Chapter 7: Welcome Omega
1351 Words
Mira POV
I was taken aback by her sudden hate towards me. I raised an eyebrow, “Do we…I don't even know what to say. But do I know you?”
“Doesn't matter. A human, or should I say a scentless wolf in the healing quarters," High Priestess Calla said, her voice dripping with disgust. "How... unprecedented."
I lifted my chin, trying to channel some of the authority I was supposed to inherit. "I'm trained as a healer. I worked in the border conflicts for three years—"
"You worked as what?" She laughed, sharp and cutting. "A field medic? Bandaging scratches and brewing willow bark tea?"
"I saved lives," I said quietly.
"You played pretend."
She stepped closer, and I caught the full force of her disdain. "Real healing requires connection to the sacred energies, child. It requires the blessed touch of those chosen by the Moon Goddess herself. How could someone without even a wolf's scent possibly channel divine power?"
Nessa shifted nervously beside me. I could feel her wanting to speak, to defend me, but she stayed silent.
"The spirits choose who they will," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Scent has nothing to do with…"
"Scent has everything to do with it!" Calla's eyes flashed. "It is the mark of our connection to the divine, the proof of our blessing. Without it, you are nothing but human. And humans," she said the word like it tasted foul, "do not heal with sacred power."
"Then how do you explain what I've done?"
"Luck. Coincidence. The work of others taking credit for your presence." She waved a dismissive hand. "Perhaps your little friend here has been doing the real work while you stood by and pretended."
Nessa flinched. "That's not…"
"I don't recall asking you to speak," Calla snapped, and Nessa immediately fell silent.
The High Priestess turned back to me, her expression settling into something that might have been pity if it weren't so condescending.
"Listen, child. I understand that your... situation... must be difficult. To be born so obviously lacking, to have to watch others possess what you never will. But this delusion that you can heal—it's dangerous. What if someone truly ill comes to you for help? What happens when your pretend powers fail and they die because they trusted in your lies?"
Each word hit like a physical blow.
I'd heard variations of this speech my entire life—from my mother, from pack elders, from other healers who couldn't understand how someone without a scent could make plants grow faster or stop bleeding with just a touch.
"I have never lied about what I can do," I said.
"Haven't you?" She gestured around the healing quarters. "You came here expecting to practice, didn't you? Expecting to be welcomed as an equal among real healers?"
"I came here because this is who I am."
"No," Calla said firmly. "This is who you wish you were. And I will not allow you to endanger lives with your fantasies."
She turned to address Nessa. "You. You're the herbalist's assistant, correct?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Then you know better than to encourage this nonsense. Take her back to her quarters. And make sure she understands—she is not to set foot in any healing facility within this palace. Not the quarters, not the infirmary, not even the herb gardens without supervision."
"But she's going to be Queen," Nessa said softly. "Surely she has the right—"
"She has the right to whatever I say she has the right to," Calla cut her off. "The healing arts are under my jurisdiction, and I will not compromise the safety of this court for the sake of one girl's delusions."
She swept out of the room, her robes billowing behind her like dark wings.
I stood there for a long moment, trying to process what had just happened. The healing quarters suddenly felt smaller, the bright windows dimmer. Even the familiar scent of herbs seemed fainter.
"Mira," Nessa said quietly. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you about her."
"It's not your fault." My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears. "I should have expected this."
"No, you shouldn't have. What she said was cruel and wrong." Nessa moved closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Everyone knows she's threatened by anyone with real talent. She's been High Priestess for twenty years, and in all that time, no one has ever seen her actually heal anything."
I almost smiled at that. Almost.
"Come on," she said gently. "Let's get out of here before she comes back."
We walked through the corridors in silence, past portraits of long-dead royalty and tapestries depicting victories I'd never heard of.
Everything in this place felt ancient, established, unshakeable. And I felt like an intruder.
The main hall was busier than I'd seen it before, filled with nobles in expensive clothing having conversations that stopped the moment they noticed me. I tried to walk with confidence, to look like I belonged here, but I could feel their stares following me.
"Is that her?" someone whispered, not quite quietly enough.
"The scentless one? Yes, that's her."
"I heard she can't even shift properly."
"What was the King thinking?"
"Obviously he wasn't thinking with his head."
Laughter followed that comment, sharp and mocking.
I kept walking, Nessa close beside me, but the whispers seemed to multiply.
"My cousin works in the eastern territories," a woman's voice carried clearly across the hall. "She says the Cades are nothing but jumped-up merchants. New money trying to buy their way into nobility."
"Well, they certainly bought their way into the royal family."
"For now," another voice added with obvious amusement. "We'll see how long that lasts."
I stopped walking.
Nessa caught my arm. "Mira, don't…"
But I was already turning toward the group of nobles who had been discussing me like I wasn't standing ten feet away.
"Excuse me," I said, my voice carrying clearly across the marble floor.
The conversation died instantly. Five faces turned toward me with expressions ranging from surprise to poorly hidden contempt.
"I couldn't help but overhear your discussion," I continued, walking closer. "Since it seems to be about me."
An older woman with silver-streaked hair and jewelry that probably cost more than most people earned in a lifetime stepped forward. "Lady Mira. How... direct of you."
"I prefer honest conversation to whispered gossip," I said. "So let me be clear about a few things. Yes, I'm scentless. Yes, my family's wealth is recent. And yes, I'm going to be your Queen whether you like it or not."
The woman's eyebrows rose. "How refreshing. Usually, people at least pretend to have manners."
"I have manners when I'm treated with respect," I replied. "When I'm not, I tend to speak plainly."
"Speak plainly about what, exactly?" This from a younger man with the kind of smirk that suggested he thought he was very clever.
"About how you managed to trap a King with... what? Since you have no scent to entice him, no wolf to strengthen his bloodline, no noble heritage to bring honor to his house?"
The words hit exactly where they were meant to. I felt Nessa tense beside me.
"Perhaps," I said carefully, "the King values things you don't understand."
"Such as?"
"Intelligence. Loyalty. The ability to judge people by their actions rather than their bloodlines."
The older woman laughed, and it wasn't a kind sound. "Oh, my dear. You really think this is about what the King values? How sweetly naive."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," she said, leaning closer, "that Kings marry for politics, not sentiment. Whatever arrangement brought you here, it wasn't romance. And when the political winds change as they always do—where do you think that leaves you?"
Before I could respond, a commotion near the main staircase caught everyone's attention. A woman was hurrying down the steps, her face pale with panic.
"Please," she called out, looking around desperately. "Is there a healer? Anyone who can help?"
- Writer
