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If Marshal thinks I shall ever be his willingly after this, the man is more of a fool than I already thought.
It’s late by the time we arrive at the city, only to loop around the side under cover of darkness to a sewer entrance… telling me as if I didn’t already know that Marshal’s actions here crossed lines and laws.
We sneak through the dark underbelly of Pershore’s capital until we pull into a tall gateway. Beyond is a courtyard and stable block, which I recognize belong to Marshal’s family home—a grand townhouse in the city’s most prestigious district.
A soldier unties Aston and lets him drop to the floor, and a part of me cracks deep inside. Snatching the horse’s crop from Marshall’s limp hand, I beat him with it in a frenzy of emotions and rage. When his guards try to take it from me, I beat them, too.
Then I hear Aston’s low moan, and the fight goes out of me. The crop is snatched from my fingers. I sob and struggle weakly as the guards take me by the arms. “Let me go to him,” I beg. “Let me help him.”
“Take her inside,” Marshal says coldly.
I don’t see what happens next, for I can barely see anything through my tears as I’m marched into the home, then thrust into a stately drawing room. The door is firmly shut. When I try the door I find it is locked, but I still rattle it vigorously against the jamb before giving up. Dark wood paneling and family portraits line the walls while a fire blazes in the hearth. The heat is cloying after the cold outside. I fear I may be sick over the priceless Pershore rug at any moment.
Not that I care about the rug. I want to rip the portraits from the walls and toss them on the fire.
I want to tear the room apart.
Head in hands, I pace restlessly before the fire, my temper flaring anew and near mindless with the potency of my rage. I will claw the skin from his face before I go willingly into his arms. And all because I’m an omega.
To think I ever looked kindly upon him when he didn’t discard me after my father passed and I had no dowry. No, his only interest in me is because I’m an omega, and he covets the status that would accompany taking me as his wife.
The door opens as I’m still pacing, and I freeze as Marshal enters the room. He eyes me warily; his lip is bloody, his cheek bruised where the crop caught him, his hair a little disheveled. This is not the Marshal I know.
“You will control your temper,” he says, “unless you want your mate to suffer the consequences.”
My hands clench into fists so tight I feel my nails pierce my palms. “You seek to use him to control me.”
Marshal shrugs, his fingers pressing to his bloody lip. “I did not go to this trouble for you to get notions of independence. He will live.”
“As your prisoner?” I demand.
He inclines his head and strides over to the sideboard, where he pours himself a drink—not even bothering with one for me.
He probably knows I will throw it at him. “How long have you known?”
“That you were an omega?” He lifts the tumbler to his lips and swallows.
I nod.
“Before your father passed.”
My brows draw together. “That is a very long time.”
He takes another deep drink before setting the tumbler down with a grimace. “My family has debts. Significant debts, but an omega is a considerable boon for any family. The king will wipe them away once we have wedded, and our claim is unquestionable. We will need to keep you out of sight until then.”
“Unquestionable?”
“With child,” he confirms.
I am already with child. I pointed this out to him earlier, and he didn’t even care.
My frown deepens as he fills his glass again and takes yet another drink. “What if my father had never passed and I had a dowry? I might have wed any suitor.”
Something crosses his face, and he takes a deeper gulp of drink.
Cold blooms inside my chest. “No.” I shake my head slowly.
He shrugs. “I did mention our debts were considerable, our standing falling, and our outlook poor.”
