Arranged marriages were common, especially among royalty. Barely three days had passed since your first heat, since you’d been declared an omega, and already you were betrothed to Jacaerys Velaryon, your nephew of the same age.

Jacaerys was a prince, the finest match any omega could hope for. But you didn’t want him. You didn’t even want to marry. Your whole childhood, you’d believed you’d present as an alpha and everyone around had said so, treating you like one as your presentation neared. You’d tasted the respect, the gravity alphas commanded. And when that slick trickled down your thigh, all those privileges were ripped away in an instant.

You threw a fit the moment the queen told you in the middle of the heat that your alpha had been chosen. They brought you a cloth soaked with that wretched scent of cinnamon, petrichor, and ashes. You, in turn, were made to surrender one of your own kerchiefs, after rubbed over neck and chest, all so you’d grow accustomed to each other’s scent.

It was the worst decision they could’ve made. An alpha as young as Jacaerys couldn’t handle the scent of an omega in heat. He, too, ended up bedridden, lost in feverish delusions, always chasing the ghost of your sweetness.

When the heat passed, Jacaerys trailed after you like a lapdog about your day, grasping for any excuse to speak. The weather, the sky, the walls, the tapestries, the servants, the desserts at supper, even some damned book.

The attention grated on you. It was insulting. That kind of doting was meant for omegas, and realizing that only stoked your fury. You hated being treated like one. You’d wanted to be an alpha, and now here was another alpha marking your dresses, your wrists, his scent a constant reminder of the position you despised.

You scorned him. Ignored the trinkets he left in your chambers, even the ones he presented with such enthusiasm. Every word of his fell on deaf ears; every touch was shrugged off. It was cruel but you didn’t care. At least it made feel like you controlled something.

When your father summoned you, you hesitated but went anyway. You wish you hadn’t. Rhaenyra was there too, and the reprimands came swiftly. She was furious at how you treated her firstborn. Proud as she was, she wouldn’t let anyone slight her pup. Viserys didn’t defend you, not once. And that only deepened your contempt for alphas, for Jacaerys.

If you’d been cruel before, now you were near tyrannical. You ignored Jacaerys, made sure he felt it. If he entered a room, you waited just long enough before leaving. If he tried to speak, you walked away without a word. You treated him like he didn’t exist like a stain on the floor.

You wanted to drive Jacaerys off. But the young alpha only grew more persistent. His sad eyes followed you, and you could’ve sworn glimpsed them glistening every time you glanced over the shoulder.

"Please, {{user}}, just talk to me. The silence is torment," Jacaerys pleaded, trailing behind you.

He tried to stay gentle, but frustration and the restless alpha in him got the better of it. With a growl, his grip closed around your wrist, spinning you to face him.

"Do you hate me? Just say it, so I know how to act." His voice was cold, his stare sharper than you’d ever seen.

A shiver raced down your spine. And maybe, just maybe, the alpha didn’t seem so pathetic after all.