Page 135 of Run Little Omega

"My prince," he says, bowing slightly. "Forgive the interruption, but there's a situation in the lower quarters. The omega servants..." He hesitates, glancing uncertainly at me. "They're displaying unusual magical manifestations. The steward requests your immediate presence."

Cadeyrn and Lady Lysandra exchange a significant look. "It's spreading faster than we anticipated," she murmurs.

"What's spreading?" I ask, placing a protective hand over my belly where the little ones have gone suspiciously still, as if listening.

"Come and see," Cadeyrn says, offering his arm. "This concerns you directly."

---

The lower quarters of the Winter Palace are markedly different from the austere grandeur of the upper levels. Here, the ice walls are unadorned, the corridors narrower, the ceilings lower. Servant omegas live segregated from the general population, accessible when needed but otherwise invisible to court society.

At least, that was the intention.

What we find is something else entirely.

The central gathering hall where omegas take their meals has been transformed. Frost patterns cover every surface—walls, tables, floor, ceiling—in elaborate spirals and whorls that pulse with soft blue-white light. And at the center of it all, a dozen omegas stand in a loose circle, their hands linked, cillae flowing visibly across their skin.

Not claiming marks. Something new. Something wild.

The steward, a severe-looking beta with traditional Winter Court coloring, wrings his hands as we enter. "It started this morning, my prince. One of the kitchen omegas developed these... markings. By midday, it had spread to three others. Now..." He gestures helplessly to the gathered omegas, who haven't acknowledged our presence at all, their eyes closed in what appears to be deep concentration.

I move closer, drawn by something I can't quite name. The cillae covering these omegas are unmistakably similar to my own—not identical, but echoing the same wild, untamed quality that appeared after Cadeyrn's claiming.

"What are they doing?" I ask softly.

As if in response, the cillae brighten, and a shimmering apparition forms above the circle—a three-dimensional map of the Winter Palace, rendered in light and ice crystals. Every corridor, chamber, and passageway appears in perfect detail, including several I'm certain aren't on any official palace schematic.

"Impossible," the steward breathes. "Omegas cannot perform collective magic. It's forbidden. It's?—"

"Not forbidden," Lady Lysandra corrects quietly. "Forgotten. Deliberately erased from court memory."

The omegas finally seem to notice our presence. Their circle opens, and a tall, slender woman with silver-streaked black hair steps forward. Unlike the others, her clothing marks her as a personal attendant rather than a kitchen or cleaning omega. Her cillae are more pronounced, spiraling across her face and neck in elaborate designs that pulse with blue-white light.

"Prince Cadeyrn," she acknowledges with a slight bow, then turns to me. Her eyes widen slightly, cillae brightening as they recognize mine. "And Lady Briar. We've been waiting for you."

"You know my name," I say, surprised. We haven't been formally introduced to the servant staff.

"Everyone knows your name," she replies with a small smile. "The human omega who carries four lives within her. The one who walks beside the prince instead of behind him. The catalyst."

The word sends a shiver through me. "Catalyst for what?"

Instead of answering directly, she gestures to the shimmering map above them. "We've been mapping the palace—all of it, including the sections hidden from most. The birth chambers you seek aren't just contested; they're being modified by court physicians loyal to Lord Frostbaine."

Cadeyrn steps forward, his expression darkening. "Modified how?"

"To contain and redirect the ancient power," another omega explains, her cillae flaring with apparent anger. "To channel the Wild Magic from the births into containers for court use. The little ones would be... drained."

Ice forms at Cadeyrn's fingertips, crackling with barely contained fury. "Show me exactly where these modifications are being made."

The map shifts, focusing on a section of the palace I haven't visited—deep below the main structure, where the walls are thickest and the magic oldest. Glowing points indicate specific locations where alterations are underway.

"We discovered this through the servant passages," the first omega explains. "Court physicians don't notice omegas coming and going—we're furniture to them, not people. But we see everything."

"How many of you have developed these abilities?" Lady Lysandra asks, gesturing to their cillae.

"Thirty-four as of this morning," she replies. "More awakening each day. It started after Lady Briar arrived, but accelerated when she addressed the council directly. When she touched the Frost Throne."

I remember that moment—the throne responding to my touch, cillae spreading across its crystalline surface and throughout the chamber. Apparently, its effects reached further than anyone realized.

---