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Chapter Text

The sea was cooler at this hour, and the waves were unforgiving as he sliced through them with powerful strokes. The water churned around him, frothing against his skin as if trying to drag him into the deeper ocean to drown. He had swum from the coastal side near the palace to a more secluded, cliff-lined inlet.

Dionysus floating lazily in the ether above, or perhaps only in his head,flicked his wrist with an amused sigh, half-heartedly helping him part the more insistent ripples. “Easy now, uncle,” the god chuckled, watching him fight the tide with gleeful indifference. “Let the boy have his theatre.”

If he could, he would’ve rolled his eyes. Water was Poseidon’s domain, yes, but he doubted the god would care about the sea around such a small island.
Finally, his foot touched the shallow seafloor, and he emerged.

And there—he saw the person he’d been searching for. If he hadn’t known better, he might have mistaken the boy for a siren, or perhaps a hidden nymph, luring the unwary to their end.

The boy was perched on a sun-warmed rock, tunic clinging damply to his slender frame. Sleek, deep black hair curled at his neck, still wet with seawater. For a heartbeat, he froze—emerald eyes wide, red lips parted in shock.

“Master Luo?”

Luo Binghe said nothing at first, merely pitched forward with what strength he had left, staggering as he reached the sand. Water streamed down his body, muscles aching, overtaken by a sudden, feverish pain. His lower tunic clung to his hips, wet and riding low, and beneath it—

The boy’s gaze flickered down, then away, colour rising to his cheeks.

“Agh… I—” Luo Binghe let out a strained groan. “Pardon me, my prince, I didn’t realise… the signs came so fast—” he managed at last.

“Signs?” the boy scrambled up, reaching instinctively to steady him.

Luo Binghe felt the slight flinch—those small, slender hands recoiling the moment they touched his feverish skin. A faint smile tugged at his lips, barely noticeable, as he drew in a slow breath through his pheromone. The effect was immediate.

“Are you—are you in rut?” Those pretty emerald eyes shot up to meet his, trembling slightly with concern. Perhaps… fear.

Got you.

“Oh dear,” Dionysus said with mirth. “See? If the boy is truly what his mother says, he isn’t even supposed to sense it.”

Luo Binghe ignored the god’s rambling entirely. He collapsed to his knees, panting, sweat now mingling with seawater and sand.

“Forgive me… I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought I had more time—” He clutched his stomach, face twisting with strain, then looked away in shame. “It burns. Gods, it burns.”

The boy—the prince—hovered nearby, stunned, uncertain what to do. He looked down at the alpha before him. That sculpted, agonised body... and the way his lower tunic stretched taut over something so—

His face flushed a vivid red.

“I—I’ll call someone. The palace—”

“No.” Luo Binghe reached out, gripping his wrist. “Don’t… please. They’ll say I’ve failed. That I’m weak. Alphas aren’t meant to suffer this alone. They’ll say I’m defective, that I can’t even claim a rut properly. I should’ve been with an omega—any omega—”

The prince stilled.

“I’m not… I don’t…” he faltered. “You could’ve—if you needed someone, there are people in the palace—”

Luo Binghe let out a low, bitter laugh. “A mate is meant to be one. Once in a lifetime.” He looked up, crimson eyes meeting a pair of wide, glassy emeralds. His voice cracked with anguish.

“How could I waste this on strangers, when I need to become a man worthy of your mother?”

The prince flinched as if struck. His jaw tightened. “She doesn’t need—”

“I know,” Luo Binghe cut in gently, eyes lowering. “She doesn’t. But I do.”

Silence fell between them, thin as thread and just as fragile. 

Luo Binghe suddenly coughed, his body wracked with tremors. He crouched in reflex as a fresh wave of pain stabbed through his groin. And in that moment—blinded by heat, scent, and shame—he snapped. Without meaning to, he shoved the prince beneath him.

The mistake hit instantly.

His expression crumpled with guilt, and he staggered back as though the air itself scorched him. “N-no,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Forgive me—your highness, I—I didn’t mean to—I’m but an animal in instinct. It’s my rut, it... I’ve been holding back—gods— years…”

The prince lay dazed, his face flushed crimson with shock and confusion.

Luo Binghe dropped to the sand, panting. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his scent thickening, darker now, impossibly heavy.

“My prince—”

The boy blinked and realised how close they were. Horror flared in his eyes. One hand moved instinctively to fix his dishevelled, damp clothes.

But Luo Binghe didn’t look away. He was a full glass at its edge, trembling before the spill.

“I’ve wanted you. I’ve longed for you—since the first time I saw you. But my father… he wants the throne. And I… I couldn’t say no.” He laughed bitterly, shaking. “I had to come here. Had to court your mother. Had to pretend—”

His voice broke. Then he lurched upright, as if to flee. A final act of desperation.

It was a gamble.

One he won.

A pale hand shot out and caught his wrist. The grip wasn’t strong. But Luo Binghe stopped as if bound.

The prince looked up at him—expression unreadable, body still. But his eyes… Beneath the confusion. Beneath the anger. Beneath hesitation and the red flush of disbelief…

There it was: A flicker.

A burn.

Unmistakable desire.

“I…” The prince’s lips parted, then shut again—for a long, agonising moment. Then, at last, he whispered, “You’ll leave my mother alone?”

Luo Binghe sank to his knees once more, chest heaving, face twisted with desperation. “Please,” he whispered. “Let me go, my prince. You torment me.”

The prince trembled. He lowered his gaze—then, slowly, raised it again. Words caught at the edge of his tongue before finally slipping free. “You can have me,” he said, barely audible. “If you’re willing to leave my mother alone… and drive the other suitors away.”

Luo Binghe was in a daze. His mind scrambled, a high-pitched ringing buzzing in his ears—perhaps the sound of the god’s unrestrained cackling. But one thing was certain: his dam broke.

He lunged.

The prince gasped as Luo Binghe pushed him down, his smaller body pressing into the wet sand with a soft thud. Sea foam curled around their ankles.

The alpha hovered over him, body trembling, eyes wild with something feral and raw. “Don’t tempt a wolf, little one,” he growled, voice low and shaking. “My prince, your highness, please… don’t say something you don’t mean.”

He pressed his face into the boy’s neck, where the skin was soft and damp, where the flutter of his pulse betrayed him. Not even a god’s hand could shield him now that the delicate, honeyed scent slowly slipped out.

Luo Binghe’s breath came hot.

“I don’t care if you’re a beta,” he whispered, breath ghosting over the tender curve of the nape. “I want you. I desire you, only.”

The prince let out a sound—not quite a cry, not quite a word. A moan, thin as sea mist. Broken. Surprised. It escaped his throat before he could stop it. Shameful, melodic, drawn from somewhere he didn’t yet understand. His fingers curled into the sand.

Luo Binghe shuddered. Everything about the boy beneath him was intoxicating.

Above them, Dionysus laughed so loudly the olive trees shivered on the cliffs. “Oh, my beloved mortal,” the god cooed, giddy with delight. “You’re going to ruin him so beautifully.”

When Yue Qingyuan left Ithaca for war, Shen Jiu had just given birth to their son. A week, perhaps less. Shen Yuan had barely opened his eyes when his father pressed a chaste kiss to his downy brow and whispered promises of glory, of a time when they would soon be reunited and spend their lives together in peace.

“I’ll be back before our boy walks,” he had said once, embracing the baby and his husband tightly.

