Archive of Our Own

Ryoumen Sukuna is the king.

The king of this lush, rich, and thriving land. He is a king that is revered but also one that is feared. He provides for his subjects, and thus they know to be grateful. He protects his people from harm, and thus they know to never cross him. And those who are ungrateful or cross him meet a swift and (sometimes) painless end.

He is the king.

He is the alpha.

And throughout heaven and earth, he alone is the honored one.

The sun peeks over the snow-topped mountains, light glittering through the barren treetops and the window, blessing the land with warmth and new opportunities despite the pure blanket of snow and cold winds that silenced the blooms beneath it. The room is bathed in sun, casting out shadows and sins of the past.

Another day.

Another day of listening to nobles con their way into his favor, coveting the power that belongs to him and him alone.

Because just like his father and grandfather and ancestors before him, he has been blessed. The dark lines curving along his body and the contours of his face are proof of that. The power surging through his veins, through his bloodline, is proof of that.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Enter.”

“Good morning, Sukuna-sama.” Uraume’s voice trails in from the doorway as they go no farther than the threshold and they bow. They have been Sukuna’s advisor for many years, and they take their position very seriously. “You’re not dressed yet. The maidens have been slacking off it seems."

“They’re tending to other tasks I gave them. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.” Sukuna doesn’t even spare them a glance. “Besides, I’d like to enjoy the morning before I have to listen to the idiotic ramblings of those so-called nobles.”

“Understood. Lord Shimizu and Lord Ikeda will be here tomorrow morning due to a late departure and the incoming winter storm,” Uraume says. “And there is still the other matter that must be addressed.”

Sukuna suppresses an eye roll. “Not this again.”

“Your 25th birthday is fast approaching, sire. Your father stressed to me how important this was. The law states that—”

“I know what the law states, Uraume. I’m not a child, nor am I so ignorant as to not know the laws that were put in place by my forefathers.” He turns around, meeting the advisor’s eyes. Challenging. Threatening. And the air grows dense, weighed down with cursed energy and alpha presence. “Or is that what you truly think of me?”

Uraume’s eyes flit to the ground and they bow deeply. “I apologize, Your Majesty. I meant no disrespect.”

Sukuna nods, sharp, and turns his attention back to the window.

“The handlers will be here within the afternoon,” Uraume says.

“That’s fine. You may leave now.”

Uraume nods and shuts the door. And it isn’t but three seconds later that it’s torn open again, with Uraume barely dodging the pink-haired whirlwind that blows into the room as a loud and endearing “Sukunaaaa!” echoes throughout the room, the voice belonging to none other than Yuuji. The prince is half-dressed, chest bare and displaying the same black markings that adorn Sukuna’s torso and arms. He’s also clad in nothing but pants. His hair sticks up in wild, sleep stuck tufts, more so than its usual stylized mess.

Sukuna sidesteps his younger brother with ease, a smooth and fluid motion, but Yuuji spins on his heel, crouches low and barrels right into Sukuna side, clinging to him. Yuuji has always been stupidly affectionate, ever since they were young, and as stubborn (and stupid) as Yuuji is, Sukuna indulges him every now and then.

This is not one of those times.

“Get the hell off me, brat!” Sukuna pushes at Yuuji’s shoulder, but the latter has him in a vice grip. “It’s too early for your shit!”

Yuuji sticks his tongue out at him. “Good morning to you, too, asshole. You’re the king, you’re supposed to set an example and be kind to your siblings.”

“Not when they’re being this annoying this early.” (Honestly, it was a miracle that Yuuji was awake right now.) “The hell are you doing running around here anyway. Who’d you piss off?”

Yuuji grins. Bright. Innocent. “I made some adjustments to this morning’s soup.”

“How so.”

“You brat!” Yuuji’s grandfather barges into the room, a scowl twisting his features and darkening the lines on his old face. The man was a package deal with Yuuji came to live in the castle many years ago. He points at Yuuji, who’s now using Sukuna as a shield. “Stop screwing with the assistant cook!”

“The guy doesn’t know what he’s doing!” Yuuji retorts.

“He’s brand new!” the elder yells.

“Then put me down there for tonight! I can show him what to do!”

“You’re the prince, you can’t be working in the kitchen!”

“I’m just trying to help!”

“How the hell is he gonna learn if you keep doing the recipes for him?”

Sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose. The kitchen had been run by a man named Saito (Yuuji took to just calling him Chef) since Sukuna was a child and therefore since Yuuji was a child. His food was delectable, untouchable. Sticking to the ribs and leaving the castle residents sated and happy long after a meal. But after many years of service, Saito was passing on the torch to someone else that had been handpicked by the man himself. The position of the cook was an important job, after all. It had to go to someone competent.

