☆*:.｡. o*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*·.*:.｡.･*o .｡.:*☆
The air in the elite medical wing of the Academy was no longer oxygen, it was a physical weight. The pheromones Pressure emanating from Aiden had reached a critical mass that defied modern medicine. When the head medic stepped forward and depressed the plunger of the high grade Alpha suppressant into Aiden's arm, everyone expected the storm to break.
They were wrong.
Instead of cooling the fever, the synthetic hormones acted like oil tossed onto a forest fire. Aiden's body, already hyper reactive due to his Triple Crown lineage, rejected the foreign substance with violent biological force.
Aiden's back arched off the cot, a guttural, feline growl tearing from his throat—a sound far too deep for a twelve year old. His pheromones didn't just leak,they detonated. The scent of charred cedar and mountain ozone became so thick it was visible as a shimmering haze in the torchlight.
"Papa!" Aiden shrieked, his fingers locking into the thick fabric of Arion's royal tunic with such strength the seams began to pop. "It burns! Make it stop, ugh…it hurts!"
Arion held his son, his own powerful Alpha aura struggling to contain the explosion. He looked at the doctors, his eyes flashing with the lethal gold of a King. "You said this would help! Why is he suffering more?"
"His blood... it's too pure, Sire!" the medic stammered, backing away as the pressure made his nose bleed. "His system is fighting the suppressant as if it's a toxin!"
Standing near the shattered door was Asher , a fourteen year old Alpha cadet. Asher was Aiden's primary rival at the Academy—they had spent the last year trading black eyes and broken ribs in the sparring pits. But beneath the bruised knuckles, Asher had developed a frantic, confusing obsession with the Prince.
Seeing Aiden in this state—vulnerable, weeping, and radiating a power that made Asher's own Alpha instincts want to howl—the older boy stepped forward.
"Majesty," Asher said, his voice cracking. "The medicine won't work because his body is demanding a physical release. He doesn't know how to handle the... the buildup. If you let me stay... I can show him. I've been through my first heat. I can help him relieve the pressure."
Arion's grip on Aiden tightened. His paternal instinct screamed at him to throw this boy through the wall. He did not want to leave his son—his heir—in such a state with a rival.
"He is a Prince," Arion hissed. "I will not have him experimenting in a barracks room."
"With all due respect, Sire," a senior tactical instructor whispered from the hallway, leaning against the wall for support, "Aiden is drowning. If he doesn't release that energy, his mana core might fracture. Let the boy help. They are comrades. It is better he learns from a peer than suffers a permanent injury."
Arion looked down at Aiden, who was currently biting his own lip so hard it bled, his face a mask of localized agony. With a heart of lead, the King slowly unpeeled Aiden's fingers from his tunic.
"If you hurt him," Arion whispered to Kael, his voice like the grinding of tectonic plates, "there will be nowhere in the four kingdoms for you to hide."
The heavy doors were closed, leaving Asher alone with the disaster that was Aiden.
Asher felt a wave of dizzying frustration. He had intended to be the cool, experienced upperclassman, but the moment the King left, the full weight of Aiden's pheromones crashed into him. Asher's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He felt panicked, his own Alpha side sensing the heavy pheromones and feeling a confusing mix of submission and arousal.
"Aiden," asher whispered, his hands shaking as he approached the bed. "Hey, idiot. Look at me. I'm going to help you, okay? Just... just let me touch it. We'll get the pressure out."
Asher reached out, his hand hovering over the agonizingly tight fabric of Aiden's trousers. He felt a surge of heat—Aiden was literally radiating steam. Just as Asher's fingers made contact, Aiden's eyes snapped open.
They weren't the eyes of the boy Asher fought in the pits. They were voids of lethal gold, swirling with a primal, ancient authority. Another explosion of pheromones—sharper, more aggressive than before—hit the room like a physical shockwave. It was the scent of a King protecting his mate, even in a delirium.
"Don't... touch... me." Aiden's voice was a jagged rasp.
The rejection was so powerful that Asher was physically thrown back a step. The air became so saturated with Aiden's scent that it felt like breathing liquid lead. Asher's head began to spin. He felt a sharp, stabbing sensitivity in his own neck and a wave of nausea.
Aiden didn't wait for a response. Having exerted that final burst of territorial dominance, his body finally hit its limit. The fever didn't break, but the consciousness did. Aiden collapsed back onto the pillows, his body going completely limp. Within seconds, he fell into a deep, supernatural sleep—a protective coma designed to let the body process the remaining heat.
And then, to Asher's utter disbelief, the Crown Prince of the North began to snore. Deep, rhythmic, peaceful snores that echoed in the silent, pheromones-choked room.
Asher stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving. He was fighting for his very life.
The Rejection had left the air toxic for any other Alpha. Asher felt a terrifying tightness in his own chest. The room felt like it was spinning at a thousand miles an hour. Every time he inhaled Aiden's scent, it felt like his brain was being scrubbed with wire brushes.
He felt upset, his ego bruised by the rejection, and his body overwhelmed by the sheer scale of Aiden's power. His vision began to tunnel. The dark cedar and ozone were too much—it was like trying to stand in the middle of a sun.
"You... you arrogant... brat..." Asher wheezed, reaching for the door handle.
His fingers never made it.
With a soft thud, Asher's knees buckled. He crumpled to the floor, completely unconscious, his mind shutting down to protect itself from the Prince's overwhelming presence.
On the bed, Aiden continued to snore softly, draped in a cloud of power that had laid an entire Academy low, while miles away in the South, a Fourteen year old Lorcan sat in a high tower, staring at the moon and feeling the phantom sensation of a fever finally cooling into a long, restorative sleep.