“Not flattery,” Logan corrects, his expression turning serious. “Truth. You are the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known, Maya Tantamount. Brave, intelligent, compassionate despite everything you’ve endured.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. This isn’t the game anymore—this is Logan, stripped of pretense, speaking from the heart. It’s more disarming than any calculated charm could ever be.
“I thought we were starting over,” I say, my voice softer than intended. “As if we’d just met.”
“My apologies,” Logan says, though his eyes tell me he’s not sorry at all. “I find it difficult to pretend I don’t know how extraordinary you are, even if we’ve only just been introduced.”
I feel heat rise to my cheeks again. “You’re very forward, Your Majesty.”
“Logan,” he corrects gently. “Just Logan. At least when we’re alone.”
“Logan,” I repeat, the name feeling intimate on my tongue despite how many times I’ve said it before. “You still haven’t told me why you invited me to lunch. Surely a new king has more important matters than dining with a woman he’s supposedly just met.”
He smiles, cutting a piece of the trout with careful precision. “Perhaps I’m hoping to court you, Maya Tantamount. Would that be so surprising?”
“Court me?” I echo, something between amusement and alarm rising in my chest. “We’ve only just met, remember? A proper Omega would be scandalized by such a suggestion.”
“And are you a proper Omega?” Logan asks, his golden eyes holding mine across the table.
“Not by anyone’s definition,” I admit, finding it easier to be honest in this strange game we’re playing. “I find that I’m not very good at following the rules these days.”
“Thank the gods for that,” Logan says with feeling. “The world has quite enough proper Omegas. What it needs are more women like you—women who question, who challenge, who refuse to be less than they are.”
His words stir something in me, a warmth that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with being seen. Truly seen, for who I am rather than what I am.
“You’re a strange sort of Alpha,” I observe, deflecting with humor to hide how deeply his words have affected me. “Most would prefer an Omega who knows her place.”
“I’m not most Alphas,” Logan replies simply. “And I’ve never wanted someone who knows her place. I want someone who makes her own place. Who stands beside me, not behind me.”
The conversation is veering dangerously close to territory I’m not ready to explore. I focus on my food, taking a bite of the perfectly prepared trout to give myself a moment to regain composure.
“This is delicious,” I say after swallowing. “Please thank your chef for remembering my favorite.”
“I’ll be sure to—“ Logan begins, then catches himself with a rueful smile. “I mean, what a fortunate coincidence that the chefprepared your favorite dish on our first meeting. How could he possibly have known?”
I laugh despite myself, appreciating his commitment to our charade. “Indeed. Almost as if someone told him.”
“A mystery for the ages,” Logan agrees solemnly, though his eyes sparkle with humor.
We eat in companionable silence for a few moments, the awkwardness that marked the beginning of our meal gradually fading. It’s strange how easy it is to be with him like this, when so much complicated history lies between us.
“Tell me about yourself, Maya Tantamount,” Logan says eventually, refilling my water glass with a casual domesticity that feels oddly intimate. “What brings a woman like you to the palace?”
I consider my answer, weighing truth against the parameters of our pretense. “I’m interested in political reform,” I say finally. “Particularly regarding the treatment of Omegas in Melilla.”
“A worthy cause,” Logan nods, his expression thoughtful. “The previous king’s policies were... problematic, to say the least.”
“Monstrous would be a more accurate description,” I reply, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “The fertility clinics were nothing short of institutionalized rape and torture.”
Logan’s expression sobers completely, the playfulness of our earlier exchange giving way to genuine gravity. “You’re right,” he says quietly. “And I want you to know that as long as I sit on the throne, nothing like that will ever happen again. I swear it.”
The vehemence in his voice, the absolute conviction, catches me off guard. This isn’t part of our game—this is Logan, the king, making a solemn vow. And despite everything, I believe him.
“That’s good to hear,” I say, my voice softer than intended. “There are many who will hold you to that promise.”
“I’m counting on it,” he replies, his golden eyes holding mine. “
Something shifts between us in that moment—a recognition, perhaps, of the person beneath the role each of us plays. I see not just Logan the Alpha, Logan the king, but Logan the man—flawed, complicated, trying to be better than what came before him.
