Chapter 22 #2
“We deliberately scheduled it to overlap, so Thane couldn’t keep you any longer than necessary.
” Poe’s expression softens. “Did you forget? We can cancel if you need some time, though we’ll probably hear about it later from Logan.
” Then, as he continues to study my face, his eyes narrow.
“Did something happen with the Inquisitor? I’m more than happy to hurt him for you. ”
Just knowing that he’d been willing to do that helps a bit.
I straighten my shoulders. “I’m fine. He didn’t do anything.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I meet his gaze, surprised by the genuine concern I see there. “I’ll be better once I’m away from him. The coalition meeting will be a good distraction.”
Poe nods, despite looking like he wants to say more. I start walking again before he gets tempted enough to do just that. If he asks anymore questions, I might be tempted to provide answers.
My history with the Inquisitor is a secret I have to keep, at least until I know sharing it will do less harm than good.
When I enter the same meeting room as the last time, the circle of Omegas turns toward me with practiced smiles, but something feels immediately off. There’s a tension in the air, an anticipatory silence that makes my skin prickle.
“Lady Maya,” Duchess Elara calls with exaggerated deference. “We have a special guest today who was most insistent on attending.”
A figure in the center of the group shifts in their chair, and I freeze as a familiar voice cuts through the air.
“Maya, darling. How lovely to see you!”
My mother turns to face me, her perfectly styled hair framing a face that shows no hint of the years we’ve spent apart. Charlotte Tantamount-Ovation looks completely at ease among the aristocracy she’s spent her life trying to infiltrate.
“Mother.” The word feels foreign on my tongue. I haven’t spoken it aloud in years.
The room falls silent as everyone watches our reunion with barely disguised curiosity. I’m aware of every eye tracking my movements as I approach the circle.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Charlotte smiles, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. “When I heard my only daughter had secured a royal mating contract, how could I stay away? Though I must say, I’m disappointed you didn’t inform me yourself.”
“I’ve been rather busy,” I reply, the understatement of the century.
“So I’ve heard.” Her gaze flicks to the silver pendant at my throat, then to the fading bruises on my wrists. “It seems you’ve been through quite an adjustment period.”
The other Omegas watch our exchange like it’s a theatrical performance. I can almost see them mentally taking notes to share later.
“The coalition has graciously allowed me to attend today,” Charlotte continues. “I have so many questions about your new position. After all, I invested so much in your upbringing.”
I hear the unspoken demand in her words. She wants recognition, compensation for the years she spent grooming me for this exact outcome. The irony that I’m now in the position she always wanted for me, yet through none of her machinations, isn’t lost on me.
“How thoughtful of them,” I say, taking a seat across from her rather than beside her. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to catch up later.”
Charlotte’s smile tightens. She’s always hated being dismissed, especially in public.
“Of course, darling. I wouldn’t want to monopolize the future queen’s attention.”
The title hangs in the air between us. I wonder if she knows how precarious my position truly is, or if she’s already planning how to capitalize on my newfound status.
As the meeting begins, I realize my mother’s presence has added yet another complication to my already tangled web of dangers and alliances. She was never just my mother—she was my first lesson in manipulation.
And now she’s here, ready to collect on her investment.
“So, my dear,” Charlotte says, leaning forward with a predatory smile, “tell us about the size of the royal apartments. Are they as grand as rumored? I’ve heard the baths are solid gold. I’m dying to see it.”
I close my eyes briefly, mortified. Trust my mother to ask about material possessions first.
“The royal apartments are private, Mother,” I reply, keeping my voice level. “As is appropriate for any residence.”
Duchess Elara’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows rise slightly at my mother’s faux pas. The other women exchange glances, clearly enjoying the spectacle of the future queen’s mother demonstrating her ignorance of high society’s unwritten rules.
“And the servants,” Charlotte continues, oblivious to the social minefield she’s navigating. “How many attend to you personally? I imagine at least a dozen for the future queen.”
“The royal household staffing arrangements aren’t a topic for public discussion,” Countess Vivienne interjects smoothly, saving me from having to respond. “Perhaps we should return to our agenda.”
Charlotte looks momentarily disappointed but quickly recovers. “Of course. Though I’m simply curious about my daughter’s new life. After all, I always knew she’d wear a crown someday.”
The smug satisfaction in her voice makes my stomach turn. She had nothing to do with my current situation, yet she’s eager to claim credit.
