The annual mating ball in the majestic kingdom of Valtoria had arrived, and the air buzzed with excitement and anticipation.

Inside the castle, staff members flitted about like busy bees, transforming the grand hall into a spectacle of splendor. The hall was adorned with opulent chandeliers that glimmered like stars against the high ceilings, while lush vines wove gracefully around the ornate pillars. The sweet aroma of an array of fragrant flowers drifted through the air, blending harmoniously with the enchanting melodies crafted by skilled musicians playing their harps and flutes.

Tables groaned under the weight of extravagant feasts, lavishly decorated with delicate cakes, succulent fruits, rich chocolates, and every delectable dessert one could imagine.

Standing before us was Wren, an imposing figure who commanded the room with her presence. Her crisp cap sat firmly atop her head, and her arched eyebrows gave her an air of authority. A swirling pattern on her arm glowed ominously, a silent reminder of her power over us, while her stern expression left no doubt about her expectations.

With a decisive motion, she pried open her heavy book. "If you hear your name, step to the side," she instructed, her voice deep and resonant, possessing a quality that blurred the lines of gender.

When my name—"Emily Oakley... Hazel Snow"—finally cut through the buzzing anticipation, I hurriedly moved to the side, eager to avoid any ire from Wren as she slammed the book shut with an echoing thud.

"The ones whom I have called will serve the guests today, and the rest of you shall continue your daily duties," she murmured under her breath, dismissing the remaining staff with a flick of her wrist. Without hesitation, we fell into step behind her, propelled forward as though by invisible strings, urgency pulsing through our limbs.

Emily, ever the spirited one, could barely contain her enthusiasm. "Can you believe it? We'll be serving in the hall! That means we might just get to see the king!" she whispered excitedly, her eyes shining with delight as she leaned close to me.

I quickly motioned for her to hush, glancing nervously towards Wren. "If Madame hears you, you are finished before you even see him," I cautioned softly. Still, Emily buzzed with anticipation, dreaming of serving the king and perhaps stealing a glance at him.

We were soon ushered into the sprawling kitchen, where the air was thick with the mouthwatering scents of countless delicacies merging in a tantalizing symphony. The lavish spread was a feast for the senses, a stark contrast to our usual duties.

"Your task is simple," Wren instructed sharply. "Do not make any mistakes, serve them to their satisfaction, and above all, remember the rules."

"Yes, Madame," we chorused obediently as she exited, her head held high, and we dove immediately into our work.

As the hour approached, the resonant sound of a trumpet echoed through the castle, heralding the arrival of the esteemed guests. The grand hall filled rapidly, a sea of faces mingling with one another as they sampled the food and exchanged pleasantries amidst an atmosphere thick with celebration.

I navigated the crowd, my hands trembling slightly as I served wines, careful to keep my gaze lowered—another rule emphasizing the role of omegas within this world. With each passing moment, I felt a flutter of anxiety in my stomach. Would I see my mate among these finely dressed individuals? And if I did, would he even accept me? The uncertainty gnawed at me as I continued my duties, my heart both heavy and hopeful.

Before me stretched a long, elegantly set table, surrounded by the most distinguished guests. Laughter and lively conversations filled the air as some indulged in a dazzling array of treats, while others watched the dancers twirl and glide, their movements fluid and joyful. Guests mingled, exchanging glances in search of familiar faces amidst the crowd.

At the head of the table, my attention was drawn to a figure who seemed to need my service, his gaze scanning the room with a quiet intensity. He was dressed in exquisite attire, tailored to perfection, which accentuated his commanding presence.

His dark hair was meticulously styled, complementing the sharp angles of his profile, which carried an air of authority. It was evident that he held a position of significance, and as I approached him, a rush of nervousness surged through me, making my heart race wildly in my chest. I lowered my head slightly, intent on serving him quickly and retreating, keenly aware of the weight of the moment.

As I navigated my way through the swirling crowd, I felt the weight of expectation pressing down on me. My eyes were focused on the floor, but my attention was drawn to his figure.

With all the poise I could muster, I approached, a goblet filled with deep crimson wine cradled in my trembling hands.

Each step sent a jolt through my heart, pounding like a drum as I neared him. The masculine scent that enveloped him was intoxicating, captivating my senses and igniting an unfamiliar fire within me. I dared not look up; a sense of danger lingered, as this presence felt undeniably powerful. My instincts warned that crossing such a figure could lead to dire consequences. Nevertheless, I was entranced, losing myself to the overwhelming urge to serve him. "Here you go, milord," I whispered, head bowed.

As I extended the wine, his long fingers reached for the cup, brushing against mine. The fleeting contact sent a shock through me, startling me into a gasp.

I let go of the cup. The wine spilled. On his clothes.

Instinctively, I lifted my gaze, and my breath caught in my throat. The man before me was none other than the king himself. Panic surged through me as I realized my clumsiness had betrayed me.

The goblet slipped from my fingers, shattering on the polished floor, the sound echoing through the hall like a funeral bell.

At that moment, time seemed to slow, the lively music halting abruptly to accentuate my growing despair. My heart raced furiously as I stood frozen, fixated on him. His dark green eyes locked onto mine, holding me captive, and I couldn't tear myself away.

There was a mark on his chest—a visible sign of his power—that began to glow softly in response to our connection. It was a beacon of attraction, a signal that unmistakably indicated he was my mate.

The king was my mate?