Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 141: What happened at the banquet 3

Chapter 141: What happened at the banquet 3

Noelle’s mask of politeness shattered, his voice laced with a sharpness he no longer cared to hide. "Oh dear, did you expect me to burst into tears?" he mocked, his tone losing any pretense of respect. "The Robbens already spoke of this ’grand plan’ of yours. Or perhaps you expected me to be filled with immense gratitude?"

The prince’s expression darkened, his gaze turning venomous. "You dare speak to me that way?" he spat, voice taut with fury.

"Oh, I do," Noelle replied, his tone steady, though his words cut deep. "Respect is earned by those worthy of it. Unfortunately, that isn’t you. You’re nothing more than an insecure shell of a man, desperately clawing for justification for your mediocrity. It eats at you, doesn’t it? Despite having everything handed to you, you’ll never match my husband —no matter how hard you try."

The prince’s composure cracked, his face twisting with a rage he struggled to conceal. His forced, bright smile was both bitter and brittle as he forced out, "Perhaps that insolence of yours is another reason why the Crimson General chose you." He leaned in, voice low and dripping with malice. "You’re both nothing but fools."

"Then perhaps it’s you who’s deluded, Your Highness," Noelle replied coolly, meeting the prince’s gaze unflinchingly, refusing to be intimidated.

A smirk spread across the prince’s face, his eyes narrowing, as though calculating his next move, but Noelle held firm, his heart steady despite the simmering tension hanging heavy in the air.

The prince’s eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity as he closed the distance between them, leaning in with a twisted smile.

"You see, there’s something about this new Thorne, something... different. He’s acquired a weakness. A raven-haired, green-eyed weakness." He watched Noelle’s face, savoring the moment, hoping to see a hint of vulnerability.

Noelle’s expression remained steely, though his revulsion was barely masked. "You might not understand," he replied with an icy edge, "but it’s called falling in love."

The prince gave a dismissive laugh, waving away the sentiment with a flick of his hand.

"Semantics. Love, weakness—they’re all the same to a man who thinks he’s invincible."

He leaned in further, his voice dropping to a low, taunting whisper. "Your precious general has forgotten one important thing. In his absence, who’s to stop someone else from taking a taste of his treasure?"

The words made Noelle recoil, the wave of disgust unmistakable as he stepped back. His entire being bristled with anger and contempt, but he kept himself composed, refusing to give the prince the satisfaction of a reaction.

The prince tilted his head, feigning innocence at Noelle’s visible revulsion. "Well, that’s a bit offensive," he sneered, mocking Noelle’s reaction with a sly grin.

Noelle’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he held his ground, a steady warning in his voice.

"You really don’t want to do this," he said, his tone calm but edged with an intensity that the prince had never heard from him before.

"I know I shouldn’t say this, but my husband... he’s not like others. He’s insane. And the consequences won’t be ones you can brush off."

The prince chuckled, unfazed, shrugging off Noelle’s warning as though it were a mere jest.

"Oh, please. What could he possibly do to me? I am the crown prince," he scoffed, arrogance thick in his voice. He took another step closer, his eyes gleaming with a twisted glee. "Besides, the look on his face when he realizes you’ve been with me? That will be worth any so-called consequence."

Noelle’s jaw clenched. The prince was already too close, his words dripping with venom, his intentions no longer even thinly veiled.

"I’m serious. You don’t want to do this," he said, his voice dropping to a low, final warning. "Stay away from me, because if you don’t, I will defend myself."

But the prince merely smirked, dismissing Noelle’s words as bluster, and took another step forward. Noelle’s pulse quickened, the danger crackling in the air like the calm before a storm. In a swift, fluid motion, he reached up, pulling the ornamental hairpiece from his ponytail, its delicate, pointed edge glinting in the moonlight.

Before the prince had a chance to react, Noelle swiped the hairpiece across his face with precision. A thin line of red blossomed on the prince’s cheek, and he staggered back, his hand flying to his face as a shocked scream tore from his lips. Stumbling, he barely managed to look up before Noelle’s foot connected with his leg, tripping him, sending him crashing to the ground in a heap. The prince’s head struck the cobbled stones with a dull, echoing thud, his eyes rolling back as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Silence fell over the maze, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the soft rise and fall of Noelle’s breath as he steadied himself. Standing above the prince’s fallen form, Noelle allowed himself a single, shaky exhale. He hadn’t wanted to resort to violence, but the prince had left him no choice.

Heart pounding, Noelle spun on his heel and bolted out of the maze. The very isolation the prince had counted on to his advantage had now turned on him, allowing Noelle a clean escape. He moved swiftly but carefully, keeping his steps steady as he emerged from the maze’s winding paths.

At the maze’s edge, Doris was waiting, her sharp eyes catching every detail of his disheveled state—the blood smeared across his once-pristine shirt, the hairpiece clutched in his hand, the intensity in his gaze. Without a word, Doris took his arm, her grip firm, and nodded in silent understanding. Together, they kept their heads low, weaving through the palace gardens and outer corridors, blending into the shadows, their pace brisk but controlled.

"Noelle, lean on me," Doris murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, signaling to the few curious glances they passed that she was merely helping an ailing companion. Noelle nodded, feigning weakness, leaning on her shoulder as though truly struck by a sudden illness.

Step by step, they made their way out of the palace grounds, Doris maintaining an air of calm that matched Noelle’s own forced composure. They exchanged no words; both knew the delicate weight of the situation. Only once they crossed the palace gates did they quicken their pace, the distance putting the prince—and the danger—behind them.

Doris wasted no time; as soon as they slipped into the safety of the carriage, she barked a command at the driver. The horses bolted forward, hooves pounding against the cobblestones as the carriage lurched into motion. Inside, Noelle leaned back, struggling to steady his breath, his fingers still clenched around the bloodstained hairpiece, a reminder of his act of defiance.

Moments after they left the palace grounds, a shout tore through the palace corridors as the prince regained consciousness. Clutching the wound on his face, his golden eyes blazed with fury and humiliation. He shouted commands, and guards scattered, sounding the alarm. Within seconds, a group of mounted soldiers was assembled, horses saddled and snorting in the cold night air, ready to chase dow

n the carriage that had just disappeared beyond the gates.

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