Help! Five Beast Alphas Want To Breed Me!!(BL)

Zephan;

I stay frozen as I stare at the painting. The best one I ever made.

The golden flower.

I’ve stared at it about a million times, and it has never changed— Never not looked pretty. It has never... left me feeling nothing.

A bitter smile touches my face as I remember the first golden flower I had. The dangerous little beauty.

The painting captures the flower’s mid-bloom, a single flower suspended beautifully in time. Each curve and detail I made was precise and deliberate. Gold layered upon gold, light captured in pigment so convincingly that every time I stare at it, I remember the hours that went into this one ’simple’ painting.

My mother loved it. I know that, because Aunt Selthía said it in the past. It was a fact my heart couldn’t dispute with how it was presented. It’s the only thing that links me to both of them.

Both mothers I could never have.

I stand before this painting now, hands clasped behind my back, and reverence flooding through me as I just appreciate the silence for once.

I shut my eyes as I try to find happiness. A rescue from this drowning feeling.

His little pout comes to mind, and a smile splits my face.

Just then, a knock breaks the silence, and I open my eyes instantly. I whip around, expecting my little ball of chaos to walk in, but the hesitation after the knock tells me that it’s not him.

”Come in,” I call in, and the door opens cautiously.

Too cautious for the audacious aura that little bun carries about him.

I stand properly in expectation, but my brows knot the moment Aunt Selthía steps inside.

For a heartbeat, I simply stare... wondering why she’s here.

She does not come to us, or our rooms... except there’s a valid reason to.

Her gaze sweeps the room, slow and searching. It lingers on everything, but me, and my head cocks slightly.

What... is she looking for?

”Where is Elian?” she asks after what felt like a moment of awkward silence, and I blink.

”He’s with Zethar,” I reply, and only then does she look up at me.

”In the lower wing,” I add, in case she wants to go and find them, but she doesn’t move.

She just nods once... And then she does not speak.

The silence stretches, and now, I know there’s something wrong. She didn’t come here to ask after Elián. That was just something to stall.

What is she truly here for?

Did Zethar do something? Shit! Did he break another of her relics??

I stare at my aunt as she just stands there... as if unsure what to do with her hands. Her posture is rigid and shaky in a way I have never seen before.

She is usually always composed... always distant, always perfectly assembled. This version of her looks... unsteady, and that unnerves me.

”Aunt... is something wrong?” I ask carefully as I take a step towards her, but she does not answer.

Instead, she crosses the room in three measured steps and, to my shock, she pulls me into her arms.

The world pauses and tilts for a moment.

I freeze.

Too shaken to... respond, or even think.

Her embrace is firm. Desperate... needy.

Her hands press into my back, her chin resting against my shoulder, and I hear her breath shudder.

Her scent floods my nostrils. The scent of familiar things. Incense, clean linen... Something faintly floral.

My lungs struggle to breathe, and my mind scrambles to form a thought.

”A-aunt Selthía?” I call in confusion as I instinctively pull back, but she does not let go.

If anything, she tightens her grip.

”I’m sorry,” she whispers, and my blood goes rigid in my veins.

Sorry?

My hands tremble uselessly at my sides as I get an idea of what this is, but although my heart is eager, my mind refuses to believe.

”What... is happening?” I whisper, and Aun Selthía exhales shakily as she steps back, though her hands linger for a moment longer.

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and seeing tears in her eyes for the first time twists something in my heart. I look away immediately, because if I don’t, something inside me might split open.

Something I’m not sure I’m ready for.

”I was going to speak to you and your brother together,” she whispers in a voice too soft for the authority she usually carries, and I gulp.

What is going on!??

Do I... do I even want to know???

”I was going to speak to you both together... But I realised that would be... easier for me. Not better for you.” She adds, andI force myself to look back at her, with my heart pounding painfully.

”I hurt you both,” she continues, and this time I gulp.

Is she doing what I think she’s doing??

”But... but you are not the same person... You process grief differently...” She adds, and I hold my breath as I stare at her.

Is she truly—

”So I wanted to speak to you alone. To apologise to you alone.” She cuts my thoughts off, and my knees feel weak.

”I failed you,” she says, and the words knock the air out of my lungs.

”As a guardian. As a queen. As the woman who should have stood where your mother could not.” She adds, and the word mother mercilessly scrapes something raw inside my chest.

”I was distant,” she goes on, and I almost stagger.

”Cold. I was cold. I blamed you for something you did not cause. I let grief turn into cruelty and I... called it control.” She adds, and I shut my eyes, begging the tears not to fall.

”I blamed you for her death.” She says with a raw crack in her voice, and the room narrows.

I am no longer standing in my bedroom.

No.

I’ve suddenly become that six-year-old, with hands clenched in the folds of my nightshirt, waiting outside her study while the candles burned low.

I remember knocking. I remember being told to go away. I remember sitting on the floor until my legs fell asleep, listening to her voice through the door as she spoke to advisors who were allowed to see her when I was not.

”I am so sorry,” she says again, and my throat burns.

”I watched you grow quiet,” she continues.

”I told myself it was strength. That you were resilient. That you did not need what I could not give...” She cries, and she looks away in shame now, with her hands trembling.

”But you did need it,” she whispers.

”And I withheld it.” She goes on mercilessly, and my vision blurs.

I remember the corners. Dark hiding spot where I cried silently so no one would hear.

I remember Zethar raging openly, breaking things, screaming at walls while I learned to fold myself inward, to become small and contained and easy to overlook.

I remember deciding that tears were useless.

That hope was worse.

”I saw you stop reaching for me,” she goes on, and I turn away from her. As if taking a few steps away would allow some air into my lungs.

”And instead of stepping forward, I let you go.” She breathes, and something breaks inside my chest with a soundless crack.

”I don’t know how to make this right,” she sighs. What seems like a bitter confession.

”But I know I cannot pretend anymore. I cannot erase what I did. I can only acknowledge it.” She adds, and she moves closer to me again, hesitant now.

”I am asking for the chance to try.” She pleads as she holds my arm, and I turn to her.

I don’t know how to respond or react... so I just laugh. A broken, bitter sound.

”Try what?” I demand in disbelief at all I’m hearing or what’s happening.

”To be present,” she says.

”To be accountable. To love you without conditions.” She replies, and I pause.

Love.

Love?

The word feels foreign coming from her mouth.

”I spent years mourning a mother I never had,” I say quietly. ”And years convincing myself I didn’t need one,” I add, and her face crumples.

”I know,” she croaks.

”And I am so deeply sorry.” She whispers, and silence settles between us—thick and unbearable.

My hands shake... So, press them together to still them... but the trembling spreads to my shoulders. My breath hitches despite my efforts to remain composed.

I hate this.

I hate how easily the past claws its way to the surface.

I hate how one apology can undo years of carefully stacked restraint.

”I don’t know how to forgive you,” I admit the bitter truth in shame, and the tears I’ve been holding on to fall.

”I-I don’t know how to forgive you, Aunt Selthía. I want to. I really do, but... It’s... It’s too much.” I confess bitterly, and she steps even closer to me.

”I’m not asking you to,” she replies immediately. ”Not now. Not ever, if you cannot.” She adds, and I blink at her.

Her eyes meet mine. Broken and seemingly earnest.

”I just needed you to know that I see you. That I know what I took from you.” She adds, and I swallow.

”All I’m asking is a chance to right my wrongs... I need you to know that I’m sincerely sorry, my child... I’m... I’m ashamed of my actions... and I’m sorry.” She whispers, and I swallow.

”This failed mother is sorry...” She whispers as she drops to her knees before me, and my heart falls.