Arien woke up in his chamber — Aidan was sitting beside him. At once he handed him a glass of fresh water and helped him sit up. The omega immediately noticed that his papers had been neatly stacked on the table. And then, like a flash in his mind, the memory returned: he had rushed out of Zelan’s chamber, shocked and furious. He had been about to do something when his vision suddenly darkened, his stomach started to hurt — and as soon as he took a step, the world went black.

“You were too upset,” Aidan said, watching Arien carefully and sliding another cup toward him. A familiar smell rose from it. “It’s because of your heat — it will begin soon. I think that might also be why…”

“Aidan, that’s enough talking!” the omega snapped irritably and ran a hand over his face. “And who are you to speak to me about such things?”

“A friend,” the alpha said quietly and gently, still insisting as he held out the cup.

But as soon as the cup was close enough that Arien could recognize every herb in it by smell, nausea rose in his throat. He abruptly pushed the cup away and covered his mouth with his hand. As soon as the smell disappeared, the sickness faded.

“What horrible herbs are in there? Take it away!”

“Nothing unusual, my lord. You won’t drink it?”

“No,” the omega said firmly, shaking his head as he rose from the bed. Aidan had not changed his clothes, so Arien only quickly smoothed them down. “Is Zelan already asleep? Good. Then you should go too. I’m fine.”

The alpha obeyed and left. Soon after, Arien quietly slipped out of his chamber. He made his way to Milosh’s room and went through his jewelry boxes — Milosh always wore rich ornaments. If Arien himself had owned anything valuable, he would not have needed to steal, but he had always refused any jewelry. Though at first Ives had insisted quite strongly that he accept some.

He chose a beautiful ring with a large ruby — there were better ones, but to an untrained eye they looked cheap. The castle was now full of all sorts of people, and Arien did not like many of them. Before, there had also been people he disliked walking these halls, but at least they had been decent. Now, on his way through the corridors, he met many drunken rebels, and many of them were Zelan’s friends.

He knew that among the rebels there were normal people too — those who had simply been carried away by the leader’s speeches. There were also those who had grown desperate and could no longer live under the burden of taxes and greedy landowners. But around himself Zelan had mostly gathered something closer to scum.

Having gone down to the basement where the prison was located, Arien encountered a guard. Fortunately, there was only one man there, and persuading him turned out to be quite easy. It was enough just to show the ring.

“Keep an eye on the lord’s wounds and feed him well. If anything happens to him because of poor care, I will have your head. And if you tell anyone about this—!”

“I understand, Your Majesty. No one will know.”

Arien secretly kept watch over that guard afterward. Under various excuses he would take food and cloth, though most often he simply stole them somehow — yet not a single rumor, suspicion, or question ever arose. The man handled it well. Whether the ruby had worked or the threats had — it did not matter. The important thing was that the lord would not die in the dungeons.

At first desperate thoughts of freeing the lord had come to him, but that was not something he had the power to do. He had no real authority — no one would listen to him in such a matter without Zelan’s order. Even if he gave away all of Milosh’s jewels, no one would take such a risk. Zelan was a dangerous man, and everyone knew it — he would simply kill them all. The lord was far too important a figure for Zelan to let go so easily.

Still, Arien had taken the first step. At least Ives would stay alive and would not die from infection. Now a new task stood before him.

He remembered how his brother, after gaining power, had immediately begun stabilizing the situation. He sought support from neighboring kingdoms, spoke with the nobility and the people, hunted Coriel. Thibault had done the same. But Zelan did nothing but drink and cause trouble. From the beginning Arien had not seen in him even a shadow of the same burning desire his brother had to improve the kingdom, nor Thibault’s fierce determination to reclaim power. Yet he had wanted to believe in something better. The omega had thought that the struggle, his help, and his ideas would change Zelan. But with every passing day Arien realized how wrong he had been.

The kingdom seemed to live by inertia. The envoys who had fled the court had surely already carried the news to other lands, yet no one acted. Everyone was waiting.

At last the leader decided to hold a council — but Arien had not been invited. He learned of it from Aidan. Clenching his teeth in anger and hurt, the omega gathered all his papers and went to the hall himself, without invitation. He almost kicked the doors open and entered with his head held high, ignoring the sideways looks from Zelan’s supporters. With a gesture Arien ordered another chair to be brought to the table and sat down silently, placing his papers before him.

