Tor looks at me. “I will have to seek his permission to travel to the South. He may not grant it.”

  The glowing orange eyes of Tor’s uncle rest on me as well. “There is nothing but talk of your beautiful Omega throughout the capital. Your father will not want to take the risk of something happening to her.”

  “Do you think it could work?” I ask Tor when his uncle leaves us at the door of his chamber. I wonder if the governor will even see us, let alone be persuaded to change his request for Tor to mate his daughter.

  “I think it is the only option we have,” he says, the colours on his face faint and subdued.

  “And can your uncle be trusted?”

  “Of course!” Tor says.

  “Of course,” I repeat. “It’s just … someone has been trying to kill you, Tor.”

  I’m learning that Tor sees the good in everyone, even someone like his dad. He finds it hard to comprehend that someone wants him dead.

  “I have not forgotten, Omega.”

  * * *

  Petier, the tailor, arrives two hours before the banquet is due to start. As guest of honour he says I need to look like a goddess and that he intends to make me one. So I stand and let him primp and prime me, adjusting the plumb dress he’s sculptured for me so that it clings to my body, emphasising every curve I possess. The fabric is smoother and softer than silk and the hem hangs heavy with embroidered gems that change colour as I twist the skirt around. I can’t help running my palms all over it, even though this earns me tuts from Petier.

  Next he sets about painting my face. I’m surprised he has the skill to do this too, but he informs me that a tailor of his caliber is responsible for the whole look; dress, hair and makeup.

  I let him work, my mind lost in thought.

  After a while Petier steps back and examines the dark colours he has painted above my eyes. “Your face is always changing. It is very expressive,” he comments.

  “Am I making your job harder?”

  “Not at all, Lady Emma.”

  “Just Emma.”

  He inclines his head. “I find it fascinating, like I can read your mind, your thoughts. They seem to pass over your face in the little movements of your muscles.”

  “I never did have a very good poker face,” I explain.

  “You are concerned about something.”

  I examine Petier’s own passive, unchanging face. His features portray nothing. But I long to understand what he thinks about all I’ve seen today.

  “There was a Beta at the Great Hall today, a young Gryton. The guards were dragging him away.”

  Petier’s arms fall to his sides. “Ahhh, yes. Sprighton.”

  I expect him to say more, to explain what had happened to the Gryton, but he remains silent watching anguish flicker across my face.

  Then he lifts his brush and leans in to sweep colour over my cheek bone. As he does, he whispers quietly in my ear. “May I offer you some advice?” The bristles tickle against my skin. “There are eyes and ears everywhere in Pystor. Be careful what you say and what you do.”

  “So I am learning,” I whisper back. But I can’t heed his advice. “He was so young.”

  “It is a tragedy,” Petier whispers, “but just one of many bestowed upon the Betas, upon the Grytons, every day.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “Some of us hope for a brighter, fairer future,” his voice is so faint I can barely hear him, “when Prince Tor takes the throne.”

  I twist my head to meet his swirling eyes. “It’s not guaranteed Prince Tor will be leader.”

  “Then perhaps our hope is futile.”

  Petier retracts his hand and turns away from me, placing the brush and the pastes carefully into his case.

  Then he starts to work on my hair, and I am quiet again, thinking of his words.

  He’s already curled my hair and is pinning it in cascades to my crown when Tor’s mother arrives. She wears a stylishly cut silver gown and the ridges of her Gryton face have been painted with shimmering colours to match.

  “Hello,” I say, remembering this time not to smile and frighten her. She bows her head.

  “Hello, Omega.”

  “Emma, please,” I tell her. I want to ask her for her name — as no one has thought to tell me — but she doesn’t offer it and it seems a strange question to ask the grandmother of my child.

  Luckily, Petier comes to my rescue. “What do you think of the gown, Lady Cynthia?”

  She moves closer, almost as if she is shy, and casts her eyes over Petier’s creation. Her eyes are gold like Tor’s, complimenting the metallic hue of her dress, and she smells a little like Tor too, in a lighter, more floral way.

  “The colour is very …”

  “Bold,” I answer.

  “It compliments the colour of her skin, don’t you think?”

  “It is bright for an Omega.”

  “I like bright colours.” After months of nothing but white, the bright colours of this world are one of the things I can appreciate wholeheartedly.

  Cynthia inclines her head and takes a seat. I wonder if she hates me. Perhaps she’s heard of the predicament I’ve landed Tor in and resents me for it.

  Silence hangs heavy in the room.

  I glance to Petier for help and somehow the Beta seems to read my thoughts.

  “Are you looking forward to the banquet, Lady Cynthia?”

  “I am.”

  “It is a great honour Lord Qudrat shows your son’s Omega by hosting this as a welcoming gift.”

  “Oh,” I squeak, shifting on my feet. “That sounds pretty terrifying. Do you know what will happen — when we get there, I mean?”

  Petier fixes a pin to my hair and steps back, “I have never been to a banquet.”

  “Tor has not explained this to you?” his mum asks me.

  “There hasn’t been a whole lot of time,” I say thinking perhaps we would’ve been better discussing this when we returned from the Great Hall instead of how we chose to spend our time.

