Chapter 21
Maya
The truck door creaks as I push it open, my muscles stiff from hours of confinement.
Beside me, Cillian moves with silent grace despite his recent injuries, his hand never straying far from the knife concealed in his boot.
The smuggler watches us with growing impatience, clearly eager to complete this transaction and be on his way.
“Are you going in or not?” he asks, jingling a set of keys in his hand. “I’ve got other deliveries to make today.”
I exchange a glance with Cillian, reading the wariness in his ice-blue eyes. We’ve come this far—might as well see it through.
“We’re going,” I say, stepping down from the truck.
My legs nearly buckle as they take my weight, pins and needles shooting through my calves after hours of immobility.
Cillian’s hand catches my elbow, steadying me without comment.
The gesture is casual but deliberate, his touch light enough to maintain my dignity while preventing an embarrassing fall.
The courtyard around us is smaller than it appeared from inside the truck, enclosed by high stone walls covered in climbing ivy.
The house itself is modest by royal standards—a two-story manor of weathered gray stone with narrow windows and a slate roof.
Not exactly the summer palace I’d imagined, but certainly more secure-looking than our previous safehouse.
“This way,” the smuggler says, already walking toward the heavy wooden door at the front of the house. “Someone’s waiting for you inside.”
“Someone?” Cillian asks, his voice deceptively calm. “Who, exactly?”
The smuggler shrugs without turning around. “Not my business. I just drive.”
I feel Cillian tense beside me, his body coiling like a spring ready to release. His hand drifts closer to his boot, ready to draw his weapon at the first sign of trouble. I find myself mirroring his alertness, scanning our surroundings for potential threats or escape routes.
The smuggler pounds on the door three times, then twice more in quick succession—a signal, I realize. A code to identify himself to whoever waits inside.
For a long moment, nothing happens. Then I hear the sound of multiple locks disengaging, and the door swings open.
I’m not sure what I expected, but this certainly wasn’t it.
Saffron stands in the doorway wearing an elaborate dress that would look at home in the royal court, her vibrant red hair arranged in an intricate style that must have taken hours to create.
The contrast between her polished appearance and our disheveled state after hours in the truck is almost comical.
“Finally,” she says, her voice carrying that distinctive Omega lilt that I’ve always found both familiar and grating. “I was beginning to think you’d been intercepted.”
The smuggler grunts, already backing toward his truck. “Stay away from the windows.”
Saffron nods. “Stay safe, Bastin.”
Without another word to us, he climbs back into his truck and starts the engine.
I watch him drive away with a strange mix of emotions—relief that we’ve apparently reached safety, suspicion at this unexpected turn of events, and a lingering anxiety about what comes next. Beside me, Cillian remains tense, his eyes never leaving Saffron as she gestures us inside.
“You should come in,” she says, glancing nervously at the sky. “It’s not safe to linger out in the open.”
The interior of the house is as unexpected as Saffron’s presence.
While the exterior suggests a modest country manor, the inside has been transformed into a luxurious retreat.
Plush carpets cover polished wood floors, silk draperies frame the narrow windows, and delicate furniture that looks too fragile to support actual human weight is arranged in careful groupings throughout the front parlor.
At the center of it all sits an elaborate tea service—silver pot, fine china cups, and a three-tiered stand laden with tiny sandwiches and pastries. It looks like something from an Enclave etiquette lesson, a perfect tableau of Omega hospitality.
“Please, sit,” Saffron says, gesturing to the arrangement. “You must be famished after driving half the day.”
Cillian positions himself between me and Saffron, his body language making it clear he’s not ready to relax just yet. “Where are we?” he asks, ignoring the invitation. “And why are you here?”
Saffron’s carefully composed expression flickers, a brief glimpse of something more genuine beneath the polished exterior.
“This house belongs to Nikolai,” she explains, moving to pour tea despite our continued wariness.
“As for why I’m here...well, Nikolai thought it would be a good opportunity to get me out of the palace as well. ”
“Nikolai?” I repeat, surprise momentarily overriding caution. “Nikolai is part of the resistance?”
She nods, a small smile touching her lips. “He has always been one of the good ones.”
The new is surprising, but welcome. It hadn’t occurred to me that any of Logan’s brothers might be on our side. “That’s really good news.”
Saffron nods, settling onto a chair across from me with perfect Omega grace. “Don’t get too excited. I doubt any of the other princes will break with the king.”
Cillian finally sits, though he chooses a position that allows him to watch both Saffron and the door. “How are things at court?”
