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Denial of the Right of the First Night will trigger immediate execution of the individual who raised the objection.
Chapter8
THE RIGHT
Gabriel
They knew.
They knew the second I walked inside the great hall in the Larsen wing, with its too-opulent banners and platinum finishings and omnipresent sigils, full to the brim with people who live their lives bathed in the privilege that only wealth and political connections can afford.
They knew. Not everyone, but Lord and Lady Larsen? I could tell from the grim lines on their faces that they immediately suspected. Their eldest son, Gunner, looked very close to reaching for the closest weapon and attacking me—and wouldn’t that have saved everyone a lot of trouble? He is, after all, the spitting image of his dead brother. The brother whose killing I sometimes relive in my happiest dreams.
The Right of the First Night is some very dated bullshit. I’d never heard of it before Ivar laid out his unhinged plans to me, but after I went through some of my predecessors’ logs, it became obvious that several of them had taken advantage of it. When a particularly exceptional Omega struck their fancy, when they wanted to put a particular House in its place, or whenever they felt like it, they would simply invoke the Right. By the time I was born, the tradition was already being discontinued, but I imagine the older Larsens had a few memories of it.
Lennart and his mate, though, had no idea the custom even existed.
When I walked in, the boy seemed intrigued by my presence. Almost pleased, as though I might be attempting reconciliation or honoring their corrupt family. I have no doubt that the entire Larsen household despises me for holding them accountable and for what happened with Gustav, but for all I know, Lennart hated his asshole brother just as much as I did.
It’s nice, experiencing some gratitude every so often.
But even if Lennart isn’t an active accomplice of the shit the Larsens have been up to, he still didn’t—doesn’t—stop his family from attacking my people. I think about the Beta boy’s severed head. About his parents’ wails when we told them that, given the conditions of their son’s body, they would not be able to pay their respects. As I stare at Lennart’s crumbling face when he realizes the reason I’m here, a twisted, deeply satisfying sense of vengeance sinks into me.
He took something from me, and I’m going to return the favor.
There are gasps. Flinches. Confusion. I don’t blame those wondering why I have decided to saddle myself with a weeping cold Omega for the next twelve hours—one who’s sure to be an unpracticed, boring fuck. Lennart, though, remains frozen in place, with an expression of pure, idiotic bewilderment as he turns to hisfatherfor help. I take stock of the crowd, waiting for someone to voice an objection. It’s what I want—an excuse to annihilate this family. The Right of the First Night is law, and I need a member of this fucking family to break it in front of an audience. Then I’ll be well within my right to draw blood.
But, despite the shock, they know better than to protest. Fucking Ivar.
“Of course, my lord,” Lord Larsen declares. “The Omega will be delivered to your room.”
Damn him. Damn him to fucking hell. At least I get to watch him eat the shit I’m shoving in his mouth.
“Intact,” Ivar adds, beside me. “Make sure that she is deliveredintact.”
“Naturally.” What a pity that the sneer on Lord Larsen’s face is not a punishable offense.
Ivar and I share a glance, the quirk of his brow vaguely apologetic. He knows I was hoping for an outright refusal and a quick massacre, so he must suspect how irritated I am.
He’s enjoying every second of this, the asshole.
“To ensure that the process runs smoothly and to assist you,” Ivar continues, “the general’s guards will escort the Omega to his quarters.”
At once, Martia and a dozen of her best-trained soldiers march forward—a nice little way of spelling,Try anything, and see what happens.Meanwhile,Lennart is still blinking like a dying fish. And the Omega…
I must admit, I anticipated more of a scene from her. Screams. Some tears. But she remains remarkably composed. I watch the sway of her hips as the guards escort her out of the room, the delicate way in which she bends toward the Larsen daughter to ask hushed questions.
Unexpected: her face stayed hidden for the entire ritual—unusual, if not unheard of. But her body,thatI could see, and she does not resemble any Omega I’ve ever seen before. Narrow hips. An outline of strength. Not displeasing, just different. Her scent, too, is so understated, I truly couldn’t detect it. Had me wondering if she was another of the Larsens’ tricks, until I remembered what she is: cold.
My last look before leaving the hall should be a triumphant smirk toward Lord Larsen, but my eyes cannot help following the girl. “I was promised a fucking fight,” I grumble at Ivar once we’re outside, marching down the corridor that leads to the military quarters.
My brother shrugs. “I was almost sure there wouldbea fucking fight.”
“Yeah? Because Lord Larsen handed the Omega to me on a goddamn silver platter.”
“I never doubtedhewouldn’t care. But Lennart? He may be a young Beta and not a hotheaded Alpha, but he’s still marrying out of love. Can you imagine not acting like an impulsive little shit when your family’s most powerful enemy takes your mate from under your snotty nose? Where the hell is his self-respect?”
“Maybe he left it back in his crib, since he’s a fucking infant.”
