Oliver woke up with a severe headache. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, pained by the sunlight streaming in.
"Fuck." He murmured. "I haven't drank like that since the victory at Clyn Rock."
He was on his back and moved to sit up but realized many things were wrong. Primarily, he was lying in bed with someone's arm draped over his stomach.
His body suddenly surged with adrenaline and every muscle tensed. He twisted his body and used his speed to straddle the waist of the other man. His hand gripped around the man's neck, and he glared down.
"You dare to ambush me?" He snarled.
He froze when Draco's red eyes opened in confusion. Oliver gasped and threw himself off Draco, falling heavily on the floor.
"Fuck." He exclaimed in pain.
Draco groggily sat up and rubbed his throat. "Interesting wake-up call."
Oliver covered his face with his hands. "I'm sorry, Draco. This..."
He didn't know how to explain himself. How could he tell someone that he had lived through so many ambushes that when he wakes up with another person, he automatically thinks he's being attacked?
Draco chuckled and reached down to help him up. "Are you okay?"
Oliver nodded but flushed when he realized he was only in his underwear. He blanched. "My clothes?"
Draco grinned, flashing his fangs briefly. "You complained you were hot last night." He stood up, revealing that he was wearing the same as Oliver. "Apparently, I was too."
Oliver hastily grabbed a shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head, but he inadvertently took Draco's. The shirt overwhelmed him, falling to his thighs, and the collar was large enough to slip off his shoulder and expose his collarbone.
Oliver panicked and started to pull the shirt back off, but Draco grabbed the hem and stopped him.
"It's fine," Draco said, but his voice was tight. His eyes darkened as he looked Oliver up and down.
Oliver turned his face away, letting his disheveled hair drape over his shoulder. He flinched when a low growl rumbled from Draco. When Draco's warm hand brushed the hair back, Oliver's bare shoulder was revealed again. He left his hand wrapped behind Oliver's neck and stared at him intently, his eyes flicking to his lips occasionally. Oliver felt his skin prickle and heat rush through him.
"What are you doing?" He asked quietly.
Draco faltered but didn't pull away his hand. "Following my instincts."
Oliver's face brightened as he chuckled. This young dragon was quite interesting. He seemed to have no hesitations and jumped headlong into any scenario he wanted.
They were both jolted by a knock on the door. "Oli, it's Sarah. Are you awake?"
Oliver looked back toward the sound. "I am."
"Sampson is requesting an audience with you." She said through the door.
Oliver was surprised when he heard this. Sampson was the dog of Piers, who was sent to kill him with Max and Morris. "He's still alive?"
"You haven't ordered his death yet."
Oliver sighed. "I will be there shortly. One moment."
He gave Draco an apologetic look as he left for the closet and changed into casual clothes.
Draco had already pulled on his pants and shoes when he came out. Oliver handed him his shirt with a slight blush.
"It looked better on you," Draco murmured.
Oliver rolled his eyes. "You can come with me if you like, but it probably won't be pleasant."
Draco pulled on the shirt and shrugged. "I don't mind."
They both left the room and were greeted by Sarah's gasp of surprise. She didn't expect the two men were together. She beamed but didn't comment, quickly leading them to the cellar.
It was cold in the cellar, and Oliver could see his breath in the crisp air, but he didn't feel uncomfortable. He glanced at Draco, but he was also unbothered. Oliver had noticed that his hands and body always seemed hot like a furnace, which was probably how he adapted to living in the frozen lands of Rucrea.
Draco's steps slowed as he heard a low moan, but Oliver seemed unperturbed. Instead, he sighed helplessly as he stopped in front of a wooden door.
A guard nodded toward Oliver, unlocked the door, and opened it for Oliver. He was surprised to see Sampson's condition. He was a frail and emaciated figure chained to the wall. His hair had grown long and covered his face. His wrists and ankles were bloody and raw from the chains.
"You bastard." He croaked out. "You finally came."
Oliver leaned against a wall and looked at him with a complicated gaze. "I've been busy."
The man laughed hollowly. "How patronizing. You forgot about me."
Oliver was silent for a moment. Seeing Sampson tied up in a dungeon unnerved him. It brought up the memories of the long nights in Piers' tower before his execution. The roles had now been reversed as he looked down at the imprisoned figure, but he did feel any joy or empowerment because of it. Instead, he felt disgusting.
"Maybe," he said quietly. "However, it was never my original intention to leave you here to rot."
"Prince Piers will look for me."
Oliver pushed off the wall and walked up to him. "Piers doesn't concern himself with cannon fodder. Besides, it's winter now, so he won't bother coming up north in the snow to find some soldier who failed his mission."
"You're an asshole," Sampson spat out.
