Dawn broke thin and gray over Fort Dalen, veiled behind low clouds that cast the stone halls in pallid light.
Veyra rose with the second bell, not from sleep but from the weight of habit. Her body was healing—well enough to move without wincing, to bind her tunic without stiffness. The deeper wounds had scabbed and sealed, faded to mottled bruises that no longer tugged when she turned her torso. Still, something in her chest ached, not from injury but from the quiet she left behind each time she stepped from her quarters.
She spared only one glance at the figure still lying in her bed.
Liora had turned away from the hearth at some point in the night. Her rose-colored hair was tangled around her cheek, brow still damp with the lingering warmth. The worst had passed, but recovery was slow, burdened by days spent under suppressant and nights caught between wakefulness and memory. She hadn't left the chamber. Couldn't—not without facing the fort, the guards, the thick press of scent that waited beyond the door.
Veyra tucked a fresh cloth into the basin, left it within reach of the bedside, and slipped out before she could talk herself into staying.
The halls beyond were brisk with morning wind, scents muted under the clean bite of smoke and steel. She passed her guards with nods and silent salutes, no longer met with hesitation—just routine. Order.
Today, she would make her rounds—visiting the ledger office, the war chamber. Then the forges. She would speak with the patrol lead on the outer wall. And Kellen—yes, he would bring what he'd found.
And perhaps, if she could clear enough smoke from the air, she might see the shape of the threat coiling beneath them.
Now, arrived during her train of thought, Veyra stood at the center of the war chamber, her hands braced on either side of a ledger opened to the latest resource tally. Ink-stained figures marked dwindling reserves: salt-dried meat, coal from the southern mines, iron blooms from the last delivery run. This was what she needed to focus on.
Her left shoulder twinged with the ghost of healing, the muscle stiff beneath linen and armor, but she bore it without pause. She had trained through worse. Fought through worse. And now, with her name still fresh on the lips of soldiers who'd thought her dead, she had to remind them what her presence meant: stability, steel, and command.
The murmurs around her were soft—scribes at their work, officers reviewing wall patrols and forge requests. But none spoke to her directly. Not yet. She moved like a storm that had not yet broken.
The blacksmiths had requested more charcoal. The stablehands had asked for tougher thread to mend the harnesses torn in the last supply run. The patrols along the northern border had sent a report of strange firelight glimpsed near the cliffs—possibly smugglers, possibly worse. Veyra took it all in with steady eyes, her fingers trailing the margins of the parchment as though she could touch the shape of the fort's needs.
Behind her, the heavy door creaked open.
She didn't have to look to know who it was.
"Captain Darran," she said without turning.
Kellen stepped inside with the clink of chain under leather, his dark eyes scanning the chamber before settling on her. He had the air of someone who'd been sifting through ash for hours and found just enough to stain his hands.
"I've gone through the logs you flagged," he said, voice low.
"And?"
"There's a gap," he replied. "Small, but real. The route was changed last-minute by Tareth's quartermaster. On paper, it looks like a reallocation—needed men further south to reinforce the border. But—" He pulled a second parchment from inside his coat, laying it beside the ledger. "One of the runners who made the original trip was rotated out after. No wounds. No injury. Just reassigned out of the region."
"Shuffled," Veyra murmured, eyes narrowed.
"Clean and quiet," Kellen agreed. "Too clean."
She exhaled, straightening from the table. "We need more. Something that can be taken to my father without question."
"We'll get it." His gaze lingered on her. "You sure you're up for this?"
She gave him a grim smile. "I have to be. Someone tried to end my name in a ditch. The least I can do is return it with a blade in hand."
Kellen huffed something that wasn't quite a laugh and dipped his head. "I'll keep digging."
Veyra watched him leave, the parchment still beneath her hand. Tareth was cautious—but not infallible. Mistakes always bled through eventually. She just had to be patient.
- (Liora's Perspective) -
The room was quiet.
Too quiet for the rush in Liora's ears.
She lay still, half-curled in the tangle of linen and furs that smelled of pine and something warmer—Veyra's scent, subtle and ever-present now, woven into the very bed that had been too soft when she'd first been carried to it two days past. Her fever had broken sometime in the night. She remembered the blur of it: cool cloth on her forehead, the damp press of a rag, soft words spoken in a voice roughened by command but never unkind.
But now…
The room outside the bed felt like a storm waiting to break.
