Page 82 of Run Little Omega

And maybe, just maybe, something worth fighting for.

CHAPTER29

POV: Cadeyrn

I watch her sleep,this copper-haired anomaly who has torn through seven centuries of my carefully constructed control. Briar's body curls toward mine even in slumber, cillae shimmering across her skin in the dim light of our forest shelter. The silver threads woven through her hair catch the moonlight filtering through the canopy, creating a halo effect I find impossible to look away from.

Never in my long life did I imagine I would enter rut—let alone stay in it for this long. Court physicians had warned for generations that succumbing to primal urges ages fae royalty, each rut draining centuries from our lifespans. Yet here I am, stronger than I've ever been, my body transformed not into weakness but primal power.

I trace a finger along the frost pattern adorning her shoulder, feeling the responding pulse of magic between us. Her breathing changes—not quite waking, but responding to my touch even in sleep. The connection frightens me in ways battle never could. I've faced countless enemies across my centuries, but none have breached my defenses like this blacksmith's apprentice masquerading as a sacrifice.

"Stop thinking so loudly," Briar murmurs, her eyes still closed. "Your brooding is waking me up."

I hadn't realized our connection had grown strong enough for her to sense my thoughts so easily. Another unpredicted development in this unprecedented situation.

"I don't brood," I inform her, watching as her lips curve into that defiant smile that first caught my attention across the Gathering Circle. "I contemplate."

She snorts, amber eyes fluttering open with flecks of ice-blue that mirror my own. "Is that what you call staring at me while radiating enough anxiety to freeze the forest?"

Her directness both irritates and enthralls me. No one at court would dare address me with so much insolence—another reason our situation is so dangerously intoxicating.

"You should sleep while you can," I say, brushing a strand of copper hair from her face. "Dawn is still hours away."

"Hard to sleep with you watching me like that." She stretches languidly, the movement drawing my attention to the elegant arch of her neck where my claiming marks have scarred into permanent evidence of our bond.

Something primal in me—something I never knew existed before meeting her—purrs with satisfaction at the sight. My own cillae pulse in response to the desire coursing through me, a visual manifestation of feelings I've never experienced before her.

Before she can say more, a sudden chill sweeps through our shelter—not from my powers or Briar's developing frost abilities, but something external. Something familiar.

I'm on my feet in an instant, positioning myself between Briar and the shelter's entrance. "We have visitors."

Two figures materialize from the darkness, their Winter Court insignia gleaming silver against white cloaks. Royal messengers, not assassins—though in my experience, the distinction isn't always meaningful.

"My Prince," the first messenger says, dropping to one knee just outside our shelter. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of Briar, clearly surprised by the physical changes in my claimed omega. "The Court sends urgent counsel."

"Speak," I command, not moving from my protective stance.

The second messenger steps forward. "Your continued absence is being interpreted as abdication, my Prince. Some of the lords have publicly questioned your fitness to lead, citing your... unprecedented physical transformation as evidence of degradation."

I feel Briar tense behind me. She knows enough of court politics now to understand the threat behind these politely delivered words.

"And the Council's position?" I ask, though I already suspect the answer.

"Divided, my Prince. Elder Frost supports your claim but warns that without your physical presence, sentiment shifts daily. The treasury has been secured against... unauthorized access."

Translation: they're preparing for transition of power. My assets are being frozen to prevent me from gathering resources.

The first messenger hesitates before adding, "There is also the matter of your claimed omega. Rumors of her... unusual condition have spread. Dr. Cassius Frost has expressed particular interest in examining her, citing concerns about contamination of the royal bloodline."

I feel rather than see Briar's scowl. She's developed a healthy hatred for court physicians and their clinical approach to breeding.

"You may inform the Council that I will return when it suits me," I reply, ice coating my words. "And my omega's condition is none of their concern."

"There is... one more thing, my Prince." The second messenger glances nervously at his companion. "The allied courts have issued formal protest against your actions during the Hunt. Specifically, the killing of Lord Klairs Thorn, whose body was recently recovered and reanimated through Summer Court magic."

This is unwelcome news. Klairs was the first alpha I killed for approaching Briar—a necessary example that apparently failed to adequately discourage others. That the Summer Court would expend the considerable magic necessary to reanimate him suggests a level of coordination between courts I haven't seen in centuries.

"Leave us," I command, feeling frost spreading from my feet across the forest floor. "Tell the court that challenging my claim will have consequences even the best foretellers can't foresee."

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