Chapter 60: Ch 60: Wine and Confessions

Ch 60: Wine and Confessions

Outside the window, the world had narrowed to a single, painful picture.

Abel stood rooted to the cobblestones, his breath shallow. Aster’s hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping him from either charging through the glass or crumbling where he stood.

Inside the sunlit tavern, the scene unfolded with a terrible, slow clarity.

The stranger—the Alpha with the dark brown, almost black hair—was listening intently to Orion. He had set his teacup down. His expression was soft, concerned. Orion was speaking, his hands moving slightly as he explained something. He looked earnest, a little sad, but open in a way Abel rarely saw him be with anyone else.

Then the Alpha’s face changed. His grey-green eyes held Orion’s. He asked a question. They saw Orion’s lips form the word "happy?" and then his whole body seemed to hesitate, his shoulders tightening for a second.

The Alpha didn’t wait for a verbal answer.

He pushed his chair back just enough, leaned across the small table, and wrapped his arms around Orion in a firm, close hug.

It wasn’t a casual pat. It was an embrace. His long arms enveloped Orion completely, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Orion’s head gently. He tucked his face against Orion’s neck for a moment, his eyes closed. A gesture of comfort, of deep familiarity.

Orion froze for a heartbeat, then his own arms came up, tentatively returning the hug. He relaxed into it, his face hidden against the Alpha’s dark-clad shoulder.

A low sound escaped Abel’s throat, something between a whimper and a growl, choked back before it could fully form.

Inside the tavern, a few heads turned. Men at nearby tables paused their conversations, watching the intimate display between the strikingly foreign Alpha and the pretty, finely dressed Omega. There were murmurs, raised eyebrows.

Loren, beside Abel, muttered a soft, fervent curse.

Kaelen’s analytical gaze was fixed on the pair, his mind clearly racing, assessing the stranger’s posture, his clothing, the way he held Orion—possessive yet gentle, protective in a way that spoke of long-standing affection.

Aster’s grip on Abel’s shoulder tightened. "Steady," he breathed, his voice a low rumble. "We don’t know anything yet."

But Abel knew what he saw. He saw his husband in another man’s arms, looking like he belonged there. The dark, roaring place in his mind swallowed all other thought.

---

Two Minutes Earlier – Inside The Gilded Quill

Chase blinked, setting his delicate porcelain teacup down with a soft clink. "No way," he said, his voice carrying a slight lilt of disbelief. "You got married? When?"

Orion smiled, a little wry, tracing the rim of his own cup with a finger. "A few months ago. It’s... a long story."

"I have time," Chase said softly, leaning forward. His full attention was like a physical warmth. "Tell me."

So Orion told him. Not everything—not the brutal politics, not Ashford’s cruelty, not the staircase. But he told him about the arranged marriage, replacing his brother. He told him about Abel—his innocence, his childlike mind after an accident, his love for wooden horses and simple things. He spoke of the loneliness of the manor, the coldness of the family, but also of the unexpected peace he’d found in their quiet room, in caring for someone who saw him without judgment.

He did not say he loved him. The words felt too new, too fragile to speak aloud, even to Chase.

Chase listened. He didn’t interrupt. His clear, muted grey-green eyes held Orion’s, absorbing every word, every flicker of emotion on Orion’s face. When Orion finished, trailing off with a shrug, Chase didn’t reply immediately.

The silence stretched for several seconds, filled only by the murmur of the tavern around them.

Then Chase asked, his voice barely above a whisper, "Are you happy?"

The question was a dart, striking straight to the core of everything Orion had been avoiding asking himself since the wedding. His breath caught. Was he? He was safe. He was cared for in his own way. He had Abel, who was a source of both profound frustration and deeper tenderness than he’d ever known. He was unhappy in a gilded cage, but he had found a strange kind of freedom within it.

Before he could formulate an answer—a complicated, messy truth—Chase moved.

