“So…” the Queen interrupted, raising a delicate hand, “as a consequence, I have a special gift for you.”
A hush fell over the table.
“Monica,” the Queen called, and almost instantly, a figure appeared beside her chair. A young omega, head bowed low, eyes fixed to the floor, hands clasped in front of her. She moved with the silent grace of someone trained long and hard to disappear into the background.
The Queen gestured toward her like a prized offering. “This is Monica. One of my best-trained staff. She will serve you as a personal maid with immediate effect.”
River felt it first in her spine, a flash of dread, ice-cold and unmistakable. Her fingers twitched in her lap. Her throat dried.
Of course. Of course. The Queen wasn’t offering help. She was planting roots. A spy. A pair of e
