My fury implodes. I do not blink for the longest time. I’m not ashamed to admit there is a tremble to my hands and a hot, heavy weight of moisture behind my eyes.
Safe.
I will be happy only once I’ve verified this with my own eyes.
“Take me to your lord,” I say.
The ship has been sighted and will be docking tomorrow morning, the pompous guard informs me as we ride for the estate manor. The resplendent three-story brick and tile home rises out of landscaped grounds. The trees have shed leaves leaving skeletons behind, but there is still a beauty in the place even with the onset of winter.
Inside, it’s every bit as grand, putting the Wittner castle to shame. Finely crafted furnishings, rich, woven rugs, and oil paintings depicting all sorts of nonsense are hung everywhere. I never was much for the subtleties of art, but I’m genuinely baffled as to why anyone would want to paint a picture of a farmer herding pigs.
I’m shown into a drawing-room. Dark oak-paneled walls broken up by grand bookcases that reach from floor to ceiling. Ubold would be a happy kind of lost in here. A fire blazes in the hearth, taking the chill from the air, and lamps provide a further cheery glow against the dull day.
Here I am greeted by the lord Aremis and his Omega mate, Rosalind. I have not met him before, but I’ve heard from his captain that the Alpha has fought alongside the Imperium army against our common enemy, the Blighten. He has the build of an Alpha and the bearing of a soldier. His recent mating to the sweet blonde Omega at his side was quite an adventure by all accounts.
It doesn’t matter where in the world you may be; gossip is the currency of life. I was impressed by the sheer volume of such tales his captain was able to divulge during our short ride.
Introductions are completed, and a carrier-grade parchment is passed to me.
It is from Bram, and I’m confused because it’s about Raglan . . . and what he was doing for the King.
So, the bastard didn’t betray the King. Knowing Raglan, there is more to this story. I’m still reeling from this revelation, and have not yet fully reconciled the news when I reach the bottom, and another parchment is offered up. I take it with a small frown. Much as I’m interested in these goings-on, I’m more interested in my mate . . . I’m skimming the new message when I come to an abrupt stop.
Raglan!
I will skin the bastard. I will carve him up into small pieces, and then I will stitch them back together that I might carve him up once again.
“The news is not good?” Aremis enquires politely, lips twitching.
“No,” I say, more brusquely than I intend. “Our King might have pardoned him, but the shifter is a scoundrel, traveling all the way from Darkmouth with my mate. Priya’s scent has not yet changed. If he has dared to claim her before seeking my approval, her first Alpha, I will be having more than words.”
I’m enraged, although I recognize that my behavior is somewhat irrational. I thought I had reconciled myself to Priya having a fourth mate, but I am not reconciled at all. I want to rip the roguish shifter limb from limb. My mind rushes through all the scenarios of them being together. He has rutted her in every one.
I calm a little. Priya is safe and unharmed from the terrible experience, and I’m glad beyond measure to hear this. It is like the lifting of an invisible pressure that has been slowly crushing me more with every passing day.
But that pressure has now shifted to a rage that events have unfolded. I should be happy that Raglan is not due for hanging, for I sensed long since he was destined to be Priya’s mate. “He is not a suitable fourth,” I growl. “I am Goddess cursed. The shifter walks a fine line between hero and reprobate with his antics. Our King has threatened to have him hung more times than I can count over the years.”
“I have heard tales of his antics,” Aremis offers in an attempt at diplomacy. “But he also has a fearsome reputation, and given these troubling times where Omegas are being snatched from the Imperium, such a man offers valuable additional protection.”
At Aremis’s side, Rosalind looks on, eyes wide. “Goddess,” the young duchess says. Her pretty cheeks have taken on a little color.
I do my best to temper my natural aggression toward Raglan, who is the least suitable fourth I could imagine, for none of this is the problem of the regal hosts before me.
“Something troubling you, my little doe?” Aramis turns to his mate.
“No,” her voice is a squeak. “Nothing at all!”
“Nothing?” Aramis asks with an arch to his brow.
Rosalind’s cheeks blush bright pink all the way to the roots of her blonde hair, and her fan begins fluttering furiously. “F-four mates,” she stammers. “How very challenging!”
“Do not get any ideas,” her Alpha says, eyes narrowing in a way that says the little Omega is going to be disciplined imminently. “Do I not rut you enough?”
“Aremis!” she hisses, eyes darting meaningfully toward me. “We have a guest.”
“Don’t mind me,” I say, enjoying the light relief of their lovers’ quarrel before I must challenge Raglan. “My two sisters are Omegas. My lord and his three brothers are also mated to an Omega. I’ve not met one such a lass as didn’t need a firm hand and constant rutting.”
“Lass?” Rosalind says, like the term is deeply offensive. “Do you have more than one Omega mate? I understood Priya was a lady?”
“Just the one,” I say, noting the way Aremis has latched onto her query. “Goddess forbid there be another, my heart could not endure the
