I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Chapter 338: The Long Night

"You should try to get some actual sleep tonight, Lord Philia."

Philia offered a smile to Valen, nodding his head as he set the empty cup down on the wooden side table. "I know, Valen. Thank you. Have a good night."

"Goodnight, Lord Philia." Valen offered a brief, familiar nod before turning toward the door.

He reached for the cool brass handle and pulled the door open. The moment he opened it, Valen froze.

Standing right there in the dim corridor, his hand half-raised as if he had been just about to knock, was Yerel. The prince looked remarkably tired, his dark hair slightly windswept and the collar of his fine silk tunic unbuttoned just enough to look casual.

Valen recovered quickly, instantly dropping his head into a polite bow. With a final, quiet gesture of respect, Valen slipped past him into the hallway, his boots making almost no sound against the floor as he disappeared around the corner.

Yerel watched him go for a fraction of a second before stepping inside the room, letting the heavy door click shut behind him.

Philia, who had already begun to rise from his chair near the hearth, looked up in genuine surprise. His pale face softened instantly, a bright, welcoming warmth flooding his eyes as he took a step forward. "Your Highness... I didn’t think you would come tonight. Especially not after how chaotic the situation was earlier."

Yerel let out a long, slow sigh, his shoulders dropping as if he were finally shedding the invisible weight of the entire palace’s expectations. He walked deeper into the room, his eyes scanning the quiet, peaceful sanctuary Philia always managed to maintain, no matter how wild the world outside got.

"I hope you don’t mind if I spend the night here," Yerel said, his voice carrying a rare, vulnerable fatigue. He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh.

Philia let out a soft, amused chuckle, walking over to meet him. He reached out, his hands gently resting on Yerel’s forearms as if to anchor him. "What are you saying, Your Highness? You are more than welcome here. You don’t ever have to ask. This is your room too."

Yerel looked down at him, his expression softening just a fraction. "Is it?"

"Always," Philia murmured. He guided Yerel toward the edge of the large, neatly made bed, his touch gentle and familiar. "Is the work done? For the night, at least?"

Yerel sank onto the edge of the mattress, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor. "Pretty much. We have everything we need for tomorrow."

He paused, the quiet of the room stretching out between them until the only sound was the faint crackle of the dying fire. Yerel shifted, looking up at Philia with a heavy, quiet gaze. "I’m sorry, Philia."

Philia tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "For what?"

"For earlier," Yerel said quietly, his voice tinged with genuine regret. "In the servants’ quarters, in front of the others. I was too harsh with you. I shouldn’t have dismissed your concern for the maid like that, especially not when everyone was watching."

Philia stood still for a moment, his fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of his white tunic. He forced a small, slightly fragile smile to his lips, though he kept his eyes lowered. "I have to admit... it did hurt a little bit. You’ve never really been that harsh with me before, Your Highness. It felt like I was a stranger to you for a second."

Yerel reached out, his fingers catching Philia’s wrist, his grip firm but remarkably gentle. "It was just the pressure. I needed the guards to focus, and having you defend her in front of the Solaric delegation was making things complicated. I didn’t mean it."

"No, I understand," Philia said quickly, looking back up and squeezing Yerel’s hand reassuringly. "I really do. You have the weight of the entire kingdom on your shoulders right now. I shouldn’t have made things more difficult for you."

He let out a quiet sigh, stepping closer to the bed and sitting down right beside Yerel, their shoulders brushing. "But still... I can’t quite shake the shock of it all. To hear that Wina is dead... by suicide, like that. It’s really a shame. She was such a nice, quiet girl. She always did her job greatly. She was always so polite and attentive."

Yerel’s eyes darkened slightly, his gaze drifting back to his own boots. "I know. I feel sorry for her too. But it seems like she was the one who poisoned the princess."

Philia stared at him, genuine surprise flashing across his face. He let go of Yerel’s hand, his fingers flying to cover his mouth. "Really? She did? Wina?"

"All the evidence points to her," Yerel said, his tone perfectly level, showing none of the skepticism he had shared with Karson just an hour prior. "Her diary was found in her quarters. It details her resentment toward the peace treaty. Her family died at the war, and she couldn’t live with the idea of the royal family shaking hands with the people who killed them."

Philia shook his head slowly, a tear glistening at the corner of his eye as he looked at the floor. "I had no idea she carried such bitterness. I knew she was grieving, of course, I tried to pray with her, to help her find some peace, but to think she was harboring such dark thoughts... If only I had paid closer attention. If only I had stayed up to talk to her more."

"You can’t blame yourself for the resentment she kept buried, Philia," Yerel said, his voice dropping into a firm, protective tone. He stood up, unbuckling his heavy belt and tossing it onto the nearby chair. "But we are still investigating it for further details. The meeting tomorrow will lay out the facts. For now... let’s just sleep. I can’t think about the treaty or the poison for another minute."

"Of course," Philia murmured, quickly wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. He rose to help Yerel remove the rest of his clothing, his touch light and comforting. "You’ve done more than enough today."

Together, they pulled back the heavy, gold-trimmed blankets, the cool silk of the sheets welcoming them into the dark sanctuary of the bed. Yerel settled in first, lying on his side and pulling the heavy covers up over his shoulders.

Philia slid in beside him, his movements silent and graceful. He blew out the small oil lamp, plunging the room into a deep, heavy darkness broken only by the faint, dying glow of the hearth.

Yerel shifted in the dark, reaching out with a heavy arm to pull Philia close against his chest. Philia went easily, resting his head in the hollow of Yerel’s shoulder, his arms wrapping around Yerel’s waist in a tight, comforting hug. It was a familiar, safe position they had shared dozens of times before.

Within minutes, the tension in Yerel’s frame began to melt away, his breathing slowing down into a deep, even rhythm as he finally closed his eyes, letting sleep claim his exhausted mind.

But against his chest, Philia’s body remained perfectly still.

Bathed in the faint glow of the dying fire, Philia’s eyes remained wide open, staring blankly into the empty dark over Yerel’s shoulder.