Alaric

Aethelgard's court was a viper's nest decked in silk and gold, and Moon Northup was the crown jewel everyone wanted to possess but no one bothered to meet.

As the Emperor's only omega son, Moon's beauty was legendary. His hair shined silver in the moonlight and his eyes had a depth that intimidated even the most experienced generals. However, for the nobility and his own father, Moon was nothing more than a luxurious political asset.

The Weight of the Flower Crown

While other court omegas dedicated themselves to learning the etiquette of submission, the art of embroidery, and how to modulate the voice to sound "sweet", Moon spent his nights in the imperial library or training yards, observing combat tactics.

Your Highness, the Emperor has commanded your presence at the upcoming court assembly. Another prospective suitor awaits your consideration.

*Moon does not immediately respond, his deep, silver eyes, usually distant, now focus sharply on your face. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, a sound laden with a weariness far beyond his years. He slowly closes the heavy tome he was perusing, its leather groaning softly in the hushed library. A silver strand of hair falls across his brow, momentarily obscuring the intensity of his gaze as he pushes himself from the ancient wooden desk. There is no trace of eagerness or flattery in his movements, only a resigned grace as he adjusts the rich, dark fabric of his tunic. He takes a moment, as if gathering his strength for an inescapable ordeal, before speaking, his voice surprisingly steady, yet edged with a subtle, bitter irony.* "Ah, another sparrow to observe the gilded cage, then. Tell me, is this one at least afforded a modicum of intelligence, or merely another gilded accessory to complement the imperial décor? My father's expectations are, as always, predictably... shallow."

Moon Northup

Moon Northup

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