Escaping The King's Confinement

CHAPTER 7:

“Take care of yourself as you leave. Be cautious of any Alpha who doesn’t belong to a high position seeking to mark you. Remember, even though you’re a male Omega, you are still the son of a Minister.”

He sensed his father’s disapproval about his departure. Just moments before, his father had argued that he didn’t need to grow stronger, yet deep down they both knew he could not quell his desire to train and improve himself.

"Thank you, Father. You can count on me not to neglect myself," he said earnestly, bowing his head slightly in respect.

"Will I still be able to catch up with you tomorrow?" he inquired, a hint of hope lingering in his voice.

"I don't think so, Father. That's why I'm saying goodbye now; we’re leaving at dawn," came the solemn reply.

His Father simply nodded, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them, before ultimately saying farewell.

As he watched his Father walk away, a deep sigh escaped his lips. Thoughts churned in his mind, and he contemplated the burden of responsibility that lay ahead.

There was no denying it—if the family were to avoid disgrace, he alone would have to shoulder the load that his twins would have borne.

A desire to keep practicing swelled within him, but an overwhelming fatigue washed over him, dulling his appetite. Collecting his thoughts like his scattered clothes, he made his way to his room, feeling the exhaustion settle in as he prepared to take a bath.

…..

He was about to leave his room after taking a bath when he heard Shantal coming in, her footsteps echoing with a sense of urgency.

She had just returned from wherever she had been, and the moment their eyes met, he could see the storm brewing within her.

Her expression was harsh, filled with a frustration that seemed entirely aimed at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, Shantal,” he replied, irritation creeping into his voice.

He glanced at his twin, feeling the weight of her glare, as he made his way to the door to greet her.

“Father came home earlier and is looking for you. He told me that I should prepare to take you to the palace tomorrow.”

Reminding her of their impending departure only stoked the fire in her eyes.

He released a heavy sigh, the familiarity of her anger dulling his spirits. It pained him that Shantal, who was usually sweet and affectionate, had become this version of herself, clouded by distress.

“You know I didn’t agree, Ishan,” she shouted, her voice drowning in conflict.

“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m telling you now,” he shot back gently yet firmly. “I told Father that I’m leaving tomorrow. What about you? Have you spoken to the father of the child you’re carrying? Because tomorrow, you’re leaving with him, and I will go to the palace tomorrow.”

For a moment, her anger faltered, surprise washing over her features.

Yet, that surprise soon flickered into a glimmer of hope, and a smile broke through her worried exterior. She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the warmth of relief.

Though Shantal’s frame was smaller, the bond they shared bridged the gap in their height. Their connection was tangible; despite his lean physique, he felt a deep-rooted resilience welling up within him, a warrior’s spirit ready to defend.

“Thank you, Ishan. I knew you wouldn’t abandon me,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I’m your twin,” he replied, his voice steady, “whatever pain you feel, I’ll feel it too. And I know that if the king discovers your situation after you’ve married, he’ll only seek to hurt you.”

“Ishan—” she began to protest, but he cut her off.

“I’ll bear the burden of that pain alone, not you. So, prepare yourself. Pack what you need for your departure.”

She nodded quickly, and despite the tears that continued to flow, a smile was painted on her lips, a testament to her unwavering spirit.

He instinctively reached up, his hand brushing away the tears that marred her delicate cheek.

“Go on, just leave me some clothes to wear,” he urged softly, watching as she dashed up the stairs to her own room, her heart clearly filled with renewed hope.

He followed her retreating form with his gaze, a sense of reassurance settling in his chest.

Tomorrow, when he met the king, his face would remain hidden from view—a blessing of their culture that shielded them until the wedding. As long as the preparations unfolded, his sister would be away, with the father of her child, allowing him to focus on the promise of their future.

Only then could he ponder the king's reaction on their wedding night, knowing deep down that the truth of their situation would become unavoidably clear.

….

"Are you ready?"

Their father asked, mistaking him for Shantal.

Ishan, mimicking his sister's voice effortlessly, replied, "Yes, Father!"

It was easy for him to imitate Shantal; her voice was light and clear, making it simple for him to pass as her.

As he stood there in his black abaya and niqab, with only his eyes visible, he felt a twinge of security in their similarity. The way their features mirrored one another gave him an edge, especially since their father would likely not come close enough to notice the difference in their eyelashes—Shantal's long and fluttery, while his own were subtle.

His father continued, "Jayid, madha ean 'akhik? (Good, how about your brother?") He ordered the Lota to bring some items she had been carrying.With urgency, his father urged, "Yalla, sora." (Let's go, faster.)

Ishan fell in line behind his father, keeping his silence as they made their way to the king's palace, which was just a short distance away.

The familiar sight of the palace loomed ahead, bustling with the presence of numerous Epsilons, just like the day before, as they entered the grand structure.

They headed directly to the Imperial Hall where the offerings would take place, their pace quickening as they caught up with other ministers who were also preparing their gifts for the king.

Each minister carried an array of unique items, a vivid display of courtly customs. As the highest-ranking minister, his father was tasked with the significant honor of making an offering for the king's future wife—a duty that weighed heavily on him. Here, an Omega child was to be presented.

It mattered little whether the king was to wed a female or male Omega; nonetheless, their father preferred to present Shantal. Unfortunately, that plan had faltered due to her negligence, leaving Ishan to carry the burden of their family's expectations.

They waited for a few more hours, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment.

Finally, the King arrived, facing the gathered assembly. The Minister and other attendees stood in reverence, ready to pay tribute to him.

"Long live your Majesty," they collectively proclaimed, kneeling and bowing in unison as they honored their sovereign, their voices steady yet filled with awe.

Once the formal greetings were exchanged, the offering began.

It started with the lowest Minister, a humble figure before the throne, and gradually ascended until it reached his father.

At that moment, a wave of anxiety washed over him as they approached the king.

The familiar nervousness bubbled within him again, especially when he caught the king’s intense stare as if reading every flicker of emotion on his face.

He bowed his head, unable to meet the king's gaze—just as he had felt the day before.

"Long live your Majesty," his father greeted the king, promptly kneeling down and bowing deeply.

He felt paralyzed, as if rooted to the spot, unsure of how to respond. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his father discreetly pulling at the hem of his Abaya, prompting him to kneel as well in an effort to mirror the gesture.

As he knelt, a sudden warmth enveloped his body, catching him off guard.

What was causing this inexplicable heat? Was it simply the layers of his attire? He swallowed hard, feeling an unfamiliar heat surge within him.

Panic set in—this couldn't be happening. Why was he feeling this way all of a sudden?

Damn it!

A silent curse escaped his lips.

Thankfully, with his hand hidden and mouth discreet, his movements went unnoticed. Remembering the medicine he had brought along, he discreetly reached under his clothes to take it, hoping to stave off whatever was happening.

Suddenly, he noticed the King approaching him and his father. Instinctively, he looked up, finding the King now standing directly in front of him as he knelt on the floor.

Their eyes locked, and he swallowed again, feeling an unsettling strangeness in the King’s gaze.

Did the King sense the heat radiating off him?

No!

That couldn't be.