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Chapter ElevenMAIRWEN
“Seems an awful lot of pomp and flourish for a duck," Cook muttered, but she edited her recipe and added ingredients to the list, just as she had for my other suggestions.
"Lord Cadogan may not need more than a slab of beef and a few roasted potatoes, but I assure you, these additions and adjustments will be appreciated," I said, adding privately, if not by him, then by me.
It felt almost scandalous to be pla
"Now, as to the meals that will be delivered during the rut," I said, trying not to let my words tremble.
"If you think his lordship wants purees and confits during his—"
I laughed and shook my head. "No, no, it's not that. Only that I think I would be grateful for some fruit, along with all the cheese and bread and cured meats, if you can manage it."
'If you can manage it' was the secret password to getting my way with Cook, a challenge to her determinedly capable authority over the kitchen.
She made another note. "Easily enough. His lordship doesn't drink enough water during the rut."
I blinked, and for a moment, I struggled imagining how the stout elderly woman might know such a fact. She turned and glared up at me.
"Doesn't go through the jugs we send up. Not fast enough, by my reckoning."
My hands twisted behind my back, and I nodded. "I see. I'll do my best to…to—"
"See that you do. Need wine?"
I tried not to recall the dark sparks in Ronson's gaze, the glitter of sweat on his chest and brow. Cook and I were meeting in a lovely sitting room that overlooked the sea, and I'd thrown open the windows to enjoy the cool breeze, which meant there was no logical reason for me to be so flushed.
"Omega Cadogan?" Cook snapped.
"Sorry, yes, a little wine would be lovely."
Sharp bristles scraping against my breast, his hot tongue—
A soft knock on the door sounded, but once again, the halfling dragon, Niall, didn't wait before entering. I was sure my face was in flames now.
"Apologies for the interruption, Omega Cadogan, but Ronson sent me to fetch you."
Tonight.
I whipped my head toward the window, as if I would see the sun setting, as if time might've passed at the alpha's will. But no, it was still midday. Not that he'd seemed incredibly patient this morning.
"He requires your assistance in regards to a dispute amongst the dragons."
"What?" I gasped, turning back to Niall. That was even more absurd than the alpha willing the sun to set.
Niall's expression gave away nothing. "The carriage is ready. If you would forgo any additional preparation before leaving, that would be best. He is waiting."
Which only reminded me that I was dressed in yesterday's clothing, corset tied as tightly as the dress required, my hair uncurled and hanging down in a long, plain braid. Cook rose and nodded to me, passing Niall at the doorway.
"What kind of dispute?" I asked, smoothing my skirt and crossing the room.
"A Miss Huberts—"
"Oh, dear. Fra
Niall huffed, and his lips twitched. He eyed me briefly before stepping out of the way and gesturing for me to walk ahead of him. It was strange to lead the way, especially as I barely knew my own way around the castle, and Niall had certainly lived here all his life. I'd never had precedence in my life. My father wasn't important; I wasn't popular, and I wasn't even bossy.
And now I must sit at the left hand of the alpha and walk in front of all others. That was my status as long as I was the alpha's omega—ahead of all but Lord Cadogan.
It might've been fun, if only I knew my way around.
I realized what had happened as soon as we stepped from the hall into the sitting room. The dubious glances of a number of dragon gentlemen landed on me, glanced away, and then returned in force as if they had simultaneously all recalled who I was.
They stood, and delivered low bows while barely able to tear their eyes from me in narrowed speculation.
Oh Francesca, what have you gotten yourself into? And why on earth are the Du
My knees wobbled with the impulse to curtsy, but I was startled by the sudden bang of the door opposite me thrown open. In spite of the thunderous expression on his face and the heavy waves of harsh smoky scent that wafted from him, I found myself relieved to see Ronson standing in the doorway.
"Finally. Come."
The betas parted to offer me a path through the room, and Ronson puffed up, eyes darting a glare from one group to the other. His hand extended, and I caught it, stifling my gasp as he yanked me to his side. His wings spread, one curling around my back to shield us from view as his head lowered, brushing his jaw against my cheek. A heavy sigh rushed over the top of my head.
"What's happened? Did Francesca not make up—Never mind, of course she didn't," I whispered.
"I can't get an honest answer out of her," Ronson muttered.
"No gently bred dragon lady would dare give the alpha an opinion unless she was sure it was his too," I said, my lips twitching at Ronson's sneer. Perhaps I was becoming immune to his expressions.
