Elias POV
"Tell me, Elias. Have you been outside without the tonic?"
The words lash across the room like a whip.
I don't answer.
Not because I don't know the answer, but because I do. Because if I speak now, I'll confirm what Isolde already suspects—that I have stepped beyond the walls meant to keep me invisible. That I have walked where someone might have seen me.
Without the tonic.
The bitter, choking liquid that turns my hair a dull, unremarkable brown, and darkens my eyes just enough to erase the bloodline written into them. A disguise I've been forced to wear since childhood, so thorough that even I forget, at times, what I'm supposed to look like beneath it. Just as the court did to my mother.
Isolde leans forward. "Answer me."
I keep my chin lifted, my silence deliberate.
But the air between us has already shifted. And she knows it.
A frustrated, slow breath escapes her.
My father doesn't look at her, but his hands curl into fists against his desk.
Isolde watches him closely now, her eyes narrowing. "You told me he never left the estate, Marius!"
My father's silence is all the answer she needs.
He stays still. The room feels too quiet. My breath is too loud in my ears.
Isolde stops swirling her wine.
And something in me clicks into place.
I blink, looking between them, before letting out a slow breath. "Oh, I see," I murmur, my voice almost thoughtful.
I let the weight of realization settle over the room.
Seraphina is the golden daughter, the treasured one. A noble Omega, raised with soft hands and whispered promises of a prosperous match.
She was bred for marriage. I was not.
Why would I be?
Because to the world, my father is House Ravenspire and she is the future.
I have never been presented to court. Never have been given the coming-of-age ceremony that all noble children receive, the one that announces their place in society. I have never been shown to the world as a son or heir of this house.
Because I am not one. Not in their eyes.
I was hidden away, tucked into the shadows of my father's estate like an afterthought. My existence was tolerated but never acknowledged.
And yet, despite all their careful planning, despite all their desperate attempts to erase me—it hasn't mattered.
The Dragon King only asked for a true Ravenspire blooded because only those born with white hair are its rightful heirs.
And that is the moment my father's carefully constructed illusion shatters.
For the first time, they have no control over their own game.
I drop my head, feeling something cold bloom in my chest.
"You're so afraid you wouldn't dare send Seraphina because the Dagon King must already know I exist." I exhale slowly, shaking my head. "And that you are nothing but a fraud, Father."
A sharp clink. Isolde slams her goblet down, wine spilling over the lace of her sleeve. She doesn't even notice.
A heavier silence falls over the room, stretching too long. Then, I add, "You spent my entire life trying to erase my mother and me. You wanted the world to forget she was the true Ravenspire—that we ever existed—so they would believe it was you. But now, when it matters, even you know the truth. You aren't. And neither is Isolde or my sister!"
Isolde's lips press into a thin line, but she does not deny it.
Because they can't.
No matter how much they tried to bury the past, the Dragon King has dug it back up with a single demand.
My eyes burn before I can stop them.
The heat builds, slow at first, creeping up my throat, tightening around my ribs. A sharp, searing ache, one I recognize too well.
I tilt my chin up, trying to will it away, trying to force the tears back down where they belong—hidden, unseen, useless.
But my body doesn't listen.
The sting behind my eyes grows unbearable, a slow, humiliating burn that refuses to fade. I blink once, twice, the motion too quick, an act of desperate resistance.
I dig my nails into my palms, welcoming the bite of pain. Something I can still control. My breath hitches, but I swallow it down.
Tears threaten to spill anyway. My vision wavers, blurring at the edges, and my throat clenches around words I will not say.
Because if I cry here—if I let them see even an inch of that weakness—they win.
And I will not let them have that.
Duchess Isolde recovers first. She picks up her wine and takes a slow sip, as if my words haven't just broken something inside her.
"Do not flatter yourself." She swirls her wine lazily, watching the crimson spiral in her glass. The air turns heavy with the bitter scent of her disgust. "A lesser Omega would not be given such an opportunity," she adds, her voice light and patronizing, as though speaking to a wayward child.
I meet her gaze, my lips curving in something that is not quite a smile.
"Yes, how fortunate I am. A lifetime of being ignored, only to be handpicked as the sacrificial offering to a cursed king."
"You are hardly being sacrificed. You are being wed. There is a difference."
"Is there?" I raise an eyebrow. "Everybody knows the Dragon King devours his mates. No Omega survives bonding with him. But I suppose it must be an honor to be the next body in line and not Seraphina's, yes?"
Her mouth opens, but my father finally speaks.
"I was just informing you. The decision has been made, Elias."
His voice is not cruel, not warm—just final. There is no trace of comfort, no lingering scent of reassurance, nothing that marks him as a father to me.
And that is it.
This is not a discussion. There is no plea to be made, no argument that will sway them.
I have always known my place in this house.
Tonight, they are simply sending me somewhere else to die.