Chapter 2
Zane
The east wing is quiet this morning with the exception of the hush of the cleaning staff and the muted birdsong from the garden below.
I’ve been awake for three hours, and already, I feel the house’s mood in my marrow.
Every hallway radiates tension, and the air tastes faintly of honey and panic.
Helena’s room is at the end of a velvet-carpeted corridor that, despite the pastel wallpaper and gilded sconce lighting, gives the impression of a tunnel leading nowhere good.
I let myself pause by the door before knocking lightly. “Helena?”
A muffled sound, then the slow click of the latch.
She’s dressed, but not in the more proper clothes her mother prefers inside the family home.
Instead, she wears jeans and a loose, white tee, and her hair is down, falling in a black wave that nearly covers her eyes.
She’s left her family crest pendant on her dresser.
She’s rarely so careless, but honestly, the lack of ceremonial polish actually suits her, makes her seem more herself.
I keep my voice low. “Ready?”
She flashes me a tight, little smile that doesn’t even try to pretend she’s fine. “As I’ll ever be.”
The tension in her posture is familiar. Yesterday’s parties, the way her family paraded her through every social circle—they’ve left her brittle and spent. I can sense the residue of adrenaline, the crash after performing the role they’ve trained her to play.
She hasn’t slept well, if at all.
“Your father’s waiting,” I say. “He asked for you at eight.”
“I know.” She glances past me to the stretch of hallway, then back at me. “You don’t have to walk me there, you know.”
“It’s protocol.” I let a note of wry humor slip in. “And besides, he prefers it.”
She snorts then covers her mouth. “Right. Wouldn’t want anyone to think I was out here unsupervised.” In truth, I know she prefers an escort when home, but I’d never say that aloud. I’m happy to be even the smallest buffer between Helena Starling and her family if she wants me to be.
I’d guard her with my life. Not just because my job is protecting her, but because one night many months ago when we both happened to forget to take our suppressants, we discovered we’re scent-matched.
Helena is my omega. Both in regards to my job as her bodyguard, and in a scent bond that’s never been physical.
Helena steps out and shuts the door, squared up for the gauntlet ahead. I fall in half a step behind as we move as a unit.
My gaze never stops scanning as we make our way toward Helena’s father’s study.
The house is awake, but in a careful way.
The staff is all in their assigned places, voices kept to a murmur.
Helena’s younger siblings are already at lessons, which means it’s just the two of us in the echoing halls.
I can almost hear her heartbeat, a little faster than baseline, but I know better than to mention it.
To indicate protectiveness over Helena is one thing.
To speak of the scent bond she tries to forget exists is entirely another.
We reach the study. I open the door for her, and she crosses the threshold like she were walking onto a stage. I follow, keeping to the line of shadow by the wall.
Her father, Lord Starling, is at his desk, wearing a suit so crisp, it might have been pressed onto him.
The desk itself is a slab of dark wood, surface perfectly ordered with a single fountain pen, an embossed notebook, and a tablet displaying the day’s news feeds.
He’s already scrolling through something when we enter.
He doesn’t look up. “Sit.” He gestures to the leather chair opposite.
Helena hesitates. Is she going to turn and leave? Then she sits, hands folded in her lap, back impossibly straight.
I remain standing along the wall by the door. My job is to be present but not intrusive, visible but not distracting. I focus on the pattern of the rug and the way the sunlight through the window casts geometric shapes across the study’s sharp angles.
Her father finally glances up. “You’re aware that your Selection Day is less than three months out.”
She gives him a slight nod, perfectly poised despite the perfectly not poised outfit her father is currently deciding to ignore. “Yes.”
“The preparations will be extensive,” he continues. “It’s not only a matter of which packs will register interest, but how we position you to the public and to the Council. Image, narrative, and timing. I expect you to understand that every move from here on will be scrutinized.”
She nods, but I can tell her attention is elsewhere. Her gaze flicks to the window, then back, restless. I can guess what she’s thinking: the press cycle has already started, and the vultures are circling.
“I’ve had three requests from royal houses already,” her father says, pressing his thumb to the tablet. “Not local society, but actual houses with influence. It’s imperative that we present you as a model omega: intelligent, disciplined, and most importantly, adaptable.”
Helena’s jaw tightens. “Of course.”
Her father leans forward and drops his voice. “I know this isn’t what you’d have chosen, but you are a Starling. We don’t get to opt out.”
