Chapter 24: Ivy

Chapter

Twenty-Four

IVY

M y bare feet pad silently on the plush carpet as we make our way back to the guest wing, Whiskey and Plague following from somewhere behind me. The air feels different here than in Plague's chambers. Lighter somehow, less weighed down by ghosts and memories.

But when we round the corner, I stop dead in my tracks.

Valek stands below the arched entrance to one of the halls, a white scarf with silver accents wrapped around his lower face. The geometric patterns woven into the fabric catch the light like tiny blades.

"Look who's decided to join the fashion show," Whiskey mutters behind me.

Valek turns at the sound of Whiskey's voice, and I catch a flash of something strangely vulnerable in his expression before his usual sharp mask slides back into place. The scarf shifts as he grins, though I can only tell by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Jealous?" he purrs. "I'm sure we could find you something suitably gaudy. Perhaps with little guns and flags embroidered on it."

I bite back a smile at that.

Some things never change.

But there's definitely something different about Valek. The drugs must be wearing off, but instead of making him sharper, more dangerous, he seems... softer somehow. More human.

Not that I'd ever tell him that.

"The scarf suits you," I say instead, surprising myself. "Silver and white. It looks nice."

Valek goes very still, his eyes widening fractionally. For a moment, I think I see a flash of that same vulnerability again. Then he laughs, but it's not his usual harsh cackle.

The softness in Valek's laugh catches me off guard. I've never heard him sound like that before. It makes something twist in my chest, a confusing mix of lingering anger and unexpected sympathy.

"You're being kind to me," he says, his eyes glinting with something that might be amusement or pain. It's always hard to tell with him. "How... unsettling."

I move closer, drawn by that unfamiliar vulnerability in his voice. "Maybe you deserve a little kindness. Just a little."

He tilts his head, studying me with those too-bright eyes. The accents in his scarf catch the light as he moves, making the geometric patterns dance. "I deserve many things, little omega. Kindness isn't one of them."

"That's not for you to decide." The words slip out before I can stop them.

He falters. For a moment, I catch another glimpse of that raw vulnerability before his usual mask slides back into place.

"No," he agrees quietly. "I suppose it isn't."

I study Valek's silver eyes, trying to reconcile the vulnerable creature before me with the monster who kidnapped me. Who betrayed us all. His scarf whispers as he shifts his weight under my gaze, as if being watched so carefully by me is making him uncomfortable.

"You look less unhinged," I say carefully. "The drugs wearing off?"

"Must be," Whiskey adds from behind me. "Too bad. I was starting to get attached to Brainfucked Valek."

"Attached?" Valek echoes, sounding almost hopeful.

Whiskey's eyes narrow. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Valek asks innocently.

"You know what," Whiskey says with a snort, rolling his shoulders until they pop before taking a long swig from one of the sparkling wineglasses on the refreshments table the attendants clearly keep stocked. "Like a freaky cat that wants me to pet it."

"Wraith did," Valek says.

Whiskey gives him a long, hard stare. "Yeah, don't wanna know," he mutters under his breath, peering into the glass to see if there's anything left. He drains the last few drops.

"It was nothing like that, you pervert," Valek snaps.

Whiskey shrugs. "Who knows with you?" he says, taking a huge bite out of a buttery croissant. He stares at it like it just changed his life, then grabs another and holds it out to me. I take it hesitantly. "Try one of these, Ivy, it has plums or somethin' in it."

"You're the one that eats cock for breakfast, not me," Valek remarks.

I almost spit out the croissant I just bit into.

Plague seems to materialize out of nowhere. "Are you fools getting in another fight?" he mutters, casting a judgmental glance over both of them.

"Oh, no," Whiskey groans. "He's using words like fools. "

"You're going to ruin your appetite," Plague says, taking the croissant out of Whiskey's hand before he can finish it. "And nothing infuriates the royal family like an alpha who can't finish his plate."

Whiskey snorts. "Not gonna happen. I'm fuckin' famished."

"Not for cock," Valek adds.

Plague rounds on him. "Would you shut up before I have you thrown into a pit?" he hisses. "And don't talk like that around my family or I'll follow through on that threat."

