Page 134 of Ruled By The Alpha

Under The Golden Moon

A Six Shattered Kingdoms Prequel

by

E. J. Frost

Act 1: The Golden Moon Rises

In a world once like our own, where the strong eat and the meek are eaten.

Tomorrow is my handfasting.

In the Lost Time, known only through the Forbidden Word, it would have been my wedding. Then the world burned and its people Changed and the six kingdoms rose on the strength of the mighty Isvaultinn Kings and shattered on the bitterness of one scorned Omega.

Rivvard, whose scent is as soft as his brown eyes, finishes a braid in my ridiculously elaborate hairstyle and, with a gentle tug, starts another. My hair is only to my shoulders, not to my ankles in the way of a noble Omega.

Because, until a month ago, I was not an Omega.

I was a soldier, the captain of my father’s household guard. The youngest Alpha to hold that honor. I was blooded at thirteen in a battle against Oneswogan raiders. I killed my first man a year later, shortly after I reached my full height of eighteen hands. I tower over my Omega mother, her three sisters, my own sister. I am of a height with my father, my older brother, my younger brother, my uncle, Alphas all. As tall even as the Isvaultinn, with their willowy bodies and weirding magics. My mother claimed I was Alpha while I was still in her womb and nothing of my childhood—as tall, as strong, as fast, as ruthless as any Alpha the shattered Kingdoms have seen—proved her wrong.

Until a month ago, just after my twentieth birthing day, when I went into Heat.

I should be handfasting with Rivvard and the two other male Omegas my father carefully found, courted, and contracted while I was still learning to wield the broadsword that used to hang over my bed. Rivvard, Mother bless him, chose to stay and support me in my disgrace, while Amori and Ralphe returned to their homes. Amori, I do not miss. He cared only for his own comfort and pleasure. But Ralphe’s sparkling blue eyes and ready wit have been much missed this past, dark month.

At another tug on my hair, my eyes drift up to a dagger driven into the mirror’s wooden frame and the roll of parchment pinned by its point. My uncle Korva drove it there three days ago, after he traveled the hundred leagues from the south, where the new Isvaultinn King and his armies still battle, to bring me news of the King’s pardon, and my doom. Korva was dismissive when I was a female Alpha; that did not prepare me for his utter contempt after I Revealed as an Omega.

My eyes skate over the court scribe’s fine copperplate.

I do not need it read to me—although many Alphas choose not to pursue any learning beyond their names and the counting numbers—my parents insisted that I have the learning of any noble.

I do not need to read the words; I have memorized them.

Kieran, first daughter of Tuvarr Kierell and his lady Omega Karli, of the ancient house of Feann, of the aeld people of Vonna, is hereby pardoned of the murder of the guard Lione Pevvan. Kieran, first daughter of Tuvarr Kierell and his lady Omega Karli, of the ancient house of Feann, of the aeld people of Vonna, is hereby ordered to handfast Our loyal Tuvarr, Justlinn Tomarrson, before Midsummer’s Day.

Midsummer’s Day is tomorrow.

A knock sounds on the dressing chamber door. Soft, unobtrusive. An Omega’s knock. Not an Alpha’s authoritative rap.

“Come,” I call.

In the mirror, Rivvard winces. An Omega would not call. An Omega would rise gracefully, cross the room soundlessly, and open the door graciously.

Despite all my mother’s diligent instruction this month, I am a poor Omega.

My mother opens the door and smiles her way into the room. Her subtle perfume issues from the many folds of her silken robes. They’re a soft salmon color, as befits the Omega-mother, embroidered with red and white roses for fertility and fidelity, the two cornerstones of the Omega’s Creed. The pink brings out the healthy sheen of her cheeks; even after giving birth to seven children and losing four to disease and war, she is hale and resilient, in the way of Omegas.

I never learned the Omega’s Creed as a child; but I have had it battered into my brain this past month. Each tenet is a bitter lesson in humility.

“The Tomarr party has arrived,” she tells me, still smiling, picking up an orange lily from the basket at Rivvard’s side and working it into one of my braids. Orange lilies are unusual for a handfasting; my mother picked them to cover the fact that despite my first Heat, I have no Omega perfume. “He wishes to meet with you in private before the ceremony.”

Even as I nod, I pinch my eyes closed. I know why he wants to meet with me, and what he will ask. I know what my answer will be. And I know it will mean my death.

Because I am not an innocent Omega. I was an Alpha and although I’d not yet Revealed, everyone expected me to behave as an Alpha. To take what is due to an Alpha. Which I’ve done, these past two years.

I have no maidenhead to offer the Tuvarr.

He will reject me, the new King will withdraw his pardon, and I will die for the life taken that weighs so heavy on my soul. Lione was my friend, a brother-in-arms, a guard I trained with, fought beside, laughed with, and dumped the occasional pitcher of ale on when he got too handsy with Beta girls.

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