Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Est had learned that pity had a scent.

It was faint, almost polite. A mild thing that came wrapped in honeyed voices and careful smiles, like people thought kindness could soften the teeth of what they were saying. It lingered in the pack hall after gatherings, beneath the clean burn of incense and the sharper scents of alphas laughing together by the outer courtyard. It clung to the older aunties who touched his wrist and sighed, to the betas who tilted their heads when he passed, to the omegas younger than him who looked at him with wide, frightened eyes, as if he was not a person but a warning placed in the road.

This is what happens if no one chooses you.

Est used to pretend he did not notice.

He used to smile, bow his head, laugh under his breath, and let the words slide off his skin as if he were made of river stone. He had been doing that for years. It had become a kind of second nature, the same way he had learned to keep his scent tucked close to his body, the same way he had learned to keep his shoulders slightly rounded so he did not look too broad when standing beside the other omegas, the same way he had learned to dress in colors that made him seem softer than he felt.

But no matter how carefully he moved through the world, his body always gave him away. Because he was not built like the omegas the pack praised.

He had heard it his whole life, though people had always found ways to dress it up. Too tall, they said first, when he presented. Too strong-looking, after that. His shoulders were not narrow enough, his arms not delicate enough, his waist not small enough to inspire the instinctive protectiveness alphas were supposed to feel toward an omega. His face was pretty, some admitted, but not in the sweet, helpless way that made alphas stumble over themselves. His scent, when he allowed it to bloom, was warm and deep rather than sugary, carrying notes of rain-soaked woods and white tea, grounded and quiet. It did not flutter. It did not beg.

And apparently, an omega who did not look like he needed saving was an omega no alpha knew how to want.

“Nong Est,” Auntie Malee said one afternoon, reaching for his hand with both of hers, her expression already folded into that terrible softness he had come to dread. “You know we all care about you, don’t you?”

He did not need to hear anything after that. The first sentence was always the lamp before the blade.

Still, he smiled. “I know.”

The pack house garden was full that day, bright with afternoon sun and the clink of cups. Several families had gathered after the monthly blessing ceremony, speaking in cheerful clusters beneath the shade. Somewhere behind him, a group of younger omegas were laughing together, their voices light as bells. One of them had just been courted by the eldest son of a respected alpha family. She was only twenty-three, small and rosy-cheeked, and everyone had praised the match as if the moon itself had bent down to tie their red string.

Est was twenty-eight.

Not old, not truly. He wasn’t even thirty yet for god’s sake to be considered traditionally ‘old’. At least, he had not thought so once. But in the language of the pack, in the language used for unmated omegas, twenty-eight, almost thirty, sounded ancient. Twenty-eight sounded like missed chances and a fading scent. twenty-eight sounded like a room with the windows closed.

Auntie Malee patted his hand. “You shouldn’t be too picky anymore, sweetheart.”

Est’s fingers stayed still in hers.

“You are a good omega,” she continued, as if that made what she was saying better. “Capable. Respectful. Hardworking. Anyone would be lucky to have someone who can manage a home so well.”

A home. Not a heart. Not a bond. Not love. He nodded anyway.

“But the truth is,” she said, lowering her voice, though not enough. It was never enough. People always lowered their voices at the exact volume that made others listen harder. “The best alphas usually mate young. You know this. And omegas… well, omegas have seasons. There is a time when we are most fragrant, most desired. After that, it becomes more difficult.”

His throat tightened. Difficult. That was another word he knew well. It meant undesirable, but with gloves on.

“You still have options,” Auntie Malee said quickly, squeezing his hand. “There is a widowed alpha from the eastern side. He already has two children, but he is stable. And I heard of another beta who is open to taking an omega mate. Not everyone needs some grand love story, Est. Sometimes peace is enough.”

Peace.

Est wondered what kind of peace she meant. The peace of being chosen because someone had calculated that he was useful. The peace of lowering himself into a bond that carried no wanting. The peace of becoming grateful for crumbs because everyone had convinced him the banquet was never meant for him.

He smiled again. It felt as if his face had become a mask carved from wax.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

Auntie Malee looked relieved, as if she had done him a kindness. “Good. Good boy.”

Good boy.

The words burned more than they should have. He was too old to be spoken to that way, but not old enough to be respected. In the pack’s eyes, he existed in some strange middle place, no longer young enough to be desired, not yet old enough to be left alone.

That night, Est stood before his mirror and looked at himself for too long.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan. Moonlight spilled thinly across the floor, painting his reflection in a cold color. He had just bathed, and his hair was damp at the ends, his sleeping shirt clinging lightly to his chest. He turned slightly, examining the slope of his shoulders, the shape of his arms, the line of his waist. He tried to see what they saw.

Too much. That was what it always came down to.

Too much bone. Too much muscle. Too much height. Too much silence. Too much pride, maybe. Too much of something that made people forget he was an omega until they remembered and looked disappointed by it.

He had spent years trying to make himself smaller. When he was younger, he had believed that if he waited, someone would look at him properly. Not with assessment. Not with pity. Not with that quick flicker of surprise when his scent warmed during gatherings and alphas realized, belatedly, that yes, he was an omega, but no, not the kind their instincts had been trained to chase. He had believed there would be someone who would not need him to shrink before they could reach for him.

It seemed childish now.

The pack did not teach omegas to want for themselves. It taught them to be wanted. To arrange themselves beautifully and wait for the gaze that would give them value. Est had never been good at that. He was awkward when praised, stiff when courted, too quiet in large groups, too honest in small ones. He did not know how to tilt his head just so in feigned innocence or make his laughter sound like surrender. He did not know how to pretend weakness when his body had carried him through too much to be anything but strong.

And because he had failed at being the kind of omega people understood, people had slowly decided he had failed at being an omega at all.

The first time someone said he was past his prime, Est had laughed. He had been twenty-six then, helping organize a harvest feast, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he carried a crate of fruit from the supply room. Two alphas had been speaking nearby, not realizing he could hear them.

“He’s still unmated?”

“Who, Est?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” A pause. A shrug in the voice. “He’s a bit past his prime now, isn’t he? And look at him. Built more like a beta. Some alphas like that, I suppose, but not many.”

A second laugh. “Shame. His scent is nice.”

Nice. As if that were enough to mourn but not enough to want.

At the time, Est had laughed because the alternative was standing there with a crate in his arms while something cracked open inside him. He had gone home later and pressed his face into his pillow until his scent turned sour with humiliation.

After that, the words came more often. Not always cruelly. That was the worst part. Sometimes, cruelty had no fangs. Sometimes it arrived with soup, with advice, with an arm around his shoulders.

“You should let your hair grow longer. It may soften your appearance.”

“Have you tried sweeter scent oils? Yours is a little too… mature.”

“Alphas like to feel needed, Est. You are very independent. That can be intimidating.”

“You are lucky, actually. Since you’re older, you don’t need to be so romantic about mating.”

“Maybe choose someone practical before even practical ‘safe’ people stop asking and you truly run out of options.”

“Don’t look sad. You’re still handsome. Just not everyone’s preference.”

Every comment was small. A drop of water on a stone. At first, Est had thought he could endure it. Then one day, he realized the stone had changed shape. He began noticing things he had never cared about before.

The way alphas’ eyes passed over him at ceremonies and lingered on younger omegas beside him. The way conversations stopped when people were discussing mating prospects, and remembered he was still there. The way younger omegas asked him for advice as if he were already something finished, something safely outside the world of desire. The way elders spoke of his future in practical terms, never romantic ones. A stable alpha. A widower. A beta willing to accept an omega. A quiet arrangement. A useful match.

Nobody spoke of anyone yearning for him.

Nobody said, “Wait for someone who will love you properly.”

Instead, they said, “Be realistic.”

And realism, Est had discovered, was often just despair with better posture.

He tried not to be bitter. He truly did. Bitterness did not suit him, and he had seen what it did to unmated omegas who let the packs' gossip rot them from the inside. They became sharp, brittle creatures, laughing too loudly and scolding the young too often, because pain had nowhere else to go. Est did not want that. He did not want to become another cautionary figure in the corner of the hall.

So he kept busy.

He worked. He helped with the packs' accounts. He organized ceremonies. He delivered supplies to elders who could no longer walk easily to the market. He taught younger omegas pragmatic things no one else bothered to teach them, like how to refuse an alpha politely but firmly, how to recognize when protectiveness became control, and how to hide emergency money where even family would not think to look. He made himself useful because usefulness was safe. Usefulness gave people a reason to keep him close, even if no one else wanted to.

Sometimes, late at night, he hated himself for knowing the difference.

His heats became another kind of shame.

They came regularly, though less violently than when he was younger, and he managed them alone with practiced efficiency. He stocked food and water. He locked the door. He layered his nest with clean sheets and old blankets that carried only his own scent. No alpha’s clothes. No mate’s touch. No low voice rumbling reassurances against his ear. No one to hold the edges of him while instinct turned him soft and aching.

Just Est, sweating through the hours, his body calling into a silence that never answered. After every heat, he washed the sheets himself. The first time had hurt. The twentieth time had become routine.

That was perhaps the most frightening thing of all, that loneliness could become practical. It could become a list. Laundry. Tea. Painkillers. Fresh clothes. Back to work by morning. Smile when asked whether he was feeling well. Pretend not to notice the quick, awkward sympathy in people’s eyes when they realized he had gone through another heat alone.

He wondered sometimes if his body would eventually stop asking. Maybe that was what it meant to be past his prime. Not that desire disappeared, but that hope grew tired of answering the door.

One week after the blessing ceremony, his mother called. She did not live in the main pack territory anymore, but she kept in touch with enough people to know the shape of every rumor before Est could hide it from her. Her voice came through the phone warm and worried, which made Est sit on the edge of his bed and close his eyes.

“Someone told me Auntie Malee spoke to you,” she said.

