Chapter Text
The scent of the court was always strong of alpha’s who never felt the need to mask their pheromones. Changbin, however, stands at the center of the training yard with suppressant oil on his glands. The only thing he ever smelled like in public was the iron of his armor.
He moves through the final sequence of the royal guards morning forms, blade cutting clean arcs through the air. Around him, other armed bodies shifted and struck, boots grinding against gravel.
“Again.” Their Captain calls, sharp and unimpressed.
Changbin doesn’t bristle the way the alpha knights do. He just pivots, resets his stance, and goes again. A rare omega knight. That phrase follows him everywhere around the Kingdom. He’s earned his place in the royal guard the hard way. No family crest carved into his armor, no political leverage. Just his own relentless precision.
When they finish their form, the yard starts to get quieter than before, caused by the presence of someone entering from the castle. The guards start to bow in a ripple of steel. Prince Minho stands at the edge of the yard without an escort. He’s wearing dark riding leathers with a sword at his hip, hair messy like he’s come straight from the stables. His scent hits Changbin easily. Lavender. Unmistakably royal.
Minho’s gaze slides across the yard until it reaches him. “Knight Seo. You’re slow this morning.”
The captain hesitates for only a second before giving Changbin the go ahead to leave. Minho always asks for him in the mornings, and when he asks, he gets. They both move to the far end of the yard where the morning sun is the warmest. Minho draws his sword, causing a soft cling of metal.
“First to disarm?” He asks.
Changbin meets his eyes. “As always.”
Minho fights like he’s never been underestimated in his life. He’s fast and precise, and has been trained by the best masters in three kingdoms. Yet he still seeks Changbin out.
The first strike rings bright and sharp. Changbin absorbs it, and pivots, testing Minho’s guard. The prince adjusts smoothly, eyes alight. They don’t speak while sparring, there’s no need. Minho trusts him not to pull back out of fear of hurting a royal. Changbin trusts Minho not to treat him delicately.
Minho has had a lot of restless energy lately. The Kingdom is expecting an announcement any day now. A marriage alliance with the southern crown, an omega princess with excellent lineage. A union that would secure trade routes and quiet border disputes. Changbin hears all of the talk, but he usually ignores it.
Minho lunges, and Changbin twists, knocking the prince's blade aside with a clean strike, sending it spinning to the gravel.
Minho laughs, bright and unbothered. “You’ve improved.”
“I practice, Your Highness.”
Minho smiles at him. “Walk with me.”
Changbin sheaths his blade, and they leave the yard together. Servants dip into bows as Minho passes by, and eyes track their every move. An omega knight at the prince’s side. The looks are usually half curiosity, or half disdain. Minho never seems to notice, or he just doesn’t care.
“They’ve started drafting the contracts,” Minho says casually. “The southern crown moves quickly.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“You disapprove?”
“It’s not my place.”
Minho stops walking, so Changbin does as well.
“It is precisely your place, if I’m asking for your counsel.” Minho says quietly.
Changbin chooses his words with care. “The alliance is strategically sound. The southern crown commands three ports and two mountain passes, and their loyalty would stabilize the eastern border.”
“And personally?” The prince asks.
“My duty is to the stability of the realm.”
Minho steps closer, lowering his voice. “And if I said I value more out of you than just stability?”
This was much too close. Changbin shifts back half a step, just enough to preserve propriety. “Then I would advise Your Highness to consider what the realm requires of you.”
Minho exhales slowly, looking frustrated, but footsteps approach from the far hall. The moment dissolves. Minho straightens, trying to keep his composure.
“Attend me this evening,” he says. “Private council.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Changbin watched Minho walk away, chest tight in the way it always is after these interactions. He’s carved his place into the guard through nothing but discipline. He can’t lose it to something as reckless as longing. He needs to get a grip.
*
The arrow was meant for the prince’s throat. Changbin sees the glint of it in the distance, and moves before the thought can completely form. Steel flashes, and the arrow splits against his blade and veers, slicing his shoulder instead of Minho’s neck. Pain flares hot and immediate, but he doesn’t slow down. He’s immediately between the prince and the second attacker, striking the stranger down. When the courtyard finally feels still, two assassins lay bleeding against white marble.
Minho grabs at Changbin’s uninjured arm. “Bin.”
Bin. Not anything formal, not Knight Seo. Bin. Changbin shakes it off, trying to focus.
“I’m okay.” Changbin says automatically.
