Chapter Text
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“Let’s make a deal.” Duchess Pedelian smiled.
“No.” Deon said.
He didn’t trust the Pedelians’ smiles. Dealing with both Cassis and Sylvia already taught him that when a Pedelian smiled, it either meant unmitigated disaster (for him) or some great annoyance (target unclear). He didn’t need to find out which category the Duchess’ smile would fall into—especially since he couldn’t read her.
It was bad enough that he could not read two out of three people in the room right now. It was made worse by the fact the last person here, Duke Roussel Pedelian, only felt some degree of wariness towards him. Nothing awful or threatening, and actually veering slightly toward worry.
Worry *for* him.
Something was clearly wrong with all of them.
“One match, winner decided by the first hit. No weapon restrictions. The loser must do whatever the winner asks.” The Duchess offered cheerfully. “Fair, don’t you think?”
Deon looked at the Duke instead. Right now, Roussel’s eyebrow was twitching uncontrollably while the worry for *Deon*---yes, really—intensified.
How weird.
Roussel noticed Deon’s gaze, and coughed. “Young man, I understand that you want to get out of Cassis’ hair. As Cassis’ father, I apologize for his method, though I implore you to recognize that his intention is genuine. I only ask that you would be so kind as to give our son a chance by remaining here.”
Deon stared at him.
Why the fuck did Cassis’ father talk in lawyer-ese? Meaning, what, they rejected his request to get voluntarily evicted and banned from their territory?
“I’m allergic to lawyers.” Deon said.
“Cheers.” Roussel said. Then drank his tea the way one would down a shot.
*
Days passed, but Deon’s anger still didn’t seem to abate.
He spent most of his time in the outdoor training field, sparring with (beating) the Knights to exhaustion using wooden swords. It would greatly benefit the Knights to train against someone whose swordsmanship was not part of any particular teachings in the empire, and whose strategy mainly consisted of speed and acrobatics.
But the thing was, it was clear to anybody that Deon was not there to spar; he was there to vent out his anger.
By the end of each day, Isidore always ended up fielding Deon’s attacks. But even the ever-patient Isidore was starting to get weary from everyday’s onslaught.
“Please go easy on me.” Cassis smiled, stepping into the field, signaling Isidore to tap out.
Deon zeroed in on him. Narrowed his eyes. Shifted his wooden sword into his dominant hand. Took a step back, and readied his stance.
Shit.
Cassis thought.
He’s totally going to kill me.
*
Deon was leaning against a large tree in the garden, watching Sylvia set up her picnic basket. She was humming some cheerful song under her breath, smiling all the way, while carefully unfurling her picnic blanket.
“Come, sit with me!” she waved her hand at him.
He tsk’d and looked away, refusing to move.
She just continued to set up two plates and two glasses and put some cakes and confectionaries onto each plate.
He had tried avoiding her, but somehow she always found his hiding place, despite the Knights being totally unaware of his presence.
Her powers, it was not only healing. He was sure of it now.
“Omegas have abilities to influence others with their pheromones. I’m sure you’ve heard of this belief before.”
He tilted his head. An acknowledgment.
She smiled and did a little curtsey, smiling her brightest smile, eyes just this side of mischievous.
“What do you know of Empaths?”
*
“Wait!” Roussel said urgently. “Can you do it above the collar or something? I am rather fond of this attire since my lovely daughter gave this to me for my last birthday, and it would be a shame to ruin a perfectly fine clothes with blood, don’t you think?”
Deon paused. “I see.”
Proceeded to stab his dagger into Roussel’s heart instead, making sure to slash away and ruin said clothes beyond repair in the process.
*
(The bizarre thing was, despite all the murder attempts, Roussel kept inviting him to tea.
Even more bizarre, *he* kept accepting Roussel’s invitations.
He refused to get out-stubborn by Cassis’ father, of all people.)
*
“My dear Deon,” Cassis said with a smile during one of their spars. “I heard you’re getting along well with Father? I’m glad to—”
A sword into Cassis’ guts later, he glanced at Isidore. Now, the Knight Commander didn’t even bat an eye every time he tried to kill Cassis—clearly getting way used to it.
Tch.
He needed to find new ways to offend the Knight Commander and make him think *he* was an actual threat, not—whatever this was.
*
(Cassis kept calling him such pet names like my dear in increasing frequency, and Deon was—
Goosebumps all over.
He just—couldn’t stand it.)
*
The thing about fighting Cassis was—be it physical or verbal—it never came to a close.
He said his piece. In words. In gestures. In every swing of his sword. In the very air he breathed. In every way he could think of.
What do you want from me?
And he *knew* Cassis did the same; said his piece, in every way that he thought mattered.
What do you want me to do?
So just why was it—
None of it seemed to get through?
