Finally, Brennan turned to him.
"I want to thank you, for saving their lives," he said heavily, his brow furrowed. "If they had died..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
"It was my pleasure," Oscar said, his voice shaking.
"Yes, well." Brennan turned away from him once more, gazing pensively into the deepening darkness. "I am a man of honor. More, I am a pragmatist. Pragmatically speaking, there will be more male-born shifters in our kingdom. It would be better for our kingdom as a whole that they... a few in particular... survive the experience. My search this afternoon turned up exactly two midwives who are willing to handle male births, and only one with any experience. Which tells me that your continued existence is vital to the continued health and well-being of our subjects."
"How... how did you know I was experienced?"
"Ah, because there is no Olivia meeting your description in town? It was quite by accident, actually. Questions led to questions, and the pair of male parents who suddenly 'adopted' their daughter earlier this year directed me to your aunt's house. Your aunt, well... she does like to talk, doesn't she?"
Oscar's heart sank. She would have told him everything with the slightest encouragement.
"I admit that I have been battling with myself over just precisely what to do with you. Killing you would eliminate the threat to my station, my reputation, my marriage, and even my place in line for the throne. With you out of the way, I could go about my business as usual. However... the future speaks, echoing back to me like ripples on the universe. Oren. His first pups will not be his last."
A soft, dreamy smile played on Brennan's lips. He shook it off, hardening his expression.
"He will require your expertise, more than once. He is slim-hipped and fertile; a dangerous combination. I cannot risk his well-being in the hands of anyone less qualified than yourself. Which leaves me with a complication. You must return to the palace. But I must ensure that you will never breathe a word of this to anyone. Since I can't threaten your life, well... I happen to know a duke in Garaidh who happens to have a son, who happens to be in the care of a horrible, controlling, witch of a woman and her equally dreadful daughter. Should a single word of this afternoon cross your lips, that household will burn to the ground, child and all."
"I won't say a word," Oscar promised.
His body shook with pent-up rage and fear, a paralyzing cocktail of fire and ice which kept him trembling and rooted to the spot like a great, gaudy aspen.
"Threatening children is not my preferred method of negotiating, I hope you understand. Your silence is too important to fool with minor bribes and threats which may not hit the mark. A man's child is a sure thing."
Brennan's gaze drifted once more, off into the near distance. Oscar's muscles clenched painfully against his trembling.
"Now then," Brennan said, lightly. "Let's discuss where we really were, shall we?"
MEANWHILE, PRINCE ALFRED was still chasing his tail to find them. He knocked on Oscar’s aunt’s door, and was greeted by a flustered, flapping woman.
"Oh my! Two princes in a single day, why I never...! Please, come in, come in. Octavia! Tea for our guest, please! Oh dear and here I had the good china packed away. Gracious, I never would have imagined...! Please, dear, I mean your highness, please sit down."
"Much obliged, ma'am. What was it my brother came to you for?"
"Oh, why he was..."
"Aunt Gina, may I see you in the kitchen for a moment, please?"
The raven-haired omega that Alfred had noticed the night before poked her head out of the kitchen. Alfred noticed the worried lines etched into her brow.
"But darling, the prince was just..."
"Yes, Gina, please just for a moment."
"Ah, well. Excuse me, your highness. You know how flighty girls can be."
She curtsied deeply, so deeply that her aged joints cracked against the strain, and fluttered off into the kitchen. Alfred listened carefully, but could only catch snippets of the furious, whispered conversation.
"He already knew... oh, you don't think, not...! Oh alright, alright, but I don't see what the big secret is."
Several minutes passed before the woman bustled out with a tea tray. Her excitement at his presence had faded into a pinched, worried expression. She poured his tea without a word and sat, staring miserably out the window.
"My brother," Alfred pressed, gently. "What did he come here for? Something to do with Olivia?"
"Yes!" she burst, relieved. "Yes, Olivia, exactly. Olivia was a midwife before you swept her off her feet. Ah, so romantic that was! Made me feel like a young girl again."
