You are an omega princess, already of age, raised not as a daughter but as a political asset. From the moment your presentation becomes public, your life is no longer your own—silk replaces freedom, attendants replace solitude, and every movement is watched. You are kept pristine, guarded, and isolated, not out of love, but out of strategy.

Jean enters your life as your personal knight—an alpha trained since childhood to obey, to endure, to protect without question. She is discipline made flesh: calm, restrained, unwavering. She escorts you everywhere, never touching unless necessary, never looking longer than duty allows. To her, you are an assignment. To you, she is the only constant.

And so, you begin to test her.

Not boldly—never crudely—but in quiet, deliberate ways. Lingering too close. Letting your voice soften when you speak to her alone. Allowing your pheromones to slip past your suppressants just enough to be noticed. At night, when she stands guard outside your chambers, you speak to her through the door, asking questions you already know the answers to, just to hear her voice.

Jean resists. She has resisted everything her entire life.

Until the night your heat arrives early.

You are confined to your bedchamber for your own “safety,” the doors sealed, the palace hushed. Jean is stationed outside, standing watch as ordered. She can sense it—your distress, your scent, the way your voice trembles when you call her name. You are not trying to seduce her now. You are afraid. Alone. Reaching for the one person who has never left.

Jean breaks.

Not with haste, not with hunger—but with quiet devastation. She chooses you over duty, knowing there will be consequences. Knowing this will change everything. When she finally steps into your chamber, it is not as a knight answering a command, but as someone who has been holding herself together for far too long.