The dining hall was immense. A long table of dark, polished wood ran its length, set with gleaming silver and white china. Morning light poured through tall windows, catching dust motes in the air.
At the head of the table sat the Duke.
He was a man carved from the same stone as his ancestors in the portraits. Broad-shouldered, stern-faced, with hair more grey than gold. His eyes were sharp, assessing. He watched them enter.
Beside him sat the Duchess. She was elegant, her posture perfect, her face a careful mask of polite welcome. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap.
To her right was their younger son. Ashford. He looked to be around Orion’s age, maybe a little younger. He had Abel’s golden hair but none of his openness. His expression was one of bored amusement. He lounged in his chair as if the whole event were a mildly tedious play.
Orion’s hand was still wrapped in Abel’s. He felt the eyes of the room land on them. On their joined hands.
Abel walked straight to the table, pulling Orion along. He stopped near an empty chair beside Ashford and pulled it out for Orion with his free hand.
"Sit," Abel said softly.
Orion sat. Abel released his hand only then, taking the seat next to him.
The Duke cleared his throat. "Good morning."
Orion bowed his head slightly. "Good morning, Your Grace."
The Duke’s gaze swept over him. It was cool, impersonal. Like an inspector checking livestock. "Welcome to the family, Orion. I trust you slept adequately?"
Before Orion could answer, Abel chimed in brightly. "We played with wooden horses!"
A flicker of something—irritation, perhaps—crossed the Duke’s face before it smoothed back into neutrality. "I see." He gestured to the Duchess. "My wife, Eleanor. And our younger son, Ashford."
The Duchess offered a tight, correct smile. "Welcome."
Ashford didn’t smile. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. His eyes, a paler, colder gold than Abel’s, slid over Orion with open curiosity.
"So," Ashford drawled. "You’re the older brother, aren’t you? Elian’s replacement."
The words hung in the air, blunt and heavy.
Orion kept his face still. "I am Orion Valerian now."
Ashford snorted softly. "Of course you are." He took a sip from his goblet, his eyes never leaving Orion. "Well. I feel bad for you, honestly."
"Oh, but there is," Ashford continued, his tone dripping with false sympathy. "That fool sitting next to you—" he nodded toward Abel, who was watching a servant pour juice with great interest, "—he wouldn’t be able to satisfy you during your heats. Not really. He barely understands what a heat is."
A servant nearby froze, pitcher hovering.
The Duchess gasped. "Ashford!"
Ashford shrugged, unrepentant. "What? I’m not lying. It’s common knowledge." He looked back at Orion, his gaze sharp. "We wouldn’t mind, you know. If you took lovers. We understand. It’s a practical arrangement."
The Duke’s voice cut through the room, low and hard. "Ashford. That is enough."
"What?" Ashford spread his hands. "I’m only speaking the truth! Are we all just going to pretend? Look at him!" He jabbed a finger toward Abel, who had finally turned his attention to the conversation, his head tilted in confusion. "He’s a child in a man’s body. What kind of mate is that?"
The Duchess slammed her hand on the table. The china rattled. "Must you do this? This is meant to be a happy occasion!"
"Happy?" Ashford laughed, a short, ugly sound. "For who? For him?" He pointed at Orion again. "He got traded here like a sack of grain to clean up my dear brother’s mess. The least we can do is be honest about his prospects."
Orion’s hand had paused midway to his water glass. He held it there, suspended. His knuckles were white. The cold anger from the bedroom was back, but now it was mixed with a hot, sharp humiliation. It burned in his throat.
He felt a movement beside him.
Abel had been watching Ashford, his brow furrowed deeper and deeper as his brother spoke. He looked at Orion’s frozen hand. He saw the tension in his husband’s shoulders. He saw the way Orion’s eyes were fixed on the tablecloth, seeing nothing.
Then Abel looked up at Ashford.
His expression shifted. The confusion melted away, replaced by something clearer. Something protective.
He picked up his fork from the table. Not to eat. He just held it. Then he pointed it directly at his younger brother.
The room went quiet.
"Don’t say that," Abel said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm. It carried in the sudden silence.
All heads turned to him.
Ashford blinked, a smirk playing on his lips. "Don’t say what, brother? The truth?"
Abel shook his head. The fork stayed pointed. "Don’t say I can’t satisfy him." He puffed out his chest a little, his gaze unwavering. "I can satisfy him very well."
A beat of stunned silence.
For a second, no one moved.
Then Ashford choked.
A laugh burst out of him—loud, harsh, and utterly derisive. It echoed off the high ceiling.
A few servants standing along the wall ducked their heads, but their shoulders shook. A muffled snicker escaped one.
The Duke closed his eyes, a deep line of fatherly despair etched between his brows. Disappointment and weary resignation warred on his face.
The Duchess was on her feet, her voice rising as she scolded Ashford. "You will stop this instant! You disrespect your brother and your new brother-in-law!"
Ashford was leaning back in his chair now, howling with laughter, wiping a tear from his eye. "Wooden toys! He thinks playing with blocks is satisfying an Omega! Oh, that’s rich!"
Abel looked around. He saw his brother laughing. He saw the servants trying not to laugh. He saw his mother angry, his father disappointed.
He thought he had done something good. He had defended Orion. He had stated a fact.
He looked back at Orion, expecting to see him smiling too. Expecting gratitude, or at least relief.
Orion’s chair was empty.
Abel’s gaze dropped to the empty space. The napkin was crumpled on the floor where it had fallen from Orion’s lap.
He looked up, toward the great doors.
A flash of charcoal-grey robe, a blur of movement, disappearing into the hallway.
Orion was gone.
Abel stared at the empty doorway. The laughter around him faded into a dull roar in his ears. The fork felt suddenly heavy in his hand. He lowered it slowly, setting it back on the table with a soft clink.
He had tried to help.
But Orion had run.