"So Brennan needed a midwife...?"
"Oh! Yes, yes. A friend of his was having trouble, a friend's wife or something? Trouble with the labor, you see. He was told that Os—Olivia was the best midwife around, as she most certainly is. I told him that he wouldn't find hi—her here, that she was living with you up at the palace! And he was off in a flash, didn't even finish his tea you know."
"Did he happen to mention where his friend lived?" Alfred asked.
"I'm sorry dear, he was really just interested in finding Olivia. He didn't tell me too much, a bit tight-lipped that one. Not nearly as charming as yourself, your highness."
"You're too kind," Alfred sighed. "Midwifery. That would have been one of those getting-to-know-you details, I suppose. Well thank you, ma'am, I believe I'll be on my way. The tea was excellent."
He saw himself out quickly, leaving his cup untouched on the table.
"Well, I never! You would think that royalty would have better manners,” Gina grumbled.
“Gina,” Octavia said, firmly. “Tell me exactly what you told Prince Brennan.”
ALFRED LEANED HIS FOREHEAD on his horse's, thinking deeply. He needed gossip. He'd expected Oscar's aunt to have more but, after her talk with her niece, she had virtually shut down. He needed someone else, someone who would know the names of everyone who was expecting a baby that week. From the corner of his eye, he watched as a woman of the same approximate age as Gina exited the bakery, stared at him agape for a moment, then hurried off down the street.
"Excuse me!" he called out.
She whirled around and curtsied clumsily, spilling her shopping on the dusty street. He walked over and stooped to help her scoop her things back into her basket.
"Oh, your highness! You don't need to do that, someone of your station..."
"Never mind," he told her, gently. "I wanted to ask you something. You look like a woman who knows a thing or two."
"That I do, lad, that I do," she said, blushing furiously. "What would you like to know?"
Alfred gestured conspiratorially, waving her closer. She leaned eagerly toward him, intrigued.
"I need to know who is having a baby... one that they don't want anyone to know about."
"A secret baby?" The woman asked, her eyes lighting up. "Well... now, this didn't come from me, you see."
"Of course, my lips are sealed."
She sighed and fluttered her eyelashes, eyeing the aforementioned lips.
"Well, you see, old Mrs. Wendell... a whole brood of little ones she has, plus that big old farm, and she's a widow to boot. Poor dear hasn't taken a proper lover since her dear husband died. And yet..."
She leaned closer and dropped her voice to a dramatic whisper.
"She's been buying up every nappy and nipple in town for the last two weeks. Swears up and down she's donating them to the new mothers' fund but, as a proud member of the board of directors, I can tell you for certain... she's keeping them for herself. Now what would a woman her age, with no lovers, need baby things for?"
"Why indeed," Alfred said, nodding gravely. "Can you tell me where Mrs. Wendell lives?"
"Of course! Just out beyond Sway Bridge, the old farm on Breckenridge drive."
"You've been exceptionally helpful," Alfred told her sincerely, as he dropped a kiss on her weathered hand. "You have my everlasting gratitude."
/>
He left her swooning at the side of the road, her cheeks aflame with pleasure. His effect on women, young and old, had always carried a certain potency. He'd come to expect it, frankly, and generally speaking he found it to be tiresome at best. At moments like this, however, it was the most useful tool in his considerable arsenal.
He turned his horse's nose east toward Sway Bridge. He rarely ventured to Breckenridge Drive; the farm was the only thing of interest in that direction, and the drive was considerably more boring than many of the other avenues around his kingdom. Once again, he realized, the way he automatically prioritized amusement over duty was clear. Had he included Breckenridge in his weekly tours around the kingdom, he might have noticed some little detail which would prepare him for whatever it was he was getting himself into. As it was, he was riding blind, with nothing but the suspicions of a gossipy old woman to go on.
Chapter 9
A high-pitched whistle jostled Oscar from his pensive reverie.