Valek just cackles, but the usual mirthlessness is gone. I can't help but smile at the almost playful banter between them. It's such a stark contrast to the tension that's always simmered beneath the surface when these alphas interact.

"I liked Brainfucked Valek better too," Plague grumbles, turning back to Whiskey. "He was marginally less annoying."

Valek's eyes narrow above his new scarf. "And I liked you better when you were just a pretentious doctor instead of a pretentious princess."

"At least I'm consistently pretentious," Plague shoots back. "Unlike some people who swing wildly between homicidal maniac and kicked puppy."

"I prefer the term 'reformed psychopath,'" Valek muses, adjusting his scarf with exaggerated dignity.

"Reformed?" Whiskey snorts. "Since fucking when?"

"I've had a spiritual encounter," Valek replies simply.

I can't help but snort at Valek's words. A spiritual encounter? Him? The most nihilistic, bloodthirsty alpha I've ever met claims to have found religion?

"You're full of shit," Whiskey says, voicing my thoughts.

"The Goddess speaks to those who need her most," a soft voice says from behind us.

We all whirl to find one of the attendants standing in the archway, her beaded veil swaying gently. She bows slightly. "Forgive the interruption, but dinner will be served soon. We've brought proper attire for you all."

More attendants materialize from alcoves I hadn't even noticed, their arms laden with stacks of white fabric that catches the light like fresh snow.

"Finally," Whiskey mutters. "I'm tired of my nipples being out."

"That makes two of us," Valek drawls. "I'm sure your lovers disagree."

I bite back a laugh as Plague rounds on him again. "What did I just say about?—"

"About being appropriate around your family, yes, yes." Valek waves a hand dismissively. "But they're not here yet, are they?"

"Close enough," Plague growls, still bristling.

"Are the attendants relatives, too?" Valek asks curiously. "Does your nobility keep things as close in the family as the ones on that little island, or no?"

"No," Plague snaps, his jaw ticking. "They're not relatives."

Valek holds up his palms in a placating gesture. "I'm not here to judge. My own gene pool certainly leaves something to be desired."

Whiskey blows a puff of air through his nose. "Bro, everything about you leaves something to be desired."

"Not everything," I reply.

Valek gazes at me like I hung the damn moon.

"Don't get used to it," I mutter so only he can hear me.

The attendants carefully lay out the clothes on nearby benches. There are crisp white shirts for the alphas, all in stark white with gold threading. But what catches my eye is the garment clearly meant for me.

It's… beautiful.

The fabric looks impossibly delicate, like woven moonlight. Golden embroidery traces patterns across the bodice and sleeves. Birds in flight, flowering vines. A matching beaded veil, adorned with tiny golden and blood-red gems that catch the light like stars, rests beside it.

"The queen requested something special for the omega," one attendant says softly, noticing my stare. "Will you allow us to help you dress?"

I hesitate. The thought of being touched by strangers, of being vulnerable... but these people have been nothing but gentle. And I need to start trusting sometime.

Don't I?

"Okay," I say quietly.

The alphas exchange glances, clearly not wanting to leave me alone. But the attendant gestures to the adjoining room where their own clothes wait.

"We will take good care of her," she assures them.

Wraith comes around the corner, his footfalls loud even on the plush carpet. A low, wary growl rumbles in his chest. Thane is right behind him, his brow furrowed as his dark gaze flicks between the attendants.

"It's safe," Plague says to the other alphas.

Whiskey is the first to relent with a stiff nod. "Alright."

Wraith rumbles again. Thane puts a hand on his shoulder and the rumbling stops as some of the tension eases out of the feral alpha's guarded stance.

"Don't take her far," Thane says pointedly.

"Or there will be hell to pay," Valek adds.

Plague shoots him a look, but one of the attendants just laughs lightly. "Duly noted," she replies, the smile on her painted lips clear even through her veil. She gestures to me to follow her and the others.

I glance back over my shoulder at my alphas, unable to suppress a smile at their concerned expressions. They look like a pack of anxious guard dogs, all barely restraining themselves from following me down the hall.

"I'll see you at dinner," I say softly, hoping to ease some of their worry. "Try not to start any wars while I'm gone."

Whiskey snorts. "No promises, wildcat."

