Days-old train station clothes arenotthe look.
"We all need to find something that helps us blend in as tourists," I announce, turning to face my ragtag pack. "Especially you two." I point two fingers at Nikolai and Geo.
They both bristle in offense.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Geo growls, his eye narrowing.
"Yeah, what's wrong with how we look?" Nikolai adds, for once agreeing with Geo. Not sure I like them being on the same page.
I take a moment to look at them pointedly. "Geo looks like he's one sip away from a barfight or shaking someone down for protection money," I say bluntly. "Andyou…" I wrinkle my nose. "Let's just say it turns out that tacky red goth coat was actually holding things together."
"What the fuck?" Nikolai protests. "Raven's the one who picked this shit out!" He gestures angrily at his outfit.
I ignore his bitching, striding toward the shop entrance where Raven is already holding the door open with a flourish that would make any royal courtier jealous.
"After you, goddess," he purrs, and I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes at his theatrics. Even if they're growing on me.
The shop interior is even more impressive than the window display suggested. Bolts of silk in every color imaginable line the walls, and the air smells like expensive perfume and luxury. A beta woman in flowing white robes glides toward us, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of customers.
"Welcome, travelers!" she chirps in accented but perfect Vrissian. Yep. One look and everyone knows exactly where I'mfrom, even if I've never actually set foot in my homeland. "How may I assist you today?"
Raven steps forward with his usual charm and swagger. "We'll need several sets of clothing for each of the men," he says, gesturing to our group. Then his hand finds the small of my back, gentle but protective. "And whatever this lovely lady desires."
The shopkeeper's eyes practically turn into gold coins at the prospect of such a large sale. "Wonderful!" She claps her hands together, beaming. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Would you care for some champagne while you browse?"
I blink in surprise. In Reinmich, alcohol is strictly regulated for omegas. Too many incidents of alphas using it to take advantage, my father always said. As if they needed the excuse. "You're offering champagne? To an omega?"
The shopkeeper looks confused by my reaction. "Of course! Why wouldn't I? Unless you prefer tea? We have a lovely jasmine blend."
"Champagne is perfect," I say quickly, still processing this casual freedom. Maybe Geo was right about this place. Too bad we can't stick around.
The shopkeeper bustles off to fetch our drinks, and I drift toward the women's section, grateful for a moment of space. Even Knight seems content to let me wander, though I can still feel his watchful gaze tracking my movements. Raven has descended upon him already, holding up different colored fabrics against the massive alpha's frame.
"I'm thinking he's more of a winter," Raven muses, tilting his head thoughtfully. "The cool tones would complement that maskbeautifully. What do you think, Daddy? Or do you think he's a spring?"
Geo, who's apparently been conscripted as Raven's unwilling assistant, does a double take at Knight. "The fuck doesthateven mean?"
"Color theory, obviously," Raven explains. "Some people look better in warm tones, others in cool?—"
"There ain't nothing spring about that motherfucker," Geo says, holding his palm up to cut Raven off as if he doesn't want any further knowledge of color palettes taking up residence in his brain.
Knight growls in what sounds like agreement, and I can't help the snicker that escapes me. The sound draws their attention, and Raven waves me off.
"Go on, goddess. Enjoy yourself, I'll handle the boys."
I'm grateful for the reprieve. Being surrounded by alphas all the time is definitely not something I'm used to yet. But it isn't as weird as it should be. The truth is, I'm getting attached to these fuckers.
Allof them.
Even Nikolai with his perpetual scowling and complete and utter lack of fashion sense.
The silks call to me like sirens, and I run my fingers over fabric so soft it feels like water. The shopkeeper reappears with a tray of champagne flutes, pressing one into my hand with an encouraging smile.
"Please, try anything you like," she says. "I'll set up a fitting room for you."
"Thank you," I answer, surprised she's actually speaking to me and not the alphas. Even in Reinmich, I was always Arthur Maybrecht'sdaughter. Monty Filch'swife.A doll to be dressed up and paraded around, not a person to be acknowledged in her own right. And I had it better than most omegas there, I imagine.
The champagne is crisp and perfect, bubbles sizzling on my tongue as I explore the shop. Every piece I touch, every outfit I show the slightest interest in, the attendant whisks away to the fitting room she's preparing. By the time I make my way there, there's already a small mountain of options waiting.
