Page 9

Startled, the Hathorian male flinched, nearly dropping the serving platter as he shrank back. Glancing at Sinadim with smokey, honeyed eyes that grew liquid with bewilderment at being addressed directly—and before a prince.

“In the barracks,” Varjim continued, oblivious to the slight, the reek of a hungry predator rising from his shoulders, “they whisper that even Omega males can grow fat with hybrid brats. Is it true, boy? If I had my generals take turns stuffing you with their knots, would you breed for me?”

At this, Sinadim’s eyes grew slitted and narrow. His attention fixed to Varjim’s face. Noting the cruel slant to full lips. The hungry gleam sparkling in his eyes as he watched the Omega cringe from the open threat of sexual violence.

With an indulgent sigh and a flick of his wrist, Veli ordered his son to, “Stop tormenting the boy,” and took a generous sip of his honeyed mead. “We’ve business to attend, and you’re here to observe, not speak.”

For a moment, Sinadim considered the Zaganos pair. Aware of Varjim’s intense focus where it lingered on the Omega’s tattooed face. The scent of tension rising in a heated wave from Veli’s shoulders as the father sipped his mead and pretended not to notice his son’s obsessive glare, shuffling sheaves of documents before him.

Pouring himself a glass without intending to drink, Sinadim swirled the sickly sweet brew Veli so adored. Letting the scent of fermenting honey clear his nose of the reek of the other males.

Clearing his throat, Veli slid a single parchment across the table. “We’ve fifteen casks to trade this season,” he said, clipped and short. Pausing to take several long pulls from his glass before he spread his hands with a contrite, “Less than last year, I’m afraid. But”—he lifted one shoulder in a flippant, careless shrug—“the drought has been hard on us all. Even on the coast.”

Finished serving, the Omega male moved to stand in Sinadim’s shadow. Ears laid out to either side a clear indication of his terrorized state, despite his willingness to remain at the ready. Trying to make himself smaller in Sinadim’s shadow as Varjim continued to watch with scarcely a blink.

Eyes narrowed, Sinadim’s head tipped to the left. His lips parted as he licked the top row of his teeth all the way back to the molars. A slow sweep that spoke of just how close he was to bloodshed. Just how brittle his restraint. And then, “You can hardly be held responsible for a meager three percent loss in crops from last year.”

Veli’s rings flashed gold. Glittering when he spread his hands. “We do our best to serve the sultanate, my prince. Even in times of ecological stress.”

Sinadim hummed. Letting one claw trail down the list of accounts laid out before him as if he hadn’t already memorized the pertinent details long before Veli and his son had set foot on Karahmet soil.

“And,” Sinadim said, intent on the parchment, “I presume you’ve made stops before coming here? Which would account for the discrepancy between the harvest quota, and your remaining fifteen casks.”

Tiny pings of bristling hair needled the inside of Veli’s mane guard. A hint of his unease at the turn in conversation.

The Zaganos elder cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Well caught, my prince. Trade deals decades old, merely honored,” Veli said, spreading his thick fingers as if in helpless supplication. “Kesh has become a precious commodity coveted by clans too arid to grow it themselves. Ours is a product in endlessly high demand. You understand.”

Sinadim smiled, slow and sickly. Playing the patient, vapid prince to appease Veli and his games.

“If, however,” Veli drawled, casting a secret glance at the door, “the sultanate is in… dire need, we have several dozen bales of unrefined Kesh that might be traded. At a premium, of course. It’s a… shall we say… pet project of mine. I’ve developed a top-shelf strain of Kesh that possesses certain properties that will be the envy of all other clans. It’s being aged in secret dry cellars to improve potency, but… we’d be happy to give the sultanate exclusive purchasing rights of the end product when it becomes available next season.”

To this, Sinadim offered only a hum in return, letting the other man dig himself just a little deeper. Allowing him to reveal what he was really after before Sinadim acted.

“It’s truly a product fit for royalty,” Veli added, filling the silence with nervous chatter. “Used sparingly, it will have your Omega sluts mewling for your knot, fucked pregnant before their heat has truly set in. Used in excess”—he laughed, leaning back with a cocky grin—“and she’ll have more robust litters of healthy large hybrids. And such litters produced with so fine a product are proven to slant male, reducing the female culls.”

Sinadim’s breath stilled in his chest. Frozen for an instant before his nerves flushed hot as he stared without blinking. Straining to disguise his natural reaction, his disgust, he plastered a toothy smile across his lips, and forced, “Such a product would give the sultanate an incredible advantage,” through clenched teeth. “And in turn, I have to assume the price is one only a Sultan might afford.”

At this, Veli grinned and tossed back the remainder of his mead. “Astute as ever, my prince! Such a concoction is hardly the equal of mere economic growth. What we require is both incredibly hard to come by, and something the sultanate holds in fantastic excess.”

“Ah,” Sinadim said, mirroring Veli’s slouch. “Omegas.”

“Just a few choice bitches to refresh our stocks,” Veli sang, flashing that slimy grin. “No more than, say… perhaps twenty from varied bloodlines? After all, those little cunts are more valuable than gold or Kesh, these days, eh?”

In his shadow, his mother’s pet squirmed.

Varjim mirrored the Hathorian male’s every tiny movement.

Sinadim’s eyes flicked to Varjim’s face before landing squarely on the father.

And then, “Veli, I’ve been your liaison for the past six years.”

Veli nodded, licking thin lips. “A time of joy and prosperity for all, my prince.”

“Six years,” Sinadim continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted by spineless flattery, “of talks, negotiations, and trade of precious commodities.” He held up a silencing finger when Veli’s lips parted. “I’ve let the sloppy accounting go without threat of consequence. Happy to let the Zaganos clan cut a healthy profit, for wealth spread across the clans always comes back to the sultanate in robust crops. Content factions. Fewer uprisings.”

He stood, then, letting the rut surge in his blood. The heavy scent of his musk filled the room and finally, finally, broke Varjim’s obsessive ravenous stare at the Omega male clinging to Sinadim’s shadow. “But you’ve gotten fat with greed, Veli. Sloppy.”

Spluttering, the elder flapped his lips around shocked exclamation, while the younger postured and assumed a battle stance.