Until she’s safe.
Forever.
28
BRYLEE
My throat isdry as a pair of servants swing the doors to the throne room open with bowed heads. I stride into the massive, echoing space as I smooth down the emerald-green suit I wear to curry favor. Every step I take in my heels sends a clacking sound reverberating off the marble floors, columns, and arched ceilings, making me utterly self-conscious.
The room is empty, a great wide void. Mother has graciously squeezed in this meeting with me right before she makes a public announcement about the war on the nightly news. But not another soul is in here preparing yet. No camera or lighting crew. Just her, sitting on her velvet throne, making me approach like a supplicant.
Of course she couldn't have made this meeting in her dressing room or somewhere casual. I have to walk all the way through the room toward the golden throne, feeling exposed and minuscule as an ant as she stares down from her raised dais.
My gaze drops to my feet because I know that's what she expects from me, and it's better not to approach an alpha with a challenging glare. Her, in particular.
Though my throat still stings from her proclamation earlier, from her dismissive cruelty toward my scent matches, I try to keep my features smooth and placid as we learned to do at Darling.
Omegas don't win battles directly,I remind myself.We win through stealth. Cunning. Not force.
But that's hard to do when every single nerve ending in my body is still vibrating from the remnants of my heat, and my connection to my men has never felt stronger.
If she says a single word about them?—
"You need to forget that alpha group."
My gaze flies up to find the queen casually checking her hair in a compact mirror, tucking down a stray strand as though she didn't just verbally attempt to guillotine my future.
Play dumb, Madame Ellora coaches inside my head. Her slicked-back bun and clasped hands pop into my head as clear as a television program.When an alpha makes a demand of you that you don't like, it is your duty to serve them. But if they make a demand that's unreasonable…play dumb.
"I'm sorry. I don't understand." I struggle to act confused instead of outraged, and my voice comes out strained and squeaky.
"While that team is…decent, they lack the advantages that Brock and the others have."
"But I thought they were decorated war heroes?" I turn it into a question, trying not to overdo the valley-girl tone because I don't want mother to suss out my tactic.
"Ridge's team has no political alliances."
"Aren't you the biggest alliance of them all?" I allow myself a little head tilt.
Her lips thin, and she snaps her compact shut, clearly impatient with this conversation already. "Yes, but we need allies."
I blink at her several times. "I'm confused. I thought allies were with other countries."
Her nostrils flare as she inhales in a bid to keep her temper. "They can be internal as well. Brock comes from a well-respected, noble family. His family is considered one of the richest in the country."
“Wouldn’t better allies be the Noth princes?” Though there’s a president that runs that country, there’s also an archaic royal family who’s kept around for the sake of tradition, a fact that I know abrades my mother like a cheese grater.
Her teeth clench, but she takes a deep breath and brushes off my suggestion without responding. God, can’t she just get angry enough to dismiss me and put this discussion off? She has a press conference to get to. But I haven’t won yet, so I keep going.
"And we aren't already allied with all the families in this country…so we need an alliance?" I full-on channelLegally Blondebecause I've made it this far, and I doubt she'll get the reference.
Her smile is a grimace. I can tell she’s fuming.
"We're in the middle of a war, Brylee. We all have to make sacrifices." She stands in a clear bid to intimidate me, her sleek black suit emanating power alongside her aggressive scent.
"Brock's group is going to help us win the war?"
"You will marry them. That's the end of this discussion." Instead of shouting and sending me out of the room, her declaration is low and lethal.
