Quincy
The tea had settled in his stomach like lead, the sharp conversation exchanged by the two alphas over his head like background music to the disjointed thoughts chasing each other in his head.
And even in his simple tunic, he was overheating in the great hall; the lingering scents of roasting meat and sweat made all the worse by the fresh flowers intended to disguise them.
“Will you allow me to escort you to your rooms?”
It was all he could do not to give any sign of surprise or anger as the alpha took him by the elbow and helped him stand.
His uncle, by marriage, but still his uncle. He’d been stupid, really, because he’d known the man’s reputation, but he’d just thought... No, he hadn’t thought, he’d hoped, because that’s all you could do when you had no power to do anything to alter your fate.
The Earl of Saran didn’t try to talk to him again, and it was only when they got to his door that Quincy realised that he’d not asked for directions.
Had someone actually told this strange alpha where he slept?
So he could what, show up and take what he’d paid for whenever he pleased?
“Are you alright?” the earl asked.
Quincy nodded at once. “Yes, milord. It was very kind of you—” He cut himself off, realising the absurdity of it. He glanced at his door. “Would you like—?”
“No,” the alpha said firmly. “I will not be coming in.”
He had to look up at that. “I— I don’t understand.”
“You should have been told in advance, at the very least. Consulted.”
Of course it was true, but it was naive to the point of insult.
An omega’s rights depended exclusively on the goodwill of the alpha who controlled their life.
And that was precisely why Quincy could not afford to say so to a man that would very shortly own him.
He kept silent, the best he could come up with given the circumstances.
“I apologise,” the earl added, and Quincy stiffened in an effort not to gawk.
What on earth and sky could he mean by apologising to an omega?
“I made a choice for you, and I did not—” The alpha stopped, huffing. “It is no matter; we will speak again on the morrow.”
He let go of Quincy’s arm, taking a step back and bowing slightly before turning and leaving him alone in the corridor.
They would of course speak on the morrow, he was right, but Quincy couldn’t quite imagine about what.
For some unfathomable reason, the earl wanted him as a mate.
All that remained was for him to take what he wanted.
***
THE OTHER MAN’S MOTIVES became no clearer in the light of the morning sun. Quincy woke to his own attendant, Cocal, preparing his clothes for the day. Someone must have told her what to do because she had a new tunic, fresh white linen of excellent quality that definitely was not his.
He hadn’t worn white in... Not since he’d been married. It wasn’t forbidden, of course, but the custom was to keep the colour for children or unmated omegas, and in any case, Quincy did not show to advantage in such a light colour.
Besides, what was it meant to symbolise here? He was hardly untouched. Perhaps the intent was to imply he was starting afresh, leaving everything behind.
His own name, for one thing. One more time, like the protection Yara had given him back in the day was now completely gone. He remembered her nervous smile, and his own efforts not to echo it.
This time, he made no attempt to extract information from the man by the door, only raising a hand and pausing by the window—a late summer storm had blown in unexpectedly.
It was raging, but it was also beautiful if you understood how parched the land was, how low the rivers were after the nearly asphyxiating summer heat of the last few weeks.
And yet, many a bird and small animal would not survive its anger. He turned to the doors, which the attendant opened readily, and told himself it was time to get it over with. He walked in with his head held high.
Then he saw the rug spread at the centre of the room with the cushions and his stomach fell. He didn’t, but only because he locked his knees as he stopped cold.
No, he thought, even though there was nothing he could say, nowhere he could go.
He’d have lived in the forest to the east, except of course he’d probably be dead within a week.
He hunted for sport, and he knew the little about foraging that his mother had taught him, and if he’d been allowed to develop his gift. ..
But that had all ended with his presentation, and so he didn’t trust himself to actually survive in the wild like his ancestors had done.
Not even if he could have somehow got out of the castle in the first place.
He inhaled as discreetly as he could manage, barely parting his lips to exhale. Waiting was an omega art; he’d been taught from the moment he’d woken to his new status at the late age of seventeen.
Yara had once suggested he might struggle because of it. Most omegas had since they were twelve or thirteen to learn their place in the world.
But Yara, much as she’d tried, had never really understood what it meant to be told the world was out of reach. To be put into a box with a single purpose in your life. Two, perhaps, if you counted pleasing your alpha as well as giving them children.
There was no room for Quincy in that life, the passions and interests he’d developed, or his ambitions of training horses and dogs for a purpose other than to be good workers on a farm and amiable rides.
All gone in a moment.
Just like Yara.
And now even that quiet life she’d left for him was gone too.
The priest told him to kneel, and he knelt, to close his eyes and he did it perhaps too eagerly. No one acknowledged how fast he was breathing, his distress an inconvenience they were all meant to politely pretend away.
This time, at least, the alpha didn’t try to soothe him with words.
His hand was firm on Quincy’s chin, tilting his face up to expose his neck.
His unfamiliar scent intense and overwhelming from up close.
He was an alpha and Quincy had been ordered by his head of house to submit, but he found himself stiffening to fight his own instinctive need to recoil.
Yara’s mark had faded, a mere scar now. And yet, when his face was turned the other way and he felt the stranger’s damp breath on his right side instead, Quincy bit his tongue to keep what was left of his composure.
He would not cry. Not here in front of these people who wouldn’t care and would just call it weakness.
He would not prove them right, no matter what.
The bite hurt and Quincy winced—sharp fangs sinking even deeper into the tender skin of his throat.
The blood required wasn’t much, but the dizziness hit him hard. Much harder than the first time, his mate’s hands on his shoulders the only thing keeping him upright as the magic of the bond filtered through into his own head and body.
He gasped, his magic waking up in a flare, pushing against what was coming in—the one part of him no rules could subdue, wild anger and fear twisting through him.
It was too late; he sensed the alpha’s surprise through the nascent bond he was resisting. And then his mouth was being taken into a bloody kiss, feeding him his own blood to seal it.
Quincy had just about enough control not to bite his new lord and master as he plundered his mouth from above, his grip on Quincy’s arms tightening painfully.
He fell back into the pillows, his new alpha following him, much heavier on top of him than Yara, even with her hardened battle body, had ever been.
But Yara had never tried to keep Quincy down, and even though he’d stopped, his moment of rebellion had set off something in the alpha that meant that now he was biting at Quincy’s neck again. Not deep enough to draw blood this time, but surely hard enough to bruise.
Quincy lay under him, shivering, his whole body gone heavy, not just under his new mate’s weight but his will, which seemed intent on crushing his own.
And then it all went away. Quincy opened his eyes to see his alpha looking down at him, panting and wild eyed, no violet left in his eyes.
This time, he couldn’t look away.
The alpha did instead, rolling off him abruptly and walking away to a table of refreshments by the side of the room.
Quincy glanced around, saw the priest was still in the room as witness. No one else was in the great hall, no servants and not any other nobles of his... Of Veolia.
Was he Saranian now? He thought with something close to laughter. It was one thing when an omega was sent away as a youngster to learn the ways of another land, but at his age...
“We will finish in private,” the earl said, with the certainty of someone whose words were law.
The priest hesitated. Had his uncle demanded they consummate the marriage in public as well as the bond? Quincy wondered.
But the bond was done, and so it wasn’t his uncle’s decision any longer.
He was not sure that was truly a good thing, but once again, there was nothing Quincy could do.