  “As guest of honour, you will arrive at the banquet last and will sit at the head of the table with Lord Qudrat and Prince Tor.”

  I chew my lips, imaging all those pairs of eyes on me. “That’s all?”

  “Lord Qudrat will raise a toast to your health and then the feasting will begin. There will be music and other forms of entertainment.”

  OK, I can do that. A bit of attention and then I can melt into the background while everyone gets merry.

  How bad can it be?

  Chapter 10 — Tor

  I pace outside the door while the tailor and my mother prepare my Omega for the banquet. I would quite happily have sat and watched but Emma shooed me out saying it was off putting to have me staring at her like a hungry molf. And so I’ve been resigned to the corridor with the pet who sits licking his private parts in a most disgusting manner.

  Finally, after I’ve hammered on the door several times to hurry them along, the door slides open and I get my first look at Emma. If I thought she looked stunning in the blue dress yesterday, it is nothing compared to the gown she wears tonight. I’ve never seen an Omega dressed in anything like it. A deep purple colour that slivers over her body like water, emphasising the roundness of her breasts, the pinch of her waist and the curve of her backside.

  Forget showing her off to the other Alphas of Astia, I want to fling her over my shoulder and take her straight to bed.

  Perhaps she sees these thoughts flicker through my eyes because she steps closer and reaches up on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear, “Save it for later, Alpha.”

  “I will hold you to that promise, Omega.”

  “I’m counting on it,” she responds, and I glide my hand around her waist and pull her near.

  The banquet passes in a wink of an eye. I’m so mesmerised by how radiant my Omega looks and my mind becomes so preoccupied with thoughts of removing that dress, that I hardly register all that takes place around me. I grunt answers to various questions, raise my glass when required and eat til I am full. But all my attention is saved for Emma, and she seems to shine like a radiant star among the stuffy old Alphas and the silent Omegas. Once her initial nerves wear off, she speaks easily with those around her, not cowed into submission, and sharing her stories of Earth and her own Universe.

  I do note that this banquet is far more extravagant than anything my father has hosted for a long time. The tables are stacked high with luxurious dishes from across Astia — oysters and shrimp from the midnight seas, roasted flowerbirds and rare moon berries among just a few. There is far too much food for those gathered here tonight, some of the dishes barely touched. The hall glows with golden lanterns, and the famous Beta singer Thalos serenades us as we eat. I wonder if my father hopes to appease the Alphas with this banquet after the long, bloody war with the East. Or wants to remind them of his wealth and power.

  I hope that perhaps my father is right, that this banquet for my Omega will please her, that she will see the best that Astia can offer — that I can provide — and can see that we can be happy here. But my hopes are dashed when she leans towards me part way through the meal, a shadow falling over her face.

  “I can’t stop thinking about that Beta,” she says, twisting a fork in her fingers. “It seems wrong to be enjoying ourselves like this.”

  I slump against my seat. “All you want to see are the faults with my planet.” I know I sound defensive. “I suppose your planet is a perfect Utopia.”

  “Anything but,” she mutters, “But on Earth I was not in a position to change things.”

  Her voice is a low whisper right by my ear.

  “And you think you are in a position to alter things here?”

  “Not me, Tor, you.”

  I clasp my hands together on the surface of the table. The singer Thalos reaches the end of his song, and he lingers on a note, stretching it so it vibrates around the hall, the lanterns flickering against the walls.

  “One day, when you are leader—”

  “If I am leader, Omega,” I hiss.

  “I hear there are some that hope you will be the leader to bring change.”

  Her eyes shift like moving water, taking me in. She opens her mouth to say more, but my mother taps her on the forearm and steals away her attention.

  Dram leans across the table. He has been watching my Omega silently for most of the evening.

  “Your Omega has a ready tongue,” he says, sniffing. I can tell he has been knocking back the wine. His speech is slurred and his eyes fail to focus. “She may look pretty, but she talks too much. And such a low screechy voice. Perhaps the Grytons will not take to human Omegas after all.”

  I know he is attempting to get a rise from me. It has always been the way with him. He picks at me, nipping at me like a pozzquito, hoping I’ll take a swipe at him, so he can go running to our father. My calmness and lack of interest in his insults wind him up even more until he zooms around my head frantically.

  Zyam has often said I ought to knock him off his feet, teach him a lesson, one that will silence his mouth. I would like to do that now. I do not take kindly to insults about my Omega. In fact, it makes my very blood boil. But I know that is what he wants. I torture him more when I ignore him. So I ball my hands into fists under the table and force myself to remain on my chair.

  “You are wrong, Dram — as is so often the case. You see how she has bewitched the Alphas here tonight. Including you — you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off her. I think you are jealous of me, brother.”

  He sniffs a second time. “Why would I want an alien Omega when I could have a Gryton?”

  “And yet you don’t have a Gryton Omega, do you?” I say calmly, and he scrapes back his chair and storms away.

  I blow out the tension and watch him go. Then I swing my eyes over the Gryton lords gathered here tonight. They are the richest and most powerful on Astia. The Alphas with lands across our planet, Grytons who have helped my father to keep his place on the throne over the years and grown wealthy in the process, some rewarded with Omegas.

