"Down."
Alaric's hand pressed against her back as she stumbled out of the carriage.
Zoraide caught herself on the stone steps, eyes scanning the towering black walls of the Citadel.
The storm from the peaks had followed them, rain slicing across her shoulders.
She smelled smoke, iron, and the faint musk of the Alphas who patrolled the gates.
"You will walk," he said, voice low, commanding.
"I can—"
"Not today."
She stiffened but obeyed, forcing each step to seem hesitant, Omega-like. Her pulse stayed steady beneath the bitter herbs at her neck. Safe. For now.
Alaric's eyes followed her like a predator. Gold and green flicked between amusement and suspicion. He inhaled sharply, the herbal mask confusing his senses just enough to frustrate him.
"Your scent," he muttered, almost to himself. "It's… dull. Too dull."
"Herbs," she replied lightly, keeping her voice low. "It works wonders."
"Not enough," he said, gaze darkening. "You are hiding. And I will find what lies beneath."
The gate guards flanked them silently, eyes downcast. One of Alaric's scouts leaned close to whisper in his ear. He nodded once and tightened the leash of authority that seemed to hang around him naturally.
Zoraide's fingers curled slightly around the damp hem of her cloak. She had survived Fenris and the rogues. She had faced storms, mountains, and his twin. She could survive this.
A sharp laugh cut through the air as the massive gates swung open.
"Well, well," a silvery voice said. "Look what the King drags in."
Zoraide froze. The woman standing at the top of the steps leaned casually against the railing, smirking. Long platinum hair slicked over one shoulder, eyes like fractured ice.
"You brought a lowly Omega to my Citadel?" the woman continued, tilting her head. "I thought your tastes were… better, Alaric."
Zoraide's stomach clenched. That was Isolde. She had heard the name whispered among the scouts an Alpha of the Citadel, sharp, ruthless, and impossible to underestimate.
"I am not a pet," Zoraide said, stepping forward despite the weight of her imposed Omega posture.
Alaric's hand moved instantly to her lower back, pressing her subtly forward. The move was gentle but undeniable ownership and control rolled off him in waves.
"You are very much a pet today," Isolde said, smirk widening. "Look at her, trembling in her little herbs. You must feel so safe, little healer, thinking you can hide."
Zoraide's jaw tightened. She forced a calm breath, letting the herbal bitterness mask her pulse and temper.
"I am not trembling," she replied sharply.
Alaric's eyes flicked between them, sharp, gold, assessing. His body was taut, ready to snap but he did not move. Instead, he let the tension build.
"You smell like… nothing," he muttered quietly, mostly to himself. "And yet I can feel the storm beneath it."
Isolde's laugh rang again. "A storm? From an Omega? My, you must have the King's imagination as well as his obsession."
Zoraide's pulse threatened to spike. She kept it low. Kept it steady. Her Alpha instincts simmered beneath her herbs, like coals waiting for wind.
Alaric's gaze dropped to her throat. Her pulse. The faint tremor in her shoulders.
"Do not let her words rile you," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. The mate bond hummed with tension between them, thick, undeniable. "Control yourself. You are not prey."
Zoraide met his gaze. The pull of the bond struck deep into her chest, a reminder of the connection that neither of them fully understood.
"Why am I here?" she asked aloud, testing the water, keeping her voice calm.
"You belong to Crescent Fang," he replied, voice flat. "And Crescent Fang protects what belongs to him."
Isolde tilted her head, eyes glinting. "Belongs? The pet thinks she belongs anywhere? How… amusing."
"You underestimate her," Alaric said, ice coating his words. "I would advise caution."
The Alpha stepped closer, subtly positioning himself between Zoraide and the woman. The scouts followed like shadows, forming a silent perimeter.
"You speak too much for a healer," Isolde said, leaning down slightly, face twisted with mockery. "Do you not know your place?"
"I know exactly my place," Zoraide said, tone sharp enough to cut. "Just as I know yours. Overconfident, sharp-tongued, probably smells like sour wine and arrogance."
Isolde blinked. Then laughed, amused and impressed. "Oh, you bite back. That is… rare."
Alaric's jaw clenched. His gold eyes flickered. The mate bond between them pulsed, thick and hot, even as she forced her herbal mask to dull the edges of her power.
"You are clever," he said quietly, only for her. "Too clever. Do not forget why you are here."
Zoraide met his gaze steadily, teeth gritted. "I do not forget."
"Good," he murmured, moving slightly so that his body remained between her and Isolde. "Because if you do… the consequences are not gentle."
Isolde's smirk faded into something sharper. "We shall see if your little healer can survive here, King. The Citadel does not tolerate weakness."
Zoraide's pulse surged under the herbs. She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to appear small, Omega, compliant but every nerve screamed at her.
Alaric noticed. Of course he noticed. His eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, the heat of his body brushing against hers subtly, a silent warning and a claim rolled into one.
"You smell like herbs," he murmured low, nostrils flaring slightly. "It confuses me. But I will find the truth beneath it."
"I am full of surprises," Zoraide replied coolly, forcing her voice even, steady, calm.
Isolde clapped slowly, mockingly. "Oh, I do not doubt that."
The tension between the three of them tightened until it seemed the air itself could crack.
Alaric's hand brushed hers ever so slightly a test, a claim. Her pulse flared in response, despite the herbs.
"You are mine," he said quietly, voice almost lost to the patter of rain. "Do not forget it."
Zoraide did not answer.
She only forced herself to keep walking, heels clicking against the wet stone, each step a mask of obedience.
The Citadel doors loomed ahead, massive, black, and impossible to ignore.
Inside, the shadows promised scrutiny.
The storm outside began to howl louder.
And from somewhere deep in the hall, a growl echoed.
Zoraide froze.
Alaric's hand stayed at her back, possessive and protective.
The mate bond pulsed violently.
Something watched from the darkness.
Something she could not yet see.
And Zoraide knew, with the sick thrill that made her pulse race even under the herbs:
This place would not just test her obedience.
It would test everything she had worked so hard to hide.
And perhaps… it would force her to show what she truly was.
A storm rose in the Citadel's halls.
One that would not wait for her consent.
Her eyes flicked to the shadows ahead.
And she realized… she was not alone.
Someone or something, was already watching her move.
And the growl from the darkness was not human.
It was far worse.