I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

”Move aside! Let me see, I want to see!”

”Hey, watch where you’re stepping! Stop pushing, there’s plenty of room there!”

The narrow stone corridor overlooking the front courtyard was completely crowded with bodies. Servants from every corner of the palace crowded shoulder to shoulder at the iron-barred windows, craning their necks to see what was happening below.

Wina stood amidst the crowd, wedged tightly between two senior housemaids. Her small, chapped hands were gripped firmly around the edge of the stone sill, her eyes staring down at the sweeping gravel drive below.

The Solaric delegation had finally arrived.

”Oh, goodness me, look at the Prince!” one of the younger laundry girls gasped, her fingers practically clawing at the glass as a tall noble on a white stallion rode into the center of the courtyard. ”He is so incredibly handsome. Do you think... do you think a prince and a common maid could ever fall in love? Like in those theater plays?”

The head seamstress let out a loud, derisive snort from somewhere behind them. ”Hey! That’s just a story giving you false hope, you silly girl. A prince looks at a maid the same way he looks at a polished boot, he expects her to be useful, not a wife. Keep your head in the wash tubs.”

”But look at the Princess beside him!” another voice whispered from the left, full of awe. ”She’s so beautiful. Look at those silks. She looks like a porcelain doll.”

Wina listened to the excited chatter, but her eyes didn’t track the glittering golden embroidery or the pristine white horses. To her, the entire spectacle didn’t look like a celebration of peace. It looked like an insult. The fabric of the Solaric uniforms was the exact same shade of deep cream as the banners that had marched across her hometown years ago, burning the granaries and leaving the fields black.

Suddenly, a sharp, heavy clap resounded from the end of the gallery.

”Hush! Everyone, shoosh!” the Head Butler’s voice boomed out, cold and unyielding. ”The delegation is coming. Get into your designated positions immediately! If I catch a single slouch or a single button left undone, you’ll spend the winter cleaning the stables!”

The frantic whispering died instantly. The maids and servants scrambled away from the windows like scattered mice, smoothing down their aprons and straightening their tunics as they formed two rigid, flawless lines against the cold stone walls of the reception corridor. Wina took her place near the rear, her back pressed flat against the rough masonry, her chin tucked down in a practiced angle of humble obedience.

The hallway fell silent as footsteps drew steadily closer. They were supposed to stand perfectly still and bow their heads just a little, exactly three inches from the chest, as the foreign nobility walked past.

As the first shadow of the Solaric guard crossed the threshold, Wina lowered her gaze to the floor. But inside her mind, the darkness she had been fighting ever since the first rumors of the treaty reached her ears finally broke free.

To make peace? Her fingers trembling where they were locked against her apron.

She didn’t want a treaty. She didn’t want a clean slate or a beautiful signing ceremony. Deep in her chest, a quiet, furious voice screamed that the King should have continued the war. Auzelianshould have marched their vanguards right across the border, trample Solaric into the dust, and seek absolute, bloody revenge for every single life that had been stolen from them. They shouldn’t be opening their palace doors to the murderers, they should be hunting them.

But as she stared down at the polished wood beneath her cheap shoes, the sheer helplessness of her reality settled over her like a shroud.

She was just a maid. A girl with split knuckles and a stained apron. Who would ever hear her voice? Who would care about the anger of a servant when the high lords were busy redrawing the maps of the continent? If she spoke her mind, the guards would throw her out into the street before she could even finish a sentence.

Wina closed her eyes tightly, a sharp, bitter lump forming in her throat. Her father’s quiet smile and her brother’s booming laugh flashed across her mind, followed instantly by the image of that cheap scrap of parchment that had arrived in the mail. Their deaths felt like a terrible, hollow shame indeed. They had marched off to protect the crown, believing their sacrifices would mean something, only for the kingdom to shake hands with the enemy on the very ground where the soldiers used to train. It made their absence feel entirely worthless.

The rustle of silk grew louder, passing directly in front of her position. The rich, suffocating scent of expensive southern perfume and heavy spice filled the narrow hallway, a scent so dense it made Wina’s stomach turn. She kept her chin tucked, her eyes firmly fixed on the hem of the passing cream-colored robes.

Slowly, the heavy footsteps began to fade, moving down the long gallery toward the grand reception hall where the King was waiting. The oppressive tension in the corridor lifted just a fraction as the tail end of the delegation disappeared around the corner.

”All right, back to your stations,” the supervisor called out, though his voice was much quieter now, keeping to a respectful murmur. ”The guests are in the grand hall. The kitchen needs the tea service prepared immediately”

The lines broke. The servants began to move away in quiet, subdued clusters, heading back toward their respective cellars and wash-houses.

Wina stayed against the wall for a second longer, letting the others pass her by. Her chest felt bruised, her lungs straining for air as if she had been holding her breath for an hour. She walked slowly toward the back staircase, her fingers trailing along the cold stone banister as she descended into the quiet shadows of the lower levels.

Hold it in, she told herself, her jaw clenching so hard her teeth ached. Just hold it in.

She recalled the gentle, soothing face of Philia. It was indeed incredibly hard for her, to look at those Solaric banners and try to forget about the blood, the mud, and the empty chairs at her family’s table. It felt like a betrayal to everything she had lost.

But as she reached the bottom of the stairs and looked out at the younger scullery boys rushing past with bundles of firewood, she forced herself to swallow the bitterness. Perhaps Philia was right. Perhaps this awful, humiliating peace was the only thing that would ensure these young boys wouldn’t have to carry a spear into the war.

It was for the best for the newer generation. For those who were still alive to see the sun rise.