I walk back to my room. Emery’s scent still lingers everywhere.
I can no longer imagine a world where she’s not in my life. And I never want to.
I wait until the sun’s fully up before I knock on Emery’s door. She’s awake, sitting on the floor with a sketchpad balanced on her knees. She looks up, eyes clear, like she’s been expecting me. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
She doesn’t get up, but pats the space next to her. I sit. The air in here is different—lighter, even after the last few days. Her scent is still oneverything, but it’s no longer the full wall it was during her heat.
“You okay?” Emery’s brows are stitched together. She runs the back of her hand against my cheek. “You look like you were up all night.”
I smile some and capture her hand in mine. I place a quick kiss to the back of her hand. “Yes, I’m okay. Can I see what you’re working on?”
“Sure!” Emery lifts the sketchbook and for a moment her smile falters. I see why.
She’s drawn the three of us—me, Wyatt, Ranier—all staring at the same moon, faces blank but hands reaching out. At the bottom in tiny print she’s written,No one wins unless we all do.
“I hope we can convince Rainer,” Emery whispers. Like if she speaks it too loudly the universe might listen or, worse, Rainer might hear.
“He will come around.” I wrap an arm around my omega and pull her in close. “He’s not a total idiot.”
Emery giggles. “You sure about that?”
I glance at the sketch once more. “I am.”
I hope I’m right.
CHAPTER 24
Emery
The only timemy room is quiet is when I’m alone in it. That’s a lie, obviously—the walls are too thin and the city is always awake, but if I drown out the street with music and close my eyes, I can pretend for five minutes that it’s just me and my canvas, and not the looming threat of being unveiled as the world’s most mismatched omega.
I put the finishing touches on my face: a sheer wash of pink across my cheeks, smudged blue at the corners of my eyes. The dress is even more of a reach—powder blue, capped sleeves, and a high waist with a big white ribbon bow.
I check my reflection in the phone screen—there’s an art to looking like you didn’t spend an hour and a half getting ready—and give myself a pep talk.Just be normal.Or at least as normal as an omega who’s about to be thrown to the royal press can possibly be.
There’s a knock, then a pause, then Wyatt’s voice, muffled but unmistakably amused. “If you’re putting on a ballgown, we’ll miss the headline slot.”
“I’m naked,” I call back. “Come in at your own risk.”
The door opens a crack. Wyatt pops his head in, then the rest of him. He’s wearing a blazer over a graphic tee, the blazerobviously tailored for someone with less nervous energy because it’s already wrinkled at the elbows. He looks me up and down and then grins.
“You look…” Wyatt pauses like he’s struggling to find the right word. “Like you’re about to start a revolution in a children’s cartoon.”
I smooth the skirt and give him a chuckle. “Don’t get used to it. I’m only dressing up so the royals can’t say I don’t respect the process.”
Wyatt walks over to my vanity and picks up my perfume. He sniffs it and then sets it down very carefully. “You smell good with or without this stuff, for the record.” He goes quiet for a second, then looks at me with a softness. “Are you ready for this?”
My stomach does a nosedive. I sit on the edge of the bed, which is barely visible under the nest of blankets and the crumpled hoodie that still smells like Bastion. “Do I have a choice?”
Wyatt sits beside me. His knee bumps mine. “Nope. The Council wants a press debut. Bastion says the head of house—meaning Ranier—will meet us there, but…” He trails off.
“Ranier would rather eat glass than be seen in public with me,” I finish for him. I’m not bitter, just realistic.
Wyatt makes a face. “He’s an asshole, but he’ll show. The PR lady’s been prepping him all week. He has a suit and everything.”
I make a low whistle. “A whole suit? Is it bulletproof?”