But now, it all sounded like a long, distant past. Nine years ago, the praise of his triumph were sung throughout Greece, yet it was the last mention of him. The island moved on, beginning to forget his name. The years dragged on. And the sea, in all its uncertainty, never returned him.

Shen Jiu stood alone beneath the weight of the crown, tall and proud. He bore all the responsibilities like a second skin. Though secretly, it gnawed at him, slowly rotting his hope for the future. Suitors began to come, swarming with their promises of riches and glory, each eager to take up the mantle of king. But he was unyielding.

And his greatest heartache, his boy. Shen Yuan, his beautiful, precious son. He grew in the quiet corners of the palace, cloaked in secrecy from a world too callous for what he truly was.

It was during his fifth summer that the palace physician called Shen Jiu aside. No vague riddles, no hopeful falsehoods. The child was an omega.

The queen, who had long since frozen his feelings for anyone but the last bundle of joy in his life, felt the air leave his lungs like he’d just been struck.

It was hard enough for Shen Jiu to live as an omega. The only thing tethering him to his position was the mating mark the old king had left on him. It was still blazing like the first night he’d pressed it to his nape. A silent promise that Yue Qingyuan was alive somewhere. Uncertain, but real.

Shen Jiu had long known this might be a possibility. Shen Yuan was small for his age, too delicate. His long lashes curled, casting shadows over a pair of emerald eyes. They were so like Shen Jiu’s, but the soft shape was unmistakably Yue Qingyuan’s, adding to his impossibly lovely features. His voice was melodic, and there was something about him that unsettled the sharp-eyed elders who came to offer advice.

If the king were here…

Back then, after their passionate nights on their marriage bed, Shen Jiu had asked absentmindedly, “What if… our firstborn isn’t an alpha or beta? What if they’re an omega?”

Noble—much less royal—families would very much want an alpha to inherit the throne. If not an alpha, then at the very least, a beta. Not an omega. Never an omega. They were meant to be married off, a blessing only if the heir had already been secured. They were still young, and the future had seemed boundless, but Shen Jiu couldn’t help but worry.

Yue Qingyuan had only laughed, embracing Shen Jiu with his warmth and kissing his temple. “Oh dear, you mean having a child as charming as you? I’ll need to triple the palace guard.”

Shen Jiu had just rolled his eyes, but there was no malice there. He slapped his husband’s bare chest lightly and muttered, “Be serious…” —adding a little pout at the end just to tease.

“Don’t worry so much. If the gods allow, any child is a blessing,” Yue Qingyuan had murmured, snuggling deeper into Shen Jiu’s nape. “An alpha or beta would grow into a warrior, just like me, with your blood. An omega? I’ll train them to rule, if needed.” 

He’d said it with such conviction that Shen Jiu couldn’t help but believe him. He had even ignored the latter remark. “—but if possible, I want to spoil them until they are fat with figs and too lazy to leave our lap.”

It hurt to reminisce about their past.

Shen Jiu could endure all the pain, all the hardship, if it were his alone. Five years into the war, and still no news of its conclusion is in sight anytime soon. The journey was long and arduous; even a single letter was a luxury. He could only pray for his husband’s safety, day and night, to Athena. 

Meanwhile, here, people had begun whispering about the vacant throne, about an omega sitting as regent and a weak heir. Doubt festered behind polite smiles, respectful gestures. But behind, they were watching, waiting for any lapse in the queen’s actions to strike.

And knowing his son, delicate, vulnerable young omega, was prey in a palace full of wolves?

No. He would not offer him up to their appetite.

That very night, he crushed herbs until his hands bled, pouring bitter oils into the dark concoction. A potion to seal Shen Yuan’s sweet, honeyed scent, to hold back the bloom of heat, to keep him veiled. He fed it to him with shaking hands, wrapped his delicate body in a thick blanket as if to shield him from the world.

Shen Jiu also trained him as he had once been trained. No matter how fragile Shen Yuan was, Spartan blood still flowed through his veins.

During the day, Shen Jiu was a strict instructor. He struck when Shen Yuan stumbled, praised when he endured. The boy didn’t complain. Not once. But his strength never bloomed the way Shen Jiu’s had. Not even Artemis, no matter how desperately he prayed, would grant his son the gift of strength nor fierceness. The goddess had answered his plea only once: to grant the boy her favour of protection. It was more than Shen Jiu could’ve ever asked, but still failed to settle his heart.

During the night, the mother would console the boy, tend to every bruise and cut, while he himself held back tears of guilt. Then he would pull the child close against his chest and whisper tales of his father’s glory—stories from when they were young, of a soft-bloomed romance, short as it was. Shen Yuan’s large, shining eyes would look awestruck, as if whatever Shen Jiu said was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Shen Jiu would run his fingers through that long, silky hair until the trembling stopped, lulling the boy into comfort—into a dreamless night, where he could rest without danger lurking behind every movement.

But in the morning, training began anew.

Shen Jiu pressed forward. He had no choice. His tears slowly dried out. The world did not spare the weak, and a throne was no place for a son who needed coddling. So he drilled him hard. Sometimes too hard. He demanded perfection. For every misstep, there was correction. For every stumble, consequence.

Besides that, the potion worked well. It dulled Shen Yuan’s scent, sealed away even the faintest trail of honeyed pheromone that would’ve had the court sniffing like hounds.

But it had a cost.

Shen Yuan grew even weaker. He had already been struggling to keep up with his mother’s relentless training, and now—he coughed easily, trembled, and staggered at the slightest gust of wind. But still, he never complained. He only spoke in wonder to his nursemaid, who tended to him after a particularly gruelling session. “Today I stumbled, but I managed to remember Mother’s difficult footsteps! I think I can counter it—still in my head, though.”

Oh, sweet, sweet Shen Yuan. He chirped as if he hadn’t just suffered a nosebleed and nearly fainted. He continued on, talking about his dreams of his father—how he must be a great man. How, when he came back, they’d walk, maybe run, barefoot along the olive groves and the coast. How his mother would breathe less tensely then.

Shen Jiu pressed himself to the wall, biting his lip bloody, holding back his tears with every ounce of strength he had.

The maid only nodded, hummed softly, and dabbed the cloth gently against Shen Yuan’s skin.

The queen wanted to protect the boy with all his might. It had been two years since the war ended and the king’s disappearance. The court was growing restless, and he knew better than to keep Shen Yuan unaware of his own situation. So, in his twelfth summer, Shen Jiu finally told him.

“You’re an omega,” he said, as they stood on the balcony overlooking the black sea. He locked eyes with his son. “But no one must know. Ever.”

Shen Yuan blinked slowly, then nodded. No questions. Perhaps this was the answer he’d been searching for—something to explain his mother’s behaviour. The queen’s word had always been law, and he had learned long ago that obedience meant survival… even if it chipped away at him.

Nothing changed after the revelation. Only now, Shen Yuan had the resolve to stay quiet. To remain unassuming. His longer stride allowed him to explore more of the palace—until, one day, he stumbled upon a narrow path leading to a hidden rock formation no one else ever visited.

Shen Yuan fell in love instantly.

The sea and nature were loud here, drowning out any sound his little heart dared to shout.
Whenever his mother wasn’t paying attention, or it was his rest hour, Shen Yuan would sneak out and bask under the sunlight. Sometimes, when the burden grew heavy—moonlight.

He imagined speaking to his father across the ocean, wherever he might be. He would shout, cry, laugh—and every splash, every crashing wave, he took as a reply.

