Unmarked

Afterward, in the quiet of the guest wing, Andy stepped behind her and slid her arms around Miranda’s waist.

“You handled it beautifully.”

Miranda leaned back into her, voice low. “I’ve been handling power all my life, Andrea.” Andy chuckled. “True. But now you’re part of a legacy.”

Miranda turned, one brow arched. “And what is next, you’re going to teach me how to serve a traditional Alpha meal?”

Andy gave her a smug grin. “Damn right I am.” Miranda groaned, but there was no venom in it. “If I have to wear an apron, I will riot.”

“You can wear whatever you want,” Andy said, pressing a kiss just under her jaw. “But you’ll be learning how to host dinner for the most dangerous bloodline in our country.”

Miranda pulled back just enough to smirk. “Then I suppose I should at least look the part.”

Andy’s eyes glittered. “Oh, you already do.”

Andrea held Miranda from behind, enjoying the feel of Miranda in her arms. “Let’s get dressed, Because tonight we will just be attending. Everyone will be waiting for us to join the celebration dinner.”

**-

Miranda stood just outside the double doors, dressed in slate silk trimmed in crimson, the Vaelthorn colors reimagined in sleek lines. Her hair was pinned back, her collar glinting subtly at her throat. She was poised. Regal. Ready. And still… her pulse was racing.

Andy stood beside her, dressed in a traditional formal—structured black dress with silver threading that matched the inked sigils still faintly visible on her skin from the Oath ritual. She turned to Miranda and smiled. Her hands were steady, her posture flawless — but her stomach churned in quiet, unfamiliar knots.

“You look like you’re walking into a boardroom with knives drawn,” Andy murmured beside her, making the last adjustments to her dress.

“I am,” Miranda said coolly. “Just… older knives.”

Andy stepped around her “They’ll love you.”

Miranda gave her a look. “They’ll test me.” Andy tilted her head. “Same thing.”

Together, they walked through the doors. The room fell silent. The Vaelthorn dining hall had been transformed—long velvet banners bearing the family crest hung from the ceiling, candles flickering low in black iron chandeliers. The dining table, carved from dark ashwood and inlaid with silver vines, stretched nearly the length of the room, set for twenty though only eight seats would be filled. The family crest — the wolf in fire and thorn — was carved into the back of every chair.

At the far end of the table sat six figures of the Vaelthorn family whose presence practically hummed with power.

Richard Vaelthorn — Andy’s father — a towering Alpha with iron-grey hair and sharp silver eyes that looked like they’d seen too many wars, and won all of them, sat at the head of the table. He didn’t smile as they approached, but he inclined his head — a gesture of recognition, not just welcome. Beside him, equally commanding, sat Kaela Vaelthorn, Andy’s mother — tall, fair-skinned, with eyes that missed nothing. Her presence radiated command, not unlike Miranda’s own.

Flanking them were her grandparents. On her  father’s side: Grandfather Elias Vaelthorn: broad-shouldered, stoic, another Alpha. Grandmother Serelien Vaelthorn: Alpha — elegant, white-haired, with a voice like velvet and the calm of a woman long-accustomed to ruling without shouting.

On her mother’s side: Grandmother Carys Ravaryn: Alpha, all cheekbones and sharp wit, silver bangles up both arms. Grandfather Orion Ravaryn: Alpha, small and graceful, seated with a cane resting against his knee and a faint, knowing smile.

Miranda understood now a bit better why the house had been waiting for its next omega. It was clear that the Alpha-Omega cycle had skipped many a generation.

Each of them watched Miranda as she and Andy approached. This was the Omega Andy had claimed. This was the woman who now bore the Vaelthorn crest around her neck.

Andy released her hand gently and pulled out Miranda’s chair before taking her seat to Miranda’s right — the traditional placement. Miranda remained standing for the space of three long seconds, then bent ever so slightly at the waist.

A bow, subtle and controlled.

Serelien smiled first. “She honors the room. That’s more than most Alphas who sit at this table.” Miranda raised a brow — just a flick — but returned the smile. “I’m not an Alpha.”

