I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)-Chapter 78: The Vanishing Act

"Oh, the North is cold and the Duke is grim, but we’ll put some floral soap on him! Scrub-a-rub-rub~"

Reiner sang the last note, a surprisingly stable vibrato, as he skipped down the final stretch of the West Wing corridor. He was balancing a tray that held a steaming pot of honey-ginger tea.

He didn’t bother with a formal, heavy knock. Instead, he used his elbow to give the wood a playful thump-thump-thump before nudging the door open with his hip.

"Lord Cherion? It’s far past the hour for slumbering, I’m afraid. The sun is practically shouting at us," Reiner sang out, his voice a bright contrast to the heavy, frost-nipped air clinging to the castle’s exterior.

He crossed the plush rug with light feet, heading straight for the massive velvet curtains. With a dramatic swish, he flung them wide. The light flooded the room, illuminating the floating dust motes and the fine carvings of the furniture. Reiner hummed a little tune, and turned around to face the bed.

He stopped humming. The tray in his hands tilted dangerously.

The bed was empty. Not the kind of empty that meant someone had slept there and left, it was pristine. The silk sheets were pulled tight, the heavy blanket was arranged so neatly it was hard to believe anyone had been there at all.

"Lord Cherion?" Reiner called out, his voice cracking just a little.

He didn’t wait. He lunged for the washroom, the door banging against the stone with a startling crack. "My Lord, are you hiding in the steam? You know the bathwater gets cold if you..."

Empty. The porcelain tub was bone-dry. The towels hung in stiff, unused rows.

Reiner felt the first real prick of panic. It began in his feet and shot up to his chest like a static jolt. He spun back into the main room, eyes darting around. He dropped to his knees, peering under the bed frame, an act of pure desperation since the gap was barely four inches wide, before scrambling up to tear open the heavy wardrobe doors. He shoved aside the silk tunics and the wool cloaks, his breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches.

Nothing. Just the faint scent of sandalwood and soap.

"No, no, no," he whispered, his thoughts racing back through everything that had happened the night before. He remembered dinner. He remembered the way Cherion had limped back to this very room, his muscles screaming after that brutal training session Zarius had insisted upon. Reiner had spent a good forty minutes massaging scented oils into his master’s sore shoulders.

He’d seen the candle flicker out! He’d made sure that everything was fine.

So, where was he?

Soren.

The name hit Reiner like a physical blow to the stomach. That snake. That good-for-nothing attendant. Reiner didn’t think, he just moved. He burst out of the room, his soft leather shoes slapping against the stone floor as he sprinted into the main corridor. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. He rounded the corner near the grand staircase so fast he nearly lost his footing, and he slammed headfirst into Elios’s solid chest.

"Gah! Reiner? What in the three hells..."

Reiner didn’t let him finish. He grabbed the knight’s sturdy leather pauldrons, shaking him with a strength born of pure, hysterical terror. "Elios! Thank the gods! He’s gone! He’s been snatched! The bed, it’s too tidy, Elios! No one sleeps that neatly!"

Elios winced, catching the smaller man’s wrists to keep himself from being rattled into a migraine. "Whoa, little bird. Deep breaths. Calm down and talk to me. Who is gone? What happened?"

Reiner took a breath that sounded more like a sob. He gulped down the air, his eyes wide and watery. "Lord Cherion! I went to wake him, but the room is a ghost town! I checked the bathroom, the wardrobe, even under the bed, though I suppose that was silly, and there’s not a trace! Elios, tell me the truth. Is Soren still in that cage? Did he break out? Did he use some foul trick to steal him away while we were dreaming?"

The knight’s expression shifted. It didn’t go to panic, though. It went to a very specific, weary shade of "I am far too old for this," followed by a long, slow exhale that ruffled his own bangs. He looked at Reiner with a pity that felt almost insulting.

"Reiner," Elios said, his voice calm... patient... as if he had all the time in the world. "Breathe. That little traitor is still securely tucked away in the deepest hole we have. Lord Cherion hasn’t been kidnapped."

"Then where is he?" Reiner demanded, his voice trembling.

Elios let out another sigh, carefully peeling Reiner’s panicked fingers away from his cape. "He’s in the Duke’s chamber. He spent the night in His Grace’s bedchamber. By choice, Reiner. Peaceful, consensual choice."

The quiet that settled over the room felt almost suffocating. Reiner’s shaking finally eased. He didn’t look relieved. He didn’t look happy. Instead, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed, and he developed a massive, suspicious, soul-deep frown that could have easily rivaled the Duke’s most terrifying glares.

"The Duke’s room?" Reiner whispered, the words tasting like sour milk. "All night?"

Realizing he was completely unequipped to handle this crisis, Elios grabbed Reiner by the elbow. "You need to talk to someone who isn’t me. Come on."

He dragged the grumbling, frowning attendant down toward the servants’ wing, specifically aiming for the area where the senior staff coordinated the daily labor. They found Flio there, looking over a manifest while a group of butlers moved crates of supplies for the upcoming march. The man looked up, his sharp eyes taking in Reiner’s thunderous expression and Elios’s look of total defeat.

"Flio, please," Elios groaned, shoving Reiner forward like he was some helpless lamb. "Talk some sense into your brother. He thought Lord Cherion was being kidnapped again, when all he did was spend the night in His Grace’s room."

Flio blinked, then a slow, genuinely relieved smile spread across his face. He didn’t look scandalized at all. He looked like a man who had just been told the war was over. "Did he really? Stay the whole night with the Duke again?"

"Since the lamps were lit," Elios confirmed.

Flio let out a soft, contended hum. "Thank the heavens... Lord Cherion spent the night with His Grace again. That should help stabilize him. This is a blessing for all of us, truly." He shot a glance at Elios. " So we really don’t need to go through your ridiculous plan of locking them together. It’s... unnecessary."

Elios blinked and pretended to look hurt, then muttered, "Force them... and you think you’ve got a better idea?"

Reiner stood there, clutching a silken washcloth he hadn’t realized he was still holding. He listened to them talk about "stabilize" and "blessings," but the concepts seemed to bounce right off his head. He wasn’t thinking about politics or magical curses. He was thinking about the fact that he’d been worried about assassins while his master was apparently just... quite busy.

He tilted his head, his frown softening into a look of sheer, wide-eyed bewilderment. He looked at Flio, then at Elios, his voice small and incredibly, painfully sincere.

"Oh," Reiner murmured, his eyes blinking slowly as the gears turned. "I... I see. I honestly didn’t know that Lord Cherion and His Grace were already that intimate."

He paused, a look of genuine concern washing over his face as he clutched his hands together.

"I just hope the Duke wasn’t too rough with him," Reiner whispered, his voice laced with worry. "After all, Lord Cherion’s body is still so tender from those sword drills yesterday. He really shouldn’t be overexerting himself in bed when his hamstrings are already in such a state."

Elios choked on a sudden, violent cough, turning a bright shade of beet-red, and Flio’s relieved smile froze into something incredibly awkward. Both men stared at the floor, suddenly realizing that Reiner’s brand of innocence was far more terrifying than his panic.