CHAPTER 503: CHAPTER 497: SIBLINGS AND EXCUSES

The banquet hummed like a well-fed engine, ether pulsing through chandeliers overhead, blue-white currents glimmering across the crystal as though the whole hall breathed. Laughter and cutlery rose and fell in practiced rhythm, nobles glittering in their silks and glass-threaded suits, every eye turned toward the imperial table.

Cecil sat at the long table, posture neat, hands folded against his lap where no one could see the tension in them. He had his father’s face, the same sharp lines, silver eyes, the edges softened until half the court whispered that he looked carved from light instead of steel. A copy of Damian, they said, but with a fragility that invited danger.

Dominant omega, his secondary gender stamped across every look they cast at him. And to them, that made him something worse than prey, it made him a prize.

He sighed, the sound lost beneath the clinking of glassware, and let his gaze drift to the balcony doors beyond the sweep of chandeliers. If he was clever, if he slipped away when conversation lulled, he could be gone in minutes, book in hand, ether humming softly against the page, and no one would miss him until the speeches began.

Cecil had enough. Enough of the smiles that lingered too long, of the questions that circled back to his future, of the way every laugh directed at him seemed calculated, not genuine. He wanted quiet, not a room full of wolves pretending to be courtiers.

Noah was across the hall, caught in easy conversation, posture lazy enough to lull but with that sharp glint in his green eyes that promised he hadn’t missed a thing. Arik stood near him, taller, broader, his presence a wall unto itself, crown prince and predator both, every inch of him coiled impatience beneath formal black. They weren’t watching Cecil this time.

Rowena was with her mother, Alexandra, laughing as though the world had tried to steal her dress and failed. Cecil caught the flick of her hand, the too-bright spark in her green eyes. She’d nearly dropped an alpha to his knees for daring to brush too close to her skirts, and Alexandra had looked ready to applaud.

Cecil almost smiled at that, briefly and private, before smoothing his expression back to neutrality.

The air was heavy with perfume and wine, threaded with ether-light hums from the chandeliers, yet one scent began to cut through the rest, cloying, musty, and definitely forced. Pheromones, rolling toward him in uninvited waves. Shameless. Sticky as honey, crawling against the edges of his senses.

"Your Highness."

The voice drew his gaze. A man in his forties stood before him, bowing just enough to pass for courtesy, his smile polished, his movements shallow. "What a pleasure to meet you here."

Cecil’s eyes narrowed a fraction, though his posture didn’t shift. He knew the type: ambitious, overfed on his own lineage, mistaking age for authority. The kind of noble who believed pheromones were a language of privilege, not violation.

He did not rise. He didn’t even return the smile.

Instead, Cecil inclined his head the barest degree, voice smooth and restrained. "The pleasure is yours."

The man chuckled as though charmed, taking the reply for an invitation when it was a dismissal. His pheromones swelled again, heavier this time, clinging to the air like damp smoke.

Cecil’s fingers tightened once in his lap, unseen beneath the tablecloth. His gaze, however, remained steady, cool, and unbothered, as if the noble hadn’t just crossed a line only a fool would dare step over in an imperial hall.

From across the room, a golden spark flared. Cecil didn’t need to look. He felt Arik’s attention like the sudden weight of a storm front rolling in, hot and electric, impossible to ignore.

"Count Bannera," Arik’s voice cut through the chatter, smooth and sharp as glass. "I take it you forget that pheromone showers are illegal in this Empire."

The entire hall stilled.

Cecil lifted his eyes just in time to see his brother’s hand wrapped in the man’s collar, silk fabric bunched in a fist. Bannera’s feet dangled a full inch above the marble floor, his polished shoes scuffing uselessly against it as his face went pale. Arik held him as if he weighed no more than a feather, expression carved in ice, golden eyes molten at the edges.

’He doesn’t loose a chance to teleport or beat someone.’ He sighed internally.

The courtiers closest to them recoiled, half in shock, half in instinctive submission. Whispers rippled like cracks across glass.