He leaned over the table again, but this time his arms went around Orion’s shoulders, pulling him into a warm, tight hug. It was sudden, disregarding propriety, the table between them, the public space.

"Oh, Ori," Chase murmured into his hair, his scent of black tea, cedarwood, and crushed mint enveloping Orion.

Orion stiffened for a second, shocked. Then he melted. It was a friend’s hug. A hug from someone who had known his soul through ink for years. It felt like being seen, truly seen, for the first time since his mother died. His eyes stung. He hugged back, gripping the soft fabric of Chase’s black shirt.

Around them, the tavern’s murmur dipped, then rose into pointed whispers. Heads turned. An Omega and an Alpha, embracing so familiarly in public? And such an unusual Alpha at that.

It was in that close embrace, with his nose nearly pressed to Chase’s neck, that Orion smelled it. Beneath the black tea and crushed mint, beneath the dry warmth of cedarwood, was the core of his scent. It was Alpha, yes, but... more. Richer, deeper, with a subtle, undeniable edge of absolute dominance, like the quiet before a storm. It wasn’t aggressive; it was simply there, a fundamental fact of his being.

An Apex Alpha.

The realization was a jolt. Chase was an Apex. It explained the effortless authority that had scattered the street thugs, the unconscious grace of his movements, the sheer intensity of his presence even when he was smiling shyly.

Chase pulled back, his hands lingering on Orion’s shoulders for a moment before he sat back in his chair. He rubbed the back of his own neck, looking sheepish but unapologetic. "Man," he sighed, a rueful smile on his lips. "I don’t know what to say. That’s... a lot." His grey-green eyes were serious. "If you ever need any help. With anything at all. Please tell me. Just send me a letter. Promise me."

Orion nodded, his throat tight. "I promise."

Needing to shift the heavy atmosphere, Orion grasped for a simpler topic. "Anyway, what are you really doing here? You said traveling, but..."

Chase’s smile returned, easier now. "Mostly traveling, seeing new places. I’ve been visiting old bookshops and collecting stories. You’d be surprised how many forgotten little things you find tucked away in dusty corners." He paused, looking faintly embarrassed. "A small literary publisher here is putting together a collection of poems and translations, and a few of my pieces made the cut. They asked me to look over the proofs, so I thought I might as well come in person."

Orion’s expression brightened with genuine interest. "Your work is being published here?"

"A few poems and translations," Chase corrected with a small, self-conscious shrug. "Nothing grand. I’m hardly famous."

"You should have told me!"

"And ruin the surprise?" Chase’s smile turned boyish. "Besides, I wanted to tell you in person for once. Four years of letters, and we’ve spent all that time imagining what the other person would say. It felt strange to write something so ordinary as a publishing announcement when I could simply tell you over tea."

Orion stared at him for a moment before laughing softly. "You make it sound as if meeting in person is perfectly ordinary."

"It’s not," Chase admitted. "I was nervous before I came in. I even considered turning around and pretending I’d never found the place."

"You?"

"Me." He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense. "I may be a writer, but that doesn’t mean I’m brave enough to meet a friend of four years without rehearsing what to say first."

Orion laughed again, and some of the tension left his shoulders.

Chase glanced at him with a quiet, fond expression. "Besides, letters are easy. You can cross out a sentence, start again, and pretend you meant something clever all along. In person, you have to live with whatever nonsense comes out of your mouth."

Orion smiled into his teacup. "I think you’re doing fine."

"Thank goodness. I was hoping to make a decent first impression."

"First impression? We’ve known each other for four years!"

"Through ink and paper," Chase pointed out. "This is my first chance to disappoint you in person."

Orion shook his head, still smiling. It was strange how naturally the conversation slipped into the familiar rhythm of their letters. For a little while, he could almost forget the manor, the family waiting for him, and the complicated life he had somehow stumbled into.

