The Grand Ball had lost none of its splendor.
If anything, as the night wore on, the Hall of Conquest seemed to become even more extravagant.
Music drifted beneath the vaulted ceiling, carried by instruments whose designs had been preserved for centuries. Servants moved among the guests with silver trays, their movements almost invisible amid the grandeur of the hall. Jewels glittered whenever someone turned their head. Silk brushed against silk. Laughter appeared and disappeared beneath conversations that were far more dangerous than they seemed.
And Ziggy was having the time of his life.
He stood beside Mason, his mouth slightly open as he stared at the enormous chandelier hanging above them.
"Do you know how much that costs?"
Mason didn't even look up.
"No."
"Me neither."
"Then why did you ask?"
"Because I need to know exactly how poor I am compared to them."
Mason finally looked at him.
"You were already poor."
Ziggy pressed a hand to his chest.
"Cruel."
Mason smiled despite himself.
It was easier to smile when Ziggy was talking.
Easier to breathe.
Because, across the hall, Can-Bey Wilson could barely hide the glances he kept throwing in his direction.
Mason could feel them.
He didn't know exactly what was going through that man's mind. In truth, perhaps he had never known Can-Bey as well as he had once imagined.
But that gaze said enough.
Can-Bey was still trying to understand what had happened.
When Mason had disappeared, the Wilson household had gone on high alert as though it had come under attack. For a while, no one had known whether he was alive, whether he had been kidnapped, or whether some family had decided to use him as a piece in a dispute no one else knew about.
And now he was here.
Alive.
Well.
Smiling.
Accompanied.
That seemed to irritate Can-Bey more than any answer Mason could have given him.
It was as if Mason's very survival, away from him, was an affront.
Worse still, Mason seemed perfectly fine without him.
Can-Bey didn't know whether Mason had made a mistake, whether someone had taken him, or whether he had simply chosen to leave.
But he couldn't ask.
His pride wouldn't allow it.
And seeing Mason there, dressed elegantly and moving among families that had once seemed completely beyond his reach, made something inside him twist.
Mason was still living.
Without him.
And that struck Can-Bey's ego in a way he hated to admit.
Mason looked away.
Andrews was there.
With the Williams family.
Close enough for his presence to be noticed.
But distant at the same time.
He wasn't standing beside Mason like someone claiming his company.
He was simply among the Williams, taking part in the family's conversations while keeping part of his attention on the ballroom.
And, every now and then, on Mason.
Mason glanced sideways.
Andrews was a dominant Alpha Prime. And there was something strange about having him nearby, even at a distance.
It wasn't only the difference in status.
It was Mason's own body recognizing Andrews's presence before his mind could rationalize it.
The pheromones of a dominant weren't merely a scent.
To an ordinary omega, they were like an invisible current.
Something that reached the body before reason, pulling it toward a depth Mason didn't want to acknowledge.
Like being trapped at the bottom of an ocean, knowing he should swim, yet feeling his own instincts telling him to remain still.
Andrews didn't have to do anything.
His mere presence was enough to remind Mason where he stood within that hierarchy.
Mason knew what people probably saw.
An ordinary omega.
A man who should be grateful for the protection of an Alpha Prime.
An omega who had somehow managed to enter that circle.
He hated that interpretation.
But that night, he didn't know exactly how he felt about Andrews's silent help.
Part of him wanted to reject it.
Another part couldn't ignore the relief he felt knowing Andrews was nearby.
And that contradiction bothered him more than it should have.
Ziggy leaned toward him.
"Your knight is watching."
Mason frowned.
"Don't call him that."
"Why?"
"Because he isn't."
Ziggy glanced discreetly at Andrews.
Andrews was speaking with one of the Williams, but his eyes shifted toward Mason for a moment.
Ziggy noticed.
Then he noticed Can-Bey's gaze as well.
The difference was immediate.
One was attentive.
The other carried a hostility that was difficult to hide.
Ziggy straightened.
"Right. I take it back."
Mason let out a small, nervous laugh.
Then he noticed Can-Bey watching the two of them from across the hall.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Can-Bey's lips curved.
It wasn't a smile.
It was something colder.
Almost malicious.
Then the atmosphere changed.
Mason felt it before he even saw him.
Zeki Wilson was approaching.
His expression was controlled, but his eyes weren't.
Ziggy noticed him too.
Immediately, he moved closer to Mason.
Mason blinked.
"Are you hiding behind me?"
"Yes."
"You're taller than me."
"That doesn't matter."
"You're pathetic."
"I prefer strategic."
Mason almost laughed.
Almost.
Zeki stopped in front of them.
His eyes passed over Ziggy before settling on Mason.
