Ren's breath hitched. He looked from the sobbing girl on the floor to Cilian's calm, expectant face.
The rage that had felt so powerful a moment ago was now a cold weight in his stomach. He had spent his life being taught how to fight men like Cilian—with steel and speed—but nobody had taught him how to fight a man who wouldn't hit back, choosing instead to strike the person standing next to you.
"Pick up the shards, Mary. We don't want Ren getting injured now, do we?" Cilian said, his voice light, almost smooth. "And bring another plate. Ren is hungry."
The maid scrambled to her knees, her fingers trembling so much they clattered against the broken porcelain. Ren watched as a sharp edge of the plate sliced into her thumb. She didn't even cry out; she just kept working, the red of her blood mixing with the spilled wine on the floor.
"Stop," Ren whispered.
Cilian tilted his head, his fox-like eyes narrowing in faux curiosity. "Did you say something, Ren?"
"I said stop. I'll... I'll sit."
His heart couldn't handle it. Not the sight of the trembling maid, and not the thought of what Cilian could do next.
He pulled out the chair and sat down with a stiff movement, his back as straight as a board, but he felt smaller than he ever had. He realized that in this house, his defiance wasn't a weapon—it was a cruel means to torture everyone around him.
Cilian sat back down and watched as a new plate was brought out. A plate of fresh steak, steaming perfectly. The scent hit Ren's nose, and despite the bile in his throat, his stomach cramped with hunger. He hadn't eaten a real meal in weeks, so the meal was incredibly tempting.
"Good boy," Cilian murmured, seeing the way Ren stared at the food. "I believe now you'll stop making things difficult, right?"
Ren did not answer and instead picked up the fork, the short chain connected to his iron collar clinking softly like china ware.
"Is your shoulder still bothering you?" Cilian asked, sounding a little bit concerned. "Was it the sword drills? I remember your father used to keep you out in the sun for eight hours at a time. He always said an Omega had to work twice as hard just to be half as good as an Alpha."
Ren's grip tightened on the knife, and he hissed under his breath. "Don't talk about my father."
"I'm just saying, he was a hard man. But he gave you that beautiful center of gravity you're always so proud of." Here came the mockery in his tone. "It's a shame to see it lopsided because of a nagging injury." He took a slow sip of his wine. "Eat. If you don't finish that, Mary will have to stay up all night cleaning the kitchen as punishment for 'poor service.'"
Ren scrunched, frowning with his forehead, and forced a piece of meat into his mouth. It was tender and rich, but he had a hard time swallowing. Every bite felt heavy and uncomfortable against his gum.
He ate quietly, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth, refusing to look at the man sitting in front of him. He felt Cilian's eyes on him, heavy and uncomfortable, a gaze that seemed to crawl over his skin.
When the meal was over, Cilian stood and walked behind Ren's chair. He placed a hand on Ren's shoulder—the injured one.
Ren stiffened. He wanted to push his hand away, but then he remembered what happened to the maid. He forced himself to stay still, even as Cilian's thumb pressed firmly into the knotted muscle.
"It's time for bed," Cilian said, and this filled Ren with a certain dread. He opened his mouth, planning to protest, but he pressed them together, unable to utter a word. "What? You're not tired yet?"
"I… I'm not tired yet," Ren lied, and Cilian saw through that lie.
"You must be scared," he brushed his hand down his arm, resting his chin against Ren's head. "But don't worry, I won't touch you… yet."
Ren's eyes widened. Was he serious?
For a moment, he felt relieved, but then he reminded himself that this fox-eyed bastard couldn't be trusted one bit. He threw his face aside, and Cilian's lips curled up even more.
"Oh, come on. You don't believe me? I'm giving you my word, though." He chuckled softly, but Ren still didn't say a word. "Besides, if I wanted to touch you, could you even do anything to stop me? How would you stop me?"
This sent a chill down Ren's spine. He was right. With a wounded shoulder, what could he even do? He clenched his fists on top of his thigh, feeling useless.
"Now now, I didn't tell you that to get you worked up. I just wanted Ren to know that I have no reason to lie. Tonight, I definitely won't touch you."
The walk back to the 'replica' room was even more suffocating than the walk down. The house was too quiet, the shadows of the Vane estate stretching long across the hallways. When they entered the room, the scent of sandalwood and citrus hit Ren again, making his head spin.
Cilian closed the door and turned the lock, filling Ren with even more dread.
What is going to happen now? What is he planning?
There was only one reason why Cilian would come with Ren to his room, and even turn the lock to prevent him from escaping. There was only one thing an Alpha wanted from an Omega.
Ren backed away until his calves hit the edge of the bed—the bed that looked exactly like the one he'd slept in for twenty years.
"You said... You said you wouldn't touch me."
"And I won't. Not like that," Cilian said. He gestured to the bed. "Lie down."
Ren hesitated, then sat down on the bed. He watched as Cilian pulled a chair over and sat down right in front of Ren.
Then, he reached out, and Ren flinched, but the Alpha only picked up a brush from the bedside table.
"Your hair is a mess," Cilian remarked.
He began to brush Ren's now dry hair. The strokes of the brush were unnecessarily slow and long, making Ren wonder when he'd be done.
Ren just sat there with his heart hammering against his ribs. He was on high guard, waiting for the moment the kindness would fall, waiting for the teeth behind that obnoxious smile.
But Cilian just kept brushing Ren's hair, and then soon, he began to talk, his voice low and strangely soothing. He spoke of the weather, of the city, of the new laws he was passing in the Vane district. He spoke as if they were old friends, as if the last two years of blood and fire had never happened.
He spoke as if Ren had not suffered due to his actions. As if Ren would forgive him once he knew what he had been up to these past two years and… how much he missed him.
Slowly, despite the terror and anger he felt from listening to Cilian's words, Ren's body began to fail him. The warmth of the room, the fullness of his stomach, and the continuous stroke of the brush were a lethal combination for a body that was already at its breaking point. His eyelids grew heavy, and his head began to sway.
He fought it. He bit the inside of his cheek to stay awake, but the immense exhaustion was pulling him under.
Ren fell into a fitful sleep, his last conscious thought a vow to kill the man holding the brush. And that said man smiled, putting him to sleep comfortably in bed and kissing his forehead with a little 'goodnight' whisper.
But he did not leave after that. He crawled into bed with Ren and wrapped his arms around him, burying his head in his back as he whispered again,
"I'm so glad I have you to myself," he sniffed in his scent, drowning in it with a flushed face like someone high on drugs. "Ren. You're all mine."