1.

The Summons

Ronnie’s POV

The sound of shouting my name snapped through the house like a whip.

“Ronnie!”

I flinched, nearly dropping the chipped plate I’d been scrubbing. The water had long gone cold, stinging against my raw hands. I set the dish down carefully and wiped my palms on the hem of my faded dress before hurrying toward the parlor.

McKenzie never called me unless she wanted something, and it was never something I wanted to give.

When I stepped into the room, her perfume suffocated me. Sweet, sharp, and cloying. She sat draped across the velvet sofa, rings flashing as she toyed with a goblet of wine. My stepsister, Clarissa, lounged nearby, her golden hair spilling perfectly down her shoulders as though the Goddess herself had combed it.

“You called for me?” I asked, keeping my head slightly bowed. I’d learned that eye contact often earned me a slap.

McKenzie’s lips curled. “Indeed. Sit.”

My stomach twisted. She never asked me to sit.

“I, I’ll stand,” I said cautiously.

“Sit,” she snapped, her voice slicing through the air.

I obeyed, perched stiffly on the edge of a chair. Clarissa’s eyes gleamed with something like amusement, as though she already knew what storm was about to break over my head.

McKenzie set down her goblet and leaned forward, her painted mouth curving into a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “You are to marry Alpha Damon of Cistern Palace.”

For a moment, the world tilted. My ears rang. I could have misheard. Surely, I had misheard.

“What?” I whispered.

“You’ll wed him. The summons came this morning.” McKenzie’s smile widened, cruel and triumphant. “You should consider yourself fortunate. An omega brat like you being chosen as queen, even if only temporarily, is laughable. But if fate is foolish enough to offer, who am I to refuse?”

Clarissa giggled into her hand, like this was some delightful joke.

My throat tightened. “This must be a mistake. Why would an Alpha, why would King Damon, choose me? Clarissa is the beautiful one. The worthy one.”

The words tasted like ash, but I said them because they were true, and because part of me hoped speaking them would make McKenzie change her mind.

McKenzie’s gaze hardened. “Do you think I’d allow my daughter to be chained to a cursed monster? Clarissa deserves a future filled with power and choice. You, on the other hand… you’re expendable.”

The room seemed to shrink. My chest burned, and my nails dug into the fabric of my skirt. “I don’t want this.”

Her hand shot out, striking me across the face. My cheek blazed with heat.

“You don’t want this?” she hissed. “You don’t want the greatest opportunity of your pathetic life? Listen to me, Ronnie, you are nothing. You always have been. Scrubbing floors, washing dishes, skulking in shadows. The only thing of value you can give is your obedience. And now, by some miracle, you’ve been chosen for something greater. Do not dare insult me by pretending you have a choice.”

I pressed my lips together, swallowing the sting of tears. To cry would only please her.

Clarissa smirked, her tone mocking. “Don’t pout, little sister. You should thank Mother. At least you’ll wear silk for once in your life before he tosses you aside.”

The words cut sharper than claws.

McKenzie stood, her gown rustling like the whisper of snakes. “The carriage will come this evening. You will be ready. If you so much as breathe the wrong way, I’ll remind you what happens to ungrateful girls.”

Her meaning was clear. She’d remind me with fists, with firewood withheld, with every cruel method she had perfected since my parents died.

I rose slowly, my knees trembling, my cheek still burning.

“Yes, Stepmother,” I murmured. The words scraped out of me like shards of glass.

Inside, though, a storm churned. Fear, yes. But also confusion, anger, and a dangerous spark of defiance.

Why had the Alpha chosen me? An omega maid with nothing but scars and silence?

As I left the parlor, Clarissa’s laughter trailed after me, light and poisonous.

By tonight, I will be taken to Cistern Palace. By tonight, my life would belong to a masked Alpha I had never met.

And for the first time, I wished desperately that I had been born to anyone but me.

The carriage rattled over stones as dusk bled into night, carrying me farther from the only home I’d ever known. My meager bundle of belongings sat untouched at my feet, an old shawl, a wooden comb, and the locket I never let McKenzie see.

When the palace gates loomed ahead, I forgot how to breathe. Towers stretched into the sky like jagged claws, their windows glowing gold against the dark. It was beautiful, yes, but not in the way I had dreamed. This beauty was sharp, merciless, and unyielding.

The guards escorted me inside without a word. My old dress clung damply to my skin, stiff from years of scrubbing floors and ash. The palace smelled of polished wood, spiced wine, and the faint musk of wolves. It made my stomach twist with dread.

“Here,” a maid barked, pulling me into a chamber glowing with lantern light. Another woman entered behind her carrying silks folded neatly over her arms.

Before I could ask what they were doing, they stripped me bare, my protests ignored. My arms wrapped around my body in a poor attempt to shield myself, but they worked with brisk efficiency, scrubbing every inch of me with scented oils and hot water until my skin stung.

I felt less like a bride and more like livestock being prepared for market.

One maid muttered, “Omega filth,” under her breath, as if I couldn’t hear. My cheeks burned hotter than the water.

When they finally let me rise, steam curling around me, they dressed me in garments softer than anything I’d ever touched. The gown clung to me like moonlight, its silver threads catching every flicker of fire. A thin crown was pressed into my hair.

I should have felt like a queen. Instead, I felt shackled.

My reflection in the polished mirror didn’t belong to me. It was a stranger, painted lips, smooth hair, silk cascading down a frame that still trembled. I looked like one of the dolls Clarissa had owned as a child, perfect on the outside, hollow within.

“Wait here for the Alpha,” one of the women instructed. They bowed and left me standing alone in the chamber that smelled of lavender and smoke.

I sank into a chair, gripping the silk skirts between my fingers until my knuckles whitened. My old dress was gone, burned, they said. The last piece of the life I had belonged to, ashes.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. My pulse pounded against the gown’s collar as if trying to escape.

Was this what McKenzie wanted? To see me gilded and caged, prettied up for a man who would never love me?

The palace walls felt like iron around my chest. The fine garments, the jeweled crown, none of it mattered. Because underneath, I was still the same girl: an omega orphan, trembling on the edge of an unknown fate.

And no matter how bright the silks shone, I couldn’t shake the truth.

I wasn’t dressed as a queen.

I was being prepared as a prisoner.