So I didn't move an inch, and I washed the bitter taste on my tongue down with a hearty gulp of tea.

To her credit, Adelaide was able to sing and play and smile, all while being glared at speculatively by those abyss black eyes. I certainly couldn't have done half that, even without Lord Cadogan towering over me like a brutal monolith of power. A handsome one, I admitted. More masculine and harsh in appearance than the beta dragons, with dark hair and a thick but short beard.

His smile was slow, predatory, and it stopped at the halfway point, as if he refused to put more effort into the act. He knew, as we all did, that he'd just found his match.

It was so obvious, actually. Inevitable.

I brought a tiny cake to my lips and lifted my book back to my nose, forcing myself to focus on the words, hoping for a better twist in the story.

"You must stop slouching. And we'll need new irons to try for her hair. Oh, Mairwen! Would you listen?!"

My mother didn't wait for my response, wresting the book from my hands to catch my attention at last. It was getting too dark in the carriage to read anyway.

"New irons won't work. They never work," I said, frowning. "Why are we bothering with worrying about my hair?"

"She's right, Gwennie. The matter is settled," my father said, patting my mother's hand where they sat across from me. But he was frowning too.

"No, it isn't, not at all, Albert. Not now that the alpha is determined to have a girl at the selection."

I'd missed too much of their conversation and assumed the entirely wrong meaning to my mother's words, a great burst of rare laughter exploding out of me.

"He's not about to choose me, no matter what we manage with my hair," I gusted out, eyes wide.

And it struck me, as they both wore puzzled and slightly disturbed expressions in response, that they'd never believed so either.

"Hugh Gamesby won't have Adelaide, and⁠—"

"Hugh Gamesby won't have me either," I said.

And once again, their faces said I was being obvious. Hugh wasn't as strong or huge as the alpha, but he was as handsome, fair and elegant like Adelaide rather than dark and burly like Lord Ronson Cadogan. Hugh and Adelaide would've made exquisite babies, and now I wondered what she would have instead. She and the alpha were so different in appearance, and she was slight. Her labors would be hard.

"There's going to be a great shuffling about, you mark my words," my mother continued, shooing away my comments like flies buzzing about her head. "I really do think our little Mouse could come out…well, maybe with a bit of our help, she might land George Hardaway."

I turned my head to gaze out the window of the carriage, hiding my wince. Not at George Hardaway—he would be an improvement, although still rather unlikely to choose me. No, I just hated when my parents called me "Mouse" too.

"And have me break my word with Mr. Evans? Gwennie, it's bad form, not to mention…well, not possible," my father said. He shot me a sympathetic glance, and I suspected we were thinking the same thing.

George Hardaway wouldn't ask for me. Not even if Adelaide being pulled from the ranks did send the omegas toppling down the line like dominoes, rearranging all the fresh courtships that had started to bud with the approach of the rut selection.

"If things are rearranged, I'm more likely to lose Mr. Evans than gain one of the others," I said, trying not to sound too hopeful.

My mother let out a wounded noise, but it wasn't for my sake. She just didn't want to face the truth.

"The matter is settled. You're not losing Mr. Evans," Father said, as if it could reassure me. "And we're not breaking our word to him. The deal is done."

I held my father's gaze, and it was like looking in a mirror. I had too many of his features, and too few of my mother's. He was handsome, of course, but even her bow lips would've made my face more cherubic. No, all I had from my mother was good hips and high cheekbones. It was not enough, not for what she wanted from me.

The carriage stopped in front of the house, and I let myself down before my father or the driver could help. The night was cool, a relief on my hot cheeks.

"Perhaps we should've put her out a few months early," Mother whispered.

"No, Gwennie. Even if he had chosen her then, she'd likely be dead by now. She was too young."

Why didn't he tell her the truth? If by some miracle or poor judgment Lord Cadogan had snapped me up when I was sixteen, my father would never have been able to wager me off to Mr. Evans. A deal Father would never break, because the money made was already in the process of being spent on our keeping a carriage and a driver at all. On repairing the roof so my mother wasn't dripped on.

Father's family fortune had been dwindling for years, and his income had been lost before my birth, when the current Alpha Cadogan had put a stop to indentured servitude. I'd only heard my parents whispering about the state of our finances a few years ago, and the revelations had come with a sick kind of relief. I would rather we be poor than be dressed in finery paid for by the trade of human flesh and labor.

So we could not afford to lose Mr. Evans. Or rather, my parents couldn't. And with the burden of me gone, the load would be lighter for them. That was good too.

I marched into the house, leaving them to their discussion. They loved one another, as dragonkin couples rarely did. My father had not only chosen my mother after a rut selection decades ago, but he'd kept her at his side all this time, without ever receiving a beta heir. Most gentlemen of dragonkin would've traded their omega in for a new one by now. But not Father. He loved my mother and was sincerely loved in return. They loved me too, I was sure. I was just not quite what I ought to be. I never had been.

If I'd been a boy, it would've been an improvement in so many ways, not least of which being my features might've actually suited me. Well, the ones on my face, at least. The rest of my body was decidedly feminine. But I would've been able to seek out some employment. Perhaps find a new means of income for our family, as my father seemed resigned to watching it wither away. As I was, my worth was in who might take me on. Mr. Evans appeared to be our only option.

I hurried up to my bedroom, breathing through my nose, stamping down on the rising tide of bile and anger always at hand since Father had told me of the decision. It was not my father's fault I was unpopular or that I was not pretty enough or that when I did choose to speak, I was too blunt and never charming. He'd done what he could for me, and now I had to⁠—

To survive. With Mr. Gryffyd Evans.

My eyes closed at the top edge of the stairs, and I wavered there for a moment, swaying, wondering what might change if I went toppling backwards.

You'll land on your ass and have a bruise, that's what. Don't be melodramatic.

I swallowed hard and carried on.

My parents would take a light supper together, probably in their rooms. And I'd eaten plenty of cakes and tarts at Lady Gertrude's.

I shut the door to my bedroom gently, pacing as I wrestled myself out of my binding clothes, stopping abruptly and scowling at myself in the mirror I'd hidden in the far corner of the room, out of my way.

I was too tall, and the baby fat around my face had never left, and I was quite too generously formed to look anything but lumpy in the dresses so in style. My hair was thick but determinedly pin straight, refusing to be styled, and my features were on the wrong side of plain. I couldn't begrudge Adelaide or the other omegas what would never have been a possibility for me. Even if no other dragon considered me for the selection, even if I stood on that stage naked and unscented, I would not be the alpha's choice.