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“We’re here to discuss the Fealty of Titus.” Her lips twitched in excitement. “We’ve been here long enough, and winter is about to set in for most of the land below. I’ve given it enough time now, and the Owl has just left with orders to procure the bride and ready her receiving. As you know, the choice of female is the Basilica’s decision. I’m sure she’ll be just… lovely.” Mari’s smirk said she hoped otherwise.
Fadon’s brother, his lean body lazily sprawled on the throne like a cat, waved a hand in indifference. “Wonderful. Make the arrangements for whoever the lucky man is. Anything else?” Ander tossed back his wine, looking ready to take his leave.
“Why, brother dear,” Mari cooed, “you are the lucky man. Don’t you wish to discuss your nuptials? I was thinking a—”
She didn’t have a chance to finish the rest of that sentence before Ander spat out a mouthful of wine, spraying a few who were seated at the front table, Fadon included.
“What game are you playing at, Sister?” Ander gripped the cup in his hand as a servant bent over him with a cloth to wipe up the wine from the prince’s shirt. He threw the servant a dark look and roughly grabbed the cloth. “I’ve got it. Go on with you.”
The servant hastily bowed, walking backward to return to his corner.
Beside Fadon, Jon laughed low.
“It’s well-time you marry, Ander.” Mari fingered the material of her gown and sniffed in that courtly manner those from regal births seemed to adopt from the cradle, Fadon excluded. “You are too old to be playing the bachelor. All your numerous exploits, the lengthy trips to the edges of who knows where, the drunken stupors. Things need to change.”
Ander narrowed his eyes at her, probably wrestling against the desire to throttle her. “And what of you, my queen?” The last word came out patronizing, and Fadon geared himself for another bout of never-ending family drama.
Fadon turned to his left to look at Jon, who looked to be having a hard time keeping laughter at bay.
“I am happily content where I am,” Mari said. “That isn’t the point anyway. The Fealty must be made, and the arrangement for your marriage has been settled. Once you and your bride arrive home, the Mor—”
“Oh, dear sister, that will not be happening,” Ander said, shaking his head and laughing.
“As Queen Alpha of the Ongahri, I have spoken and it will be done.” She clenched her teeth, practically hissing the words. “You will leave as soon as we get word back from the Owl as to her location. Collect the girl, bring her here, and we shall have the customary celebration.” She nodded Zion’s way, and the older man began scribbling on parchment.
Ander pressed his lips, rubbing his jaw. It wasn’t often that Ander’s lofty personality switched to hot rage. But it was known to happen at least once a year.
From his chair, Fadon could feel the anger emanating from his brother, and he readied himself when Ander stood, leaning over his sister’s throne. Differences aside, Mari was Fadon’s queen, and her Alpha call was still his to heed. He’d have no choice, nor hesitation, if he had to intervene.
Fadon couldn’t hear whatever frantic whispers were said between them, but when Ander turned around and swiftly left the hall, he relaxed once more. Annoyed, yes, but relieved he didn’t have to go between the two siblings, brats that they were.
“Go to him, Fadon.” Mari looked at her older brother intently. “The stubborn fool listens more to you than he does his own queen!”
Fadon sighed, knowing that to argue was a futile endeavor. “And bid him back?”
She motioned for more wine. “No. Leave him to rot, for all I care. There will be a royal marriage, one way or another. Let him know that this is non-negotiable.” Then she waved her hand at him in dismissal.
Fadon grit his teeth and stood, bowing in front of her before taking off for gods knew where to find his wayward brother.
Jon tilted his head as Fadon passed, his long blond hair hiding what was mostly a smirk, no doubt. The bastard enjoyed seeing his captain play these nursery games with Fadon’s siblings. Jon was an only child, practically raised inside his omega grandmother’s skirts, and hence had no idea how frustrating it was to deal with blood. Talk about spoiled.
Molded by a King Alpha, Fadon and his siblings knew nothing of softness. Some would say they overcompensated for that lack by surrounding themselves with power, privilege, and pleasure. That was certainly true of Mari and Lysander. For himself, Fadon just wanted order, a good meal, and a warm bed.
Searching through the manse’s halls looking for a pampered prince wasn’t any of those things. But needs must, as Zion was fond of saying.
Finally, as Fadon passed the last room on the second floor of the north wing, his eyes spied the dark hair and tall frame of his brother, who was standing by the window in the library, his hands on the glass windowpane. His head was bowed, and an air of dejection painted his silhouette in repose.
Fadon studied him from the doorway. Without an audience to impress, it was like seeing a stranger standing there. Ander’s lean form, dressed in courtly attire—leather breeches, white linen shirt, brocade vest, polished boots—reminded him that Ander was only twenty-three years or so younger than Fadon. Even though, chronologically, they were over eighty years of age, both resembled men before their prime. No hint of gray or wrinkles or any other evidence of their true ages.
His brother wasn’t the easiest man to get on with. Neither was Fadon, for that matter. Not only were they as different as night and day in temperament, they had grown too far apart over the decades. Ander no longer looked at Fadon as his hero, or his competition, even—those days were long past. But looking at him now, Fadon felt the blood they shared, the pull. And it made him curious.
His boots barely made a sound as Fadon walked into the library. The only light came from the tall, unadorned windows that showcased most of the mountain’s beautiful view of the sky. Leather chairs and massive oak tables occupied the space, and the walls were covered in hundreds of shelves pregnant with books and scrolls.
Ander spoke, not turning around. “Ah, you found me.”
Fadon walked over to a side table and grabbed a bottle of wine. He uncorked it and brought it with him as he made his way to stand at Ander’s side.
“Stunning view, isn’t it?” Fadon took a long pull on the bottle, then handed it to Ander without looking at him. Instead, Fadon’s eyes swept the peaks and valleys that were dusted with an icy frost. Snow would be on the ground before too long and the whole mountain would burn white.
