Page 19 of Honeythorn
Milan thanked Raphael again as he handed the cloth back before curling under the sheets. He felt like he could sleep for thousands of years after the tension and exertion of the day.
Having been listening out for it, Milan sensed when Raphael approached the bed again but lifted his head as Raphael made no move to get in.
“Is everything all right?” Milan asked, concern rising again. Raphael said nothing for a long time, his face a blank mask. Trepidation filled Milan, and he sat up to question Raphael further when he finally spoke.
“I trust your rooms are adequate.”
For a quiet, innocent moment, Milan was thrown by the sudden change of subject. He opened his mouth to assure his husband, but something in his stance and piercing eyes froze Milan. Very suddenly, as if doused by cold water, it dawned on him.
Raphael was throwing him out.
On the night of their wedding, after just bonding, after Milan’s first time laying with anybody, Raphael was standing in breeches whilst Milan lay there, exposed and vulnerable, like a whore being dismissed after fulfilling his duty, nude and still leaking slick and Raphael’s come.
Milan’s body started shaking without permission. Was this man mad, that he could swing from a promise to keep him safe and then banish him without feeling? Was only his body warm, and his heart as cold as winter stone?
Never in his life had Milan felt so humiliated. So small and worthless.
He scrambled out of the bed, trying to tug the sheets with him, but they were caught under the mattress. With shame burning his skin from the inside out, he let the sheets drop and found his shift with dizzy eyes, not caring that it was inside out as he put it on.
His hands were trembling as they scrambled for the handle of the door adjoining their rooms. He could not bear to look back at the man he had begged and moaned for just moments before. For once, he had no scathing remark to make. He fled, almost sobbing with relief when the door finally swung open, slamming it shut behind him.
Like a ghost, he drifted to his bed thoughtlessly. He sat there, his mind blank even as his body staged a revolt: muscles shaking, gut churning, his throat constricted so that barely any breath could squeeze past.
It was only when he stood up and started scrubbing himself with the water from the jug meant for drinking that he realised he was crying. Sobbing, like he had not done since he was a child, not even when he had been back on his own land and learnt what his fate was to be.
Even in his wild imaginings, he hadn’t imagined this…the sheer humiliation of being treated like an object to fuck and then discard.
He dried himself, willing his body under control. He shielded it with breeches, socks, a long tunic, before crawling into bed. He curled into a ball, leaving miles of mattress around him. He closed his eyes and thought of nothing.
He was alone. He was utterly, utterly alone.
CHAPTER SIX
The dawn brought no respite. Even through the haze of waking, Milan didn’t have a moment to pretend he’d forgotten the events of the previous night. The foreign feeling of the new bond was the first thing he became aware of, an unfamiliar pull that would have been warm if it hadn’t filled Milan with such dread.
All his life, Milan had thought of himself as a fighter, but the current circumstances were something he hadn’t foreseen. Perhaps he had been naïve, expecting so much from an arranged marriage—his resolve to hope for the best had backfired.
Laying on his bed, used and alone, Milan craved his land and his people so dearly it was a physical ache even stronger than the bite on his neck. It was a sort of mourning, thinking of his family and home, but he refused to let Raphael be his death.
Milan refused to give up. He would make something of himself here—carve out a place to call his. He was resigned to the fact that he would have to withstand his husband’s presence and touch or suffer the consequences of a neglected bond. With the coldness between them, it would take time to fortify the bond into something that would withstand absence from each other, but it would get there eventually. When that happened, they would be free to go about their own business, sharing Milan’s heats and little else.
Despite what Milan thought of society’s expectations of Omegas, he wanted children and knew he would enjoy them and find love there. Not as a replacement for what he could not have in marriage…but as a means to create a future.
This land was partly his now. He would treat its people well. He would work hard. He would resist any attempt to change who he was at his core. He would not lose himself in this bond.
With that conviction, Milan got out of bed.
**********
“I apologise for interrupting your duties,” Milan said to the staff he had collected in their side of the manor. Except for Melissa, they were all staring at him with confusion and weariness, but he forged on.
“I know that we have met, but I wanted to introduce myself again now that Raphael and I are married. Please, feel free to call me Milan—although I understand if that makes you uncomfortable,” he added as he saw a few of them gape. “I want to thank you for your service. I am sure we will get along well, but please feel free to share any grievances with me.”
At the last sentence, Orson huffed, looking positively outraged. Milan tamped down a smile.
“Forgive me. What I meant was that I am sure that Orson would be happy to hear them and pass them onto me or Lord Raphael.”
Orson looked slightly mollified, but couldn’t seem to help but say, “I’m sure there will be no complaints.”
