[BL] Alpha, You've Got the Wrong Mate! Chapter 343 — The Beast And His Omega

"I can’t believe I am back here," King Rudra snarled as servants hurried to remove his coat, his irritation radiating through the room. "Every ti this palace appears before , I am reminded of how thoroughly my own blood has disgraced ."

"My King..." the Queen began, her fingers tightening in her lap.

Thankfully, they had brought their own attendants—people who understood that hearing too much was as dangerous as speaking too much.

Had it been Revhara’s people... Who knew what rumours would have spread the mont they exited the hall?

"It isn’t that cold, is it?" she tried again, forcing her voice steady as she sat on the edge of the bed. "It’s spring. This coat is far lighter than the one you wore last ti."

Rudra let out a sharp, humourless laugh.

"Do not compare fabrics with when my son has made a fool before the entire Empire."

He turned abruptly and strode toward the door.

"What are you doing—?"

"I am going to remind that ungrateful wretch of his place," he cut in, venom dripping from every word.

"How dare he defy us? How dare he stain our na so publicly? The Kings invite whispers every ti they see . The Emperor laughs behind closed doors—I am certain. Even foreign courts are surely enjoying the spectacle. All because your son couldn’t make the right decision at the right mont."

The Queen rose to her feet, heart pounding.

Please... not again.

The mory of raised voices, of Rihaan standing rigid and silent while his father’s words struck harder than any blade, burned vividly in her mind.

"I am coming with you," she said quickly, fear and longing tangling in her chest.

She wanted to see her child—wanted to make sure he was still standing, still whole. Yet dread crept in alongside that hope.

What if he pushed too far this ti? What if Rudra finally breaks him—just before he obtained happiness?

The King didn’t respond. His silence was permission—and a warning.

She followed him anyway.

As they left the chamber and entered the endless corridors of the palace, the Queen clasped her hands together, nails biting into her skin.

If I don’t go, no one will stop him. And if I do... I may only watch it happen again.

She bit the inside of her cheek, her frown deepening.

Still, she walked on—toward her son, toward the storm that may befall into his life.

On their way, they crossed paths with their other son—Prince Vihaan.

The young man halted the instant he saw them. A soft, hopeful smile curved his lips as he hurried forward, eyes alight as though this chance eting alone was a gift.

"Mother! Father!" he said warmly. "Have you seen this place? It’s beautiful—so unique. Nothing like our—"

"We did not travel all this way to admire another kingdom’s stonework," King Rudra cut in coldly. "If you have nothing useful to say, keep your mouth shut."

Vihaan stiffened. His words died on his tongue.

"...No, Father," he murmured, lowering his gaze. The brightness in his eyes dimd at once, like a fla smothered without warning.

He had rely ever left Danshin—his father had known that. His father had declared, "Only the crown prince was permitted to travel."

And now that Vihaan bore that very title, he was still treated as though he were an afterthought.

A decoration.

Easily dismissed.

Barely noticed.

The Queen’s fingers twitched at her side.

Say sothing. At least look at him.

Her heart urged, clenching her fists.

But Rudra was already moving again.

Without sparing Vihaan another glance, the King continued down the corridor, his steps heavy with purpose. The Queen followed, forcing herself not to turn back—even as guilt gnawed at her chest.

Vihaan remained where he was, standing alone in the vast hallway, watching their backs disappear.

They were headed toward Rihaan’s chambers—far from the guest wing, close to Crown Prince Soren’s rooms.

Toward the son Rudra had never forgiven.

***

Soren sat before the dressing table while countless maids hovered around him, their hands careful as they applied powder and traced his features with practiced ease.

In the past, he would have scoffed at such a sight. Makeup had always felt too oga-like. And as soone who had spent most of his life resenting that label—resenting everything it implied—he had avoided anything ogas were expected to enjoy.

But this ti was different.

This ti, it was for Rihaan.

Back in their youth, Rihaan had once said—almost carelessly—that he loved it when his lover made an effort to look good for him. When he dressed beautifully. When he adorned himself. When he took sothing already beautiful and made it shine even more.

