The relationship between Aidan and Arien became the second delicious piece of gossip. Before, only Vetis had suspected something. Now it seemed the entire North believed the lord’s husband was betraying him with the hunt master.

One day Vetis came again, troubled.

“The servants saw it with their own eyes, my lord. First Aidan entered the library. Then Arien followed.”

Ives sighed wearily.

“I even know when that was. The day before yesterday. I asked Arien for the book he was reading. He said it was in the library and chose to fetch it himself.”

“That cursed Aidan was there too, my lord!”

“Vetis,” Ives said patiently, “they are both young. Tenderness takes time.. It is not something done in a moment. Otherwise both would be very unsatisfied. Arien returned quickly — and he had to walk there, find the book, and come back. Do not invent things. He did not smell of anyone, and he looked exactly as usual. And my husband himself said Aidan had asked permission to borrow a book.”

That seemed to calm Vetis — and perhaps the servants as well. But the rumors kept spreading, despite reason and despite the lord’s composure. If Ives tried not to think of it, Arien was furious. The alpha had intended to oversee the final work on the crypt when shouting and crying reached him from the servants’ quarters. He stepped inside — and froze.

On a long bench lay an omega servant, stripped to the waist. Beside him stood another servant holding a whip. The whip cracked down. The omega screamed. And near the bench stood Arien, arms crossed over his chest, watching without looking away.

There was no pity on his face.

“What is happening here?”

Arien turned at once. He did not look surprised or frightened. He looked angry — but not at Ives.

Ives did not share that anger. He looked at the man with the whip.

“Stop. Step away.”

The sobbing omega slid off the bench and collapsed, crying harder. Arien gave a sharp, disdainful snort.

Ives helped the servant to his feet and dismissed everyone.

“What was that?”

“Punishment,” Arien replied coldly. “They do not understand words. That one talks the most — so let him suffer.”

“Arien. Who gave you the right to punish them?”

His husband frowned.

“Do you enjoy these rumors? Or do you believe them?”

“I do not,” Ives answered calmly. “I would never suspect you of infidelity.”

But Arien seemed not to hear him. His anger continued to spill over.

“They said the same things about Armand. That I was unfaithful. They say it about everyone. And your Thibault, as always — thinking only of how to set traps. Nothing else was to be expected of him.”

Ives was momentarily stunned. Never before had Arien spoken of his first beloved husband — and of the children he loved — without his voice breaking in grief and fury. But Arien did not like Ives’s silence — who knew what thoughts formed in that bright head? — and with a tight expression he left the room.

The breaking point came when Alian began to ask questions. The boy, frightened and hesitant, asked whether Ives was truly his father. Whether Arien was truly his papa. His son’s tears were the last drop.

This time, Ives chose to discipline the gossipers himself. He summoned every servant sent by Thibault. The conversation was long and heavy. He did not shout. He did not threaten punishment. But he made himself perfectly clear. Not one more foolish or false rumor was to leave their mouths. And if he so much as overheard a whisper — they would learn what the lord’s anger truly meant.

For a while, it seemed to work.

The castle grew quiet. The rumors that had swept through northern towns and villages began to fade. But even if they continued elsewhere, Ives no longer had time to care. An urgent letter arrived from Thibaut. Spies reported that a rebel army was forming once again. In the North. Ives did not read the final lines — the ones that hinted at the king’s suspicions. He cast the letter aside in irritation. And began his own investigation.

Ives barely spent nights at home. Instead, he rode across his lands, trying to move quietly and unnoticed, asking careful questions about who had heard what. Yet every search led nowhere. Either the rebels were hiding well — or they were not there at all. Thibault insisted more and more spies reported danger rising from the North. A danger Ives could not find.

Disappointed and troubled, the alpha returned home and decided to rethink everything once more. One evening, Arien approached him with a request — to travel to the house by the lake.

“I want to be alone. To rest. And to hunt there.”

“So you intend to take Aidan with you?”

“Well, he is the hunt master. Or are you, my lord, against it? I thought you never were.”

The alpha set aside his maps — drawn by his own hand, his vision already blurring from them — and looked at his husband, giving a slight shake of his head.

“Arien, the rumors have only just quieted. You will give them new reason. It is one thing when you are with him here, in the castle, where I am present. But alone…”

“I do not sleep with him. And I will not.”

