I shook my head, swallowing hard around the painful burn and ache in my jaw and throat. "No, I need to-to speak to—" Who? Niall wasn't here! "Beatrice," I blurted out, because there was no one else who made any sense.

Not that seeing my elderly sister before my rut made any sense, either—a fact Mairwen seemed to realize by the blank stare she answered me with.

"Oh. Of…of course." She stepped back, and I was an impulsive, indecisive idiot, because I lurched forward, catching her wrist, drawing it up to my mouth and nose to suck in a quick, smoke-sullied scent of her.

"Wait in the nest," I bit out. Although I don't know if I can stand to come to you.

I don't know if I can stand to stay away, either.

Mairwen's lips pursed and her brow furrowed. It seemed as though she might snap at me, demand I answer for my strange behavior, show some of that perfectly determined spine she'd had this morning. If she did, I wouldn't be able to resist tackling her into the nest and kissing every stubborn, strong word from her lips.

A shadow passed over her face, and she turned away, shoulders dropping with a heavy sigh. "Very well. I'll be here."

My fingers tightened around her wrist for a moment, but I forced myself to release her, to step back toward the balcony.

"Stay inside," I called to her retreating back.

She waved a dismissive hand, and I bit my tongue to keep from calling her name, then nearly swallowed it at the sight of her hips swaying, lovingly sheathed in my trousers. With a garbled choke, I spun and leapt to the edge of the balcony, wings spreading to catch the air, flying around the corner of the castle toward my office. I would wait there for Niall to return, even if I had to tie myself to my desk to keep from crawling back to the nest. Which, given the tightness growing between my shoulder blades, was growing increasingly likely.

"Not that I object to the impromptu percussion taking place above my rooms, but aren't you meant to be…elsewhere?"

My feet froze, and I swayed in place, staring at my sister, who stared back with the particular pinched and canny expression that never failed to make me feel as though I'd been caught misbehaving.

"Cook is sending provisions up to the nest," Beatrice continued. "The omega⁠—"

"Mairwen."

"—is waiting there, from what I understand."

I choked on the growl rising up my throat, grunted, and braced a clawed hand against my desk and the rough punch of desire from my dragon. My face was hot and flushed, and I turned my chair away from Beatrice's clear stare.

"Ah. I was concerned you were avoiding her from disinclination," Beatrice said.

"I don't want to discuss this," I bit out between clenched teeth.

"If you attempt to hold your dragon at bay, you will set upon that young woman like a beast when he breaks free," Beatrice said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.

Beatrice had always been too brave, too outspoken, too direct. After my mother had died, I'd looked up to her as some cross between parent and knight protector. She'd withstood the tempers of my father like a stone pillar in a raging storm, letting it wash around and off her without blinking.

"Is she afraid of you?" Beatrice asked.

My shoulders tightened, and I shook my head. "Beatrice⁠—"

"I can speak with her⁠—"

"Mairwen is not the problem!"

The chair I'd been seated on rocked and thundered against the floorboards, threatening to tip over, and splinters dug into my fingertips where my claws pierced the surface of my desk. Beatrice arched an eyebrow, cool as ever as I huffed and puffed and leaned over the desk, groaning at myself.

"I'm…concerned."

"Concerned?" Beatrice echoed.

"For Mairwen."

Beatrice snorted. "Omegas have suffered the attentions of dragons for centuries, Ronson. She's a hearty enough creature. I'm sure she'll⁠—"

"Survive childbirth?" I asked, falling back into my seat, blinking up at my sister. "The heir of the alpha? The Cadogan heir?"

I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen my older sister surprised. Beatrice swayed forward and braced her hand on the back of a chair before helping herself to the seat.

"Oh, Ronson," she sighed out. "The danger only just occurred to you?"

I scoffed. "Of course not. I've understood, even regretted, what we dragons ask of our women. But it's different when…"

"When you really like the woman?" Beatrice asked.

I sighed, sinking back against the spine of the chair, letting my wings droop and raising my hands to scrub over my face. "Mairwen overheard the betas. They've been trying to keep me too busy and stressed to go into rut."

Beatrice snorted. "Men. They make up the most absurd plots. As if they could prevent your rut."

My lips twitched. "It forced the consequences of the rut into my mind. I've been focusing on…" I wrinkled my nose and shook my head rather than admit my thought out loud to Beatrice. I've been focused on the pleasure of fucking Mairwen.

"You chose an omega specifically to gain an heir."

I frowned. "I know."

"You wanted the strength, the power of two dragons."

"Yes, Beatrice, I know."

"And that has changed?"

I swallowed hard. "Not precisely, but I don't want Mairwen's life to be the cost for my victory."

"I imagine she understands it's the potential hazard to her duty as your omega," Beatrice said coolly.

I gaped at my sister. "How can you… You have no idea—" Beatrice's eyes narrowed, and I wet my lips, starting over. "It doesn't feel right."

"Have you spoken to her?" Beatrice asked.

"I can barely look at her without—" I cleared the growl out of my throat. "The rut is very close."

"What is it you want, exactly? To refuse her your rut and heir?"

"I want to—I don't know! It's as if my options are to force this danger on her or deny her completely and-and⁠—"

Beatrice straightened, leaning forward slightly, stare too keen. "If she had a choice, would you offer it to her?"

"Of course!" Although I might do my best to persuade her to choose the safer option, if one were possible.

Beatrice stared at me for a long moment and then glanced down at her lap. "You know I never had any children, in spite of the wishes of both Father and the dragon he passed me off to."

"Beatrice, I⁠—"

She held up her hand. "My failure was a great blow. To them. For me it was a…a relief. And a success." She held my gaze, and a wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Sebastian didn't want a daughter, of course, so he only made an effort with me during his ruts. But I didn't want to risk his attention. So I drank a particular tea at the start of every month for the entire thirty years it took for me to outlive him and then Father."

My brow furrowed. "A tea?"

Beatrice smoothed the folds of her skirt. "It is illegal for dragonkin women to take any measures to prevent pregnancy. Our great-great-grandfather created that particular law. But before his rule, it was not uncommon practice for omegas to brew a tea with a collection of now outlawed flowers and herbs that would allow them to attend their dragon during a rut, without the consequence of a dangerous pregnancy."