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“Please, Ly,” Cornelius begged.
Lysander replied something too soft for me to hear. I let out a shaky breath as they both went inside, shutting the balcony door.
Minutes that felt like hours went by while I remained focused on where they had stood. I felt as if I were trapped under ice, watching the world move on above.
Slowly, like syrup dripping, reasoning filled in the empty spaces in my head. Lysander was in love with another. That other was a man. His hint of sadness, his hesitancy, his behavior today and at dinner… all of it made sense. He ached for another, someone he couldn’t have in more ways than one.
Part of me felt for him, deeply. I’d never wish heartache on my worst enemy. To love someone you could never have. But another part was hurt and terribly confused. I felt utterly foolish. The things they’d said, about our marriage, about me.
What was I getting into?
I almost screamed when the crow landed on my balcony wall a few feet away from me. I finally turned away from the scene I’d been glued to and observed the large black beauty. Cocking his head this way and that, he studied me. It let out a trill, low enough not to travel very far, but enough for me to know it was communicating something to me. He did it again, and I could have sworn it was mocking me. Eyes red and shining, it stared at me, almost smiling.
Whether it was the darkness and the lateness of the hour, or just me feeling raw from what I’d just witnessed, something about the crow seemed… wrong.
Seconds went by as the creature and I stared at each other. My hands began to shake, and for the first time in months, I was feeling the cold.
Cornelius was right in that I could probably learn his pet’s name. Its name was Fear.
Without taking my eyes off it, I slowly stepped back until I was inside my room, then I softly closed the glass door, latching it. The crow hadn’t moved from its perch, only followed me with its eyes. I pulled the drapes down, not wanting it to see me or my room, which I stood in now, surrounded by pitch black darkness. I felt my way to where the vanity was, thankful for its sturdiness.
My fingers found the top left-hand drawer, and I rummaged through it until I found a taper and a flint stick. My hands shook but I got a flame, touching it to the taper’s long wick. I saw my reflection in the vanity’s mirror. I looked like a specter.
I walked around the room, lighting every candle I could find, then sat slowly down on my bed.
What was I going to do? What could I do? I knew what I wanted to do—leave this place, go home, and lock myself in my room back in Providence. But that path was closed to me. I could go find Auria, live with her. I was sure I could find my way back to the cabin. As much as the idea made me yearn for the sanctuary of that springtime land, I knew she wouldn’t be there, her spell over the wintry forest having been broken as soon as Demos and I had left that morning.
Where else could I go? Cut my hair, color it with dye, dress as a boy, sell the jewels in my vanity, buy passage on a ship that would take me… where? I was a woman without protection in a world of predators. And Omega thrown into the mix. And when my blasted estrus came back, what then?
You stay where you are, my logical side said.
Oh, but I’ve been burned, set on fire and was nothing but ash, I told it. From the moment Demos first stepped foot in my parents’ sitting room, a great hand on a spit had been turning the rod, rotating me over a fire.
Lysander would never love me. And I would never love him. I didn’t know much about love, having only loved my parents. Auria had said my feelings toward Demos was lust, not love. But I knew what I had felt for him was a prelude to what love could feel like once I had it. I also knew it was something I wanted, something that was needed to bond me to my alpha husband. Auria had spoken of being cherished, that the bond between Alpha and Omega was “stronger than granite,” and that there was more to love than sex.
I simply had to acknowledge that the bond she and everyone else here was expecting wasn’t going to happen. Lysander knew it. Every moment I’d spent in his presence, he had known he was already bound to someone else.
And what about what they had said out there on the balcony? Once my shock of what I’d seen had passed, their words replayed in my mind. They were planning something, leaving together, Cornelius had said. A plan in the works. I had already sensed a dislike between Cornelius and myself. Would he be willing to change Lysander’s mind about marrying me?
My knowledge of the Ongahri could fit inside a thimble, that was how little I knew about their ways, but I was pretty certain that an Ongahri man could not be with another man, just like it was with all of Titus. The punishment for such a thing was death. Were they willing to die for that? Cornelius sure had sounded like it.
Lysander was a prince, heir to a throne! It would never be permitted—neither his death nor the acknowledgment of something that was beyond taboo. In an ideal world, one should be free enough to love anyone they wanted. But I wasn’t naive enough to believe the world of man would change their ludicrous laws anytime soon.
I recalled that night I had recited Ode to Rose and Thorn for Mother, the poem by Saint John, how I’d found it so romantic that a person would be willing to risk death for forbidden love. And Mother’s words: “But there is more to love than losing one’s life for the chance, child.” She had called me idealistic. I still was. However, since my time in the cabin, realism was the more prominent teacher, whether I liked the lessons it imparted or not. Where before I saw everything in shades of gray, my convictions not wavering, I now realized the black and white world held more power, dictating every action we did.
If found out, Lysander would be killed. Both he and Cornelius. Lysander had no choice but to let his lover go, marry me, and hope that the alpha-omega bond and claiming would take. But what if, like Saint John, he threw propriety to the wind?
I didn’t know what to do. My fate was dependent on one man, and the knowing of that brought on a rage inside me. What was the point in having a mind if I couldn’t choose my own fate? It wasn’t fair! And damn the Owl for arranging all of this. Damn my parents for agreeing. They had picked the wrong man!
Demos would know what to do. I could sneak into his room, wake him up, and unburden myself, hoping he could fix this. The Owl was the mediator, the facilitator. Surely they would want to fix this, right?
But if I told Demos the truth, that Lysander was in love with a man, would I then be responsible for their executions?
I leaned forward, my hands squeezing my head as if I could press my mind into some type of order, that the answers were in there if I could only make them come to the surface.
There was the queen, of course. But I doubted she’d do anything about it. She’d never let her brother be executed, would sweep it all under the rug. Duty was all she saw, and I was Omega, one of the most coveted pieces on the board of her people’s legacy. She’d see to it I was claimed, whether by Lysander or someone else, bred, and under her roof, kept and protected.
Jon couldn’t help. I barely knew him! He’d encourage me to be calm, to face the enormity before me with grace, to trust in fate.
