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“Then allow me to examine you⁠—”

“I remember what you did,” I cut in. “I remember everything you said and did. Everything!”

“Distorted memories are a common effect of anaesthesia.”

“Distorted? Nothing about my memories is distorted. You’re a monster.”

Mireya sighed as though I were just being a nuisance. “We’ll discuss this with your parents.”

“Yes, we should!”

“Just as they believed you were improving.” She took a small pad from one of her front pockets. “As I’ve told you before, the Royal Mental Institute remains the safest place for you. With appropriate treatment, these false memories would stop troubling you.”

That had done it. If the parents believed her over me and sent me away, who knew what else she would do with unrestricted access to me? Absolutely not. So I did the opposite of what she expected and took it all back.

She was so shocked she couldn’t hide it. I put my years of watching EastEnders to good use and told her she was right. It must have been the anaesthesia. I apologised for blaming her for the scars. It must have been a dream. There’s no need to trouble my parents with any of it.

I’d barely managed to get away from her once. If she ever found her way back to me… No. The five Alphas were still my better chance. Mireya had no relationship with them; I’d made sure to ask. She’d never even met them.

With time, maybe I could make them care about me—really care—and eventually tell them the truth. Surely men as powerful as everyone said they were could help me work out what had happened. I didn’t need to figure everything out. I just needed to know Ivy and Nora were safe, still on Earth, together and living their lives. That’s all I need. Just to know they’re okay.

The thought helped. My nerves slowly settled, and eventually my hands stopped shaking. Knots, heats and bites, compared with Mireya? Piece of cake.

I pulled Nora’s book into my lap. Mum’s death hadn’t broken me, and neither had the years I’d survived with Dad afterwards. Mireya had tried her best and failed too. This won’t break me either.

I could do this. I wasn’t some innocent virgin; I knew a move or two. Surely that would work in my favour. I’m going to nail this mating. I’ll be an amazing Omega and an amazing mate.

Fuelled by determination and sheer stubbornness, I opened the book to the first section.

ALPHAS

“It’s called High Mountain because the kingdom began on a single mountain, but they kept the name even after expanding across…” I turned at the end of the enormous rug and started pacing back the other way. “Fifty-seven?”

Eleanor gave me an encouraging nod from the sofa.

“Fifty-seven mountains. No valleys, and incredibly difficult to access by land. It’s the oldest of the Seven Kingdoms and…” I slowed. “Wait, wait. I know this.”

Ivy opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “Don’t tell me.” I kept pacing in front of the three of them, trying to remember the rest. “It’s in the northern hemisphere, so it’s very cold even in summer. There’s no monarchy. A council formed by the High Lords of the Seven Great Houses governs it. All Alphas. All men.” I looked at them. “A bit rude, if you ask me.”

“We didn’t ask for a critique,” Nora teased.

“Saying it anyway.” I carried on, ignoring their laughter. “They also have their own language…” Oh, what was it called? “Don’t tell me. I remember this.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. “Kottarsht! They speak Kottarsht.”

I smiled triumphantly, then stopped. “Wait… Does that mean I won’t be able to understand them?” I looked at Eleanor. “I didn’t even think about it! I only know Zharithian. What if they don’t speak it? What if they can’t understand me?”

A hint of bitterness crept into my scent, and all three women stared at me.

“Oh, sweetling.” Eleanor’s expression softened. “You aren’t speaking Zharithian.”

I frowned. I’d assumed Zharithian was what they called the language I was speaking. “Yes, I am.” I started pacing again. “We’re in Kharith. Kharith is the capital of Azhara, and Azhara’s language is Zharithian. We…” I gestured between us. “We’re speaking Zharithian. Aren’t we?”

“No,” Nora said gently. “We’re speaking the Common Tongue.” Before I could argue, she added, “Zhejhil hushelid julhsxert mhakhatigh brohningt.”

I stopped where I was, and Nora lifted her eyebrows. “That is Zharithian.”

“Did any of those words feel familiar?” Eleanor asked. “Did they stir anything at all?”

I slowly shook my head. “Nothing. I didn’t understand a word.”