PAINFUL PROXIMITY

Kael adjusted the heavy silver platter, the weight suddenly feeling unbearable. The afternoon sun beat down on the palace gardens, usually a welcome warmth but today it felt like a personal spotlight, highlighting his every tremor. He forced a smile, a practiced mask that hid the turmoil churning within.

"More tarts, Prince Alaric?" he asked, his voice betraying only a slight waver. He avoided looking at Alaric directly, focusing instead on the meticulously arranged pastries.

Alaric, lounging against the thick trunk of an ancient oak, glanced up, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Lady Isolde giggled, a delicate sound like wind chimes. She was everything Kael wasn't – poised, confident, and an Omega of impeccable pedigree. Her scent, a sweet blend of honeysuckle and vanilla, hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the chasm separating him from his mate.

"Thank you, Kael," Alaric said, his voice low and even. He took a tart, his fingers brushing against Kael's as he did so. A jolt, electric and undeniable, shot through Kael. He jerked his hand away, nearly dropping the platter.

"Careful, servant," Lady Isolde said, her voice laced with amusement. "Wouldn't want to spoil my gown."

Kael flushed, mortified. "Apologies, my Lady." He scurried away, retreating to the edge of the picnic blanket. He busied himself with refilling their goblets, his movements jerky and clumsy. He could feel Alaric's gaze on him, burning a hole in his back.

The conversation flowed around him, a meaningless stream of pleasantries and veiled flirtations. Lady Isolde spoke of her pack’s renowned textile business, Alaric responded with polite questions about the upcoming harvest festival. Each carefully chosen word was like a tiny dagger twisting in Kael’s heart. He was invisible, a ghost flitting around the edges of their perfect, designed world.

"So, Prince Alaric," Lady Isolde purred, leaning closer to him, "I hear you have a particular fondness for horseback riding. I, too, enjoy a spirited gallop. Perhaps we could ride together sometime?"

Kael's grip tightened on the wine pitcher. He wanted to scream, to shatter the fragile peace with his pain. Instead, he poured the wine with a trembling hand, spilling a few drops on the checkered blanket.

Alaric chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through Kael’s very bones. "Indeed, Lady Isolde. Perhaps we could."

Kael squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry. He had to stay strong. He had to survive. But the effort was becoming excruciating. Was Alaric truly considering… someone else? Someone who was meant for him? The thought was a physical blow, leaving him gasping for air.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the picnic came to an end. Lady Isolde rose, smoothing down her emerald green gown. "Thank you for a delightful afternoon, Prince Alaric. I look forward to seeing you again."

Alaric offered her his arm. "The pleasure was all mine, Lady Isolde." He turned to Kael. "See Lady Isolde back to the palace gates, Kael."

Kael's heart sank. He bowed his head. "As you wish, Your Highness."

He quietly packed up the remnants of the picnic, his movements mechanical. He tried to blot out the image of Alaric escorting Lady Isolde to the gate, their laughing voices echoing in the tranquil garden. Just when he thought he could finally breathe, another royal guard approached.

"Prince Alaric requests your presence, Kael," the guard said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Lady Annelise is awaiting him in the rose garden. He wishes you to follow at a discreet distance."

Kael's knees nearly buckled. Another one? Already? He wanted to scream, to tear down the carefully constructed facade of composure. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe.

"Of course," he managed to say, his voice barely a whisper. Lady Annelise, is this a second date with her?

He followed Alaric and Lady Annelise to the rose garden, the scent of blooming roses a cruel mockery of the situation. Lady Annelise, a tall, striking Omega with fiery red hair, was already deep in conversation with Alaric. They strolled along the winding paths, stopping occasionally to admire a particularly vibrant bloom.

Kael trailed behind them, a shadow in the sunlit garden. He felt like a puppet, forced to dance to the tune of someone else's cruel game. He was supposed to be his mate. Alaric’s. Not some discarded servant, forced to witness the parade of Omegas vying for his attention.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to shout, to scream, to proclaim his bond to the world. He wanted to drag Alaric away from these women and lock them both away where no one could see them, where Alaric would finally accept him. But he couldn't. He was trapped, bound by duty and fear, a prisoner in his own skin.

"The roses are truly exquisite, Prince Alaric," Lady Annelise said, her voice dripping with honey. "They remind me of your eyes – dark and mysterious." ‘dark and mysterious? His eyes are blue!’ Kael wanted to scream out loud at Omega's face but he could only scream in his own head and that made him roll his eyes.

Alaric chuckled. "You are too kind, Lady Annelise."

Kael felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He stumbled, catching himself on a nearby trellis.

"Are you alright, Kael?" Alaric asked, turning towards him.

His voice was laced with concern, but Kael saw something else there too – a flicker of guilt, perhaps? Or was it just his imagination? Definitely his imagination.

"Perfectly fine, Your Highness," Kael said, forcing a smile. "Just a little lightheaded."

Alaric frowned. "Perhaps you should rest. I don't require your services any further."

Kael bowed his head, relief flooding through him. "Thank you, Your Highness." He turned and fled, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the rose garden.

He ran until he reached the relative sanctuary of the palace kitchens, the noise and bustle a welcome distraction from the torment in his heart. He found a quiet corner and sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands.

He hated this. He hated the lies, the deception, the constant fear of discovery. But most of all, he hated that Alaric, his mate, was being paraded around like a prize, a trophy to be won by the most suitable Omega. And he could do nothing but watch.

He wiped his tears away, his jaw clenched with determination. He wouldn’t break. He wouldn’t let them see him crumble. He would survive, even if it killed him. He would find a way to make Alaric see him, to acknowledge the bond that connected them, the bond that was forged by fate itself. He had to. Because if he didn't, he didn't know if he could go on. He made a silent promise to himself that he will survive no matter what happens. But pr

omises are meant to be failed, especially ones made to oneself.