Cooking was not. There was nothing that interested me about preparing a recipe that wasn’t intended to kill a person. Was there anything more boring than spending your days working to create a complicated dish that would just turn into shi—
Thorn’s voice interrupted my inner rant. “Your final test starts now, Roya.”
Everyone else had passed their tests, and the sounds of celebrating filtered in through the high window in the stone room. We were at the Guild’s secret, isolated training camp, at least thirty miles from Verdan City. The real party would be after our first missions there, some of which would be sanctioned assassinations. But tonight there would be roasted pig, apple pies… and at least one blasted boiled egg.
I bustled over to the hearth, checking the water in the small pot that hung from the metal hook over the fire. Gently, I slid three eggs into the boiling water, and sat back, trying to stay calm. I knew I was ready to practice my craft, but I still felt nerves at the thought of killing a stranger, even one who deserved death.
“Tell me, what’s my first mission going to be? A poisoning? Intelligence gathering, quietly garroting a dictator?” He shook his head, and I took a deep breath. “Bladework, then. Right, I can do that.”
To be fair, my skills with a sword were just passable for an assassin. I could get the job done, but my upper body strength wasn’t the same as my male counterparts. Thorn had often pointed out how little patience I showed in sword fighting. I told myself it didn’t matter, that assassins didn’t often engage in extended bouts of swordplay, but Thorn’s gaze told me the truth: it was a real weakness I needed to address.
Still, I hadn’t made it this far by doubting myself. “I’m sure I can handle whatever assignment I receive.”
Thorn sighed heavily. “You haven’t passed your exam yet, little queen.”
He squinted slightly in the way he did when I was missing something. I checked the eggs, lifting one with a spoon and giving it a little jiggle. How did you know when it was done?
Well, I had three, and I only had to produce one perfectly hard-boiled egg. I tapped the spoon a bit too violently on the shell of the first egg and frowned as the yolk dribbled out onto the floor.
“Next one will be perfect,” I said. Thorn’s attention stayed on me, and I felt my skin start to heat, as if a fire had been ignited inside my core.
This had been happening more often recently, and I knew why. I was a true Omega in hiding… and he was a secret Alpha underneath that ever-present cloak. He hid his muscles and height with dull colors and poor posture, tricking those who saw him into thinking him innocuous, harmless.
But every Alpha was possessive, territorial, stronger than a Beta man, and prone to extreme violence. When he straightened, Thorn was over six feet tall, and when he lowered his hood… he was raw masculinity and subtle beauty.
I knew better than to trust Alphas. Growing up, I’d seen too many of my sister Omegas with marks from belts and fists; I’d learned to bandage those wounds when I was eight, and to stitch their torn skin together by the time I was twelve.
But my Omega nature felt safe near Thorn. That was why that deeply buried part of me had begun waking up and sending out a perfume like I was a sensual flower.
Seeking a mate.
Shame filled me. I could release a hurricane of my scent, but Thorn wanted nothing to do with me, not in that way. I wasn’t even allowed to touch him casually, not since… I blushed, remembering that last disastrous evening I’d tried to seduce him.
Maybe it was time to increase the dosage of my special herbs; they were the only thing that kept me from perfuming the air around me when I spent too long in a room with him. He’d never commented on it, but I’d seen him sniff and quickly leave my presence too many times to think I’d hidden my reactions.
I meandered over to the window, hoping the scent would waft outside. Usually, Thorn kept his distance, but today he moved up behind me, and I heard a sharp inhalation.
“What do I smell like?” I asked, brazening it out.
He didn’t answer at first, then grumbled, “Orange blossoms and new grass. Fresh and sweet.”
I hated that. “Sweet? What the hell!” I whirled around, not realizing how close he stood. My long hair—kept long on the Guildmaster’s orders, not because it was in any way practical in training—slapped against his cloak and got tangled in the clasp.
“Sorry,” I bit out as he lifted a hand and carefully unraveled hairs from the horn closure. A few strands of my hair had come loose, and I watched him shake them free.
Or pretend to. He had been the one to teach me how to pickpocket, after all, so I knew his style. As quick as a wink, he placed his hand into the wide pocket of his cloak, hiding the strands inside. Why was Thorn keeping my hair?
Possibly for the same reason I kept a shirt he had thought lost in the creek two years before. Because it was his.
But that couldn’t be right. He had made sure I knew I could never be with him.
I turned back to the window, taking a few deep breaths to calm my racing pulse, then strode to the hearth and lifted the pot.
“What… What the hell happened?” Both the eggs had broken inside the pot, their whites and yellows cooked into a froth in the water, unsalvageable.
Thorn’s face was hidden under his hood as usual, but I heard something in his voice that sounded like relief. “You failed, Roya. Time to pack your things and move to Rimholt with the rest of your sisters, the other Omegas.”
Just like that, he annihilated my world, my dreams.
