Chapter 4
Logan
ONE YEAR AGO
I stare at the unassuming entrance to the Enclave, its polished stone facade betraying nothing of what lies within. The sprawling complex stretches across manicured lawns, the quiet dignity of the place belying its true nature.
Beside me, Cillian stands with his shoulders rigid, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. His pale hair falls across his forehead, obscuring those ice-chip eyes that I know are fixed anywhere but on me.
A scent-saturated handkerchief burns in my pocket like a hot coal. My fingers twitch. Before I can stop myself, I’ve pulled it out, making a theatrical show of dabbing at my brow despite the cool spring air.
It wouldn’t do for anyone to see a prince of the realm salivating over an Enclave scent sample.
There had been dozens sent to my office, attached to dossiers with pictures of every pretty Omega of mating age currently on offer.
But this is the only one I haven’t been able to get out of my head.
The scent hits me immediately—cherries and champagne, intoxicating and light.
It hits me like a drug, a surge of adrenaline through my veins in a physiological response I expect, but can’t control.
The fabric is soft against my skin, and I hold it there a moment longer than necessary, drawing in another breath before tucking it away.
Fuck, I love this scent.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Cillian’s subtle flinch, the slight tightening of his shoulders.
He notices everything. Of course he does.
The breach of etiquette means nothing—openly scenting an Omega’s handkerchief in public speaks to a lack of restraint unbecoming of an Alpha of my station—but Cillian’s disapproval cuts deeper than any social misstep.
A flash of guilt surges through me, hot and uncomfortable.
I saved his fucking life.
And he’s pouting.
I push down the guilt, burying it beneath layers of practiced restraint.
What choice do I have about any of this? My father made his expectations crystal clear. A female Omega. Heirs. The continuation of the Corellian bloodline. The kingdom requires it, and my position as potential heir demands it. Cillian knows this as well as I do.
And if I can find a mate who smells as good as this one and will also please my father with her accomplishments, then that’s even better.
Cillian knows neither of us has a real choice in any of this.
The bitter taste of resentment coats my tongue. He might have a right to jealousy, to his resentment, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me to tolerate.
The worst of it—the secret I’ve tried to keep to myself—is just how much this Omega’s scent affects me. The cherry-champagne fragrance isn’t merely pleasant or appealing. It calls to something primal within me, a response so visceral it frightens even me.
I don’t believe in a perfect match. One Omega isn’t substantially different from another.
But that didn’t stop me from wrapping this damn handkerchief around my face like a bandit mask while I fucked a harem beta from behind last night.
Cillian won’t let me touch him, so the harem betas will have to do.
I haven’t commanded him into my bed, even though I could.
He should be grateful for my restraint. He should be even more grateful that I’m trying my best to spare his feelings.
It’s better to let him believe that coming to the Enclave to meet this Omega is merely duty, a political match fueled by my ambition to the throne.
Better to let him think I’m approaching this with the same reluctance he feels.
Maya Tantamount.
I’d read every word in her file, stared at the posed picture of her like I was trying to commit it to memory. Searching for the flaw that would make her unsuitable and failing to find it.
The massive doors of the Enclave’s outer courtyard swing open, revealing a well-manicured but deserted lawn and the fortified building just beyond. She’s in there somewhere, the purple-haired Omega whose scent has haunted me for weeks.
I can’t decide if I’m hoping that she meets the wild expectations my mind has set for her.
If I’m lucky, she won’t.
Cillian shifts beside me, readying himself for the introduction. His loyalty remains unshakable even as his heart breaks. I straighten my jacket, square my shoulders, and prepare my royal mask.
The king will have his heir. The kingdom will have its future. And I will have the Omega whose scent calls to me like a siren song, while my supposed beta stands guard over a happiness he believes he won’t ever share.
Except I will share it, if he would just give me the chance to prove it.
A woman approaches us, her posture as rigid as if she just swallowed a sword.
Her hair is pulled back in a severe bun, not a single strand daring to escape.
The gray uniform she wears does nothing for her complexion, which has the pallor of someone who rarely sees sunlight.
She wouldn’t look out of place in some remote convent, sequestered away from the world behind stone walls and devout prayers.
