Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 65: Banquet 3

Chapter 65: Banquet 3

The Crown Prince knows exactly how to test my patience. I can feel the irritation bubbling beneath my skin as I motion for a servant to bring the gifts I’ve prepared. His father’s birthday is always a charade of sycophantic praise and hollow gestures, but I am obligated to play my part. The servant approaches, carefully holding the two offerings.

"My gift to His Majesty is this moonsteel blade," I say, unsheathing the sword from its ornate scabbard. The king’s eyes brighten immediately, like a child presented with a new toy. I hide my distaste behind a practiced expression. Of course, he would be fascinated by it. The man has an insatiable appetite for the stories of legendary warriors and their fabled weapons. Anything remotely linked to heroism excites him. At one point, I was his prized hero, sent to the frontlines time and time again like a tool to bring glory to the crown.

The memories creep in, but I force them away. The king, much like his son, has never seen a battlefield. They live in their world of politics and schemes, utterly disconnected from the blood and chaos of real war.

I watch in silence as the king inspects the sword with an almost reverent awe. He’s probably imagining the tales that accompany it—the moonsteel sword, used by the great general of the third king to defend the kingdom from invaders. Forged under moonlight atop some sacred peak, or so the legend goes I don’t really care.

I almost roll my eyes. Stories of valor and sacrifice always bored me. I’ve seen too much of war’s ugly reality to be enchanted by tales of honor.

"And I also bring this," I say, gesturing to the second item. "A rare bloodveil plant from the Eastern mountains. It’s said to promote blood flow and... vigor." I emphasize the word deliberately, catching the queen’s subtle flinch from the corner of my eye. She tries to hide it, but I catch it anyway. I smother a smirk.

Ah, the queen. I suppose it would be difficult for her to muster any affection for the king. After all, she was only twenty when she was taken as his concubine, and now she’s a queen in name only, tethered to a man more than twice her age. She’s ambitious—dangerous even, given her success in wrestling the throne off her predecessor . If only her ambitions didn’t include murdering me and aligning her wretched son to the throne, I might have respected her. But alas, here we are.

The bloodveil plant was Noelle’s idea, and I have to admit it’s perfect. The king will likely be full of "vigor" for the foreseeable future, which I’m sure will delight his younger concubines. I can only imagine the queen’s irritation at that.

"Ho ho ho!" The king laughs, his deep voice rumbling through the hall, only to dissolve into a fit of coughing.

I offer the appropriate pleasantries before making my exit with Noelle at my side. I’ve done my duty. I’ve handed over my gifts. Now, all I want is to return home and spend some quiet time with my omega, far from this pit of scheming vipers.

Just as we make our way outside, a guard stops us, and I shoot him a sharp look. His nervousness is palpable, and I can practically see him trembling. My reputation tends to have that effect on people, and I can’t help but find it amusing.

"What is it?" I ask, letting my impatience slip through.

"The Crown Prince requests that you join him for tea," the guard stammers.

I suppress a sigh. Of course, he does.

"Understood," I say curtly, and we follow the guard to one of the palace’s lavish drawing rooms.

I settle onto one of the plush sofas, and Noelle sits beside me, his head resting lightly on my shoulder.

"I’m already tired. Please tell me we won’t have to come to another one of these for a while," he mutters, his voice soft and full of quiet exasperation.

"I know, my beloved star," I murmur, wishing we could be anywhere but here.

The door opens, and the Crown Prince strides in, dressed in the finest white and gold attire, his blonde hair gleaming under the light. His golden eyes sparkle, a stark contrast to the near-black green of my clothing.

We stand and offer a polite bow.

"Please, there’s no need for formalities," the prince says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

We sit back down, the air thick with tension.

"It’s been three years since we’ve had the chance to sit like this, General," the prince begins, his voice far too casual for my liking.

I remain silent, as does Noelle.

"I must say, it’s surprising to see you in such good health," he continues, his words laced with thinly veiled disappointment.

"Surprising, indeed," I echo, knowing full well he would have preferred to see me crippled or dead.

A few servants enter, setting down trays of tea and pouring delicate cups. The prince takes a sip, looking at me expectantly, but I don’t touch mine. Neither does Noelle.

"Is the tea not to your liking?" the prince asks, his tone deceptively innocent.

"It is," I reply coolly, "but the consequences of drinking tea and eating certain foods three years ago were... unfortunate."

His face twitches ever so slightly at the reminder. The attempt on my life had been subtle, wrapped in courtesy and elegance, but it had failed.

"My apologies for being so cautious," I add with a faint, mocking smile.

The prince recovers quickly, his tone smug. "It seems like you succeeded, like one of the heroes my father is so fond of."

"Hardly a hero, my prince," I say, my voice calm but edged with steel. "I’m more of a villain, I suppose. The blood of thousands would agree. The world is cruelly unfair, after all. And speaking of fairness, if you could remove your gaze from my omega..."

I allow the threat to drip into my words, my posture stiffening. "If you stare much longer, I’ll cease being your loyal subject and become an alpha protecting what’s his."

The prince’s smile falters briefly before he regains his composure. "Oh dear, how terrifying," he mocks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just as the rumors say."

He glances at Noelle again, his gaze lingering in a way that makes my blood boil. "I suppose the heavens are indeed fair if even you get such a beauty."

"Fair, indeed," I reply icily. "Your Majesty, if you’ll excuse us. My husband is not feeling well, and we’d like to take our leave."

I stand, offering a small bow, and Noelle follows.

"Very well," the prince says, but I don’t wait for any further words. We’re already gone.