The king did not glance his way, not once.

No one dared question it.

As the session ended, the nobles bowed and began to take their leave. Caelum rose from his seat, prepared to follow the attendants back to his chambers.

But before he could take a step, the king's voice rang out.

"The Omega will reside in the East Wing."

A chill ran through Caelum's spine.

The East Wing.

That was where concubines were housed. It was separate from the royal chambers, distant from the king's personal quarters.

A silent dismissal.

The murmurs in the hall were barely concealed.

Caelum clenched his hands beneath his sleeves, his nails pressing into his palms. He did not protest. He could not.

Instead, he bowed.

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

Not once did the king look at him.

---

The East Wing

The attendants led Caelum through the grand halls, past corridors adorned with golden fixtures and delicate carvings. But as they reached the East Wing, the air grew colder, the grandeur faded.

The halls here were quieter, the walls less ornate.

It was not unlivable—no, it was still more luxurious than most—but it was not where a royal consort should be.

Not where a Queen should be.

The moment they arrived, the attendants moved swiftly, preparing his chambers. Silken sheets, warm baths, scented oils—everything was arranged with precision.

Yet, despite the comforts, Caelum felt like a caged bird.

"Your Highness," one of the attendants spoke softly. "Shall we remove your mask for the evening?"

Caelum hesitated.

For a moment, he considered it. Here, no Alpha would see him. The attendants were all Omegas—they would not judge him, nor would they spread tales.

But then, he remembered the cold glances from the court.

The king's distant voice.

The way he had been cast aside.

No.

He would not remove it.

"Leave it."

The attendants exchanged glances but did not argue.

"Understood, Your Highness."

They bowed and retreated, leaving him alone in the dimly lit chamber.

Caelum moved toward the window, his crimson eyes gazing at the moonlit garden below. A soft breeze brushed against his skin, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers.

He closed his eyes.

Once, he had dreamed of love.

Of a mate who would cherish him.

Of a union filled with passion, not duty.

But dreams were just that—dreams.

He had been married off to a man who did not want him.

A man who longed for another.

And though he did not know who had captured the king's heart, he knew one thing with certainty:

It was not him.

And perhaps… it never would be.