Oliver sighed with a slight shake of his head. "You asked to see me."
"I didn't think you'd come." Sampson's voice was laced with resentment. "I'm not going to live much longer, aren't I?"
"I content with having you live as a prisoner. I can remove your chains and ensure you have food and water. I can even provide some heat." Oliver offered.
"I don't need your pity, so why would you go that far?"
Oliver chuckled coldly. "You were after my head. I can assure you that you do not have my pity. I'm not a benevolent being. However, you pose no threat to me, so there is no need for me to kill you at this time."
Sampson remained quiet, refusing to answer. Oliver pursed his lips and figured that the conversation had become pointless. There was no need to continue, so he turned to leave the cell. However, Sampson called out to him, stopping him in his tracks.
"Why did the Crown Prince break the engagement?"
Oliver stopped, and his back was still facing Sampson. "Why ask this?"
"I haven't witnessed much, but I have seen how your men follow you blindly. I hate admitting that you know how to inspire and lead. At the same time, you're cunning. You can plan a trap to kill my comrades and capture me. Even then, if the Crown Prince cannot appreciate you as an asset to the kingdom, he would want to keep you for your looks. The Crown Prince has a habit of hoarding pretty things. So... why would he let you go?"
Draco had remained quiet, but his brow raised with curiosity. He had the same question as the prisoner. Who would be so foolish to let him go?
Oliver frowned a little and gave a half shrug, not answering his question.
Sampson sighed out of annoyance. "According to the Crown Prince's aesthetics, he should have been infatuated with you."
Oliver laughed. "Piers was never able to see me as a lover or partner. The last time he held my hand, we were children. He escorted me or danced when necessary, but this was only for show. We rarely had a cordial dialogue. And I had felt the back of his hand more than the touch of his lips. The only thing he was infatuated with was my pain."
Draco's eyes had darkened with anger as he watched Oliver speaking impassively. His tone was unbothered or unhurried, as if the neglect and pain he experienced were as simple as commenting on the weather.
Draco finally broke his silence with a scoff. "He's a damned fool."
Oliver's eyes turned toward him, and a small smile crept on his lips. In this dark cell that resurfaced his memories, he was comforted by Draco's presence and empathy.
He released a long breath. "In the end, Piers wanted power, and I was simply an asset until I became a threat."
"Did he think you would take the throne for yourself?" Sampson asked.
Oliver's jaw tightened, his annoyance growing in the depths of his stomach. "Why are you curious about this?"
Sampson glared. "I was thrown in between a dispute between you and your fiancé. I want to know why. So answer me, did he think you would take the throne?"
Oliver exhaled deeply and held in his annoyance. "I suppose he did."
Sampson glared. "Did you want to take it?"
Oliver felt another surge of frustration pulse within him. He never wanted to be Royal Consort. He never wanted to be tied to Piers. But he had often considered what the world would have been like if he was the Royal Consort. He imagined how he would govern the kingdom, avoid the war, purge the Ravagers, and protect the homes of his friends. He wanted a better future and believed that it would have been if he took the throne... but he also knew that, like being the Guardian, being a King was equally harrowing.
Oliver turned back and looked at Sampson with a complicated expression. "I have no desire to rule... but, yes, sometimes I do want to take the throne."
Sampson gave an unhinged laugh as if his theory was proven. "Usurper. I should have killed you when I had the chance."
Draco's eyes sharpened, but he chose to ignore Sampson. Instead, he grabbed Oliver's arm. "I thought you were relieved when Piers broke the engagement."
"I was... I am..."
Oliver knew how dangerous this subject was. Even he felt ashamed for harboring such feelings.
"These are not simple words, Oliver. I know you said you studied how to rule, but that is nothing compared to living the king's role. That road is lonely and difficult." Draco said, his eyes filled with concern.
Oliver's expression softened. He knew that Draco told him these things from experience. There was a tenderness to his words. He wanted to soak it in, but this was not the time or place. He couldn't be the lovestruck fool now. He needed to be the General—a leader who commanded the room.
"If you saw the impending destruction of a kingdom at the hands of a single man, wouldn't you want to change its fate?" He asked.
Draco cupped Oliver's cheeks with his palms. His look was unyielding. "Your desires are noble, but would you really marry a wretched man like Piers for a sliver of hope to save your kingdom?"
"Whoever said I wanted to save my kingdom?" Oliver's voice was quiet.
He had no desire to protect Bierze. He just wanted to stop the war's destruction and prevent the fall of his family. If he did this, then there was a chance he could stop the Ravager invasion in Rucrea.
Draco fell silent and contemplative. His hands fell from Oliver's face. What could Piers do that was so threatening?
