Page 157 of Run Little Omega

Later, in our private chambers, Cadeyrn paces while I sit by the window, watching cillae form and dissolve across the glass in response to my proximity.

"We should have questioned them more thoroughly," he says, cillae shifting restlessly across his skin. "Especially the farm girl. Her story doesn't align with what we know of the Summer Court's treatment of failed breeding stock."

"Nessa," I correct him, unwilling to strip her identity even while acknowledging my own suspicions. "And yes, something's off. But we couldn't exactly interrogate them after they came seeking sanctuary."

"Why not?" His eyes flash, momentarily more predator than prince. "These are dangerous times, Briar. The courts unite against us, our allies are few, and suddenly three omegas appear with tales of forest guidance and magical visions?"

"Omegas I knew from the Hunt," I remind him. "Omegas I helped."

"Which makes them perfect tools to use against you." He stops pacing, cillae stabilizing as he brings himself under control. "Your compassion is both your greatest strength and your most exploitable weakness."

The assessment stings because it's true. I've survived by calculation and strategic thinking, yet I've always risked everything to help others—disguising myself as Willow to save my dying friend, creating diversions to help other omegas escape during the Hunt, even returning to the Vale of Culling to confront the horror of what Cadeyrn authorized.

"What would you have me do?" I ask. "Turn them away? Execute them based on suspicion?"

"No." He comes to sit beside me, cillae reaching toward mine where our skin nearly touches. "But we can be vigilant. We can watch without seeming to watch. Especially now, with the babes so close to arrival."

His hand rests on my belly, where the little ones shift in response to his touch. Four distinct movements, four elements seeking balance. Through our bond, I sense his fierce protective instinct, an alpha preparing to defend his offspring—but tempered now with the strategic mind of a prince who has survived centuries of court intrigue.

"Flora and Mira seem genuine," I say, covering his hand with mine. "Their reactions, their awakening patterns—I can feel the Wild Magic responding in them."

"And Nessa?"

I hesitate. "There's something she's not telling us. Whether it's danger or simply fear, I can't be certain."

"Then we watch her most carefully." His fingers thread through mine, cillae merging where our skin meets. "While we prepare for what's coming."

What's coming. The allied courts gathering at our borders. The birth of our children. The next phase of transformation for the Wild Magic that flows through us both.

I lean against him, drawing strength from his solidity beside me. "Something bigger is happening, isn't it? Beyond just us and our transformation?"

"Yes." His voice is thoughtful, his gaze distant as if seeing beyond the chamber walls. "The awakening omegas, the forest's intervention, the courts' unprecedented alliance against us. The Wild Magic isn't just returning to us—it's spreading, reclaiming what was divided centuries ago."

"And we're the catalyst." The realization settles in my bones like molten metal taking shape. "The blacksmith's apprentice who refused to be a victim. The Winter Prince who broke seven centuries of control."

"The vessels for something ancient returning." His arm slides around me, protective yet acknowledging my strength rather than attempting to shield it. "Something the courts have feared since they first divided the magic and enslaved omegas to control it."

Through the window, the crimson moon rises over the Winter Court. Two days until the babes arrive, according to Lysandra. Two days to prepare for a birth that will either destroy everything—or remake it entirely.

"We should have Lysandra examine them," I say, practical instincts surfacing through uncertainty. "Assess their abilities, verify their pregnancies, ensure they aren't carrying anything... unexpected into the palace."

"Agreed." Cadeyrn nods, his tactical mind aligning with mine. "And I'll have the guards watch their movements, disguised as protection rather than surveillance."

"The palace itself might help us," I add, watching cillae shift across the ceiling in response to our conversation. "It seems... aware of threats now."

As if confirming my observation, the very walls of our chamber pulse with subtle patterns, frost configurations becoming more intricate, more alert. The stone beneath us feels alive, responsive to our presence in ways that both comfort and unsettle.

"Two days," Cadeyrn murmurs, fingers tracing patterns across my belly where the little ones move beneath his touch. "Two days until everything changes."

"Again," I add with a wry smile. "Seems like everything's been changing since I swapped places with Willow and entered the Hunt wearing someone else's face."

His answering smile carries both pride and wonder. "The omega who refused her fate, who hunted back, who awakened Wild Magic from seven centuries of slumber." His hand cradles my face, thumb brushing my lower lip. "Who remade a Winter Prince in her image."

"Remade us both," I correct him, leaning into his touch. "Into something neither of us could have imagined."

Outside our window, the crimson moon bathes the Winter Court in blood-red light—the same moon that witnessed our first claiming in the forest, that has watched over each transformation since. Two days until our children arrive. Two days to prepare for whatever comes next.

And somewhere in the palace, three awakening omegas whose arrival might herald ally or threat—or both. But for tonight, in this moment, I allow myself to lean into Cadeyrn's strength, to draw comfort from the Wild Magic flowing between us, binding us together against whatever comes.

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