Chapter 9 – Billie
Nine
BILLIE
The morning of my "graduation" from this velvet-lined torture chamber arrives with the fanfare of a funeral dirge.
After six weeks of learning how to sit properly, speak demurely, and arrange pillows in ways that supposedly communicate my deepest desires to potential mates, I'm deemed a proper omega. Or close enough to a society that's already short on them.
If I have to hear Madame Loriyne say the word "propriety" one more time, I might actually commit murder with a decorative throw pillow.
My bags are packed, if you can call the obscene amount of clothing they're forcing on me "mine." Everything fits into three gilded trunks that are presently being loaded into the carriage that will unknowingly carry me to my mission.
I stand in front of the mirror, barely recognizing the person staring back.
They've dressed me in traveling clothes that somehow manage to be both practical and ridiculous.
Deep purple pants that flow like water but cling in all the right places, paired with a silver tunic that's cut to show just enough skin to be "enticing" without being "vulgar.
" And the collar around my neck has been polished to a shine.
"You clean up nice, goth chick."
I spin around to find Anastasia leaning against my doorframe, arms crossed and wearing that trademark smirk that's gotten her into so much trouble over the past weeks.
She's managed to sneak away from whatever bullshit task Madame Loriyne assigned her this morning, which is impressive considering the old bat has been watching us like a hawk ever since that first day.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I ask, but there's no heat in it. Truth is, I'm glad she's here. We've barely had five minutes alone together since that first meeting, always under the watchful eye of our illustrious headmistress or her legion of servants.
AKA, living security cameras.
"Probably." She saunters into the room, closing the door behind her. "But I figured you could use some actual advice before they ship you off to the shark tank."
"Shark tank?"
"Valemyre." She drops onto my bed, messing up the perfectly made sheets with vindictive glee.
"You think this place is bad? Wait until you're surrounded by hundreds of supernatural assholes all trying to prove who has the biggest magical dick.
And there's plenty of the old-fashioned dick measuring, too. "
I snort, moving to sit beside her. The bed dips under our combined weight, and for a moment, we just sit there in companionable silence. It's strange, having a friend again. I didn't realize how much I missed it until Anastasia bulldozed her way into my life.
"So," I say, breaking the silence. "Any words of wisdom for the departing prisoner?"
Her expression turns serious, which is alarming enough on its own. Anastasia doesn't do serious.
"Listen," she says, voice low. "I know you've got your whole badass hunter thing going on, and trust me, I respect the hell out of it. But Valemyre isn't like here. That place isn't just some finishing school for wayward omegas. It's..."
She pauses, searching for the right words. I've never seen her struggle with words before.
"It's what?" I press.
"It's a fucking battlefield dressed up in silk and jewels." The words come out in a rush. "And the worst part? It's not the Fae you need to worry about. Well, not just them."
"You're talking about the other omegas."
She nods. "The Fae might see you as a pet, but those bitches? They only see competition. And they've been training for this their whole lives, Billie. While you were learning how to gut vampires like fish, they were learning how to destroy each other with a smile."
"Sounds delightful."
"Oh, it gets better." She shifts to face me fully, her eyes intense.
"You're already at a disadvantage. You're the wild omega, the hunter who got thrown to the wolves.
Some of them will see you as a novelty, something exotic to play with.
Others will see you as a threat to the natural order.
And all of them will be watching for weakness.
Especially Isabella. She's basically Valemyre's queen bee and trust me, she rules with an iron fist."
"So what do you suggest I do?" The truth is, I don't particularly care if the other omegas want my head. I've got other priorities. But even if I like Anastasia, that doesn't mean I can trust her with my true purpose for being here.
She grins, but it's sharp around the edges. "You play the game. Act like a good little omega who's just ever so grateful to be given this opportunity. Bat your eyelashes, stumble over your words, let them think you're just some backwards cultist who doesn't know her ass from her elbow."
"You want me to play dumb."
"I want you to survive." The intensity in her voice catches me off guard. "I made the mistake of showing my true colors right away. Thought I could bulldoze through their bullshit with attitude and a middle finger to their rules. You see how well that worked out for me."