His shoulder burns, blood seeping through the leather. He sways just slightly, and Minho’s scent changes, sharpening into something electric. It wraps around Changbin, protective and furious.
“Inside.” Minho orders.
Changbin doesn’t argue, and they move quickly through the corridors. Minho guides him into his private chambers, the door closing behind them.
Minho turns on him, his hands already at Changbin’s armor straps. “Sit.”
“It’s superficial.”
“Sit.”
Changbin listens this time, and Minho kneels before him to inspect the wound. What a scandalous image, an heir to the throne on his knees before an omega knight. Minho’s fingers are steady as he peels back leather and linen, his jaw tight. The cut is shallow but angry, bloody against his skin. Minho cleans it himself, ignoring the protocol that should have gotten a healer involved. His touch is careful, reverent in a way that makes Changbin’s breathing shaky.
When the cloth presses too hard, Changbin makes a small noise of pain despite himself. Minho looks up, and their faces are close. Way too close. Changbin’s suppressants are wearing thin, adrenaline having burnt through them faster than usual, and Changbin realizes it at the same time Minho does. His scent, usually locked down, starts to fill their space. Grass and spring rain.
Minho freezes, and for a moment neither of them move.
“You smell nice.” Minho mumbles absently.
Changbin’s heart picks up a little bit. He should really step away, but he can’t make himself go through with it. Minho leans closer instead, breath ghosting against Changbin’s collarbone where leather has been peeled away.
“I’ve never…” Minho exhales slowly, eyes closing. “You hide it so well.”
“I have to.”
“I know.”
Outside the chamber, the palace is alive with investigation and fury. But between them, their world has narrowed to something delicate.
“You stepped in front of me without hesitation.” Minho whispers, his thumb tracing along his cheekbone. “You think I would survive you dying for me? You are not allowed to die.”
“That is not within my control.”
“Then give me something that is.”
The space between them vanishes, and Minho kisses him with desperation. Changbin’s hand comes up, gripping the back of Minho’s shirt, kissing back just as hard. Minho pulls back a moment later, just enough to search his face.
“Tell me to stop.”
Changbin doesn’t, and that’s answer enough. Minho moves slowly, touching every part of him with careful precision. His armor gets discarded piece by piece, and Minho traces the line of the bandage he had wrapped himself, lips pressing just above it as if sealing it with protection. When Changbin starts to slick up, his scent fully surfaced, Minho breathes it in like a starved man.
Minho’s hands are careful when they push him back, and Changbin goes willingly. His back hits the bedding, and Minho is on him, his touch everywhere all at once. He takes off the remaining undershirt on Changbin, pausing to drink in the sight.
“God, you’re so pretty. How do you even look like this? So unfair.”
Changbin’s ears flush pink, and Minho’s hands trail lower, down to his hips. He pauses at the waistband, and Changbin nods, giving him enthusiastic consent. Minho undoes the laces and pulls his pants off completely, throwing them on the floor somewhere. His gaze rakes down Changbin’s body, and Changbin would feel more embarrassed if not for the pure adoration in the prince’s eyes right now. This alpha really likes him.
Minho’s hands run along Changbin’s thighs, stopping at the inside of his knees and spreading them open. He just looks for a moment, like whatever he’s seeing is a work of art, and it makes Changbin squirm.
“Minho, please.” He says breathlessly.
Minho obliges, and Changbin barely holds back a moan when his fingers start spreading his slick around. His hips twitch up, and Minho pushes one finger in all the way to the knuckle, careful in a way that makes Changbin feel gooey. Minho works him open slowly, taking his time, as if he’s trying to commit every gasp and squirm to memory. Changbin’s mind is fuzzy, thoughts turning into static. He tries to keep still, legs trembling, but eventually he’s trying to rock down, wanting more.
He makes an embarrassing whiny noise when Minho pulls his fingers out, but Minho just croons at him sweetly, hands leaving his body for just a moment. He hears the rustle of clothes, and then he’s back again, naked this time. Changbin’s gaze drops to where he’s flushed and hard, face hot.
Minho doesn’t waste time lining himself up, and when he pushes forward, whatever breath Changbin had left catches in his throat. Minho’s grip stabilizes his hips, holding him still so he can fully push in. Changbin’s hands spasm where they’re gripping the sheets, and Minho pauses for both of them to adjust, letting him calm down.
When Minho starts to move, Changbin is already a mess. He grips Minho’s shoulders, needing something to hold on to. Each thrust makes everything grow a bit fuzzier little by little.