"Frank! Hello, Frank? These beauties have had quite the day, what say you put them to bed?"
The door beside Oscar flung open, and he nearly tumbled from the carriage.
"Take my arm. I can't have my future whatever-in-law falling flat on... its face."
"Sneering at me is bad form, considering," Oscar snarled.
"I believe I still have the upper hand. Consider yourself lucky I choose only to sneer. Now, you remember what you're supposed to tell my brother?"
"Yes."
"Yes...?"
"Yes, your highness."
"That's better. Shall we? I'm sure he's in a foul mood. May as well face him together."
Brennan's chipper devil-may-care attitude grated on Oscar's nerves. He wanted to run ahead, into the palace, and scream Brennan's secrets from the rooftops. Hell, he'd shout out his own secrets too. Secrets, like lies, soured Oscar's stomach, and he'd had his fill of the whole thing. Proper gender roles and societal expectations be damned, he just wanted everything out in the open. Brennan had made the right call, he realized. If his son... whose name he didn't know, whose face he could only recall in his deepest, saddest dreams... if his life wasn't on the line, Oscar would have spilled it all the second he encountered someone with functional ears. As it was, the first person they came across was Burges, who radiated an icy cold, impeccably polite fury.
"Ah, Burges! You can tell my brother that I returned his bride safe and sound. I'll be off. Esther will be furious if I'm late for supper."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, your highness," Burges said, with an arched brow.
He waved a gloved hand, and four guards materialized from the next room.
"Take them," he ordered. "See to it that they cannot escape."
Panic strangled Oscar as his arms were gripped by a massive guard on either side. They began walking him out of the drawing room, through a heavy, ominous-looking door.
"You will release me! Release me or so help me, when I take the throne your head will be first to roll! Release me, you overgrown pit bulls!"
The guards remained stoic and silent as they led Oscar and Brennan deep into the bowels of the palace.
"My wife is expecting me! Only an idiot infuriates a future queen! Release me!"
"I don't think it's working," Oscar said, wryly. "But by all means, keep screaming. Maybe they don't fully comprehend your displeasure yet."
"You!" Brennan snarled. "This is your fault! You put that spell on Alfred, the day before...! It's a conspiracy, you're working with him to disgrace me!"
"You're doing a fine job of it yourself," Oscar muttered.
They reached the lowest level, a cavernous basement which housed two iron-barred cells on one end. Tiny windows high in the wall allowed moonlight to trickle to the floor in pathetic little puddles, illuminating bits of straw and clumps of what Oscar sincerely hoped was mud. The guards shoved him into one cell and Brennan into the other. The doors locked with a decisive clang, and the guards departed without a word.
"Good job," Oscar sighed. "You didn't tell him you were taking me, did you."
"How exactly would I have explained that?" Brennan asked.
"Fair point."
Oscar slid to the floor, leaning against the cool stone wall, propping his arms on his knees.
"How did you get wrapped up with Oren, anyway?"
"That's none of your business!"
"Well, no, but I figure we're going to be here a while, and I find boredom excruciating. I don't really care. Just passing the time."
Brennan didn't respond. He paced restlessly in his cell while Oscar tapped rhythmically on the floor, playing tunes in monotone on the clammy stones. Boredom settled like a weight on his chest, and he got up to explore his cell. It was just like he'd imagined a palatial jail cell would be; stone floors, iron bars separating the cells, iron bars across the front. He counted the bars on the walls, then the bars in the window. Thirty-three.
"Hey, how many bars are in your window?" he asked.
"What?"
"How many bars are in your window?"
"Does it matter?"
"I don't know, maybe? How many?"
Brennan glanced up, sighing heavily.
"Five," he said.
"Thirty-eight!" Oscar said, triumphantly.
"What?"
"That's how many bars are in here."
"Congratulations, you can count."
"Well, if you would talk, maybe I wouldn't have to."
