The Sweet Alpha Crown Prince Loves Me So Much

“Dispose of him.”

At Mugicha’s command, soldiers entered, swiftly executing the man kneeling at his feet.

Mugicha watched impassively as the soldiers dragged the twitching body away, then tightened the sash of his robe.

“Insufficient.”

The sunlight, the magic stones, the people, the monsters, even the Omegas… All insufficient.

He was tired of relying on stolen Omegas to manage his rut.

Most were recessive, barely enough to satisfy him for a single night. And some were already bonded, their resistance only adding to his irritation.

“Didn’t I offer myself, Your Majesty? I’m more than capable of… alleviating your… needs.”

Kitchener, witnessing another living person being tossed to the monsters, licked his lips, a look of longing in his eyes.

Mugicha, his gaze cold and devoid of emotion, turned to Kitchener, then let out a dry chuckle.

“You? An old, withered husk like you, satisfying

needs? Are you even still functional?”

The blatant mockery twisted Kitchener’s face in a mask of humiliation, but he dared not retaliate.

Instead, composing himself, he addressed the main issue.

“How long do we wait, Your Majesty? It’s time to act.”

“…Well, Heineken’s forces are still formidable…”

Mugicha’s lukewarm response made Kitchener clench his fists.

“Your monsters are being slaughtered by Heineken’s soldiers.”

The old man was impatient. Mugicha chuckled.

“Does the former Chancellor of Lindbergh have a better plan? Perhaps a less ‘lukewarm’ strategy for confronting Heineken’s army head-on?”

“We should send an elite squad through the tunnels. Parman’s assassins can easily eliminate Adrian Heineken.”

“And then Glenn Heineken, having lost his only son—well, almost only son, I hear a second one is on the way—would wipe Parman off the map.”

Mugicha lifted his arm, sniffing the air.

The stench of decay clung to him, thick and cloying.

This was what happened when he coupled with those devoid of pheromones.

Disgusting.

He wanted to dispose of the moldy old man before him just as quickly.

He took a sip of cold water, then shook the bell attached to his wrist.

“I brought hundreds of magic stones, Your Majesty. I offered them willingly, for the creation of an elite force. When will they be ready?”

Servants entered silently, tidying the messy room and cleaning Mugicha’s body.

Kitchener had an unobstructed view of Mugicha’s naked form. Mugicha, oblivious to Kitchener’s disapproving frown, casually fondled a servant girl’s breast.

“Ah, those useless magic stones.”

“What?”

Mugicha chuckled, enjoying Kitchener’s bewildered expression.

“Lindbergh imported their magic stones from Heineken, didn’t they? Did you know those stones were… compromised?”

“Compromised? What are you talking about?”

“Those magic stones are trash. Utter garbage. I regret bringing you here, thinking you possessed something of value.”

Kitchener’s rigid posture faltered.

“That’s… impossible. Those magic stones don’t have any formulas inscribed on them. Just… the magician’s seal.”

Lindbergh’s magicians were magicians in name only. Kitchener himself was one of them. Generations of recessive differentiators had diluted their bloodline, leaving them without the magical potency to imbue magic stones with power.

So, they imported uninscribed magic stones from Heineken, adding the necessary formulas as needed. It had been a workable solution.

Mugicha scoffed at Kitchener, who stammered in disbelief.

Idiot. He didn’t even understand the basics of magic stones. That’s why he’d swallowed the bait without a second thought, unable to distinguish between shit and chocolate.

“The magician’s seal binds the stone to the one who initially infused it with magic. Regardless of what formulas are later inscribed, the original owner can access the information contained within, if they so choose. How do you think Heineken gathers all that intelligence? Hmm?”

“That’s… that’s…”

“Lindbergh has been dancing in Heineken’s palm all along. Using those stones would turn Parman into another Lindbergh. Honestly, how did you manage to become Chancellor with that level of ignorance?”

They should’ve started by mining the magic stones from the Mochu Mountains. Or better yet, they should’ve banned the training of magicians or their immigration altogether.

Kitchener, who’d been so focused on grabbing the gold coins before him that he’d shot himself in the foot, collapsed to the floor, defeated.

He’d been so pleased when the Balvenie Merchant Guild agreed to sell them magic stones at a discounted price—though still expensive—when Lindbergh’s magicians could no longer keep up with the demand.

He’d assumed it was a political maneuver, perhaps an attempt to curry favor with Carl Lindbergh, the newly recognized dominant Omega. He’d thought he was taking advantage of the situation.

He pounded the floor with his fist, screaming, “That damned Balvenie Heineken!”

Mugicha, amused by his outburst, grabbed the servant girl who was cleaning his groin, pulling her closer. He inhaled her scent.