Every scent bled sharp at the edge of her awareness. The hearth, the lingering spice of breakfast someone had brought and she hadn't touched. The unmistakable signature of Alpha where it clung to the room's corners, burned into the fibers of the furs like memory. Even the faintest trace of the guards posted in the corridor outside—a dull, nonthreatening musk of Betas—still pricked at her, needling the back of her neck.
Her body felt foreign. Like something grown too fast and too wrong under the strain of what she'd forced into it. Her chest still hurt. Her skin still flushed too hot at times. And worse than that was the slow, undeniable awakening of something she had tried to bury so deep it would never surface again.
Instinct.
It coiled in her gut now like a second heart.
She flinched when the door opened.
Veyra stepped inside, pausing as though sensing the tension in the air. Her armor was partially shed, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hands faintly stained with ink and soot. She looked every inch the soldier she had always been—except for the shadow that crossed her face when their eyes met.
Liora looked away.
"Breakfast's cold," Veyra said quietly. "But I can have something else brought."
"I'm fine." The words scraped out of her like dry leaves.
A beat passed. Then another.
"I've posted a healer to check in once a day," Veyra said. "He won't report anything. I gave him orders."
Liora still didn't look at her. Her fingers plucked at the edge of the blanket, folding it and unfolding it with fidgeting precision.
"Liora," Veyra said more gently.
She shook her head. "I just… need time."
Veyra stood still for a moment longer, then nodded. "I'll be at the yard if you need me."
Her steps faded into the corridor. The door shut. The quiet returned—but it wasn't soft.
It was sharp and lonely.
The room was too quiet once the door shut behind Veyra.
Liora counted the seconds at first, hoping she would come back—for a forgotten glove, or to check on her, or say something else that might anchor the strange new silence pressing in around her. But the latch had clicked with certainty, and it stayed that way.
She didn't rise. Not right away.
Her limbs felt heavy still, dragged down by days of fever that hadn't fully released her. The healer came once more—gentle, quiet, offering no more than a murmur of comfort and herbal tea. Under Veyra's strict orders, she guessed. He hadn't asked her name. Hadn't dared. And then, he was gone, after assuring that everything was in order.
How long would things remain this way?
What was she supposed to do now?
Escape was impossible. Even if she could stand for long enough to reach the gates, the guards would stop her. She was no Beta, and now she wasn't invisible. The scent clinging to the chamber would give her away—already, she feared it had.
The day before, someone had passed the door.
A soldier. Alpha, likely. She hadn't heard the footsteps stop, but she'd caught the shift in the air. The almost-thoughtful linger of curiosity. Then the muffled murmur to another voice:
"That's not the Commander's scent."
Liora had pulled the blanket over her head and wished she could vanish.
Liora stared at the ceiling, throat tight, a dull panic climbing like ivy around her heart.
Was she safe here? Was this what safety felt like? This cage made of kindness and worry and locked doors?
She didn't want to be claimed. Not like that. Not by a title, or out of fear, or protection that came with expectation.
And yet, the part of her that still trembled with fever wanted—achefully—to believe in the way Veyra had cared for her through those long, burning nights.
She pressed her face to the pillow and inhaled slowly. Not her scent. Not fully.
Veyra's scent was there too, familiar now—pine and spice, like forest bark warmed in the sun. Strong. Protective. Unyielding. It settled around the bed like a boundary. No one else had touched her, but Veyra's scent lingered everywhere. Even more so now. Like a veil over her, or a shield.
Liora's stomach turned.
If someone noticed… if someone said it aloud—what did that mean?
There were rules. Even the ones no one spoke of anymore. If an Alpha's scent was left on an Omega and not challenged, it meant something. And if someone else tried to challenge that—if they wanted her instead—
No. She gripped the edge of the blanket, eyes burning.
That hadn't happened. Not yet. But it could.
She thought of the way Veyra had moved lately, careful but tense. She was trying to do everything at once—resume command, repair old wounds, keep her hidden, keep her safe.
But safety was a fragile thing here.
- (Veyra's Perspective) -
The weight of command sat better on her shoulders than it had the day before. She'd spent hours walking the stone paths between barracks and stores, speaking with patrol lieutenants, studying the most recent ledgers from the forges. The pain in her side had dulled to a background throb. Her sword arm held steady.
But the unease hadn't faded.
Not once, even with steel in her grip, had she stopped thinking of Liora.
She climbed the tower stairs two at a time now, a bundle of folded linens tucked under one arm, her other hand braced lightly against the wall. She hadn't meant to be gone long, but managing the fort required time—and discretion.