“Your Highness.” Her curtsy is perfunctory, just deep enough to acknowledge my rank while showing no genuine deference. “I am Matron Aldritch, house mother of the Enclave. We’ve been expecting you.”
Her scent is muted, deliberately suppressed by what must be industrial-strength blockers. It’s disconcerting—like speaking to a ghost.
“A pleasure,” I lie smoothly, offering the diplomatic smile I’ve perfected since childhood. “I appreciate your accommodation of our visit on such short notice.”
Her thin lips press together. “If you and your…guard will follow me, I’ll escort you to the reception room.”
For security reasons, it’s protocol for the Alpha to attend introductions at the Enclave alone.
But Cillian had insisted on accompanying me, and I couldn’t bring myself to deny him. As a prince of the realm, many of the rules don’t apply to me. If only that were true of all of them.
He shifts beside me, his body language communicating volumes in the subtle way his weight redistributes.
He’s cataloging exits, assessing threats, reading the building’s security.
It’s what makes him invaluable as my personal—this constant vigilance that I can feel radiating from him even when he’s perfectly still.
From the outside, he must appear so perfectly loyal, so dedicated.
And he is, but not for the reasons anyone would suspect.
They can’t ever suspect, not if I want to keep him alive.
We follow Matron Eldritch into a large outbuilding and through a series of corridors, each more sterile than the last. The walls are painted a soft cream that somehow feels more institutional than welcoming.
Everything smells of lemon polish and chemical cleaners, as if they’re trying to scrub away any lingering Omega scents.
“Males are not permitted past the inner walls,” she informs us as we approach a heavy wooden door reinforced with decorative iron bands. “The Omegas’ living quarters and educational facilities are strictly segregated for their protection and proper development.”
“Protection,” Cillian repeats, his gaze trailing along the electronic locks, the discreet cameras positioned at every corner. “This security rivals the king’s prison.”
The matron doesn’t miss a beat. “Perhaps even exceeds it. Our charges are considerably more valuable than common criminals.” Her tone implies that the difference isn’t by much. “The finest Omegas in Melilla reside within these walls. Their value is incalculable.”
Something ugly twists in my gut at her words. Nothing she says is news to me. But the thought of a purple-haired Omega I’ve never met being sold like a commodity makes my teeth clench. I force my expression to remain neutral, giving no evidence of my sudden displeasure.
“You’re not worried some with no self-control Alpha losing his head and claiming an Omega moments after meeting her?” I ask.
Eldritch raises a mocking eyebrow. “No Alpha would dare. The fines for violating established protocols in the contract process are immense.”
“What about escape?” Cillian drawls.
The twitch of her lips isn’t quite a smile, but likely the closes Eldritch gets to open amusement. “We’re a dozen miles from the nearest settlement. Our Omegas know better, but they wouldn’t get far even if they dared make an attempt at escape.”
We enter a reception room which has clearly been designed to impress visiting Alphas.
Plush furniture, tasteful artwork, and subtle lighting create an atmosphere of refined opulence.
A large window spans one wall, but I immediately notice the reinforced glass and the fact that it overlooks only an interior courtyard.
No escape routes here.
“Miss Tantamount will join you momentarily,” Matron Eldritch announces. “Refreshments will be served. Please make yourselves comfortable.”
The door closes behind her with a soft click that does nothing to disguise the electronic whir of a lock engaging.
“Comfortable,” Cillian scoffs quietly, positioning himself near the door. “This place reeks of perfume and desperation.”
“You might be desperate to leave to if you’d been locked inside a fortress for most of your life.”
I approach the window, looking out at the deserted courtyard. I wonder if the Omegas are ever allowed out here. They must be, if just for the health benefits of natural sunlight. Even the worst of the kingdom’s prisons allow their inmates yard time.
The Enclave is necessary. In the days before it existed, too many Omegas were stolen off the streets by feckless Alphas who would force a bond and apologize for it later. No fit punishment could be leveled at the Alpha that wouldn’t unfairly harm their new mate.
But I can’t help the sour taste it this place leaves in my mouth.
I wonder what Maya would have to say about her life here if she could be compelled to honesty.
The door opens with a soft click, and my rehearsed greeting dies in my throat.