Page 3 of The Girl Beneath the Sea

My alpha head of security fills the doorway in his gray suit, earpiece wire running down into his collar.

Havel is sixty, cropped gray hair, a neck going soft over a hard frame, and the bond mark above his collar is so old it shows silver. He joined my detail when I was nine. His omega sends a tin of honey cakes to the palace every Christmas, addressed to me.

He also has no scent. Part is because I am only permitted bonded alphas over fifty, vetted back three generations, with grandchildren and pensions. The other part is that Havel and his colleagues take the strongest scent blockers possible.

I have never in my life been alone with an unbonded alpha. There was no school, only tutors, and the tutors were betas. The doctors are betas. The guards are the only alphas near me.

“Car at seven, Highness. It’s raining.” He crosses to the window, checks a latch he checked this morning, says a word into his sleeve, and turns back.

When I was eleven he taught me chess on a magnetic travel set because I asked him what the security men did in their heads all day. Watching, he said. Counting doors.

He set up the board and made me play until I could tell him, at any moment, without looking up, how many people were in the cabin and where. It is the most useful thing anyone has ever taught me. Reinhardt found out, and the chess stopped.

“Havel. The footage they keep showing here. The square, in February.” I keep my voice low. “Was anyone killed?”

He looks at me for a moment. His earpiece murmurs against his jaw and he ignores it.

“That’s a question for the minister, Highness.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Yes.” He straightens a cushion for no good reason that I can see. “Don’t ask me that kind of thing with anyone else in the room.”

“I know. That’s why I asked you now.”

He will log it. He logs everything. But he answered me.

The corridor door opens without a knock, which means Reinhardt.

He comes in trim and silver and pleasant, overcoat over one arm, tonight’s cards in his hand. My father’s prime minister since before I was born — and for the last four of them, the real power of Monteverra.

“Highness. You look very well.” He says it to the suit rather than to me.

“Tonight is taped and will air Thursday. She will open with your family, then tourism. Then the trade package — you do not speak about the trade package. You leave it to the ministers, you smile, you say you are only a prince. She will love that.”

“I have read the script,” I say. He always talks to me like this. As if I am a child who needs to be reminded to follow instructions. I always follow instructions. I am always a good obedient omega. I do my duty. I think he just likes to remind me of my place.

“Good.”

I know my lines.

My father is following every step of this tour with great pleasure. He is very proud of our joyful relationship with the American people and is very sorry that affairs of state mean that he cannot be with us.

My father currently calls me by my dead brother’s name. If he recognizes me at all.

“And if she raises the statutes,” Reinhardt says. “She won’t. But Americans surprise you.”

“Monteverra’s traditions protect and honor our omegas,” I say. I have learned this by rote. “We are always willing to have the conversation, but we won’t change for change’s sake. Any changes must ensure that our omegas are still protected and safe. We revere omegas and that is why we have our statutes.”

Reinhardt nods, satisfied. “Good,” he says again.

“I did not see a response for the marriage question,” I venture. I am sure they are going to ask it.

“They have agreed not to ask it.”

“It’s the only question any of them want to ask. The panel on the television discussed it at length.”

“If it comes up regardless: when the time comes, my family will guide me.” He waits. “Say it, please.”