laine lingered by the bedside in the dim glow of the chamber, her ice-blue eyes tracing the sleeping Alexander’s battered face with a quiet intensity that tightened her chest in a grip that made her breath heavily.

Bandages swathed his skin in stark white layers—swollen black eye sealed shut, busted lips cracked and glistening with healing salve, jagged cuts peeking from beneath linen wraps along his delicate jawline and cheekbones.

Any other omega would have milked those wounds for pity by now, batting lashes or whimpering soft to stir alpha protectiveness, their dynamic biology screaming for comfort and care.

Some did it masterfully, turning scars into subtle lures.

And gods, the facial injuries alone—those that stole beauty and stole breath—would drive lesser souls to despair, to mirror-cracking sobs or hidden blades in the dead of night, convinced no mate could ever look at them with desire again.

Yet here he lay, lips curved in the faintest ghost of a serene smile, as if the arena’s brutality had been a mere dream he conquered, not a near-death crucible that left him swaddled like a broken doll.

"Why do you look so damn happy despite all this ruin on your face?" she whispered to the sleeping form, voice cracking raw with confusion and something sharper, deeper—awe laced with envy. "Sometimes I swear to the gods you’re not even an omega at all... too fierce, too unbroken for what they made you endure."

Suddenly, in his deep slumber, Alexander’s small hand twitched on the silk sheets, fingers curling instinctively around her larger one where it rested near his pillow—wrapping soft and trusting, like a child seeking warmth from the one nearest.

Elaine’s breath hitched sharp, her eyes widening in shock as warmth bloomed unbidden through her palm.

His hand felt impossibly delicate against hers—petite fingers smooth as polished marble, skin velvet-soft despite the calluses from secret training blades, dwarfed entirely by her calloused warrior’s grip forged in steel and blood.

"Why are you so soft like this?" she breathed, throat tight, thumb brushing his knuckles feather-light before she could stop herself. "So fragile... yet you shatter mountains."

Memories crashed over her then, unbidden and brutal—their wedding day flooded back in vivid clarity—him standing radiant in star-lily white silks, silver hair cascading like moonlight, petite frame swallowed by the ceremonial robes yet holding his chin high amid sneering nobles.

So delicate, so heartbreakingly beautiful, an ethereal vision any alpha would kill to claim.

And what had she done? Atrocities, her mind snarled. Mocking his dreams in private chambers, calling him ’weak flower’ with venom-laced laughs while courtiers she glared at her.

Forcing him into that cold, contractual night where passion should have bloomed—pinning his tiny shoulders to the bed, rutting mechanical and loveless because of her anger, never once whispering tenderness or holding him after.

Was that necessary?

It didn’t hurt her, but her ego was damaged. Then, she showed her strength by—hurting him like that where he begged her to stop.

Belittling his fire for omega rights as ’foolish whims,’ shoving him aside like a petulant child when he dared argue for equality.

I crushed him, she thought, heart pounding guilty thunder. Ruined the one soft thing this empire might have deserved. Why did I have to hurt him so much?

Something wet shimmered sudden in her ice-blue eyes—tears she blinked back furious, jaw clenching as she stared at his fragile form.

As Crown Princess, he could have bent to the culture’s whip—accepted his fate, the silences, the breeding role scripted for omegas since ancient scrolls. Lived in gilded luxury, head bowed, dreams buried.

But no—he fought, bloodied fists raised against traditions etched in stone, daring to dream of chains broken for all like him.

"Why do you fight so hard for them—for omegas who whisper behind your back, who fear your boldness?" she murmured aching, voice trembling. "What fire burns in you that won’t let you kneel?"

Her gaze drifted lower then, snagging on the jagged bite mark scarred deep into the curve of his neck—her mark, fangs sunk possessive not in love’s fever but cold contract, branding him as hers before gods and court on their wedding night.

A claim neither wanted, a chain disguised as union. She flinched hard at the sight, guilt twisting like a blade in her gut.

Leaning closer, drawn by masochistic pull, her fingertip ghosted the raised scar tissue—rough and puckered, a permanent stain of her dominance.

Alexander whimpered unconscious in his sleep, a soft, pained cry escaping busted lips—"N-no... hurts..."—body twitching faint under bandages, face crumpling as nightmare memory stirred.

