Chapter 27: Ivy

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

IVY

I 've been acutely aware of the attendants' reactions to Wraith ever since he and I came back into the room.

Acutely aware because I know Wraith is, too.

The servants' eyes are wide above their veils as they watch him with clear wariness, and that's only grown since the wine glass incident. Every low growl from him makes them jump.

Whiskey's little distraction helped, though.

Not that it's stopped a few of the servants stationed around the room from glancing nervously at Wraith every few moments. I have to bite back a snarl of my own at their reactions.

How dare they judge him?

But as I watch them from where I sit beside my alpha, my hand on his under the table, I catch the way their eyes linger when they think no one's looking. The quick glances, the slight tilt of their heads. It reminds me of children seeing something new for the first time.

And to be fair, they're reacting the same way to all the Ghosts, stealing fascinated and nervous peeks at each of my alphas in turn. Actually, I'm the only stranger they don't seem to be afraid of.

Maybe that would change if they knew I'm the only stranger who has a reputation for biting fingers off. Or if they knew I'm thinking about adding a prince's fingers to the collection if he keeps staring at Wraith. Revi may be Plague's brother, but that doesn't keep me from giving him a lethal glare that finally gets him to look back at his damn plate.

The queen isn't reacting, which seems to help. The one time she glances briefly at Wraith, she looks away as if she can tell he doesn't like being looked at. And I guess it's pretty obvious from his body language. Despite his sheer size, he's clearly trying to make himself appear smaller. Shoulders hunched, posture guarded, his choppy dark hair falling over his face.

I just hope he's okay.

And I really hope he actually eats.

"You know, this is a nice place," Whiskey says, breaking the silent tension in the room. "But I gotta say, there's one thing Reinmich's got you beat on."

Plague looks up sharply and then starts carving into the meat on his plate in what I can only take as a warning.

"Oh?" the queen asks, her head cocked slightly to one side. "And what might that be?"

"Rats," Whiskey says in a deadpan tone. "In a building this size, there would've been at least three or four scurrying around by now. The lack of rats has got me feelin' a little homesick."

Revi is the first to bark out a laugh. "Well, I'm sure we could import some."

"Idiot," Plague mutters into his wine. But there's a hint of affection there.

Just like that, the tension in the room dissipates. Conversations slowly resume around the table, and I feel Wraith's shoulders relax beside me.

Crisis averted.

For now, at least.

I turn my attention to the plate in front of me, piled high with food that looks and smells incredible. I pick up my fork, acutely aware of the weight of the silver in my hand. It would make a decent weapon in a pinch.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

I spear a piece of perfectly seared meat, glistening with some kind of herb-infused buttery sauce, and bring it to my lips. The moment it hits my tongue, I have to bite back a moan. It's the most delicious thing I've ever tasted.

"Fucking good, isn't it?" Whiskey asks, flashing a grin at me. "Feels like we've died and gone to heaven."

"I certainly hope we haven't died," Valek says dryly.

"We haven't," Thane mutters stiffly.

I nod enthusiastically to Whiskey as I take another bite, not trusting myself to speak without making embarrassing noises. Beside me, Wraith still hasn't touched his food. Carefully, making sure my movements are slow and deliberate, I reach under the table and place my hand on his thigh. He flinches slightly at the contact, but doesn't pull away.

Slowly, he reaches for the fork with his left hand. He grips it like it's a dagger, and I have to wonder if he's ever held one before. I've never actually seen him eat. He glances around to make sure no one's looking at him. Fortunately, they're not. Maybe even on purpose, as if they know he needs privacy.

He spears a small piece of meat and brings the fork to his exposed teeth, hesitating for just a moment and glancing warily at me—like he's afraid I'm going to get scared off—before taking the bite. Without lips or cheeks to help guide the food, he has to tilt his head back slightly. The meat disappears behind his sharp teeth, and I catch a glimpse of the bare muscle in his jaw working as the meat slides down his throat.

There's something strangely attractive about the way he eats.

