Shattered by His Alpha King, page 3
“Address him appropriately. They are Blessed Prince Virion of Liaberos,” one of the female soldiers that had escorted him there said. She lifted her chin ever so lightly, the chain mail cowl at her neck clinking.
“He is in our land, warrior. We recognize no princes. No king, no lord, or master but one. Be gone.” A pink-skinned nymph with flowing light-pink locks curled amid clover shooed the two away and slammed the door. “Foolish bloodshedders. You are an innocent soul and do not need titles, do you, Virion?”
“N-no.” Virion stared at her, taking in her misty eyes full of a penetrating energy, much as the forest nymphs from his own kingdom.
“Of course not. Look at him. Tired and starved. Ghoulish cleansing,” The lavender one with mugwort leaves nestled between her legs and circling her chest said.
The pink one with clover cooed, and she gestured for Vir to walk. A green one floated about nearby, her coverings that of fox ivy, the leaves small and curious.
“It is lovely to meet you. I have not your names, so might I call you Ivy, Clover, and Artemis?” He respectfully pointed to the green, pink, and purple one in turn.
Ivy, he called for the ivy covering her shame, beamed. “A well-educated and polite boy. You know better; I’m impressed.”
Artemis curled about him, her form insubstantial but tangible as she floated by. “I might have given him my name for free, but I like his name better. I accept it.”
“Accept? I think that’s the best thing. Not too clever a name, but Nemiah wasn’t much cleverer.” Clover laughed. “He calls me Blush.”
“And me, he calls Violet,” Artemis said, gesturing to Ivy. “And she’s called Jade.”
“Not anymore.” Jade turned her nose up. “I favor Ivy.”
The exchange brought a soft smile to Virion’s lips. Strange to this new world, it was nice to see nymphs so happy. “I’m glad. I would never be so foolish to ask your name from you. I have manners.” And common sense. Names cost more than people were willing to pay, always.
“As you have my name already, I am to assume you were told I was coming?” Vir followed their gentle guidance until faced with a rather pretty set of engraved doors.
“We were informed to have your room ready for you.” Clover pushed the door open, her pink fingers spreading across the dark, ornate metal. Behind lay a rather grim domicile with a luxurious but small bed and rich rugs woven and shorn a color as dark as the juice of elderberries in fall. Between one step and the next as he entered, he was stripped of his pale slippers.
“Not my husband-to-be’s room, then?” Vir peered about the space, eyes lingering on walls that were all but bare, while still devoid of details. Instead of ornamentation, thick wall hangings draped the dark stone. The rich color of darkest black interwove with more of that pitch berry color in a variegated pattern that brought something akin to harmony to the room.
“We wouldn’t allow that. You’re not wed yet and for that, you’re not even bound or in love.” Artemis waved a lavender hand dismissively and rolled her eyes. “That’s more dangerous than I’d like.”
Virion sucked in a sharp breath, freezing in his place. He’d heard many things about the former king, Behran. “Is being with him that dangerous?”
“No more dangerous than any other Drashili king. It comes with the territory.” Ivy frowned, her misty eyes, no pupils to speak of, glimmering at him like two opalescent stones. “I don’t envy you.”
Vir hadn’t expected any different. In his days of isolation, it’d been a never-ending torment of all the horrific stories he’d heard of Nemiah’s father, the elder king and his dozen concubines, his lonely wife. And in all of it, Vir wondered whether he’d be the concubine or the wife that had to watch the violence pass. Or, even worse, would Behran take an interest in him? Would Nemiah grow bored and toss him aside? He could only hope for the best.
“Surely Behran is worse?” Vir cringed as the words tumbled from his lips.
“Fortunate you are that Nemiah disposed of him not three months ago. He’s being crowned as we speak, he is.” Clover’s mouth twisted in distaste, a cute pout of ever-pink lips. Her dark lashes fluttered, pink hair swimming about her shoulders as she floated by, delicate hands tracing his arms.
“I had no idea.” Vir’s hair stood on end, body shivering at the thought. “Shouldn’t I be there to witness his coronation?”
