Escaping The King's Confinement

CHAPTER 6:

"Long live the King!"

The air crackled with excitement as the crowd erupted in cheers, their voices echoing through the ancient grounds, celebrating the enthronement of the newly crowned King of Syria.

Shouts of adoration surged repeatedly.

"Long live the King! Long live the King!"

As Ishan stood among the throng, he was swept up in the fervor, yet a knot of anxiety twisted in his stomach. It was his sister's whispered warning that had compelled him to come. She had urged him not to miss the chance to see the new king, to perhaps find a way to approach him, hoping desperately to change the offering his father planned to present.

But now, as he stood there, the enormity of the gathering enveloped him, and Ishan felt invisible amidst the surging crowd.

The new King, Zarim Brahman, stood regally in front of the Temple, a beacon of hope surrounded by the Epsilons.

Ishan’s heart sank; he instinctively knew that sneaking close would be nearly impossible, especially considering the absurdity of his choice of attire—women’s clothing that marked him an outsider. In this realm, women were forbidden to approach men, and the one he so desperately wished to meet was not just any man, but the King himself.

As he strained to catch a glimpse, his eyes locked onto the imposing figure of King Zarim.

A jolt coursed through him; it felt as though the very air had thickened, and his pulse quickened. The moment their eyes met, a visceral connection sparked, igniting a tumult of emotions that stole his breath away.

It wasn't fast, but it wasn't slow either; it was a normal pace. Yet, as he stood there, he could hear the strong beating of his heart echoing in his ears.

What was happening to him? Why did he feel such an unsettling strangeness while gazing upon the Alpha, the figure that commanded worship from everyone around him?

He was nervous—more than he had ever felt before. The moment the King's attention shifted towards him, the anxiety deepened.

Was it mere coincidence that the King's piercing gaze lingered on him for over a minute?

Instinctively, he turned around, hoping to find someone else who might be the object of that intense scrutiny, but he saw no one. In that solitary space where he stood, he felt an overwhelming isolation.

From a distance, it was ambiguous whether the King was truly looking at him.

Yet, that gaze seemed to penetrate his entire being, and it was terrifying. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was delving deep into his thoughts and fears.

He noticed himself swallowing repeatedly, as if something was lodged in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. His heart raced uncontrollably.

Before he completely succumbed to the effect of that unyielding stare, he made a decision: he would escape. He wouldn't risk fainting under the weight of the King's gaze. His plan to sneak in and speak with him would have to wait.

The King was likely oblivious to his presence as he made his way out, cloaked in the traditional Syrian attire worn by women.

The vibrant patterns and flowing fabric gave him a sense of security; he was confident that he wouldn’t be recognized or that his abrupt departure would cause any offense amidst the grandeur of the ceremony.

Now comfortably seated among the throng of several thousand worshippers, he felt a sense of anonymity and liberation, as if he could slip away unnoticed into the depths of the crowd.

….

He struck the punching bag hanging in front of him with a fierce blow, gripping it tightly to bring it to a halt.

The world around him faded into a blur as he exhaled sharply, his mind haunted by the earlier events at the kingdom—the moment he witnessed the new king's installation on the throne.

"Ugh! f**k," he muttered, a shudder coursing through him as memories of his brother flooded back, intertwining with his anxiety about their precarious situation.

What was he to do in a time like this? The uncertainty weighed heavily on him, and he couldn't shake the thought of what could unravel for all of them.

Yet, he pushed on, believing that if he could just keep moving, the turmoil inside might eventually dissipate. He practiced with relentless determination for several minutes, sweat pouring down his face and dripping onto the floor.

Finally, panting heavily, he stopped. Just then, he heard his father's voice calling from behind him, breaking the spell of solitude.

He grabbed the white towel resting on the small table beside him and wiped his face, clearing the sweat that clung to him like a second skin.

As he caught his breath, he exhaled deeply, attempting to center himself amid the chaos of his thoughts.

His father watched him closely as he adjusted himself, inching nearer.

“Masa' alkhayr, baba.” (Good evening, father!)

He offered a respectful greeting, hoping to convey both deference and strength.

His father nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes.

“Don't tire yourself out too much. Act like a true omega. You don’t need to strengthen your body; if you can find an Alpha for yourself, he will defend you.”

“I know that, father,” he replied quietly, his voice laced with both understanding and frustration.

Despite the assurance that came with being an omega, he felt the strain of expectations weighing down on him.

He practiced diligently, yet no matter how hard he tried, his body shape remained unchanged. But that didn’t imply weakness; he understood that even as an omega, strength could manifest in unexpected ways.

Even if his physique was not imposing, he had cultivated resilience and the skills to defend himself, training relentlessly so that others wouldn’t underestimate him.

It wasn’t merely about being athletic or strong; he knew he could contribute to his own safety. He would not allow his physical form to define his worth or capabilities.

“Where is your sister?” His father's voice broke the momentary silence. “She seems to be coming and going so often that it's already late at night.”

There was an unmistakable edge of concern as his father spoke; it was clear he shared the same suspicions about what might be affecting his twin.

He looked at his father awkwardly, avoiding his piercing gaze.

“She told me earlier that she was just going out with her friends, Father. I thought she had already gone home because when I called her, she said she was on her way home.”

With these words, he was weaving a lie—something he had never done before. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach; he didn’t want to keep secrets from his father.

Yet, a cold truth gnawed at him: his sister’s life could be in jeopardy if their father discovered her pregnancy.

“The offering to the beloved king is tomorrow. I need to take your sister there so that we can present our offering.” His father’s voice carried the weight of duty, but it only deepened the turmoil within him.

He took a sip from the bottled water, trying to mask the emotions swirling behind her eyes, avoiding direct contact with her father’s concerned expression.

“I already spoke to her about that earlier, Father.”

“That's good. Okay, I’ll leave you alone for now. I still have to return to the palace to prepare. I’ll come back tomorrow to get your brother. Before I leave, make sure you tell him to be ready.”

“You can count on it, Father. I’ll take care of him.” That was all he could muster at that moment. Yet internally, he felt a conflict brewing. “But I’m no longer with you, Father. Since you’re still here, I’ll say my goodbyes now. I’d like to join the other Omegas who are training to hone my skills in other areas of combat.”

He looked at his father, silence stretching between them. It took a moment, but eventually, his father nodded, though a hint of reluctance lingered in his expression.