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Francesca sniffled and sat up straighter, not noticing our audience as she stared up at me, frowning. "Don't you want to leave here? I want to see the world!"
I tried to ignore Ronson's stare and give her question real thought. "Personally? Yes, I'd like to see some of it. But I do like the isle."
She huffed and rolled her eyes. "Well, you're certainly stuck with it, now you've been chosen."
"I don't mind. I like him, actually," I said, fighting my own smile as Ronson carefully snuck back out and shut the door behind him. "And I think you should tell them the truth."
Francesca made a number of unladylike sounds that made me wish we might've taken the opportunity to get to know one another before now.
"Oh, Mouse, are you mad?!"
Or maybe not. Come to think of it, upon surrender to her family and society, Francesca had always tried to model herself a little too closely to Adelaide.
I pulled away, and Francesca pouted as I stood. "I'm not mad, and I'm Omega Cadogan now," I said. I was starting to think of my title as armor I might don while dealing with the dragons of the island. "You're not going to accomplish anything but wasting the alpha's time with this plan."
Francesca's perfectly blushed cheeks turned tomato red, and she reared back as if struck. I fisted my hands in the folds of my skirt and swung toward the door.
"Alpha!"
Ronson was clearly waiting, and he stepped inside immediately, a hum of male conversation simmering outside of the room. "A decision?" he asked.
"Not exactly," I answered, and then turned to stare down my nose at sweet, delicate Francesca Huberts. "Go on," I said.
Francesca gaped at me, eyes wide, stare bouncing between us. "I…I…I want to leave the island," she blurted out, and the words rushed forth once they began. "I want to go to the sea, and I want to visit Skybern and see the Dire Peakes, and perhaps go even farther."
Ronson's brow furrowed. "I think Gideon Millward might have some dealings in exports?"
"I don't want to be a dragon's rut partner! I don't want to be a mother who raises a daughter and then crushes her into a mold," Francesca spat. "I want to travel. That's all. Without being a beta's omega. I just want to be me, damnit."
Francesca was panting for her breath as Ronson's eyebrows rose steadily higher on his brow.
"So you'll have to…to order me to take one of them, and I don't care which. No, that's not true. Not the twins. They're both terrible kissers," Francesca admitted in a rush, cheeks darkening further.
There was a pause of quiet, and Ronson's gaze traveled slowly to me with a flicker of hope as if I might've suddenly declared this was a jest. Then he sighed and scratched his nails over the beard that was already growing back in, neat and thick on his jaw. How would it feel against my skin when it was more than just bristles? I shook the thought away and tried to focus on the problem at hand once more.
"I see," Ronson said, moving to a chair and sitting down heavily at the edge of the cushion, wings spread at his back to avoid being crushed. "Well, I don't have a boat to offer you, so we'd better think of a more sensible plan than just 'off you go into the world.' Your parents won't agree to that, I'm sure."
I wasn't sure how Francesca took this answer, because I was too busy reeling myself. I'd guessed this man, this alpha, might listen. I'd even thought he'd likely make sure Francesca could avoid accepting a beta's suit for the rut too, although it was practically unheard of. But the part about the ship had seemed…like a fantasy.
"Mairwen? Come here, you look about to faint again. Have you eaten?"
I wandered to Ronson's side and sank obediently to his knee where his hands on my hips guided me. My own hand braced against his shoulder and he ducked his head, stroking his jaw on my arm, marking me absently.
"What do you think? It's a difficult request," he said, tipping his chin up to wait for my answer.
It was absurd—the idea that an omega could go off on her own, on a ship, to see the world, without a male dragon at her side.
It was outrageous, and he was trying to make a plan. A plan to do as Francesca wanted, really wanted, with her life. She hadn't begged or batted her long, bright lashes, or even wept. She'd spat the words at him, and he'd listened.
I grasped Ronson's face in both hands and lurched forward, planting a clumsy but determined kiss to his lips. He grumbled an objection as I pulled away, and Francesca's jaw hung low in shock, but I ignored them both, my head ru
"Perhaps we can say…she's too sophisticated for the island. She'll need a chaperone when she goes, but Lady Nightingale might do. She's quite fashionable."
"She's scandalous!" Francesca cried.
I shrugged. "You'll be scandalous too, you know. You'd better reconcile yourself to that quickly, or this won't work."
Francesca blinked and her face brightened. "Oh, I see. Yes, you're right. And she is stylish. And very witty. Mother says the most awful things about her, but she can't stand not to be invited to her soirées."
"You'll need to convince Francesca's parents that she'll find a much better match with a grand tour, and some sophistication," I said to Ronson, holding a hand up to halt interruptions. "I know that isn't the real goal, but we can hardly present the idea of her independence straight away. We're buying Francesca time."
"It probably won't take much. They're very proud of me, and they were sure if it weren't for Adelaide I would've—Well, never mind," Francesca said, blushing and glancing between us once more.
"As for the betas..." I chewed on my lip, and Ronson reached up, pulling it free and soothing his thumb over the damp spot.
"I'll manage the betas," he said.
"They'll be angry," I murmured.
"Only one of them was going to be pleased," Ronson answered back, lowering his voice.
I thought that being offended over not being chosen was one thing, but having it declared that no beta on the island would be good enough was going to be quite a different problem. Especially since there was already a treasonous murder plot hatched. But I couldn't talk about that now, not with Francesca right there, watching us like we were a gossip column in live action.
Ronson rose from the chair, lifting me easily and setting me back on my toes. He turned us, and his wings provided privacy for the brief kiss brushed over my lips.
"I will manage from here, Mairwen. Tell Niall to take you to speak to Lady Nightingale? Do you mind that part?"
"Not at all," I said. I liked Lady Nightingale, who never once called me by anything but my name and would lend me scandalous books from her personal library.
"If she agrees to our scheme, have Niall take you back to the castle and then send him to me," Ronson said.
"I could also—"
He ducked down, and my breath caught in my chest, lips parting and preparing for a kiss, but his lips moved to my ear, almost grazing. "I want you back at the castle. To build the nest. For tonight," he rumbled.
I skittered toward the door, ignoring the dark chuckle at my back.