Est stared at the floor. “It was nothing.”

“Est.”

He exhaled. “She meant well.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

That was the dangerous thing about his mother. She knew how to open a door gently enough that he did not notice until the room was already exposed.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You always say that.”

“Because I usually am.”

“And when you’re not?”

He looked toward the mirror across the room. His reflection looked calm. He had become very good at that. “Then I will become fine eventually.”

His mother was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice had softened. “You don’t have to settle.”

Est’s mouth twisted. A humorless thing. “Everyone says I do.”

“Everyone is afraid of being alone, so they worship being chosen even when the choosing is poor.”

The words settled strangely in him.

His mother had always been different from the rest of the pack. She had loved his father fiercely, not because he was an alpha with status, but because he had made her laugh when she was grieving and brought her mangoes every day for two weeks until she agreed to speak to him. Their bond had been ordinary in the eyes of the pack, but Est had grown up watching his father look at his mother as if she were the only true north in any room. When his father died, something in the house dimmed, but his mother never once spoke of love as foolish.

Maybe that was why Est had waited too long. He had been raised with proof that being wanted properly was possible.

“I’m tired,” he admitted before he could stop himself.

His mother did not rush to answer.

So he continued, voice quieter, almost unfamiliar to his own ears. “I’m tired of being spoken about like I’m expiring. Like I’m some fruit left too long in the sun. I’m tired of people acting like my body is a mistake I should apologize for. I know I’m not… I know I’m not like other omegas.”

His chest tightened around the words.

“I know I’m not delicate. I know I’m not young anymore. I know alphas don’t look at me first. Or second. Or at all. I know all of it. I don’t need everyone reminding me with sad eyes.”

There was a small sound through the phone, his mother’s breath catching. Est pressed his thumb hard against his knee.

“And the worst part is,” he whispered, “I think I’m starting to believe them.”

The silence after that was enormous. It filled the room. It pressed against the walls. Est wished he could take the words back, not because they were untrue, but because truth spoken aloud became a living thing. It stood in the room with him now, thin and hungry.

His mother finally said his name, but he could not bear the tenderness in it.

“I’m okay,” he said quickly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You are not a burden because you hurt. You are not less of an omega because foolish people have narrow imaginations.”

A weak laugh escaped him. “That sounds like something you’d embroider on a pillow.”

“I might. And then I’ll hit Auntie Malee with it.”

Despite himself, Est smiled.

It faded quickly.

When the call ended, he sat there for a long time, phone resting in his lap. Outside his window, the pack grounds were quiet. Somewhere distant, an alpha laughed, bright and confident, and another voice answered. Life was moving around him. Life was pairing off, bonding, building futures with the ease of rivers finding lower ground.

Est wondered when he had started feeling like a closed road.

The next morning, he woke early and went to the market before most of the pack had risen. He liked that hour best, when mist still clung low to the street, and vendors were only beginning to set up their stalls. No one expected much from anyone before sunrise. The world was kinder when it was half-asleep.

He bought vegetables from an old beta woman who never asked about his mating prospects, which made her one of his favorite people. Then he stopped by the tea stall near the corner, waiting as the owner prepared his usual order. A pair of young omegas stood nearby, whispering together with the kind of excitement that made their scents fizz sweetly in the air.

“Did you hear?” one said. “The northern pack’s young alpha is visiting next month.”

“The heir?”

“Yes. Alpha William.”

Est knew the name vaguely. Everyone did. Even outside his pack, William was spoken of with the kind of fascination reserved for storms, prodigies, and beautiful things likely to cause trouble. A young alpha from a powerful bloodline. Recently come into his full command, apparently. Charismatic. Reckless, depending on who was speaking. Brilliant, if the elders were being honest. Too adored, if the alphas were jealous.

“He’s so handsome,” the first omega whispered.

“He’s young,” the other said, laughing. “What would you do with a young alpha like that?”

“Let him ruin my life, obviously.”

They dissolved into giggles.

Est looked down at the tea warming his hands and felt very far away from that kind of hunger. That easy belief that being seen by someone desirable was possible. That life could still arrive burning.

A younger alpha. A powerful one. Someone like that would never look at him. Or if he did, it would be with the same passing politeness Est had come to expect from alphas who had been taught to want sweetness wrapped in a small package.

He turned to leave before the omegas noticed he was listening. On his way back, he passed a shop window and caught his reflection again.

Morning light made him look clearer than moonlight had. Less haunted, perhaps, but no softer. He stood there with a bag of vegetables looped over one wrist and tea in his other hand, broad-shouldered and quiet-eyed, his hair falling messily across his forehead. An older omega with no mate mark, no courting bracelets, no alpha’s scent clinging to his clothes.

For a moment, he tried to imagine someone looking at him and wanting. Not accepting. Not settling. Not making do. Wanting.

The thought felt so fragile it embarrassed him. He looked away.

By the time he reached the pack house, people were beginning to wake. Smoke rose from kitchen chimneys, and voices gathered in the courtyards. Est stepped back into the familiar rhythm of duty before anyone could ask where he had been. There were accounts to review, deliveries to organize, and a meeting with the elders later in the afternoon. Useful things. Safe things.

Still, Auntie Malee’s words followed him. Past his prime. Be realistic. Settle before even practical people stop asking. They moved through him like insects under the skin.

That evening, during the elders’ meeting, one of the senior alphas mentioned a possible arrangement with the widowed alpha from the eastern side. He spoke gently, of course. Everyone was always gentle when they were stripping him down.

“It may be worth considering,” the elder said. “He needs someone mature. Someone steady. His children are young, but you are good with children. And at this stage, Est, companionship is nothing to dismiss.”

At this stage. Est sat with his hands folded in his lap and felt something inside him go very still.

The room smelled of old wood, tea, alpha authority, and omega submission. Familiar things. Heavy things. Everyone watched him with that same careful sympathy, already expecting gratitude. They thought they were offering him a lifeboat. Maybe they were. Maybe he was foolish for staring at the water and wishing for the shore instead.

He opened his mouth. For one wild, reckless second, he wanted to say no. Not politely. Not gently. He wanted to stand up and tell them he was not a spare room to be filled, not a fading scent to be used before it disappeared, not a body that had missed its chance at being loved because it refused to fold itself into a smaller shape.

But years of training pressed down on his tongue. He lowered his eyes.

“I’ll consider it,” he said.

Approval moved through the room in quiet exhales. Est felt none of it.

Later, alone again, he stood beneath the shower until the water ran cold. He scrubbed at his skin, though there was nothing there to remove. No one had touched him. No one had harmed him. Not in any way the pack would understand.

That was the trouble with words. They left bruises only the soul could see.

When he finally stepped out, he wrapped himself in a towel and caught the edge of his scent in the steam. Rain-soaked woods. White tea. Warmth beneath restraint. His own scent, familiar and lonely.

He wondered what it would be like for someone to bury their face against his neck and breathe him in like a miracle.

The thought came suddenly, vivid enough to make him grip the sink. Then shame followed, swift and bitter.

He was too old to be dreaming like that. Wasn’t he?

Est stared at himself in the fogged mirror until his reflection blurred. Maybe this was how it happened. Not all at once, not in one dramatic moment of heartbreak, but slowly. Little by little. Comment by comment. Smile by smile. Until one day, an omega looked at himself and no longer saw someone waiting to be loved.

Only someone who should have known better. He pressed his palm against the mirror, smearing the condensation.

“I guess I’ll consider it,” he had said.

The words tasted like surrender. Outside, the pack settled into the night. Somewhere, mates curled around each other. Somewhere, an alpha’s scent wrapped around an omega’s nest. Somewhere, someone was being chosen without needing to beg the world to explain why they deserved it.

Est turned off the bathroom light and stepped into the dark. For the first time in years, he did not try to comfort himself with the thought that his time would come. Instead, he wondered if perhaps it already had. Perhaps it had passed quietly while he was busy being useful. Perhaps everyone was right.

Perhaps love, the kind that arrived with open hands and a hungry heart, had looked for him once, failed to recognize him, and moved on.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

By the time the visiting pack arrived, the hall had already been dressed to look more generous than it was.

Lanterns hung from the rafters in soft gold clusters, throwing warm light across polished wood and long tables heavy with food. Fresh flowers had been arranged among the centerpieces, their sweet fragrance fighting politely with the richer scents of roasted meat, spiced broth, steamed rice, and wine. The elders had chosen the best cushions, the best serving dishes, the best incense. Everything gleamed with welcome. Everything said, look at us, we are prosperous, dignified, worthy of an alliance.

Est knew because he had spent most of the afternoon helping make it so.

He had tied the flowers himself when one of the younger omegas complained that the stems kept slipping through her fingers. He had checked the seating order twice, arranged the welcome gifts, corrected a mistake on the name cards before one of the elders noticed, and soothed three separate minor disasters before they became visible. By the time the first guests crossed the threshold, Est was dressed properly, hair neat, scent suppressed to something faint and acceptable beneath the clean note of his collar oil, and every muscle in his back was quietly begging for mercy.

Still, he smiled. That was what he was good at now. Composed, quiet, useful.

He stood near the side of the hall with the other pack members who were not important enough to sit close to the chiefs but not unimportant enough to be absent. It was a familiar position. Close enough to serve when needed. Far enough to be forgotten when not.

The visiting pack was larger than Est expected. Their chief entered first, a broad older alpha with silver threaded through his hair and a heavy presence that made the room settle around him. Beside him came his mate, dignified and serene, her scent cool and floral. Behind them were their children, relatives, guards, advisors, and a scattering of young alphas whose confidence filled the air before their bodies did.

Est did not look too closely.

Young alphas tended to make a room noisy in ways that had nothing to do with sound. Their scents burned hotter, less disciplined, all cedar and smoke and sunlight, pressing outward as if the world had not yet taught them to fold themselves in. They laughed too loudly, stood too close, looked at omegas with the bright hunger of creatures who had never been refused anything that mattered.

