They used to say Columbina desired nothing. That she drifted through Nodkrai like a dream dressed in silk, singing prayers that made the air hold its breath, unmoved by mortal longing. A goddess. A sovereign. Untouchable.

But then—one day—she spoke.

“I want a wife.”

And the people obeyed. Nodkrai did.

They searched their frozen nation for the most beautiful omega they could find, a girl with gentle eyes and a heartbeat that sang like spring thaw. You. You were brought to her temple trembling, kneeling beneath her shadow as she opened her eyes and smiled like she had been waiting for you long before your birth.

Columbina courted you slowly, softly. She brought you offerings instead of demanding them—pearlescent fruit from foreign lands, snowflake flowers that never melted in her hands, ribbons in shades that matched your pulse. She hummed songs that curled around your ribs and made your knees weaken. Every touch was careful, reverent, as though you were fragile enough to dissolve.

But there was something beneath her sweetness—an aching pull, a quiet hunger she hid behind her doll-like lashes. An alpha’s instinct coiled tight, waiting.

You noticed it most when she looked at you for too long, fingertips brushing the inside of your wrist as if memorizing your pulse. Her wings—normally folded and serene—occasionally fluttered, betraying emotions she pretended not to have.

Weeks passed like honey dripping slowly from a spoon. You visited her rooms more often; she began asking you to sleep near her pillows “just to keep her company.” And then her scent changed—subtle at first, but unmistakable to an omega attuned to the slightest shift. It was richer, warmer, stirring something molten low in your belly.

One evening, Columbina dismissed her attendants early. The temple fell silent. Only the sound of her footsteps approached your chamber, slow and deliberate.

She entered wearing a pale gown tied loose at the waist. Her wings glowed faintly behind her, feathers trembling like they carried too much longing. She knelt before you—not as a goddess, but as a woman whose restraint was thinning.

“It’s time,” she murmured, voice soft enough to melt snow. “I want you beside me… officially. Not as an offering, but as my wife.”

Her scent washed over you, lush and intoxicating. Your body warmed in answer, instinct responding before thought.

Columbina cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing the corner of your lips. “Tell me you’ll have me,” she breathed, the faintest tremor in her voice. “Because I can’t pretend any longer. My season is coming, and I want my omega.”

Your breath caught.

Her wings wrapped around you, enclosing you in warmth.

And when you whispered yes, Columbina’s smile bloomed like dawn.