A woman approaches us, her posture as rigid as if she just swallowed a sword. Her hair is pulled back in a severe bun, not a single strand daring to escape. The gray uniform she wears does nothing for her complexion, which has the pallor of someone who rarely sees sunlight. She wouldn’t look out of place in some remote convent, sequestered away from the world behind stone walls and devout prayers.
“Your Highness.” Her curtsy is perfunctory, just deep enough to acknowledge my rank while showing no genuine deference. “I am Matron Aldritch, house mother of the Enclave. We’ve been expecting you.”
Her scent is muted, deliberately suppressed by what must be industrial-strength blockers. It’s disconcerting—like speaking to a ghost.
“A pleasure,” I lie smoothly, offering the diplomatic smile I’ve perfected since childhood. “I appreciate your accommodation of our visit on such short notice.”
Her thin lips press together. “If you and your…guard will follow me, I’ll escort you to the reception room.”
For security reasons, it’s protocol for the Alpha to attend introductions at the Enclave alone.
But Cillian had insisted on accompanying me, and I couldn’t bring myself to deny him. As a prince of the realm, many of the rules don’t apply to me. If only that were true of all of them.
He shifts beside me, his body language communicating volumes in the subtle way his weight redistributes. He’s cataloging exits, assessing threats, reading the building’s security. It’s what makes him invaluable as my personal—this constant vigilance that I can feel radiating from him even when he’s perfectly still.
From the outside, he must appear so perfectly loyal, so dedicated.
And he is, but not for the reasons anyone would suspect.
They can’teversuspect, not if I want to keep him alive.
We follow Matron Eldritch into a large outbuilding and through a series of corridors, each more sterile than the last. The walls are painted a soft cream that somehow feels more institutional than welcoming. Everything smells of lemon polish and chemical cleaners, as if they’re trying to scrub away any lingering Omega scents.
“Males are not permitted past the inner walls,” she informs us as we approach a heavy wooden door reinforced with decorative iron bands. “The Omegas’ living quarters and educational facilities are strictly segregated for their protection and proper development.”
“Protection,” Cillian repeats, his gaze trailing along the electronic locks, the discreet cameras positioned at every corner. “This security rivals the king’s prison.”
The matron doesn’t miss a beat. “Perhaps even exceeds it. Our charges are considerably more valuable than common criminals.” Her tone implies that the difference isn’t by much. “The finest Omegas in Melilla reside within these walls. Their value is incalculable.”
Something ugly twists in my gut at her words. Nothing she says is news to me. But the thought of a purple-haired Omega I’ve never met being sold like a commodity makes my teethclench. I force my expression to remain neutral, giving no evidence of my sudden displeasure.
“You’re not worried some with no self-control Alpha losing his head and claiming an Omega moments after meeting her?” I ask.
Eldritch raises a mocking eyebrow. “No Alpha would dare. The fines for violating established protocols in the contract process are immense.”
“What about escape?” Cillian drawls.
The twitch of her lips isn’t quite a smile, but likely the closes Eldritch gets to open amusement. “We’re a dozen miles from the nearest settlement. Our Omegas know better, but they wouldn’t get far even if they dared make an attempt at escape.”
We enter a reception room which has clearly been designed to impress visiting Alphas. Plush furniture, tasteful artwork, and subtle lighting create an atmosphere of refined opulence. A large window spans one wall, but I immediately notice the reinforced glass and the fact that it overlooks only an interior courtyard.
No escape routes here.
“Miss Tantamount will join you momentarily,” Matron Eldritch announces. “Refreshments will be served. Please make yourselves comfortable.”
The door closes behind her with a soft click that does nothing to disguise the electronic whir of a lock engaging.
“Comfortable,” Cillian scoffs quietly, positioning himself near the door. “This place reeks of perfume and desperation.”
“You might be desperate to leave to if you’d been locked inside a fortress for most of your life.”
I approach the window, looking out at the deserted courtyard. I wonder if the Omegas are ever allowed out here. They must be, if just for the health benefits of natural sunlight. Even the worst of the kingdom’s prisons allow their inmates yard time.
The Enclave is necessary. In the days before it existed, too many Omegas were stolen off the streets by feckless Alphas who would force a bond and apologize for it later. No fit punishment could be leveled at the Alpha that wouldn’t unfairly harm their new mate.
But I can’t help the sour taste it this place leaves in my mouth.
I wonder what Maya would have to say about her life here if she could be compelled to honesty.
