Page 133 of Run Little Omega

"What prophecy?" Lord Frostbaine demands, his voice shrill with fear or outrage.

"One the court has worked very hard to suppress," she replies, a faint smile touching her lips. "Along with much else."

She approaches the dais slowly, her movements deliberately non-threatening, and kneels before me. The gesture sends shock rippling through the assembly—a court noble kneeling to a human omega.

"I offer my services for the birthing," she says formally. "As healer and witness to what comes."

Before I can respond, the massive doors at the chamber's entrance crash open. Court guards pour in, their armor gleaming with Winter Court insignia, weapons at the ready.

"Perfect timing," Cadeyrn remarks dryly, turning to face this new threat without releasing his protective hold on me. "We were just discussing the future of the Winter Court. Care to participate constructively, or shall we continue with tedious posturing?"

The guard captain advances, his helmet concealing all but his eyes, which remain fixed on Cadeyrn. "Prince Cadeyrn," he acknowledges with minimal deference. "The High Council of the Four Courts demands your immediate surrender and the termination of the abomination you harbor."

Cadeyrn's laugh holds no humor. "The High Council is welcome to make demands. From a safe distance, preferably. Those who approach my mate with harmful intent tend to meet unfortunate ends."

His words carry undeniable weight after the displays of brutality during the Hunt. The systematic execution of Lord Varen Halvesbain, frozen from within until his heart burst. The Summer Court alpha Lords whose shadows he consumed with winter light. The way he'd turned Lord Klairs Thorn into a crystalline warning display that sent even the most hardened alphas fleeing. Each kill more elaborate than the last, each body arranged as territorial markers that even the most ancient alphas recognized with instinctive dread.

As if to emphasize his point, frost spreads from his feet across the floor, encircling the guard captain's boots. The man looks down, then back at Cadeyrn, calculation visible in his narrowed eyes.

"Consider your position, Prince Cadeyrn," he says. "You are outnumbered. The Wild Magic you've awakened is unpredictable, dangerous. Surrender now, and the omega will be treated humanely."

"You misunderstand," Cadeyrn replies, cillae brightening across his skin as the masking salve fades entirely. "I am not negotiating. I am informing you of how things will proceed. The Winter Court returns to its origins. The cullings end. My mate and our children will be accorded every protection due royal blood."

He turns slightly, addressing the nobles who have drawn back toward the walls. "Those who accept these terms may remain and serve the renewed court. Those who object are free to seek residence with Summer, Spring, or Autumn—assuming they'll have you."

For a long moment, the chamber hangs in perfect stillness, balanced on the knife-edge of violence. Then Lady Lysandra rises gracefully from her kneeling position.

"The healer's guild stands with the prince," she announces. "And with his mate."

One by one, other nobles step forward—fewer than half, but more than I expected. The rest cluster behind the guards, faces tight with fear or calculation.

Lord Frostbaine pushes through the crowd, his thin face twisted with loathing. "This is treason against all four courts," he spits. "Wild Magic was contained for good reason. It's chaotic, uncontrollable. It will destroy everything we've built."

"Perhaps," Cadeyrn acknowledges with surprising calm. "Or perhaps it will transform it into something better. Either way, change comes, whether you welcome it or not."

CHAPTER47

POV: Briar

The Winter Palacereminds me of that time Fergus made me polish a steel sword for three straight days—beautiful, shiny, and about as much fun as watching ice melt. Three days after our dramatic "surprise, we're not dead" entrance into the council chamber, this impression has only deepened. The endless corridors of polished ice, the geometric precision of every archway and alcove, the eerie silence that permeates even the busiest halls—it's like they're allergic to anything resembling actual life.

Which makes the whispers that follow me all the more startling, and honestly, kind of amusing.

"There she goes," I hear as I pass a group of serving staff, their voices barely audible. "The omega who stands beside the prince."

"They say she confronted the council directly," another murmurs. "Looked Lord Frostbaine in the eye without permission."

I keep my expression neutral as I continue down the corridor, one hand resting on my swollen belly where the little ones shift restlessly. My body has continued its accelerated changes, silver threads now dominating my copper hair, cillae pulsing visibly across any exposed skin. I look about six months pregnant, though it's been less than three weeks since Cadeyrn first claimed me in the forest.

The children respond to my thoughts with a series of kicks, one of them landing directly under my ribs with enough force to make me wince.

"Easy there, little warriors," I murmur, turning down a less populated hallway. "Save your fighting for after you're born."

I'm heading toward the eastern wing where Lady Lysandra has established a makeshift sanctuary for us. Not quite the birthing chambers Cadeyrn originally planned—those remain under guard by court forces loyal to the elder council—but a suitable alternative with reinforced walls and magical protections. The perfect place to wait out what has essentially become a cold civil war within the Winter Court.

Two young omegas pass me in the corridor, their eyes downcast as protocol demands. But just as they move beyond me, one glances back, her gaze meeting mine with an intensity that startles me. In that brief moment, I notice something unexpected—cillae, barely visible but unmistakable, tracing delicate lines along her jawline.

She looks away quickly, hurrying after her companion, but the impression lingers. That wasn't a claiming mark—it was something else. Something new.

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