Chapter 11 The Secret That Could End a Kingdom
Lyanna
I learned the rhythm of the Inner Capital in the weeks since my arrival, though “rhythm” implied a softness this place did not possess. Every lesson here carved itself into me with exhaustion, fear, and the dull ache of a body that no longer felt entirely my own.
The noise suffocated me at first—the clatter of armour, clipped patrol orders, the heavy hum of a city polished bright by blood. The palace district was nothing like the outskirts they dragged me in through. Here, marble fountains spilled wine-red water. Banners of the three-headed golden beast rippled from every arch. Alphas marched in precise rotations, their armour catching the sun like threats.
Even the air tasted sickly sweet.
But I adapted. Survival in Drakovia was a tide I either swam or drowned beneath.
My voice had been stolen the moment the bond snapped. The pain lingered—an echo of something that should never have been broken. Rubin haunted every heartbeat, every hollow flutter beneath my ribs. Nearly two months without him. I swallowed the grief the same way I breathed: quietly.
Bina took me in. Sera shadowed. That frightened me more than the capital itself—because it meant I wasn’t alone anymore.
“Remember,” Bina murmured every morning as she fastened my compliance veil, “not too fast, not too slow. No eye contact. Omegas who draw attention get taken.”
I only nodded. I was still playing the mute, still hiding the ragged scar where my mating mark used to be, still drowning in layers meant to conceal the faint swell beneath my ribs. Morning nausea, fatigue, dizziness—my body betrayed me daily, but I endured.
I wasn’t the only veiled omega in the city. Silks for the Drakovian-born nobility. Iron mesh for the captured. Guess which I wore.
Sera brushed my wrist lightly as a cluster of noble alphas passed—perfume strong enough to choke, voices sharp with entitlement.
“Rule one,” she whispered, “never let a noble get you alone. That’s how omegas disappear.”
I absorbed every warning like a quiet, obedient machine. This was still a battlefield—just one without open bloodshed.
We walked through immaculate avenues, streets polished like marble mirrors, hedgerows trimmed into perfect emerald walls, gilded lamps painting everything in soft deception. Aelorian dawns felt like dreams now. Drakovia replaced birdsong with bells.
Every night, curfew rang from the brass towers: a slow, heavy peal rolling through the streets. Omegas hurried inside when they heard it.
Alphas didn’t.
“No speaking. No reacting. No letting them think you understand more than you should,” Bina had warned me the first day.
I’d nodded then. I nodded now.
“Head down,” Bina whispered as we passed beneath a high balcony. Sera mirrored the motion, and I lowered my gaze. Even behind gauze, I felt exposed—one tremor enough to damn me as unstable. Dangerous.
I clutched the memory of Rubin tighter than breath.
I should have reached him. His scent had been close—so close instinct had screamed I should have known. Instead, I’d been dragged away. No grave. No body. No farewell for the child inside me.
Some nights, I pressed my palm to my stomach. Only two months, the healer had whispered when none of the guards were near. A secret check up, a crime punished by more than death.
This life inside me was the last piece of home.
So I learned. Quietly. Desperately.
Our assigned rotation each day was sweeping the upper terrace of the council plazas. The Inner Capital was always spotless, but the nobles demanded polishing so excessive it bordered on madness.
“Why do they need it this clean?” I signed one day.
Bina signed back discreetly: Because power likes everything perfect.
I almost settled into the routine when Sera leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper.
“Have you heard of the Three Heads of Drakovia?”
I blinked.
She continued, eyes wide. “They rule everything. Lady Vespera. Chancellor Varyon. General Othran. Even the emperor listens to them.”
“The order is simple,” Bina murmured. “Vespera chooses who dies. Varyon chooses who prospers. And Othran chooses who breeds.”
My hand tightened painfully around the broom.
Three heads of the beast.
We turned down a side street and stumbled into the roar of a crowd. A punishment square—I recognised it instantly. Omegas were lined up in rows, forced to witness. Sera squeezed my hand as the mob jeered.
