Chapter 29 #2
"I’m the perfect bait. The Omega who escaped the Inquisitor and eventually killed him. The one who rejected a prince. The king has always been fascinated by me, even before all this started.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Logan says, his voice hardening with command. “I won’t allow it.”
“You don’t have the right to allow or disallow anything,” I reply, keeping my voice level despite the anger his presumption triggers. “This is my choice to make, not yours.”
“The king would kill you on sight,” Ares argues. “Or worse, have you sliced and diced in one of these damn clinics."
“Not necessarily,” I counter. “As far as the king knows, the bond-severing procedure worked. Thane is the only one who knew it was incomplete, and he’s not in a position to share that information now that he believes I’m dead.”
“You’re suggesting you present yourself as...what? A repentant Omega seeking the king’s protection?” Cillian asks, sounding something between incredulous and horrified.
“Something like that,” I agree. “I could claim I was coerced by Logan, that I never wanted to join them in a rebellion against the crown. That I’ve seen the error of my ways and wish to make amends.”
“The king would never believe it,” Logan insists. “He’s paranoid, suspicious of everyone. He’d see through such an obvious ploy immediately.”
"Or would his ego lead him to believe that it was inevitable I'd come crawling back," I insist. "And I already know you don't have any better ideas."
“Logan’s expression darkens, but I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. He knows I’m right—the king’s arrogance, his belief in his own superiority, might well blind him to the deception.
“Even if he believed your story,” Cillian says, his practical nature asserting itself, “getting close enough to poison him would be nearly impossible. The security around the king is impenetrable.”
I hate that I have to put into words. "We all know it would not take long before the king had me at his side. Intimately."
Logan stares at me, conflict evident in his golden eyes. I can almost see the battle raging within him—the instinct to protect warring with the desire to be the Alpha he claims he wants to become. "I can't let you do this."
"You can't stop me."
“You won’t make it five feet out the door,” Logan bites out, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. “The Queen Mother’s guards would stop you before you even reached the gates.”
“Then help me,” I challenge. “Instead of fighting me every step of the way, work with me to make a plan.”
Logan turns away, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The tension in the room is palpable, everyone waiting for his response. When he finally speaks, his voice is so low I have to strain to hear it.
“And if I refuse? If I order the guards to keep you here, for your own protection?”
The question hangs in the air between us. This is the moment of truth—the test of whether Logan truly means what he says about changing, about respecting my autonomy.
“Then you prove that nothing has changed,” I say quietly. “That you’re still the Alpha who forces his will on others because he thinks he knows best. The one who takes choices away from those he claims to care about.”
Logan flinches as if I’ve struck him physically. For a long moment, no one speaks, the silence heavy with unresolved tension. Then Cillian steps forward, positioning himself subtly between Logan and me.
“Perhaps we should consider all options before making any decisions,” he suggests, his voice calm despite the charged atmosphere.
"Do we have any other options?” Ares asks softly.
Logan remains silent, his back still turned to us, his posture rigid with conflict. I can almost feel the struggle within him—the Alpha instinct to protect, to control, battling against his stated desire to be different, to be better.
“Logan,” I say, softening my tone slightly. “You said you wanted to be an Alpha I wouldn’t hate. This is part of that. Letting me make my own choices, even when you disagree with them.”
He turns slowly, his golden eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “Even when those choices might get you killed?”
“Even then,” I confirm, holding his gaze. “Because they’re mine to make. My life, my risk, my decision.”
Something shifts in his expression—a surrender, perhaps, or at least a willingness to consider alternatives to his initial rejection.
“We discuss it,” he says finally, each word sounding like it’s being dragged from him against his will.
“All of us, together. We examine every angle, every risk, every possible outcome. And then we decide. Not just you, not just me. All of us, as a pack.”
It’s a compromise, not a complete acceptance of my plan. But it’s more than I expected, more than the old Logan would have offered. It’s a step, however small, toward the relationship he claims to want—one based on mutual respect rather than dominance and submission.
“Agreed. We put it to a vote,” I say, offering this concession in return. “Thank you, Logan."
The look he gives me is practically stricken like he is already imagining my dead body being lowered into the ground.