020

They returned to the estate at dusk, their earlier frustrations now a distant memory. They chatted excitedly about the places they would explore in Linfield: The original churches of the two religions in Eldoria, the museums of art, and the famed Big Bell Tower.

Nathaniel reached for the entrance door’s handle, only to have it open. A familiar figure emerged—a lunari woman dressed in soft pink and a chessboard in her delicate arm. Her green eyes lit up at the sight of Nathaniel, and she tucked a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear with a shy smile.

“Nathaniel, welcome. I did not think I would see you before I leave.”

“Your Highness.” Nathaniel said, bowing alongside Sarang.

Her lips curved into a soft smile. “We’re beyond formalities now. Please, call me Lysandra. Just Lysandra.”

“What brings you here?” Nathaniel asked, his voice cool and steady, and his hands clasped behind his back.

Lysandra held up the chessboard. The same board he gifted her. “You mentioned you didn’t have time to teach me, so I asked Uncle Lucian to tutor me, and he agreed. I hope to see more of you, Nathaniel. Goodnight.”

She curtsied gracefully, then briefly nodded at Sarang with a warm smile, before turning to her carriage.

Nathaniel and Sarang watched silently as the princess departed, her carriage disappearing into the growing night. They exchanged a glance, worry flickering in their eyes.

*This was not a good sign.*

Lucian sat in his study, a glass of liquor in one hand and an evening newspaper in the other. The door barged open, disrupting the quiet ambiance, and Nathaniel stormed in and slamming it shut behind him.

“Are you here to beat me?” Lucian asked calmly.

“I am not in the mood for jokes, Father.” Nathaniel growled, his fists clenched. “Explain why the princess was here.”

“How was your outing? You haven’t been in Linfield since you were a boy.” Lucian replied, deliberately ignoring the question.

“Do not change the subject! I know what you are doing?!”

Lucian leisurely sipped his drink, glaring at Nathaniel’s clenched fist. “You think too highly of me. What could I possibly be doing, son?”

“You and the princess want to draft a rift in my engagement with Sarang because you’re jealous and disapprove… if you aren’t manipulating the innocent girl. Either way, it won’t work. Recommend another tutor that will go to her palace.”

“She personally requested I tutor her,” Lucian said, his tone cool and dismissive. “How could I say no to the royal family? Besides, she’s observant and quick-witted, so I won’t turn her away.”

“You’ve done it before. Rejecting people is second nature to you. This arrangement is a conflict of interest—she’s not here to play chess with an old man!”

“It’s a conflict of your interest, not mine,” Lucian snapped, slamming his empty glass onto the desk. “And I am not subservient to you. If Lysandra’s presence is enough to rattle your relationship, perhaps you should question your love. I am your greatest obstacle, Nathaniel, but I am not your only one. Don’t underestimate Lysandra—she is rumoured to be quite persistent. If she’s the only one, that is.”

Nathaniel frown deepened. “What does that mean?”

Lucian smiled and gestured to the newspaper on his desk. “You should read the papers more often. The writer has a way with words.” He slid a pink envelope across the table. “Viscount Grey has invited you to lunch tomorrow. I took the liberty of accepting their invitation on your behalf. Be careful, his family owns a popular printing house.”

Nathaniel snatched the envelope, glaring at Lucian. Without another word, he marched out, leaving the door open.

Sarang peeked inside the study, catching Lucian’s gaze as the older man refilled his empty glass.

“Mas–” Sarang stopped himself, shaking his head. He turned and chased after Nathaniel.

Lucian swirled the liquor in his glass, before downing it in one gulp... It was hot.

The trail of Nathaniel from the passing servants led Sarang to the stables. Nathaniel stood in the centre, his back to the open doors, tension radiating from his posture.

“Nathan.” Sarang called softly.

Nathaniel turned, lowering the paper he had been holding, his expression softening at the sight of his fiancé. He forced a crooked smile and tossed the paper aside.

Sarang glanced down at it briefly before Nathaniel handed him a pink envelope. As Sarang took it, the faint, cloying scent of fruit wafted from the envelope.

“Pheromone… omega pheromone,” Sarang murmured, his nose wrinkling in distaste. He clenched the letter, suppressing the seductive scent with his own pheromones. “Is this what she came for?”

“No, it’s another matter entirely.” Nathaniel said, his voice grim. “I don’t want to go, but father accepted the invitation in my absence. I’ll attend tomorrow and reject their intentions properly. This is another one of his games.”

Sarang’s expression softened. “Which we’ll win. You resisted Oxford’s charming temptations and the same with this one. What of the princess?”

Nathan stroked his chin. “Father’s guest. She came to play.”

“Should we be worried?” Sarang asked, lowering the letter.

“No. If we worry, we give Father what he wants. As long as we stand strong and true to each other, we will get married. I promise.”

Nathan brushed his fingers along Sarang’s cheek who gasped softly, closing his eyes at the tender touch.

“Can you promise me something, my love?” Nathan asked, his voice low and steady.

“Promise what?” Sarang whispered, meeting his gaze.

“No secrets between us. No matter how small or significant.”

Sarang’s breath hitched. His request to keep their one-time affair a secret flashed in his mind. Guilt tightened his throat—it was a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.

