Chapter 9: What Rank Of Dogs are You?

Evelina Sinclair:

Unfortunately, we didn't move quickly enough.

As I stepped back, someone coming from the opposite direction brushed against me, making me stumble. A sharp gasp escaped Cora.

"Forgive us, my lady," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I immediately lowered my head further.

The corridor fell silent.

The procession had stopped.

I leaned closer to Cora, my lips barely moving. "Who are they?"

"The one in the front is Lady Morgana, my lady. And the one beside her is the Noble Lady."

"Oh lord have mercy."

I could hear the faint rustle of Morgana's gown as she turned. I didn't dare look up. For several seconds, she said nothing, and the silence stretched until I finally heard her voice.

"Noble Lady."

I raised my eyes only slightly.

The Noble Lady stood a short distance away, having been walking alongside Morgana's procession. Unlike the maids, she wasn't dressed like a servant. Her clothing carried the refinement of someone belonging to the upper ranks of the palace, and the way she held herself made it clear she was accustomed to being obeyed.

Morgana looked towards her.

"I have been meaning to ask you something."

The Noble Lady inclined her head. "What is it, Lady Morgana?"

Morgana's eyes drifted lazily towards the corridor, scanning the space where Cora and I huddled against the wall like vermin seeking shadow.

"Why," she asked, her voice carrying that particular tone of vague distaste that only the truly cruel can master, "are dogs being allowed inside the Alpha's residence?"

The question sounded innocent.

It wasn't.

The Noble Lady's gaze followed hers, and her eyes landed on Cora before shifting to me. I felt her inspection like a physical weight, like hands pawing through my dignity searching for contamination.

I felt my stomach tighten.

"Dogs?" the Noble Lady repeated, her brow arching with delicate confusion.

Morgana smiled—that perfect, porcelain smile that never reached her winter-frost eyes.

"Yes."

She finally looked directly at me.

It was only for a moment, but the way her eyes travelled over me—from my tangled hair to my bare feet peeking beneath the heavy cloak, the way her nose wrinkled almost imperceptibly—made my skin crawl with shame.

"I was under the impression," she continued, her voice dropping to a speculative murmur, "that Alpha's residence was restricted to those with proper rank and permission. To those who have been... vetted. Cleaned. Deemed suitable for civilized company."

The Noble Lady's expression remained composed. "It is."

"Then perhaps you can explain," Morgana said, turning back to her companion with an expression of genuine, wounded confusion, "why I keep encountering creatures who clearly possess neither rank nor permission. Creatures who seem to wander where they please, leaving their filth on the furniture, their stench in the corridors..."

She paused, her hand lifting to her nose as if to ward off some offensive odor.

"I would hate to think that the rules are being applied selectively. That some are allowed to trespass while others must observe every propriety."

The Noble Lady looked towards us, her gaze sharpening.

"Who are you?"

Cora immediately bowed lower, her voice trembling. "We are—"

Morgana lifted one finger.

Just one.

Cora fell silent instantly, her words dying in her throat.

Morgana didn't even look at her. She kept her eyes on the Noble Lady, her smile never wavering.

"Let them answer for themselves," she said softly. Almost gently. "If they can, of course. One does wonder if they possess the faculty for speech. Or if they communicate in... other ways. Growls. Whimpers. The sort of sounds one expects from strays."

The Noble Lady's attention settled on me, her eyes cold with aristocratic distaste.

"You." She gestured with two fingers. "Raise your head."

I did exactly as I was told, lifting my chin just enough to meet her gaze, my heart hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears.

The Noble Lady studied me with the expression of someone examining livestock at the market—or perhaps something lower than livestock. Something that needed to be put down.

"What breed of dog are you?"

The words cut like silk-wrapped blades.

"Of Omega rank," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

She immediately stepped back, her hand flying to her chest as if the mention of the rank alone was a contagion, a disease that might spread through the air and infect her pristine bloodline. Her face twisted with revulsion so complete it needed no words to articulate.

"And what," she snapped, her voice suddenly sharp, aggressive, all pretense of vague politeness abandoned, "are these dogs doing here? In the residence? Wearing that—"

Her eyes narrowed, focusing on the heavy black fabric draped around my shoulders, the silver chains catching the candlelight, the dark embroidery that marked it unmistakably as his.

Morgana's head turned slowly, following the Noble Lady's gaze. For a moment, she simply stared, her expression unreadable, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Then she laughed.

It was not a pleasant sound.

