t find an empty room. He didn’t find Reiner with biscuits or Ezek with the teacher.

Instead, he found himself slamming into a wall of solid, warm muscle. Before he could even gasp, a pair of arms coiled around his waist, pulling him flush against a chest that smelled of expensive sandalwood.

Cherion’s breath vanished. His heart stopped, then gave a single, violent thud against his ribs. He looked up, frozen in place, surprise hitting deeper than he expected.

Yerel.

"Dancing all by yourself, Cherion? How lonely," Yerel whispered. "Has the Duke abandoned you already? Is that why you’re left here playing pretend in an empty room?"

A slow, dark smile spread across Yerel’s face, a look of such absolute ownership that it made the North’s cold feel like a warm embrace by comparison.

"Tell me," Yerel murmured, his eyes locking onto Cherion’s with a predatory intensity. "Did you miss me, Cherion?"