Saffron rearranges the skirt of her elegant dress, smoothing non-existent wrinkles as she settles into her chair. The distant sound of Cillian moving around upstairs is the only noise in the otherwise silent house.
“The court has changed,” she says, her voice low as if sharing a secret. “It’s become something unrecognizable in just a few months.”
I lean forward, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”
She looks toward the window, a shadow crossing her delicate features. “The king hosts revels almost every night now. Not the formal state dinners of the past – these are... different. More primal.”
My stomach tightens at her expression. I’ve seen enough at the Enclave to recognize the signs of something deeply wrong.
“The king addresses his courtiers during these events,” Saffron continues, folding her hands in her lap.
“Long speeches about a ‘new age for Melilla’ that he claims to be shepherding. He promises prosperity and power – specifically, an Omega for every Alpha. Only the gods above know how he plans to accomplish that.”
I exchange a glance with Cillian, the silent communication we’ve developed over the past weeks passing between us. It’s time to tell her what we know.
“Saffron,” I say carefully, “there’s something you should know about these clinics.”
She tilts her head, curiosity replacing her earlier wariness. “What about them?”
“They’re not just fertility clinics,” Cillian says, his voice soft but steady despite his injuries. “They’re laboratories. Places where they experiment on Omegas.”
Saffron’s face drains of color, leaving her looking ghostly against her vibrant hair. “That’s... That’s not possible,” she whispers, but there’s no conviction in her voice.
“It is possible,” I insist. “I’ve seen it. They were injecting me with hormones, running tests, doing things you can’t even imagine. If the king gets his way, I won’t be the only one.”
Cillian softly adds, “That’s why we can’t run. That’s why we have to stop him. What he’s doing—it’s beyond cruelty. It’s monstrous.”
She shakes her head slowly, horror dawning in her eyes. “Then the rumors are true. The king really has gone mad with power.”
“Not mad,” Cillian corrects. “Calculated. This is a deliberate strategy to consolidate control. What better way to ensure loyalty than to promise every Alpha noble their own personal Omega?”
“We’re going to stop him,” I say firmly. “We’re gathering allies, planning our next move. Logan and the others are working on a strategy that—“
“No,” Saffron interrupts, her voice suddenly sharp with alarm. “Maya, you can’t go anywhere near the king.”
The urgency in her tone makes me pause. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes dart nervously to the window before she leans closer. “The king has mentioned you at court,” she says, lowering her voice to barely above a whisper. “By name. He speaks of you often, always with this... strange gleam in his eye.”
My stomach tightens. “What does he say?”
“That you’re special. Different from other Omegas.” She swallows hard. “He’s offered a substantial reward for your return to the palace. Alive and unharmed. He was very specific about that part.”
Cillian shifts beside me, his body tensing despite his injuries. “Why would the king take personal interest in Maya?”
Saffron shakes her head. “I don’t know. But something changed after your escape from the doctor’s compound. The king became... fixated. It’s as if he believes you hold some key to his plans.”
A chill runs down my spine. The tests the doctor ran on me, the samples he took—what did he find? What makes me “special” in the eyes of a king with plans to transform people’s very nature?
“All the more reason why we need to stop him,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “If he’s willing to experiment on innocent people, to alter their very designations against their will, we can’t just run and hide. We have to end this.”
Saffron looks at me with a mixture of admiration and fear. “You don’t understand. The king is... He’s not what he appears to be. There’s a reason he’s ruled unchallenged for so long. Those who oppose him directly don’t just lose—they disappear.”
“We’re already targets,” Cillian points out. “We’re already fugitives. What difference does it make if he wants Maya specifically?”
“Because he’ll never stop hunting her,” Saffron insists. “You could flee to the farthest reaches of the world, and he would still send people after her. Whatever he believes she is, whatever he thinks she knows—he won’t rest until he has her.”
I feel Cillian’s eyes on me, watching for my reaction. Part of me wants to curl into a ball, to hide from this new threat. But a stronger part—the part that’s grown since escaping the doctor, since choosing to fight rather than run—rises to meet the challenge.
“Then he’ll have to come and get me himself,” I say, straightening my spine. “Because I’m not going to stop fighting. Not when so many lives are at stake.”
Saffron studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “You’ve changed,” she observes.
“We all have,” I reply, thinking of Logan’s willingness to give me agency, of Cillian’s quiet strength, of Poe’s unexpected support of the rebellion. “And we’re going to change this kingdom too—starting with those clinics.”
Cillian’s hand finds mine under the table, a silent show of support that steadies me. Whatever the king wants from me, whatever he believes I am, he’s underestimated one crucial fact: I’m not alone anymore.