“If he’s that offensive to your palate, then just get rid of him,” Sukuna says.

“I don’t wanna get him fired.” Yuuji huffs. “I was just trying to show him the ropes. He put in too much salt and didn’t realize it.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes. “That’s what Saito’s there for.”

“Saito’s a busy man!”

Sukuna just rolls his eyes. It’s way too early for this shit.

When they’ve eaten and are dressed for the day, Sukuna (with Yuuji by his side), adorned in deep navy, white, and gold completes any last-minute preparations around the castle in the four hours before the handlers arrive. They—mainly Sukuna with Yuuji chiming in every now and then— listen to the requests of the kitchen, the master of baths, the stablemaster and the like, heeding their wishes and responding as he pleased: more salts and updated plumbing for the baths, a rare meat from a neighboring country for special dining occasions, an extra shipment of feed for the horses to last them through the steadfast winter months. Uraume follows the duo like a shadow, relaying any information needed to ensure the rest of the morning flows smoothly.

Sukuna lives for his pleasure and displeasure alone.

But he still has a kingdom to run.

And a brother to protect.

“Your Majesty, the handlers have arrived!” one of the guards announces from the threshold of the throne room as the wind begins to howl in earnest outside.

“Send them in,” Sukuna calls, moving to stand in front of his throne, which is larger and stands further to the front than Yuuji’s does on the left.

“You nervous?” Yuuji wiggles his eyebrows, the smirk on his lips growing wider by the second. He expertly dodges the blow Sukuna tosses his way.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, brat,” Sukuna says.

“Your future mate may be among the omegas coming here today! It’s supposed to be exciting! You’re supposed to be excited!”

Sukuna scoffs. “The only reason I’m even participating in his drivel is because of the law. I have no need of a mate at this time.”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud.” Yuuji nudges him with his elbow. “Besides, I’m sure being here with you is better than where they are now.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Yuuji shrugs. “I don’t mean anything bad by it. I mean, sure, you’re an asshole even by asshole standards. Which I guess makes you an even bigger asshole.”

“Make your point.”

Yuuji chuckles but then grows uncharacteristically serious. “I guess since I was so close to being shipped off to a shelter, I’m not too fond of people who sell and herd omegas like cattle. The only thing that saved me was my blood.”

“Being in a shelter is a haven compared to where they would’ve ended up.”

“Still doesn’t make it right.”

That’s Yuuji. Caring for people he doesn’t even know yet. May never come to know. And the fact that he has to be present (at least for part) of these proceedings or any time a guest arrives at the castle doesn’t make it any better.

Sukuna takes it in stride, files his brother’s upset away for later. It was a sensitive subject, and Sukuna can’t entirely blame Yuuji for the emotions burning through his veins, fueling the cursed energy humming around him. Because an omega is useless, a metaphorical stain on the family name in this society. Many people, mainly commonfolk, send (or sell) their omega children, especially their sons, to shelters for they see them as weak links in the chain. Meek and feeble creatures that needed protection and couldn’t provide anything other than alpha satisfaction and bearing children. All under the guise of this being in the omega’s best interest.

As such, the only omegas who lived (if one could call it living) were those who found their ways into shelters that raised and trained them to be eventually and hopefully sold off to a well-off family or charmed their way into a noble’s lap. Those that weren’t chosen or proved too difficult to mold were thrown out. Some ended up in a brothel. Some ended up dead. And few made their own way in this cruel and beautiful world.

If they saw Yuuji, knew his aspirations, determination, and natural born strength, they’d think different. They’d eat their words. He was an enigma. An alpha’s strength and an omega’s biology. But Yuuji was also of royal blood. He would never know the struggle of his fellow omegas. Never know their plight. Because Sukuna made a promise—a vow—to their father.

No one was outside of nobility and those who worked in the castle were to know of Yuuji’s status.

And anyone who did find out were to be dealt with. Swiftly and without a trace.

Yuuji was known as The Dark Prince to enemies of the kingdom. But within the walls, within the trails of gossip that floated throughout the castle, he also carried another epithet: The Forlorn Prince.

“That’s something I’m definitely going to change,” Yuuji says. “I’m going to change the way people view omegas.”

Sukuna barely spares his idealistic brother a glance before the double doors to the throne room open, and two men, one short and stout and the other slightly taller but still hefty, saunters into the room with five omegas—three men and two women—trailing in after them. The omegas are dressed in light but flattering clothing, the folds and ripples undulating off their bodies in various shades of pastels. The two men kneel and bow their heads before Sukuna and Yuuji, the omegas lining up to stand side by side and follow their masters’ lead with their foreheads touching the floor.