Like a wolf.

It makes sense. All his teeth are sharp. None of them are molars. He couldn't chew if he wanted to. I squeeze his thigh gently, offering him a smile before taking another bite myself and keeping my eyes off him so he can keep eating without getting stressed out, even though part of me wants to keep watching.

Especially when I notice how long his tongue is from this angle.

It isn't obvious at all with his mouth closed.

What else could he do with it?

Plague's words from earlier echo in my head.

Perhaps you could rewire his trauma with a better experience. Just the three of you. You know, Wraith's sharp teeth could make for a… unique encounter, if you're careful.

Okay.

That's definitely what he meant.

My face heats up at the thought and I have to press my thighs together to keep my scent from spiking. The motion makes me squirm and Thane glances at me out of the corner of his eye, his dark eyes intrigued by my scent despite his clear tension and stress.

My imagination is getting away from me, and fast. Imagining Wraith going down on me, that long tongue sweeping across my pussy, delving deep as his sharp teeth graze my folds like blades…

It would be dangerous, but that'd be part of the fun.

Wraith would definitely not understand if I tried to explain why the thought is so fucking hot. He'd think I'd lost my mind. But maybe he'd feel better about himself if he had any idea this new fantasy has launched straight to the top spot in my brain.

And now that the idea has occurred to me, I can tell I'm never going to be able to shake it off until it comes to life.

I shift in my seat, trying to banish the vivid mental images of Wraith's tongue and teeth between my thighs. Heat blooms across my cheeks as I force myself to focus on the ornate plate in front of me, studying the designs to occupy my mind. The last thing I need is for my scent to give away exactly where my thoughts have wandered.

But it's too late.

I feel Thane's dark eyes boring into me now, studying me with that intense focus that always makes me feel like he can see right through me. His nostrils flare slightly, and I know he's caught the shift in my scent.

Damn these alphas and their heightened senses.

I risk a glance up, meeting his gaze for just a moment. The knowing look in his eyes makes my breath catch. He arches an eyebrow like he has no idea what's going through my mind.

And I guess he wouldn't know.

He wouldn't get it, either.

I grab my glass, gulping down the sparkling violet wine. I kind of hate it, which helps. It's the one thing I've tasted in Surhiira that I don't like at all. The spicy, distinctly peppery wine quickly cools me off.

As I set the glass down, I notice Valek watching me, too. His gaze flicks briefly to Wraith beside me, then back to me. The grin he flashes tells me he's figured out exactly what's going on in my head.

Wraith notices Valek's stare and lets out a low, warning growl. The rumble vibrates through me where our thighs are pressed together under the table, and I have to bite my lip to stifle a whimper.

I gulp down more wine.

"I'm not looking at you ," Valek drawls at Wraith, his voice dripping with amusement.

Wraith's growl deepens.

"Everything alright, wildcat?" Whiskey asks, his voice pitched low enough that only our immediate neighbors can hear. "You're looking a little flushed there."

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. How the hell am I supposed to explain that I'm sitting here at a royal dinner, surrounded by dignitaries and attendants, fantasizing about my feral alpha eating me out?

"I'm fine," I say hoarsely, stuffing more food in my mouth. But when Wraith glances sideways at me, the worry in his blue gaze is painfully clear.

Oh no.

Does he think I'm disgusted by the way he eats?

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Of course he does. He's so self-conscious, and here I am, flushed and squirming beside him. There's no way he knows what's going through my head. He'd probably think I'm full of shit if I tried to explain.

I have to fix this.

Slowly, so no one else notices my arm moving, I trail my fingers higher up his thigh. His breathing quickens slightly, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see him watching me warily. I keep my eyes fixed on my plate, pretending to be fascinated by the intricate designs painted on the fine porcelain as I chew my food in feigned thoughtfulness.

But all my focus is on the way Wraith's body responds to my touch. When my fingertips finally brush against the bulge in his pants, another low growl rumbles through his chest. The sound vibrates through me, settling in my belly.

