The servants we pass bow deeply, their eyes flickering between us with undisguised curiosity. Word has spread through the fortress—of course it has. Stone Court thrives on strength and combat, and the story of a human woman who cut me in the arena is the most interesting thing to happen here in centuries.
Hannah notices their attention but doesn’t shrink from it. She meets their gazes directly, acknowledging their bows with small nods that carry the dignity of someone who knows her own worth.
Pride swells in my chest. Mine. This fierce, beautiful warrior ismine.
“The great hall,” I tell her as we approach the massive stone doors. “Stone Court’s lords and warriors gather here each morning to report and receive orders. Today, they meet you.”
“And what exactly am I to them?” Her voice is steady, but I feel her tension through the bond.
“The Guardian’s omega.” I stop before the doors and turn to face her, tilting her chin up with one finger. She’s so small compared to me—the top of her head barely reaches my chest—but she doesn’t cower. Never has. “The woman who drew my blood. They’ll respect both of those things, or they’ll answer to me.”
Her scent shifts—arousal threading through the anxiety—and I feel her pussy clench through the bond. Good. Let her remember what waits for her when we’re alone.
“Ready?”
She takes a breath. Squares her shoulders. “Ready.”
I push open the doors.
The great hall falls silent the moment we enter.
Two hundred warriors and nobles, all of them turning to stare at the human woman walking at my side. I feel their assessment like a physical weight—measuring her size, her strength, her worth. Some look curious. Some look hungry in ways that make my hand itch for my blade.
Some look… dismissive.
I note those faces. Remember them.
“Guardian.” Lord Greymun steps forward from the front ranks, his bronze skin gleaming with the silver veins that mark Stone Court nobility. He’s old—nearly three hundred—and has been angling for increased power since before Hannah’s grandmother was born. “We’ve heard rumors of your… acquisition. I confess, we expected something more impressive.”
The insult lands exactly as he intended. I feel Hannah stiffen beside me, feel the flash of anger through our bond. But she doesn’t respond. She’s smart enough to know that reacting to provocation is weakness.
“Lord Greymun.” My voice carries through the hall, cold as mountain stone. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion on my omega.”
“Forgive me, Guardian.” He bows, but his eyes stay fixed on Hannah with open contempt. “I merely meant that Stone Court’s standards are legendary. We expected a woman of… greater stature. Greater power. This one looks like she’d snap in a strong wind.”
Laughter ripples through some of the gathered nobles. Not the warriors—they know better—but the politicians. The courtiers who’ve never held a blade in genuine combat.
Hannah’s hand twitches toward her hip, where a sword would hang if I’d allowed her to carry one. I feel her rage through the bond, feel her desperate desire to prove herself. To fight.
But before she can move, I’m already stepping forward.
“This woman,” I say, and my voice makes the stone floor tremble, “walked into my arena knowing she would face me. Knowing no challenger has survived more than thirty seconds in seven hundred years. Knowing the blood debt law would bind her to me if she succeeded.”
The hall has gone very quiet.
“She didn’t come hoping to escape. She came prepared to sacrifice herself for her village. And when she faced me—” I let the memory surface, let them see it in my eyes. “She drew my blood.”
Gasps echo through the hall. Lord Greymun’s face goes pale.
“First blood in seven centuries,” I continue. “Drawn by a human woman you think would ‘snap in a strong wind.’ Perhaps,Lord Greymun, you’d like to test your assessment? Step into the training ring with her. See how long you last.”
Greymun’s jaw works, but he doesn’t respond. He can’t. Refusing the challenge would be admitting cowardice. Accepting it would mean facing a woman who accomplished what no Stone Court warrior has managed in seven hundred years.
“No?” I step closer to him, letting him feel the full weight of my presence. I tower over him—eight feet to his seven—and my shadow swallows him entirely. “Then perhaps you should reconsider how you speak about what belongs to me. The next time you insult her in my presence, I won’t offer you the courtesy of letting her fight you.”
I lean down, my voice dropping to a growl only he can hear.
“I’ll tear your arms off myself.”
