I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)-Chapter 99: A Grip That Won’t Let Go

Zarius didn’t say a word as he hauled Cherion through the camp, his grip firm and purposeful. He didn’t look back, and for some reason, Cherion didn’t try to pull away. So he let himself be escorted, dragged, really, straight into their tent, where the lighting was low and the situation somehow felt even more questionable.

Once inside, the sudden absence of the wind felt like a physical weight. The tent was dim, lit only by the low, orange hum of a dying brazier. Zarius finally came to a halt by the edge of the bed, but he didn’t let go. Not yet. They stood there in a silence so thick it felt like it was pressing the oxygen out of the room.

"Sit," Zarius commanded, his voice a low vibration.

Cherion sat. He had no choice, really, unless he wanted to remain standing like a confused coat rack. Zarius sank down beside him, the mattress groaning under his weight.

"I apologize," Zarius said. Instead of meeting Cherion’s eyes, he stared at the Hearth stone, his jaw set like he was chewing on something unpleasant. "Marielle... her tongue is a weapon she hasn’t learned to sheathe. Her behavior tonight was unacceptable."

Cherion blinked. He’d expected an excuse, a "she’s just like that" or a "it’s the Northern way", but the blunt honesty of the apology caught him off guard. It felt... sincere. Deeply, uncomfortably sincere.

"Oh, please," Cherion said, waving a hand dismissively as he tried to claw back some of the levity. His heart was still hammering, but he forced a half-smile onto his face. "Don’t look so grim. She’s just... energetic. Spirited? Yes, let’s go with spirited. She clearly cares about you, Your Grace. It’s actually quite sweet in a ’I-will-murder-anyone-who-touches-my-brother’ sort of way."

Sweet like a poisoned apple, his brain corrected him.

"You don’t need to go to war with your only sister for my sake," Cherion added, his voice softening. "Really. I’ve survived the Palace, Your Grace. I can survive a few dinner-table insults."

Zarius turned then, his red eyes locking onto Cherion’s, and somehow made eye contact feel like a high-pressure situation. "I told you I would protect you."

The words weren’t loud, but they carried the weight of an iron decree.

Cherion felt a prickle of something... Fear? Warmth? climb up his spine.

"And you did!" Cherion chirped, perhaps a bit too brightly. He reached up to adjust his collar, anything to keep his hands busy. "I remember the terms, Your Grace. It’s part of our agreement, after all. Protection and... well, me not dying in exchange for keeping you from that curse. You’re a man of your word. I’ve always admired that about you."

Something in Zarius’s expression shifted. His mouth stayed the same, but his eyes dulled, like he didn’t quite like what he was seeing. He looked at Cherion like something didn’t add up.

"Is that truly what you think this is?" Zarius asked. His voice was too calm. It was the kind of calm that made you nervous for no reason.

Cherion felt the shift, but his survival instincts were screaming at him to keep the walls up. "Well, I mean... you’re an honorable man," he stammered, his words tumbling out in a rush of clumsy praise. "Honest to a fault. You’d never go back on a contract. I know I can trust you because you take your obligations seriously. It’s one of your best qualities, really."

He meant it as a compliment. Truly. So why did it feel like he’d just failed a test he didn’t know he was taking?

Zarius looked away, his shoulders dropping just a fraction. "...So that’s all it is," he murmured, the words so quiet Cherion almost missed them.

"Wait, what?" Cherion leaned in, his brows knitting together. "What did you say?"

Zarius didn’t answer. He just sat there, looking at Cherion with an intensity that felt like it was trying to read his very soul. Cherion’s gaze darted around the room, desperate for a distraction, until it landed on their hands.

His brain finally caught up to his body.

Wait. Why are we still doing this?

His fingers were still laced with Zarius’s, resting together on the fur blanket like this was completely normal behavior. How long has it been? Have we been holding hands this entire time?

He awkwardly cleared his throat, lifting their joined hands slightly, his free hand hovering nearby like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. "Uh... Your Grace? My hand? You’re still... we’re still..."

Zarius looked at their raised hands like they were a mildly interesting problem he might solve later. He didn’t pull away.

"I assumed you didn’t mind," Zarius said calmly, his voice steady as a rock. "After all, if you truly disliked it, you would have pulled away when we entered the tent. You didn’t."

Cherion began to spiral internally, his thoughts spinning like a top. He’s right. I didn’t pull away. Why didn’t I pull away? Because his hand is warm?

"Wait, I..." Cherion started.

"Your Grace!"

The sudden noise outside cut straight through the moment. The tent flap was yanked open so abruptly it made Cherion flinch. His hands flew away from Zarius as if he’d been scorched by a live wire, his fingers tingling with the abrupt loss of that feverish heat.

"Your Grace, my apologies... The knight’s voice died in his throat.

Cherion immediately snapped his head forward, staring with agonizing intensity at the far wall of the tent. He tried to look "natural," but instead, he looked like a man who had just been caught committing high treason.

The knight just stood there, blinking between the Duke and the healer, clearly unsure whether to speak or slowly back away. Silence filled the space like it had nowhere else to go.

"My apologies," the knight stammered, his eyes widening as the realization of his timing sunk in. "I... I didn’t realize... my deepest apologies, Your Grace."

Zarius stayed perfectly still, eyes fixed on the knight. The knight could practically feel the cold stare drilling into his soul.

"Leave," Zarius instructed quietly, like a storm barely contained. "I will be outside shortly."

The knight nodded frantically, a look of pure terror crossing his features. "Yes, Your Grace. At once. Forgive me." He retreated so quickly he nearly tripped over the tent flap, vanishing into the night.

Zarius let out a slow, heavy sigh. He pushed himself up, the blankets shifting under his weight, looking less annoyed than like someone who’d just realized responsibilities don’t take a day off.

He hovered over the bed like a confused cat, then, with surprising softness, swatted Cherion’s hair into a more chaotic state than nature intended.

"Don’t overthink it, little Omega," Zarius said, his voice returning to that low, protective hum. "Get some rest. We’ll finish this later."

And then he was gone, the tent flap fluttering shut behind him.

Cherion sat there, hair a mess and thoughts scattered, heart hammering like it was auditioning for a drumline. He touched the spot where Zarius had been and realized... he had no idea what to think.

"What..." he whispered to the empty room. "What the hell was that?"