I’m ruined.My fairytale is over before it even began.
Richard snorts. “Let it. Bastion’s a tool. So is Ranier. They did the smart thing.”
Helena’s lips twitch. “There is no smart thing. If they reject again, the royal Council disowns them. You know what that does to Bastion’s inheritance?”
Richard glances down at his shoes. “Maybe he can finally buy less ugly ones.”
Helena’s eyes cut sideways. “You’re impossible. You know what happens to her, right? Emery? She’s blacklisted forever. Nobody wants an omega who got torched on the first go.”
That stings. I press my shoulder harder into the stone, trying not to breathe too loud. Eloise’s hand is on my sleeve, trembling.
“She’s not the worst match,” Richard mutters. “Could be funny to see her stick it to Bastion. Let the peasant show him how it’s done.”
Helena sighs, a sound heavy enough to tip a church. “Just—don’t gloat in front of Mother. Or Ranier.”
A throat clears, further down the corridor. Helena and Richard break apart instantly, as if caught swapping state secrets. I spot the source: a Council page in crimson livery, clutching a set of folders to his chest like body armor.
Eloise yanks me away, finally, steering us toward a quiet vestibule lined with ancient, leafless plants.
“You want to run for it?” she asks, voice breaking. “We can just go. I’ll call the car.”
I shake my head. “If I leave now, I lose. That’s exactly what they want.”
“What do you want?” Eloise says. “You want them to eat their words? You want them crawling back?”
I’m not sure. Maybe I just want them to remember me, the same way I’ll never stop remembering them.
I bite my lip, hard enough to taste iron. “Stay here.”
Eloise’s eyes go wide. “No. Emery. No, no?—”
I’m already moving, stalking down the corridor, cotton-candy nerves gone nuclear. The doors to Everhart Pack’s suite are tall, carved with flowers and ancient crests, and I throw them open with both hands.
Three alphas whip around, jaws at various stages of drop. Ranier is nearest, shoulders hunched like he’s been bracing for a physical attack. Bastion lounges on the sofa, but there’s a knife-edged tension to him, a barely-concealed lurch. Wyatt is standing by the window, phone in hand, mid-scroll.
Silence, for just a beat. Then Bastion asks with heavy disbelief, “You lost, Grey?”
“I’m not done.” My voice surprises even me: all salt, no sugar.
Ranier’s face is a storm front. “Excuse me?”
“Fuck etiquette,” I say, louder this time. “I know you three hate the process, and I know you hate me even more, but you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
Wyatt snorts. “Is this about the after-party? Because I’m pretty sure you’re not on the list.”
“I don’t care about yourparties.” I turn to Ranier. “You think you can just humiliate people and go back to your throne? I’m not a prop. I’m not your lesson-of-the-day.”
Ranier blinks, caught off guard. I see the moment he recalibrates and pivots from anger to calculation.
Bastion leans forward, a slow, lazy sprawl. “She’s got more backbone than half the Council.”
I ignore him. “You said you were traditionalists.” I stab the word at Ranier. “You want to play by the rules? Fine. Here’s how it works: you either accept the match, or you go down as the only pack in ten years to get forcibly assigned. The press will love that.”
Wyatt grins, sharp as a paper cut. “Did you prep a speech, or is this off the cuff?”
I stare him down. “I prepped for every possible disaster. This is just the one that happened.” It’s a lie, but I’m so confident in my tone that I almost convince myself it’s the truth.
There’s only one truth here: Finishing school prepped me to be a pack’s omega, and these alphas are not letting me complete this task.