Kaela’s lips twitched with amusement. Andy’s fingers brushed Miranda’s under the table. After everyone is seated did Elias, Andrea’s grandfather, speak up.

“You are smaller than I expected.” Miranda arched a brow. “And you are far less terrifying than the stories suggest. A disappointment.” A beat.

Then Andy’s father chuckled, deep and amused. Her grandmother actually smiled. Andy leaned closer to Miranda with a smirk. “You just won my grandmother.”

“She has taste,” Miranda murmured back.

Andy’s mother, Kaela, let out a breath that was probably a laugh, though it sounded like relief. She rose from her chair and approached, warm and elegant.

“I’ve waited a long time to meet you,” she said gently, reaching out and brushing Miranda’s shoulder with a light touch. “You’re already one of us.”

Miranda blinked. She’d expected the scrutiny. The judgment. Even the challenge. She had not expected the welcome.

**-

The first course was brought out by silent staff in tailored black: bone broth with herbs grown only in Vaelthorn gardens. Traditional. Symbolic. It represented lineage — strength passed down, consumed by the next.

Next came the second course — lean meat with root vegetables, served by the Alpha of the table and plated for the Omega first. Andy stood. Took the ceremonial knife from the velvet cloth. And without flourish, cut Miranda’s portion with love.

The first time it had been done for her — ever.

“You are nothing more, but certainly nothing less than her.” Sir Orion said suddenly, his voice dry but piercing. “This tradition does not place you below her. It places you within her house. We honor our Omegas here. We keep them safe so they may be fierce.”

Miranda swallowed, her hand curling lightly around her cutlery. “…I see that.”

Conversation circled like slow wind. Polite questions at first. Then sharper ones.

“So,” Kaela said, voice smooth as aged scotch, “you stood in front of this bloodline and allowed yourself to be claimed in name and rite. Why?”

“Because she asked for nothing,” Miranda said. “And gave me everything.” A beat of silence. Then Richard let out a quiet, approving grunt. “Good answer.”

Miranda looked to Serelien next. “And you?” she asked, her tone more curious than critical. “Did they test you too?” Serelien chuckled. “Oh, darling. They still do.” That earned a ripple of laughter around the table.

When dessert was served — warm cream and tart berry compote, symbolic of sweetness after hardship — Seraphine stood. Her voice rang out like a bell.

“We, the Vaelthorn bloodline, recognize the Omega Miranda Priestly as bonded to our line. She has passed out tests of Faith, and she bears the scent and loyalty of our heir.”

Miranda stood automatically,  Seraphine stepped forward and raised a slender silver ring — carved with the same wolf crest — and pressed it gently to the palm of Miranda’s hand.

“May she walk our halls, bear our name, stand beside our Alpha and raise the next generation of our legacy.” The last part stunned Miranda a bit but for now she did not thing anything more of it.

As the final course was cleared — a sweet herbal infusion meant to soothe instincts and symbolize peace — the elders began to rise. Elias spoke to Andy in low tones. Carys hugged her granddaughter fiercely, then patted Miranda’s cheek softly.

It was Serelien who lingered. She stepped in close to Miranda as the others filed out, her eyes sharper now that the dinner had ended.

“You think strength means solitude,” she said gently. “It doesn’t.” Miranda met her gaze, something softening behind her eyes. “It’s the only thing I had,” she admitted.

“Not anymore.” Serelien touched the pendant around Miranda’s neck. “This house will demand much of you. But it will give more.” She smilled “I knew you two would be great together ever since Andrea called me about your – predicament.” With that she left.

**-

The manor slept. The halls that bustled during the day were still now, lit only by the flicker of moonlight spilling through stained-glass windows. Miranda had wandered the Vaelthorn corridors in silence, Sleep had eluded her.

Too much… feeling.

She found herself drawn to the sunroom — all glass and old wood and quiet, bathed now in silver moonlight. The air smelled of earth and ash. The hearth had been left burning low, casting soft shadows across the room.

Miranda expected to be alone. But someone else was already there, lady Lika.