A young omega knelt in the centre. His compliance veil was torn. His wrists bound to an iron post. A guard read his crime:
“Attempted escape.”
The punishment was swift and monstrous, flogging laced with shock-tether runes. His back split in ribbons. His screams ripped the air apart.
Bina flinched. Sera trembled against me.
I swallowed my breath, unable to look away.
Then a voice cut through the chaos.
“Enough.”
The crowd parted.
He wasn’t in armour. Just black wool and riding gloves. His crest ring glinted like a warning.
Lord Veras.
He didn’t look like a rescuer. Not even angry. Just tired of the cruelty. Disgusted by the incompetence of those indulging in it.
“That man will bleed out in five more strikes,” he said coldly. “What purpose does that serve?”
The captain froze. “My lord—”
“Stand down. I thought you had use for these omegas?”
No kindness. No empathy. But he stopped them.
Some nobles muttered irritably. It wasn’t entertainment anymore.
I watched him like someone watching a distant storm—fascinated and wary. He didn’t notice me or the rows of silent omegas. His jaw was stone. His eyes sharp.
Why is he different?
Is he different?
Or was it performance?
I didn’t know. But I didn’t forget his face.
That night, news surged through the omega quarters like lightning.
“Aelorian envoys have arrived!”
I froze mid-step.
Aeloria.
My heart nearly burst. If envoys were here, Aeloria wasn’t defeated. My people still lived. My king still fought.
I wanted to scream, to run to them, to demand my name be spoken.
But I had to be careful.
So I listened.
“Negotiations.”
“Claims for the captive lists.”
“They’re demanding the return of prisoners.”
Hope flickered dangerously inside me.
Should I tell Bina and Sera?
No.
Not yet. Hope was lethal in Drakovia.
The next morning, we were ordered to clean the council hall for the arrival and negotiations. I scrubbed polished marble until my fingers pruned. Mosaics of the golden beast stared down, unblinking. The walls reflected my small figure like I was already a ghost.
When the final bell tolled, the omegas were dismissed.
I lingered.
Just one mistake. One misjudged minute.
The double doors swung open.
Footsteps. Voices.
Panic jolted through me. I dove behind a heavy tapestry, heart punching against stone.
I stayed still.
Perfume. Leather. Authority.
Voices slid into the chamber.
“Lord Emmisery,” a woman purred, “I trust your journey was swift?”
“As always,” another replied, clipped, precise.
I strained to hear.
Then it clicked.
These were the Three Heads.
“The king of Aeloria,” Varyon said suddenly, “has been marked for removal. All preparations are in place.”
My stomach fell out from under me. I pressed a hand to my belly.
“We will install a puppet ruler,” Vespera added, calm as silk. “The cities must fall seamlessly.”
“And the captured omegas?” Othran asked, blunt and hungry. “Their stock will serve the empire. We cannot allow weakness into the bloodline.”
Then another voice.
Aelorian.
Familiar.
My blood iced.
Minister Kalden.
He’d been at my wedding. Rubin had once called him friend.
But his tone was smooth—wrong.
“I seek the safety of my people and the integrity of our family lands,” he said. “We come to negotiate, not provoke. But any reneging on our deal will be remembered.”
I felt fury. And terror.
He wasn’t here to save anyone.
He was bargaining Aeloria’s future for his own gain.
And my people didn’t even know Drakovia planned to betray them.
My body trembled.
I had information that could save them. I was a witness.
But I couldn’t run. Couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t breathe as the voices drew closer.
Varyon stopped speaking.
Silence.
Then, with a tone like a knife scraping stone:
“Too many ears in this place.”
Footsteps turned toward my hiding spot.
Closer.
Closer.
I pressed myself deeper into the tapestry’s shadow, pulse shaking.
The council moved as one presence, chairs scraping, footsteps echoing on marble.
And Varyon stepped directly toward me.
The tapestry shifted.