Chapter 8 Those Silver Eyes
Elias
War dust still clung to my cloak as my horse clattered across the final bridge into Drakovia’s capital. Snow-mist curled low along the parapets and stung my cheeks.
The three headed beast-sigil banners snapped overhead—black and silver—raised high as though the city expected me to feel triumphant.
I felt nothing of the sort.
Three years at war had sharpened Drakovia into something feral. Soldiers patrolled in doubled ranks. Civilians hurried with their heads down.
And cages—too many cages—lined the outer districts like the city had decided iron was an acceptable substitute for architecture.
Officers clustered around me as if escorting a prize. I let them. Refusing always bred questions, and questions bred danger.
“Welcome home, Lord Veras!” General Harkon boomed. “You missed the final push at the Aelorian border. Glorious campaign. The council will brief you.”
“So I’ve heard,” I replied.
“We brought back spoils,” he continued proudly. “Villages surrendered quickly. The omegas were—”
“Enough.”
He laughed, assuming modesty. “You’ll see. The barracks are overflowing.”
I didn’t answer.
My gaze swept the churning streets instead—merchants hauling crates, soldiers stamping through slush, messengers sprinting through the cold. Yet beneath it all was a strange, oppressive quiet. A cruelty humming under the surface.
A handler shoved a thin girl—twelve at most—into a wooden cage. Her wrists were fragile twigs. A strip of red cloth marked her as newly taken.
Terror hollowed her eyes.
A memory slammed into me.
Smoke. A ruined doorway. Soft hands slick with blood.
Please—don’t leave me—
I forced the image back into the locked place in my mind.
“Lord Elias!”
Vespera’s voice.
I bit back a curse.
She approached atop an ivory mare, armour polished to a gleam. Her pale hair was braided in an alpha’s crown. Soldiers bowed reflexively.
“Drakovia’s jewel returns,” she announced. “We expected you yesterday.”
“I rode through a storm.”
“You look tired.”
“I’ve been at war.”
She smiled as though that were delightful. “Then you’ll appreciate our recent success. The Aelorian campaign yielded a bounty of omegas—healthy, fertile. Many are already being assigned to noble houses.”
My pulse thudded once—sharp, but my expression did not move.
“As a lord, you must consider legacy,” Vespera went on. “The realm expects heirs. Preferably soon.”
“My duties are military.”
“How quaint.” Her laugh felt poisonous somehow. “But lineage matters. The High Council will want assurance that your loyalties are aligned. Refusing an offered match can look… suspicious. You’ve been gone a long time.”
There it was—the polite threat.
I inclined my head. “Very well.”
Her smile brightened. “Good. Come. You can evaluate the stock.”
My teeth clicked lightly together. I didn’t want to evaluate anyone. I didn’t want a match. I wanted to burn this whole wretched compound to its foundations.
But I followed.
We rode down toward the lower barracks. Smoke thickened the air. The forges belched heat, and the shouts here carried a different tone—raw, frightened, ignored.
The despair in the air tasted metallic.
Vespera directed us toward a squat iron-banded building. “Some captives are already sorted. Several remain unassigned. Claiming one early is easier.”
I dismounted. Every nerve in my body screamed against this.
Inside, steam hit my face immediately. Buckets clattered. Fabric slapped stone. Omegas moved like ghosts through the motions of endless labor. The smell of herbs, lye, and sweat baked into the walls.
A handler hurried forward. “My Lord, Lady Vespera—we didn’t expect you so soon.”
“Show him the new arrivals,” Vespera said.
As we followed the handler, a sound cut through the noise. Sharp. Frantic.
The handler stiffened. “Ignore that, my Lord. A minor discipline issue.”
Vespera didn’t look. “This way. The stronger omegas are in this section.”
We entered a narrow bay. Trembling figures lined the walls.
“Good stock,” the handler said proudly. “Healthy, compliant—”
My jaw clenched.
Rows of hollowed faces. Shoulders drawn tight. Eyes lowered. Their worth measured in fertility, obedience, silence. Vespera discussed selection as though browsing horses.
But the noise from the other room grew louder—guards shouting, a bucket hitting stone, a panicked cry quickly smothered.
Vespera arched a brow. “You’re distracted.”
I didn’t deny it. Disgust simmered low beneath my ribs.
“I’m not choosing today,” I said. “We’re leaving.”
She blinked, surprised at the abruptness, then recovered. “Very well.”
We stepped into the hall just as guards sprinted past. Shouting escalated—water sloshing, bodies shuffling, another muffled cry.
“Oh for the gods’ sake,” Vespera muttered. “What now?”
The handler chased after them. “My Lady, forgive the noise. Some omegas pretend to faint or frenzy to avoid work. This one caused a nuisance—we’ll whip her—”
I didn’t hear the rest.
Something pulled me forward—tight, insistent, irrational.
Without a word, I walked toward the noise.
“Lord Elias!” Vespera snapped. “That is not—”
I pushed through the doorway.
And froze.
Chaos roared in the room.
Omegas formed a protective circle. Water streaked the floor. Steam curled through the air. Buckets lay overturned. Guards shoved through bodies that refused to break apart.
At the center—
A woman lay curled on the stone, convulsing silently.
Her fingers clawed at the ground, her lips bloodless, her back bowing violently with each spasm. Two omegas knelt beside her, shielding her with their bodies.
Blood trickled from her mating mark—a dark, glistening line.
My stomach dropped.
Her mating mark was bleeding.
“What’s going on here?” I demanded.
Everything stilled.
The handler skidded inside. “My Lord—apologies—this one is weak stock.”
“Explain.”
“She’s pretending,” he stammered. “Low constitution. Happens with some—”
“Liar.”
Before he spoke again, her body arched sharply—too sharply to be simple pretense. Tears streaked her face. Her mouth twisted in grief so raw it scraped against something old inside me.
One omega behind me whispered:
“She lost her mate.”
The words punched through my ribs.
Mate-loss.
The kind of agony that split the soul.
Another memory surged—someone gasping, shaking, clutching my uniform—
My lord, please! Don’t go—
—and the sickening snap of a bond shattering.
I inhaled slowly, fighting the memory back.
The woman on the floor trembled with silent, devastating pain. She bit into her lip to keep from screaming.
Why was she silent?
Behind me, Vespera scoffed. “This is the commotion? Pathetic creatures. Beat the others and drag her out. She’ll be culled.”
“No.”
The word left my mouth before I could think.
Vespera’s head snapped toward me. “What?”
“They won’t be beaten. She won’t be culled. Move her to another rotation.”
“Why? She’s barely alive.”
“She is alive.”
Her expression flickered into incredulous amusement. “You care for damaged goods now?”
I ignored her and stepped closer.
The woman on the ground trembled violently, silver lashes damp with tears. Blood streaked down her neck. Her breaths came shallow and frantic.
Then—she blinked.
Barely.
Her eyes cracked open, unfocused, fever-bright.
Silver.
Our gazes met for one suspended heartbeat.
Then her eyes rolled back and she went still.
Breathing—but barely.
“See that she survives,” I said.
The handler nodded frantically.
Vespera studied me like she’d spotted a crack she hadn’t expected. “How interesting.”
I said nothing. I turned sharply, my cloak snapping behind me, but the image stayed carved beneath my ribs:
A silver-eyed woman bleeding on the stone floor.
Breaking—but silent.
Still fighting.
This was all the mercy I could give her.
All I dared give her.
If she lived long enough to receive it.
I left the hall, slamming the door on the echo of her suffering.