Her Omega Or Not

AVA

I stand outside the bedroom door, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache. The sound coming from inside makes my wolf surge forward, demanding blood.

A woman’s breathy moan. “Yes, Kevin... right there...”

Kevin. My scribe’s name tastes like poison on my tongue. The guard beside me—Garrett, one of my most loyal—meets my eyes and nods. We received word an hour ago: Kevin has been selling kingdom secrets to the Nightshade Pack. And he’s been doing it while bedded with one of their king’s mistresses.

The betrayal burns worse than any wound.

“On my signal,” I whisper.

Another moan echoes through the door, louder this time. “Kevin!”

My wolf snarls. I nod to Garrett.

He kicks the door with enough force to splinter the wood. It crashes open, and the scene inside would be almost comical if it weren’t so damning.

Kevin is on the bed, naked and tangled with a red-haired woman I recognize from Nightshade court gatherings. Scrolls, my scrolls, are scattered across the nightstand, still bearing the Sinclair seal.

The woman screams. Kevin’s eyes go wide with terror as he sees me standing in the doorway.

“Your Highness, I—” He scrambles off the woman, shoving her aside so hard she tumbles off the bed. He drops to his knees on the floor, hands clasped in front of him. “Please, I can explain.”

“Explain?” My voice comes out low, deadly calm. My wolf is so close to the surface now that I can feel my eyes shifting, the amber glow of my beast bleeding through. “You were caught with your cock in a rival’s spy and our kingdom’s secrets on the bedside table. What exactly requires explanation?”

“Mercy!” He’s trembling now, his omega scent sour with fear. “Your Highness, please, I beg you,”

I walk toward him slowly, each step deliberate. My royal blue gown swishes across the floor, and somewhere behind me, I hear Garrett restraining the still-screaming woman.

Kevin quivers as I approach. Good. He should be afraid.

I crouch down in front of him, close enough that he can probably feel the heat of my wolf’s rage. His eyes are wet with tears, his whole body shaking.

“I just have one thing to say to you, Kevin.”

He looks up at me, desperate hope flickering in his pathetic gaze.

I lean in closer. “I hope it was worth it.”

Then I move.

My hand plunges into his chest with the precision of years of training. Not wild, not frenzied, controlled. Disciplined. Exactly as an Alpha heir should execute justice. My fingers close around his frantically beating heart, and I pull.

The act is swift. He doesn’t even have time to scream.

His body crumples to the floor as I stand, his heart still warm in my hand. Blood drips down my arm, staining the sleeve of my gown. Behind me, the woman’s screaming reaches a hysterical pitch before Garrett silences her with a sharp command.

I drop the heart onto Kevin’s lifeless chest and turn to Garrett. “Behead him. Put the head on a pike in the town center. I want everyone who even thinks about betraying this crown to see what happens.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Garrett doesn’t even blink. He’s seen me deliver justice before.

I look down at my blood-stained hand, then at the woman cowering in the corner. She’s wrapped in a sheet now, her red hair wild around her face.

“Send her back to Nightshade kingdom,” I say. “With a message that the next spy they send won’t leave here alive at all. Not even in pieces.”

I walk out of the room, my shoes leaving bloody footprints on the stone floor.

***

Three days later, I stand in the Royal Library again. The marble floor gleams in the afternoon light, and the banners of moonlight silver and Sinclair gold hang motionless in the still air.

Seven new candidates wait in a nervous line before the throne dais. I can smell their fear from here—sharper now, probably because they all saw Kevin’s head rotting on the pike as they entered the city.

Good. Let them remember what happens to traitors.

I settle into the carved chair, smoothing the skirt of my deep blue velvet gown. My wolf is calmer today, satisfied by the justice we delivered. But she’s still restless, still hungry for something I can’t name.

“First candidate,” I say.

A thin man with graying hair steps forward and bows so low I’m surprised he doesn’t topple over. The scent of his terror is almost overwhelming.

“Your Highness, I am deeply honored—”

“Your qualifications,” I cut him off. I don’t have patience for groveling.

He stutters through a list of minor houses he’s served, his hands shaking as he holds out a letter of recommendation. I scan it briefly. Mediocre penmanship. Weaker references than even Kevin had.

“Next.”

