The chamber door creaked open under her hand.
Warmth greeted her first—the low-burning hearth keeping the chill at bay. Then came the scent: her own, still dominant from sleepless nights spent nearby. But beneath it lingered something foreign. Bitter. Intentional.
Again.
Her muscles tensed.
Inside, Liora was curled at the foot of the bed, half-wrapped in a thick blanket. She didn't lift her head. Just stared into the fire like it was the only anchor keeping her still.
Veyra shut the door behind her with quiet precision. "Liora."
The girl stirred, slow and wary. Her eyes, dulled by days of fever and unease, met hers without surprise—only a hollow sort of bracing.
Veyra approached cautiously. "What happened?"
"They came again." Liora's voice rasped against the quiet. "Another Alpha. Or maybe the same one."
She didn't wait for Veyra's reply. Her words came quickly now, raw-edged.
"They didn't knock. Didn't say anything. Just stood there. But I felt it, Veyra. The scent. Stronger than the last time. It filled the air like it meant to choke me."
Veyra's jaw tightened as she dropped to a crouch beside her.
"When was this?"
"An hour ago. Maybe less. I didn't move. I just stayed here and… waited."
Liora's arms wrapped tighter around her knees. "It wasn't curious this time. Or even angry. It felt like a warning. Like they wanted me to know they knew I was here."
Veyra rose, striding to the door. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled at the frame.
There it was again.
Fainter than before, but layered—fresh over old. The same sour trace of pheromonal claim. An Alpha's warning. Marked once, then again. Not random. Not passive.
A message.
She stared at it for a long moment before she shut the door with a sharp click.
"They're trying to flush you out," she said. "Or provoke me."
Liora didn't answer, just watched her from beneath the blanket, her face pale.
"I'll find out who it is. I'll deal with them." Veyra's voice was quiet now, controlled but iron-edged. "But you were right to stay silent. Don't open the door unless it's me."
"They're going to find out," Liora said softly. "Someone's already figured out I'm not a Beta. That scent they left—it wasn't just to scare me. It was for you."
Veyra stepped closer and knelt beside her again. "They probably already know, but…" She paused for a moment. Then spoke again softly:
"I won't let them touch you."
Liora's eyes were too tired to show fear, but her body stayed wound tight, like one wrong word might cause her to flee or collapse.
"You said that last time."
"And I meant it both times."
A beat passed.
"They marked it again," Liora whispered, like the words hurt to say aloud. "Twice now. What happens the third time?"
Veyra didn't answer right away. Her mind was already moving—toward the guard rotations, the council's spies, and the quiet warnings she hadn't wanted to give weight to.
Then finally, she said, "Then I mark you louder."
Liora flinched.
"I didn't mean—" Veyra drew back slightly. "Not like that. I meant a verbal claim. An official one. To protect you if they try to corner you with questions or threats."
Liora looked away, jaw tight.
"You'd have to lie to everyone," she murmured. "And I'd be stuck here. Like a kept thing."
"No," Veyra said gently. "You'd be protected. Just until I can make the space for you to breathe freely. For all of us to breathe freely."
Her voice dropped to something quieter.
"I'll undo this, Liora. I swear it."
——
The scent was faint, but it lingered stubbornly at the doorframe—assertive, territorial. Veyra stared hard at the woodgrain, fingers trailing lightly where the scent-mark had been pressed. She had no doubt.
She turned to the guards stationed in the corridor. "I need the names of everyone assigned to this hall during the last two nights," she ordered crisply. "And anyone who was relieved early or came by under someone else's authority."
The younger Beta guard shifted uneasily. "Yes, Commander."
She narrowed her gaze. "Don't stall this. It's not a request."
He nodded and scurried off toward the barracks while the senior Beta remained at attention. Before she could press further, a pair of polished boots stopped just beyond her line of sight, and a low, formal voice cut through the corridor's quiet.
"Commander Halvarin."
Veyra turned slowly to face the tall, gray-cloaked figure waiting several paces away—a council courier, marked by the heavy silver brooch upon his chest.
"What is it?" she asked, not bothering to hide her irritation.
The messenger bowed with clipped precision. "By order of the Circle, you are requested to appear before the council this afternoon. You are also instructed to bring with you the woman who aided in your survival. The council has questions."
Veyra's jaw locked, but her voice remained steady. "Does the council often summon citizens to interrogate them under duress?"
"The council believes it prudent to meet anyone who may have interfered with royal blood," the man replied flatly. "The summons is not optional."
Her breath left her in a slow, silent exhale. She nodded once, sharply. "I'll be there."
As he turned to leave, she added, "Tell them she will be presented—on my terms."
The courier gave no reply.
