“The baron gave his son vitalis, and still he slept.
“His brother hired a healer, and still he slept.
“And in their desperation, they called out to the conservatories, begging all manner of learned men to come inspect the prince and try their hand.
“A thalmalurgist came and said that the prince needed to be fed the juice of a rare fruit, to boost the sweetness of his soul so that he would wake.
“And he slept still.
“An astronomy thalmist declared that the moon had seized him, and as part of her domain, he could only be healed by moonlight and the prayers of a night fae.
“And in the moonlight, they prayed for him, until the moon herself spoke and said that the stars and night were not to blame.
“His heart was.
“‘My edict true this omega defied. His mind is full of wondrous pride. What he thought in betas to fix, were wings and horns that he shouldn’t mix. Betas find love where they make it and lead when they must. Alphas and omegas must earn their own trust. When I told him that this was right, he defied my edict and worked out of my sight. What he seeks to give others, he must earn for his heart. Not pieces or fancy, but whole, not part. Upon his lips a brand to place. A kiss upon his treasured face. When his mate he feels at last, he’ll cease his journey to unite the contrast.’
“So, the father and his brother called to all the noblemen, alphas of marrying age and brought them to his son. Each one laid a flower upon him and kissed his cold lips.
“Each one left, their heart unmatched.
“He called for nobles, alphas from all corners of the country, not a one had lips that loved him more than he loved his thalms. No alpha held his heart enough to ease his mind’s exploration of thalms and silly machinations that offended the goddess.
“When it had been almost a year, a merchant’s son arrived one day, a bundle on his back to deliver books for the father’s library. A learned boy who had traveled the world, but he held no status. When he stepped into the estate, in the grand foyer sat the sleeping form of the Baron’s omega son.
“‘My lord, I come from the east with books of fancy, and from the north with tales of love. In allwalks, I have seen the madman’s science and the pauper’s craft. I have no status, but I have fine thalms and a keen mind. I have no money, but a wealth of knowledge.’ The merchant’s son, Arnault, stared at the sleeping male as his father came to take the books.
“‘He waits for true love’s kiss, and so many seasons have passed with his lips growing colder by the day. A thousand alphas have tried, and a thousand alphas failed. They lay their flower to show their favor and leave empty-handed.’ Tollen’s father rested a hand on his son’s pale arm and sighed. ‘If the nobility has all failed, perhaps it is better he join a commoner than sleep for all eternity.’
“With his father’s permission, Arnault stared at the flowers, hundreds of them in a circle around the omega’s body, piled as high as they could, spilling over the floor. And like their prince, they did not wither or wilt.
“Instead of a flower, Arnault laid a book, because knowledge always triumphed over beauty. And on the book, the omega’s fingers curled. Unlike the flowers that fell away, he clutched to the leather and took a deep breath that ended when Arnault leaned down and gave him the sweetest of kisses.”
“One would at least hope they washed his mouth. Seems rather unsanitary.” Seidrik stared at the page and at last, Tyran didn’t interrupt, merely nodded in agreement.
“Dirty mouth.” He turned the page for Seidrik.
“Tollen woke, and when their eyes met, they fell deeply in love.
“Despite their differences in station, the father gladly gave the merchant’s son his blessing, and they were wed. And never again did Tollen try to give betas wings.
“And he lived happily ever after.”
“Not sure how I feel about the moral of this story.” Stamel plucked the book from Seidrik’s hands and stared at it with a frown.
Tyran, for his part, had fallen asleep.
“Has he gone to pot recently?” Stamel scooped Tyran up.
“Right before I read his story. We don’t have a stepping stool in the garderobe, so I held him up to do his business.” Seidrik cleared his throat and glanced away. He’d liked caring for the child for that short time.
“And where’s his governess?” Stamel frowned and glanced about.
“Tyran said Camelia fell asleep. Don’t blame her; he’s been having poor sleep of late and likely keeping her exhausted.” Seidrik feigned neutrality and folded his hands.
Stamel nodded. “He’s having a hard time adjusting, but it’ll work out in time.”
Seidrik sat alone for a few minutes as Stamel left, returning with a serious expression plastered across his face. “I hate that story.”
