Conquest

Rudhek hummed curiously, reached out with drink-clumsy fingers to grasp the omega's chin. This time the boy did flinch beneath his touch, gentle as it was. Even so, there was no resistance when Rudhek lifted his head and turned it toward him, sending the lantern light flickering over and illuminating his face.
There were three marks on his face, between his eyebrows and at the apex of each cheekbone. Old tattoos, the charcoal that made them long since faded. Tribal markings.
Rudhek's hand tightened on his chin, a bruising grip that held him in place even as the omega whimpered, began to tremble, tried instinctively to cringe away from the scent of an alpha's sudden rage. He knew he'd been recognised, that much was clear. And he knew what that would mean for him.
Rudhek, a conquering alpha warlord, is given a 'gift' for his recent victories.
But the emperor despises him. And so the gift is already well-used, scarred, just as tall as Rudhek, and of the tribe that once slaughtered Rudhek's people.
Mihal, an enslaved omega captive, knows that he is an insult. He knows he won't survive the night. But this alpha is strange, his behaviour far from the cruelty that Mihal has come to expect.