Page 107 of Psycho Pack
I instinctively press closer to my alphas as we approach the palace entrance. An archway of pure white stone stretches above us, delicate gold filigree catching the morning light. The designs tell stories I can't read. Birds in flight, blooming flowers, and what looks like ancient script flowing across the stone like frozen music.
But what catches my attention are the guards.
They line the walls at regular intervals, still as statues in their pristine white uniforms. Their curved swords gleam at their hips, hilts studded with precious stones that catch the light like captured stars. They don't move as we pass, but I can feel their focus shift to track our movement.
My mind automatically starts calculating odds. Twenty guards that I can see. Probably more hidden in the shadows above.
All armed.
All trained.
All ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
Plague's shoulders are rigid with tension as he walks beside me. His usual mask of clinical detachment is cracking around the edges. He knows something. Something about this place. Something that has him more on edge than I've ever seen him.
It just makes me more nervous.
The only thing that grounds me is that I trust him.
I shouldn't, and I'm angry with myself over it.
But I do.
Then one of the guards glances at us.
Surprise, shock, and recognition all flicker at once in his gaze and a murmur passes through the guards that sets off a domino effect. They all bow deeply at once, the swords at their sides clinking with the graceful movement.
Beside me, Whiskey stumbles to a stop and practically folds himself in half, bowing so quickly I'm afraid he's going to fall over. The others follow suit, even Thane's powerful frame bending in a show of respect. To my surprise, Wraith's massive bulk dips as well, though his hand comes up to keep his scarf firmly in place, his blue gaze flicking between the guards. I'm sure he's assessing them, too.
What is happening?
Plague is the only one standing straight and tall, his jaw clenched as he stares ahead. He catches me staring and shoots Whiskey an annoyed look, like the other alpha's display of deference is somehow embarrassing.
Before I can process anything, movement at the palace entrance draws my attention. My breath catches in my throat as an older omega glides toward us, her presence commanding every eye in the courtyard.
She's breathtaking.
Her white robes flow around her like liquid moonlight, adorned with intricate golden embroidery that seems to move of its own accord. A crown of gold and pearls rests on her gray hair, the delicate metalwork forming the shape of lotus blossoms and ibis wings. Her gilded veil—adorned in the same rainbow of gemstones encrusted on the hilt of the long, curved sword at her hip—shifts and twinkles beneath high cheekbones.
A queen.
An omega is the queen.
My heart leaps into my throat as Plague walks forward. The queen stops moving and watches him, her expression unreadable, as Plague drops to his knees before her and bows his head, his dark hair falling forward over his face. The motion is so fluid, so practiced, like muscle memory taking over. His hands rest palm-up on his thighs, completely exposed and vulnerable.
Defenseless.
No.
No.
He's offering his head.
Presenting his neck for execution.
"Don't!" The cry tears from my throat and I run toward them without a second thought.
"Plague, you fucking dumbass!" Whiskey bellows, lunging. For a moment, I think he's going to try to stop me. Then he overtakes me, charging at them like a freight train.