Chapter 3

The whispers started the next morning.

I noticed them first in the communal washrooms, where conversations died the moment I entered. Hushed voices resumed behind my back, carrying words like "desperate" and "pathetic" and "Omega tricks." By the time I reached the dining hall for breakfast, the rumors had spread like wildfire through dry grass.

"Did you hear what she's been doing?" A young Beta's voice carried clearly across the room as I approached the serving line. "Sophia says she's been using scent manipulation to try and seduce the future Alpha King."

"Disgusting," another replied with theatrical revulsion. "As if Prince Zane would ever want a rejected Omega after he's had a taste of real nobility."

My hands trembled as I reached for a piece of bread, the simple action requiring all my concentration. The bond-sickness had worsened overnight, leaving me weak and dizzy, but I couldn't afford to show it. Not when every pair of eyes in the room was watching for signs of my breakdown.

"She probably threw herself at him during the ceremony," came another voice, this one belonging to Marcus Thorne, one of Sophia's most loyal followers. His cruel laugh made my stomach clench. "Begging and pleading like the desperate little Omega she is."

I turned to face him, my chin lifting despite the exhaustion weighing down my bones. "I did no such thing."

Marcus's eyes glittered with malicious amusement. "Oh, she speaks! Tell me, Rivers, what does it feel like to be so thoroughly unwanted? Even the Moon Goddess made a mistake with you."

The bread crumbled in my grip, but before I could respond, someone's foot shot out as I passed their table. I went down hard, my tray clattering to the stone floor as lukewarm porridge splattered across my dress. Laughter erupted around me, sharp and cutting.

"Oops," Derek said with mock innocence, not bothering to hide his smirk. "Clumsy me."

As I struggled to my hands and knees, gathering the scattered remnants of my breakfast, someone "accidentally" kicked over their water pitcher. Ice-cold liquid soaked through my already stained dress, making me gasp as it hit my fevered skin.

"So sorry," a female voice said sweetly. "Didn't see you down there."

More laughter. More whispers. I forced myself to stand, dripping and humiliated, my legs shaking from more than just the cold. The dining hall had become a theater, and I was the unwilling entertainment.

That's when I saw her.

Sophia stood near the head table, her golden hair gleaming in the morning light, watching the spectacle with satisfied eyes. She wasn't laughing with the others—she was too refined for such obvious cruelty. Instead, she wore an expression of gentle concern that fooled absolutely no one who knew how to look.

Our eyes met across the room, and she tilted her head with mock sympathy before turning to whisper something to the girl beside her. Whatever she said sent fresh waves of giggles through the nearby tables.

I fled before I could humiliate myself further.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of "accidents" and exclusions. Doors closed in my face just as I reached them. Conversations stopped when I approached, only to resume with pointed looks in my direction. During the afternoon pack meeting, every seat was mysteriously "saved" for someone else, leaving me to stand at the back like an unwelcome ghost.

By evening, my body was screaming for rest, but sleep had become my enemy. The bond-sickness hit hardest at night, when there were no distractions to dull the phantom ache where my mate connection should have been. I lay in my narrow bed, my skin burning with fever one moment and wracked with chills the next.

The walls of my small room felt like they were closing in, the air too thick to breathe. My nightgown clung to my sweat-dampened skin as another wave of nausea rolled through me. I pressed my face into my pillow, trying to muffle the whimpers that wanted to escape.

It was no use. The fever was getting worse, and the cramped space felt suffocating. I needed air. I needed space to breathe.

Stumbling from my bed, I wrapped a thin robe around my shaking form and slipped out into the corridor. The pack house was quiet at this hour, most members already asleep. My bare feet made no sound against the cold stone as I made my way toward the nearest exit.

The moment I stepped outside, the night air hit my fevered skin like a blessing. I gulped it down greedily, my lungs finally able to expand properly. The royal gardens stretched before me, moonlight casting everything in silver shadows. Without thinking, I wandered deeper into the maze of hedges and flower beds, seeking the fountain at its heart.

That's when the storm hit.

The first drops were gentle, almost soothing against my burning skin. But within minutes, the sky opened up, releasing a torrent that soaked through my thin nightgown in seconds. Thunder crashed overhead, and lightning illuminated the garden in stark, dramatic flashes.

I should have run for shelter, but my legs chose that moment to give out completely. I collapsed beside the fountain, my knees hitting the wet gravel as my body finally surrendered to the fever that had been building all day. Rain streamed down my face, mixing with tears I didn't remember starting to cry.

The world tilted sideways, colors bleeding together as consciousness slipped away from me. I was dimly aware of lying on my side, gravel digging into my cheek, my hair plastered to my skull by the relentless downpour.

Then there were voices in the darkness. Footsteps splashing through puddles.

"Damn it," someone cursed, the words barely audible over the storm.

Strong arms slid beneath me, lifting me from the cold ground with surprising gentleness. The familiar scent of mint and winter storms enveloped me even through the rain, and I knew without opening my eyes who had found me.

Zane.

His chest was solid and warm against my cheek as he carried me through the storm, his heart beating fast beneath my ear. I wanted to speak, to ask why he was helping me when he'd made it clear I meant nothing to him, but the words wouldn't come.

"I've got you," he whispered, so quietly I might have imagined it. "I've got you."

The rain continued to fall as darkness claimed me completely, but for the first time since the rejection, I felt safe.