His cock twitches against my hand and I glance up at him from under my lashes with an innocent smile. His blue eyes are wide with confusion and bewilderment, but whatever self-loathing was there a moment ago is gone now. He's looking at me like I'm fucking insane, but at least he doesn't look like he wants to disappear anymore.

Good.

"Ivy, do you need air?"

The queen's sudden question hits me like a bucket of ice water.

My face, which moments ago felt like it was on fire, suddenly goes cold as I look up and lock eyes with her. Her brow is knitted in clear concern as she watches me from the other end of the table, her head tilted slightly.

"N-no, Your Majesty," I manage to croak out, forcing a smile that probably looks unhinged considering how wound up I am.

Or was.

Definitely not now.

"Are you sure?" Valek asks with a knowing grin. Can't get a damn thing past him. "If you need a moment, you and Wraith could step out…"

"I'm sure," I say quickly, forcing a smile.

Whiskey snorts and mutters something under his breath that makes Valek cackle. Thane stares at them before staring back at me, frowning more than I've ever seen him frown.

The conversation moves on, though, and despite the attention we just received, Wraith seems slightly calmer. He's still stealing concerned glances at me, but they're the kinds of concerned glances you give someone who's freaking you out.

Oh, well.

It's better than him thinking I'm turned off.

Across from us, Plague clears his throat, drawing my attention. There's a tension in his shoulders I haven't seen since we arrived. He sets down his fork, his eyes fixed on his brother.

"Revi," he says, his voice carefully neutral. "Where's Father? I would have thought he'd be here for... all this."

The temperature in the room seems to plummet. Revi's easy smile vanishes and he glances at the queen, brow furrowed.

"Mother," he says slowly. "Hamsa doesn't know?"

The queen shakes her head, her fingers tightening on her napkin. "I haven't had the chance to tell him yet."

My heart races, sensing the weight of whatever's coming. Plague's eyes dart between his mother and brother, a flicker of fear crossing his features before he schools his expression back to careful neutrality.

"Tell me what?" he asks.

The queen hesitates, pain etched in the lines of her face. "Your father... the king... he's gone, Hamsa. He died shortly after you disappeared."

Oh, fuck.

Plague goes very still. For a moment, I'm not sure he's even breathing. "How?" he asks, the word barely audible.

"A heart attack," Revi says gently. "It was quick. He didn't suffer."

I watch the conflict war across Plague's face. Relief, guilt, anger. All flashing by in rapid succession before settling into a mask of careful blankness.

"I see," he says, his voice oddly flat as he reaches for his wineglass. "What about Azarel? He should be here, too, shouldn't he? Or… is he…?"

The awkward glance Revi and the queen exchange makes my stomach clench. Plague notices too, his knuckles whitening around his glass.

"He's not dead," Revi says quickly. "At least... we hope not."

Plague just stares. "What does that mean?"

The queen sighs heavily, suddenly looking every one of her years. Revi moves to her side, helping her settle more comfortably in her chair. The tenderness in the gesture catches me off guard.

"Your brother went on a mission several years ago," the queen explains, her voice tinged with worry. "He infiltrated the ranks in Reinmich to keep an eye on the threat most likely to invade Surhiira in the future."

"Keeping our friends close and our enemies closer," Revi adds, his lips twisting in a wry smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Plague's face pales. "Did you know I was alive and working for the military?" he asks softly.

"No," the queen murmurs. "Until we received the news when you reached our train, we had assumed the worst."

Guilt churns in my chest, though I know it's not my burden to bear. I can only imagine what Plague must be feeling.

His face is an impartial mask as usual, but there's something else there. A slight downward curve of his lips I'd probably miss if I didn't know him as well as I do by now, but it's gone in an instant.

"We lost touch with Azarel relatively recently," Revi continues, his voice tight with worry. "We haven't heard from him in months. We're... concerned."

Plague's jaw works as he processes this information. I can see the gears turning in his head, probably already formulating plans and contingencies.

