I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Cherion practically snatched the folded parchment off Reiner’s hand, his light eyes widening with a sudden, eager spark.

”Wait, is this from Winston already?” Cherion asked, turning the paper over in his hands as a small, impressed grin touched his lips. ”That was ridiculously fast. Did he use an jet bird or something?”

He broke the seal with a sharp, crisp snap, unfolding the fine parchment with ease. But as his eyes scanned the opening lines of handwritten script, the eager smile on his face slowly flattened. The eager spark in his eyes gave way to a perplexed, slightly bewildered frown.

Dear Lord Cherion Antel,

I hope this letter finds you in good health amidst the quiet comfort of the Valtrane estate. I apologize for reaching out through such unannounced, informal channels, but after what happened, I felt a sudden sense of urgency.

My family and I have never forgotten the quiet, miraculous mercy you showed me during that afternoon tea party. A life debt is not something our house carries lightly, nor is it something time can erase. I would be deeply honored if you would grace me with your presence for a short, private tea at our quiet residence.

However, should you find it more agreeable, I would be equally pleased to meet you elsewhere, whether at another quiet establishment or in whatever place you might deem suitable. Please do not feel obliged to inconvenience yourself on my account. I would consider any opportunity to speak with you a privilege, and would gladly leave the choice of place and hour entirely to your convenience.

Yours with sincere gratitude,

Derrick Avery.

Cherion stared down at the paper for a long moment, blinking once, twice, before letting out a quiet, bewildered huff of air.

Beside him, Zarius leaned over slightly, his broad shadow falling across the edge of the oak desk as his dark eyes skimmed the neat, elegant handwriting. A low, thoughtful hum rumbled in the Duke’s chest.

”Ah,” Zarius noted dryly, a faint, amused twitch touching the corner of his jaw. ”Marchioness Avery’s son. He seems to have taken quite a liking to you.”

Cherion folded the letter back up, tossing it onto the desk with a small shake of his head. ”I literally just pushed on his chest and cleared his airway. He was choking on a piece of dry cake, Zarius.”

”You saved his life in front of half the high nobility,” Zarius corrected smoothly, pulling a chair back and sitting down with broad, relaxed grace. ”In the eyes of the Avery family, that is hardly a minor detail.”

”It’s a basic physical maneuver!” Cherion groaned, leaning his back against the edge of the desk and crossing his arms over his chest. ”I didn’t cast an ancient high-tier healing spell or pull a miracle out of thin air. Any tavern barman with two brain cells could have done the exact same thing if they knew where to press. I really don’t get why everyone in this capital insists on treating a simple abdominal thrust like I summoned divine intervention.”

Zarius looked up at him, a genuine, fond warmth softening the sharp angles of his face. He reached out, his long fingers lightly catching the edge of Cherion’s sleeve.

”You are being far too humble,” Zarius said softly, his voice dropping into that low, grounded cadence Cherion loved. ”To you, it was simple first aid from your previous world. But to Marchioness Avery, Derrick is her only living heir. You saved her family line from ending right in front of her teacup. To nobles like them, that is not a casual favor, it is a debt of blood.”

Cherion looked down at Zarius, meeting those dark, steady eyes, and felt his lingering annoyance melt away into a quiet sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

”I suppose you’re right,” Cherion admitted quietly. ”I keep forgetting how high the stakes are for these families over every little thing.”

”So,” Zarius murmured, stroking his thumb gently against the cuff of Cherion’s coat. ”Are you going to accept his invitation?”

Cherion turned his head, looking back down at the letter resting on the table. His mind, always quick to analyze every piece on the board, immediately began calculating the political layout of the capital.

”I think I have to,” Cherion said slowly, his tone shifting from casual complaint to sharp, strategic focus.

”The Avery house carries significant weight with the central merchant circles and several neutral factions at court,” Cherion continued, his light eyes tracing the clean, unpretentious curves of Derrick’s script. ”Derrick is genuinely a good guy, and he clearly holds no malice toward us. In fact, he’s practically placing himself and his family’s influence directly on our side of the board. In a capital where everyone is either secretly working for Prince Yerel or waiting to stab us in the back, turning away an ally who feels bound to me by an actual life debt would be absolute foolishness.”

He turned back toward Zarius, a sharp, calculating glint settling into his expression.

”We need every anchor we can get before we move South,” Cherion murmured, leaning slightly closer to the heavy desk. ”If I go, I don’t just secure Derrick’s personal goodwill, I ensure the Avery family remains firmly aligned with us. Leaving potential allies out in the cold only gives Yerel or the other scheming nobles room to pull them over to their side instead. We can’t afford to let people who already favor us slip into the enemy’s camp. It might seem like a simple tea invitation on the surface, but keeping them firmly in our corner could easily work to our distinct advantage when things inevitably get complicated down the line.”

Cherion paused, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at the Duke, his tone softening into a quiet question. ”What do you think, Zarius? Am I overthinking a simple invitation, or does that sound like a solid move to you?”

Zarius let out a low, warm chuckle that vibrated softly through his chest. The subtle tension in his broad shoulders completely melted away as he looked up at Cherion, his dark eyes brimming with quiet admiration. He reached out, his large, calloused hand lightly resting against Cherion’s waist, drawing him an inch closer.

”If that is your judgment, then I will follow it without hesitation,” Zarius said smoothly, his deep voice carrying an effortless, grounded certainty. ”You have a far sharper eye for these court dynamics and human motives than most seasoned diplomats in the capital. If you believe meeting with young Avery strengthens our standing, then go. I trust your instincts completely, Cherion.”

A warm, quiet smile touched Cherion’s lips, his chest lightening at the absolute trust in Zarius’s voice. He reached down, briefly pressing his palm over Zarius’s hand where it rested against his waist.

”Good,” Cherion whispered softly, his dimples showing faintly. ”Then I’ll send a polite reply and arrange a quiet, low-key meeting before we head to the palace.”