Page 18 of Bonds of Hate

Being asked to remain in the harem might be an acceptable second choice, but being asked to leave absolutely will not.

“And what was your name?”

The woman looks at me for the first time, surprise flashing briefly in her eyes. “Perkins, I’m the harem mother.”

Harem mother, so the ultimate authority in this space outside of maybe the king, himself. And I doubt he would ever test that theory by going head-to-head with her. Staying on her good side can only be beneficial for me.

“Thank you, Perkins. I don’t have questions but I appreciate you asking.”

She eyes me for a second, a considering expression on her face. I start to turn away when her voice stops me.

“Did you have a preference among the princes that you’d like me to note?” Perkins almost seems surprised at herself as she makes the offer. She glances away as sheawaits my answer, obviously checking to see if anyone overheard her. “No guarantees, of course.”

I give myself about a split-second to think about it.

A vision of the red-haired Omega and the others from the Enclave flashes in my head. I won’t be able to beat them at their own game, but I still have a trump card to play.

My preference would be to catch the attention of a different prince. Any of the others would be preferable. But the chances of one of them choosing me are slim, not with this many other Omegas vying for their attention.

Perkins’s eyebrows shoot up into her forehead when I tell her my choice. Her expression makes me want to snatch the words back and I almost bite my tongue clean off to resist the urge.

No going back now.

“Must not know much if that’s her choice,” Perkins mutters to herself as she waves me toward a seat.

No choice but to swallow my response to that. She doesn’t need to hear that I know more than enough, way more than I should. Knowledge isn’t enough to stop me from making the choice.

The only empty seat left in the room is a leather armchair. I skirt the crowded furniture to reach it, only to realize that it sits directly across from where the red-haired Omega and one of her companions lounge on a velour chaise.

I realize it’s them at the same moment as they notice me approach. My gaze meets watchful green and I don’t have any other choice but to sit down and pretend this isn’t the last place in the room I want to be right now.

An attendant glides up to offer us glasses of champagne.I take mine with a murmured thanks and down almost half of it.

The redhead’s gaze skates over me, so it isn’t a surprise when something catty comes out of her mouth.

“I love your dress,” she murmurs, voice practically a husky croon. “I wore something just like it for my presentation day, like three years ago. So pretty.”

Her backhanded compliment doesn’t go over my head. The yellow chiffon dress I’m wearing suits me well, clinging to my hips without being too tight and complimenting the violet lowlights in my hair. It was the height of style when it was initially designed — five years ago.

I don’t have access to the Enclave’s resources or the stable of exclusive designers they access for presentation wardrobes.

“Thank you so much,“ I gush, matching her feigned sweetness. “Your presentation day was really four years ago? Time must feel like it’s flying by for you. I thought I would be the only old hat here and mine was just three years ago.”

Lie. It was actually five years ago,but she doesn’t need to know that. Presentation days were an archaic ritual, reminiscent of the debutante balls of the past, in which we had a sort of coming out party at sixteen. Usually, presentation days are the first time that interested Alphas get a chance to meet the Omegas at the Enclave, at a careful distance, even if we don’t graduate for another four years afterward.

Only the slight narrowing of envy green eyes reveals her annoyance. Every graduate of the Enclave I’ve ever met can do a poker face with the best of them. “I’ve been holding out for a proper Alpha. Luckily for me, a prince will do.”

“We’re all here for the same reasons.” I raise the champagne glass in salute. The glass will shatter if I grip it any tighter. “Good luck.”

She continues to study me. “Have we met?”

“Doubt it. I’m M…Mm…Em. I’m Em.”

Our time at the Enclave had overlapped, I’m nearly certain of it. The trainers kept us mostly segregated in small working groups based on age. There was a rule about not allowing too many Omegas the chance to gather in one place. Possibly for safety reasons. If one of us cultivated dangerous ideas, then the spread would be limited by our physical separation.

Limiting our access to each other makes the brainwashing that much easier.

If I give her my real name, that might just be enough to jog her memory. My disastrous presentation is the stuff of legend at the Enclave. I’d returned from first and only interview in tears, refusing to sign a mating contract with any Alpha. Days later, from the perspective of the other Omegas, I simply disappeared.

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