Page 132 of Run Little Omega

Before anyone can object further, he guides me up the steps of the dais until we stand directly before the throne. This close, I can see that the crystalline structure is not static but subtly shifting, like ice in the first moments of melt.

"Watch," Cadeyrn murmurs to the assembled court, then places my hand directly on the arm of the throne.

The effect is immediate and spectacular. Frost patterns identical to those on my skin bloom across the entire throne, spreading outward in intricate spirals that pulse with blue-white light. The chamber fills with the sound of ice cracking, not destructively but like a glacier shifting after centuries of stasis.

The nobles fall back, expressions ranging from awe to terror. Only Lady Lysandra remains where she stands, her pale eyes wide with what might be recognition.

"The throne acknowledges her," she says, her voice carrying clearly through the stunned silence. "It responds to the Wild Magic in her blood."

"Not just in her blood," Cadeyrn corrects. "In the blood of the children she carries. Children with markers from all four courts, reuniting what was divided."

The uproar is immediate and chaotic—voices raised in denial, in outrage, in confusion. Through it all, the throne continues to pulse with light that matches the rhythm of my heartbeat and the cillae across my skin.

A young attendant approaches through the tumult, bearing a silver tray with a single crystal goblet. "Refreshment for the omega," he announces, eyes carefully lowered. "As tradition demands for those recognized by the throne."

I reach for the goblet automatically, parched after our long journey, but Cadeyrn's hand closes around my wrist with gentle restraint. He takes the goblet himself and raises it slightly, appearing to study the liquid within. His nostrils flare once, subtly, then his cillae flare bright beneath his skin.

In a movement too swift for most to follow, he seizes the attendant by the back of the neck and presses the goblet to his lips. "Drink," he commands, voice hard as midwinter ice.

The attendant struggles briefly, then goes still as Cadeyrn's grip tightens. "My prince, I?—"

"Drink the wine you offered my mate, or I will force it down your throat," Cadeyrn says, each word precisely enunciated. "Show the court the hospitality you intended for her."

The chamber has gone deathly silent, every eye fixed on the unfolding drama. The attendant's face has lost what little color it possessed, his eyes darting frantically to someone in the crowd—Lord Frostbaine, I notice, who has gone similarly pale.

"I was only following—" the attendant begins.

"Drink," Cadeyrn repeats, pressing the goblet more firmly against his lips.

With trembling hands, the attendant takes the goblet and swallows a single sip. The effect is almost instantaneous. He drops the crystal, which shatters on the ice floor, dark red liquid spreading like blood. His hands fly to his throat as his face contorts in agony. Frost spreads rapidly from his lips across his skin, blackening as it travels through his veins. Within seconds, he collapses, his body already stiffening with unnatural frost.

Cadeyrn steps over him without a second glance, addressing the shocked assembly. "Poison at a formal council gathering," he says, his voice deceptively mild. "How... uncivilized. One might almost call it heresy against court protocols."

His gaze fixes on Lord Frostbaine, who has edged toward the chamber doors. "Stand fast, my lord," Cadeyrn commands. "We have much to discuss regarding court hospitality. And other matters."

The children shift violently within me, responding to the surge of power that radiates from Cadeyrn. I place a steadying hand over them, acutely aware of how exposed we are despite the throne's apparent recognition.

Cadeyrn turns to face the entire council, one hand resting possessively at the small of my back. "Let me be perfectly clear," he says, frost gathering around him like a visible manifestation of his authority. "The traditional practices of the Hunt have been corrupted. The culling of omegas and their offspring will cease, effective immediately."

Murmurs of protest rise from several quarters, but fall silent as Cadeyrn's power flares visibly around him.

"I have seen the Vale of Culling," he continues, his voice hardening. "I have witnessed what was done in the name of bloodline purity. The disposal of omegas deemed unsuitable. The termination of viable offspring for political convenience. The deliberate contamination of human water sources with magical waste."

The chamber temperature plummets further as he speaks, ice crackling along the walls. Several of the older nobles exchange alarmed glances, while others look merely confused—the younger generation, perhaps, kept ignorant of the court's darkest practices.

A broad-shouldered alpha with unusually fluid movement steps forward from the eastern alcove. "Bold declarations from one who authorized these very practices for centuries," he says, his reflective eyes catching the light strangely. "Did your conscience only awaken when it became convenient, Prince Cadeyrn?"

I recognize him immediately from descriptions whispered among the omegas during the Hunt—The Hound's sire, a fae alpha born to a human omega during a previous Hunt who somehow survived childbirth. His features reflect perfect fae beauty tempered by something almost human in expression. Around him, the air seems to shift and ripple, as though reality itself bends slightly in his presence.

"Lord Huntsman," Cadeyrn acknowledges. "My conscience awoke when I finally witnessed what I had authorized. An oversight I intend to correct."

"These atrocities end now," Cadeyrn declares. "Any who continue such practices will answer directly to me. Not as your prince, but as something the courts have forgotten how to recognize."

As if responding to his words, the cillae covering the throne pulse once, brilliantly, illuminating the chamber with blinding blue-white light. When it fades, the patterns have spread beyond the throne to the floor and walls, creating a network of luminous lines that seem to beat in time with my heart.

"The Wild Hunt returns," Cadeyrn says into the stunned silence. "Not as a breeding program, not as entertainment for court alphas, but as it was meant to be—transformation for both realms."

Lady Lysandra steps forward, her gaze moving between Cadeyrn and me with new understanding. "The prophecy," she says softly. "The return of unified magic through blood freely given rather than forcibly taken."

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