“So, what have you already discussed? I’m a little late,” the omega said, sweeping everyone with a heavy gaze.

“Nothing yet, Your Majesty,” Zelan replied with exaggerated politeness, then added roughly, “And why did you come?”

“To do what this rebellion was supposed to achieve — develop the kingdom. You wanted to hear my brother’s plans in detail. I brought them and I’m ready to discuss them. Shall we begin?”

But the discussion went nowhere beyond the treasury, which they talked about eagerly — clearly not with the intention of making plans to replenish it. Arien had other goals for this meeting, but there was no moment to speak, until suddenly a servant quietly entered the hall and whispered something into Zelan’s ear. The man grimaced and looked directly at the omega — and in that instant everything inside Arien froze. Had that guard talked? Had someone noticed?

“The children are causing trouble again,” Zelan said. “And they’re sick too.”

“So what? You didn’t want to listen to me. Why are you looking at me as if I should do something about it?”

“Your Majesty, isn’t your son there?” one of Zelan’s aides suddenly said. “Alian Boriel, son of Lord Ives Boriel.”

“Yes. And?” Arien repeated. How disgusting it sounded when that boy’s name came from those lips. “Should I run there just because my and the lord’s son is there?”

“How cruel!” Zelan drawled mockingly and burst out laughing. His laughter sent waves of disgust through the room. When he spoke again, the omega clenched his coat in anger.

“The lord is so old! You even painted him young. How did he manage to get you with child at all?”

“And who told you that Alian is the lord’s?” Arien replied coldly. “You yourselves just said he isn’t young.”

Arien pretended not to notice either the bewildered looks or Zelan’s disgusting cackling, which made him want to shove the dirtiest rag he could find into the man’s mouth. Perhaps, if Zelan heard that Alian was supposedly not the lord’s son, he might let the boy go? But the talk of children ended there, just like any discussion of other important matters — which infuriated Arien beyond measure. As soon as the conversation turned to the nobility, the omega interrupted.

“My lands, Zelan. The southern lands of Antarella that were given to various dukes and churchmen. Will you return them to me?”

“Sure,” the alpha waved his hand dismissively. He was already openly bored and did not even glance at Arien’s plans. “We’ll discuss everything later in my chamber. You may come there, Your Majesty.”

Zelan’s lustful smile made the omega shudder, and nausea rose again while dark spots danced before his eyes. Arien ignored his words and stood up from the chair. He had intended to take all his papers with him, but was there any point in showing them again? There was no hope anymore. And yet he had worked so hard, trying to recreate his brother’s dreams… Suddenly his eyes burned with tears, and Arien, snatching up the papers anyway, rushed out of the hall. His heart pounded wildly in his chest — where had those tears come from? He suddenly felt pain and resentment so sharply… but the moment he looked out a window and breathed in the fresh air, it passed.

For a moment Arien wondered if his condition was becoming suspicious, but there were more important matters. Zelan had returned his lands after all, and the omega began restoring his connections there — he had a strong interest in them. A plan had formed in his mind, and he had to carry it out.

After receiving confirmation that his old acquaintances in the former lands of Antarella and in his castle would help him, Arien once again visited Milosh’s treasury and took many jewels. With Aidan’s help, the omega secretly found Adamon healers and gave them almost everything he had so they would prepare a special potion. After spending much time reading, he had learned about many medicines and herbs. And long ago he had discovered a remedy that could plunge a person into a deep sleep resembling death. That was exactly what he needed.

Every day Arien carried out his plan little by little, very carefully. He woke extremely early, barely ate, and one morning he could not even get out of bed. He felt so heavy, so ill, that he had to call the servants — and Aidan came with them. The alpha watched him suspiciously and said he would summon a physician, but the omega stopped him.

“No, no! I’m just tired. I need to lie down. Don’t you dare call anyone — that’s an order!”

Closing his eyes, Arien breathed deeply. He had to recover and continue with his tasks. After all, today he had an important meeting with the healers, and he had to attend it. Arien drifted in and out of sleep, but the moments of wakefulness felt like a dark nightmare.

