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Wasn’t that what he wanted, though? Fadon asked himself. She needed to be claimed. He had seen the destruction that could ensue when an unclaimed omega went into heat, and could only imagine the chaos and calamity if it happened here, in the manse, where there were way more alphas under this roof than the ten that night in the cave. He had to trust that his brother would take her, whether tonight or in three days’ time.
He also had to remind himself that she was Lysander’s Fealty Bride, not his.
After traveling with her ever since the envoy had left Providence, it was obvious now to Fadon that she was a true omega. Her softness, her deep sense of empathy, how her soul thrived in nature… Ongar, even her obsession with furry things that foreshadowed her need to nurture, all were traits of the Omega in her. She was the walking antithesis of Alpha. Smooth to his harsh, gentle to his rough, water to his heat.
He twisted in his seat, burning with desire for his brother’s soon-to-be wife.
“Fadon, pay attention and stop stirring,” Mari said before resuming her conversation with the Servant.
He slowly let out a breath, stretched his neck, and focused.
“No, it wasn’t a message I had sent anyone to deliver.” Mari tilted her head, her finger tapping her chin.
Fadon quickly picked up the conversation and asked, “Has Ander been here the whole time, at the Mor, since I left?”
She sipped her drink and nodded. “Yes. We actually had a long conversation that morning.” Her gaze went inward, and her expression was blank.
Fadon was curious. He had seen that same expression only a handful of times, times when she didn’t think anyone was watching. It reminded him of when he’d seen his brother in the library, before he’d left for Providence, as if a curtain had fallen, revealing the true nature within. Had Ander confided in her about the trouble he had been having? Gods, he hoped so.
“And,” she added, returning once more to her usual self, “after receiving the Servant’s note Arik had delivered, I made sure to keep him here.”
“So, we can assume it wasn’t the prince who wrote the letter. And it wasn’t you, Captain,” Demos said, reclining his head in Fadon’s direction.
“I can think of no one who—” Fadon started to say but then thought of something. “Could House Dega—”
Mari flicked a dismissive hand. “Don’t be stupid. Lucius has no reach or interest in the goings-on here at House Trajan.”
“Are you sure about that? It was only two months ago that you wanted to play footsies with him.”
Her eyebrow raised and she sniffed distastefully. “Brother, never say that word again.”
“If I may, Queen Alpha,” Demos interjected.
Mari inclined her head.
“I believe,” Demos said haltingly, as if each word held weight, “this is the Owl’s doing.”
“The Owl?” Mari and Fadon said at the same time.
Demos nodded. “There is a faction within the ranks that would… benefit from Lysander’s not marrying Sierra.”
Stunned, Fadon sat forward. “But that would mean war. The only way they could prevent such a thing would be to separate them.” He looked at his sister, mystified.
“Are you suggesting,” Mari said, her tone a dangerous threat, “that someone wanted the Servant to deliver Sierra to the Basilica, under the ruse that the prince was there, waiting?” She stood, and a low growl reverberated around the room. “An ambush. An actual ambush? How dare they!”
“Demos, this faction,” Fadon said, his body fully awake now, “what are their numbers? How substantial is this threat?”
The Servant looked thoughtful for a moment before responding. “I cannot guarantee this is their doing, but if it is, they would be utterly foolish to carry anything out that would harm the prince or princess. I can see thwarting, muddling. But nothing dangerous. From what I’ve observed, nine Servants are a part of this faction.”
Mari spun around, her expression determined. “I will speak to your superior, then…” She paused when she saw Demos hold up a palm.
“Queen Alpha, I strongly advise not doing that.”
Mari sat back down, giving her whole focus to the Servant. “And why is that?”
Demos didn’t say anything, only held the queen’s stare as they communicated without words, leaving Fadon feeling left out and impatient.
“Fadon, leave us.” Mari demanded, remaining still as a statue, her eyes on Demos.
