Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 140: What happened at the banquet 2

Chapter 140: What happened at the banquet 2

The prince moved closer, his golden eyes glinting with an unsettling intent as his scent, sharp with the bitterness of alcohol, washed over Noelle. Holding back the wave of nausea, Noelle kept his face neutral, willing himself to endure the discomfort without a single twitch.

They walked in silence until they reached a dead end in the maze. Noelle turned to leave, but the prince was already there, blocking his path. In one smooth movement, the prince stepped forward, trapping him against the dense greenery.

"You see," the prince drawled, his voice low as he reached out, letting a few strands of Noelle’s hair slip through his fingers, "being who I am, I’ve been around beautiful people all my life—men, women. But you... you’re something else."

Noelle felt his jaw tighten, and he took a deliberate step back, putting some distance between them. "I appreciate the compliment, your highness," he said, keeping his voice even, respectful. "But I would be grateful if you took a few steps back."

The prince’s lips curved into a smirk, clearly amused by the quiet defiance in Noelle’s tone. Instead of complying, he leaned in just a fraction closer, his smirk deepening. "You’re tense," he noted, an air of arrogance lacing his words. "You don’t need to be so distant, not when your husband is not here."

The scent of pheromones hung thick in the air, an overwhelming reminder of the prince’s presence that only served to repulse Noelle further. He took another few cautious steps back, feeling the maze’s leafy walls close in around him.

"Regardless of my alpha’s current absence," he stated firmly, "it doesn’t change the fact that I belong to him and him alone. No matter the distance, I must turn down your advances."

The prince let out a laugh—an unexpected sound that echoed unnervingly in the confined space. "You see, in this world, there are those born into greatness, destined for greatness, and then there are those destined for mediocrity," he said, casually plucking a flower from the plant walls, its vibrant colors contrasting sharply with the darkness of the maze.

His gaze shifted to Noelle, the smirk returning to his lips. "That husband of yours, Thorne—Thorne, the so-called Crimson General. A man who refuses to stick to his predestined role," the prince continued, each word dripping with disdain.

Noelle felt a surge of incredulity rise within him. "You dare speak of my husband that way?" he challenged, his voice steadier than the roiling emotions beneath the surface. "Thorne has earned every ounce of respect he commands, and he has done so on his own terms."

The prince waved a dismissive hand, still toying with the flower as if it were the most interesting object in the world. "Respect? Or perhaps fear? You see, that’s the difference between a man of true greatness and one who merely basks in the light of others. Thorne’s reputation is built on blood and conquest, and yet you cling to him as if he is your savior."

With a sharp inhale, Noelle felt his temper flare. "He is my husband, and I will not tolerate your slander against him," he snapped, stepping forward, ready to defend Thorne’s honor.

The prince paused, studying Noelle’s defiance with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "How quaint," he said, leaning against the wall, a calculating glint in his eyes.

"I’ve always hated that look," the prince spat, his gaze fixed disdainfully on Noelle. "Your beloved looks at me with those same eyes. How disgusting." His tone dripped with venom as he began to rant, anger bubbling just below the surface.

"How dare he look down on me, the crown prince! I was born to rule over people, and he was born in the gutter." His voice escalated, echoing in the confined space of the maze.

Noelle stood still, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He could feel the tension radiating off the prince like heat from a furnace.

"I once swallowed my pride and offered him a position among my men," the prince continued, pacing back and forth, his hands gesturing wildly. "He looked at me as if I’d suggested something ridiculous! Ha!"

With every rant, Noelle’s stomach churned. He was beginning to wish he had taken Doris with him after all.

"Like a cockroach, he survives! I’ve sent assassin after assassin, but no—he’s still here!" The prince’s voice rose to a furious crescendo. "I went through hell to acquire Voidrot. He was supposed to have died alone on the outskirts, suffering, and by some heaven-defying miracle, he comes back fine and married to the most beautiful omega in the land?!" The prince bellowed, his frustration palpable.

Noelle felt the anger rising within him, his pulse quickening as he considered his escape options. This conversation was spiraling out of control, and the prince was becoming increasingly unhinged.

"Do you know that the only reason you’re married to him is because of me?" The prince’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his expression one of twisted pride. "I planned to make him die a hero. The goal was to frame you, a random omega, for his death, saying you were after his fortune or something. I suggested the advertisement to search for an omega bride. Had it not been for me, you wouldn’t have had the chance to marry Thorne."

Noelle’s fury ignited within him, a simmering anger that threatened to erupt at the prince’s casual dismissal of his relationship with Thorne. He recalled the countless hours he had dedicated to caring for Thorne, the endless nights spent by his side, nursing him back from the brink of death. It was a grueling journey filled with sleepless nights, heart-wrenching moments, and the raw determination to bring his beloved back to life. To reduce that profound bond to a mere result of royal scheming was not only infuriating—it was a personal affront to the depth of his experiences.

If not for Noelle’s unique abilities and rare herbs, Thorne would have succumbed to their treachery. And they would have twisted the narrative to accuse Noelle of murder, painting him as the villain in a story he had fought so hard to rewrite.

The very idea was absurd, a mockery of everything he had sacrificed for the man he loved. Noelle’s heart raced as the anger coursed through him, and he could feel the weight of it pressing down on his chest. How dare the prince claim ownership over a love that had been forged in struggle and sacrifice? How could he stand there and flaunt his power, unaware of the strength it took to endure such pain and to rise from it?