Knotted Thrones: Twin Feral Alphas 1 Broken Omega (Completed Novella)

Thank you for checking out my story 🖤 Please note this is meant to be a short story- fast, steamy, and meant to be devoured in one sitting. And FYI I write smut first, plot second. In other words there’s just enough plot to justify the fucking. You’ve been warned. Enjoy 💋

They called me a curse. An omega born without a scent.

Without slick. Without heat.

From the moment I turned fifteen and my body didn’t bloom the way it should have, the whispers started.

Defective.Useless. Wasted.

They kept me locked away. Not because I was dangerous—no, I was far too docile for that—but because I was a disappointment. An anomaly in a kingdom where omegas were prized for one thing only: their ability to be bred.

Pretty ones were married off.

Fiery ones auctioned to nobles.

And the rest… well. When they went into heat, they were worth something.

But me?

Nothing stirred in me. No fever. No hunger. No scent of ripened sweetness that drove alphas to madness.

I was untouched by biology.

Unclaimed.

And therefore, unwanted.

By twenty-one, my presence embarrassed the court…my family…even the servants who used to fawn over me as a child averted their eyes.

No heat meant no marriage.

No bond.

No usefulness.

I became a stain on our family’s name–an omega who would not bloom.

And so, they came up with a solution.

“Send her to the Kings.” It was Lord Calverin who first said it. I’d overheard him late one night, his voice low and cruel as he conspired in the west drawing room with my father.

I wasn’t supposed to be awake and most certainly not supposed to be listening.

But I always heard more than they thought.

“She’s too old to be housed like a princess,” Lord Calverin hissed, voice laced with impatience. “You keep her tucked away, fed and dressed like she’s worth something. But she’s not. She’s a burden.”

“She’s my daughter,” my father replied, though even then, there was no fire in his voice.

“Then give her a purpose,” Calverin said. “The Twin Kings are due for an offering before the next full moon. And if she dies in their bed, it’ll be a quiet mercy.”

A pause.

“Better to have her die useful than waste away in silence…perhaps we can exchange her for a marriage for Ophelia.”

Ophelia.

The golden one. The pride of my parents’ legacy.

The one who bloomed before she bled.

She entered her first heat at fourteen and by fifteen, alphas were tripping over themselves to catch her scent. Nobles. Military commanders. Sons of dukes. Even a foreign prince sent an emissary to inquire about her status.

She was everything I wasn’t.

Lush. Fertile. Obedient, but clever enough to make men believe it was their idea. She was always wrapped in the finest silks, her hair done up like the court painters’ muses, her smile practiced until it looked real.

And yet,despite all that power and attention, they kept her unmarried.

“We’re waiting for the right match,” my mother would say. “Someone worthy of our Ophelia. Someone of influence.”

Now I understood. They hadn’t waited because of love or caution. They waited because they needed a bargaining chip.

And I was the price.

Send the broken one to the feral kings.

Let her be offered like a slab of meat, a curiosity. A test.

And in return, secure an alliance. An engagement. Maybe even a crown for Ophelia.

-

I clenched my jaw even now, weeks after I’d overheard it–hearing the echo of Calverin’s voice, so smug and cruel it made my stomach turn.

“She doesn’t have a heat,” he’d said. “They’ll know it the moment she walks into the room. But if it sparks something in them—if they decide to keep her, to try her–then we’ve already won.”

I was a wager. A placeholder in some grander political scheme to secure my sister a throne.

They didn’t expect me to survive.

And they didn’t care.

As long as I was out of sight, out of their hallways, and out of the family portraits.

“If she breaks, she breaks,” I heard someone mutter the morning they dressed me in red-threaded gauze and packed me into a carriage. “At least she’ll be of some use before she dies.”

I said nothing.

I’d learned silence was safer than tears.

The road to the Black Keep was long, but I barely noticed the passing trees or darkening sky. My mind reeled.

So now, dressed in red I didn’t choose and painted like a sacrificial doll, I sat in a carriage bound for the Black Keep—with nothing but silence and humiliation as my companions.

I felt nothing.

No trembling.

No aching.

No spark of change beneath my skin.

Just the familiar emptiness that had defined me for years.

They expected the Kings to break me.

To use me.

To send my body back in pieces—if they sent it back at all.

And maybe that was the point.

A quiet solution to an unspeakable problem.

An unwanted omega sent to the most feared alphas in the realm.

Not to be honored.

Not to be mated.

Just… discarded.

No one expected what would happen next.

Not them.

Not the Kings.

Not even me.