The ceremony was over. Simple metal rings had been exchanged—iron for Alistair and gold for Asarmose. Now, the two sat on high thrones at the front of the Great Hall. Below them, a massive feast was underway, but the mood in the room was far from celebratory.
The View from the ThronesAlistair sat back in his chair, looking completely unimpressed. He didn't touch his food or his wine. Instead, he leaned his head on his hand and let out a long, loud yawn. To him, the party was a waste of time. He watched the nobles below as if they were boring insects he had seen a thousand times before.
Beside him, Asarmose sat perfectly still. He didn't look tired or bored; he looked alert. His eyes moved slowly across the room, watching every movement and listening to every whisper. He was studying the people he was now meant to rule.
The guests were split into two worlds:
The Alphas: The powerful lords sat at the center of the tables. They laughed loudly, slapped the table with their hands, and bragged about their wealth and their power. They acted as if they owned the very air in the room.
The Others: The Omegas and Betas sat beside them, but they looked like they wanted to disappear. They kept their heads down and didn't speak unless they were spoken to. When an Alpha shouted or moved quickly, they flinched. They lived in fear, acting more like shadows than people.
Asarmose watched a lord grab the arm of a servant who was moving too slowly. The servant turned pale and looked at the floor, trembling. Asarmose's expression didn't change, but his gaze became as sharp as a blade.
Alistair noticed how focused Asarmose was. He leaned in closer to the Prince, his expensive scent of bergamot and old books acting like a wall that shut out the noise of the crowd.
"They are very predictable, aren't they?" Alistair whispered. His voice was low and smooth. "The Alphas bark like dogs, and the others hide like mice. It's the same story every single night."
Asarmose finally turned his head to look at the King. His voice was calm but held a heavy weight. "They hide because they have been broken, Alistair. They have been told they are nothing but property."
Alistair looked at him, his eyes sharpening with genuine intrigue. He shifted his weight, glancing at the empty seats where the Prince's entourage should have been. "Speaking of property," Alistair drawled, "why is it that only you showed up today? Our kingdoms are joined now. Where are your people? Where is the court that was supposed to follow you?"
Asarmose's gaze turned into a cold, sharp stare. He looked at Alistair with visible spite. "I heard the rumors of how people are treated in your empire," he said, his voice vibrating with a quiet fury. "I will not allow my people to be brought here to be treated like slaves. Not until things change."
Alistair didn't get angry. Instead, he smirked deeply, fascinated by the sheer boldness of the man sitting beside him. Most people trembled when they spoke to the King; Asarmose looked like he wanted to dismantle him.
"Don't stare at me with daggers, love," Alistair said softly, his voice full of a dark amusement. "The system has been like this since long before I was born. I care nothing for the arrogance of Alphas, and I care even less for the cowardice of the livestock. I'd rather be on a battlefield, conquering kingdoms and instilling fear in my enemies, than worrying about the seating arrangements of servants."
Asarmose looked at him as if he were staring at a complete fool—a man with all the power in the world and no understanding of how to use it for anything but destruction.
Alistair simply ignored the look, tapping his cane against the floor as the Master of Ceremonies stepped forward."Presenting His Majesty, King Alistair, and the Prince Consort!" the announcer shouted.
The heavy silence of the hall broke as Alistair and Asarmose descended the marble steps. The crowd parted like a dark sea, and immediately, a man stepped forward.
Duke Sterling, a man with a thick neck and a chest covered in medals, ignored Asarmose entirely. He bowed only to the King, his smile oily and confident. Alistair watched him with a bored expression, saying nothing to correct the Duke's blatant disrespect."Your Majesty," Sterling boomed, his voice carrying across the silent tables. He glanced sideways at Asarmose, his eyes filled with a cruel, mocking light. "A fine addition to the palace. Let us hope the Prince knows how to be useful. This kingdom needs powerful heirs to carry on the Thorne name—I trust he understands his primary duty is to produce them."
The insult was thin, but the meaning was as sharp as a knife. The Duke stared at Asarmose, waiting for the Omega to flinch, to cry, or to look at the floor in shame. He wanted to see the Prince break.
Instead, Asarmose looked him directly in the eye.
For a heartbeat, the Duke kept his arrogant smile. Then, his face turned a sickly shade of purple. He gasped, his hands flying to his throat as if invisible thorns were choking him from the inside. He couldn't draw a single breath. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the stone floor with a heavy thud.The music stopped abruptly. The clatter of silverware died. Every eye in the room turned to the Duke writhing at the Prince's feet.
Asarmose stepped closer to the fallen man, ignoring the bewildered gasps of the nobles and the shocked silence of the guards. He didn't even look at Alistair, who was watching the scene with a look of deep, dark amusement.
"I will not tolerate insults from mere pests," Asarmose said, his voice low and cold.Then, he let his pheromones flood the room.
It wasn't a subtle scent; it was an explosion. To the Alphas, it felt like being buried alive in burning desert sand. The heavy, crushing weight of it forced them to their knees. Their lungs burned, and their arrogance vanished, replaced by a primal, suffocating fear.
But for the Omegas, the air changed. As they breathed in the scent, tears began to stream down their faces. To them, it didn't feel like fire; it felt like the first breath of wind after a lifetime of drowning. It was the scent of a freedom they had forgotten existed. The Betas stood frozen in astonishment, confused by the chaos but feeling a strange, overwhelming sense of comfort and relief washing over them.
In the middle of the carnage stood Alistair. He was the only one unaffected, the only Alpha still standing tall. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep, slow breath.
"Kyphi," he whispered under his breath, recognizing the ancient, complex aroma.
It was a rich blend of resins, rare spices, honey, and wine. It was heavy, regal, and intoxicating. Alistair opened his eyes, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he looked at his "consort." He didn't just tolerate the scent. He liked it.