One had to be for Ancil, the other for the Ambassador.
Brenya, as usual in this place, was incorrect.
The owners of those honored seats arrived moments later, Annette rising to rush beaming toward the door once Security Advisor Ancil Dubois was announced. The gilded wood opened, and the look on the blonde’s face went from ecstatic to heartbroken.
Another female was on her esteemed husband’s arm. Another woman had all his attention, Ancil so transfixed he walked right past his wife to announce. “We apologize, Commodore, for our tardiness.”
The apology seemed only a formality, Jacques in the exact same languid position as if all were natural and expected—an elbow on his chair’s carved armrest, an unharried smile on his lips.
As the couple came forward, so did the scent… an odor Brenya had grown very familiar with in the last weeks.
Alpha, Omega fluids. Sex.
The room was oblivious to Annette’s horror, men shouting congratulations, spoons being rung against crystal goblets.
The black-haired woman, beautiful by every possible measure, smiled at the congratulations. Pushing her pin-straight sheet of hair from her shoulder, she revealed where teeth had punctured, the mark still swollen, for all to see.
The cheers grew louder.
When Brenya moved to stand, Jacques put a hand to her thigh. The silent command to remain seated, to leave Annette struck and alone, made the Omega turn her head and glare. “What’s going on?”
The Commodore replied, “A cause for celebration. The first pair-bond under Bernard Dome since the time of our great-grandfathers. Ancil has claimed his mate.”
“He has a wife.” A perfect wife who had just given birth to his son.
“There is more news.” Ancil’s voice rang out, the man waving an arm to silence the room and declare, “We were blessed in our joining. Lucia is with child.”
A small voice behind them muttered, “No…”
It was then Ancil deigned to turn his head so he might look at his wife after her negation of his joy. Brenya could not see his expression, but the anguish on Annette’s face mirrored horrific pain.
Tears were falling over pretty cheeks, Annette hardly able to call out to him, “Ancil?”
Ancil’s reply was harsh. “Sit.”
Stumbling toward the table, Annette obeyed, her body moving as if pulled along by marionette strings.
It was a show for the room, a vast table of Alphas watching with rapt attention as Ancil brought his wife to heel. The blonde was placed at his left, the dark-haired Omega at his right, and in the middle Ancil sat nodding greetings to the nearest male. “Ambassador.”
“This is wrong.” Silence descended across the room at Brenya’s proclamation. Chest rising and falling, she looked from Annette, to her husband, to the unknown woman who dared to glare back at her. “You have a wife.”
“And by our marriage contract, signed by said Beta wife, I am also allowed to take a mate should the opportunity arise. All is legal and will stand in court if questioned.” Ancil lowered his chin, dark eyes hostile. “Ask your Commodore if you doubt my claims.”
Brenya could not stop her tongue or the thundering of her heart. “When Annette signed it, there were no Omegas in Bernard Dome.”
“Yet she signed the standard contract all the same.”
“Standard?” Every marriage in Central followed such twisted rules? Were all Alphas just biding their time?
It was Annette, her eyes downcast to the table before her who whispered, “Brenya, please be quiet.”
Swallowing, Brenya thought she might be sick. Her eyes went around the table, to the men gawking… all the strangers… and it was she they found fault with, not Ancil and his Omega.
Under the table, Jacques squeezed her thigh, but made no move to alter his bored expression or say a word on the subject. The only thing he did say was, “Please serve,” to the waiting staff.
A team of synchronized Betas poured wine, removing the golden cloche before each guest so the first course might be enjoyed.
It did not look like any kind of food Brenya was accustomed to. It was just one small egg, smeared with sauce atop a lettuce leaf. She hardly noticed it once something much more appetizing twinged her nostrils and caused her head to snap up.
Not every member of the party had been served the same plate.
There was a bowl in front of Annette. Inside the china dish something Brenya had asked for and been denied.
Beta rations—the pharmaceutically laced food that turned a person into a cog. Food that would deaden Annette’s emotions and make her a drone just like Brenya had been.
When the blonde began to understand what waited before her, her silent tears turned to sobs. And still… still she picked up her spoon.
“Don’t eat it!” Brenya was half out of her chair, struggling against the weight of Jacques’ grip on her leg. Reaching across the table, she fought and failed to slap the food from Annette’s hands. “Annette, no. Don’t eat it!”