It's what he does best, after all.

"We need to extract him," he says firmly. "We have contacts, resources. We could?—"

"It's not that simple," Revi interrupts, shaking his head. "We can't risk exposing our intelligence network. And our military isn't equipped for that kind of operation. We've maintained our isolation for a reason."

Plague's eyes narrow. "So you're just going to leave him there? Our brother?"

"Of course not," the queen interjects, her voice sharp. "We're exploring all options. But we must be cautious. The safety of Surhiira?—"

"To hell with the safety of Surhiira!" Plague snaps, his careful control finally cracking. "What good is all this," he gestures at the opulent dining hall, "if we can't even protect our own? If we can't do anything about the omegas that are being kidnapped and tortured?"

A tense silence falls over the table. I hold my breath, waiting for the explosion. But to my surprise, the queen speaks first, her voice soft and concerned.

"What is this about omegas?"

The queen's words hang in the air, heavy with concern. I can see the muscles in Plague's temple ticking as he struggles to find the right words. I want to reach out to him, to offer some kind of comfort or support, but I'm frozen in place.

This isn't my story to tell.

And yet, in a way, it is.

It's all of our stories, woven together by circumstance and cruelty.

Plague takes a deep breath, his fingers drumming an agitated rhythm on the pristine tablecloth. "The Council... they're not what we thought they were. What any of us thought they were."

"No surprise there," Revi says tersely.

The queen leans forward. "Explain."

"They've been... collecting omegas," Plague says, his voice tight. "Kidnapping them, really. From all over. Anywhere they can get their hands on them. Using them for whatever they like." His gaze hardens. "I'm sure you can use your imaginations."

I swallow hard.

"But why?" Revi asks, his earlier easy charm replaced by a sharp intensity that reminds me of Plague. "Omegas are treasured. Protected. The most precious thing on this planet."

A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. All eyes turn to me, and I feel my face flush. But I've come too far to back down now.

"Protected," I echo, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "Is that what you call it? Locked away in gilded cages, treated like property to be bartered and sold?"

The queen's eyes widen.

I can feel the weight of their stares, a mixture of horror and pity that makes my skin crawl. I lift my chin, meeting their gazes defiantly. I won't be cowed by their shock or their sympathy.

"I was given to this pack by the Council. They pulled me from the Refinement Center," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "A place to 'civilize' us. To turn us into perfect, obedient little dolls for alphas to play with."

Revi's face pales. "That's barbaric."

"If Azarel is our informant," Plague bites out, "why didn't he tell you what was happening?"

Revi doesn't seem to have an answer for that. When he finally speaks, his voice is far from confident like it was before. "I don't know." He pauses, glancing over at the queen.

"Perhaps because he didn't want you to know," Plague says pointedly.

The queen's delicate hand tightens around the stem of her glass. "Hamsa…"

"It's the truth," he says, his brusque tone gentling. "Revi may be the eldest, but Azarel has always been the most like our father. Perhaps he wants Surhiira to stay exactly the way it is. We all know how he feels about tradition."

There's no mistaking the bitterness in those words. The silence that falls across the table is so loud I become painfully aware of my own pulse whooshing in my ears.

"Do you have proof of all this?" Revi asks carefully. "It changes everything. And I do mean everything ." He looks pointedly at the rest of us, his gaze landing on Thane. "You're the leader of this pack, aren't you? What do you have to say about all this?"

Thane straightens, his dark eyes meeting Revi's gaze steadily. There's a tension in his shoulders I've rarely seen, like he's bracing for impact.

"What I have to say," Thane begins, his deep voice carrying easily through the opulent dining hall, "is that my father—Wraith's father, too—is at the head of it all." He pauses, jaw clenching. "We have a contact, and before we were…distracted," he says, pausing to give a pointed glance at Valek, "we were about to finally get the proof we need that the Council is compromised. That it's been infiltrated by omega traffickers."

For once, Valek looks sincerely guilty—an emotion I didn't even think he was capable of. I'm learning new things about all my alphas.

