Seidrik hadn’t had a page ever. He’d not even had an attendant, telling his father that a proper beta could dress themselves, unlike asniveling omega. His father had approved…but not dismissed his own attendants.Hypocrite.
As they rattled away over the cobblestones, Seidrik glanced out the window, ready to see Stamel again, as if they’d not seen one another not an hour and a half ago.
Ingred and Stamel sat outside, the two ignoring one another for the most part. They never seemed very close, as if they had professional dealings alone. Rather like he and Saria had been. She’d been inundated with her own brand of classism, sent to finishing school for girls, while Virion had been given lessons in omega servitude—which were woefully inadequate. Years gone by, helping Virion with his lessons, Seidrik had lamented how little they deemed necessary for him to learn. Perhaps the only kindness he ever did Virion was aiding the omega in eavesdropping on beta and alpha lessons.
Avoiding his father had been an ongoing trend, and the library was the last place anyone thought to search for an omega. Though, Ingred and Stamel, neither one seemed dismissive of their omega brother’s capabilities. Still, they fought as any siblings did.
Once united as a group, they forged their way into the factory, minding surfaces covered in a sheen of fine fibrous dust from spinning going on—omegas as far as they could see sat at flyer wheels pulling fine fibers into beautiful thread. Others sat on tables working hard at embroidering cloth by windows tilted perfectly for maximum light.
Stamel leaned down by Seidrik’s shoulder and whispered as they entered. “Rekai employs only omegas. It’s kept a good deal many single parents off the streets and out of prostitution.”
It warmed Seidrik’s heart in a way. The cold and lecherous alpha had a heart inside of him, and despite the toy he made Seidrik out to be, he treated toys very well. Stamel patted Seidrik’s shoulder, his expression softening as they forged farther in. “Rekai?”
When they dipped into an office off to the side, a little one about four or five years old sat on the floor with a slate board, scrawling out his letters in practice.Rekai sat at a table, fidgeting nervously and Stamel paled. “Papa?”
Pallosar glanced up from the other side of the table and gave Stamel a hard look. “Rekai asked me here when you visited. It appears he had something to discuss but wanted to wait for you.”
Rekai’s cheeks flushed prettily as he tapped his fingers over a simple wooden box on the table. “Stamel is leaving, and I cannot hold my tongue any longer.”
“By the law, not again. Stamel, have you no decency? Is he pregnant again?” Pallosar glared, and Stamel held his hands up.
“Papa, no. No. Rekai, please don’t. I think our arrangement is fine the way it is. I don’t—”
Stamel silenced as Pallosar turned to Rekai and gestured for him to continue speaking.
He swallowed hard and cleared his throat before pushing the wooden box toward Pallosar. “It’s all there, plus interest. I regret that I cannot return to you the honor that this has cost you.”
Pallosar’s brow furrowed deeply as he lifted the lid of the box and stared at a neatly stacked lot of gold coins. “What is this?”
“A thank you for all you have done and an apology.” Rekai cleared his throat. “The truth should be known if I am going to lose my protection.”
“What protection?” Pallosar glared at Stamel and then at Rekai.
“Neffa is not Prince Stamel’s son.” Rekai’s voice cracked as he took a shaking breath.
“Rekai!” Stamel reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder and the touch made jealousy prickle up Seidrik’s back.
“Let him speak.” Pallosar’s face didn’t carve into his usual anger but rather cold indifference.
“When I found out I was expecting, I met Prince Stamel by chance at a pub, purchasing drink to takescreechwasp honey. Neffa’s sire demanded I rid myself of it or he’d harm my family’s business.”
Pallosar’s eyes darkened from their pretty plant green into a searing emerald. “Explain.”
“He—” Rekai cleared his throat.
“I ordered him to tell you the child was mine. When you asked me about it, I never agreed or denied I’d slept with him. The Merchant’s Guild master had threatened his family’s business, and I knew you’d save him if you thought it was mine.” Stamel clenched his fists. “And if Tynmal was unseated, it would have cost us dearly. It was a plague year, Ingred was courting his daughter, still is, and any number of things could have gone awry, and it was the easiest solution.” Stamel huffed and palmed his forehead, swearing under his breath.
“I see. And Tyran?” Pallosar took a sip of tea that Rekai had sat out for him then wiped the tips of his finger on a pretty napkin embroidered with his company’s logo.
“The treasurer’s child… I audited the books and used Tyran as leverage to keep him from skimming. You’ll notice that we’re more flush on taxes in the past few years.” Stamel clenched his fists and huffed a short breath.
“And Kimbel?” Pallosar folded the napkin neatly, his posture all cool anger and flawless grace.
“Kimbel is my blood, I assume. My memory of that night was hazy at best. As I told you those years ago and he does look much like me.” Stamel’s cheeks went pink with the admission. “I never meant to.”
“I see. A good thing we have the halfway house for omegas, now. Or else you’d be claiming all manner of bastards. And what are we doing with Lord Tynmal?” Pallosar sighed heavily.
“Hopefully bullying him into approving my marriage to Amarie.” Ingred sniffed indignantly andPallosar nodded in approval. The marriage was a convenient one.
