The royal balcony was a sanctuary of cool stone and night air. Far below, the palace gardens stretched out in a geometric maze of hedges and fountains, but Elian wasn't looking at the view.
He was gripping the stone railing with white knuckles, trying to remember how to operate his lungs.
"Breathe, Valet," Cassian's voice came from behind him. It was calm, steady, and annoyingly attractive.
Elian sucked in a jagged breath. The air out here was crisp, stripped of the cloying perfume and desperate Omega pheromones that filled the ballroom. But the scent of the Alpha standing two feet away was still overwhelming.
'Okay,' Elian thought, squeezing his eyes shut. 'System check. Am I dying? No. Am I horny? Yes. Am I confused? Always.'
[Status: Environmental Stress Reducing.][Time Until Death: 72 Hours (Paused).]
He turned around slowly. Cassian was leaning against the palace wall, arms crossed over his chest. The moonlight caught the silver embroidery of his blue velvet tunic, making him look like a dark fairytale prince who definitely kidnapped people.
"Better?" Cassian asked.
"Much," Elian lied. His knees were still trembling. "The air inside was... thick."
"It is a meat market," Cassian said with a sneer. "Desperation has a smell. It smells like cheap vanilla and sweat."
He pushed off the wall and stepped into Elian's space.
[Contact: +1 Minute.]
Cassian didn't touch him, but he invaded his personal bubble with the confidence of a man who owned all the bubbles. He leaned down slightly, sniffing the air near Elian's neck.
Elian froze. 'Oh god. He's sniffing me. He's smelling the goods. Do I smell like cheap vanilla? Do I smell like sweat? I definitely smell like sweat.'
"You, however," Cassian murmured, his nose hovering dangerously close to Elian's collar. "You do not smell desperate."
"I... I don't?" Elian squeaked.
"No," Cassian said. "You smell..."
He inhaled deeply. The sound sent a shiver straight down Elian's spine that rattled his teeth.
"...like clean linen. And ozone. And something sharp. Like ink."
[System Notification: Target Intrigue Increasing. Elian +1 Heart.][Current Hearts: 11 / 1000]
'Ink?' Elian thought hysterically. 'Is that the scent of a plot hole? Or just the smell of a guy who reads too many System novels?'
"It must be the laundry soap, Sire," Elian deflected, taking a step back until his hips hit the stone railing. He was trapped. "Standard issue."
"It is not soap," Cassian said, stepping closer. "It is biological. It is you."
He reached out, his gloved hand brushing the side of Elian's neck. He wasn't gripping; he was tracing. His thumb swept over the pulse point, right where the Omega scent gland lay dormant beneath the skin.
Elian's breath hitched. His legs turned to water.
'He's touching the gland,' Elian's internal monologue screamed. 'That's second base! That is definitely second base in this universe! Stranger danger! Sexy stranger danger!'
[System Alert: Target is Scenting. Intimacy Milestone: 'Primal Curiosity'. Reward: +30 LP.]
"You are shaking again," Cassian noted, his voice dropping to a low rumble.
"It's chilly," Elian lied. "I forgot my jacket."
Cassian stared at him for a long moment. His eyes were dark, unreadable pools. Then, abruptly, he pulled his hand away and began to unbutton his velvet coat.
'What is he doing?' Elian panicked. 'Is he stripping? Here? Now? I mean, I'm not complaining, but the lighting is terrible for a show.'
Cassian shrugged the heavy blue coat off his shoulders. The heat radiating from it hit Elian's face before the fabric did.
"Wear this," Cassian commanded, draping the heavy garment over Elian's shoulders.
The coat engulfed him. It was heavy, warm, and smelled so aggressively of Cassian that Elian felt like he'd been dipped in the Prince's cologne.
[Item Acquired (Temporary): The Prince's Coat.][Effect: +100 Charisma. +50 Intimidation. +1000 Internal Screaming.]
"Sire," Elian gasped, clutching the lapels. "This is inappropriate. I am a servant."
"You are freezing," Cassian countered. "And if you walk back in there shivering, people will think I beat you."
"Do they think that often?"
"They think I am a tyrant," Cassian said flatly. He turned to look out over the garden. "They think I eat Omegas for breakfast."
"Only the sweet ones," Elian muttered without thinking.
Cassian glanced at him, a smirk ghosting his lips. "Precisely."
Elian pulled the coat tighter around himself. He couldn't help it; he buried his nose in the collar. It was intoxicating. It calmed his racing heart instantly.
'I'm wearing his clothes,' Elian realized. 'I'm wearing the Male Lead's clothes. Ambrose is going to pop a blood vessel when he sees this.'
"Elian," Cassian said, his back turned.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"Why did you stop Ambrose from falling?"
Elian paused. He looked at the broad back of the Prince. The easy answer was 'duty'. The gamer answer was 'points'. But looking at Cassian standing alone against the night sky, Elian felt a strange twinge of... not pity, but solidarity.
Cassian was an NPC in a game everyone else was trying to speedrun.
"Because," Elian said honestly. "You looked like you didn't want to catch him."
Cassian turned around. He looked surprised.
"Most people assume I want to catch anything that is beautiful," Cassian said.
"Ambrose is beautiful," Elian admitted. "In a 'glass figurine that breaks if you look at it wrong' kind of way. But Your Highness doesn't strike me as a collector of figurines."
Cassian stared at him. The wind ruffled his dark hair. Without the heavy coat, in just his black shirt and trousers, he looked less like a Prince and more like a man tired of the script.
"No," Cassian said softly. "I prefer things that can survive a fall."
He walked back to Elian. He reached out and adjusted the collar of the coat, his knuckles grazing Elian's jaw.
[Contact: +10 Seconds.]
"You are strange, Valet," Cassian murmured. "You smell like ink. You talk like a jester. And you wear my colors better than I do."
Elian's heart slammed against his ribs. 'Is he flirting? Is the Iceberg flirting? Or is he just stating facts? I can't tell!'
"We should return," Cassian said, stepping back.
"Right," Elian squeaked.
He followed Cassian toward the doors, drowning in the oversized velvet coat.
As Cassian pushed the doors open, returning to the noise and heat of the party, Elian checked the leaderboard.
1. Ambrose: 322. Rowena: 263. Elian: 12
He was climbing.
And as they walked back into the ballroom, every head turned. They stared at the Prince. And then they stared at the valet trailing behind him, wearing the Royal Coat like a badge of honor.
Ambrose dropped his wine glass. It shattered.
Rowena snapped her fan in half.
Elian caught their eyes. He snugged the coat tighter, inhaled the scent of victory, and shot them a wink.
'Your move, player one.'