His little firefly was not so delicate after all. Underneath the stubborn chin and mismatched eyes, he had seen the claws of a wolf—and Thane loved it. The way she had flipped off an entire square of Alpha lords, then stalked into his palace bare and unbroken, made his chest burn with pride.
But he had done her no favors. Showing her open favoritism would paint a target on her back. The harem was full of venomous beauties who had spent years waiting for his notice. Now he had walked in with a virgin Omega on his arm. It would take more than guards to keep her safe.
"Jubal," Thane said as they entered the palace, "gather everything we have on Omegas and bring it to the study."
Jubal raised a brow. "Thane Rysling, cracking open a book? That's a first."
Thane shot him a look, though his lips curved. "This isn't a jest. She's…different. I want to take care of her."
That admission alone unsettled him. He hadn't put effort into a woman in years.
"You know you'll have to see other women too," Jubal reminded gently. "If you don't, the harem will turn restless. They must believe they have a chance—at favor, at fortune, at your hand."
Thane sighed, shoulders heavy as they crossed into the library. "And if I can't?"
"Then fake it." Jubal clapped his shoulder.
But the thought of touching another woman made his stomach churn. Already his wolf prowled whenever Celeste wasn't in sight. The possessiveness was dangerous, primal. He wanted to court her, to learn her likes, to coax her into seeing Vlallas as home. Yet duty demanded he keep balance with the harem.
His wolf didn't care for balance. It wanted her alone.
Jubal returned with a leather-bound volume, its spine cracked with age. "This is all that survived the Temple of Dela."
The name chilled Thane. He remembered the stories—how raiders had stormed the temple, raping and slaughtering the priestesses until only one survived. He brushed his fingers over the cover. "Is she still alive?"
"I believe so, sire. Shall I summon her?"
"Yes. Bring her here."
When Jubal left, Thane cracked open the brittle pages. The script curled in ancient Vlallasrian. He sent a silent thanks to his father for insisting he learn the dead tongue.
Omegas are the future of Vlallas. Through their young, the realm will rise. But a condition must be met. An Omega cannot breed unless mated. When marked, her heat is triggered, and in turn awakens an Alpha's rut.
Thane pinched the bridge of his nose. Mating—true, soul-binding, life-for-life mating. No Emperor in living memory had done it. Harems were easier: no commitment, no risk. But with Celeste, if he wanted her, truly wanted her, it meant binding them both. If she was not his true mate, the ritual could kill them.
Could he risk that? Could he be selfish enough to chain her fate to his own?
A knock broke his thoughts. Jubal entered, ushering in a woman robed in white and trimmed with gold. Her hair, once black, shimmered with silver; her wide grey eyes held the weight of ages.
"Emperor Rysling," Jubal said, bowing. "This is High Priestess Galilea. Survivor of Dela."
Thane rose and inclined his head. "Priestess, thank you for coming."
"I expected you would call for me." Her voice was calm, cool. She took the chair opposite his desk with practiced grace. "Word travels fast when an Omega surfaces. You truly have one?"
Thane nodded once. "Celeste is here. I was hoping you might shed light on her kind's history. The book tells little."
Galilea leaned forward, her gaze sharpening. "I will tell you what I know. But afterward, Emperor, I will ask for something in return. Promise me that, and you will have the truth."
The study was silent save for the faint crackle of the fire. Thane studied her, weighing her words, then gave a single firm nod.
"Alright," he said, drawing a steady breath. "Tell me."