Chapter 8

Elouera

The Victory Banquet was designed to be a suffocating display of imperial gluttony.

Long tables carved from solid mahogany groaned under the weight of roasted boar, heavy silver platters of spiced root vegetables, and towers of imported fruits that cost more than a commoner’s yearly wage. A thousand beeswax candles cast a stifling, golden heat over the Great Hall, baking the air until it was thick and unbreathable.

But it wasn't the heat of the candles that was making my skin crawl. It was the crushing, overlapping weight of a hundred Alpha pheromones.

The room was packed with the Sovereign Empire’s military elite. They drank heavy red wine and roared with laughter, constantly projecting their dominance into the air. The hall smelled of crushed pine, burning iron, bitter musk, and blood. For a normal Beta, it would merely be an intimidating atmosphere.

For a suppressed Omega, it was a biological war zone.

I sat at the very edge of the high table, as far from Empress Matilda’s freezing presence as protocol allowed. I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the polished wood in front of me, tracing the grain with a trembling finger.

It had been three days since the incident in the catacombs. Three days since Kael detonated the western armory to get me out of the mandatory physical. Three days since Commander Jace Corowa had dropped his knife, smelled the wild honey and rain on my skin, and walked away into the darkness without saying a single word.

His silence was tearing my nerves to shreds.

Jace was here tonight, seated at the far end of the hall with the Outback generals. I could feel his storm grey eyes cutting through the smoke and the crowd, resting heavily on my shoulders. He hadn't exposed me to the Empress. He hadn't blackmailed me. He had just watched me for three days with a dark, calculating intensity that terrified me more than an executioner's blade.

I reached for my silver goblet, desperately needing the watered down wine to soothe my parched throat. My fingers were slick with cold sweat.

Holden’s crimson pill had fundamentally broken something inside me. The brutal synthetic accelerant had forced my biology to wake up, and now, the black market suppressants I had smuggled in were fighting a losing battle. My body was violently rejecting the chemical cage. It wanted to submit to the Alphas in the room. It wanted to break.

I brought the goblet to my bruised lips.

Don't look at Jace, I ordered myself, swallowing a mouthful of the bitter wine. Don't look at Callan. Just survive the next hour.

Then, it hit.

It didn't start as a dull ache. It was a sudden, blinding strike of pure agony that started at the base of my spine and ripped completely through my lower abdomen.

I choked, inhaling a lungful of wine.

The silver goblet slipped from my paralyzed fingers. It hit the mahogany table with a deafening, metallic crash, tipping over and sending a dark red stain bleeding across the pristine white linen tablecloth.

I didn't care about the spill. I couldn't breathe.

I doubled over, my forearms slamming onto the edge of the table as I curled inward. The cramp seized my uterus with the force of a crushing iron vise. It was a violent, biological demand my body trying to force a heat cycle that had been artificially suppressed for eight years. White-hot stars exploded in the corners of my vision. A muffled, desperate whimper clawed its way up my throat, but I bit my tongue so hard the metallic taste of blood instantly flooded my mouth.

"Look at this."

The voice came from my immediate right. It was a deep, gravelly baritone dripping with open disgust.

Crown Prince Callan.

My older brother by a different father. A man built like a siege engine, with vicious, icy blue eyes and a scent like cracking glaciers and raw leather. He leaned back in his heavy oak chair, a half empty flagon of ale dangling from his massive hand.

"Can't even stomach the wine now, little brother?" Callan sneered, his voice carrying easily over the din of the surrounding nobles. Several courtiers turned their heads, their eyes lighting up with cruel amusement at the sight of the weak Second Prince making a fool of himself.

"I'm fine," I gasped, trying to push myself up.

My arms gave out completely. My elbow slipped on the wine soaked tablecloth, and my shoulder slammed hard against the wood. The jarring impact shot a spike of fire directly into my broken rib.

Callan let out a harsh, barking laugh. "You're a miserable sight, Elian. The smell of roasted meat is too much for your delicate constitution? Or are the loud noises making you want to weep into your skirts?"

"Leave it, Callan," someone murmured down the table, though they sounded amused.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my fist into my stomach. Please, I begged my own biology. Not here. Do not do this here.

But the cramp didn't recede. It twisted deeper, radiating a terrifying, unnatural heat that began to flush my skin. My carefully applied powder was sweating off. My pulse was hammering frantically against the tight, suffocating linen bindings wrapped around my chest.

"Look at him shaking," Callan mocked, his amusement shifting into genuine, aggressive irritation. He hated me because my mere existence tied him to a mother he despised. "You are embarrassing the royal house. Get up."

I couldn't form the words to respond. A second wave of agony hit me, so intense my jaw locked. A cold sweat broke out across my spine.

"I said, get up!"

Callan’s massive hand shot out. He grabbed a fistful of my high velvet collar and the back of my tunic, hauling me upward with brutal, uncompromising force.

My boots scrambled against the stone floor, failing to find purchase. He dragged me out of my chair entirely, holding me up by the scruff of my neck like a disobedient, sickly hound. The sudden movement sent a wave of agonizing nausea through my system. I went entirely limp, my chin dropping to my chest, my hands blindly grasping at his thick forearm to keep from choking.

"Pathetic," Callan growled softly, stepping in close to drag me away from the table before the Empress noticed the commotion. "I am going to throw you in the stables where you belong. You make me sick."

He hauled me flush against his side to mask my stumbling.

It was a fatal mistake.

The moment my burning, feverish body made contact with his solid, heavily muscled frame, the friction generated a microscopic slip in my absolute control. The physical contact with a dominant Alpha in the middle of a pre heat cramp shattered the last failing barrier of my suppressants.

Just a fraction of an inch. Just one single drop of sweat rolling down the back of my neck.

Callan took a step toward the servant's exit, dragging me with him.

Then, he stopped.

He didn't just slow down. His entire massive frame went rigidly, terrifyingly still. The hand gripping my collar slackened by a millimeter.

Through the haze of my blinding pain, I felt Callan slowly turn his head. He leaned down, his nose brushing against the damp hair at the nape of my neck. He took a sharp, shallow inhale.

The cruel, arrogant sneer vanished from his face instantly, replaced by a look of sheer, predatory shock. His icy blue eyes blew wide, the pupils expanding until they swallowed the iris.

"What" Callan breathed, his voice suddenly completely hollow, his grip on my collar shifting into a desperate, possessive hold around my waist. "What is that scent?"