Page 25 of Omega’s Fealty

He can smell it. I can tell by the way that his nostrils are flaring and the heavy way that he is breathing.

But he stays where he is. He doesn’t get up and walk out.

My heat is “a situation that is going to get us both in the shit.” Those were his words. That and that the two of us have a problem.

I am still not sure if I am going to survive the next few weeks. I assume that there is some kind of ransom demand. Or other demand. Perhaps the people in charge want something other than money. Political leverage perhaps. My father has locked up his fair share of political prisoners.

What happens if Reinhardt says “no”? Would they just let me go? Probably not.

And if everything goes as perfectly as it can for me? If the ransom is paid and I’m handed back to my country, alive and healthy?

Then what?

If I live, I go home. If I go home, I marry. I don’t know who. Reinhardt knows who the candidates are. I don’t.

Maybe it has already been decided. Maybe Father has already signed a marriage contract.

One day, in a cathedral, with the cameras watching me, I will kneel and promise to obey an alpha that I have not chosen and that night he will expect me to submit and I will because that is my duty.

It’s my destiny. I have always known it. I have never really questioned it, because what is the point? It was always inevitable. There was never any other option to compare it to.

I have one now.

He didn’t have to hold my hair back while I was sick. He didn’t have to clean the floor. He didn’t have to sit where I could reach him all day and let me hold onto his arm. Nobody was going to pay him more for it. There is no reason for any of it and he did it anyway.

And he let me take the mask off. He sat there and let me.

I have never been given anything that wasn’t also being taken from me. I don’t know that kind of kindness.

I want one thing just for myself. Just one. Before they hand me over. If they hand me over.

I want it to be him.

I know that it is treason. If anyone ever finds out, it is my death.

I push myself up and get onto my knees, kneeling across from him.

He watches me do it. His hands don’t move.

“Highness,” he says.

“Don’t call me that.”

I put my hand on his face. His jaw is rough under my palm. He shuts his eyes and breathes out through his nose and holds very still.

I lean in and put my mouth on his.

I have never kissed anyone. I don’t know how. I just press my mouth to his and stay there, and for a second nothing happens.

Then his hand comes up and closes in the hair at the back of my head and he tilts my face and shows me.

He kisses me slowly. His mouth is warm and the beard scrapes my chin. I make a noise into it that I can’t help.

He pulls back an inch. His eyes are very dark.

“You know what this is? What you are starting?” he says. His voice has gone rough. “Are you sure this is what—”

“I know what I want.” I say it into his mouth.