Episode 25 Command Performance
Florence
My alarm goes off far too early for my liking. I’ve never been a naturally early riser. If left to my own devices, I’m a champion sleeper.
“Wha-” Court yawns from where he’s wrapped around me. He came in late last night, smelling of soap and paint. Like he’d tried to wash it off but quit halfway through in favor of coming to bed and cuddling me.
“It’s nothing,” I whisper to him. “Go back to sleep.”
He grunts and then pulls me tighter against him when I try to wiggle my way out from between him and Grieves.
I’m not entirely sure how this happened, but we all end up piled in my bed each night. It was never explicitly stated or asked for. It just happened. Naturally.
Court was the first, because of course he was. I just woke up one morning to him wrapped around me. The next night Piers appeared at my door and I couldn’t turn him away. Grieves and Thayer were in bed with us the next morning. We’ve spelt together every night since.
And my omega loves it. So much.
“I gotta pee, pretty boy. Let me up.”
With a sigh he relinquishes his hold on me, nuzzling into my pillow instead as I carefully slip out from under the covers and down to the foot of the bed, trying to not disturb Thayer and Piers as well.
A glance over my shoulder shows me Court already back asleep, but Grieves is watching me, hair a loose mess around his head.
I give him a reassuring smile, one that says, I’m not up to anything, bruiser. Go back to sleep.
He arches a brow in a way that says, I don’t believe you, bubbles.
I shrug and grab a discarded cardigan off the floor that smells like Thayer, pulling it on over my sleep shorts and cami, and then pad on quiet feet out of the room and into the kitchen.
The faint sound of a running shower reaches my ears as I start the coffee maker, and then get started on making breakfast.
By the time Forsythe strides into the kitchen, fully dressed for the day in a charcoal suit, light blue shirt, and navy tie, I have a place set for him at the island, a plate of breakfast in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee in the other.
He draws up short when he sees me, eyes widening almost comically, like seeing me up this early is on par with seeing a ghost. “Florence.”
“Forsythe.” I set the plate of food on the placemat on the island along with the coffee, and then motion to the chair. “Sit.”
He looks at the food, the coffee, then the door and then me. “I don’t really have the time, cor mea. I’m sorry. I have an early morning meeting-”
“Forsythe.” His mouth snaps closed at my harsh tone. “Sit down, eat your breakfast and talk to me or I will pack my bags and go home today.”
His face folds into a frown. “I don’t respond well to threats, Florence.”
“Is that a threat? It doesn’t seem to me like you care one way or another if I’m here.
I’ve been here over a week and this is the first time since you dropped me off at this apartment that we’ve said more than two words to each other.
Meanwhile, you’ve been seen out with Isadora twice, Forsythe. Twice.”
The muscles in his jaw flex like he’s gritting his teeth. Like he wants to say something but is holding back the words. I wish he wouldn’t, wish he’d just say whatever the hell he wants to.
“If you want me to stay here, your highness, you’re going to have to sit your ass down and convince me to. Now. Or I’m gone.”
He glances at the door again, and then his watch, like he’s calculating how much time he can waste on my request and goddammit, it hurts.
“Fine,” he says tightly, moving to the chair and sitting in it stiffly.
“Well, don’t do me any favors,” I mutter, grabbing my own cup of coffee and taking the chair next to him.
He stares down at the food, not touching his fork, not even reaching for the coffee.
“I didn’t poison it,” I say after a moment. “And I do know how to cook.”
He lifts his eyes to mine. “I remember.” His voice is low and intimate. A reminder that he was there, in that nes-blanket fort. That he orchestrated my pleasure like a maestro, telling us where to go, what to do.
I shiver and tighten my grip on my coffee cup to keep from reaching for him. “Eat your breakfast, Forsythe.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up and he dips his head. “As you command, omega.”
I wait until he’s taken the first bite, chewed, swallowed, before I say, “I want to leave.”
He nearly chokes on the bite of toast in his mouth, but he manages to keep breathing, glaring at me as he gulps from the perfectly made coffee and then says, “what?”
“The apartment,” I clarify. “I want to leave the apartment. You didn’t let me finish before you started nearly dying on me.”
There’s another of those long moments where he just looks at me, a wave of complicated emotions moving over his face, before he gives his head a sharp shake, turning back to his breakfast. “No.”
