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“Sure they do. But you’re clearly not going to let me crash his mating ceremony and turn it into a funeral, so feel free to relay to Lennart and his lucky mate my indifference to his upcoming nuptials.” I could not care less. I do, however, feel a passing tinge of contempt toward whoever would willingly attach themselves to a House so morally bankrupt.
“The lucky mate is Kuznetsov’s daughter.”
Thatgives me pause.
Sigur Kuznetsov was one of the Northern Lands’ chief engineers, a hero always on the front line when it came to patching up breaches in the anti-flood systems. A selfless man with an impeccable track record, someone who risked his life to protect people on all levels of the stronghold. I worked in his unit when I was in my teens and had nothing but respect for him. I considered him a mentor, and his premature death was a terrible loss for the military. His daughter, however…
Ivar pulls up her holo: it’s low quality, but I can make out a serious girl with freckles and hair that cascades down her back like dark gold. Her eyes are the same dark green as Kuznetsov’s. The heart-shaped face reminds me of him, too. I don’t think she and I ever met in person, but I’m familiar with her. And I wish she would go fuck herself.
“That’s the bitch who didn’t let us attend Kuznetsov’s funeral rites?” Martia asks.
“She is,” I confirm, not bothering to conceal my anger.
“Her name is Sofia Kuznetsov. And there is something highly curious about the union.” Ivar’s fingers drum against the stone table. “For instance, that I didn’t know about this mating until a handful of days ago.”
“Despite the fact that it’s your life’s mission to know shit.” Martia frowns. “Wait. Don’t the Great Houses usually put out fancy notices?”
He nods. “But not this time. The Larsens are keeping news of this mating locked tight. I might never have learned about it if it hadn’t been for two Larsen servants getting high on snail venom with one of my informants.”
“If she’s Kuznetsov’s daughter, she’s a commoner,” Bastian points out. “Maybe they’re embarrassed of her status.”
Ivar shakes his head. “Her mother was a lady. A Beta from House Kellen.”
“Right,” Martia says. “I remember hearing that her marriage to Kuznetsov was a scandal, because she was supposed to marry someone from House Durand. She died a long time ago, right?”
Ivar nods again. “She died nearly twenty years ago, leaving her mate alone to take care of their infant daughter. Who, unlike her Beta parents, went on to present as an Omega.”
Martia laughs once, bitter. “There you have it. If Lennart Larsen, a Beta, is about to mate Kuznetsov’s girl, who is an Omega… they’re not going to want the people to know.” The scorn in her tone is not because of bigotry but simple pragmatism: given the relative rarity of Omegas, losing one to a Beta is going to piss off every unmated Alpha, even more so if the Omega is of noble descent. Not to mention that, for the Great Houses, anything outside the written path—Alphas with Omegas, Betas with other Betas—is rarely considered acceptable.
“Okay,” I say. “The Larsens are becoming better, less judgmental people. I’m still not buying them a fucking mating gift.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Ivar tells me. “The girl is an Omega, but she’s a cold one.”
A deep silence falls. Because cold Omegas are seen as a tragedy. They usually exhibit all the physical characteristics of Omegas, but never manage to fully present as one.The parts are there, but they malfunctioned, I once heard someone cruelly put it.
Personally, I’ve always thought it was bullshit, the way cold Omegas are pitied by everyone in society. I’m certain that their condition doesn’t stop them from living fulfilling lives. But to the nobles, who often see Omegas as breeding machines, they are nothing but aberrations. Which is why I say, “There’s no fucking way Lord Larsen is letting his son mate her.”
“Not if Lennart were his successor,” Ivar concurs. “But Lennart is the youngest, and a Beta. This is a love match. He and the girl grew up together. Same age. Best friends. To Lennart’s credit, he’s not as idle as he could be. He works as a healer, and so does his future mate.”
Whatever sympathy I felt for the Omega vanishes as I remember her actions following her father’s death. “Good for them. Clearly, the girl and the Larsen brat deserve each other. Can we please circle back to me cutting off the heads of the entire House…?” I slowly drift off.
Because Bastien, my usually dour, humorless seneschal, is laughing. And laughing. Andlaughing. It’s a strange, unsettling sight, especially in a room painted with blood.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask flatly.
“Oh, nothing. I just realized where Ivar is going.”
Martia and I exchange a confused glance. Cleary, we’re not keeping up with the Omegas and their scheming.
“Will you please enlighten us, too?” she asks, as annoyed as I feel.
“There is a law. An archaic, rarely invoked law. One that dates a while back, but it doesn’t matter,” Ivar says. “You’re not going to like it, Gabriel.” A pause. “But you’ll say yes anyway.”
My eyebrow lifts. “And why’s that?”
He leans forward with a grin. His incisors gleam, predatory. “Because this is how we get rid of Lord Larsen once and for all.”
Chapter2
