The Alpha of Bleake Isle

Chapter EighteenMAIRWEN

My stomping footsteps echoed through the halls of the castle, and I realized as I made my way to Ronson's office that this enormous and intimidating structure was becoming slightly less of a maze. I would've been pleased by the fact, but I was too busy being itchy and irritable and a

The castle servants had arrived at the nest with a huge copper tub and a dozen pails of steaming water, and the prospect of a bath had been the perfect balm to the disappointment of Ronson rushing off once again, and this time for no apparent reason. And then one of the human women had stepped forward to speak.

"Lord Cadogan wishes to speak to you, Omega Cadogan."

I'd stared blankly at the human servant before the words registered.

"Then he can come back to the nest," I'd answered, a little too sharply. The busy servants stilled and I shook myself. "I'm sorry. Of course, I'll go speak to him."

"Your bath will be ready when you return, milady," the young maid said, curtsying as I passed her, her nose pointed to the floor in a way that left me feeling like a bully.

I forced myself to draw in a deep breath as I approached Ronson's door. The last thing I needed was to lose my temper with the alpha too, no matter what kind of rapport was growing between us. Especially since I'd somehow managed to displease him on the flight home. Or was he angry because I'd wandered off on my own to spy on the betas?

I paused outside of his office, shuffling in bare feet, wishing I'd made him wait for me to bathe before going to speak to him, partly for my own comfort and partly just to a

"Mairwen."

I gasped and jumped in place as Ronson swung the door open.

"Why are you standing in the hall?"

"I was debating returning upstairs for my bath." My face twisted in frustration, a

Ronson purred, and his eyes darkened. "We'll bathe together. After we talk."

"You couldn't have come up to the nest to speak with me?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Mairwen, if I went up to the nest, I wouldn't have spoken. I would've tossed you onto the bed and—" He grimaced and cleared his throat, backing away from the door. "This is…important."

Some of my ire softened. The real truth, the one I wouldn't even speak to Ronson, was that I'd worked myself into a bit of a lather after he'd left me upstairs, convinced he was changing his mind about keeping me as his omega for the rut, that he'd flown back to the betas to bargain for a better one.

I stepped forward, and Ronson backed away. Not as though he was trying to stay out of my reach, but more like…

Like he was keeping from reaching for me.

I crossed the threshold and stepped farther from him, pressing my lips together as he stumbled in my direction, keeping a precise amount of space between us.

"What is this about?"

"Sit, please," Ronson said, holding out his arm to guide me toward the chairs at his desk.

I sighed, tightening my fingers around my elbows, and obeyed.

"Oh," I murmured after Ronson had finished explaining his busy thoughts during the flight to the castle and his conversation with Beatrice. They hadn't been so different than my own this afternoon, and it gave me a soft, bitter ache in my chest to know he'd been worrying for me.

"I thought the only option was to avoid you during the rut, but I…didn't really want to do that. I don't even know that I would be capable of staying away," Ronson said, scowling, as if that wasn't one of the best compliments anyone had ever offered me.

"But it's not as if we are just—Ronson, you are the alpha. If anyone found out that I made certain not to conceive your heir… Well, like Beatrice said, it's criminal."

Ronson leaned forward in his seat, reaching across to take my hand in a firm grip—his first touch to me since he'd left me upstairs. I resented how that simple grasp seemed to ground me, settling some of the anxious thrumming in my chest. "Only you, Beatrice, and I would know. Mairwen, I don't even need to know. This is entirely your decision."

I pursed my lips and stared back at him. "Is it? Really? Do you…not want an heir?" Do you not want me to give you one?

He sighed and leaned back, and his hand slipped from mine. "I don't want the matter of an heir to be an either-or question," he said.

Either the heir, or me.

"That's what we're discussing though, if I do drink the tea," I reasoned. "And the strength of two⁠—"

Ronson waved his hands. "As far as we really know, that's just a proverb. My father's strength didn't double when I was born, and I certainly wasn't any use to him for the first couple decades. I was only a child."

I fidgeted with my skirt. Ronson could offer me this choice, wait another ten years, declare me useless, and take a new omega. Or he could even simply wait for me to die naturally, if he was really patient and men like Gamesby didn't come up with a successful plot before I was out of the picture.

"Everyone will think I failed," I said, speaking the words softly to my lap. And they won't be surprised, I added privately.

Ronson's chair creaked and his boots thumped, and I drew myself up, trying to force myself into a calm, unaffected expression. But when the alpha sank before me, gathering my hands and holding them gently in his own, those dark eyes shining up at me, I found my vision blurring and my throat tight.