Not bad. Not an Omega, but sufficient for a night.

A cruel smile spread across his face.

“You’ll attend to me tonight.”

The servant girl’s face paled.

She trembled, and Mugicha frowned.

He wasn’t known for his gentleness. A Beta like her, breaking under him, was an inevitability.

If she dared to leave even a single scratch on him, he’d have her head.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like the idea? Who knows, you might even conceive the next heir.”

He tightened his grip on her waist, his tone deceptively gentle.

His grip was strong enough to bruise her delicate skin.

The servant girl, devoid of any agency, shook her head vigorously, her voice hollow. “It would be an honor, Your Majesty.”

Her fellow servants, relieved they hadn’t been chosen, exchanged glances.

Mugicha released her, then walked over to Kitchener and nudged him with his foot.

“So, just stay put and be a good dog. I have no interest in ruling a crumbling nation. You’re being saved for later. The moment I realized those magic stones of yours were worthless, you became expendable.”

He pressed his foot down on the back of Kitchener’s hand, grinding it into the floor.

Kitchener groaned, his body writhing in pain, but Mugicha felt nothing.

Inhaling the lingering scent of the servant girl on his hand, Mugicha thought, ‘Still… insufficient. I need an Omega. A dominant Omega, preferably beautiful and un-imprinted.’

Bonded Omegas were too… principled. Their scent, though pleasant, was also… repulsive.

“Then… at the very least… now…”

Kitchener stammered, reaching out a trembling hand towards Mugicha.

A lifeline, even if rotten.

The only straw he could grasp.

“Now what?”

“At least… Carl Lindbergh… before he imprints with Adrian Heineken…!”

He hadn’t heard from his spies in Lindbergh.

Their last message had been:

He’d never been more grateful for Heineken’s strict prohibition of premarital imprinting.

Even if he became the ruler of a hollowed-out Lindbergh, after Mugicha Parman swallowed Heineken whole, he still needed a dominant Omega.

A rare, highly dominant Omega was his only chance to preserve his dwindling bloodline.

The thought of serving a puppet king, of catering to the Queen’s vanity, of groveling at Mugicha Parman’s feet, disgusted him.

And if he lost the prince, the one he’d groomed since childhood to be his mate, he wouldn’t be able to rest in peace.

“He’s officially the Crown Prince’s fiancé. They could imprint any day now. This is our chance. They’re separated, un-imprinted. Give me this, Your Majesty! I beg you!”

Kitchener looked up at Mugicha, desperation in his eyes.

A flicker of something akin to interest flashed in Mugicha’s lifeless eyes, but Kitchener didn’t notice.

“Hmm, so the Omega prince isn’t imprinted yet…”

He’d assumed they were already imprinted, considering their engagement. This was… unexpected.

Mugicha pressed his foot down harder on Kitchener’s hand.

He ignored Kitchener’s scream of pain, feeling nothing.

“Kitchener, it seems our debt is already paid. I saved your life, remember?”

When Parman, isolated and resource-starved, had begun digging its vast network of underground tunnels, connecting to the major cities of neighboring countries, the Mibari Forest of Lindbergh had been their first target.

It had been an easy choice, thanks to Kitchener’s vulnerability, his secrets now in Parman’s hands. And the abundance of monsters, along with the readily available magic stones, had been a tempting bonus.

Unknown to most, it was Parman who had profited from Lindbergh’s obsession with Omega hunting, providing them with Omegas from other nations in exchange for a hefty sum.

Though disguised as wandering mercenaries, they were Parman’s elite forces, tasked with procuring Omegas for their dwindling Alpha population.

Their methods were simple.

Identify the target, render them unconscious with sleeping incense, and then carry them away.

Omegas nearing their heat were like sponges, their senses heightened, their bodies craving an Alpha’s touch. This primal instinct made them susceptible to even small doses of sleeping incense, usually enough to render them unconscious.

After the Omega population dwindled, they resorted to kidnapping any potential candidates, drugging them indiscriminately. This resulted in the capture of Betas, and even recessive Omegas, barely worthy of the title.

Parman sold them to Lindbergh’s nobles at a low price.

They’d mocked those nobles, so easily aroused by even fake Omegas.

Kitchener had been the only one to realize their true allegiance to Parman. He had relied on Parman’s assistance to elevate a recessive Omega to the position of Queen, to poison the King, and to suppress Carl Lindbergh’s pheromones. Parman, in turn, had used Kitchener as their connection to the outside world.

But their cooperation was no longer necessary. Parman was about to emerge.

Mugicha looked down at Kitchener, who was sobbing pathetically.

“Why should I fulfill your request? You’re no longer of use to me.”

Kitchener’s face contorted in utter despair.