——
Veyra's footsteps were measured, but there was a new weight in them as she stepped back into her quarters. She didn't need to speak for Liora to know it was her—the familiar weight of her scent slipped into the room like smoke, grounding and sharp. Liora sat curled in the corner of the bed again, knees hugged to her chest, her eyes shadowed and tired, though they flicked up at the sound.
"You're back," she murmured, her voice dry.
"I am." Veyra lingered near the door for a breath before crossing the room. She didn't reach for Liora, only knelt nearby, keeping a respectful distance.
"They sent someone," she said quietly. "From the council."
Liora stiffened. "Why?"
"They've requested I come to the chamber… and they asked that I bring you with me."
Silence dropped like a stone between them.
Liora's brow furrowed slowly, her voice cracking as she whispered, "Why would they want to see me?"
"I don't know." Veyra's tone was honest, stripped bare. "They didn't say more. Just… that you're to be presented."
A breath rattled out of Liora, almost a laugh, but not quite. "So that's it, then. All this time hiding and I get dragged out anyway."
"I'm sorry," Veyra said. "I wish I could shield you from this."
Liora's fingers dug into the blanket still wrapped around her. "I shouldn't have helped you."
Those words landed sharp, but not cruel. More a confession than an accusation.
She looked away. "If I'd just walked on… if I'd never stopped, none of this would've happened. I'd still be out there. Anonymous. Free."
"But I'd be dead," Veyra said, voice low.
Liora's eyes snapped to hers, full of conflicted heat. "Don't make it noble. You don't know what this will cost me."
"No," Veyra admitted. "I don't. But I do know you didn't deserve this."
Liora looked down, the fire in her expression guttering out into something colder. "I can't even leave. If I try, they'll drag me back. I'm marked now. There's no vanishing again."
Veyra didn't deny it. She only murmured, "You're not alone in this."
"I feel alone."
Another pause. And then, quieter still: "I'm scared, Veyra."
"I know." Her voice broke a little. "I am too."
For a moment, they didn't speak. The silence was full of everything they couldn't name.
Then Veyra stood slowly. "I don't want them to see you like this. I'll take you to my mother's chamber. She'll help you prepare."
Liora blinked at her. "Your mother?"
"She's kind. And she'll understand more than most. She can keep your nerves steady better than I can right now."
Liora didn't answer, but she didn't protest either.
"I'll return in a moment with something warmer for you to wear," Veyra added gently. "A cloak, at least."
And this time, when she turned to leave, Liora's voice stopped her.
"Veyra?"
She glanced back.
"I don't regret saving you," Liora said quietly. "Even if I regret what it's done to me."
Veyra bowed her head, touched and pained in equal measure. "Then we'll make sure it means something."
She left with those words still hanging between them—frail, but held like a vow.
—
The eastern wing of Fort Dalen was quieter than most—its corridors narrower, lined with old portraits and fading woven tapestries. Veyra moved with care, the ache in her side a dull whisper now instead of a roar, her mind louder than any wound.
She paused outside the carved oak door of her mother's chamber and knocked softly.
A moment later, the latch lifted and the door creaked open. The warm scent of pressed herbs and old paper drifted out, layered with the gentle, unmistakable sweetness of her mother's scent—amber and crushed tea leaves.
"Veyra," said the woman within, looking up from a low writing desk. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled into a soft knot, and though her frame had grown frail with the years, her posture still held that effortless elegance that no court could teach. "You should be resting."
"I've done all the resting I can afford," Veyra replied, stepping inside.
The door closed behind her. Her mother studied her with a quiet intensity before her gaze softened.
"Your tone," she said, "tells me this visit is not simply for conversation."
"It isn't," Veyra admitted. "I need your help."
That drew her mother's full attention. She set down the quill she had been holding. "Then ask."
"There's a girl," Veyra began slowly. "She's the one who found me after the ambush. She kept me alive when no one else could have. She's…" Her voice tightened. "She's Omega."
Her mother's brow lifted—but she didn't speak, allowing Veyra the space to continue.
"She's recovering still. And afraid. But the council—" Veyra's jaw tensed. "They've asked to see her. To have her brought before them."
Her mother's eyes sharpened at that, understanding blooming behind them. "You want to shield her."
"I want her to walk in on her own terms," Veyra said. "And I want her to be treated with respect, not paraded like some stolen prize."
A long pause. Then, gently, "You've grown since I last saw that look in your eye."
Veyra exhaled. "Do you have something she might wear? Something dignified."
Her mother moved to a cedar chest by the window, opening it with care. "I don't have much left of my youth… but this might do." She lifted a dress of deep blue wool, soft and finely made, with a high collar and faint silver thread embroidered at the cuffs.
