“…Hh….”
A faint sound slipped from Chaika’s lips, which had parted slightly as his throat was being crushed. The golden eyelashes that had been lowered as if he were dead fluttered in a brief spasm, then slowly lifted to reveal violet irises. His half-open eyes were soaked with moisture. The moment their gazes met, the strength drained from the hand gripping his neck.
His thin, fragile breathing returned. The pulse beneath the hand began to throb again. Beneath those golden lashes, the violet eyes stared quietly at Mihail, and then the tears that had pooled there spilled over and ran down his cheeks.
“…I’m sorry.”
“……”
It was an apology without beginning or end.
“I’m sorry. …I’m sorry.”
Even being strangled for only a short time had left his voice badly sunk and hoarse. Chaika kept apologizing over and over in a voice that barely came out. Mihail wanted to snap at him, to shout and ask what exactly he was sorry for. He wanted to scream that this wasn’t something that could be brushed aside with a mere apology, to demand whether Chaika even understood that he had just been on the verge of strangling him to death. But once he met those wavering, tear-filled violet eyes, he couldn’t do anything. No words came out. He could only stare, as if spellbound.
Another tear slid down. Mihail’s chest sank with it.
“…You deceived me.”
Mihail spoke as if muttering to himself, weighed down by an overwhelming sense of helplessness and exhaustion. If he didn’t say something—anything—he felt like he would collapse on the spot. No, like he might end up pulling the boy into his arms.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to deceive you on purpose—”
“An omega?”
As always, the word omega carried a thick, instinctive revulsion. Chaika’s eyes twitched violently. The breath he had been forcing in, clinging desperately to life, grew ragged. As he searched Mihail’s rigid, icy face, Chaika’s expression slowly crumpled. Mihail’s face, laid bare with unmistakable disgust toward omegas, made him cry.
Hhk. Hh—
Chaika sobbed. He bit down hard on his lower lip, as if it might split, and wept miserably. Tears sloshed endlessly in his violet eyes before spilling down in thick streams. Mihail could only watch. Even he had no idea what he should say, or what he was supposed to do.
After sobbing for a while, Chaika reached out and grabbed Mihail’s collar. Perhaps afraid he’d be shoved away, his hand trembled as it clutched the fabric.
“…I just wanted to be born a beta. Then Lord Nile wouldn’t have to worry because of me, and His Grace too…. Lord Mihail hates omegas. But I’m an omega, so…. Still, I was so happy that His Grace liked me…. I wanted to tell you the truth, I really did….”
Hhk. Hh.
Swallowing back his sobs, crying bitterly, Chaika fumbled out his words. He reached out with his other hand as well, gripping Mihail’s collar with both hands as if it were a lifeline.
“I’m sorry, Lord Mihail. I’m sorry for being an omega.”
“……”
“I-I’ll take the medicine properly. If I do, I can live as a beta like this, just like now. There won’t be any pheromones you hate—it’s exactly the same as a beta. I’ll take the medicine, I swear…. Please don’t hate me.”
After choking out those words, Chaika finally broke down completely.
Waaah. Hngh. Waaah.
His small, pale face twisted without any concern for how he looked as he bawled openly. How could something so cute, so lovable, possibly be an omega of all things?
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”
Listening to Chaika wail while endlessly repeating his apologies emptied Mihail’s mind completely. Mihail sat beside the boy—now reduced to the most pitiful state he’d ever seen, his face smeared with tears and snot—and pulled him into his arms. Normally, Chaika would have hesitated even for a moment, but this time he immediately wrapped his arms tightly around Mihail’s back and continued to cry.
Mihail stroked Chaika’s small head. He was lovely. Even the act of crying in his arms was endearing. His chest swelled until it felt ready to burst. The thought that this lovable thing would, before long, turn into something repulsive made his teeth chatter. He didn’t want to accept it.
“…Lord Mihail….”
The long, drawn-out sobbing gradually subsided. Chaika sniffled, still clinging tightly to Mihail as if he were a lifeline. Mihail gently stroked his head and pressed a kiss to the crown.
Then he whispered,
“It would’ve been better if you’d never woken up, Chaika.”
The body in his arms went rigid, like stone.
“If that were the case, you would’ve died while still being my lovable possession.”
Mihail kissed the top of his head once more, then pushed Chaika out of his arms. Chaika was shoved back stiffly, like a doll, his violet eyes blown wide with shock.
***
Castiya Castle was a military stronghold where stone fortifications had existed for well over a thousand years. As time passed, the castle was expanded and renovated again and again, eventually taking on its current form. Though grand and beautiful at a glance, traces of the old fortress remained scattered throughout its grounds.
On the northern side of Castiya’s inner ward stood a solitary tower built several centuries ago. Constructed of gray limestone, the old tower bore countless blackened scorch marks, as if attesting to the wars and years it had endured. Because of this, it was also known as the Black Tower.
Built so long ago, the Black Tower was no longer used for military or residential purposes. Occasionally, however, it served another function: confining prisoners whose status or ransom made them unsuitable for the underground dungeons. Even that usage belonged to the distant past.
The Black Tower had been constructed as the final bastion in case the castle walls were ever breached. The round tower, built of heavy limestone, had only a single entrance. The spiral staircase leading upward was deliberately narrow, barely wide enough for one person to pass at a time. As one climbed, narrow vertical slits appeared here and there—arrow holes through which defenders could fire upon enemies.