He had no reason to invite that kind of attention. Even less reason to expect it.

So Est kept his gaze lowered, hands folded neatly in front of him, and listened as the chiefs exchanged formal greetings. He could feel the younger omegas nearby growing restless, their scents fluttering despite the layers of perfume oil they had no doubt applied. Excitement, nerves, hope. One of them whispered something behind her fan, and another stifled a laugh.

Est did not blame them. A dinner function with another pack was not merely a dinner. It was a stage where alliances began, where glances could become courtship, where a smile across a table might turn into bracelets sent the next morning. For the unmated omegas, especially the young ones, the air glittered with possibility.

For Est, it was another evening to endure gracefully.

He was thinking of whether the servers had remembered to bring out the second tray of fruit when the room shifted. Not dramatically. No one else seemed to notice it at first. The speeches continued. The chief laughed at something. Cups were filled. But Est felt it anyway, a strange pressure at the edge of his awareness, as if a storm had stepped into the hall and decided to wear human skin.

His fingers tightened. A scent reached him through the layers of incense and food and bodies. Alpha. Not just any alpha. Warm amber. Wild forest. Sun-heated stone after rain. Something young, yes, but not careless. Something bright and aching and impossibly alive.

Est’s breath caught before he could stop it. He lifted his eyes. That was his first mistake.

The alpha stood just behind the visiting chief’s right shoulder, half a step removed from the cluster of older sons and advisors. He was younger than the others, perhaps in his early twenties, though there was nothing uncertain about the way he carried himself. Tall, sharp-eyed, beautiful in the unfair way of alphas born into power and adored before they ever learned humility. His hair fell neatly around his face, dark and soft-looking beneath the lantern light. His mouth held the faintest trace of a smile, but it was not directed at anyone speaking to him.

It was directed at Est. No. Not directed. Fixed.

Est went still.

The young alpha was looking at him with the kind of open astonishment people wore when something impossible had entered the room. Not polite interest. Not curiosity. Not the mild assessment Est was used to from alphas who realized he was an omega and immediately began measuring all the ways he did not suit the shape of their expectations.

This was different.

This was attention without apology.

The alpha stared as if the entire hall had gone quiet around them, though Est could still hear the scrape of chairs and low voices, the clink of porcelain, the steady drum of his own pulse. For one suspended moment, the young alpha’s expression lost every bit of courtly training it might have carried. His lips parted slightly. His eyes darkened. His scent flared.

Not enough to be rude. Enough for Est to feel it.

Warm amber curled through the room like a hand reaching for his throat. Est looked away so quickly his neck ached.

His heart had become ridiculous. It beat against his ribs as if trying to escape and disgrace him publicly. He lowered his gaze to the floorboards and forced his breathing into discipline. He was not an omega at their first ceremony. He was not one of the young omegas giggling behind their fans. He was almost thirty, unmated, already spoken of in practical terms by elders who had arranged half his future without asking whether his heart still wanted anything.

A younger alpha looking at him meant nothing. Perhaps he had mistaken Est for someone else. Perhaps he had simply been surprised. Perhaps Est was standing near something interesting, and age had made him arrogant enough to think that attention could still land on him and mean wanting.

He almost laughed at himself.

Then the visiting chief turned and said, “This is my youngest, William.”

The name passed through the hall with an immediate murmur.

Est did not need to look up to feel the ripple it created among the omegas. William. The young alpha heir’s youngest son, the one people whispered about in markets and during ceremonies. Too talented. Too charming. Too reckless. Too beloved. A favorite child of fortune, wrapped in good blood and even better looks. The kind of alpha who probably had omegas from three territories dreaming of his courting bracelets.
The kind of alpha who would never truly look at Est.

Except when Est lost his battle with himself and glanced up again, William was still looking. Straight at him. This time, when their eyes met, William smiled.

It was not the polished smile of a chief’s son greeting an allied pack. It was not the lazy, flirtatious smile of a young alpha testing his effect on an omega. It was softer than that and far more dangerous. It struck Est with absurd force, a bright thing sliding between his ribs. William looked at him as if he had just found the answer to a question he had not known he was asking.

Est’s fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve. No one had looked at him like that in years. Maybe no one had ever looked at him like that.

He turned away again, heat climbing up the back of his neck. His scent stirred despite the oil at his collar, a low, warm pulse of rain-soaked woods and white tea. Est pressed his wrist lightly against his abdomen, trying to ground himself. This was foolish. Dangerous. Embarrassing, even. Young alphas were sometimes drawn to novelty. Perhaps William had never seen an omega built like him. Perhaps he was amused.

The thought brought him back to himself. Yes. That was more likely.

A young alpha like William, extremely handsome, highly powerful, and standing at the center of everyone’s attention, would not fall silent over an older unmated omega who belonged at the edge of the hall. He would flirt later with the delicate omegas seated near the front, the ones dressed in pale silk, wrists slim beneath courting bracelets they had not yet accepted. He would laugh, he would charm, he would be offered names and cups and smiles until the night ended with half the pack sighing over him.

Est would go home with tired feet and the same untouched neck.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The dinner began.

Est busied himself with small tasks when he could. He checked on the servers. He stepped aside to let guests pass. He answered an elder’s question about the gift exchange. Anything to keep from looking toward the front table, where William had been seated with his family.

It did not work.

Awareness of him remained like a flame behind Est’s shoulder.

Every few seconds, Est felt it. That gaze. Focused, warm, impossible to explain away. When he finally dared to look, William was barely listening to the alpha beside him. His body was angled politely toward the conversation, but his eyes betrayed him entirely. They found Est across the hall with stunning, shameless precision. Caught, William did not look away. He looked …delighted.

Est almost dropped the cup he was holding.

A younger omega beside him noticed and whispered, “Are you alright, Phi Est?”

Phi Est. The honorific landed between them like a reminder. Older brother. Senior. Safe, sensible, past the age of being silly over a handsome alpha.

“Yes,” Est said quickly. “I’m fine.”

The younger omega followed his gaze before Est could stop her. Her eyes widened when she saw William, then widened even more when William, evidently realizing she had noticed him staring, merely smiled brighter and lifted his cup in acknowledgment.

The omega gasped softly. “Phi…”

“Don’t,” Est murmured.

“But he’s looking at you.”

“He’s looking around.”

“He is not.”

Est gave her a quiet warning look, and she pressed her lips together, though her scent sparked with barely restrained gossip.

Mortification crawled up Est’s spine. This was exactly the sort of thing that turned into whispers. The older, unmated omega imagining interest from the visiting pack’s most eligible young alpha. People would laugh kindly, which was worse than laughing cruelly. They would say hope was sweet at any age, then pity him afterward when William inevitably chose someone more appropriate.

Est stepped out into the corridor as soon as he could.

The air outside the hall was cooler, blessedly free of heavy scents and social expectation. He leaned one hand against the wall and breathed through the strange tightness in his chest. Ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. A handsome alpha smiled at him, and suddenly his mind had become a nest of startled birds.

He needed water. Or sense. Preferably both.

Behind him, footsteps approached. Est straightened at once, schooling his expression into calm before turning. William stood at the end of the corridor.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Away from the hall, he seemed even younger and more overwhelming all at once. Not boyish exactly, no. His alpha presence was too strong for that, his shoulders too assured, his gaze too steady. But there was something unguarded in his face that made Est’s breath stumble. As if William had run out after him, not because etiquette allowed it, but because instinct had yanked him forward by the heart.

“Hi,” William said.

Est blinked. Of all the things a chief’s son could have said, that was not what he expected.

“Hello,” Est replied carefully, bowing his head. “Alpha William.”

William made a sound, almost like a whimper. “You know my name.”

“Your father introduced you.”

“Right.” William smiled, sheepish for half a second before his gaze warmed again. “And yours?”

Est hesitated. He should not answer. Not like this. Not alone in a corridor with a young alpha whose scent was wrapping around the quiet like sunlight through leaves.

But William was looking at him as if the answer mattered.

“Est khaap,” he said, bowing a little.

William repeated it softly. “Est.”

It was only one syllable. A name he had heard his whole life. But in William’s mouth, it sounded newly discovered, carefully held, dangerously adored. Est’s stomach turned over.

William took one step closer, then hesitated, as if forcing himself not to crowd him. The restraint was so visible that it made something in Est ache.

“I’m sorry,” William said quickly. “I know this is rude. I know I should have asked someone to introduce us properly. I just…” He laughed once, breathless and bright, dragging a hand through his hair. “I saw you and forgot every rule I’ve ever been taught.”

Est stared at him. No one had prepared him for sincerity. Flirtation, perhaps. Arrogance, certainly. But this? This young alpha was standing in a quiet corridor, looking almost embarrassed by the force of his own wonder.

“Alpha William,” Est said, voice gentler than he intended, “you shouldn’t say things like that.”

William’s brows drew together. “Why not?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

“I want to, though.”

The answer came too fast. Too honest.

Est’s throat tightened. “You are young.”

William did not flinch, but something sharpened in his gaze, not anger, not offense. Determination. “I’m old enough to know when my alpha chooses where to look.”

Est’s heart gave one hard, foolish beat. He looked away. “You should return to dinner.”

“I will,” William said, though he did not move. “But can I ask one thing first?”

Est should have said no. Instead, he stayed silent.

William’s voice hardened slightly, an undercurrent of something in his voice. “Are you mated?”

The corridor seemed to narrow around them. Est looked back at him. There it was. The question that always arrived with judgment folded behind it. But William’s face held no pity. No calculation. Only tension, hope held so tightly it almost trembled.

“No,” Est said.

