Page 61 of Bonds of Hate

At the same time as I say, “Absolutely not!”

Their combined gazes turn to me and I fight backa surge of unease at the sudden attention. I fight back the natural urge to cower in the face of so much Alpha antagonism.

Poe rolls his eyes. “That didn’t take long. She’ll be asking for jewelry next.”

I take a steadying breath, reminding myself to stay calm and measured. “I can’t wear the same dress to two court events in a row.”

Logan points a single finger at me, danger in his expression. “Pretty new clothes are a privilege you haven’t earned.”

“Does our spoiled Omega princess want a new dress?” Ares coos as he runs his fingers down the sensitive skin of my bare arm.

Idiot me really thought they’d be smarter than this.

I shift away from him under the pretense of squaring my shoulders for the fight they seem to want. “I’m not being spoiled. Just trying to keep you from embarrassing yourselves.”

Logan clenches his jaw hard enough to make his teeth grind together. “Explain.”

“This is a formal presentation, yes?” I ask.

Cillian’s voice is clipped. “That is what I said.”

I keep my attention focused on Logan despite a sudden urge to throw something at Cillian’s impossibly perfect face. “In case you aren’t familiar, a formal presentation is going to involve me being paraded before the entire court and directly introduced to the king so he can officially state his approval of our mating contract.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “This event is just a formality for pomp and circumstance. My father has already said that no Omegas will be denied, luckily for you.”

“Pomp and circumstance, exactly.” I repeat the words slowly, as if I’m speaking to a small child. Some of it is guesswork on my part, but I think I’ve managed to piece together the part I’m supposed to play in this from their perspective. “And the whole point of this Omega business is to improve your standing with the king, yes? To prove to him you’re worthy of inheriting the throne. Are you with me so far?”

“I am.” Logan’s eyes narrow at the open condescension in my tone. “But watch yourself, Omega.”

I swallow back a snappy retort. If Logan expects me to stay quiet in the face of his complete idiocy, then he should just kick me out go the palace now and get it over with.

“What do you think it will do to your social standing if all anyone talks about for the next month is how pathetic it is that your Omega only has one dress to wear to court?” I wait a beat, searching their faces for any hint of understanding. “You’ll all be laughingstocks. It may be difficult to convince the king that you’re fit to reign over a court that thinks of you as its fool.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, she isn’t wrong.” Cillian types a few words onto his tablet, frowning in slight consternation. “And no dressmaker worth the effort will be available with so little notice.”

A beat of silence follows before Logan collapses back in his chair with a sound of annoyance. “Fuck. How did you not anticipate this would be a problem?”

Cillian breaks his normally rigid equanimity with a sarcastic retort. “Forgive my lack of insight into the political machinations surrounding formal Omega presentations. Itdidn’t occur to me that a dress might trigger this much of a crisis.”

“Guess they teach more at the Enclave than how to take a knot without choking on it,” Ares quips because trust him to take no situation entirely seriously. “Or maybe I’m just thinking of the Omega roleplay porno that Poe likes to watch.”

“Fuck you, Ares.” Poe snarls.

Ares laughs. “Anytime, brother. But only if I can be on top.”

They joke and posture as if none of this matters at all.

I was one of the most promising Omegas that the Enclave has ever seen. Top of my class. If any Omega should have been able to find the pack of her dreams, it’s me.

The enormity of it all finally settles over me. I’d escaped a horror, one that I’d compartmentalized to the deepest part of my psyche in order to survive, only to tie myself to a group of immature Alphas with barely a single brain cell between them and enough adolescent hormones to drown us all.

Spoiled children in the bodies of behemoths.

Overgrown fucking babies.

This situation is ridiculous. And so critical to my success that it makes me want to weep as the reality of what I’ve allowed my life to become suddenly crashes over me.

I jerk away from the table, chair scraping against the floor. “I need some air.”

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