After ascending the cramped staircase for quite some time, one reached the room at the top of the tower. The room was fairly spacious, matching the tower’s circumference. Designed to shelter the lord and his family in the event of a siege, the space was, like the stairs, pierced only by narrow slit windows, leaving it dim even at the height of day.
The last time someone had lived in the Black Tower was about eighty years ago—a lord captured during a territorial war with the former lord of Castiya. He had spent roughly three months there, stifled but treated generously while negotiations dragged on, before eventually being released after paying an enormous ransom. Of course, not every prisoner confined there had met such a happy ending. Some grew old and died within those walls. Others starved to death. Still others were dragged out to be executed.
In any case, that Black Tower, steeped in such history, gained a new occupant—or prisoner—for the first time in roughly eighty years.
This prisoner was, by most standards, quite fortunate. Preparations to receive him had begun even before he arrived. The room, long neglected and thick with dust and cobwebs, was thoroughly cleaned. Soft, plush carpets were laid over the cold stone floor. The dark, grim walls, still marked by fire damage, were adorned with expensive, beautiful tapestries and silk.
A large, comfortable bed was brought in as well. To do so, the servants had to completely dismantle it, haul it up the long, narrow staircase, and then reassemble it inside—a tremendous amount of labor. The same was true for the table, chairs, and the large stove meant to warm the room.
After the efforts of many people, the room in the Black Tower was transformed into a space nearly as comfortable as a chamber in the Castiya manor. The only differences were the absence of any proper windows—only long, narrow arrow slits allowed a view outside—and the fact that the door’s locking mechanism was mounted on the outside, a reminder of the room’s true purpose.
“The poison has already permeated his body too deeply. If he stops taking it suddenly, there’s a high risk he’ll die from shock. It would be best to gradually reduce the dosage.”
“Do that.”
The physician and the herbalist, who had been standing side by side, bowed and withdrew.
Mihail remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the window. At the far end of the garden—brilliantly illuminated even at night—lay a stretch swallowed entirely by shadow. There stood the Black Tower. Only a faint light leaking from a narrow slit window, barely wide enough for a small hand to slip through, marked its presence. And the presence of Chaika, imprisoned alone inside it….
“If you’re that worried, why don’t you go see him?”
Ilya spoke casually from the sofa, where he sat with his legs crossed, sipping his drink. For days, Ilya hadn’t mentioned Chaika even once. Now, it seemed he’d finally decided to interfere—or perhaps he simply couldn’t stand staying silent any longer.
“If you were going to lock him up, you should’ve thrown him properly into the dungeon. Or if not that, at least confine him neatly inside the manor. He’s not a prisoner of war, and he’s not a traitor, so what’s with throwing him into the Black Tower? I heard from the physician you had it furnished almost like your own bedroom?”
Mihail didn’t respond. To be honest, even he couldn’t understand his own actions. Why had he locked Chaika away in such a place? And if he was going to imprison him, why had he ordered it made so comfortable? What exactly did he want to do with him? Watching the faint light leak from the Black Tower every night, sensing Chaika’s existence that way; receiving detailed daily reports about him and feeling reassured by them—every part of it was incomprehensible and pathetic. Truly pathetic.
“Go tomorrow and check on him.”
At Mihail’s offhand remark, Ilya let out a hollow chuckle.
“Why don’t you just go yourself? So he was actually an omega—so what? If he wants to live as a beta, let him. Isn’t that what you want too? You liked him when he was a beta. If you hate the fact that he’s an omega, then just keep giving him the medicine. He wants it too.”
“Then it’s only ten years.”
“Better than nothing. Or what—can you stand watching him die? And you can’t treat him the same way once he becomes an omega, can you?”
“……”
Ilya was exactly right. Mihail didn’t want Chaika to die after barely ten years, living as a beta by swallowing poison. He didn’t want to lose him. But he didn’t want Chaika to become an omega either. He didn’t want to watch him turn into something repulsive. Would it have been better to crush his throat back then? If he had, he wouldn’t have had to watch Chaika slowly die from poison—or witness him transforming into something detestable. He would have simply died as his lovable possession.
“You haven’t even seen him yet. Chaika as an omega…. You haven’t met him like that.”
Chaika, as an omega. A deep crease formed between Mihail’s brows. Omega. Just imagining Chaika—that boy—giving off that filthy scent made his stomach churn.
“He might be different. You said he’s stopping the medicine, right? Then go meet him as an omega. See for yourself whether he’s really as disgusting, as revolting, as you’re worried he’ll be. And if he truly is…. then decide. Send him far away, or keep taking the medicine and live together for ten more years.”
Ilya spoke lightly, but his intentions were obvious. He wanted Mihail to accept Chaika as an omega. The only person Mihail—who despised omegas—had ever truly given his heart to. If Mihail accepted omega Chaika, he would be able to fulfill the emperor’s command to produce an heir.
“…Just go and take a look.”
Pretending not to see through Ilya’s motives, Mihail replied quietly. He couldn’t bring himself to see Chaika in person. Nor did he fully trust the physician’s words. The only one he could trust completely was Ilya.
