Quinn
From a lifetime before, Quinn's parents had yearned for her marriage—a partner for their daughter, a lover. And trips home had been drenched in the questions, in suggestions, in matchmaking between her and the sons of their friends. He's a doctor, her mother had told her. A lawyer. This one's sweet with two cats. This one's rich, has waited his whole life for someone. How about a soulmate matchmaking agency? You could find him in a heartbeat. You could find him if you just tried.
Quinn had ignored those words with frustration brimming in her soul. She was disgusted by the questions, the taunts, the look in everyone's eyes. For she had been a woman well into her years, and it was about time she brought home a man like everyone else did. It was about time she joined the ranks of women clad in the weight of the dreary beginnings of four children and a man child for a spouse.
But Quinn had refused, refused the goddamn fucking system, refused the tyranny of males, of what society deemed them to be, of what they seemed to be. And even had scoffed at the concept of a soulmate for a brief time—more reasons to be chained like a horse to a mill.
She refused to be married for the sake of it. And it had made sense then with work, without a soulmate in sight, without the need of a man to survive. Quinn did not want to tie herself down to any other willing males waiting for matrimony. She didn't want a man that yearned for a maid, not a partner; a sex toy, not a person; and a slave, not a wife.
And now Quinn was to be the wife to the most patriarchal of the lot.
Her eyes shifted to the building, gaze locking on the mansion. Float thrummed in her throat, and her eyes meandered over the thronged streets that met at the gate of a home. Their mansion was a candlelit vastness of sweeping towers chipped from the bombs, bricks shadowed by the naked limbs of too-tall trees, and tiles devoured by moss and wet, slick ice.
It was not the castle in Euodia's memories. The castle of the North with its sweeping towers and massive garden. It'd been obliterated by the seven, and in Euodia's memories the scaffolding had gone up in flames. But it had been the heart of the city, the palace of the Alphas, the symbol of the ruling party.
This house was smaller, a mere three stories in a quaint terrace structures—never worthy for a family of high class in her time, much less the kings. But in this world, it could be luxury if she squinted hard enough. Looked past its height, and observed the way the windows glowed like eyes, noting the darkness of ashy, fearsome walls, the sharpness of each beam. It sat heavy, crouching like a beast over the homes of the people.
A monster.
And there were soldiers lurking, she noted now, the homes that sat by its side. And Omegas that peered out of it, armoured and waiting. Their defences lived next door, and a shout would surely have the rest of the world running to their aid.
There was no escape for her, not with generals as watchdogs, and officials for neighbours.
Already it was warmer when she stepped closer. The house radiating heat that stretched like a balloon over the people. And that was a better sign of wealth in these times. She followed behind her new husbands, keeping her distance; her vision shielded by the mass of soldiers that escorted her inside with a hand on her bloody shoulder. But she could make out some details, observe the gravel path, the canopy of naked browning trees. The choke of an oddly well-cared for garden, teeming with drying greens.
Decorative plants were a luxury.
They led her inside halls that had warm geothermal heated stone and electric running through its walls. And Float seemed to know that, notifying her of the appliances that sang in the rooms. Old technology, but ones that ran on electricity and perhaps even the best they had in this world. Technology that Quinn could buy with Float, that Quinn could offer as a bargaining chip for a better life.
She was brought to a room down the hall. A medium-sized bedroom of white plaster, a partially opened window and a small ledge to sit upon. It had a king-sized bed, a table, a lamp, and a small dresser. There was even a small bathroom attached to the corner. There were whispers from the Omega soldiers that left her to inspect her new surroundings, and she craned her head back slightly, noting the words that trailed from beyond the wooden door.
"My King," they murmured. "Surely, you wouldn't wish to be alone with the Beta. She's unstable, not safe—"
"We will see to her."
"Perhaps, one of the Omegas that can get her settled in, James will surely set her straight—"
"Unnecessary—"
"James is our housekeeper." Zen's voice pulled her out from her eavesdropping. He was by her side like a curse. He led her to the chair, had her sitting down before she could protest. "He stays with his son. Cleans up what we can't, prepares our space weekly. But aside from them, we don't have anyone else here. We're not partial to strangers or other Omegas."
Quinn hated his eyes, hated how pretty they looked as they stared up at her, dark voids of endless pooling liquid. She hated how his pupils dilated into orbs that feigned innocence and honesty, hated how his lips pouted, adorably begging to be kissed.
"Others make us territorial," he explained. "We can't guarantee their safety. Our housekeeper tries to keep his scent off our things." She was distinctly reminded of Rowan then, and the way he'd threatened to kill Omegas in his Heat.
"And I don't?" she asked, voice odd in her throat. He looked at her then, lashes fluttering, inhaling.
"Not to me," he answered carefully, eyes darting to the door. And she understood now that the six others were not as partial to her as he was.
