Quincy
He winced as he lowered himself in the tub they’d brought for him. Before, he’d bathed at home or in the communal baths with other omegas, but now apparently he merited half a dozen servants to run up and down to bring boiling water for his pleasure.
Cocal was fluttering about him. “You will love his horses, all the stable boys are talking about them,” she shared as she washed his hair.
“Yeah?” he managed, and that was enough to keep her talking, a familiar sound amidst the madness of the last few days.
He was not surprised; the powerful often took duty to be whatever they would have done either way, and who could tell them otherwise, after all?
None of the four omegas the earl had bonded with had managed so far to instil any sense of softness or even propriety, and as the sole surviving alpha of his family, the man had no one else to curb his worst instincts.
His Saranian counterpart seemed a little more aware of his duty, but that was hardly saying much.
Alphas were meant to harden themselves to bear the terrible responsibilities of war, and there was only so much an omega—or even more than one—could do to pull them in the opposite direction when they were home.
He braced himself and touched his hole, swollen and sore. His body complained loudly and he exhaled, trying to relax.
“I’ll ask for herbs,” Cocal told him earnestly. “For the pain.”
Quincy nodded, more to reassure her than because he wanted them.
It hurt if he moved, but if he had any say in the matter, he would not move.
***
HE WAS ALLOWED TO REST on his own bed that night, but a servant came to summon him to his new mate’s quarters after breakfast.
Quincy was shown in by an older servant in strange clothes, clearly one of the earl’s own retinue, into the ample rooms he had barely registered the previous day.
Lord Saran stood by the window overlooking the valley, hands clasped behind his back, spine straight. He turned as Quincy was announced.
“Please take a seat,” he was told.
He hesitated.
“You are in pain,” his alpha said, and it wasn’t a question.
Quincy couldn’t lie to his alpha, not in word, not in deed and most certainly not with his feelings.
The invasion of his body had certainly hurt, but this... This was nearly unbearable. The alpha either did not notice or assumed his agitation was due to the pain.
“I will summon the physician,” he declared, and it was meant as a kindness except for how it was simply a master’s will imposed on a slave. Quincy’s body was his to do as he wished, after all, why should Quincy be consulted before a stranger came to poke him in intimate places?
The physician was bad enough, an older beta Quincy had met a few times when Yara or one of his friends had been unwell or injured, and then Lord Saran started talking.
“It might well be I was unnecessarily rough in the bedding,” he said.
“Ah, well, my lord, we all know an alpha with a new omega might be a tad overenthusiastic. Let’s just examine the young man.
..” At that point, he’d caught sight of Quincy where he was standing by the big window that ran around the room.
It only opened a crack so he could not jump, but looking out at the birds flying and trying to catch what they were saying to each other had kept his mind from going anywhere darker.
The physician cut his gaze, looking around as if searching for something. He was unfailingly polite directing Quincy to the bedroom, and very euphemistic when asking he take off his underclothes.
Quincy did what he was asked, but he couldn’t sit down on the bed. He knew he had to, but he simply could not move.
“Lord Quincy?” It was the earl, closer than he wanted him, which was true of any distance that was not a couple of provinces away. “Are you quite alright?”
“I took herbs,” the words were rough, like he’d dragged them out of his throat with a rake. “For the pain.”
The alpha was close enough Quincy could see his long boots, the material unfamiliar and dark, almost like leather but somehow shimmering. “I see. And how is the pain now?”
“Bearable, my lord,” Quincy said, a little smoother.
“And...” He paused. “Master Plera, I am afraid I have wasted your time.”
Saran got rid of the physician quickly enough, but then, naturally, he returned to the bedroom.
Quincy hadn’t dared put his underwear back on. He kept his gaze firmly on the ground, not reacting to the other’s presence.
“Quincy,” the alpha said softly. “Can I rely on you to tell me what you need?”
It was such an odd question, but if he thought about it applying on right then and there, then he could answer sincerely. “Yes, my lord.”
“Valgar.”
He glanced up, confused.
“My name is Valgar, I want you to use it. We are bonded, after all.”
That was also true, he could tell. He nodded, then repeated, “Valgar.”
“Oh, you are saying it properly.” The pleasure blooming between them was as unexpected as it was inexplicable.
Of course, Quincy could say his name, he’d been barred from almost every field of learning by his orientation, but the languages of the provinces were considered an asset for an omega.
He’d never had much chance to use his skills, since visiting dignitaries had little interest in a minor nobleman like him married to a professional warrior like his alpha had been.
Yara, not his alpha, he reminded himself.
The Earl of Saran seemed well-intentioned so far, but it was hardly worth upsetting him with a small mistake like that.
It wasn’t even untrue; the bond he’d had with her had dissolved with her death.
The stab of her absence had lessened with time, but remembering waking up gasping from a nightmare to the very real feeling of her slipping away could still set his heart racing.
“What was that?” his alpha demanded at once, taking a step closer and Quincy would have tripped over the bed behind him if the man hadn’t grabbed his wrist and tugged him forward.
He didn’t let go, staring at Quincy like even the bond wasn’t enough and he wanted to drill into his head.
“What was what, my lord?” he asked, because he’d never had to lie to someone he was bonded to, but he’d had plenty of practice playing dumb omega to get out of trouble. The key was always the same; be vague enough you couldn’t be accused of actual falsehood.
It did not work. “I see,” Saran’s voice turned cold now. “Did you bleed?” he asked, point blank.
Quincy clenched his teeth, but he couldn’t resist for long. “Yes.”
“How much?”
His breathing was coming out fast now. “Not much.”
“And it has stopped?”
“Yes,” he said again, almost panting.
“You may go to your rest.”
With that, the Earl of Saran turned around and left Quincy alone in his bedroom.
Quince was so desperate to get away that he folded his underclothes into one of the tunic’s pockets and hurried to his own quarters.
So much for not upsetting his alpha, he thought, back to his bedroom door, heart pounding like he’d just outrun a dangerous predator.