His expression shuttered again, the vulnerable moment passing. "If you truly wish to know, return to the palace three nights hence. The north wall has a servants' gate that is watched but not locked. Wear the breaker again. I’ll find you."
The voices outside grew louder. Prince Silas moved to the door, his hand on the latch. "Go now. Quickly."
I hesitated for only a moment before slipping past him, hyperaware of the brief contact as our bodies brushed in the narrow space. The sensation lingered, a phantom pressure against my skin, as I darted into the antechamber and toward the exit he had indicated.
As I reached the door, I glanced back. Prince Silas still stood in the storage room entrance, watching me with an expression I couldn’t interpret.
"Three nights," he repeated softly.
CHAPTER 7
Ireturned to the palace wearing the suppression breaker, which hadn't stopped working after twenty-four hours as the woman had said. Three nights had passed since Prince Silas had discovered me and, rather than exposing me, had shown me a path to freedom. Three nights of hiding from Lady Morvane, of sleeping in abandoned buildings and alleyways, of existing in the liminal space between my old life of ash and submission and whatever waited on the other side of tonight. The vial hung warm against my skin, no longer foreign but familiar, like it had always been meant to rest there. Like it had been waiting for me to remember who I was.
The north wall loomed before me, moonlight washing the pale stone in silver. I’d circled the perimeter twice before finding the servants’ gate Prince Silas had mentioned. It was unassuming and partially hidden by climbing vines, distinguished only by the absence of a guard post directly beside it. My fingers trembled as I reached for the iron handle, not from fear but anticipation. The metal was cold against my palm, grounding me in the moment.
I expected resistance, a creak of unused hinges at the very least. Instead, the gate swung open with well-oiled silence, as if ithad been recently prepared for exactly this purpose. As if I were expected.
The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it settled into my bones with surprising rightness.
The servants’ courtyard beyond lay empty save for a few kitchen staff smoking in a far corner, their backs to me as they gossiped in low voices. I slipped inside, easing the gate closed behind me, and pressed against the shadowed wall. The vial pulsed once, hard enough to make me gasp, and something shifted in the air around me. A subtle ripple, like heat rising from summer-baked stone.
I looked down at my hands, expecting to see them as they were, pale, work-roughened, bearing the permanent gray stains of ash that no amount of scrubbing could remove. Instead, they appeared... muted somehow. Not invisible, but less distinct, as if the eye would prefer to slide past them rather than focus.
A glamor. The vial had created a glamor effect, subtle but effective. I hadn’t known it could do that. What else didn't I know about the strange woman’s gift?
Testing the effect, I stepped away from the wall and crossed the courtyard with deliberate steps. The smoking servants glanced in my direction, then immediately back to their conversation, gazes sliding off me like water from oiled cloth. Not complete invisibility, but a suggestion that I belonged, that I was of no consequence, that attention would be better directed elsewhere.
I found a side entrance and slipped inside. The moment I crossed the threshold, everything hit at once.
My senses, already heightened by the suppression breaker, sharpened to something almost unbearable in the enclosed space. Scents layered upon scents, perfumes and body oils, the musk of Alpha pheromones, the acrid undertone of omega suppressants, the lingering traces of food and wine andhundreds of conversations. I could distinguish individual notes within each breath: cardamom from the eastern territories on a passing servant, ambergris in an Alpha’s cologne, the metallic tinge of fear beneath a young omega’s artificial sweetness.
Sound crashed over me next, conversations from rooms away filtering through stone walls as clearly as if spoken beside me, the rustle of expensive fabric against skin, heartbeat quickening and slowing with emotional tides I could almost taste on my tongue. Footsteps above and below, fingers drumming against goblets, the subtle shift of weight as people leaned into conversations or away from unwanted attention.
My vision sharpened until each mote of dust caught in lamplight became a glittering universe, until I could count the individual threads in a passing courtier’s embroidered sleeve. Colors deepened, textures clarified, shadows revealed secrets in their depths.
Just like last time I'd come to the palace all my senses were on overdrive. Too much. It was all too much. The world pressed too close, too loud, the entire space feeling hostile, thick with Alpha presence and restrained aggression barely held in check beneath the veneer of civilization. My breath came faster, shallower, my heart racing as I fought the urge to flee or collapse.
I closed my eyes, steadying myself against the cool stone wall. Had the Convergence been this overwhelming? No. I’d still had traces of suppressants in my system then. This was the first time I’d entered a space so thick with competing energies while completely free of chemical constraints.
I focused on the weight of the vial against my throat, its steady warmth anchoring me to my body as sensation threatened to pull me apart. Breathe. Just breathe. Three counts in. Hold for four. Release for five. The technique I’d developedduring my earliest heat symptoms, before Lady Morvane began the suppressants.
Gradually, the overwhelming input receded to manageable levels. Not gone, but organized—like learning to hear individual instruments within an orchestra rather than being deafened by undifferentiated noise.
I opened my eyes and pushed away from the wall, forcing confidence into my posture. I couldn’t afford to look overwhelmed or out of place. The glamor would only help if I didn’t draw attention to myself through behavior.
This section of the palace felt different. Administrative. Offices and meeting rooms instead of the grand ceremonial spaces I had glimpsed during the Convergence. Staff moved with purpose rather than performance, carrying documents in place of serving trays. I needed to find where Prince Silas might be waiting, but he had given me nothing beyond the gate.
I followed the flow of movement and went deeper into the palace. The architecture grew more imposing with each turn. Ceilings rose higher. Materials grew richer. Decoration became more elaborate. Guards appeared more frequently, stationed at key intersections, their attention sharp and searching. Their gazes passed over me, through me. The glamor held.
Not completely.
A passing Alpha slowed as he neared me. His bearing marked him as distant royalty despite the court finery. His nostrils flared. Something about me caught his attention. He turned, tracking my movement with narrowed eyes, his body shifting with quiet intent to block my path.
The truth of my control settled in. The glamor blurred perception, but it could not erase me. Not from an Alpha. My scent betrayed me. Not fully omega. Not anything familiar. Something else.
Fear whispered up my spine, old and familiar, urging me to lower my eyes, to make myself smaller, to slip back into the invisible shell I’d inhabited for years. To survive through submission and self-erasure.
Instead, I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and adjusted my posture to mimic the confident court omegas I’d observed at the Convergence. I lengthened my stride, smoothed my movements, forcing an air of belonging into every line of my body. The Alpha wanted to see submission? I would show him its opposite and trust that the contradiction would confuse his instincts long enough for me to pass.
