Chapter 2
Chapter Two
MAYA
T he hired car will only drop me off at the gates, almost a mile from the actual entrance to the lesser palace. Alpha guards wave me inside with polite nods, though their gazes follow me as I slip past them onto the palace grounds.
I take in the grand expanse of gardens. Neat rows of hedges line the pathways which are dotted with clusters of blooming flowers.I notice the beauty of it as an afterthought.
The walk will be long enough to convince myself that I actually want to go through with this.
No, forget that. I know I don’t want to do this. The question is whether any other choices will present themselves in the next few minutes. Considering the hell I’ve been through recently, the universe clearly has no intention of letting me treat the future like a buffet of choices.
You’ve picked your poison, girl. Now it’s time to swallow it down.
The sound of an iron gate slamming shut behind me makes me turn back to find both of them watching me from the other side of the high fence. Despite their regal beauty, the wrought iron posts feel much more like the bars of a prison.
A prison, and I just willingly locked myself inside.
I’m also not the only one. A sleek town-car pulls in behind the public taxi that dropped me off, blocking it in. The guards rush to open the doors and three girls in frilly dresses emerge in a cloud of tulle and satin.
One glance is enough to know that they are all Omegas. The fine bones and short stature give them up from a mile away. One has ocean-blue hair, a much brighter hue than my deep purple, like a mermaid from fairy tales. The color shimmers in the light in a way no dye ever could. The girl next to her laughs and the sound carries too easily on the wind, tinkling like church bells.
But it’s the last one who holds my attention for the longest. She might just be the most beautiful girl that I’ve ever seen. A waterfall of deep auburn hair cascades over her body in ringlets and curls, so much of it that the mass might outweigh the rest of her body. Green eyes, so large and round that they’re practically doll-like, briefly meet mine before passing over like I’m just another ornament in the garden. A haughty expression settles over her face as she gestures for the other girls to follow her, head held high.
This one already knows that she is the competition.
The guards close the SUV’s doors behind the girls, clearly displaying the livery emblazoned on the side of the vehicle.
Property of the Omega Enclave.
Enclave Omegas are so well-trained that they guarantee Alpha satisfaction. Their graduates don’t resist Alpha control or deny their own dynamic. These particular girls are almost certainly the best in their class. I wonder how many contracts in progress were cancelled, so these Omegas could attend these palace interviews instead. With the Enclave’s backing, they aren’t showing up in a second-hand dress and smelling like synthetic drugstore soap because they can’t afford the specially made scentless kind.
A thrill of tension tightens my spine. I knew there would be competition. How could there not be? A family might hesitate to sell their daughter to the Enclave when the ultimate outcome for her is uncertain, but for a crown?
People have killed for less.
The king’s edict had been delivered with a shotgun approach. You couldn’t miss the announcement if you tried. Every video device, from personal holovids and public comm units to dusty bar televisions supposedly not even hooked up to the extranet, had broadcast his address live for the entire country to see. A message in blood letters perpetually trawled at the bottom of every screen for days:
All unbonded Omegas of fertile age are expected to report to the palace for evaluation by the royal princes. Those deemed worthy will be offered a mating contract and ample compensation to their families. Failure to comply without due reason may be considered a crime against the crown.
Omegas would come from all corners of the kingdom to present themselves. A guaranteed audience with a prince is too great of a lure. The king’s implied threat would only sweeten the pot for families with an unwilling daughter on their hands.
A tall, older woman accompanies the newly arrived Omegas to the gate, but the guards stop her. Clearly, only the Omegas presenting themselves are being allowed on the palace grounds. It makes sense. This place would likely be a madhouse otherwise.
Not to mention a security risk. This many unbounded Omegas gathered in one place is dangerous. We’re practically bait for unscrupulous Alphas to steal in and whisk one of us away. It would be days before anyone noticed that one or two out of a dozen Omegas had gone missing.
I suppress a shiver despite the mild summer heat. The garden ahead of me, full of milling Alpha guards with hedges tall enough to hide even the largest of them, suddenly feels ominous.
Omegas don’t need to hide in Melilla. That’s the insistent claim of the king and parliament, at least. We have a right to choose our partners and forcing a bond has been a criminal act for years.
But the law is only a protection when people follow it.