Silence falls over the dining hall like a heavy blanket. The queen's face goes pale, her fingers tightening on her napkin until her knuckles turn white. Revi's easy charm has been replaced by a tightness around his eyes that looks a hell of a lot like Plague's expression when he's stressed out and doesn't know what to say.

Finally, Whiskey breaks the tension, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "What? What the fuck is going on?"

I wince at his bluntness, but someone had to say it.

Might as well be Whiskey.

Again.

He's carrying this whole dinner on his broad shoulders.

Revi clears his throat, his eyes flicking to his mother before he speaks. "Well... we may have lost touch with Azarel," he says, his voice strained. "But we still have other infiltrators in the region. The Council has issued a kill-on-sight bounty for the Ghosts. For all of you."

I feel the blood drain from my face.

The Ghosts all freeze.

"And… a warrant for Ivy's return," Revi finishes quietly.

The room spins around me, and for a moment, I think I might faint. A kill-on-sight order? For my alphas? And they want me back? The thought of returning to that hellhole makes me want to puke.

"Fuck," Thane mutters beside me, his deep voice rough with anger and, to my horror, fear. I've never heard Thane sound afraid before. "My father must have realized we're onto him."

Plague's eyes narrow. "Or they know we were captured by Vrissia. They might think we're compromised now."

"Or that freak sold us out," Whiskey snaps.

"Raven or Nikolai?" Thane mutters.

"Take your pick," Plague scoffs, then pauses, as if considering it. "I doubt this had anything to do with either of them. In fact, they're probably the only two scumbags in the Outer Reaches the Council wants dead more than us. Unless you know something we don't, Valek?"

Valek, who's been staring silently at the floor with his jaw set, shakes his head.

"So we're fucked," Whiskey says simply.

"No," the queen says, drawing all our attention at once. She takes a deep breath, her gaze sweeping over all of us. "Perhaps," she says carefully, "it's time for a change. What point is there in living in a utopia if there are so many suffering beyond our borders? And… perhaps we can find Azarel."

Revi straightens, surprise evident on his face. "Mother, our isolation has kept us safe for generations. If we start interfering in outside affairs?—"

"Then we might actually make a difference," she finishes for him. "What use is all our knowledge, all our resources, if we hoard them behind these walls while the world burns down around us?"

Her words shock me.

I think of all the suffering I've seen, all the pain inflicted by those in power. To hear a ruler speak of actually wanting to help... it's more than I ever dared to hope for.

Of course, it could still be a trap.

But my instincts tell me otherwise.

And my instincts are rarely wrong.

"It won't be easy," Plague says, but there's a note of hope in his voice I've never heard before.

The queen nods gravely. "Which is why we'll need your help. All of you," she adds, giving our ragtag group a soft smile. "You've seen the worst the world has to offer. You know how to navigate its dangers."

I feel the weight of her words settle over us.

This is bigger than anything we've faced before.

This could change everything.

But… it could change everything.

I lift my chin, meeting the queen's gaze. "Whatever it takes."

A slow smile spreads across her face. "I can see why my son chose you," she says warmly. "You have the heart of a true queen."

Heat floods my cheeks at her words. I'm no queen. I'm just a feral omega who's learned to survive by any means necessary. But as I look around at my alphas—my family—I realize that maybe that's exactly what's needed.

"So, what's our first move?" Whiskey asks, leaning forward with an eager grin. "I vote we start by blowing shit up. For the record, I'm an expert at that."

Plague pinches the bridge of his nose. "That is absolutely not?—"

"I'm curious," the queen interrupts, her eyes fixed on Whiskey. "What exactly are you to my son?"

Her pointed question hangs in the air as Whiskey's usual cocky grin falters for a moment, uncertainty flashing across his features.

"I, uh..." He glances at Plague, who's gone very still beside the queen. "I'm his packmate. We're all packmates here."

The queen's lips curve into a knowing smile. "Yes, that much is clear. And you're certainly one of Ivy's alphas. But is that where it ends?"