Ives let out a bitter laugh and immediately regretted it. Arien flushed with anger, clearly believing he was being mocked and doubted.

“My lord!..”

“Careful,” Ives said more softly now, tiredness in his voice. “Please. The rumors do not hurt only you. They hurt me. They hurt Alian. He cries — and that breaks my heart. And I am too old to be dealing with such petty quarrels.”

The omega seemed ready to protest further, but instead he simply turned and left.

The next morning Arien departed — quietly, discreetly. Only Vetis knew, and he was deeply displeased, though he kept his suspicions to himself.

When Alian loudly asked at breakfast, in front of all the servants, where Papa was, the lord answered that he had gone hunting. It was not entirely a lie. His complete calm convinced everyone that nothing was strange or unexpected about the disappearance of both Arien and Aidan. Ives knew his husband would return.

The servant Mari — a fifteen-year-old omega, the only one who, according to Vetis, did not meddle in gossip — began helping the lord with everything after Arien’s departure. He brought meals, cleaned, and often repeated news from nearby villages. None of it was useful. Not a word, not a hint of unrest, preparations, or unfamiliar faces.

But it was Mari who brought news about the mountains.

“People say there was a snow avalanche — and there will be another! My lord… it won’t reach us, will it?”

“Ah, Mari, no. We are far enough…”

And in that instant it struck Ives like lightning. The house by the lake. That one was not far enough. And Arien was there.

Cold sweat broke across the alpha’s skin. Terror gripped his chest so tightly he could barely breathe. He rose from his chair, forgetting maps, plans, armies.

“I need a horse. Now.”

Mari nodded in fear and ran to carry out the order. As if sensing his father’s dread, Alian rushed in, crying about a nightmare. There was no time to comfort him. Ives stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, speaking tightly.

“It’s all right, my little star. Do not cry. There are no monsters.”

“Where’s Papa?”

“He will return soon,” Ives said stiffly, and released his son.

The ride to the lake house was long, but Ives drove the horse so hard he reached it in half a day. Fear devoured him — the kind he had not felt since the time Arien had nearly died in his arms. But back then, those dark eyes had not closed forever. They would not close now.

The lord had not visited the house in a long while, and it seemed to him it had grown worn and fragile. The door was half-buried in snow, though not completely — praise the gods, the avalanche had not crushed it entirely. With steady hands and dread in his chest, Ives pushed the door open.

Arien was inside.

The omega was wrapped in layers upon layers of clothing, yet his lips trembled and had turned blue from cold. He stared at Ives in astonishment.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came for you!” the alpha exclaimed — half in relief, half on the edge of anger. “There will be a second avalanche. It could kill you. Why didn’t you return after the first one?”

“My horse died,” Arien replied, his face tightening.

“And Aidan?”

“He died too.”

For a moment, Ives found no words. He glanced at his own exhausted horse and regretted rushing alone, without bringing anyone else. Another avalanche could come at any time — staying here was impossible. He took his husband by the hand, then lifted him into his arms.

“What are you doing!” Arien tried to drop down into the snow, but found himself pressed firmly against Ives’s chest.

“We must leave at once. What happened to Aidan is tragedy enough. The gods spared you — do not give them reason to regret their mercy.”

Ives did not lock the house. He did not check anything. He set Arien on the horse and mounted behind him, sincerely hoping the poor animal would endure the journey back. He urged it forward until the dangerous mountains lay far enough behind to quiet his heart. Only when it stopped pounding in his ears did he slow the pace.

Arien was not asleep. He was tense, but he did not pull away. At one moment, he even leaned closer.

“Why did you stay in the house? You were not buried that badly.”

“I knew you would come,” Arien said with a mocking huff, then shivered from the cold.

He said nothing more, leaving Ives uncertain — was it a joke, or the truth?

At the castle they were already awaited. Vetis nearly burst into tears as he threw his arms around the lord. The poor omega had been so worried he forgot all propriety. He wept that he had feared the young master would be left alone — a little orphan without father or papa. He even bowed to Arien and said he had worried for him as well.

All awkwardness vanished the moment Alian appeared, shouting, “Papa!”

The boy did not dare fling himself at Arien as he did at Ives, but he wrapped his arms tightly around his parent’s leg. Gently, Ives drew him back, explaining that Papa needed to be warmed first, or he would fall ill.

