He’d known desire before. Lust came easily to an Alpha, but this was different. This was instinct’s whisper, ancient and undeniable, stirring a yearning to know his Omega. It took aconscious effort to keep his breathing even, to not pull her against him and press his face into the curve of her neck and seek the natural fragrance she so carefully guarded.
He found himself leaning forward, just enough to catch more of her warmth. She sat with such careful stillness, her frame a taut string. He wondered what it would take for her to relax. To trust him enough to lean back. Torest.
He cleared his throat. “Do you tire, Princess? We can slow the pace if need be.”
“I’m fine, my lord,” she murmured. “I’ve walked farther on worse roads.”
She said it without self-pity, as if hardship were a familiar companion. When the breeze tugged her veil against his jaw, she steadied it quickly and glanced up. “I don’t want . . . to make the journey harder for you.”
“On the contrary,” he said, “you make it easier.”
In that moment, he knew his words were more than courtesy. He’d never spent much time imagining the perfect woman. He didn’t favour thin or thick, dark or fair, only someone who could help him restore his House. Now the abstract idea of that partner suddenly had a face, and it was the one glancing up at him now, half-veiled and wary.
He frowned as he caught sight of the sharp bone protruding from her wrist, and remembered the feel of the jutting ribs beneath her cloak when he’d encircled her waist to help her mount. Women came in all shapes, he knew, but her slenderness didn’t seem natural. It was the sort of thin that spoke of years without enough food, warmth, or care.
The realization gnawed at him, the urge todosomething making him shift restlessly. He wanted to see her eat well, sleep deeply, walk in sunlight without shadows beneath her eyes. To see herthrive, not merely endure.
She looked up just then, catching his shift. “Am I taking up too much space, my lord?”
He almost laughed. “Hardly. You weigh less than my cloak. We’ll have to put some meat on your bones before winter. Blackwood-Veyrde’s cold enough to bite through bone. You’ll need more padding.”
She lowered her head, silent for a moment.
“I hope you’ll not begrudge me some furs, my lord. I’ve heard your land produces such luxuries.”
“Sables, minks, foxes—take your pick,” he said. “I’ll see you wrapped from throat to toe in the finest pelts we have.”
He nearly added something more—something wicked about keeping her warm himself—but held back. There’d be time for teasing, for whispered promises and shared heat, once she felt safe enough to welcome them.
For now, it was enough that she agreed to ride with him.
The breeze stirred her veil again, brushing it against his chin. Light as gossamer, yet it remained a barrier between them. Alexander respected the tradition, but it gnawed at him nonetheless, this strange intimacy without a full face.
“The veil,” he said at last. “I assume it is a Xûen custom.”
He felt her tense, the muscles in her back drawing tight against him.
“It is,” she replied. “Women of the court must wear veils whenever they leave the palace. Stricter still for brides. The groom may not glimpse the bride’s face before the wedding.”
The mention of that night made her fidget, a movement that carried unease. For Alexander, it stirred a deep ache.
He forced his thoughts elsewhere before embarrassment overtook him. Still, his mind conjured images of them together—how she would fit beneath him on their wedding night. Would he crush her with his size? Terrify her with his hunger? Solthar helphim, he hoped not. He wanted her to meet him not with fear, but with mutual passion.
As an Alpha and Omega, they were said to be nature’s perfect match—bound by instinct, ruled by scent and pull. In theory, their bodies would know how to fit together. But Alexander hoped for more than instinct.
He hoped one day she’d see him as more than an Alpha claiming her, and he’d see her as more than an Omega surrendered.
It surprised him, this hope, because it had never mattered before. He’d expected duty and tolerance—maybe fondness, if they were fortunate. Not this yearning for something gentler. For laughter shared between meals. For a future built not on obligation, but on tenderness.
He drew a steadying breath.
“I mean no disrespect,” he said after a pause. “I only asked because I wished to understand. If it is your custom, I would not shame it.”
At that, she relaxed slightly. “Thank you, my lord. That . . . means much to me.”
He nodded, though she couldn’t see it. “Still,” he added with a slight smile, “it does make it harder to know if you’re smiling when I tease you.”
A soft exhale escaped her, almost amusement. She didn’t answer, but he thought he felt some of the tension lift from her shoulders.
