46
BRYLEE
In war,the person who chooses the time and place of a battle is often the victor. But how many of those battles have been an omega preparing to face an alpha? A daughter preparing to face a mother?
Killing strangers seems easier than confronting the evil infecting your own family.
My heart feels shrunken, compressed to the size of a grain of salt, tight and tiny within my chest—so small that I can hardly feel a thing. Part of me wonders if that's my body protecting me from what I know I have to do, but I don't prod too deeply, don't question it, because I don't think I could bear to feel everything I should be right now.
Insulation is good. Necessary.
And so, when I find Mother's assistant and look through her schedule on the pretense of penning in a meeting, I'm able to keep my voice steady and a soft smile on my face. My finger glides down the electronic calendar on her tablet as I try toselect the best time and place for the war I'm about to wage on the woman who created me.
"I'm so sorry she's so busy this week." Erica, a middle-aged omega, blushes as she lies politely.
"Understandable. She has so much going on. I'll just get a slot next week," I respond as I secretly note the queen's locations this evening and schedule a meeting for later that I won't show up for.
Erica curtsies. "Thank you for your understanding, Princess Brylee. Everyone else today has been so impatient."
"Of course." I pat her on the shoulder. "I know those alpha tempers can't be easy to handle. You're an angel for putting up with them. I know my mother always says she'd be lost without you."
Erica waves me off with a dismissive hand but a bright smile. In contrast, my smile fades the second I pivot away from her—the second I can drop the mask of dutiful daughter.
Anticipation starts to swirl in my gut, and I'm sorely tempted to burst in on Mother's current meeting with several mayors and shove her sins down her throat publicly.
She deserves slicing shame and corrosive condemnation.
But that won't serve my long-term goals.
I need her to agree to a truce.
For that I need leverage.
My teeth grind together. Leverage equates to blackmail, but I don't think the blackhearted woman would surrender herprecious war for anything less. Which means I need to await the right moment.
Tonight there's the perfect opportunity.
It offers privacy but also the potential for emotional leverage.
And so I dig up every ounce of patience I possess. And I wait.
Evening has fallen,and the moon is full, casting gleaming blue stripes upon my marble floor in my dressing room as I stare at myself in the mirror and don pearl earrings with the same sort of care I've seen soldiers use to strap omega scent grenades to their chests.
My white dress floats around my calves, and my hair has been pulled into a French twist. Simple, elegant, modest—visually, I'm all the things an alpha wants an omega to be. My outfit is designed to disarm.
My tongue, on the other hand, will be as sharp as a sword.
Ridge stands behind me in black jeans and a black collared shirt, leaning against the door frame, watching me with a steady, solemn gaze.
My men pushed their meetings out until tomorrow in order to stay with me through the horrid revelation and the fallout of Sam and Caran's betrayal. I don't know what excuses they made, and frankly, I don't care. I just appreciate that they've shoved everything aside to stay at my side today.
Even though I won't talk about it. Can't.
Their presence alone is the balm I need.
They banished Caran to a guest room in our wing and told the coward not to emerge because I can only take on so many soul-shattering prospects in a single day, and his reckoning will have to wait.
After that exile, I did take solace in Alpha Team X for several quiet hours. Simply sitting on their laps, thinking, planning, absorbing their attention. I tucked my face near the crooks of their necks and inhaled their scents one by one.