It's strange how, despite everything, I have such fondness for these broken, beautiful men who've somehow become my family. Maybe because of everything.

Even Valek, as angry as I am.

All of them.

I turn away before the emotion overwhelms me and pad down the hall after the attendants. The weight of their collective gaze follows me until I round the corner and disappear from sight.

The attendants lead me deeper into the guest wing, through archways draped with gauzy curtains. Everything here feels dreamlike, otherworldly.

"Through here, honored guest," one of the attendants says, gesturing to an ornate door. Her veil shifts as she moves, the tiny golden beads catching the light.

The room beyond is like everything else in this impossible place. It's clearly some kind of dressing chamber. Tall mirrors line the walls, their gilded frames carved with delicate birds in flight. More of those brass lanterns cast a warm glow over everything, and the air smells of jasmine and something sweeter.

"May we?" another attendant asks, gesturing to my robe. Her hands are gentle as she helps me shrug it off, careful not to startle me. Like I'm a wild animal.

And I guess I am.

I force myself to stay still as the betas begin preparing me for the royal dinner, though every instinct screams at me to run. To fight. To not let anyone touch me. But their movements are careful, precise.

Like Plague.

The thought helps somehow.

Warm, herb-scented water cascades over my skin as they wash away the last traces of our journey. The soap they use smells like honeysuckle, and I wonder if they chose it deliberately to match my natural scent. Nothing here seems accidental.

"Your hair is beautiful," one of them murmurs as she works some kind of oil through the tangled strands. "Like living flame."

I tense at the compliment. I'm not used to it. But she just continues working, her fingers careful not to pull too hard as she smooths out the knots.

"The queen will be pleased," another says softly. "It's been so long since we've had an omega guest."

"Let alone one with such fire in her spirit," the first adds.

They speak as if I'm not here, their musical voices drifting around me like smoke. But there's no malice in their words. No judgment. Just a sort of strange reverence that makes me deeply uncomfortable. They don't even comment on my scar.

I'm not used to being treated like something precious, other than by the Ghosts.

Something to be treasured.

At the Refinement Center, the betas always treated us like we were scum beneath their carefully polished shoes. Like our very existence was somehow an affront that needed to be punished. Even though the Vrissian scientists weren't as brutal, they clearly saw me as little more than a lab rat.

These betas are… different. Kind.

The dress they help me into feels like wearing starlight. The fabric is impossibly soft against my skin, flowing around me like water. Golden threads shimmer as I move, making the embroidered birds seem to take flight. The beaded veil settles over my lower face with surprising weight, the tiny gems cool against my cheeks.

"Perfect," one of the attendants breathes, adjusting the fall of the fabric. "You look like you stepped out of the old stories."

I want to tell her she's wrong. That I'm just a feral omega who got lucky. That all this beauty feels like a lie wrapped around my scarred soul.

I touch the soft fabric of the dress, still not quite believing this is real. The attendants' quiet chatter fades into background noise as I study my reflection. Despite the finery, I can see the marks our journey has left on me. Faint bruises dot my skin like constellations, telling stories of everything we've been through.

"Your pack must care for you very much," one of the attendants says softly as she adjusts the fall of my veil.

"They're... complicated," I mumble.

She laughs, the sound like silver bells. "Love usually is."

Love.

"You're thinking too hard," another attendant says, her veil swaying as she moves to light more of the brass lanterns. The dancing flames cast shifting shadows across the walls. "Your brow is knotted up. It's funny… you're a lot like him."

"Like who?"

"The prince." She pauses, head tilting. "Though I suppose you didn't know him as a prince until today."

No. I only know him as the cold yet compassionate alpha who held himself at a distance even as we grew closer. Who kissed me like he was afraid I'd shatter in his hands. Who's been carrying the weight of another world on his shoulders, and none of us had any idea.

"There," the first attendant says, stepping back to survey her work. "Now you look ready to dine with royalty."

But I'm not. I'm a feral omega who grew up in the wilderness. Who learned to survive by tooth and claw. Who still flinches at sudden movements and sleeps with one eye open. All this silk and gold can't change that.

Can't change what I am.

What I'll always be.

But for tonight, I can pretend.

For Plague.

For Hamsa.