Chapter 62: Ch 62: The Invitation

Ch 62: The Invitation

Abel didn’t move. He just stood there, a statue carved from pain. His eyes were locked on Orion’s hands as they fluttered towards the man on the floor. The roaring in his head was so loud it drowned out everything else—the creak of the floorboards, Aster’s low warning growl, the thumping of his own heart. All he could see was Orion reaching for him.

"No! No, no, don’t hurt him!" Orion’s voice cut through the silence, sharp with panic. He scrambled off the bed, almost tripping in his haste.

Aster, keeping his knee firmly planted on Chase’s stomach and his forearm across his throat, didn’t look up. "Step back, Consort," he said, his voice like gravel. "This bastard will answer for—"

"He’s my friend!" Orion cried out, the words tumbling over each other. He dropped to his knees on the floor beside them, ignoring the splinters and dust. He didn’t touch Chase, but his hands hovered in the air between Aster and the pinned Alpha. "His name is Chase. We’ve been writing letters for years. We were meeting for the first time today. That’s all. He’s my friend."

The word hung in the air.

A friend.

Loren, who was standing by the door with his fist still clenched, blinked. His furious expression faltered, replaced by confusion. He looked from Orion’s desperate face to the stranger on the floor.

Kaelen, ever observant, had already noted the lack of true aggression from the pinned man, the absence of a mating mark on Orion, the genuine shock in the foreigner’s eyes. His own rigid posture eased a fraction, though his gaze remained wary.

Aster’s hold didn’t loosen, but his eyes flicked up to Orion’s face, searching for lies. He saw only raw, honest terror—not for himself, but for the man under his knee.

It was Abel’s reaction that was the most profound. The word "friend" seemed to strike him physically. His hollow eyes shifted from the scene on the floor to Orion’s face. The devastation didn’t leave, but it was joined by a flicker of something else—incomprehension. A friend? Friends hugged like that? Friends held hands and went to private rooms? The world outside his meadow and his toys was too complicated, too cruel. It made no sense.

Seeing Aster’s grip remain, Orion pleaded directly to him. "Aster, please. You’re hurting him. Let him go. I can explain everything, but please, let him up."

Aster looked past Orion, to Abel. He was waiting for his captain’s order, even now. For a sign.

Abel’s jaw worked. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. It wasn’t permission; it was a surrender to a reality he couldn’t understand.

Aster released his hold instantly. He stood up in one fluid motion, stepping back but remaining close, a clear threat lingering in his stance.

Chase lay on the floor for a second, coughing, one hand going to his bruised jaw. He didn’t look angry. He looked dazed, bewildered, and in pain. He pushed himself up slowly onto his elbows.

Orion immediately moved closer. "I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice shaking. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his sleeve. There was a small trickle of blood at the corner of Chase’s mouth from where his lip had split against his teeth. With a tenderness that made Abel flinch, Orion reached out and gently wiped it away.

Chase winced but offered a weak, lopsided smile. "Quite a welcome," he mumbled, his speech slightly slurred from the swelling.

Orion helped him sit up fully, an arm around his shoulders for support. Chase leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for a moment as he caught his breath.

Abel watched it all. He watched Orion’s careful fingers on the other man’s face. He watched the way Chase accepted the help so naturally. He watched the intimacy of the gesture—the kind of care he thought only he received from Orion. The dark, cold feeling in his chest spread.

At that moment, the door, which was hanging broken on its hinges, gave a soft squeak.

The Omega waitress from downstairs stood frozen in the doorway, a large wooden tray laden with food and a carafe of wine held in her trembling hands. Her eyes were wide as saucers, taking in the wrecked door, the three armed, grim-faced guards, the half-naked foreigner sitting on the floor with a bleeding mouth, and the consort kneeling beside him.

She let out a small, choked gasp.

All heads turned towards her.

Chase, blinking through the pain, was the one who broke the tense silence. He focused on the tray. "Ah," he said, his voice steadier. "Good. The food is here." He looked around the room, at the circle of hostile and shocked faces, and did perhaps the most absurd thing imaginable.

He smiled, a genuine if pained smile that crinkled the corners of his grey-green eyes. "How about everyone joins us for lunch?" he asked, as if inviting unexpected guests to a garden party. He nodded to the stunned waitress. "Bring us more wine, please. And more food. Enough for..." He counted silently, pointing. "Five. No, six. Plenty for six."

The waitress stared, utterly baffled, then looked desperately at Orion, the only person in the room who looked like he belonged in a respectable establishment.

Orion, still kneeling, gave a slow, weary nod. "Just... do as he says, please."

The girl bobbed a hurried curtsey and fled, the tray rattling in her hands.

For a long minute, no one spoke. The absurdity of the invitation hung in the dusty, tense air.

Chase carefully got to his feet, using the bedpost for support. He swayed slightly, and Orion’s hand shot out to steady his elbow. Abel’s breath hitched audibly.

Ignoring everyone, Chase walked stiffly to the washbasin. He picked up his discarded, wine-soaked shirt, grimaced, and tossed it aside. From his travel pack near the bed, he pulled out a fresh, loose-fitting black linen shirt and shrugged it on, wincing as the fabric brushed his injured jaw. He left it unlaced at the top.

