12. Brylee
12
brYLEE
History with Alpha Tamlin is a blur of pain. The tall, stick-thin alpha with round glasses stands at the front of the lecture hall and uses a slideshow of images to illustrate his talking points. I sit there dully, jealous of his range of movement, because I’m pretty sure I cannot lift my arms right now.
I’ve parked myself at the back, high up in the rising banks of chairs, far from most of the others, who’ve piled down in the front in order to make a good impression on the first day. I think I’ve made enough of an impression in defense class to last me a lifetime.
While the lower levels of the big hall have the window shades drawn so that the projected slides are visible on the screen, the windows on my level are still uncovered, letting some sunlight filter into the room. It’s an industrial space—the seat cushions look like they are made of the same abrasive navy material as the carpet. If Madam Ellora saw this room, she’d probably have a heart attack.
Tamlin reviews the founding of our country four hundred sixty-three years ago. Luckily, I’ve heard the story about our founding ad nauseam because my father is one of those nerds who builds dioramas and paints little soldier figurines.
Three different warlords went to war over this land in a massive, confusing clash of swords centuries ago. Because all three sides were fighting each other, the brutality was intense, the alphas courageous but feral. Bloodlust overtook them, and the Noths and Hypsonians ended up completely destroying the people of Lethe. When the battle ended and the dust settled, the two countries vowed never to fight again.
Of course, Noths can’t be trusted.
“And what is it that the Emperor Zoh of Nóthos said when he was asked about the current war and the violation of our long-held treaties?”
Silence descends over the room.
Have none of them heard about this?
Seriously?
My dad has repeated Zoh’s words to me at least a million times.
“The promises of the past are as dead as the men who made them,” I call out, not raising my hand because—frankly—I can’t.
Tamlin’s eyes dart up to mine, and he reaches to adjust his glasses as if he’s not quite sure who he’s seeing. “C-correct, Your Highness.” He gives me a deferential head nod before continuing on with the lecture.
If only it were so easy to make a decent impression with the other professors.
Zoning out, I let my gaze wander to the window and the warm sunlight outside. Some of the omegas are probably having tea out on the lawn behind the school. Perhaps playing croquet. Others might be going through recipes online to research for our long-term assignment to come up with a menu for a week-long visit from dignitaries.
Meanwhile, I’m hoping I didn’t get a rib fracture.
Part of me thinks that I’m an idiot, but another part of me is relieved to be sitting here and learning about the strategies that shaped our country. The logic behind why our territory boundaries were drawn up and why we insisted on splitting the forests so that we have natural boundaries but also natural resources. The way that Noths have been testing us for decades. How our spies have pushed back. My brain just lights up from that information, even though my muscles are telling me right now that tea sounds nicer than combat lessons.
Today has definitely been eye-opening. Pretending to be an alpha is already a challenge, but now I’ve got to deal with avoiding scent matches who hate me.
My teeth gnash together, and I realize that I probably need to start looking on the black market to see if there’s some kind of blocker that will knock my own nose out of whack. I don’t just need to hide my own scent any longer—I need to block theirs.
A bird flutters to its nest outside, hopping into it with a twig in its beak. Building itself a stronger home against the elements. That’s what I need to do. These scent matches are storm clouds full of lightning and rain and trouble, and I need to stack up my defenses against them.
Some kind of nasal spray is added to my mental shopping list.
That decided, I move on to the other challenge today revealed. Without the bodysuit, those blows would definitely have had more effect. Even with them, I’m sore and aching and a bit unsure I’ll be able to move tomorrow. I’m also shocked and relieved that the suit held up so well under pressure. Nobody seemed to suspect anything at all, not when I was punched or when I fell. But I am nervous, because today was only the start of combat. What if…what if we end up wrestling? What if my wig comes loose?
Either I’m going to have to cut my hair or I’m going to have to get better at fighting quickly.
Turning away from the window, I move my hand as if I’m going to scrawl a little note on my notebook so that I give the illusion of paying attention. But when I glance down, there’s a tiny scrap of paper folded in half, resting on top of the blank page.
Glancing up at Tamlin to make sure he’s distracted, I see the professor facing his slide and pointing at a map, his hand gesturing in a big circle to emphasize the port access that Nóthos has and we do not.
I look back down and open the slip.
Want to grab a beer later? -Sam
A quick dart of my eyes shows that Sam is a few seats over on my right. I hadn’t even noticed him, perhaps because betas don’t have a pervasive scent like alphas or omegas. They tend to have a neutral smell that becomes nearly invisible in a crowd like this, where alpha male scents fold over one another in a musky fight for dominance.
