Page 78 of Bonds of Hate

“You know how Omegas are. They can’t help themselves.”

“God help her. I hope it’s worth it.”

Their comments are the normal mix of beta disdain, combined with the healthy dose of jealousy they refuse to acknowledge. Their derision is nothing new. Too many people are convinced that Omegas possess neither brains nor desires of their own, serving only as vessels for the Alpha that claims them.

Secretly, they’re just desperate to know what it’s like. Even as they look down on us, too many beta women would cut off a body part for the chance to become the fixed obsession of a powerful Alpha.

I wish they understood the truth.

The grass isn’t greener on the other side of the fence, and all the plants are poisonous.

A small crowd gathers around the king, but it naturally parts as we approach. Logan keeps me glued to his side, instead of maneuvering me to the more subordinate position behind him with the rest of his pack.

Logan gives the slightest bow with his head, not breaking eye contact with the king. “Greetings, father.”

Alphas without the bonds of a pack don’t take their eyes off each other, even if they are father and son.

King Leopold’s piercing gaze travels over us, his expression unreadable.

Until this moment, wearing Midale’s gown seemed like a brilliant move. Now, as the king’s gaze takes me in, missing no detail from the crown of gemstones in my hair to my slipper-covered feet, he would see shift nervously if the hem of my gown did not entirely cover them, I’m reconsidering.

Leopold loved Midale. The reminder of her should be a good one.

Or, I’m seconds away from being forcibly stripped naked and kicked out of here on my ass.

The band lets their song come to an end, the last note echoing through the room that slowly swells with anticipatory silence.

From his elevated position on the dais, Leopold observes us with a neutral expression. Broad frame encased in the finest brocade embroidered with the sigil of Melilla, he sits on the throne less like a king and more like a lion lounging on a sunbaked rock on the savannah, lazily surveying his kingdom.

Light brown eyes narrow on my face. Ruthless intelligence burns in those eyes. I immediately know that regardless of whatever his genuine reaction to the sight of me in his dead wife’s gown might be, the one he displays to the court will serve a political purpose.

He exudes a sense of tightly leashed control that the prince lacks, as if the boiling soup pot of aggression and fury has a tight lid on it. At least, for now. Political rivals areno longer torn apart before the entire court like they used to be because Leopold insists on the veneer of civility. But it’s an open secret that anyone who has ever even hinted at an attempt to consolidate their own power base or challenged his rule has a tendency to fall tragically out of a window or mysteriously disappear.

Logan doesn’t display any interest in controlling his urges, which only raises the question of what might make King Leopold, among all of his sons, choose Logan for his heir.

That dark thought dissipates like a puff of smoke when the king’s lip curls upward in a mocking smile.

“My son.” Leopold’s voice carries easily through the now-silent ballroom. “I see you have finally found an Omega worthy of your attention.”

Logan’s fingers dig into my waist. “Yes, I have.”

“And she is here in your mother’s gown, no less,” Leopold muses. Predator’s eyes turn to me. “Tell me, little one. Did you choose that dress yourself?”

My mouth goes dry as I give him a formal curtsy. It doesn’t escape my attention that he has expressed neither approval nor disapproval of our bold choice.

I keep my head bowed submissively, but allow a note of teasing to enter my voice. “I suppose that depends on how you think I wear it, your majesty. If you do not approve, then obviously it was all Prince Logan’s idea.”

The room takes a collective breath, waiting for the king’s response.

Leopold lets out a guffaw of genuine laughter. He leans forward with one elbow on his knee to rest his chin on his fist as he surveys me. “This dress has alwaysbeen one of my favorites. I’ll grant that you wear it quite well. I doubt there is an Omega alive who could do better.” He turns to his son and his smile dims somewhat, expression turned calculating. “Though I do not recall ever stating my wife’s wardrobe could be distributed freely.”

“You also never stated they could not,” Logan replies easily. “Forgive me for begging forgiveness, rather than asking permission. I did not want to risk that anyone might miss out on such a vision simply out of misplaced notions of appropriateness.”

The king descends from the dais, triggering gasps of surprise from the gathered crowd. Leopold never condescends to be on the same level as his subjects, at least not before the open court.

Leopold comes to a stop before me, just short of touching distance. He leans close enough that I catch his scent, an unpleasant and disorienting combination of caramel and burnt popcorn.

“Perhaps that’s why you chose this one?” Leopold’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “She reminds you of your mother?”

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