Chapter 13 The Omega With Silver Eyes
Elias
The city felt wrong the moment I rode through the inner gates.
I tried to push the memory of the strange encounter with those omegas from my mind as I took in my surroundings, but unease clung stubbornly to my ribs. Guards lined the avenues in double formation—not the lazy pairs I remembered, but disciplined ranks with spears upright and eyes sharp. Patrol routes overlapped. No gaps. No wandering.
I slowed my horse.
Curfew bells tolled from the eastern towers—early. Far too early. Their iron notes rolled through the streets, driving merchants into frantic motion and sending servants scrambling to pull shutters tight. Doors slammed. Windows went dark.
Something had happened.
Or worse—something was still happening.
At the manor gates, the guards snapped to attention with a speed that bordered on desperation. One of them saluted too sharply, knuckles white against his helm.
“Lord Veras,” he said. “You’re not expected.”
That, too, was wrong.
I dismounted and handed off the reins without comment. As I crossed the threshold, the air inside pressed close. The inner corridors buzzed with restless movement. Courtiers whispered behind tapestries. Servants hurried past with their heads bowed so low they nearly scraped marble.
They were looking for something.
Or someone.
I moved deeper into the manor, boots echoing softly, documents tucked beneath my arm. I’d intended to drop them with the clerks and leave. I had no desire to linger in this place longer than necessary.
Instead, I found the council wing sealed by guards bearing the Triune’s sigil.
Vespera’s laughter cut through the doors—loud and sharp as breaking glass.
I stopped.
Why was the council convened here?
The Aelorian envoy should have been received at the palace under the emperor’s seal, not ushered into the Triune’s private halls like a shameful secret. Protocol existed for a reason.
The doors opened.
Lady Vespera emerged first, draped in silver and crimson, her smile already fixed into place. Chancellor Varyon followed, hands folded behind his back, eyes flat and unreadable. General Othran brought up the rear, armour gleaming, expression carved from stone.
Between them stood a man who did not belong.
Aelorian.
He wore the pale blue of the western courts, silk dulled by sweat and travel. His posture was rigid, hands clenched at his sides like he expected chains at any moment.
Vespera’s gaze flicked to me.
“Lord Veras,” she said smoothly. “Perfect timing.”
I inclined my head just enough to satisfy courtesy. “My lady.”
She gestured toward the man. “Allow me to introduce Lord Halren of Aeloria.”
Halren startled slightly, then bowed. His eyes darted to me and away again.
I returned the bow with bare politeness.
“Lord Veras,” he said, swallowing.
Fear clung to him. Subtle—but unmistakable to a trained nose. I felt a flicker of disdain rise before I crushed it. This wasn’t Halren’s fault. Aeloria had sent him into a den and barred the door behind him.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Halren said quickly, backing away. “I… I must prepare my report.”
“Of course,” Vespera replied. “We will continue discussions once the treaty terms are finalised.”
He turned to go—then hesitated.
“There is… one more matter.”
The air shifted.
Othran’s jaw tightened. Varyon’s eyes sharpened by a fraction.
Halren pressed on, voice strained. “One of the border cities attacked during recent engagements belonged to Lord Rubin, a man of considerable standing in our court. His lands were seized. His household… dispersed.”
My spine stiffened. Dispersed. Is that what they call slaughter now?
“He has come seeking his mate,” Halren continued. “She was taken during the siege. We request her return. Along with Lord Rubin himself, if he is held within Drakovian custody.”
Vespera tilted her head. “I’m not aware of such prisoners.”
“We can provide names and descriptions,” Halren said quickly. “The lord is tall, dark-haired, with bright eyes. His mate—” He hesitated. “She has silver hair. Silver eyes.”
My thoughts went utterly still.
Silver eyes.
Unbidden, an image rose—an omega collapsed on stone, breath hitching as grief tore through her broken mate mark. Silver eyes glazed with pain. Then again, more recently: those same eyes wide with terror, reflecting torchlight.
I’d noticed because it was unusual. Because it didn’t fit.
Nothing more.
My mouth moved before I could stop it.
“Is the mate mute and deaf?”
Every head turned.
Halren blinked. “No,” he said slowly. “She is not. Her name is Lady Lyanna.”
Vespera’s gaze slid to me, sharp and probing. “Why do you ask, Lord Veras?”
I smoothed my expression. “Idle curiosity.”
