Page 42 of The King's Omega
“Tarn, her scent is everywhere; I can smell her now. In this room on the—on this quilt!” He cursed softly. “Of course I can. She’s working in the laundry. I knew that; I just didn’t put it together. No wonder I’m hard all night. The minx has been handling my damned sheets!”
“Is her scent all you can appreciate?” Tarn scoffed. “If you’d taken a moment to get to know her, you’d see she’s much more than that. She’s kind, generous, and funny. Clumsy as a newborn foal.”
I frowned; I wasn’t particularly clumsy!
“She’s open and honest in her reactions, sexually and otherwise.”
“Have you touched her?” The king’s voice dropped low. “I don’t care if you are my general, I’ll kill you if—”
“No,” Tarn’s voice cracked like a whip. “I’m a good little soldier. A far better one than you are a king.” The room went silent for a moment.
“She said that to me, you know. That I was a vile man and a vile king.”
Tarn let out a mirthless laugh. “So, she’s perceptive, too.”
“How can I be a better king, Tarn? My kingdom is lost. The Verdanians have been skirmishing on the western border with Axe’s troops, and before he left for Verdan, Vilkurn had word from the northern and southern spies as well. They’re amassing troops on three sides, with Mirren playing coy on the east—”
“Yes, they’re hedging their bets. If you’d spent the past few months making alliances, or even offering to mate one of their extra noble daughters, we could have an army that stood a chance. At least be in a better position for peace talks.”
“You don’t need to tell me that, though I think you’re wrong. Vilkurn said he feared Verdan was planning to stampede through us on the way to the far coast of Mirren. I can see all my mistakes. But I hadn’t been ashamed of myself until… until two weeks ago.”
Tarn sighed. “I’ve known you for years. And I’ve only thought you were an idiot for the past few months, Rigol. What happened? You were growing into your kingship. But this Omega business has thrown you.”
“I never deserved to be king,” he whispered. “If Axe hadn’t stood between me and a blade more times than I could count, I would be dead, and he would be king.”
“He is in the line of succession?” Tarn sounded as shocked as I felt.
“I suppose the secret must be told soon. Yes, he is my father’s bastard; if I am killed, he will be the only remaining heir. I learned of his birthright before my father died. I told Axe, but then he took the blade and lost his voice. He swore he would never serve as king, saying Rimholt needed a whole man to lead us.
“But Vilkurn already knows if I fall, Axe is my heir. His name is in the register, I made sure of it. And now you know as well.”
The silence stretched so long, I stopped breathing, worried they would hear me. Tarn spoke gently, “Axe feels for her, you know.”
My heart skipped a beat. What did Axe feel? Was it the same new-colt, unsteady something I felt for him?
The king’s voice broke. “How could he not? He’s the best of us. If I could give him my crown and the Omega, I would, and to hell with the scandal. But with any more instability… Rimholt could fall.”
“Rimholt may fall anyway,” Tarn said. “You could give Axe the girl. That is how you could be a better king, and a better man. Let him have the little one for his mate, and I will find you more allies. I’ll steal them if I have to.”
“Help me find the kitten first,” the king said. “And I’ll consider your words.”
The door closed, and I was alone with Mischief, wondering why the king seemed less of a monster and more of a broken man in one afternoon.
Wondering also if Axe really did have feelings for me.
When Tarn came to collect Mischief and return her to the king’s room, and me to the laundry, I stayed silent, pondering.
I didn’t like King Rigol, and I would not mate him. But I found myself unable to hate him quite as much now.
Vali
Neither Tarn nor I said a word about what I overheard that day. It was just as well; I had no idea what to think about it, never mind what I might say.
Tarn began bringing Mischief to me in the laundry room when King Rigol was out of his rooms and wouldn’t notice. Sorcha loved her almost as much as I did and didn’t seem to mind when the kitten got into trouble now and again. Another two boxes of dye ended up in vats of laundry, and Sorcha hadn’t yelled at Mischief at all. She just looked up to the Goddess and prayed for something in a language I didn’t know.
Tarn stayed with us in the laundry some of the time as well, teaching me small things, like how to move a coin from one ear to the other, or palm a small item and make it reappear. He called them magic tricks, but I recognized the techniques from the pickpockets in the streets near the Sow.
His eyes widened, and he gave a bark of laughter when I stole a coin from his shirt pocket without him noticing. “Stars above, you’re a born cutpurse!” he cried, and started calling me “little thief,” although Sorcha whacked him on the head when she heard it.
