Chapter 1
Chapter One
LOGAN
T he beta I have bent over the desk squeals every time I buck into her. These little grating sounds she makes are like nails on a fucking chalkboard, but the grip of her cunt is tight enough to make up for it.
I would tell myself to remember earplugs for next time, but I know damn well there won’t be a next time. There are enough betas in the harem that I could have a new one every day for months. I rarely have to bother with repeat visits.
She makes the noise again, sounding like a rooster crowing at the same time that a freight train passes by the farm.
I’m half-sleeping through this, so at least the noise is enough to keep me awake. I hoped a quick release would help get the day started, but we should have been done ten minutes ago. My ever-growing to-do list is already a mile long.
Right on cue, the door behind me swings open wide enough to hit the opposite wall with a loud bang.
I know it’s Cillian without bothering to look. The bastard never bothers to knock.
Though I guess that’s on me for always “forgetting” to lock the door.
“You have an audience with your father in five minutes,” he tosses off unnecessarily, sounding bored.
“I need another fifteen, at least.”
“You can’t keep the king waiting.”
I punctuate each of my words with a thrust of my hips, surprised he can even hear me over the beta’s shrieking. “I’ve done it before.”
“This is different and you damn well know it.”
I spare him a glance, one eyebrow raised. Cillian prides himself on his reserve, on his absolute control. If he feels driven to cursing, then he must really be in his feelings today.
My gaze lingers on his brow, where anger has drawn the skintight. He’ll get frown lines if he isn’t careful, marring all that smooth skin. You hate to see it.
“Would you rather I show up to an audience with half a knot tenting my pants? I’m sure even my father would agree that most things are best finished once they’re started.”
Cillian scowls. “One wonders why you would start when this audience has been on your calendar for weeks?—”
I cut him off. “Then it can’t possibly be that urgent.”
“For weeks,” he repeats. “Because that is how long you’ve been rescheduling it or making excuses.”
Sweat sizzles on my back from the exertion. I pull off my shirt and toss it at him. He takes a half-step back, so it crumples at his feet.
I can’t help myself from taunting him. “You could join me, you know. I might finish faster with a bit of help.” A pull on the beta’s dyed hair draws another squeal, but also a satisfying clench of her cunt that draws my balls up tight. “Rochelle…that’s your name…right, sweetheart? I’m sure Rochelle wouldn’t mind.”
I know damn well Rochelle isn’t the beta’s name, but I didn’t listen when she initially mumbled it. Betas live for these little signs of disrespect, of degradation. It makes them feel more like Omegas.
And the way it feels when her body tightens up from that small amount of pain is absolutely divine. It’s almost enough to make me forget the coming shit storm gathering on the horizon.
Cillian’s mouth maintains a stiff frown, but his eyes burn. “Unfortunately, I’m on duty. Some of us still remember what that is.”
The barb isn’t meant to be subtle. I flash him a rueful smile, acknowledging that the arrow hit its mark.
Duty.
Obligation.
Burden.
I might consider abandoning it all if I thought we might survive the experience.
Cillian is the commander of my personal guard. Has been almost since we were both adolescents. He knows he isn’t supposed to leave my side unless relieved by another member of the guard that I trust.
Too bad for him. I don’t particularly trust anyone right now.
I hold his gaze as I continue to pound the squirming beta, not breaking eye contact even as I switch my grip to hold her more firmly. She probably can’t help the frantic little movements. Any thoughts of her pleasure have shifted to the far periphery of my thoughts, assuming they ever existed.
Cillian doesn’t blink. His features settle into a familiar mask as he holds my gaze. The ability to hide his true self away is both an innate talent and something honed over a lifetime spent navigating court politics. He would probably say that my moods are the more difficult dance to master, but answers like that are why I don’t ask the question.
He might do me the courtesy of expressing his disgust silently, but it still pisses me off.
I grip a handful of the beta’s hair and use it as leverage to yank her body up against mine. The dark strands wrapped around my fist have purple highlights. I resist the urge to tear them out by the roots.
Somehow, a rumor spread that I prefer the color. Too many of the harem betas have resorted to bad dye jobs, hoping to catch my attention. Little do they seem to realize that this particular shade might as well be a red banner waving in front of a raging bull.
I fucking hate it.
One arm anchors around her waist to keep her still when she bucks hard enough to almost push me out of her while letting out another annoying screech.
