In the bright, glittering clothes — borrowed from someone else — he looked painfully sad. The servants put rings on his long, shaking fingers. Rings weren’t his either.

There was nothing left that truly belonged to him.

But he stood straight.

Ives came closer to take his arm, as tradition demanded, but touched a little higher — and felt something hard under the sleeve. He was sure it was a small knife or maybe a fork stolen from a tray. Looking at the young man was unbearable — Ives already knew what he would see: cold anger and hatred on dead face.

It scared him, but he would never admit it. Or show it. He let go of the lifeless hand and told the servants:

“Undress him and check everything — the clothes, hair, body, all of it. He mustn’t have anything sharper than his nails. If something happens, it’ll be your fault.”

The poor servants turned pale and rushed to obey.

A fourth wedding? Ha. Ives had thought he would never have another husband again.

“Wasn’t he married to Dolan?”

Thibault smiled, then poured more wine. Maybe it was just drunken talk? But no — the king’s eyes were steady. He had clearly thought about it for a long time.

“He was,” the king said. “But Arman is dead. And that marriage was arranged by the usurper — blessed by him too. I’m sure the church will call it invalid. Besides, there are no children left from that union.”

“How so?” Ives asked but he already had some guesses. “Wasn’t the usurper’s heir their child? He was fine, wasn’t he?”

“You said it yourself, Ives — the heir,” Thibault replied slowly. He tried to stay calm, but the wine made his tone uneven. “Do you think I can let him live? No. People could use him. He’s an alpha, even if just a child — and he is Orsin’s blood. Everyone looks me in the eyes now and swears loyalty, but I know some would gladly put the usurper’s line back on the throne. And the second child…”

“Second?”

“Yes. Arien was pregnant. About five months, I think. But I took care of it,” Thibault said with a grimace. “Honestly, those Adamon's healers charge too much for their herbs and services.  Now he’s clean, but he’ll need some time to recover.”

Now he understood who was locked in chamber. His heart ached for the poor omega — so much sorrow had fallen on him all at once.

“In a couple of weeks we’ll hold the wedding,” Thibault said.

“That’s… I don’t know,” Ives muttered. He didn’t this idea, though deep down he had always wanted an heir. Now the chance was being handed to him, but he couldn’t feel joy.

“You’re worried he’s not a virgin? He’ll bear children — that’s been proven! He’ll give you plenty of strong heirs, and then you can be done with him!” Thibault snorted when he saw Ives’s hesitation. “But fine. If you don’t want him that badly, I won’t force you. I’ll send him to a monastery somewhere far away — the colder and bleaker, the better. He’s weak anyway; he might join his brother sooner.”

The sound of that omega’s crying echoed in Ives’s mind. It wasn’t his fault — none of it. Not his brother’s desire of power, not his forced marriage, not the loss of his child. To be left to die in cold and misery — no, he didn’t deserve that.

“Fine,” Ives said quietly. “Thank you for this honor, Your Majesty. I’m truly grateful.”

Thibault only smirked and poured more wine into Ives’s cup.

The wedding had been announced to all, and many families came with false smiles and hollow congratulations. Ives could see the mockery in their eyes, but he didn’t care. 

He hadn’t seen his betrothed yet. A few times, Ives considered visiting his chamber, but stopped himself. The omega needed peace.

Late one night, as Ives finally set his papers aside and began to undress, his door suddenly opened. Leaning heavily on the handle, an omega stepped inside — barefoot, in a nightshirt, with tangled red hair and a pale, exhausted face. He looked like a fox.

“Ives Boriel?” he whispered, his voice shaking.

“Yes… and you must be Arien,” Ives said, pulling his coat back on.

The omega nodded weakly.

“I finally found you… please, help me! I beg you!”

His knees buckled, and he nearly fell — Ives caught him just in time. The omega was so small. Arien clung to him, looking up with tear-reddened eyes.

“Save my son Carlisle! He’s innocent — he mustn’t die! Please! He’s just a baby…” Tears streamed down his face again. “I heard they want to marry me to you, so I can bear you children. I’ll do it — as many as you want, every year if I must! I’ll do anything, just please save my little baby boy…”

His eyes rolled back, and he fainted. Ives caught him and laid him gently on the bed. Bringing the candle closer, he saw fever spots burning on Arien’s face, sweat covering his skin.

Ives quickly sent for the healers. Soon they arrived, followed by crying servants, all trembling and apologizing.