“You should let us dress you and be ready for your ceremony after. You’re exhausted and the Liaberians wish to witness the spectacle of your mating.”
Vir’s stomach knotted at the thought, but he’d been mentally prepared for that moment since he was a young lad forced to witness his first royal ceremony. The omega closed his eyes tight, reciting something under his breath until his new husband had locked in. After they separated, he gathered his clothes and ran away and nobody ever said anything about it again. Vir told himself he’d do the same when time came, if he couldn’t put his father off indefinitely. Half the problem was that he’d never found a male worth suffering that indignity for. “Don’t remind me.”
“It is not their way, that is for certain. The Black King was never secretive about his affairs, but he did not flout his manhood about. Certainly not about us.” Clover sniffed indignantly and Ivy nodded in agreement.
“In that way they are more civilized than I.” Virion nodded as a comb found its way through his unraveling hair.
“Oh.” The three women unwound his strands. “Finer strands I’ve never seen. They’re diamond pale and ever so soft.” Ivy’s green hand slid down his arm to strip the sleeve of his robe away. The belt unraveled and went elsewhere.
“And so pale. You could be one of us, fair moon lily,” Artemis cooed as she took the robe away and traced slender, warm fingers down his back. “I’ll go fetch a washbasin.”
“It comes with my bloodline. Are one of you to be my handmaiden?”
A series of giggles swept about as Ivy returned with a washbasin and cloth, drawing with it a heavy scent of lavender.
“Or not. I’m not incapable of caring for myself, but having a guide for a time might help.” Vir gasped as the cold, wet cloth touched his skin.
“Nemiah has asked us three to tend you. No prince of this kingdom is limited to one handmaid. I thought Liaberos to be a wealthy nation.” Artemis frowned as she drew the cold cloth around. “Apologies for the temperature.”
“And I should thank my husband-to-be for your company and service.” Vir tensed but didn’t move. “Is there no time to warm the water?”
“We could, but cold water will wake you better and ebb the swelling a little from your ride.” Clover hummed as the cloth roamed and his hair swept up and away.
“I doubt my back is s-swollen.” Vir huffed as the cloth moved and his pants fell to the floor, exposing his undergarments that he’d worn for three days. He’d been permitted to take so little with him that a second pair of undergarments hadn’t been permitted. They too fell away, but Vir had long since known not to be shy.
“Or your manhood. Sisters, he is very cold.” Clover giggled and eyed a rather glib Ivy.
“None have ever accused me of being a man. And I am a perfectly respectable size when engaged. Thank you.” Vir gasped as the cold rag went south and cupped his ass with a fervent and fragrant scrub.
“But you are a man.” Ivy hummed as she made him raise his arms, and Artemis combed and worked his hair. “Or do you identify else wise?”
“I would love to be considered a man. But in Liaberos, omegas aren’t considered male. We are other.” Vir’s stomach twisted.
Artemis made a soft noise and raked her fingers through his hair, undoing his braid work. “Then we’ll do your hair as a man. Nemiah was under the impression you viewed yourself as other when he spoke to us, but I saw it in your eyes that you wanted to be male.”
“As are the ways of nymphs. I’ve not spent much time with your kind, but I know you feel our hearts.” Vir adjusted his stance as a giggling Ivy slid him into a new pair of undergarments.
“Such are we few that love a man. We are not welcome back into our forests once our loves pass on.” Clover sighed. “We’re stuck here, among men we’ll never love, but the crown has always been lovely to us in some ways.”
“So that is true? You are bound to our kind forever if you ever fall in love with a fae?” Vir lifted a leg as a pair of pleasantly stiff pants of a smooth material were presented to him.
“Or a human,” Artemis added. “We need to be bound in service if we do not live with our kind. We bind ourselves in service to a man if we fall in love, and once they die, we must find someone to serve. Since we’ll never love again…”
“It’s easier to go in service to a crown because they are wealthy and we are kept well.” Clover smoothed his hair gently.