Cecil exhaled once, a measured release of air. Of course Arik would make a spectacle of it. He always did. His brother had been waiting for an excuse, and Bannera had handed it to him in the most public, humiliating way possible.

Cecil smoothed the cuff of his sleeve, his voice quiet enough that only the nearest few could hear. "You should have known better."

Bannera, thrashing uselessly in Arik’s grip, clearly hadn’t.

The hall held its breath, the Count dangling helplessly, Arik standing as if the weight of a grown man was nothing in his hand. Gold eyes burned like molten ether, sharp and alive, a spark of mischief threaded through the fury.

Cecil rose slowly, smoothing his jacket before fixing his brother with a cool look. His voice was steady, unhurried. "You do realize I can take care of myself."

Arik’s smirk only widened, wolfish and unapologetic. "Of course you can. But why would I waste such a perfect excuse?"

The Count choked on a protest, ignored by both brothers. Around them, the hall was a sea of gasps and parted lips. A few noble ladies looked ready to swoon outright, hands clutching pearls and fans. Several omegas, no doubt imagining themselves the subject of such ferocity, stared as though the Crown Prince had stepped out of some romance they’d half-invented.

Cecil’s eyes narrowed faintly, unimpressed. "You enjoy this far too much."

"Obviously," Arik drawled, golden gaze glinting as he adjusted his grip just enough to make the Count yelp. "Look at them." His chin tipped toward the crowd, where the ripple of adoration bordered on worship. "They love me."

Cecil exhaled through his nose, cool and sharp. "They’re fools."

Arik’s smirk softened into something almost boyish, though the fire in his eyes never dimmed. "Then let them be fools."

Cecil held his gaze, steady, silent. And for all his brother’s theatrics, it was that composed silence that finally made Arik release the Count.

The man crumpled to the floor, coughing, red-faced, and humiliated. Arik didn’t spare him another glance. His golden eyes remained fixed on Cecil, mischief and steel bound together in a way only the Emperor’s son could carry.

"Have him judged for the crime of using pheromones in public," Arik said, voice carrying cleanly across the hall, "and treason by attacking a member of the imperial family."

Gasps broke like glass through the crowd. The courtiers nearest the Count scrambled back as though guilt were contagious, eyes darting between the prince and the man still struggling to rise.

Cecil’s brow furrowed, just slightly. "Treason, Arik?" His tone was level and quiet, but the weight of it made several nobles within earshot blanch.

Arik tilted his head, smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. "Of course. What else do you call touching you with pheromones?" His gaze flicked to the Count, disdain plain. "This is nothing. If Father finds out, he is dead before he can blink."

The words rippled through the hall like a blade dropped into still water. Several ladies gasped, flutes of champagne trembling in their hands; more than one omega turned pale, pressing closer to their escorts as though scent alone might shield them. And yet, Cecil noticed, their eyes lingered on Arik, hungry, dazzled, as if danger only made him shine brighter.

Cecil let his lashes lower, a coolness to his expression that belied the knot tightening in his chest. "You shouldn’t use Father as your threat," he murmured, just loud enough for Arik to hear. "You don’t need him. You’re the Crown Prince."

Arik’s smirk only deepened, gold eyes alight with that dangerous, boyish spark that drove half the court to distraction. "Damian and Gabriel will hear about it regardless," he said easily, voice pitched for Cecil but carrying farther than it should have. "You know Edward won’t keep his mouth shut. I was trying to be merciful."

Cecil’s fingers tapped once, silently, against the polished wood of the table before stilling. Merciful. His brother held a man by the collar, called him a traitor before the entire court, and named their father and mother like executioners waiting in the wing, and Arik dared call that mercy.

The hall buzzed in the wake of his words, nobles whispering too loudly, some horrified, others enchanted. A cluster of young omegas were near swooning into their seats, eyes glazed, as if Arik’s brutality were proof of devotion rather than temper.

Cecil’s gaze swept the crowd once, then returned to his brother. "One day, that mouth of yours will start a fire even you can’t put out." His tone was cool, almost clinical.

Arik only shrugged, golden eyes glimmering like sparks struck from steel. "Then I’ll let it burn. Makes for better stories."