At this, Helena raises her chin. “Ranier did. For several years, actually.”
I swallow the laugh threatening to bubble out of my mouth. Helena’s correct, but the comment is out of place with the way her father is today. But she knows her father best.
He pins her with a glare. “And Ranier finally stepped up. I pray you won’t give the family name quite the same beating.”
She smiles, but there’s nothing sweet behind it. “Of course not, Father.”
I can see the fight in her, the way she wants to push back, but years of finishing school and family training have drilled the response out of her.
“Good.” He returns to his notes, already dismissing her. “There will be press releases later this week. Then you’ll have a luncheon with the Council’s PR consultant. I want you ready for whatever questions they ask.”
She’s silent for a moment before asking, “May I see the statements before they go out?”
Her father blinks, his eyes wide. “Of course you may. I wasn’t aware you’d like to. I’ll have them sent to your account.”
“Thank you.”
I’m quite sure that only her father thinks she actually means that.
He glances at me for the first time. “Mr. Hawke, you’ll accompany Helena at all public functions. No exceptions.”
“Yes, sir.” I don’t let my expression change. I go wherever Helena needs me.
“Security is your top priority,” he says curtly. “We can’t have a repeat of last spring’s incident.”
I know exactly what he means. Last spring, Helena’s sister-in-law, Emery, was nearly torn apart by the press when she went off-script at a charity event.
The family managed to spin it as a brave moment of authenticity, but the fallout in the tabloids lasted weeks.
The Starling name barely survived the drama.
I’m under no illusions. If Helena stumbles, it could mean disaster.
“I’ll see to it,” I reply, steady as stone.
“Good. That’s all for now. You’re dismissed.”
Helena gets up, eyes blank, and moves to the door. I open it for her, and she slips past me, silent. We walk a few steps before she lets out a heavy sigh.
I glance sideways. “You okay?”
She shrugs, the motion fragile. “He makes it sound like I’m being auctioned off at a livestock fair.”
I want to tell her she’s more than that, but it isn’t my place. Instead, I offer, “You handled it well.”
She makes a noise in her throat, something between a laugh and a sigh. “‘Handled.’ That’s the word, isn’t it? Like I handled manure.”
We move through the hallway with the echo of her father’s words hanging over us. I want to ask her if she ever dreams of slipping out the back gate and never coming back. But I don’t.
I keep pace, always half a step behind, the way I’ve been trained.
Sunlight spills over her as we pass by a window, and she turns her face to it, eyes closing. Her honey scent is suddenly stronger here. In it, I think I can almost smell her emotions: fear, resentment. Even a flash of hope that’s so faint, it might be nothing at all.
That’s the connection an alpha has with their scent-matched omega they’ve been friends with for years—even without a formal bond.
“I hate all of this,” she whispers. “The pageantry. The press. The idea that my entire life comes down to which pack makes the highest bid.”
I let her words hang. Sometimes, silence is safer than any answer. But not always. “That’s not how Omega Selection Day works. The Council decides.”
Helena levels me with a withering look. “And how do you think they decide, Zane? By drawing names from a hat?” She shakes her head. “No. It’s bids and deals like we’re in the Middle Ages still.”
“You went to Omega Finishing School,” I point out. Maybe I shouldn’t because at one point, this was everything Helena wanted. But clearly not anymore.
Helena stops at the corridor’s end and places a hand on the railing that overlooks the garden. “Do you ever wonder if there’s more out there?” Her eyes are fixed on the world beyond the estate walls.
I do, but that’s not my assignment. “All the time.”
She looks at me, blue eyes searching. “If you were me, what would you do?”
The air crackles with the weight of the unsaid. I could tell her the truth—that I’d run, that I’d take the first train out and never look back—but the job is to keep her safe, and sometimes safety means staying exactly where you are.
“I’d play along,” I say. “Until I figured out a way to make it my own.”
She considers this, then nods. “That’s what Emery did. Sort of. And they still talk about her in the papers.”
“Emery is tough. So are you.”
She makes a face. “Sure.” Then she pushes off the railing. “Thanks for not letting me fall apart in there.”
“Anytime.”
We head down the stairs, her pace steady. I’m supposed to be the shadow, the bodyguard. But as we step into the light, I can’t help but think I want more than just to protect her. I want to see her win.
“Where to next?” I ask, like it were an ordinary day.
She glances over her shoulder, a real smile flickering across her face. “Anywhere but here.”
I nod. “Lead the way.”