I hold my breath, watching the interplay between them. Whiskey's face flushes red, a stark contrast to his usual bravado. Plague looks like he wants the marble floor to open up and swallow him whole.

"Mother," Plague says, his voice strained. "I don't think?—"

"Hush, Hamsa," she interrupts gently. "I'm not blind, nor am I a fool. I see the way you look at each other."

Oh, shit.

Whiskey clears his throat, squaring his broad shoulders. "Your Majesty," he says, his voice rougher than usual. "I... care for your son. More than I probably should, since we're, uh… both alphas. But I wouldn't put too much stock into it. I'm not really his type," he adds with a sly grin, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

The queen's face is unreadable as she listens to Whiskey, then looks to Plague. His eyes widen and he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out.

"I see," the queen says quietly. "And is that true, Hamsa? Is his affection one-sided?"

I watch Plague carefully, noting the way his fingers drum an agitated rhythm against his thigh. That nervous tic again. He's silent for a long time, trauma boiling to the surface. Years of conditioning, of hiding a huge part of who he truly is, battling against the raw honesty of the moment.

And Whiskey just gave him a clear path to escape.

"I..." Plague starts, then falters. He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "No," he says finally, his voice growing stronger. "It isn't."

Whiskey stares at him in shock. I've never actually seen him stunned into silence, but I guess there's a first time for everything.

Plague gives him a faint smile, but braces immediately for rejection.

Instead, the queen just nods, a soft smile playing at her lips.

"Good," she says simply.

Plague blinks, clearly thrown off balance. " Good ?" he echoes.

The queen reaches out, placing her hand over his. "My son, did you really think I would condemn you for this? After everything that's happened? After I thought I'd lost you forever?"

I watch as something in Plague seems to crumble. The careful walls he's built around himself, the mask of cold detachment he's worn for so long—it all falls away in that moment. He looks young suddenly, vulnerable in a way I've never seen before.

"But... the laws," he says weakly. "The traditions?—"

"Have changed," the queen finishes for him.

Plague stares at her for another small eternity, his fingers frozen mid-tap against the tablecloth. "Have changed," he echoes, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you mean?"

I want to reach out to him, to offer some kind of comfort, but I'm rooted to my seat. This feels too intimate, too raw. Like I'm intruding on a moment I was never meant to witness.

"I know about Adiir," the queen says gently.

Plague's sharp intake of breath is audible even from where I'm sitting. He blanches, and for a moment, I'm afraid he might pass out.

"You do?" he chokes out.

"Adiir's father was the one orchestrating everything that happened that night," she explains, her voice taking on a harder edge. "He wanted to record your confession—that you enjoy the company of both omegas and alphas—to blackmail your father. To force him to repay the favor of keeping it secret."

A low growl builds in Plague's chest, his hands clenching into fists on the table. "That bastard," he snarls. "He's the one who put Adiir up to it, isn't he? Made him record... made him..." He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

The cruelty of it makes my stomach churn.

"Yes," the queen confirms quietly. "Though I don't believe Adiir knew the full extent of his father's plans. He was a pawn, just as you were. A willing pawn, but a pawn nonetheless."

Plague lets out a shaky breath. "It doesn't change what I did," he says quietly.

"No," the queen agrees. "But it might change how you see it. How you see yourself."

I watch as Plague struggles with this, his usual mask of cold detachment cracking further with each passing second. It's like watching a dam break in slow motion, years of carefully buried emotion finally bursting free.

"When you fled," the queen continues, her voice thick with emotion, "I thought... I thought it was because you were ashamed. Because you feared your father's reaction to your attraction to alphas."

Plague's head snaps up, his eyes wide with shock. "You knew about that before?"

The queen's laugh is soft, tinged with sadness. "I've known since you were small. The way you looked at Adiir... it was the same way I looked at your father."

I feel everyone else at the table shifting uncomfortably around me, clearly unsure if they should be hearing this. But I can't look away. This is a side of Plague—of Hamsa—that I never thought I'd see. Raw and vulnerable and so… human.