Sweet, saccharine scents fill the room, clogging the air and sticking to their lungs, and Yuuji sniffles and wrinkles his nose. But there’s one scent that rises above the rest, dancing on gentle, subtle emerald tendrils—tempting, prodding at Sukuna’s curiosity and the alpha within him. With the scents of the guards and handlers, Uraume, and Yuuji (as muted as it is), it’s difficult to identify which omega it’s emanating from.

None of the omegas that were presented to him in the previous months smelled anywhere near as beautiful and delicious and perfect as this one. Whoever it was.

“Your Royal Majesty, Your Royal Highness,” the shorter man says, lifting his head to look and address Sukuna and Yuuji, respectively. “My name is Aoki. And this is my partner, Harada.”

Such a fool, Sukuna thinks, and he catches Yuuji straightening beside him out of the corner of his eye.

“You two are not of this kingdom, Aoki,” Uraume says.

“We are not, Uraume-san,” Aoki answers. “But we have visited many times, and it is a glorious and beautiful kingdom. One of, if not, the best.”

“Then surely you must have been aware that you do not meet His Royal Majesty’s and His Royal Highness’s gaze without express permission from His Royal Majesty.” Uraume keeps their tone even, but there is an underlying growl dancing beneath the surface.

Aoki’s eyes flit to Sukuna, and the king raises a single eyebrow, before his head snaps back down, even lower than before.

“Doing so is a grave insult upon them," Uraume says. “Please refrain from making this mistake again.”

“I apologize, Your Majesty, Your Highness,” Aoki says. “We were just in such awe to be in the presence of the King of Curses and the Dark Prince. We meant no disrespect. Please forgive us.”

“Stand,” Sukuna says. He can already tell the short one is going to work his last nerve.

The two men rise to their feet, their eyes still rooted firmly to the floor, but the omegas remain prostrated.

“We first want to thank you both for your generous hospitality in allowing us to lodge on the grounds of your esteemed home.” Aoki continues. “We’ve traveled a long way in hopes that you will find the omegas we’ve brought here to your liking, Your Majesty. They’re most beautiful and talented of the prospects that we have at our fine shelter.”

Yuuji growls. It’s a quiet rumble, soft thunder in his chest, unnoticeable to almost everyone, but Sukuna catches it. And he’s sure that Uraume catches it, too.

Sukuna turns his head slightly over his shoulder. “You’ve made your appearance. You may leave now.”

Yuuji nods once, bows slightly to his older brother, and exits the throne room in a controlled flurry of footsteps. The guards bow to him on his way out before shutting the double doors, and silence blankets over the room.

Sukuna represses a sigh, surveying the prospects brought before him. Let’s just get this over with. He turns his back on the group and looks to Uraume, nodding only once before disappearing into the room behind the thrones hidden by curtains.

The room is by no means large, but it allows space for a window seat where sunlight gently flows in and there’s a comfortable chair with a small table in the corner across from it. It’s where he’s conducted many interviews with omegas before, safe from the prying ears and wandering eyes of others.

He already wants to go back to bed.

But maybe the omega with the enticing scent will prove interesting.

Fushiguro Megumi isn’t quite sure how he arrived here.

Well, he knows how he landed here, in this everlasting black hole that is his life. Since his mother died giving birth to him and his father often took odd jobs, his memories are filled with colorful mosaics of different towns, people, and terrain. They never remained in one place for long, and so Megumi began to equate the woods or rundown inns they stayed in as home. Equated wherever Tsumiki was with home. They promised that they’d always be there for each other, held those words close to their hearts where it burgeoned and flourished.

Then his father sold him to a shelter at the age of ten, whisking away Tsumiki—the only one who genuinely cared for him in this cruel and beautiful world, uprooting that promise like one uproots a weed. Exorcising him from their lives and disappearing with the autumn wind. Not a single goodbye or hug or kiss.

One day he was sleeping in the room of the inn their father had checked him into. The next, he was waking up in a room with other omega children and a note in his pocket written in Tsumiki’s handwriting. I’ll come back for you. Wait for me, it had said.

The wound was fresh at first. Aching and reverberating through his soul as he wept and begged for the handlers to let him leave. To send for his father. To take him home. But all he received were smirks and feigned concern at best and bruises at worst. And for a long time, he’d thought about escaping. About leaving his friends behind and melting with the shadows in the dark of night.

But Tsumiki told him to wait. That she’d come back for him. Because an omega found wandering alone was just asking for trouble. That terrified him. If he left, and she came here looking for him, she wouldn’t find him. and that terrified him even more. So, he waited. Notched the passing days into the wooden post of his bunkbed. Cried each night she didn’t show up. Cried when he scratched another line in.

He stopped crying after a while.

“Your father didn’t want to deal with you anymore so that’s why he got rid of you.”

That was probably true. His father wasn’t exactly the loving type.

