Page 3 of The Omega Thief

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He was disappointed. But the maddening scent from earlier was fading. “My lady, you are clearly an omega, but unfortunately not my omega.”

“Are you sure?” the duke blurted out.

Raz was tempted to sayduhlike some child, but he settled for looking regretful. He rang the bell, and the chamberlain immediately appeared.

“Please escort their graces to one of the guest suites.” He glanced at them. “You are welcome to use the facilities. I’ll have food and drink sent. You could rest this evening before your return tomorrow, if that suits?”

The duke looked a little embarrassed. “Thank you, Your Highness. That’s most gracious of you, but I believe we will return home this evening.” Carter showed them both out.

“Who’s next?” Grandmother asked.

“None this afternoon. To be honest, I’m not sure there are any left,” Raz said despondently.

“It’s unfortunate about the duchess,” she remarked. Raz nodded. But he was getting past caring, and he could still detect a little of that amazing scent.

There was a knock at the door, and Raz looked up as Thakeray entered. “The prisoner is ready for questioning, Your Highness.”

Wonderful. As if he wasn’t having a bad enough day already. Now he had to go and chastise some petty criminal.

“And he is?”

“Attiker Lynch, sire. He gave us an address, lives alone, and no family, but we haven’t been able to verify it, sire.”

Raz got to his feet. Better get it over with, then.

Chapter two

Attikerwasdesperate.He’dnever touched that damn woman. He’d actually got his eye on the other toff’s purse, which looked nice and heavy and just hung there casually, almost inviting anyone with light enough fingers to remove it. But the honor system of the weekend had made him pause long enough that when the lady stumbled as one of the excited children all running around had bumped into her, he’d automatically reached out his arm in case she fell. Right now, he should be celebrating getting paid by Captain Chandler and buying all his friends a drink in the Two-Headed Salamander. And, more importantly, not having to worry about paying his mother’s debts to Gilbertson. If he didn’t make the docks before the tide turned and Chandler left, he wouldn’t see a penny. It would be another year before the Dancing Girl—Chandler’s ship—docked in Cadmeera again. Which meant he could either pay his ma’s debts or pay rent. He’d managed to keep straight all year, but Gilbertson would be expecting Attiker to settle tomorrow.

Which was why he’d been so tempted by that purse.

For a second, he considered quitting the city and getting a long sail. Chandler would take him. He could name a few ship captains that would, but then what would his ma do? The cycle of addiction had gripped her and, unless it was caught early, was always a death sentence. It was a wonder she was still alive now, but then guilt clutched at him almost as if he’d wished for her death.

Damn high-and-mighty royals. Always thought they were better than everyone else. His dad, before his death, had been a skilled carriage maker, and Attiker had loved watching him work. He hadn’t minded the royal family at all then. As his dad said, they put bread on their table every night because without the fancy people to ride in them, no one would want carriages at all.

Then his dad had sickened and died, and they had to leave their home. Thrown out because they’d been demolishing the street to enlarge the royal stables. He’d minded then. He’d minded a lot. He hadn’t understood how his ma had to go out night after night at first for work when other women worked during the day, but he had when he was older, and she started bringing the men home to whatever dump they were in at the time. He still hated the royals, but he was actually in a better place now. The room above the pub was drier and considerably less smelly than the tiny space above the tannery, and any royal celebration meant good business from the tourists that flocked to the city.

Both for the pub and for Attiker.

He just didn’t understand why he’d been jailed. He hadn’t actually stolen anything, and okay, that was simply because he’d paused before he did, but you couldn’t arrest someone because they might do something. The law didn’t work like that, much as some of the upper class in the city wished it were so. The sergeant had been fair with him, though, and now the captain of the guard had seemed a reasonable man. Attiker hadn’t had any dealings with him before because he was too good. Too good to be actually caught. He’d answered all his questions honestly, except the one about where he lived, and given a false address on Market Street. He’d stayed at the Bluebell when he’d been desperate before he moved into his current lodgings, and as the landlord was drunk all the time, Attiker doubted if he knew who stayed there anyway. No one could prove he lived there, but more importantly, no one could prove he didn’t. The landlord at the Two-Headed Salamander would never tell anyone he rented one of the upstairs rooms.

He wasn’t sure why he was even still here. Moresbody, who ran the bakery, had attested Attiker had bought a spiced half loaf off him for half a jack just before the lady had gotten out of the carriage. Attiker knew it would be perfect with his morning tea and was on his way to Arrabella’s stall with the Gazir leaves he’d promised her when he’d spied the kids nearly knocking into the lady, and everything had gone tits up from then on.

When he’d heard the stuffy-nosed idiot demand he was arrested, that’s when he’d gotten worried that he’d miss Chandler and done the only thing he could think of and begged for a royal hearing. Not that he expected to get one, but he was hoping they wouldn’t want to go to all the trouble on a public holiday and just let him go.

The clang and creak of the door at the end of the corridor opening broke Attiker’s thoughts, and he looked up as the captain entered the cells. Attiker stood up, knowing he was coming for him because the royal pardons operating this weekend had emptied all the temporary holding areas, and there were just two drunkards sleeping their night of revelry off in the next-door cell.

The captain stopped outside his cell and nodded to the sergeant to open it. At last. “So I can go?” Attiker asked.

“When you’ve been interviewed.”

Attiker nearly rolled his eyes. “I’ve been interviewed.”

The captain shook his head in amusement. “Complaining loudly at the injustice—” He glanced at the report he held in his hand. “Ah, yes, toffy-nosed ninnies who should keep to the palace and not interfere with honest working folk isn’t answering any questions. It’s merely being annoying.” He gestured for Attiker to follow him. “You would’ve been released by now, except you demanded a royal hearing, so you’re getting one.”

Attiker stopped suddenly in shock. “A royal hearing?” He’d been joking, and he never actually thought he was going to get one. No one ever asked for one of those unless it was something they were likely to hang for, and he didn’t really want one. It meant a mountain of paperwork the clerks would resent on a public holiday that they could’ve been spending with their families. Attiker, because he was responsible for making them work, would spend at least the day languishing in the cell—if he was lucky—before everything was properly accounted for and filed. It had been an empty threat. They were supposed to just let him go.

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