The eldest of the Vaelthorn elders. The woman who had stood silently through Miranda’s presentation ceremony, wrapped in dark robes, her long braid white as bone. Her eyes were pale as clouded glass, but they missed nothing.

She sat in a high-backed chair by the fire, hands folded around a cup of tea. As if she had been waiting. Miranda paused at the threshold.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Lika turned her head slowly. A small smile curved her lips.

“You didn’t.  had a feeling you would come.”

Miranda blinked. “A… feeling?”

Lika nodded. “The house knows the shape of waking thoughts. Especially the restless ones.”

She gestured to the chair beside her. Miranda hesitated, then crossed the room and sat. Neither spoke for a while.

The fire crackled softly, and Lika poured her a second cup of tea from a delicate porcelain pot. The scent was strange and calming — something herbal. Miranda accepted it without a word.

“You carry yourself well,” Lika said eventually, her voice soft, lilting. “Even when you think you’re fraying.” Miranda gave a small, dry laugh. “You’ve been watching.”

Lika nodded. “We all were. But I watched with different eyes.”

Miranda turned to study her more closely. “Why?”

“Because I was the last Omega accepted into this family,” Lika said simply. “Until you.”

Miranda’s breath caught. “You…?”

“Oh yes,” Lika chuckled. “Long before your time. I was a seamstress. No name. No claim. Just sharp hands and quiet strength. But I was chosen. And the house made space for me.”

She turned then, her eyes sharper beneath the haze. “Just as it has for you.” Miranda looked down at her tea, unsure what to say. Lika leaned in slowly, her voice lowering.

“The bond has changed you,” she whispered. Miranda swallowed hard. “I feel… different.”

“You are,” Lika said gently. “But not just because of the bond.”

Miranda looked up. Lika was still now, looking her up and down

Then, without asking, she reached out and placed her withered hand over Miranda’s abdomen — not forcefully, not intrusively. Soft and slow.

Miranda froze. “You already carry her Legacy” Lika whispered.

The words dropped like stones into a still pond. “What…?”

“Your body knows,” Lika continued. “Your soul does too. That’s why you haven’t slept. Why the scent of the hearth calls to you. Why the nest pulls at your instincts like a song you’ve never heard but somehow remember.”

Miranda stared at her. “There’s no symptoms. But I see her.”

Her. A daughter.

“And him”

Him. Twins. Again.

Miranda pressed a hand over her mouth, her heart racing.

“I’m—”

Lika smiled, warm and moonlit. “You are. And they will be everything. Flame-born. kind-hearted. The next piece in a line the world has waited for, just like you.”

Tears stung at Miranda’s eyes — unwanted but undeniable. “I didn’t think…”

“That you could still carry?” Lika finished. “Or that someone would ever protect something growing inside you instead of using it against you?” Miranda didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Lika lifted her hand and smoothed it gently down Miranda’s forearm.

“They will make you softer. And stronger. In the same breath.”

Than it dawned on her, Andrea knew already. That night with the book she asked Andea how she knew there would be a Alpa-Omega after them. She answers simple ‘Because there always is’

She was building it. Lika stood slowly, cane in hand. “Sleep now,” she murmured. “They need your dreams.” And then she was gone.

Miranda sat alone in the sunroom, hand curled protectively over her abdomen, breath shallow, heart full of something that might’ve been hope.

**-

Sunlight poured through the tall windows like honey.

The heavy curtains of the bedroom had been pulled back, and the breeze from the open balcony doors brought with it the scent of early spring — wild herbs, soft blossoms, and the dew-rich hush of morning.

Miranda stirred slowly beneath the silk sheets, blinking against the soft golden light. The bed was vast and warm, the kind of warmth that came not just from thick blankets, but from comfort.

Then the scent hit her — familiar, earthy. Coffee. Fresh bread. Something sweet.

She turned just as the door creaked open.

Andy stepped in, barefoot, wearing soft sleep pants and a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow. She balanced a silver tray in her hands — two cups, warm croissants, citrus slices, and eggs gently steamed with herbs.

“I was going to surprise you,” Andy said with a soft grin, “but you’re awake.”