"It should suit the occasion," she said.
Veyra took it, her fingers brushing the fabric with rare gratitude. "I was hoping… you might also help her prepare. Speak with her while I ready myself."
The older woman tilted her head. "You want me to meet her?"
"Yes. Just for a moment."
She studied Veyra's face carefully. "You're protecting this girl very closely. Why?"
Veyra met her mother's gaze without flinching. "Because she deserves it. Because she's strong, and clever, and more than what they'll try to make of her."
Her mother was silent for a breath, then nodded once. "Very well. Bring her."
Veyra turned to go, the dress folded under one arm.
"Veyra," her mother said softly before she reached the door.
She paused, looking back.
"I don't know who this girl is yet. But I can see what she's done to you." Her voice was calm, measured. "You've never let anyone this close before."
"She didn't try to take anything," Veyra replied quietly. "She only gave."
A moment of silence passed between them—then her mother gave a quiet nod. "Then I'll do my part. Bring her to me."
Veyra dipped her head, something weightier than duty in her chest, and stepped out into the hall again.
——
The door opened again.
Liora sat where she had been since Veyra left—knees tucked close to her chest, a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, though sweat clung to her skin. She didn't lift her head right away. Only when she heard the distinct sound of boots on the stone floor and the faint breath of pine and spice did she glance up.
Veyra stood just inside, a folded dress held in her arms. Something soft and fine, not overly ornate, but clearly not meant for someone like Liora. Not a caravan trader. Not an Omega in hiding.
Liora's fingers gripped the blanket tighter. "Is that for me?"
"It is," Veyra said gently, walking over and crouching beside her. "I went to see my mother. She's willing to help you prepare. The council will expect… a certain presentation."
"So that's it," Liora murmured, bitter. "I'm to be paraded."
"No." Veyra's voice firmed. "This isn't about show. It's about making sure you're not exposed. You'll have some protection this way."
Liora looked away, heart racing. "Did the alpha who marked the door say something..?"
"They did."
"To what end..?"
"I don't know yet," Veyra admitted, voice low. "But I won't let them harm you. Not a single word spoken against you will go unchallenged, do you understand?"
Liora's throat felt tight, the echo of the Alpha's scent still lingering in her bones, making her skin feel too thin. "You say that, but you're one of them. You speak to them like you belong there."
"I do belong there," Veyra said softly, "but not for the reasons they think. I'm going to change what that place stands for, Liora. One law at a time."
Silence bloomed between them.
Liora turned her face to the window slit high in the wall, where pale morning light streaked through the glass. "I'm scared." She whispered, repeating her words from earlier—her voice was soft, but not broken.
"I know," Veyra said. "But I swear on my name, you won't go into that chamber alone."
Liora finally looked at her—really looked. There was no armor on Veyra's shoulders now. No blade at her hip. Only calm steadiness in her posture, and something almost tender in her eyes.
She reached for the dress. Her hand trembled.
"I'm not graceful," she warned.
Veyra allowed a small smile. "You're strong. That's more than enough."
Liora's lips parted—maybe to argue, maybe to confess how trapped she still felt. But the words withered in her mouth. What could she even say anymore?
Instead, she nodded, slowly. "Take me to her then. Let's… get this over with."
Veyra stood and offered her hand.
And for the first time, Liora took it.
——
Liora clutched the hem of the borrowed dress as they walked—deep blue wool, soft and finely made, with a high collar that brushed the edge of her jaw. Silver thread glinted faintly at the cuffs when she moved, catching the torchlight like starlight. It was heavier than she was used to, its quality unmistakable. She felt like she was drowning in someone else's skin.
She hadn't worn anything this fine in years—hadn't let herself.
Each guard they passed made her spine stiffen, even the Betas. She could tell herself they didn't know—couldn't know what she was. But still her instincts whispered otherwise. She'd spent too long learning to listen to fear.
Veyra didn't speak again until they reached the archway of a quieter corridor, its stone softer in color, its silence heavy.
"My mother's chambers," she said.
Liora stopped, heart thudding. "Are you… sure this is necessary?"
Veyra looked at her—no steel in her gaze, only resolve. "Yes. You deserve not to walk into that council room looking like prey."
Before Liora could say anything more, Veyra knocked once on the door.
It opened to a warm space lit by soft candlelight. A woman stood in the center of the room, dressed in deep plum robes. Her scent drifted toward them—sweet, rich, like ripe fig and sugar-dusted plums. It was subtle, refined, and unmistakably Omega. She was older, elegant, and her eyes were sharp as she looked from Veyra to Liora.
"So this is her," she said, voice neither cold nor warm. Simply observant.