Minho keeps a steady pace, his breaths coming out in short, harsh pants that are hot against Changbin’s neck. “You— you feel so good.” He breathes, mouthing at the soft part of Changbin’s throat.
Changbin is letting out small noises with every push inside, and when Minho changes the angle just slightly and hits something that makes sparks erupt, an actual moan stutters out of him. “Minho, please, there, right there—”
Minho does exactly that, shifting so he’s hitting the same way every time he thrusts back in. Changbin’s thoughts are scrambled, all he knows right now is Minho Minho Minho. One of Minho’s hands is suddenly pressing between his legs as well, fingers circling his clit, and he clenches around the alpha.
“I won’t— I can’t— Oh—” Changbin is panting, his grip on Minho’s shoulders tight. “Minho, I think I’m gonna—”
Minho’s fingers on his clit speed up. “Yeah, cum for me, I’ve got you.” He says, voice low and rough, and his hips don’t falter in their pace for a moment, still thrusting into him.
That’s all it takes, and Changbin jerks and goes tense, clenching around him with a mewl. Minho is just a moment after, the way Changbin tightens around him sending him over the edge as well, knotting him and pressing his face into his neck.
Changbin can barely keep his eyes open, chest heaving, but holds Minho as the alpha rides out his own orgasm. Minho keeps mouthing at his neck, and Changbin goes limp, worn out. For a moment, there’s just quiet as they both try to catch their breath. Then Minho moves, shifting them both to their sides, careful where they’re still stuck together.
Changbin lets himself be repositioned, and Minho immediately wraps his arms around him. Changbin can feel him pressing kisses against his neck and shoulder, and it makes him melt further into his chest. They’re both a little sticky, but neither of them move.
When Minho’s knot starts to go down, Minho pulls back so he can kiss his lips instead. It’s a little softer, deeper. Minho is the one to pull away first, but his hands stay on Changbin’s face, thumb swiping over his cheek. Changbin makes a quiet, content noise. The room comes back into focus, the rumpled sheets around them and the smell of sex in the air, but he’s too warm to move, and with Minho’s arms around him it’s hard to think of leaving.
They lay there for a while, warm and content, before Minho ruins it.
“They’ll announce the betrothal soon.” He says quietly, staring at the canopy above.
“Yes.”
“Do you regret this?” Minho whispers.
Changbin lets himself consider it for a moment, before whispering back. “No.”
“Good.” Minho says back, barely audible.
Neither of them speak of the consequences, or what it would mean if the court knew. Minho drifts asleep first, arms still wrapped around Changbin as if unwilling to let go. Changbin remains awake longer, trying to memorize the weight of him.
*
Changbin notices the first sign a few weeks later. Milk. He’s halfway through morning drills when the Captain’s nose wrinkles slightly when he walks by him. He finishes the sequence without fault, but inside, an anxiety starts to bloom.
When he returns to his quarters in the afternoon, he locks his door nervously and unfastens the leather at his throat to get a good whiff. The suppressant oil is still there, but underneath it, breaking through with stubbornness, is something softer. Warm, and faintly creamy. Milk.
“No.” He breathes. Absolutely not.
He adds more scent suppressants, but even an hour later, the smell hasn’t gone away. If anything, it smells clearer. It wouldn’t be obvious to anyone that wasn’t looking for it, but it’s there, and that’s a problem.
His hand lowers slowly to his stomach, just resting there.
“No,” he repeats, stricken.
Outside his chamber window, the palace bells ring. In the main hall, diplomats from the southern kingdom have arrived. The betrothal contract is being finalized. A future queen.
Omega knights are rare. Pregnant ones can’t exist. His child is going to carry royal blood. Even if conceived outside formal union, the scent won’t lie. The royal lineage will cling. It will be the alpha heir’s firstborn, no matter the circumstances of conceivement.
A child like this would not be allowed to be a child, it would just be used for leverage. There will be whispers about legitimacy, the southern kingdom will see insult, the trade negotiations will all fracture. And Changbin? He will be considered as nothing more than a scandal for the crown to get rid of. An omega knight that seduced the prince. Never mind that Minho had come to him willingly. That it had been mutual. It won’t matter.
His career would end, and his honor would be shredded. And if the queen to be refuses to share space with a living reminder of a previous intimacy? What would happen to the child?
Changbin sits on the edge of his bed, mind racing. The smell of milk mixed with his usual rain. He thinks of Minho’s face that morning after, the way he had traced idle patterns along his ribs.
