Omega’s Gamble by Claire Cullen

Chapter Four

Raine was used to waiting.It was part and parcel of the life of a royal omega. Being an omega came with built-in inertia. You were never the captain of your own ship, never the instigator, the author of your own life. You were always the background to someone else’s story. Some alpha who strutted around like he…

“They’re ready for us.” Facilitator Glade’s voice cut through his ruminations.

“Now or never,” he murmured to himself, plastering on a smile. “I’m ready.”

Glade had worn a nervous expression from the moment they’d stepped off the airship. Raine wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it bothered him to see the facilitator so off-balance.

“Any last-minute advice?” he asked in an undertone as they followed an imperious-looking man through a maze of corridors. Colorful banners marked their way, masking the bare stone of the castle walls. The banners were old and had been patched up more than once, but there was something very pleasing about the unpretentious, handmade decorations. Something sweet and hopeful.

They approached a set of double doors leading to a hall and came to a stop outside. Raine peeked in, taking in the cavernous dimensions lit by a mixture of candles, old-fashioned embers lamps, and more modern electric lights. The hall was unoccupied, and he was just wondering whether they were meant to be greeted by an empty room when footsteps approached from their left.

He turned, expecting some kind of formal delegation coming to meet them. And almost backpedaled at the sight of the three alphas storming toward them. Calling them unkempt didn’t cut it. They were mud-strewn, their clothing torn—and was that blood? Raine hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly was not this. A sideways glance at Glade, and he had to choke back a laugh. The facilitator’s face was a picture. In all their months of traveling together, he’d never seen quite that mixture of horror and distaste grace the man’s face.

With only seconds to prepare, he had to think fast. This wasn’t how any kingdom would normally greet a delegation of omega princes. Which meant either they were trying to make a point, or they were attempting to frighten him off. Well, Raine didn’t scare that easily. Or so he told himself as he held his ground.

The three alphas slammed to a stop a few feet ahead of them, and a tense silence followed. No one moved. No one spoke. Raine wasn’t allowed to speak, not until he’d been introduced. Which meant they were waiting on…

“Facilitator,” he said sharply as he threw a look of exasperation Glade’s way. This was not the time to be tongue-tied. He needed Glade to be his usual unflappable self.

“Oh, yes.” Glade thankfully snapped out of his shock. “I am Facilitator Glade of the Imperial Commission of Royal Betrothals. May I present Prince Raine, third prince and youngest son of King Uldar of Ludinia.”

Glade gestured to him with a flourish, and Raine stepped forward, bowing politely. He raised his head and met the eyes of each alpha in turn, starting with the furious-faced one at the front before looking left and right to take in the two behind him. So these were the unmarried alpha princes of Stormshield. Beneath their grimy exteriors, they weren’t unpleasant to look at—broad shoulders, strong features. These were not spoiled princes, the kind who’d never had to lift a finger for themselves, or who were skilled only in the art of conversation and a round of fencing. These alphas were used to getting their hands dirty.

A man hurried forward, almost pushing past the princes in his haste to get between them.

“I am Lord Alton, facilitator of the festival. Prince Raine, you are most welcome to our kingdom. We are honored by your presence. May I present the sons of King Tiberius of Stormshield—Prince Darien, Prince Thorne, and Prince Rex.”

The alpha princes were supposed to bow, but all they did was glare. Raine acted as if they had, as if all was normal, and bowed again.

“Thank you for your hospitality.”

Not that they’d been offered any yet. Normally, there’d be a party—music, food, and dancing to break the ice. And then later, things would get quieter. It would be the time for conversation, for getting to know one another more intimately while still under the watchful gazes of their chaperones. Raine wasn’t sure that was going to happen. With the exception of Lord Alton, who looked at pains to greet them properly, the atmosphere wasn’t exactly welcoming.

Another glance at Facilitator Glade didn’t offer any answers. The man looked just as puzzled as Raine felt. Raine opened his mouth to attempt to break the ice, only for the youngest prince, Rex, to snort and shake his head. “I’m out.”

And just like that he was gone, strolling back down the corridor and away. Raine watched him go, trying not to show his discomfort. One down, two to go.

Glade finally regained his comportment. “You won’t have had time to familiarize yourself with Prince Raine’s portfolio. Allow me to—”

Thorne, the second youngest alpha, stepped forward and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Good luck.” Within moments, he too was gone.

And then there was one. Raine glanced at Darien, and the alpha stared back at him, his expression hard.

“Prince Darien…” Glade started and stopped, as if afraid another word would have the alpha following after his brothers.

Raine thought that silence was the best choice. The instinct, his instinct, was to say whatever it took to get and keep the alpha’s attention. But if he opened his mouth right then, panic would take over, and he’d start babbling. Desperation wasn’t a good look on anyone. Instead, he stood his ground, lifted his head, and held Prince Darien’s gaze. He was not going to be scared away. If the alpha wanted him to leave, he’d have to make him. He had no idea how much Raine wanted this.

