Episode 18 Heavy is the Head
Elizabeth answers on the third ring.
My twin fills the screen, sprawled across a chaise in what I recognize as her private sitting room. Her dark hair is loose down her back, her omega—her wife, no matter what our grandmother insists on calling her—just visible at the edge of the frame, bare feet tucked under Elizabeth’s thigh.
“God,” Elizabeth says, squinting at me. “You look like absolute shit.”
I snort. “Good to see you too, Lizzie.”
Bree sticks her head into the screen, blond hair tumbling free around her shoulders, and gives me a dimpled smile. “Hi, Sythe.”
“Bree.”
She shifts and kisses Elizabeth, before murmuring, “I’ll just go grab a snack.” Then she slips out of frame and I hear the door opening and closing. My twin gives me a considering look.
“How’s my baby brother? Wooing all the omegas?”
I wince at my sister’s smiling face. “We’re the same age. And you know we can’t talk about the show. It was part of the NDA.”
Elizabeth sighs, shaking her head. “I know. It’s a shame. I need to know how things are going. We’ve been watching, but I know we’re a few days behind.” I hum a noncommittal sound and she scowls before a sneaky little look crawls over her face. “How’s Florence?”
That dig for information has me jerking and definitely giving too much away if the smug smile that curls my sister’s lips is any indication.
It’s been a few days since the debacle that was the alpha soothing challenge, where the crew left my omega tied to a chair while she panicked and hurt herself trying to escape.
We let go of two omegas that night and the next day was one of the low key chat days, meant to give us time to stew in jealousy and drama.
Florence was back to her normal bright self by yesterday morning, though it seems to have dimmed quite a bit thanks to that inane challenge.
I have hopes that with a little distance she’ll be able to bury whatever trauma it dug up.
She didn’t tell me what it was, and I didn’t press for more information.
No, you were too busy pressing your body all against hers, and your mouth to hers, and your hands, and tongue and-
I cut off the spiral of my thoughts, not wanting to sink into them.
I shouldn’t have kissed her.
But I literally could not stop myself.
She looked so wrecked, sad and unhappy, and right back to being wary, like she was at the beginning of the show. And challenging, so damn challenging. Standing there with her adorable chin tilted up all but daring me to do something about the sexual frustration pulsing between us.
I’d had the urge to do everything I could to make it better for her. The trauma. The heartbreak. The tension. My alpha, of course, thought the best thing for her would be a knot and a claiming bite, and I’m so fucking glad I was able to stop at just a kiss.
“You know I can’t discuss specifics of the show, Lizzie,” I repeat. Though I really fucking want to. My twin has always been my safe space, the person I can tell anything to.
Her eyes soften immediately, the way they always do when she clocks that I’m not actually joking. “All right,” she says, shifting upright. “Talk to me. How’s the circus?”
I lean back against the headboard of my bed, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Filthy. Loud. Artificial. I hate every second of it. Even though I should be used to it by now.” It's not all that different from our day to day life.
“And yet,” she drawls, arching a brow, “you’re still there.”
Elizabeth watches my face carefully, her expression going sharp and perceptive in a way that’s always unnerved the people around us. It’s why she’ll be a good queen. It’s why I never stood a chance of hiding anything from her.
“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” God knows if I did, I wouldn’t have even considered doing this show, participating in this farce.
Then you wouldn’t have met Florence, some insidious part of my brain mutters.
And that would have been better for all of us, I argue back, even as I know I don’t fully believe it.
“So,” she says, almost like she can read my thoughts. “Florence, huh? She’s it. The one.”
I don’t answer.
I don’t need to.
My twin sister always just knows.
Her lips curve into something softer, something almost sad. “Grams will have a problem with it.”
Lizzie doesn’t know the half of it. When we’d agreed to do this show, she’d been excited for us, at the prospect of us finding our omega, our mate, like she did with Bree.
I didn’t see the point in telling her that was not the case.
That by the time it’s over we’ll be officially engaged to Isadora, whom Lizzie can’t stand.
After years of defying our grandmother’s wishes, I’m finally giving in. And I can’t bear to see the disappointment in my twin’s eyes.
“No, she’s… not what grandmother wanted,” I admit finally.
Elizabeth laughs under her breath. “None of us ever are. That woman is perpetually displeased with the world.”
“She’s American,” I continue. “Working class. No political connections. No ambition for the crown. She works two jobs. Teaches yoga. Tells me to my face when she thinks I’m being an ass.”
