Page 146 of Psycho Pack

I remember what he told me and Whiskey earlier. About not knowing what had happened to his father and brothers, if they were even still alive. I find myself overwhelmed with relief for him that at least Revi is still here, and by all appearances, he hasn't been holding Plague's absence against him nearly a fraction as much as Plague himself has.

But there are still so many questions left to be answered.

So much time they're going to have to make up for.

And then there's the war we left behind. It feels like another world here, and in many ways, it is. But could freedom really be so easy? And could I even enjoy it, knowing what's going on out there beyond these gilded walls?

I don't think I could.

And I don't think the Ghosts could, either.

"Revi," Plague says, walking over to stand next to me. "There's someone I'd like to introduce you to. Our omega, Ivy."

Revi's gaze drifts to me, and I'm not used to the kindness and warmth I find there. At least not from strange alphas I barely know. So far, everyone in Surhiira has been kind, but the only alphas I've encountered have been guards and servants. And even then, only briefly.

"Believe me when I say, it is a pleasure and an honor," he says, lowering his head in a reverent gesture and offering his hand.

I freeze, glancing over at Plague. He gives me a slight, reassuring nod, and I place my hand in Revi's, although I realize I have no clue what he's going to do. But I trust Plague.

Revi merely lowers his head further and raises my hand slightly in his before letting it fall away. A gentle, elegant gesture of unmistakable reverence, despite the fact that he's a royal and I'm just a feral omega who doesn't even have a last name.

At least, not one my mother thought was worth passing on. Considering the circumstances that must have led her to the breeding center she had me in, I can't say I blame her for that.

But then, it hits me. In this place, I'm not some random stray. I'm the prince's mate. The prince of a country that clearly views my kind as more than just breeding stock.

It's all too surreal to process.

The kind of thing I never even allowed myself to imagine existed in this world. A world that's always—only—been filled with violence and turmoil for as long as I've been a part of it.

"Come, let us prepare for dinner," the queen says, gesturing for an attendant. "I'm certain our guests are hungry after their long trip."

"Yeah, the pastries on the train were great," says Whiskey, rolling his shoulders before being the first of all of us to sit backdown. "But I could use some actual food after all the shit we just went through."

Revi smirks. "It must have been something serious if you were half-naked in the frigid mountains of the Outer Reaches."

Whiskey barks a laugh. "Bro, you have no idea."

I take my seat between Thane and Wraith and watch as Whiskey and Revi trade quips, their easy banter filling the dining hall as attendants pour wine into our glasses, which are all as opulent as everything else. The tension in my shoulders eases a fraction. The others seem to feel almost as lost as I am, but leave it to Whiskey to bulldoze through royal protocol with his usual charm.

"You know," Whiskey says to Revi. "You remind me of myself, if I was Surhiiran. You're like a fancy, princely version of me."

I see Plague stiffen out of the corner of my eye. His jaw clenches as he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear, "That's not what I needed to hear."

Valek, never one to let an opportunity for mischief pass, leans forward with a wicked glint in his silver eyes. "My, my," he whispers to me. "I've heard of daddy issues, butbrotherissues? That's a new one."

Plague's eyes narrow dangerously as he turns to glare at Valek. I don't even know how he heard that, but he clearly did.

"I thought I told you to behave," he hisses.

Valek blinks innocently, the picture of wounded dignity. "That was Whiskey," he says smoothly.

I hold my breath, waiting for Plague to explode. The tension radiating off him is palpable, his fingers white-knuckled around his fork as he eyes the queen warily. Fortunately, she doesn't seem to notice what's going on, absorbed in responding to an attendant who's asking her a question about dinner.

Plague relaxes, but only a little.

The doors open again and attendants sweep into the room, carrying elaborately decorated platters. The rich aroma of roasted meats and sweet spices fills the air as attendants glide silently around the table, loading our plates.

My mouth waters at the sight of perfectly seared cuts of meat, glistening with some kind of herb-infused sauce, nestled alongside colorful roasted vegetables arranged in intricate patterns.