Chapter 72
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
A deafening roar fills the streets of Rholoko.
I hear it the entire time I spend getting ready.
Brushing my hair until it cascades down my back in glossy waves, carefully fastening all the jewels Zolkan brought me into place.
They’re mine, as his future Zortana. Strings of their favorite pearly opals, thin chains of ancient gold that cross under my bare breasts and over my shoulders.
Apart from the baubles, I’m permitted one item of clothing—a see-through robe of the finest, softest material. Dyed shimmering amber to match the precious metals draped around my neck, waist, and hips.
I can’t hear the tinkling of the metal cords as I shrug my robe into place. I only hear them. The people.
Our people.
When I asked my alphas what I needed to do in order to build the bond only an omega can channel, I really did not expect them to tell me this.
With a cringe, I lower the last piece of my ensemble onto my head, settling the thin gold circlet where the central stone shimmers on my hairline. Lord. I truly look like I’m about to do a strip show as an alien queen.
Which is… alarmingly accurate.
Norabi appears at my threshold, her expression solemn but approving. She rakes her eyes over me and shifts on her feet, clearly uncomfortable with her innate reaction. “Nice, Zortana,” she clips. “Ready to go?”
“I am not a Zortana,” I snap back, fisting the long kimono. “Where are the guys?”
She raises an eyebrow at my “human word.”
“Your alphas are at the dais in the square, awaiting your arrival.”
Along with the rest of the planet.
It’s only a slight exaggeration, really. Apparently, once everyone has witnessed the deed, Roktusian tradition states that riders will depart in every direction, racing off to spread the news of our pack’s triumph.
Or failure.
But, you know. No pressure.
Never mind the fact that these people have never even heard of a pack.
So watching three alphas fuck me?
We’re only about to kick up the biggest scandal ever.
I clench my shaking fingers in my overlong robe. Reminding myself that we’re definitely not going to puke in front of the entire known universe.
Before I can change my mind, I follow Norabi out of the omega chambers and down to the palace’s front exit. Fervently ignoring the entire household staff lining our path, each bowing and averting their eyes as I pass.
That’s part of this whole thing, too, I guess. None of the alphas we encounter are supposed to look at me. Until it’s time to watch me.
As we make the winding journey down a path that takes us around the outskirts of the city, it’s easy to spot the handful of betas I’ve heard about. They all observe my trek with smiling interest. Giddy, but not… affected.
Unlike Norabi, who marches with the staid stiffness of a foot soldier.
I have no idea what I must smell like right now. Scared, I’m sure. I’d be lying, though, if I said there isn’t an undercurrent of something else. A darker kind of warmth.
Eagerness, too. I’m not sure if it’s my oncoming “heat” or the fact that my big guys insisted on giving me one last night to myself before this ceremony, but I’m desperate to see them.
By the time we reach the end of the sandy pink road and step into the outer edge of Rholoko, I’m grateful most of the people around me aren’t allowed to gawk yet. I take advantage, fixing my attention on Norabi’s billowing skirt. Plodding behind her. One step at a time.
It takes much too long and not nearly long enough for Norabi to pause at the foot of some stairs. I shut my eyes, suddenly feeling the weight of a thousand stares settle on me.
We’re here.
I keep my eyes closed, extending my bare foot to feel for the edge of the first step. The hum of every whispering Roktusian in the crowd suddenly disappears. The energy around me seems to shift. Snapping into focus.
“Sofi.”
Zolkan.
My eyes fly open, swinging upward. And he’s there—my beloved king. His lavender skin is gorgeously bare, save for a plain white loincloth. His tail whips behind him, violet hair blowing in a breeze that rudely reminds me we’re outside. On display.
There’s no denying the brilliant flash of light that fills his gaze, though. And the answering joy jolting through my center.
Zolkan extends his hand, offering it to me. Hope and consternation fill his strong features. Begging me to come to him. Urging me to run.
My poor, broken king.
He still doesn’t believe he deserves this. Or me.
