"—there's a dispute amongst the dragons," Niall continued.

"Out!" I snapped, not really satisfied with the thin barrier of the sheet guarding my omega from view. I glanced back and let out a heavy sigh. Mairwen had tugged the drawstring of her chemise so tight, it looked like the ruffled collar might be choking her. Her knees were tucked under the skirt, body bundled together and arms wrapped around herself. Her cheeks were as red as ripe apples—equally tempting to take a bite—and her eyes were huge.

"Is it the rut?" Niall asked, still standing in the room, out of view.

I didn't like having him in here with us. I wanted to rush off the bed and grab him by the collar and throw him down the stairs. Or perhaps out the window? No, the window would bring him into view of the bed.

Hmm, was this the rut? No. If it had been, Niall would've been testing the strength of his wings out my window already. But that didn't mean I didn't want to make use of the hours until the rut in bed with Mairwen, teaching her all about what we'd enjoy together.

"No," I admitted in a grumble. "I'll join you outside."

There was no other answer but the squeak of the door as it shut behind him. I groaned as I fell back in bed, and Mairwen leaned over, upside-down in my view and wearing a shy half-smile.

"Tonight," I warned her, low and dark.

Her cheeks pinked and she placed her hands on either side of my head, ducking down and grazing her lips sweetly over mine. "Tonight," she murmured.

I grasped her face, licking into her mouth as she gasped, humming as her tongue brushed against mine. Fuck Niall. Fuck the other dragons.

Fuck Mairwen, my brain corrected.

She pulled away, still blushing, smiling wider, turning her face away but glancing down the length of my body from the corner of her eye. I wanted to stretch for her gaze, let her admire in daylight all the places she'd studied so sincerely by muffled candlelight.

But the sooner I was done with whatever tussle the other dragons needed mediated, the sooner I could return to the castle and declare it evening. My turn.

"Frannie, you promised."

"Oh, I did, and I did mean it, Jeffery, you must understand."

"Quit manipulating the girl, Bexam. We've established that Francesca gave out a great many promises."

"The fact remains, gentlemen, a contract was drafted between myself and her family," Gryffyd Evans declared, putting a clawed hand on the delicate omega's shoulder.

The girl withered, and her eyes dropped to her skirts.

This was absurd. Somehow, Francesca Huberts had promised herself to a half-dozen of the gentry dragons of the island. She's very weepy and incredibly biddable, Mairwen had said. And now here I was, faced with the truth of that observation. Francesca was indeed weeping, and with every reminder of her devotion, she renewed the sentiment to the gentleman in question, in spite of just having declared it a moment ago to another. Even her parents could not agree on whom Francesca preferred.

I cleared my throat, and the many eyes in the room all turned in my direction. I focused first on the easiest suit to clear, narrowing my gaze onto one dragon in particular.

"You seem to draft a great many contracts, Beta Evans," I said, glaring at Gryffyd.

His chest puffed, but his face was spotty with color. "I put very little stock into girlish vows and prefer concrete, legal⁠—"

"There is nothing more legal on this island than my decision, yes?" I prompted, and Gryffyd paled and bowed his head obediently. "When was the contract drafted?"

"Yesterday, my lord, after the selection," Mr. Huberts, a generally jovial man, answered. His hands were twisting nervously in front of his rounded stomach, and he had yet to meet my eyes.

"Presumably after Francesca's other agreements?" I asked.

A chorus of yes rose up from the other five dragons.

"Then it does not stand," I said, waving a hand.

"With all due respect, Alpha Cadogan," Gryffyd said, starting a bow. "Mine is the only written contract in question."

"I don't care, Beta Evans. You were too late."

"But—!"

"You are dismissed."

Gryffyd blustered. "Am I to have no omega⁠—?"

"Not this time," Niall answered, shrugging. "Best of luck in a decade."

I hid my quirked lips behind my hand and studied the other five dragons as Gryffyd Evans was ushered from the room. I was only going to secure the favor of one dragon today, and I needed to consider this lot carefully.

Gideon Millward was a fair dragon, still quite young and without influence, but it might serve me to cultivate a good relationship early. And yet he was now glancing at Francesca Huberts—who was admittedly a very pretty omega, even as fat teardrops rolled out of her glassy green eyes—as if he was wondering whether she were really worth the trouble.

Redmond Palmer was an ass. He was friends with Hugh Gamesby, had traded out his last omega when she offered no issue over a decade—a very ungentlemanly although still technically excusable act—and generally pissed me off every time he sniffed his nose and opened his pompous mouth to speak. Even if I did grant him the right to the Huberts girl, he probably wouldn't shift his opinion of me.

Jeffery Bexam was the fourth son of a fourth son, with barely a cottage to his name and no influence to speak of, but of the lot of them, he seemed the most distraught by Francesca's betrayal. I wasn't sure if that was due to a highly delicate ego or genuine affection.

Tybalt Dunne and Julian Dunne were twin brothers, and I was hazarding a guess that Francesca's favors were a bone they'd chosen to fight over. One might speak in my favor with the right incentive, but the other would become an enemy.

I resisted the urge to groan. I didn't want to be responsible for this decision. One, it was a stupid waste of my time, which I was feeling especially bitter about, considering what the summons had dragged me away from. Two, it didn't sit right with me. Surely the girl had some stronger opinion she was too nervous to voice?

"I would like to speak with Miss Huberts for a moment," I said.

The girl gasped and froze. She was scarcely eighteen years old, and I considered whether we were really putting young omegas into courting at quite the right age. She seemed very young. Mairwen was practically on the shelf by dragon standards, but there was no chance of me mistaking her for anything but a woman. An extremely—and yet also surprisingly—tempting woman.

Mrs. Huberts nudged her daughter forward, and the girl stumbled out of the grasp of the dragons who surrounded her. None of the betas moved."Alone, please."

Mr. Huberts gave his wife a hopeful glance, and I understood the look with a sick twist of my stomach. They were hoping I would take her for myself. As if they hadn't witnessed my choice yesterday. My hands clenched to fists, and Francesca released a small sound of terror, stepping back toward the wall. Jeffery Bexam had the decency to glare at me, but he filed out of the comfortable sitting room with the rest of the gathered dragonkin.

Francesca remained across the room, quivering against a sideboard laden with delicate porcelain trinkets that rattled in sympathy with her terror.

"Sit."

I tried to keep my tone gentle, but Francesca jerked and stumbled toward an armchair as if I'd put the full roar of an alpha's command into the word. Her russet curls bounced as she dropped into the cushions, a wave of cloying omega perfume wafting toward me. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant scent, something like honeysuckle and caramel, and my mouth did water, but it wasn't right, either, too sticky. I resented its presence washing over the lingering taste of Mairwen.