Page 178 of Run Little Omega

Frost explodes from my hands not in delicate patterns but in raw, jagged shards. The first hunter falls, impaled through the chest. The second staggers back, leg encased in ice. The third reaches me just as another contraction hits, his hands closing around my throat.

"Submit, omega," he hisses, iron-laced gloves burning against my skin. "The courts decide what lives and dies."

"No," I choke out, the word barely audible. "We do."

Wren strikes with unexpected speed, driving a surgical blade into the hunter's eye. He falls with a strangled scream, hands clutching at his face. She doesn't pause, doesn't hesitate—just puts her shoulder under my arm and carries me forward.

"The doors," she urges, strain showing in her voice. "We need to reach the throne."

Five paces. Four. Three. A contraction drops me to my knees again, this one accompanied by unmistakable pressure. The fire-child comes now, waiting for no one and nothing.

"I can't—" My voice breaks as my body demands I push. "They're coming now."

"The throne," Wren insists, her voice firm. "Just a few more steps. I'll help you."

With strength I didn't know I possessed, I drag myself forward. Two paces. One. My hand touches the throne room door just as the pressure becomes unbearable. I push with both body and magic, a scream tearing from my throat that's as much grief as pain.

The doors swing open, revealing chaos beyond. The throne room has become a battlefield—loyal omegas fighting court hunters, frost magic against iron weapons. In the center, upon the transformed throne, Flora directs the defense, her violet eyes widening in shock as she sees me.

"Briar!" she calls, leaving her position to rush forward. "The prince?—"

"I know," I cut her off, unable to hear the words that would confirm what the severed bond already tells me. "The little ones come now."

Understanding passes across her face. Without hesitation, she barks orders to the nearest omegas, who immediately form a protective circle around us. "To the throne," she commands. "It's our only chance."

My vision narrows to the path before me—the distance between the door and the winter throne that seems impossibly far. Another contraction grips me, stronger than any before, the pressure now constant.

CHAPTER57

POV: Cadeyrn

Blood freezeson my face in delicate patterns, each crimson droplet transforming into lethal art where it touches my skin. Not my blood. Not yet. Though at this rate, it's only a matter of time before I'm adding my own to the gallery.

I move through the Winter Court's grand entryway like a storm given flesh, frost magic spiraling from my transformed body in concentric rings that shatter and reform with each ragged breath. The magic no longer obeys Winter Court's rigid geometry—instead of perfect fractals and symmetrical crystals, my power now flows in wild, organic patterns that mirror the cillae spreading across my skin.

Ahead, three Summer Court alphas fall beneath waves of ice that erupt from my outstretched hands, their golden armor cracking like thin ice on a spring pond as they freeze from within. The sound—like branches breaking under winter's first heavy snow—echoes through the fractured hall. Their flesh blackens with frostbite, eyes widening in the horrified realization that their specialized training against Winter Court magic offers no protection against what I've become.

"Secure the eastern corridor," I command the nearest Winter Guard captain, my voice carrying harmonic undertones that vibrate through the crystalline air. "No one approaches the throne room."

He salutes sharply, cillae brightening across his ceremonial armor as he barks orders to his squad. The detached part of my mind—the Prince who ruled dispassionately for seven centuries—notes the fear mingling with his obedience. Not fear of the enemy, but of me—of what I've transformed into since claiming Briar in the Bloodmoon Forest.

I don't wait to confirm their compliance, already moving toward the next wave of attackers—Autumn Court this time, their organic camouflage magic rendered useless against a palace that whispers their locations directly to my consciousness. I feel their positions through the transformed ice of the palace floor—heartbeats vibrating through ancient foundations that have awakened to my command.

The Winter Palace has become an extension of my will, ice walls shifting to trap invaders, corridors rearranging to confuse enemy formations, ceilings collapsing with strategic precision to divide attacking forces. Seven centuries of rigid, unchanging architecture now fluid and responsive, transformed by the Wild Magic that has awakened within these ancient walls.

The palace remembers what it once was, before the courts decided magic needed to be caged and labeled.

"My Prince!" A Winter Court guard calls from a side passage. "The Spring Court breaches the western wall. Their blossom-bearers dissolve our outer defenses."

I acknowledge with a sharp nod, already redirecting my strategy. Spring Court specializes in growth magic—vines that crack foundations, roots that undermine walls, blossoms that release spores to melt ice barriers. Their natural counter to Winter's frozen stillness.

But I am no longer purely Winter Court. The Wild Magic flowing through me carries aspects of all four seasons, just as the children Briar carries combine all elemental aspects into balanced whole.

Briar.

I reach through our claiming bond, seeking her distinctive magical signature amid the chaos. Her presence flickers—distant, muffled, but unmistakably alive. Fear pulses through our connection, not for herself but for the lives growing within her. She's moving rapidly through the palace depths, each pulse of her panic driving daggers of ice through my chest.

They hunt our children,I send through our bond, unsure if she receives the message through interference and distance.The vessels that might return balance to what the courts fractured.

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