"How curious," she murmured, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow filled the corridor. "How very, very curious."

She took a step toward me, her movements graceful, predatory, like a cat discovering a wounded bird in its garden. She stopped just out of arm's reach, her head tilting as she examined the cloak from every angle, her eyes widening with theatrical shock.

"How," she asked, her voice soft as velvet and sharp as glass, "did you come to be holding onto that... garment?"

I said nothing, my throat too tight to form words.

She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume—jasmine and something darker, something that smelled like power and old blood. She reached into her sleeve and withdrew a silk handkerchief, embroidered with her family crest, and pressed it delicately against her nose.

As if I smelled.

As if my very existence was an offense to her senses.

Her eyes, watering slightly from the perceived stench, drifted down to the cloak again. And then they widened—truly widened—for the first time since I had seen her.

"That," she breathed, the handkerchief falling from her fingers, "is the Alpha's cloak."

The corridor went absolutely silent.

Morgana's face transformed. The vague, polite disgust vanished, replaced by something naked and terrible—rage so pure it made her beauty grotesque.

"That is Alpha's personal cloak!" she shrieked, her voice cracking, her composure shattering like fine porcelain beneath a hammer. "His military cloak! The one he wore to council!"

She turned to the Noble Lady, her eyes wild.

"She stole it! She must have stolen it! No—no, she—"

She spun back to me, her hand shooting out, her nails raking across my cheek as she grabbed my jaw.

"Did you crawl into his chambers like a common thief? Did you think you could take what belongs to him? What belongs to *me*?"

I went to my knees immediately, my forehead hitting the marble with a crack that made my vision swim.

"Forgive me, Your Ladyship," I gasped, my voice breaking, tears streaming down my face. "The dress—the cloak—it was given to me by the Alpha himself! He tore my gown, he—"

"Impossible!"

Morgana released me with a shove that sent me sprawling, her face twisted into a mask of hatred so complete it barely looked human.

"Impossible!" she screamed again, her voice echoing off the walls. "He would never—he has never—*no one* touches his things! No one wears his clothes! You're lying, filthy, gutter-born whore."

She spun to the guards who had gathered at the edges of the corridor, drawn by her screams.

"Arrest her!" she commanded, her finger stabbing toward me like a blade. "Arrest this thief, this trespasser, this piece of garbage who dares to wear what she has not earned! Strip her! Strip her of everything!"

The guards moved forward, their hands rough and indifferent. They grabbed my arms, hauling me up, and I felt the cloak being torn from my shoulders, the heavy fabric ripping away until I stood naked before them all—marked by his bite, covered in his scent, shivering and exposed.

Morgana's eyes raked over my body, over the bruises, over the evidence of what I had done with him, and her face purpled with rage.

"Look at her," she hissed to the assembled maids and nobles, her voice carrying down the corridor. "Look at this dog. This Omega. This nothing who thought she could climb into the Supreme Alpha's bed and survive. Who thought she could take what belonged to his favorites? What belongs to me."

She walked in a circle around me, her gown brushing against my bare legs, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper.

"You dare steal from the Alpha. You… dirty gods-forsaken riff-raff... a dirty omega...!"

Cora threw herself forward, her forehead hitting the floor at Morgana's feet.

"My lady, please!" she begged, her voice high and desperate. "Have mercy! She was truly called in by the Alpha Supreme! She speaks the truth! Please, I beg you—"

"How dare you speak when I am speaking."

The Noble Lady moved so fast I barely saw her. Her hand connected with Cora's face with a crack that echoed like a gunshot, sending my friend sprawling to the side, her lip split, blood dripping onto the marble.

"You will address Lady Morgana with the respect she is owed," the Noble Lady said calmly, adjusting her sleeve. "Or you will learn respect through pain."

Morgana didn't even glance at Cora. She kept her eyes on me, her head tilting as if considering a puzzle.

"Forty lashes," she said softly. Almost thoughtfully. "For the theft. For the lies. For the presumption."

"No—" I whispered.

"Take her to the courtyard. And this one—"

She gestured to Cora, who was struggling to rise, her face already swelling.

"—ten lashes for insolence. For daring to speak above her station."

"Please!" I screamed as the guards dragged me away, my naked heels scraping against the marble, my hands reaching for Cora. "Please, she did nothing wrong! Punish me, not her! Please!"

Morgana watched me go, her smile never wavering.

"Oh, my dear," she called after me, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. "I intend to punish you both."