DOES HE ASK ABOUT ME?

EVREN

His question had gone unanswered because, really, there was no one in particular for him to ask. The old lady servant had returned later that evening, and Evren had timidly asked her where the king was, but all he got in response was a shake of her head and no words spoken.

Evren hadn’t been sure what to make of it. Had she been prohibited from answering him, or was it that she didn’t know of the King’s whereabouts?

Despite his confusion, he quickly adapted to not asking questions about the king, even though the absence left him curious.

He wasn’t sure what would be his fate now that the king had gotten the first go at him.

He wondered what would happen next. The silence from the king, with no idea what his fate would be, had Evren itching with worry. His anxiety grew worse every time the door to the bedroom opened.

A week went by in that manner, with Evren’s anxiety only getting worse. Still, he never dared to take a step out of the room he had been put in. The omega was convinced this was a test from the Lycan Crown, and he was determined to pass.

Most days he sat by the window, wondering what was happening in StoneRidge now. He knew the pack continued without him; it wasn’t as if his presence mattered enough, so his absence probably didn’t make any difference.

The days that followed took on a strange, suspended turn. Evren was fed well, so he couldn’t complain. Because he was eating better than he had ever eaten in StoneRidge, his meals arrived on a regular timing that felt like he was being fed for a purpose. ‘Perhaps to fatten me up.’ Evren had once wondered.

And if that were the case, well, he was mostly skin and bones so he couldn’t complain either. He had been given new clothes too, soft wool, expensive linen, things better than the rags he wore back home. He was allowed liberties that didn’t exceed the expanse of his bedroom.

But those liberties were what made his fear worse, too, because he had learned long ago that comfort of this magnitude rarely came without a cost. And he was already here as a kept omega; what more was the king planning?

As the second week rolled by, Evren had learnt the name of the palace maid who kept his routine going, Marisol. Eventually, one evening, she’d ask him if he wanted to take a walk out of the bedroom.

Evren was no fool; he knew this could only mean that the Lycan Crown had permitted him to exit the room. Does that mean he had passed the test, whatever it was?

Because surely, Marisol had to have been reporting back to the king. So Evren had passed.

Evren had been elated to finally see outside the walls of his confinement, but he hadn’t let it show. Marisol had led him out of the bedroom that evening; two guards outside his door had accompanied them, silently behind them.

Nobody said a word to him, and Evren didn’t say anything in return either. The walk had been short; all they covered was the stretch of hallway leading to the other end of whatever wing of the palace he was stuck in. But it had been peaceful, and it had been a breath of fresh air.

Except Evren had returned to his room that evening feeling out of sorts. The silence was starting to get to him. He had braced his mind for being used, being taken without his will, but what he had not braced for was this silence.

Perhaps he should’ve been grateful for it, but there was an itch under his skin that had started to grow and fester due to the absence. Evren couldn’t explain it.

 A king who had claimed him in the most violent, undeniable way and then simply—vanished, leaving Evren fed and clothed and utterly unaccounted for, watching him yet seemed to be nowhere in sight.

It should have felt like a reprieve for Evren. But it wasn’t, and it confused the omega. Some nights it almost did, in the hour before sleep, when Evren let himself imagine that perhaps nothing more was coming, that perhaps whatever had happened in the week of his heat had been enough of a debt paid and he would simply be allowed to exist in this gilded room until someone decided what to do with him.

But mostly it didn't feel like a reprieve at all. Mostly it felt like standing at the top of a staircase in the dark, unable to see how many steps there were, unable to see the bottom, waiting for the moment his foot slipped and found nothing beneath it.

By the start of the third week, Evren had stopped wondering. The silence had become its own kind of answer.

Now his mind was trained on another worry, something far greater than the presence or absence of the king thereof.

Memories of his heat had come flooding. The days of his heat he spent underneath the king, the times he had been flipped over and made to ride the King’s cock.

The memories came like dreams, unwarranted, without warning. Evren would wake up wet with slick, his hole pulsing and mouth watering for something he knew he shouldn’t crave.

He remembered the way he had begged to be fucked, his moans, all the nonsense he had sprouted in the haze of the need clawing at him. Most of all, he remembered begging, crying to be bred and knotted by the king.

He remembered the number of times the King knotted him, and promised to pump Evren full of his seed. Even though the King did not know Evren’s ability to get pregnant, his newfound fear came from the realisation of what would happen if he ended up pregnant.

His mother’s warning now became a constant voice in his head. The reminder to never make the mistake of getting pregnant, the reminder of what to do if he was ever taken by Alpha.

Evren had spent hours propped on the floor, wrapped up in the blanket he’d dragged from the bed as he pondered what to do. How to escape this room in search of the herbs he would need to prevent his soon-to-be fate.

He flinched as the door to the bedroom opened and Marisol stepped in with a tray of food, as usual. Evren knew he had to do something, say something that could…

“Does he ever ask about me?” Evren muttered, wondering if that was the right way to strike a conversation this time. Would this get him an answer, perhaps? He made sure his voice sounded pitiful.

Marisol paused as she placed the tray on the table by the window. “The King has other things to worry about,” she eventually replied.

That wasn’t a ‘No’, Evren thought to himself.

“I want to go out. I like picking flowers, sometimes herbs for things. I know he probably doesn’t care for what I do. And I know you have no authority here but… I’m losing my mind staying inside all day. I just want to see the trees, and touch the flowers. Can you, is there a way to let him know this?”

“I do not have an audience with His Majesty…”

“Please,” Evren cut her off, his eyes misty with tears. “Please, I know there has to be someone you can tell, who can get it out to him. I just want to see the trees, pick flowers and watch the birds sing. I’m not asking for much…”

Marisol stared at him for minutes, sighing, then nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, omega. Eat,” she muttered grimly before turning to leave.

Evren stared at the tray of food, then at his stomach, hoping and praying to the heavens that he was still safe from that fate.