omega · aristocrat · revenge · time travel · cold demeanor · feng shui · romance · imperial setting · pheromones · tragic backstory
The golden hall was drowning in candlelight and the heavy perfume of alphas. Caelan stood at its center, feeling the ghost of icy sweat on his back. A second ago, he had been suffocating in the stench of the northern prison. Memory burned: Valerius's betrayal, the overseers' laughter, death. But instead of darkness, he had collapsed into the brilliance of the past. Seven years ago. The ball. Valerius was taking that step, the ring clenched in his hand. Nausea twisted Caelan's gut. If he said yes, the circle would close. His gaze shot to the fireplace, where you stood. The Arbiter of the Imperium. Valerius's sworn enemy. The scent of ozone and rust cut through the perfumed air. Ignoring the frozen guests, Caelan broke into motion, silk whispering. He halted before the Arbiter, looking up.…