The Lycan King's Outcast Omega (by Cara Anderson) novel Chapter 231

Selene

Hours later, freshly bathed and impeccably dressed in a gown designed specifically for the final night of the Choosing Gala, I enter Magistra Vega’s chambers for our ritual preparation. She sits at a table covered with ceremonial implements–silver bowls, ancient texts, herbs and crystals arranged in precise patterns.

“Princess,” she acknowledges without warmth. “We have adjusted our approach given the night’s failure.”

Baron Krell stands by the window, his military posture never relaxing even in private. “The ritual will proceed as planned,” he

informs me. “With one significant modification.”

Vega indicates a delicate crystal vial containing iridescent blue liquid. “Dream flower essence,” she explains. “Extremely

potent, especially to one with dual nature like the prince. Combined with certain catalysts, it will trigger the separation we require.”

“Without a Silverspiral healer?” I question, eyeing the vial warily.

“We have other resources,” Vega says dismissively. “Less ideal, but sufficient. The healer would have provided stability to the process, but we can compensate with additional power.”

Unease grows within me. “What exactly will this do to Prince Alexander?”

Krell answers before Vega can soften the truth. “It will force his dual nature to manifest physically–split his essence into separate entities, each embodying one aspect of his power.”

“Temporarily,” Vega adds, shooting Krell a quelling look. “Long enough for the binding ceremony to capture his Alpha essence and bind it to you, as prophecy demands.”

“And his healing essence?” I press, already suspecting the answer.

“Is irrelevant to our purposes,” Krell states flatly. “It will dissipate naturally once the Alpha power is secured.”

Horror washes through me at the casual dismissal of half of Alexander’s nature–half of his very being. “You’re not just redirecting prophecy,” I realize aloud. “You’re planning to destroy part of him.”

“We’re fulfilling our destiny,” Vega corrects sharply. “Reclaiming what was stolen from us generations ago. The healing bloodlines allied with the usurpers against our ancestors–it’s fitting that this power should be sacrificed in restoring proper order.”

The ruthlessness of the plan strikes me fully for the first time. I’ve spent my life being trained for this mission, being told our cause was righteous and necessary. But standing here, contemplating the deliberate destruction of half a person’s essence–a person I’ve come to know, to respect, perhaps even to care for–I cannot reconcile it with the justice we claim to seek.

“And if I refuse to participate?” I ask quietly.

Vega and Krell exchange glances. “You were chosen before birth for this role, Selene,” Vega reminds me, her voice hardening.” Your bloodline carefully preserved, your every trait selected for this specific purpose. You have one duty–secure the throne that was stolen from us generations ago.”

The familiar words wash over me, reinforcing a lifetime of conditioning. But for the first time, they ring hollow.

“This isn’t what I agreed to,” I say, straightening my spine. “Binding the prince to our bloodline through political alliance is one

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Chapter 231

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thing. Destroying half his essence is quite another.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Krell states bluntly. “The preparations are made. Our people are positioned throughout the court. You will play your role tonight, Princess, or face the consequences of betraying generations of sacrifice.”

The threat hangs in the air between us. I’ve never harbored illusions about the ruthlessness of our cause or its leaders, but I’ve never before been on the receiving end of their cold calculation.

“Of course,” I say after a careful pause, lowering my eyes in apparent submission. “I was merely… surprised by the adjustment to our plans. I will do my duty.”

Vega studies me for a long moment before seemingly accepting my capitulation. “The potion will be administered during the final toast, when tradition dictates the heir announces his choice. You must be positioned at his side at that precise moment.”

“I understand,” I reply, my mind already racing through possibilities. If I attempt to warn Alexander, Vega’s people will surely intervene. If I publicly refuse my role, the consequences would extend far beyond personal retribution–diplomatic incident, possibly violence between our delegations.

As I leave to prepare for the Gala, the weight of my impossible position settles heavily on my shoulders. I’ve spent my life training to be the perfect instrument of my people’s ambitions, never questioning the righteousness of our cause or the methods we would employ. Now, faced with the reality of what we plan to do to Alexander–a man whose only crime is being born to the bloodline that displaced mine–I find myself unable to justify it even to myself.

In my chambers, I stare at my reflection as attendants arrange my hair with the diamond–studded silver combs that mark my royal status. The woman looking back at me is beautiful, poised, perfect–and a complete fabrication. A mask created to secure a throne through deception and destruction.