She rounded the last corner to the hall, and her body went still.
There. At the door.
Faint, but unmistakable.
A scent that didn't belong.
Not hers. Not Liora's. And not any neutral Beta.
It was Alpha.
Feral-edged. Low ranking, if she had to guess. Bitter with something possessive, something oily beneath the usual musk. The sort that clung too long and rubbed too close when they thought no one was looking.
Her jaw locked.
Someone had scented the threshold.
Deliberately.
She approached slowly, forcing each step into silence. Her eyes scanned the corridor—empty now. But she could guess. Whoever had left this scent had lingered just long enough to make a point, then fled before she returned.
Someone knows.
And worse—they wanted her to know they knew.
She touched the doorframe lightly. The scent still held the warmth of recent presence. Her lip curled.
This wasn't random. This was a message.
She opened the door swiftly and stepped inside, shutting it behind her with quiet finality.
Liora sat near the bed, shoulders hunched and gaze lowered. She didn't look up.
Veyra's breath caught as her senses confirmed what she'd already feared—the intruding scent hadn't gotten past the doorframe, but it was still enough. It lingered on the air, faintly tainting the space that should have been safe.
Not safe anymore.
She didn't speak at first.
Instead, she crossed the room and knelt to set down the bundle of cloth beside the washbasin, her hands steady despite the fire building behind her ribs. When she finally turned, her voice was low. Controlled.
"Someone was here."
Liora didn't answer. Her knuckles were pale where she gripped the edge of the blanket.
"Outside the door," Veyra clarified. "They scented it. You. And they wanted me to know." Her voice became more of a hushed growl near the end, her teeth clenching.
Still nothing. But the flicker of her lashes, the slight tremor in her shoulders—confirmation enough.
"Did you hear them?" Veyra asked, more gently this time.
A nod. Small. Hesitant.
"Did they say anything?"
Liora's voice, when it came, was quiet and raw.
"They said… it wasn't your scent. That whoever was inside wasn't Alpha."
Veyra exhaled through her nose.
So it had begun.
She moved slowly, deliberately, and knelt beside the bed—far enough not to crowd Liora, close enough to offer presence. Her tone was calm, but steel edged each word now.
"Then they're trying to force my hand."
A beat passed. And then—
"I won't let them take you."
Liora flinched. Not from the words, but from what they could mean.
A verbal claim could shield her, yes. But it was a trap too. One Liora had spent years running from.
And Veyra knew that.
She did not want to force it.
But she might have no choice.
-( Fort Dalen – Inner Council Room, Secured Chamber – Early Evening) -
The doors shut with a muted thud behind her, the warded latch clicking into place. This room was sound-sealed by design, meant for moments such as this—delicate strategy, dangerous secrets. The table in the center bore no papers, no ink, no guards posted nearby.
Her father stood at the far window, arms behind his back, posture rigid. Kellen sat waiting near the corner, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Both turned at the sound of her boots.
"You said it was urgent," her father said without turning.
"It is," Veyra answered. "And it will not leave this room."
She waited. Her father gave a curt nod and moved toward the table. Kellen stood in deference, eyes sharp, silent.
Veyra didn't pace. She didn't circle. She stood tall in front of them and spoke directly.
"The person I brought back from the ambush site… the one healing in my quarters."
A long pause. No one interrupted.
"She's an Omega."
A silence like snapped breath followed. Her father straightened. Kellen's brows pulled tight.
"I thought you'd said she was a beta, but… An Omega?" Kellen repeated, quiet, but not in disbelief—he'd suspected. "You're sure."
"Yes." She met his eyes. "She'd been using a suppressant. Illegally. It masked everything. For a while. But I saw the signs. And now…" she exhaled. "There's no doubt."
Her father remained silent, eyes narrowing.
"You've kept her hidden," he said at last. "Why?"
"Because she saved my life," Veyra answered. "Because she's not just some captured vagrant Omega. She's educated. Resourceful. She knew how to stop the bleeding from my wounds, how to evade the patrols that were still tracking us after the ambush. And because someone tried to kill me, and until I know who I can trust—she stays protected."
Kellen gave a small nod. Approval, perhaps. Her father said nothing.
"And now?" he finally asked. "If you've already had your room marked—If someone scented her, the Council will hear soon enough."
"I know." Veyra's jaw tightened. "Which is why I'm telling you now."
She stepped to the table, placing a folded sheet of parchment between them.
