The crowd parted as the King made his way toward the stage, the movement instinctive, almost reverent. Conversations died mid-sentence, laughter cut short. One by one, the men lowered their heads, their submission immediate and absolute, as though something deep within them recognized a predator far above their place in the order.
He stopped at the edge of the platform.
His gaze settled on me.
It wasn't curious. It wasn't appreciative. There was no hunger in it, at least not the kind I had seen from the others. His eyes moved over me with cold precision, detached and measuring, as if I were something to be studied rather than desired.
"She's weak," he said at last, his voice low and steady. "Barely any scent. That makes her suitable."
"An Omega, Your Majesty," Madam Coco added quickly, stepping into view at the side of the stage. Her composure held, but there was a tightness beneath it, a nervous eagerness she couldn't quite conceal. "The weakest we've had. She won't resist. There's nothing in her that can."
"Good."
The single word settled heavily.
Before I could react, he reached out and caught my chin, his grip firm enough to force my head up. I tried to pull away, but it was useless. His strength was absolute, unyielding. Up close, his eyes were even more unsettling—gold, unnatural, and far too still.
"The creature I'm dealing with has grown difficult," he continued, almost absently. "It requires something fragile. Something that can endure, but not fight."
The meaning didn't fully land, not at first. The words felt distant, disconnected—until the guards stepped forward and took hold of me.
Then it did.
This wasn't an arrangement.
It wasn't a transaction.
It was something far worse.
"What do you mean?" I asked, the words catching in my throat as panic began to sharpen. "What creature?"
No one answered.
I looked around, searching for any sign of outrage, any reaction that would tell me this wasn't normal—that someone, somewhere, would stop this.
There was nothing.
Only quiet anticipation.
"Be quiet, Flora," Madam Coco snapped from the side, her voice low but edged with warning.
"No," I said, louder this time, the fear inside me turning jagged. "You can't just—this isn't legal. You can't sell me like this. I'm not—" My voice broke, but I forced the words out anyway. "I'm not an object."
No one moved.
No one intervened.
Something inside me snapped.
I dropped from the platform and ran.
I didn't think. I didn't plan. I just moved, clutching at the thin fabric of my dress as I bolted toward the side of the stage, toward the curtains, toward anything that looked like a way out.
I barely made it a few steps.
Two guards stepped in front of me as if they had been waiting. One caught me around the waist, lifting me clean off the ground, while the other seized my wrists and forced them still.
"Let me go!" I struggled, twisting against their grip, my pulse racing wildly. "Let me go!"
A few scattered laughs rose from the crowd, low and amused, as though my desperation were part of the performance.
They stopped the moment Madam Coco stepped forward.
She crossed the stage without hesitation, her expression dark, and before I could react, her hand struck my face.
The impact snapped my head to the side, heat flaring across my skin.
"Control yourself," she said sharply, her voice cutting through the silence. "You will not make a spectacle of me in front of the King."
I tasted blood.
The guards released me just enough for my knees to hit the floor. The strength drained out of me all at once, leaving behind a hollow, shaking exhaustion.
"I'm not going," I said, more quietly now, the fight slipping into something weaker but still there. "I'm not."
The air shifted.
It wasn't sudden, but it was unmistakable. The atmosphere thickened, pressing down, carrying something colder, older, heavier than anything that had filled the room before. The faint scent of damp earth and distant storms threaded through the air.
Silence followed.
The King moved again.
Each step was measured, unhurried, yet it seemed to echo far louder than it should have. By the time he reached the stage, my body had already begun to react—tension locking into my muscles, a tremor I couldn't control running through me.
He didn't look angry.
If anything, he looked mildly inconvenienced.
He stepped onto the platform and lowered himself in front of me, bringing us to the same level. Up close, the weight of his presence was suffocating.
"Tell me what this smells like," he said.
From the inner pocket of his coat, he produced a small, pale flower. It resembled a lily, but the edges of its petals shimmered faintly, catching the light in an unnatural way.
I turned my head away.
I refused to play along.
"Look at me."
The command wasn't loud, but it carried something that left no room for disobedience. My head turned back before I could stop it, my body betraying me.
"If you answer correctly," he continued, holding the flower closer, "you leave. No conditions. No one will stop you."
The words struck harder than anything else.
For a moment, everything else faded—the guards, the crowd, the stage. My gaze flicked toward the doors at the back of the hall.
Freedom.
Then back to the flower.
"You'll let me go?" I asked, my voice barely steady.
"Yes."
I hesitated only a second before leaning closer.
The scent was subtle at first, then stronger. Sweet, but not cloying. Something familiar lingered beneath it, just out of reach, like a memory I couldn't quite grasp.
"Vanilla," I said slowly. "And… something sharper. Mint."
I looked at him, waiting.
Nothing changed.
Instead, the room began to tilt.
The lights blurred, stretching at the edges. The sounds around me dulled, as if I had been submerged underwater.
"I answered," I said, though my voice felt distant, detached from me. "You said—"
"Incorrect."
His tone didn't shift.
"It's wolfsbane and hemlock," he added calmly. "A scent meant to deceive."
Cold crept through my limbs, heavy and numbing. I tried to move, but my body refused to respond. My balance slipped, and I reached out blindly, finding nothing.
"No…" The word barely formed.
"Which means," he said, his voice fading into the growing haze, "you're coming with me."
Darkness closed in slowly, swallowing the edges of my vision. The last thing I felt was his hand catching me before I hit the ground.