They both were speaking, so why was it—they could not seem to hear each other at all?
*
“How are you, brat?” the Duchess said, even as her eyes were firmly set on the report before her.
Deon shrugged. Continued browsing titles on the shelf.
They were currently in the library, with her inspecting the Dukedom’s reports while he searched for more Empire history and myths books he hadn’t read yet.
There weren't many books on those two subjects that he hadn’t read.
“Speaking of,” she began, “how about renewing out bet—”
“Six months, and you’ll order Cassis to release me. Not a second longer.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Keep your words.”
She sighed.
Well, it was worth a try.
*
Cassis was sitting on his ass on the ground, having just lost his sword to Deon’s strike.
Deon pointed his sword at him.
“You. Try to use your pheromones now, if you don’t want to lose to me yet again.”
He was not angry because he lost the match with the Duchess, someone whom, in normal circumstances, he could beat. Luck was certainly a factor, but she won it fair—even if she had to use some underhanded tactics to do it. The first hit that landed, in whatever form.
She won. He could acknowledge that much.
He was angry because now he had to figure out just why was it that the Pedelians as a whole didn’t seem to resent him. It just didn’t make any sense.
And he had a whopping six months to do it too.
Six months to torture him with questions he wouldn’t know the answers for. Questions that he was not sure he wanted to find the answers for.
Rather than wallowing in something he couldn’t control, he decided to be productive by trying to get himself exposed to Cassis’ pheromones as often as possible in order to develop immunity to it.
There *must be* a way to counter his pheromones somehow. He just needed to find it.
Except.
Cassis refused to cooperate and insisted on *not* using his pheromones.
“Use your pheromones now or perish!”
*
Cassis chose to perish.
Which only added to Deon’s ever accumulating anger.
Damn regenerative ability.
*
Day after day, Cassis stood at the same place, in the same stance.
Facing the same Deon.
Deon, who looked at him with growing resentment.
I’m here. Cassis wanted to say. I’m here, for you. Trying to make you see me for who I really am.
The *coward* that I really am.
“Use your pheromones, damn it!” Deon charged at him, eyes blazing, fist flying.
Cassis took defensive position, and swerved to the left. Deon followed him, still aiming to punch his face. He was blocking him still, but Deon was really persistent with his punches, and each one felt painful as fuck—his arms were sure to bruise come tomorrow.
A knee to his stomach, which he barely blocked. Followed by an overhead kick, which he managed to avoid by ducking—which he realized a second later was a mistake, as Deon’s front kick sent him flying far.
On the other side of the training field, Isidore was passively observing them, while Theo looked on with worried expression.
He tried to get up again, which was just owww.
Just because he had regenerative healing, didn’t mean he could not feel the pain.
Across from him, Deon rigidly held himself, lips in a thin line, eyes on Cassis, and *only* on Cassis.
Ah.
Right.
He suddenly remembered.
This was why he kept doing this despite the pain.
Because this was the only way he could keep Deon’s undivided attention on him. The only way Deon would voluntarily touch him.
Denying Deon’s request was the only thing he could do to occupy a place in Deon’s mind. Make him think of him always.
See me.
See just how desperate I am for you—for every little bit of attention you’re willing to give me.
*
(Why is it—we keep passing each other by?)
*
“It’s been about three weeks, and tensions were high. I’m afraid it is only a matter of time before Agrece Young Master completely explodes. Considering he couldn’t threaten the Young Lord with death, I’m a little hesitant to imagine what he would do once it happens.” Isidore concluded his report.
Roussel sighed. Pressed his closed eyelids with his fingers. Damn headache. “This can’t go on.” Cassis was still his son, and he did promise not to interfere, but this was just—
Isidore merely looked at him.
“Send a missive to the Castros. I remember they usually have their regular monsters subjugation control around this time of year near our borders. Ask for their exact location and tell them we’ll join them. For practical training purposes.”
“Your Grace, are you sure about sending Young Lord Cassis out? Is that wise?”
“Might as well send both him and Deon into the wild. At least it would provide them some distraction from each other.” Roussel smiled a smile that was 20% wistful thinking and 80% desperation.
Isidore was *politely* skeptical.
“Besides, meeting Luzark again might do Cassis some good. They used to be the best of friends, as I recall.” Roussel laughed. “So just let them have some fresh air outside the Pedelians’ territory. What’s the worst that could happen?”
*
Isidore.
Had a bad feeling about this.
*
“You need to choose a personal Knight.” Cassis said.
After their last fight, Isidore persuaded him not to spar with Deon for a while. Cassis only agreed since Isidore looked very harassed and this side of desperate. In the meantime though, Deon continued to occupy the training field—even when all he did was stand there doing nothing all day, like he still expected Cassis to show up despite him already sending him a message he wouldn’t for a while.
