My stepsister stepped down from the platform and began moving across the room, each step precisely measured, hips swaying just enough to suggest fertility without overt sexuality. The technical perfection of it made my stomach twist. This was what omegas were trained for… to become living art, decorative and functional, designed for Alpha pleasure and status display.
"Good," the trainer said. "Remember, you enter alone but hope to leave claimed. Every movement, every breath, every glance must reinforce that message. That's how you'll gain the Princes' interest."
Claimed. The word echoed in my mind, conjuring images I’d tried desperately to suppress. Being claimed meant being owned. Being owned meant being used for breeding, for status, for whatever purpose your Alpha decreed. I’d seen the aftermath of claiming through hidden vents and servant passages: omegasreduced to hollow shells, their personalities erased by biological bonds they couldn’t resist.
Is that what awaited Vella tonight? Surely if she bonded with one of the three princes, they would treat her better? Was that the fate Lady Morvane had planned for me before my body betrayed us both by refusing to develop normally?
The vial burned hotter against my thigh, demanding acknowledgment. I backed away from the door, continuing down the hall to the servants’ staircase that led to my attic room. Each step upward felt like a decision, each landing a moment to turn back. By the time I reached my door, I was breathing hard, though not from physical exertion.
My room—if the converted storage space could be called that—offered little comfort. A narrow cot, a washbasin, a single shelf where I kept the few broken possessions I could claim as my own. The window, small but unbarred, looked out over the rear gardens and, beyond them, the distant spires of the royal palace, gold-tipped and gleaming.
I slipped my hand into my pocket and withdrew the vial, holding it up to the fading afternoon light. The liquid inside shifted and swirled, colors changing from amber to deep crimson to something almost purple, never settling, never still. Like it was alive. Like it was waiting.
Wearing it meant risk, an immediate, catastrophic risk. If Lady Morvane discovered me with a suppression breaker, the punishment would be severe beyond imagination. Permanent confinement. Something worse. Or simply being sold outright to the sort of Alpha who specialized in breaking difficult omegas.
Since she'd hidden my existence to anyone outside the household or the black market, those were the only kind of Alphas Lady Morvane would risk selling me to. Selling me to anyone reputable would reveal she'd been disguising me as a nothing. Someone who didn't classify as Alpha, Beta, or omega.Which was very illegal. It happened, but only on the black market. So I'd never bond with an Alpha like one of the princes.
But not wearing the suppression breaker meant never knowing. Never understanding what I truly was beyond "defective." Never discovering why the strange woman had sought me out, why she’d said I was never meant for one, why she believed I could change everything.
A soft knock at my door jolted me from my thoughts. I quickly concealed the vial back in my pocket before calling out, "Yes?"
The door cracked open to reveal Coris, her slight frame seeming to fold in on itself as she slipped inside. My quieter stepsister rarely sought me out, not from the same active cruelty as Vella, but from the passive complicity of someone too afraid to stand against the current.
"Mother sent me to make sure you took your dose," she said, voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes darted around the room, never quite meeting mine. In her hand, she clutched one of the small blue vials that kept my omega nature suppressed.
I took it from her without comment, wondering if she knew exactly what it contained, what it did to me. Probably not. Coris existed in a carefully maintained ignorance that allowed her to participate in my captivity without confronting its reality.
"The Convergence begins at midnight," she said, still hovering by the door. "Mother says you’re to remain here until morning."
"And if I need to use the facilities? Or require food?" I asked, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from my tone.
Coris flinched as if I’d raised my hand to her. "She says... she says you’ll manage. Like always."
Of course. During high-profile events, my existence became an inconvenience to be minimized. Better for me to go hungry than risk being seen by important guests.
"Will you attend?" I asked, genuinely curious. Coris was an omega too, though lacking Vella’s practiced perfection or ambition.
She shook her head, fingers twisting the small charm bracelet at her wrist—her nervous tell. "Not this year. Mother says I’m not... ready." The words carried layers of meaning, hinting at whatever ways Coris had failed to meet Lady Morvane’s exacting standards for her daughters.
An unexpected pang of sympathy twisted in my chest. Different as we were, Coris and I shared the experience of never quite measuring up to Lady Morvane’s expectations. In another life, we might have been allies instead of reluctant participants in each other’s misery.
"I should go," Coris murmured, backing toward the door. "Take your medicine. Mother will check."
Once she was gone, I stood by the window, suppressant in one hand, suppressant breaker in the other, weighing futures against each other. The one represented safety—of a sort… The known misery, the familiar cage. The other offered something else entirely—risk, yes, but also truth. Knowledge. The possibility of change.
You were never meant for one.
The strange woman’s words echoed in my mind, tangling with fragments of half-remembered dreams and forgotten certainties. Something inside me recognized her message, resonated with it in ways I couldn’t articulate. As if she’d voiced a truth my body had always known but my mind couldn’t access through the chemical fog of suppressants.
I watched the palace spires catch the last rays of sunset, turning to flame in the dying light, and made my decision.
I poured the suppressant into the washbasin, where it dissipated with surprising speed, leaving nothing but a pale bluestain against the porcelain. Then I lifted the chain with the vial and fastened it around my neck.
For several heartbeats, nothing happened. The glass rested against my skin, warmer than it should be but otherwise unremarkable. Had I been tricked? Was this nothing but colored water, a cruel joke at the expense of a desperate omega?
Then heat bloomed at the point of contact, spreading outward in concentric waves. Not pain, exactly, but intensity… as if every nerve ending suddenly remembered its purpose. The warmth traveled down my spine, along my limbs, into the very tips of my fingers and toes. My skin prickled, hypersensitive, every thread of my rough dress suddenly distinct and textured against my flesh.
I gasped, gripping the windowsill as my knees threatened to buckle. The world tilted, colors sharpening, scents intensifying. I could smell everything… the musty linens on my cot, the beeswax candles from three floors below, the dinner being prepared in the kitchen, even the faint trace of roses from the garden outside. Sounds crashed over me next… servants’ footsteps, Vella’s nervous laughter, the clink of silverware being arranged, a cat’s soft tread on the roof above. All of it distinct, all of it overwhelming.