Betas are much more enjoyable to fuck when they’re in a little pain. They don’t squeeze down with anywhere near enough force from pleasure alone.
The position forces Cillian to get an eyeful of bouncing, fake tits. I’m basically daring him to look away.
And how can he? What if an assassin chooses that precise moment to burst through the window? Then he’ll have to explain to the crown that he let one of their royal princes die in favor of minding his own tender sensibilities.
A pink flush colors Cillian’s cheeks. Anger flashes in the depths of his eyes, but only for a fraction of a second before he hides the emotion away with everything else that he buries down deep within himself.
I don’t keep the challenge from my expression as I stare him down. If he wants to turn this into a fight, then I’m more than ready.One of these days, I’m going to make him lose that composure and all of his control with it. The sheer amount of bloodshed might be enough to put a Roman legion to shame.
Cillian blinks first. He finally tears his gaze away from mine. The icy blue of his eyes shifts to pale grey in the light as his attention flits around the room for a few seconds without landing on a reasonable target. It doesn’t take long for him to remember his duty, and he finally returns to watching me. Though this time he doesn’t meet my eyes. He keeps his gaze fixed on the thin chain around her neck. The stamped insignia of the royal harem hangs from the end, bouncing off her chest
I fuck her harder, making those tits bounce along with the stamped pendant.
“Would you like it if we both took a turn with you, honey?” I ask, pounding harder with each word. “I know about those prince-and-his-guards fantasies you girls whisper to each other at night. Every one of you wants a pack of hungry alphas with their teeth at your throats.”
To her credit, the girl doesn’t miss a beat. “Not just our throats, my prince. Anywhere you want. ”
I lift her higher until her toes just barely touch the floor. She makes a sound somewhere between pain and pleasure, but she doesn’t stop meeting each of my strokes with a practiced twist of her hips.
She would probably let me choke her to death on my knot if I asked, but I still appreciate the effort. Harem betas are scheming, desperate things at their best, but who can really blame them? Their options are limited. The king might allow his harem to be shared with his sons and other high-ranking Alphas at court, but the competition remains fierce. Any harem beta that wants to last long enough to birth an heir has to display more than just easy enthusiasm to maintain her place.
If they go long enough without finding favor, then they’re forced out. The expense of feeding and housing them in luxury is paid off on their backs.
On their backs or standing up to be fucked from behind in a gloriously filthy display for a Saturday morning.
Those options are limited only by the imagination.
Motherhood guarantees a permanent place at the palace, though the odds of it are remote enough to be almost laughable.Though it doesn’t stop any of them from trying their absolute best.
“You’ll do anything I want, won’t you, darling?” I croon in the beta’s ear. My words aren’t actually meant for her, but I still appreciate the little shiver she gives in response. “I bet this cunt could stretch wide enough to take us both at the same time. Bet you’d love that.”
Her adrenaline spikes, and I taste the scent of her fear on my tongue. The girl stays in the moment, though, despite some understandable concern. “Oh, yes. Please, Alpha. Please, Prince Logan. Give me all of it. I want both of your knots.”
I wrench her head hard enough to rip out some of that purple hair if she didn’t jerk up with the movement. The growl emanating from my chest is made of pure malice. “Cillian isn’t a fucking Alpha, girl. The only knot you’ll get in this room is mine, assuming you can even take it.” Anger casts my vision in a haze of red, with the black fog of oblivion growing at the edges. “Or is that not good enough for you? Maybe you need a lesson on what a true Alpha can do. You won’t even be able to crawl back to the harem when I’m done with you.”
I loosen my hold on her waist, letting his full weight rest against my thrusting hips. This position forces me deeper. My cock bottoms out hard, battering her cervix with the full force of my hips.
She screams in response, hips bucking away in a futile escape attempt.
It’s the sort of punishment an Omega could take without permanent damage.
But if I wanted one of those, then I’d have one.
“Please, Alpha,” she sobs. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
Cillian’s gaze flicks to the tears tracking down her cheeks, face expressionless. I don’t cease the punishing rhythm of my hips,even though the pleasure has diminished. Fear and pain might serve a purpose, but they do little in and of themselves. She is barely clenching on me anymore and the frantic twitching of her hips is more annoying than it is erotic.
Too bad it isn’t her submission I’m waiting for.
