LOCKED IN WITH THE KING

ZEPHYR

Nobody questioned a cadet volunteering for delivery work. The quartermaster barely glanced at my papers before waving me into the crew, and by mid-morning I had a crate on my shoulder and my collar pulled high enough to shadow half my face, climbing the servants' stairwell with a man named Otto who talked too much and asked too many questions I didn't want to answer.

"You presented yet?" he asked, shifting his crate to his other shoulder, sweat already soaking through his shirt on the second flight.

"You've got that look. All coiled up. Bet you're Alpha, with those shoulders."

"Something like that," I said, and let the lie sit there. The truth would've gotten me killed before I ever reached the palace.

I had only differentiated as an Omega recently. My body was still struggling to adjust, and I couldn't risk anyone discovering what I had become.

"Keep your head down today regardless," he added, dropping his voice.

"King Baikal's been foul all week, ever since the Ivanov negotiations fell through. You can feel it in the air up here if you know what to watch for."

I didn't know what he meant. Then, two floors later, I did.

It hit the stairwell all at once, a pressure pushing down through stone like the whole building was straining under it, and every hair on my arms rose the same second Otto dropped his crate entirely, both hands flying to the back of his own neck.

"Oh, hell," he breathed.

"That's him. Nobody said he was due to rut this early—"

Guards were already shouting above us, boots pounding, doors slamming in a rhythm closer to panic than protocol. Someone screamed lockdown two floors up and it rolled down the stairwell like a struck bell, servants and Betas and unmated Omegas scattering for anything with a lock on it.

Something in me answered before I could stop it, some old unfamiliar instinct buried under Fenna's needle rising up anyway, quiet and traitorous, pulling toward that pressure instead of away from it, and I hated my own body for wanting something it had no right to want.

 The reaction made no sense. My suppressants should have dulled whatever I was feeling, yet something about his pheromones reached past them. I didn't understand it, I just wanted to get the shipment and leave this cursed palace before anyone discovered what I was.

"Move, servants' hall, now—" someone hauled at my arm, dragging me into the current of fleeing bodies, and I let myself be pulled because standing still in that stairwell suddenly felt like the most dangerous thing I could do.

They all hastened their steps, like it was an utmost protocol of the palace, but I couldn't just leave without getting what I'd come here for yet, so I wasted no time and steered myself away from them, making sure to fall behind as the shutters welded down.

I ducked, steering into a separate part of the corridor. The red alarms were on full now. I could hear heavy footsteps closing in toward me. I ducked, shoving a door to an empty wing open — I wasn't lost, voices drew closer, alert spread through me, I kicked forward, dashing into what seemed like… a lounge.

I ducked in, beneath the heavy iron shutter, right in time for it to shut completely.

The loud noises went off immediately, the wiring sound and blinking lights going off.

"Complete lockdown protocol activated," a loud mechanical voice called as everything went dim, right on time.

"Well. Well… well… look what the cat dragged in." A cold, commanding, chillingly menacing voice whispered. I turned slowly, my knees almost giving in, but that was when it hit me — the strong, heavy whiff of Alpha pheromones, slamming ruthlessly into me, straight into every inch of my senses.

My knees gave in and I fell against the floor, my entire body trembling. The cheap suppressants weren't doing shit now. His Alpha pheromones were too strong, running over every barrier of suppressant I was on.

He took slow, graceful steps toward me, my gaze following him until he finally stopped before me, his hand slid over his chest — he was barely covered, a sheer, night-material sheet over his hips.

My eyes moved up, my heart slamming fiercely against my chest. His chest was bare, arms folded over them. My eyes ran up to his face, his dazed, mismatched eyes staring down at me. One blue… one green. His silver hair hung behind him, head tilted slightly, a grin splitting his face in half.

"King… Baikal." I stuttered, fear like never before rattling me to my core, his finger dropped to my face, snatching up my jaw.

I tried to pull away, disgust and anger cutting through my fear. I didn't care if he was the King. His title didn't give him the right to treat me like something he owned.

"An Omega… just what I needed," he whispered, running his tongue over his lips, pressing his lips right onto mine.

I stiffened in shock. The moment I could move, I tried to push him away. I hated him for touching me without permission, and I hated my own body's confusing reaction to his pheromones even more. Whatever this instinct was, I would never mistake it for obedience.