There are more than a few Alphas willing to risk a fine, or even a prison sentence, if a scent-matched Omega appears at the right time. Bonds are permanent. That poor Omega will still be stuck with them once the legal dust settles. And more than one Alpha with sufficient resources has just bribed their way out of criminal proceedings. The police, judges, jurors — you can buy pretty much anyone for the right price.
All the rules and regulations in the world won’t stop a man determined to get his way, regardless of the consequences.
I know that better than anyone.
That makes the Enclave such a seemingly attractive option for Omegas. They promise ultimate protection while an Omega grows up and gains enough knowledge to choose the right Alpha. Their compound has as much security as the national treasury, a remote location far outside Capital City with thirty-foot fences, constant patrols of specially trained beta guards and no history of break-ins.
Or escape.
The only hazard is in neglecting to read their very specific fine print before signing yourself over to them.
As the girls come closer, their scents get picked up by the wind. Sweet fruity perfumes that make my nose twitch. Enough Omegas in one place smells like a candy store. Even in the open air, this many together is enough to make my teeth hurt.
The giggling group barrels past me, giving me as much notice as the perfectly manicured shrubbery.
I turn my head away as they pass, careful to keep my face hidden. My Enclave days are far enough behind me that I’m probably not at any risk of being recognized. But I’d still rather stay in the background until I formulate a plan.
The last thing my nerves need is uncomfortable questions about where I’ve been for the past year.
Or more importantly, why I’m still unbonded.
My steps are slow as I walk down the garden pathways toward the palace entrance. The closer I get, the more guards I encounter until it seems like they practically stand shoulder to shoulder along the path. There are more guards outside than I would have thought existed in the palace regiment and too many of them are Alphas. Pheromones are thick as a cloud in the air, so thick that I practically choke on it.
The taste of potent Alpha on the back of my tongue is the worst memory trigger. The type that makes my heart beat faster until every step feels like pushing through quicksand. Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. My mind screams at me to run before it’s too late.
Why am I doing this?
A nearby guard shifts his attention to me, clearly scenting my fear in the air. I force myself to calm, taking deep breaths until he looks away.
The palace doors swing open as I approach, large and impenetrably thick. I already know they will close solidly behind me.
Irrevocably.
If there were any other choice, I would be a hundred miles from this place. Wishing and hoping had taken me to a darker place than I ever could have imagined. Now is the time to face cold reality.
One of the princes has to choose me because I am completely out of options. There will be too many girls here who are prettier, younger and more obedient than I am for this to be easy. I only need to grab the attention of one prince, but that still means standing out in a veritable sea of willing Omegas.
This time I’ll do whatever it takes.
T he royal harem is utter pandemonium.
Even though I’d been expecting it, the reality of seeing dozens of women gathered in a space designed for half that number is absolutely overwhelming.Couches and armchairs have been arranged around the receiving parlor, all of them occupied. The furniture is mismatched. Most of it has obviously been commandeered from other rooms in the palace, probably with last-minute haste as more Omegas showed up at the palace. The king’s announcement is only a few days old, so more Omegas may still be on their way from outside of the city limits.
Somewhere around here, the palace’s head chamberlain is probably pulling his hair out by the roots.
Not everyone here is an Omega hoping for a prince to choose them today. In fact, the vast majority of women here are the betas who live permanently in the harem. The harem betas are easy to pick out. Most of them sulk at the periphery of the large central chamber, clustered in little groups and gossiping loudly about each Omega paraded toward the antechambers being used for the interviews. Jealousy isn’t a good look for anyone, but I can’t exactly blame them. One of these haughty Omegas being fussed over by the attendants might be our queen one day. Watching your place in the hierarchy be so easily usurped can’t be fun.fo
A round woman in a white lace apron with matching cap bustles up to me. Her age makes it impossible to determine her dynamic. At almost a head shorter than me, she could be an Omega by her size, but she moves with the authoritative energy of an old Alpha battle axe. Which means she can only be one thing.
The HBIC.
Head-Beta-in-Charge .
“Name?” she demands without looking up from the tablet in her hand.
“Maya Tantamount.”
