“Requests?” I laughed, the sound bitter as burnt coffee. “Is that what we’re calling commands now?”
Sophia’s expression stayed professionally neutral, but her scent carried sympathy like an undertone of lavender beneath standard omega sweetness. She approached with the dress, movements efficient but gentle. “May I help you change?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. She helped me out of my dress with a tact that pretended not to notice how worn the fabric was, how many times it had been washed. Her hands were steady as she adjusted the new dress, smoothing silk over my bump with professional efficiency.
Like a prized breeding mare being prepared for show.
“The Lycan King hasn’t been well,” Sophia said quietly as she fastened the hidden zipper. “Since you... left.”
I caught her eyes in the mirror, something sharp twisting in my chest. “And you would know how he’s been? Personally?”
The question came out more accusatory than intended, jealousy coating each word like poison. Had she warmed his bed while I was barely surviving? Had he sought comfort in willing omega arms while I scraped together rent money and rationed prenatal vitamins?
Sophia’s lips twitched, fighting back what might have been a smile. “He is not that bad, Ms. Thornback.”
The non-answer was an answer enough. My hands clenched in the silk fabric, claws threatening to emerge and shred this beautiful dress along with my composure. Of course he’d had others. Why would the Lycan King sleep alone when willing omegas filled his house? When I was conveniently banished and presumed guilty?
“How wonderful for him,” I managed through gritted teeth.
Sophia stepped back, surveying her work. The dress transformed me from desperate exile to someone who might belong in these halls. Almost. If you didn’t look too close at my rough hands or the defensive hunch to my shoulders.
“He never took anyone to his bed,” she said suddenly, the words rushed like a confession. “Not once. We all thought... well. He barely slept, barely ate. Nathan said he spent most nights in wolf form, running the borders like a guard instead of a king.”
I didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to know that he’d suffered too, that the bond had tortured him the way it had tortured me. It was easier when he was the villain, clear-cut and simple.
“Shall we go?” Sophia asked gently. “It’s better not to be late.”
The dining room hosted a small gathering, pack advisors I recognized from my father’s work, a few department heads, all carefully selected witnesses to whatever Damon had planned. They’d been talking when we entered, but conversation died like someone had cut its throat.
I entered with Nathan escorting me, feeling every eye track to my prominent bump. The dress did its job perfectly, making my pregnancy impossible to ignore. The deep green brought out my eyes while the empire waist emphasized exactly why I was here.
Damon stood at the head of the table, and for a moment our eyes met. Something flickered in his gaze, hunger, regret, possessiveness, before he shuttered it behind alpha control. He looked better than he had this afternoon, freshly showered and changed into a charcoal suit that emphasized his broad shoulders. Every inch the Lycan King, except for the shadows beneath his eyes that makeup couldn’t quite hide.
“You all remember Rhea Thornback,” he said, voice carrying casual authority as if my presence required no more explanation than the weather.
“Hard to forget,” Advisor Jensen muttered under his breath, just loud enough to carry.
They’re all wondering why I’m not dead or imprisoned, I realized as I took my seat at Damon’s right. The position of honor that felt more like a target, exposed to every stare and whispered speculation.
The meal proceeded with stilted conversation. These people remembered me as the accused murderer, the omega who’d supposedly killed their prince in a heat-fueled rage. Now I sat among them, belly round with the next generation of Kildares, eating off china that cost more than I’d made in three months. The cognitive dissonance played across their faces in micro-expressions of confusion and resentment.
Damon seemed oblivious to the tension, discussing pack business with his advisors as if this was perfectly normal. Territory disputes with the Riverside pack. Trade agreements that needed renewal. Border patrol reports that suggested increased rogue activity. All of it conducted while I sat beside him like a ghost at the feast, present but not participating.
“The construction on the north clinic should be complete by spring,” Director Barnes reported, carefully not looking at me. “The omega wing will have separate facilities as requested.”
“Good,” Damon approved. “Dr. Mira has agreed to oversee…”
He was playing house. Pretending I belonged here, that he hadn’t personally carved me out of his life and thrown me away like garbage. The food turned to ash in my mouth as I realized this was all performance. But for whose benefit?
Between the main course and dessert, Damon stood. The movement commanded instant attention, conversations dying mid-word as everyone turned to their Lycan King. Power radiated from him in waves that made even the other alphas at the table shift uncomfortably.
“Let me clarify the situation,” he began, voice carrying the kind of authority that brooked no argument. “Rhea Thornback is here under my protection due to her pregnancy. She is carrying my heir.”
The acknowledgment sent ripples through the room. Several advisors exchanged loaded glances. Jensen’s face went carefully blank. They’d suspected, of course, but confirmation from the Lycan King himself was different. Official.
“However,” Damon continued, and that single word made my stomach drop, “she is here as a guest with certain... restrictions.”
“She will not leave the compound without an escort. She will not have unsupervised communication with anyone outside these walls. Anyone who assists her in leaving will face punishment as if they’d committed treason against the crown itself.”
