"Perhaps not," she agrees, her voice softening strangely. "But consider this, Lady Seraphina. Your position here is precarious. Your family's safety depends on this alliance. Your brother's life hangs in the balance. Is a dress really the battle you wish to choose?"
She's right, of course. This isn't the hill to die on, not when larger objectives are at stake. But surrender, even on something as trivial as clothing, grates against every instinct. Against every year I've spent fighting my designation, refusing to be reduced to an Omega's traditional role.
"Fine," I concede finally. "But know that I do so under protest."
"Duly noted," she says dryly.
The dress fits as if it were made for me, which is unsettling in itself. As the servants arrange my hair—partially up with elaborate braids threaded with silver silk, partially down in loose waves that will make it easy for an Alpha to grab, to hold me in place while he claims me—I stare at my reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing myself.
The woman who stares back at me is beautiful in a dangerous way, golden eyes bright against the darkness of the gown, skin pale and luminous. The neckline displays the unmarked column of my throat, smooth and perfect, ready for an Alpha's claiming bite. I look like a Shadow Court consort, a worthy match for the monster who will soon claim me as mate.
The thought should disgust me. Instead, I find a strange resolve settling over me. Let Malakai think he's won. Let him believe I'm just another political pawn, a reluctant bride cowed by his power and reputation, an Omega who will submit to her Alpha's dominance.
He'll learn his mistake far too late.
As Mistress Kate and her assistants finally leave, satisfied with their preparations, I move back to the window. Tomorrow night, after the ceremony, Malakai will claim me. The mate bond will solidify. I'll become his in every way that matters—biologically, magically, legally.
But my suppressants will hold for a few more days. Long enough to keep my mind clear. Long enough to endure the claiming without losing myself completely to heat. Long enough to begin planning.
I recite the Assassin's Creed silently as I move toward the center of the room, the words a familiar anchor:
Swift as shadow, still as stone,
Heart untouched and duty known.
Life for life and blood for blood,
Justice served when daggers flood.
Tomorrow I will become the bride of a monster. After that, I begin working toward becoming his widow.
The Light Court will gain the political advantage it needs. And I... I will survive this. I will endure being claimed, being marked as an Alpha's mate. I will endure my own biology's betrayal.
Because I am more than my designation. I am an assassin. A weapon.
And weapons don't feel. They simply execute their purpose.
I close my eyes and center myself, pushing down the traitorous whisper of my Omega instincts that wonders what it would be like to truly submit to an Alpha. To let Malakai claim me not as duty but as desire. To accept the mate bond instead of fighting it.
No. That way lies weakness. Vulnerability. Failure.
I am Seraphina of House Lumina. Hidden Omega. Trained assassin. And I will complete my mission, no matter the cost.
Even if that cost is my own body, my own designation, my own soul.
CHAPTER 3
THE MONSTER'S WEDDING
Malakai
"If you stab me with that pin one more time, I will have your hands removed and fed to whatever sad creature you call a pet," I inform my tailor calmly, examining my reflection in the full-length mirror.
The man—Darren, I think his name is—goes pale and mumbles apologies, his fingers now trembling so badly he can barely hold the pins. His Beta scent spikes with terror, flooding the room with the acrid smell of fear. Pathetic.
"That was a joke," I lie. "Do lighten up. It's nearly my wedding day! Or it will be, in approximately—" I glance at the ornate clock on the wall, "—one more day of this absolute torture. One more day of fittings and preparations and tedious ceremonial details before I can finally claim what's mine."
My Alpha instincts are already on edge, hyper-aware of the approaching ceremony. The claiming. My future mate is somewhere in this palace, and every cell in my body knows it, urging me to find her, to scent her properly, to begin the process of making her mine. The rut I've kept under iron control stirs dangerously close to the surface, responding to the promise of an Omega. My Omega.
