Dinner is soon served, a lavish eight-course meal, but I have no appetite. I am seated at a table in the smaller dining room where the staff of the ranked werewolves are seated. However, I am at a higher table on a slight dais with five other omegas. They must be important as they are all dressed in extremely fine dresses. I am too preoccupied to wonder who they are, though. The sooner this evening ends, the better.
“So, who do you belong to? I’m Lucia, by the way,” one of them says, looking me over.
I turn to her, snapping from my train of thought. “Evangeline. Umm, belong to?” I ask.
A few exchange looks, and the one who spoke raises an eyebrow.
“Yes, you must belong to one of the princes if you’re at this ball or sitting at our table,” Lucia replies.
Confusion flits through me. “I came with Lady Philomena Welhaven.”
“Ah, a gift, then,” another woman states, exchanging looks with Lucia.
“A g-gift?” I ask, my stomach flipping sickeningly as the realization strikes. Grandmother Philomena wants me gone. Will she give me to the royal family? But I have no wolf; I can be killed!
These women are the omegas of the royals and are obviously held in high regard. I know most of the princes will have more than one, but it seems clear that only some are favored.
Reaching for my fork, I push the thoughts aside as best I can. However, I can barely hold it properly, the cool metal tapping the plate.
Maybe they are mistakenGrandmother Philomena brought me here as her assistant. Yet she didn't treat me as one, instead referring to me as a guest.
I am trying to calm myself when the most terrifying, deafening growl I have ever heard shakes the chandeliers. I jump at the sound, my knee hitting the tabletop beneath the fancy tablecloth.
Silence falls instantly, and a wave of fear spreads through the room. Fear so strong I can feel it, like this entity eating me up and feeding on the fear that is oozing from us all, the energy only growing more potent.
“Sinclair!”
My heart thuds when I hear Grandmother’s cry. I stand, knocking my chair over. The sound echoes in the room. I am ready to run when Lucia grabs my arm.
“Don’t go. He’ll kill you,” she whispers, terrified.
“He’ll hurt Sinclair,” I reply. I don't care who she meant. My only thought is to make sure Sinclair is okay.
I run from the hall and through the arch to the brighter-lit dining hall. To my utter horror, I see none other than Prince Zedkiel pinning Sinclair to the wall, his elongated claws digging into his skin.
Sinclair looks livid as he stares down the Prince, which only seems to anger Zedkiel more. His grip on his throat tightens as Sinclair's face starts to turn purple. Zedkiel’s dark, menacing aura swirls around him and is so strong that I fight even from this distance to remain standing.
I look around the room. Why is no one helping him? Everyone, even the King, is simply watching as they stand there.
Scanning the room for Alpha Aeron, I feel utter despair when I see him just standing there from his position a few seats down from the King. He is tight-lipped, with his eyes full of fear.
“Help him!” I whimper, turning to the nearest man, who simply ignores me.
“Try that again,” Zedkiel growls, his grip tightening.
“Zedkiel!” Supreme Alpha Ambrose calls, his face pale as he glares at his son's back.
But the Prince doesn't seem to care. From where I stand, I can see the cold, contemptuous look on his face, and when his hand tightens around Sinclair’s throat, I can see he is enjoying this. A chilling smirk crosses his face.
Panic makes me move. “P-please let him go!” I say bravely, running over.
I am terrified, and I feel like I am either going to vomit or pass out. I hear a few gasps, but I am more concerned for Sinclair.
His beautiful eyes turn to me in shock, but the Prince’s gaze terrifies me. I step back, nearly tripping over my feet, and any bravado I have left drains out of me.
“P-please," I stutter, clutching my hands in front of me.
“Angel…” Sinclair murmurs. There is something in his eyes I can’t decipher, but I turn my attention to the Prince, even though I cannot look him in the eyes.
He scoffs, throwing Sinclair mercilessly to the ground. My hands instantly reach for Sinclair, wanting to help him, only for Zedkiel’s growl to make me jump and stagger back.
Zedkiel bares his teeth at me, and I flinch when he turns his attention to me. My heart sinks when he stalks towards me.
Perhaps he’ll kill me. Maybe the nightmare just depicts my death at his hand, not where it will take place. But if I am to die, at least let it be because I have been useful to Sinclair.
I close my eyes, my heart thumping in my throat.
The moment he roughly grips my jaw, I let out a shaking sob, my eyes flying open in fear. But where moments earlier there was only white-hot anger, it is now mixed with something else.
“Looks like you have a little mouse trying to save you,” he sneers, his grip painful.
“Zedkiel…” Alpha Ambrose tries again. “Unhand the woman.”
Zedkiel scoffs and looks over his shoulder at his father, who is now standing. “You want to save her, come and get her, Father,” he challenges tauntingly.
He is mocking the Alpha King. Does he fear no one? Yet it is clear they all fear Prince Zedkiel far more because his father drops back into his seat.
Tears prick my eyes, seeing that not even the Alpha of Alphas is willing to take on his son.
Sinclair gets to his feet, trying to approach us, but the moment he is close, faster than I could even see, Zedkiel raises his leg, kicking him with such force he goes smashing into the table behind him, the force knocking it into the table behind. A few startled screams fill the hall as everyone moves quickly and steers clear of the tables.
The Prince looks down at me, and for a second, I feel as if he is looking me over, but then he pushes me away. I am certain I imagined it. The rough shove sends me to the floor. He turns and, to my horror, heads towards Sinclair, whom Prince Chasyn is helping up.
“Zedkiel, stop,” Chasyn warns his younger brother. Zedkiel shoves his brother, stalking Sinclair like he is his prey.
“Move unless you want to share a grave with him, brother,” he warns him menacingly. “Because you know I won’t hesitate to kill you.”
“Prince Zedkiel.” I turn when Grandmother Philomena steps forward.
No Grandmother! He might hurt her, too!
I quickly get up, wanting to pull her away. Sinclair needs someone strong to save him, not her!
“G-grandma-” she raises her hand, her eyes flashing as she looks at me warningly.
“Enough,” she growls at me, a noise I have never heard her make towards me before.
I feel hurt but say nothing. She is disappointed in me; I have messed up again.
“Prince Zedkiel, if I may?” Grandmother Philomena speaks clearly, with not an ounce of fear or even a stutter.
Zedkiel stops in his tracks.
“My grandson has foolishly insulted you, and I apologize to you on his behalf,” she says clearly.
He turns to her and raises one of his brows.
“And how will one apology fix his insult?”
Insult? What did Sinclair do?