I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Chapter 282: The Very Public Affection

"Oh, heavens," a countess murmured behind the hand-painted frame of her fan, her eyes wide as she nudged her friend. "Just look at that."

"Indeed," a young baron agreed, leaning in close to catch the drifting gossip. "To display such affection so openly in the middle of the imperial court... it is entirely shameless. Or perhaps simply the wild, unrefined nature of the North."

Neither Zarius nor Cherion paid the slightest bit of attention to the buzzing crowd around them. The judgmental glances and the suffocating etiquette of the high nobility seemed to slide right off their shoulders, entirely unable to pierce the private space they had carved out for themselves amidst the glittering chandeliers.

Zarius looked down at Cherion, his eyes softening into an expression of rare, heavy indulgence that he reserved exclusively for the younger man. A low, rumbling sigh escaped his chest as he took Cherion’s hand in his own.

"I did not know how you ended up dancing with Philia," Zarius murmured, his deep voice carrying a trace of lingering irritation, though his touch was incredibly gentle. "But I am sorry. You must have been so uncomfortable."

Without waiting for a response, Zarius reached into his tailored uniform coat and pulled out his own neatly folded, crisp linen handkerchief. With deliberate, thorough strokes, he began to wipe off Cherion’s palm and fingers, rubbing the pale skin with enough focus to suggest he wanted to physically erase every single microscopic trace Philia had left behind on him.

Cherion couldn’t help but let out a soft, delighted chuckle. His modern-intern brain found the sheer, possessive pettiness of the Great Duke of the North utterly hilarious, yet incredibly endearing. He stood perfectly still, letting Zarius fuss over his hand like a large, protective beast grooming its mate.

"You know me so well, Your Grace," Cherion said, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he watched the dark-haired duke meticulously clean his knuckles. "I assure you, it was entirely unavoidable. He practically cornered me on the floor."

Once Zarius was finally satisfied that his own scent had overwritten any lingering presence of Philia, he folded the handkerchief and tucked it back into his pocket. Cherion leaned in just a fraction closer, lowering his voice as his expression shifted to a more serious note.

"Is the talk done with the King?" Cherion asked softly.

"Yes," Zarius replied, his posture instantly turning rigid as the brief warmth in his eyes flickered out, replaced by the cold, calculating aura of a seasoned wartime general. "We talked about the subjugation, everything. We also spoke about that thing that almost got us into big trouble, the tampered hearth stone." He exhaled a sharp, irritated breath through his nose, his jaw tightening at the memory of the tense audience. "And then, of course, I brought up Princess Iryna’s betrothal."

Zarius stressed those last words so strongly, his tone dripping with such absolute disdain, that Cherion almost felt a wave of pity for the imperial advisors who had been in the room. "I told him quite clearly that I want absolutely nothing to do with it," Zarius added, his eyes locking onto Cherion’s to ensure there was no misunderstanding between them.

Cherion smiled, a genuine sense of relief washing over his chest. "It’s great," he murmured, thoroughly satisfied with the Duke’s blunt rejection of the imperial plot.

"Wow. Did someone say my name?"

A vibrant, highly amused voice cut directly through their private conversation. Iryna smoothly glided toward them, her regal posture flawless as she led a rather large, familiar entourage. Walking alongside her was Gillian, followed closely by Marielle, Reiner, Ezek, Flio, and Karson. The group practically formed a wall of high-profile figures, drawing even more eyes from the surrounding crowd.

Before Cherion could even offer a formal greeting to the foreign royals, a smooth, drawling voice spoke up from the edge of their circle.

"Oh heavens, people who doesn’t know probably will think that they’ve been apart for quite some time because his grace just come home from a long war," Elios remarked, stepping forward with a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He gestured lightly toward Zarius and Cherion, clearly amused by the lingering public display of affection.

Marielle blinked, looking between Elios and the couple with a slight frown. "But they were separated earlier," she pointed out. "Zarius was away for half an hour? An hour? Something in between?"

Elios merely chuckled, shaking his head at Marielle’s blunt logic, while Reiner cleared his throat to steer the conversation back to the highlight of the evening.

"Setting that aside," Marielle said, turning her bright eyes completely onto Cherion, her face lighting up with genuine admiration. "Oh, Cherion, you are a remarkably good dancer! Your movements were completely elegant."

Reiner crossed his arms, a proud, satisfied smirk settling onto his features as he nodded in agreement. "Yes, indeed. All those grueling, exhausting hours of hard work with Madame Varo were definitely paid off tonight. Your posture was perfect, though..." Reiner’s smirk suddenly faltered, his eyes darting uncomfortably toward the crowded ballroom as his voice trailed off. "...though the dance partner you were stuck with was quite..."

"Quite what, Lord Reiner?"

The velvety, drippingly sweet voice cut through the air like a polished silver blade.

Philia smoothly glided into their immediate circle, his movements the absolute epitome of aristocratic perfection. Valen followed a half-step behind him, his expression carefully guarded but his eyes tracking every movement in the group. Philia wore a flawless, radiant smile, the exact, practiced expression that Cherion had come to recognize as his most dangerous mask.

Cherion didn’t even bat an eye. He adjusted his posture, facing the villain with the calm, completely unbothered confidence of someone who had already read the entire script of this world. He tilted his head, a highly amused, almost mocking smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Lord Philia," Cherion said, his tone casual, as if he were merely greeting an old acquaintance rather than a deadly political adversary. "Please don’t tell me you’ve come to ask me for a second dance." He let out a soft, exaggeratedly dramatic sigh, waving his hand slightly. "Because I must apologize in advance, I am really not interested in that."

Philia let out a soft, melodic chuckle, entirely unbothered by the blunt, public rejection. He didn’t lose his composure for even a fraction of a second. "Ah, I am terribly sorry to disappoint you, Lord Cherion, but I did not come all this way for that," Philia replied, his voice smooth and perfectly modulated to ensure the surrounding nobles could hear his polite demeanor.

He smoothly shifted his gaze away from Cherion, turning his full attention toward the royal figures standing in the center of the group. With an elegance that looked entirely natural, Philia extended his arms slightly and proceeded to greet them, lowering his upper body into a small, impeccably executed bow.

"I merely came to greet Prince Gillian and Princess Iryna," Philia murmured, straightening up slowly as he offered them a warm, beautifully serene smile that seemed to promise absolutely nothing but goodwill, yet left a chilling, unshakeable sense of dread hanging heavily in the air.

Let’s hope he truly only came to greet the Solaric royals, Cherion thought. A lingering, faint drop of unease settling into the back of his mind as he looked away. And not something else.