Valgar
He opted to go for a walk around the grounds instead.
Veolia’s nobility had settled on a highly defensive position at the top of a valley where their subjects lived and planted the seed varieties they used for their thick creamy breads.
It was drier and warmer than Saran, too far from the ocean for his liking, but he could not deny its beauty; the leaves turning brown as the weather grew colder, the sky clear as far as the eye could see.
And a skinny girl running down the path followed by two big hounds.
She must have sensed his attention because she glanced his way. “Cocal,” he said, and she nearly tripped over her own two feet to stop, babbling apologies already.
He was beginning to suspect it was not merely his omega who’d been trained into subjugation well beyond what respect demanded.
“Where are you going with those dogs?”
Her eyes widened. “Ah... I am taking them to their master, milord.”
“And who is that master?”
She swallowed but did not answer right away. “Lord... Lord Quincy, milord.”
“Has Lord Quincy thought about what these animals will do in his quarters at the castle?”
“Oh, but they are good, milord!” For the first time, she sounded certain. “Look. Fialia, sit.” The dogs didn’t react at first, but the girl insisted once more. “Fialia, sit.”
This time, one of the dogs sat. The other immediately did the same, both staring attentively up at the maid.
“They are better with Lord Quincy,” she added, a little apologetically.
“Does Lord Quincy hunt then?”
“Oh, yes. It’s...” She grimaced. “He likes it, and he rides well too,” she felt the need to add.
He got more out of her walking to his omega’s rooms than he had from the man in two days of acquaintance, even with the bond.
It was slightly underhanded, but it was not like the girl knew anything that could be considered intimate.
She seemed to like her master, which was recommendation enough for Valgar—Mar had taught him to look at a person’s servants to gage their true character.
If Cocal was to be believed, Lord Quincy was an expert rider and a good sportsman in general, though he favoured solitary practices such as riding in the narrow forest paths.
Valgar was a little alarmed that he’d been allowed to indulge in such unsafe occupations, but he supposed it was yet more proof Quincy wasn’t valued by his people.
It set his teeth on edge just to think about his omega being disregarded like that.
He ordered the maid to deliver the dogs without giving away his presence and had the unexpected pleasure of seeing Quincy’s real smile for the first time.
It softened his narrow face, grey eyes lighting up with joy.
Both dogs stopped short before reaching him, tails thumping the ground in barely constrained eagerness.
Only after a few beats, did Quincy reach for them, rubbing at their heads and ears, and murmuring praise for their obedience.
It was such a restrained reaction, and yet, it could not have been clearer that he loved them dearly. In fact, he must have been quite distracted not to have sensed Valgar as close as he was.
“You have trained them yourself?” he asked, stepping forward. It was time to stop playing games. Or to start perhaps, but he’d do that in the open.
His omega was surprised, jerking a little in place in a way that made the dogs turn around at once, probably to assess the threat. Valgar eyed them warily; they were big beasts clearly trained to bring down even bigger ones.
“Yes,” Quincy told him. “They were a gift.”
From Yara, Valgar knew at once. He couldn’t have said if it was something in the bond, a particular tenderness that came upon his omega when he remembered his old partner. He wondered if the same happened when he thought of Mar himself.
“Can they follow the carriage, or will they need a cage?”
The shock was such that it could only be called disbelief. Quincy’s gaze was on the dogs again, but Valgar was certain it was only to avoid looking at him.
He had set Revel on the task of arranging his omega’s possessions as well as his own, trusting him to find a local to guide him. But once again he had been thinking of Quincy like he was Mar, free and willing to tell Valgar what he required.
“May I come in?” He waited, both dismayed and frustrated by his omega’s hesitation. He understood Quincy didn’t want him, and he couldn’t even blame him for it.
The dogs were better educated than many children of Valgar’s acquaintance, settling quietly at their master’s feet in front of the fireplace.
Valgar could not imagine Veolian weather ever requiring it to be lit, but he could hardly judge them for craving their element when a few days away from the smell of brine were enough to set him on edge.
He was pleased to note Quincy himself seemed easier in their presence somehow.
Not by much, the omega was still obviously out of sorts, either at Valgar’s presence or his questions about his household and luggage, but Valgar would take it.
If he’d considered having the dogs come later, he now knew it would be at a high cost to his new mate.
And Veolians might have neglected him for who knew how long, probably since Yara had died, but Valgar would not stand for it for a single day.
Both he and Quincy had obligations to fulfil, little as they might like them, but in every other way in his power, he’d ensure his partner was treated with the respect and indulgence he was due.
It was the least he could do, when his own heart was already spoken for.