Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 62: Invitation

Sevian stood with his head bowed, trembling slightly under the intense gaze of the Crown Prince. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating, as the prince’s golden eyes bore into him, cold and unfeeling. Sevian had always dreaded these encounters, the sheer weight of the prince’s presence pressing down on him like a heavy stone. His voice came out meek and hesitant.

"All the servants... they’re tight-lipped, Your Highness," Sevian finally said, swallowing hard.

The Crown Prince leaned back in his ornate chair, his expression unchanging, though a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. He let out a low chuckle, devoid of warmth. "No surprise there," he said, his voice dripping with cynicism. "There isn’t a commoner alive with the courage to betray him. Of course not. They worship him like he’s some kind of god."

Sevian shifted uneasily, sensing the underlying bitterness in the prince’s tone. The tension in the room was palpable, but nothing could ever rattle the prince. He was as calculating as ever, always looking for a crack in the armor of his enemies. And now, his sights were set on him—the infamous general who had once stood untouchable.

The Crown Prince’s gaze darkened, his lips curling into a sharp smile as he turned his attention back to Sevian. "So," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "have you seen this so-called Omega of his? The one he’s been hiding so diligently?"

Sevian shook his head, feeling his palms grow clammy under the prince’s scrutiny. "No, Your Highness. He’s hidden him too well"

The prince’s smile widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He stood, walking over to the large window that overlooked the sprawling gardens outside the palace, his movements slow and deliberate. "Interesting," he mused, his voice filled with quiet malice. "I was concerned when I heard he’d returned. But now..." His eyes gleamed with something dark, something cunning. "He’s back with a weakness. A blatant, glaring weakness."

*

I rub my temples as the dull throb of a headache starts to build. My gaze falls to the ornate invitation resting on my desk—the king’s 70th birthday celebration. I’d give anything to avoid this tedious affair, but the seal of the royal family on the envelope makes that impossible. It’s not just an invitation; it’s a command. And I’m certain the Crown Prince is the one pulling the strings behind this. The king himself barely governs anymore; that viper of a prince has already sunk his claws into everything.

I’ve been successfully ignoring all royal summons and events for months, keeping my distance from court politics as much as possible. But now? This is different. A royal birthday is no small affair, and skipping it would be an insult no one would forget—especially the prince. He’s been waiting for me to make a wrong move. I can’t give him the satisfaction.

With a sigh, I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling, already feeling the weight of the preparations that lie ahead. I’ll have to send for Roman and arrange a meeting with a seamstress. The outfit has to be perfect—no room for error at a royal event. And then there’s the matter of a gift. What in the world do you get for a king who already has everything?

I pinch the bridge of my nose, mentally going over a list of potential presents that won’t land me in trouble, but still make an impression. There’s no way out of this. I’ll just have to endure the night and hope the politics swirling around the royal court don’t consume me before it’s over.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. The headache has dulled, but I know it’ll come roaring back the moment I set foot in that banquet hall. I hear footsteps approaching—light, familiar. Before I can turn around, Noelle’s hands slide over my shoulders, and I feel his warm breath against my ear.

"You look like you’re planning to execute someone," he murmurs, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Just mentally preparing for the torture of royal events," I reply, reaching up to take one of his hands in mine. "You’re coming with me, you know."

"Oh, I know," he says, walking around to perch on the edge of my desk. He crosses his arms, pretending to frown. "You think I’d let you suffer through all those nobles alone?"

I smirk, looking him up and down. He’s not wrong—Noelle’s presence is bound to cause a stir.

He grins, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable. "Maybe. And maybe I want to see how fast I can get you to drag me out of there and back home."

I chuckle, pulling him onto my lap. "You think I’m that predictable?"

"I know you are." Noelle leans closer, his lips brushing against my neck. "It doesn’t take much to get you riled up, Mr Scary General. One look, and you’ll have me out of there before dessert is served."

I can’t help but laugh. He’s right, and we both know it. "I’ll try to behave. For a few hours, at least."

"Good luck with that," he says, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. "But I’ll make sure to wear something that tests your patience." ƒrēenovelkiss.com

"I’m sure you will," I mutter, my hand trailing down his back. "Speaking of which, the tailor will be here soon. They need to take your measurements for something ’appropriate’ to wear."

Noelle groans dramatically, leaning back in my arms. "I hate tailoring. Why do nobles need so many damn layers of clothing? Just let me wear something simple."

I raise an eyebrow. "Simple won’t cut it. You know how the court is. Appearances matter."

"Appearances," Noelle scoffs. "Fine. But if I have to stand still while someone pokes me with pins, you owe me."

I smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I’ll make it up to you later."

"You better," he says with a smirk, running his fingers through my hair. "I’ll make sure you do."