I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)-Chapter 128: The Road Paved with Intentions
"Is he really going? To the North? To accompany that person?"
The whisper came from behind a curtain of heavy silk, the voices of two court ladies overlapping in a rush of hushed whispers.
"The King’s favoritism of that villain is one thing, but sending Lord Philia into that wasteland? It’s barbaric. I heard the snow there eats the sun alive."
"Oh, hush. I heard it was Lord Philia himself who practically begged to go. Seems like he’s trying very hard to look noble. Honestly, isn’t it just a bit... dim-witted? After the way Lord Cherion treated him? If I were him, I’d simply keep my distance and have nothing more to do with him."
Right in the middle of all the gossip and whispers stood Philia. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂
He didn’t look like a man preparing for a journey into the mouth of winter. He looked like a painting. As servants scurried in and out of the courtyard with the frantic, silent urgency of ants, Philia stood by the lead carriage, overseeing the loading of crates that cost more than a village earned in a decade.
There were piles of fabric, soft silks and thick, fur-lined brocades. There were rare medicinal ingredients preserved in crystal vials, and delicate trinkets that glinted in the sunlight. On the manifest, these were listed as "Gifts of Royal Favor." A gesture of care from a King who clearly missed his favorite, Cherion.
He heard the whispers. He heard the guards muttering about his "naivety" near the barracks. He heard the kitchen maids calling him a fool for going after a man who had once tried to ruin him. He heard the nobles scoffing at his "softness."
And he ignored every single syllable. Or rather, he let them wash over him, filing each insult and each pitying look away into a mental ledger that he would, eventually, balance. He didn’t defend his honor. He didn’t correct the rumors that he was "too kind for his own good." Why bother? If the world wanted to believe he was a fragile, selfless lamb wandering into the wolf’s den, he was more than happy to let them keep the wool over their eyes. It would make everything easier when the time came.
It had been a week since the King had granted his blessing for this "mercy mission." A week of frantic preparation, of choosing the right perfumes to mask the smell of Northern soot, and of ensuring that every person in the palace knew exactly how much he was "sacrificing" for the sake of Cherion’s well-being.
Now, the day of departure had finally arrived.
Standing beside him, acting as a human barrier against the prying eyes of the court, was Yerel. The Crown Prince was, as always, a masterclass in effortless composure. He looked like the future of the kingdom personified, broad-shouldered, calm, and wearing a smile that never quite reached his eyes.
"I find myself envying the road, Philia," Yerel remarked, his voice smooth as aged wine . He adjusted the collar of Philia’s traveling cloak. "I wish I could go with you."
Philia offered a soft smile. "You have a kingdom to run, Your Highness. Or at least, the parts of it your father hasn’t handed over to his ministers yet. Everything will be fine. It’s just a bit of snow and a very stubborn man at the end of the road."
Yerel’s expression darkened, just a fraction. He took Philia’s hand, his grip firm, almost possessive. "If Cherion tries anything... if he so much as looks at you with that viper’s tongue of his, you are to send a message immediately. Do not ’endure’ it for the sake of peace. I will go North myself and teach him a lesson in manners that he won’t soon forget. He’s been away from the capital’s shadow for too long; he’s forgotten who holds the leash."
Philia chuckled, a light, melodic sound that didn’t betray the cold calculation running through his mind. "You’re far too protective, Your Highness. But I suppose I find it charming."
From the far end of the hall, the King appeared, flanked by a small army of advisors. His steps were a bit more measured, but the light of favor in his eyes when they landed on Philia was unmistakable. He offered a few words of parting, something about safety and "family bonds", and wished Philia a swift journey.
Philia bowed deeply, a perfect, graceful curve of his spine. "I shall bring your regards to Duke Valtrane and Lord Cherion, Your Majesty. I intend to ensure the North feels the warmth of your grace personally."
Yerel led him toward the carriage door, his hand lingering on Philia’s elbow. The carriage itself was a ridiculous display of luxury, polished wheels, magic stones to keep the temperature comfortable, and enough velvet to swallow a person whole. It was a rolling palace, designed to ensure that Philia never had to actually experience the reality of the road he was traveling.
They stopped at the foot of the carriage steps. The air around them felt charged, the eyes of the entire court boring into their backs. Yerel took Philia’s hand once more, raising it to his lips. It was a formal gesture, but the way Yerel looked up at him through his lashes was anything but.
"Remember what we discussed," Yerel whispered, his voice so low it was almost lost to the wind.
He didn’t let go of Philia’s hand immediately. Instead, he leaned in, his eyes narrowing, something sharper in them than the court was used to.
"Be my eyes and ears, Philia," Yerel said, his gaze locking onto Philia’s with a weight that felt like a contract signed in blood. "Tell me everything the Duke hides behind those mountains. And tell me exactly how broken our dear Cherion has become."
Philia’s smile didn’t falter. It only grew a little wider, a little more hollow.
"I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else, Your Highness."
With Yerel’s help, he stepped into the carriage. The door clicked shut, the sound echoing through the courtyard. As the horses began to move, their hooves striking the cobblestones in a rhythmic, jarring beat, Philia leaned back into the silk cushions and closed his eyes.
The North was waiting.