"If it comes to it, I will say she's under my protection. That I made the choice to shelter her due to extenuating circumstances regarding her involvement in the ambush. That I am investigating possible connections to the attempt on my life—and her silence was a condition of her cooperation."
Kellen gave her a look. "That will only hold for a time."
"I only need time," she said. "To find the proof. To expose whoever is behind this."
She paused. Then added:
"And if they press further… I may need to claim her. Publicly."
Her father finally met her gaze. "That would bind you. The Council would see it as a personal attachment."
"It would make her untouchable," she countered. "And that's the point."
"You'd be gambling your name. A claim is not a whimsical matter."
"I'm aware."
Kellen stood again. "And what of her?" he asked, quiet now. "Does she want to be claimed?"
Veyra hesitated.
"No," she admitted. "She's afraid. She's run her whole life from this system. She believes, with reason, that claiming means caging."
Kellen's voice softened. He understood well what the old laws said. But unlike his daughter, he had never dared to stand against them. Now, though, after the near loss of his daughter—his kingdom's heir—that would change. "Then you must prove that for you, it doesn't."
Veyra looked between them both—her father, weathered and wary; Kellen, loyal but grounded.
"This isn't just about her," she said. "This is about every Omega in this kingdom. If we keep pretending the old laws still serve us, we're no better than the rot that almost killed me. The Circle is infested. And I will burn out the ones responsible. But I won't do it by sacrificing her."
Her father studied her, face unreadable. Then he nodded, once.
"Then you'd best start making allies. Quiet ones."
"Already started," Veyra said. "And you two are first."
– (Earlier That Evening, Veyra's Quarters)-
The light through the narrow window had dimmed to slate grey. A basin of half-cooled water sat beside the bed, its cloth wrung out and folded again. Veyra had paused at the door, her fingers resting just against the latch.
Behind her, Liora lay half-propped against the pillows, her skin still pale with fever's echo, though the worst had passed. Her eyes tracked Veyra, warily—tired, uncertain.
"I need to go," Veyra said gently. "Only for a short while."
Liora stirred, the blanket clutched instinctively tighter in her hands. "Where?"
"My father's quarters. I need to speak with him. And Kellen. They're both part of this—of what comes next."
Silence. Then a whisper.
"Are you… telling them about me?"
Veyra turned fully to face her, expression softened. "Yes. I'm not hiding you from them anymore. But only them."
Liora's eyes didn't quite meet hers. "So they'll know what I am."
"They'll know who you are," Veyra corrected. "They're the only two I trust right now. And they won't say a word—not unless I command it."
She crossed the room again and crouched beside the bed, resting a hand lightly on the edge of the blanket, not quite touching.
"I'll come back before night fully falls. No one else will enter. And if anyone knocks, don't answer."
Liora looked at her then, and Veyra felt the weight of it—a silent plea wrapped in caution. Not fear of her, exactly. Fear of what her presence might demand.
"I'm not leaving you alone in this," Veyra said softly. "Even when I'm gone for a little while. Understand?"
Liora gave the faintest nod. Veyra stood, pulled the door shut behind her, and locked it from the outside.
The door had closed with a soft click.
Liora had watched her go, the echo of Veyra's quiet words lingering longer than the sound of her footsteps. She hadn't argued. Couldn't. But the stillness that followed her departure was heavier than expected. Cloying.
She sat on the edge of the bed now, legs drawn close, wrapped in a robe that didn't belong to her. The blankets were kicked down around her ankles, warm despite the chill in the room. The scent was everywhere—pine and spice, comforting and oppressive all at once. Veyra. It clung to her skin now. Her hair. The sheets. She hadn't realized how thoroughly it had settled until the Alpha was gone, and all that remained was its echo.
She closed her eyes. Breathed shallowly.
There was something else too, faint and old but wrong. The frame of the door had smelled of it. Someone else. Not Veyra. Not the guards who came and went in even-footed Beta rhythm. A scent-mark laid in challenge or warning—sour beneath the wood. Someone had passed too close. Someone had known.
Her stomach twisted.
She stood—too quickly. The floor tilted. Her legs ached with the effort.
She made it to the window, though it was too small to be an exit. The air was cold and damp with fog, and even that was saturated with the scent of earth and ash, distant firepits, and the faint musk of the Alpha guards who patrolled below. And then—
A knock startled her. Firm. Sharp.
Liora jumped, heart slamming against her ribs.
But it didn't come again. No voice called through the door. No latch turned.
Still, she stood frozen for a long time.
Then—quietly—she stepped backward, until the wall was at her back and her breath could come again.