He then righted the small table that had been knocked askew, dragged the room’s two chairs over to it, and gestured to the floor. "We’ll need to sit on the bedding, I’m afraid. Not the most elegant luncheon, but the company promises to be... memorable."

He looked at Abel, his gaze frank and assessing, devoid of fear or challenge. "You must be Abel," he said simply. "I’ve heard a lot about you today."

Abel didn’t reply. He just stared.

The waitress returned, this time with two other servers carrying additional trays, stools, and an entire second carafe of wine. They worked with silent, terrified efficiency, setting the small table with bowls of rich stew, a loaf of crusty bread, a wheel of cheese, roasted apples, and two pitchers. They placed stools around the table, eyeing the broken door and the armed men nervously before scurrying out.

An awkward, heavy silence settled over the room once more.

Chase lowered himself gingerly into one of the chairs, gesturing for Orion to take the other. He then looked expectantly at Abel, Aster, Loren, and Kaelen.

Slowly, moving like men in a dream, they approached. Kaelen took a stool first, his analytical eyes never leaving Chase. Loren, after a nudge from Aster, dragged another stool over, his usual boisterousness completely absent. Aster remained standing for a moment, a sentinel by the ruined doorway, before finally conceding to sit on the very edge of a third stool, poised to spring.

Abel was the last. He walked to the table and sat on the remaining stool, directly across from Chase. He didn’t look at the food. He looked only at Chase, then at Orion.

For several minutes, the only sounds were the clink of a ladle as Chase served himself some stew, and the rough tear of bread as Loren, unable to resist free food, ripped off a hunk.

Chase picked up his teacup—they had brought a fresh one—and took a slow, careful sip. He winced as the hot liquid touched his split lip.

He set the cup down and let his gaze travel around the table, from one hard, suspicious face to another. He lingered on Abel’s devastated expression, on Orion’s anxious one, on Aster’s guarded glare, on Loren’s confused scowl, on Kaelen’s silent watchfulness.

"Well," Chase said finally, his voice carrying its usual slight lilt as he broke the quiet. "This is certainly not how I imagined my first visit to your country would go." He touched his tender jaw with careful fingertips. "I was promised a quiet afternoon, not brawls in tavern bedrooms."

He looked directly at Abel. "The hug was my fault. I am... tactile. It is customary where I am from, among close friends. I did not consider how it might appear here. I apologize for that." His apology was straightforward, with no groveling, but it seemed sincere.

He then turned his gaze to Aster. "And you, sir, have a very solid fist. If I ever need a wall demolished, I shall know who to call."

Aster didn’t smile. "You laid hands on the Consort."

"I helped a stumbling friend," Chase corrected gently. "We fell. It was an accident. I was checking if he was hurt. You saw the state of the bed. Does it look like a scene of passion, or a scene of clumsy misfortune?"

Everyone’s eyes flicked to the bed. The blankets were tangled, the pillow was on the floor. It looked exactly like two people had fallen onto it awkwardly.

Chase took another sip of tea. "Orion has been my closest friend for four years. We have shared thoughts, fears, poetry, dreams—through letters. Today was the first time I have ever seen his face, heard his voice. I was overwhelmed. I acted without thinking. For that, I am sorry." He looked at Orion, his expression softening. "But I am not sorry for being happy to see you."

Orion gave him a small, shaky smile in return.

Abel watched that exchange, and the cold knot in his stomach tightened. Four years. They knew each other’s minds. He and Orion had only had months.

"Why private room?" Abel asked suddenly, his voice rough, like he hadn’t used it in days. It was the first thing he’d said since bursting in.

Chase gestured to his fresh, clean shirt. "I was covered in wine. The keeper offered the room to change. Everyone downstairs was staring. Orion agreed to come up to escape the spectacle." He shrugged. "It was a practical decision. Perhaps a foolish one, given local customs, but it was not a planned tryst."

He tore off a piece of bread, dipped it in his stew, and ate it. He chewed slowly, despite the pain in his jaw, as if to demonstrate the normalcy of the act. "Now," he said after swallowing. "Since we are all sharing a meal, perhaps we could share names as well? You know I am Chase. The gentleman with the fist is?"

Aster’s eyes narrowed. "Aster Vance. Captain of the Estate Guard."

"A pleasure, Captain Vance," Chase said, nodding. "Your technique is impressive."

"Loren," the red-haired guard grunted, his mouth full of cheese.

"Kaelen," the quiet one said, his voice flat.

Chase’s grey-green eyes finally settled back on Abel. "And you are Abel Valerian. Orion’s husband." He said the word ’husband’ with a deliberate weight, acknowledging the title, the claim. "He thinks very highly of you, you know. He spent the better part of an hour telling me how kind you are."

Abel’s gaze flickered to Orion, a flicker of desperate hope in the deep brown. He does?

Orion met his eyes and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

The room was silent again, but the tension had shifted. It was no longer the explosive silence of imminent violence. It was the heavy, awkward, bewildered silence of a terrible misunderstanding, laid bare over a tavern lunch, with a poet sporting a bruised face politely serving stew to the men who had just attacked him.