by Kari Gregg
His heart thumping with his joy, Nick kissed away Arit’s frown. He’d mated with Arit for political reasons, to forge an alliance with Benjic that would win him support in the capitol, but he hadn’t counted on the bond developing between he and Arit gifting him so much more. That unanticipated prize thrummed his pulse, sweetened every breath filling his chest, warmed him as thoroughly as the heat of Arit’s body—Nick wasn’t alone anymore. Success or failure, rise or fall, Nick would never be alone again.
Happiness zinged through him, and he brushed his mouth over Arit’s, simply because he wanted to and he could. “The capitol.” He snickered at his mate’s glower. “Next, I must return to the capitol.”
Chapter Eleven
The cities proved to be more horrible than Arit’s low expectations.
After their night together, he and Nick had emerged from the lodge’s imperial suite the next afternoon to a gloating Benjic, who had informed them Rolan and Lydia had left at dawn—and the forensics team had completed DNA tests on the remains. The council was prepared to go forward with final arrangements for the funeral and abdication ceremony. Only a fool would believe the timing was coincidental and Arit was no fool, especially when it came to his sire. Still, he’d trudged to his private quarters to pack a bag while his mate had texted Rolan to warn his adopted brother to meet them in the capitol and Nick otherwise organized the details of the return trip.
Arit had never wandered outside the Urals. Some shifters were born with itchy feet and couldn’t resist the compulsion to go, to explore, but not Arit. He took after his dad, preferring the comforts of home and hearth. The clacking of the train rolling over the tracks hurt his sensitive ears throughout the hours of their journey. He hated the smells—car exhaust, the ripe stench of too many bodies packed together, and clouds of perfume mixing. The roar of city traffic set his teeth on edge.
Threading his fingers through Arit’s, Nick held Arit’s hand from the moment they’d left the lodge until the bellboy closed the doors of their capitol penthouse suite, blissfully sealing off the rancorous noises and scents that had tormented Arit. As soon as Nick released his grip, Arit rubbed his temples. The headache throbbing behind his eyes intensified the wild urge to abandon Nick to his madness and scurry back to the mountains where Arit belonged.
“How bad?” Nick asked, startling Arit when he settled his hands on Arit’s shoulders and squeezed. “Visitors from the outer territories frequently suffer migraines at first. Our pre-arrival security team ordered green tea.” He nodded to a cart. “Tea sometimes helps.”
“I’ll throw it up.” His stomach roiled at the idea of risking anything inside it. “At least the soundproofing here is excellent.” The silence once the doors had shut came as a welcome relief.
“The upper and ruling classes perfected whatever measures added to their personal comfort since the war.” Nick’s mouth curved into a bitter smile. “You should rest.”
Arit yearned for a dark room and a soft bed more than he craved his next breath. “Do you think the media noticed?” He gestured at Nick and at his own chest. “Us.”
“We were discreet.” Nick’s warm chuckle soothed Arit’s jagged, fraying senses. “But not that discreet. You didn’t hear the chants of protestors at the train station?”
“The city is too loud. The sounds blend together.” Shaking his head, Arit rubbed at the knots forming in his stomach, then he abruptly stiffened. “Wait. Protestors?”
Walking to the tea cart, Nick shrugged a tense shoulder and turned a delicate tea cup over on its saucer before pouring the steaming brew from an extravagantly painted ceramic pot. “Until Sunday, I’m still the crown prince. Protestors follow me everywhere.” He smiled, gaze sad. “Now that we’ve bonded, they’ll follow you, too.”
“Not to the Urals.” Arit frowned. “Not if they’re smart anyway.”
Nick doctored the tea with cream and honey. He carried the drink to Arit. “Here. A few sips to ease your nausea.” He passed the fragile cup to Arit, whose fingers warmed on the heated ceramic. “Then you can rest. You’ll feel better once you’ve slept off the rigors of the trip.”
“I’ve work to do, or you would have never dragged me to this goddess forsaken pit in the first place.” Glaring at his mate, Arit sniffed the contents of the tea cup. “You aren’t tired.”
“I acclimated to the noise and stink of urban areas before I learned to drive.” He sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Can you hang on for a few days?”