It was perfect.

Unfortunately, the peaceful life soon ended. As he grew, so did his repressed omega nature. The queen had slowly added more doses of the vile potion, one he drank religiously every night.

It began as stiffness in his back. Shen Yuan ignored it. Pain was familiar, expected. Training left bruises, and his mother never accepted excuses. But the ache spread, persistent, wrapping around his ribs, then to his lungs. He found it harder to breathe, his limbs slow to respond. His throat burned. His joints flared with unnatural heat, tight and swollen.

Shen Jiu watched him warily but said nothing. He was seventeen now, no longer a child, and old enough to endure. But when he staggered during sparring, he called for a break. Shen Yuan refused.

“Again,” he panted, sweat clinging to his temples. “I’m fine, Mother.”

“You’re not,” he said flatly, lowering his spear. “Look at your hands.”

They were shaking.
He clenched them.

But it was too late. A moment later, his knees buckled. Blood sprayed from his lips, thick and sudden. Then his nose. The javelin slipped from his grasp as he doubled over, gasping. The courtyard echoed with shouting—guards, servants, someone calling for water—but by the time his mother reached him, Shen Yuan had already collapsed in her arms.

Panic spread through the palace like fire.

Shen Jiu carried him himself, cradled tight against his chest. His boy was still small, but tall enough now. His legs dangled, feet dragging limp across the flagstones—but he did not care. The maids tried to take him. He snarled and pulled him closer.

“No one,” he hissed. “Not a soul enters his room.”

And no one did.

He locked the doors himself, barred the windows. Healers came, and he interrogated each one as if they were spies. But none could explain it. The boy’s pulse was weak, his skin clammy, breath shallow. Some suggested removing the suppressant entirely. One dared to imply he might not survive either way. That one never made it back down the stairs.

Shen Jiu stayed beside him for days, his eyes hollowed by worry. He poured sacred oil, burned incense until the room was thick with smoke. He prayed with all his torn heart, ready to offer his life away if it meant saving his beloved.

“Dear God, my protector, Ares,” he whispered, kneeling by the bedside. “You gave me strength when I needed it. Give him peace, give him breath. Please, please…”

But Ares was not the god for this. He did not mend what was broken. The other came instead.

The window opened one night with no sound. A breeze stirred the torches without flame. Shen Jiu felt it before he saw him. A flicker of movement, a breath of laughter.

“I came because you begged so beautifully,” Hermes said in a sing-song tone. “But also because the boy is kin. Blood calls.”

Shen Jiu dropped to his knees, tears smudged across his cheeks. “Help him.”

Hermes crouched beside the boy’s bed. His smile faded. “He was meant to bloom by now. But you stopped him.”

“I had to,” he said hoarsely. “They would have taken him.”

“And in doing so, you nearly killed him.” Hermes brushed his fingers across the boy’s forehead. “Still, your desperation moved me. So I’ll grant him something rare.”

“What?”

“Old tale. Protection,” he said simply. “He will not suffer again. Not unless he chooses it.”

Shen Jiu stared at him.

Hermes laughed softly. “His body will not enter heat unless he breaks his own chastity. Until then, he remains untouched. Even by time.”

And just like that, he vanished.

Shen Yuan awoke days later, his body still weak, his vision blurred. He tried to sit up, but Shen Jiu pressed him down in a crushing embrace, heavy with relief.

He didn’t speak for days. When he did, it was in a cracked murmur. “Did I die?”

“No.” His hands trembled as he poured him broth. “You survived, my sweet boy. You always do.”

It took weeks before Shen Yuan could stand without support. His training was halted. The whole palace knew he was gravely ill, too weak to even be seen.

The suitors grew bold. They spoke in corners but let their words echo through the halls.

“A sickly boy? That’s no heir.”

“He must remarry.”

“He’s just delaying the inevitable.”

Shen Jiu endured it all, still, cold, and unrelenting. At dusk, he would sit on the balcony, eyes never leaving the western horizon. All while Shen Yuan, too, heard the talk from behind the walls.

It didn’t help that Shen Yuan couldn’t celebrate his eighteenth birthday, one that was supposed to be a hallmark of his transition to adulthood. Or that was what people believed, since he feigned his identity. His mother didn’t talk about it, neither did he.

But when his nineteenth came, he forced himself to rise.

He had barely gained back the strength he lost, and his movements were careful. The garments chosen for him were ceremonial, heavy, and his hand trembled as he tied the belt. He let no one dress him, too aware of his changing body.

The gathering was small, a mere formality since no one wished his demise more than the alphas attending it. The others who didn’t either pitied him, or moved too close to whisper about their omega children, soft and pliant to be the next queen. It sent a shiver down his spine. To them, he was nothing but a pawn.

Still, he smiled when he was meant to, his mother’s hand firm on his shoulder, the only source of warmth in this cold and ruthless game of politics.

He glanced at the queen beside him. Tall, steady, radiant in his armour-stitched robe. Not demure in the way Ithacan omega were taught to be, but untouchable, honed like bronze. A queen who had never bowed, not once, not even when surrounded by hounds. Oh, how he wished he inherited at least a shard of that iron. A fragment of that blood-soaked Spartan pride.

And his father, the great Yue Qingyuan, who sailed to the war and won, though his fate was left unknown. What would he have thought of this sickly, useless boy too weak to wield a sword? What would he have said if he saw his son flinch when the crowd applauded? From a mere growl of a stray alpha trying to assert his dominance?

That night, Shen Yuan cried quietly in the bath. He pressed his face to his knees, the water gone lukewarm around him. 

“I’m sorry I’m not enough,” he breathed after submerging his head under water, nails digging into his thighs. “I’m sorry I’m not the son you needed…”

He didn’t call for anyone. He never did.

The following day, he went to his mother’s chamber to give his morning greeting. But the maid told him she had already gone to the throne room. How unusual. Shen Jiu was never one to leave his room before making sure Shen Yuan had woken up, one way or another.

Something pricked at the back of his neck as he made his way there. He reached the door to the throne room, about to push it open but it suddenly opened from the inside. And someone stepped out.

Shen Yuan stilled immediately. His shoulders drew back, posture snapping upright. His gaze sharpened, guarded. The man before him was tall. Broad. Unmistakably an alpha. And not just any alpha—the greatest threat to his mother.

Luo Binghe. 

He was ambitious, striking, and dangerous. So handsome that Shen Yuan had overheard several maids fangirling over him, whispering about ways to enter his bed. He hadn’t lingered to hear how it ended—too disgusted. Scared too, perhaps, because even he couldn't help but admit that, objectively, it was true. 

What truly set him apart from the rest, however, was the name behind him. He was the son of Tianlang-Jun, a powerful noble from the capital. Rich—rich enough to rival the royal family—and extremely well-connected. If his family wished to, they could raise the concern about the vacuum of power and take the throne for themselves. None would question thier lineage and claim. 

Whispers claimed Luo Binghe bore a blessing from a god, though no one knew the exact details. He was private. Mysterious. 

Shen Yuan forced himself to hold his head high under the weight of those eerie crimson eyes. He would not let himself look weak, especially in these increasingly tumultuous times.

“My prince,” the man bowed with perfect, respectful grace.

Shen Yuan barely nodded before brushing past him, entering the room without much acknowledgement.

Still bowed, Luo Binghe curled his lips into a knowing smile.