I could command him, but I resist the urge. Somehow, this has become a battle of wills and it runs far deeper than a royal commanding his lesser. Cillian will come to heel because he simply isn’t capable of doing anything else.
He just needs a reminder.
“Tell me I have the only knot you could ever want.” Each word is spoken on an exhaled growl. I must sound like I’m about to tear out that pretty throat, but I can’t stop myself. “Beg me to give it to you.”
Repeating the words, she bares her neck in whimpering submission. I let my growl morph into a low purr in response. As a reward, I release my hold on her arms so she can frantically pluck at her clit. Let the poor thing wring whatever small bit of pleasure from this that she can.
Cillian’s furious gaze finally rises to meet mine. He no longer hides the rage burning in eyes that turn the cloudy gray of a winter storm. He looks at me like he would rip the beta off of me and strangle us both if he could.
A spark of electricity travels up my spine as I finally come. Thank fuck. A few more minutes of this and I might have lost some skin off my dick. My knot presses right up to the beta’s entrance. I don’t force it past that straining skin, even though I know she wouldn’t fight me if I tried. No beta can take a knot without extensive preparation and it would be more cruel than I care to be at the moment to force it.
I haven’t done any real damage to a woman in years, but it doesn’t cost me anything to be careful. And that one girl from a few months ago should have warned me she had a bad hip before we got started. It probably still would have dislocated even if I’d kept to slow thrusts in the missionary position.
The beta makes noises of completion that I’m sure even she knows aren’t believable. But I let her slink away as I tuck myself in the pants I hadn’t bothered to remove. Robbing her of dignity is a side effect of the situation. I don’t care enough to make some sort of point about it.
Pausing at the door, she turns to Cillian as if she might say something to him. My growl chases her away, the sound of my cum squeaking between her thighs, and that damn pendant thumping on her chest echoes down the hallway as she scrambles off.
“That was a new low, even for you,” Cillian snaps.
The smile I give him is mocking. “It hurts that you so consistently underestimate me.”
Cillian’s glare follows me as I brush past him out the door. The echo of his footsteps falling in with mine brings me a grim sort of satisfaction. My position as prince might be the only true power I have over him at the moment, but it’s miles better than nothing.
“I sincerely hope that beta ends up being the one who got away,” he sneers.
I don’t dignify the words with a response because we both already know what I’ll say.
Too late for that.
“ Y ou need an Omega and an heir.”
Thankfully, my head is bowed in supplication when the king makes his pronouncement. I’m not sure how my father would respond if he saw the look on my face .
Fucking Omegas. It always comes back to goddamn fucking Omegas.
“Your grace—” I start.
King Leopold smoothly interrupts. “Prince Ander’s death has placed the crown in a precarious position. Or — more accurately — it has alerted me to the true depths of our precarity.”
I glare at the marble floor of the king’s receiving room. My jaw clenches so hard that the bone might just snap in two. “Prince Ander’s death?”
Leopold makes a sad humming sound. “Have you not heard? I’m told your brother died in some sort of hunting accident. Tragic, to say the least. We’ll have him laid in state in a few weeks, so all and sundry can pay their respects. I expect you and all of your brothers to be in attendance.”
My jaw clenches. “As you wish, sire.”
He makes an expansive gesture for me to rise and then flicks his fingers at a servant lingering unobtrusively to one side.
I rise as gracefully as possible considering that my stereotypically Alpha frame isn’t built for supplicating.
Outwardly affable and nearly universally beloved, no one outside of his innermost circle understands precisely how my father operates. There are so many minefields to dodge in any given conversation with him. The wrong word in this conversation might see a military officer’s insignia slapped on my chest, a ticket on the next transport to the far outlands in my hand, and instructions to help defend our perpetually hostile borders.
Leopold meanders to the settee, fingers stroking over the brocade fabric as he seems to consider something before finally taking a seat. Finally, allowing me to lower myself into the chair across from him.
A servant presents me with a glass of expensive gin with a single spherical cube of ice floating at the center. Normally, I’d take something that tastes a little less like rubbing alcohol at Christmastime, especially this early in the morning, but turning down the king’s hospitality is a terrible idea.
Leopold takes a sip of his drink, clearly savoring it. “It’s important that we show a united front. The crown is under more threat now than it any other point in our history.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. In fact, I have doubts that Ander’s death was an accident.”
I nearly choke on the next swallow of gin.
Cillian has been my silent shadow since I walked in the room. He takes a hasty step forward as I continue to cough before I wave him away.
