Page 145 of Run Little Omega

Cadeyrn's posture doesn't change, but I feel the subtle shift in his energy—the predator beneath the prince, alert and assessing. "Speak plainly, Lord Frostbaine. This court has no time for delicate insinuations."

A whisper ripples through the assembled nobles. The Winter Prince of old would have engaged in the expected dance of political implication. This direct challenge to court procedure is yet another sign of Cadeyrn's transformation.

Frostbaine recovers quickly, his pale eyes narrowing. "Very well. We question your fitness to lead the Winter Court given your compromised state."

"Compromised?" Cadeyrn repeats, voice deceptively soft.

"You have succumbed to rut," Frostbaine states bluntly, gesturing toward the physical changes evident in Cadeyrn's transformed body. "Court physicians have warned for generations that rutting ages fae royalty, drains power, and clouds judgment. Yet you not only entered rut but have maintained it for an unprecedented duration."

I feel Cadeyrn's knuckles tighten where our fingers remain intertwined, the only outward sign of his tension.

"An interesting interpretation," he responds, ice lacing each word. "Especially given that I've never felt stronger. Never wielded more magic. Never seen the court's problems more clearly."

"A dangerous illusion," Frostbaine counters. "The rut-madness convinces you of increased power while actually diminishing your control. This is well-documented in court medical texts."

"Those same texts that claim omegas exist solely as vessels for ancient bloodlines?" I interject before I can stop myself. "The ones that recommend disposing of 'unsuitable' omegas and their unborn children like trash?"

The chamber temperature plummets as Frostbaine's gaze shifts to me, cold fury etched across his perfect features. "The human omega speaks out of turn. This violates all court protocol."

"The human omega," Cadeyrn says, voice like shattered ice, "is your princess consort and will be afforded every respect due that position."

Frostbaine's lip curls slightly. "A temporary position, surely. Once she delivers the vessels of power, proper arrangements can be made for their court rearing. The omega herself is irrelevant beyond her function."

The casual cruelty of it hits me like a physical blow. Not just the suggestion that I'll be discarded after birth—I expected that—but the implication that my children will be taken from me, raised by the same court that authorized atrocities for centuries.

Something snaps inside me, a dam breaking to release magic I've barely begun to understand. Frost explodes from my fingertips, spreading across the throne room floor in jagged crystalline patterns that race directly toward Frostbaine. The temperature drops so rapidly that moisture in the air solidifies, creating a momentary snowfall inside the chamber.

"You will never touch my children," I snarl, rising to my feet despite the weight of my belly. The little ones respond to my surge of protective fury, their movements inside me growing more vigorous as if preparing for battle themselves. "You will never come near them."

Frostbaine's eyes widen as he watches the frost approach his feet, blue-white tendrils reaching for him with obvious intent. Then his expression hardens into something calculating.

"You see?" he addresses the court at large, carefully stepping aside from my magical assault. "The omega displays uncontrolled power—Wild Magic that threatens our court's very foundations. These abominations she carries must be properly contained, studied, and harnessed when they emerge."

"Abominations?" I echo, the word striking deeper than any physical blow could. The cillae across my skin pulse with matching fury, blue-white light illuminating the chamber in violent bursts. "You ignorant, narrow-minded?—"

Cadeyrn's hand on my arm stops me. Not restraining, just steadying. I glance at him, expecting to see caution, a reminder of court protocol. Instead, his eyes burn with a rage that makes mine look like a candle beside a forest fire.

"Choose your next words with extreme care, Lord Frostbaine," Cadeyrn says, his voice carrying the crack of breaking ice. "You walk a dangerous path."

Instead of heeding the warning, Frostbaine makes a fatal miscalculation. He moves toward me, one hand extended as if to demonstrate to the court how dangerous I am. "The omega clearly cannot control?—"

He never finishes the sentence.

Cadeyrn moves faster than should be physically possible, covering the distance between the throne and Frostbaine in a blur of motion that leaves frost trails in the air behind him. One moment the lord stands before the court, the next Cadeyrn's hand—transformed before everyone's eyes into something with elongated fingers and crystalline claws—pierces his chest cavity with a wet, sickening crunch.

The chamber falls deathly silent as everyone processes what they're witnessing. Frostbaine looks down in shock at the arm buried wrist-deep in his chest cavity, then up at Cadeyrn's face—cold, remote, utterly without mercy.

"I warned you," Cadeyrn says, his voice carrying clearly in the stunned silence. "No one threatens my mate or my children."

But he doesn't simply withdraw his hand. Instead, frost explodes outward from the point of impact, encasing Frostbaine's internal organs in a dense layer of Winter Court ice. Then, in a display of magic that shouldn't be possible for a Winter fae, flames erupt from Cadeyrn's other hand—Summer Court fire, golden and unnaturally hot, the heat so intense it makes the air waver around his fingers.

With terrifying precision, he plunges his flame-wreathed hand into Frostbaine's abdomen, creating a second gaping wound. The conflicting magics—ice and fire—battle within the lord's body, causing his flesh to crack and blister simultaneously. Frostbaine's scream echoes through the chamber, his perfect features contorted in agony.

Still not finished, Cadeyrn withdraws both hands only to press them together, creating a swirling vortex of magic that incorporates not just Winter and Summer, but ribbons of Spring Court growth and Autumn Court decay. The Wild Magic spirals around his hands, cillae pulsing across his skin in violent rhythm.

"For your threat against my children," Cadeyrn declares, "I ensure you will never return."

He thrusts both hands back into Frostbaine's chest, releasing the combined seasonal magics directly into his heart. The effect is instantaneous and horrific. Frostbaine's body begins to transform from within—ice bursting through skin, flowers blooming from the cracks only to wither immediately into dust, flesh simultaneously burning and freezing in a grotesque display of magical destruction.

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