She studied me for a long moment, calculation flickering beneath her pleasant mask. Then she smiled.
“We will look into our records,” she said to Halren. “If such individuals are among our prisoners, they will be… considered. Once negotiations conclude.”
Halren bowed again, relief and dread warring across his face. He left quickly, his boots echoing far too loudly in the sudden hush.
I handed Vespera the documents I carried.
“Border tallies,” I said. “Updated.”
She accepted them absently.
I turned to leave.
Behind me, Varyon’s voice drifted softly. “We’ll need to comb the pens.”
“Yes,” Vespera replied. “Quietly.”
I didn’t wait to hear more.
Night had fully settled when I stepped back into the city—a knot I couldn’t name tightened in my chest with every step.
Lyanna.
The curfew bells rang again—final this time—rolling through the streets like a sentence being passed. I mounted my horse and rode hard for home, the scowl between my brows refusing to ease.
My thoughts circled relentlessly.
Silver eyes.
Mute and deaf.
Or pretending.
What had she been doing in the nobles’ gardens?
What had she heard?
And why—gods damn it—did the idea of her trapped in the pens twist something sharp and unpleasant in my gut?
Torches blurred past as I pushed my horse faster through the darkened streets. Guards snapped to attention at my passing. Doors slammed shut. The city folded in on itself—obedient, afraid.
Things had worsened in Drakovia.
And I was no longer certain what, exactly, I was fighting for.
\-\-\-\-\-\-
My family was already seated when I arrived.
The dining hall glowed with lamplight, polished stone reflecting gold and shadow. My father sat at the head of the table, posture rigid, grey threading his dark hair. My sister sat opposite him, hands folded in her lap, shoulders drawn tight.
“You’re late,” my father said.
“Unavoidably,” I replied, removing my gloves.
My sister glanced up, relief flickering briefly before she masked it. “The city’s restless,” she said. “Did you notice?”
“I’d be blind not to.”
My father snorted. “The Triune tightens its grip and expects us to smile.”
A servant poured wine. I barely tasted it.
“There’s a new decree,” my father said.
I stilled.
“All high-ranking alphas are required to select at least one omega from the pens,” he continued. “Pending formal marriage. To boost birth rates.”
The words hit like a blow. My chest tightened, breath catching with the remembered stink of bloodstone floors and iron chains—places I avoided thinking about.
“When was this decided?” I asked.
“Yesterday.”
“In my absence.”
“We don’t have the luxury of protest,” he said flatly. “The empire needs heirs.”
My sister’s hands curled into fists. “At what cost?”
He shot her a warning look. “Watch your tone.”
“They’re not cattle,” she said, not looking away.
“They’re resources,” he snapped. “And if we don’t provide heirs, they’ll assign omegas to us anyway. Better to choose than be saddled with strangers.”
I pushed back from the table. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll be ordered,” my father said quietly. “And punished.”
My sister’s voice shook. “You can’t—”
“I can,” he said. “And so can they.”
The room felt suddenly too small. Too close. Faces blurred—replaced by silver eyes staring up at me in torchlight.
“I need air,” I said, and left before anyone could stop me.
\-\-\-\-\-\-
I was halfway up the stairs when a runner intercepted me.
“Lord Veras,” he panted. “You’re summoned.”
I turned slowly. “By whom?”
“The Triune.”
Of course.
Back in the manor, the corridors had grown quiet. Purposeful. I followed him into a smaller chamber, dimly lit, where Vespera waited alone.
She gestured to a chair. I remained standing.
“Straight to the point, then,” she said lightly. “You’re observant, Lord Veras. And discreet.”
“Am I?”
“You noticed the envoy’s discomfort. You asked… interesting questions.”
“Curiosity is not treason.”
“No,” she agreed. “But it can be useful.”
She leaned forward. “We’ve decided to assign you an additional duty.”
My spine stiffened. “I’m listening.”
“You will oversee the omega pens,” she said. “Personally. Evaluate foreign captives pending treaty negotiations. Ensure compliance.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“And if I refuse?” I asked.
Her smile sharpened. “You won’t.”
She rose, smoothing her skirts. “You have three days to select an omega, Lord Veras. Or we will select for you. Use this opportunity wisely.”
Cold clarity settled in my chest.
The Triune hadn’t missed my interest.
They had decided to weaponise it.