He had experience in that.

Arien changed into a nightshirt and robe and, as many years ago, sat on the bed before Ives. But now the alpha constantly felt his husband’s steady gaze upon him. Whenever he looked up, he met those dark, focused eyes. Arien was not hiding that he was watching. He seemed to be thinking about something.

Mari entered with hot water and, smiling, handed the jug to the alpha. Ives smiled back in gratitude — the young omega even blushed — and poured the water into a basin where his husband lowered his feet.

“And bring something strong and hot, Mari.”

“Yes, my lord!” the servant answered at once and hurried out.

“Mari…” Arien said slowly, glancing toward the door. Then he turned back — slowly, almost dangerously slowly — and asked, “Do you remember all their names?”

 “I try. Do you know him from long ago as well?”

“No, he is too young. And handsome,” Arien answered the unspoken question. “My brother’s husband was pathologically jealous and would not tolerate omegas in the castle except for me. And if there were any, they had to be old or unattractive.”

The lord nodded and began warming his spouse’s feet. Mari brought hot wine and set it on the small table — Arien immediately took the goblet and drained it in one swallow. When everything seemed settled and certain to be well now, Ives rose to leave for his own chambers, but suddenly the omega caught his hand.

“Wait, my lord. Stay.”

“In what sense?” Ives asked slowly, taken aback by such behavior. Arien had never touched him of his own accord — only when forced to. And he had never asked him to remain.

“In the direct sense. You are a grown man and should understand why one stays alone together in private chambers.”

For a moment Ives thought he had misheard. Or that he was dreaming. He understood perfectly well what his husband meant — and yet it would not fit inside his mind.

He had lived with Arien for years and had come to terms with the fact that they were spouses only in name. Their child was a blessing for Ives and a sorrow for the omega. Their family was a strange one. The lord had grown tired of struggling, tired of hoping. He simply maintained what already existed. And so such a declaration now sounded almost fantastical.

“Arien, what has happened? Why such requests all at once and—”

“Do you not want me? Am I too unattractive?”

“No, nothing of the sort. You are beautiful, but—”

“So you do not want me?” Arien pressed, narrowing his eyes like a predator. “Or is that why you need Mari?”

“Oh, no, of course not!” Ives exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “What are you saying? I do not understand you. Let us speak in the morning. You need sleep.”

He had nearly reached the door when Arien’s voice rang out:

“My lord! Then admit that you simply cannot. Or what is it?”

Ives sighed heavily, quelling the flicker of irritation, and turned — only to nearly collide with his husband, who had silently crossed the distance between them.

“Arien, do not try to wound my pride. You are behaving strangely.”

“You do not wish to mend our relationship?” Arien suddenly asked. “You speak of family, yet in truth you want nothing. Why all these gestures then — saving me from the avalanche, defending me, tending to me during the pox? Or have you found someone better in the castle? Admit it, my lord.”

Ives looked into his husband’s dark, unreadable eyes. What moved in that soul? Arien was complex — too complex for a man who had little strength left to unravel such things. Yet his words struck somewhere deep.

At first Ives had wanted to build something between them, but it had been futile. And so he had surrendered, though in the depths of him a small hope had lingered — a hope that was never meant to be fulfilled. Or perhaps… it was?

“I do. I do want that, Arien — but not like this.”

“Then how? I have borne you a child, and he is already grown enough. Moonlit walks, poetry, flowers — are they not ridiculous now? Or perhaps you are, my lord…?”

Ives gently touched his husband’s cheek, stroking the sharp line of his cheekbone with his thumb to silence him. Everything felt strange, and yet the alpha longed for even a fragment of warmth — real warmth, not the pale imitation he relived in memory.

His hands settled on Arien’s shoulders, easing the robe down until it slipped soundlessly to the floor. He traced the tense line of his back. For a moment he paused when his palms reached the hips, then slipped beneath the shirt instead. Leaning down, carefully — as if afraid Arien might vanish — he pressed a kiss to the corner of his eye, then to his cheek, slowly descending toward his lips.

“Not on the lips. Not yet,” the omega whispered.

“You allow my hands beneath your shirt, yet deny me a kiss?” Ives murmured hoarsely, a faint laugh in his voice — but he did not test his fortune, and he did not touch Arien’s mouth.

That night the castle was buried in snow.

But the alpha did not notice.