“We only left for a moment, my lord! He was asleep, and when we returned, he was gone! He must have wandered through the whole castle, searching for you!”

The healers examined the omega and said it’s only from all the hard times he had. Ives looked at his fiancé with concern — all sweaty, with pale face burning with fever. His hands were covered in scratches.

Arien looked so much like Orsin — as if the usurper lay before him, only smaller, frailer, and without beard. But even more, he looked like a child. He couldn’t be more than twenty. Between them lay a whole generation. A wave of anger rose in Ives. The servants flinched under his gaze.

“Why is he wandering around the cold halls in a wet shirt?” he said, his voice calm but sharp as steel. “Do you want him sick again? Heat his chamber, wash and braid his hair — take care of him properly! IOr ’ll punish you!”

Arien slept through the night in Ives’s bed. The alpha went to inspect his fiancé’s chamber — and found them in a state that only deepened his irritation. The room was spacious, even comfortable, but dirty and cold. The sheets were stained with old blood and sweat. Arien's servants were punished. Ives found new staff and went to the library, taking his papers with him. He worked until the words began to blur, then dozed off in his chair.

By morning, his back and shoulders ached, but he went straight to Thibault. The king listened at first, but when Ives began to speak of the child, his expression hardened.

“You think I want to see a child die?” Thibault said quietly.

“You don’t have to,” Ives replied carefully. “He’s only four. I can raise him as my own child, teach him loyalty and discipline—”

“But others won't. There will always be those who see Orsin’s son as the rightful heir. They’d use him, no matter how well he’s raised. Do you think it brings me joy to carry this guilt? But I didn’t fight seven years to see the kingdom burn again.”

By the end, the king’s voice rose, trembling with anger and grief. Ives said nothing. He couldn’t disagree.

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Ives said quietly. “And I share your burden.”

“Besides,” Thibault said in a low voice, “the healers have been giving the boy poison. Even if I gave him to you now, he’d die soon.”

“Poison?” 

“Yes. I can’t just execute that poor child. I've paid the healers and they calculated the poison— timed for the day we execute Orsin’s men, the traitors, and… Carlisle. He’ll get the final dose, and by the time his turn of execution comes, the child will be dead. To the people it will look convincing; in truth Carlisle will pass away, calm and unaware.” Thibault looked up at Ives, and alpha saw the pain and torment in his eyes. “I’m trying.”

With a heavy weight on his chest, Ives had to agree. Thibault was trying. Ives stepped back, wondering how grief‑stricken Arien would react to all this.

A few days later the executions began. Ives was obliged to attend. The crowd shouted and yelled insults. Some even shouted “Glory to King Thibault!” Again and again alpha’s gaze slid to the little boy seated in the cart before the scaffold. They had made sure everyone could see him — so small, neatly dressed. The child showed no fear.  Someone came up to the boy, leaned close as if listening to a request, and then gave him a drink. That was the end.

The alpha could hardly endure those seconds that what felt like hours. He stared as the small boy was led forward. He no longer heard the crowd. 

The dynasty had crushed its enemies once and for all, showing everyone what it was made of.

No one wore mourning for the traitors; there was even a celebratory banquet announced. But Thibault spent the entire day in prayer, and Ives saw how the king suffered. Such was the price of power, and he had paid it with his head held high.

After banquet the alpha woke earlier than anyone. Before work he decided to take a short walk. He was used to the eternal cold of his northern lands, so the mild southern climate felt like a short rest. But he had barely stepped into the garden when a servant almost knocked him over.

“Forgive me, forgive me, my lord!” the omega stammered, pale with fear. Only then did Ives notice the blood on his hands.

“What happened?”

“It’s… it’s Lord Arien,” the servant babbled. “He’s cut his wrists and his throat! I can’t find a healer…”

Ives ignored the servant after that. He hadn’t run like this in years — not even on a battlefield. He put the whole castle on alert and found healers fast. Before he could think twice, they were at Arien’s door. But he couldn’t see the omega — the healers rushed in first and hid the poor Arien from the alpha.

“No! Let me go, let me go!” Arien screamed, then began to cry so loud the whole castle trembled.

So he already knew about his child. Ives stepped quietly out of the chamber. He knew what the omega felt, but there was nothing he could do for him. When the healers emerged, they reported that the bleeding had stopped and the wounds had been bound; they’d given sedatives to calm and quiet him.

Such a desperate act… Ives should have predicted it. Not long ago Arien had lived in the royal family’s care, surrounded by comfort; now he stood two steps from exile or death. Or from a wedding to a man he’d met only once.