William inhaled, a dark look coming in his eyes, a telltale sign of his alpha getting pleased. His scent bloomed, sudden and golden like rays of sunshine, filling the space between them with such unmistakable relief that Est’s knees nearly forgot their purpose.

William smiled again, and this time it was devastating.

“Good,” he whispered, then seemed to realize what he had said and straightened at once, cheeks coloring. “I mean, not good if you’re unhappy. I don’t want you to be unhappy. I just mean…” He stopped, visibly fighting himself, then said with terrible, earnest clarity, “I’m glad no one else has had the right to stand beside you.”

Est could not speak. Inside him, something old and tired lifted its head. Something he thought had died quietly while he was busy being useful.

From the hall, someone called William’s name. William looked toward the sound, then back at Est, reluctance in every line of his body.

“I’ll see you again tonight,” he said. It was not quite a question.

William gave him one last look, bright and hungry and reverent all at once, then returned to the hall, leaving his scent behind like a promise someone had dared to make in the dark.

Est remained in the corridor long after he was gone. His pulse would not calm. His hands would not stop trembling. He pressed his fingers against his unmarked neck and told himself not to be foolish.

A young alpha had looked at him. That was all. An alpha had smiled, had asked his name, had seemed relieved that Est belonged to no one. That was all. But for the first time in years, when Est thought of the empty place beside him, it did not feel entirely like proof of failure.

It felt, dangerously, impossibly, like waiting.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

William had never understood what people meant when they said desire was instinct. Not truly.

He understood the theory. He understood biology, presentation, scent compatibility, the old laws of the blood, the pull between alpha and omega that poets had been gnawing on for generations like dogs with a holy bone. He had grown up in rooms where adults spoke of bonds with grave faces, where elders weighed lineages like merchants weighing silk, where unmated omegas were mentioned with concern and unmated alphas with expectation. He knew what he was supposed to want. He knew what an alpha in his position was supposed to become.

Powerful. Disciplined. Fertile in influence, if not yet in family. A future pillar of the pack. A protector. A mate. A father someday, if the gods and councils had their way. Everyone had been waiting for him to start wanting. William had been waiting too, in his own way.

At twenty-three, he was old enough for the pack to watch him carefully, but still young enough that no one dared press too hard. That was the only mercy of youth. It made a temporary shield. His parents still laughed when aunties sighed about him. His father still clapped a hand on his shoulder and told people that William had time. His mother still smiled behind her cup and said her youngest was difficult to impress.

Difficult to impress sounded better than hollow. So William let them say it.

He let everyone believe he was simply proud. Selective. A young alpha with too much attention and not enough urgency. It was easier than explaining the truth, which was that omegas had been offered to him like flowers for years, and he had never once wanted to kneel in the garden.

That would have sounded cruel. Worse, it would have sounded unnatural.

And William was not unnatural. He knew that. His alpha was strong, painfully so sometimes. It lived under his skin like a second pulse, restless, watchful, territorial in ways that made his trainers praise him, and his brothers curse under their breath when he beat them during sparring. He could scent fear from across a hall. He could calm younger pack members with one command. His presence had begun settling into authority before anyone had taught him how to wear it. Alphas twice his age watched him with irritation because they could feel it too, that he had been born with something bright and stubborn in his blood.

He was not empty. He was full of storm. It simply had nowhere to go.

Omegas approached him often. Some shyly, with lowered eyes and trembling smiles. Some boldly, laughing behind fans, letting their scents bloom sweet and heavy when he passed. Others sent gifts. Handkerchiefs embroidered with initials. Tea blends. Charms. Letters sealed with perfume. Courting bracelets were presented through relatives under the careful excuse of diplomacy. Betas flirted too, some with a confidence William found easier to respect, and even alphas tested the waters now and then, curious whether the chief’s youngest son could be tempted by challenge rather than softness.

William was polite to all of them. That was the trouble. He was very, very good at being polite.

He knew how to smile with warmth he did not feel. How to tilt his head as if listening deeply. How to accept compliments without encouraging them and refuse invitations without humiliating anyone. He knew how to let an omega’s scent slide over him without reacting, even when it thickened with interest. He knew how to step away from a beta’s fingers on his sleeve before anyone noticed. He knew how to keep his alpha quiet when someone leaned too close.

It was not restraint, not really. Restraint implied there was something to hold back against. William felt nothing.

Or, maybe not nothing. That was too dramatic. He felt appreciation sometimes. He could recognize beauty. He could enjoy clever conversation. He could admire grace, skill, confidence, and sweetness; all the qualities people displayed before him like polished jewels. But none of it reached the deeper part of him. None of it made his alpha lift its head. None of it made his bones remember they were built to hold someone. None of it made him understand why his brothers had once come home from courting with dazed expressions, why his father still touched his mother’s wrist when they sat together as if needing to confirm she was real.

William thought love, if it ever came, would be a decision. A suitable omega. A good match. Mutual respect. Gradual fondness. A bond made not from fire, but from discipline and care. That seemed acceptable. Perhaps even wise. Practical.

His parents were not pressing him yet. Good. Let them not press. Let him have a few more years of being the charming young alpha who smiled, obeyed formalities, attended dinners, and went home untouched by every scent in the room.

Then came the dinner function with the smaller pack. He nearly did not go.

The invitation was important for his father, some alliance matter involving trade routes and shared patrol rights, but William had attended three formal gatherings in two weeks and was already tired of pretending not to notice people pretending not to stare. His second brother was supposed to accompany their parents. Then his brother caught a fever, or claimed he did, looking entirely too pleased with himself while wrapped in blankets, and William was summoned in his place.

“Behave,” his mother told him while a servant adjusted the collar of his formal jacket.

William looked at her through the mirror. “I always behave.”

His mother’s smile was dry. “You perform behavior. There is a difference.”

He grinned. “That sounds like philosophy.”

“That sounds like a warning.”

His father laughed from the doorway. “Leave him. He’ll charm them enough to make up for it.”

William bowed dramatically. “My burden as your most handsome son.”

“You are my most exhausting son,” his mother corrected.

“Still a title.”

He carried that easy humor into the evening like armor. It fit him well. It always had. Smile here, nod there, let the elders feel respected, let the smaller pack feel honored, let the omegas whisper, and the alphas measure themselves against him and find reasons to look away first. William knew the steps. He had danced this dance so many times that the music no longer mattered.

When they arrived, the hall was warm with lantern light and nerves.

The smaller pack had prepared carefully. He could tell at once. Flowers too fresh to have been arranged casually. Seating too precise. Incense chosen to impress without overwhelming. Food rich enough to signal generosity. Everyone dressed slightly better than comfort allowed. It was sweet, almost. A little desperate around the edges, but earnest.

William entered behind his parents and did what he always did. He assessed. Chief at the front, aging but steady. Advisors arranged by influence, not merely age. Young alphas trying too hard not to seem impressed. Betas with interested eyes. Omegas clustered in pale silks, scents fluttering like nervous birds beneath perfume oils. The hall was full of possibilities for someone who wanted that kind of thing.

William did not.

An omega near the front looked at him from beneath lowered lashes, scent sugared with deliberate warmth. Another smiled boldly. A beta at the side made no attempt to hide his interest. William returned each glance with enough courtesy to avoid insult and not enough to invite hope. Nothing. The same nothing.

His alpha paced once beneath his skin, bored. Then he smelled rain. No… Not rain itself. Not exactly. Something deeper. Rain on warm earth, white tea cooling in a ceramic cup, crushed leaves under bare feet, something sweet but not sugary, something restrained and clean and aching at the edges. It cut through incense, food, bodies, polished wood, alpha musk, omega perfume, and struck him with such precision that William stopped breathing.

The hall did not change. William did. Every part of him went violently, impossibly still. His alpha, which had spent years turning its head away from every offered sweetness, snapped upright so fast it felt like claws opening inside his chest.

There. Not a thought. A command. There.

William’s gaze moved before he told it to. And found him. At the side of the hall, standing half in lantern light, half in duty, was an omega William had never seen before and somehow recognized with the force of an ancestral memory.

He was older than William. That was the first thing any person would have noticed, perhaps. Not old, but past the tender stage most alphas chased with embarrassing predictability. Mature. Quiet. Composed. His hair was neat, his posture controlled, his hands folded in front of him. He stood as if he had learned to take up less space than his body deserved, which made William’s alpha bare its teeth at the air.

And his body. Gods.

William had been raised among delicate omegas, praised and protected like porcelain cups. He knew the shape the world expected desire to take. Small wrists. Downcast eyes. Narrow shoulders. A sweet scent blooming helplessly when an alpha came close.

This omega was not that.

This omega was built like the world had tried to bend him and failed. Tall, steady, shoulders not broad like an alpha’s but strong in a way that suggested endurance rather than display. There was softness there, too, but it did not announce itself for consumption. It lived in the curve of his mouth, the quiet line of his eyes, the careful way he held himself apart from everyone else. He looked like someone who had been asked to apologize for surviving beautifully.

William wanted to kill whoever had taught him that posture.

Then the omega lifted his eyes. Their gazes met. And then, William forgot his name.

He had heard stories of alphas losing control at first scent. Usually, he had dismissed them as dramatic nonsense told by people who enjoyed excusing bad manners with biology. He had thought himself above that. Discipline had always been his favorite weapon. But in that moment, with the omega’s eyes on him, William understood with humiliating clarity that he had never been disciplined. He had merely been untested.

The omega looked away almost immediately.

William nearly commanded him to look back – he needed his eyes back on him.

He didn't move physically. His body remained where it was by sheer miracle and the ghost of his mother’s warning. But something in him lunged, a bright savage thing slamming against his ribs. Mine, his alpha snarled, not as possession exactly, not yet, but as recognition. As direction. As if every useless year of emptiness had been a road, and this was the first signpost that had ever mattered.

William inhaled again, and the scent deepened.