"You want me to clean?" she asked, hesitant, and a frown danced across his brows. "Cook? Serve you?"
"Help would be the more accurate term," a pinched voice erupted from behind. And she stared as the fairy entered the room on gossamer wings. Solar knelt on his knees, darkness in his eyes, so handsome that it had her heart tripping over his fluid grace. In his arms was a bucket of herbs, bandages and a rag doused in antiseptic. "There is much work to be done and James is old. He would appreciate the aid, and it would be better for you to spend your days working on something instead of waiting on the bed for us to call you."
They wanted a slave, not just a goddamn prostitute. "It's in the contract," she agreed, unable to take her eyes off him now that he was before her and ready to work on her wounds. Euodia was used to his curved eyes and white smiles—always shaped like a heart and blooming like summer carnations and the softest sun. His body was usually drenched in joy, bubbling so cheerfully that it had even the villainess struggling not to smile. And now, without it, she was noting each monotonous strain of his clementine voice.
Surprise pinched in his brow. "You noted down everything?"
"What I could," she answered. Float had helped, whistled through the footnotes and the remarks. "I am to listen to my husbands, help in the household, fulfill their requests or face the penalties." Her eyes narrowed. "Although I didn't get to the details."
"If you are agreeable. It will not be unreasonable. The gold you wanted," Solar answered, inspecting her leg, "docked. Your access to food? Limited to certain staples without salt, and boiled. But not refused. You will be treated fairly if you listen well. You may see this as employment as you've worked for us before." His eyes swept over her face. "But you will still face the same judgement all Alphas do in the eyes of the law."
"Of course," she answered. Zen's voice was soft then, strained as if wrung tight by those words.
"I won't be able to save you outside of these walls," he murmured, almost begging with wide eyes. "I won't be able to save you if the Omegas see your wrongdoings." She blinked, then stared at him, considering his words. He was king. The opinions of others shouldn't matter to him. "So be good," he cautioned again weakly. "Please."
"I will," she answered dryly. "There's a reason why I'm here and not dead." This had a flicker in his eyes, a nervous lick of his lips, a dart of his eyes down to her chest as if considering her words. The corners of her lips lifted then, a small smile. "Thanks for trying to save me."
Zen's lips parted, lashes fluttering, a sweetness colouring his cheeks and then flooding the air in cookie crumble vanilla. "Of course."
Klaus stepped in then, closing the door and she felt its weight of his presence. The claustrophobia with the trio in the room. Oddly, Zen's presence calmed her, and she found herself leaning towards him, feet pointing his way, body towards him as if he soothed her. Klaus was fearsome, with angular, sharp features and eyes that were all ice cold stone, gaze thick with something unspeakable.
"Quinn," he murmured. There was a gauntness on him that she noted now with better lighting, bags circling eyes. And it existed on all three of them, an intensity that was spellbinding, and yet within them was a hunger that coiled dark and deep. "Solar will heal your wounds," his eyes swept over her haughtily. "And then you'll attend dinner with us, where we shall discuss our arrangement in detail. But," the king's eyes slipped to Solar, who seemed distracted by her ankle. "Solar," his tone was softer.
The fairy seemed startled. "Yes?"
"When was the last time you ate?"
This had a flush growing across Solar's cheeks, a redness that stretched to his neck. His tongue flicked out to wet drying lips. "Two weeks," he answered, unable to look at her. And when he did, it was dripping with need. "I couldn't keep down Omega lust and so my powers wane."
The silence that drenched the room now was electrifying. And she was caught in the tension, pregnant with promise. Their eyes were now heavier on her shoulders. And a neediness throbbed in her then, tendrils around her chest squeezing at his answer. It was strange that her heart seemed to soar, pulsing with the knowledge of what was yet to come.
Zen was looking at her with a darkness in half-lidded eyes, one that throbbed at the corner of his jaw, settled thick in his body as if he wanted nothing more than to consume her whole. And that stillness continued in the room, stretching over the Omegas. The sweetness of their scent seeping into the air. His exhale had her shuddering; cheeks blushing red.
It was infuriating that she wanted this as much as they seemed to want her too.
Klaus's smile stretched, fingers tapping impatiently on his arms. "We understand that you are more comfortable with Zen. And if it is so, then Solar will simply consume your lust via touch. It is your choice." Quinn pursed her lips.
"You'd allow me to choose Zen every time?" Said Omega flushed at her words then, an almost purr erupting from his throat.
"No," Klaus answered, a hard look deepening in his brows. A stiffening in his limbs, as if the mere suggestion disturbed him. "Do not push my kindness, Beta." Even Solar seemed oddly insulted, a wrinkle in his nose, a narrowing of his eyes.
"You're married to seven," Solar stated simply, "not one."