Chapter 6 #2
My pulse quickens. It’s a wild premise, probably impossible to achieve, but if I could create something that could disrupt that replay, maybe Mari and I could—
“Well now,” a familiar voice says warmly behind me. “That’s serious reading for the middle of a party.”
I nearly jump out of my skin. Turning quickly, I find Penrith Ashford standing in the doorway with her cane, elegant as ever. Silver-streaked hair frames her sharp features and amusement glints in her eyes.
“Ms. Ashford—Pen,” I correct automatically.
“Reece.” Her smile deepens. “It’s nice to see you again. How are you surviving Gardener event chaos?”
I relax slightly. “It’s not too different from other Seasons.”
Pen laughs softly as she steps farther into the library, her cane tapping gently against the hardwood floor. “Oh, I think this one feels very different.”
After what happened with the Monarch, the riots, and Miss Iris Gardener last summer, I can see why she’d say that. “Things are changing,” I agree.
“And it’s Miss Marigold’s Season.”
I try very hard to keep my expression neutral so Pen doesn’t see what the name does to me. “Right,” I reply with care. “It is.”
Pen’s mouth curves slightly, like she notices the effort anyway. “She’s nervous, you know,” she says. “Our Mari hides it better than most people realize, but she feels things deeply.”
Of course she does. She’s comfortable in deep waters where most people never dare to tread.
“I think everyone expects much from her. They know she’ll shine naturally,” I say. “Like she was made for this.”
“She was raised for this,” Pen corrects gently. “That’s not always the same thing.”
Something in my chest tightens.
From outside, laughter drifts, faint, through the open window along with music and the soft hum of conversation from the garden.
Pen watches me, her features in a loose, thoughtful mask. “You care about her.”
The words hit like a dropped glass. I nearly choke on my own breath. “I— She’s nice to me. I care for her the same way I do any of the Gardener girls.”
Liar. None of them hold a candle to Marigold. She is…everything.
“Mm-hmm.”
“That’s all. There’s nothing more.”
Another soft tap of Pen’s cane as she shifts on her feet.
“You know,” she says too casually, “most people only see what Marigold performs for them. Her bright smile. Her charm. Her beauty.” Pen’s gaze shifts back to mine. “Very few people notice the quieter parts of her.”
I don’t answer, because I’m suddenly terrified my face has already given too much away.
“But you notice them. Don’t you, Reece?”
Heat prickles behind my ears. I’m caught. “She’s a good person. A friend.”
I haven’t stepped out of line. Nothing improper…
My mind flashes back to the moment in the shed, the near-miss, Marigold’s scent rich and lush and there.
“Yes,” Pen says with a smile in her voice. “She is.”
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Finally her gaze drifts down to the book clutched in my hand like a lifeline.
“And you,” she says. “If you’re truly interested in biology, you may want to have a chat with Mr. Dominic Stockton. There’s no one on Sabine who understands better what makes us all tick. And luckily, he’s coming back this summer and is more determined than ever to find himself a mate.”
Because Violet Gardener turned him down two Seasons ago, Pen means. Even if Mari hadn’t told me about the situation—which she had—the scandal was all anyone could talk about for months afterward.
It was all over social media.
Still, I’m not sure why Pen is mentioning that slimeball to me of all people. The only thing I’d like to do to him is slip a few laxatives into his food.
I blink.
“It may be worth chatting with him.” Straightening, Pen leans more firmly on her cane, and says, “Now, I should return before someone starts searching the house for me.”
I step aside automatically for her to pass, but at the doorway, she pauses without looking back at me. “The world changes because of people who ask questions no one else thinks to ask. Remember that, Reece.”
Then she disappears into the hall, leaving me standing alone in the quiet library with my pulse still uneven.
As much as every instinct screams at me to take the book straight to the shed and start sketching out the mass of ideas racing through my head, I tuck it safely behind the bar and force myself to work instead.
The party comes first tonight.
Although the ball is in full swing, none of the Omegas have arrived yet, not even Mari. From the way everyone keeps glancing toward the front door, it’s obvious a more formal entrance to the house, to the party, is in order.