Though his aching head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, Arit arched an eyebrow. “Days?”
“One way or the other, this will be over by Sunday.”
Regardless of the sweetener Nick had added to his cup, Arit grimaced at the bitter flavor of his tea. “If the tribes crown you instead of permitting your abdication, the people will expect you to live in the capitol.” He wrinkled his nose, astonished—not for the first time—that he’d signed up for this. Cultured garden parties and political glitterati were Benjic’s wheelhouse, not Arit’s, and Arit craved the crisp clear air of the Urals more than ever. “As long as we occasionally return to the mountains, I’ll adjust,” he said, hoping to convince himself as much as persuade his mate. “I’ll learn.”
“Already willing to sacrifice your personal happiness for the sake of the tribes.” Nick blew out a weary breath. “I knew we were equally matched.”
When Nick urged him to the massive sleigh bed in the master bedroom, Arit didn’t object, absurdly grateful his mate stripped free of his own clothes and sat beside him. Having Nick near, his clean piney scent in Arit’s nostrils, settled something raw and ragged inside him. Sunlight glinted on the fake gold of Nick’s necklace. “Why?” he mumbled.
Nick leaned over him. “Why what?”
“Your locket. It’s significant to you. I can’t sense much through our bond, but I see the evidence of its importance to you with my own eyes. I just don’t understand what it means to you because you haven’t shared it with me.” He frowned into his pillow. “Frustrating.”
His mate smoothed his hands up the bumps of Arit’s spine and once he reached Arit’s nape, he rubbed Arit’s aching shoulders. “Sleep. Explanations can come later.” At Arit’s discontented grunt, Nick bent to kiss the sensitive skin stretched over Arit’s shoulder blades. “It’s a long story and an ugly one. I promise to tell it, but for now, you need rest.”
Arit growled. “Liar.”
“Mates don’t lie.” Nick dug his fingers into Arit’s flesh. “I’ll never lie to you. I may not tell you everything, but I won’t lie. Not about this. I’ll tell you about the locket when I’m ready. When I’m strong enough to share it.”
His disappointment fought his exhaustion. The weary fatigue won. Maybe his mate was right. With Arit’s head splitting, his senses spinning from the new chaos of smells and noises slamming into him in the city, perhaps prying open doors shutting away Nick’s secrets should wait. “Okay.”
“I will tell you.” Nick’s low voice firmed with resolution. “I want to tell you.”
“I believe you.”
“Good.”
With Nick massaging the tension from Arit’s muscles, drugging sleep wasn’t long in taking him.
Arit dozed through the rest of the day, the night, and the following morning, his eyes not popping open until the sun blazed high in the sky outside the master bedroom’s windows. His belly rumbled, cavernously empty, as he pushed away the heavy comforter someone had draped over him while he’d slept. He swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. Rubbed his bleary eyes.
At least his head had stopped hurting.
He squinted at the art, antiques, and lush fabrics around the penthouse master bedroom, noting similarities with the lodge’s deluxe amenities as well as areas in which the luxury and comfort Shifter Frontiers offered guests could be improved. His nose wrinkled at the heavy perfume of blooming roses that filled his nostrils. More fresh flowers. His dad had been pressuring him to expand the greenhouse, but
Arit had balked, arguing the stench of floral arrangements overloaded and numbed the sense of smell for hunting. He resented the few bunches of flowers adorning the guest rooms, as it was. He scowled.
Maybe Dad was right. Shifters in the city seemed to like and expect the extravagance.
Limbs heavy, Arit pushed to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom. After relieving himself and washing his hands, he stared with fierce longing at the roomy, tiled shower, but he returned to the bedroom in search of clean clothing. He desperately wanted to scrub off the travel grunge still clinging to him but needed to find his mate more. Discovering his clothes hanging in a closet next to Nick’s finery, Arit snatched a lodge polo from a hanger and a pair of freshly ironed blue jeans. A bureau drawer yielded socks and bikini briefs. Arit stripped, shoving into a hamper the clothes he’d slept in. He tugged on the clothing he’d piled on the mussed bed. If Nick needed to go out, Arit supposed he might have to opt for the single dress shirt and vest he owned to accompany the prince, but he wouldn’t rush the discomfort of more formal attire until and unless he had to.
