Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 159: Not boring

Chapter 159: Not boring

I watch Thorne, standing tall in his navy blue attire, looking every bit the son of Celia. There’s no denying the resemblance—he has her sharp features, her regal bearing—but there’s something about him that sets him apart. His blue eyes are cold, too cold for comfort, and the aura that surrounds him is unsettling. Anyone who came near him could feel it, that oppressive force, making the air heavier, more dangerous. He doesn’t need to speak for people to know that he’s not someone to cross.

Celia’s hand is tucked in mine, and I can feel her nerves. I understand them. I’m anxious too, though I don’t show it. What will happen if we get to this damn banquet and Thorne’s omega isn’t there? What if he is, but he’s not what Thorne believes him to be? Or worse, what if this omega is someone who has already wrapped Thorne around his finger—someone who’s strong enough to draw Thorne in, control him, to the point of doing... this? I’ve heard the rumors. I know the stories about how Thorne’s omega was essentially stolen from him, and the question keeps gnawing at me—who is this omega? What kind of beauty or strength does he possess to have Thorne so wrapped around him?

Our children and daughter-in-law are traveling in the carriage behind us, but my focus is still on Thorne. His hands are gripping his cane tightly, knuckles turning white. He doesn’t need the cane—hell, I know he could fight without it—but we’ve all noticed the slight limp, the reminder of whatever past injury is buried under that stoic expression. He moves like a man who carries both his physical and emotional wounds with pride, though I know they must weigh on him.

I glance at Celia, and I can see the apprehension in her eyes. She’s used to playing the game, but this situation? This is different. This isn’t just about power plays and alliances. It’s personal, and I can feel it in the air between us.

I turn my attention back to the task at hand. Over the past two weeks, I’ve had my men positioned, watching and waiting. I’ve infiltrated the royal palace with precision—half of the royal guards are loyal to the crown, but the other half belong to the nobles, and I’ve made sure that those loyal to the Remiro family have been planted in key positions. They’ll be in charge of the banquet hall, and nothing will go unnoticed. It wasn’t easy—there are spies everywhere, and that damn cunning king is always watching, always two steps ahead. I hope it doesn’t come to that. I really do. I can only imagine the bloodshed if it turns into a full-scale confrontation. Thorne’s power is something I’ve yet to fully understand, but I’ve heard whispers, and I don’t want to see any of it firsthand.

Still, I’m on his side. If anything does go down tonight, I know I’ll benefit either way. Hell, I thought I’d spend the rest of my life sitting back and waiting for death to claim me, but here I am—playing kingmaker. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be manipulating an entire monarchy, but with Aspen in chaos and a distant relative of the royal family poised to take the throne, I’m going to succeed. I’m certain of it. I chuckle softly to myself at the thought. Who knew I’d be the one to shape the future of a kingdom? The power is intoxicating.

The carriage finally comes to a stop, and I take a moment to gather myself. A lifetime of courtly appearances, and yet there’s still that undercurrent of tension, the sense that even the most well-rehearsed performance can go terribly wrong. I step out first, straightening my coat and reaching up to help Celia descend. She places her delicate hand in mine, and I can feel the slight tremor in her fingers and I squeeze them in reassurance. It’s a small gesture, but one that has carried us through decades of public scrutiny and whispered rumors. Even now, she still gives my hand a little squeeze back, just as she did in the early days of our marriage.

Back then, Celia had faced so much ridicule and contempt from the highborn nobles. A commoner marrying a noble was scandalous enough, but for me, one of the highest-ranking nobles of Vitra, to take her as my duchess? That was practically sacrilege. I defended her as fiercely as I could, but some prejudices are too deeply rooted. It’s a bitter irony, really, considering that Vitra was founded by men who couldn’t stand the old kingdoms’ contempt and sought to create something new. Yet, here we are, centuries later, and those same narrow-minded, conservative views have crept back in.

Thorne steps out next, his presence commanding even before he sets foot on the ground. He looks sharp in his navy blue attire, the image of strength and determination. The resemblance to Celia is unmistakable, and I know the rumors about him have already begun swirling, spreading like wildfire through the noble circles. Even if we wanted to deny his parentage, we wouldn’t be able to—not with those eyes and that bone structure.

The second carriage pulls up, and Callan, my eldest son, emerges with his wife, Jane. They look composed, regal even, and I can’t help but feel a flicker of pride, at the way Callan protectively hovers over his pregnant wife.

Together, we walk toward the grand doors of the banquet hall. The herald’s voice booms, announcing our arrival. "And now, the Duke and Duchess of Remiro!" The hall falls silent for a heartbeat, and I feel Celia’s hand tighten on mine again. We step forward, and I notice the familiar flickers of judgment and curiosity that flit across the faces of the assembled nobles. Some things never change.

We walk with dignity, Celia’s head held high despite everything, I love her so much. She’s always been braver than she gives herself credit for. As we make our way further into the room, a voice pulls me from my thoughts.

"Duke Remiro!" It’s Count Grady. Of course, it is. The man has a nose for gossip sharper than any bloodhound’s, and he runs the biggest newspaper in the kingdom. I turn to face him, forcing a pleasant smile even as I feel a headache already beginning to throb at my temples. The man lives for sensational stories, and I can practically see the gleam in his eyes as he takes in our little party.

He gives Celia a bow and a syrupy smile. "Duchess, as beautiful as ever," he says, and I can feel Celia tense slightly beside me. She manages a polite nod, though, her face a perfect mask of composure.

Grady’s gaze shifts to Callan and Jane. "Young master Callan, Lady Jane, you both look absolutely glowing," he says, laying it on thick. I clench my jaw, bracing myself for what comes next.

"And this young sir?" He gestures toward Thorne, and there it is—the curiosity, the barely-contained hunger for scandal. Thorne is the talk of the noble circle, after all, with his mysterious background and his uncanny resemblance to Celia. I’m sure Count Grady has been salivating at the thought of uncovering more.

I keep my expression neutral as I respond. "Celia’s son, Thorne Alden," I say, deliberately keeping my explanation short. No need to feed the gossip mill more than necessary.

Grady’s eyebrows lift, and he extends a hand, the excitement almost palpable. "I see. A pleasure to meet you, Mr.—"

But Thorne doesn’t even pause. He walks right past Grady without so much as a glance, and I have to hide my amusement. It’s rude, sure, but it’s exactly the kind of energy this event needs to keep things interesting. The rest of the night might descend into chaos, but one thing’s for certain—it won’t be boring.