"I didn't..." Plague starts, then stops, swallowing hard. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I just... I couldn't stay. Not after what I'd done. Not when I thought..."

"When you thought we'd reject you," the queen finishes for him.

Plague nods, unable to meet her eyes.

The queen squeezes Plague's hand. He flinches at first, then covers her hand with his. "I could never reject you," she continues. "Not for who you love. Not for anything." Her gaze flicks to Whiskey with an approving smile. "And I like this alpha, anyway. He appreciates our cuisine, and perhaps he can get you to loosen up a bit."

Whiskey gives her a grin. This one's authentic. "Damn right."

I watch as Plague processes this, years of guilt and shame warring with this new information. "But Father..."

"You don't need to fear your father anymore," the queen says firmly. "When he died and I took full control, I made changes. Starting with the laws about alpha relationships."

Plague's eyes widen. "You... what?"

The queen's smile is gentle but firm. "I decreed that alphas were allowed to be together in Surhiira. Openly. Without shame."

The silence that falls over the dining hall is deafening.

I can practically hear the gears turning in everyone's heads as they process this bombshell, even if it's old news to the attendants. Whiskey's mouth hangs open in shock, while Thane's brow is furrowed in deep thought. Even Valek looks taken aback, his usual smirk replaced by genuine surprise. Wraith is silent, as usual, but I can tell he's wondering what the big deal is in the first place.

But it's Plague I can't take my eyes off of.

He looks... shattered.

Like everything he's ever believed about himself, about his past, is crumbling around him.

"Why?" he asks, his voice cracking. "Why would you do that?"

The queen's eyes shine. "Because I hoped... I prayed ... that if you ever came home, you'd know you were loved. Accepted. That there was a place for you here." She takes a deep breath. "And if you can come up with an army that wants to change the world, we'll be right there with you."

"So, what?" Whiskey's voice, such a stark contrast to the emotional conversation unfolding before us, makes me jump. "We're starting a whole ass revolution?"

"About damn time," I mutter, unable to stop myself.

"Wait," Thane's voice rings out through the room, strong and sober as ever.

We all turn to look at him, even the queen.

But he's looking right at me.

"We've all been doing this so long that it's autopilot," Thane continues, his voice lowering. "Always moving on to the next mission, the next contingency. But we need to stop and think about something. This is the first time—maybe the only time—we're ever going to have the chance to do something different. To give Ivy something different."

The others fall silent, but I can tell they're making more sense out of his words than I am, judging from the contemplative looks on their faces.

"What are you saying, Thane?" I ask, frowning.

"He's trying to give you a choice, little omega," Valek says, a strange melancholy in his tone. "A real one. To live the life you should have had from the beginning."

"A life that only exists here," Thane finishes, confirming they are, to my shock, on the same page. "A life we can only give you here."

It takes a moment for the words to sink in.

When it does, I shake my head slowly.

"No," I say with a firmness that surprises myself, my voice echoing through the vaulted ceilings. "I'm not—we can't just stay here while your father and the Council drive what's left of our world into the ground."

"But it's a world we created," Thane says firmly. He nods to the other Ghosts. All except for Wraith, I notice. "You deserve something better."

"Thane, no," I say through my teeth, shooting up from the chair before I can help myself. "You're not leaving me here by myself while you go fight a war in Reinmich."

"Not by yourself," he corrects, looking pointedly at his brother.

Wraith growls softly in confusion, going tense. I can tell the way Thane is talking is scaring him as much as it is me.

The realization of what he's asking hits me like a bullet train.

Stay here, in Surhiira, with Wraith?

While the four of them go off, maybe forever?

Where they might die?

I open my mouth to speak, but Plague preempts me.

"It's worth considering, Ivy," he says softly. Somberly. "Thane is right. You and Wraith… you didn't choose this. The rest of us did. We all had a hand in holding up the world that inflicted so much cruelty on you." His voice tightens with guilt. "It's our responsibility to tear it down."