“Omegas are a stain. The only thing you’re good for is fucking and having children.”

Megumi didn’t believe that in the slightest. Even after years of being pressed under the handlers’ thumb, having his training branded into his mind, his body, his soul, he still didn’t believe it. Omegas were—are—strong.

Fushiguro Megumi isn’t sure how he arrived here, sitting in the back of a heated carriage with four other omegas on the way to King Sukuna’s castle. His behavior was tenuous, his compliance forced just as it always was. But lately he hadn’t been holding his tongue or following orders as much as he normally did. He spoke his mind, did as he wished when he was more than aware of the consequences.

He clutches at the loose fabric of his top, atop the mark branded into his skin as he breaks ranks in the soft material. He’s risking wrinkling it and being unpresentable, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Early in his training, when he’d dug his heels in, refused to listen, bit and scratched and kicked and punched and yelled, the handlers told him that they were going to throw him out for his defiance. That he wasn’t more special than any other omega who came in with a pretty face, so Megumi danced to the tune they played to survive. And the omegas who dug their heels in, refused to listen were expelled. Cast out to live in a society that objectified and demeaned them.

He stood up for them at first. Bore the brunt of their punishments. Told the handlers it was because they didn’t know any better. That they would learn. Anything to keep them from starving cold and alone or used and abused. And just like his father, they promised they’d take him with them, only to disappear in the middle of the night with nothing but notes littered with apologies and unkept promises. (And the small, dark part of himself that he’s kept buried for the last six years or so whispers, “Just like Tsumiki.”)

Did he consider himself one of those strong omegas?

Who’s to say.

“Are you nervous, Fushiguro?” a female omega, a young, sprightly little thing, nudges Megumi’s shoulder with hers as they rode in the back of a heated carriage. Her name is Himari and she’s 20 years old, a year younger than Megumi.

But Megumi’s been on too many of these “prospective interviews” to even feel the chill of nerves. He shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Are you at least excited?” she asks.

Megumi shrugs. “I don’t really care either way.”

“There’s no use trying to get a decent answer out of him, Hima.” A male omega, Harue, crosses his arms. He’s only a year older than Megumi and Himari. “Fushiguro hardly talks to us when the circumstances are normal. What makes you think that he’s gonna change today of all days? You do remember who we’re seeing, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do.” Himari huffs. “I’m not stupid.”

“Then you’ll do well to focus and remember that King Sukuna is known for his ruthlessness.” Harue’s hazel eyes are cold and just as ruthless. “If we step even so much as a breath out of line, we’re dead.”

“Do you… do you really think he’d do that?” another male omega, the smallest out of everyone, squeaks. His name is Kazuki and he’s only 19. He swallows. “Do you really think he’d kill all of us? Just like that?”

“He’s known as the King of Curses for a reason,” Harue answers. “He does what he wants when he wants.”

Kazuki shivers.

“I hear that King Ryoumen has a whole harem of omegas,” Himari says. “Maybe we’re not here to visit him specifically. Maybe we’re here to visit some other noble. Maybe even the prince! I hear he’s incredibly handsome.”

Harue rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s the prince. He probably already has a betrothed.”

“I hear he’s very kind. And has a smile like the sun.”

“With a nickname like the Dark Prince, I find that extremely hard to believe.”

Himari pouts and crosses her arms. “You’re no fun, Haru.”

Megumi tunes them out, allowing the steady clopping of the horses’ hooves and the hum of the wheels beneath them to drown their words and his thoughts. He’ll check out of this interview, allow his body to run through the motions, be rejected, and then go back to the shelter and wait for the promise that was 11 years unkept. He’s been paraded in front of nobles before. This time will be no different.

When the carriage stops just outside of the castle entrance, the handlers rush the five of them inside (the thin fabric of their garments does little to ward off the cold) with Kazuki leading the front as he’s the youngest and Megumi towards the back. They are escorted by two guards through the expansive, decorated castle corridors, passing by servants and others along the way. Kazuki, Himari, and the other female omega, Ren, marvel at the interior designs, at the plush carpet under their thin shoes.

Even Megumi must admit that it’s beautiful.

“Remember what you’ve been taught,” Aoki says just as the guards open the doors. “Do not embarrass us.”

Harada just grunts and nods. In Megumi’s years of being at the shelter and encountering a different cycle of handlers that changed as the seasons do, Harada was the quietest. Always observing, just a shadow in one’s periphery.

