Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 123: Before I am your subject

Chapter 123: Before I am your subject

It had been a month since Thorne had left for the border, and the knot of anxiety growing in Noelle’s chest had only tightened with each passing day. Thorne should be back by now, he thought, his heart heavy with the weight of uncertainty. Every morning when he awoke, his body instinctively reached for the warmth of his Alpha beside him, only to be met with cold sheets and the stark reminder of his absence. It gnawed at him, that hollow emptiness that only Thorne could fill.

Noelle sat in the greenhouse, the familiar scent of earth and greenery usually soothing him, but today it offered little comfort. The warmth of the sun filtering through the glass panes felt oppressive rather than gentle. He missed Thorne. Missed his strong, steady presence, the way his arms would wrap around him, making everything in the world feel right, if only for a moment. His absence was a constant ache, a whispering reminder that Noelle was alone.

Next to him, Oliver sat quietly, his body cushioned by the soft chair as he absentmindedly ran a hand over his swollen belly. He had taken to wearing baggy shirts recently, his pregnancy becoming more noticeable by the day. Only three months along, yet his glow was unmistakable—an aura of life growing within him, one that Noelle couldn’t help but notice.

Oddly enough, Noelle didn’t feel any of the resentment or animosity that had plagued him in the beginning. Time had softened the jagged edges of those emotions. Oliver had found his place with Victor, and they seemed... happy, well content. What he felt now, as he looked at Oliver, was something different. It was envy.

Not for the pregnancy, but for the simple fact that Oliver had his mate by his side. Every time Noelle saw the way Victor cared for Oliver—how he would fuss over him, touch him with gentle reverence—it felt like a knife twisting in his chest. He missed Thorne. He missed the tenderness, the safety, the attention, the love.

As soon as Victor steps into the greenhouse, Noelle feels a shift in the atmosphere, a weight settling over him that makes it hard to breathe. It’s subtle, unintentional on Victor’s part, but undeniable. The moment Victor enters, the space feels smaller, more suffocating, and the sanctuary Noelle once cherished no longer feels like his own.

Without saying a word, Noelle rises to his feet, the need to leave pressing in on him. It’s not Victor’s fault, not really, but Noelle can’t help the way his heart aches when he sees them—Victor and Oliver—together. The way Victor’s gaze softens when he looks at Oliver, the gentle care in his movements as he fusses over him, is a constant reminder of what Noelle is missing.

It hurts, though he knows it’s irrational to feel this way. He doesn’t begrudge them their happiness, but envy, sharp and bitter, gnaws at him all the same.

As Noelle moves to leave, he feels a small flutter of wings and then the light pressure of Grape, landing on his head. He reaches up, his fingers brushing softly against the bird’s feathers. Grape’s presence, as always, is a small comfort. Noelle wonders if the bird is trying to comfort him or simply avoiding the more aggressive Mona, who often chases Grape around the greenhouse. Still, he finds a bit of solace in the tiny creature’s companionship.

For a moment, Noelle glances back at Victor and Oliver. They’re lost in their own quiet world, their conversation soft and intimate, unaware of the silent storm raging inside Noelle. He takes a deep breath, feeling the heaviness of it settle in his chest. There’s no place for him here, not right now, not when the absence of Thorne feels like an open wound that refuses to heal.

With Grape perched securely on his head, Noelle silently turns and walks out of the greenhouse. The earthy scent of plants and warm soil lingers in the air behind him, but the warmth of the space that once brought him comfort feels distant now, as if it belongs to another life.

*

The servant’s voice interrupts Noelle’s quiet steps down the hall, shattering the thin thread of peace he’d been clinging to.

"My lord, there’s a visitor."

Noelle exhales sharply, already irritated by the intrusion. The day has been long enough, and he has no patience left for unnecessary interruptions.

"I’m busy," he mutters, barely slowing his pace. His only goal is to reach the solace of his room, to rest in the only place that feels remotely safe these days.

The servant, however, hesitates, then speaks again, her voice lower but more insistent. "It’s the Crown Prince, my lord."

Noelle halts mid-step, his entire body tensing as the words sink in. Of course. His mood, already sour, dips even further. The last person he wants to see right now—let alone entertain—is the Crown Prince. But what choice does he have? Avoiding royalty, especially someone as unpredictable as the Prince, would only invite trouble. Noelle feels the weight of duty settle heavily on his shoulders, dragging him down. He can’t avoid this, as much as he wishes he could.

