A week had slipped by since my Omega presentation, each day dragging like chains in the rain-slicked alleys of my old life. The palace had morphed into a gilded trap, its opulent halls closing in. Almost five knights followed me wherever I went—especially if I tried to go out. I was taught etiquette, house-making, gardening, stitching, childcare, dance—and all other things to highlight my omega side.
Lacy outfits chafed my skin daily—ribbons tangling my silver hair, ruffles billowing like sails, all mocking the cold killer coiled inside. God really wants to mock me, doesn't he? Forcing me to play an omega?
People stared with hungry eyes during audiences, their noses twitching at my every move. Servants shoved scent-suppressants at every meal—bitter pills to dull my new allure, which bloomed from my gland unbidden. I didn't know that being an omega is such a hassle. Modern novels made it easy.
I'd cornered Mom in a quiet moment, pleading—begging her to raise the issue with Dad—break the engagement to with the novel's venomous villainess. It blew up in my face like a botched hit.
We gathered in Dad's private garden, a serene pocket of wild green tucked amid the palace's looming obsidian towers. Sunlight dappled through a canopy of misty leaves overhead, casting shifting patterns on dew-kissed paths.
The air hung heavy with the earthy tang of rich soil, nightshade blooms releasing their sweet, toxic perfume that clung to clothes and skin.
Vibrant flowers nodded in the breeze—crimson thorns guarding delicate petals—while a small fountain bubbled nearby, its water shimmering with faint glow.
Dad knelt amid the flowerbeds; her thick gloves caked in dark earth.
She pruned thorny vines with steady precision—snip of shears, twist of stem, discard into a woven basket. Gardening was her rare quiet escape from the throne's endless wars and decrees, hands in dirt instead of blood.
"Why?!" I yelled, silver hair swinging wild as I stomped forward. Diamond earrings caught the light, flashing like hidden warnings. "I don't want to marry her!"
Dad rose to her full, imposing height in a simple tunic smeared with soil and sweat. Stray raven strands escaped her cropped hair. Her sharp eyes pinned me, unblinking. "You do whatever I say, Alexander." Her voice rang hard as forged steel. Her pheromones sharpened the breeze, commanding obedience down to my bones.
"But it's a loveless marriage!" I shot back, fists balled tight at my sides. Omega instincts tugged viciously—submit, yield, please—but I crushed them down—my assassin fire burning hotter in my chest, fuelling the defiance. A simple onslaught of pheromones can't stop me.
Mom lingered close in her flowing dress of pale silk, fabric whispering with each nervous shift. She nodded supportively but uncertainty clouded her gentle face, brows furrowed. Her scent soured, turning tense and cloying like overripe fruit. "Honey, think—I don't want him to be sad."
Dad brushed dirt from her callused hands, flecks falling like dark snow. She stood unyielding as the towers themselves. "He won't be sad. He's crown princess now, and has duties—will rule the empire one day. My daughter will be the first omega emperor of this empire."
Why did gender norms leave the word 'emperor?' I thought that I would be called as the 'empress.'
"I won't listen to you!"
"I am your father, and the ruler of this empire. Are you really going against me?"
I pouted, lips fuller and softer than my old sharp sneer, a traitorous Omega gift. Arms crossed tight over the ruffled blouse they'd forced on me that morning, lace itching like a thousand tiny barbs against my skin.
"You can't do this to me." Mom, Dad—back me up here! My assassin heart screamed to flee, chain-whip uncoiling in memory, ready for blood. But my Omega body rooted me heavy, limbs leaden with unwelcome calm. Besides, I like these two.
"Alexander, you will do what I tell you to do. I am your father—not your enemy. I will always want the best for my daughter."
"But I don't love her!" I am feeling like a soap opera's tragic heroine bound for marrying a villain—thanks to my father.
Dad sighed deeply, her knuckles scarred fresh from thorns, red lines beading tiny blood drops that she wiped absently on her tunic. She softened just a touch, eyes warming with reluctant pride amid the garden's misty glow. "Marriages build empires, not love. Bear it. Grow stronger—from it."
"Stronger?" I echoed, voice sharp, silver hair stirring in the breeze as I stepped closer, diamond earrings swaying.
"Yes, stronger," Dad repeated firmly, standing taller, her Alpha shadow falling over the flowerbeds.
"How can you say that?" I pressed, fists still clenched, the itch of lace fuelling my frustration.
"You need alliances to stabilize yourself, my daughter." The word landed like a slap—Omega title sticking now.
"Flower, why don't you understand?" Mom pleaded, her flowing dress rustling as she reached for me, her scent pleading.
"Mom!" I snapped, pulling away, cheeks burning under the orchid's heavy petals. "Can you not call me 'flower' in front of her?"
Dad fixed me with that unyielding stare, voice like grinding stone. "You will marry her, and take other Alphas as your concubines, if you want."
"What?!" My jaw dropped, world tilting. That's her plan?!
"Yes, that's my plan." She crossed her arms, soil-streaked and regal. "Me and your mother won't be alive forever. So, you marry her for the alliance, then build your own harem—loyal Alphas to protect the throne, sire heirs if needed. Strength in numbers."
"But isn't that against the norms... gender norms?" I stammered, mind reeling. Omegas as "female"—submissive, claimed. Not claimers.
Dad's laugh was low, dangerous, eyes flashing steel. "I am the emperor. No one can stop me. If anyone tries, they won't live to see the next day."
"Dad, I'm not interested in harems," I said flatly, crossing my arms tighter, lace ruffles crinkling. The idea twisted wrong with me.
Dad's eyes narrowed, thorn-scarred hands planting on her hips amid the nightshade blooms. Sunlight glinted off her dirt-smeared tunic.