The guards allow them entrance into the throne room, with its vaulted ceilings and giant pillars and grand chandeliers twinkling even in broad daylight. The entire wall to Megumi’s left is replaced with windows bordered by thick crimson drapes, overlooking only a portion of the kingdom. (If Megumi squints, if he drifts, he can imagine a bustling town. A marketplace that buzzes with life, laughter, and love. And oh, how he yearns to be there.) A long, red carpet leads directly to the two thrones at the back of the room that are raised by a small set of steps. Two ruby vertical banners frame the thrones, imprinted with the symbol of the Ryoumen lineage. The exact mark most noticeable on King Sukuna’s forehead.

The air, however, is thicker here. More imposing. It’s not threatening, per se, but it’s denser. Heavy. Teetering on the dark, bloody wisp of a warning. But there’s an enticing scent that lingers in the air, hints of sage and incense that leaves him wondering exactly where it’s coming from. But Megumi doesn’t dare lift his eyes from his reflection on the marble flooring, but he knows he’s growing closer and closer to the renowned King of Curses and Dark Prince.

As soon as they’re close enough, when those wisps stiffen into hardened lines, Aoki and Harada stop, and Megumi and the other omegas stand side by side, immediately dropping to their knees in a deep bow, foreheads almost touching the floor. He hears a burst of footsteps, a quiet murmur of “Your Highness” as the doors open and shut… did the prince leave?

Then Aoki, with his flowery language, and the royal advisor, Uraume, exchange a few quick words before a heavier, steadier set of footsteps fades into the background before disappearing completely.

Uraume’s voice resonates across the throne room as they explain. “Lift your heads and listen carefully, omegas.”

All of them raise their heads. Uraume straightens, folds their hands behind their back, and Megumi can practically smell the lifted notes of pride (with slight hints of disdain, no doubt for the omegas in their presence) in their scent.

“You each will be given ten minutes to spend in the company of His Royal Majesty and prove your worth. He will only choose one of you, and you will do as he asks.” Uraume bores their eyes into each of the omegas’. “You will not make eye contact unless he gives you permission. You will not touch him unless he gives you permission. Doing so will result in a swift and severe punishment.”

The other four omegas cow beneath Uraume’s unyielding gaze.

Except for Megumi.

For that split second, that hairbreadth of a moment, their gazes clash. Emerald and hazel. The land and the sea. An earthquake and a tsunami. And this time, this time, the earthquake cows to the tsunami’s wrath.

“Remember your place, omegas,” Uraume says.

One by one they’re interviewed, taking no longer than ten minutes and taking no less. It’s difficult to read the expressions on his fellow omegas’ faces (except for Kazuki, the poor kid looked pale and ready to pass out). Megumi wonders, wants to ask Kazuki and Himari how it went, even Ren who doesn’t talk much, but asking now will only anger the handlers. And he doesn’t want to bring their wrath down upon the trio.

Ren is quiet poise as she reclaims her spot to Megumi’s left much sooner than expected. Even Himari and Kazuki shifted in their spots. She gives no indication of how the interview went other than her hands fisting into her clothes. Was she chosen? Were Himari or Kazuki chosen? Uraume did say that only one of them would be picked, if he decided that he even liked any of them. And usually, the decision wasn’t made until the noble—or whoever—had the chance to interview everyone.

Then again, Ryoumen Sukuna was the king. He could technically do whatever he wanted. And Megumi gets the feeling that the king isn’t someone who wastes his time for the sake of a formality. If he’d made his choice, he’d send everyone else away.

“Fushiguro Megumi,” Aoki calls from his place near Uraume. “You’re next.”

Megumi stands, inhales, and walks forward.

“Good luck,” Himari whispers, and Megumi doesn’t look back, but he can hear the smile in her voice. How genuine her words are.

She truly wants this for him. She wants him to be chosen, to leave the shelter behind. She’s always looking out for him, watching his back, even if she was younger than him. And Megumi appreciates her. But he has a promise to keep. He has to be there when Tsumiki shows up, whenever that is.

Do you really think she’ll come for you? After all these years? that small, festering part of him hisses. Don’t be a fool. It’s been 11 years. If she truly wanted to save you, she would’ve been here by now. She’s forgotten all about you.

Admit it, you’ve gotten comfortable here in this life. You enjoy the predictability. You don’t want to leave. You don’t want Tsumiki to come back. You’re content to lie in wait and one day be some alpha’s bitch and—

“Remember, you will have ten minutes and ten minutes only with His Royal Majesty unless, of course, he requests a longer meeting.” Uraume’s voice tears him out of the dark hole Megumi was burying himself in.

Megumi nods.

“Do well to know your place, omega,” Uraume says, a warning and poison woven and dripping from their tone, especially with the way they say “omega.” Like he’s a disease. A stain. A curse.

He nods once again and bows, and Uraume pulls back the curtain to allow him access into the hidden room. As soon as Megumi enters and the curtain slips closed behind him, the faint aroma of sage and incense washes over him, making his breath catch and nearly making him sway on his feet.

