Chapter 98: Chapter 98: Cornelia Altera

Hanna left the suite before anyone could stop her. The corridor outside was silent, polished marble reflecting her furious steps as she marched through the east wing. Her assistants trailed behind for exactly ten seconds before she waved them off with a clipped, “Leave. Now.”

The moment she turned the corner, her composure cracked.

The audacity, the sheer audacity, of that pampered omega. She’d worked under the Altera crown for years, dressed men and women who ruled continents, and stitched lineage into seams and diplomacy into hems. She’d tailored consorts for their marriage, princes for funerals, and Dax himself for war councils.

But Christopher Malek?

He was impossible. Spoiled. Too clever for his own good and far too unafraid of the man who commanded the kingdom.

Hanna reached the service stairwell and exhaled sharply, forcing the anger back into something usable. She wasn’t about to storm the royal comm line over a tantrum. She’d find her own way to fix this.

She needed air. And fabric. And something sharp enough to cut through silk and arrogance both.

The palace courtyard stretched quiet and damp under the early morning light. A transport was already waiting by the gates, and she didn’t bother asking who arranged it. When you worked for Dax Altera, logistics always moved faster than questions.

“Tailor’s district,” she said to the driver, sliding in. “And make it quick.”

The city blurred past in shades of stone and sunlight. Hanna leaned back, rubbing a hand over her eyes. Three years in Saha’s royal service, and she’d never once failed to execute an order. But this omega, this Dominant omega who looked at everyone like they were background noise, had undone hours of discipline in a single breath.

She could still see him, standing in borrowed clothes, dark hair mussed, with defiance written across his face like it was part of the design. He would look ravaging in the robes every omega in the kingdom not only wanted but would kill to have the chance Christopher very much despised.

No wonder Dax looked half feral these days.

By the time the car stopped outside the supplier’s hall, she’d cooled enough to fake civility again.

Or so she thought, until she saw her.

Cornelia Altera.

The last consort. The forgotten queen, dressed in deep navy silk embroidered with gold, her posture impeccable, her expression calm enough to make even the air hold its breath. Time had carved elegance into her bones. Her black hair was pinned high, her jewelry understated, but her presence remained imperial.

“Hanna,” she said without turning. “You’re early.”

“I came from the palace,” Hanna replied, setting down the case beside the low table of their usual meeting spot. “The fitting was… interrupted.”

Cornelia’s head tilted slightly. “Interrupted?”

“He refused the robe,” Hanna said tightly. “The one His Majesty commissioned. Said it was a dress. Called it archaic.”

At that, Cornelia laughed softly, the sound quiet and dangerous. “Archaic. How fitting for a man trying to modernize a crown built on ashes.”

“I tried to insist,” Hanna continued, “but Rowan and Nadia interfered. They said it should wait for Dax’s return.”

Cornelia finally turned. Her gaze, black as lacquer and sharp as polished glass, fixed on Hanna. “And what did you say?”

“I agreed,” Hanna said carefully, lowering her eyes. “For now.”

Cornelia studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, she rose.

“Hmm… That was an inspired move, but the new addition to Dax’s toys puts us in danger.” She said and Hanna knew that Cornelia was talking about her sons. The last two princes Dax permitted to live, after massacring the rest of the family without an ounce of regret. Even these two, both sons of Cornelia, were safe only if Dax couldn’t have heirs, but the new omega changed that.

“Dax thinks he’s found a balance,” Cornelia said, pacing slowly. “A dominant omega he can parade as proof that he’s untouchable. But what happens when that omega refuses to play along?”

Hanna frowned slightly. “He’s already refused the robes. It was humiliating.”

Cornelia smiled faintly. “Then we use that.”

“My lady?”

Cornelia’s gaze sharpened, bright and cruel. “Force the issue. Tell him it’s the king’s command. Make it public. Have the tailors deliver the finished robes to his quarters daily if you must. I want him cornered between pride and obedience.”

Hanna hesitated. “He’ll be furious. Dax might…”

“Dax will snap,” Cornelia interrupted smoothly. “He can’t stand disobedience, not from anyone, least of all something he’s claimed. And the omega, Christopher, won’t yield easily. You see, my dear, that’s the beauty of it.”

She sat, smoothing her gown. “Men like Dax build their control out of worship and fear. Take away either, and they flinch. Let the omega challenge him in public, refuse his culture, and insult his authority, and you’ll see the same fury that once destroyed my house.”

Her tone was silk and venom. “We don’t need to fight Dax. We only need him to doubt the only person he should trust, his mate.”

Hanna’s throat went dry. “You want to turn them against each other.”

“I want Dax to see that his chosen one is no different from the rest of us, that he is fickle, insolent, and disloyal. Let him feel that sting in his pride.” Cornelia’s smile grew colder. “When that bond fractures, the palace will bleed from the inside. And I’ll still have my sons.”

Hanna exhaled slowly. “Then I’ll order the robes.”

“Good,” Cornelia said. “Make them perfect, impossible to dismiss.”

Hanna bowed her head. “Yes, my lady.”

“And, Hanna,” Cornelia added, her voice softening into something almost fond, “remind the palace staff that this design came directly from the king’s office. I want no whispers that it originated here.”

“Understood.”

Cornelia turned back toward the window, her silhouette framed in gold light. “Men like Dax can fight armies, but never their own reflection. Let him see himself in that boy’s defiance and hate what he finds.”

When Hanna left, the morning air felt colder. The order list in her hand was lethal; there were numerous colors but all had the embroidery in royal gold. Torture disguised as finery.

She stepped into the car, her mind already working through logistics.

By the time she returned to the palace, no one would question where the robes came from. And when Christopher Malek put them on, or refused to, both choices would lead to the same place.

A dispute among the royal couple.

Exactly as Cornelia wanted.

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