"Fuck your responsibility," I seethe before I can stop myself.

All five alphas are staring at me now.

As taboo as it is for alphas to curse at a royal diner, I'm sure it's a hell of a lot more taboo for omegas, but I can't hold back. Not when the very suggestion of being separated from my pack, however noble their intentions, fills me with even more dread than the idea of ending up back at the Refinement Center.

All they can do is torture me.

Imprison me.

Kill me.

Being separated from my mates?

That's a fate even worse than death. It's a death of the soul, and that's the one thing I promised I'd never let those bastards take from me.

"Ivy," Whiskey begins. "They've got a point."

"No," I hiss. "We're pack . That means something, doesn't it?"

They all exchange a tense look, some unspoken argument passing between them.

"Of course it does," Thane says quietly. "But?—"

"Then you're not going without me," I say firmly. "I knew what I was getting into when I made the choice to be your omega. If Reinmich falls, it falls because of us. All of us. As a pack. As a unit." I bite back the tears prickling at eyes, but I know it's a lost cause. "Take it or leave it."

Thane stares me down for a few long moments, and I find myself wondering just how many seasoned soldiers have withered under that dark, piercing gaze. It's harder to hold it than I want to admit.

But then, he blinks slowly, a soft chuckle rumbling from his broad chest. "That an ultimatum?"

I straighten my spine, realizing I'm still standing. "Yes," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "It is."

He cracks a ghost of a smile, exchanging a glance with the others. "Well, I guess it's settled. We have our omega. We have our unit. We have our allies. Now, we just need our army." He pauses, glancing over at the queen. "With all due respect, your Majesty… what do you get out of this?" he asks, voicing my unspoken concern.

To my surprise, the queen smiles.

"A chance to right some of the wrongs my isolation has allowed to fester in the world beyond our borders," she says. "And a chance to help my son heal from the wounds of his past." Her gaze sweeps over all of us. "And, if we're very lucky, a chance to gain powerful allies in the fight against those who would harm the most vulnerable among us."

It's a pretty speech. But I've learned the hard way that pretty words often hide ugly truths, and even now, it's difficult for me to accept her words as sincere.

At least until I meet her gaze.

She gives me a small nod.

With that acknowledgment, any fears I might have had that I'm just desperate to believe that there's still some good left in this fucked-up world evaporate immediately.

I believe her.

With my whole heart, I believe her.

"We'll need time to discuss things," Thane says. "As a pack."

The queen nods. "Of course. Take all the time you need. We can talk more about this in the morning, once you've all rested and finished your meal."

"Fuck yeah," Whiskey says, rubbing his palms together before digging into his food again. "If we're going to war, better fuel up."

Plague flinches at his language.

But the queen just beams.

The table conversation fades into a distant hum as I lean against Wraith's solid frame. My eyelids feel impossibly heavy, the weight of everything we've been through finally catching up to me. I know I should sit up straight, should at least pretend to be listening.

But I can't summon the energy to care about proper etiquette anymore.

Wraith's arm comes around me, his touch hesitant at first. When I don't pull away, he tugs me closer, his massive hand rubbing soothing circles on my arm. The gentle rumble in his chest vibrates through me like a lullaby.

I want to tell him how proud I am that he's sitting here with me even though sitting through a royal dinner must be torture for him. How much I love him. How much I love all of them. These beautiful, broken alphas who are all mine even as the world caves in around us.

But the words get lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth, tangled up in the fog of exhaustion clouding my mind.

A warm hand settles on my thigh. I don't need to look to know it's Thane. His fingers trace lazy patterns against the silky fabric of my dress, each caress sending little sparks of heat through me despite my fatigue.

Neither of them should probably be doing that here, either. They're not even trying to hide it like I was when I touched Wraith under the table. But I'm too tired to care about propriety. Too worn down to worry about what anyone might think.

These alphas are mine, and I am theirs.

Let the whole world see.