She doesn’t react in any obvious way to my name, but taps something quickly on the screen. “You will wait here until you’re called. Omegas are being assigned to interviews with a prince based on his known preferences. You may interview with more than one of them, but that can’t be guaranteed because of time constraints. Omegas may be offered a mating contract or a position in the harem. Some of you may be thanked for your time and allowed to leave before the end of the day today. Any questions?”
Being asked to remain in the harem might be an acceptable second choice, but being asked to leave absolutely will not.
“And what was your name?”
The woman looks at me for the first time, surprise flashing briefly in her eyes. “Perkins, I’m the harem mother.”
Harem mother, so the ultimate authority in this space outside of maybe the king, himself. And I doubt he would ever test that theory by going head-to-head with her. Staying on her good side can only be beneficial for me.
“Thank you, Perkins. I don’t have questions but I appreciate you asking.”
She eyes me for a second, a considering expression on her face. I start to turn away when her voice stops me.
“Did you have a preference among the princes that you’d like me to note?” Perkins almost seems surprised at herself as she makes the offer. She glances away as she awaits my answer, obviously checking to see if anyone overheard her. “No guarantees, of course.”
I give myself about a split-second to think about it.
A vision of the red-haired Omega and the others from the Enclave flashes in my head. I won’t be able to beat them at their own game, but I still have a trump card to play.
My preference would be to catch the attention of a different prince. Any of the others would be preferable. But the chances of one of them choosing me are slim, not with this many other Omegas vying for their attention.
Perkins’s eyebrows shoot up into her forehead when I tell her my choice. Her expression makes me want to snatch the words back and I almost bite my tongue clean off to resist the urge.
No going back now.
“Must not know much if that’s her choice,” Perkins mutters to herself as she waves me toward a seat.
No choice but to swallow my response to that. She doesn’t need to hear that I know more than enough, way more than I should. Knowledge isn’t enough to stop me from making the choice.
The only empty seat left in the room is a leather armchair. I skirt the crowded furniture to reach it, only to realize that it sits directly across from where the red-haired Omega and one of her companions lounge on a velour chaise.
I realize it’s them at the same moment as they notice me approach. My gaze meets watchful green and I don’t have any other choice but to sit down and pretend this isn’t the last place in the room I want to be right now.
An attendant glides up to offer us glasses of champagne. I take mine with a murmured thanks and down almost half of it.
The redhead’s gaze skates over me, so it isn’t a surprise when something catty comes out of her mouth.
“I love your dress,” she murmurs, voice practically a husky croon. “I wore something just like it for my presentation day, like three years ago. So pretty.”
Her backhanded compliment doesn’t go over my head. The yellow chiffon dress I’m wearing suits me well, clinging to my hips without being too tight and complimenting the violet lowlights in my hair. It was the height of style when it was initially designed — five years ago.
I don’t have access to the Enclave’s resources or the stable of exclusive designers they access for presentation wardrobes.
“Thank you so much,“ I gush, matching her feigned sweetness. “Your presentation day was really four years ago? Time must feel like it’s flying by for you. I thought I would be the only old hat here and mine was just three years ago.”
Lie. It was actually five years ago,but she doesn’t need to know that. Presentation days were an archaic ritual, reminiscent of the debutante balls of the past, in which we had a sort of coming out party at sixteen. Usually, presentation days are the first time that interested Alphas get a chance to meet the Omegas at the Enclave, at a careful distance, even if we don’t graduate for another four years afterward.
Only the slight narrowing of envy green eyes reveals her annoyance. Every graduate of the Enclave I’ve ever met can do a poker face with the best of them. “I’ve been holding out for a proper Alpha. Luckily for me, a prince will do.”
“We’re all here for the same reasons.” I raise the champagne glass in salute. The glass will shatter if I grip it any tighter. “Good luck.”
She continues to study me. “Have we met?”
“Doubt it. I’m M…Mm…Em. I’m Em.”
Our time at the Enclave had overlapped, I’m nearly certain of it. The trainers kept us mostly segregated in small working groups based on age. There was a rule about not allowing too many Omegas the chance to gather in one place. Possibly for safety reasons. If one of us cultivated dangerous ideas, then the spread would be limited by our physical separation.
Limiting our access to each other makes the brainwashing that much easier.