Saffron clears her throat delicately. “Speaking of preparations, the royal games will be quite the spectacle this year. All the princes will be in attendance.”
“Including those from the outer provinces,” Duchess Elara adds with a meaningful look. “I hear some are particularly…motivated to make an impression.”
My attention sharpens. “In what way?”
“Well,” Elara continues, leaning forward conspiratorially, “with Logan named heir, the other princes aren’t exactly celebrating. Especially those who believed themselves more deserving.”
“They’ll challenge him,” Countess Vivienne states matter-of-factly. “It’s tradition. The games provide the perfect opportunity for the princes to test each other’s mettle.”
“Test?” My mother asks, again revealing her ignorance.
There is a round of throat-clearing and sideways glances as silence momentarily falls.
Saffron casts me a sympathetic look before finally answering Charlotte’s question. “Challenge. Fight. Sometimes to the death, though that’s become less common in recent years.”
“I’ve heard talk that the training fields have been in near constant use for the last few days,” Elara continues. “The games should be interesting to watch, no matter what happens.”
I realize with a start that they’re discussing the death of my supposed mate like it’s just good gossip.
“I’ve heard at least three formal challenges have been made,” Vivienne adds.
I absorb this information silently, my mind racing. The other princes will be actively working to undermine Logan, possibly even attempting to kill him during these challenges.
And if they succeed...
“How fascinating,” I say carefully. “It seems Logan will have his hands full managing all of this.”
“Indeed,” Elara replies. “The other princes will look for any weakness, any scandal they can exploit. Their spies are everywhere, watching for the slightest misstep.”
The seeds of a plan are already planted in my mind. If the other princes are already expected to sabotage Logan, any actions I take to undermine him would naturally be attributed to them. I could strike at Logan, or any of the other members of his pack, without suspicion falling on me.
“You look thoughtful, darling,” Charlotte interrupts, seeming to realize for the first time that it’s my tenuous future they are all so casually discussing. “Worried about your Alpha?”
“Not at all,” I reply smoothly. “Logan is more than capable of handling himself.”
And I’m more than capable of handling my revenge. With the other princes providing perfect cover, I can work from within to destroy Logan’s world piece by piece. Each crack I create in his pack will be blamed on external enemies, never on the Omega sleeping in his bed.
As the meeting continues, I smile politely and participate as little in the conversation as I can get away with.
My infuriating mother might have the social graces of a yapping chihuahua, but she just handed me the perfect weapon without even realizing it.
When the tedious—and seemingly pointless—meeting finally ends, I rush to the door where Poe is waiting for me. I don’t realize I’ve been followed until a gratingly sweet voice purrs from behind me.
“Commander Poe, what a delightful surprise.”
Countess Vivienne glides toward us, her silver-streaked hair elegantly styled, her perfectly manicured hand extended. Her eyes, though fixed on Poe, flick briefly to me with cold assessment.
“Countess,” Poe acknowledges stiffly, but doesn’t move away when she places her hand on his forearm.
“It’s been ages since we’ve had the opportunity to speak,” she purrs, leaning close enough that her scent—expensive perfume masking an aging Omega—envelops him. “I miss how often you used to attend to me before your promotion to Logan’s pack.”
I realize with a sort of dawning horror that is she is openly flirting with him right in front of me.
I fully expect him to deny her, even firmly push the preening countess away when she touches his arm.
But something shifts in Poe’s demeanor. His shoulders curl inward almost imperceptibly, his confident stance faltering. The predatory assassin who killed without hesitation now looks like a cornered animal.
“The past is the past, Countess Vivienne,” he responds, voice carefully neutral.
“Surely you can spare an evening?” Her fingers trail up his arm. “For old times’ sake?”
I expect Poe to remove her hand, to assert the boundary she’s clearly violating. Instead, he remains frozen, eyes fixed somewhere beyond her shoulder.
The realization hits me: this is the same man who slashed a guard’s throat without blinking, yet he can’t bring himself to reject this woman who clearly abused him in his youth. Before me stands not the dangerous Alpha, but the defenseless boy he once was.
Then anger rises on a blistering tide. These men believe they get to make decisions for me, control my body and life, but the Alpha in front of me is defenseless against an Omega old enough to be his grandmother.
The unfairness burns, my anger not necessarily reserved only for Poe, but the entire circumstance that this system has set into motion.
No matter how nicely he might treat me now, I haven’t forgotten how this started. And the only way to make him truly understand the way he hurt me—and allowed me to be hurt—is to show him.
And I will.