Sweet nectar, but not flower-sweet. Not the thin, pretty sweetness others wore like bait. This was nectar hidden in the heartwood of something ancient, warm, and private, offered to no one. It was the kind of scent a starving creature might dream of, only to wake up angry that it had been a dream.

William’s hands curled at his sides. He wanted to cross the room. He wanted to kneel. He wanted to put his face against the omega’s throat and breathe until every false scent oil burned away and only truth remained. He wanted to ask who had failed to court him properly. He wanted to know why there was no mate mark on that neck. He wanted to send thanks to every foolish alpha in existence for being too blind to claim the only treasure in the room. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to bite the table in half.

This, he thought wildly, was inconvenient. His father was speaking. William had no idea what he was saying. His mother’s gaze flicked toward him for half a second, sharp enough to peel fruit. William smiled automatically, but it was useless. He could feel his own face betraying him. The smile was too real. Too stunned. Too worshipful.

His mother followed his line of sight. William looked away too late. She saw. Of course, she saw. Mothers were born with spycraft in their bones. Her brows lifted slightly. William ignored her. A brave choice. A doomed one, but brave.

“This is my youngest, William,” his father said, drawing him forward with a proud gesture.

Usually, William enjoyed being introduced. There was a performance in it. The respectful nod, the charming smile, the polished humility that made elders murmur approvingly. Tonight, he barely heard the responding greetings. His attention had become a beast with one leash, and the leash was tied around the quiet omega standing near the side of the hall.

The omega glanced up again. William smiled. He could not help it. If someone had told him to stop, he might have considered war.

The omega looked away, and a faint warmth slipped into his scent. Shy. Embarrassed. Disturbed, maybe. William wanted to follow that small change to its source and guard it with his teeth. His alpha growled low in his chest, not loud enough for others to hear, but William felt it vibrate through bone.

Easy, he told himself.

The alpha ignored him.

The dinner began. William sat where he was told, because apparently, civilization still existed even when his entire body had begun plotting treason. Food was served. Cups were raised. People spoke to him. He answered. Possibly with words. He could not be certain. If anyone had asked him to recite his own lineage, he might have said, “Rain, white tea, the omega by the wall,” and considered it a complete answer.

The omega moved through the room with quiet competence. That did not help.

William watched him adjust a server’s tray before it tipped. He watched him lean down to answer an elder’s question. He watched him step aside before a guest even realized the path was blocked. He watched him notice everything, fix everything, and ask for nothing. Each small act added fuel to the catastrophe taking place inside William’s chest.

Who are you? William thought. Who made you stand at the edge when you should be seated where everyone can see you? Who convinced you to lower your eyes? Who do I need to ruin? His grip tightened around his cup until the porcelain complained.

The alpha beside him, one of the smaller pack’s council members, was speaking about patrol boundaries. William nodded at what he hoped were appropriate intervals. His mother cleared her throat delicately from across the table.

William looked at her. She looked at his cup. He loosened his grip before it shattered.

A younger omega near the side whispered to his omega, and both of them looked toward him. William, caught staring for what was probably the twelfth time in five minutes, did the only reasonable thing.

He lifted his cup. The younger omega looked like she might combust. The older omega looked like he wanted the floor to eat him. Adorable. No, not adorable. That was too small a word, too cute for what was happening. He was… devastating. Dangerous in the way a locked door was dangerous to someone who had just realized he had spent his whole life outside his own home.

William wanted in. Immediately. Forever.

“That omega,” William murmured to his mother when conversation around them swelled enough to hide his voice.

Her gaze slid to him. “Which omega?”

Cruel woman. William did not dignify that with an answer.

His mother took a sip of tea. “You will have to be more specific. There are many omegas here.”

“There is only one omega here that I want.”

Her mouth twitched.

William narrowed his eyes. “Don’t laugh.”

“I would never.”

“You are laughing internally.”

“Loudly,” she admitted.

“Mom.”

She set down her cup. “You have not looked at anyone that way in your life. Like a pup who has discovered the moon belongs to him.”

“He doesn’t belong to me,” William said automatically, and his alpha hated the sentence so much his jaw tightened. “I mean. Not yet. I mean, not like that. I mean…” He stopped.

His mother’s eyes gleamed. “Beautiful recovery.”

“I’m going to speak to him.”

“No.”

William froze. “No?”

“Not in the middle of dinner, not with that expression, and not while your father is discussing alliance terms.”

“What expression?”

“The one that says you are about to either propose a bond or eat him alive.”

William looked away.

His mother leaned closer, voice gentler though amusement still curled at the edges. “William. Breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“You are hunting.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.
:)
A servant passed, pouring wine. William waited until they were gone before muttering, “I just want his name.”

“You want far, far more than his name.”

“Yes,” William said, because lying felt stupid when his scent had probably already confessed to half the hall. “But I’ll start with his name.”

His mother studied him for a moment. Something softened in her expression, becoming less teasing, more careful. “Be mindful. He is not one of the young omegas seeking attention.”

“I know.”

William looked toward the omega again. He had moved closer to the corridor, his profile caught briefly by lantern light. There was a sadness around him. Not obvious. Not theatrical. William might not have seen it if his entire being had not narrowed to the study of him. It sat in the careful set of his mouth, in the restraint of his shoulders, in the way he seemed prepared to dismiss anything good before it could humiliate him.

William’s alpha grew quiet. Not calmer. Worse. Focused.

“I know,” William repeated, and this time it came out low.

His mother followed his gaze. “Then do not frighten him.”

William almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because he was not sure anyone had ever given him a more impossible instruction. He felt like a lit match, asked not to set the dry forest on fire.

“I’ll try,” he said.

He did. For approximately six minutes. Then the omega left the hall. William lasted three heartbeats. On the fourth, he stood.

His father glanced toward him, still speaking. William bowed slightly. “Excuse me.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed in warning. William smiled at her with all the innocence he no longer possessed and followed the scent into the corridor.

The moment the hall’s noise fell behind him, the omega’s scent became clearer. Sweet nectar beneath rain-soaked woods. White tea. Warm skin. Suppressed, but not enough. Nothing about him was enough to satisfy William. He wanted the full bloom of it. Wanted to know what Est smelled like when he laughed. When he was sleepy. When he was angry. When he was safe. When he stopped holding himself like someone waiting to be unwanted.

William found him leaning against the wall, trying to breathe. Guilt struck him, absurd and immediate.

Had he made him uncomfortable? Had his staring been too much? Of course, it had been too much. William was too much. He had always been too much. Too bright, too intense, too adored, too restless. Usually, that excess had nowhere to go. Now it was pointed entirely at one omega who looked like he might bolt if William breathed the wrong way.

So William stopped at the end of the corridor. The omega straightened and turned. Up close, he was worse. Better. Catastrophic.

His eyes were steady despite the nervous tension in his scent. His face was composed, but there was color high on his cheeks. William noticed the unmarked line of his neck and nearly lost all language again. No bite. No alpha’s claim. No old bond scar. No scent layered deeply enough to mean belonging.

No one had him. No one had him. No one had him.

William’s alpha did something embarrassing inside him, a full-body surge of relief and triumph so sharp he had to lock his knees.

“Hi,” William said.

The word came out stupid. He had been educated by the best tutors in three territories. He spoke six different languages, formal court dialect, trade tongue, and enough old ceremonial speech to bore a priest to tears. Faced with the only omega who had ever made his blood sing, he said hi. The gods were comedians with knives.

“Hello,” the omega replied, bowing his head. “Alpha William.”

The title in his mouth almost killed him.

“You know my name,” William said, because apparently his mouth had decided not to improve.

“Your father introduced you.”

“Right.” William dragged a hand through his hair, then immediately regretted it. He was acting like a pup. He was a grown alpha. He had negotiated patrol disputes without blinking. He had faced down older alphas who tried to test his command. He could survive one omega. No, he could not.

“And yours?” he asked.

The omega hesitated. William felt that hesitation like a hook under his ribs. He wanted to tell him, You don’t have to answer. He wanted to tell him, I’ll wait. I’ll ask properly. I’ll go through every elder in this building if that makes you feel safe. I’ll crawl, actually. Watch me.

But before he could disgrace himself further, the omega spoke.

“Est, khaap.”

Est. The name entered him and shut every door behind it.

William repeated it softly, because he had to. Because the shape of it belonged in his mouth. Because some deranged part of him thought perhaps if he said it correctly, the world might understand that everything had changed.

Est’s scent stirred. Shy. Warm. Nervous.

William took one step closer before catching himself. Est did not move back, but William stopped anyway. His mother’s warning curled through his mind. Do not frighten him. Right. Yes. Excellent advice. Unfortunately, William wanted to fold himself around Est so thoroughly that no doubt, no pity, no careless comment from anyone in any pack could ever touch him again.

“I’m sorry,” William said quickly. “I know this is rude. I know I should have asked someone to introduce us properly. I just…” He laughed once, breathless, honest, doomed. “I saw you and forgot every rule I’ve ever been taught.”

Est stared at him as if William had handed him a flame and called it a flower. “Alpha William,” he said, gentle and guarded, “you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t know me.”

“I want to.” Shit. Too fast again. Too much again. William could not regret it.

Est looked away, and the movement revealed the vulnerable line of his throat. William’s gaze dropped there for half a second before he dragged it back up by force. He would not be that kind of alpha. He would not make Est feel hunted. Even if his soul had picked up a spear and started running.

“You are young,” Est said.

Something in William sharpened.

Not because he was offended by the truth. He was young. Younger than Est, clearly. Young enough that others thought his wanting could be dismissed as impulse, fascination, hunger without depth. But he knew what emptiness had felt like for years. He knew the silence inside him before Est’s scent broke it open. He knew the difference between interest and recognition.

“I’m old enough to know when my alpha chooses where to look,” William said.

