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And no matter how many times the logical voice in my head reminds me not to, I can feel myself starting to fall for him.
Chapter 24 - Augustus
The morning Mylah’s heat finishes, I rise, shower, and head to the kitchens to get her something for breakfast. But the moment I step through my bedroom door, there’s a king’s assistant—one of the people who manage my appointments, meetings, and engagements—standing outside my quarters.
His wavering voice actually managed to startle me. “Sir?”
“Yes?” I ask, blinking slowly at him, not wanting to give away that he took me unawares. He looks like he could shit his pants at any moment. “What is it?”
“It’s just, uh…” his eyes slide toward the door I’ve just come out of. Undoubtedly, he can smell the evidence of what’s been happening behind it. Of Mylah. The thought of that makes me want to growl at him again, force him away from her.
I keep myself from doing it. Luckily, she is no longer in heat, or I might not be able to stop myself from acting like a territorial asshole.
“Spit it out,” I say it more because I want to end this conversation, and less because I actually want to know what he’s going to tell me. Mylah is waiting for me. I don’t want her to wake up and find me gone.
“Your…uh, betrothed is here, sir. Waiting for you in the dining room. She has been waiting, I mean—”
Noemi.
Shit.
My stomach drops. It’s the day we typically meet for breakfast, and it completely slipped my mind.
I nod at the king’s assistant and turn, heading in the direction of the dining room Noemi and I always use when she comes to see me. As I walk, I glance at the clock, cursing under my breath when I realize she’s been waiting for more than an hour.
When I hurry into the room, she stands instantly, her hands coming together in front of her, her eyes cast down at the floor.
“Sorry about the food, Augustus. I had the kitchen take it back to warm it…” She trails off and actually lifts her eyes up to look at me, and in an instant, I understand the look on her face.
I must smell like Mylah.
Shit. Shit.
Right now, standing in front of the woman I’m designed to marry, the woman hand-picked by my father, I smell like I’ve been lazing with another woman for days. Kissing her, touching her, our bodies pressed together so tightly that outlines ceased to be a thing.
I smell like that because it’s true. That is what I’ve been doing.
Stupidly, my first instinct is to be proud. To wear her scent as a badge of honor. I know that urge comes from the bond itself, the romantic designs of the moon goddesses, who have planned for a fated mate to be the ultimate trophy.
My second instinct—or rather, the first emotion I feel—is a rush of shame.
All this time, I’ve told myself and anyone who would listen that I refuse to rule like my father. I refuse to be like him, full-stop. And yet, it was common knowledge that before, during, and after his marriage to my mother, my father took other women. A slew of omegas, one after the other, coming in and out of the castle with no decorum whatsoever.
That was his right.
That is my right. As an alpha. As king.
Being married to Noemi only means that I will protect her, that we will have offspring together. That she will be offered a place to live and a relatively cushioned life.
It does not and has never meant monogamy. At least, not on my end.
This is not an epiphany. It’s not occurring to me for the first time what a terrible deal this is for a woman who likely just wants to be loved. I’ve known, from the moment my father presented Noemi to me, that I would do my best for her.
I might never love her—or, at least, never be passionate about her—but I decided I would not be my father. I would not shove other women in her fact, not bring the scent of another omega into her home. Would never let our children witness such careless behavior.
And yet.
Without even thinking about it, I’ve gone and done it. Being with Mylah is so natural that I completely forgot about Noemi’s existence. Standing in this room with her right now is about as romantically scintillating as seeing my sister.
