Page 163 of Run Little Omega

Four lives entering a world that has spent centuries trying to prevent their existence. Birth amidst battle, new life emerging while enemies attempt to destroy everything we've built. The weight of it should crush me, should drive me to my knees with fear and uncertainty.

"Yes," Cadeyrn agrees, his transformed frame radiating controlled power beside me. "Everything we've prepared for. Everything the courts have feared."

I should be terrified. Should be overcome with anxiety about all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong. Instead, a strange calm settles over me as I watch the preparations unfold. The awakened omegas practicing their newfound abilities. The ancient patterns glowing with increasing strength. The throne transformed beyond recognition by our claiming.

We've done everything possible to prepare. Created elaborate decoys to misdirect enemy forces. Restored ancient protections designed specifically for royal births during times of crisis. Awakened allies the courts never anticipated.

If Nessa's betrayal leads to attack sooner than expected, we'll face it. If The Collector comes seeking trophies for his disturbing collection, he'll find I'm not so easily added to his shrine. If the allied courts bring weapons designed specifically to combat Wild Magic, we'll counter them. If the birth triggers magical discharge beyond what the failsafe can contain...well, we'll deal with that too.

For now, watching cillae spread across the floor in elaborate designs that pulse with the combined heartbeats of the four lives within me, I allow myself to believe.

We might actually pull this off.

CHAPTER54

POV: Briar

Nightfall feelsdifferent after Nessa's betrayal. The Winter Palace no longer sleeps. Instead, it seems to breathe with renewed urgency—inhaling defensive magic, exhaling preparatory fury. Frost patterns spread across walls faster than before, brighter, like veins carrying Wild Magic through the palace's very bones. The structure itself seems to understand what's coming.

I stand at our chamber window, tracing my fingers along intricate ice formations. They respond to my touch with flares of color I couldn't have imagined when I first arrived—spring green, summer gold, autumn amber, all rushing beneath winter blue like blood through opened veins. The night sky beyond the glass hangs heavy with stars, their cold light revealing distant movement at the tree line. Court scouts. Preparing.

"You're thinking too loudly," Cadeyrn says from the bed, his bare chest illuminated by pulsing cillae that cast ghostly blue shadows across the chamber.

I don't turn, keeping my eyes fixed on the distant forest edge. "Someone has to," I reply, fingers still moving along the responding frost. "Three allied courts gathering at our borders, a spy who knows our hidden defenses, and The Collector himself hunting for trophies from my body." My hand moves instinctively to my belly, where the four little ones shift restlessly beneath my skin. "Not to mention these Wild Magic vessels who could decide to arrive at the worst possible moment."

In the frosted window glass, I catch my own reflection—a woman I barely recognize. The copper-haired blacksmith from Thornwick has transformed into something not quite human, not fully fae. Pointed ears peek through silver-threaded hair. Amber eyes now contain fractals of ice blue. My skin, once marked with forge burns and calluses, now bears intricate cillae that pulse with four distinct rhythms that match the lives growing within me.

The transformation that began during my unexpected heat has accelerated everything, leaving my skin constantly warm despite the Winter Court's perpetual chill. My newly pointed ears detect sounds that would have been impossible in my human form—the whisper of frost forming on distant windows, the subtle creaks of the palace shifting its defenses, the heartbeats of the quadruplets, each with its own distinct rhythm.

"Come to bed," Cadeyrn says, his voice gentler than I'm used to hearing from the former Winter Prince. Something has shifted between us since the throne room claiming—a vulnerability now visible in quiet moments like this, as if the Wild Magic stripped away more than just his physical form.

I stand motionless, unable to set aside the practical concerns that have kept me alive since childhood. "The escape paths for the awakened omegas?—"

"Are complete," he finishes. "Lysandra has established safe routes through the ancient tunnels. Those who choose to leave will have clear passage beyond court territories. The supplies are positioned at three-mile intervals as you suggested."

"The birth chamber defenses?—"

"Deliberately obvious, as planned." A hint of that predatory smile crosses his face, visible in the window's reflection. "The allies will find exactly the trap we've laid for them."

"And the throne room?—"

"Ready." His reflection rises from the bed, moving toward me with the fluid grace of something no longer bound by ordinary constraints. Frost patterns extend from his fingertips toward me, brilliant blue shot through with other elemental colors. "As ready as it can be. Now come to bed, Briar. Whatever tomorrow brings, we face it stronger after rest."

The logic is impeccable, and my body aches with exhaustion despite my mind's endless calculations. I turn from the window, crossing to the bed where furs and fabrics have been piled to accommodate my changing form. I sink into them with a sigh that seems to release weeks of tension, my limbs suddenly leaden with the weight of preparation and anticipation.

The little ones settle almost immediately as I lie down, as if sensing the need for these precious hours of peace before chaos descends. I curl against Cadeyrn's side, his transformed body radiating a surprising warmth that contradicts everything I once believed about the Winter Prince. Seven centuries of perfect control transformed into something wilder, more potent. Something ancient awakening after long dormancy.

"What if it doesn't work?" I whisper into the darkness, voicing the fear I've kept locked behind practical planning and strategic assessments. "What if the throne room's ancient magic isn't enough? What if the courts breach our defenses before the birth is complete?"

His arms tighten around me, cillae synchronizing where our skin meets. The familiar sensation of our bond strengthening floods through me—not the oppressive claim of an alpha over an omega, but something mutual, something we've forged together through blood and magic and stubborn survival.

"Then we adapt," he says simply. "We fight. We protect what's ours by any means necessary."

I shift, placing my palm against his chest where cillae trace the history of his transformation. No longer the rigid geometric designs of Winter Court precision, but whorls and spirals that incorporate all seasonal elements.

"I'm not afraid of fighting," I clarify, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath my hand. "I've been fighting since I picked up my first hammer at eight years old." My voice hardens with Thornwick iron. "I'm afraid of losing. Of The Collector getting his hands on one of our children. Of everything we've built burning to ash before it has a chance to grow."

Cadeyrn shifts, turning to face me fully. The darkness doesn't hinder my transformed sight; I see him clearly—the sharp angles of his face now softened by transformation, the ice-blue eyes now shot through with gold and green, the cillae that no longer follow rigid court designs.

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