Est’s scent trembled. William nearly smiled. Nearly stepped closer. Nearly ruined everything.

From the hall, someone called his name. He ignored it. Not for long, but for one precious second, he ignored the entire political architecture of both packs because Est was standing before him, unmated, uncertain, and smelling like everything William had never known how to want.

“Can I ask one thing first?” William said.

Est did not agree, but he did not refuse. William’s heart pounded in a way that would have been humiliating if he had any pride left.

“Are you mated?”

The question mattered so much that the corridor seemed to hold its breath with him. Est looked at him. There was something wary in his eyes, as if he expected judgment, pity, some hidden insult. William wanted to find every person who had ever taught him to expect pain from that question and personally throw them into a lake.

“No,” Est said.

Relief detonated through William. His scent flared before he could stop it, amber and forest and sun-warm stone flooding the space between them. Est’s eyes widened, and William realized too late that he had just scented the corridor like a victorious idiot.

“Good,” William whispered.

Then his brain caught up.

“I mean, not good if you’re unhappy. I don’t want you to be unhappy. I just mean…” He stopped, swallowed, and chose honesty because dignity had already fled the building. “I’m glad no one else has the right to stand beside you.”

Est went very still. William wanted to take the words back and also carve them into the wall. Another call came from the hall, sharper this time.

He had to leave. His father would notice. His mother had already noticed. The elders would notice if they had not already. Every second alone with Est could become gossip, and William, who normally gave very little weight to gossip about himself, suddenly cared because it might touch Est.

“I’ll see you again tonight,” he said.

It came out like a promise because it was one. Est did not answer. He did not tell William no either. William returned to the hall with his body under control and his entire inner life in ruins. His mother looked at him the moment he sat down. William picked up his cup and drank water because wine felt unwise when he was already intoxicated by a single name.

“Well?” she murmured.

William stared straight ahead.

“His name is Est,” he said.

His mother’s expression softened. William looked across the hall. Est had not returned yet. The absence irritated his alpha immediately, which was absurd. Est was allowed to exist in corridors. Est was allowed to breathe without William watching. Est was allowed anything he wanted. William just wanted to be nearby while he wanted it.

“You need to calm down,” his mother said.

“I am calm.” His cup cracked. Both of them looked down. A thin line had split through the porcelain beneath his thumb. His mother sighed. William set the cup aside with great care.

“I’m going to court him,” he said.

“You met him seven minutes ago.”

“Eight.”

“William.”

“I’m not saying I’ll force anything.” The thought offended him so deeply that he turned to face her fully. “I would never. If he tells me to leave him alone, I’ll…” Die. Haunt the river. Become a tragic tree. “…respect it.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed, hearing all the words he had wisely not said.

“But I will court him,” William continued. “Properly. Publicly, if he allows it. Privately, if he prefers. Slowly, if he needs time. Carefully, if he’s been hurt. I don’t care. I’ll learn.”

His mother studied him for a long moment. The hall moved around them, unaware that William’s future had just crawled out of his chest and gone to stand beside a wall.

“He is older than you,” she said finally.

“I noticed.”

“Did you?”

William’s gaze returned to the side entrance. “Yes,” he said. “And I don’t care.”

“He may care.”

That landed differently. William’s jaw tightened, not in anger but frustration, because she was right. Est had said it already. You are young. Not as an insult. As a boundary. As a fear. William could still hear the shape of it.

William kept his voice low. “When I asked if he was mated, he looked like he expected me to be disappointed by the answer. Or amused. I don’t know. But not relieved.”

His mother said nothing. William’s alpha curled around that memory, furious and protective. Est’s guarded eyes. The way he held himself. The way he seemed prepared to be unwanted even while William’s entire being was trying not to howl at the moon over him.

“I don’t know what they’ve told him,” William said. “But I know he’s heard something enough times to believe it.”

His mother’s gaze moved toward the corridor, then back to him. “Then be careful with what you tell him.”

William nodded. Words had weight. He understood that now with an intensity that felt almost painful. He could not simply pour his wanting over Est and expect him to trust it. He could not throw devotion at him like a cloak and be offended if Est flinched. He would have to be patient. Gentle. Strategic. And once he has him, Gods help him because he will never let go. Because William was very good at strategy.

His father laughed loudly at the center of the table, raising a cup with the smaller pack’s chief. The dinner continued. Alliances were discussed. Plates were changed. Music began somewhere near the far corner. Omegas whispered. Alphas watched. Life carried on, stupidly unaware that William had just developed a singular purpose so intense it bordered on religious madness.

Est returned to the hall. William felt him before he saw him.

His scent came first, faint and guarded again, the sweet nectar hidden beneath oil and discipline. Then he appeared near the side, face composed, eyes lowered. The younger omega beside him whispered something, and Est gave her a look that made her immediately pretend interest in her plate.

William smiled before he could stop himself. Est looked up at that exact moment. Caught. Again. This time, William did not lift his cup. He did not grin. He simply held Est’s gaze and let himself be honest, as much as he dared across a crowded hall.

I see you. I know you don’t believe me yet. I will make you believe me.

Est’s eyes widened slightly, then softened in confusion before he looked away. William’s alpha settled for the first time all night, not calm, never calm, but certain.

There you are, it seemed to say. There you are.

Every empty year behind him rearranged itself. All the disinterest, all the untouched courting gifts, all the polite refusals, all the jokes about being difficult to impress. He understood them differently now. He had not been waiting because he was cold. He had not been untouched because something in him was broken.

He had been waiting because his alpha was a stubborn, unreasonable, faithful creature that had refused every wrong scent in the world. And now Est was here.

Older. Shy. Guarded. Unmated. Standing at the edge of the room as if he did not know William’s entire bloodline could have vanished from the hall, and William would still have found the only thing worth looking at.

William leaned back in his seat, every nerve alive, every instinct awake, every impossible thought blooming with teeth.

Let the dinner continue. Let the elders talk. Let the packs trade gifts and promises and careful smiles. William had found Est.

The night could do whatever it wanted after that.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Est tried to survive the rest of the dinner with dignity. He failed.

Not visibly, perhaps. He still knew how to hold a cup without trembling, how to answer elders when spoken to, how to lower his eyes at the proper moments, and smile when politeness required it. He knew how to make himself useful, how to move quietly along the edge of the hall, how to fold his scent back under his skin whenever it stirred too warmly beneath his collar. On the outside, he was composed. An older omega with steady hands. Reliable. Respectable. Unremarkable.

Inside, he was a catastrophe wearing silk. William kept looking at him. No, looking was the wrong word. William looked at him with something worse than hunger. Attention. Whenever Est dared glance toward the front table, William’s eyes were already there, waiting as if the room contained a hundred people but only one place worth returning to. He did not leer. He did not smirk. He did not wear the careless confidence Est had seen in young alphas who enjoyed watching omegas blush.

William looked at him as if he were trying to memorize him before the world stole the chance. That was harder to survive.

Est told himself it was nothing. Then William smiled at him across the hall, and Est nearly poured tea into an empty space beside the cup. The younger omega beside him made a small sound of delight.

“Phi Est,” she whispered, scandalized and thrilled.

“Don’t start,” Est murmured.

“He has not stopped looking at you.”

“He is a guest. Perhaps he is observing the hall.”

“He is observing you.”

Est sent her a look. She pressed her lips together, but her eyes sparkled so brightly that Est considered moving to the kitchen and never returning.

This was exactly what he feared. A whisper becoming a spark, a spark becoming smoke, and smoke filling the entire pack house by morning. The older, unmated omega imagining himself desired by the visiting chief’s youngest son? People would speak kindly, at first. They always did. They would say it was sweet. They would say maybe William liked mature omegas, as if Est were a strange taste in tea. Then, when William left, after no courting gift arrived, after nothing came of one dinner and one corridor conversation, they would pity him more than before.

Hope was dangerous because it gave others something new to watch die. By the time dessert was served, Est had convinced himself to avoid William for the rest of the night. It was a sensible plan. Naturally, it lasted less than ten minutes. He was carrying a tray of small cups back toward the side table when William appeared in his path as if the gods had grown bored and wanted blood.

“Let me help,” William said.

Est stopped so abruptly that one of the cups rattled.

“Alpha William,” he said, trying to bow despite the tray in his hands. “You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

William’s gaze moved over him quickly, not in assessment, but concern. “It’s not trouble.”

“It is inappropriate for a guest.”

“It’s inappropriate for everyone to let you work through a dinner you helped organize.”

Est stared at him. William seemed to realize he had said that too directly, because his expression shifted into something almost sheepish. Almost. It did nothing to soften the force of him. Up close, his scent was a golden snare, warm amber and forest and sun-heated stone, wrapping itself through the air with a confidence that made Est’s omega go dangerously quiet.

He lowered his eyes. “I am used to helping.”

William’s voice softened. “I noticed.”

Est wished he had not. There was something intimate about being noticed in the small places where one usually disappeared. It felt like someone touching a bruise through cloth, gentle enough that the pain became impossible to ignore.

William reached for the tray. “Please.”

Est should have refused. Instead, his hands betrayed him. William took the tray from him carefully, their fingers brushing for the briefest second, and Est’s scent slipped. Just a little. Doing that, he accidentally let go of his scent a little.

William’s eyes darkened with such immediate reverence that Est forgot how to breathe.

Not hunger. Or, not only hunger. There was hunger there, of course. William was an alpha in his prime, young and strong, and Est could feel the sharp ache of instinct when their scents tangled in the small space between them. But William looked less like he wanted to consume Est and more like he had been allowed inside a temple he had no right to enter.

Est pulled his hand back.

“I should return to my seat,” he said quickly.

William placed the tray on the table without looking away. “Can we talk?”

“We are talking.”

“Alone.”

Est’s heartbeat stumbled. “That would not be wise.”

