Instincts and Silence

The royal court buzzed like flies in honey.

Beneath the golden arches of the Daylight Hall, nobles swarmed with their grievances: borders breached, taxes rising, Omega shortages, and whatever scandal they could disguise as state business.

King Caelum Dravon remained still upon his throne, carved from obsidian and edged in war-forged iron. He nodded at the appropriate places, dismissed irrelevant chatter, and sipped from a goblet of springwine without tasting a drop.

But his thoughts were elsewhere.

Or rather, on someone else.

Aric.

The man stood behind him and to the right—where only the most trusted guards were permitted. Silent. Unmoving. As if carved from shadow itself.

The court no longer dared to ask questions about him. After one noble suggested he was a “wild Beta bred for obedience,” Aric had smiled without smiling and calmly disarmed a sparring soldier in front of the entire military council. With a fork.

No one had spoken about him since.

And yet, Caelum’s mind never stopped.

He hadn’t scented Aric once. Not even in the sparring yard, not in battle training, not after hours in the southern heat. The man had no scent. No classification. No record.

Nothing.

Which made it worse.

The scent of fear was what snapped Caelum from his spiral.

Not his own.

Someone else.

A young messenger approached the throne—no older than seventeen, thin as parchment, holding a scroll marked by the seal of the Eastern Lords. But the scroll was damp.

Too damp.

And Aric moved.

Like wind—no sound, no warning—he was there. Hand clamping down on the messenger’s wrist. The scroll hit the marble floor. A whisper-click echoed.

A small needle extended from the scroll’s inner frame—tipped in green.

Poison.

Gasps spread like wildfire. Nobles stepped back. Some clutched their pearls; others grabbed for guards.

Aric didn’t blink. He snapped the scroll clean in two and threw the pieces to the floor.

“Subtle,” he said. “For cowards.”

Caelum rose slowly from his throne, his voice cold.

“The Lords are getting sloppy.”

Aric didn’t look at him.

“Or desperate. Sloppy men die. Desperate ones burn cities.”

The boy was dragged out by the palace guards, still sobbing.

The court was dismissed with a wave.

⸻

That night, the halls echoed with whispers. But the king’s war chamber was silent, lit only by fire and the occasional clink of armor from a passing guard. Caelum stood at the hearth, one hand pressed against the warm stone, the other curled into a fist.

Behind him, he knew—he felt—Aric’s presence before the door even opened.

“You didn’t scent the poison,” Aric said after a pause.

Not an accusation. A fact.

Caelum didn’t turn.

“You think I’m going soft?”

“I think your senses are off,” Aric replied smoothly. “And no offense, but that’s usually a you problem.”

Caelum turned sharply.

“Careful. You’re not as untouchable as you pretend to be.”

“Mm. No, but I am extremely hard to kill.” Aric leaned against the wall near the fireplace, arms crossed. “And you, Your Majesty, look like you’re about to either faint or rut. Possibly both.”

Caelum blinked.

“What?”

Aric smirked, head tilting slightly.

“You’ve been… off. Unfocused. Snapping at diplomats. Sweating in chambers that are kept cold. And now—missing poison right under your Alpha nose?”

He stepped forward, one quiet footfall at a time. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were pregnant.”

Caelum choked.

“Excuse me?”

Aric raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself.

“Just an observation. Don’t worry. Statistically, that’s impossible.”

He paused. “Unless it’s not.”

Caelum’s body tensed, the heat in his lower abdomen rising again—an odd pressure, not pain, but unfamiliar.

He turned away.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Most people find it charming,” Aric said. “After the trauma wears off.”

The king rubbed the back of his neck, agitated and restless.

“You talk too much.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who broods in silence for hours and then accuses me of stalking him with my eyes.”

Caelum rounded on him.

“You do.”

Aric smiled. Not a grin. A slow, dangerous lift of his lips.

“I watch you, yes. I’m your guard. You’ve seen my job description.”

“You watch me like you’re reading me,” Caelum said. “Like you already know how the story ends.”

Aric’s expression turned unreadable.

“Maybe I do.”

Silence.

Caelum’s breathing was uneven now. Something was wrong with him—inside him.

But whatever it was, Aric had already seen it.

“What are you?” the king asked, this time not cold—just tired. Desperate to name what refused to be named.

Aric stepped close. Their chests nearly brushed.

“I’m your shadow,” he said softly. “And shadows always see what the light tries to hide.”

Caelum swallowed.

He should walk away. He should command him to leave.

Instead, he stayed very, very still.

“You affect me,” Caelum admitted. “And I hate that.”

“You say that,” Aric murmured, “but your heartbeat says otherwise.”

⸻

Outside, the moon rose—red, full, and sharp-edged.

Inside the Alpha king, a seed of change pulsed quietly to life.

And Aric… smiled like he’d been waiting for it all along.

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