If I give her my real name, that might just be enough to jog her memory. My disastrous presentation is the stuff of legend at the Enclave. I’d returned from first and only interview in tears, refusing to sign a mating contract with any Alpha. Days later, from the perspective of the other Omegas, I simply disappeared.
The last thing I need is for gossip about what might have happened to me spread around the palace harem.
It isn’t every day that one of the most promising Enclave graduates rejects a prince. There is no reality in which these girls haven’t heard the story.
“Saffron,” she returns, holding out a delicate hand for me to shake. “If you forget it, I’m sure there will be an inscription on a royal portrait soon to remind you.”
“Confidence is key. I hope things work out the way you want.”
Saffron looks like she is trying to decide if the words are sincere or not. I’m a bit surprised myself when I realize they actually are.
Even if I’m not here to make friends, creating enemies would just be an unnecessary distraction.
“I suggest you just stay out of my way,” she snaps.
So much for that little moment of camaraderie.
I’m saved from responding when another girl pushes her way through the crowd and practically collapses on the lounge next to Saffron. Her face is ashen, eyes rimmed red, as if she has been crying. A rip mars the hem of her pretty blue dress. I recognize her as one of the Omegas who arrived in the Enclave town car, who has the voice like a songbird.
Saffron gives the new arrival a once-over, gaze lingering on the ripped hem. “How did it go?”
“Awful.” Blue dress scrubs at her face, smearing her artfully done makeup.
“Oh, no, Mercedes.” Saffron leans forward to touch the girl’s knees in a comforting gesture, but I don’t miss the calculation in her eyes. “Awful how, sweetie?”
“The prince…he barely let me introduce myself before he told me not to say another word because my voice sounds like an out-of-tune piano.”
“Is that all?” Saffron asks, sounding bored as she shifts back in her seat.
Perkins quickly walks past us, two attendants at her heels. Mercedes watches her pass before answering, voice pitched somewhat lower.
“Then he told me to get down on my knees. Right there, with his guards watching and everything.”
Saffron leans forward again, looking interested. “Did you do it?”
“Of course not!”
I don’t miss the move as Mercedes surreptitiously drags the back of her hand across her mouth. Her lipstick doesn’t smear because there isn’t any of it left on her lips.
Saffron snorts. “I guess it makes sense why he didn’t choose you, then.”
Mercedes just blinks owlishly, tears caught in the spidery black waterproof mascara on her lashes.
Clasping her hands, Saffron positions herself just like an Enclave instructor, giving the same lecture that was repeated to us a hundred times. “Alphas are still men, after all. Simple, easily manipulated and driven almost entirely by their baser urges.”
Mercedes sniffles. “They can’t all be like that.”
Drumming her manicured fingers on the wood armrest, Saffron regards the other girl with an impatient expression. “Which prince was it?”
Trying to pretend that I’m not listening backfires spectacularly because Mercedes murmurs the name too softly for me to hear.
Saffron simply shrugs. “Everyone knows he is the worst of them, though a prince that close to the crown might still be worth the effort. Don’t worry, I’m sure your next interview will go better.”
“You didn’t hear the things he said to me. And the rest of them were no better. His guards or his pack, or whatever you want to call them. It was vile. They were vile. He is an absolute sociopath!”
Saffron quickly shushes her, looking annoyed. “Gods, Mercedes, keep your voice down. If the wrong person hears you, you’ll be out on your ass and the rest of us guilty by association.”
“I’m sorry—” Mercedes hiccups. “I just…this isn’t like how I thought it would be.”
“You’ve already seen the worst of them. No reason to break down now.” Saffron shakes her head with a sigh, expression almost sympathetic. “Go to the bathroom and fix your face. A future princess can’t meet her prince sporting raccoon eyes.”
She watches Mercedes stumble away, a pensive expression on her face. When she turns back and catches me watching her, that expression changes to one of outright derision. “Can I help you?”
“Not at all.”
Perkins bustles up again and taps me on the shoulder. “Maya Tantamount? Prince Logan is ready for you.”
Saffron’s keen gaze follows me as I push to my feet on legs I refuse to let shake.
“Maya Tantamount,” she repeats, recognition burning in her gaze. “I would wish you good luck, but I doubt it would help.”
I pick up the champagne glass and quickly drain it.
No turning back now.