"I hate you," I tell him flatly. "When I'm beautiful again, you'll be sorry."
"Raven." Cosima's voice cuts through our bickering. "Let him fix it."
I turn to her, eyebrows raised. "You're taking his side?"
Geo uses my distraction to grab me, one arm wrapping around my chest from behind while his other hand comes up toward my face. "Hold still."
"No! Stop! I need a fucking surgeon! Not some underground thug with?—"
CRACK.
The pain is instant and blinding. Stars explode across my vision as Geo's fingers expertly snap my nose back into place. I let out a sound that's somewhere between a scream and a whimper, my knees buckling. Only Geo's massive arm wrapped around my chest keeps me upright.
"There," he says, releasing me so suddenly I stumble forward. "Fixed."
I catch myself on the examination table, blinking away tears as I gingerly touch my nose. It's... straight. Still swollen to hell and throbbing like someone's taking a hammer to it, but straight.
"You fucking asshole," I gasp, glaring at him through watery eyes. "You said it would barely hurt!"
"I lied." He shrugs, completely unrepentant. "But it's done now."
Groaning and accepting an ice pack from a sympathetic nurse, I check my reflection in the chrome cabinet door. My nose is definitely straighter, though the bruising and swelling makes it hard to tell if it'll heal properly.
"You look fine," Nikolai says, appearing behind my reflection like a damn ghost. "It suits you."
"Your ass suits you," I growl.
"That doesn't even make sense," Cosima says with a little laugh that makes me feel better immediately. At least she finds the whole thing funny. I'd do anything it takes to put a smile on her face.
As if on cue, an attendant in pristine white robes appears in the doorway, bowing deeply. "The Queen will see you when you're ready."
My stomach drops. The Queen. We're about to meet the fucking Queen of Surhiira, and I look like I've been beaten with the ugly stick. Repeatedly.
"Perfect timing," I grumble into my ice pack.
Cosima slides off the examination table. Despite the general chaos of the last few hours and her hair being disheveled, she manages to look utterly regal. Her chin lifts, her shoulders square, and suddenly she's not the traumatized omega we rescued from the wasteland. She's every inch the daughter of Arthur Maybrecht, raised to command rooms and bend others to her will.
"Well then," she says, her voice carrying that particular note of aristocratic disdain that makes my cock twitch despite thisnotbeing the time or place. "Let's not keep Her Majesty waiting."
We follow her out of the medical bay like planets orbiting a particularly volatile sun. Knight stays close enough that his massive shadow engulfs her smaller frame, while Nikolai and Geo flank us on either side. I can feel the energy radiating off all of them. That hypervigilant state that comes from walking into unknown territory with something precious to protect.
The throne room is even more opulent than the rest of the palace, if that's even possible. The ceiling soars so high it seems to disappear into shadow, supported by columns that look like they were carved from single blocks of white marble. Gold leaf covers every surface that isn't gleaming stone, and massivetapestries depicting Surhiira's history hang between towering windows that let in slivers of the late afternoon sun.
Plague stands near the throne, having managed to clean himself up and change into fresh robes despite the absolute beating he took earlier. His face is impassive, those cold blue eyes giving nothing away as we approach. Beside him stands another alpha who can only be Prince Revi.
The family resemblance is unmistakable, though where Plague is all aquiline features and lean muscle, this one is broader, with muscled arms and a softer midsection. He's handsome in the same striking way Plague is, but there's a warmth and softness in his features that isn't there with Plague.
The royal regalia suits them both, made of white silk and gold embroidery that was probably crafted by the finest seamstresses in the land. Revi's eyes—the same pale blue as his brother's, but warmer somehow—track our approach with obvious curiosity.
Makes me wonder what Azarel looks like.
Based on everything I've heard about him, if my nose doesn't heal right, I just might lose my spot as the "prettiest male in the pack" after all.
"The new candidates," Plague says, his voice carrying that formal tone that makes me want to do something inappropriate just to see if I can make him break character. "As discussed."
Revi's eyebrows rise slightly, and I can practically see him cataloging our injuries, our ragtag appearance, the way we've unconsciously arranged ourselves around Cosima like a living shield. "These are the ones who kidnapped you?"
"Allegedly," I say, because I can't help myself. "There's no proof."