Dressed, he lurched to the bathroom to brush his teeth and combed the knots from his hair, weaving it into a single braid to get his hair out of his way. Glaring at his reflection in the mirror, he judged he’d wasted as much time as he dared. He turned to the door.
“You’re awake,” Nick said, voice warming in the suite’s massive den. He stood at a wall of windows, the skyscrapers of the city his backdrop, and beside him, a table that seated eight laden with food and littered with laptops.
Benjic bit into a fat sandwich, roast beef if the crude excess of flowers hadn’t muddied Arit’s sense of smell too much. Benjic tapped at the keyboard of a laptop with a free hand and grunted around the food in his mouth at Arit in acknowledgment. Arit recognized the shifter sitting opposite Benjic from news reports as another council elder, from one of the tribes in the southern plains if Arit remembered right, and Benjic’s older capitol son Harr sat next to their sire. Another man at the table was a member of Arit’s security team, as well as two of the guards stationed at the penthouse’s entry.
The rest of the crowd, Arit didn’t know, and his wolf bristled at the strangers in his territory, near his mate.
Except this wasn’t his territory. The Urals were miles behind them, so far home might as well have been on another planet. At least Arit knew the foreign world in which he now moved had one thing he needed. “Coffee,” he said, the word still husky with sleep.
“I’ll get it.” One of the men at the table hopped up and streaked to a sidebar graced by an ornate coffee service. “Sit, Your Highness. Eat.”
Arit’s brows beetled.
“Deban was talking to you. Acclimating to formal designations and address will come with practice,” Nick said, tone amused. He waved at the vacated chair. “Please. You must be starving.”
His Highness? Crossing his arms over his chest, Arit glowered though his mouth watered at the rich scent of the coffee Deban poured. “I told you I lacked his gift to lead.” He jerked his chin at his sire. “I won’t be co-regent. Prince Consort will do.”
His sire harrumphed.
Arit dropped into the empty chair. “If you don’t like it, too bad. You should’ve mated the crown prince to him.” He frowned at the younger half-brother he’d never met face to face, though Arit had heard of him through news reports and gossip columns. Harr shared Benjic’s coloring, black streaking the mottled hair at his ears like Arit, but his brother’s nose was sharper, his mouth wider, traits he probably had inherited from his capitol mother along with her thinner frame. Harr had outfitted himself like every other city shifter Arit had seen so far, his shirt with nary a wrinkle, the vest over it intricately embroidered. He wore dress pants, not jeans, and shoes with a glossy shine rather than boots. Arit tried not to resent the classy package Harr presented…and failed. “You’d have made a better partner for a prince.”
Harr laughed. “Not a chance. Janen would kill anyone who threatened her claim on me as her mate.” His mouth quirked. “You aren’t the only child of Benjic to crave an alpha in his bed. Besides, I’m a beta.” He smiled at Nick. “I doubt no less than another alpha would’ve triggered a mating heat in His Highness.”
Nick chuckled. “True.”
Brows furrowing, Arit glared at Benjic, though. “Spilling my secrets?” Anger unfurled in his belly. “To him?”
“To them. Not just Harr. All of my children with Katya are rabidly curious about their mysterious older brother in the Urals.” Benjic rolled his eyes. “Any details I gleaned from Emyn about you, your life, or what you like were treasures they prized while they were growing up.”
“Yet you isolated me from your capitol family.” Arit grimaced. “Ensured we remained strangers to each other.”
“Out of respect for your dad and Katya, yes, I kept my children apart.” Benjic shrugged. “It was a mistake.”
Harr nudged his sire with a shoulder. “He excels at them.” He shoved a hand forward to shake Arit’s hand. “Since he won’t properly introduce us, I’ll do the honors. I’m your half-brother, Harr. Lorat, Denai, Zanderik, and Keegan are eager to meet you as soon as you’re ready and a break in your obligations at events for the memorial allow.”
“Which reminds me.” Nick placed a printout in front of Arit as, dumbfounded, Arit shook his half-brother’s hand. “Your schedule.”
