Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes Chapter 140: Accessory

Chapter 139

Ciel

The Queen asked for .

The words alone are enough to knot my stomach.

I follow the servant through the palace corridors, my steps asured, my hands clasped together so tightly my fingers ache.

The palace feels different when Jack isn’t beside —larger, colder, every echo magnified. I keep my head high anyway. I refuse to look like I’m shrinking.

The doors to the garden open, and sunlight spills in.

Roses.

Rows and rows of them, ticulously kept, blooming in shades of red, white, blush, and gold. The air slls rich and sweet, heavy with petals and earth. At the center of it all stands the Queen.

She isn’t wearing a crown. No ceremonial gown. Just gloves, clippers in hand, sleeves rolled slightly as she trims a rose bush with practiced precision.

"Leave us," she says without looking up.

The servant bows and retreats imdiately, footsteps fading until it’s just the two of us and the quiet snip of steel through stems.

She doesn’t acknowledge at first. Doesn’t invite closer. She simply continues tending to her roses, thodical and unhurried, as if I am not standing there with my heart pounding in my ears.

I wait.

Finally, she cuts a red rose that’s deep and flawless. She lifts it, examines it, then raises her gaze to .

"You certainly are as beautiful as my flowers," she says.

The words catch off guard.

"...Thank you," I manage.

She steps closer, holding the rose between us, her eyes sharp but not unkind.

"You’re quite the rose," she continues. "Which makes your past more understandable."

My shoulders tense despite myself.

Of course she knows.

Embarrassnt crawls up my spine, hot and unwelco. I stare at a point just past her shoulder, fighting the instinct to retreat inward, to make myself smaller.

"I am not so illogical as to bla you for circumstances beyond your control," she says calmly.

"Nor do I confuse survival with consent.I am an oga too, I understand you."

"Co," she says, gesturing. "Closer."

I obey, slow and careful, until I’m within arm’s reach. She studies the way she has been studying her roses.

Then she reaches out and gently tugs aside the collar of my shirt, fingers brushing my neck.

The air feels heavier now, like the garden itself has turned its back on .

"I may not have borne him," she continues coolly, clipping another stem without looking at , "but he is a prince of this kingdom. And I am the Queen. Vetting the prince’s consorts falls under my jurisdiction."

I remain where I am, spine straight, hands clenched just out of sight.

She sighs, as though bored.

"The only remarkable thing about you," she says, "is your appearance. Everything else..." She trails off, snipping a rose with surgical precision.

"Well. I suppose you should be grateful you are not a commoner. Albeit that you co from a negligible house."

Each word lands cleanly. Efficiently. Like a blade that knows exactly where to cut.

She isn’t wrong.

That’s the worst part.

She finally turns, eting my eyes.

"Let speak to you not as Queen," she says, "but as an oga who has lived decades longer than you."

Her gaze sharpens, calculating. Tired

"There is nothing as fickle as an alpha’s affection. Passion fades. Novelty dulls. And devotion," she pauses, lips thinning, "is a luxury, not a guarantee."

I feel sothing cold settle in my chest.

"If I were you," she continues, "I would hurry the bond. It matters little what he feels for you now. Or that you have borne him a child."

She says the last part absently, like she’s speaking more to mory than to , and then she sighs.

"It may seem like the illogical ramblings of an elder," she adds, finally turning back to .

"Of course not, Your Majesty," I reply automatically.

She studies for a mont, and the look she gives isn’t cruel.

It’s worse.

It’s pity.

"You may go," she says, dismissing with a small wave of her hand.

***

Nolan

I’m a glorified babysitter.

The thought hits out of nowhere as I sit on the rug with Lanny, surrounded by expensive toys that probably cost more than my entire childhood.

Ciel’s busy. Jack’s busy. Everyone’s busy doing important palace things.

And I’m... here.

Waiting.

Like a dog.

I snort softly at myself.

A dog.

How fitting.

People are polite to . They smile. They acknowledge . They see .

I’m an accessory. A footnote. Sothing that cos attached to the prince’s oga, not sothing that stands on its own.

I know Jack doesn’t think that.

I know Ciel doesn’t.

But knowing doesn’t stop the feeling from creeping in anyway.

"Baahh!!!"

Lanny’s delighted squeal yanks right out of my spiral. He flails happily, arms up like he’s demanding to be picked up, so I do—grunting a little as I lift him.

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter. "You’re getting heavy, you know that?"

He giggles like I’ve told the funniest joke in the world and promptly cups my face with both hands.

"Sad?" he asks seriously, brow furrowed in concentration.

My throat tightens.

"Where did you even learn that word, huh?" I ask, trying to keep it light.

He pats my cheek instead, clumsy and warm, like he’s soothing the way I do for him when he wakes from bad dreams.

"Sad," he repeats, nodding once like he’s co to a conclusion.

I laugh quietly, breath hitching a little. "Maybe a little," I admit. "But that’s okay."

He considers this, then leans forward and presses his forehead against mine, copying sothing he’s seen Jack do a hundred tis.

My chest aches.

"You’re very smart," I tell him. "Too smart."

He beams, proud, then squirms until I set him back down. He toddles over to a toy and promptly forgets the entire emotional exchange we just had.

Kids are unfair like that.

I lean back against the couch and stare at the ceiling, the palace too big, too quiet, too full of things that remind I don’t really belong here.