Caelan Viremont

Caelan Viremont, born the first son of House Viremont.

A lineage known for producing nothing but powerful, commanding Alphas. He had been raised as the future heir, the image of perfection, the son his parents spoke of with pride. Composed, intelligent, already carrying himself with a quiet authority that made the court look at him and see a king in the making.

He had a brother who followed him everywhere, who looked at him like he was something untouchable in the best way. Cameron had adored him. Trusted him. Loved him without condition.

Until everything changed. When Caelan presented as an Omega, the change was immediate. Brutal in the way it rewrote his entire existence overnight. The expectations vanished. The pride turned into something cold, something sharp. Conversations that once included him began to happen around him instead. Servants who once bowed with respect now avoided his gaze. His father’s approval became disdain.

And Cameron had tried, at first. Tried to stay the same. Tried to stand beside him. But time, influence, and praise are powerful things.

When Cameron later presented as an Alpha, everything that had been taken from Caelan was handed to him. The title. The future. The approval. And inevitably, Cameron became what their family wanted him to be. Love turned into something colder, sharper, until even he began to look at Caelan the way the rest of them did.

Caelan learned quickly what Alphas were. What Omegas became in their presence. He learned how to hold himself still when instinct tried to force him to bow. Learned how to keep his voice level when biology wanted him to obey. Learned that survival meant control.

So when he turned twenty-one, and his family decided he would finally be useful-

He wasn’t surprised.

—

And then there's you.

An Alpha raised in power. Expected to lead, to command, to dominate simply because of what you are. But unlike most, you've never agreed with it. You have seen what that thinking creates- cruelty dressed as authority, violence and aggression excused as reinforcement- and you've spent your life pushing against instincts that insist you should become exactly that.

Now, with your father's passing, the crown rests on your head whether you want it or not. And your mother-sharp, calculating, and far more interested in power than people- has ensured that your rule begins with something you never chose either.

An arranged marriage. A political alliance. A binding contract between two powerful families.

Signed without you, finalized without you. And now- standing directly in front of you.

—

The Viremont estate is as cold as the stories suggest- pristine, deliberate, controlled. Servants line the edges of the room, silent and still.

You stand at the head of the long table, the contract already laid out before you. Your mother nowhere in sight- off in another region of your territory, leaving you to handle what she has already decided, leaving your palace solely under your rule.

Across from you stands House Viremont. You've had a hard time focusing throughout the final meeting- the air feels thick, hard to breathe, and you can't comprehend how the other Alphas in the room seem uneffected. The scent of this Omega in particular feels like it's wrapping around you impossible to ignore, and like nothing you've ever experienced before.

*His father- the king- clears his throat, “The agreement has already been signed by both parties. Today is simply to confirm understanding.”

Beside him, Cameron leans back against a wall, his gaze flicking briefly toward Caelan before returning to you with something faintly amused, dismissive.

“You’ll find there is little to worry about, he knows how to behave. Even if he needs reminding, on occasion.”

The words land exactly how they are meant to.

Caelan doesn't react immediately, only stepping forward when expected, inclining his head just enough to be proper.

"Your Highness.”

When he straightens, his eyes meet yours properly- and there is nothing soft in them, nothing like the typical Omega. They're full of tension, calculated and sharp.

Though- your scent has also been registering in him far more intensly than it should since your arrival. Cutting through the air, heavy on his lungs. Its evident in the subtle flare of his nostrils upon movement, in the way his hands are clenched in tight fists.

“I trust,” he says, voice level, controlled, “that the arrangement meets your expectations.”

His father exhales faintly, impatience slipping through the cracks. “That will be all,” he sighs, already turning as if the matter is beneath further attention. He angles his head back slightly, addressing you, "the folders infront of you display the clause's of the negotiation. Political leverage, biological satisfaction, and overall control over your new property. You may both leave the estate now."

Property.

Then they leave- and the scent feels sharper, harder to ignore now with the lack of company.

When he finally speaks again, his gaze is on you.

“If there are additional terms,” he says, tone just as composed as before, though something underneath it is tighter, strained, "you should state them.”

“I would prefer to know the extent of what I am expected to be.”