“Cruelty, not violence?” Cleo asks, and my omega whips her head toward the host.
“Sorry, what was the question?”
“You wrote cruelty, not violence.”
Ren’s brow wrinkles, flipping her board as though to check the answer. “I did.”
“Do you not think violence is worse?”
My hands fist, and my heart stutters waiting for her answer, for her judgement on what has been a huge part of me for a very long time. Boxing is a violent sport. Not a cruel one.
But Florence shakes her head. “No. I think violence has its place. Violence can be a form of protection or self-defense. Violence can be entertainment if you look at things like sports: rugby, football… boxing.” Her eyes flick to me. “But there’s never a reason for being cruel for cruelty’s sake. Ever.”
“Interesting,” Cleo hums, before moving on to the next question. “What’s your favorite way to spend a lazy Sunday?”
I almost choke on a laugh at the question because we don't have lazy Sundays. Never have. There’s always something we need to be doing, some connection that needs strengthening, a charity that needs visiting, an event that needs attending.
But that’s not what they want from us. They want to think they're getting to know us, see secret bits of our lives, so we write our answers down dutifully as the omegas do theirs and then reveal them when prompted.
“Reading or playing chess by the fire.”
“Crossword then lesson planning.”
“In bed.” With a suggestive eyebrow waggle toward the omegas that has many of them blushing, but Florence just scowls at him.
“Gym.”
The omega’s answers are not surprising. “Spa day,” “Brunch,” “Shopping spree.” Some of them have clearly done their research and have purposefully written answers that match ours, like Isadora.
Petal writes something about knitting tiny hats for animals. And then Florence. Sweet perfect fucking Florence.
She flips her board around with a shy little shrug, cheeks already flushing pink. “Building a blanket fort. Preferably with fairy lights. And uh… snacks, lots of snacks.”
I stare at the words “blanket fort”.
Who the hell says that with a straight face? Who admits something that innocent on national fucking television? On this show? She looks nervous, like she’s bracing for everyone to laugh.At her.
I hate how badly I want to tell her that if she asked, I’d build the biggest damn fort on earth. Right in the middle of the palace if I had to. I can see us all snuggled up in a small little fabric draped space, lounging on cushions, my omega curled up in my lap as I feed her snacks from my hand.
It should not be as much of a turn on as it is.
Petal squeals. “Can I change my answer? That sounds perfect. And I can knit in the fort once it's built.”
“Same,” Tristan says, flipping his board back toward him and scribbling so when it turns back around it says, ‘starting cults in a blanket fort.’
Christ.He is unhinged.
“What’s your biggest turn-on?”
The question sparks excitement in the omegas.
They straighten, shoulders back, chins lifted. Alphas roll their necks, adjust their stances, the air thickening with interest. Even the crew perks up, like they know this one’s going to give them something usable.
Forsythe flips his board first.
“Confidence,” he says calmly, like he’s answering a question about state policy instead of desire. “Someone who knows who they are. Who doesn’t bend themselves into shapes for approval.”
His gaze slides, just barely, toward Isadora and then Florence before he schools his expression again.
