I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Chapter 263: A Grand Entrance

"Announcing His Grace, Duke Zarius Zaltrane, Lady Marielle Zaltrane, and Lord Cherion Antel!"

The imperial herald’s voice rang through the grand ballroom, punctuated by the sharp crack of his gold-capped staff against the polished marble floor. The announcement carried effortlessly across the room, cutting straight through the chatter of Capital nobles.

As the massive double doors swung open, Zarius and Cherion stepped inside hand-in-hand.

Right beside them was Marielle, looking elegant enough for any royal gathering while still somehow managing to look like she could win a fight before dessert. Flio, Elios, Reiner, and Ezek trailed after them in a loose formation. Moving in step, the group looked less like a noble entourage and more like a military force that had accidentally wandered into a fancy party. Even dressed in formal attire, the Northern faction had enough presence to make nearby counts and barons instinctively step aside, creating a clear path without anyone having to ask.

Cherion kept his chin high as he rested a hand lightly on Zarius’s arm. As they started down the wide marble staircase, his blue eyes swept across the ballroom.

The place was ridiculously impressive. Thousands of enchanted crystal candles floated beneath the vaulted ceiling, bathing the towering gold-leaf-wrapped pillars in warm golden light. Long curtains of white and crimson silk hung from the balconies, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes, imported wine, and freshly roasted meats. It was luxury turned all the way up.

Then a sudden sense of familiarity caught him off guard.

The lavish decorations. The layout of the ballroom. The glittering smiles that looked a little too perfect.

It all looked painfully similar to the first party he had attended after waking up in this world.

The night Yerel had publicly thrown him away like yesterday’s trash and left him to become the Capital’s favorite source of entertainment.

Ugh, what a terrible memory, Cherion thought, a faint flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He subtly shook his head, mentally slamming a door on the past. There’s absolutely no need to waste my energy thinking about that.

But then, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Honestly, looking back at it now? He had handled that absolute disaster quite well. And hey, if that toxic prince hadn’t thrown his little tantrum and discarded him that night, Cherion would never have been sent away. It was literally the chaotic start of the journey that led him straight to the North, and straight to Zarius. Now that he thought about it like that, it was practically the best thing that could have happened to him.

As they reached the foot of the stairs, the herald’s staff slammed down once more, drawing everyone’s attention back to the grand entrance.

Once they reached the floor, they were swept into the endless tide of nobles, servants, and political predators disguised as party guests. Waiters drifted through the crowd carrying silver trays laden with crystal champagne flutes. To the watching nobles, Zarius remained the same formidable Duke whose presence could sour a man’s appetite from across a room.

Only Cherion felt the carefully measured lean of the broad shoulder beside him. It was all part of the performance. Rumors of the Duke’s failing health had not spread themselves, and maintaining them required occasional reminders that he was supposedly on the verge of collapse rather than capable of starting a war before midnight.

Cherion didn’t miss a beat. He stepped in seamlessly, subtly widening his stance and offering his arm to anchor the massive man.

He edged a little closer to Zarius, trying to ignore the attention, but his heightened senses picked up the whispers spreading through the nearby crowd.

"...did you hear about the Viscount Bramwell’s son?" a countess muttered behind her lace fan, her eyes darting nervously toward the back rooms. "They say the Imperial Ministry of Justice received an anonymous tip. Heinrich has been drowning in underground gambling debts and embezzling straight from his own father’s real estate firm!"

"It’s worse than that," a young baron whispered back, shaking his head in absolute shock. "He was caught selling completely falsified land deeds to newly arrived minor nobles just to pay off lower-district loan sharks. The evidence is beyond dispute. The high council processed the documents before the banquet even started. Viscount Bramwell is in the back rooms right now, desperately begging the ministers just to keep their family from being stripped of their noble title entirely."

Cherion’s lips twitched upward. He leaned slightly toward Zarius, his shoulder brushing the Duke’s coat. "Wow. I always knew Heinrich was trash, but I honestly didn’t know he was this trash."

Zarius didn’t turn his head, maintaining his fierce, stoic gaze forward, but the corner of his jaw relaxed slightly at Cherion’s voice. "He is a fool," Zarius rumbled back, his gravelly tone for Cherion’s ears alone. "A fool who thought he could use his status as a shield while targetting what is mine."

Cherion quietly adjusted the cuffs of his doublet, a sudden realization clicking in his mind. Can I safely assume that what just happened to Heinrich was entirely because of Zarius? He glanced subtly up at the Duke’s rigid profile. It made perfect sense. The timing was far too flawless to be a coincidence. But honestly, whatever the case was, Heinrich was a massive criminal who deserved exactly what was coming to him.

Before he could dwell on it further, the herald’s staff slammed down, drawing the wandering eyes of the crowd back to the grand staircase.

"Announcing His Imperial Highness, Prince Gillian Sylvaris, and Her Imperial Highness, Princess Iryna Sylvaris of the Solaric Empire!"

A wave of intense curiosity and quiet murmuring broke out among the Capital elite as the foreign delegation made their entrance. Gillian and Iryna walked side by side, perfectly matched in their regal bearing. Their arrival drew immediate attention, with nobles shifting and whispering frantically about what this alliance would mean for the empire’s future.

But the social maneuvering was cut short almost immediately. The herald’s staff slammed down three times in rapid, echoing succession, forcing the entire room into a breathless silence.

"Presenting His Imperial Majesty, King Alderon, and His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Yerel!"

Hundreds of nobles simultaneously bowed their heads, sinking into deep, practiced curtsies and respectful salutes as the rulers of the kingdom finally appeared at the top of the grand staircase.

Cherion kept his head tilted down just enough to follow basic protocol, but his eyes remained locked on the royal family’s descent. He watched the King walk with a slow, heavy grandeur, his gold-trimmed robes trailing behind him. Beside him stood Yerel, dressed flawlessly in pristine white and gold, looking every bit the perfect, untouchable heir to the throne.

But the moment Yerel reached the landing, Cherion noticed the Prince’s gaze immediately begin to sweep across the sea of people. Yerel wasn’t looking at the bowing masses who were vying for his favor, his eyes were searching with a frantic, intense focus until they locked onto the exact spot where the Northern faction stood.

He found him.

Cherion felt a sudden, suffocating weight press against him as Yerel’s gaze fastened onto his face. Even from across the crowded ballroom, the sheer intensity of the Crown Prince’s stare was palpable, boring into Cherion as if trying to reassert some unearned right.

A wave of profound irritation and disgust washed over Cherion. He absolutely hated it. He hated the way Yerel looked at him now. It made his skin crawl.

Cherion didn’t tilt his head, nor did he flinch. Standing firmly by Zarius’s side, he met Yerel’s intense stare head-on, letting his own icy blue eyes turn completely cold and indifferent.

He wished the Prince would stop looking at him, but Yerel’s gaze remained stubbornly fixed in his direction, leaving Cherion with nothing but a sharp, burning spark of pure resentment.