I need to stop getting distracted during my own damn mating.
“It’s done,” Lennart whispers as he rises to his feet, light blue eyes gleaming with victory under the shine of the ceiling lights. The crowd around us breaks into claps and cheers.
“It’s done.” I force myself to smile, then stop when I realize that I don’t need to because the veil is still on.
“I will love you more than anyone else ever could, Sof. I already do. I won’t let anyone harm you, and I will watch over you to make sure you’re happy.”
I swallow. “So will I,” I say, hoping he won’t wonder which specific promise I’m referring to. There is a sour, ashy taste in the back of my throat.
“Let’s go. Maybe I can get a few minutes alone with you before the banquet.” His palm wraps around my elbow, a little chilly. Betas’ body temperatures can run a little lower than Alphas’ and Omegas’, and that’s when it hits me.
Lennart is my mate. I am bound to this man. Forever tethered to him. I feel as though I’m falling from something very, very tall.
“Congratulations.” The voice booms from the other end of the room.
The clamor stops. Everyone, us included, turns toward the dais.
Toward the general, who stands with arms crossed, the picture of arrogance and relaxation. “I wish a most happy future to both you and your mate, Lennart. And may your union be as fruitful as it is joyous.” He tacks on the customary greeting robotically, like it’s an afterthought. Like he memorized the phrase two minutes ago, after his brother whispered it in his ear.
Lennart tenses at my side, more with surprise than defensiveness. “Thank you, sir.” He clears his throat, glances at his stone-faced father, and seems to come to a decision. “The mating banquet is about to begin. We would be honored if you joined us.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot.”
Lennart nods, clearly relieved. He bows, then starts to turn around. But he is interrupted when the general adds, “However, I am here to claim my right as general.”
Lennart blinks slowly. I feel a frisson of unease snake through the people surrounding us, a moment of hesitation, but it’s hard to interpret. When I glance at Lord Larsen, his usually stern expression seems to have petrified. Next to him, his mate white-knuckles the folds of her gown.
I turn back to the general, disoriented. What is he talking about?
“I claim the Right of the First Night,” Gabriel declares.
I hear gasps. Steps. People stirring. The discomfort in the room solidifies into something akin to hostility, maybe even outrage, but Lennart remains by my side, looking as confused as I feel. “The right of… Excuse me, sir?”
“Your mate, Lennart,” Gabriel says. There is a faint trace of hilarity in his tone, as if he’s enjoying explaining a very simple concept to a particularly oblivious child. As if he knows one single thing better than everyone in this room and has every intention to use it to his own advantage. “Tonight, I will be taking her to my bed.”
Chapter 7
THE LAW
Excerpt from the Statute Book, Version XII
(Transcription approved by the Council of Elders)
Section: The Right of the First Night
…and it is therefore to strengthen the bonds between the Great Houses and the military class, to acknowledge that without the leadership of the general of the army, the survival of those who dwell in the stronghold would be impossible, and to offer a symbol of gratitude to those who regularly risk their lives for the civil population, that we grant the general such a right.
In summary, at their discretion, the current general of the army has the legal right to request the presence of the mate of any person of noble birth who lives in the stronghold. This right is limited to the first night following the mating ceremony. Once the mate is escorted to the general’s quarters, the general has the right to make use of them for the duration of the night. Examples of use include, but are not limited to sexual, domestic, and other recreational activities. The mate may not be harmed beyond what is reasonable during this time.
The general will return the mate to the rightful spouse the following morning. In the event sexual relations occur, any children conceived and born of such encounters will be considered the offspring of the mated couple, regardless of their genetic parentage, and they will be raised in the household of the mate and their spouse.
Denial of the Right of the First Night will trigger immediate execution of the individual who raised the objection.
Chapter 8
THE RIGHT Gabriel
They knew.
They knew the second I walked inside the great hall in the Larsen wing, with its too-opulent banners and platinum finishings and omnipresent sigils, full to the brim with people who live their lives bathed in the privilege that only wealth and political connections can afford.
They knew. Not everyone, but Lord and Lady Larsen? I could tell from the grim lines on their faces that they immediately suspected. Their eldest son, Gunner, looked very close to reaching for the closest weapon and attacking me—and wouldn’t that have saved everyone a lot of trouble? He is, after all, the spitting image of his dead brother. The brother whose killing I sometimes relive in my happiest dreams.
The Right of the First Night is some very dated bullshit. I’d never heard of it before Ivar laid out his unhinged plans to me, but after I went through some of my predecessors’ logs, it became obvious that several of them had taken advantage of it. When a particularly exceptional Omega struck their fancy, when they wanted to put a particular House in its place, or whenever they felt like it, they would simply invoke the Right. By the time I was born, the tradition was already being discontinued, but I imagine the older Larsens had a few memories of it.
Lennart and his mate, though, had no idea the custom even existed.
When I walked in, the boy seemed intrigued by my presence. Almost pleased, as though I might be attempting reconciliation or honoring their corrupt family. I have no doubt that the entire Larsen household despises me for holding them accountable and for what happened with Gustav, but for all I know, Lennart hated his asshole brother just as much as I did.
It’s nice, experiencing some gratitude every so often.
But even if Lennart isn’t an active accomplice of the shit the Larsens have been up to, he still didn’t—doesn’t—stop his family from attacking my people. I think about the Beta boy’s severed head. About his parents’ wails when we told them that, given the conditions of their son’s body, they would not be able to pay their respects. As I stare at Lennart’s crumbling face when he realizes the reason I’m here, a twisted, deeply satisfying sense of vengeance sinks into me.
He took something from me, and I’m going to return the favor.
There are gasps. Flinches. Confusion. I don’t blame those wondering why I have decided to saddle myself with a weeping cold Omega for the next twelve hours—one who’s sure to be an unpracticed, boring fuck. Lennart, though, remains frozen in place, with an expression of pure, idiotic bewilderment as he turns to his father for help. I take stock of the crowd, waiting for someone to voice an objection. It’s what I want—an excuse to annihilate this family. The Right of the First Night is law, and I need a member of this fucking family to break it in front of an audience. Then I’ll be well within my right to draw blood.
But, despite the shock, they know better than to protest. Fucking Ivar.
“Of course, my lord,” Lord Larsen declares. “The Omega will be delivered to your room.”
Damn him. Damn him to fucking hell. At least I get to watch him eat the shit I’m shoving in his mouth.
