North POV

The meal ended in a silence that pressed heavy against my ribs. I had not tasted much—the sweetness of pear dulled on my tongue, the spiced meats untouched save for a bite Johan himself had placed upon my plate.

Still, I forced the motions, because eyes had been on me the entire time.

When the goblets were drained and the servants dismissed, Johan rose with the fluid certainty of someone who belonged to every space he stepped into. His hand brushed the back of my chair as he leaned close, his words low, meant only for me.

"I will leave you for a time. The court waits, and preparations must be made for tonight’s announcement." His gaze lingered on me, steady, unyielding. "You are free to go where you wish. See the palace. Learn it. It is yours now."

Yours. The word sat uneasily in my chest, both gift and chain.

I nodded faintly. "...Yes."

He studied me for a breath longer, as if to assure himself of my obedience, then turned to follow his father toward the waiting corridors of governance. His cloak whispered against the marble as he vanished into the gilded maze.

And suddenly, I was alone.

Or as alone as one could be in a palace where every shadow held eyes.

I walked the halls slowly, my steps light upon the polished stone. The walls themselves seemed to gleam, carved with intricate reliefs of battles long past, kings long dead. The air smelled faintly of oil and incense, sharp and sweet all at once.

But it was not the grandeur that set my skin prickling. It was the way people looked at me.

Every maid who passed dipped her head, but not before her gaze flicked, quick and curious, to the side of my throat.

My hand rose instinctively, brushing the tender skin where Johan’s mark lay. It itched now, a raw throb beneath the surface, as though it wanted to be noticed.

The guards’ eyes lingered longer—assessing, cold, measuring not me but what I represented. A captured stag with the hunter’s arrow still buried in its side.

Their whispers were soft, but not soft enough.
"His Highness’s consort."
"Marked already…"

I pulled the folds of silk tighter around my throat, though the fabric did little to shield me. The palace was vast, gilded, suffocating. Its beauty pressed down like a weight, reminding me at every turn that I was not free, not truly—not yet.

I needed air.

The gardens lay beyond a row of tall archways, spilling out into light. When I stepped through, the shift in atmosphere struck me at once. The air was cooler here, touched with green.

Leaves rustled faintly, birds trilled from hidden perches, and the faint splash of water from a fountain marked the center of the courtyard.

I sat on the low stone edge of the fountain, folding my hands in my lap. For the first time since waking, the world felt still. My throat ached less beneath the sun, though the mark burned in a different way now—too visible, too vulnerable.

I lowered my gaze to the water, watching ripples bend my reflection until it was unrecognizable.

"Forgive me if I intrude," came a voice, light and unhurried.

I turned sharply.

A young man stood a few paces away, posture relaxed, expression bright. His hair was chestnut-brown, sun catching golden strands in it, and his smile was easy in a way that felt out of place here.

“You must be North,” he said, like we were acquaintances meeting by chance, not strangers bound by politics.

I stiffened, silence holding me for a beat before I answered. “…Yes.”

He nodded, stepping closer, though not too close. “I’m Easter. Johan’s cousin.” His grin flickered with mischief. “Don’t hold it against me.”

I blinked, unsettled by his tone. “…Against you?”

“Being related to him,” Easter replied smoothly, lowering himself onto the fountain’s edge—though he left a respectful space between us. “It’s a heavy burden, you see. Imagine growing up beside the great, perfect, brooding Johan of Avenlor.” His sigh was dramatic, his hand pressed to his chest. “Do you know how exhausting it is, listening to someone practice looking mysterious all day?”

I pressed my lips together, uncertain. Was this mockery? A test? The way he spoke—open, careless—felt dangerous. I lowered my gaze again, determined not to give him the satisfaction of reaction.

But he only continued, voice light, teasing. “Oh, don’t worry. I survived. Barely. Though I do wake in cold sweats from the trauma.”

A tiny, unwilling sound caught in my throat—closer to a scoff than a laugh. I masked it quickly, tightening my grip on my lap. But Easter noticed. His eyes brightened.

“Ah, progress,” he said. “You almost smiled.”

“I did not,” I muttered, heat pricking the back of my neck.

“You did,” he said cheerfully, leaning back on his palms. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Johan. He’d think I was stealing your loyalty already.”

That earned the faintest twitch of my lips—an echo of humor I couldn’t quite crush down fast enough.

Easter’s grin widened, triumphant. “There it is. Knew you weren’t carved from marble.”

I turned my face away quickly, but the edges of my mouth betrayed me. “…You speak too boldly.”

“I prefer to think of it as a public service,” Easter said. “Someone has to mock him. Otherwise his ego will eat the palace whole.”

This time, the laugh slipped out—small, sharp, but undeniable. And once it did, it loosened something tight in my chest.

Easter looked at me with quiet satisfaction, his grin softening. “Better. Laughter makes these walls less suffocating, doesn’t it?”

I exhaled, the weight in my chest easing just enough to admit the truth. “…It does.”

Easter tilted his head, studying me openly now, his grin softer, more thoughtful. "You’re different than I imagined."

I glanced at him, uncertain. "Imagined?"

"Of course," he said breezily. "You think the court hasn’t been buzzing since the betrothal was announced? Half of Avenlor spent weeks speculating about you. Was Johan’s chosen omega a fierce warrior? A delicate jewel? A secret enchantress sent to tame him? Everyone had their theories." His eyes sparkled with amusement. "But none of them guessed you’d be… you."

I frowned faintly. "And what am I, then?"

For once, he did not answer immediately. His gaze lingered, steady, and in the light his eyes caught an amber gleam, bright and almost reverent. "More beautiful than any of them imagined," he said at last, voice quieter, stripped of its teasing edge. "But not in the way they’ll talk about. It’s in the way you carry yourself. Like you’re trying not to take up space, and yet somehow you fill the whole garden."

Heat rose unbidden to my cheeks, sharp and unfamiliar. I lowered my gaze quickly, fingers curling against the cool stone. "You flatter too easily."

"It’s not flattery if it’s true," Easter replied, the cheer in his tone returning, though the softness in his eyes did not fade. "Besides, I’m an omega too. We see things differently. The alphas think strength is in the sword, the crown, the command. But I know it when I see someone who can survive being looked at—and not vanish."

I swallowed, unsure how to answer. His words slipped past my guard, gentle but piercing all the same.

Sensing my silence, Easter leaned back again, letting the moment loosen. "Don’t look so stricken. I promise I’m not trying to steal you away. The palace would never forgive me."

That startled a small smile from me. "And Johan?"

Easter made a face, dramatic. "He’d brood for months. Storm about the halls. Probably feed me to the wolves for betrayal." He pressed a hand to his forehead, feigning anguish. "No one deserves that."

I laughed again, softer this time, but steadier. "You’re reckless, speaking like this."

"Reckless is my best quality," Easter said cheerfully. "That, and knowing where the kitchens hide their best pastries. Which," he added, leaning closer as if sharing a great secret, "I will absolutely show you, if you ever tire of staring at pears and roasted meats."

Something loosened inside me at that—the idea of pastries stolen in shadowed corridors, of laughter that wasn’t weighed down by crowns and ceremony. For the first time since stepping into Avenlor, I could imagine a sliver of light piercing the walls.

Easter saw it, the small shift in my expression, and his smile widened, genuine. His eyes gleamed again, not with hunger, but with the quiet joy of discovery.

"See?" he said softly. "Not marble. Not fragile. You’re real. And you’re here."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The mark on my throat still burned, the palace still pressed heavy around me—but sitting beside Johan’s cousin, hearing his laughter,

I felt less nauseous and heavy.