So, it wasn’t the prince’s scent after all. It was the king’s.

The king smells heavenly, and Megumi doesn’t even have to see the man’s full face to know that he is handsome. The sunlight compliments the sharp angles of his jaw, emboldens the black markings that curve along it, softening the pink shades of his hair. He stands confidently, gracefully with his hands clasped behind his back.

The embodiment of royalty.

A king if Megumi ever saw one.

Reality smacks into him then and he falls to his knees and prostrates, forehead to the floor, remembering that he can’t find Tsumiki if he ends up dead because he was disrespectful. Thankfully, the king had yet to acknowledge his presence and is instead opting to look out the single window in the room. (But that doesn’t mean he didn’t catch Megumi ogling.)

He needs to stay focused. He has a job to do.

Get through this interview, go back to the shelter.

Because as foolish as it sounds, he still hopes with every beat of his heart that Tsumiki will be there waiting for him. That she’ll whisk him away and they can spend the nights sleeping under the night sky, playing connect the dots with the stars and breathing with the nature around him.

She’ll come back for him.

She promised, after all.

And she never breaks a promise.

Sukuna has had enough.

He just wants to send all these omegas and their idiotic handlers home. Order them to leave his presence and to spread the word that Ryoumen Sukuna has renounced his forefathers’ legacy and refuses to obey the decree put in place centuries before he was born. The first two, a meek, fragile boy and a bubbly, light-footed girl, didn’t smell anything close to what he caught in the throne room.

And it was starting to piss him off.

Of course, he asked them questions. Ran through the motions. But he sent them back into the throne room without so much of a hint that they’d been the one he was seeking. And by the time the third omega flitted into the room, quiet and anxious and smelling of lavender, Sukuna was over it. He once again asked his questions, but he didn’t even hit the ten-minute mark before sending her out. He didn’t even bother registering her name. Registering any of their names.

Uraume steps inside. “Sukuna-sama, are you ready for the next one?”

Sukuna gazes out through the window overlooking his kingdom and holds his hands behind his back. He tamps down the alpha growling within him, just as frustrated that he hadn’t found who it was that sent him reeling. “I’ll see this next one. But after that, I’m done.”

“Before I call him in, I must tell you that this omega seems… different.”

Sukuna turns slightly, the beginnings of a frown pulling at his lips. “Different? How so?”

“This omega in particular seems to have issues with authority. I have already mentioned it to Aoki, and he said that the omega has had issues with submitting in the past.”

A defiant omega. An enigma. And one that has Sukuna wondering. If he remembers correctly, there were only five omegas total. Three men and two women. He’d already dealt with the two women, which means it was either the dark-haired one or the blond at the end.

“Send them in,” Sukuna says.

“Yes, Sukuna-sama.” Uraume nods. “Is there anything I can get you while you wait?”

“No. Just send in the omega,” he demands, and Uraume glides out of the room.

It isn’t long until the curtains open again, when that sweet, lilting scent blesses his senses. It was hard to determine what exactly it was at first, with so many other scents muddling the air, but here there is no mistaking the traces of jasmine, the shades of citrus tingling at the end. The omega that had just entered—tall, slender, strong—was the source of such a tantalizing scent.

And Sukuna’s self-control wavers.

The omega stares at him for a few precious seconds (the sound of their breath catching was beautiful) before finally seemingly remembering who they were in the presence of and dropping to their knees. Oh, how he wishes they were on their knees to—

No, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

Sukuna keeps his focus on the kingdom below, collecting himself, pushing back the instincts screaming in his head to take the omega here and now. To lay them down on the rug and have his way with them. But to get there, he definitely needed a clear head in this moment.

He lives for his pleasure and displeasure.

And right now, curiosity burns in his veins.

“On your feet, omega,” Sukuna says after a moment, to which the omega obeys. And when he’s sure that he’s got his alpha instincts on a tight leash, he turns to face the omega before him. The omega is beautiful—milky skin, shining emerald eyes, and raven hair that sticks up in the strangest tufts, but it somehow works. He’s dressed in flowing white, accentuating the small curve of his hips and standing in stark contrast with his dark hair. Sukuna can see the toned muscles of his arms from here and wonders what lies underneath that thin, sinuous garment.

This omega is strong, but there’s something else that Sukuna senses lurking beneath the surface. Something that piques his interest and wanting to learn more.

The omega stands straight and tall, but it’s not vain. Not even remotely confident. Just honest. Laid out bare saying, “Take me as I am. I change for no one.” All the other omegas that stood in his presence gave hints of their anxiety, their excitement, their eagerness to please him. To land in his good graces. And Sukuna honestly found it pathetic.

But not this one.

Issues with authority, huh? Interesting.

