Chapter 12

Blackwell Mansion, Linfield - Capital city of Eldoria.

The enormous ballroom was alive with the harmonious notes of the string instruments and a grand piano. Nobles of every rank–viscounts, counts, earls, duchesses, dukes, counsellors, mayors, and affluent families—gathered in a dazzling display of colourful attire, their gloves complementing their luxurious outfits.

Slaves were allowed, some modestly dressed, but only because the invitations had boldly declared: NO NUDITY. They moved through the crowd, either accompanying their masters or mingling with other slaves. Sarang, however, never thrived in these gatherings. He couldn’t sympathise with the other slaves nor hold his head high amongst nobles.

There was one more lesson the upper-class parties taught him.

His eyes roamed across the room, landing on Nathaniel, who was surrounded by a gaggle of young nobles–men and women, all laughing and flirting with him. Their fingers brushed against his arm, whispering behind their fans. The disparity in their social standing was evident in the way they interacted with him. He, an omega slave, was an invisible background figure in their world.

He was nothing.

Sarang ran a hand over his collar–he felt small.

Nathaniel turned briefly and caught Sarang’s eye, flashing him a warm smile before a middle-aged woman approached Nathaniel with her daughter, stealing his attention. Sarang sighed, taking a slow sip of the rum in his cup.

“Hello.” a voice greeted him, deep and tinged with an unfamiliar accent.

Sarang turned to see a male slave. His golden collar gleamed in the light, and his sheer clothing fluttered slightly as he moved. His body was adorned with intricate cultural tattoos that wound around his arms, legs, and chest—bold patterns that contrasted with his rich, dark skin. His hair, black and curly, was plaited into several thick braids, and his warm brown eyes held a curious gleam as he smiled with plump lips.

Sarang couldn’t help but notice the height difference between them. This slave was taller, more muscular—everything Sarang wasn’t, especially considering he, too, was an omega.

“Hello. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Sarang replied, extending a polite hand.

The man glanced at his hand, momentarily confused. Sarang hesitated, retracting it. “My apologies if I’ve overstepped.”

“You haven’t. You simply surprised me. I apologise for my slow response; no one has ever offered before. Your education is so refined, I mistook you for a young master.” He offered a warm smile. “I am Ishwar of Tanzure–a small warrior tribe from the southern continent. I belong to King Julius.”

“I am Sarang, a member of the Blackwell household.”

“Are you not enjoying yourself?” Ishwar asked, cocking his head.

“I am.” Sarang replied softly.

“Why are you alone?”

“I prefer solitude.”

“Is that so?” Ishwar teased. “I heard rumours that the last noble who disrespected the grand duke’s beloved slave lost his head.”

Sarang covered his face in embarrassment. “That was five years ago; I wish to forget.”

“You might, but others envy you. Many wish their master would show them the same affection even me.” Ishwar confessed, casting a glance toward the royal box.

Sarang followed his gaze and saw King Julius deep in conversation with Lucian. As if sensing Sarang, Lucian’s eyes flicked down, meeting his. Sarang quickly averted his gaze, turning back to Ishwar, who smiled knowingly.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Sarang asked, taking another sip of his drink.

“The bond between you and your master is… intriguing. The grand duke refuses to take another wife or mistress, yet he is intimate with you.”

“Intimate?” Sarang blinked, puzzled.

“Are you not a pleasure slave?”

The bluntness of the question made Sarang choke on his drink. He shook his head furiously. “No! Master and I—our relationship is not like you and your master.”

“You’re a slave?”

“Yes.”

“You are not sleeping with your master?”

“Yes.”

“You are not for physical labour?”

Sarang nodded slowly, “Yes.”

Ishwar folded his arm, his expression genuinely perplexed. “What do you do?”

“Gardening.” Sarang admitted softly.

“You would have gotten along with Chika in my village. He loved gardening more than fighting. A very gentle boy.” Ishwar said fondly.

“You say you’re from a warrior tribe, how did you…?”

“Nothing dramatic.” Ishwar interrupted with a shrug. “I was given as treaty to keep these invaders away from my people’s land. We don’t hear a lot of good stories about Eldorians from neighbouring communities since my tribe is full of omegas.”

“An omega-dominated community!” Sarang’s voice held a note of awe. “I would love to learn more about your culture, language, and people.”

“I will be delighted to share if you ever find yourself in the royal castle.”

“Is your master kind to you?” Sarang asked, voice laced with concern.

Ishwar smiled at him. “He is. I miss my village and my life as a warrior, but I am happy Julius is my alpha.”

A servant approached them, leaning close to whisper in Sarang’s ear. “Master Lucian requests you join him upstairs.”

“Excuse me.” Sarang said, smiling politely at Ishwar before heading toward the stairs.

Two ladies waited by the entrance of the grand hall on a small high table. They were dressed in gowns adorned with floral embroidery, cool hues, and pristine white gloves. Each held an ornate fan partially concealing their faces. A third young lady arrived, joining them at their table.

The shorter lady, with sleek black hair, bright blue eyes, bold red lips and a beauty mark at the corner of her mouth, snapped her fan shut. Her blue dress shimmered under the hall’s chandeliers. “Lysandra, you are late. Very unladylike.” Peggy chided with a sharp tone.

“A lady should never be late to a party even her own birthday.” added Eleanor, the taller of the two. Her brown hair was pinned back in elegant waves, and her soft brown eyes sparkled. She wore a pink satin dress, and the diamond on her engagement ring gleamed.

“I’m always late.” Lysandra waved off their remarks with a gentle smile, her voice soft yet teasing. “Peggy, Eleanor, it’s not the 1300s anymore. A little tardiness can spare me some drama.”

Princess Lysandra II of Eldoria was the youngest and only daughter of the royal family. Her porcelain skin seemed to glow under the light, her silver hair swept into a soft volume, with a single braid cascading down her back. A tiara nestled atop her head. Bold green eyes framed by delicate freckles gave her a vibrant allure, while her full lips, painted red, added a touch of regality. She wore a U-neck emerald-green gown that hugged her dainty frame, paired with white gloves on her slender wrists and an intricate silver embroidery adorned her collar.