She gestures to the collar around her neck, barely visible beneath her high-necked shirt. Unlike mine, hers has a faint red tinge to it, like rust or dried blood. The mark of a troublemaker, she'd explained once. A warning to others that this pet bites.
"You're an omega, so alphas already think you're harmless.
Use that. Be underestimated," she continues.
"Let them think you're harmless. Pick a Fae to attach yourself to, someone with enough status to protect you but not so much that you become a target.
The princes and other high nobles are off limits unless you want every other omega in that place coming for your throat. "
"I'm not looking for a mate," I say bitterly.
"Doesn't matter what you're looking for.
It matters what they think you're looking for.
" She reaches out, gripping my shoulder with surprising strength.
"You're pretty enough to catch anyone's eye.
Use that. Find some mid-level lordling who thinks he's getting a trophy and let him parade you around. It'll give you protection and access."
"Access to what?"
She gives me a look that has me terrified she somehow knows exactly what I'm doing here.
Terrified because that would mean I have to put a knife in her pretty little neck, and even if I've done my best not to get attached, I wouldn't take any pleasure in that.
I've never killed anyone who didn't strictly deserve it, even if it was only by virtue of being a monster.
"To whatever you need access to," she says with a shrug.
"Just... be careful, okay? Those innocent-looking omegas in their pretty dresses?
They can be more vicious than any monster you've hunted.
They'll smile while they're sliding a knife between your ribs, and everyone will applaud them for their grace. "
A knock at the door interrupts whatever response I might have made. "Miss Moreau," comes Madame Loriyne's clipped voice. "The carriage has arrived."
Anastasia stands, pulling me up with her. "Remember," she whispers, urgent and fast. "Good little omega. Doe-eyed and grateful. Let them underestimate you."
"Time to go," I whisper back.
She surprises me by pulling me into a fierce hug. "Try not to die, goth chick. I'd miss having someone interesting to talk to when they let me out of this place eventually."
"Same to you," I manage around the sudden tightness in my throat. "Take care of yourself, Anastasia. Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone."
"No promises."
The door opens, and Madame Loriyne sweeps in, her expression pinched with disapproval at finding us together. "Miss Volkova, shouldn't you be in the library practicing your calligraphy?"
"On my way, Lori." Anastasia gives her a mocking curtsy that somehow manages to be both perfectly executed and completely insulting. She throws me one last look over her shoulder as she leaves, a warning and encouragement all rolled into one.
Then I'm alone with Madame Loriyne, who surveys me with those cold violet eyes like she's checking for flaws in a particularly expensive vase she's about to hand over to the highest bidder.
"I trust Miss Volkova hasn't been filling your head with nonsense," she says, though it's not really a question.
"Of course not, Madame." I lower my eyes demurely, already practicing the act Anastasia suggested. "She was simply wishing me well."
"Hmm." She doesn't sound convinced, but apparently decides it's not worth pursuing. "Come. Your escort is waiting."
I follow her through the halls I've come to know too well over the past six weeks.
Past the room where I learned seventeen different ways to pour tea, each with its own subtle meaning.
Past the library where I memorized Fae etiquette until my eyes bled.
Past the ballroom where I learned to dance in heels that could double as weapons if I angled them right.
The entrance hall is as ostentatious as ever, with its marble and crystal and casual displays of wealth that make my teeth ache.
My trunks are already loaded onto a carriage that makes the one that brought me here look like a peasant's cart.
This one is all silver and white, pulled by horses that I'm pretty sure aren't actually horses.
Their eyes are too intelligent, their manes flowing with an ethereal quality that screams magic.
Two guards flank the carriage, different from the ones who brought me here. These wear the deep blue and silver of Valemyre University, their armor decorated with symbols that hurt to look at directly. They're both Fae, of course, with that otherworldly beauty that makes my skin crawl.
"Miss Moreau," one of them says, inclining his head slightly. "We're to escort you to the university grounds."
"How delightful," I murmur, channeling every ounce of fake demureness I can muster.