Chapter Text

Luo Binghe was born with a diamond spoon in his hand. Even as a toddler who had yet to form full sentences, he understood what that meant. From the time he first toddled through polished marble halls, he was given the best. Tutors who bowed to him, slaves who cleaned after his steps, and every fruit the mortal realm could offer, he had tasted them all by the age of five.

His father, Tianlang-Jun, was an extremely important figure. An omega, yes, but one who held far more power than most alpha in Ithaca could ever dream of. The mere mention of his name was enough to quiet a room, to smooth over any diplomatic meeting in their favour.

By the time he was fifteen, he had tasted every food one could indulge in, had every toy he ever desired, whatever his heart wanted.

It made everything feel dull.

Things came too easily. Every want fulfilled, every rival crushed by a sweet word from his father or a single glance from himself. He began to stop asking. What was the point of wanting anything if it only took a whisper to have it?

He spent his days lazing around. Today was just as dull as the rest. It was a long, sweltering afternoon, and Luo Binghe lay sprawled on a chaise made of imported wood with goose feathers from the farther east. His legs draped over the side, fingers absentmindedly plucking a lyre his mother had brought back from her journey.

The melody didn’t sound like any song. If anything, it sounded so unpleasant that he stopped. It was not the lyre’s fault, though, he would admit that. Yet, strangely, the lyre continued, now with a more structured tune. Then came a faint, featherlight laugh. Luo Binghe sat upright, alarmed by the strange things happening around him.

The voice didn’t come from the room, nor the courtyard. It was as if it came from inside his head.

Then, suddenly, a boy appeared. He seemed to be around his age, maybe a little older, with tousled curls gleaming and a garland made of vines and small, bulbing grapes. He looked otherworldly, with a smile too sharp and mischievous at the same time.

“Ah,” the boy said, as if sighing with satisfaction. “I found the bored one.”

Luo Binghe arched a brow, unimpressed. “You’re interrupting me.”

“Are you doing anything worth not interrupting?”

The boy stepped closer, idly plucking a fig from the silver dish beside him and popping it into his mouth without permission. He moved like someone who had never been punished in his life.

“Who are you?” Luo Binghe asked, not rising.

“Dionysus,” the boy replied cheerfully. “God of wine, madness, pleasure… and now, apparently, salvation from your very tedious life.”

Luo Binghe blinked slowly. “You’re a child.”

“You’ve barely come out of your cot,” Dionysus shot back. “But you’ve already lost interest in everything. That’s tragic.”

He said nothing.

The god sighed, stretched his legs, and chimed, “That won’t do. What about a game?” He floated into the air and circled Luo Binghe.

“I’m listening,” Luo Binghe said at last, mildly intrigued.

Dionysus grinned wider. “You’re bored because everything came on a silver platter. But what about something you truly wish for? Desire?”

Luo Binghe rolled his eyes and flopped back onto the couch, boredom creeping in once more. “That again. I’ve had everything I want—and will have.”

“Oh, what an arrogant duckling.” Dionysus flew around like an aimless bird, laughing maniacally. His eyes gleamed deep purple. “Then this little game won’t be a hurdle, right? You’ll entertain yourself—and me. I too am in desperate need of entertainment.”

Before Luo Binghe could answer, he continued, “When you find something—someone—who finally stirs your blood… It won’t come easily. But when you do have it,” the god licked his lips, soaked with fig’s nectar, “it will be sweeter than ambrosia.”

Luo Binghe narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to make me suffer?”

“Oh, only until you win,” Dionysus said, brushing hair from the boy’s forehead. “And if you don’t?” He shrugged, sipping his wine from a goblet coming out of nowhere. “Then perhaps you were never worthy to begin with.”

Luo Binghe pulled back, shrugging. “Whatever.” He curled on the couch so his back was turned to the god.

Dionysus didn’t take offence at all. He laughed gleefully and whispered, “Good luck, mortal,” then vanished.

Luo Binghe drifted into a nap and didn’t think about it again for a long time. His life continued in all its mundaneness.

Until one fateful day, as he finished his sparring session on the grounds with a predictably easy win, he overheard his parents talking.

“I heard from a Pylos merchant. Their king’s fleet arrived about a month ago. The Greeks won the war, and Helen is back with King Menelaus,” Su Xiyan said, seated in her usual chair, taking in the neatly arranged honeyed figs and cheese her husband had served.

Tianlang-Jun, already lounging lazily beside her, raised an eyebrow. His lips quirked in amusement as he reached for his goblet. “The queen is back? No repercussions?”

She shook her head and replied, “They haven’t reached Sparta yet. People say they’re trapped in Egypt, unfavourable winds.”

“Oh,” Tianlang-Jun muttered nonchalantly, straightening his posture and taking a plate, neatly stacking some roast onto it.

“Bing-er! Just perfect timing,” he greeted, all too sweetly with a tone he used in court to make Alphas kneel without a fight, or when he was plotting something that would, without fail, give his wife and son a splitting headache. No in-between.

Luo Binghe only smiled in return, nodding to acknowledge both his parents before sitting across from them at the round dining table. Tianlang-Jun— the Tianlang-Jun—stood and arranged food for his son like a dutiful omega housewife.

As if Goddess Hestia herself had graced this home.

That and the smile made everything just a little scarier.

“Father, you’re in a good mood today?” Luo Binghe finally addressed the oddity.

On a good day, Tianlang-Jun was the picture-perfect highborn omega. Terrifyingly savvy with his words, graceful, and highly educated. He never did any household chores, instead spending his time handling diplomacy, writing poetry, painting, arranging flowers, or fussing over his wife and son’s bland taste in clothing (in Luo Binghe’s defence, Alphas were supposed to wear practical outfits—they should always be ready for action!)

But to serve others food? That was unheard of. Sometimes he acted out just to be spoon-fed by his wife. Luo Binghe would even go so far as to say that his father was far too carefree, and Su Xiyan’s tendency to enable his antics certainly didn’t help matters.

Yes, his antics. Idle Tianlang-Jun was a threat to society.

He once turned the manor upside down when he ran away from home.

No sign. No notice.

Su Xiyan went on a rampage. She swore he’d still been in bed when she left the room that morning. Meanwhile, six-year-old Luo Binghe was scarred for life after overhearing the maids whisper that he might have been kidnapped—and what savage people might do to an omega wandering alone without guards. 

After half a day of relentless searching, deploying their elite personal guards, they finally found Tianlang-Jun.

At the city market.

As a merchant. Selling sweet candied olives.

Luo Binghe swore he could see steam coming out of his mother’s ears as his father sheepishly wrapped his arm around hers, as if he hadn’t just triggered a near nation-wide search mission.

“Oh dear! I was so bored back home,” Tianlang-Jun had explained in that too-soft, coaxing tone of his. “I overheard one of the northern noble’s daughters had run away with a merchant here. You can't blame me for wanting to hear the story from the source…”

Honestly, he couldn’t understand how or why his parents ended up together. They were like two distinct forces at extreme ends of a spectrum.

Luo Binghe had never actually met his mother’s side of the family, but he’d heard that Su Xiyan was the adopted daughter of a noble, who left her house to marry his father. A bit unconventional, considering it was typical for an omega to join their mate’s family—not the other way around.

Personality-wise, Su Xiyan was complicated. When he was a child, Luo Binghe saw nothing but the gentle and considerate mother she was. But once he was older and began training as an alpha and the family heir, he learned that his mother was also capable of being cold and ruthless.