Brennan didn't reply, and Oscar shrugged. He began counting stone blocks in the wall. He'd counted forty-two when Brennan exploded.
"How does Alfred stand you?!"
"What?"
"Do you have to count?"
"Was I counting out loud?"
"Yes! Mutter, mutter, mutter, and it's all numbers! What is wrong with you?"
"I told you, I'm bored!"
"Then sit and meditate! Pray! Contemplate your final hours of existence!"
"Final hours?"
"You think Alfred is going to let either of us go? No. He's going to execute us for this."
"You, perhaps. I did nothing wrong."
"Oh? You delivered the bastard spawn of a royal and a male breeder. Are you even a licensed midwife?"
"Well..."
"Exactly."
"Unlicensed midwifery results in a fine, not execution," Oscar pointed out.
"In most cases. There are extenuating circumstances, for instance, the fact that you ran away from me and I had to chase you down."
"That didn't happen."
"It did now."
"God, you're a bastard."
"Keep a civil tongue or lose it, peasant."
Oscar burst out laughing.
"Look at yourself! Sitting in a prison cell like any common man, still posturing like your station matters in here. Besides, in two weeks my station will technically be above yours."
"No, it won't," Brennan said, with a grin. "Because that marriage will never happen."
"Alfred might disagree."
"Not after he finds out who and what you are."
"And who and what is that, exactly?"
"A fuckboy with a bastard child, obviously."
Oscar started to laugh again, and Brennan scowled.
"Laugh all you like, peasant. Come dawn, you won't have a head to laugh out of."
Oscar kept his amused grin in place, but couldn't quite shake the fear in his gut. Alfred had thrown him in prison, after all. He had also had a violent reaction to Oscar's big reveal, though he handled it well in retrospect. There was a chance that Brennan was right. Oscar could only hope that his instincts about Alfred were truer than Brennan's. Considering their relationship, it seemed unlikely; on the other hand, Brennan seemed rather unstable. It was entirely possible that his own ego and paranoia were clouding his judgement.
It was too large a puzzle with too many hidden variables for Oscar to figure out on his own, so he put the problem aside. Whatever would be, would be.
NIG
HT HAD FALLEN FULLY by the time Alfred made it to the farm on Breckenridge. He tied his horse to the hitching post in front of the wide, disjointed farmhouse and approached the run-down front door. A strange sort of trepidation settled over him as he raised his hand to knock. He hesitated for a breath before knocking politely on the door. When no-one answered, he knocked harder. Listening for a moment, he heard the sounds of chaotic, hyperactive children bickering. Annoyed, he pounded thunderously on the door. Silence fell, then the door swung open to reveal a rail-thin teenage boy with bare feet, dressed in overlarge cutoff shorts which were held up by a pair of dirty suspenders. His dirty feet were bare, and he was munching on an apple. He gave Alfred a quick, suspicious look, then turned on his heel.
"Ma! A fancy man is here!"
He ran off, leaving Alfred standing awkwardly in the doorway.
"A fancy man? What the devil are you... oh! Your highness."
She looked annoyed at his presence, and he suddenly felt like an intruder.
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am, but I was wondering if you had any information on the whereabouts of my brother."
"How the bloody hell should I know where royalty gets off to? I'm busy; go away."
"Ma'am, I have some information..."
"Do you now? Well here's some information for you, your prissiness. My husband passed away five years ago, leaving me with this bloody farm and ten snot-nosed brats to raise on my own. His agriculture stipend was cut the day he died, and why? We still grow food, the town still eats the food, your own mouth has devoured the food I should be feeding my children, and what do we get for our troubles? Poverty. Not a single red cent, because the farm is in his name and he's dead. I asked again and again for the stipend to be transferred to me, but you bloody royals take forever to get anything done. So, while you prance around the countryside looking for your lay-about brother, I'm going on hour twenty of no sleep. I couldn't give two shits about your royal drama. Get off my land."
Wild Ride: An M/M Shifter Mpreg Romance Bundle Page 68