Veyra gave a small nod. "Her name is Liora. I… thought you might help her get ready."
The woman raised a brow, but stepped aside to let them in. "You leave a great deal unspoken, daughter. But I'll not question it. For now."
Liora hesitated at the threshold.
The woman looked directly at her. "You may come in. I don't bite. Not anymore."
That almost startled a laugh out of her.
Veyra rested a hand on Liora's back and whispered, "I'll be back shortly. She's kind. And she's safe."
Liora turned to glance at her. "You sure about that?"
"Yes." Then Veyra was gone.
The door closed with a gentle click.
Liora stood awkwardly in the center of the room. The woman—Veyra's mother—gave her a long, assessing look.
"Sit," she said eventually, gesturing to a cushioned bench near the hearth. "You're still feverish."
Liora did. She didn't speak at first, just stared into the flickering firelight.
"I imagine this wasn't what you expected when you helped an injured stranger," the woman said as she approached with a damp cloth and a brush. "I imagine a great many things weren't."
"I didn't expect anything," Liora murmured, her voice rough. "Only that I couldn't leave her to die."
"That much is written all over you." The woman dipped the cloth in a basin and began wiping gently at her brow. "You've been on the road a long time."
"Years."
"You've learned to wear strength like armor. That takes practice."
Liora glanced at her, frowning faintly. "What do you want me to say?"
"Nothing," the older Omega said simply. "But I want you to know I see you."
That gave Liora pause.
"Most Omegas I've seen brought before council are wilted things. Afraid. Broken. Shaped by years of breeding pens or noble houses." Her voice lowered. "You aren't like them."
"I had to run," Liora said softly. "I had to learn to survive without anyone."
"And yet you stayed, when you could have left her bleeding in that forest."
"I couldn't," she whispered. "No matter how afraid I was."
The woman nodded, satisfied. "Good. Then you'll stand in that chamber with your spine straight. You'll wear that dress not as a costume, but as a challenge."
Liora gave a dry breath of a laugh. "You sound like her."
"She sounds like me," the woman corrected. "Or rather, I hope she does."
She picked up and ran a brush gently through Liora's hair, working with quiet, practiced motions.
"Tell me what you were, before all this. What you did."
"I was a merchant," Liora answered. "Traveled with caravans. Traded spices, furs. Fixed wagons. Bartered like hell."
"Good," the woman murmured. "You've already stood before worse men than sit on that council."
There was quiet for a moment.
"Do you think," Liora asked hesitantly, "she'll be able to protect me? Really?"
The woman paused. "She'll try. Veyra has always walked headlong into the storm if it meant shielding someone behind her. And now—" she touched a hand gently to Liora's shoulder, "—she isn't doing it alone."
Liora glanced up at her, uncertain. "Why are you helping me?"
The woman smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Because I know what it means to survive alone."
She rose and moved to a small table, picking up a slender vial of rose-tinted oil. She dabbed it lightly at Liora's wrists, brushing over her pulse points. "My name is Lady Ilyren Halvarin. I was once like you. My father died early. After that, the rest of my family was claimed, one by one. Some married off to highborn lords, some taken into service. I watched my sister dragged from our home in the dead of night. No one stopped it."
She returned and knelt before Liora, smoothing a final lock of hair into place.
"I learned to survive by being useful, silent, and forgettable. Until I met Veyra's father." A shadow crossed her face. "He gave me space to breathe. He let me be something more than a body in a cage in silk."
She stood again, slow and graceful. "So now, when I see a girl who refuses to wilt—I help."
Liora swallowed hard, her throat tight. "Thank you."
Lady Ilyren inclined her head. "Stand. Let me see you."
Liora obeyed, the hem of her dress brushing her ankles. The high collar held its shape, the silver thread catching the firelight.
"Good," Ilyren said softly. "You look like someone they should fear."
Liora gave a slow nod, her breath shallow.
"Now go. She'll be waiting."
Liora turned toward the door, and just before stepping through, paused. "It was good to meet you. Truly."
Lady Ilyren gave the faintest smile. "We'll speak again. I've no doubt."
And Liora left, her steps slow but certain, the weight of fig-sugar and memory clinging to her shoulders like a shawl.
As the door clicked softly shut behind her, Liora lingered in the hall for a breath longer, the warmth of the chamber still clinging to her skin. Lady Ilyren's words circled through her like a tide pulling deep. She too had lost family—had seen the net drawing tighter. But where Ilyren had been taken in, shaped by the confines of noble walls, Liora had fled before they could reach her. She had run, and run, and run, until there was no past left but smoke. And now, for the first time in years, she had stopped. Not in surrender—but in defiance.
And maybe—just maybe—she wasn't alone anymore.