“No,” William admitted. “But I think if I spend another hour across the room from you, I’m going to start chewing through furniture.”

Est blinked. William looked entirely serious. Despite himself, Est let out a small laugh. It slipped out before he could stop it, soft and startled, gone almost as soon as it arrived. But William’s face changed as if Est had given him something precious. His whole expression opened, bright and devastated, and Est’s laughter died under the weight of being adored by a near stranger.

“Please,” William pleaded.

Est looked toward the elders. Most were occupied with wine and conversation. William’s mother was watching them from the front table with eyes far too knowing, though she looked away the moment Est noticed. That somehow made everything worse.

Still, the hall felt too warm. Too full. Too sharp with watching eyes.

“Only for a moment,” Est said.

William nodded as if Est had granted him land, title, and mercy.

They stepped out through the side corridor and into the inner garden, where lanterns hung from low branches and the night air carried the scent of wet soil. The garden was quiet, tucked away from the noise of the dinner. A stone path curved around a small pond, its surface trembling with reflected gold. Somewhere nearby, a cricket sang as if nothing life-altering had ever happened beneath a tree.

Est stopped near the edge of the path, making sure there was space between them. William noticed. He stopped too.

That restraint kept undoing Est. A careless alpha would have stepped closer. A confident one would have used the privacy to press, tease, or overwhelm. William, despite the wildfire in his eyes, held himself back like a beast sitting obediently at the threshold of an open door.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” William said quietly.

Est looked down. “I am not afraid.”

“Then what are you?”

The question was too honest for such a young mouth. Est folded his hands in front of him. “Careful.”

William absorbed that, his gaze steady. “With me?”

“With myself.”

Silence settled between them.

Est wished he had not said it. He had become too loose tonight, too easily shaken by attention, too willing to answer when William looked at him as if every word mattered. He had spent years perfecting the art of being politely unavailable to his own longing. One young alpha with bright eyes and a ruinous scent should not have been able to disturb all that discipline in a single evening.

William took one slow breath. “Est.”

His name again. Est’s omega curled around the sound like something starved.

“You should call me Phi,” Est said, because if he did not put something between them, he might forget the shape of sense entirely. “I’m older than you.”

William nodded at once. “Phi Est.”

That was worse. So much worse. The honorific in his voice did not create distance. It bent itself into devotion. Est felt warmth climb up his neck and hated his own body for answering.

William’s mouth softened. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not. I am just… warm.”

“It’s night.”

“Alpha William.”

“William,” he corrected gently.

Est looked at him.

William stepped closer, then stopped again, still leaving room. “Just William. Please. If you call me Alpha William like that again, I’m going to do something embarrassing.”

“Like what?”

“Beg.”

The word landed strangely between them, heavier than flirtation, too sincere to laugh away. William did not seem ashamed of it. His eyes were fixed on Est with the terrible steadiness of someone who had already accepted humiliation as a fair price.

“You–please… you shouldn’t say such things,” Est murmured.

“But I mean them.”

Est looked away toward the pond. The lanterns trembled on the water. “You cannot mean them. You don’t know me.”

“I know enough to want more.”

“That is not the same.”

“No,” William said. “But it is a beginning.”

Est closed his eyes for one second. A beginning.

He had not allowed himself that word in years. Beginning belonged to younger omegas with bright cheeks and unscarred hope. Beginning belonged to courting bracelets and first scents, to shy smiles, to alphas who came with flowers and promises, not to someone like him. Not to an omega who had already sat through discussions of practical matches and widowed alphas. Not to someone people spoke of in terms of usefulness.

When he opened his eyes, William was still watching him.

“Why me?” Est asked before he could stop himself.

William’s brows drew together, not in confusion, but pain. “Why not you?”

Est laughed once, small and bitter. “That is not an answer.”

“It is the first answer.”

“I am serious.”

“So am I.”

Est huffed as his fingers tightened around each other. “You are young. I mean, you are the youngest son of a powerful chief. You are handsome, admired, and wanted by half the omegas in that hall and probably half the betas, too. Your family could arrange anyone for you. Someone suitable. Someone from a stronger pack. Someone closer to your age.”

William’s scent sharpened, like anger moving through him like a blade looking for the right enemy.

Est continued before he lost courage. “Someone delicate. Someone sweet. Someone who looks right beside you.”

William went utterly still. There it was. The foolish, ugly truth of it was dragged into the lantern light.

Est swallowed, shame rising hot in his throat. “I know what I am.”

William’s voice dropped. “Do you?”

The softness of the question hurt more than mockery would have.

Est’s eyes stung, and he hated that too. He turned his face aside, but there was nowhere to hide in the garden. “I am an older omega who has never been mated. I have no strong family advantage to offer you. I am not delicate. I am not… what alphas usually want. People have been kind enough to remind me of that for years.”

“Kind enough?” William repeated, voice going ten degrees colder. The words came out calm, though. Too calm. Est looked back despite himself.

William’s eyes had gone dark, his alpha pressing close beneath his skin. For the first time that night, Est saw the danger everyone had been whispering about. Not cruelty. Not loss of control. Something sharper. A devotion with teeth. A young alpha born to power, suddenly furious on behalf of an omega who had never asked anyone to defend him.

“Who said that to you?” William asked.

Est’s stomach turned. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Everything about you matters to me.”

“You met me tonight.”

“And apparently, everyone who met you before me was blind. Or stupid.”

Est froze. William stepped closer then, only one step, but the air changed.

“Phi Est,” he said, and the honorific trembled with restraint, “listen to me carefully because I am trying very hard not to sound insane.”

A startled laugh almost escaped Est again, but it caught in his chest. William looked at him as if laughter would have ruined him sweetly.

“I have had omegas presented to me since I was old enough to understand what courting meant,” William said. “Betas too. Alphas, sometimes. I have been smiled at, scented, gifted, praised, chased, cornered, flattered, and nearly trapped by every possible version of want. I felt nothing. Nothing. I thought perhaps I was simply difficult. Or cold. Or too young. Or too arrogant. I don’t know. But tonight I walked into that hall and smelled you, and my entire life made sense.”

Est could not move.

William’s voice roughened. “I saw you standing there trying to disappear, and my alpha knew you before I did.”

“William…”

“No, please. Let me say it. I’ll be respectful after. I’ll be calm after. I’ll be whatever you want after.”

Est did not know what expression he made, but William took another breath, visibly fighting himself.

“You think you are not worthy of me,” William said. “That is the most offensive thing anyone has suggested tonight, and one of the elders tried to explain trade tariffs for twenty minutes.”

Despite the ache in his chest, Est made a helpless sound between a laugh and a sob.

William’s face softened instantly. “Don’t cry, please….”

“I’m not.”

“Phi Est.”

The tenderness undid him. Est looked down quickly, blinking hard. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I have waited too long,” Est whispered. “That is what they say. Not harshly. Not always. But often enough. I have passed the age where an omega is most wanted. I should be practical now. Grateful if someone steady offers. I shouldn’t dream about…” He stopped, humiliated by his own voice.

“About what?”

Est shook his head.

William’s answer was immediate. “Dream about being chosen?”

Est looked up sharply. William was staring at him with unguarded hunger and hope, hands clenched at his sides as if he was physically preventing himself from reaching out.

“Dream about it then. You have a right. Dream about me,” William said again, softer. “Be foolish with me. Be impractical. Be impossible. I’ll handle the rest.”

“You say that because you are young enough to think the world can be handled.”

“No,” William said. “I say that because I know what I can handle it.”

“And what if your parents object?”

“They won’t.”

“You cannot know that.”

“My mother already knows.”

Est went cold. “What?”

William winced slightly. “Not everything. Just that I saw you and became utterly useless.”

“William –”

“She liked you. She saw me looking at you and didn’t have me dragged outside, so by my family’s standards, that’s a blessing.”

Est stared at him, horrified and helplessly charmed. William took advantage of his silence with the reckless instinct of a man sprinting toward a cliff because the cliff had Est standing on the other side.

“And if anyone objects,” William said, “I’ll listen respectfully, then ignore them.”

“You cannot ignore an entire pack.”

“I can ignore several.”

“That is not reassuring, William.”

“I can be more strategic about it.”

“William.”

“I am serious.” His voice dropped again, all humor vanishing. “If your age matters to you, then I’ll honor the years that made you. If your body has been judged, then I’ll spend the rest of my life worshiping every part of it until every cruel word rots from memory. If you think you are too strong to be desired, then let me desire your strength. If you think you are too late, then let me be early enough for both of us.”

Est’s breath broke. There were words that bruised. And then there were words that found bruises already there and pressed warmth into them until pain remembered it had once been skin.

William came closer, slowly enough that Est could step back. Est did not. The alpha stopped before him, close but not touching. His scent now surrounded Est, golden and deep, but held carefully at the edges. Not a claim. An offering.

“You are not a leftover choice,” William said. “You are not someone I would settle for. You are not practical to me. You are not a compromise. You are…” He swallowed. “You are the first thing I have ever wanted so much that it frightened me.”

Est whispered, “Don’t.”

William’s face faltered. “Do you want me to stop?”

That was the terrible thing. He would. Est knew it. For all his intensity, for all the wildness barely leashed behind his eyes, William would stop if Est asked. He would step back. He would take his golden scent and his impossible gaze and leave Est with the quiet life everyone had prepared for him.

The thought opened something dark and desperate in Est.

“No,” he admitted, so softly the night almost swallowed it.

William’s eyes flared.

Est looked down. “I just don’t know how to believe you.”

For a moment, William said nothing. Then he moved. Est thought, foolishly, that William would reach for his hand. Instead, the young alpha sank to his knees.

Est’s whole body went rigid.

“Alph – William! What are you doing?!” he gasped, looking around the garden in panic. “Get up.”

“No.”

“You cannot kneel in front of me.”

“I can.”

“You are the chief’s son.”

