"Do you have any idea what you're doing, boy? The curse isn't just punishment—it'spower. Divine gift wrapped in divine rage. Our berserker strength, our battle fury, our ability to destroy armies single-handed—that all comes from the curse. Break it, and we're just dragons. Mortal. Vulnerable."
"We're also not murdering children in the womb," I cut in before Rhystan can respond. "Seems like a fair trade."
His father's attention snaps to me. Cold assessment, like he's measuring livestock.
"The omega speaks." Flat. Dismissive. "How charming."
"The omega has a name. And a warrior bloodline older than your curse." I step up beside Rhystan despite his obvious desire for me to stay back. "My ancestors were metabolizing divine power while yours were still figuring out how to shift without tearing your own wings."
Something flickers in his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or the beginnings of respect, quickly smothered.
"Bold words from someone about to die." He turns back to Rhystan. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to stop this ritual. Send the priests away. Let the curse run its course. If the girl-child dies, so be it—you'll have an heir, which is more than you had before. And the kingdom stays protected."
"No."
"No?" His father's voice goes soft. Dangerous. "Think carefully, son. I have six war dragons and two dozen priests. You have—what? A pregnant omega and some household guards? The math isn't complicated."
"The math is irrelevant." Rhystan's hand finds mine. Squeezes once. "I'm not letting my daughter die. I'm not letting the curse turn my son into a monster. And I'm not letting you threaten my mate in our own home."
"Then you're choosing them over your kingdom."
"I'm choosing them overyou." Rhystan steps forward, putting himself fully between me and his father. "Over your legacy of pain and death and calling it duty. Over three hundred years of murdered omegas and cursed children and pretending it was all worth it for power."
His father's expression doesn't change. But something shifts in those cold golden eyes.
"You'd kill your own father? For her?"
"If you make me." No hesitation. "If you force the choice."
Silence stretches across the courtyard. The priests are motionless, waiting for orders. The clouds press lower. Somewhere inside, I feel our son kick sharply, aggressively—the curse responding to the tension, maybe. Recognizing its own.
Then his father smiles.
It's not a pleasant expression.
"You always were weak," he says softly. "Sentimental. Your mother's influence, I suppose—though you took care of that problem yourself."
Rhystan's hand tightens on mine hard enough to hurt.
"Don't."
"Twenty-five years old." His father's voice goes silky with cruelty. "Your first rut. That omega girl we brought for you to practice control—your mother stepped between you and her.Trying to protect the child." A pause, letting it land. "And your beast tore her apart. I watched my mate die under your claws while you were too lost in rut-madness to even know what you'd done."
"I saiddon't."
But his father keeps going, circling closer. "When you came back to yourself—when you saw her body—you didn't even remember doing it. Just stood there covered in her blood, asking what happened." His lip curls. "Three hundred years and you still can't control yourself. Still killing omegas. Still pretending guilt makes you noble instead of just weak."
"He won't be a weapon." The words tear out of me before I can stop them—before Rhystan has to keep absorbing this poison alone. "Your grandson won't become what you tried to make Rhystan. He'll be a child. Loved and wanted andfreeof this legacy. Both of them will."
His father looks at me. Really looks, for the first time.
"You actually believe that." Wonder in his voice, and something like pity. "You actually think you can save them. That this ritual will work. That you'll survive absorbing three centuries of divine rage."
"I know I'll try."
"And when you die? When your body tears itself apart and your children die with you?"
"Then at least I'll have died fighting for them." I lift my chin. "Which is more than you've ever done for your son."