The morning drags. Each candidate is either too terrified, too incompetent, or too obviously desperate for the position. One actually starts crying when I ask him about the Treaty of Moonshadow. By the sixth rejection, I’m considering just handling my own correspondence until someone suitable appears.

Then the final candidate steps forward.

Everything about him is different.

His bow is precise without being servile—respectful but not groveling. When he straightens, I notice he’s tall and lean, dressed in simple traveling clothes that are clean but worn. Dark hair falls slightly across his forehead, and his eyes are a shade of gray that reminds me of storm clouds.

But it’s his scent that makes my wolf go still.

Calm. Pine and rain and something faintly wild that I can’t identify. It doesn’t carry the usual omega submission I’d expect. Instead, it’s... grounding. Like solid earth after a storm.

My wolf perks up with an interest that immediately annoys me.

“Name,” I say, keeping my voice cold.

“Liam of the Lowlands, Your Highness.” His voice is low and measured. No tremor. No hesitation.

I lean forward slightly. “You’re a long way from home. What brings an omega scholar to Silverfang?”

“Opportunity, Your Highness. And the belief that I can serve the crown well.”

“Confident.” I tap my fingers on the armrest. “Tell me, Liam of the Lowlands, what do you know of the Bloodmoon Accords?”

“The treaty signed forty-three years ago between House Sinclair and the Northern Packs,” he answers without pause. “It established trade routes and hunting boundaries, though it’s been strained in recent years due to border disputes near the Silverwood territory.”

I raise an eyebrow. Most scribes would have stopped at the basic facts.

“And if I asked you to draft a renewal of those accords, how would you approach it?”

“I would begin by identifying which provisions have caused the most friction, then propose amendments that address both parties’ core interests without appearing to favor either side. Diplomacy is about making each party believe they’ve won something valuable.”

A smile threatens to break through my carefully maintained composure. I crush it down.

“You speak as though you’ve negotiated treaties yourself.”

“I’ve studied them extensively, Your Highness. There’s much to learn from observing how others succeed or fail.”

I stand and descend from the dais, my gown rustling with each step. Every other candidate has kept their eyes lowered in my presence, but Liam watches me approach. Not with challenge. Not with insolence. But he doesn’t look away.

I stop directly in front of him, close enough to catch that strange, calming scent again. My wolf stirs, curious.

“You’re not afraid to look an Alpha heir in the eye?”

He holds my gaze, and something flickers in those gray eyes—something I can’t quite read. “If my gaze offends, Your Highness, command me to lower it. But I believe truth should never cower.”

My chest tightens. My wolf surges forward with an interest that’s entirely inappropriate for a job interview. I shove the feeling down, annoyed at my own reaction.

“You understand the last scribe betrayed this court?” I circle him slowly. “That he sold our secrets to enemies and paid with his life?”

“I do, Your Highness. I saw his head on the pike when I entered the city.”

“And you still want this position?”

“I have nothing to hide and no loyalties except to truth and duty. If that’s insufficient, I’ll leave now and save us both the trouble.”

Bold. Dangerously bold for someone seeking employment in a court where I just ripped out a man’s heart three days ago.

I complete my circle and face him again. Every instinct—both human and wolf—tells me there’s more to this man than he’s showing. But those same instincts also tell me he’s exactly what I need. Someone who won’t crumble under pressure. Someone who can think clearly in chaos.

Someone who might actually prove useful.

“You’ll serve as my scribe,” I say. The words come out more abruptly than I intended. “Pray you prove as steady as your words.”

Something that might be relief crosses his face. He bows again, that same precise movement. “I won’t disappoint you, Your Highness.”

“See that you don’t.” I turn back toward the dais, then pause. “Report to the steward. He’ll show you to your quarters and explain your duties. You begin tomorrow at dawn.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

I don’t watch him leave. I settle back into my chair and dismiss the guards, waiting until I’m alone in the library before I allow myself to breathe properly.

My wolf is still restless, still fixated on that strange, grounding scent. I close my eyes and force her into submission.

Whatever this odd reaction is, it doesn’t matter. Liam of the Lowlands is a scribe. A servant. Nothing more.

But as I gather my skirts and head toward the council chambers, I can’t quite shake the memory of those gray eyes meeting mine without fear.

And I can’t explain why that bothers me so much.