“What is your name, omega?” Sukuna asks, moving towards him. Encroaching.

“Fushiguro Megumi,” the omega answers, eyes still downcast.

“How old are you, Fushiguro?”

“21.”

Only a few years younger than I. Good to know.

“And when were you taken in by the shelter?”

“When I was 10 years old.”

Sukuna nods. “Young as some, but not as young as others.” He circles around Megumi, stopping right at the omega’s back. He’s close enough to feel the heat emanating from that strong, lithe body, to see the pink tint coloring the column of Megumi’s neck. He’s careful not to breathe in too deep and holds his desire taut. “Have you lain with any other alphas or betas in the 11 years you’ve been there?”

Megumi doesn’t even flinch. “No, Your Majesty.”

There are no fluctuations in Megumi’s scent that would give any indication of lying. It wasn’t common, but handlers would sometimes lie with the omegas in their care, the ones that they were especially fond of. Many nobles wanted their omegas pure, untouched by anyone else, so they usually wouldn’t take an omega’s words at face value.

But Megumi isn’t lying. Not in the slightest. And that almost makes Sukuna smile.

Sukuna stands in front of the omega again. “Look at me, Fushiguro Megumi.”

At this, Megumi lifts his eyes, revealing emerald oceans and steady earth behind thick lashes. Upon first glance, there is the unmistakable haze of sadness, regret, resentment (for himself, someone else, or the position he’s in is anyone’s guess), but there is a spark—an ember—that flickers in those depths. Tenacity. Potential. Strength.

Hmm… I wonder…

“What’re your thoughts on your position, Fushiguro?” Sukuna asks. “Or rather, the position of omegas in society?”

Megumi’s eyes widen a fraction, but he stays quiet, gaze flitting to the left and right. The first crack of uncertainty Sukuna’s seen from him.

“You may speak freely here,” Sukuna says. “I’m genuinely curious as to what you think.”

Megumi inhales. Exhales. Pauses. Then speaks. “I think you already know the answer to that question, Your Majesty. You don’t need me to explain.”

“Fair enough.” Sukuna chuckles. This omega has some bite; he likes that. “Then what is it that you wish for most? What do you want in this world that’s forsaken and forgotten about you?”

“Whatever it is that you wish for most, Your Majesty,” Megumi replies. “Your interests are my interests. Your desires are my desires.”

“Come now, you know that’s a crock of shit. Practiced answers so you don’t get yourself beaten or worse.” Sukuna leans further into Megumi’s space, but the omega doesn’t waver. “If there’s one thing I hate more than anything, Fushiguro Megumi, it’s being lied to. I gave you permission to speak your mind. That’s a luxury no other omega who’s entered this chamber has had. Take advantage of my kindness.”

“Why do you want to know?” Megumi asks, tone sharp. Cautious. A barely sheathed blade.

“This is a marriage interview, remember?” Sukuna smirks. “It’s only fair that I want to know the person I’m potentially going to be spending the rest of my life with.”

Megumi raises an eyebrow. Skeptical.

“I find you incredibly interesting, Fushiguro Megumi. And like I said before, I’m genuinely curious.” Sukuna brushes his shoulder with Megumi’s, drinking in more of that delicious scent. “Who knows. Depending on what it is, I may even be able to help you obtain it.”

There’s a flash of something in Megumi’s eyes, something that Sukuna can’t quite decipher. It makes that spark, that quiet flame burst to life. He reigns the flame in, but there’s no mistaking the spike in his scent. “Really? You’d do that?” his tone is even, but there is a shadow of hope.

“Depends on what it is first.”

“But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you do a favor… Why would you even consider doing a favor… for someone like me?”

“I already told you that I find you incredibly interesting. What more reason do I need other than that?”

Megumi stares into Sukuna’s eyes for what seems like hours, those emerald pools—so hopeful, so used to disappointment—searching. No doubt searching for a lie, a con, for Sukuna to pull the rug out beneath him and mock and laugh and turn him away. But Sukuna does not waver. Does not tear his gaze away.

Honestly, how could he not stare into such meaningful depths? How could he not be in awe and want to nurture the flame that wants nothing more than to burn bright and spur the life it found itself in?

Megumi is the first to break eye contact, nibbling on his lower lip. “I want—"

It takes a second, maybe less, for the shift.

One moment, Megumi was standing.

The next, he’s clutching at his chest and crumbling to the ground.

Sukuna barely manages to catch him before he hits the tiled floor, and the omega is burning in his hands as raven locks stick to his sweat slick forehead.

What was going on? Was it time for his heat? No, the gentle traces of jasmine and citrus hadn’t strengthened in the slightest. Was it illness? Fever? Unlikely since Megumi’s entire body was seemingly on fire, fighting a blaze that raged on the outside. So what…?

