Page 4 of Impaled By His Omega Prince
His shoulders rose in a sharp jerk, the suggestion making him recoil, but he did not snip or snarl. “It’s been suggested to me many times before.”
Lumic, hit by a sudden guilt far more so than the thought of having mortally wounded him, silenced.
The dwarf whistled his surprise and disbelief before giving a short laugh.
“It is of no matter. Save your apology. Down here, we are nothing more than entertainment. Performing animals.” Askara took a deep breath and spat old blood onto the floor. “Are you feeling well?”
Lumic nodded, daring not to open his mouth. Askara had been right; they were nothing but entertainment and equals in captivity. “I’ll be more mindful to my companions. To what do I owe the honor of your presence this morning?”
“When I lose a fight, they make a show of shoving me down here. If I win one, I get to stay in my bedroom. It makes the gamblers feel better.” Askara rubbed at his wrists. “If I’m injured or spelled too badly, they like to keep me restrained. If the thalmwork when I heal is too wild, it scares people.”
“Even if you lose on purpose? And how did you come back from that?” Lumic narrowed his gaze as Askara shrugged.
“Vitalis and thalmwork.” He picked at the shackles and searched around until he could fish into a pocket, pulling out a small blacksteel key.
“Any chance you could let me out?” Lumic leaned into the bars and grinned.
Askara shook his head. “Key only works on these and my cell.”
“Damn.” Lumic leaned his head into the bars and sighed as Askara released himself. “My family will be looking for me. They’ll burn this place to the ground.”
Askara gave Lumic a long, hard stare. “I pray they find the place. I’ll wallow in the ashes.”
And at that, Askara approached Lumic’s cell, head tilted.
“Mayhap the dwarf can paint my portrait. It will fare better for you to stare at.”
“Already did paint yer portrait, maggie,” the dwarf said, using the slur for omega. All the same, he pinched his brows and glanced over, catching the vagrant’s hand protruding from the bars, giving the fickle fingers.
“In your dreams,” Lumic said, flinching as the dwarf made a slobbery licking sound.
“Oh, I will dream this night, maggie, long and hard.” The dwarf laughed.
Lumic cringed as Askara rolled his eyes before turning to walk away and up a distant set of steps he could barely make out in the dim light of the hall.
“And thick too,” the dwarf muttered.
I pray thee goddess…goddesses… anyone… Fuck this male in particular.
The dwarf continued with a grumbling laugh and a few more guttural noises.
Lady goddess…either one above… Holy is your whatever…
Chapter Four
Askara
Several days before, Askara had stood at his window, bathing in the glow of his Mother Moon when the flashpine forest’s matron tree finally blew. The flaming seeds he’d come to expect from a matron were sparse, and it crumbled. Corrupted thalms, death magic, with its signature smell, rose and curled with the smoke, drifting on the breeze as a few of his patron’s sell-swords leaped onto horseback and rode toward the explosion. If fire were to spread, it could hurt business or draw unwanted attention.
Askara could have sent warning or called out, alerting the men that the tree had been lit by death, meaning a Croatenian mage was afoot, but that wasn’t in Askara’s list of expectations. It was not what he was ordered to do by the patrons who held his sigil, the key to his enchantments that kept him locked away.
Since he was a little boy, he’d resided in the castle, reminded daily of his title, the bastard prince of Liaberos, the queen slayer. But he was no bastard. He was no queen slayer. The consort of the king of Liaberos, queen by name, needed only have a sip of vitalis to have survived Askara’s birth. Whoever denied her that taste was the queen slayer.
Despite his foul origins and the burden he represented, he’d been treated quite kindly, all things considered. Seeing as he couldn’t be killed, he could have been kept far less nicely.
He was given good clothes and three meals a day. He had been given an education and training in the sword, lessons in reading and diction. He was not an unlearned noble, merely a bastard by label, one that the goddesses couldn’t convince the king of Liaberos to drop. Despite this, his beta patrons had been kind, a mixed couple, sun and moon fae who presented him tothe outside world as their son. Still, he knew the truth. Every sunrise and sunset he could, he lifted his head in prayer to his true mothers—the moon who had blessed his birth and the sun who had given Askara to the moon.
All had been well until a distant relative came for an extended visit. And in just a matter of weeks, his adopted parents had given control of him to Cilan, a dusk alpha and his spouse, an omega, also dusk, who presented herself as female by choice. In any circumstance, the fairest gender was not immune to the corruption of greed. Arlyth wasn’t, at least.