"You always do," Ronson said, arching an eyebrow.
I flushed and ducked my head, but he caught my chin between thumb and forefinger, refusing to let me shy away.
"Please don't stop. That's why you're here, Mairwen."
I wasn't sure if he meant here in the Huberts' home or here at his side, and if my blurted opinions the day in the forest were why he had chosen me, but it wasn't the time to ask. Francesca was rising from a window seat in the small, sweet sitting room, crossing closer.
"Oh, Mouse! It's so good to see you. But you look as if you've rushed here," Francesca cried.
I twisted the end of my plain braid in my fingers and tried to catch my breath against the pressure in my chest. I had rushed here, and I wasn't properly dressed or with perfect ringlets like Francesca, but that was only because of whatever mess she'd accidentally cooked up.
"We did drive very quickly," I admitted, pretending I was here for a social call and helping myself to a seat she hadn't offered in one of the overstuffed armchairs. I turned to look back at Ronson, who towered over us both, even as Francesca remained standing. "We'll be all right," I said.
He shot Francesca one last glare, which sent her all but wilting into the chair across from me, and then swept from the room.
"Good gracious, he's terrifying. You poor thing. And you look exhausted. What an absolute surprise yesterday was. Do you think you'll be all right? I was quite shocked, and imagine how Adelaide must feel!"
"Adelaide was always partial to Hugh Gamesby," I reminded Francesca, then plowed ahead before she could start another unflattering ramble. "But look at you, Fra
"Oh, Jeffery is very sweet." Francesca nodded and smiled benignly, but her gaze flitted away in a ma
"Of course. Mr. Millward is very handsome too," I said, sliding in a new direction.
"Mmm," she hummed, nodding once more.
I stared at her for a moment. Ten years ago, Francesca had been a wild monster of a girl, screaming through weeds as high as her wild halo of red curls, brandishing sticks as swords and collecting snakes to leave in the party picnic baskets. She was a child, of course, curious and rebellious, but she'd outshined the beta boys she'd run with for pure and unbridled mayhem. My mother said Lady Huberts would regret not keeping the girl under control when it was time for her to join society. In the end, the Huberts had hired a stern and commanding governess for their wayward daughter, and Francesca had grown and matured as all young ladies must. I'd considered it a shame she'd become so meek, but my opinions were usually contrary to society's. Still, the Huberts and their governess were successful. Francesca's youthful havoc had been thoroughly stomped out.
Unless...
"I remember when you were ten."
Francesca blinked and glanced at me.
"That governess of yours—Oh, what was her name?"
"Odalie Jones," Francesca answered.
I nodded, gri
Francesca's eyes lit up, even as her placid smile melted away. "I would've tried to stowaway if he hadn't agreed."
"I don't doubt it," I said, nodding. "I thought you'd manage it the next time—ru
Francesca's chin wobbled, her eyes filling, and my heart ached for her, for the clear longing that broke through the polite mask she'd learned to wear.
"I did it on purpose," she whispered, one tear spilling down over a peach-blush cheek, rich curls quivering with her tense trembles. "I had to make sure the alpha wouldn't choose me, of course. Then I'd really be trapped, or worse, dead. But I thought, if I could just make enough of a tangle, they'd spend more time arguing with each other. And I could just…" A sob broke free. "Oh, Mairwen! I don't know! Just put it off a little longer."
I rose and hurried to Francesca's side, wrapping my arms around her and drawing her into a hug. Francesca's breaths were rough and ragged. This was more than her usually fragile show of delicate, beautiful tears. This was true sorrow. Real fear.
"I don't want to get pregnant! What if I die?! Or what if I don't and I'm just stuck here, on this damned island, with one of them. Bleake Isle indeed. Oh, I don't know what to do!"
Francesca let out an inelegant wail against my breast, and the door cracked open, Ronson's head darting in to assess the scene.
"Why is it always who will they choose, and not what will we choose?" Francesca sobbed.
She was right, of course. I'd been preoccupied with my sealed fate with Mr. Evans, and it hadn't occurred to me that someone like Francesca, sure to receive decent offers from tolerable dragons, might still have a complaint with her own. Her fate was better than mine might've been at the hands of Mr. Evans, but that was an awfully low bar. Why weren't we omegas allowed to wish to leap higher? But Francesca had wished for more, and had even tried to scheme her way there, or as close as she could.
"You don't want any of them," I said, holding Ronson's gaze as he winced.