Four; accept she had no true mate.

Naya set the tmae back in its stand. That last goal had no specific strategy other than resisting her reactions to him and staying as far away as possible. That shouldn’t be a problem. She’d thought her magical blocks had been removed, but they must have left some lingering effects, otherwise their attraction would have been far more intense. Having studied war crimes and strategies, she knew that since she was a new prisoner, he’d want to make her suffer again—because he was fucking crazy—and it was clear that he wasn’t compelled by her scent the way she was by his. Once he got bored with making her suffer, he’d focus on his invasion.

The real issue for her was grieving the idea of him. Without a mate, she couldn’t lead effectively or be the Omega her people deserved. That had been crushed out of existence the moment she realized who her mate was.

All she could do was protect them from this invasion, and after the Lox Empire crushed the beast, she’d talk to Drocan and see what he thought about ruling—or any of her siblings. She’d also see if Lonn still wanted to marry her without the title, and then start her life from there.

The notion cast a shadow within her, extinguishing a long-burning flame that Gramma, and even her parents had kindled. Maybe an Omega’s mate was supposed to be all the amazing things everyone said, but Naya’s wasn’t. She’d never have that kind of love—the kind her parents had. Tears blurred her vision, but she quickly got up. She couldn’t sink into the reality of that loss right now.

Stretching her body slow and intentional, she worked through a warming sequence like she used to at the start of her training sessions, then practiced her basic combat positions. Since she had time and space, she might as well practice something that could help her at some point. She hadn't trained properly in six years, and even though she was certain that wasn't the reason for her defeat in the forest, it still stung that she hadn’t even heard the beast’s ambush. She was out of practice.

She worked through her training sequences for her combat specialisms, progressing from basic to mastery as she sought to reawaken what her body once knew instinctively. Gradually she slipped into a rhythm, each move becoming more assured and powerful, increasing in speed. And then she fell out of rhythm.

Annoyed, she began again. Slow and practiced, increasing gradually.

As she fell out repeatedly, her irritation escalated with each attempt until she finally yelled at the wall. Her training was coming back to her, but it didn’t feel the same. She didn’t have the same power she used to, and she was damn slow.

Refocusing her energies, she started again, and persisted until her body ached like she’d fought fifty Lox warriors at once, but she’d lost her edge.

Papa had trained her for what was happening right now, yet for the past six years she’d been selfishly looking for her mate instead of keeping up with her training. And it’d been a gross waste of time. She’d literally seen the enemy in her forest and ignored the little instinct she had left, too preoccupied about her next pairing meeting to take it seriously. She was a fucking disappointment to her people, to the empire her father had built, and most of all, to Papa.

She channeled her seething rage into her training, and by the time the feeling eased, her body ached, her throat had flared up again, and her rage had smoothed into steely determination. She was her papa’s daughter—his firstborn, and she wouldn’t continue to let him down.

The day crept by, rays of sun inching through the room. Naya continued increasing the intensity of her sequences until she was close to the pace she was used to.

Drenched in sweat and moving at an incredible speed, she caught the faint whisper of the door opening. She forced herself to arrive at a neat stop, the air sharp in her heaving lungs.

The round-cheeked aide who had helped her bathe yesterday came in with clothing neatly folded over her arm. She smiled at Naya, but it faded when she saw Naya panting and sweaty, and disappeared at the sight of the tray.

"Hhe llu kkunnenmir hhe kaeplǔ?" she said, confusion in her eyes.

Naya stared back at her. Was she forgetting Naya didn't speak the language? She grabbed the tmae, sipping it while the aide placed the clothes on the bed.

She faced Naya, smiling again. “Nuk ttae tikshon nlik hhe nnu ppo tshike shi llepae." Then she added, in a thick accent, "Good morning."

Naya pursed her lips, somewhat surprised at her brisk brightness. It didn’t seem to fit the situation, but that was probably better than her being rude or cold. The way she had bathed Naya yesterday had the practiced efficiency of an experienced aide, and serving as an aide for a prisoner was likely not a role anyone would want. “Err… good morning," Naya said. “Well, it’s afternoon. Good afternoon.”

The aide beamed and beckoned Naya over to the same spot for another bath. Afterward, she dressed her in attire typical of the style Naya had seen in this culture: garments that combined the looseness of cloaks and tunics with fitted sections, creating an elegant and unusual style of clothing.

When she finished, the aide stepped back, her eyes roaming, searching for imperfections. She couldn’t have found any because she clasped her hands together and smiled. Then she picked up the tiny cup of foul-smelling liquid and pressed it into Naya’s hands. "Hhe kkuke tshu tae kkermo pre tul kkishnu."

"No, thank you." Naya shook her head, holding it out to her. "I don't want it."

The aide tapped her finger on the cup and then tapped her mouth. "i ttǒm."

Naya shook her head again. "No, thank you."

The woman cupped Naya’s hands and lifted the cup to her lips. Naya fought to push her hands back down without spilling the cup. She was surprisingly strong.

"i ttǒm," the woman insisted. “i ttǒm.”

"No!"

"She is saying you should try it."

They both tensed, startled by the voice at the door.

A woman with large, expressive eyes and radiant dark brown skin stood just inside the doorway. She wore a fitted tunic-like outfit with layers of leather. Two daggers’ handles stuck out of the band around her waist, but Naya guessed she probably had at least three more on her person somewhere. She was the first person Naya had seen who looked like an actual warrior and not just a guard.

She glanced between them. "She is saying to try it.”

"I don't want to try it,” Naya said. "Why won’t she let me refuse?”

“Because you might find it helpful.”

That was a ridiculous response. Naya eyed her blades. "Are you both planning to cut me to shreds if I insist I don’t want it?"

The woman blinked, slow and considered, then gestured to the aide. “This is Meiro. She is to attend to your personal needs while you’re here but cannot speak the Common Tongue and has been instructed not to converse with you at length or assist you with anything that is not to do with your personal needs.” She gestured to the cup. “This will help you personally.”

Naya tried not to show her surprise. This woman’s Common Tongue was good.

"You told the zmola that you would be amenable," the woman added. "It does not hurt you to try."

“I agreed to give information,” Naya said. “I cannot see how drinking something that smells this… foul will help me help you.”

“It is our most coveted drink. It aids in concentration and gives strength. It can only be made using nnin, so its preparation is taken seriously. The amount you hold in that cup is very expensive and will be wasted if you don’t drink it.”