CHAPTER 8: OMEGA IN A GILDED CAGE
990 Words
CHAPTER 8: OMEGA IN A GILDED CAGE
The first rule of Ironclaw Keep was carved into every stone and every whispered breath: omegas did not pass through the front doors.
Aira learned this the hard way when two guards blocked her path, crossing their halberds inches from her throat—steel cold enough to bite, just above the jagged scars Jarek had left on her skin. The morning sun fractured across the obsidian walls, casting fractured shards of light, but their glint only made the weapons look sharper, more threatening.
“Servants’ entrance,” the left guard grunted, breath heavy with the stench of stale garlic and yesterday’s ale.
Aira’s hand tightened around the hem of her borrowed dress. She could have argued—could have shown them the wolf pendant Xavier had forced her to wear, the mark of their bond—but the cold echo of Lyanna’s voice from earlier froze her tongue.
“Since you enjoyed dining with the King so much last night, you can have breakfast with your kind.”
A punishment thinly veiled as a courtesy.
She turned on her heel, the soles of her slippers grinding painfully against the crushed rubies embedded in the courtyard stones, each step stabbing like fresh wounds—another of Lyanna’s petty cruelties.
The servants’ corridor reeked of lye soap and old piss. The bare stone walls closed in like a trap, and Aira had to duck beneath low archways carved with snarling wolf faces whose glowing moonstone eyes seemed to track her every move.
At the first bend, Lila waited, nervously wringing her hands. “You’re late,” she whispered. “Lady Lyanna—”
“Isn’t my keeper.” Aira straightened, shoulders stiff against the damp cold that seeped into her bones. “Where’s breakfast?”
The girl flinched. “The omegas’ dining hall is—”
A sudden crash echoed ahead, followed by sharp, cruel laughter that scraped against Aira’s skin like broken glass.
“—that way,” Lila finished, retreating quickly.
---
The chamber was no dining room. It was a kennel with delusions.
Rough stone benches lined the windowless hall, wood polished smooth by generations of omega elbows and elbows alike. The air hung thick with boiled oats and the sour musk of submission. At the far end, a faded mural showed the "virtuous omega," head bowed, wrists chained in silver—the kind of chains meant to look ornamental but heavy enough to choke.
Aira’s bowl held seven solitary grains of oats floating in cloudy water.
“First lesson,” came a voice like velvet dipped in poison.
Lyanna’s jeweled hand landed on Aira’s shoulder, claws biting through the thin fabric of her dress. “You eat what you’re given.”
Next to Aira sat Lyanna’s breakfast—a feast that mocked her hunger: honeyed figs, smoked salmon, eggs swimming in truffle butter. The alpha plucked the fattest strawberry, holding it inches from Aira’s nose before slipping it between her own lips. The juice dripped down her chin like spilled blood.
Aira’s stomach growled.
“Second lesson.” Lyanna’s fingers dug into the scars along Aira’s ribs. “Omegas don’t—”
Suddenly, a wet splat cut the air.
The strawberry hit Lyanna’s left eye.
Silence slammed down.
Aira hadn’t thrown it.
All eyes snapped to the doorway.
Xavier stood there, flanked by two stone-faced guards, a single strawberry stem dangling from his fingers. His gaze was cold, unreadable. The alpha king spoke no words—not a reprimand, not a command. He simply looked.
His eyes flicked briefly to Aira’s untouched bowl, then to Lyanna’s furious glare. Then, without a hint of emotion, he turned and walked away. His boots crushed the fallen strawberry into the stone floor, each step echoing finality.
Aira counted the nine footsteps—measured, unhurried—before the whispers began.
“Whore.”
“Bitch.”
“Xavier’s pet.”
The words stung, but Aira forced herself to raise the spoon to her lips. The oat water burned as it slid down her throat.
---
The training yard reeked of sweat, hot metal, and old blood.
Aira stood barefoot on sand raked smooth after yesterday’s fights. The grains stuck to fresh cuts on her feet, grinding deeper with every tentative step.
“Today,” Lyanna announced, twirling a barbed whip with practiced cruelty, “you learn your place.”
The omegas circled, eyes hollow, some bruised raw, others resigned—wolves broken by chains they no longer fought.
The first strike tore across Aira’s ribs, sharp and merciless.
The second carved a red line along her thighs.
By the third, tears blurred her vision, but she refused to shed them.
“Pathetic,” Lyanna sneered. “No wonder Blackwater cast you out.”
The fourth strike never landed.
Aira caught the whip mid-air, barbs shredding her palm. She yanked hard, sending Lyanna stumbling forward—
—right onto Aira’s waiting knee.
A sickening crack echoed.
Silence fell.
Xavier appeared at the edge of the yard, face an unreadable mask.
He said nothing.
No praise. No scolding.
No sign that the bond between them mattered at all.
He turned and left, leaving Lyanna bleeding, defeated in the sand.
---
That night, under the cold gaze of the moon, Aira found it beneath her pillow—a silver knife so thin it seemed translucent, its edge sharp enough to slice through silk or skin without effort.
No note. No explanation.
Outside, Ironclaw’s spires pierced the night sky.
Somewhere, Selene’s laughter echoed through the halls.
Somewhere, Xavier watched in silence.
And Aira?
She tested the blade against her thumb, drawing a single bead of blood.
Her thoughts churned.
If he cared for me—if the bond meant anything—why did he never show it? Why was I nothing more than a pawn in a game I didn’t understand?
She was learning.
And the cage was closing.
- Writer
