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Say what you want about my relationship with Lennart, but he does know me very well. “It was an unpremeditated crime. And a routine shift. If the guy hadn’t?—”
“Oh, shut up. This is going to swell.” She lurches closer to poke at my still-pounding cheekbone, and I jump backward with a pained yelp, cradling the side of my face.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s already bruising. Lovely. Just lovely.”
“It’s just a mating ceremony, Lara.”
“It’s your mating ceremony, and it’s in three hours, Sof. Lennart is going to be so pissed. Mom will never speak to me again. Dad won’t either, but that’salreadythe case.”
I doubt Lennart would care if I showed up with kelp smeared on my teeth. As for Lady Sienna Larsen, Lara’s Omega mother, she may belong to the kind of family that prizes composure and appearances above most things, but she’s never asked me to be anything more than what I am. As lacking as that may be.
The elevator shifts and begins to move horizontally, transporting us to the upper floor of the eastern wing, where House Larsen’s quarters are located. Nobles get the prized upper floors, and the common born take what’s left—the poorer they are, the lower. Sunlight is precious and sought after, and it never filters below Level Fifteen, not even during the deepest of Lows.
My mother, a Beta daughter of House Kellen, was raised on the highest floor of the south wing. She would have happily stayed there, I’m sure, if she hadn’t met and fallen in love with my father, who was an engineering soldier. After her parents disowned her for the crime against her lineage, she moved to one of the middle levels with Dad and lived there until her premature death. I grew up in those same quarters and always felt grateful for my circumstances. It wasn’t until the first time Lennart visited me, back when we were teens, that it occurred to me to be self-conscious about my origins. I remember him squinting at my small room, taking in the stacks of holos and the way the bed was not quite long enough for my legs. He let out a small laugh, then asked, “No, really. Where do you live?”
My cheeks burned for weeks, not with embarrassment but with anger at his entitlement. I didn’t speak to him for days, not until he groveled for his words. It was only much later, when he invited me to call on House Larsen, that I realized the kind of luxury into which he had been born.
It was the same wealth my mother gave up for Dad. I sometimes wonder whether she struggled with adjusting to the modest life he could provide, but every time my father talked about her, the depth of his love was so obvious, I just know she never regretted her choices. If true love were a possibility for me, I would do the same. Without hesitation.
After Dad died, Lady Larsen insisted that an unmated Omega—yes, Sofia, even a cold Omega such as you—should not live alone. I’ve been staying in House Larsen’s quarters for nearly two years now, and even after all this time, I feel intimidated by the rows of guards clad in Larsen-red armors who stare right ahead as I step out of the elevators.
It’s tricky, trying not to be too wide-eyed by the artifacts the Larsens possess. I cannot help marveling at the opulence of the corridors, the mosaics lining the high-vaulted ceilings, the intricate tapestries that hang from the walls, depicting the triumphs of the House. The sight is always majestic, especially on days like today, when a few pockets of sunbeams manage to penetrate through the water. Majestic, yet not wholly pleasant.
But I need to get over it. After the mating ceremony, this will be my home forever. I will become an official member of House Larsen and move out from the staff room next to Lady Larsen’s and into Lennart’s quarters. The thought should fill me with warmth. And maybe it does, even as I shiver under the cooling vents.
“Where’s Lennart?” I ask.
Lara glances away. Keeps walking to her chambers. “Meeting with Father, maybe?”
“Oh. That’s odd.”
“Yeah. A bit. Maybe something happened.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Father doesn’t share with the likes of me. You know how he feels about women—even Alpha women.”
“But?”
I know Lara well enough to make out the weight in her voice. The look she gives me all but confirms it. We both greet the guard standing outside her private quarters, but even after we’re inside, a shut door between us and the rest of the stronghold, her voice lowers. “When I walked out of the wing yesterday, someone was cleaning up.”
“Cleaning up what?”
“Blood. A lot of blood.”
I freeze, instantly alarmed. “Like someone was injured? Or intruders were killed?”
She shakes her head. “I heard the servants gossiping. They said someone dragged a body across the stone floor and deposited it at the entrance.”
My heart stops. “Is this about?—”
“Probably.” She grimaces. “The general has had it out for our family ever since he was elected. You know what he did to my brother.”
Her voice holds a tenderness she rarely has for Lennart or even Gunner. Like the rest of their family, her unfettered adoration belongs to Gustav—Lord Larsen’s middle son.
Whom General Agard killed about two years ago.
