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“Of course she did,” the queen said. “My darling girl is of supreme stock.”
The conversation picked up then, right into another round of horse talk.
I set into my dessert, a vanilla custard with caramel sauce, growing uncomfortable at the man beside me, Lysander Trajan. His custard sat untouched. He had barely eaten any of the previous courses, only nursed his—many—drinks. The dark amber liquid served in a whiskey glass smelled abhorrently potent and reminded me of the turpentine that Fanny Atria, one of Providence’s wool dyers, made in the spring.
My spirits dropped as each spoonful of custard touched my tongue, and a melancholic feeling washed over me.
I was learning more about my husband-to-be from gossip and observation than I was from the man himself, and I was not liking what I saw. On my way to the dining room earlier, I had put the issue of his womanizing aside, telling myself that sometimes people changed, that perhaps Lysander, once married, would be one of those who could. But now I had my doubts.
My gaze took in all the people in the room, as if I were looking for some kind of anchor that would keep me from being swallowed up by this awful feeling of despair. Even Demos, especially Demos, wasn’t a comfort—those days were over. All around me were strangers. I’d never felt so alone.
It had been such a lovely day up until I had eavesdropped on those women in the laundry.
Somewhere along the line, I had forgotten all about the omega and alpha dynamic, and what, ultimately, my status to these people meant. Behind all the trivial and social interplays, where all of us acted in accordance with our roles, sat the chaos that my blood could unleash, leading to one calamity after another.
Lucius was staring at me as I made a full sweep of the diners. Was it because I was female, or because I was Omega? His gaze was much too penetrating, and I looked away.
A trickle of fear had me putting down my spoon, and the food in my stomach sat heavily, as if I’d consumed a handful of rocks.
What if Auria had been wrong and my estrus came on now? At this dinner table, with all these alphas? I’d been around enough of them now to tell who was True Alpha and who had a weaker dynamic—their scents were obvious now that I had a reference point. If a rut were to happen, Demos wouldn’t be taking me away this time, I thought. His mission to deliver me to Lysander was complete. And Lysander was getting more inebriated as the drinks kept coming.
If their scent dictated who was the strongest, and if it came down to a challenge, Fadon and Lucius were the ultimate competitors in a contest of who was highest on the alpha spectrum. Just the thought of Lucius losing control had my hands shaking, or worse, me losing control, my body not caring who satiated that desperate need the estrus created.
Then there was the queen. Mari was also just as strong in her Alpha. But she was so delicate in stature compared to the men in the room. It would be like a cat versus a bear.
So again, what if what happened in that cave, my scent triggering a rut, came about now, here at this table, where everyone was civilized and calm now, but within seconds could turn into wild animals, myself included? How many more deaths would occur because of me? And would I be the cause of the queen’s demise?
“Sierra, what is it?” Fadon asked sharply.
Hearing my name, I looked at him. Those shiny onyx eyes bored into mine, his expression filled with concern.
“My dear, perhaps you need some air,” Mari said, studying me intently. “Demos, would you be so kind as to escort the princess out to the side garden?”
Had I been myself, I would have demurred and waved a hand, told them I was fine. But I had to get out of this room.
“Of course,” Demos said, setting down his napkin and standing.
Conversation slowed as everyone looked at the Servant.
“Once we’re finished,” Mari said, her tone once more that of the alpha queen, “I’d like you all to join me in the drawing room.”
Demos came around and assisted me with my chair. I glanced at Lysander. He didn’t look at me, only stared at his dessert, one hand holding a spoon, the other wrapped around his almost empty glass.
“Come, my lady.” Demos offered his arm, and I took it, murmuring something to the queen as we exited the room.
Once outside, my chest expanded as fresh, cool air filled my lungs. I breathed in as much of it as I could hold, releasing that horrible panic. Sweat dampened the back of my neck and temples, and my shoulders were tense. I relaxed them as I took in the night sky.
Demos seemed to sense my need for silence and simply followed my lead. A pebbled path crunched at our feet as we walked through the rows of dark, emerald-green hedges and holly. After a bit, I decided to sit on one of the stone benches between two marble statues of veiled women posing in obeisant positions, their heads bowed, knees bent, hands lifted in prayer.
Demos chose to stand, his hands clasped behind his back. He was watching the sky, his body turned away from mine.
I was reminded of the night I had first seen the Ongahri. How I had ran away to another garden, where Demos also happened to be, my mind filled with so many things, but mostly focused on the enormity of my situation at the time. It was funny, looking back and comparing that time to what I faced now, how much simpler things were. Then, my life had felt out of my control; and it had been. But now? Fate was having its way with me, crushing me down with wave after wave of loss, worry, and a loneliness I’d never known.
Hidden in those feelings, however, there was anger building. Anger at the world, anger at the gods. Feeling it made me feel better, in a way. It put me in touch with myself again. But as soon as I tried to hold it, the feelings of inadequacy came pouring back in.
We continued in silence until I had tired of my own thoughts. I wanted to visit Jon, like I’d promised this morning, and I had letters to write.
“I’m ready, Demos.” I told him, not looking at him.