As a new set of fine robes slid over his arms, a dark and silvery gray that complemented his pale features, he examined them, the way the sleeves hung and instead of being made from draping fabric weighted not to flutter. It was tailored more to fit. While still not the clothes of a warrior, it held the laxity made for omegas, the robes easy to adjust for growing bellies in time. The idea had been a sweet one at a time, but as he grew, he examined every male presented to him as the potential sperm donor to the child he’d bear… He thought twice about it.
Thinking of bearing a child for Nemiah brought cold indifference. The male hadn’t been cruel to him yet. But, Virion had accepted his fate, obligated to bear a dusk child, one born of the night fae and sun fae. If anything, his long weeks of isolation had helped him resign himself to that fate.
“You appear scared?” Ivy drew him toward a mirror to stare at him over his shoulder, her misty eyes kind.
“I don’t know him. I’m terrified.” Vir glanced at his reflection and the panic in him settled for a blink. The clothing looked more masculine, his hair woven in a man’s braid. The darker color on him had been done so well that it didn’t wash him out. So when Clover leaned in with a fine brush to swipe silvery mica over and under his eyes, he could only feel assured that he would have their company, at least.
“You will accustom yourself to him in time.” Artemis fretted with his hair and pinched his cheeks a little to bring color to them, fruitlessly, as he stared at a small bottle palmed in her hand. Lover’s oil. “In more ways than one.”
As the small bottle slipped into his pocket, the weight hung there far heavier than he’d thought. A whimper of fear escaped his lips.
“It’s to oil yourself before he—” Clover giggled, interrupted.
“I know what lover’s oil is for, thank you! I am not untouched.” Virion’s shoulders tensed and the women glanced between one another nervously.
“You are not a virgin?” Ivy trailed her hands down his arms, smoothing imaginary wrinkles.
“Virgin to alpha, yes. But I’ve experimented with betas. Is my husband untouched?” Vir scoffed, and the girls shook their heads.
“Lovers, he’s had a few. Excuse me.” Ivy pulled away and left the room with a knowing look at the other girls that did nothing to ease Virion’s nerves.
Artemis kissed the top of Vir’s head with an affectionate gesture, one far more motherly than he’d known in a long while. “Nemiah has given us to you as a gift. We will care for you. Worry not, for we dress all wounds, even of the heart.”
A soft knock at the door turned heads as Clover went to check. She glanced back at Vir and smiled. Even if a little forced, it brought Vir some comfort. He’d lost Pilki, who’d not even made eye contact with him upon his departure. His siblings had been nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’d see them at the wedding, preferably not at the consummation.
“The sooner it’s over with, the sooner you can rest, child.” Clover shooed him out into the care of the soldiers.
Vir took a deep breath as Artemis slid new slippers onto him, much the way they’d taken the ones he’d arrived in. Every step forward would be a first from there.
Chapter Four
Nemiah
Nemiah held his chin aloft as the crown sat weighty upon his unhidden horns. As firstborn, and only son of King Behran, he’d been next in line for the throne.
Patricide and Fratricide were the norm, so it fazed nobody that he’d drawn his own sword and impaled his gormless father, who had grown irrational to the point of bankrupting their kingdom in the name of war.
A poet stood tall before him, facing the crowd to entertain them with the history of his people, a stanza added for him as the bringer of burning smoke to their lands, the inventor of the thalmway. A bringer of peace. And hopefully prosperity. He crossed his legs dispassionately. The sooner this was all over with, the sooner he could get back to his laboratory and work on the improvements that King Alluin had recommended.
A bony elbow nudged his side, and he sat up straight.
“The least you could do is look less like you’ve sucked an unripe citronelia.” His mother elbowed him again.
Her lavish jewelry had grown thin over the last few years, sold off to pay debts. The sight of it made Nemiah’s heart twinge with sorrow, and he vowed to lavish her with all she deserved one day soon. “I apologize,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “I’ve never been a fan of show.”
She whispered in return, hand held to block her lips. “Well, you’ll be a fan of showing your tadger in a few minutes. Look alive. Your betrothed is being readied.”
