I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Chapter 262: The Charm He Refused to Leave Behind

The full-length mirror in the dressing room reflected a figure that looked less like a noble attending a party and more like a commander preparing to seize a throne.

Zarius stood perfectly still as two low-ranking attendants nervously adjusted the silver epaulets on his shoulders. He wore a heavily structured, midnight-navy dress coat that broadened his already massive frame. The fabric was so dark it looked pitch-black in the shadows, but whenever he moved, the deep, rich navy caught the light, gleaming like the surface of a frozen northern lake at midnight. Black leather trim lined the high collar and cuffs, fastened by polished silver buttons that bore the crest of Zaltrane.

"Your Grace, the carriage has been prepared," a servant murmured from the doorway, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the floor.

"Where is Cherion?" Zarius asked, his gravelly voice vibrating through the room. He didn’t turn around, his red eyes fixed on his own reflection with a look of intense impatience.

"Lord Cherion is just finishing his preparations, Your Grace. He should be descending shortly."

Zarius dismissed the servants with a curt wave of his hand. Left alone, he adjusted the heavy leather belt at his waist, his jaw tightening. He hated party. He hated the fake smiles, the perfumed air, and the shallow, pathetic nobles who populated the court. The only reason he had agreed to attend this subjugation celebration was to watch Heinrich’s world burn to ashes.

But more than that, he was impatient. He had been waiting downstairs for nearly twenty minutes, and his tolerance for being away from his mate was rapidly wearing thin. Unable to sit still for another second, Zarius turned on his heel and strode out of the room, fully intending to march up the stairs and drag Cherion out himself.

He didn’t even make it to the grand staircase before he stopped dead in his tracks.

At the top of the marble stairs, Cherion stood adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. When he heard Zarius’s heavy, echoing footsteps, he snapped his head up, a brilliant, easy smile instantly spreading across his face.

Zarius felt the air leave his lungs.

Cherion was an absolute scenery. To match Zarius, he wore a flawlessly tailored, deep navy silk doublet that tapered beautifully into a structured black velvet waistcoat. The dark, royal tones created an almost ethereal contrast against his cascading silver hair, making it look like spun moonlight against a midnight sky. The intricate silver embroidery weaving along his high collar perfectly caught the brilliance of his blue eyes.

As Cherion began to walk down the stairs, his movements graceful and effortless, Zarius simply stared, completely frozen at the bottom of the steps.

"You look blinding," Zarius spoke, his voice dropping into a low, completely captivated rumble as Cherion reached the final step.

Cherion let out a soft, amused chuckle, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Liars should at least try to be realistic, Your Grace. If I were truly blinding, your eyes would be burning right now. Yet, you’re staring quite comfortably."

"If it’s you," Zarius said, stepping closer until his massive shadow completely enveloped Cherion, "I will force my eyes to stay open. I wouldn’t risk missing a single second."

Cherion’s smile widened, a faint pink hue dusting his cheeks at the sheer bluntness of the compliment. He reached out, his slender fingers playfully tapping the heavy silver buttons on Zarius’s chest. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "Well, aren’t you a smooth talker tonight? Though I have to admit, you look quite yummy yourself, Your Grace."

Zarius tilted his head, his dark eyebrows knitting together in genuine confusion. "Yummy?"

"It’s another word for delicious," Cherion explained.

Zarius processed the word for a brief moment, then gave a slow, solemn nod of approval. "Then yes. I am yummy for you."

Cherion burst into a bright laugh, shaking his head at how serious the terrifying Duke of the North could be over a silly piece of modern slang. But as his laughter tapered off, Cherion’s gaze traveled down Zarius’s outfit, his eyes landing on the side of the Duke’s heavy leather belt.

Pinned right next to his official military insignia was a small, slightly crooked blue charm, the protective token Cherion had hastily woven for him before the subjugation campaign.

Cherion blinked in surprise. "Oh? You’re actually going to wear that tonight?"

Zarius looked down at his hip, his hand instinctively covering the charm as if protecting it from a threat. "Yes. Why wouldn’t I?"

"Look at your outfit," Cherion said, gesturing to Zarius’s body. "Everything you’re wearing looks incredibly grand and expensive. That charm is so shabby compared to the rest of you. It completely ruins the aesthetic. You should leave it behind."

"No," Zarius said firmly, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. He looked back up, his red eyes locking onto Cherion’s with an intensity that made Cherion’s heart skip a beat. "I bring this charm with me every single day. There is nothing shabby about it. It is literally the most expensive and treasured thing on my body."

Cherion’s breath hitched. "It’s just cheap..."

"It was made by you," Zarius countered softly, his gaze melting into something fiercely tender. "That makes it priceless."

Cherion stared at him, completely defenseless against the raw, unyielding affection in the Duke’s eyes. A soft, warm sensation bloomed in his chest. Reach up, Cherion’s fingers gently brushed against the red sapphire necklace resting against his own collarbone.

"You really are hopeless," Cherion whispered, though his eyes were incredibly bright with happiness. He leaned up on his tiptoes, his hand resting against Zarius’s broad chest as the space between them grew impossibly small.

"Ahem."

A loud, deeply exhausted cough shattered the quiet romance of the foyer.

Zarius’s jaw tightened instantly, his eyes snapping toward the doorway where Flio stood holding a stack of final intelligence briefs. The aide looked like he hadn’t slept in three days, his expression a perfect mix of professional duty and sheer, secondhand embarrassment.

"I deeply apologize for interrupting this incredibly touching moment, Your Grace," Flio said. "But if we do not leave within the next thirty seconds, we will be late. And as the conquering heroes of the subjugation, arriving late will look like a political statement we aren’t quite ready to make yet."

Cherion stepped back, clearing his throat and smoothing down his doublet, though his smile remained wide. "Flio is right. We should go."

Zarius let out a low, irritated click of his tongue, glaring at his aide, who merely offered a tight, unapologetic smile in return. The Duke turned back to Cherion, extending his large, gloved hand toward him.

"Let’s go," Zarius murmured.

Cherion didn’t hesitate. He placed his hand firmly in Zarius’s grasp, their fingers intertwining flawlessly. The contrast of Cherion’s pale skin against Zarius’s dark leather glove was striking, a perfect representation of the gentle soul and the blade that protected him.

Together, hand in hand, they walked out of the grand estate doors. The cool Capital breeze caught Cherion’s silver hair as they approached the waiting carriage, the crest of Zaltrane gleaming under the evening lanterns.

Once inside the carriage, Cherion settled onto the seat right next to Zarius. As the carriage lurched forward and rolled out into the dark night, they remained sitting side by side, their fingers still tightly laced together in the quiet shadows.

Okay, Cherion thought, his eyes hardening in the dark. Here we go.