Chapter 6 #2
Fergal’s eyes met his. “Then I’ll handle it myself.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet. But that omega walked into this library because she trusted me to help her, and I will not let her down.” He paused. “Is this what it was like with the Murphys?”
The question hit Gregor like a fist to the sternum. Not because it was inappropriate, but because it was asked with genuine need. Fergal wasn’t making a rhetorical point. He wanted to understand. He wanted context for the horror in front of him from the one person who had witnessed it at its worst.
“Worse,” Gregor heard himself say. “Much worse. This—what Duncan did—would’ve been considered mild. Unremarkable. Not even worth mentioning. And she definitely wouldn’t have even considered asking someone for help because that would’ve only made things worse.”
Fergal’s face drained of color. “How did you stand it?”
“I didn’t. That’s why I left.”
Fergal took a step closer. “You’ve never told me why. Not really. I know the broad strokes, that you disagreed with the Murphy clan’s practices. But you’ve never told me what you saw.”
Gregor should’ve shut it down. Should’ve cited professional boundaries, redirected to the lesson, deployed “Your Highness” like a shield. Instead, he leaned against the edge of the table, crossed his arms, and said, “It was the breeding program.”
He hadn’t spoken about this in decades. Not to anyone. Not to himself, if he could help it. But the image of Valerie’s split lip and the marks on her throat had dragged it to the surface, and Fergal’s quiet attention made it impossible to push back down.
“Things were bad before that. Omegas were abused, mistreated, denied basic human rights, but I stayed quiet for years. I told myself it wasn’t my place, that they wouldn’t listen to me anyway, that challenging the leadership would accomplish nothing except getting me killed.
All true, by the way. And all cowardly.”
“You were young.”
“I was old enough to know better.” He unfolded his arms, then didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he gripped the table edge instead. “Then came the breeding program. Omegas were assigned to alphas for breeding purposes. No choice, no consent. Just…allocated. Like livestock.”
Fergal’s eyes had widened. “A breeding program?”
“Yes.” He kept his voice clinical. Facts, not feelings.
“They were breeding specifically for magical gifts and for fighters, so all purple and red dragons were expected to participate—including me. The omegas who resisted were punished. The ones who complied were discarded once they’d served their purpose.
And everyone around me acted as if this was normal.
Necessary, even. For the good of the clan. ”
“And you spoke up?”
“Not right away.” The admission cost him.
“The night I left, an omega I knew had—” He stopped.
Breathed. “She had been assigned to three different alphas in one week because the first two hadn’t successfully bred her.
She was barely conscious when they brought her to me for my turn, as they said.
And I stood inside that room and listened to her pitiful whimpers, and I knew that if I stayed one more day, if I didn’t take a stand then and there, I’d become the kind of man who could hear that sound and do nothing. ”
The library was very quiet. The fire crackled softly. Outside, the spring wind had died down, leaving behind an almost eerie silence.
“So you left,” Fergal said.
“I left. They tried to argue with me, then tried to keep me from leaving by force.” He touched his cheek, the visible reminder of that night.
“I shifted and took off. And I swore I would never stand by and watch someone be hurt like that again.” He let out a breath. “I haven’t always kept that promise.”
“You kept it today.”
“No, Fergal. You did.”
The name slipped out before he could stop it. Not “Your Highness.” Not “Prince Fergal.” Just his name, spoken simply, with an honesty Gregor couldn’t take back.
Fergal’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but Gregor caught the surprise, quickly followed by warmth.
By understanding. Fergal didn’t pounce on it.
Didn’t smirk or make a comment about first names or use the moment as leverage.
He held Gregor’s gaze, and in his expression was something that looked nothing like the hungry, reckless pursuit of the past year and everything like the man Gregor had overheard in a hallway, citing the Code to a king.
“We’ll fix this,” Fergal said quietly. “Not just Duncan. All of it. The way omegas are treated, the way this clan is run. I can’t do it yet—not while my father is king—but I will. And when I do, I’ll need you.”
Not want. Need.
Gregor nodded because he didn’t trust his voice.
“I should check on Valerie,” Fergal said after a moment, pulling himself back to the present with visible effort. “And then I need to talk to my father before Duncan has a chance to spin his own version.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Fergal studied him for a long moment, then nodded. An understanding passed between them—two men who saw the same darkness and refused to look away.
They walked out of the library together. Side by side. Not tutor and student. Not guard and prince. Partners.
And as they made their way toward the king’s quarters, Gregor took a few deep breaths.
What had happened the day before in the training room had terrified him because it was physical—uncontrolled and explosive.
But what had happened today terrified him more.
He’d let Fergal in, had let him slip past that wall, and he hadn’t even tried to stop him.