Page 3 of The King's Omega
“Rise.” With one jerk, I broke the chain holding her, then extended my arm and drew her in next to me. “Come to the castle with me, dear Selene. I’ve been searching for you for a long time… my queen.”
“I have dreamed of this day, Your Majesty.” She dipped her head demurely, smiling at the floor. Goddess, she was perfect. Shy and innocent, it made my hands itch to tear her dress away and bury myself in her soft curves. “May I bring my servant, Sire? She can gather my belongings.”
“Of course,” I agreed, escorting her to the broken door. Behind me, the girl cursed and yowled, condemning me and all my progeny to perdition. I considered having her gagged once we were at the castle; that sort of noise might irritate my sweet Omega’s delicate ears. “Axe, make haste.”
I had a mate to claim.
Axe
Surely, Rigol wouldn’t be too angry if I accidentally slipped and cut the throat of the squirming, screaming female tucked under my arm. She might be his new Omega’s maidservant, but I was the king’s best friend, his brother in blood, even if I was only a bastard. He’d trusted me to plan and fortify our western border to hold the lines between Verdan and Rimholt. He’d given me, a mute soldier, the title of General and the necessary job of King’s Executioner.
He would forgive me.
I shook her slightly, but she would not stop caterwauling. If anything, her volume increased, and the kitten yowled along.
I shushed her twice with a finger to my lips and tried to pry the noisy kitten free, hoping to leave it at the brothel. The wretched creature kept digging its claws into tender places, and I had little patience for animals.
But she had shrieked, insisting we bring the tiny demon that had nearly felled the king. I had to suppress a rare smile at the memory of that mess—I’d be teasing Rigol about it for years. Now she persisted in swinging her feet around, kicking me in the buttocks hard enough to make me… well, hard.
I had been hard since the moment we’d entered The Rutting Sow. The smell of peaches, honey and spice that emanated from the girl under my arm, or possibly from the Omega’s clothing she carried, was addictive. I sucked in another deep lungful and let it out slowly, unwilling to release even the smallest bit of that fragrance.
Enchanted, I buried my nose in her scruff and nuzzled to see if I was able to inhale more of the intoxicating scent that lingered beneath the faint odors of sardines, grease, and cabbage.
The girl screeched even louder and cursed me. “You house-sized, tree-trunk-legged numbskull! Stop sniffing me or I’ll make you regret it.”
An empty threat, but my tolerance had run out. Time to take this little hellion to a more private location and givehersomething to regret.
I rounded a cart piled high with sheepskins, and strode down the cobblestone path, passing an apothecary’s storefront. The late afternoon heat had driven casual passersby into scattered patches of shade or the pubs. When I reached my destination, no one came out to greet me, though I kept my eyes on the narrow alleyway that ran on one side of the stable.
An alley could hide a lot a mischief. I found my lips twitching as memories flooded back. Long ago, when Rigol was merely a prince and I a blacksmith’s apprentice, this was the very spot we met two others who would become our best friends, and eventually, Rigol’s generals.
“I’ll hold the money, Asher,” Rigol declared, his green eyes shimmering with delight to be out of sight of his repressive tutors. I wouldn’t be king for anything; his life was a horrible series of lessons in table manners, ancient military strategies, and dancing in itchy clothes.
Rigol had escaped his tutors and convinced the castle blacksmith to allow me to run errands in Turino, the city that surrounded the castle. My first task was to collect four mounts for the king’s personal guard, deliver a pouch of goldani to the stablemaster, and lead the horses back to the castle.
“Why you?” I wouldn’t say it out loud, but… okay I would. “You’re half my size. If robbers try anything, it’s better for me to have the money.” I sniffed at his skinny, outstretched arm, but placed the bag in his hand. He tucked it into the leather satchel on his hip. “You really should spend less time reading, Rigol, and more at sword practice. No book’s gonna save you from an assassin’s blade. Or an axe.” I loved axes. They were far more intimidating than swords.
He lifted his nose in that snooty way the other noble boys had apparently been teaching him. I made a mental note to punch that nose later; I couldn’t have a brother of mine—even if only us two and the king knew we were related—looking like a prat. “I’m the prince of all Rimholt, Asher. No one would dare steal from me.”
I rolled my eyes and left him in the street while I spoke to the stablemaster. When I came back out, Rigol was making eyes at a busty milkmaid standing at the corner, while a curly-haired street rat at least a few years younger than us slipped out of the nearby alley, very quietly lifted the flap of his satchel, and stole the coin purse.
I had my arm around the little thief’s neck in less time than it took to let out a deep breath.
The rascal struggled, then told Rigol a sad tale about a dead mother and a starving twin named Lorn who wanted nothing more than to be a scholar. Book lover that he was, Rigol ended up inviting them both back to the castle with us for a meal and a trip to the royal library.
I still liked to tease Tarn about how hard he had fought, and how little difference it had made due to my physical superiority. He always reminded me that he’d nicked my own belt off my pants that day, and I hadn’t noticed.
The girl in my arms today might be smaller than Tarn back then, but she fought three times as hard, and Tarn wasn’t around to steal my belt. This time, there would be no sad tale and narrow escape.
I leaned against the wooden beam of a hitching post and maneuvered the tiny female over my upraised knee. The kitten scrambled up to my shoulder to watch.
The girl wore more layers of clothing than many peasants owned, and it was a scorching day. It made little sense. Perhaps overheating contributed to her ill humor.
Inexplicably, she wore trousers with a clump of fabric tucked inside beneath her skirts. I shifted it aside, revealing the curve of her small bottom, covered now with only a thin layer of underclothing. I allowed my hand to roam over the perfectly formed globe, enjoying the look of my fingers spanning the entire width of the cheek. She was so petite next to me, but this curve definitely belonged to a woman, not a girl.
I stiffened, imagining how such a diminutive female would feel on top of me, under me. Would she nuzzle me as her kitten was doing to my neck right now? I let my hand move firmly, kneading the flesh of her ass.
A faint wisp of arousal wafted up to my nose, and I shifted back so she wouldn’t feel my erection. It would frighten her more; a slip of a lass like this wasn’t made for a man of my size. I’d break her with the first thrust.
