He gestures toward Poe’s hanging form. “This is what becomes of those who choose the wrong side. This rebel was caught attempting to destroy one of our clinics, to deprive you of what is rightfully yours.”
The crowd’s mood shifts, anger replacing excitement as they look at Poe with contempt and hatred. My father watches their reaction with satisfaction, then continues.
“He will die here, slowly, an example to all who would oppose us. And he will not be the last. I will line the palace walls with rebels until every last one is stamped out. Until my son’s pathetic rebellion is crushed beneath the weight of Melilla’s true power.”
I glance at Poe again, searching for any sign of life. A slight movement—the rise and fall of his chest, barely perceptible but definitely there. He’s alive. Barely, perhaps, but alive. Relief floods through me, followed immediately by reneweddetermination. We will get him out of here. We will save him, and Dani, and as many Omegas as we can.
“But tonight is not just about punishment,” my father says, his tone lightening. “It is about reward. About celebration. And I have a special surprise for my loyal subjects.”
He gestures toward us, and my heart stops. “Guards! Bring forward your prisoner.”
This is it. The moment of truth. I take a deep breath, centering myself, then nod to Ares. We move forward, Maya between us, approaching the throne with measured steps. The nobles part before us, creating a path through the crowded room.
As we draw closer, I can feel my father’s gaze on us, assessing, calculating. Does he recognize me despite the dyed hair and guardian’s uniform? Can he sense his own blood standing before him?
If he does, he gives no sign. His attention is fixed entirely on Maya, his expression a mixture of triumph and something darker, more predatory.
“Maya Tantamount,” he announces to the crowd as we stop before the throne. “The Omega who rejected royal favor. Who fled the palace rather than accept the honor of being chosen by a prince of the realm.”
The nobles murmur disapprovingly, looking at Maya with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. She keeps her eyes downcast, the perfect picture of submission, though I can feel the tension radiating from her.
“Where was she found?” my father asks, addressing me directly.
I swallow, pitching my voice higher so it won’t be recognizable and keeping my eyes downcast so he won’t note the distinctive color. “The eastern road, Your Majesty. Attempting to return to the city. She surrendered without resistance.”
My father descends from the dais, approaching Maya with slow, deliberate steps. He circles her, examining her from all angles, his gaze lingering on her purple hair, her delicate features, the elegant line of her neck exposed by the low neckline of her gown.
“Look at me, Omega,” he commands.
Maya raises her head slowly, meeting his gaze with well-simulated fear and deference. My father studies her face, his expression unreadable.
“Beautiful,” he says finally, addressing the crowd rather than her. “Exquisitely trained by the Enclave. The perfect Omega in every way—except for her unfortunate tendency toward disobedience.”
He reaches out, lifting her chin with one finger, forcing her to maintain eye contact. “Why have you returned, little one? Did you tire of my son’s company? Did you finally realize your mistake in rejecting royal favor?”
Maya swallows visibly, her voice soft but clear as she responds. “Yes, Your Majesty. I... I was confused. Misled. I see now that I should never have left the palace. Never have rejected the honor you offered me.”
My father smiles, the expression not reaching his eyes. “Such pretty words. Such a convenient change of heart.” He releases her chin, stepping back slightly. “And I’m to believe that you escaped my son’s custody? That you made your way back to the city alone, with no help, no ulterior motive?”
“I had help escaping, Your Majesty,” Maya admits, the calculated honesty lending credibility to her story. “But I came back alone. I... I want to make amends. To serve the crown as I should have from the beginning.”
My father studies her for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. The throne room is silent, the assembled nobles watching the exchange with avid interest. This is better thanany entertainment they could have expected—a runaway Omega returned, humbled, seeking forgiveness from the king himself.
“A touching story,” my father says finally. “One almost convincing enough to earn my mercy.”
He turns to address the crowd, his voice carrying to every corner of the vast room. “What shall we do with this repentant Omega, my friends? Shall we welcome her back into the royal household? Shall we forgive her transgressions against the crown?”
The nobles murmur among themselves, uncertain of the correct response. My father watches their confusion with amusement, clearly enjoying the game he’s playing.
“Or perhaps,” he continues, his voice hardening, “we should make an example of her, as we have with the rebel.” He gestures toward Poe’s hanging form. “Perhaps disobedience, once chosen, cannot be forgiven. Only punished.”
My heart pounds against my ribs as I realize where this is heading. He doesn’t believe her. Or worse, he does, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already decided her fate.
“Your Majesty,” I begin, forgetting myself in my desperation. “The prisoner has valuable information about the prince’s whereabouts, his plans?—“
“Silence, guardian,” my father snaps, his gaze never leaving Maya. “You forget your place.”
I fall silent, my mind racing. This is spiraling out of control. We need to adapt, to find another approach before it’s too late.
