A marriage alliance to end a war, that was the plan. Someone doesn't want that alliance to happen.
Omega prince Lashar of Echera would do anything to protect his people, even marry enemy prince Ardan and live in a nation where omegas are regarded as inferior. But on the way to the wedding, his party is attacked and only Lashar escapes into the forest, desperate to warn his king.
To end the war, alpha prince Ardan of Firol agreed to marry a foreigner and learn the ways of his country. But on the way to the wedding his messengers vanish, and no one appears at the rendezvous. He finds Lashar, but soon after another attack leaves the two princes alone in the woods. Ardan hoped his match would be tolerable. He wasn’t expecting Lashar to fill him with admiration, and desire.
With no help and only one cloak for warmth, Ardan and Lashar must rely on each other. But how can they trust each other when they both suspect the other's family of betrayal? Can peace, and their growing love, be saved?
The omega was staring into the trees now, but he had watched as Ardan’s wound was sewn. With satisfaction, maybe. If Ardan hadn’t had the advantage of armor he would likely have lost his life.
Not that Ardan was a poor swordsman. Firol might have grown in the past century from a small feudal holding to a small but powerful kingdom, but its princes were still expected to work, whether in war or peace.
The same was true in Echera, and Ardan had hoped this shared ethos might have helped the two princes to negotiate marriage and rulership. His shoulders felt heavy.
The prisoner was watching him again, dark eyes probing for weakness.
Ardan finally had the chance to assess the stranger as something other than an opponent. Tawny skin, dirty now but accustomed to baths and lotions and being sheltered from the elements. Long dark hair, recently washed and elaborately arranged. Longish face with sharp cheekbones and jaw and aquiline nose, tilted haughtily under his examination. Expensive clothing that had been tailored to that lean-muscled body.
“You came from court,” Ardan stated. “Tell us what’s happening there.”
The omega’s wide mouth flattened into a tight line.
In Firol Ardan wouldn’t have pressed, because a young omega wouldn’t have been likely to know anything of political weight. But that challenging stare and those sword skills said this man wasn’t an ornamental flower.
“We’re supposed to be allies.” He watched the prisoner closely as he said it, but the man didn’t try to hide the hatred and fury that contorted his face.
“Rougher questioning will gain answers,” Venda interjected. “I bet Ettar has tortured prisoners before.”
The captain’s jaw clenched, but he nodded once. “When so commanded.”
“Torture?” Ardan glanced at the omega, who had gone pale, but whose expression was set. “We don’t know that he has any information.”
“He clearly knows something, Ardan. This is no time to be a gentleman.” Venda put a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to watch.”
Ardan bit back an instinctive denial. Perhaps the omega could be frightened into speaking, and no further force would be required.
He turned to the prisoner. “Well?”
The omega scowled back at him. “Well, what? You want court news? Trailing skirts have gone out of fashion. Lady Ramthira is pregnant again and rumor has it Lord Ramthira is not the father. Odds favor Sir Petarad but --”
Venda backhanded him and he fell silent, blood trickling from his lip.
Ardan, who hadn’t seen the blow coming, wanted to rebuke him, but this wasn’t the moment.
“Why were you in the woods?” Ardan asked.
“Disappointed there were survivors?” the omega growled.
“Survivors of what? Who was killed?” Urgent, Ardan took a step closer and got a kick in the shin that had him jumping back with a yelp.
He threw up an arm in time to stop Venda from hitting the prisoner again. “Go help Toam,” he ordered.
Venda’s eyes narrowed, but he went.
“Who died?” Ardan repeated, rubbing his leg absently while he studied the omega.
“Everyone else, probably. I didn’t wait to see them all fall.” He looked away for the first time. Ashamed of running, Ardan thought, although Firolans would expect an omega to flee from battle.
“Why are you asking me?” The omega was studying him again, brow creased. “Weren’t you there?”
“Where? A few miles back, on the royal road?”
“Where you ambushed us!”
Ardan shook his head, confused. “I sent men ahead. They didn’t return. There was no one in the clearing, Firolan or Echeran, only some traces of blood. What happened?”
“We -- our party was to meet yours. Before we reached the place designated we were set upon by Firolan crossbowmen. I was the farthest from the attackers, so I ran into the trees. I was trying to find my way back to warn the king.”
“I know nothing of an ambush!” Doubt touched Ardan’s mind. His father was a canny king, and one who had broken treaties before. But no, he would have told Arden, his heir. His father had encouraged him to approach his impending marriage with good will. He wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t meant for it to occur.
“Did they take Prince Lashar, did you see?” he asked. A sudden heaviness filled Arden’s chest and cramped his stomach as the prisoner stared at him.
Of course. He’d been so slow. “You’re Lashar.”
