CHAPTER 7: THE OMEGA'S GAMBIT
1181 Words
CHAPTER 7: THE OMEGA'S GAMBIT
The scent hit Aira first—lavender and old blood.
Not the fresh copper tang of battle, but the stale, iron-rich perfume of wounds left to fester. She pressed her face into the silk pillow and inhaled deeply. The threads smelled like they'd been washed in rosewater and battlefield runoff, the conflicting fragrances making her stomach churn.
Her fingers found the scars on her collarbones without conscious thought. The raised flesh burned beneath her touch, sending her tumbling back to Blackwater's snowfields.
Jarek's breath fogged in the air as he leaned close. "You were never enough." His claws flexed, sinking deeper—
Aira gasped awake, the nightmare clinging like sweat-slicked fur. The obsidian walls of Ironclaw Keep absorbed her ragged breathing, throwing back no echo.
Moonlight poured through stained glass windows, fracturing into jagged colors across the too-perfect floors. Each pane depicted some ancient battle—wolves tearing out throats, kings bathing in molten silver. The bed beneath her was a living thing, its down mattress swallowing her whole, mocking the pine-needle pallet she'd slept on as Jarek's mate.
Three knocks shattered the silence—hesitant, uneven.
"Enter."
The door creaked open to reveal an omega girl drowning in gray linen. Lila, according to the silver name pin trembling on her chest. Sixteen, maybe. No older than Aira had been when Jarek first marked her.
"The king requests your presence at dinner." Lila's whisper barely disturbed the air. Her gaze kept darting to Aira's scars before skittering away like a startled hare.
Aira swung her legs over the bed. The stone floor leached warmth from her bare feet. "What time is it?"
"Nearly eighth bell." Lila flinched as if expecting a blow. "You slept through the dressing bell. Lady Lyanna said—"
"Lyanna isn't my keeper." Aira crossed to the wardrobe, its oak doors carved with scenes of wolves devouring their young. Inside hung an obscenity of riches—velvets darker than midnight, silks that rippled like moonlit water, leathers tooled with silver sigils.
All in her exact measurements.
All waiting like a noose.
Her fingers hesitated over a navy gown before selecting black wool stitched with silver wolves—armor disguised as finery. The fabric hissed as it slid over her fresh wounds.
"They say you enchanted King Xavier." Lila's words tumbled out in a rush, her fingers trembling on the laces. "That you made him break the alliance with Blackwater."
Aira's laugh tasted like broken glass. "If I could enchant alphas, Jarek would be choking on his own fangs right now."
Lila's hands stilled. "Lady Selene arrived today. Her father—"
"—wants Ironclaw's silver mines. I know." Aira fastened the wolf pendant around her neck—Xavier's silent claim. The metal burned against her skin.
---
The corridor to the dining hall was a gauntlet.
Aira's borrowed slippers ground into rubies embedded in the threshold—deliberate, she realized. The stones bit through thin silk, drawing pinpricks of blood. A test. Omegas weren't meant to cross unscathed.
The dining hall smelled of roasted peacock and lies.
Every conversation died as she entered. Dozens of eyes tracked her progress—nobles in jewel-toned silks, warriors in fur-lined leathers, all staring at the disgraced omega who'd somehow caught their king's attention.
At the high table, Xavier lounged like a bored panther, his goblet dangling from scarred fingers. Lyanna sat to his left, her crimson gown slit to reveal a dagger strapped to her thigh.
And to his right—Selene.
Frostfang's omega daughter was a study in calculated excess. Rubies dripped from her ears like blood, their facets catching the firelight as she leaned close to whisper in Xavier's ear:
"—still reeks of peasant, but I suppose we can drown her in rosewater before the envoys arrive—"
Xavier's thumb stroked the rim of his goblet. Aira recognized the gesture—Jarek had done the same before shattering a rival's kneecaps.
"Ah." Selene's pale eyes locked onto Aira. "The stray arrives."
Her voice was honey poured over broken glass.
"Omegas eat in the kitchens," Selene purred, flicking a grape stem at Aira's feet. "Or do they let you beg at tables in Blackwater?"
Aira's nails bit crescents into her palms. Not here, her wolf warned. Not yet.
"Selene."
Xavier's voice cut the air. He still hadn't looked up, but his free hand rested on the table—palm down, a thick scar slicing from thumb to wrist.
"Move."
---
Selene's smile froze.
For three heartbeats, the room held its breath. Then she rose, smooth as poisoned wine, her gown pooling around her like a bloodstain.
"Of course, my king."
The honorific was a blade twisted between ribs.
As she passed Aira, her whisper slithered into Aira's ear: "Enjoy the view while it lasts." The scent of rotting violets clung to her wake.
Aira sat. The velvet cushion still radiated Selene's body heat, the fabric stinking of her perfume.
Xavier drank deeply, his throat working around each swallow. A jagged scar peeked above his collar—poorly healed, the edges ragged. Aira imagined sinking her teeth into it.
"Tell me," Selene crooned from her new seat beside Lyanna, "does Blackwater still drown defective omegas? Or just let the alphas have their fun first?"
The memory struck like a fist—Jarek's friends circling her after the rejection, their laughter thick as they debated who'd break her in.
Aira smiled. "They save knives for cowards who hide behind daddy's treaties."
Darius choked on his wine. Somewhere down the table, Ama muffled a laugh in her napkin.
Selene's goblet cracked against the table. "You filthy—"
"Enough."
Xavier didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to.
---
The rest of the meal passed in excruciating silence.
Aira counted each agonizing minute by the drip of wax from the chandelier. Somewhere, a servant dropped a platter—the crash echoed like a snapped bone. No one flinched.
Xavier stood abruptly, his chair scraping against stone. "I've lost my appetite."
He left without a backward glance, his cloak hissing against the floor. On his abandoned plate, the peacock's glassy eye stared at Aira, accusatory.
Selene waited until his footsteps faded before leaning close. Her breath reeked of sweetwine and desperation.
"Sleep lightly, discard. Father's envoys arrive tomorrow." Her ruby necklace pressed cold against Aira's cheek. "They collect broken things."
Aira waited until Selene's laughter faded down the corridor before slipping a steak knife into her sleeve.
---
Her chambers had been ransacked.
Gowns slashed to ribbons. Drawers upended. The mattress gutted, feathers drifting like snow.
Aira knelt by the loose floorboard near the hearth—the one that creaked when stepped on. Beneath it lay her father's dagger, smuggled in her boot the day she came to Ironclaw.
And something new: a scrap of parchment in unfamiliar script.
The scars on his back match yours.
Aira tested the blade's edge with her thumb. Let the envoys come.
Tonight, she'd sleep with steel in her fist and a prayer on her lips:
Let them try.
- Writer
