Page 110 of Bonds of Pain
But we’re all here now, in a world neither of us had a hand in creating. We have no choice but to play the cards we’ve been dealt.
The truth is, Maya is perfectly suited to be my mate. She’s intelligent, poised, beautiful—everything a future queen should be. In another life, under different circumstances, we might have built something real together. Something based on mutual respect rather than resentment and obligation.
Maybe we still can once the immediate dangers have passed. Once I can explain everything, once I can show her what’s really at stake.
Maya bolts off my lap as soon as the photographer lowers his camera. I watch with barely concealed amusement as she darts across the sun-drenched room to where the children play, kneeling beside them with far more enthusiasm than she’s shown for any of our official duties today.
The contrast is jarring—one moment the perfectly composed royal consort, the next she is a woman desperate to escape my touch. I shouldn’t find it entertaining, but there’s somethingrefreshingly honest about her inability to maintain the charade when the audience disappears.
“She’s good with children,” I remark as Cillian comes up beside me. We both watch as Maya engages with my nieces, her face animated in a way I rarely see directed at me.
Her purple hair catches the sunlight as she leans forward to examine a doll one twin offers for inspection. The little girl beams under Maya’s attention, clearly delighted to have captured the interest of someone so exotic-looking.
“All Omegas are,” Cillian replies, his tone neutral but with an undercurrent I can’t quite place. “It’s in their nature.”
I raise an eyebrow. “All Omegas?”
He startles, and I feel a streak of frustration through the bond despite the carefully neutral expression on his face.
“Enough of them,” he snaps. “But that doesn’t mean she wants any of her own.”
I study his profile, noting the tension around his eyes as he watches Maya interact with the children. “What makes you say that?”
He gives me a malicious smile. “Same way I know everything else about her.”
The bond.
Jealousy burns even though I obviously know this is a situation of my own devising. While Cillian hasn’t engaged in any open defiance of my wishes, I recognize subversion when I see it. It’s all there in the bond, the way he feels like an unbroken stallion kicking at the walls of its stable.
A wild animal that needs to be controlled before it hurts itself.
We can’t afford this division in our pack, not now, not with so much attention focused on us. Eventually, I’ll be able to make them understand why I made the choices that I did. Until then, neither of them has any choice but to fall in line.
Knowing precisely the response I’ll get, my voice lowers. “Too bad you can’t get pregnant yourself.”
He glares at me. “Having a heart doesn’t make me maternal, Logan.”
“But it might get you killed and us with you.”
“And wouldn’t that be such a tragedy,” Cillian mutters, giving me a look of pure contempt before stalking off.
I watch him go, irritation building in my chest. He’s been increasingly defiant lately, forgetting his place in our hierarchy. I’ll need to deal with that, but not now. Not with my grandmother, sisters, and the press all watching.
A soft rustling of fabric announces someone taking the seat beside me. I turn to find Alexandria, my oldest sister, settling gracefully onto the bench. Her dark hair is swept up in an elegant twist, and the family resemblance between us is unmistakable—same golden eyes, same proud jawline.
“You look tense, little brother,” she says, studying my face with the shrewd assessment that reminds me of our grandmother. “The royal games went well for you, from what I heard.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You weren’t in attendance?”
Alexandria smooths an invisible wrinkle on her skirt. “I have no interest in watching one of my brothers beat another to death for our father’s amusement.”
“Viktor insisted on hand-to-hand combat,” I respond defensively. “That was his choice.”
Alexandria’s gaze sharpens. “And who insisted it be to the death? Viktor may be an arrogant fool, but he doesn’t have a death wish.”
I don’t answer, but we both know the truth. Father changed the traditional rules, forcing the challengers into lethal combat. A convenient way to thin the competition for the throne whilemaintaining plausible deniability. After all, the challengers could have declined to fight.
And my other brothers did after seeing what I did to Viktor. The rest of the bouts were fought on gentleman’s terms—with seconds and mostly for show.