“Do you regret this?”
“No.”
He still doesn’t, even now.
There’s a sudden knock at his door, startling him. “Knight Seo. His Highness requests your presence in the east hall.”
Of course he does. Changbin stands and refastens his armor. He adds more oil to the scent gland on his throat, but he worries it doesn’t do much. The milk lingers stubbornly.
When he opens the door, he keeps a careful eye on the messenger for any awareness of his scent. There isn’t any, and Changbin relaxes. Good.
The east hall is bright with banners from the southern kingdom, gold and deep green. At the center, Minho stands beside the crown’s daughter. She’s tall, and very beautiful. She smells like citrus.
Changbin takes his place on the prince’s right. He listens as the court speaks. Talk about terms and succession. It makes Changbin’s stomach turn faintly. If he chooses to hide this… he could leave quietly, before the scent becomes unmistakable. Before his body starts to change in ways his armor won’t be able to disguise. If he stays and is discovered, the court will fall apart. If he leaves…
Hours later, when the contract is sealed and the hall starts to disperse, Minho turns to him.
“Walk with me,” he says quietly.
They move toward a side corridor, away from the celebration.
Minho exhales once they are alone. “I despise diplomacy.”
“You handled it well.”
Minho studied him for a moment, calculating. “You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.”
Minho steps closer, nose flaring slightly, and Changbin’s heart stutters. For one awful moment, Changbin thinks he smells it. But the corridor is layered with scents from the hall, and Minho only frowns faintly.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Minho searches his face, but luckily, footsteps echo from the far end and break the conversation. “We’ll speak tonight.”
Changbin bows as Minho exits. He then steps out into the palace courtyard, where banners snap in the wind in celebration of a future that does not belong to him. He doesn’t cry. Instead, he calculates. How long it will take to get to the western gate, how much coin he has saved, which of his old contacts beyond the capitol might offer shelter.
Felix.
A beta with a cottage near the northern fields. Home. And far from the court.
If he leaves before the changes in his body become visible, the story can be simple. Knight Seo resigned for personal reasons. Disappeared. Better a vanished knight than a scandal.
He rests his hand once more over his stomach as he walks.
“I’ll protect you.” He whispers under his breath.
Even if it means walking away from Minho.
*
Changbin rises the next morning before the bells. It’s still dark outside, no one moving about yet. He lights a candle, and stares at his armor on its stand across the room. Polished and scarred, the crest of the royal guard gleams faintly in the low light.
He steps toward it slowly. He earned this armor, through blood sweat and tears. Through whispers that said omegas were not built for this. He touches the breastplate, the material cold against his fingers.
He steps away, moving toward where his sword lay against the narrow table by the window, where first light will eventually find it. He has always measured himself by what he could do with a blade. Protect and defend. Stand between danger and the crown.
He dresses in plain clothes he hasn’t worn in years. Soft linen, and a dark cloak. He digs around until he finds boots suited for the road instead of marble corridors. From beneath his mattress, he retrieves the small pouch of coins he has saved in small increments, just enough to travel safely. It won’t be enough to return.
He wonders, briefly, if he should leave a letter. But immediately decides against it. What could he say? If Minho knew anything, he would search for him until he found him again. Changbin can’t let that happen. So he doesn’t leave any sort of explanation or hint behind in his room.
The corridor beyond his chamber is empty. Guards posted around corners nod at him when he passes by with no suspicion. When he gets to the west wing, he slows slightly.
Minho’s chambers lie beyond the carved arch to the right. The door is closed, and a single lantern burns outside, low. Changbin stands before it for longer than he should. He wants to knock, but instead he presses his forehead lightly to the wood. It’s cool against his skin.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers.
Lavender lingers faintly through the door, a scent that will haunt him forever. He straightens up and walks away before his resolve can break.
The western gate is guarded by two men who have trained beside him for years.
“Early patrol?” One asks, stifling a yawn.
“Yes.”
And that’s that. They don’t question him, and the gate opens. Changbin steps through, and the gate closes back up behind him with a dull thud.
Inside the palace, if someone were to enter his quarters, they’d find armor gleaming in place and a sword laying untouched. His bed neatly made, with no sign of struggle.
Changbin tightens his cloak around himself as dawn finally spills gold across the horizon. If he can guard a kingdom, he can guard something smaller. He has to. It’s infinitely more important than anything he’s ever done or will do. He walks toward the countryside and doesn’t look back.