“Sarang?” Nathan’s gentle voice pulled him back.

Sarang wrapped his arms around Nathan, leaning his head on his shoulder. “I promise. No more secrecy.”

Nathan smiled, holding Sarang closer to his warm chest.

The following morning, Nathaniel prepared to leave for the Grey household. Sarang smiled softly as he straightened the folds of Nathaniel’s coat.

“Be sure to tell me if Father tries anything.” Nathaniel whispered, his voice low and warm.

“I have my guard up, but you need it more than I do.” Sarang replied, his smile unwavering. “I love you.”

“I love you so much, I want to kiss you.” Nathaniel grasped Sarang’s slender fingers.

Sarang sighed, gently retracting his hand. “We can’t. Not here.”

“I’m aware.” Nathaniel stepped back, the weight of unspoken affection hanging between them. “It’s bad manners to keep the host waiting. Take care… Sarang.” Nathaniel said, walking backwards to his horse.

“You too… Young master.” Sarang dipped into a slight bow, his eyes following Nathaniel as he walked backward toward his horse.

Sarang, along with a few other servants, watched Nathaniel depart before they returned to their respective duties. Just as Sarang turned to leave, Sebastian tapped him on the shoulder.

Startled, Sarang blinked and smiled. “It’s a lovely weather today, Mr. Sebastian.” He remarked, glancing at the clear sky.

The older man followed his gaze, nodding absentmindedly. “I hadn’t noticed, but it is.”

Sarang’s brows creased in confusion, “Is something wrong?”

“That depends on what you call wrong,” Sebastian replied cryptically. “The master has instructed you to come to his study. Also, inform him and our guest that lunch will be delayed.”

“Yes,” Sarang responded, but Sebastian waltzed off before he could finish. “Sir?” He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he stared at the looming window of Lucian’s study.

Sarang pondered on the reasons he was summoned. Since Nathaniel’s proposal, his relationship with Lucian had become… complicated. Despite their proximity within the same walls, their growing distance bothered Sarang. He wouldn’t admit it, but he missed Lucian. To ease Nathaniel’s worries—and his own guilt—he had agreed to Nathaniel’s request to maintain distance.

Taking a steadying breath, he knocked on the door.

“Enter.” Lucian commanded.

Sarang opened the door, stepping into the room. Lucian and Princess Lysandra sat close to each another with a chessboard arranged neatly on a small round table between them.

Sarang paused, confused. “Lunch will be delayed this afternoon. Mr. Sebastian apologizes for the setback. And you called for me, Master?”

Lucian gestured to the empty chair opposite him. “Sit.”

Sarang hesitated, his gaze meeting Lucian’s intense, unyielding eyes. They shimmered like dark waters concealing unfathomable depths. Anxiety tightened his chest as he glanced at the chessboard—it felt like a jury awaiting its verdict.

Sarang took slow, deliberate steps toward the table, like a labourer constructing a pyramid for a pharaoh. He sat down, acutely aware of Lysandra beside Lucian. The perfect bride for Nathaniel in the eyes of society looked unimpressed, pouting her face,

“One game. White or Black?” Lucian asked, regaining eye contact with Sarang.

Sarang glanced at the board. “May I ask a question first, Master?”

“Yes?”

“If her highness is the student,” Sarang said, stealing a glance at Lysandra. “Then why am I playing?”

Lucian looked at Lysandra. “Lysandra believes that it is impossible for an omega to master this game. I want to educate her that intelligence has nothing to do with gender, class, or race.” His gaze softened just enough to be disarming. “Also, if you win, I’ll give you a reward.”

Sarang’s eyes flickered with newfound determination. “A favour token. That’s what I want when I win.”

“Okay. If you win, I will give you a favour token unrelated to our poundcake.”

Sarang nodded firmly. “Black.” He flipped the board, setting the black pieces in front of him.

“Shouldn’t you demand something as well, Uncle Lucian? That’s how bets work.” Lysandra interjected, her tone light but curious.

“There is nothing tangible he can offer me.” Lucian said and moved his first piece.

Sarang understood the underlying meaning, but he pushed it aside. He needed that token—it might not win him Lucian’s approval of his engagement, but it was a step forward.

The game began, each move calculated and sharp. Sacrifices were made on both sides, pieces removed with the ruthlessness of a battlefield. Sarang held his breath as he placed a critical piece, realizing too late it was a mistake.

His heart sank when Lucian’s hand hovered over his rook. Master is going to win. Sarang’s fingers tapped nervously on the table as he kept his expression neutral.

Lucian glanced at him, his eyes narrowing slightly. Then, unexpectedly, Lucian’s hand shifted to his knight. He moved it, leaving an opening.

Sarang seized the opportunity, playing his next piece with precision.

Lysandra was speechless. The game was over. Sarang had won.

“Good game Sarang.” Lucian said, his tone neutral but his words deliberate. He turned to Lysandra. “Now do you think only alphas are entitled to victory, Lysandra? That concludes today’s lesson.”

“Unc–”

Sarang stood abruptly and bowed. “Excuse me.” Without waiting for a response, he left the room, his heart pounding in his chest.