Luna's Chosen: The King's Omega

The sun had just begun to rise when the king bid farewell to Hera.

He had honored her request with a lavish carriage, its wheels gleaming in the morning light, and assigned several guards to escort her home, ensuring her safety as she departed.

Once she was out of sight, he turned his attention to the day's main event: the combat trials. He needed to participate in the might and unwavering focus that assured his subjects of their king's active leadership.

As the afternoon sun climbed higher in the sky, several intense duels had already unfolded.

Kian emerged victorious time and time again, his body fueled by an unyielding energy that allowed him to endure the physical toll of the trials without so much as a hint of fatigue.

Yet, amidst the clamor of swords clashing and shouts of encouragement, he felt something far more intoxicating weave through the air—a familiar, sweet scent that made his heart race. It was the intoxicating aroma of his chosen mate, that Omega whose mere presence had begun to unravel his composure.

Despite his efforts to remain focused, an unsettling curiosity distracted him.

He was the king, a figure defined by his might and control, yet the pull of the mate bond was far stronger than anything he had ever faced.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Kian cast a sidelong glance, lowering his guard just for an instant. His gaze landed firmly on her.

The sight of Hazel took his breath away; her long brunette hair flowed like a silken cascade, and her brown eyes sparkled with uncertainty. The mark on her forehead radiated a soft blue glow that mirrored the luminescent mark on his chest—a profound symbol of their bond. As the breeze fluttered past, it seemed to conspire with nature, tousling her hair and whispering secrets of longing.

In that suspended moment, her lips parted in surprise, her eyes widening, only for her to hastily glance down.

Then came the strike to his chest by his opponent. His eyes darted to the man, before he punished him.

A surge of curiosity coursed through him as he watched her approach the arena, accompanied by another woman.

They stopped in front of a man, and he could hear the exchange between them. The man was particularly fond of Hazel.

He didn't even need to think; seeing them together stirred unwelcome emotions within him, igniting his ire.

He could hear snippets of their conversation, and the revelation that this man held a torch for her ignited a flame of annoyance deep within him.

Had she so quickly moved on from him? How dare she entertain another in his presence?

The audacity felt like a personal affront, tearing at the seams of his pride. The jealousy that gripped him was foreign and unsettling, surging like poison through his veins. Kian felt a wave of fury boiling beneath his emotionless facade, his brows furrowing as he surveyed the scene before him.

Everything shattered when the man dared to embrace her. Rage ignited within Kian, potent, betraying the calm exterior he had worked so hard to maintain. "Get me that man," he ordered coldly, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver through the servants at his side.

They responded immediately, racing to fetch the unsuspecting suitor.

Kian drew his sword with a practiced flick, the polished blade catching the light as he prepared to confront the man.

Thane, the chosen target of his wrath, stood bewildered and apprehensive. He may have possessed combat skills, but the king's skills, a paragon of strength—was tantamount to courting death.

The servant tossed a sword into Thane's trembling hands, a clang resounding like a bell tolling his doom. As the drumrolls began to echo through the arena, anticipation thickened in the air.

Kian straightened his sword, its polished blade glinting ominously under the sun.

He stood poised, muscles taut and ready, to confront the man who appeared utterly shocked and bewildered by his unwanted selection for this violent contest. Thane was nothing more than an onlooker, yet fate had thrust him into the arena.

The two combatants circled each other, tension palpable in the space between them.

Kian, unwavering and focused, sensed only the thrill of the fight, while Thane felt unease radiating from every pore—cold sweat traced a line down his spine as he gripped the sword, desperate to avoid being thrown to the dungeon like the other opponent.

An overwhelming fear of death hung in the air, a grim reminder of what could lie ahead.

As the duel commenced, the swords clashed together, sending a bright spark of light shooting into the space before retreating, both fighters shifting their positions, eyes locked in a fierce dance.

Soon, the true battle erupted—a flurry of strikes and parries, each weapon biting at the other. Thane found himself on the defensive, struggling to keep pace with Kian's relentless assaults.

In a heart-stopping moment, Kian's blade hurtled toward Thane's face. Thane gasped, instinctively turning his head away and defending with his sword. His lips rounded, heavy breath escaping with sweat running down his face.

"Have mercy, your Majesty," Thane gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts as fatigue overwhelmed him. But Kian would not grant him the mercy of a moment's respite.

"Practicing sounds better than wooing women, doesn't it?" The king sharply questioned.

Thane only nodded frantically.

The duel reached its brutal climax when Thane, weakened and weary, finally stumbled to the ground, having been hit in the stomach by Kian's sword handle and then pushed by his chest to the ground.

The king loomed over him like a storm cloud, his sword pointed menacingly at Thane's throat. "Know your place, servant," he spat, each word laced with disdain. With a flick of his wrist, he sheathed his weapon, the metal sliding into its guard with definitive finality, and then strode out of the ring, leaving Thane breathless on the cold, unforgiving ground.

