Page 184 of Run Little Omega

The binding magic. The thought of such power in the hands of someone determined to maintain court separation sends another wave of dread through me. Without Cadeyrn to complete our bond... without his blood to activate the throne room's protection...

The emptiness in my chest where he should be yawns wider, a void cold enough to freeze tears before they fall. I push the grief down, locking it away behind the practical calculations that have kept me alive when emotion would have killed me.

Another contraction seizes me, this one dropping me to my knees on the cold stone. The fire child descends further, magma-hot and impatient to enter a world that doesn't deserve its raw power.

"We're close," Wren says, kneeling beside me with professional efficiency. "But this babe won't wait much longer."

"It has to," I gasp, fighting against biology's inexorable progression. "Not here. Not in a bloody service corridor."

With Flora and Wren supporting me from either side, I force myself upright again. The throne room represents our only hope—its ancient protection designed to shield royal births during crisis. Without Cadeyrn to activate it properly, the protection will be incomplete, but still better than nothing.

We emerge from the hidden passage into a grand corridor I recognize—the ceremonial approach to the throne room itself. Massive ice doors loom at the end, carved with the history of the Winter Court in intricate patterns that now pulse with awakened magic.

"Almost there," Flora whispers, relief evident in her voice. "The others have been holding it for hours."

Three more steps, and disaster strikes. From a side passage, a group of court loyalists emerges—omegas and court guards working in tandem, cillae muted by their allegiance to court limitations.

"The vessel approaches the throne," one calls, ice spear materializing in his grip. "Stop her!"

I straighten as much as my laboring body allows, Wild Magic gathering around me in swirling currents despite my exhaustion. "I've come too far to be stopped by court puppets who can't see the leash around their own necks."

The battle erupts with brutal efficiency. Flora launches herself at the nearest guard, violet eyes blazing with conviction as ice daggers form between her fingers. Wren pulls me back, shielding my belly with her own body as frost magic fills the corridor with deadly beauty.

For a midwife without combat training, she moves with surprising confidence, using her knowledge of anatomy to guide us through the chaos. "The door," she urges, keeping me against the wall where protection is greatest. "We just need to reach it."

A loyalist omega breaks through the defensive line, frost spear aimed directly at my heart. Time slows, my depleted magic responding too sluggishly to form an adequate shield. In that suspended moment, I think of Cadeyrn—of the emptiness where our bond should be, of the children about to enter the world without knowing their father's face.

Then a small figure hurls herself into the path of the spear.

Mira.

The frost weapon takes her in the shoulder, the impact throwing her against me with enough force to stagger us both backward. Blood blooms across her chest, freezing instantly in crimson crystals that fracture with each labored breath.

"No!" I catch her as she falls, lowering her to the ground as gently as my pregnant body allows. "Mira, why?"

Her hazel eyes meet mine, pain and something like peace mingling in their depths. "You saved me in the forest," she whispers, blood bubbling between frost-pale lips. "Showed me I was more than just... a vessel."

"And you're still more," I tell her fiercely, frost magic gathering at my fingertips as I try to stabilize the wound. "Hold on. We'll get you help."

She smiles—too serene, too accepting for one so young. "The babes need you more. Go." Her gaze shifts to something behind me, eyes widening slightly. "They've opened the door."

I turn to see the massive throne room doors swinging inward, loyal omegas beckoning urgently from within. Safety, so close I can taste it on the air—the distinctive resonance of Wild Magic flowing freely without court constraints.

"I can't leave you," I tell Mira, even as another contraction builds, this one strong enough to steal my breath and bend my spine. "Not after everything?—"

"You can," she interrupts, her small hand finding mine with surprising strength. "Because that's what this has always been about. Choice. And I choose this."

Flora appears at my side, her face grim with the reality of battlefield choices. "She's right. We need to move now, while the path is clear."

With aching reluctance, I allow them to pull me away from Mira's broken form. Each step toward the throne room doors feels like betrayal, abandoning yet another omega to court brutality. Another sister sacrificed on the altar of survival.

"Remember her," Flora says quietly as we cross the threshold. "Remember all of them. That's how we make this matter."

The massive doors swing closed behind us, loyal omegas channeling frost magic to seal the entrance against pursuit. For the moment, we're secured within the throne room—the heart of Winter Court power now transformed by the Wild Magic we've awakened.

"Get her to the throne," someone calls, and I'm guided forward in a procession that feels both urgent and ceremonial.

The throne itself awaits—transformed beyond recognition since our claiming just days ago. No longer the stark symbol of Winter Court isolation, but something wilder, truer. Ice veined with living color that shifts like slow lightning beneath the surface, all four seasonal courts represented in perfect balance rather than separation.

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