Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 201: Disgraceful

Veyron calmly adjusts his collar, his movements deliberate and smooth, as though the king’s fury barely registered.

"I fail to see the confusion here, Your Majesty," Veyron begins, his tone dripping with indifference. "You needed my family’s support to secure the throne, and I, in turn, needed an omega. You knew how rare they are. You sold her to me, fully aware of my... unsavory reputation." He shrugs nonchalantly, as if discussing a trivial business deal.

The king’s chest heaves with unspent rage, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Sure," Veyron continues, his blue eyes gleaming with wicked amusement, "I may have manipulated and taken advantage of a little girl. But you?" He steps closer, his voice lowering into something sharp and cutting. "You were her brother. Her big brother. She loved you despite your disturbingly unhealthy obsession with her. And yet, you—" he pauses, his lips curling into a cruel smile—"you were her breaking point."

The king’s face contorts with fury, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but no words escape him.

Veyron leans in slightly, his voice now a soft hiss. "You failed her in every way that mattered. And now you stand here, clutching to the past, while I... I will make amends in my own way or try to getting old and all." He straightens and gives the king a mocking bow.

"Now, if you’ll excuse me," he says, his voice light and flippant, "I have an estranged son to meet. Family reunions, you understand."

With that, Veyron turns on his heel and strides out of the room, his every step echoing with calculated arrogance.

The door closes behind him, leaving the king frozen in place, trembling with rage and consumed by the weight of Veyron’s words. The silent room feels colder, and the portrait of Mirelle looms over him, her painted eyes a haunting reminder of his failures.

Once Veyron leaves, the king turns back to the portrait, facing Mirelle’s painted green eyes that seem to stare into him, full of silent accusation. Fury surges through him, and before he can think, he grabs a nearby goblet and hurls it against the wall. It shatters into countless pieces, the sound echoing through the empty room like a thunderclap.

His chest heaves with rage as he runs a trembling hand through his hair. Veyron is wrong, he thinks bitterly, glaring at the shards scattered across the floor. Mirelle was mine. She was always mine. Mother said so—she told me Mirelle was the one thing I could always rely on. His voice rises in his head, growing more defensive with each thought.

What was so wrong with asking her to endure a little hardship for my sake? His grip tightens around the armrest of his chair, the leather creaking under the strain. All she had to do was bear Veyron a little longer, just until I secured the throne and stabilized my authority. She couldn’t even manage that much. How disgraceful. Weak.

He shakes his head violently, as though trying to shake off her silent condemnation. His teeth grind together as bitterness overtakes him.

I should have kept a tighter leash, told her whatever she wanted to hear to keep her in line. But it doesn’t matter now. His gaze drifts back to the portrait, his eyes darkening. She may have left, but she left something behind—her child.

His lips curl into a cold smile, the weight of his obsession settling heavily in the room. I won’t make the same mistakes with him. He will stay. He will learn. He will belong to me, just like she did.

***

"What is this?!" Thorne growls, eyeing the green concoction in the cup with open suspicion, like it might leap out and attack him. It’s honestly adorable, though I’d never say that out loud.

"It’s not going to kill you," I say, chuckling as I down my own cup of the thick, murky liquid in one swift motion. The taste is vile, like soggy grass mixed with raw herbs, but I manage not to grimace.

Thorne watches me with a look that screams disbelief, as if I’ve suddenly grown a second head. "You’re insane," he mutters, still staring at his cup like it contains poison.

"Come on, big guy," I coax, offering him an encouraging smile. "If I can take it, so can you. You wouldn’t want me to think you’re weak, would you?"

He glares at me, but his resolve cracks under my gaze. "Fine," he grumbles, downing the concoction in one go. His face contorts as the taste hits him, and I can’t help but laugh.

"It’s like we’re back on the hill," he says, his tone both fond and exasperated.

"Such a big baby," I tease, walking over to him on the bed and settling myself on his lap.

"Your big baby," he murmurs, his arms immediately wrapping around my waist, holding me possessively, like he never wants to let go.

I smile, resting my forehead against his. "How’s your leg these days?" I ask, my fingers lightly tracing patterns on his chest.

"I still need the cane sometimes," he admits, his voice softening. "And I get phantom pains now and then, but it’s manageable. Nothing I can’t handle." His free hand moves to rest on my thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth lazily.

"I’ll make you something to help with that," I say, already planning a new remedy in my mind.

"Nope, nope, absolutely not," Thorne interrupts, his voice firm. "You’ve already made me drink this swamp water. I’m not letting you experiment on me further."

"Oh, come on—"

"I know what’ll make me feel better," he says, cutting me off with a wicked grin. He leans in to nibble my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine, while his hand starts to slide higher up my thigh.

"Thorne..." I start, my voice a mix of warning and anticipation.

"Let me take care of you, my star," he whispers, his voice low and rough, filled with longing. His lips trail down to my neck, and I feel the familiar warmth of his touch ignite a fire within me.