By noon he felt a little better, and the omega immediately rose, brushing aside Aidan’s protests. Despite the lingering sickness, Arien met with the healers and received a small vial with the medicine. That night, once everyone had fallen asleep, he slipped into the chamber where the children were kept. He opened the door and entered quietly. It was dark inside — not a single candle burned. Peering into the darkness, he saw that the children were sleeping on a large bed and on a couch near the fireplace.

But before the omega could take even one step, the bed creaked and someone suddenly sat up.

“Who’s there? Go away!”

Alian. Arien stepped closer and took his son’s hand. The boy was frightened — he had not recognized him at once and was about to shout, but the omega covered his mouth.

“Shh, don’t shout, Alian. It’s me.”

The boy blinked sleepily, and suddenly his face lit up. He almost burst into tears. Throwing his arms around Arien’s neck, he clung to him like a little squirrel.

“Papa, papa!”

The omega tried to pull the child away, but the boy only clung tighter and began to whimper. His son’s crying had always irritated him — both when Alian was a baby, crying so loudly he seemed ready to tear his lungs apart, and later as well. The boy looked at him with hopeful grey eyes and love, calling him “Papa,” and an unbearable anger would rise inside the omega — he wanted to silence him. Yet behind that anger hid a deep pain. At once vivid and painful memories would appear of Carlisle calling out to him… Their voices had even seemed the same, and that only made it worse.

Although Alian was completely different — both in appearance and in character. Carlisle had been his very copy, inheriting all the Antarella features of face and temperament. Despite his young age, he had been strong-willed and fiery. Alian was nothing like that — more like Ives, gentle and yielding, though still quite brave and capable of firmness when needed. Yet Arien constantly saw Carlisle in Alian and suffered because of it.

The omega finally managed to pull Alian away and noticed that the princes had woken as well, though none of them cried — they only stared in fear. It seemed they had long since grown tired of shouting and now simply kept silent and afraid.

“Papa, are you all right? And father? Where is father?” Alian asked in a trembling voice. Arien noticed that his face and hands were clean; he seemed unharmed, only thinner. His eyes shone with tears, full of hope and the desire to escape.

“The lord is fine. Please—”

“When will we go home? Why haven’t you or father taken us away? Did something happen?” The questions poured out in a stream, which Arien cut off sharply.

“Quiet! Be silent, Alian, please!” The boy flinched and sniffed, ready to burst into tears, but Arien continued quickly and harshly — there was not a second for tenderness. “I want to send you away from here, far away, and we have very little time! I don’t have a moment for your questions. Listen to me — now I will give you something to drink. You must drink it and not spit it out. Alian, you will wake up far away, but do not be afraid. They will take you to my old home. My friends are waiting there and will protect you. But if anything happens, show them this paper.”

Arien took out a scroll and slipped it under his son’s shirt. It was an order, sealed with the royal seal, commanding that no harm be done to the children. Fortunately, Thibault had not managed to hide it very well. The omega was about to start giving the children the drink, but Alian suddenly clung to him again and hugged him tightly.

“I’m scared. I want to go home! I want to go home, where you and father are!” the boy whispered desperately, pressing himself closer. Then he said quietly, “I love you, Papa. Come with me! We’ll take father too!”

Arien nearly shuddered. He swallowed hard, forcing away the words that echoed painfully in his ears and in his soul. Something inside him always hurt when the boy spoke like that. He wanted to push him away so it would not hurt so much. But that bitter crying… Arien gently pulled Alian away and took his face in his hands, lightly squeezing his slightly sunken cheeks.

“Don’t cry. Everything will be all right. Soon you will go north with your father.”

“And you?” the boy cried in alarm.

“We don’t have much time. Drink this and don’t be afraid. Everything will be fine.”

With those words Arien pressed the small vial to the boy’s lips and made him drink a little. Then he laid him down on the bed and covered him with a blanket. Jacques did not resist, though he had always been afraid of him. The younger princes drank silently after him — except for the twins. Such frail children might not survive it. For them, Arien had prepared something else.

Soon the children fell into a deep sleep, like death itself.