Miranda sat up slowly, smoothing her hair back. “I’m not in the habit of sleeping in.”

Andy set the tray on the nightstand and perched on the edge of the bed, watching her with that quiet, almost reverent gaze that still made Miranda’s stomach flutter.

“I thought,” Andy said, “you could use a soft morning. After everything.”

Miranda reached for the coffee and took a sip. Perfect. Of course it was.

Andy opened the balcony doors wider, letting the sunlight flood the room. It danced across Miranda’s pale skin. The warmth of it soaked into the quiet between them.

Andy turned back toward the bed and smiled.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Miranda quirked a brow. “I’m in a wrinkled nightdress and I haven’t brushed my hair.”

“I didn’t say you looked polished,” Andy teased. “I said you looked beautiful.”

Miranda sipped her coffee again, fighting the upward curve of her lips. Andy sat beside her and brushed a hand gently over her bare knee.

“You went out last night,” she said quietly. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

Miranda turned her gaze toward the sunlight. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Did the house unsettle you?”

“No,” Miranda murmured. “It calmed me, actually. Eventually.”

Andy waited. Miranda drew in a breath. “I found the sunroom. Lika was there.” Andy’s eyes softened with understanding. “She always knows.”

“She spoke to me,” Miranda continued. “About the bond. About the house. About… us.” Andy turned slightly, eyes on her face. “She said something else.” Miranda paused. Then slowly, she turned to look at Andy.

“But you already know, don’t you?” Andy didn’t move.

“Yes,” she said at last.

Miranda's throat tightened. “How long?”

“I felt it,” Andy said gently, “the day I scented you in the nesting chamber. You smelled… warmer. Brighter. But it wasn’t until the oath night that I knew.”

Miranda’s fingers trembled just slightly around her cup. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you didn’t know yet,” Andy said. “And I wanted it to be yours before it was ours.” Miranda looked down at her belly, resting her free hand lightly over it.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to,” Andy replied. “You just have to let it happen. We’ll adjust.”

Miranda let out a breath — half a laugh, half a sigh. “It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“I don’t feel afraid. While I think I should.”

Andy reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Miranda’s ear. “That is because we are a family and we belong together.”

Miranda leaned forward, resting her forehead against Andy’s. “Yes,” she whispered. “We are.”

They stayed there for a while, curled into each other beneath the sun, the tray between them growing cold — croissants forgotten, coffee cooling — because this moment was warmer than all of it. Miranda exhaled softly against Andy’s skin, and for the first time in a long, long time, she felt safe.

There was however one more aspect of it al that bothered Miranda. “What about the twins though, I don’t want the girls to think I abandoned them”

Andrea gave her a small nod before walking to the large desk on the other side of the room. She opened a draw and pulled out some files. “I have been thinking of that too.”

She crossed the room and sat across from her, folding her legs beneath her on the bed.

Andy rested her elbows on her knees, voice calm, steady. “Now that you’re formally part of this house — and carrying an heir — the question of lineage, household structure, and succession… naturally arises.”

Miranda’s jaw clenched. “They’re my daughters, they are my first priority.”

“And they always will be,” Andy said. “But Miranda… they weren’t born into the Vaelthorn bloodline. And under law, that means they can’t inherit.”

A long pause. Miranda didn’t speak.

“They can be brought into the house,” Andy continued softly. “With the consent of their father, they can be formally protected under my name. Under our roof. But they will never be considered heirs.”

Miranda set her mug down slowly.

“I see.”

“They can,” Andy said carefully, “be made something else. Something important.”

Miranda’s gaze sharpened. “Like what?” Andy held her eyes.

“In Vaelthorn tradition, when blood cannot bind, oath does. We have a role—an ancient one—meant for those who are family not by blood, but by choice and loyalty.”

She stood and crossed to a nearby shelf, pulling out a leather-bound tome with a worn silver crest on the cover. She flipped it open and turned it toward Miranda.

A page illustrated in ink and faded pigment showed two young warriors standing behind a royal Alpha and Omega pair, cloaked in red and silver. Their heads were bowed. At their sides, swords.

“Vyr’haelen,” Andy said. “It means ‘Shieldborn.’”

