Her hand presses to my cheek. “Of course. Your father will be so pleased.”
She releases me, her joyful smile making me feel wretched to my core.
Choose? How can I choose?
I excuse myself under the pretext of some fresh air before I dance again, slipping from the bright lights onto the balcony where guests mingle with waitpersons offering sparkling wine.
I see him instantly—Aramis. His unnaturally pale eyes watch me. They’re always watching, waiting. The attractive dark suit cannot disguise what he is.
Ravishment.
That is the word that comes to mind when I think about Aramis.
Deep in the night, as I lay alone upon my bed, my thoughts turn toward what it might be like to be with such a man.
Where I am smaller, he is larger: an Alpha to an Omega in a room awash with Betas. A female Omega is not like an ordinary Beta woman, for we crave rough treatment—we have needs that only an Alpha can sate.
Or so I have been told.
He is one of many Alphas here. They come to vie for me with sweet words and the facade of humility.
They are neither sweet nor humble. They are monsters and beasts who watch with predatory intent.
He is the worst of them—Aramis. He is the one I’ll never choose.
And why would I? It’s well known he only petitions for my hand to facilitate his claim to a wealthy duchy. A childless uncle has died, and his widow, now past child-bearing age, must select an heir from their two nephews.
Aramis is the only claimant to be an Alpha. But his cousin has wedded a Beta and they already have three heirs.
The criteria with which the widow must decide upon an heir remains a mystery—so far she chooses neither.
And now Aramis pursues me in a quest to tip the scales in his favor.
I snort out my disdain, snatching a glass from a proffered tray. The bubbles tickle my throat, and I gulp more than savor the sweet, sparkling wine.
We are separated by a great distance, he on one side of the balcony in conversation with his companion, Edgar, and I on the other, alone. Yet, he knows my intent to choose another. I can see it in the tightening of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes.
Who would ever pick such a dominant male, even were his intentions true? Not me. Thin lips that the ladies call rakish when he smiles, dark hair, and storm-grey eyes. His shoulders are broad and powerful, muscular thighs, broad, booted feet, and Goddess save me from the image of his tight ass filling his pants whenever I glimpse him from behind.
But there is more to Aramis than his striking appearance, for he has the heart of an Alpha and has fought in many distant wars.
And therein lies the crux of the matter—he is too much Alpha even ignoring his lack of virtue, and I would surely wilt under the influence of such a man.
I shiver under his inspection. I should move or turn away, yet I am caught, as I’ve been many times, by that unwavering gaze.
He is the antonym of civilized.
He is barely contained brutality.
He is basal and cruel in ways I cannot dare to comprehend, yet instinct tells me is true.
Tomorrow, I must choose.
Tonight is mine.
Aramis
She is plotting something, my little doe.
The tightening of the leash has brought the feral in her rising to the surface. I hide my smile, taking a sip from the tall, fluted glass.
“She’s plotting,” Edgar says, nudging his head at Princess Rosalind.
“I know,” I say. “The question is, what?”
“I’ve heard she’ll choose Stephan tomorrow,” he says.
I choke on my drink. He smirks, the bastard might be a Beta, but he has never been afraid to offer a jibe. “She will not pick Stephan. She’ll not pick anyone, and tomorrow her father will fulfill his promise to me.”
He raises a brow. “Have you not heard? Her father has issued her an ultimatum.”
“He has?” This news does not please me. I’ve given over a great deal of time and effort to ensure the King selects me as her mate. “I did not think the King had the balls to force her hand?”
“She must choose, or he will.” He gestures toward Rosa. “Does that look like a woman about to yield to you?”
No, it does not.
“She will not choose you,” Edgar continues. “She’ll pick Stephan—he is the weakest.”
“I will challenge him if she does.”
He sighs, drawing my brooding attention. “It will not end well if you do. And then your plans to rule your uncle’s duchy will be over.”
I raise my brows. “Are you telling me I should forfeit? Bow out?”
As the only Alpha in a Beta family, I’ve lived a troubled life. I am not firstborn and deference is not in my nature. Restless by circumstance, I’m never satisfied with any place or situation. I’ve traveled far, sailed seas, and fought in many wars. Edgar, my childhood friend, has been at my side through it all.
I do not fit in the civilized world.
I’m a throwback to an era when we were more beast than human.
At times I feel more like a beast when my darkness overtakes my humanity, and I succumb to urges for violence or debauchery.
My parents and extended family, all gentle Betas, are ever disappointed in me.
So it came as a surprise to everyone when my uncle named me in his will. The duchy is small in terms of land but includes several profitable mineral mines.
That profit comes at a cost, for late every autumn, Orc raiding parties come to harry the supply lines.
It needs a strong leader. I’d thought myself beyond such things, a wanderer doomed to die somewhere far away fighting a war for people I cared naught about. An Alpha was never meant to be a second son, but I find a new purpose in the chance to rule and protect a duchy.
I want this opportunity more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.
Unfortunately, my uncle’s will included two potential successors to the estate. Gerald, a distant cousin, is also named, and my widowed aunt was instructed to choose between us before summer’s end.
Gerald, a Beta, offers stability in that he has a wife and three children.
But I’m the Alpha.
My basal side rails that he should even be considered over me, and I pity the duchy residents should Gerald prevail given he has a reputation for bumbling every project his father has set him.
I cannot and will not let the lands go to him.
What better way to tip the scales toward my rightful success than to take an Omega and a princess as my mate?
So, here I came, seeking to secure a princess so that I might secure a duchy lest it be claimed by my sniveling cousin.
But everything changed after I met her.
My lips tug up as I recall the dressing down she gave me when I dared to call her Rosa the day we first met. Her eyes spitting fire at me like a heathen had entered her father’s study and not an Alpha and prince.
Her scent has captivated me, her beauty more so. And those haughty looks she throws my way whenever I engage her in conversation bring my dominant nature rearing to the surface. I don’t want a sweet Beta—I can think of nothing worse. Rather, I want to tame my little doe with the heart of a lioness. I want to put her over my lap and spank her until her bottom turns a fiery shade of red and she begs for mercy. And I want to watch that petulant mouth open on a breathy gasp as I fill her sweet pussy with my cock.
We are separated by a distance, yet I see rebellion in every tense line of her body.