As a mentor, she demanded nothing short of perfection. Training was the only time Luo Binghe didn’t feel like a spoiled noble heir. No matter how well he performed, his mother would always find a way to increase the technical difficulty of her sword techniques tenfold. Sometimes, it was so absurd that other teachers couldn’t keep up with Luo Binghe anymore—let alone his peers.

And unlike his friends, whose omega parents would weep at the slightest bruise on their skin, Tianlang-Jun would whistle and cheer her on while she was borderline beating up their son.

Speaking of his father—Tianlang-Jun was the complete opposite. To the world, he was a graceful yet intimidating figure. Born into the infamous Luo family, not to be married off but groomed to become the next head, since he had no Alpha siblings. And he did a terrifyingly good job of it (despite frequently complaining that he wanted nothing more than to live in leisure and be a pampered housewife). Under his leadership, the family’s influence spread far east and south. It was even rumoured they had become one of the richest families in Greece since he took control.

But only family members and those closest to him knew the truth: Tianlang-Jun was a total menace. One that could rival Hermes himself, perhaps.

In the afternoons, once the persona of strategic family leader wore off, he would act like a child even younger than Luo Binghe. Mingling with maids for the latest town scandals, commissioning poets and bards for tasteless romance stories, or visiting the temple of Hera (because he loved listening to people spit curses at their partners and pray for divine retribution).

He had personally sponsored at least five runaway couples, young lovers fleeing from their rich, demanding families in search of a passionate ever-after. His mother was always the one left to deal with the nobles’ fury, while Tianlang-Jun would simply smile demurely behind her and say,

“Why bother forcing them? People like that only care for themselves, not the family. Believe me, if you truly want your clan to last generations, better to nip it in the bud.”

At that time, Luo Binghe was not sure whether his father genuinely wanted to help those couples or was just using them for his own entertainment. But as he learned more, he realised: Tianlang-Jun was actually being diplomatic, giving a win to both parties by his seemingly cold remark. 

From then on, Luo Binghe learned a lot about the art of political play. Tianlang-Jun once murmured to him, as he lulled him to sleep, that the highest form of command was not to raise one’s voice—that was merely another kind of begging. True authority, he said so softly, was in yielding it: shaping the world with a gentle hand, bending others so subtly that they believed the choice had been their own all along.

He was terrifying.

She was too.

And in some twisted way, they were perfect.

His father was never shy about showing affection, almost shamelessly so. His mother, by contrast, was more reserved. Yet from the way she looked at him, even Luo Binghe couldn’t deny that if his father were a god, she’d be his most devoted worshipper. Or perhaps a demon’s accomplice. Who could say? It was as if they were destined to both torment and tame each other.

When he wasn’t bothering others, Tianlang-Jun would turn his full attention to Luo Binghe with an overwhelming flood of affection. Lavish gifts, unsolicited wardrobe overhauls, sudden room renovations that left nothing where it used to be.

Sometimes it was simply too much. Luo Binghe found himself hoping his father would get distracted by anything, anyone. 

One day, one of his friends was complaining about his own mother’s latest neglect.

“She’s completely obsessed with my new baby sister! She didn’t even help me pick out a new robe this morning—I had to wear something a slave picked out!” he whined, yanking at his tunic like it had personally offended him.

A few others muttered their agreement. Younger siblings, they said, always stole parents away.

And that was when inspiration struck.

A brilliant idea.

“Mom!” Luo Binghe had run to her like he’d discovered the solution to every worldly peril. “I want a sibling!”

It was perfect. A new child would keep his father busy and distracted enough to stop hunting down new tragic romances like he was possessed by Aphrodite herself.

Or so he thought.

Su Xiyan nearly dropped her spear. Tianlang-Jun, lounging off to the side, froze mid-stitch.

His mother shot a quick, nervous glance at his father, who didn’t even look up from his embroidery. Then she knelt in front of Luo Binghe with a smile so forced, it was painful to look at.

“We... we’ve spent all our love on you, Bing-er,” she said softly, brushing his nose. “I don’t think we have any left to share.”

There was no warmth in her voice. No teasing. None of the usual pride that coloured her every word.

In fact, she sounded final. Don't ask anything more.

So he never did.

Oh, come to think of it… technically, there was one thing he couldn’t have. Not that he was desperate to have another child roaming the halls.

One Tianlang-Jun was more than enough, both his wit and his maddening childishness.

His father’s giddy laugh pulled him back to the present.

“Oh! Today, a priestess at Hestia’s temple told me I’d received an omen. A bad one.”

Luo Binghe slowly turned to his mother, who by now no longer even flinched at hearing such absurdities.

“But fear not, dear,” Tianlang-Jun announced cheerfully, spinning once before flopping down beside her again. He picked up a slice of fig and held it to her lips. “She said I could avert this tribulation if I pray to her and remain dutiful to my family.”

Sounds like a doctrine, Luo Binghe thought, deadpan, but wisely kept it to himself.

Su Xiyan bit the fig he offered without looking at him. “And did you actually pray?”

Tianlang-Jun gasped as if offended. “Of course I did! I lit incense, knelt down, and recited three verses of that terribly boring hymn.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you recite the actual hymn, or did you replace the words with one of your ridiculous love poems again?”

He placed a dramatic hand to his chest. “I may have inserted a stanza or two about your eyes outshining Apollo’s chariot.”

Su Xiyan sighed. “No wonder the omen was bad.”

Tianlang-Jun rolled his eyes, then turned his gaze to Luo Binghe with theatrical seriousness.

“You too,” he said, pointing a perfectly manicured finger. “She told me I must guide my son to goodness, especially now that you're almost an adult.”

Luo Binghe blinked, confused. His father always said things like that when he was about to make it very not about goodness.

“Your coming of age is in three years, Bing-er. Three short years,” Tianlang-Jun sighed dramatically, resting his cheek on Su Xiyan’s shoulder like a widow recounting a tragedy. “And you’ll need to start worrying about your rut soon. Isn’t that exciting?”

Luo Binghe looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but he kept slicing the roast with the grace expected of him.

“So,” Tianlang-Jun’s expression brightened at an alarming rate, his voice turning soft, “have you had anyone in mind? A daughter- or son-in-law for us?”

Luo Binghe’s eyes twitched as he answered very, very carefully, so as not to plant any funny ideas in his father’s head.

“I prefer practising rather than meeting anyone for now, Father.”

Tianlang-Jun waved his hands and sat up straight, shooting an accusatory look at his wife.

“See? You alphas are all brutes! Always training your muscles, taking omegas only when needed, then tossing us aside to run back to your beloved swords.”

Su Xiyan’s lips curled slightly, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her usually impassive face. She reached out and hooked a finger into his sleeve, pulling him back toward her as she replied, “Really, now? And here I’ve been, so disciplined, never touching any other omega nor beta. Hera herself has surely blessed me.”

Luo Binghe continued chewing his food, though his appetite had long since vanished. His eyes studiously avoided the overly affectionate scene his parents really should’ve kept behind the doors of their bedchamber.

It was normal for an alpha to spend their rut with omegas without claiming them. Most used omega slaves, taking them as concubines or freeing them once they found a mate. Because a true mate lasted forever—or at least until one of the pair died.

In the past, many alpha nobles didn’t bother marking their omegas. They liked flaunting their ability to impregnate as many as possible. That was, until King Yue Qingyuan abolished the practice.