Sam’s throat bobs as he shoots a hesitant glance my way, almost like he’s nervous I’ll reject him.
But…an ally whose scent is pretty much invisible, whose beta existence is considered inconsequential because the alpha males around him don’t consider him a threat…that could be a very useful person to know.
Plus, I don’t want Sam thinking I’m some alpha asshole who doesn’t like him simply because he’s a beta. That’s the farthest thing from the truth. I give a quick nod of my head, and Sam grins in return.
Time for Teddie to make a friend.
* * *
After sitting through Diplomacy class in agony, I’ve taken two over-the-counter painkillers and decided that figuring out how to fight better is an even higher priority than scent blocking those Alpha X bastards, who had the gall to smirk at me as I limped through the hallway, clutching my ribs this afternoon.
God, do I want to get better and shove it in their faces.
Because I’m so sore, I considered canceling on Sam, but I pulled on my big girl— big boy —pants and didn’t.
Now, we’re at a hole-in-the-wall bar that’s in a shotgun-style building that’s one long rectangle from front to back. Decorated with aged bricks and neon signs advertising every kind of alcohol under the sun, it’s not a spot I’d normally frequent. But it has turned out to be surprisingly low-key. I haven’t spotted anyone drunk off their rocker, every table has pretzels, which I highly approve of, and it’s ninety percent filled with betas.
And, as much as I don’t love the taste of beer, I have to admit that this lager is taking the edge off. I’m unwinding a little here with the low music and the scent of fries wafting over me, because apparently, they offer fries and onion rings here to soak up some alcohol. Perhaps the fact that Sam brought me to a mostly beta joint is helping too. All around us, the chatter is friendly. There are no alpha pheromones battling it out in midair. Nobody is trying to prove he’s the toughest motherfucker in the room. It’s just people being people.
I sag back in my chair in exhausted relief. “Thanks again for inviting me. This is exactly what I needed after that awful day,” I state.
Sam is perched on a seat next to me at our counter-height table. His going-out attire trends nerdy, with some science-saying T-shirt and bright blue slacks. Hair a bit frizzy because he can’t stop messing with it, he still looks cute, if you’re into that type. His gaze falls sympathetically on me, though I do notice it drifts occasionally to the cute waitress who served us, but he doesn’t make a move.
“Course. Just figured it was better to get away for a bit,” he states as he takes a sip of his beer.
“Oh, it is.”
We compare notes about the alphas we met today. Sam has Antonio in a class and thinks he might be a decent guy, but it’s hard to tell because he’s definitely already a professor-favorite.
“Whenever someone’s a teacher’s pet, I always wonder why,” he murmurs. “Is it because they’re a good student or because their family is tight with the royals?”
“Well, I don’t know him,” I reply, watching a couple of beta guys play darts. “Who knows, though? His parents could know my parents.”
“You don’t know?” he asks, one of his brows lifting.
Not wanting to dive too deeply into our family’s messed up power dynamics or my parents’ insistence that Teddie complete all the courses at Eros before he shoulders full responsibilities as the heir apparent, I just shrug and say, “They work long hours. I work long hours. We aren’t in the same buildings, so…”
“Hmm, yeah. Guess that makes sense.”
On the television to our left, a football game starts playing, and Sam immediately jerks his head toward the screen. “Oh man, I hope the Sharks don’t blow it tonight.”
I glance up to see a long green field and players in helmets and tight pants trotting onto it. Fuck. He’s talking about football. If there is one guyish thing I’m worst at understanding, it’s sports. With a fake grin, and a sizzling bit of panic cooking my stomach, I return, “Yeah, they better not.”
“I mean, that interception last game? Pathetic.”
“Yeah. Really. Was he throwing with his eyes closed?” I mock, cringing slightly when I realize I flicked my wrist a little upon making that statement.
“Right.” Sam chuckles before flagging down the waitress and ordering us two more beers. She gives him an interested smile, and he grins back.
I stare at the screen, pretending not to notice in order to give them the illusion of a private moment. I know betas don’t have scent matches, but having mostly been raised around omega nannies, I haven’t spent a ton of time around them. Watching them both be attracted to one another but too shy to do anything is both adorable and quite odd. Alpha males always make a move. There is no second-guessing. No thinking. Instinct drives them just as surely as it drove the ridiculous slick gliding down my thighs today.
As I rack my brain, I realize that I do know a few betas who’ve joined with alpha groups to mate with omegas, but I don’t know much at all about beta on beta interactions. Do they have more freedom from their instincts than we do? Can they just turn the primal urges off?