With a resigned sigh, he turns back to the servant, gesturing for her to lead the way. Behind him, Doris trails faithfully, sensing the tension in Noelle’s stiff posture.

When he reaches the drawing room on the first floor, Noelle’s stomach churns at the sight that greets him. There, lounging in one of the armchairs, as if he owns the entire estate, is the Crown Prince. He looks entirely at ease, sipping tea with all the casual arrogance of someone who knows no one can deny him anything.

The sight grates at Noelle’s nerves, his irritation deepening. It’s not just the Prince’s presence that bothers him—it’s the way he takes up space, as if everything and everyone belongs to him. Noelle suppresses the urge to roll his eyes.

"I greet Your Highness," Noelle says instead, voice calm and controlled as he offers a polite bow. He doesn’t bother hiding the fatigue in his voice as he takes a seat opposite the Prince, his movements stiff and unwilling.

The Crown Prince’s golden eyes glitter with mischief as he regards Noelle, clearly taking pleasure in the tension. "If it isn’t the Crimson General’s omega," he drawls, his tone mocking as his gaze sweeps over Noelle.

Noelle grits his teeth, feeling his hands twitch with the urge to stab those insufferable golden eyes right out of their sockets. But he holds himself in check, biting back the sharp retort resting on the tip of his tongue. Silence, he reminds himself. Silence is better than feeding into the Prince’s game.

The Prince smirks at Noelle’s lack of response, clearly entertained. "I must say, you are quite the beauty," he continues, his tone dripping with insincerity. "It makes sense, really. A prize for such a famed general."

Noelle’s stomach churns. The Prince’s words feel like a violation, his gaze a cold finger tracing over skin that isn’t his to touch. Every syllable oozes condescension, making Noelle’s skin crawl. He fights the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat, forcing himself to remain composed, though his fingers dig into the armrest.

"It breaks my heart that you’ve been avoiding all my invitations," the Prince adds, leaning back casually, as if this conversation were the most natural thing in the world.

Noelle straightens slightly, trying to keep his voice even. "I am not in the best health," he replies, his tone cool and dismissive.

The Crown Prince arches a brow, eyeing Noelle as if assessing a challenge.

"You look perfectly fine to me," he says, voice slick with amusement.

Noelle meets the Prince’s gaze unflinchingly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of any reaction.

"Do you require the presence of my personal physician?" Noelle asks smoothly, a subtle dig that only darkens the Prince’s expression for a brief moment.

For a heartbeat, the mask of amusement slips, and something more dangerous flashes across the Crown Prince’s face, though it’s quickly hidden behind a smirk. "It’s not that serious," he says, leaning forward slightly. "I merely wanted to get to know you better."

Noelle’s discomfort intensifies as the Prince’s predatory gaze locks on him, but he holds his ground.

"I decline your generosity," he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

The Prince’s eyes narrow, the air between them growing heavier with tension.

"And if it’s an order?" The playful tone is gone now, replaced by something darker, more menacing.

Noelle doesn’t flinch.

"I still decline," he says, his voice calm but unyielding. "My Alpha husband would hate the idea of me spending time with other alphas."

The thin veneer of amusement on the Prince’s face cracks, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. Noelle can see the frustration simmering beneath the surface, but the Crown Prince, quickly masks it with a laugh.

"Such loyalty," the Prince murmurs, though there’s no mistaking the edge in his voice. "It’s sounding a bit treasonous, disobeying royalty like this."

"I am my Alpha’s omega before I am your subject," Noelle responds coldly, meeting the Prince’s gaze head-on. He refuses to be intimidated, not by him, not by anyone.

For a moment, the tension hangs thick in the air, the Crown Prince’s gaze hard and calculating. Then, abruptly, he claps his hands together, the mockery returning to his expression. "Don’t be so serious!" he exclaims, laughing as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than a joke. "I was only kidding."

Noelle doesn’t respond, staring at him blankly, exhausted by the entire charade. The conversation that follows is nothing more than small talk, but Noelle can barely focus on it. Every word feels like a forced pleasantry, every second in the Crown Prince’s presence draining him further. His mind is elsewhere, filled with the lingering tension, the suffocating discomfort that only seems to grow.

By the time the Crown Prince finally takes his leave, Noelle is teetering on the edge of exhaustion, his body and mind both worn thin. He rises from his seat, intending to make his way to his room for much-needed rest, but the world tilts violently. The edges of his vision blur, and before he can take another step, everything fades to black.