Page 99 of Bonds of Hate

I swallow back my annoyance. “I must beg your indulgence on her behalf. She wanted to take special care of her appearance for your majesty’s pleasure.”

Any sop to his pride will almost always ease the king’s ire. Leopold smiles widely. The thought of his son’s Omega primping for his benefit is enough to excuse her late arrival.

He smirks. “Let’s hope I’m impressed enough for her tardiness to be worth the effort.”

I hope to hell it is. That we’re waiting on an Omega at all is a watershed moment. I pray to whatever deity will listen that my father doesn’t run out of patience and order us both to be killed.

Xavier’s drawl echoes down the table. “I was under the impression this meeting began at four.”

Others grumble in echo of that sentiment, until King Leopold raises a single hand demanding silence.

“I was not aware that my schedule rested on the sufferance of anyone here,” he chides. He leans slightly closer, voice dropping low enough not to carry. “Though I find that my patience is rarely infinite.”

The murmured warning might as well be a fire alarm.

I grip the armrests of my chair, forcing myself to appear relaxed while scanning the faces around the table. Most of my competition sits here. Being embarrassed in front of them is painful to contemplate. The thought of a public shaming is excruciating.

Whispers pick back up and I don’t miss the glances shot my way. It isn’t paranoia to assume that I, and my errant Omega, have become the topic of every conversation.

Nikolai casts me a sympathetic look, with no evidence of subterfuge that should definitely be there. The man has always been too soft, never seemed to have the stomach for the violence necessary to succeed at court. His position as eldest keeps him mostly safe from the rest of us.

If he ever decides to give up the good guy act, then I would be more worried about him as a threat than almost anyone else. Luckily for me, his new Omega acts more like an Alpha than he does.

And luckily for her, I only commit violence against women when they beg me for it.

The massive doors creak open and all conversations halt.

Maya glides in wearing a properly decorous navy dress with a sweetheart neckline that hugs her curves. Her hair is artfully piled on her head with a few face-framing strands. It’s one of those styles meant to seem carefree, but likely took a hundred pins to create. Her make up is conservative,but well-done, highlighting her best features rather than creating a calculating distraction.

Heads turn to follow her progress. Several unbonded princes shift in their seats, their scents spiking with interest. I bare my teeth in their direction. She’s mine. At least until I say otherwise.

Annoyance rises as I survey her up and down. The hair and dress are nice, but not anything that might require hours of effort and wasting the king’s time. If we survive my father’s reaction, then I’ll make sure whatever I do to her next makes this embarrassment worth it.

Then she turns enough as if searching for an ideal path around the table and I get a look at her back.

My jaw drops before I think to clamp it shut.

As demure as the high neckline, cinched waist and flared skirt appear from the front, that is where propriety ends. The dress has a plunging back, revealing an expanse of flawless skin all the way down to the alluring dimpled flesh at her lower spine. Practically a scandalous amount of skin for an Omega who supposedly has a mate. But that isn’t what has the room frozen in shock, myself included.

Golden threads crisscross her back in an intricate pattern, so fine that the work had to have been done when she already had the dress on, because even the slightest tension would make the threads snap. She must have enlisted the help of a servant, then spent hours standing perfectly still while they carefully created a design as intricate and delicate as a spider’s web that is destined for destruction by the end of the day.

It takes me another few seconds to realize that the pattern is recognizable. The crest of House Corellian, myhouse and the house of my father, glows against her skin in shiny gold as if it’s been tattooed there.

Marking herself for them all to see. Declaring who she belongs to.

Maya approaches the king with measured steps, her eyes demurely lowered. When she reaches his side, she sinks into a graceful curtsy.

“My deepest apologies for my tardiness, your majesty.” Her voice carries just the right note of contrition, though her smile is easy. If she acts too much like she thinks she deserves to be chastised, then it’s more likely the king will decide to do just that.

The girl is a fucking natural.

Leopold beams as he signals her to rise. Beams. An expression I’ve never seen on his face before.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. It appears the juice was very much worth the squeeze,” he assures with an appreciative smile. “In fact, give us all a spin to see this lovely handiwork.”

I tamp down on a growl as the king offers her his hand. He unnecessarily steadies her so that Maya can do a graceful turn that flares the dress around her hips. The golden threads catch the light, making the design shine like it’s infused with sunlight.

Leopold’s eyes follow her every movement as Maya completes her turn. His appreciative gaze lingers far too long on the exposed skin of her back.

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