Luna's Chosen: The King's Omega

The night had abruptly descended into chaos, the king storming back into his bedchamber with a furious scowl etched across his face.

His brows were knitted together tightly, and his lips curled into a frustrated snarl.

For centuries, he had ruled with an iron fist, and yet the thought of finding his mate filled him with a deep-seated dread. Legends warned that such a bond would lead to his destruction, and the mere idea of being undone by a pitiful omega was intolerable to him.

Frustration boiled within him, igniting a desire to tear down everything surrounding him. Among all things, her presence vexed him the most.

The sound of her voice, the softness of her gaze, and the way she carried herself—so meek and docile—were constant reminders of perceived weakness. To him, these creatures were inconsequential, merely striving to ascend the social ladder in a world that barely acknowledged their existence.

Yet, compounding his frustration was the relentless mate bond clawing at his mind, an intensity that left him breathless. He found himself craving her presence, despite his instinctual aversion; the idea of marking her filled him with repulsion, yet it lingered in the deep recesses of his mind. Who in their right mind would embrace a bond that was prophesied to spell doom?

He rose from the bed, determination anchoring his steps as he left the chamber behind. The festivities were over, the hallways echoing with the fading laughter and chatter of guests making their way back to their quarters.

In the stillness, he sought solace—he preferred the quietude that accompanied the close of day. Instead of retreating to his familiar chambers, he headed towards another room deep within the castle.

Gently, he opened the door, striving for silence. His gaze fell upon the woman lying on the bed. Her breath was labored, and a few servants hovered nearby, diligently wiping the sweat from her forehead, their expressions filled with concern.

The moment she caught the scent familiar to her—the unmistakable essence of him—her eyes flitted open, landing on him. A fragile smile crept across her lips. "You came," she murmured, the words barely escaping her tired frame.

"I never said I wouldn't," he replied curtly, shooting a sharp, penetrating glare at the lowly maids and omegas scuttling about.

They scrambled out of the room, leaving him alone with her. He settled next to her on the bed, feeling the warmth radiate from her weak form. This woman, with her frail disposition, was not just any character in his life—she was his Queen.

"Have you found her? You seem... stressed," she inquired, concern lacing her voice as her brow furrowed, eyes locked onto his face, searching for the truth of his feelings.

"Yes. I saw her. The mark glowed; she's indeed the one," he confessed, the weight of his words pressing down on both their hearts.

Hera chuckled softly, her smile blooming like a frail flower in the harsh wind. "Now that you've found your mate, do you think you won't love me anymore?" she asked, her voice trembling, eyes glistening with unshed tears at the thought. Years had passed since they recognized their bond—childhood friends were drawn together by understanding and obligation. Their marriage was forged out of necessity, a strategy in the court's hierarchy that bolstered him in his claim to the throne, yet it had never blossomed into intimacy. They remained, for all intents and purposes, more akin to siblings than lovers.

"I care for you, Hera. That won't change. I'll always be here to love and protect you, just focus on getting better," he reassured her, squeezing her fragile hand tightly in his own. He had been her rock in an unyielding world, stepping into the void left by neglectful parents, their memories fading like ghosts.

"I will," she promised, though her voice was faint. "I have one request." She met his gaze boldly, hoping he would listen. "Please send me back home. I want to be with my family during this time." Her plea hung in the air, filled with desperation.

"They never reached out all these years. Why now?" He questioned, puzzled by her longing.

"Because I miss them. Even if they're cruel, they are still my family. I need them," she insisted, her eyes wide with yearning.

He hesitated but saw the sincerity radiating from her pale face. "You don't need my permission, Hera. You can go to them. I'll arrange for a carriage to take you tomorrow," he conceded, his heart heavy yet understanding of her desire.

A fragile, yet forced smile graced her lips—an acknowledgment of his support amidst her overwhelming fatigue.

"Kian," she called softly, and he raised an eyebrow, silently urging her to continue. "Since you've found your mate, why not pursue her? Why not embrace her fully?"

"It's possible that when I return home, I might find my mate, and I would prefer for both of us to be with our true partners," she suggested as if her words could change his fate.

"That woman represents my end. To fall for her is to accept death, and I am far from ready to embrace that fate," he countered, resolve lacing his voice.

Hera's smile turned wistful. "What's her name?" she asked gently.

After a breath that felt like a lifetime, he finally said it: "Hazel Snow." The name tasted bitter on his tongue as he clenched his jaw at the very thought of her.

"I like that name. She sounds perfect for you. Was she the white-haired one as the prophecy foretold?" Hera pressed, curiosity dancing in her eyes.

Kian's gaze sharpened as he mulled over the image of the servant whose drink had spilled all over him. No, the girl had been a brunette, not the ethereal vision the prophecy spoke of. Strange, he thought, given that the bond had glowed so fiercely between them, a confirmation that they were indeed meant to be.

The prophecy had warned of a white-haired omega destined to bring him to his knees.

His deep-seated hatred for omegas stemmed from there, directed at both sexes, leaving him utterly indifferent to their presence. And because of this prophecy, he made the order that any white-haired omega be killed.

The intensity of his disdain was a rare phenomenon, something few could comprehend.

"She had slightly brown hair," he whispered, watching as a puzzled frown creased Hera's forehead.

"How can that be? The prophecy clearly stated white-haired," she questioned, her voice tinged with concern. "Could it be that the prophecy was mistaken and that there was never a curse on you to begin with?" Kian felt the confusion mirror her own; he grappled with the dissonance between the prophecy he had always accepted and the brunette he had encountered just that night. He inhaled deeply, rubbing his temples in exasperation.

Whether her hair was brown, black, or white didn't matter to him. He scoffed at the prophecy—no one would dictate his life, and he was determined to stand firm in his conviction.

"Or could it be that you have two mates?" Hera suggested, her tone playful. Kian felt boredom washing over him as he waved off the topic; it was irritating him more than he cared to admit.

"Do you two talk it out?" she pressed on, undeterred.

"You sound like you want her," he mumbled dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching with sarcasm.

"Oh no, that can't be! I'm just curious," she retorted, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

"I told her I didn't want her," he replied, his gaze flat and uninterested as though the topic bored him.

"That's so cruel. You could at least give her a chance now that you know she isn't white-haired. Seriously, Kian, I want you to be with your mate," she urged, her eyes bright with expectation.

"Well, I don't," he countered firmly. "I won't entertain the idea." His annoyance was palpable, yet she merely chuckled in response, undaunted.

Their conversation ebbed, and he knew it was time to take his leave from her chamber. As he exited, he felt a lightness in his chest from having shared his thoughts with someone who understood him. Beyond her royal status, Hera always offered wise counsel, her insights sharp and unwavering. He appreciated her intellect, her resilience, and the familial bond they shared.

Upon stepping into his chamber, the haunting image of the woman flashed through his mind once more, stirring a wave of frustration over the relentless mate bond. He glanced at his empty bed, an all-too-familiar sense of longing creeping in as he imagined what she might look like lying there beside him. No, he scolded himself internally. This was insanity, and he knew the mate bond's insidious influence was at play.

He resolved then and there to rid himself of her presence. He would find a way to push her out of the castle, search for any means to distance himself from her, and send her far away from his life.

However, the next day, he saw witnessed something baffling.