"So you're here."
Mason's smile disappeared.
"I am."
There was a pause.
Zeki looked around the ballroom.
"You seem comfortable."
"Should I be uncomfortable?"
"That isn't what I said."
"No."
Mason's voice remained calm.
"You asked how I was."
"I didn't ask."
"You implied it."
Zeki's jaw tightened.
"Then tell me. What are you doing here?"
Mason stared at him.
"Participating in the tournament."
"You know what I mean."
"Then ask what you actually want to know."
The tension between them began to attract attention.
Not because they were speaking loudly.
But because of who was involved.
Wilson blood.
An ordinary omega, practically unknown within this circle.
And a Williams guest who remained several feet away, among his own family.
Zeki lowered his voice.
"You disappeared."
Mason almost laughed.
"Disappeared?"
"You know what I mean."
"No, Zeki. I really don't."
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
The music continued around them.
Elegant.
Beautiful.
Almost absurdly peaceful.
Zeki cast a quick glance toward Andrews.
This time, Andrews was looking at them too.
But he didn't move.
Zeki returned his attention to Mason.
"So this is what you do now?"
Mason frowned.
"What?"
Zeki stepped a little closer.
The movement was small, but enough to make his next words private.
"Are you working here?"
Mason went still.
Zeki gave Andrews another quick glance before looking back at him.
"Accompanying someone?"
The word wasn't spoken.
It didn't need to be.
Mason understood.
So did Ziggy.
Any trace of humor disappeared from Mason's face.
He lowered his voice.
"Are you asking if I'm working as a prostitute?"
Zeki fell silent.
He hadn't expected Mason to have that kind of audacity.
That silence was answer enough.
Ziggy's smile disappeared.
Mason felt heat rise into his face, but he kept his voice low.
"Interesting."
"Don't put words in my mouth."
"You didn't have to say them."
Zeki held his gaze.
"Then tell me what you're doing here."
"I was invited."
"By whom?"
Mason smiled without humor.
"That's none of your business."
Zeki's eyes hardened.
For several seconds, he seemed to search for an answer.
He found none.
Then he asked,
"You really think you can speak to me like that?"
Mason stared at him.
"Why not?"
The question seemed to strike him in a way he hadn't expected.
Zeki drew a slow breath.
"You've changed."
Mason's voice dropped.
"So have you."
"I didn't leave."
Mason held his gaze for several seconds.
"No."
He swallowed.
"You just stopped seeing me."
That silenced him.
Zeki stood there without an immediate answer.
Mason looked away.
"Why did you disappear?" Zeki finally asked.
Mason looked back at him.
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes.
Then it vanished.
"I don't want to talk about it."
Zeki seemed to wait for another answer.
None came.
Mason took a deep breath.
"It was time for everything to end."
A pause.
"And it ended."
The words were simple.
But they sounded final.
Zeki stood completely still.
His brother had been dismissed.
Without explanations.
Without room to insist.
Several people nearby pretended they weren't trying to listen.
Ziggy suddenly became extremely interested in the ceiling.
Across the hall, Andrews continued watching.
And, for the first time since Zeki had approached, he set his conversation aside and began crossing the ballroom.
Without hurry.
Without drawing attention.
Zeki noticed the movement.
So did Mason.
Andrews stopped a few steps away from them.
He didn't touch Mason.
He didn't take his place.
He simply stood there.
"Is there a problem?" he asked.
Zeki looked at him.
"No."
Andrews held his gaze.
"Good."
Nothing more.
Zeki looked at Mason again.
There was anger in his eyes.
But there was also something Mason didn't want to acknowledge.
Pain.
Perhaps frustration.
Perhaps nothing more than wounded pride.
Zeki looked away.
"Enjoy the night."
Mason met his gaze.
"I intend to."
Zeki turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Mason watched him leave.
Only then did he release the breath he'd been holding.
Ziggy leaned toward him.
"I hate him."
Mason looked at him.
"You don't even know him."
"I know enough."
Mason almost smiled.
Andrews remained there for a few more seconds.
Then he spoke quietly, low enough that only Mason could hear.
"You didn't have to answer him alone."
Mason turned toward him.
"I wasn't alone."
Andrews looked at him.
The answer seemed to surprise him.
Mason realized what he had just said.
Neither of them corrected it.
Across the ballroom, Can-Bey had witnessed everything.
His expression was no longer only anger.
It was wounded.
And that was worse.
Because anger could be controlled.
Wounds could become anything.
The night continued.
But the atmosphere had changed.
Families danced.
Alliances were discussed.
Names were exchanged.
Promises were made beneath chandeliers and ancient symbols.