Now, a married couple had to be bonded.

It didn’t completely stop desperate, ever-horny alphas from having affairs, but the numbers had dropped significantly.

As for his parents, Luo Binghe had never seen Su Xiyan with any other omega. She’d never even looked at anyone else with even the slightest interest besides her polite smile.

As for himself… Luo Binghe had learned, an essential part of his education, that the line between human and animal was blurred, especially for those with a second gender. Alphas and omegas were said to be superior to betas, but that status came at a cost. Once a year, they would be reduced to nothing but the instinct to copulate.

His older friends said it was absolutely painful and impossible to endure alone. Using an omega to help was normal. Expected, even. Those types were usually devotees of Zeus. The more idealistic ones insisted it was a divine test, to endure until they found their one true love. That group often sang hymns of Hades and Persephone; half were enchanted by the story, while the rest were too scared to offend the lord of the underworld by showing up with too many… scores.

Luo Binghe liked to think he belonged to the latter.

Firstly, because his parents had raised him better than to treat omegas recklessly. His father was living proof that omegas—especially the ones who hadn’t been groomed into sweet compliance—were, in fact, the scariest mortal beings alive.

Tianlang-Jun often lamented this reality as he lounged lazily in the sunroom, speaking freely to both servants and slaves who sat surrounding him like he was the queen bee. 

“Those Alphas again. I swear they think with their lower head. Melitta ties my hair back a little tighter to show just a bit of neck, and they all start drooling and nodding to everything I say. But don’t tell Xiyan—!”

His mother also bore a deep disdain for Alphas who were slaves to their instincts. Su Xiyan had once thoroughly beaten an arrogant noble after he’d tried to drag one of their omega servants into his guest chamber.

“See, Bing-er? You can live your own way, but not as filth,” she had said, delivering a final kick to the half-unconscious man’s groin before calmly leaving the courtyard to answer her husband’s call.

From his parents, whether intentionally or not, Luo Binghe had developed an internalised disgust for those kinds of Alphas.

He was better than that. Better than anyone else, and so he must act like it.

He would prove that he was above his own nature.

If his parents could do it, so could he.

“—Anyway, be aware of your own body. If it becomes unbearable, at least make sure we can compensate your rut partner properly.”

His mother’s voice cut clean through Luo Binghe’s drifting thoughts. His jaw twitched, but he gave a small nod. 

On her side, Tianlang-Jun muffled a half-hearted protest behind his wine cup. “So cold, this Alpha of ours,” he muttered. Then, raising his voice just enough to be heard clearly, he added cheerfully, “But really, if you’re interested in anyone, do tell us. Our family lacks for nothing—we’re more than ready to prepare your courting gifts!”

He clapped his hands together like he was planning a feast, eyes gleaming.

Luo Binghe sighed, “I’m not interested in anyone,” he said flatly, emphasising every vowel because apparently his earlier remark didn’t drill deep enough to his father’s skull.

Tianlang-Jun shot him a weary look, as if he were genuinely concerned for his well-being.
“Not one? My son, are you unwell? Shall I consult the temple?”

I’m fifteen! He screamed internally.

Thankfully, his mother was on his side this time.

Su Xiyan rubbed her temple. “Don’t antagonise him, Lang. He’s only fifteen—perhaps next year.”

Or not. 

Before he could fire back a retort, a sudden knock on the dining room door silenced everyone inside.

Melitta, a beta servant closest to Tianlang-Jun, stepped in once permitted. Her expression was typically neutral, composed to perfection. But this time, something grim tinged her features.

She bowed respectfully to everyone before moving to Tianlang-Jun’s side and leaning in to whisper something.

His eyes widened.

Not the usual theatrical flair he wore for storytelling or playacting. This was a genuine alarmed expression, unfiltered.

Melitta bowed once more and quickly excused herself, saying nothing else and not waiting to be dismissed.

Luo Binghe frowned. “What was that?”

Tianlang-Jun answered quietly, almost absently. “The Queen Mother.”

“She drowned herself.”

…

The news spread swiftly across the island and its allies: the Queen Mother had passed away.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Shortly after her body was found, cries of anguish erupted throughout the city. Some omegas, those mated to soldiers who had gone to Troy, screamed as their mating marks faded and vanished.

Which could only mean one thing: their mates were dead.

Not during the ten-year war. No. There had been no news. No warnings. Not even a body to mourn.

Some omegas, his mother heard the number was three, still bore their marks. But at this point, it wasn’t hope that lingered. Only dread. A ticking time bomb of uncertainty, knowing that theirs, too, could disappear at any moment.

Not to mention the rest of the soldiers’ fate, those who were betas or had not yet mated.

The public was kept in the dark. The Queen swiftly summoned the affected omegas, mates of those deployed alongside the king, and brought them into the palace, shielding them behind a gilded cage while ensuring they had the support they needed. But outside, speculation stirred.

The questions were inevitable. How was the King? Had he too... died? Was that what drove the Queen Mother to her end?

And if so… what now?

No one knows for sure. 

The kingdom remained in mourning for the next few days. Fewer carriages and people crowded the streets, the markets closed early, and black wool was tied around the olive branches.

As a noble, Tianlang-Jun was expected to attend the funeral processions. An omega must be accompanied by their mate, and so Su Xiyan joined him. As the established heir, Luo Binghe followed as well.

It would be the first time Luo Binghe entered the palace.

Though his mother supported the queen—both being omegas of significant power—Tianlang-Jun was not particularly close to Shen Jiu. He had once commended the queen for keeping the government intact, but commented that grief had consumed him, and that he rarely socialised.

Well, calling his absence a "rare public appearance" might be generous; the queen seemed never to leave the palace.

And if not for the annual celebratory feast held in the town hall on his birthday, people might not have known the prince was alive at all. His presence had become something of a legend. Those few who had seen him sang praises of his charms. Others whispered that he was a sickly child who might not live to see his own coming-of-age ceremony.

His father had once seen Shen Yuan and only sighed, “Poor kid,” no elaboration.

“Are you ready?” Su Xiyan knocked on his door.

Luo Binghe adjusted the collar of his ceremonial black tunic, woven with fine silver thread befitting his station. He usually wore little jewellery, just the necklace and bracelets his father insisted he wear daily. But today, he wore none of them.

He saw his mother dressed in nearly identical attire to his, while his father’s hair had been combed back by the servants and tied with a band of silk. Some still fussed around him, adjusting the hem of his himation.

Su Xiyan nodded approvingly at his appearance. “You look sharp.”

He gave a soft grunt. “It’s uncomfortable.”

“Ceremonial robes aren’t made for comfort,” Tianlang-Jun said airily, lifting the hem of his own chiton as he stepped outside. “They’re made to remind everyone how important you are. And how much pain you’re willing to endure to look important.”

Luo Binghe raised an eyebrow as he followed. “Is that why you always fake a limp when wearing yours?”

“I’ve never faked a limp in my life,” Tianlang-Jun gasped, scandalised. “I merely suffer with grace.”

“You threatened to faint last time we attended the New Year procession,” Su Xiyan said dryly as she helped him step into the carriage. 

“That was political theatre,” he sniffed, settling across from them. “Besides, if I hadn’t, that arrogant young alpha wouldn’t have learned basic courtesy. How dare he take a seat while an omega was standing?”

“There’s plenty of seats on the other side of the room,” Su Xiyan replied dryly.

