Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
King Stefan looked displeased, but then again, he always did. “I don’t want to stay here longer than necessary. Let’s take our leave now that this farce is finally over. I have already told the pilot to prepare our plane for departure.”
Haydn nodded and looked at his mother. She was speaking to Cleghorn’s mother. “I’ll let Mother know and then we can go—”
“Where are you going?”
The familiar deep voice made Haydn freeze. He turned and looked at Cleghorn—at his husband. The beta was eyeing them with a frown, his dark eyes flicking from Stefan to Haydn and back.
Before Haydn could say anything, his father answered coldly, “We’re taking our leave.”
Cleghorn’s frown deepened. He looked at Stefan for a long moment before saying mildly, “I wish you and your wife a safe flight, but my husband will stay here.”
A vein twitched at Stefan’s temple. “I beg your pardon?” he ground out. “I and my family are leaving.” His tone was final. “Come, Haydn.”
Cleghorn laid a hand on Haydn’s shoulder. “My husband will stay here,” he repeated, his voice like steel.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up Haydn’s throat. His father’s face was priceless. Haydn honestly couldn’t remember the last time someone dared to contradict his father, much less a beta doing it. Not that betas couldn’t be self-assured, but it was biologically difficult for betas to stand up to alphas: alpha pheromones usually were too oppressive and intimidating. Even now his father’s alpha pheromones were trying to subdue Cleghorn’s will, but, to Haydn’s astonishment, Cleghorn didn’t seem affected at all, his expression firm and unimpressed.
“Your husband?” Stefan said, sneering. “The Galactic Council official has left, and there are no reporters here anymore; there’s no need to keep up the act. We all know this so-called marriage is nothing but a farce.”
Cleghorn looked at the king steadily. “You’re being either naive or short-sighted if you think we can simply drop the ‘act’ now that Lord Ksar is gone. There is no act. For the peace to last, our people need to believe that we’re serious about the peace—and about this union. Your son is married to me. He is my husband, and he can’t leave Kadar so soon. It certainly would make it obvious to everyone that this marriage is nothing but a farce and render everything we’ve done today pointless.”
Haydn frowned thoughtfully. Cleghorn was right. He did need to stay for a while. But his father had never allowed anyone’s opinion to change his own, and Haydn doubted he was going to start now.
Stefan’s reddening face confirmed it. “You—”
“Father,” Haydn cut in, keeping his voice firm but respectful—the tone he’d perfected over the decades. He needed to help his father save face, or Stefan would never give in. “I agree with you: Senator Cleghorn’s point is valid. I will stay in Kadar for a short while and then come home. You and Mother should go ahead.”
For a moment, he thought his father would explode. But then Stefan took a deep breath and then let it out. “Fine,” he bit off. “We expect you home soon.” And grabbing his wife, he strode out of the room, not even bothering to say goodbye to Haydn.
Haydn sighed, watching his parents leave with mixed feelings. On one hand, he was relieved to be away from his father’s nagging, but he was also very conscious that he was now alone in a foreign country, among people who had no love for him; quite the opposite.
He turned back to Cleghorn, and they just stared at each other for a moment, wary and tense.
“Cleghorn—”
“Royce. You’re supposed to be my husband.”
“Royce,” Haydn said. “While I don’t appreciate you making choices and speaking for me without consulting me first, I admit your point was valid: I can’t leave right now.”
“But?”
“But I’m the crown prince,” Haydn said. “I can’t stay here long. I have duties I can’t abandon. My father expects me to return to them soon.”
Royce’s black eyes bored into him. “What would those duties be?”
“I’m the General of the Pelugian army, for one thing.”
“What would you need the army for if you really expect the peace to last?”
Haydn glared at him, his scent sharpening. “Are you implying Pelugia intends to double-cross Kadar?”
Royce gave him a steady look. “I’m implying nothing, Your Highness. I’m simply asking a question.”
“Haydn,” Haydn ground out. “Aren’t I supposed to be your husband? Or do you remember it only when it’s convenient for you?”
Royce’s nostrils flared. He stalked forward until they were nose to nose. They were exactly the same height, or perhaps Royce was slightly taller; it was hard to be certain when they were so close.
Haydn inhaled shakily, his heart pounding in his ears. Royce’s neutral scent was laced with something thicker, darker, something that made Haydn’s skin prickle with agitation.
“Haydn,” Royce said. “You are my husband. I didn’t forget it. You will come with me to Cleghorn. You will attend various events with me for good publicity. You will stay here in Kadar until people buy our marriage.”