Those words had returned to Soren with cruel clarity the night before, echoing in his mind until sleep had completely abandoned him.

Was it because I’ve begun to... love him, Soren wondered, that his words now hold such power over ?

When the maids finally stepped back, satisfied with their work, they exchanged bright, proud smiles among themselves.

"You look so handso," one of them whispered—only to gasp, startled by her own boldness.

Soren turned toward her. Not with a frown. Not with irritation.

But with a faint, genuine smile.

"Thank you," he said calmly. "You may leave."

They were just about to do so when the door swung open.

At the threshold stood the very man for whom Soren had worn makeup for the first ti in his life.

Rihaan’s light brown hair caught the morning light, and in his hands rested a bouquet of white roses—fresh, carefully arranged, unmistakably chosen with intention.

Though their marriage was only a week away, the alpha had not missed a single day without bringing flowers for his oga. It had beco routine. A habit. An excuse.

An excuse to see his beloved’s face—especially on days when the Crown Prince might later be swallowed whole by his duties.

And the mont Rihaan’s gaze lifted—he stopped breathing.

Not taphorically—his chest truly seized, lungs refusing to draw air as his eyes traced Soren’s reflection in the mirror.

For a heartbeat too long, he simply stood there, fingers tightening around the bouquet until the stems bent beneath his grip. He didn’t blink—he couldn’t for fear the sight before him would disappear if he did.

Soren was turned his way, his thin and slim figure wrapped in a dress from his country. The clothes worn by ogas. His shoulders were exposed while the thin blue cloth covered the lower part of his arm, golden laces tied to the neckline, so low that his pale skin was exposed.

"...Leave," he said hoarsely, trying to keep his composure. He took one step inside the hall that seed to be forbidden.

The maids startled, glancing between the two n. Rihaan didn’t raise his voice, yet the command carried weight—raw, urgent. They waited for the Crown Prince’s command but Rihaan was faster.

"Now."

They bowed hastily and fled the room, the door closing behind them with a soft click that sounded far too loud in the sudden silence.

Soren barely had ti to turn fully before Rihaan crossed the room.

The bouquet fell to the floor, crashing down as so petals drifted further on the ground like snow.

Rihaan’s hands were on the oga—one gripping Soren’s jaw, the other pressing against his waist as he pressed their mouths together.

The kiss was not gentle. It was desperate, consuming, as if Rihaan needed to prove Soren was real, here, his. His breath trembled against Soren’s lips, uneven and burning.

For a mont, instinct took over—Soren stiffened in surprise at first before lting into it, fingers clutching at Rihaan’s robes as the alpha kissed him like he had been starving. It hadn’t t for a few days now—not like this. Rihaan only delivered the bouquets and exchanged a few words before leaving.

They agreed not to repeat what happened during his heat before marriage, so why?

Then Rihaan pulled back abruptly, forehead resting against Soren’s, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I—" His voice broke. He swallowed hard. "I am really sorry."

His grip loosened imdiately, as if afraid he had crossed an unforgivable line.

"I didn’t an to—I just—" He laughed weakly, shaking his head. "I couldn’t breathe. I still can’t. You—" His eyes searched Soren’s face with sothing dangerously close to fear. "You look... devastating."

Silence stretched between them, thick with everything left unsaid.

Rihaan exhaled slowly, forcing himself to steady.

"I should have asked," he murmured. "I promise I will. Always."

His thumb brushed Soren’s cheek—this ti gentle, reverent, as though touching sothing sacred.

"And I swear," he added quietly, "if you ever look at like this again... I might actually forget how to be a prince. A royal. I will only beco the beast I truly am."

Soren let out a soft chuckle.

"I don’t hate the idea. You would be the beast, and I, his poor oga."

"Poor? And you?" Rihaan forced another laugh.

"Yes. The beast and his poor oga."

"Whatever you say. However... You look magnificent today. You always do. But today, I want to make you mine more than ever—"

"Control yourself," Soren interrupted, turning toward the mirror.

"I swear I am," Rihaan whispered, wrapping his arms around the oga’s shoulders, pressing a soft peck on Soren’s bare shoulder.