“I know,” Tianlang-Jun said with a dazzling smile. 

Luo Binghe looked between them and exhaled slowly. “Shouldn’t we be more serious today?”

Tianlang-Jun chuckled and cleared his throat before muttering an apology. He looked to the window, where thick clouds were veiling the morning sun, casting Ithaca in a grey shroud, as if the sky too was in mourning. 

Suddenly, the retainer announced that they would enter the palace soon. Su Xiyan adjusted her tunic and turned to her son. 

“Remember, Bing-er." Be polite. Speak only when spoken to. The queen does not tolerate rudeness,” she said firmly. “And above all—do not make any comment about the prince.”

Luo Binghe blinked, mildly curious. “Why would I—”

“Just don’t, you’ll see him later.” Tianlang-Jun chimed in. He folded his arms, adding, “I do wonder what he’s been up to. The last time I visited the palace, that little boy was wielding a spear twice his size. Looked like it would fling him instead of the other way around.” He smirked faintly. “The queen was so ambitious.”

“Protective,” Su Xiyan corrected, though her tone was lighter. “You know how he is. Every breath that boy takes has probably been calculated in advance.”

Luo Binghe tilted his head. “Is he really that weak?”

Su Xiyan didn’t answer immediately. She stared out the window, eyes flickering as the palace gates came into view.

“He’s the prince,” she said finally. “With the king’s presence unknown, he’s more than just valuable.”

The carriage rolled to a smooth stop. A retainer opened the door, bowing low. Su Xiyan stepped out first, then offered her hand to Tianlang-Jun, who descended gracefully, then turned to watch Luo Binghe alight.

“Now stand tall,” Tianlang-Jun murmured under his breath. “And smile.”

Luo Binghe did as instructed, adjusting his composure with ease. The moment his simple yet well-crafted sandals touched the palace stones, eyes turned. Whispers stirred. He was Tianlang-Jun’s son, after all. Expectations clung to him like perfume.

The hallway they entered was quiet, solen and stately in mourning. Luo Binghe let his father take the lead, Su Xiyan walking at his side. He followed a half-step behind, neither too fast nor too slow. His expression composed. 

Some nobles they passed bowed respectfully, murmuring condolences. Others, more opportunistic ones, used the moment to sidle closer.

“My lord Tianlang-Jun,” one fawned, a rotund man with a bejewelled robe and teeth too polished. “Your son, how he’s grown! So tall already, and so handsome. He looks just like his father—and mother!”

Another chimed in, eyes glinting with calculation. “Indeed! My daughter, an omega, quite refined, has been asking about him since she heard he’d be attending. Perhaps one day, they may share a dance?”

“Ah, my second son is an omega as well,” a third noble offered with a practised smile. “Perfect manners, his embroidery was even hung in Apollo’s temple. Would you care to see his portrait?”

Tianlang-Jun smiled diplomatically, just enough to seem gracious. “How kind,” he said evenly. “You are all very generous. But I believe we were heading to the main hall to mourn?”

That silenced them, if only briefly.

In a shadowed alcove, a small group of delicate looking omegas wept openly, perhaps the widows of the soldiers. Their soft sobs echoed faintly through the halls, mixing with the quiet tap of sandals and murmured prayers. An elderly woman clutched her pearls and whispered something about the tragic loss.

Further along, a cluster of gossiping retainers had formed, huddled near a side corridor. They fell silent as Tianlang-Jun passed, bowing hastily and stepping aside.

Without sparing them a glance, he continued forward, leading his family through the wide corridor that opened into the main hall. The scent of incense grew stronger. The air turned heavier.

The hall was draped in layers of dark silk. At its centre lay the royal prothesis, where the final rites were underway. People chanting dirges, their low voices echoing against the walls, while palace guards stood in formation. Even more mourners sobbed, and tensions were visible amongst the elders. 

The late Queen Mother lay within a dark bier, beneath a canopy of black drapery. Two obols were placed on her eyes, though her face was covered by a black veil, perhaps to save mourners from the grim reality of her death. Her hands, folded upon her chest, were wrinkled and bluish, pale as ivory. She must’ve suffered terribly before she surrendered herself to the waves.

Luo Binghe stared, carefully maintaining his neutral expression. From what his father had heard, the Queen Mother had always spent most of her days on the coast, looking longingly towards the west, awaiting her son.

He didn’t quite understand. It had been ten years, and her son’s fate was still uncertain, yes, but couldn’t she have remained strong for her grandson’s sake?

Still… he wasn’t one to question grief. Gods alone knew what ghosts she had carried to the shore.

They bowed deeply. Then Tianlang-Jun took a box from an attendant who had been silently following them. Inside were small jars of oil, honey, and cakes. Su Xiyan brought flowers and carefully placed them around the bier. Together, they bowed deeply and offered a respectful prayer before retreating, their ceremonial duty complete. 

But just as they made their way back down the aisle, Tianlang-Jun suddenly slowed and shifted his posture. He offered a formal greeting, bowing lower than Luo Binghe had ever seen from him.

“Your Majesty.”

That must be the Queen.

Luo Binghe instinctively bowed as well, but once finished, his gaze rose, curious despite himself.

And he froze.

His ear rang, muffling everything else around him as his attention focused on that singular figure.

The man standing near an elder was dressed in an unadorned black chiton and a mourning veil. But it didn’t take away from his mysterious beauty. If anything, the shadow accentuated his sharp, piercing emerald eyes that looked like they could see through flesh, scrutinising one’s soul. It sent a strange rush through Luo Binghe.

And despite the lines of sadness in his expression, he was dangerously poised, holding himself like a ruler who knew his command would become law. He wasn’t as tall as Tianlang-Jun, who stood out even among betas, but his sheer presence more than made up for it.

Luo Binghe couldn’t look away from him until his father’s voice tugged him back to the mortal realm, introducing him as his son. The Queen, Shen Jiu, nodded in acknowledgement before shifting slightly to the side, gently shushing someone.

Oh, even the Queen’s voice sounded so authoritative yet silky smooth, so gentle. Luo Binghe might have drowned in it if he hadn’t remembered that it was literally the same tone his father used when speaking to diplomats.

Suddenly, a boy entered his line of sight, one who had been hiding behind the Queen the whole time.

Upon seeing him, Luo Binghe felt he would follow the Queen Mother to the underworld if he didn’t actively remind himself to breathe.

That boy might have been the most bewitching creature he had ever seen. Rich, considering that he had met Dionysus.

His long hair was loosely braided, secured with an old yet exquisitely crafted hairpin. His black ceremonial tunic was clearly perfectly tailored for him, though it still failed to disguise how its stiffness clashed with his delicate frame.

And those eyes. A pair of emeralds identical to the Queen’s, but instead of sharpness, they held an impossible softness. Wide, red-rimmed from crying, though he tried to blink away the tears. His cheeks were flushed and still damp, his lower lip trembling ever so slightly. He looked like a gentler, sadder echo of Shen Jiu.

“Greetings, Your Highness,” Tianlang-Jun bowed once again, a genuine smile adorning his face. Even Su Xiyan looked at the boy fondly.

The boy swallowed his sobs and nodded elegantly, as elegantly as a boy barely ten years old could manage.

The Queen murmured soft reassurance, tracing gentle patterns along the boy’s back. “My apologies, Yuan-er was so distraught by his grandmother’s passing.”

“Oh, nonsense, Your Majesty. We can’t take someone from their grief. Though we must go on and heal to continue living.”