This is definitely not the time or place for those sort of questions, though. Tonight I just need to prove that Teddie’s a good dude before I slip back over to Darling and sleep for a million plus years.
A cheer goes up around me, and I throw my hand in the air though I have no idea what the hell just happened.
The waitress wanders off without handing out her phone number, and Sam takes a sip of his beer before asking, “Did you hear the over-under for this game?” His tone is conversational, not at all realizing that he’s speaking a completely foreign language to me.
Over-under? Is that a move? Is it a type of tackle?
Ugh. I always just read when my dad and Teddie wanted to watch sports. I have no clue what he means.
He’s staring expectantly at me, and this feels like a test. Panicked sweat starts to form on my forehead, and I swipe at it as I say, “Nah. Busy.”
He rattles off some numbers that sound impressive and intimidating and mean absolutely nothing to me. Fuck. I need to add sportsy shit to my to-do list. Where the hell am I gonna get enough hours in the day for that?
Teddie.
Teddie is going to have to help me out. I pull my phone from my pocket as Sam tunes back into the football game.
“Sorry. Just saw a text from my folks. One sec.”
“Sure.” He waves me off nonchalantly, sucking down his beer as the game starts and they do a kickoff or whatever it’s called.
I pull my phone down onto my lap so he can’t see my screen, and in a panic, I text my brother.
Brylee
HELP! I need something to say about the Sharks asap.
Teddie
What? What are you doing?
What am I doing? What the hell? Teddie and I are going to have to have a serious talk about small talk during crisis situations.
Brylee
Sharks game is on. Just give me a couple one-liners!
Teddie
Turning on the game.
I want to shout at him to hurry up, to just tell me generic stuff to say, but I can’t. Sam’s reaching across the table and grabbing a pretzel, still looking at the TV as he asks, “Can you believe they hired Filbert?”
My fingers fly across the screen.
Brylee
Who’s Filbert?
Teddie
Shit coach.
At least my brother’s reply is quick enough there.
“Oh, yeah, he’s total shit.” I add a disgusted little huff at the end that I’ve seen Teddie do before.
“Yup,” Sam sighs and gives a shake of his head. “Way to waste three mil.”
Relief noodles through me, softening up all my limbs because he’s buying it.
My phone buzzes in my lap, and I look at a new text from my brother.
Teddie
Their offensive line is looking weak.
“No!” Sam yells something at the screen and then looks over at me, his face warped by frustration.
I mirror his look. “Their offensive line is looking weak.”
“The freaking worst.”
“Pathetic,” I pile on as he nods.
The first quarter of the game passes this way, with me anxiously sneaking glances at my phone and Sam cursing at the TV. But he buys it. Hook, line, and sinker—I’m pulling this guy shit off.
When the rest of the room erupts in a cheer because the Sharks get an interception, I let out a whoop. But mine isn’t for the game. It’s because I was fucking right, and I wish Teddie could see me right now, kicking ass.
Unfortunately, the interception is picked off or whatever they call it, and a universal groan fills the bar.
“Okay, I can’t handle this stress. The Sharks are tanking. Want to play darts?” Sam turns to me.
Giving him my most exhausted look, I reply, “I don’t think I ever want to move again. Must have gotten punched fifty times.”
“Your combat lesson was that bad? Ours focused on blocks.” He sits back in his seat, genuinely curious.
“It was less the lesson itself and more the fact that the professors I had didn’t bother to teach me anything about blocks for their own amusement.” Professor Luka’s smug face flashes through my mind. The sadistic bastard got a lot of pleasure out of watching me fail today.
He gives a low whistle. “And I thought being the first beta to ever attend was bad.”
A bitter laugh sends an ache through my sore ribs, making them pulse with pain. “Apparently, being a royal alpha is worse, particularly when your professors clearly got demoted from battlefield to babysitting. Those guys are fucking bitter about their jobs.”
With a sympathetic cringe face, he offers, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
Tilting my head, I study him as an idea wriggles into my over-tired brain. “Actually…do you know about any beta self-defense classes? Or kickboxing?” I lift my hand and gesture at the room around us. “If those dicks aren’t going to teach me, I need to learn somewhere. Preferably in a place that’s more chill like this.”
Sam scratches at his hair as he thinks. “Yeah. Yeah, I might know a place. You have to promise not to kick their asses to high heaven though. They don’t fight like alphas.”
Delight rolls through me as I smile because I think it would be amazing to learn to fight with people who don’t depend on their brute strength. That actually sounds perfect. Maybe it will even give me an upper hand on alphas who just act on instinct.
I lift my glass and say, “You have my word.”