Page 39 of The King's Omega
I could smell Mischief on them, too, which made me sad but also hopeful. It meant she wasn’t dead. Vilkurn had assured me she was fine when he finally came to visit. He’d apologized profusely for his role in what I privately thought of as the “King is a Creepy Watcher” incident and told me he would understand if I never spoke to him again.
I told him I would only speak to him again if he could get me away from the king for good.
“Rescue you from a king who is obsessed with you?”
“Obsessed with Omegas,” I clarified. “He’s unhinged.”
“He’s not the only king who’s obsessed with Omegas,” Vilkurn mused as he arranged the small, shiny stones he’d brought as a peace offering. They were no bigger than my thumbnail and lovely—red, purple, yellow and even a soft green—sparkling when they caught the light.
“Well, Rigol didn’t even like me until he smelled me. I wish he never had! He must be the only king mean enough to steal a kitten.”
“You’re right,” Vilkurn said. His eyes widened, and then he nodded to himself.
“About him being a mean kitten thief?”
“No. Well, yes. But he was only obsessedafterhe smelled you. The scent might have something to do with… another king’s compulsion.”
Huh?
Vilkurn used a thumb to smooth the crinkle in my brow but drew back quickly. “Don’t worry about Mischief. The king feeds her himself every day, bits of fish, chicken, and milk.”
That made my eyes water rather a lot.
“Never fear, kitten. The king may care for Mischief, but your clever pet does not return his affection. Rigol has cat scratches up and down both arms, and one right under his eye.”
I would reward her when I saw her next. I’d give her a whole sardine if she took out his eye for good.
“I may not see you for a while, my sweet,” Vilkurn said absently. “I need to do some field work.”
“You can’t send your spies?”
“Not this time.”
I hadn’t seen Vilkurn since then, and I was a bit worried for him. I saw Lorn at a distance but hadn’t been able to speak to him. But whenever I was in the courtyard, I had the sensation of eyes on me. I supposed Lorn or Tarn was watching me. Perhaps Axe had asked them to, while he was away, checking on his troops. The war that was supposed to have started kept… not starting. And no one seemed to know why. We were glad, of course, but Sorcha said the entire country felt the storm on the horizon.
She also said there had been unusual happenings in the castle. Couples who had been at odds for years were spending days in bed, and three supposedly infertile ladies suddenly became pregnant. “One of ’em ain’t pregnant by her own husband, though,” Sorcha confided over dinner. “But the lord don’t seem to mind, as he’s had his first hard wood since he turned seventy-five!” She thrust her rawboned hand up, wiggling her index finger, and we both laughed.
“This dinner is wonderful,” I commented, looking over the spread of roast chicken, green beans cooked with tiny grains and spring onions, buttered new potatoes, and even two tiny pots de crème. “I can’t imagine why every servant wouldn’t want to work in the laundry, with such delicious food!”
Sorcha laughed even harder. “Little miss, it’s only been these rations for two weeks now.” She smiled, her missing front tooth and hooked nose making her look like a giant scarecrow. Not that I would ever hurt her feelings by mentioning it.
“You mean, since I came?” I stared down at my spoonful of creamy pudding. “Who’s sending the food, then? It had better not be the king. If he’s trying to buy his way—”
“No, it’s Tarn, little miss,” she interrupted. “Your friend Lorn’s twin brother.”
“Oh.” I felt lost suddenly. I hadn’t really spoken to him since that first night. In fact, since then I’d only talked to Sorcha, and her nieces, Dahlia and Dorcas, who brought down the dirty laundry and took the clean back up. I missed Lorn and Vilkurn, and, of course, my sweet Axe.
The stupid king had probably forced Axe to go to war. He didn’t want me to have any friends. I bit into my chicken leg, wishing it were the king’s hand or neck or something. I wanted to hurt him.
Sorcha took something out of my other hand—a knife? When had I picked that up?—and patted my arm. “I think you need a breath of fresh air. Why not go over to the stables and see the horses.”
“I’m allowed? Vilkurn said—”
“The head stable lad is my bit of fluff. You ask for Richard and tell him his butterfly needs him to show you around.” I stifled a giggle at the pet name, running my finger around the edge of the delicate dessert cup to get the last drop, and then hopped up, fluffing out my skirts.
Something fell to the ground with a clinking crunch as I rose. When I turned, Sorcha was calmly gathering shards of china onto a tray. I hoped she had broken nothing; dishes were dear, and the kitchen probably counted the ones they sent.
In the stable, I found Richard, who was almost as short as I, but must have weighed three times as much. I tried not to imagine him with Sorcha, who was easily as tall as Vilkurn, close to six feet. He showed me the horses, and a litter of two-day-old puppies, still bald and mewling for their dam.