Nemiah barely stifled a cough of disgust. He’d bartered his heart for this deal for the kingdom, and perhaps war could continue at a later date, but they needed prosperity instead of death. It didn’t matter though. His mother never cared much that she was not his father’s ordained, but she wore her crown with pride as she watched the assembled court. Her pale eyes held none of the darkness of his own, her hair a river of deepest steel, much like her silvery-hued skin. She’d grown weak her last few years, unloved by his father, sick from depression.
Like his mother, he had to remind himself that Virion was as much of a victim to this as any of them. His father taught them that even if an arranged marriage wasn’t love, it was obligation. Obligation to make sure your partner knows their value and that they deserve happiness, too.
Since his death, she’d gained a small amount of color, and brightness had returned to her eyes.
“Don’t remind me, Mother. I’m sure we’ll reach an agreement in time, but I’m absolutely disgusted by the barbarity of this whole debacle. Am I not binding my soul to them before everyone?” Nemiah tilted his head back, the weight of his horn adornments clanging against the throne.
“You are, but I don’t think Alluin rather likes his child much to begin with. You may bond over that. Unsuitable fathers.” His mother rolled her eyes.
“Queen Kiara, will you escort our new King to his quarters while we ready the Blessed Prince for his ceremony?” An attendant bowed shortly and addressed them as the poet immediately finished.
A round of forced and quiet applause rippled the gathered people, heading toward one of his private sitting rooms. His capelet of black feathers rustled unpleasantly when he flopped into a soft armchair.
“How will you woo the omega?” His mother stared him down as she strode in, dark skirts swimming about her slender ankles.
“Honestly, with King Alluin for a father, my worst may yet woo them into providing me a dozen heirs.” Nemiah snorted.
The fragrant aroma of fresh foliage wafted by him a moment before the doorway shadowed with the soft and dainty form of his former attendants. “Nemiah.”
“Jade? Is there an issue?” Nemiah gave her a penetrating stare, no patience left for the playful imps.
“Your lover has given us new names. I am Ivy, and Blush is now Clover, and Violet is now Artemis.” She bowed her head. “As you have assigned us to him, we accepted his names. He’s a very sweet child.”
Ah, so he identifies as male. That neutral designation for omegas was another of the barbaric indecencies the Liaberians inflicted upon their omegas.
“I’m certain he is. Now, what is the issue?” Nemiah waved his hand as he studied her face as it twisted with worry.
She floated over, a mask of grace as her lips brushed the shell of his ear with a whisper. “He is no virgin, Nemiah. No alphas though.”
Nemiah rolled his eyes and sighed with relief. “Thank you, old friend. Has his purification gone to plan?”
“Oh, no issues with that, sir.” She smiled, her lips pursed flatly. “He’s weak and tired and utterly starved.”
“After this disgusting display, I’ll make sure that he eats well. Did you take measurements while dressing him? I won’t have him flitting about in that awful effeminate garb. He’ll dress warmly and comfortably to his tastes unless he is to be at my side in public.”
“We did. Thank you, Nemiah.” She bowed and flowed free of his study.
Part of him held a twisted sickness in his gut for the display that was coming, but knowing his mate was no virgin made it easier. The omega having had his ass taken before, to know what to expect, made things so much easier.
At least this won’t be the first time he is touched, this emotionally scarring thing.
Nemiah sat in dread until the fanfare played for his mate being brought in.
He took a sip of a goblet of water nearby and sighed before shrugging at his mother to follow. She’d cast their binding and make it whole.
Two steps into the grand hall, he caught sight of the male, gaze narrowing. He’d been adorned in a steely silver, an utter complement to his insubstantial colors. The pink of his eyes practically bored into him as the soft music of marriage played on a flute nearby. He truly was a sight to behold, and Nemiah had thought he’d grow to detest that paleness. But as he strode forward, dressed far better than he had been before, a pang of interest fluttered somewhere south of his navel, but not quite into his cock.
Without hesitation, Nemiah stood in place to welcome his future mate and husband.