Deon looked up from his history book. Tilted his head slightly. Die.
Why he was even reading a book in the middle of training field while the Knights did their scheduled regular drill around him, Cassis really did *not* want to know.
“You’re going to be a part of this family soon anyway,” interrupted by some coughs from nearby Theo and an eyebrow twitch from Deon, which Cassis happily ignored, “so it’s only right to assign you a personal Knight for your protection.”
A pause.
“Protection.” Deon said, tilting his head the other way.
The peanut gallery seemed to agree with him about the absurdity of Cassis’ statement, judging from their gobsmacked stunned silence.
“Formally, anyway.” Cassis amended, desperately cheerful. “You can make them your errand boy or secretary, your escort whenever you’re traveling outside Pedelian Castle, anything you want. Just. It’s better to have at least one, for formality sake. Just choose anybody.”
Deon just kept staring at him.
Cassis was starting to want to fidget under that stare. Deon was also from Nobility House himself, so he *knew* why such formality was in place, even if the Agrece didn’t really adhere to the normal nobility convention.
“I could travel outside the Pedelian Castle when I’m with my Personal Knight?”
Shit.
“As long as I’m one of your travel companions, of course. You still need to be within a certain distance of me when we’re not inside Pedelian Castle.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of Deon tapping his finger on the book’s thick cover suddenly sounded so loud in Cassis’ ears.
“Isidore, then.”
“No.”
Deon smiled. Cassis felt like he just stepped on a landmine. “I can choose *anybody* huh.”
“Putting aside the fact that Isidore is the head of military force in the Pedelian Duchy and therefore unavailable, do you *really* want to have Isidore nagging at you 24/7?”
Isidore’s nagging could even rival the Head Butler’s; the only difference being that the Head Butler did it in words while Isidore did it through disapproving frowns and the creaks of his armors. Cassis had *nightmares* about the sound of the creaks of Isidore’s armor. It was just *that* memorable.
Several knights nodded their heads discreetly in agreement.
“Oh fine.” Deon rose to his feet and stretched his arms upwards, standing on his tiptoes, yawning, and the book he was holding *accidentally* flew somewhere.
Theo dived to save the book before it hit the grass. “You mustn’t sir! This book is a priceless antique with no other copies available!”
A pause.
“I want him.” Deon said, gesturing to Theo, who was currently face down on the ground, dirt all over him, the book safely in hand.
“...isn’t he too young and irresponsible though.”
“He’s stupid.” Deon said. “I like that in a man.”
Some indiscrete coughs and sounds of facepalms were heard, followed by several people turning their face away from Cassis to hide their expression.
Deon was clearly talking about Theo, so why did the men look at *him* with such a pitying gaze?
Cassis glared at them all.
“You traveling somewhere?” Deon asked, deceptively light.
“Joint Subjugation Expedition with the Castros in a week. Seasonal wyvern hordes, I think. Would you,” Cassis hesitated, “would you like to come with?”
Deon gave him a *look.*
“Right. Of course you would want to get out of here. Of course.” Cassis muttered, not at all bitter. Then he turned around and walked away, intending to find a quiet corner to sulk in peace. “I’ll be sure to inform Father about your participation.”
“The Red Castro, huh. It would be nice if Luzark already succeeded his mother as the Family Head.”
Cassis stopped dead in his tracks.
Luzark, Deon had called. First name, no honorifics, no added insult.
*First name*.
“My dear Deon,” Cassis said, voice *carefully* even, “you knew Luzark?”
Deon looked back at him. Blinked, measuring his expression. Then he smiled his slow little smile, one corner a little higher than the other, making it a mocking sneer. A clear provocation.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
*
Isidore, on the other side of the castle: *bad feeling intensified*
*
“I think,” Isidore said, “it would be better to cancel our upcoming joint subjugation expedition.”
The Duchess raised an eyebrow. “On what ground?”
His gut feeling—which never betrayed him. Also because he just didn’t feel like it.
“Both the Young Lord and Agrece Young Master are too emotionally compromised to participate in such rigorous activity that would demand so much from their physical and mental faculties.”
The eyebrow raised even higher. “Really.”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head slightly, considering him. Then, “No.”
Isidore blinked. “Pardon?”
“My son,” the Duchess sighed, “is still insisting Deon Agrece would be the Pedelians’ future Master, legally tied to him through the institution of Marriage. While I do think he’s delusional, as a parent, I also need to support him just in case. Which is why,” she smiled her wolf-in-sheep-clothing smile, all nice and peaceful despite all the sharp teeth and the evil eyes. “Just think of this as a chance to navigate their fights and learn what to do, since you’ll be seeing more of their lover’s spats in the future. A whole *lot* more.”
