Page 55 of Vicious Kings
"That's just something alphas made up to sell bullshit," I counter, but I let her work her magic because if this gets me closer to Prince Corvinus, I'll endure worse than a makeover from my prissy roommate.
When she finally steps back to admire her handiwork, the look of shock on her face is almost worth the torture. "You actually look... good. I'm a genius."
"Your shock is really doing wonders for my self-esteem."
She ignores me, already focused on her own transformation. The hot pink gown she chooses makes my retinas burn, but somehow she makes it work. Every inch of her screams "look at me," from the way the fabric shimmers with each movement to the heels that add a good four inches to her height.
Perfect. All the attention will be on her, and they won't notice me scouting out the weak points in Prince Corvinus's security detail.
The invitation glows softly in her hand as we make our way across campus, drawing stares and whispers from everyone we pass.
A group of omegas blocks our path near the fountain, and I recognize them as part of Isabella's outer circle. Not quite prestigious enough to be in her direct orbit, but close enough to do her dirty work. Like security cameras in tulle.
"Well, well." The one in front, a redhead with a smile sharp enough to give you tetanus, looks us up and down. "Where are you two going dressed like that?"
Olivia, apparently drunk on the possibility of social elevation, blurts out, "We got invited to a party by the Golden Triad!"
I want to strangle her. So much for keeping a low profile.
The redhead's laugh is like nails on a chalkboard. "The Triad? Inviting two little drabs like you? Please."
"It's true!" Olivia waves the invitation like a battle flag, and I have to resist the urge to snatch it away.
"Sure it is." Another omega, this one loaded with pearls falling beneath her plain silver collar, sneers at us. "Everyone knows the Golden Triad hasstandards. They don't invite just anyone to their private events."
They sweep past us in a cloud of pheromone perfume, but not before the redhead throws over her shoulder, "Have fun at your imaginary party, drabs."
Olivia deflates like a punctured balloon. I wait until they're out of earshot before asking, "What the fuck is a drab?"
"Boring. Unappealing. Bottom of the barrel." She kicks at a pebble with her ridiculously pointy pink heel. "Omegas without connections or prestige bloodlines."
So these bitches have their own lexicon. Neat.
"Why do you let them talk to you like that?"
She looks at me like I've suggested she sprout wings and fly to the moon. "Are you kidding? Those harpies practically live inside Isabella's asshole. Talking back to them is social suicide."
Perfect. Now I'm definitely on Isabella's radar, and not in a good way. But if Tallon meant what he said about protection, maybe it won't matter. And soon, very soon, none of this will matter because I'll either be dead or fleeing back to hunter territory with Prince Corvinus's blood on my hands.
And hopefully his head in a bag. I think I saw one in Olivia's closet that would fit it nicely. She has so many, she probably wouldn't even miss it.
"Why areyoudesignated a drab anyway?" I ask as we continue walking. "You seem like everything this school is trying to mold omegas into. You're very… high maintenance."
"Thanks for that glowing assessment of my character." She smooths down her dress with nervous hands. "I wasn't born into a prestige family or anything. My parents work the factories that keep one of the human cities running. Everyone was shocked when I turned out to be an omega. Especially me."
"So even omegas get treated like shit if they don't come from fancy bloodlines." I shake my head. "Doesn't seem like much of a privilege."
Olivia stops walking, turning to face me with fire in her eyes. "My parents have spent their entire lives working grueling jobs, barely having enough time to sleep, but they always made time for me and my siblings. If I can get through the next four years in this place and find a decent mate, I can make sure they get to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. It's worth having to hold my tongue around a bunch of catty bitches every now and then."
Silence falls between us, heavy and awkward. Maybe I'd misjudged Princess Pink after all.
"What?" she demands, clearly uncomfortable with my scrutiny.
"Nothing." I start walking again. "Just realizing we might have more in common than I thought."
"We havenothingin common," she grumbles, but there's less venom in it than usual.
The address on the invitation leads us to the outskirts of campus, where the perfectly manicured lawns give way to older buildings that look like they haven't been touched in decades.We stop in front of what appears to be an abandoned storage facility made of crumbling concrete and rusted metal.