“What makes you say that?” I croak the question.
“Whispers and rumors, nothing more. At least for now.” He takes another sip, eyes narrowing over the rim. “I’ve tasked a handful of my personal guard with conducting a discreet investigation. We’ll have to wait and see what they discover.”
Alcohol burns my throat, but the pain is preferable to the words on the tip of my tongue. I swallow and breathe, willing the whirlwind of my thoughts to settle. “You said something about Omegas.”
Leopold loudly claps his hands together and I resist the urge to flinch at the sound.
“Since receiving the news of Ander, I’ve found myself ruminating more and more on my family legacy. He was to be my heir, but had none of his own. I have many sons, of course. More of them than a man needs, in fact. But what comes after?”
A tingling sensation starts at the top of my head, like I’m being poked with fine needles.
Leopold continues unabated, seeming not to notice the queasy look on my face. “Dozens of women in the palace harem, but none of my sons have produced progeny of their own.”
There’s a reason for that, of course, but I doubt he’ll come out and say it.
Any fertile betas in the harem have likely already given the king a child. The moment that happens, they all take the offered option to remove themselves from the harem, even the palace, to raise their lesser princelings in peace somewhere. Impregnating each other’s mothers isn’t an option most of my brothers would pursue, even if they could.
The thought of breeding the king’s leftovers leaves an unpleasant taste behind.
My father has always singularly focused on attempting to breed every pretty beta that crosses his path. The youngest of the princes has to be at least ten years old now, so I assume the king’s spunk has all the potency of baby powder at this point.
I have more brothers than I care to know, and the vast majority of them regard me with the same level of apathy.
My, and Ander’s, mother had been the king’s Omega mate before her death when I was a child. She gave him two sons, an heir and a spare, but no more. I like to think she would have been bloodthirsty enough to strangle a few of my brothers with their own umbilical cords if it meant protecting us. The king has never attempted to take another Omega, so all the other princes were born of harem betas.
“We’re all still young,” I say, instead of what I’m thinking. Which is that fatherhood holds about as much appeal to me as fucking a light socket bareback.“Nikolai is the oldest of us, and he is barely forty.”
“Forty, and still without a mate.” Leopold leans forward to close the distance between us, a wild light in his eyes. “My sons need Omegas. Mating an Omega practically guarantees an ability to procreate successfully.”
Damn.
Cillian’s face is his familiar mask, but I feel the schadenfreude rolling off him like a buzz under my skin. The fucker is living this up, watching me take the worst news from the only person in the world to whom I bow my head.
“I’m a little young for fatherhood.”
“You’re twenty-seven. I bonded your mother well before I reached your age, may she rest in peace,” Leopold replies drolly. “A harem beta whelped my first son for me when I was barely sixteen, though neither survived it.”
It also doesn’t help that beta females aren’t built to handle the strain of bringing an Alpha male child into the world. Too many of them die in childbirth.
“If I wanted an Omega, then I would have one.”
From behind me, Cillian shifts his weight from foot to the other. Only the creak of his leather armor gives the movement away.
“I’m not sure you understand me, my boy. This isn’t a request.” The affable smile drops from Leopold’s face as quickly as it had appeared. The coldness in his gaze is a reminder of why he is called Leopold the Butcher in some circles. “You have always been among my favorites, Logan. Truly. But my legacy is something that I will not compromise.”
I clear my throat to speak, but have nothing to say.
Then he speaks the words that send a chill of genuine fear down my spine.
“You could be my heir.”
Lightning flashes in my vision. The sound of rushing water fills my ears.
There isn’t an Alpha in existence who doesn’t crave power. We’re biologically programmed to seek control, to battle for dominance until the pecking order is firmly established.
As a child, I’d technically been seventh in line for the throne by birth order alone. But the biggest dominoes have the greatest tendency to fall in the royal capital. One of my older brothers had been struck on the head as a child, addling him in a way that left him no more advanced than the average toddler. Two others had died mysteriously. Another joined the priesthood and took a vow of abstinence.
Being crowned king isn’t something I’d ever realistically considered for myself, especially not when Ander was still alive.
Birth order is important, but the king’s favor always waxes and wanes. He has announced and then renounced heirs to suit his moods. Before this very moment, I would have insisted on having no particular desire for the throne. Openly stating otherwise would have put a target on my back, daring too many of my brothers to strike at it.