I hand off a drink, the last one on my tray, as the music dips. The Monarch’s Omega seems to appear out of nowhere. He steps into the foyer and opens the door wide.
And the first Omega girl of the Season walks in.
I don’t recognize her, but she’s draped in peacock feathers from shoulders to hem, the gown trailing behind her in an extravagant train that shimmers blue and green beneath the lights. A jeweled headband glitters against her dark curls.
The Omega, Fredrick, lifts his voice smoothly to announce her. “Miss Callie Evans.”
There’s clapping and a ripple of excited whispers as the girl glides inside, crossing the hall before disappearing through the side doors leading out into the garden festivities.
Then another Omega is announced.
“Miss Genevieve Murphy.”
This one is impossible to miss in a short strapless dress layered with glossy black feathers. Faux wings arch dramatically from her shoulder blades, swaying every time she moves, making her look less like a guest and more like a giant bird about to take flight.
The house grows louder with each new arrival, each Omega allowed their grand entrance. Excitement swells through the crowd. Feathers flash beneath chandeliers, jewelry catches candlelight, laughter spills from the garden doors.
I glance around while refilling another tray.
Most of the Gardener family is gathered near the entrance, though a few faces are missing.
Dahlia isn’t here. Neither is Violet nor her Emporian mate, Stephan.
Iris stands nearby with Killian and Xavier, but little Emmie must have stayed behind at the Nightshade bar with their Delta packmate, Freya.
But all of those things disappear from my mind the moment the final Omega makes her debut.
The entire room shifts around her. Conversation stutters. Heads turn. Even the music outside feels farther away somehow.
Mari.
I freeze, a sharp spike of heat curling from my heart to my abdomen.
She pauses inside the doorway and her dress catches every light in the room, like sunlight poured over bare skin.
The fabric drifts around her in soft layers of cream, with pale gold feathers that move when she does, delicate and weightless, as though she might lift straight into the night sky if she wanted.
Tiny crystals are woven through the fabric, catching the light like scattered stars, and I’m… I’m breathless.
She’s stunning. She’s a dream.
As the room quiets further, ready for her name to be announced, Frederick steps forward. Like with the others, he draws in a deep breath and says in a clear, loud voice, “Miss Marigold Gardener.”
Mari goes to take another step to follow the same path of the other Omegas, when Fredrick continues just as robustly: “The Luxe Omega.”
Everything stops. The sudden silence is almost violent the way it snaps everyone’s attention at once.
Then it all breaks.
Gasps. Whispered curses. Excited squeals. Disbelieving murmurs, all layering over each other in a rising wave.
“Did he just say—?” an older Alpha beside me whispers to his mate.
“He did, he did!” she says, practically vibrating. “I can’t believe it. She’s been named already.”
“Oh, shit,” Iris whispers under her breath.
“There’s no way,” Miss Quinn Hyde hisses from a shadowed corner, already pulling out her phone. “I don’t believe this. What is the Monarch thinking?”
Even I, a servant, knows it shouldn’t happen like this. The Luxe Omega isn’t announced in the middle of a Season party, certainly not the first. There’s a process, a selection list, interviews with the Monarch. Fanfare.
Not this. Not simply…spoken into existence.
My chest is painfully tight as people around me reach for phones, already reshaping strategies mid-thought. Alphas who weren’t even looking at her before are now tracking her like she’s the only movement in the room that matters.
Because becoming the Luxe doesn’t only elevate an Omega. It accelerates everything around them, too.
Mari falters, just slightly, but her smile stays perfectly in place. Miss Rue lets out a delighted shout like her favorite sports team just scored, only to be sharply shushed by Heath beside her.
“Don’t make a spectacle, Rue,” he warns.
She glares at him, while Mrs. Gardener looks like she’s about to faint from the news. But Mari ignores it all. Chin lifting, posture flawless, she turns and begins to glide down the hall toward the garden. Her mask slips into place and grows stronger with each step.
Just like a perfect Luxe Omega should.