Megumi’s still clenching at his chest, his beautiful face transfixed in agony, panting as strangled whimpers and ragged words manage to choke their way out. Sukuna manages to move the omega’s tight grip, pulling back the fabric to reveal a single black sigil imprinted on Megumi’s chest. Harmless, if one were to just glimpse at it, thinking of it as nothing more than a tattoo.

But Sukuna sees the writing engraved within the black ink, feels the energy pulsing from it, growing stronger with each second. And as it grows, Megumi’s pain follows right behind.

It’s a curse.

A curse of silence.

And Sukuna’s blood burns in his veins.

He storms out into the throne room, Megumi in his arms, and everyone’s heads snap in his direction. They dare not speak a word, dare not to breathe, and he knows his cursed energy and alpha presence chills them to the bone. The other four omegas cower into a bow, but he’s not concerned with them.

Sukuna flicks his gaze to Aoki and Harada. They flinch and Sukuna can’t help but be satisfied at that. He keeps his tone even, yet his words drip with barely contained rage. “Would one of you care to explain how Fushiguro Megumi ended up being branded with a curse of silence?”

Aoki and Harada look back and forth between one another, carrying an entire conversation with their eyes, and Sukuna’s patience is wearing thinner by the second.

“One of you will speak now or you will both die.” Sukuna growls, adjusting Megumi in his arms when the omega writhes and clutches onto Sukuna’s uniform, burying his face in the crook of Sukuna’s neck and taking deep, steadying, painful breaths.

“Your Majesty…” Aoki steps forward, meeting Sukuna’s fiery gaze. “Fushiguro Megumi is a defiant omega who has a habit of trying to escape and often speaks out of turn.”

“I’ve heard of plenty of shelters finding ways to make their defiant omegas mind. Strangely enough, none of those methods involve cursing them.”

“It was a last resort, Your Majesty.” Aoki kneels. “We knew that if this continued, Fushiguro would never be chosen and would have to eventually be expelled from the shelter. We did it to ensure his future, to ensure that he would live a long and happy life as you know better than anyone how dangerous it is for an unclaimed omega to be out in the world.”

“I see. So you’re the one responsible for this.”

Aoki’s head snaps up. “Your Majesty, it wasn’t me who—”

“Spare me your lies, handler. I will hear no more of your excuses and false flattery. Harada has no cursed energy, so it wasn’t him who cursed Fushiguro. And as a commoner, you shouldn’t have any cursed energy either.”

Aoki’s eyes widen.

“So, a noble is travelling and selling omegas instead of contributing to their kingdom in meaningful ways,” Sukuna says, eyes boring into the handler’s. He schools his expression, though he wants nothing more than to rip the throat out of the man before him. “That could only mean that you were cast out, exiled and stripped of your position. Otherwise, why would you stoop so low as to take this job? What an eyesore you must be.”

Aoki trembles. “Your Majesty—"

“Here.” Sukuna descends the small set of steps, advancing towards Aoki. “Allow me to demonstrate my own curse of silence.”

“Your Majesty, please—!”

Sukuna snaps his fingers and Aoki bursts into flames, flailing and writhing and screaming on the marble floor as the stench of his burning flesh stings the air. Harada and the other four omegas shriek, cowering away from the inferno to avoid its wrath. And as soon as Aoki’s screams die out, Sukuna extinguishes the flames with the same snap of his fingers, and all that remains of Aoki is a burnt, smoking pile.

He looks at Harada who’s still quaking on the floor, and the man quickly sits in a deep bow. “Hope you’re competent enough to find your way back home. Otherwise, you can take a one-way trip just like your friend here.”

Harada shakes his head. “I-I can make it back, Your Majesty.”

“You will leave at first light tomorrow.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Sukuna nods, shifting his attention to Megumi in his arms, who had apparently passed out at some point. He peels back the clothing, and Megumi’s chest is bare, the curse broken. “Uraume.”

Uraume is by his side in an instant. “Yes, Sukuna-sama.”

“Have the maidens draw a bath. Then take him to his chambers. The room across from mine should do.” Sukuna barely spares another glance at the corpse on the floor. “And have someone clean this mess up. Before he stinks up the whole castle. We’re having guests tomorrow.”

Uraume bows. “As you wish, Sukuna-sama.”

The guards quickly open the doors to the throne room and bow as Sukuna makes his exit, heading upstairs to the baths with Megumi still unconscious in his arms. A soft sigh whispers past Megumi’s lips, and Sukuna holds onto him just a bit tighter. Sukuna’s honestly not quite sure why he did what he did. Why he murdered someone over an omega he barely spent five minutes with.

All he knows is that Fushiguro Megumi is incredibly interesting.

And that he’s chosen his omega.