I want to be alone with her.
I had the Betas put together some food in a basket, and saddle up my tyrlee for us to ride. For a moment, I considered giving my new mate her own tyrlee but decided against it. I enjoy having her pressed up against me, cradled in my arms, her scent making my senses tingle.
As we ride to a favorite spot of mine—a deep, secluded pond, rich with wildlife—I mull over my Omega’s adjustment to the palace so far, and to Arboron in general. She did well earlier, handling the audience we were forced to endure. It went well until the end. The Arborii seem to be delighted to have her as their new queen.
She is perfect, in every way.
And yet, she is unhappy; I can sense it in our bond. When I rescued her from the royal audience, she asked me, “Why can’t we help those people?”
I didn’t respond. The truth is, I don’t know. For as long as I’ve been king, the councilors have advised keeping peace with our border kingdoms. If I were more skilled with words, if I could explain that the Slythin are somehow bound to the Stone King by his cursed magic—maybe I could convince people of the threat. But I did not know how to make even Brokk understand. People believe what they wish to believe, and they block their ears to anything else. Why should I struggle to find the words when no one is listening?
It is easy to refuse to speak to the councilors. It is harder to refuse my Omega. She hasn’t said much to me since the royal audience. Nor has she said a single word since we set off, which is unlike her.
My chest throbs. I ache to talk to her, to confide in her, but I cannot find the words. I don’t know where to start. This—feeling this close to another—is so new to me, and I’m still trying to adjust. I never thought it would happen to me.
I thought Omegas were as good as extinct, and even when Khan and Aurus found a way to bring them here, I assumed they would do everything in their power to protect their new acquisitions.
Yet, here we are. I’m sitting astride a tyrlee with my very own Omega queen within my arms.
I throw back my head. I hate crowds, but this is one moment I wouldn’t mind all my kingdom seeing. While I’ve always preferred my own company and solitude, Ulf has seen fit to grant me a companion—and she is everything I could have wished for.
My Haley.
We have reached the clearing, and I slide off the tyrlee before helping my mate dismount. The tyrlee is tied loosely to a tree, and I start setting up. I throw a fur on the grass and open the basket to see what the servants have given us.
“It’s beautiful here.” My lysia flower speaks at last, and a little thrill of pleasure goes through me at the sound of her voice. “Are we having a picnic?”
I nod and continue setting up, laying out fruit, bread, cheeses, and the potent, spicy wine everyone drinks at court. The suns are beginning their descent over the hills in the distance. The heat of the day will disappear with them. Perfect. We’ll eat, and then we’ll head back to the palace. To bed.
Haley is wearing a tunic once more, and supple knee-length boots to protect her feet out here in the forest. While she looked exquisitely regal and just stunning in the dress I had made for her, it’s not a practical garment for riding, or for being outdoors. Most Arborii fashions are not practical, especially the designs for females. Which is why I refuse to wear the ceremonial robes the counselors insist on. Even Brokk sided against me, saying he understood, but I’d be a laughing stock in my usual leather breeches and vest. That the people would call me a barbarian king.
He was right. They do call me a barbarian. But I will never wear the ceremonial robes, or carry the clumsy, badly weighted ceremonial sword and scepter.
In her jeweled tunic, Haley looks more like a ruler than I’ll ever be. Does she see me as a barbarian, the Wild One, as my people do?
Admiring her bare thighs, I feel myself getting hard again. The barbarian in me wants to tear her tunic in two, and let the folds fall away from her bare body. I could have her naked under me in half a blink.
But that will not convince her I am not a barbarian.
There was one time I spoke and everyone could understand. It was moon-cycles ago, at the King's Council, the first time I scented the sweetest perfume of a mythical creature. An Omega. I made myself heard because I had to. I had one chance to question, and see if I could find an Omega for myself.
And now she is here, a gift from Ulf. I have only to keep her.
Brokk is good with females. He speaks many flattering words. I will try them on her.
“Pretty,” I say and reach out to pet her hair. My big hand is clumsy against her small head.
Haley’s long eyelashes flutter. She touches her hair. “Oh, do you like my braid?”
“Yes.” I don't know what else to say. My Omega is as beautiful as a sunrise, as nightfall when the moon flowers are in bloom. Her perfume rises, and my cock responds. I do not have the words to tell her what she means to me but I can show her. I scoot closer to her, ready to claim her lips and lay her out on the ground.
She turns her head. “Hunter? Are we going to eat?”
Right. Food. After we’ve eaten, maybe I’ll rut her again right here, on the fur, in the glow of the setting suns.
At the thought of her beautiful face contorted with pleasure, the breathy gasps she gives when I’m bringing her to climax, I’m tempted to do it now, but then she spots the food I’ve laid out.
“Oh good, I’m starving.” Settling herself cross-legged on the fur, she begins to sample the various dishes, breaking off a piece of bread and nibbling it before helping herself to some leeberries.