My heart cracks and sings. Surges and aches. I practically leap toward him, taking his hand and wrapping his arm around my waist while I sling my other arm around his neck.
The crowd titters, but I don’t care. Especially when this big, hulking alien sets his velvety, plated forehead on mine and kisses me. Like a human.
That gets a reaction.
Gasps and general exclamations rise around us. Some are so shocked, I can’t help but smirk into our lip-lock.
Oh, boy.
They haven’t seen anything yet.
Zolkan is too absorbed to be amused. When I let go of his fingers and reach up to rub one of his great, arching horns, the chitters around the stage die down.
My mate growls quietly, angling his mouth to plunder mine more intently. A bolt of nervousness snakes through my stomach. Are we starting now? Right away?
I know Rask and Cylus are here. I can scent their arousal and aggression. We all agreed that having them on the stage with Zolkan while they waited would give people too much time to ask questions.
Mortana suggested they simply come out one by one, each to take their turns. I vetoed that idea, though I still don’t have a good reason why. My plan is definitely riskier.
On cue, Rask and Cylus step up onto the other side of the platform. They ignore a new round of confused mumbles, standing tall, both dressed in little more than Zolkan.
Cylus only has his usual breeches—and if I know Rask, there’s not a stitch of anything under that leather kilt.
As if hearing my thoughts, my pink mate’s gaze sails straight to mine, landing a second before my first burst of true perfume sweeps across the stage. His eyes start to flash, so he squeezes them shut.
Because it isn’t time yet.
Everyone will see while we’re all up here… just not until his turn.
We decided Zolkan would go first—as the Zortaire, proving I’m his mate is paramount. Cylus thinks, once that’s been established, our observers will have no choice but to try to “wrap their horns” around the rest of this.
He insisted on going last, actually. Claiming that Rask’s position as the General makes him more intimidating—and will hopefully cause our observers to think twice before reacting.
The truth is, we have no idea how any of these people will feel. The only ones who know so far are Norabi and Mortana. The former mostly treats our pack like a fascinating oddity, while Mortana required extensive research to even believe such a thing was possible.
We’re gambling, here. Hoping that showing them all in the most intimate way will be better than images out of old books. If it goes poorly…
Well, I actually don’t know what will happen.
I have a feeling my alphas have purposefully shielded me from finding out.
Zolkan rests his forehead on mine for one last beat. His big hand finds mine again, gently grasping my fingers as he pulls away. Leading me to the middle of the dais with a grim expression.
I hate that this is so stressful for him.
If I were a Roktusian female, he would be able to enjoy this ritual without worrying about my human sensibilities.
Mortana assures me that Presentations are the highest honor an alpha on Khanos can achieve.
And after everything my king has been through—how his people heaped shame he didn’t deserve on his head for over a decade—I want him to have this.
He deserves this.
I’ve seen the way he runs his planet. How fair and even he is. How he thinks before he speaks and never reacts in anger. His ego? Isn’t even a factor. Whatever he does, however much it costs him, is for the good of others. Always.
I realize what I need to do at the last possible moment. We’re almost to the middle of the stage when it dawns on me. The crowd, the single cushioned chair-and-a-half at the center of the platform, our original plan…
It won’t work.
Not like this.
Cylus figured—correctly, of course—that each of them going down on me would be the “safest” option. Nearly guaranteed to make me come. Plus, it meant their nudity would be on display, while mine would mostly remain covered by their bodies and their hands.
But it also means that this magnificent male—this king—is about to get on his knees in front of all his subjects and bare the scars he’s spent years trying to conceal.
Then no one will see me. Not really. And if this whole ritual is about him getting to show the prize he’s won—what he’s earned…
Have I lost my mind?
Am I really about to say—
“Wait.”
The entire planet seems to hold its breath. Expecting me to beg off. Run away. Turn back.
I see it in Zolkan’s eyes. Worry and pain. Hurt he never deserved, but always accepted.
All of it melts away when I tighten my grip on his hand, bringing the other to his chest. Shoving him into the chair.
“Like this, Zortaire.”