Page 14 of Bonds of Hate

Leopold meanders to the settee, fingers stroking over the brocade fabric as he seems to consider something beforefinally taking a seat. Finally, allowing me to lower myself into the chair across from him.

A servant presents me with a glass of expensive gin with a single spherical cube of ice floating at the center. Normally, I’d take something that tastes a little less like rubbing alcohol at Christmastime, especially this early in the morning, but turning down the king’s hospitality is a terrible idea.

Leopold takes a sip of his drink, clearly savoring it. “It’s important that we show a united front. The crown is under more threat now than it any other point in our history.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. In fact, I have doubts that Ander’s death was an accident.”

I nearly choke on the next swallow of gin.

Cillian has been my silent shadow since I walked in the room. He takes a hasty step forward as I continue to cough before I wave him away.

“What makes you say that?” I croak the question.

“Whispers and rumors, nothing more. At least for now.” He takes another sip, eyes narrowing over the rim. “I’ve tasked a handful of my personal guard with conducting a discreet investigation. We’ll have to wait and see what they discover.”

Alcohol burns my throat, but the pain is preferable to the words on the tip of my tongue. I swallow and breathe, willing the whirlwind of my thoughts to settle. “You said something about Omegas.”

Leopold loudly claps his hands together and I resist the urge to flinch at the sound.

“Since receiving the news of Ander, I’ve foundmyself ruminating more and more on my family legacy. He was to be my heir, but had none of his own. I have many sons, of course. More of them than a man needs, in fact. But what comes after?”

A tingling sensation starts at the top of my head, like I’m being poked with fine needles.

Leopold continues unabated, seeming not to notice the queasy look on my face. “Dozens of women in the palace harem, but none of my sons have produced progeny of their own.”

There’s a reason for that, of course, but I doubt he’ll come out and say it.

Any fertile betas in the harem have likely already given the king a child. The moment that happens, they all take the offered option to remove themselves from the harem, even the palace, to raise their lesser princelings in peace somewhere. Impregnating each other’s mothers isn’t an option most of my brothers would pursue, even if they could.

The thought of breeding the king’s leftovers leaves an unpleasant taste behind.

My father has always singularly focused on attempting to breed every pretty beta that crosses his path. The youngest of the princes has to be at least ten years old now, so I assume the king’s spunk has all the potency of baby powder at this point.

I have more brothers than I care to know, and the vast majority of them regard me with the same level of apathy.

My, and Ander’s, mother had been the king’s Omega mate before her death when I was a child. She gave him two sons, an heir and a spare, but no more. I like to think shewould have been bloodthirsty enough to strangle a few of my brothers with their own umbilical cords if it meant protecting us. The king has never attempted to take another Omega, so all the other princes were born of harem betas.

“We’re all still young,” I say, instead of what I’m thinking. Which is that fatherhood holds about as much appeal to me as fucking a light socket bareback.“Nikolai is the oldest of us, and he is barely forty.”

“Forty, and still without a mate.” Leopold leans forward to close the distance between us, a wild light in his eyes. “My sons need Omegas. Mating an Omega practically guarantees an ability to procreate successfully.”

Damn.

Cillian’s face is his familiar mask, but I feel the schadenfreude rolling off him like a buzz under my skin. The fucker is living this up, watching me take the worst news from the only person in the world to whom I bow my head.

“I’m a little young for fatherhood.”

“You’re twenty-seven. I bonded your mother well before I reached your age, may she rest in peace,” Leopold replies drolly. “A harem beta whelped my first son for me when I was barely sixteen, though neither survived it.”

It also doesn’t help that beta females aren’t built to handle the strain of bringing an Alpha male child into the world. Too many of them die in childbirth.

“If I wanted an Omega, then I would have one.”

From behind me, Cillian shifts his weight from foot to the other. Only the creak of his leather armor gives the movement away.

“I’m not sure you understand me, my boy. This isn’t a request.” The affable smile drops from Leopold’s faceas quickly as it had appeared. The coldness in his gaze is a reminder of why he is called Leopold the Butcher in some circles. “You have always been among my favorites, Logan. Truly. But my legacy is something that I will not compromise.”

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