Fuckity fuck.
“Please allow me to remind you that I’m neither a nanny nor a Head Butler.” he narrowed his eyes. “What’s the real reason here?”
She grinned. “I just *love* seeing you suffer.”
Isidore glared at his former comrade-in-arms.
This was totally why it was never a good idea to have your bestfriend married to your Boss.
*
In the week leading to the Joint Subjugation Expedition departure, Deon was strangely absent from the training field—to the relief of the Knights and soldiers.
Apparently the combined force of Sylvia and Theo pestering him all the time with their excitement and eagerness to show the Pedelian Castle’s wonders to him was enough to keep him busy without spilling any blood.
Much.
The point was, Deon was away most of the time, and Cassis had nothing to do since the subjugation preparation was done by Isidore the worrywart anyway.
He was idling away in Deon’s room, reading one of the books on the bedside table, when his earring suddenly activated its magic.
Shit, what happene—
Deon crashed *on* him a second later, appearing as if by magic. Which, right, magic bracelet, homing enchantment.
They stared at each other.
Cassis sprawling on the floor, Deon on top of him, dressed only in his pants and fitting sleeveless turtleneck, completely wet from head to toe.
“W-where are your shirt and jacket?” it was not his fault he sounded a bit strangled. Whenever he saw Deon in his inner sleeveless turtleneck he never knew where to look since damn distracting sideboob view. As if that was not enough, his nipples were also trying to get his attention by perking up through Deon’s clothes because, right, wet, cold water.
He must have been fighting the baby krakens being domesticated in the Lake behind Pedelian Castle, and accidentally went under the walls' line while exploring the Lake's underwater caves.
With great effort, he re-focused his eyes on Deon’s face. Found him looking at him weird.
Deon tilted his head, sniffing the air. Gave him a considering look, before coming closer, his nose under Cassis’ earlobe, hands on Cassis’ shoulders. “You—”
“Were you trying to run away again?”
Splash!
Just like that, the spell was broken.
Deon’s face looked rather stunned a split second before his eyes narrowed and he bashed Cassis’ head—hard—against the floor.
He was gone from the room before Cassis could recover from the pain.
Cassis sighed.
Not for the first time, he felt as if he had just sabotaged his own progress.
Shit.
*
He waited to—apologize.
Something.
But there was no sign of Deon.
Later, in the privacy of his own room in the third floor, far enough that Deon wouldn’t smell his pheromones from his room in the second floor, but still close enough that he could go to him should anything happened, he imagined sucking Deon’s perky nipple through his clothes, and pulled lightly with his teeth, while his hands busy kneading Deon’s ass.
He imagined pushing the damn turtleneck up to reveal Deon’s chest, and just pressed his face against it while pinching and rubbing Deon’s nipples in turn, making him let out these cute little noises.
He would lick every droplet of water sticking to Deon, replacing their trace on Deon’s body with his saliva. Decorating him with his love bites, marking him all over. He’d slam Deon on his dick over and over, bouncing him, making him feel it deep enough to lose his mind and moan with abandon.
He imagined Deon hating it at first, only to start begging him for it after he ejaculated once or twice.
As he started stroking his dick in earnest, he imagined Deon bouncing himself on his dick, gripping Cassis’ shoulders tight to keep himself steady, his breath hot on Cassis’ ear. He imagined Deon nuzzling him on the neck, biting his scent gland, wordlessly asking for affection. He imagined responding by taking him into his arms and holding him tight, raining butterfly kisses on his face, his hair, his hands.
Which was of course the moment he spilled his seed into his hand.
Even as he tried to catch his breaths again, he still imagined Deon lying next to him right here, in his bed. Them holding hands, and just breathed. Together. In the same place.
And how his ring resided in Deon’s left ring finger, clean of any tattoo or magical residue, free of any other Alpha’s marks.
It would be nice to make this little imagination into a reality.
Luzark Castro, huh. A good candidate, indeed.
He wasn’t sure when he could make his little imagination come true.
But as he saw his sister’s stupid romance novels on his work desk, he was sure of one thing:
There was no place for Second Male Leads in his story.
*
(He would make sure of that.)
*
Somewhere in the far north of the Pedelians' territory, deep in the woods, Luzark Castro suddenly sneezed.
"You're not coming down with a cold, are you?" his aide asked worriedly. "We're barely reaching the promised rendezvous point with the Pedelians. If you're not feeling well, it's best to pull out now. We wouldn't want to have any accidents on this expedition."
Luzark laughed. "As if a mere cold would be able to stop me. Nah. I have a good feeling about this. Besides, with me and Cassis together, what could go wrong?"
*
The expedition hadn't even started and he already got a headache.
Isidore was seriously reconsidering his life choices.
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