The Villainess Became My Alpha Husband Chapter 24: Am I Discriminating Against Myself?

The late afternoon sun beat down on the training fields like a forge hamr, turning the air into a shimring haze of dust and heat.

Servants had already bustled into the armoury-adjacent dressing chamber, their deft fingers yanking corset laces tight around my ribs until I could barely draw breath—ivory silk cinched to accentuate my softened oga curves, boning digging into my sides like a lover’s vengeful grip.

"Shouldn’t I wear training uniform?"

"Your Highness, we don’t know anything about that. We are ordered by the empress to always make you wear the finest of the oga clothes."

They wove my silver hair into an elaborate upturned bun, strands gleaming like polished moonlight, then embedded clusters of starlight lilies—pale petals edged in frost-blue, their subtle perfu cloying my senses with forced femininity.

Pearls and delicate chains dangled from the arrangent, brushing my neck where Elaine’s mark still pulsed faintly. I took a deep, ragged breath, the corset protesting with a creak, steeling myself.

The duel was two days out, against

Count Jennife—a scheming noble with a reputation for poison blades and bought-off knights, according to the whispered reports I’d gleaned from palace shadows. I’d need every assassin trick from my old life—silent steps, chain-whip feints, throat strikes. There was no room for oga fragility.

Knight Commander Rael awaited on the packed-earth field, a towering beta in scarred plate armour, his face weathered like old leather under a plu-crested helm.

Rows of archery targets lood at the far end, straw-stuffed and painted with concentric red rings, while weapon racks glinted nearby—swords, spears, bows of laminated horn.

Dust swirled at my booted approach, the other knights pausing their drills to stare, murmurs rippling like wind through dry grass.

He knelt on one knee, offering a sleek recurve bow of ebony yew, its grip wrapped in supple deerhide, quiver of fletched arrows slung over his shoulder. "Your Highness, you’ll train against today. But first—would you do one thing?"

"Am I going to be trained for the duel?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

I gripped the bow, testing its taut string with a thumb—solid draw weight, perfect for piercing plate at fifty paces. The training field sprawled before us—churned dirt scarred by footprints and blade marks, banners snapping in the breeze from the imperial obsidian walls beyond. "What should I do?"

"You should remove your clothes first."

"What?!" The word cracked like a whip, my olive eyes narrowing to slits. Heat flushed my cheeks—not sha, but assassin fury at the implication.

Rael’s face drained of colour, his gauntleted hands jerking up in frantic apology. "I am sorry, Your Highness! Forgive my insolence—I ant to say sothing entirely different!"

"Knight Commander," I growled, voice low and lethal, bow creaking in my fist, "clarify. Or else you’ll suffer severe consequences." mories flashed—alley kills, thumbs severed as trophies. One wrong word, and I’d improvise.

"My intention was for you to change your clothes," he stamred, bowing lower, sweat beading on his brow despite the shade of overhanging awnings. "Your current attire is unsuitable for fighting—laces will snag, skirts tangle in a lunge."

Two oga knights approached then, lithe figures in scaled leather brigandine, their faces veiled in translucent silk like mine would soon be. They bowed deeply, knees sinking into the dust, and presented a bundled garnt on outstretched arms—female knight’s attire, but customized for royalty.

Supple black leathers reinforced with myethril thread at the joints, a fitted doublet embroidered with silver imperial crests over the heart, breeches tucked into knee-high boots of polished cordovan.

A flowing translucent veil dangled from a silver circlet—gossar fine, shimring like mist, designed to shield an Oga’s face from prying alpha gazes during combat. Prejudice carved deep as these fields’ ruts; I was shocked they even fielded Oga knights at all.

"Alright, I understand." I snatched the bundle, fabric whispering cool against my palms. "Where should I change?"

"Co with us, Your Highness." The knights rose in unison, their movents graceful as water, leading toward a low stone pavilion at the field’s edge—its walls draped in heavy canvas for privacy, braziers flickering with scent-warding herbs to mask oga pheromones from rutting distractions.

I slipped inside alone, the door flap falling shut behind with a muffled thud. The air was cooler here, shadowed and thick with the tang of oiled leather and incense.

I stripped efficiently, corset unlaced with quick tugs—silk pooling at my feet like shed skin—nightshift peeled away to reveal my changed body—lean muscle softened to subtle curves, the pussy below my penis, and my legs.

The new leathers slid on quickly as if they were an extention of my skin—breeches hugging my thighs with supple grip, doublet moulding to my torso without constriction, boots lacing tight for ankle support.

The veil settled last, its ethereal fabric draping from the circlet over nose and mouth, eyes peering through like a spectre from the alleys.

I sighed, shaking my head at the mirror-polished shield leaning against the wall—my reflection a veiled warrior-princess, assassin soul glaring back.

Deep-rooted bias, even in armour.

I erged, veil fluttering in the breeze like a ghost’s sigh, bow slung across my back with the quiver’s fletched arrows brushing my hip.

The oga knights flanked silently, their scaled brigandine creaking faintly, as we returned to the field—dust puffing underfoot in lazy clouds, kicked up by my polished cordovan boots. Knights’ stares, once laced with pity for the ’fragile princess,’ shifted to nods of wary respect, murmurs rippling through the ranks like wind over dry straw.

Rael straightened, his plu-crested helm catching the dying sun, gesturing to the chalked archery line fifty paces from the straw targets—red rings concentric as bloodshot eyes. "Ready, Your Highness?"

"Yes, I am ready." My voice cut clear through the veil, assassin steel beneath the oga lilt, gloved fingers flexing on the bow’s deerhide grip.

"Good. We’ll start with archery, but first I must asure your strength." His tone was all business, scarred face unreadable under the helm’s shadow.

An Alpha knight strode toward then, cutting through the haze like a blade—tall and broad, her plate armour hamred with House griffon sigils, dark braid swinging like a whipcord.

Sweat glead on her exposed forearms, muscles corded from years of drills, her scent hitting like crushed pine: sharp, dominant, unyielding. She planted her boots wide, grinning with easy confidence, gauntlets flexing open in challenge.

"What do I have to do?" I asked, olive eyes narrowing behind the translucent veil, sizing her up—centre of gravity low, weight on her front foot, ripe for a feint I wouldn’t use. Yet.

"You’ll use your raw strength to slam her down," Rael explained, stepping back to mark a dirt circle with his boot heel. "No techniques, no tricks. Pure power—grab, push, ground her. Prove your base before we build."

"But she’s an Alpha," I protested, the words tasting like ash. My changed body—softened curves under the leathers—felt suddenly frail against her bulk, old insecurities clawing up from my last life fights where size ant death.

"And I’m a Beta," Rael shot back, helm tilting with dry amusent, "but that didn’t stop from claiming this command." His gauntlet thumped his chest plate, the sound echoing like a drum.

Heat flooded my cheeks, burning under the veil—sha twisting like a gut-punched blade. Am I discriminating against myself? Seeing my oga designation as chains, lesser flesh not worth the steel?

The realization hit harder than any chain whip—my assassin soul sneered at weakness, but this body—this life—demanded I shatter the prejudice, starting with her.