“I have a schedule?” Arit pursed his lips in distaste. “Won’t I accompany you?”
“Wherever he goes, you won’t be far,” Benjic said, highlighting text on his laptop. “His Highness, however, has official duties to perform and meetings to attend in which the presence of mates would be inappropriate or awkward, given how early in your mating your bond is. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging events for you nearby. Nothing elaborate, just luncheons, informal meet and greets with elders as well as capitol power brokers you should know.”
“Great,” he grumbled. Warming his hands on the mug the one called Deban had passed to him, Arit ignored his sire and glared at Deban instead. “Who are you?”
“Belia’s mate,” the shifter said, nodding at the elder from the southern plains on the other side of the table. He reached around Arit to close and retrieve one of the laptops cluttering the table. “And his assistant.”
“Deban is one of the power brokers I mentioned. Be nice,” Benjic warned with a frown.
Another politician. Fantastic. Arit lifted the mug to his lips and swallowed several desperate gulps, ignoring the burn of the steaming liquid on his throat in exchange for fueling his sluggish mind with caffeine as rapidly as possible.
Nudging the evil schedule aside, Nick settled a plate piled high with meaty sandwiches in front of Arit. “I grabbed one of each kind from the buffet.” His eyes sparkled with nerves.
Arit could have told him what he ate didn’t matter. The vapid taste of livestock raised for city markets could never compare with the tender game Arit regularly hunted. Food here would nourish his body, but only that. “Thank you,” he said, though, trying to instill as much gratitude for Nick’s consideration into his reply as he could.
He ate while the politicos argued around him. The late emperor, empress, and their children would be laid to rest in the Hall of Kings with as much pomp and circumstance as the tribes could manage a few days hence, on Sunday, and Nick’s abdication ceremony would occur shortly thereafter. Both events would be televised, with Nick insisting human media networks outside the territories received full access. When Arit could be bothered to glance at his schedule, several hours had been allotted to interviews with shifter and human reporters alike. Some of those time slots were colored purple, indicating Nick would join him and thereby take the spotlight off his mate, but others, Arit was expected to handle alone. “Why do they care what I say or think about anything?” he groused.
“Of course, the people are curious about you.” Harr gaped. “You’re mating the emperor.”
“Crown Prince,” N
ick corrected, taking a seat at the table with his own plate. “I’m no emperor.”
“Yet.” Benjic gulped his coffee. “Unless he’s formally crowned, referring to both Nick and Arit as Highness is proper. After coronation, Nick would be addressed as His Majesty and Arit as Imperial Consort.” The elder sniffed in irritation. “Although I’m sure His Highness will confer additional titles on his mate, as is historically the practice of royalty, he hasn’t yet. Your brother has no rank at all—the Your Grace designation is inappropriate.”
Arit blinked at his sire’s unfair criticism of Nick. “We’ve been mated, like, two days.”
Nick swallowed the bite he’d taken of his own sandwich. “I assume you entertain preferences for the titles Arit should be awarded?”
“Grand Duke of the Urals.” Benjic grunted. “Not High Alpha of the tribe. The family who seized power in the mountains after my dad’s death has done an exemplary job leading the Ural packs, and Arit would hate governing anyway. Making my son a grand duke won’t interfere with the hierarchy of power yet will neatly recognize our ancestral contribution to the tribe.”
“Only if I acknowledge you as my sire.” Foul temper stirred inside Arit. “Which I don’t.”
“Whether you’ll admit it or not, everyone is fully aware you’re my son. Goddess knows you’re as stubborn as I ever was.” Benjic growled. “Maybe worse.”
“He’s right.” Next to him, Harr shrugged. “You are an open secret in the capitol. Outsiders aren’t privy to gossip and political intrigues, nor citizens in the outer territories, but here, everyone knows.”
The elder glared at Arit. “Denying my claim on you only makes you look like a fool.”
“Denying you has allowed me to retain some small shred of privacy in the Urals,” Arit argued, “and it reminds your political flunkies you were a lousy sire whose insult and injury to the mate you abandoned—my dad—has not been forgotten.”
Benjic leapt to his feet and pounded the table with his fist. “If Emyn can forgive me, why won’t you?”
