Chapter 172: The Dance That Turned Deadly

Cherion had imagined a lot of ways this dance lesson could go wrong.

Tripping? Likely. Stepping on his instructor’s feet? Almost guaranteed.

Getting grabbed and dragged into a dance by the Crown Prince?

Not even remotely on the list.

And yet, here he was.

Cherion bit down hard on his lower lip, the sting sharp enough to make his eyes water. Maybe this was a dream. It had to be. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but clearly something had gone very, very wrong.

But nothing happened. Yerel was still there. Still so close. Eww.

"Let go of me," Cherion hissed, Cherion hissed, his voice shaky with a weird mix of disgust and brand-new, North-forged irritation. He squirmed, trying to pry himself out of that grip, but Yerel was basically a brick wall in fancy clothes. The hand at the small of his back didn’t feel like a dance hold—it felt like a brand stamped into his spine.

"Now, now, Cherion," Yerel murmured, his breath brushing against Cherion’s ear in a way that made his skin crawl. He guided them into a wide, forceful turn. "Is this any way to greet an old friend? You’ve grown quite prickly in the frost. I suppose I should have expected a bit of... wildness. The Duke’s influence, I imagine?"

Cherion dragged his feet against the floor, forcing them to slow for half a second. He shoved against Yerel’s shoulders, his face flushing a deep, frustrated crimson. "We aren’t friends. We never were. You’re a trespasser. And you’re making a mess of my floor."

Yerel laughed like he was enjoying this way too much. He didn’t let go, he simply tightened his hold until Cherion was forced to look up at him. "Your floor? Oh, how adorable. You’ve truly convinced yourself you belong here, haven’t you? A stray dog finding a warm rug and thinking he’s the master of the house."

He spun Cherion again, hard enough to make the room blur.

"Tell me," Yerel went on. "Does Zarius actually talk to you? Or does he just pat your head when you do something useful? A man like him, a man who has spent his life in war and blood, doesn’t want a partner. He wants a distraction. A loyal little hound to keep him company."

Cherion’s breath hitched, but he forced a jagged laugh of his own. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? That everyone’s as empty as you are?"

"He was interested at first, I’m sure," Yerel went on, ignoring the bite. "The novelty of a ’discarded’ omega with a bit of fire in his eyes. It’s quite the romantic story, isn’t it? But Zarius is a busy man. He’s probably bored of the game already. He’s just too polite, or perhaps too stoic, to tell you to go back where you belong."

Something snapped. It was the sheer, insulting arrogance of a man who thought he knew a heart like Zarius’s. With a sudden, desperate burst of strength, Cherion shoved Yerel’s chest with both palms. He lunged back, breaking the contact with a sharp gasp.

"Don’t," Cherion spat, pointing a trembling finger at the Prince. "Don’t you dare project your own emptiness onto him. Let’s not insult His Grace by pretending you have the slightest clue what he thinks or feels. You couldn’t understand a man like him if you had a thousand years to try. He’s worth thousands of you, Yerel. On his worst day, he’s more human than you’ve ever been."

Yerel stood still for a heartbeat, his hands falling to his sides. the whole "charming prince" thing vanished completely.

Before Cherion could even turn to run, Yerel’s hand shot out, catching Cherion’s wrist in a grip that promised bruises. He yanked him forward, his face inches from Cherion’s. "You’ve forgotten your place, little bird," Yerel hissed. "I made you. And I can just as easily..."

BANG

The doors slammed open so hard they hit the walls with a loud crack. Yeah. Subtle entrance, clearly not an option.

Zarius walked in and he looked less like a Duke and more like an ancient, vengeful deity of the mountains. His eyes locked straight onto Yerel’s hand.

Zarius didn’t stop until he was looming over the Crown Prince. He didn’t even acknowledge Cherion at first, though he stepped between them, and shoved Yerel back enough to make him let go.

Zarius looked Yerel up and down, his expression one of pure disgust.

"It seems the journey from the Capital was far too long for you, Your Highness," Zarius began. "Did you suffer a concussion at the border? Or perhaps the mountain air has made you go blind?"

Yerel straightened his cuffs, his smile returning, though it looked strained at the edges. "Duke Valtrane. I didn’t hear you enter."

"Clearly," Zarius countered, his eyes flashing. He didn’t move an inch. "You seem to have lost your way in my home. And more importantly, you seem to have forgotten which fiancé you’re here to collect. This person..." Zarius gestured vaguely behind him, where Cherion was still catching his breath, "is your ex-fiancé. The one you discarded like nothing in public. Unless your memory is as fragile as your ego, I suggest you go find the right room."

Yerel didn’t back down. He smoothed the front of his doublet, looking entirely too pleased with the chaos he’d sparked. "Now, Zarius, there’s no need for such hostility. I was simply distracted by the music. I saw Cherion here, dancing all by himself... I merely stopped by to greet him."

"You’ve greeted him," Zarius replied. "Now, leave. Before I decide your presence is a breach of my borders."

"Your Highness!"

The high-pitched, frantic call came from the doorway. Philia appeared, looking breathless and clutching a silk handkerchief. When he saw Yerel, his face transformed into a mask of tearful relief. He practically threw himself across the room, catching Yerel’s arm and burying his face in the Prince’s shoulder.

"Oh, Your Highness, you’re finally here! I miss you so much. I..."

Cherion’s stomach flipped. Because just like that, Yerel switched. Smiling, soft, affectionate, like none of the last five minutes had happened. He patted Philia’s hand, murmuring sweet nonsense, playing the role perfectly.

It was so fake it made Cherion feel physically ill.

Huek, Cherion thought, a physical wave of nausea hitting him. It was like watching a play where everyone had forgotten their lines and started ad-libbing the worst romance possible.

Suddenly, the world went dark.

A large, warm hand covered Cherion’s eyes. Zarius had turned, his back now a solid wall against the display behind them.

"Don’t," Zarius muttered, his voice surprisingly soft. "There is no need for you to witness such an unsightly scene. It’ll only rot your brain."

Cherion felt a strange, shaky laugh bubble up in his throat. He leaned his forehead against Zarius’s chest for just a second, the scent of cedar and cold wind acting as an anchor.

Across the room, Yerel’s voice rang out, regaining its oily confidence. "Duke, I’m sure you’ll agree that after such a grueling journey through the passes, a night of rest is only fair. You wouldn’t possibly expect me to turn around and head back immediately? I require... hospitality."

Zarius’s hand tightened slightly before he let it fall. When he turned back, his face was all ice again.

"One night," Zarius bit out. "And I wish you don’t wander anywhere and disturb..." His gaze flicked to Cherion. "...anyone."

Yerel smiled, a slow, triumphant thing. "Thank you for your... kindness, Duke."

As Philia led Yerel away, Cherion finally let out a long, frustrated groan. He threw his head back, looking at the ceiling as if asking the gods why his life had become a high-stakes circus.

He had been this close to being free. Ugh...

"I hate everything."