She beams at me. “Oh, I know. I’ve seen it. I love her already.”
Ditto.
Despite myself, a smile tugs at my mouth.
Elizabeth catches it. Her light brown eyes, mirrors to mine, narrow on my face through the screen. I meet her steadily. There’s no way… She won’t be able to-
“You kissed her,” Elizabeth accuses suddenly, jerking one finger up to point at me. “You little wanker! You kissed Florence.”
“Shhh,” I hiss, glancing around like I’m worried the production crew might be lurking in the corners of my room, angry that I kissed Ren while the cameras weren’t on. A private moment for just us.
“When?” my sister demands.
“Two nights ago,” I sigh, admitting defeat.
“How was it?”
I close my eyes, still feeling the press of Florence’s mouth to mine. “Catastrophic. World ending. Apocalyptic.”
Her grin turns wicked. “Congratulations.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” I huff at her, annoyed at the joy she’s clearly feeling in my agony.
“No,” she corrects gently. “I’m enjoying watching you finally understand what I learned long ago.”
I open my eyes again. “Understand what?”
“That love doesn’t ask permission,” she says. “And it almost never bows to duty.”
I swallow, feeling those words in my guts, accompanied by a fair amount of… anxiety.
If she’s right… I don’t know what I’ll do. How I’ll handle this.
I’ve always done my duty to my grandmother, to the crown, to the Ashbourne name. Even when I bonded with Piers and Grieves, it wasn’t outside of the bounds of what was required of me. But Florence? She’s in direct opposition to everything my grandmother has asked me to do here.
Elizabeth leans closer to the camera, voice lowering. “Does Florence know?”
“No,” I deny immediately, heart thundering in my chest for some unknown reason. “And she can’t.”
Elizabeth nods slowly. “Because of her upbringing?”
“Because of everything,” I snap, then rein myself in. “Because of grandmother. Because of the crown. Because I refuse to destroy her the way-”
The way they tried to destroy you.
I don’t say it. Elizabeth hears it anyway. Her entire face crumples into a scowl. “She’s already threatening you, isn’t she? Threatening Florence.”
My jaw tightens. My twin doesn’t need my answer.
She knows the depths to which our grandmother will sink.
When she’d found Bree, when she fell in love with her, my grandmother forbade her from taking her as her omega.
Grams wanted her to have a male omega, so any children born in the pack would come from Elizabeth, would have Ashbourne blood.
Lizzie ignored her and was almost stripped of succession.
The only things that stopped that from happening were the love of the Bravonnian people for my sister, and that the alternative—my pack—would have no guarantee of Ashbourne blood in any of the children born, given the nature of an omega’s heat.
At least with Elizabeth, they’ll know which children are hers. It's an outdated way of thinking, but no one can accuse my grandmother of being forward thinking.
Elizabeth sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. “I should’ve known she’d pull this shit again.”
“She hasn’t yet,” I lie.
Elizabeth raises a brow. “She will.” Lizzie shifts leaning closer to her phone. “Look, Sythe. I know what she’s like. I lived through it. You know she didn’t want us to pick Bree. You know she wanted me to find a nice male omega for the pack-”
“Lord Jacobson.”
Liz keeps going like I hadn’t just mentioned the bane of her existence. “She tried everything in her power to keep us apart. Which is why I bonded Bree without Gram’s consent. It was too late at that point. And now the public adores my omega, and she can’t say shit about it. You can do the same.”
Only, I can’t. The queen has made it clear what will happen if I choose anyone but Isadora.
Excommunicated from my family.
Exile from Bravonne.
Cut off from everything I know.
My entire life.
And yet, I’m considering it. Considering choosing love over duty, Florence over Isadora, happiness over a lifetime of misery.
Right on cue, as though she can sense the direction of my thoughts, there’s a sharp knock at Lizzie’s door. Three precise raps that, even through the screen, make the hair on my arms and the back of my neck prickle.
Elizabeth stills. “That’s her.”
“Yes.”
“She’ll want to talk to you.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Elizabeth’s expression hardens, all warmth draining away and leaving behind the future queen of Bravonne. “Listen to me,” she says quickly. “Whatever she asks, whatever she threatens, remember she only has power if you let her use it.”
“You say that as though she doesn’t control every aspect of our lives.”
“She controls parts,” Elizabeth corrects, not ungently. “Not love. Not truth. Not the choices we make. Not the family we choose.”
Another knock. Louder this time.
Elizabeth exhales. “Call me back after. And Sythe?”
“Yes?”