I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

”Again!”

The command sliced through the morning air of the Capital’s training grounds like a butcher’s cleaver. Yerel didn’t wait for a response. He lunged, his practice sword a blur of silver light that caught the rising sun. His opponent, a seasoned captain of the Royal Guard who had survived three border skirmishes, barely managed to bring his blade up in time.

Clang.

The vibration traveled up the captain’s arm, numbing his fingers. Yerel didn’t let up. He was a whirlwind of precision, too precise, perhaps. With a flick of his wrist that looked more like a dance move than a martial strike, he disarmed the soldier. The captain’s sword clattered across the white marble paving stones, spinning like a discarded toy.

Yerel stood there for a beat, his chest barely heaving, his blonde hair perfectly in place despite the exertion. Then, the mask slid back on. He offered a hand to the fallen man, his face softening into that practiced, benevolent smile that had graced a thousand commemorative coins.

”An excellent effort, Captain,” Yerel said, his voice smooth as aged honey. ”Your footwork is improving by the day.”

The captain took the hand, breathless and humbled. ”You are too kind, Your Highness. It is no wonder people are saying it now... that you have officially become the kingdom’s number one. Undefeatable. Especially now that Duke Valtrane is... well, out of the picture.”

A younger soldier, eager to curry favor, chimed in from the sidelines. ”Indeed! The Duke was a beast, surely, but he relied on brute strength. Your Highness possesses a refined genius. You’ve surpassed him.”

Yerel kept his smile pinned in place. He didn’t engage, merely nodding with a humble dip of his head that suggested he found the praise somewhat embarrassing. But another veteran near the weapon rack snorted. ”Surpassed Duke Valtrane? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, lad. When the Duke was healthy, he was a force of nature. His Highness is the best now, certainly, but the shadow of the North is a long one.”

”The Duke is a relic,” a Yerel loyalist hissed back. ”His Highness is the future!”

Yerel didn’t stay to hear the rest of the debate. He gave a graceful wave, encouraging them to return to their drills, and turned on his heel. He walked toward the palace with a steady step, but internally, the honey was turning to acid.

So that’s how they see it, he thought, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. I am the ’best’ only by default? I am the champion because the real one is rotting in a bed of snow? The implication gnawed at him. It suggested that if Zarius Valtrane were to walk through the palace gates at full strength today, Yerel would be nothing more than a footnote. A second-place trophy. The thought was a joke. A sick, insulting joke. He had spent his entire life being the ”Perfect Prince,” the shining light of the Empire, yet he was still being measured against a half-breed ”Monster” from the frozen wastes.

He stripped off his damp tunic in his private chambers, the silk hitting the floor with a soft thud. He scrubbed his skin until it was red, as if trying to wash away the captain’s words along with the sweat. By the time he dressed in his afternoon finery, he had a scheduled tea with his father. It was a chore, but a necessary one.

The King’s private garden was a masterpiece of artificial beauty. Every flower was genetically engineered for maximum color, every hedge clipped to the millimeter. In the center sat the ivory gazebo, where King Alderon waited. The old man looked tired, his crown sitting a bit too heavily on a head that was thinning at the top.

”Yerel,” the King greeted, gesturing to the seat opposite him. ”Sit. Try this brew. The aroma is quite... distinctive.”

Yerel took his seat, the movements fluid and rehearsed. He lifted the delicate porcelain cup, inhaling the steam. It was an earthy, dark scent, reminiscent of pine needles and cold rain. It was, he realized with a jolt, the scent of the North.

”It is unique,” Yerel remarked, taking a cautious sip. ”Deep. A bit too bitter for my palate, perhaps.”

”It’s a new blend,” Alderon said, leaning back with a sigh of satisfaction. ”Zarius brought it with him the last time he visited the Capital. A gift for the crown. It grows on the cliffs of the Valtrane peaks. He went to quite some trouble to secure it for us.”

Clink.

The sound of porcelain hitting the saucer was a fraction too loud. Yerel had set the cup down with a force that sent a tiny splash of dark liquid onto the white tablecloth.

”Really?” Yerel said, his voice a shade too sharp before he smoothed it out. ”That was... remarkably thoughtful of him. For a man so busy with his ’affliction,’ he certainly finds time for the small courtesies.”

Alderon watched his son over the rim of his own cup. The King wasn’t a genius, but he’d lived long enough to know when his son was vibrating with unspoken resentment.

”Speaking of courtesies,” the King transitioned, ”how is your progress with Philia? The court is buzzing about the two of you. He is a favorite of the people, after all.”

”Everything is moving according to plan, Father,” Yerel replied, his fingers tracing the gold rim of his cup. ”Philia is a paragon of virtue. Our relationship is... harmonious.”

”Are you sure about this, Yerel?”

Yerel looked up, his eyes cold. ”What do you mean by that?”

The King sighed, looking out at his perfect, boring garden. ”I only wish for you to know what you are doing. Cherion was... he was a good boy. He was loyal. Sometimes I wonder if we threw away a diamond to chase a star.”

Yerel felt a surge of genuine loathing. Cherion. Always Cherion. The boy who had been his shadow for years, the one who had looked at him with those wide, trusting eyes until Yerel had finally tired of the fragility.

”Do not worry yourself, Father,” Yerel said, his smile returning, though it didn’t reach his eyes. ”I know exactly what I am doing.”

He stood up, the tea forgotten. He looked down at his father, his silhouette blocking the sun.

”Philia,” Yerel said, ”is worth more than Cherion ever was. Soon, he will be nothing more than a memory buried under the ice.”