I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The dining hall doors stood there, big and dramatic. Cherion slowed his pace, walking like someone who just realized this was going to be a whole situation. Beside him, Zarius looked like the physical embodiment of suffering. Or, well... that was the plan. Every time the Duke’s weight shifted onto Cherion’s shoulder, a jolt of pride mixed with an almost uncontrollable urge to giggle bubbled in Cherion’s gut.

God, the chaos of twenty minutes ago.

His mind flashed back to Marielle’s bedroom, which had looked less like a noble’s quarters and more like a flour mill explosion. He and Marielle had basically transformed into an ”Express Makeup Artist” duo, though the word artist was doing some heavy lifting. They’d basically attacked Zarius’s face with so much powder he stopped looking like the terrifying Monster Duke and ended up looking like he belonged in a dramatic old painting titled Tragic Man, Dramatically Dying as Planned.

Zarius had sat through the ordeal with his jaw clenched so tight Cherion half-expected his teeth to shatter. The Duke’s eyes had radiated a murderous, silent dignity, even when Cherion accidentally poked him in the left eye with a particularly fluffy powder puff. ”Focus, Brother,” Marielle had hissed, dumping another layer of white dust over his cheekbones. ”Dead men don’t glare.”

Now, as they shuffled down the corridor, Marielle trailing behind with a face like a thundercloud, followed by Reiner and a suspiciously quiet Ezek, the results were, frankly, haunting. Cherion ensured their arms remained tightly linked. To any passing servant, it looked as though Cherion was the only thing keeping the Great Duke of the North from collapsing into a pile of fur and leather. He scanned every face they passed, picking up the little twitches and side-eyes. The funeral energy? Oh, it was thriving.

Then, the doors swung open.

Philia was already there. He sat there like a walking luxury ad, too shiny, like someone dropped a fashion influencer into a battlefield. It was like seeing a tropical bird perched on a frost-covered pine. Cherion watched Philia’s eyes instantly dart to their interlocked arms. There it was, a tiny flicker, gone in a blink. Jealousy, maybe. Then boom, the mask snapped back on like nothing happened.

”Forgive the delay, Lord Philia,” Cherion said, dialing his voice down into full exhausted-but-still-functioning mode. He leaned into the role of the exhausted caretaker, the man who hadn’t slept in weeks. ”His Grace had a... particularly difficult morning. The flares were agonizing.”

Beside him, Zarius played his part with terrifying commitment. He let his head tilt slightly, leaning ”heavily” into Cherion as if every breath was a victory won from the grave.

Philia stood up with way too much flair for a room where people were just trying to eat. ”Oh, goodness,” he murmured, his voice dripping with a ”concern” that sounded suspiciously like a vulture checking for a heartbeat. ”Please, sit. I had no idea the Duke’s condition had... reached this point.”

Silverware started clinking, and instead of comforting, it felt like a countdown to chaos. Philia took a dainty bite of the food, offering a small, hollow praise. He waited until the tea was poured, watching Zarius’s hand ”shake” as it reached for the porcelain cup. Then, he dropped the first bomb.

”The King was quite... unsettled, you know,” Philia began, swirling his tea. ”To hear that the Duke led the subjugation in such a... fragile state. It caused quite a stir. People are wondering why the North would hide the extent of the Duke’s decline. And why on earth a ’precious guest’ like Lord Cherion was dragged along with you, Your Grace? It feels... reckless.”

It was a direct jab. A surgical strike at Zarius’s competency.

Zarius set his cup down slowly, with just enough force to say I heard that, and I didn’t like it. He didn’t look at Philia, but at the table. ”First of all, Cherion isn’t a guest,” the Duke replied. ”Cherion stands with the North. With me.”

Cherion didn’t miss a beat. He placed a protective, lingering hand over Zarius’s, looking Philia dead in the eyes. ”Yes, and health is a fickle thing, Lord Philia. But even at half-strength, a Valtrane’s shadow is more capable than a thousand healthy men lounging in the palace gardens.”

The comment hit home. Marielle, unable to contain herself, slammed her fork down. The vibration made the jam jars dance. ”You talk of reckless?” she snapped, her voice tight with the kind of rage she was barely holding together with duct tape and manners. ”You sit in the Palace with your silk and your spring balls while Northern men bleed on the borders to keep your ’settled’ life possible. How dare you question my brother’s judgment?”

Philia didn’t flinch. His brows drew together in gentle concern, but his eyes stayed distant, unfocused, as if the outburst wasn’t worth fully engaging. ”My Lady, I apologize if my words were clumsy. That wasn’t my intention. Truly. I merely worry for His Grace. The North is too important to be left to... well, to fate.”

As if on cue, Zarius let out a deep, rattling, hollow cough.

Yeah... that was a solid move. Like, annoyingly solid. He hunched over, his shoulders shaking with the effort, as Cherion ”frantically” pressed a handkerchief to the Duke’s lips. For a terrifying second, Cherion wondered if he’d actually overdone the powder and Zarius was choking on a stray cloud of it. Zarius leaned back, eyes fluttering shut, the picture of a soul being drained by the mere act of sitting upright.

Philia watched the display, his eyes narrowed. ”I was shocked,” he continued, his tone shifting. ”To hear you went to the subjugation too, Lord Cherion. Again, why? And why wasn’t the King informed?”

”Oh, it was a last-minute decision. I couldn’t bear to let him go alone. I stay where I’m needed, at his side.”

Philia’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his gaze sharpened.

”I also wanted to be useful,” Cherion continued. ”I’ve learned some basic medical skills and... that sort of thing. I thought I could help. I didn’t want him exposed to more danger than necessary.” He was careful not to mention his actual power, Philia didn’t need to know about the golden energy humming in his veins. ”It wasn’t easy, but I’m glad I could provide some comfort.”

Zarius turned his head then, looking deep into Cherion’s eyes. For a moment, the ”acting” felt incredibly thin. ”He helped more than he admits,” Zarius murmured. ”Though I wished he had stayed safe. I hate that he was exposed to that filth for me.”

Cherion met his gaze, and his brain hit pause like it forgot what it was doing. Is he still acting? Is he not? The intensity in Zarius’s gaze was enough to make the face powder feel like it was melting off.

Philia’s smile returned, though it looked more like a line drawn in sand. ”It’s so... touching to see you treat each other with such devotion.” He began cutting into a piece of meat on his plate, his motions sharp and violent. Stab. Slice. ”Lord Cherion,” Philia said, not looking up from his plate. ”Perhaps you could accompany me for a stroll around the grounds later? I believe there are several matters we should discuss.”

He looked up then, his eyes cold as a winter morning.

Cherion didn’t hesitate. He began cutting his own meat with a calm, surgical precision. ”Of course, Lord Philia,” he said, popping a piece into his mouth and chewing slowly. He swallowed, his eyes never leaving Philia’s face. ”I wouldn’t dream of letting you go alone. Without me there to entertain you, you might start poking your nose into things that aren’t your business, and we wouldn’t want you to get bored, would we?”