Omega’s Gamble by Claire Cullen

Chapter One

Raine hadto say this for airships—they might be slow, but they were spacious. He’d grown up with stories of the cramped conditions on the seafaring marriage ships of previous generations. Ferno wasn’t convinced, but then the cat was used to living in the lap of luxury. An airship, no matter how opulently decorated, couldn’t compare to a palace. Despite the months they’d spent traveling, Ferno was still disgruntled that he couldn’t waltz into the kitchens at any hour and demand to be fed.

Raine had made up for it by creating a new toy for Ferno, a clockwork mouse powered with a tiny piece of celestial silver. Leaning over the side of his bed, he triggered the spell on the little toy mouse and sent it skittering across the floor for the cat. Ferno watched it from his perch on the bed, tail twitching, before he pounced, running from one end of the room to the other as the mouse skillfully avoided his paws. It was an endless game of chasing for him.

The door to Raine’s room was propped open with a book so he could hear the goings-on in the corridor. It was always good to keep up with the gossip. Ferno batted at the mouse with his paw, sending it rolling toward the door, over the book, and out into the corridor. The cat gave chase.

“Ferno!”

Raine let his book fall and jumped to his feet, hurrying out. Two of his fellow omegas were heading down the corridor toward him, the toy mouse in their path. If they got a close look at the magically fueled toy, he could be in a lot of trouble. One of them, Bethan, bent down to pick it up as he rushed toward them. Raine snatched it out from under Bethan’s hand, startling the omega.

“Raine!”

“Sorry, sorry. Ferno’s very possessive of his toys.”

He turned and hurried back toward his room, reaching down to pick up Ferno as he did.

“He’s not the only one,” he heard Bethan mutter behind him, doing his best not to tense when he heard the two omegas laugh.

He bundled the struggling cat and equally struggling toy mouse back into his room, set them on the floor, and shut the door firmly. He leaned back against it with a sigh of relief.

“That was too close, Ferno.”

He returned to his book, settling down for a boring afternoon of watching the minutes tick by. Ferno eventually curled up on the bed beside him, falling into a deep sleep. When four o’clock finally came around, Raine had been staring at the same page for half an hour, not having read a single word. The latest round of offers would be releasing soon. He hated that they were always announced publicly—he liked to nurse his wounds in private—but that was tradition, and tradition had to be upheld.

A soft chime sounded, calling him and the other omegas to the main room.

“Come on, Ferno. Time to face the music.”

He hid the mouse away and let himself out of his quarters, Ferno at his heels. It shouldn’t have felt like he was walking to his own execution, but where his family was concerned, another rejection might as well have been a death sentence. He was running out of chances.

Facilitator Glade’s imperious voice carried down the corridor. “Gather round, Princes.”

Milo fell into step beside Raine, wringing his hands. “I’m so nervous, I might throw up.”

Raine made a face. “You’d better not or we’ll all have to sit through another lecture on ‘decorum.’” Facilitator Glade loved the sound of his own voice. After months cooped up with him on the marriage circuit, every word he spoke grated on Raine’s nerves.

Milo ignored his warning, linking arms with him.

“This might be it. For both of us.”

Milo was a few months younger than Raine but a heck of a lot more naïve. A sweet, eager, and eternally optimistic omega. Raine was almost wistful. He’d never been that innocent—the curse of growing up as the most hated child of the king of Ludinia.

They were the last to enter the chamber. Glade stood in the center of the room with his arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently on the plush carpet.

“Do we need another chat about the importance of punctuality?”

“I’m sorry, Facilitator Glade,” Milo said, the picture of contrite. Raine echoed him, trying not to sound sullen.

“Very well. Take your seats.”

Milo rushed to sit down. Raine followed more sedately, aware that the other omegas were leveling glares his way for not moving faster. Glade looked pleased, though. He was always complaining that Raine walked too quickly or ran in the corridors or was far too energetic than was proper for an omega on the cusp of marriage.

Glade waited until Raine was seated with his legs crossed at the ankle and his hands arranged neatly in his lap. Raine often liked to slouch or do something else to irritate the facilitator, but he’d kept the room waiting long enough. They all wanted to know where they stood.

“Now that we’re all present, I’ll proceed.”

There was a collective holding of breath, and omegas across the room held hands. Glade didn’t bother to admonish them. They’d been on the marriage circuit for months—nerves were frayed, emotions were high. No one wanted to be left on the scrap heap.

“By royal decree of the kingdom of Everstone, I announce the making of seven matches.”

There were gasps at that. Seven. Seven was a good number. An auspicious number. All Raine needed now was for his name to be among the chosen. It didn’t matter who. It was the marriage he cared about, not the husband.

“First Prince Gerard is betrothed to Prince Bethan of the kingdom of Mulveen.”

Bethan clapped a hand over his mouth, silencing what Raine knew was a shout of joy. There was no surprise at the pairing—he and Prince Gerard had been inseparable from the first night of the match festival.

“First Prince Anton…”

There were three first princes, and none of them were going to choose Raine. A second prince, if he was very lucky, though a third prince was more realistic given his position. It didn’t matter—he’d take anyone, so long as they had a royal title to their name.

The elder of the second princes was matched to Nyuma, who didn’t look too happy with the arrangement. He’d set his sights on a first prince but had been edged out by one of the Haloan twins.

“Second Prince Aloysius, betrothed to Prince Milo of the kingdom of the Seven Sails.”

