Page 1 of Honeythorn
CHAPTER ONE
Fog suffocated the endless green of the land Milan was only now getting used to, having travelled through it for so long. He let his breath mist the window of the crawler as he watched fields and hills and sprawling forests pass. He’d even become accustomed to the lumbering gait of the crawler, the great beast of metal and steam, its bulbous body bisected between driver and passengers, six legs moving it forwards impossibly through mud and rubble. It was an invention that was not yet common in the south of the Great Continent, where he had lived all his life until then. He’d marvelled at the ingenuity of the machine and had pestered the driver—who had been patient in telling him several times that he simply drove the thing and knew little about how it actually worked—for details.
“We’re almost there, Sir,” the driver called from ahead.
“Thank you, Stephen.”
Milan pressed his cheek against the window and indeed, from the mist appeared the large manor like a ship approaching harbour. If all went to plan, this would be his home for the rest of his life. Milan clasped his hands together, taking a slow, deep breath. He’d had plenty of time to acclimatise himself to the idea of this: weeks upon weeks of travel.
Like everybody in the Great Continent, he had wept with relief when the war ended. Of course, it was naïve to believe that peace would immediately follow. To assure this would happen, the monarchy of each country—the North, East, South, and West—had agreed to a series of marriages between the nobles or ranked officials of each place.
Despite Milan’s unwillingness, he was a perfect candidate. Of age, knowledgeable in keeping an estate, with a mother who had a modest but military background—he was fit to be shipped off. Expendable, but appropriate.
Milan had struggled greatly with the idea at first, but the pressure to follow orders was immense, and he could not let his family suffer the consequences of his refusal. Surely, he had nothing to fear. Surely, he had not given up his home and family for nothing more than empty duty.
As they approached the entrance, Milan saw a semicircle of what he assumed was the house staff waiting for him. They were all dressed in black, with pale skin unlike the dark tone most common in his land. Despite the drab uniform, Milan recognised his future Alpha and husband at once, looming above the others, tall and broad, with a long overcoat so heavy it wasn’t even moving in the wind. Milan squinted his eyes, trying to get an impression of his betrothed before their official meeting, but the Alpha’s features were still and hard to parse.
With a long, steam-filled sigh, the crawler came to a stop, the body of the machine lowering itself slightly towards the ground.
Milan ignored his racing pulse, readying himself for the humid cold. One more deep breath and the door opened.
“Mister Pryor. Welcome to Ledford Manor.”
Milan paused for a moment, having expected his betrothed to be the one to welcome him instead of the thin, pale man doing so, but this was not the first foreign custom he’d had to get used to since his arrival to the North. The reserved quality of the people, the cold weather and strange flora—all were foreign. Even the buildings seemed to be constructed with the aim to keep everything in, to shield from the world, whereas the South was open to the sun and breeze. Looking at the cold, grey stone made him shiver, even in the furs he had scoffed at when he had first seen them, not able to believe weather could be so cold as to need them.
Now, he refused to take them off.
“Thank you. It is a pleasure to have arrived,” Milan said, accepting the hand the man had outstretched to help him off the crawler, despite the fact that Milan was more than capable of hopping out himself. It was a persistent rumour that Omegas had delicate ankles, an idea that Milan had found easily disabused with a swift kick to the offender’s knee.
“I am Orson Lent, butler of the manor.” Orson bowed.
“Oh, it’s nice to meet you, Orson.” Milan bowed back, which, judging by the sudden reaction of the staff—wide eyes, parted mouths, and even a rather dramatic gasp—was not the proper response. “Oh, er…should I not bow back? Excuse me, I’m new to these customs.”
There was a slight pause as Orson seemed momentarily speechless.
“A Sir of your station need not bow to someone of mine,” Orson replied in a flat voice.
Milan opened his mouth, frowning. That sounded quite ridiculous. A man of his station? In the end, however, he decided that arguing was not a good idea at the time. No need to insult their culture in the first three minutes.
“Right. Of course,” Milan said and almost went to bow again for some reason, catching himself just in time.
This might turn out to be even harder than expected.
An awkward pause…and Orson began to introduce the rest of the staff, who bowed or curtsied as Milan greeted them. He managed to nod appropriately but forgot their names and stations as soon as he heard them. His racing heart was a drum that drowned everything else out until he finally stood in front of the Lord Alpha. Milan looked up and met the eyes of the man who was to be his husband.
At least a head taller, his hair was plentiful and of a dark brown, his eyes blue like the sky before true nightfall, face and shoulders broad and imposing. The man was beautiful.
“Lord Alpha Raphael Ledford,” Orson introduced. Raphael did not speak, only nodded his head slightly.
Although this was their first meeting, Milan had been given some information about Raphael. At thirty-one years of age, he was nine years older than Milan. He had been married before, although this had ended under mysterious circumstances five years prior. Milan knew that Raphael was responsible for a great estate and that any children Milan had would inherit not only this but the title of ‘Lord’ or ‘Lady.’
Reputable sources were not the only font of information, however. There were plenty of rumours about the lord, said to be as cold as the mountain winds, to lack affection and expression since the divorce and bond-break of his last Omega husband. Some said that he was distrustful and did not like spending time with Omegas, thinking himself above them.
Milan shuddered to imagine all that as his future. Coming from an open, affectionate family in a social society, he dreaded to envision a life devoid of the human warmth he was so used to. However, Milan was an optimist by nature and had chosen to pay no heed to the rumours, instead keeping an open mind as to the true nature of the man before him now.
After all, Milan was sure there were more than a few unflattering rumours about him too.
Milan smiled widely at Raphael. “My Lord. I have awaited meeting you,” he said cheerfully.
