Page 61 of The King's Omega
I thought of Selene, and the half-bottle of scent she had at the Sow. She claimed to have harvested the scent, although I knew now that it wasn’t hers.
Valerie continued her story. “He was unaware that Cerise was pregnant at the time of her capture.”
My heart broke for that woman, stolen away from her family, alone and pregnant in a strange land. Trapped by Milian. “Who was the father?”
“Cerise never spoke of him. But once Milian knew, he left her alone to see if her child would be a girl. He decreed the child would be a princess. She delivered the baby here, in the Omega Suite.” Something in Valerie’s eyes frightened me. “Vali…you…” She let out a shaky exhalation.
My heart started racing, and I fought to keep my breathing even. “The midwife told the king the baby girl died, but no one knew what really happened to her. The body of the infant the midwife presented looked nothing like Cerise. He grew suspicious.”
Valerie’s expression was grim. “You see,” she began, and I wanted to tell her to stop, not to speak any more. Not to let it be true.
“Cerise had long, dark curls, and dark eyes. Skin that was a golden shade we never see here in Verdan.” She ran a gentle finger along my cheek. “You are her image, sweet girl.”
A knot formed in my throat. “What… what was she like?” I had never imagined meeting someone who had known my mother, though I’d dreamed of it my whole life. In the middle of this nightmare, to have one of my heart’s deepest desires answered, brought tears to my eyes.
Valerie smiled. “She was your height, maybe a bit taller. Graceful when she danced, but she couldn’t walk across a room without knocking over something: a table, a glass vase, one time an entire tray of strawberry pies. She knocked them onto Milian’s lap.”
I laughed, but something in her face told me that story had a much less humorous end.
“Cerise had a wicked sense of humor, always teasing, even when there was nothing to laugh about. She loved to sing. Her voice was clear and pure, though all the songs she knew were in a language none of us spoke. She taught us some. Would you like to hear a bit?” I nodded, wiping at my wet face with my sleeve. Valerie opened her mouth and a song poured out in a raspy alto. It was sad and glorious, and not a few of the other women were weeping quietly along with me by the end.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I wish I had known her.”
She nodded. “I always wondered what happened to you. They said a visiting lord stole you away. Maybe it was true.
“Milian was so incensed you were gone, he tried to force Cerise to mate with him, hoping to have a living child. The Goddess tried to keep her womb shut, but Milian took a knife—”
I leaned over the side of the cushion and threw up every bite I’d eaten. When I had recovered, and Roya had brought me a glass of cool water and a towel, I choked out, “He’s not my father? Thank the Goddess.”
“No,” Valerie said. “But that’s not a good thing.”
“You think he’d cut—” I pressed a hand over my mouth, hoping I wouldn’t be sick again.
“No,” Valerie replied listlessly. “He learned that lesson with your mother. But he can do a lot even if you don’t consent.”
Roya explained. “What Valerie isn’t saying is that now that you’re here, he can again ensure his top officers’ loyalty. The servants will start harvesting your scent and make enough bottles of oil for the rest of us to be awarded as prizes to his fucking officers.”
Shame filled me. My scent would be the tool of their subjugation. I wished I had no scent at all. “What will he do with me?”
“He’ll woo you,” Roya sneered. “He’ll do anything, say anything to get you to open to him.” My mind raced to Axe, Tarn, Lorn, and Vilkurn—even Rigol.
I would never mate Milian.
“I won’t!” I cried, leaping to my feet. “I’ve chosen my mates! They’re strong and intelligent, and—” Valerie slapped a hand over my mouth.
“Never speak of them. Be careful. If he thinks you won’t submit, his temper will get the better of him, and you’ll end up like your mother.”
For a long moment, it felt like I was falling.
And none of my Alphas were there to catch me.
* * *
The next day,I woke on a pile of cushions. I had always loved fancy pillows and soft blankets, but these all smelled vaguely of bleach and salt, probably from the tears they’d soaked up over the years.
The air was thick with fear and despair, and I struggled to stand. Someone cleared their throat. “Slept in. Good. It’s best to sleep as many hours as you can in this hellhole.”
Roya was perched on a cushion by the door of the small room we occupied, dressed in a pair of boy’s trousers and a loose shirt, and juggling three small yellow apples. No one else was here, but I could see from the placement of the other bedding that at least six women had spent the night near me. “I don’t even remember falling asleep.”