Elaine yanked her hand back like burned, heart fracturing sharp. That mark screams I’m his Alpha. Protector, provider, the one meant to shield his softness.

But had she ever shown kindness?

Spoiled him with gentle touches, whispered praises in the dark, lifted his dreams instead of stomping them?

No—belittled. Humiliated. Every time, she would dismiss his ideas with cutting barbs.

"Stick to flowers, Princess—leave wars to real warriors."

"Omegas are just for breeding purposes."

What would happen if she had sex with him after every clash?

Every private clash, she would have pinned him down, force rut after rut mechanical and merciless, leaving him curled small and silent after, scenting his tears but never wiping them.

Their marriage wasn’t doomed at the start, she realized gut-punched. I ruined it. Poured venom where vows should have bloomed.

Those tiny shoulders—petite, unscarred before the arena—now bore the empire’s weight alone—traditions, sneers, a sham bond, a bloodied victory won through desperation.

And that kiss... gods, that kiss. Jealousy roared fresh in her veins, hot and irrational—watching her wife lock lips with Jennife, bruised mouth claiming alpha fire mid-duel, had ignited something primal and possessive she couldn’t name.

She hated it, the raw intimacy burned into her eyes forever. But how could he value a kiss as weapon when she’d never given him one laced with love?

No tender presses under moonlight, no heated claims born of want—just duty bites and cold conquests. He was humiliated by me every time, she thought, tears spilling silent now down her cheeks. Broken down until fighting dirty was all he had left.

Elaine bowed her head low, her blonde braid slipping forward like a heavy curtain to veil her face, one calloused hand clenching the silk bedsheets until her knuckles blanched white, regret clawing through her chest hollow and relentless as a winter gale.

In that shattering moment, staring at Alexander’s fragile, bandaged form, she saw her mother’s ghost overlaid— that fierce, soft-hearted omega woman with silver-streaked hair and unyielding dreams of peace, beaten down day after merciless day by Elaine’s bastard father until her spirit fractured. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

He’d preyed on her gentleness like a wolf on lambs: mocking her pleas for equality in their bedchambers, forcing her body night after night in ’duty’s name’ while sneering at her tears, humiliating her before everyone with barbs that drew blood without blades.

One final night of his cruelty—fists instead of words—had ended it all, her mother’s life snuffed out in a pool of crimson, leaving Elaine scarred and seething, vowing never to become the monster who sired her.

But what makes me any different from that fucking beast? The thought struck like a hammer to the chest, stealing her breath. I am the same as him. I preyed on this weak omega too—pinned his tiny frame underneath mine, forced him, belittled his fire until he bled inside.

Her stomach twisted nauseous, self-loathing rising bile-sharp.

She’d become her father’s echo—towering over Alexander’s petite softness, using her alpha strength to crush rather than shield, turning their marriage bed into a battlefield of humiliation where love should have whispered.

Drawn by aching compulsion, Elaine reached out trembling, her rough fingertips brushing a stray lock of silver hair from his bandaged forehead—velvet-soft even matted with healing sweat.

Alexander stirred unconscious, a plaintive whimper escaping his busted lips as his bruised face crumpled in sleep-terror.

"N-no... Elaine, d-don’t... please..." he pleaded soft and broken, voice slurred through slumber’s haze, small hands twitching futile against the sheets as a scared expression ghosted across his features.

His eyes squeezed tighter shut, brows furrowing in instinctive fear, body curling fractionally away like a wounded animal bracing for the next blow.

Elaine stilled completely, hand freezing mid-air as ice flooded her veins, heart pounding guilty thunder. He’s terrified of me. The realization gutted her raw.

Alexander had never shown it awake—never cowered openly, never let the court see his dread behind that defiant gaze and crown. He’d masked it masterfully—chin high through her cruelties, silver hair tossed proud even as her words sliced deep, petite frame standing unbowed in chambers where she’d forced him down and taken without tenderness.

But here, in vulnerable sleep, the truth bled free—he fears me like prey fears predator, like my mother feared that monster. Tears welled hot and unbidden now, spilling silent tracks down her cheeks to drip onto the sheets. I did this.

She pulled back slow, cradling her hand like it burned, blonde braid swaying as she rose unsteadily than after any battlefield rout. No wonder he begs for divorce. No wonder he kisses enemies to survive.