I’m utterly beguiled by the willful Omega. And I will be the one who brings her to heel.
“I can no more bow out than I can cut off my own dick,” I say.
Edgar snorts a laugh. “What friend would I be counseling you in such a path, even supposing I believed you might abandon your desires? Your Aunt Grace is here, is she not?”
I nod. I admit to believing it a good sign when my aunt arrived last week and hoped it meant she looked favorably upon my actions.
“This is no coincidence,” Edgar continues. “I’m certain the wily widow is only holding back on a decision to force your hand in seeking a match—your sweet Omega is not the only female to engage in plotting. Grace is a close friend to the Queen; they have been meeting daily since her arrival. No, you must, if need be, eliminate the competition in a more civilized way before Rosa chooses tomorrow.”
“Civilized? Have we not been friends for many years? I’ve not been civilized a single day of my life.”
He smirks and claps a hand upon my shoulder. “It does not need to be civilized, only to seem civilized. You have faked it this far, have you not?”
I laugh. “Clearly, I’ve not faked it well enough… I believe I’m owed a dance with my sweet little doe,” I say, giving my empty glass to a passing waitperson. “After, I shall follow your wise counsel and dissuade her other suitors by whatever means is necessary.”
Rosalind
Aramis is walking straight toward me.
No, he is stalking straight toward me with a determined expression on his face that induces an instant and unwelcoming clouding of my thoughts.
I’m supposed to dance with my suitors. It’s my duty to dance with them, but damn my duty to hell, for I do not want to dance with him.
I turn in a full circle finding predatory gazes in every direction.
“Going somewhere, Princess?”
I freeze as his presence dominates the space directly behind me. “Yes,” I say. The mental malady afflicting me provides me with no destination.
Glancing over my shoulder, I cut him a glare. My waspish disposition is like fuel upon his flames, and he only smirks before rounding to stand before me where he claims my hand.
“I was about to—dance,” I say, then curse my bluff when his smile turns wolfish.
“An excellent idea,” he says, standing close enough now for his rich, spicy Alpha pheromones to saturate my nose and lungs. “I have yet to claim my dance.”
All night, I have felt the weight of my other watchers, but for the first time, I feel safe within Aramis’s shadow as he guides me to the dancefloor.
There is nothing inappropriate about the hand he places at my waist as we join the other swaying dancers. Yet, I’m breathless in ways that go beyond the exertion of a gentle dance. The Goddess issued a cruel twist when she made an Omega susceptible to an Alpha’s scent, and I refuse to linger on the possibility that it might be something more.
Nature’s manipulation of my will brings out my rebellious side. Stiffness enters my posture, and an involuntary growl escapes my lips.
Aramis chuckles, his head lowering until his lips graze my ear. “Sweet Rosa, if you understood how much an Alpha enjoys spirit in his mate, you would not throw so many gauntlets at my feet.”
I swallow against the sudden dryness in my throat. Somehow, I make it through the dance without tripping over my feet or slapping his arrogant face.
Then he is excusing himself and striding off, and Stephan arrives to take his place. Where Aramis’s scent brings a tingle, Stephan’s is thick and cloying.
Why do I only notice this now?
As the dance ends, it’s Brent who takes Stephan’s place. Brent who holds me too tight, and who takes the opportunity to remind me of the importance of an Omega’s submission.
Brent is aggressive. I sense Aramis has equal capacity for this trait, yet he has shown me, an Omega, only measured dominance.
Brent does not enjoy my spirit, nor the challenge it represents unless it’s a precursor to him breaking my will. As he paws at me in a way that I’m sure will leave bruises, I reflect that there is a difference between dominance and aggression—not all Alphas are equal.
I excuse myself after this dance, only to blunder into my older sister by five years, Elisa.
One day she will be queen and her husband king through marriage. She cannot wait to be rid of me, for she sees my Omega status as a threat.
All because her husband is an Alpha.
I’m no threat to her. It’s he who is a threat to me.
“Was it you who spoke to Father?” I demand. She is taller than our mother, willow thin, and considered the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. One day she will be queen; one would think these blessings enough.
“Elijah would not even look at you were it not for your scent,” she says. “You are a temptation the Goddess herself placed upon this earth. You need to be mated. Only then will your scent change and this episode of madness end.” She shrugs one delicate shoulder. “I told our father that he must select an Alpha for you, or you must be sent away.”
“Father would not send me away,” I say, but as I see her cold smile, I know it for a possibility.
Heat fills my cheeks that she would dare to make such a proposal.
“You are third born,” she says coldly. “And nothing were you not an Omega.”
She pivots on the spot and sashays back toward her waiting attendants who cluster around her the moment she arrives.
Once upon a time, I had willing attendants whom I could call my friends. Now I’m nothing but an annoyance.
My nails press into my palms until the sting grows sharp enough to rouse me. I wallow between compassion and hatred for the way Elisa has treated me since I came of age. I tell myself there are two sides to everything. That she is only bitter that her husband is obsessed with me and will not take his wife to bed anymore. That his lack of attention is a double blow, for she is desperate to get with child to better secure her position as queen when the time comes.
But none of this is my fault.
And I’m not yet ready to choose.
The evening passes in torturous minutes—I count every one.
I perform my royal duty. I dance with more suitors, chat with the few ladies I can still call friends, and smile my brightest smile whenever I catch my parents’ eyes.
But the night is drawing to a close, and tomorrow I must choose. Inside, nerves flutter as I slip into the edges of the ballroom seeking a few moments of blessed peace.
“Are you enjoying your party, Rosalind?”
I step back, eyes lifting warily as Elijah looms before me.
“You should not be here,” I say, pulse fluttering and eyes darting from side to side, searching for an escape.
“Here?” He plants his palms against the wall to either side of me, trapping me. “This is my home. Soon I will be king. It could be your home too, were you to choose to stay. Your sister would have no choice but to accept you, were you carrying my child.”
A disdainful snort escapes me despite a firm belief that antagonizing the Alpha will not end well. Then he dares to put his hand upon my arm, and I slap his face with all my small strength. “Do not touch me!” I hiss.
His face twists: shock, anger, and the promise of retaliation.
“Elijah?” My sister’s call offers a distraction, and I use the moment to flee. As I run, the clock strikes midnight and the fireworks bloom to celebrate all-summer night.