Luo Binghe’s head almost snapped toward his father. Did he really just say that?

The Queen’s eyes narrowed slightly before returning to their unreadable calm. He smiled and nodded. “Indeed.” His tone sounded like a warning. Watch your next word.

Tianlang-Jun didn’t falter. If anything, he crouched down to the prince and spoke with that soft, coaxing tone he reserved for delicate negotiations. “Your Highness is growing up so quickly.” He looked up at the Queen before continuing, “Perhaps a playmate? Our Bing-er might be a little older, but I think our sons would benefit from a practice sparring session.”

Dear Hestia, his father didn’t just turn into one of those nobles trying to set him up with an ome—

“I’ll think about it,” the Queen answered at last, watching as Shen Yuan’s emerald eyes widened in wonder at the mention of sparring. He tugged at his mother’s chiton while shyly stealing glances at Luo Binghe.

Oh dear.

“A beta can be a fierce fighter as well. Our head soldier was one, and he’d beaten countless alphas. Even Xiyan broke a sweat facing him—though, of course, my darling still won,” Tianlang-Jun added softly.

Luo Binghe’s mind reeled. Beta?

The Queen looked as though he was genuinely considering it, then offered a smile that neither confirmed nor denied. When the elder called him forward to lead the procession, Tianlang-Jun did not press the matter further. The three of them withdrew quietly to the sitting area, solemnly joining the chanting.

At the centre of the hall, Shen Jiu had already knelt. He lowered his veil and reached up to tear at his hair, pulling free the braid until the dark strands tumbled down. His gesture was mirrored by the other omegas and women in the room, including Luo Binghe’s parents, who followed in silence.

Luo Binghe bowed his head and mimicked the act, though his eyes remained fixed on the Queen’s hair. Its deep, silken length falling like a curtain down his back, pooling softly on the stone floor.

He turned to help his son remove his hairpin. Shen Yuan's dark hair cascaded free over his back, and the boy took the harpin with trembling hands. Then he broke, clutching the worn accessory like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

A maid stepped forward, carrying a ceremonial knife.

The Queen took it, and in a still, composed motion, cut his own hair. He sheared it so low, almost past his shoulders, that a ripple of gasps and startled murmurs immediately enchoed through the hall.

Not just because of the gesture, but because of what had been hidden beneath it.

The Queen’s mating mark, reddened and unmistakably present.

He said nothing, but the message was clear: the King was still alive.

Somewhere, perhaps. But alive .

Perhaps too shocked to react, the hall fell into silence once more, every eye fixed on the Queen’s nape.

Shen Jiu wasted no time. Next, he helped trim the prince's hair, followed by others closest to the Queen Mother. Each offering was taken by the prince, who carried them to the bier and laid them carefully, though his body was rocking with sobs. Then he turned and walked back to his mother’s side.

The sombre atmosphere thickened as more and more omegas wept. Even the Queen’s shoulder trembled, and he clutched the boy beside him firmly. People in the back, including the Luo family, lowered their heads in respect.

The rest of the proceedings blurred for Luo Binghe. He had attended funerals for his grandparents before, and this wasn’t much different. Besides, this was only the prothesis. Two days from now, before dawn, the ekphora would be held, and that was where most of the work would be required.

Still, his attention remained glued to the pair of mother and son.

Luo Binghe couldn’t explain what about them intrigued him so much. Perhaps it was how strikingly similar yet contrastingly different they were. Or perhaps, it was what his father had said earlier.

A beta.

The Prince is a beta.

If it were appropriate, Luo Binghe might’ve scoffed at the remark. Between that and Zeus's fidelity, he was more inclined to believe the latter. There was simply no way that clumsy little swan was anything but an omega.

He tilted his head up slightly, his crimson eyes locking onto that boy. Too small, too teary, too weak. Yes, he was still a child. But anyone would assume he was younger than his age.

Was the Queen lying?

His mind ran in circles. Was it a ploy to protect the boy from political threats? That might be the case. His father had told him stories of how he was often tailed when he was young, and there was a reason for Su Xiyan’s overprotectiveness even now. Omegas weren’t exactly seen as ideal for positions of power. And to have his only son—without the presence of the king—left in such vulnerability, he could almost understand the Queen.

Or perhaps it was simply the truth. That the prince was just sickly and weak?

He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if that could help him see past the soft fringe falling over the boy’s eyes, past the tears clinging to his lashes, past the pale skin carefully wrapped in the stiff chiton.

No, he was an omega through and through—at least, in his eyes. Who did the Queen think he was fooling with that cheap lie?

Before he could spiral further, a hand gently clasped his shoulder. 

“We may take our leave,” Tianlang-Jun whispered softly. 

Luo Binghe blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. He bowed once again, sat up and followed his parents as they turned away from the crowd. The Queen’s silhouette stayed in his peripheral vision, tall and unmoving beside the grieving child. 

The moment they were back in the carriage, Luo Binghe leaned back, tired by his own performance of formality. But his ears were sharply tuned to the conversation unfolding between his parents. 

“As expected,” Tianlang-Jun hummed, arms crossed loosely. “Shen Jiu always held himself like a blade.”

Su Xiyan glanced at her husband, then at Luo Binghe, as if checking if he was paying attention. He didn’t move, merely kept his eyes half-lidded, feigning disinterest. 

“Tianlang-Jun chuckled, continuing his musing, “what did you think of the prince, Bing-er?”

Luo Binghe didn’t reply, unsure what the appropriate answer was, or what his father was expecting by asking that question.

Tianlang-Jun seemingly wasn’t expecting an answer either, so he chimed in again. 

“I was thinking,” he said, tone deceptively light, “If they spared, it might be good for him.”

“For the prince? Su Xiyan raised her brow. 

“For both of them,” Tianlang-Jun replied smoothly. “Shen Jiu was a Spartan. Forget Bing-er, maybe I want to see The Queen spar with you.”

Oh no… His eyes turned into crescent shapes, the unmistakable sign of “I’m thinking about a mischievous plot.”

Su Xiyan sighed, her lips quirked with a knowing smile. “The boy did look fragile. But… Maybe it’s a mask.” 

Tianlang-Jun turned to look out the carriage window, the corner of his mouth twitching. “A dainty pup, maybe. But even a little wolf can grow up and turn ferocious.”

Luo Binghe, still reclined in his seat, finally spoke. “Do you really think he’d spar?” 

His father glanced at him like he was a bard telling him the most ridiculous soap opera. “Why not? He seemed interested when I mentioned it. You saw the way he tugged his mother’s chiton.”

“He looked like he might faint if a breeze hit him.” Luo Binghe drawled. “I doubt he could even hold any weapon.” 

“You’re once crying, too. Begging your Daddy to let you skip training.” Su Xiyan replied mildly.

“That was because you threw me across the field and almost broke my ankle,” Luo Binghe smiled curtly, but he kept that to himself. Instead he blurted what he had meant to conceal, “He didn’t seem like a beta.”

Neither of his parents answered immediately. 

Then Tianlang-Jun chuckled under his breath. “That’s the point, isn’t it? Appearances are meant to deceive. A good ruler is one people underestimate.”

Su Xiyan added, “Or pity. Pity makes people careless.”

Luo Binghe tilted his head slightly, crimson eyes gleaming. “Then I’d like to spar him. One day.”

Tianlang-Jun’s smile widened. “That’s my boy.”