Perhaps I shouldn’t have. After all, I can take care of myself, even without my father. I could make a living as a healer. But I want the kind of companionship that comes with romantic love and a family. I want to take care of someone and be taken care of, to cherish and be cherished. I want to not feel alone. And if that means settling for less than true love, amicable companionship will suffice.
I’ve been open with Lennart about the reality of my feelings. Still, I cannot help wondering whether I’m taking advantage of him.
I bring the tea to my lips, but my stomach is too unsettled, and I can’t manage a single sip. “Lady Larsen?” I ask, not meeting my own eyes in the mirror.
“Yes?”
“I don’t think I’ve thanked you enough.”
“Thanked me? For what?”
“For how incredibly supportive of Lennart’s and my union you have been. I know I am barely an Omega—”
“Nonsense.” From behind, her palms wrap around my shoulders. “You are a well-read, educated girl. There is no such thing as ‘barely an Omega.’”
“But it’s true.” I twist back. “I haven’t fully presented. I might not be able to have kids, and—”
“Hush.” Her knuckles caress my face, loving. Like a mother. “You will be an excellent mate for Lennart. And I cannot wait to have you as my daughter.”
“Even if I—”
“Sofia, stop worrying.” Her expression is stern, but kind. “Plus, who knows? Maybe mating will awaken something in you. Maybe it will trigger the rest of your presentation.”
I frown, skeptical. Cold Omegas are rare, but there are no reports of them being pushed through the rest of their presentation by mating. It’s wishful thinking, and I don’t want her to harbor false hope.
“Come, now. It’ll take us a while to get you into the dress I chose for you. You’ll hate me for it, but I guarantee that it’ll be worth it.”
I force my lips into a smile. This is for the best, I tell myself. Then I repeat it over and over, like a mantra. I’ll mate Lennart, make him as happy as I humanly can, and become happy myself.
I rise from my chair and walk with sure steps toward the blissful future I’m determined to create.
Chapter 4
THE GUEST Sofia
I look like someone who was born on the upper levels of the keep. Like someone who’d still know what the heat of the sun feels like even on the third evening of a slow-rising High. I look wealthy and beautiful, nothing like the commoner I really am, and it’s all the dress’s doing.
It’s unique, a long sheath that combines strategically placed scraps of silver metal and flowing yards of nearly translucent white fabric. Healers’ uniforms are made of rough, thick materials stained dark to hide the blood, which makes this the most revealing garment I’ve ever worn, bar none. And yet, as I pad my way down the stone corridor, heading to my mating barefoot as is customary, I tell myself that I should feel grateful for the times changing. After all, just decades ago Omegas were expected to attend their mating ceremonies naked.
“What are you thinking of?” Lara asks, reaching out to brush my hand with hers. The walk toward the ceremony is a group affair steeped in tradition—an Omega, surrounded by all the Omegas in their family. Since I have no surviving relatives of any designation and my relationship with most Omegas of House Larsen is practically nonexistent, Lara stepped in to escort me. On my left is Lady Larsen. All around us, House Larsen’s omnipresent guards. “I’m so glad you let my mother choose your dress. You look fantastic. Lennart will choke on his tongue.”
“It’s a work of art,” I say with a smile, trying not to think about the fact that I didn’t let her do much. If we were doing this according to custom, the expense of the mating attire would fall on the Omega’s family, and whatever I could afford would have certainly brought embarrassment upon House Larsen.
I wonder if the dress now officially belongs to me. If it would be okay for me to resell it. When I enter the antechamber of the Larsens’ great hall, I’m still calculating how many new healer kits I could buy for my cohort with the credits. Then I spot Lord Larsen waiting for us, and my heart drops.
He’s an older Alpha with calculating eyes and a stern, judgmental air. The crimson coat he wears is finely woven but practical. He should be too thin to seem imposing, yet his presence never fails to cause me discomfort. Part of it is the way he looks at me, as though he sees me as inferior, but there’s more than that. A persistent feeling that I am unsafe with him.
That everyone is.
“Dear,” Lady Larsen chastises him, “you are not supposed to be here. You should be standing next to Lennart.”
He spares a cold glance for his mate, then focuses on me. “I am aware. But I wanted to inform Miss Kuznetsov that her fellow healers have sent word that they won’t be able to make it to the ceremony.”
“Excuse me?” I say.
“There was a problem with the sealing system on the northern wing. Nothing serious, but they’ll have to be on reserve while the engineers work on repairs.”
The healers on my team are like siblings to me. We’ve been on the front lines together and have saved each other’s lives countless times. “Maybe it would be better to postpone, then?”
“Nonsense, Miss Kuznetsov.” The twist of his lips is almost cruel. “My son is quite eager to turn you into a Larsen. You wouldn’t want to make him wait even longer than he already has, hmm?”
I straighten my back. It seems as good a time as any to make it clear to him that I may be an Omega, but I won’t be steamrolled. “How long will they be detained? I want them to be present. If it’s just a matter of pushing the ceremony a few minutes—”
Lord Larsen leans forward and cuts me off with a low hiss: “That will not be possible.”
“One of my friends was supposed to give me away,” I say between clenched teeth.
“I will step in. I am, after all, to be your father.”
It’s so preposterous, I exhale a laugh. I glance at Lady Larsen, waiting for her to join me. But she and Lara both glance away in silence. Maybe I should have known better than to expect them to stand up to the head of their House, but I’m disappointed. Part of me even wonders if they’re secretly relieved that commoners won’t be at the ceremony. That way, they’ll be able to pretend that Lennart is marrying a noble. A strike—a cold Omega—is acceptable, but the class difference might be pushing it.
I bite my cheek until it bleeds and try to sound firm but polite. “I will go find out how quickly they might be able to arrive. It’s my mating ceremony, and I don’t mind delaying it.”
“Miss Kuznetsov.” Lord Larsen’s expression is somewhere between pitying and amused. “Do you really think you have a say in—”
“Excuse me, my lord.” A member of the guard rushes inside. Lord Larsen turns slowly, ready to snarl at the interruption, but he stops himself when the man adds, “The general is here.”
It might be the first time I’ve seen Lord Larsen truly taken aback. “What?” he asks, eyes flicking away from me.
“General Agard is in the great hall. He informed us that he will be attending the mating ceremony.”
A chilly quiet blankets the room. For several heartbeats, it remains so completely frozen, I can’t hear a single breath being taken. Then, in an explosion of movement, Lord Larsen storms out of the chamber, followed by his guards.