“Right now, I am an alpha begging the omega I want to let me court him.”

Est’s face burned. “Stop saying things like that.”

William looked up at him, and the sight nearly destroyed every defense Est had left.

On his knees, William did not look diminished. If anything, he looked more dangerous because he had surrendered pride willingly and made devotion into a weapon. His eyes shone in the lantern light, young and certain and devastatingly sincere. The heir’s youngest son, admired by half the territory, knelt on the garden path as if Est were the only authority he recognized.

“Phi Est,” William said, voice rough, “mate with me.”

Est’s breath vanished. The world went very still. Even the insects seemed to pause.

William’s hands rested on his own thighs, fingers trembling slightly. “Not tonight if you don’t want. Not soon if you’re not ready. I know I’m rushing. I know this is insane. I know we met tonight, and you have every right to throw water at me and go back inside.”

“I might,” Est whispered weakly.

“Good. Assertive. I like that.”

“William.”

“I’m sorry.” He did not look sorry. He looked drunk on the fact that Est was still speaking to him. “But I mean it. Let me court you. Let me stand beside you. Let me prove it until you believe me. And when you do…” His throat moved. “When you trust me enough, let me be your mate.”

Est’s hand went to his own throat without permission, fingers hovering over the unmarked skin there. A mate. Not a practical arrangement. Not a widower who needed help with children. Not a beta willing to accept an older omega. Not a compromise wrapped in the polite language of companionship. A mate–chosen.

William’s eyes followed the movement, and his scent deepened with such longing that Est’s knees almost weakened.

“And someday,” William continued, softer now, reverent in a way that made Est’s entire body flush, “if you want it, let me have a family with you. Let me see you carry my pups. Our pups. Not because anyone expects it. Not because an omega should. Only if you want. But gods, Est…” He closed his eyes for a second, as if the thought itself hurt. “The idea of you in my nest, wearing my scent, of me being in you, carrying our future under your heart. I can’t even think about it without wanting to beg harder.”

“William, please stand up.”

“Say yes.”

“You are impossible.”

“Please say yes.”

“You are reckless.”

“Please… please say yes..”

“You barely know me.”

“I know, and I want to know everything.”

“You might regret this.”

William’s expression changed. Not anger. Certainty becoming iron. “No,” he said. “I won’t. I will spend every day choosing you loudly enough that no doubt can sleep beside you.”

Est’s eyes filled before he could stop them.

William noticed instantly, his own face breaking open with concern. “Don’t cry. Or cry. Cry if you need to. I’ll wipe the tears after.”

A wet laugh escaped Est. “That makes no sense at all. I’m just… very emotional right now.”

Est covered his mouth with one hand, half laughing, half trying not to sob. It was absurd. All of it. This young alpha on his knees in the garden, offering his name, his future, his devotion with the chaotic earnestness of someone who had never been taught to want halfway. Est should have been terrified. He should have been sensible. He should have remembered every warning, every whisper, every careful voice telling him to be realistic.

But realism had only ever asked him to survive. William was asking him to live.

“What if I’m not what you imagine?” Est asked, the question small and bare. “What if I’m difficult? Quiet? Too used to being alone? What if I don’t know how to be wanted anymore?”

William looked up at him as if the answer was the easiest thing in the world. “Then I’ll learn how to want you in a way you understand.”

Est’s breath shuddered.

“And if you forget,” William said, “I’ll remind you. Not with pressure. Not with noise. I can be quiet too. Sometimes. Maybe with training.”

Est laughed again, helpless. William brightened at the sound like a sunrise with teeth.

“You see?” he said. “I’m already improving your life.”

“You are ruining my peace.”

“Good. Your peace sounded lonely.”

That struck too close. Est looked at him for a long moment. Really looked.

He saw the youth, yes. William’s face still carried the brightness of someone not yet worn down by years of being told no by the world. But beneath it was not childishness. There was a focus there. Command. A frightening amount of sincerity. His alpha did not waver, did not sniff at Est’s hesitation, and turned away in offense. It stayed. It waited. It knelt. For him.

For Est, who had been standing at the edge of rooms for years, convincing himself that being overlooked was the same thing as being safe.

His mother’s voice came back to him. You are not less of an omega because foolish people have narrow imaginations. Maybe William’s imagination was dangerous because it was not narrow at all. Maybe it had room for him.

Est’s hand lowered slowly from his mouth. William watched the movement like a man watching fate decide whether to spare him.

“You would court me properly?” Est asked.

William nodded so fast Est almost smiled. “Yes.”

“You would not rush me?”

“I will rush internally and behave externally. It’s the best I can offer on short notice.”

“William.”

“I will be patient,” he said, more seriously. “As patient as you need.”

“And if I say no tonight?”

William swallowed. “Then I’ll thank you for listening and ask if I may try again another day.”

Est’s chest tightened. “You would still want me?”

William looked genuinely offended. “Phi Est, I am on my knees in a garden after knowing your name for less than two hours. I think my dignity has made its position clear.”

Est laughed despite the tears caught in his lashes. William smiled up at him, soft and ruined. The sight entered Est like warmth. A younger alpha. The chief’s youngest son. Beautiful, adored, impossible William. Kneeling before an older omega who had spent years learning not to expect anyone to cross a room for him.

Est reached out. His hand trembled only a little before his fingers touched William’s hair. William went still beneath the touch.

The reaction was immediate and astonishing. His scent bloomed, golden and sweet with relief, but his body stayed careful, as if even joy had been ordered not to frighten Est. His eyes closed for a second, and when they opened again, they were shining.

“Is that a yes?” William whispered.

Est’s face heated. “It is not no.”

William’s expression lit so brightly that Est had to look away. “That is practically a yes.”

“It is not.”

“It is a yes wearing a shy outfit.”

“William.”

“Sorry.” He paused. “I’m not sorry.”

Est shook his head, but his mouth betrayed him, curving softly. William saw.

“Phi Est,” he said, voice gentler now, “may I court you?”

Est looked down at him, at the hope he made no attempt to hide, at the hands still clenched to keep from grabbing, at the alpha who had turned wanting into something strangely tender by offering it from his knees.

Every old voice rose inside him one last time. Past your prime. Be realistic. Someone practical. Too strong. Too old. Too late.

As if sensing the doubts creeping into Est’s mind, William said, almost desperately, “Please.”

And the old voices scattered.

Est’s answer came out barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

William stopped breathing. Est felt the stillness ripple through him.

“Yes,” Est repeated, cheeks burning, gaze dropping to the side because William’s face had become too much to bear. “You may court me.”

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then William made a sound that was almost a laugh, almost a broken exhale, almost a prayer. He bowed his head, and before Est could understand what he intended, William pressed his forehead lightly against the back of Est’s hand. Not a kiss. Something more reverent. Est’s omega melted so quickly it was humiliating.

“Thank you,” William whispered against his skin.

“You’re thanking me for letting you court me?”

“I’m thanking you for existing where I could find you.”

Est’s throat tightened again. “That is too much.”

“I know.” William looked up. “I’ll become normal eventually.”

“No, you won’t.”

“No,” he agreed, smiling. “Probably not.”

Est sighed, but his hand stayed in William’s hair.

The garden felt different now. The lanterns were still lanterns, the pond still trembling with gold, the night still cool against his face. Nothing had changed, not really. The pack would still whisper. The elders would still have opinions. Auntie Malee would probably faint into a bowl of soup when she heard. William’s family would need to be spoken to. There would be questions, warnings, doubts, and negotiations.

The world had not become kinder in one night.

But William was kneeling in front of him, looking up as if Est had hung the moon with both hands, and for the first time in years, Est did not feel like someone time had passed by. He felt chosen.

No, more frightening than that.

He felt wanted.

William slowly turned his face, pressing the faintest kiss to Est’s knuckles, eyes never leaving his. “Someday,” he said softly, “when you are ready, I’m going to ask again.”

Est’s pulse stumbled. “Ask what?”

William’s smile gentled into something almost shy, though his scent remained anything but. “To mate you. To build a nest with you. To have pups with you if you want them. To spend my life proving that everyone before me was a fool.”

Est should have scolded him. Instead, he whispered, “Someday.”

William’s eyes widened, his alpha hunger taking over behind his irises. Est looked away, mortified by his own courage. “I said someday. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to start howling… and then dragging me back to our nest to… mate.”

“I might.”

“Do not.”

“I’ll do it quietly.”

“There is no such thing as quiet howling.”

“I’ll invent it for you.”

Est laughed then, truly laughed, soft and embarrassed and warm in the night air. William stared at him as if the sound had just claimed him. Perhaps it had.

“Stand up, please, William,” Est said, because if William stayed on his knees any longer, Est feared he might say yes to far more than courting.

William obeyed at once. That, too, was dangerous. When he stood, the space between them shifted again, William tall and close, his alpha presence wrapping gently around Est without pressing. Est should have stepped back. He did not. His fingers slipped from William’s hair, but William caught his hand lightly before it could fall.

“May I?” William asked.

Est knew what he meant. His scent warmed. He nodded, barely. William lifted Est’s hand and kissed the inside of his wrist.

Est’s knees threatened rebellion. William inhaled at his pulse point, and Est felt the exact moment his own scent gave up pretending. Rain-warmed nectar, white tea, the secret sweetness he had kept hidden for years, unfurled into the space between them. William’s eyes fluttered shut, his expression going almost pained.

“Gods,” William whispered. “You smell like home.”

Est’s heart did something impossible. For once, he did not apologize for the shape of himself. For once, he did not pull his scent back in shame. He let William hold his wrist. He let the young alpha breathe him in. He let the garden witness the first fragile thread of something beginning.

Inside the hall, the dinner continued without them. For years, Est had stood at the edge of rooms while life moved around him.

Tonight, life had followed him into the garden, dropped to its knees, and begged.