The palace had changed. Gone was the hum of music and laughter; in its place, silence stretched like a blade, broken only by the sharp rhythm of boots striking marble. The King's command had turned the gilded corridors into a predator's maze.
Guards swept through the halls in pairs, their armor whispering against velvet drapes. "Check the west wing," one barked. Another muttered, "The scent was faint… If we fail—" He didn't finish. He didn't need to. Everyone knew what failure meant under Ecclesias's gaze.
Soren crouched in the linen storage room, heart pounding like a drum against his ribs. The suppressant pill had dulled the fever, but its backlash was merciless. His stomach churned, nausea curling like smoke. His vision blurred at the edges, and every muscle trembled with exhaustion. He pressed his forehead to the cool wood of the shelf, forcing his breath to slow.
Mask it. Hide it. Survive.
He stripped off his outer garment, shoved it deep into a basket of damp linens, and crushed dried lavender between his palms, pressing the powder against his neck and wrists. Anything to drown the trace of what he was. The sharp scent of detergent and herbs filled the air a fragile shield against the storm outside.
Voices drifted closer, low and urgent. "The King smelled something," one guard muttered. "Not wine. Not food." A pause, then softer: "Omega." The word hung in the air like a blade. Soren's pulse shattered. He pressed himself deeper into the shadows, every muscle locked, every instinct screaming.
The suppressant dulled his pheromones to a whisper, but it couldn't erase them. They clung to him like silk threads, faint but persistent. Incense from the banquet masked some of it; drafts scattered the rest. For now, it was enough to confuse the guards. For now.
The palace was alive with whispers. Servants huddled in corners, voices sharp with fear. "The King smelled something." "Omega?" "If it's true…" A hush followed, brittle as glass. Everyone knew what it meant if an omega was found especially one rare enough to catch the King's attention.
Two alphas lingered near the grand staircase, their words slicing through the silence. "If the rumor is true…" "It changes everything. A dominant omega could topple alliances." "Or bind them tighter than ever." Their laughter was cold, brittle, like glass shattering in the dark.
Soren pressed his ear to the door, listening to the storm outside the boots, the voices, the hunt. His pulse was a frantic drumbeat. The suppressant dulled the fever, but exhaustion dragged at his limbs. He clutched the edge of the cot, forcing his breath to steady.
Stay invisible. Stay silent. Survive.
He powdered his skin again, crushed more herbs against his wrists, anything to drown the trace of what he was. But he knew the truth: the King would find him. Not because of the guards. Not because of the search. But because that scent the one he couldn't cage was a beacon. And Ecclesias was a predator who never missed his mark.
The palace fell silent, heavy with anticipation. Then came the sound a single set of footsteps, slow and deliberate, echoing through the forbidden wing. Soren's breath shattered. He pressed himself against the wall, every muscle locked, every instinct screaming.
The door handle turned.
And Ecclesias stepped inside.