Johan POV

“This is the first time I’ve ever felt your scent leak that strongly during rut,” Arthit said, his voice tight, as though even the memory of it unsettled him. “It was suffocating, Johan. Like drowning in smoke. My chest burned. I thought I wouldn’t last another breath in that room.”

I sat back in my chair, silent, my gaze fixed on the flicker of candlelight across the polished table. My fingers absently toyed with the chain at my throat. The pendant rested cool against my skin, its weight far lighter than the meaning it carried.

Tonfah, who had been leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, spoke next. “It wasn’t just the rut. I think your bond with North magnified it. Your body was desperate for him. That need—unleashed like that—was dangerous for anyone in range.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Even for us.”

A hum slipped from me in acknowledgment, low and thoughtful. They weren’t wrong. I hadn’t lost myself completely, but the edge had been closer than I liked. And still—still—I remembered North’s hand cupping my face, his trembling fingers grounding me when nothing else could. The thought alone softened my jaw, made the harsh lines of my composure falter.

A small smile pulled at my lips before I realized it. My thumb brushed across the etched falcon of the pendant again, tracing it like a talisman.

Arthit noticed immediately. His gaze flicked to my neck, sharp and knowing. “That pendant…” His voice was softer now, almost curious. “It’s beautiful.”

I didn’t answer at first. I let my thumb rest over it, savoring the memory of North’s flustered expression, the way his voice had trembled when he’d said it was for me.

Finally, I let the faintest smile show. “It is.”

Tonfah raised one brow, unreadable, but wisely held his tongue. He wasn’t foolish enough to comment when my guard was lowered. Not when North was involved.

But then Arthit’s voice hardened, dragging us back into shadows. “There’s been an update on the council.”

I straightened in my chair instantly, the warmth of the pendant suddenly cold against my chest. “Go on.”

Arthit’s eyes flickered, sharp as a hawk’s. “The falsified reports tied to North—they weren’t just sabotage. They’re tied to something larger. I believe it’s connected to your coronation.”

My brow furrowed. “My coronation?”

“Yes.” His tone was grim, deliberate. “By targeting North, they are striking two blows at once. First, they humiliate him, eroding his standing. Second, they cast doubt on you—on your choice, your judgment. Every whisper in the council chamber sharpens into the same question: if Johan cannot protect or control his omega, how can he protect the throne?”

Tonfah pushed off the wall, his arms unfolding as he stepped closer, voice low. “So in other words, they’re undermining Johan himself. His competency as the future king.”

Arthit inclined his head. “Exactly.”

A cold silence followed. The crackle of the candles felt too loud, too brittle, against the weight of the truth hanging between us.

Tonfah broke it, his tone clipped. “So someone doesn’t want Johan to have the crown.”

“Possibly,” Arthit replied.

Tonfah’s jaw tightened. “And why would they risk it? Why weaken their own kingdom when we stand on the brink of war?”

I tapped my finger once, sharply, against the desk. The sound rang like steel striking stone. My mind churned, dark thoughts forming threads of clarity.

“They want chaos,” I said at last, my voice low, deliberate. “I need to win a war to secure the crown. But if the kingdom crumbles from within, if discord spreads through the court, then my enemies won’t need to raise a sword. They’ll let us devour ourselves first. Then they’ll strike when we’re weakest.”

The words were met with silence, but not from disbelief. No, both Arthit and Tonfah understood too well.

Arthit’s lips pressed into a thin line. His hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword—a reflex, as though he could cut the unseen traitor from the air itself.

Tonfah’s expression was colder, calculating. His eyes flicked toward the chamber doors, as though already planning who to watch, who to corner, who to bleed for answers.

I leaned forward, resting both hands flat on the desk. The wood creaked under the weight of my grip. My voice dropped, colder than steel drawn in the night.

“We have a traitor in the palace.”

The air itself seemed to shiver at the words.

Arthit’s jaw clenched, the flicker of a vein visible at his temple. Tonfah exhaled slowly, steadying himself, though I could see the tension in his shoulders coil tighter.

The flames in the sconces wavered, shadows dancing long across the chamber walls. For a moment, the three of us were silent, each carrying the weight of suspicion and dread.

My fingers found the pendant again, gripping it tightly as if to remind myself of the only loyalty I could trust without question. North.

But everything else—every scribe, every servant, every lord—was suspect now.

I lifted my gaze, locking eyes first with Arthit, then Tonfah. My tone was a command, quiet but lethal.

“From this moment forward, watch everyone. No word, no gesture, no ink stroke goes unchecked. If they breathe wrong, I want to know.”

Tonfah’s eyes glinted with grim approval. Arthit gave a single sharp nod.

I sat back again, the pendant still curled in my palm, its weight both comfort and chain.

One thing was certain. The palace was no longer just my home. It was a nest of vipers—and one of them was waiting to strike.

✿✿✿

North POV

The corridors stretched endlessly, bathed in shafts of pale sunlight filtering through tall windows. My steps echoed softly, each one careful, measured; though Johan had insisted I rest longer, I needed to move, to feel the palace walls around me rather than the confines of my chamber.

The ache in my body had dulled to a steady throb, a constant reminder of his touch, his fire, his claim. Every shift of muscle reminded me of the night past, and though my cheeks warmed, I pressed forward, determined not to appear fragile.

Halfway through the hall, a voice called gently:

“My lord.”

I stopped, lifting my gaze. A maid stood a few paces ahead, bowing low with a tray balanced in her hands. Her voice was soft, respectful, every syllable precise. When she straightened, her smile was delicate, almost too composed, as though crafted for display.

“I did not expect you to be walking the corridors so soon,” she said, lowering her eyes as propriety dictated. “You must still be… recovering. His Highness would not wish for you to strain yourself.”

There was nothing improper in her tone—every word was layered with courtesy—yet a faint unease crawled beneath my skin. Something about the way her gaze lingered just a moment too long before she lowered her lashes made my heart shift uneasily.

“I only wished for some air,” I replied, keeping my voice calm.

“Of course, my lord.” She inclined her head. “Your presence lightens these halls. Since your arrival, the palace has… changed. Even those of us in service can feel it.”

Her words, though flattering, pressed too close to the mark. My hand instinctively brushed against the bond mark at my neck, which burned faintly under her fleeting glance. For a heartbeat, her eyes flickered—something sharp, hidden beneath her sweet composure—before the polite mask returned.

“You are precious now,” she added softly. “To His Highness. To the crown. To all of us.”

The words should have comforted me, but instead they settled heavy in my chest, the sweetness cloying like too much honey. I bowed my head in acknowledgment, unwilling to betray my discomfort. “You honor me,” I said simply.

She dipped once more into a graceful bow, her smile never faltering. “I pray you will take care of yourself, my lord.” With that, she moved past me, her steps measured, vanishing into the corridor’s far shadows.

For a moment, I stood rooted, the quiet pressing around me once more. Her voice had been respectful, her manner flawless. And yet—something in the air she left behind made my skin prickle, a quiet warning I could not name.

I turned back toward my chambers, clutching my robe as though it could steady me. Still, the thought lingered, cold and persistent: beneath her reverence, there had been something watching. Waiting.

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Author's note-

I thought I would end this story like in around 40 chapters but i extended it a lot more than i anticipated.

I might have to cut short some of my ideas, I don't wanna bore y'all by dragging it further.

Happy reading everyone.