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Azarius was now dimly lit, the stone walls draped in burgundy rippling silk, music reverberating through the halls that were heavy with a soft purple fog. The space was flooded with nobles dancing and mingling, chatter rising as they drew closer. She believed she knew what to expect, with her head bowed behind the seven, following meekly. And Quinn had steadied herself at the doors, knowing that the treatment would be worse with the chaos, with the fear. The weaker ones in the hierarchy would always be abused during times of hardship.

That was the way of the world.

But her breath caught in her throat at the sheer horror, feet stumbling, mouth dry.

There was no food, only Alphas on display.

Alphas hanging from gilded chandeliers, spread-eagled as if frozen in fall, blood pumped from their veins and twisted down to drip into a chalice of glass. Food for the vampires. And then along the walkway, there were Alphas knelt on the ground with chains so thick they weighed heavily upon their bowed frames, their eyes wide and hazy. Food for the fey. And then there were Alphas left naked and curled over braziers, sweat dripping from red flesh to sizzle upon the coal. They were alive but close to death. Food for the wolves.

Other girls followed the throngs of laughing elite, mingling with the party as pack Alphas. But their treatment was no better than the girls used for sustenance. Some were spread over the laps of their mates and treated cruelly with a hand to their throats. Others on the ground as footrests. More were bowed at their feet with their heads to the ground, collared and shaking. The sight was horrific, ghastly and barbaric. The inequality was stretched to its limits, they no longer served, no they were merely objects to be used. And in halls decked so generously in gemstones and gold, the space shimmered like a rich, violent hell.

Nausea grew in her throat, worsened as she took in the distinct smell of rust.

They'd dressed her simply, a long white dress that covered her body. She'd believed it would allow her to blend into the crowd. But now she noted that she was the only one in white, standing out like a beacon in the dark. She was the only girl whose frock wasn't an ungodly splattered crimson from blood. Her outrage spiked, hard and hot in her eyes.

How awful.

"Hush now," Icarus hissed, a hand on her back in warning.

He was gorgeously dressed. A sleek suit of white and gold tassels, a crown of crested rubies on his head, mirroring the headdress on the seven. His amethyst eyes were sharper in the darkness, catching the crimson in the room. But there was something about them all today that had her breath snatched from her, her heart rate escalating. They all seemed almost demonic, standing within the cruelty as leaders of a forsaken world.

They allowed this to happen.

They made this happen.

How could they allow this to happen?

"Did you all know about this?" Her throat caught, snagged thick with fear, with rage, with disappointment. "This…This is hell."

Elysian's presence pushed closer, a warning twisted from their bond, itched at her throat. Her eyes darted to the blonde, the sun-gold silk of his hair, at the hardened chip of beautiful blue eyes, sordid by red. Elysian's smile was sharp and painfully beautiful, and she was reminded again of the monster that he truly was. "You are to listen, not speak."

How cruel.

By their side, Helios and Rowan followed, just as gorgeously and richly dressed, just as handsome. But their faces were awfully cold, and boredom was etched sharply into their jawline—the dart of ignorance, the haughty sneer she had so conveniently forgotten. The coldness lingered in the stretch of Helios's pretty raven wings and Rowan's beast-like eyes. They had become people she did not recognise, and she noted it again in the sweep of Solar and Klaus at the front, calling for attention, vibrating with power like Gods of death, of destruction. Their aura beckoned others to obey.

The Kings.

They glowed in a realm of suffering and smiled at the monsters that occupied their court.

They did not look at her, and it was only Zen who lingered behind them all, his eyes burrowing into her frame. She did not spare him a glance, but her heart had quivered awfully when she'd first seen him—swathed a moon-like radiance, glittering like stars, a weakness in sallow cheeks. He was always lithe-bodied, long-legged, gorgeously puppy-eyed and desperate for approval. Her chest tugged, anchored tighter towards him, stronger than ever before. It was as if it wanted something as if he needed her. It was as if it wanted her to go to him.

She ignored its call.

But as they approached the podium, her eyes danced over the crowds of Alphas that were dying, the weakness of their bodies. The sunken hollow of their cheeks, the way they stared reverently at their Omegas as if they were Gods, mere skeletons and bones. They were all broken, kept alive only because they were necessary. She'd whispered a groan that she knew all seven would hear. "What have you done?" Her voice trembled.

There was no answer.