“We use subtlety instead of force,” I explain, the plan crystallizing in my mind. “The king expects a direct challenge He’s prepared for that. What he’s not prepared for is something more...insidious.”
“Like what?” Logan asks, his tone skeptical but not dismissive.
I meet his gaze steadily. “Like poison.”
The word falls into the room like a stone, creating ripples of shock and consideration. Logan’s eyes widen slightly, genuine surprise replacing his earlier anger.
“Poison,” he repeats, testing the word as if it’s written in a foreign language. “You want to poison the king.”
“It’s efficient,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the enormity of what I’m suggesting. “It’s quiet. It doesn’t require an army or a direct confrontation. And it’s something he won’t be expecting from you.”
“Because it’s dishonorable,” Logan says, though there’s more thoughtfulness than judgment in his tone. “Because no one will follow an Alpha who did something so shameful."
"That's why you're not going to do it. I am."
Logan just stares at me, as if his brain is fully incapable of comprehending the words. As understanding dawns, a storm descends over his expression. "Absolutely not."
"I’m the perfect bait. The Omega who escaped the Inquisitor and eventually killed him. The one who rejected a prince. The king has always been fascinated by me, even before all this started.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Logan says, his voice hardening with command. “I won’t allow it.”
“You don’t have the right to allow or disallow anything,” I reply, keeping my voice level despite the anger his presumption triggers. “This is my choice to make, not yours.”
“The king would kill you on sight,” Ares argues. “Or worse, have you sliced and diced in one of these damn clinics."
“Not necessarily,” I counter. “As far as the king knows, the bond-severing procedure worked. Thane is the only one who knew it was incomplete, and he’s not in a position to share that information now that he believes I’m dead.”
“You’re suggesting you present yourself as...what? A repentant Omega seeking the king’s protection?” Cillian asks, sounding something between incredulous and horrified.
“Something like that,” I agree. “I could claim I was coerced by Logan, that I never wanted to join them in a rebellion against the crown. That I’ve seen the error of my ways and wish to make amends.”
“The king would never believe it,” Logan insists. “He’s paranoid, suspicious of everyone. He’d see through such an obvious ploy immediately.”
"Or would his ego lead him to believe that it was inevitable I'd come crawling back," I insist. "And I already know you don't have any better ideas."
“Logan’s expression darkens, but I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. He knows I’m right—the king’s arrogance, his belief in his own superiority, might well blind him to the deception.
“Even if he believed your story,” Cillian says, his practical nature asserting itself, “getting close enough to poison him would be nearly impossible. The security around the king is impenetrable.”
I hate that I have to put into words. "We all know it would not take long before the king had me at his side. Intimately."
Logan stares at me, conflict evident in his golden eyes. I can almost see the battle raging within him—the instinct to protect warring with the desire to be the Alpha he claims he wants to become. "I can't let you do this."
"You can't stop me."
“You won’t make it five feet out the door,” Logan bites out, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. “The Queen Mother’s guards would stop you before you even reached the gates.”
“Then help me,” I challenge. “Instead of fighting me every step of the way, work with me to make a plan.”
Logan turns away, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The tension in the room is palpable, everyone waiting for his response. When he finally speaks, his voice is so low I have to strain to hear it.
“And if I refuse? If I order the guards to keep you here, for your own protection?”
The question hangs in the air between us. This is the moment of truth—the test of whether Logan truly means what he says about changing, about respecting my autonomy.
“Then you prove that nothing has changed,” I say quietly. “That you’re still the Alpha who forces his will on others because he thinks he knows best. The one who takes choices away from those he claims to care about.”
Logan flinches as if I’ve struck him physically. For a long moment, no one speaks, the silence heavy with unresolved tension. Then Cillian steps forward, positioning himself subtly between Logan and me.