Damián remained close to Adam.
Aster and Callum moved through the ballroom together.
Benjamin spoke with people who still remembered his political career.
And, at some point between the music and the endless conversations, Mason realized something uncomfortable.
For the first time in years, no one had asked him to leave.
No one had told him where he belonged.
No one had reminded him that he was an ordinary omega.
And perhaps that was why the small confrontation had hurt so much.
Because Zeki had reminded him.
But Andrews hadn't.
At midnight, the grand ballroom began to empty.
By one in the morning, only the closest families were still awake.
By two, the castle had finally fallen silent.
Outside, the tournament city was illuminated by thousands of small lights.
Behind closed doors, the powerful slept.
Some peacefully.
Some with plans already taking shape.
Some with anger burning beneath their pillows.
And some with memories they could not silence.
Mason remained awake for a long time.
He stared at the ceiling.
He remembered Zeki's words.
You've changed.
Perhaps he had.
Perhaps that was exactly the point.
Morning arrived without mercy.
The bells rang before sunrise.
The first official event of the tournament would begin at dawn.
The fighters gathered in the ancient arena between the two castles.
It had been built in the style of a civilization nearly four thousand years old.
Yet nothing about it seemed primitive.
The arena was carved from pale stone, its circular walls covered in delicate geometric reliefs and symbols representing the first houses of the dominant bloodlines.
The participants wore ceremonial garments inspired by ancient battle attire.
Long tunics.
Structured belts.
Metal ornaments.
Shoulder pieces engraved with their family crests.
Nothing was excessive.
Everything was deliberate.
Even the colors carried meaning.
Gold for dominant blood.
Black for military lineage.
White for political houses.
Red for those who had earned the right to challenge.
The elite had transformed an ancient war into art.
Mason stood at the edge of the arena beside Ziggy.
Ziggy stared at the fighters.
"This is insane."
Mason nodded.
"Unfortunately, we're surrounded by people who think insanity is tradition."
Ziggy smiled.
Then he noticed Andrews.
Again.
This time, he stood a few steps behind them, speaking with members of the Williams family.
Mason sighed.
"You're doing it again."
Andrews looked at him.
"Doing what?"
"Staying too close."
"Is that a problem?"
Mason hesitated.
"No."
Andrews's eyes returned to the arena.
"Then stop complaining."
Mason looked away.
Ziggy whispered,
"I think he likes you."
Mason nearly choked.
"Shut up."
"I didn't say anything."
"You definitely said something."
The first trumpet sounded.
The conversations ceased.
The entire arena fell silent.
Two fighters stood in the center.
One from the Phillips alliance.
The other from the Campbell side.
Both were Alphas.
Both wore ancient ceremonial armor.
Neither carried a modern weapon.
That was tradition.
The first fight had to be fought with the body.
Strength.
Speed.
Control.
Pheromones.
Instinct.
The announcer's voice echoed through the stadium.
"Today, we do not fight for territory."
The crowd remained silent.
"We fight for recognition."
The fighters lowered their heads.
"Four thousand years ago, our ancestors entered these circles to prove which blood deserved to lead."
A murmur passed through the spectators.
"Today, we preserve their tradition."
The two fighters advanced.
The impact came almost immediately.
The arena erupted in cheers.
One Alpha attacked.
The other blocked.
The sound of metal ornaments striking against the stone floor echoed through the stadium.
The crowd reacted.
Mason leaned forward.
Not because he enjoyed violence.
But because there was something almost hypnotic about the precision of those movements.
These people had been trained to turn their bodies into weapons.
The first fighter released his pheromones.
Pressure spread through the arena.
Several omegas immediately lowered their eyes.
Mason felt it too.
A weight against his chest.
Instinctive.
Ancient.
Humiliating.
His breathing changed.
Andrews noticed.
This time, he wasn't close.
But his gaze changed immediately.
And when the pheromonal pressure intensified, Andrews took only a few steps toward Mason.
He didn't touch him.
He said nothing.
He simply moved close enough.
The pressure on Mason eased.
Not because Andrews had released anything dramatic.
Simply because his dominant presence interrupted the invisible line of dominance pressing against Mason.
Mason looked at him.
Andrews said nothing.
But his expression had changed.
It wasn't contempt.
It wasn't pity.
It was something sharper.
Recognition.
As if he had finally understood exactly what it meant to be an ordinary omega in a world built to remind omegas of their place.
Mason turned his attention back to the arena.
The fighter fell.
The crowd exploded into applause.
The first match was over.
And somewhere among the celebrating families, Beatrice smiled.
Because she hadn't come to the tournament merely to watch people fight.
She had come to decide who would fall next.