The words were perfect. Politically neutral, legally sound, giving nothing for his enemies to grab onto. But I saw the disappointment in his eyes when they briefly met mine. His daughter, claimed in heat like a common omega instead of being properly courted and contracted. Everything he’d worked to rise above.
“She hasn’t spoken,” Yates observed, turning his sharp gaze on me. “The law requires verbal confirmation from the omega. Tell us, Miss Thorback, was this mating truly consensual?”
Every eye turned to me. This was the test Damon had warned about. Show weakness and they’d pounce like sharks scenting blood. But how could I call it consensual when biology had overridden choice? When heat had made me beg for things I’d never wanted?
“The mating was consensual,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. “I am Damon Kildare’s mate by mutual claiming.”
“And are you prepared for what that means?” Reeves leaned forward, and unlike the others, his concern seemed genuine. “Being mate to the Lycan King isn’t just about warming his bed. You’ll be expected to produce heirs, manage the household if that is what he decides, represent our territory at formal functions. You’re young. Untrained in proper protocol. And if he chooses to take a Luna outside of your bond, you’ll serve her too.”
I didn’t miss the bite in his words. But his words were like cold water crashing over me. I had not thought about that. Damon had said nothing about a Luna. Not that we had any time to discuss it. I could not look at him, so I did what my father had trained me to do when cornered.
“I’ll learn,” I said simply. What else could I say? That my dreams had involved a quiet life and chosen love, not political mating? “I understand my duty.”
“Duty.” Hampton savored the word like fine wine. “Yes, an omega’s duty to submit to her alpha. To breed. To obey. How refreshing to hear such traditional values from the younger generation.”
The condescension made my teeth clench, but I kept my face neutral. Beside me, Damon radiated growing anger through the bond. His wolf didn’t like other alphas discussing his mate this way, even in formal council session.
“My mate will define her own role,” he said with finality. “The old ways are just that. Old. We’ll forge our own path.”
“The old ways have served us for centuries,” Yates countered. “You’re barely crowned and already challenging traditions?”
“I’m not crowned at all, as you so helpfully pointed out.” Damon’s voice could have frozen fire. “Yet here I sit, recognized by law and succession as your Lycan King. Perhaps it’s time to consider that not all traditions deserve preservation.”
The council rumbled with displeasure, but none challenged him directly. The power dynamics were clear even to me. He was their king now, whether they liked how he’d spent his coronation night or not. They could make things difficult, but they couldn’t unmake what biology had decided.
“If there are no further questions,” Damon said, making it clear questions were no longer welcome, “my mate needs rest.”
“One more thing,” Hampton said as we turned to leave. “The matter of heirs. Given the enthusiasm of your claiming, might we expect an announcement soon?”
Were they seriously asking if he’d knocked me up? The casual discussion of my potential pregnancy like I was breeding stock rather than a person made bile rise in my throat.
“Any announcements will be made in due time,” Damon responded coolly. “My mate’s medical information is not council business.”
“Everything about the Lycan King’s household is council business,” Yates disagreed. “The territory needs assurance of continuation. An heir, Kildare. Sooner rather than later.”
“Noted.” Damon’s tone suggested they could note it all they wanted. “If that’s all?”
They dismissed us with varying degrees of disapproval. As we left, I caught my father’s eye once more. So much he wanted to say, so much he couldn’t in front of his political peers. I’d disrupted twenty years of careful building in one night of heat.
The walk back passed in tense silence. Only when we reached a smaller sitting room did Damon speak. “Your father is waiting. Ten minutes.”
He left me alone with the man who’d raised me to be more than biology, only to watch me fall to exactly that. My father stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back in a pose I recognized from childhood. His thinking stance.
“Papa,” I started, then stopped. What could I possibly say?
He turned, and the politician’s mask had fallen away. This was just my father, tired and worried and disappointed. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I lied, because the aches between my legs weren’t the kind of hurt he meant. “Damon was... careful.”
“Careful.” He tested the word like it might bite. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“What do you want me to say?” Exhaustion made me sink into a chair, propriety be damned. “That I’m sorry? I am. That I didn’t mean for this to happen? I didn’t. But it’s done now.”
“Yes. It’s done.” He moved closer, sitting across from me. “Twenty years I’ve worked to show that omegas can be more than our inherent roles. That we can contribute intellectually, politically. And in one night...”
“In one night, I proved them all right.” Bitterness crept into my voice. “The omega who couldn’t control her heat. Who had to be claimed by the first available alpha. I know.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
