Young Caelum was crying again.
"Your Highness?"
The voice was gentle, hesitant—too soft for the training grounds. Young Caelum lifted his head, tears blurring his vision, and saw a boy crouching in front of him. The boy was about 2 years older of his age, with broad shoulders even then, his uniform still too big for his growing frame.
"Where have you been?" the boy asked, concern etched clearly across his face. "The instructor was worried when you didn't show up for your swordsmanship lesson."
Young Caelum said nothing. His hands were clenched tightly against his chest, his small body trembling.
The boy frowned and leaned closer. "Why are you crying, Your Highness?"
Young Caelum's lips quivered. The words spilled out before he could stop them.
"Because everyone hates me," he sobbed. "Everyone leaves me."
The boy stiffened slightly but didn't interrupt.
"My nanny abandoned me," young Caelum continued, tears streaming freely now. "Mother fired her because she let me stay too close to my brother Al. Father doesn't even look at me anymore. Not even once." His voice cracked. "And now brother Al… he doesn't want to play with me. He doesn't want to spend time with me at all."
He wiped his eyes roughly. "Is it because we have different mothers?"
The silence stretched.
"I see," the boy finally said.
He hesitated, then placed a hand over his chest and spoke with the seriousness of a vow. "Then, if it will make you feel better, Your Highness… I promise to stay by your side. No matter where you go."
Young Caelum looked up sharply. "You promise?"
"Yes."
"Forever?"
The boy nodded without hesitation. "Forever."
Young Caelum smiled.A small, fragile smile, but genuine.
And then—
Sunlight pierced his closed eyes.
Sion jolted awake, his breath unsteady, his chest rising too fast. For a moment, the warmth of the past clung to him… before reality settled heavily over his shoulders.
Curtains slid open with a soft rustle.
"Highness—Your Highness!"
Sion groaned and sat up slowly, rubbing his temples. "Why," he muttered under his breath, "do I have to dream about that now…"
"Your Highness!" The voice was louder this time.
Sion blinked and looked up. Eiran stood by the window, hands on his hips, clearly exasperated. "What were you thinking so deeply about? You didn't even respond."
Sion's lips curved into a familiar, sly smile. His eyes narrowed slightly, slanted and half-lidded in a way that always made people uneasy without knowing why.
"Good morning, Ei~n."
Before Eiran could react, Sion stood and ruffled his hair, laughing softly. "And I told you already,stop calling me Your Highness. I'm not a prince anymore."
Eiran sighed helplessly. "Your high-"
"I said stop," Sion cut in cheerfully. He stretched his arms wide and yawned. "Anyway, it's a beautiful morning. Time to visit the farm."
"You're skipping breakfast again, aren't you?" Eiran accused.
"I'll eat later," Sion replied instantly.
"Young mas-"
Eiran was ignored.
The farm stretched peacefully beneath the hilltop mansion. Rows of vegetables glistened under the morning sun—tomatoes heavy with ripening fruit, leafy greens swaying gently in the breeze, others still stubbornly bare but full of promise.
Sion moved carefully among them, inspecting each plant with practiced eyes. He crouched near the tomatoes, brushing his fingers over their stems, murmuring softly as if speaking to old friends.
"Some are ready," he said to Eiran. "The rest need another week."
After much insistence, Eiran finally dragged him back inside to eat. Only after breakfast did Sion return, this time with baskets in hand, picking fruits and vegetables alongside the workers.
"Good morning, Sir Sion."
He turned to see a young man—the son of one of the villagers—bowing shyly.
Sion smiled back. The same sly, half-lidded smile.
The young man flushed and quickly looked away.
Eiran pinched the bridge of his nose. "Stop smiling like that at the workers. That's exactly why the villagers misunderstand you."
Sion tilted his head innocently. "Misunderstand me how?"
"You know exactly how."
"If it makes them work harder," Sion said lightly, "isn't that useful?"
Eiran shook his head. That calculating, teasing nature of his had never faded. Perhaps it never would.
Later, after giving instructions and dismissing the workers, Sion rested against the balcony railing overlooking the farm. His gaze lingered on the fields, thoughtful, distant.
Eiran watched him quietly.
It's been a year and a half, he thought, since he left the palace and king Aleric faked his death.Its also been a year and half since he changed his name from Caelum Valen to Sion Montgomory.
It had never been easy. Especially not after what Sion's body had endured—changing from an alpha into an omega because of the Queen Consort's actions. The damage was permanent. Cruel.
And yet, Sion endured.
His father,Razella Montgomory ,from the orphanage had offered to take him in, but Caelum refused. He didn't want to be a burden. Even with the savings he had left, finding land had been difficult.
The only place they could afford came with a vile condition: the owner demanded a night with an omega.
And so the rumors among the townfolks has began.
The shameless omega. The one who sold his body for land.
Sion knew. He always knew.
He simply didn't care.
Eiran felt his eyes sting.
"Why are you crying again?" Sion asked suddenly, not even turning around. "I told you...you can leave anytime if it's too hard."
"It's not that," Eiran replied quickly, approaching him. "I'm just… proud of you."
Sion shrugged and looked back toward the fields.
"By the way, young master," Eiran added, pulling himself together. "A letter arrived today."
"A letter?" Sion asked, finally turning.
Eiran handed it over.
Sion read it slowly.
Then he smiled.
That familiar, dangerous smile.
"What is it?" Eiran asked cautiously.
"I think," Sion said softly, folding the letter, "we should prepare for a visitor."