In the world of Valtoria, the hierarchy was unmistakably defined. Below the lofty alphas stood the betas, and beneath them, the omegas—the weakest of their kind, often sneered at and scorned.
Above all, reigning supreme, were the Lycans, exuding raw power and strength. Each rank bore distinct markings: the betas flaunted theirs on their arms, the omegas displayed theirs on their foreheads, while the strongest of them showcased intricate, dark swirling patterns on their chests—tattoos that flickered with an otherworldly glow, revealing their emotional states in vibrant hues.
The man standing before me was the Lycan king, a figure exuding both authority and intimidation. His tattoo glistened ominously, matching the pulsating ethereal light of the mark on my forehead. I found myself entranced, unable to tear my gaze away despite the brewing storm of my embarrassment.
His penetrating gaze scrutinized me, darting toward the luminous mark that adorned my forehead. It throbbed under his intense scrutiny, casting an impression of irritation across his chiseled features. His brows knitted tightly, and his eyes burned with a fierce intensity, igniting a tempest of confusion and frustration churning just beneath the surface.
"Did no one ever teach you to keep your gaze lowered?" His commanding voice sliced through my haze, pulling me back into reality. My lips parted in shock, struggling to comprehend the absurdity of the situation, before I hastily fumbled for a napkin, determined to clean the mess I had caused on his royal shirt.
"I-I'm so sorry, Your Majesty," I stammered, raising the napkin toward him as I prepared to wipe away the liquid. Before I could make contact, he swatted my hands away with a dismissive flick, sending a shockwave of rejection squeezing painfully around my heart. I had never experienced the depth of despair that came with such an outright dismissal from a mate. The ache in my chest was unbearable—he was a figure of might and majesty, a being of grandeur who could never notice someone like me.
Suddenly, Wren darted into the scene, her eyes sharp as she had been observing our every move. Without a second thought, she urged me down to my knees beside her.
"Please have mercy, Your Majesty," she begged, her voice quivering, drawing the attention of onlookers who now regarded us with a mix of curiosity and pity. I joined her in supplication, my heart heavy with uncertainty about what his reaction would be. Surely, an accident would not evoke mercy from someone like him.
"Clean up the mess," he commanded, and Wren nodded eagerly, but then turned to direct her attention at me. Just as I tried to rise to fetch cleaning supplies, he flicked his icy gaze toward her. "I was speaking to you," he muttered, the coldness of his tone freezing any protest from her lips as she scurried away to obey.
Still kneeling, my head bowed in submission, he turned to me once more. "Fetch me a new shirt," he ordered, his words cutting through the air like a knife.
"Yes, milord," I replied meekly, my heart pounding as I pushed myself to my feet, glancing at the ground as I made my way to his chambers.
As a castle worker, I seldom had the opportunity to gaze at the king up close. Although Emily, my friend, would sometimes sneak me glances at him, I had never truly seen the full depth of his countenance until now. The irritation etched across his features shattered whatever remnants of confidence I had left.
I approached the two imposing guards stationed at the entrance. "The... king requested another shirt," I murmured, keeping my gaze lowered to avoid their scrutinizing stares.
They parted to allow me entry, and I stepped into his chamber. The space was a portrait of regal majesty, enfolded in shadows and rich, dark fabrics—the bed draped in deep burgundy sheets, and soft lamps casting a glow across shelves filled with ancient tomes and intriguing artifacts. My eyes roamed the room until they landed on his cupboard, a gleaming reflection of his status.
Quietly, I approached and reached for the cupboard's handle to pull it open, only to be met with a large hand that abruptly sealed the cupboard shut.
"This is what becomes of assigning omegas to serve," he boomed, his voice a thunderclap that reverberated through the air. I felt an electric charge zipping down my spine as his breath ghosted over my back, leaving me breathless.
"What's your name?" he demanded after a heavy pause.
"Hazel Snow," I replied, my words stuttering forth hesitantly.
He leaned in closer, his presence a blend of warmth and intimidation. "I don't care about the bond. I will not affiliate with an omega," he hissed through clenched teeth.
If my heart had been on the verge of shattering just moments ago, it now lay in pieces around me. A wave of despair swept over me, constricting my throat and squeezing my fists tightly together. The weight of crushing rejection bore down on me, leaving me mercilessly shattered. Surely, this was the reason he had requested a shirt—to ensure I heard those painful words in solitude, away from prying eyes.
He must have felt a deep embarrassment at being bound to someone like me, which is likely why he couldn't bring himself to publicly acknowledge that he had found his mate.
"I understand, milord," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, as tears threatened to spill down my cheeks. I stared at the polished stone floor beneath my feet, its reflective surface blurring into a hazy swirl of light and shadow.
"You should leave," he said, his tone heavy and resolute. I nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling over me like a shroud before I turned away and walked out of his chamber.
After leaving the gathering, the weight of despair settled heavily on my chest, suffocating me with its intensity. I retreated to my quarters, seeking solace in the four walls that had seen so many of my quiet moments.
There, I allowed the tears to flow freely, each one a release of the anguish I couldn't bear to show the world. I couldn't bring myself to return to work; the thought of stumbling through my duties in such a fragile state filled me with dread. Instead, I collapsed onto my bed, cocooning myself in the blankets as I tried to piece together the remnants of my shattered heart.
Hours seemed to stretch into an eternity, the silence in the room amplifying my sorrow. Eventually, I heard the familiar sound of the door creaking open, followed by Emily's animated presence filling the space. She had just returned from her day, her body stretching from the fatigue of work as she walked in, a vibrant contrast to my subdued state.
"What on earth happened to you?" she exclaimed, concern lacing her voice. "You just left! Wren is furious!" As she approached, I felt the weight of her inquiry pressing down on me, and instinctively, I pulled the sheets tighter around myself, hiding from her piercing gaze.
With a flick of her wrist, she tugged at the cloth shielding my face from the world. When the fabric fell away, her eyes widened in horror. "Oh my god, what happened?" she gasped, taking in my tear-streaked cheeks and the heavy, puffy bags under my eyes.
"It's... nothing," I managed to reply, my voice barely a whisper, laden with the sorrow I couldn't articulate.
"Really? Because your eyes look like they're about to pop out of their sockets! They're so red!" she insisted, her voice a mix of disbelief and concern.
After a long pause, I finally found the words to share my turmoil. "I found my mate."
Her expression shifted, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "Really? Who is he?"
"The king," I replied, watching as her face transitioned from surprise to disbelief, her mouth slightly agape in shock.
"The king? How is that possible? Are you sure you're not mistaken?" she probed, her mind racing to comprehend the implications.
"It was him, he felt it too. But he told me he wouldn't be with me," I confessed, my heart aching with every word. "So, I guess I don't have a mate anymore."
Emily's features softened with empathy as she moved closer, wrapping her arms around me in a comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry. But seriously, you and the king? That's... unbelievable," she murmured, processing the surreal turn of events. "In that case, maybe you should consider giving a chance to that man who said he was interested in you. You need to move on and forget about the king,"
I wondered if forgetting one's mate is possible.