Thane lay there, chest rising and falling sharply, his mind racing to process what was happening. He clenched his stomach, as he blinked away the haze of exhaustion.

****

Kian stepped into his chamber, the heavy wooden door creaking softly behind him. The warm, flickering light of the candles cast dancing shadows across the walls, but his mind was elsewhere.

He decided a bath might soothe him.

With a resigned sigh, he made his way to the dining area, where a lavish spread awaited him. The table was adorned with colorful dishes, the aroma of spices and roasted meats filling the air, beckoning him to indulge.

Yet, as he took in the feast before him, an unexpected sense of apathy washed over him. The food looked inviting, vibrant and sumptuous, but he couldn't summon the appetite to enjoy it.

He shifted his intense gaze to one of the maids standing nearby. "Bring Hazel Snow over," he muttered, a twinge of surprise coursing through him at his request.

"Yes, Milord." The maid bowed and hurried away, returning moments later with the woman he had summoned.

As she entered the room, her gaze remained cast downward, and he could almost feel the nervous energy radiating from her.

"Everyone, leave" he commanded once more, his tone brooking no argument.

The others quickly filed out, and the heavy doors closed with a resounding thud, isolating him in the starkness of the chamber with her.

The atmosphere grew thick with tension as she stood frozen. He rose from his ornate chair and approached her, his steps deliberate.

Kian leaned against the polished table, his arms crossed over his chest, his piercing eyes studying her intently. "Lift your head," he ordered his voice firm.

"I wouldn't dare, your Majesty," she replied, her heart racing and panic bubbling beneath the surface.

"You not daring to follow my command calls for punishment," he remarked, a dangerous edge lacing his words.

"One must not look into the eyes of a superior," she reminded him, recalling the rigid rule enforced within the castle walls.

With a heavy sigh, Kian softened slightly. "Lift your head, Hazel." His voice wrapped around her like a silky thread, deceptively warm yet commanding.

After a moment of hesitation, she pursed her lips and finally summoned the courage to meet his gaze, their eyes locking in a charged exchange.

"Tell me what punishment best fits you," he inquired, his expression inscrutable, yet mesmerizing. Beneath his penetrating gaze, her heartbeat quickened.

"Punishment for what, your Majesty?" she asked, bewildered by the accusation.

His lips curled into a slight smirk. "For the man you shared a hug with. Should I assume you did it to provoke me? You seem to know exactly what you're doing, given the tenuous bond that exists between us."

****

"I can't tell if there's anything still lingering between us," I confessed, my voice steady but my heart racing.

"You made it clear that you wouldn't be with me, and I've merely been entertaining other men to help move on, just as you have, your Majesty." The words spilled out of me in a torrent, a surge of pent-up annoyance and frustration finally unleashed. The adrenaline coursed through me, fueling my courage as I laid it all bare.

Kian was speechless in the wake of my statement.

I could see his surprise mirrored in his raised eyebrows and the tightening of his jaw, a blend of disbelief and something akin to irritation.

"Did I tell you that I've moved on?" He asked, his voice laced with an edge of challenge.

"That's not something I should have to question, is it?" I retorted. "It's quite evident, considering you declared you didn't want me. You've moved on, so it's only fair that I do the same." My tone was resolute, reflecting the strength I tried to muster.

"You're quite bold, Hazel," he remarked, the irritation in his voice creeping closer like a storm about to break.

"What happened last night was shock, pure and simple. I've thought and concluded that we must honor our bond, for this back-and-forth will only keep torturing us." His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

I inhaled deeply, steadying myself. The king was something else entirely, proposing a reconciliation after last night's crushing rejection. He was angry at the thought of seeing me with another man, yet now he wanted to rekindle what we had. I resolved not to yield so easily.

"Unfortunately, I'm determined to move on," I declared, though each word felt like a battle against my true desires.

"Oh?" he tilted his head, an eyebrow arched as he pushed himself off the edge of the table, towering over me like a predatory animal. The space between us evaporated, and I could feel the weight of his presence enveloping me.

"What do you suggest I do about this mating issue? Should I simply watch you with another man?" he probed.

"Your Majesty, you know better than I what to do," I answered cautiously, the tension crackling like static in the air.

"I want you, and I will have you," he declared, his fingers tilting my head up. His tone was sharp as if issuing a command I was meant to obey.

"I am acutely aware of my self-worth, your Majesty. If you want me to forget how you've hurt me, then you must prove it," I shot back, holding his gaze as his eyes narrowed, igniting with fierce determination.

"Oh, for the love of—Hazel," he stepped closer, an intensity radiating from him. "I underestimated you… You're not at all like the others."