  Someone among them must be the assassin. Someone among them must want me dead. But as my gaze falls from one to the other, I am at a loss to determine who it may be.

  Is Emma right? Are there some that hope I will be a better, fairer leader than my father? Are there some among the Alphas here tonight that fear this, that wish to prevent me from taking my father’s throne when he is gone?

  My thoughts are interrupted by an old crony of my father’s who takes the seat beside me.

  “Your Omega is a rare jewel indeed, Prince Tor, one to be treasured. But why have you not claimed her? If you’re not satisfied with this little Omega, I’m sure you could find any number of willing Alphas to take her off your hands?” His eyes are lustful and, though I know it is the wine that has loosened his tongue, my fingers ball into fists again and I growl low in my throat.

  Emma hears the noise despite the din in the hall and her hand finds mine under the table.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  I shake my head and blow out a huff of air.

  “Let’s go home,” she says, “I’ve never been to a meal as glamorous as this, but I’d much rather be curled up in bed with you, than talking to a load of old men.” She rolls her eyes. “If one more Alpha tells me how pretty I look and how lucky you are, I might just smack someone on the goddam nose.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  “Well, I’m very willing to do it. Got anyone in particular you’d like me to punch?”

  I think of Dram.

  “There are probably a fair few,” I admit. I lean down and kiss her shoulder. “But no fighting tonight. Let’s go home, Omega. I seem to recall there is a promise you need to keep.”

  * * *

  In the middle of the night, I am woken by a soft knock on my chamber doors. I rise from the bed where Emma still sleeps soundly and, pulling on pants, pad to the front door, grabbing a spear from the wall as I pass. Fluffy pads silently behind me, his eyes glowing in the dim light.

  “Who is it?” I ask and the pet growls.

  “Strax with Zyam.”

  I draw open the door and they slip inside. Both are dressed in long black cloaks that cover their bodies completely, their heavy hoods hanging over their heads.

  “We must leave now,” Strax tells me hastily.

  “You have made contact with the governor?”

  “Yes, and if you wish to meet with him, we must go now undercover of darkness.”

  I drag my hand down my face, attempting to wipe away the heavy sleep still lingering in my mind and body.

  “This could be a trap.”

  “We do not think it is. The governor risks as much by meeting you, as you do him.”

  “Emma thinks I should trust no one. Not even my uncle, not even you, my friends.”

  Zyam crosses his arms and gives me a hard look. “Did I not save your sorry ass at the Battle of Candistor? Did I not risk my own life to do it? Please tell me why I would have bothered if I meant to kill you later?”

  “I know,” I say. The strain of the last few days has gotten to me. “Do you believe this meeting to be safe?”

  Strax glances at Zyam. “We cannot be certain. Someone wants you dead, Tor.”

  “And my father wants me mated.”

  “He will want you dead too when he learns of this treachery,” Zyam says with none of his usual humour.

  “What choice do I have?” I ask.

  “Mate with the Omega Sia as your father requests and keep your human Omega too.”

  I shake my head. My friends are loyal as always, willing to support and help me even though they don’t understand.

  “I can’t. I have found my Omega and I need no other.”

  “You do not have to like the Omega Sia. Mate her once or twice, give her heirs and spend all your time with your human Omega if you wish.”

  “I don’t want to mate any other Omega. I only wish to mate with Emma.”

  “Brother,” Zyam says, “You have already impregnated her.”

  “And I wish to do it again and again! You do not understand the ecstasy of rutting an Omega.” How can they? They are both virgins, indoctrinated with the same nonsense I had been, believing mating to be a necessary evil, rather than the most pleasurable activity in the whole of the three universes.

  “We got a fair idea the other day,” Zyam muses, “I have never heard a female make such noises. I thought your mother would have a stroke!”

  “If things were different here, if Alphas and Omegas were free to choose one another as they are on Emma’s planet, if one Alpha did not take all the Omegas for himself, then you too could have this pleasure.” Perhaps Emma is right, perhaps this is not the only thing that must change on my planet.

  “I would like an Omega of my own,” Zyam says quietly. “Someone who looks at me the way the human does you. A family.” Pale colours shimmer across his skin and I see how earnestly he wants these things.

  “Then let us go,” I tell them. “I will rouse the Omega.”

  “You are bringing her with us?”

  “I cannot leave her alone, unclaimed and unprotected. Beside, my father believes we are travelling to the Southern lands and my uncle will send a decoy there. If she remains here, our deception will be discovered.”

  “You must claim her, Brother.”

  “I know,” I say with irritation. Why does everybody see this apart from Emma? “Wait here. We will be out soon.”

  I go to my dressing room and find a cloak similar to my friends and a spare one for the Omega. Choosing a dress shirt of white silk and a ceremonial jacket I hope will impress the governor, I dress and wrap myself in the midnight cloak.

  Then I return to the Omega. She’s deep in sleep and I wonder if she’s dreaming. It feels cruel to wake her, but I shake her shoulder gently. Her eyelids creak open and she stares at me blankly for several seconds before bolting upright.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

 

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