Page 32 of Wrath of a King

“Oh. Your Majesty.” The doors parted further, and a lean Alpha filled the doorway. Long, blonde hair fell in two braids along their shoulders, obscuring the crest pinned to their left breast. “Your Highness.”

“Yogi Sweetwater?” Olympia said with some confusion, straightening to her full height. “I haven’t seen you in… Well, this is a surprise!”

“A good one, I hope,” the Alpha said sheepishly, stepping aside so we could enter. Their features held a delicate pinch, emphasized by the rounded tip of their nose and the angled cheekbones. A natural flush contoured the apples of their cheeks.

Yogi continued: “My princess required a respite from the crowds, and I found this place for us. I hope you don’t mind, Your Majesty.”

Princess?Before I could voice a question, two people rose from the recently re-upholstered armchairs in front of the cold fireplace.

I had met Amaris Brimwood, the future Queen of Nestia and the Seventh Star, on several occasions. Each time, her height never failed to surprise me. In her bright gold heels, we stood eye to eye.

She smiled, the high points of her cheeks catching the warm light. Her curls had been tied back with a gold clip, leaving only a few short pieces to caress her temples.

She was the epitome of beauty and grace, the vision of a royal omega come to life.

“Your Highness,” Olympia and I chorused, offering her a slight bow.

“Zoei, Olympia. I’ve told you both to call me Ris,” she chided, humor rife in her voice. “We are equals, after all.”

I almost scoffed aloud, unused to constraining my true thoughts. Only a little thread of decency kept my true emotions inside.

We were not equal, despite Ris’ modest words. Her Sire was the ruler of all our lands—every kingdom from the northernmost Verran tribes to our southernmost farming people looked towards High Nestia for governance.

The Brimwood family had been the first people to migrate from Old Earth, striking a tenuous peace with the native people of the Seventh Star and setting the foundations for our current civilization. As the legends preached, before our star had been founded, people with our biology had simply co-existed with other species on Earth, hidden away as though we were a dirty secret.

The Brimwoods had sought a refuge for us all, where our unique biology was celebrated and not concealed.

Both the Highblade and Summerstream clans reported to Ris’ sire, Artemis Brimwood. The lands on which Agnivale and Vetri had been erected had, at one point, been nothing more than gifts from old Brimwood rulers to our ancestors. While there were rumors that both our clans were distantly related to the Brimwoods, I’d always assumed it was nothing more than conjecture. None of our historians had been able to prove this fact—and they had triedveryhard.

At present, the Summerstream and Highblade clans controlled the southernmost kingdoms, while the Brimwoods controlled us.

Being in their good books was mandatory.

“I was also seeking a reprieve from the din of the ballroom,” Olympia said, turning the conversation. “My ears get too sensitive sometimes.”

Behind us, Yogi shut the double doors with a little click and turned the latch to keep out other eavesdroppers.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” I said, staring straight at the stocky Alpha standing behind Ris’ left shoulder. They wore a tunic identical to Yogi, with the Brimwood crest pinned on their left breast. Unlike the other Alpha, they held a closed expression more suited to a bodyguard. Their lips and jaw were set in a fierce line and the frown between their eyebrows seemed to be a permanent fixture, creating deep grooves in their skin. Close-cropped black curls glimmered in the lamplight.

Their fingers lay absently on an ornamental belt, the loop for the scabbard empty. Weapons were not welcome at a holy event, and so many warriors had grumbled endlessly at having to leave their beloved swords and crossbows in their rooms or at the entryway to the ballroom. Mere mortals could not argue the wisdom of monks and priestesses.

The Alpha’s broad thumb flicked the empty scabbard loop back and forth—a seemingly involuntary gesture that told me of their discomfort from being parted with their weapon.

Yogi Sweetwater returned to Ris’ side, flanking the princess’ right shoulder. The trio presented an intimidating picture. Ris, resplendent in gold, and the two Alphas in their starched dark tunics. A large oil portrait of a hunting dog rose above the mantelpiece, framing their silhouettes.

Ris’ fingers entwined at her waist in a serene pose worthy of a Goddess.

“I would like you to meet my mates,” Ris announced, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Sage Starquist, Deputy Major General in training for the Nestian army, and Yogi Sweetwater, Logistics Strategist.”

Olympia’s surprise reverberated around me, shimmering in the air. I wondered if she sensed my emotions just as palpably.

Mates?

It was unheard of!

The gruff protest in my head sounded eerily like my sire. He had been a stickler for foundational values, and hated the newer pairings common in our society. He would rage for hours over Alphas pairing off, or an omega choosing more than one mate. It wasunnatural,he would say.We should outlaw it.

He had tried in vain for years to get the council’s support to change the laws, but neither I nor the council had wavered from our stance. Our people had always been free to choose whom they loved, and no king had the power to change that.

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