A long minute passed, Glade’s head bobbing back and forth as he glanced between Raine and Darien. Lord Alton was restless too, shuffling his feet and looking like he was about to speak only to lapse into silence once more. Finally, at long last, Prince Darien’s voice broke the strained quiet.

“He’ll do.”

At first, the words made no sense to Raine’s ears. And when they did—well, they still didn’t. They hadn’t even spoken a word to each other. Who on earth…

“My prince?” Lord Alton asked tentatively.

“I’ll agree to marry Prince Raine, on one condition.”

Facilitator Glade’s shoulders straightened. This was his territory, the role he knew well. “What condition is that, Prince Darien?”

“We’re to be married by sunset.”

Raine’s heart picked up the pace, thumping hard in his chest. Was this really happening? Did he have a way out?

“Sunset… today?” Glade was trying to be polite, but it was becoming more of a strain by the second.

“Today,” Prince Darien confirmed. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

He was looking at Raine as he said it. For all the pomp and ceremony, he too knew where the power lay.

“I accept your offer of marriage, Prince Darien,” Raine said quietly. Then, not to be outdone by the alpha’s terse manner, he bowed again and turned to leave. “We’ll return before sunset.”

He started walking before Glade had recovered, not slowing his pace even as the facilitator hurried to catch up.

“We’ll make the necessary preparations,” Lord Alton called after them, though he sounded horrified. Who wouldn’t, when they suddenly had a wedding to arrange with mere hours’ notice? Raine shook his head and bit back a grin. This day was going his way in a manner he’d never imagined. He was almost free.

* * *

The walkback to the airship was silent. Well, silent apart from the howl of the wind around them as they struggled across the landing strip. Raine suspected that Glade was just biding his time or waiting until he didn’t have to shout to be heard. Sure enough, they were barely in the door before the facilitator rounded on him.

“It was polite of you to receive Prince Darien’s attentions but unwise to accept such an unorthodox proposal.”

Raine wasn’t playing around. The facilitators were just that—people there to facilitate marriages between royalty. They had no real power to make or break a betrothal.

“I’m marrying Prince Darien before sunset.”

“You can’t be serious, Prince Raine.”

“I’m completely serious.”

He stared unblinkingly at the facilitator, attempting to impress on him just how serious he was.

“Not if your father refuses his permission. Let’s see if he can’t talk some sense into you.”

That put a dampener on an otherwise seamless plan.

“My father left no instruction that would impede a marriage between me and Prince Darien.” Raine had read the contract so many times, the words were burned into his memory.

“A little clarification never hurt any situation,” Glade said, already striding off toward his office.

Raine followed behind more slowly, thinking fast. If Glade managed to get word to his father, this marriage would be over before it ever got started. But there was nothing Raine could do to physically stop Glade. Maybe if he’d had more time, he could have engineered an ‘accident’ with the touchstone communication system, but it was too late for all that. He was forced to hover in the doorway to Glade’s office as the man took his time entering the symbols that would connect him to Raine’s father’s aide. Not his close aide, of course. No, one of the replaceable ones whose name the king hadn’t ever bothered to learn. Raine had never been a priority.

Glade’s strained expression grew grimmer as he waited for the touchstone to connect. After a few minutes, he released the touchstone and reached for the ship’s intercom instead. “Jenkins, I can’t dial out… What storm? How long until it…? I see. Thank you.”

Raine watched the facilitator pack all that irritation away behind a bland mask before he focused his attention upward, meeting Raine’s inquiring gaze.

“It seems we’re having some inclement weather in the locality. I’ll attempt to speak to your father later.”

“When is the storm supposed to clear?”

Glade seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment before finally admitting, “Sometime tonight.”

“I’d better get ready for my wedding then, shouldn’t I?”

“Prince Raine, I’m certain your father never intended for you to marry a prince from Stormshield.”

“Then prove it. Point out the line in the contract he wrote for me that says I can’t marry Prince Darien. Do that, and I’ll call off the wedding. Otherwise, we have nothing to talk about.”

“Prince Raine, there are circumstances you do not understand…”

“I understand enough to know that this is my last chance. My only chance. I am my father’s most hated son, destined to be shipped off to a priory the second this airship touches down on my home soil.”

“Life in the priory is not the end of the world.”

“For some, maybe. For me, taking the grey cloak is death by another name. I can’t… I won’t…” Damn it, he was not going to get teary-eyed. Not now.

Facilitator Glade let out a long-suffering sigh and reached into his desk drawer, withdrawing a glass tablet.

“Sit down while I consult your contract. If there really are no grounds to prevent the marriage, and we can’t contact your father for clarification… well, I’d have no legal standing to prevent your betrothal.”

“Thank you,” Raine offered softly, sinking into a seat as Glade began to read out loud the words he had heard many times over. He could have recited them himself, already knowing that not one sentence held within that contract forbade his marriage to Prince Darien. Freedom was within reach, weather permitting.