"I don't want to refuse you the right to have a child, if that's what you want, Mairwen. But I don't want you to take this risk for anyone but yourself. You're worth more than a potential heir."

I sputtered, a garbled laugh slipping from my lips. "Ronson, that's…absurd⁠—"

"I'm not going anywhere," Ronson said, shrugging. "And I've managed this long without one, haven't I?"

"You know it's not that simple. You are…you're the alpha. Even if you don't mind…" Did he need an heir? Society would say yes. And up until today, until this moment, Ronson and I both knew his intention had been to gain one.

Until he realized it might mean…losing me? Or just the guilt of my death? The answer shouldn't have mattered, but I was so close to asking.

The door behind me squeaked on its hinges, and I jumped, half expecting my family and Gamesby and all of dragonkin to burst inside this room, pointing their fingers and accusing me of-of⁠—

I didn't know the word for it. Something disgraceful, embarrassing, and clumsy, no doubt.

But it was Beatrice walking into the office, carrying a well-loved porcelain tea set with faded painted flowers and slightly chipped cups. The steam rising from the pot was fragrant and a bit pungent, and my stomach turned queasily, eyes bouncing between Ronson and his sister.

"Mairwen, look at me."

I held my breath and met Ronson's gaze, and for a moment, there was no panic, no shame. Just the soft urge to lean forward and fall into him, seal my mouth to his and forget all the other little troubles that seemed to stack up around us. I flushed, and he caught my face in his hands before I could turn away again.

"Forget the rest," he said, voice low and heavy, like thunder on the horizon, his words echoing my own thoughts. "Make your choice. No one else's."

My eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in, grazing a kiss over my mouth and then pressing one firmly to my brow. Porcelain and silver rattled gently as Beatrice set the tray down at the edge of the desk. Ronson released me, standing up at my side so I was framed between the siblings. I swayed, untethered, as yellow and pink flowers gleamed out of the corner of my eye.

"You'll need to drink at least three cups, but given how close the rut is, I'd suggest finishing the whole pot," Beatrice said smoothly. "It's bitter, but you get used to it, and there's no physical discomfort."

"I'll wait upstairs in the nest," Ronson said. "Take as long as you need. Beatrice?"

"In a moment, Ronson."

I was trying to catch my breath, but each effort came in short, weak gasps, as if the air in the room was too thin. An heir would be my chance to prove dragonkin wrong about how they thought of me. I would not be the omega the alpha had chosen as a last resort, but the omega who'd helped continue the Cadogan line. The right choice instead of the wrong one.

Would dragonkin's opinions matter if I didn't survive?

Beatrice cleared her throat and I stirred, glancing around the room. Ronson was gone. It was only us. "It was always important to me that Ronson not grow up to become an alpha like our father. One who put his own interests and desires before all others, before the good of the isle. And he has. I knew that decades ago," Beatrice said, waving her hand. "What I failed to expect, because I've never truly seen an example of it in my entire life, was that he would also see us—see omegas—as more than the use of a broodmare. He means it when he frees you to make your own choice, Mairwen."

I licked my lips, blinking up at Beatrice, who waited for a moment before nodding and heading for the door.

"But is it right, then, if I have no gift to give in return?"

My voice was small, but Beatrice's quiet steps paused. I didn't turn to look at her, wasn't really sure if she'd answer me.

"Are you sure there's nothing? Nothing but a potential child to follow in a line? What does it really matter if the Cadogans reign as alpha on this isle? Alphas rise and they fall. I'm not sure our bloodline matters to Ronson, and our father isn't here to care."

And perhaps even if there was a male dragon child, he might fail to grow into an alpha, take the position from Ronson. Dragonkin would be as unsurprised by that as they would my failure to produce one at all.

I groaned and leaned forward, dropping my face into my hands. My choice. My choice. What was my choice?

"Drink the tea, or dump it. No one need know your decision but you."

The door shut behind Beatrice, and I was left with the hundreds of bickering arguments in my head.

The sun was setting, and the room was cast in gold and copper rays of light when I finally made it back to the nest. I paused in the doorway, struck dumb by the sight of Ronson in all his blazing warmth, wings seeming to soak up the sunset and reflect it darkly. He was frozen too, halfway across the room, staring back at me, and he let out a long, heavy breath.

"I've been using my dragon fire to keep the water warm for you," he rasped out in greeting. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him what I'd done, the decision I'd made, but Ronson held his hand out to me, waiting for me to reach his side.

And it was my decision. If he wanted to know, he could ask me.

I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, the click of the latch loud and final. "Did you already bathe?"

"I washed off a little, but no, we're bathing together. Are you ready, Mairwen?"