No matter how Ives tried to keep it quiet, Thibault heard about it and raged for a long time.

“This was a bad idea. I’m putting a problem on your head!” 

But Ives felt pity for Arien. 

“It will be all right,” Ives soothed. “He will recover. Try to understand him! Your Majesty, you have no children yet, you don’t know what it means to love your own child and to lose one. I pray you never learn that.”

And Thibault calmed. He always softened when Ives spoke of children and family.

The day of Lord Boriel’s fourth wedding was gray and rainy. The weather made Ives’ knees ache. Maybe his dead husbands and his father — and Orsin, Armand, and little Carlisle — watched from above and mourned their kin. Ives didn’t see it that way. He had a chance to protect Arien. Maybe to find a family. Not by love, perhaps, but at his age that didn’t matter.

He dressed in his best coat. It looked odd; the nobles were already whispering behind his back. Among the lords he was the poorest, roughest, almost a peasant. His closeness to Thibault and his military deeds shortened their tongues, though not enough. But Ives didn’t care. 

He went to check his groom. Arien's empty face and blank stare said more than any words. Ives felt a sting. Was he doing the right thing? There was no choice. The door opened and the servants, saying he was ready, led Arien out.

The omega looked like a lifeless doll — beautiful with youthful looks, but dead inside.

“Come, Arien,” Ives said very softly and took the groom’s arm. The moment Ives touched him, omega’s hand clenched into a fist. Ives touched the small hand and whispered so the servants wouldn’t hear, “Calm yourself, please.”

Arien didn’t respond, didn’t look up. A few moments later he unclenched. They walked in deadly silence to the sanctuary where everyone waited. Ives wore a calm face but heard the whispered talk among dukes and lords. How laughable: the usurper’s spoiled brother paired with a poor, cursed lord. Every father thanked Gods Boriel wasn’t marrying their child. But nobody cared about fox-faced boy, nobody would grieve for him.

Ives listened to the priest’s words and watched Arien with a worried eye. This was the second time omega heard this ritual, and it seemed to be breaking him. Ives watched the pallor deepen and the lashes tremble. Luckily, during the ceremony Ives needed to take his partner’s hands; omega gripped his fingers tightly. That small pressure steadied Arien somewhat, though his deathly pallor did not fade.

It got worse when the priest held out the marriage bracelet. Ives took one and slowly tried to slip it on Arien’s wrist. Omega shot him a look of pure hatred and his lips thinned to a white line. He tried to pull his hand away. The lord moved faster and caught omega’s wrist. Startled by the pain, Arien faltered, and Ives managed to click the band closed. He put his own bracelet on himself. Arien stared at the bracelet like it was a snake.

It was the most terrible wedding ceremony.

They did not stay for the feast — newlyweds withdraw to their chambers to finish the rite. Let the others drink to their happiness.

Thibault gave them fine room, one of the best: a warm bed, a big fireplace. The king and his few attendants came with them. Arien looked like a thin, dangerous flame. He would not hold up if alpha touched him. Better not to think what would happen if the lord tried to lift the nightshirt. When they entered, Ives shot a meaningful look at the king. Thibault seemed to hesitate, then ordered everyone out and to wait by the door.

The servants undressed Arien and slipped out. Omega returned to this mortal world and, no longer staring at his bracelet with horror, nearly broke into sobs when Ives stepped closer.

“Back off! Don’t you dare touch me!” The cry had no weakness now. It was fierce anger.

Arien’s face came alive — twisted with grief and fury. He wrapped his arms around himself and stepped back. He was ready to fight for his body.

“Shh!” Ives hushed. Listening to the sounds beyond the door, he whispered, looking into the burning eyes, “When I give the sign, scream. I won’t touch you, but you’ll have to play along.”

Arien glanced wildly, seeing that anything sharp had been removed. He refused negotiation, swallowed by his feelings.

“Then I will take you by force,” Ives said.

The words froze the groom. All the rage drained away, leaving fear and terror. Before him was once again a lost, miserable child. Alpha was taller, stronger. It would be no trouble for him to break the fragile omega. When Ives shifted his weight — his knees aching with the effort — Arien trembled.

Then, swallowing hard, he let out a loud, painful cry. Laughter leaked from behind the door, and soon everyone stepped away.

The newlyweds were to be left alone to enjoy each other.

Ives’s knees ached and he was tired. Arien was crying.