Miranda’s eyes traced the page.

“They are sworn guardians. Protectors of the house’s legacy. Raised with honor, trained in tradition, and bound by their own will to defend the next generation.”

She paused, letting that sink in. “I want to offer them that place.”

Miranda’s voice was cool, but her eyes shimmered with something unspoken. “You would name them warriors in your bloodline, even if they can never wear your crest?”

Andy stepped closer. “I would name them mine, Miranda. Not because they came from me — but because they came from you.”

The silence stretched long and full. Miranda exhaled slowly, her voice quieter. “And their father?”

“I’ve already contacted him,” Andy said. “Formally. Respectfully. Told him I wanted to offer them a place here — with you. Under protection. Trained if they wish. Free if they don’t.”

Miranda’s brow furrowed. “And what did he say?”

Andy hesitated. Then: “He said they were always more yours than his anyway.”

Miranda looked down, pressing her fingers to her lips for a moment. “Will they be safe?”

Andy crouched in front of her, resting a hand over hers. “They’ll be honored.”

Another pause. A long, deep breath.

Miranda nodded. “Then tell them. When we see them next week.”

Andy smiled softly. “You should be the one to offer it.”

Miranda blinked. “And what if they say no?”

“Then we love them anyway,” Andy said. “And let them forge their own lives. No matter what they will be great.”

Miranda swallowed, her voice raw. “And if they say yes?”

Andy kissed her knuckles. “Then we raise a house so strong the gods will tremble.”

**-

Later that afternoon Andrea made her way down the stone steps towards the basement. Carved into the bedrock beneath the estate, The Vaelthorn Council Chamber was older than the manor itself.

Her steps echoed trough the space — the rise and fall of houses, laws etched in blood and vow were all made her. Stone pillars loomed high above the round table at the chamber’s center, where twelve seats waited. Only nine were filled.

At the head sat Richard Vaelthorn, Prime Alpha of the Council, Andrea’s father.

“Daughter,” Alric said, his voice formal. “You’ve been summoned.”

Andrea inclined her head, stepping into the circle of firelight. “I came.”

A low murmur passed between two of the Elders — one a grizzled Beta with parchment-thin fingers, the other an Alpha matron with a hawk’s stare.

Alric raised a hand, silencing them.

“You know why we’ve called this meeting,” he said.

Andrea folded her arms. “Because of Miranda.”

“Because of her deception,” one of the Elders cut in.

“She was unmarked,” Andrea said calmly. “She did what she had to do to survive.”

“Survive,” the matron echoed with disdain, “by presenting as Alpha? Forging documents? Working in high command? Leading human institutions under false status? That is not mere survival — that is fraud.”

Andrea’s jaw clenched. “She harmed no one. The current state of affairs is not like it used to be! The world I grew up in, that respects there Omega’s no longer exists out there. So do not talk to me about fraud.”

“She broke law,” Richard said, voice low. “And the Council cannot ignore that.”

Andrea stared at him. “You would punish my Omega?”

Richard met her gaze without flinching. “We would uphold order. The bond does not erase the crime. It only complicates the politics.” Silence fell heavy.

Richard continued. “The Bureau’s eyes are on us. You pulled Miranda out of their custody under your right — a right they did not contest only because of our ancient laws. But they’re waiting. Watching. We must respond. If we don’t, they’ll challenge our authority.”

Andrea’s voice dropped, quiet but edged. “So you want me to hand her back to them?”

“No,” Richard said firmly. “Never.”

Another Elder nodded. “But there must be punishment. Symbolic. Recorded. Filed. We cannot let her go unmarked while the Bureau sharpens its knives.”

Andrea said nothing. Richard stood. His shadow stretched across the circle of firelight.

“We’re not asking you to cast her out,” he said. “But we are mandating that some form of restitution be filed. Something that satisfies both our code… and theirs.”

Andrea’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

“You want me to hurt her.”

“No,” her father said, stepping down from his seat. “We want you to protect her. And sometimes, that means compromise.”

Andrea swallowed the burn in her throat. “What kind of punishment?”