Just then, an Omega waitress approached their table, carrying a small carafe and two fresh glasses. "Our house spiced wine, sirs," she said cheerfully. "Compliments for new patrons." She poured a generous amount into a glass and placed it before Orion.

Orion, grateful for the distraction, took a sip. It was warm, sweet with honey and spices, surprisingly good. He gestured to Chase with the glass, a real smile touching his lips for the first time since the heavy conversation began. "You should try this. It’s actually good."

Chase looked up at the waitress, who was already tilting the carafe toward his empty teacup. "Oh, no, wait, I’m not really—"

In her eagerness to serve the strikingly handsome foreigner, the waitress fumbled. The carafe slipped from her hand.

A stream of deep red, spiced wine splashed directly onto the front of Chase’s black shirt, soaking the fine fabric instantly and dripping onto his trousers.

"Oh!" the girl gasped, horrified. "I’m so sorry, sir! So clumsy!"

Chase looked down at his soaked chest, his expression one of pure, resigned amusement. He didn’t get angry. He just let out a soft sigh, a puff of air that made his dark hair sway.

The tavern keeper hurried over, apologizing profusely. "Sir, please, allow us... we have an upstairs room for guests. You can clean up, change. We’ll have your clothes laundered immediately, at no cost, of course. Please."

Chase nodded, dabbing at the sticky wine with a napkin. "That would be helpful, thank you." He looked at Orion, wine dripping from his fingertips. "A bit of an adventure, eh?"

The keeper, eager to make amends, added, "Your friend is welcome to wait upstairs as well, sir. More private than down here."

Chase raised an eyebrow at Orion. "Might as well. Escape the staring crowd for a bit."

Orion was about to decline automatically. Going to a private room with an Alpha, even Chase, was... not done. But then he followed Chase’s glance around the room. Every eye in the tavern was on them, or more specifically, on Chase’s wine-soaked shirt. The dark fabric was plastered to his torso, outlining the defined planes of his chest and stomach with embarrassing clarity. The looks were a mix of shock, curiosity, and outright hunger.

Orion felt a sudden, irrational urge to block their view. This was his friend. He wasn’t a spectacle.

"Alright," Orion said, standing up. "Let’s go."

Chase booked the room with the keeper, then turned and, without a second thought, took Orion’s hand in his own gloved, wine-sticky one. His grip was firm, warm.

Together, they weaved through the crowded tavern, heading for the narrow staircase at the back. All eyes followed them—the striking, wet Apex Alpha and the finely dressed Omega he led by the hand.

---

Outside the window, Abel watched, numb, as the scene reached its devastating conclusion.

He saw the waitress spill the wine. He saw the tavern keeper’s flustered apologies. He saw the Alpha look down at his soaked shirt, then look at Orion with a wry smile.

He saw the keeper gesture upstairs.

He saw the Alpha nod, then say something to Orion.

He saw Orion hesitate, then agree.

And then, as the entire tavern watched, the tall Alpha with the dark brown, almost black hair took Orion’s hand in his again. He led him away from the table, through the maze of staring patrons, toward a shadowed doorway at the back of the room.

They disappeared from view.

A moment later, through the window of a different part of the tavern—a smaller, lead-paned window on the upper floor—two figures appeared. The Alpha, now without his outer shirt, visible in just a dark undershirt that clung to his frame. And Orion, standing close beside him in the private room.

Then the curtain in the upstairs window was drawn shut, blotting them from sight.

On the street, the last thread of hope in Abel’s heart snapped.

He stopped breathing. The roaring in his head was absolute.

Aster, Loren, and Kaelen stood beside him in a frozen tableau of dismay, watching as their captain’s husband vanished into a private room with another man, the evidence of an intimate hug and joined hands burning in their vision.

The afternoon sun beat down on the cobblestones, indifferent. Inside The Gilded Quill, life went on. And upstairs, behind a drawn curtain, Orion Valerian was in a room alone with Chase, while outside, his husband shattered silently into a million pieces.