RODH Chapter 20

20

What an absolute load of nonsense.

I scoffed at Seor’s letter, with all his talk about seasonal melancholy and whatever else.

Then, I felt a gaze on me. I looked up and met Peter’s eyes.

“What is it?”

“Nothing at all.”

Yeah, right.

He was definitely going to report back to Seor that I had read the letter and laughed.

I shouldn’t have let my guard down in front of such a loose-lipped fool.

Anyway, the letter’s content boiled down to the same old thing—the Imperial Hunt was happening again this year, and Seor wanted me to attend as his fiancé.

“His Highness still refuses to accept my request for an annulment, I see.”

I casually tested Peter.

“He seems more determined than ever to reject it,” he informed me.

Why the hell won’t he just let me go?

Annoyed, I tossed the letter aside and excused myself before sitting at my desk to write a reply.

For a moment, I was tempted to begin with To the Imperial Dog, the Empire’s Bratty Little Sun—but I forced myself to write something normal instead.

Seor tore open the envelope with the speed of a squirrel cracking open an acorn.

Not since receiving his first horse from the Emperor at age ten had he felt this excited.

This time, he’ll say yes, right?

His golden eyes, brimming with anticipation, flicked toward Peter before scanning the letter.

[To His Highness, Seor.]

“Look at this, Peter! It says ‘To My Dear Seor’!”

“That’s just a formal greeting, Your Highness.”

“No, it’s not. An arrogant omega like Ian would have just written, ‘To His Highness, Seor.’”

“…….”

Peter had no words.

If Seor was going to misunderstand, he might as well misunderstand thoroughly.

Peter had no desire to correct him—not after the exhaustion of guarding both the Emperor and Duke Ruben last night.

He recalled Duke Ruben’s grave declaration.

‘This is information my son risked his life to obtain. If it turns out to be false, Your Majesty may take my head instead.’

Could the Young Lord of Ruben really have accomplished such a feat?

Before witnessing this morning’s spectacle at House Ruben, Peter hadn’t believed it.

But after watching Count Gillat’s entire conspiracy unravel, Ian’s true nature had become undeniable.

He had utterly destroyed an entire noble house and still had the composure to greet people as if nothing had happened.

That strength had captivated Peter, compelling him to blurt out, “I heard you haven’t appointed a Guardian Knight yet.”

Why had he said that?

Technically, as Seor’s fiancé, Ian having Peter as a Guardian Knight wouldn’t have been an issue.

The real problem was that Ian genuinely wanted to break off the engagement.

As expected, Ian had responded coolly,

‘I’ll appoint one when the time comes.’

It had left a dry feeling in Peter’s throat.

“He said he’ll go. As my fiancé.”

Seor looked pleased.

Of course, he would be—because the one tied to Count Gillat’s downfall was none other than Marchioness Dmitri.

“Maybe Ian did all of this for my sake,” Seor mused. “I always thought he was a reckless omega, but it turns out he’s actually quite clever.”

Wrong.

Ian had staked his very life on this scheme.

But Peter didn’t tell him that.

For some reason, he didn’t want to.

“Peter?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“You look like you have something to say.”

“I do not.”

“Hmm… Then tell me, what expression did Ian make while reading my letter?”

Peter deadpanned, “He scoffed.”

Seor burst into laughter.

Peter looked at him strangely, prompting Seor to explain,

“Isn’t it an adorable little tantrum? He says he hates parties—so I’ll just have to take him out for some fresh air.”

“…Your Highness.”

Peter pressed his fingers against his forehead.

The Day Before the Hunt Tournament
It was the day Seor and Ian attended their imperial studies lesson together.

Throughout the entire class, Seor didn’t show the slightest irritation at Ian’s constant rebuttals.

That, more than anything, drained Ian’s energy.

He had come prepared to provoke him, and yet Seor was reacting like this?

Ian sighed internally. He needed a new strategy.

After class, the two exchanged a few words—mostly about assignments. That much was fine, but the moment the conversation turned personal, Ian immediately wanted to escape back to his room.

“You seem to be in a good mood, Your Highness.”

It was just a polite remark, but Seor responded with a handsome smirk.

“Of course. Now that a filthy omega has finally been thrown out, it feels like a weight has lifted off my shoulders.”

Seor was genuinely pleased about Marchioness Dmitri losing the Emperor’s favor.

Usually, when someone was that happy, their pheromones would naturally leak out. But Ian barely sensed anything from Seor.

Was it because they were surrounded by the scent of books in the library?

For the first time, Ian found himself curious about Seor’s pheromones.

“Your Highness, you hardly ever release pheromones.”

“It’s improper to let them spill out in public.”

A predictable answer.

But even setting etiquette aside, Seor’s pheromones were almost nonexistent.

Ian decided to provoke him.

Pheromones are supposed to come out when emotions are heightened, right?

“Your Highness… could it be that you don’t have any pheromones at all?”

“What?”

Seor, who had been in an excellent mood, suddenly scowled as if he had just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world.

Ian, keeping his face as shamelessly blank as possible, repeated himself.

“I said, it seems to me that Your Highness has no pheromones at all.”

“Ian Pearl Ruben.”

“Even now, you’re clearly upset, yet I still don’t sense anything. Could it be… that you have germophobia?”

“…….”

Ian had hit a nerve.

Seor’s glare turned downright murderous.

Sensing an opening, Ian casually brought up the topic of breaking the engagement.

“I don’t want to marry an alpha who has no pheromones.”

“Back to the annulment talk again, are we?”

“And once again, Your Highness is avoiding the topic.”

The two stood face to face, only the study table separating them, engaged in a tense verbal sparring match.

“Why should I prove anything to you? I am a Supreme Alpha.”

“Then release your pheromones.”

“What if I refuse?”

“I’ll annul our engagement.”

“…You’re going to drive me insane.”

Seor let out an exaggerated sigh, loud enough for Ian to hear. Then, as if deciding he had no choice, he finally admitted the truth.

“I hate omegas. No—I despise them.”

Ian tilted his head.

“Why do you hate them so much? Is it because of Marchioness Dmitri?”

“Don’t even say her name in front of me.”

“I’ll be mindful of that.”

“The reason I despise omegas is because they’re cheap.”

Cheap?

Ian froze for a second.

And before he could react, Seor continued explaining.

“Omegas will do anything to cling to an alpha. They reek of disgusting pheromones, they forcibly imprint on alphas, trapping them in a lifetime of misery, making sure they can only ever smell their scent. It’s vile. I find them absolutely repulsive. Do you know how many of them have thrown themselves at me just to—… Ian?”

Seor stopped mid-sentence.

Because Ian, who had been standing right there just a moment ago, was gone.