While Draco was quiet, Sampson erupted. "You are the future Guardian of Bierze! Your family signed the treaty with the Belelots ages ago, so you are a subject of the Belelots—"
Oliver's cordial atmosphere dissipated, and a strange laugh escaped his lips. "A subject? Based on what? No one knows why a treaty was drafted between the Kardoses and the Belelots. No one knows what it entails or where this infamous treaty is located. To hell with the Belelots! They will never again have my loyalty nor my sacrifice."
"Treasonous bastard. You're a blight on the kingdom! No wonder the Crown Prince sought your death!"
He roughly grasped Sampson's face, his fingers piercing into his cheeks. "Why should I care for Bierze? No matter what I sacrifice for them, I will be rewarded with whispers of empty apologies as they drag me to the execution platform. I would rather dismantle this damned kingdom before I guard it."
He had bellowed out battlecries until his throat bled for the sake of Bierze. He gave the kingdom life and limb, yet Bierze had forsaken him on a hellish battlefield for decades. In return, they refused to send trained soldiers and shipped him debtors and thieves, men with no business participating in a war. They withheld resources and denied any possibility of peace in order to fulfill their own selfish ambitions. They used him as a meat shield to protect their own materialistic assets and vain wishes.
He had watched hundreds of thousands of men breathe their last breath. He signed enough death notices to make his hands convulse. He comforted the survivors until his voice disappeared.
Never once did he let his men see his own sorrow. He would continue to stand tall, swords in hand, and prepare for the next battle. He remained proud and stoic, so those who grieved could look at him and find strength.
To protect Bierze over the years, he had stained his hands with the blood of countless soldiers.
In return, Bierze took his family and his home. Then he was stripped of his identity, tortured, and murdered in the streets.
Treasonous? Even a dog would snap back after being beaten.
The culmination of countless morose emotions made his old wounds and wrath resurface. A faint killing intent surrounded Oliver, and Sampson trembled.
"Do you believe in prophecies?" Oliver asked as he let go of Sampson. Despite his aura, his voice didn't fluctuate, which was more intimidating than melodramatic outbursts.
"Fuck that nonsense." Sampson snarled.
"From the beggar in the street to the king above... all will abandon me and curse my name. They will tear down my family and will paint me as a villain. And when I am tied to a pillar, bleeding out from their lacerations, they will cheer for my death."
Oliver braved a tentative look toward Draco, fearing that he would be disgusted with this conversation. However, Draco's expression was filled with concern. His warm red eyes only held a questioning look, as if asking Oliver if he was okay.
"Oliver..." Even the way he called his name was gentle.
Oliver trembled. When he first returned to the past, he accepted that he would have to walk this path alone. He did not believe he could reestablish his old friendships because he was the only one who remembered the war. He had accepted this fact with reluctance.
And though Oliver had always held affection for Draco, their relationship was always marred by the line of battle. Their intimacy was their duels, and their conversations were the ringing of their swords.
But Draco's gaze had melted that line that had separated them over lifetimes. It made Oliver dare to hope that he could cultivate something greater than before.
Oliver closed his eyes, holding back the surge of emotions that reverberated through him. He had suppressed so much for too long, and it was finally cracking through the walls he had built.
"The rumors about you must have been true. Selfish. Pompous. Egotistical. You would abandon your people so easily." Sampson seethed.
He opened his eyes again, but they were eerily calm. "Don't forget, the reason why I'm here is because I was abandoned first."
He turned and left the cell, but Draco remained behind. He glared at the man chained to the wall and stalked up to him. The venomous look in his red eyes made Sampson whimper.
"You know nothing about him, yet you spout your ignorant accusations... no wonder you are in this state," Draco said coldly.
"What are you planning to do?"
"One thing people fail to remember is that dragons are extremely possessive. Anyone who dares threaten or touch our belongings will not live to tell the tale."
Sampson's eyes widened as the large man stood mere inches away. "W...what are you saying?"
Draco reached out and grasped Sampson's neck. "Oliver may have offered you a chance to live, but I won't do the same. Oliver's safety is paramount, and your existence threatens what is mine."
Sampson scratched at Draco's hand. "I... I won't say... anything..."
"Let this be a lesson for your next life... you should never ask too many questions."
Sampson panicked and tried to escape Draco's strong grasp but could only let out a pathetic cry before his neck snapped, and he fell limp.
Draco wiped his hand on his pants and clicked his tongue in disgust. He walked out of the cell and stopped the guard at the end of the hall.
"The prisoner is dead. You should take care of the body." He said.
The guard shuddered because the red eyes still held immense anger. "Yes... yes, sir."
Draco quickly made his way up through the manor, searching desperately for Oliver.