Leopold didn’t even inherit his throne. He took it. Too many have forgotten that the crown was drenched in blood when placed on his head. Technically, my father could name any of my brothers as his heir without accusations of breaking tradition.
I want this, even though I know damn well I can’t have it.
The knowledge is a weight on my chest, crushing the life out of me.
Heirs don’t last long in Melilla. More than one of the former harem betas might consider stabbing me in my sleep if it meant bringing their own spawn one step closer to the throne.
Leopold continues to speak. I force myself to focus on his words rather than the spiral of my own thoughts.
“I know you’ve had your own struggles with finding the right Omega. The Enclave only sent the one for your approval before you told them to stop bothering. I can only assume their training methods are not to your liking. I’ll admit they do put out the most prim and proper of specimens, don’t they? A desperate beta with something to prove presents a much worthier distraction than a simpering Omega who has been taught that her cunt drips liquid gold.” He doesn’t wait for confirmation that I agree with him, but gives me a knowing smile. He takes a careful of his drink and leans back in the chair. “I’ve come to a decision. Only a prince who has mated an Omega and continued our line with a worthy male offspring will be named my heir.”
A burning sensation settles in my chest. Fire in the blood. Desire. Craving. Knowing that I can’t give into it makes the feeling even more dangerous. “Go on.”
“Unfortunately, the Enclave’s ranks have thinned as of late. Their enrollment has been at record lows for years. Most of their upcoming graduates are already under contract, so I’ve come up with a novel solution.” Leopold spread his arms wide, as if making some grand pronouncement. “I plan to put out a call, not just in the capital, but in every part of the country. I know there are unbonded Omegas who have never officially registered or attended the Enclave. Any Omega who presents to the palace will be welcomed into the harem for the selection of my sons. She, or her family, will be gifted her weight in credits from the treasury if she is chosen for a mating contract.”
Desperate families would hogtie their daughters and toss them on the palace steps like suckling pigs ready to roast.
Even with the reward, there still won’t be enough Omegas to go around to all of us. Sure, the chance to become queen is attractive enough to bring them out of the woodwork, but the genetic mutation gets rarer with every generation. There simply aren’t enough of them for every one of my brothers to have one. Joining a pack and sharing is the only option for most of us, even princes.
Few Omegas actually enjoy being shared. Their natural resistance leads to forced submission, which is a turn-on for the nastier Alphas out there. Luckily, there are always betas around to scratch the itch if you can’t bring yourself to share.
Personally, I’ve found betas easier to deal with in almost every way. Less needy, no pesky scent-matching to confuse what should be a purely sexual relationship and if you get sick of one, you can always easily find another.
The last thing I fucking want is a needy little Omega female skulking around, especially now.
“Have you already talked to any of my brothers about this?” I ask.
“Not yet, but I will.” A knowing smile before the king abruptly rose from his seat. “Let’s call this a little head-start. Just for you.”
He waves a hand in dismissal, granting me a mocking smile when I give him a low bow and back out of the room.
Cillian vibrates with barely coiled energy as he follows me out into the hallway. He’s smart enough to wait until we’ve left the king’s wing to speak, though nowhere in the palace is entirely safe from prying eyes.
“Omegas hold the keys to the crown. I never thought I’d see the day.” His voice is pitched low, lips barely moving. “And all of it, thanks to Prince Ander.”
My gaze flicks over the guards at attention as we pass through the door to the antechamber. “May there be some good to come from this tragedy.”
Cillian makes a strangled noise in his throat and I resist the urge to punch him squarely in the throat. Guards at attention line the hallways and any of them could be a spy for the king.
The investigation into Ander’s death is going to be a problem. I did a decent job with my father of balancing genuine surprise and appropriate grief, but one conversation is easy. Ander and I interacted publicly on only a handful of occasions over the years. It wouldn’t have made sense to fall on my knees and scream my protests to the heavens.
I reacted in exactly the way my father should have expected. I sincerely hope that I imagined the sly knowledge in his expression. If he’d brought up the investigation for ulterior motives, I would have seen suspicion in his eyes.
Right?
Cillian holds a door open for me. I brush close enough to hear the murmur meant only for my ears.
“Hopefully, there won’t be enough credits left in the treasury to fund a full investigation into Ander’s death once the king is done stockpiling Omegas.”
I certainly hope so, considering I’m the one who killed him.