Richard’s expression softened — just slightly. “That’s up to you,” he said. “You’re her Alpha. It is your right to choose. But whatever you choose, it must be witnessed… and it must be submitted.”

Andrea’s voice was barely audible. “And if I refuse?”

A long pause. “Then we will.”

And just like that — Andrea became her mate’s judge.

**-

The gardens stretched like a living maze beyond the estate — rows of heirloom roses, silver-thorned vines, and ancient lavender that only bloomed beneath moonlight. Miranda sat near the oldest tree in the inner courtyard, fingers brushing against the papers of her favorite book.

She had sensed it. The moment Andrea had come back from the Council chamber — something had happened. Or more accurately something was said.

She didn’t turn when she heard the footsteps, but she didn’t have to.

“I can smell your anger from here,” she said coolly.

Andrea stopped a few paces behind her, jaw clenched, hands still balled at her sides.

“They want to punish you.”

Miranda tilted her head, finally turning to face her. “You think I didn’t expect that?”

“They want it filed, Miranda,” Andrea snapped. “With the Bureau. On record. So they can wave it in front of the law and say we’re still playing by their rules.”

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “So what do they want? A public flogging? A walk of shame through the capital?”

Andrea exhaled sharply, stepping forward. “They’re leaving it to me. But they made it very clear — if I don’t give them something... they’ll do it themselves.”

Miranda crossed her arms. “So what are my options?”

Andrea blinked. “You’re… not upset?”

“Oh, I’m livid,” Miranda said, voice sharp as glass. “But I’m not surprised. This world has always needed to see its scapegoats bleed. The question is: how do we make it hurt less and look like it hurts enough?”

Andrea looked at her, heart thudding. “You’re really willing to go along with this?”

Miranda stepped closer, fire glowing behind her eyes. “Andrea. If I’d been caught without the bond, I’d be in a Bureau cell right now. Pregnant. Alone. I don’t like it — but I’m not a fool.”

Andrea looked away, jaw tight. “They want a consequence. Something official. Something symbolic.”

“Then let’s be clever about it,” Miranda said, voice calmer now. “What options are on the table?”

Andrea began to list them out, voice low and bitter:

“House arrest.”

Miranda arched a brow. “I live in a fortress, either here or back home. That would barely be a punishment.”

“Revocation of public work status.”

Miranda snorted. “What are they going to do, ban me from writing Vogue editorials?”

“Public apology and record of correction.”

Her face twisted. “If I must publicly grovel, I will be wearing couture.”

Andrea gave a soft, humorless laugh.

Then Miranda paused, her expression shifting. “What about… framing it as an education?”

Andrea blinked. “Education?”

“You said it yourself. The Bureau sees me as someone who broke tradition. Who ‘forgot her place.’” Miranda lifted her chin. “What if they reframe it as me learning it?”

Andrea’s brows furrowed. “You’re saying… turn your time here into a sentence.”

Miranda nodded. “Rehabilitation. Cultural re-integration. Let them file it as time spent under Alpha tutelage, learning Vaelthorn law, custom, history.” She smiled faintly. “And they’ll eat it up — the feral Omega finally learning her place.”

Andrea stared at her, the fire in her chest cooling into awe.

“You’d do that?”

Miranda reached out and straightened the collar of Andrea’s coat with delicate fingers. “Andrea. I’m already doing it. I’ve learned more in this house than I ever expected to. It’s not punishment. It’s just… packaging.”

Andrea's voice was low. “We can say it was your sentencing. That you’ll remain within Vaelthorn grounds for the rest of your pregnancy, under direct Alpha guidance.”

“With limited public interaction,” Miranda added, “and structured ritual training. I will still be able to do my work from her. Maybe even squeeze out a shoot or two in the area”

Andrea’s mouth twisted into a smile. “You’re good at this.”

“I built an empire on illusion, darling,” Miranda said, stepping close enough for their bodies to touch. “This is just another runway.”

Andrea leaned in, her voice brushing against Miranda’s ear. “You never cease to terrify me.”

“Good,” Miranda whispered back. “Keep it that way.”