"Then I will adapt. I’ll mould myself to this hellhole world and defeat her by any means necessary," I declared, chin lifting defiantly, dirt-streaked veil quivering with my resolve. The words burned like a vow etched in blood—assassin’s promise, not some pampered princess plea.

"You will adapt?" Rael echoed, his helm tilting sceptically, plume stirring in the hot breeze like a question mark.

"Yes, I will. I’ll learn every damn trick, every weakness, and I’ll shatter her ego into the dust," I shot back, fists clenching until my nails bit palms, olive eyes fierce through the grime.

Rael shook his head slowly, gauntlet scraping his neck guard. "Your Highness, your dreams are too big, too reckless. Count Jennife is a seasoned fighter—battle-scarred from border wars, veteran of a dozen duels. You? A rookie stumbling into the ring with palace polish and no grit."

"I am not a rookie!" I snarled, stepping forward, silver tangles whipping across my face like frayed chains.

His voice softened, edged with reluctant truth. "Your father, the Emperor, hasn’t taught you properly because she can’t. She’s terrified of hurting you—her precious omega daughter, fragile in her eyes despite your fire. One wrong swing in training, and she’d shatter her own heart."

My head lowered, a cold wave crashing through the fury—shame curtaining my gaze, silver strands veiling the sting. Emperor Lirien’s protectiveness—my father’s overprotectiveness, once a shield, now felt like chains. "So, I guess there’s nothing I can do, is there? Just fold and let the empire laugh."

Rael sighed heavily, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder. "Your Highness, have you ever truly looked at yourself in the mirror—not with scorn, but clear-eyed?"

"What the hell do you mean by that?!" I snapped, heat rising again, arms crossing over my muddied doublet.

"You’re too beautiful. Too desirable," he said plainly, gesturing at my form with a gauntleted hand—the softened curves under leather, silver hair gleaming even in ruin, olive eyes that pierced like daggers. "Normal alphas can’t even stand before omegas like you without rut clawing their control to shreds. Your scent alone unravels them."

A shiver raced down my spine, icy fingers gripping my core—not fear, but the raw truth of this body’s weapon. "Are you seriously saying she’ll rut me mid-duel? Pin me like some tavern prize while the nobles’ jeers?"

"No, not outright," Rael replied, his smirk faint but sharpening under the helm’s shadow, like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath. "But I’m saying you need to use this curse as your blade. Turn their biology against them—make their strength your snare."

"Advantage?" I echoed, brow furrowing behind the clinging veil, intrigue sparking despite the knot of revulsion twisting my gut. My old assassin mind whirred—every mark had a chink—greed, lust, fear. Why not rut?

"Yes. She’ll demand to bind your magic—standard noble ploy to neuter royals like you," he explained, pacing a slow circle around me, boots crunching gravel with deliberate rhythm. "Counter with your own request—remove your veil. Make it the bargain—her blockade for your face bare."

"But what does stripping this scrap of prejudice fabric even signify? It’s just a shield against leering eyes!" I pressed, frustration bubbling hot, hands gesturing wildly at the gossamer rag half-obscuring my world.

He leaned in close, voice dropping to a conspiratorial growl that cut through the field’s dying heat. "It’ll trigger her rut, full force. Full exposure—your unfiltered face, those piercing olive eyes, silver hair framing skin like moonlight on porcelain, your scent blooming unchecked—hits dominant alphas like a rut-potion straight to the veins."

"Poison?"

"Even elites crack, grip faltering on sword or sanity. Seconds of haze, and you’ve got your dagger’s opening."

"What the hell!" I recoiled a step, cheeks flaming scarlet beneath the grime, heart slamming like a war drum. Is he seriously expecting me to whore my face—my body’s damn curse—for victory in the area? Parade like bait for some noble brute’s instincts? I was ready for that—but now it feels weird.

"Precisely—that throws her off guard completely, buys you precious seconds to strike true," Rael pressed, undeterred, his gauntlet clapping my shoulder with battlefield camaraderie. "She’ll stagger, Greatsword dipping, pheromones flooding her skull. You weave in—chain, blade, whatever shadows you hide—and end it."

"But isn’t she a dominant Alpha? Rut-proof elite, the kind that laughs off heats in war camps?" Doubt gnawed deeper, my mind reeling at the gamble—has his gone mad with some fever-dream tactic?

"Yes, top-tier control, forged in blood and border sieges," he admitted with a wolfish grin splitting his scarred face, eyes glinting like polished steel. "But it’s too easy to unravel when you know the thread. You are no mere omega. Your Highness, be straight with me—have you slept with your husband—Elaine? Sealed the bond proper?"

My face ignited crimson, heat flooding from neck to ears like liquid fire, stammering like a green recruit caught filching rations. "W-what the a-are... y-you even implying, Commander? This isn’t court gossip hour!"

"A simple yes-or-no, nothing personal," he said calmly, arms crossing his broad chest like a patient tutor schooling a stubborn squire, plume still in the fading breeze.

"Fine! Yes, I have—multiple times, rut-marks and all. Happy now?!"

The admission burst out raw and mortifying, flashes searing my mind—Elaine’s iron grip pinning me to silk sheets, teeth sinking into my neck amid growls and gasps, bruises blooming like dark petals.

Shame warred with strategy in my chest.

"It’s neither happy nor sad—it’s pure strategy, the linchpin," Rael continued smoothly, voice steady as a drawn bowstring. "That husband’s mark—Elaine’s bite etched into your gland—is your unbreakable shield. Count Jennife can’t trigger your heat; the bond locks it tight, no matter her dominance. You stay clear-headed, scent weaponized."

"What?" I was totally shocked.

"But you trigger her rut—veil off, full allure unleashed. She’ll haze over in feral fog, cock throbbing traitorously under plate, mind fracturing. That’s when you dagger the gap, chain her ankles, or throat-strike clean."

The revelation hung heavy as the deepening shadows, sun bleeding crimson across the obsidian walls. A filthy, desperate gambit—baring my curse to wield it like venom-tipped steel. But alleys taught survival dirtier than this: thumbs hacked for proof, poisons in wine.

In the arena or the throne, victory reeked the same. My lips curled into a predator’s smile behind the veil. "Show me the full play, Commander. Step by ruthless step."

Rael nodded, respect flickering in his flinty gaze. "As you command, Your Highness. Let’s get you forged into her nightmare."