That’s it. That’s all I get.
I push aside the hurt at how easily he’s able to brush aside my request, take a deep breath and try again.
“Please? It's been a week of being cooped up in here, Sythe. I’ve always wanted to come to Bravonne, to see the sights, try the food, go to a pub, all that. Piers said if you approved the guards we could go. Even just for an hour or two?”
“I’m sorry, Florence, but the answer is still no.”
He turns back to the plate, working his way through the omelet I made for him with efficiency, like he’s only eating to appease me. Like he can’t wait to get away from me.
I set my coffee cup down, uncurl my legs and pop off the stool. “Fine.”
There’s something in my tone that has him tensing, tilting his head to watch as I round the island and stand on the other side of it.
“Cor mea?”
I ignore the way my heart clenches at the endearment. Ignore the way I want nothing more than to throw myself onto his lap and curl up and beg him to just choose me. Instead I reach forward and snatch the plate away from him.
“Wha-I wasn’t finished!”
“Yeah,” I turn on my heel, pull out the hidden trash can and dump the half-eaten breakfast into it before slamming it closed. “You were. You didn’t even want to eat it to begin with.”
I keep my back turned to him as I move to the sink and start washing the dishes from my early morning cooking session. What a stupid thing to do, to think that maybe this would change his mind.
But food is practically sacred to alphas and omegas. When an alpha gives it to their omega, they’re saying ‘I can provide for you.’ When an omega gives it to their alpha, they’re saying ‘I can care for you.’
I thought maybe if he knew I cared for him, that I want to care for him in the way an omega cares for their alpha, then maybe he would… I don’t know? Come to the magic conclusion that he can’t live without me and damn the consequences.
I feel his eyes on me as I work, the prickling on the back of my neck enough to let me know he hasn’t moved. And for a moment, I think he might actually stay. That this will be the morning he chooses us, his pack and not his duty to the crown.
But then the stool scrapes across the floor making me flinch, knowing I was wrong and he’s going to leave.
“Florence.”
I ignore him, scrubbing the pan I used for his stupid perfectly made omelet.
“Cor mea.”
I shake my head and scrub harder as his footsteps move toward me. His arms appear on either side of my hips, hands resting on the edge of the sink as he presses into my back. His honey whiskey and leather scent makes my knees go a little weak, but I refuse to let them bend.
“Go away,” I mutter at him. “I’m mad at you.”
His huff of laughter brushes over the top of my head. “I know, love. I’m sorry you’re frustrated. I’m frustrated too. Believe me. If I could give you what you asked for, a day outside of this flat, I would do it in a heartbeat, Florence. But it’s not safe. Not yet.”
I frown as I rinse the pan and then shut the water off, turning in his arms to peer up at him. “How is it not safe? If I go with guards, with men you and Grieves trust, why would that be any different than me being in Granton and out in public?”
His jaw flexes. “It just is, Florence. You have to understand that Bravonne isn’t like the US.
Most of the people here are loyal to the crown, even if they don’t always agree with the decisions my grandmother makes.
And right now she’s made it her mission to discredit you, to prove to Bravonnian citizens that you are a danger to their way of life. To the crown's way of life.”
I frown, folding my arms over my chest. “But how could that be? I’m only one omega.”
“An omega that would be bonded to a prince, would have the ear of the future queen. Right now people are talking about how you were sent here to destabilize our government. It's turning into some kind of wild conspiracy theory. And there are enough mad people in the world that they’ll believe it.”
I frown. “But why? It's not as though I’m out there opposing the queen, stirring up dissenters.” He gives me a long knowing look. “Okay,” I concede. “One time. I did it one time. About one issue that a good portion of Bravonnians are also mad about. Why am I being singled out?”
The prince slides his hands onto my hips, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“Because it suits the Queen’s purpose to have you be the villain.
She wants us to bond with a gently bred, easily controlled omega.
And we both know that’s not you.” His expression is so freaking soft when he says it, full of adoration, like he can’t think of anything better than my defying his grandmother, the Bravonnian people.
“Okay,” I say again. “Fine. So she doesn’t like me and some of the people here don’t like me either.
But that’s not everyone, right? There are plenty of people that just don’t care.
Hell there are plenty of people that like me.
” I smile up at him, seeing if it helps soften him at all.
“I was voted the fan favorite for a reason, Sythe.”