Raine turned just in time to see Milo’s eyes widen in shock. Like Raine, Milo’s status wasn’t the highest, giving him an outside chance of making as good a match as the rest of the omegas. But Raine had seen the shy omega share a few quiet conversations with the equally reserved Aloysius—called Louis by his family. Milo hadn’t wanted to hope, and Raine had been afraid to encourage him. In his experience, timid alphas tended to get overruled by their families when it came to matters of the heart. It was clear now that Raine had been wrong about Louis. He’d obviously been strong enough to stand up to his family and make it clear what he wanted.

“Congratulations, Milo,” he murmured. “I’m so happy for you.”

He was pleased for Milo, who deserved all the happiness in the world when it came to marriage. He was jealous too, of course. But there was still a chance for him…

“And finally, Third Prince Clemetus is betrothed to Prince Nathaniel of the kingdom of Eves.”

Disappointment stabbed sharply at his chest. He’d been passed over, again.

The room descended into chatter, shrill with excitement.

Milo reached for him, pressing a hand to his. “I’m so sorry, Rai—”

Raine yanked his hand away. “Nonsense. What’s there to be sorry about? You’re getting married. Prince Louis is very lucky he snapped you up before somebody else could. In fact, I suspect he had to fight his brothers for you.”

Milo flushed bright red, shaking his head. “We only danced once, and I trod on his foot. I never thought…”

“Oh, so I didn’t see the two of you huddled in corners, sharing secrets?”

The omega lowered his voice, admitting, “We did talk a few times. I thought he was just being nice.”

“He was falling in love,” Raine suggested. “By now, I’m sure he’s besotted.”

Milo’s smile was small but pleased. “Don’t talk nonsense. And I am sorry, I know you…”

Raine dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “I’ll have other chances.”

They both knew his chances were running out, but neither of them would dare to say it out loud.

“I’m happy for you, Milo. Truly.”

He’d been worried about the innocent omega in the hands of some disinterested—or worse, brutish—alpha. Milo was gentle and sweet and everything an omega should be. Prince Louis would treat him well, protect him, and let him flourish. And Raine… well, he’d better get a move on, or he’d be banished to the priory, cursed to take the grey cloak and live out his life in obeisance to tenets he didn’t believe in. No husband, no family of his own, no workshop to tinker around in or library to keep his mind busy. Just endless prayer and service to gods who never listened, only commanded.

He had two more months. Two months before the marriage circuit reached its conclusion and he was deemed unmarriageable by his father. Other omegas, other princes, would get to try again next season. But then, they weren’t the most hated child of their fathers, were they? The king had given him once chance, and once chance only. If he wasn’t betrothed in two months’ time, his life was over.

* * *

Darien ledhis brothers back up the beach and onto the cliffs. Their father was waiting with a small contingent of the castle guard.

“Well?” the king asked.

“Three small pirate ships attempted to land in Yone Cove. One reached the beach, but its occupants quickly regretted it. The other two fled back to the mothership. One got caught in the current, cracked its hull on the rocks, and sank. The last boat reached safety, and its crew are surely telling tales of their lucky escape as we speak.”

The king hid a smile. “How… unfortunate. Come, my sons, you must be tired and hungry.”

“Thirsty and hungry,” Rex corrected, elbowing Thorne. “What I wouldn’t give for a pint of ale.”

His brothers hurried ahead, allowing Darien to fall into step beside their father.

“Third attack this month. They’re getting more persistent.”

His father made a noncommittal sound. “No matter how many ships we scupper, there are always more. Someone out there has deep pockets.”

“And we’re no closer to discovering who that someone is?”

“You know my suspicions.”

Darien did, but that was all they were—suspicions. They needed more, needed cold, hard proof. Anything less and any action they took against the supposed mastermind could be considered an act of war. Their little island might have been a formidable opponent, but even they’d be no match for the combined armies of the allied kingdoms.

They entered the castle through a side door, the warmth welcoming. As they traipsed through the corridors, Darien caught sight of people hanging banners and a lot of hustle and bustle.

“What’s all that about?” Thorne wondered, glancing back at them.

Darien shrugged, looking to the king for answers.

“The marriage festival, of course. The airship arrives tomorrow.”

Rex scoffed, Thorne snorted, and Darien resisted the urge to sigh.

“What’s the point?” Rex argued. “Not a single omega ever disembarks from the damn thing. We’re going to all this trouble for nothing.”

“It’s tradition,” their father said heavily. “Besides, you have to marry eventually. There’s no way around it.”

But there was no way through it, either. Since Darien had come of age to marry four years previously, and the airship began making its customary stop on their island during the omegas’ circuit of the globe, not a single royal omega had set foot on their shores. No one wanted to marry into their kingdom.

“It’s a waste of time,” Darien agreed. “Not to mention money.”

The king waved that off. “We reuse the decorations every year, and the uneaten food is distributed to those who need it. A little pomp and ceremony never hurt morale.”

“It hurts my morale,” Rex said in an undertone. “Those omegas are happy to flaunt themselves in front of princes who have never had to lift a finger. Then there’s us, fighting for our people on a daily basis, and they turn their noses up.”

As loath as Darien was to admit it, Rex had a point.

“Maybe they’re afraid they’ll be conscripted rather than married,” Thorne said with a laugh.

They all knew the truth, no matter how they joked about it. Their small kingdom wasn’t exactly held in high esteem by the allied kingdoms or the world at large. They were the outsiders, the underdogs—uncivilized, barbaric, or whatever word those pampered princes chose to throw at them.