HONEYTHORN
Marina Vivancos
Synopsis
Omega Milan Pryor knows his duty. He must travel North through the continent towards the snow, the cold, and his new betrothed. They say that Lord Alpha Raphael Ledford, the man he is to marry, is as artic as the weather of his land. But Milan has always been an optimist. Perhaps he might find friendship in the arranged marriage. Even love.
It doesn’t take long for Milan to realize that all the rumours about Lord Raphael are true. Reclusive, distant, frigid. Milan finds himself unwelcome in what he must now call his new home. He’s used to fighting for what he wants—but can he survive a husband as cruel as Lord Raphael?
Being bonded to one who rejects you is a painful thing. Will Milan be able to win his husband’s regard? What terrible secret is Lord Raphael keeping, and will Milan be able to discover it before it’s too late?
Or will Milan perish along with his heart?
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
A Note From The Author
More Books From Marina
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, or incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Marina Vivancos
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
Copyedited and proofread by Hope & Jess, Flat Earth Editing
Cover by Natasha Snow Designs
CHAPTER ONE
Fog suffocated the endless green of the land Milan was only now getting used to, having travelled through it for so long. He let his breath mist the window of the crawler as he watched fields and hills and sprawling forests pass. He’d even become accustomed to the lumbering gait of the crawler, the great beast of metal and steam, its bulbous body bisected between driver and passengers, six legs moving it forwards impossibly through mud and rubble. It was an invention that was not yet common in the south of the Great Continent, where he had lived all his life until then. He’d marvelled at the ingenuity of the machine and had pestered the driver—who had been patient in telling him several times that he simply drove the thing and knew little about how it actually worked—for details.
“We’re almost there, Sir,” the driver called from ahead.
“Thank you, Stephen.”
Milan pressed his cheek against the window and indeed, from the mist appeared the large manor like a ship approaching harbour. If all went to plan, this would be his home for the rest of his life. Milan clasped his hands together, taking a slow, deep breath. He’d had plenty of time to acclimatise himself to the idea of this: weeks upon weeks of travel.
Like everybody in the Great Continent, he had wept with relief when the war ended. Of course, it was naïve to believe that peace would immediately follow. To assure this would happen, the monarchy of each country—the North, East, South, and West—had agreed to a series of marriages between the nobles or ranked officials of each place.
Despite Milan’s unwillingness, he was a perfect candidate. Of age, knowledgeable in keeping an estate, with a mother who had a modest but military background—he was fit to be shipped off. Expendable, but appropriate.
Milan had struggled greatly with the idea at first, but the pressure to follow orders was immense, and he could not let his family suffer the consequences of his refusal. Surely, he had nothing to fear. Surely, he had not given up his home and family for nothing more than empty duty.
As they approached the entrance, Milan saw a semicircle of what he assumed was the house staff waiting for him. They were all dressed in black, with pale skin unlike the dark tone most common in his land. Despite the drab uniform, Milan recognised his future Alpha and husband at once, looming above the others, tall and broad, with a long overcoat so heavy it wasn’t even moving in the wind. Milan squinted his eyes, trying to get an impression of his betrothed before their official meeting, but the Alpha’s features were still and hard to parse.
With a long, steam-filled sigh, the crawler came to a stop, the body of the machine lowering itself slightly towards the ground.
Milan ignored his racing pulse, readying himself for the humid cold. One more deep breath and the door opened.
“Mister Pryor. Welcome to Ledford Manor.”
Milan paused for a moment, having expected his betrothed to be the one to welcome him instead of the thin, pale man doing so, but this was not the first foreign custom he’d had to get used to since his arrival to the North. The reserved quality of the people, the cold weather and strange flora—all were foreign. Even the buildings seemed to be constructed with the aim to keep everything in, to shield from the world, whereas the South was open to the sun and breeze. Looking at the cold, grey stone made him shiver, even in the furs he had scoffed at when he had first seen them, not able to believe weather could be so cold as to need them.
Now, he refused to take them off.
“Thank you. It is a pleasure to have arrived,” Milan said, accepting the hand the man had outstretched to help him off the crawler, despite the fact that Milan was more than capable of hopping out himself. It was a persistent rumour that Omegas had delicate ankles, an idea that Milan had found easily disabused with a swift kick to the offender’s knee.
“I am Orson Lent, butler of the manor.” Orson bowed.
“Oh, it’s nice to meet you, Orson.” Milan bowed back, which, judging by the sudden reaction of the staff—wide eyes, parted mouths, and even a rather dramatic gasp—was not the proper response. “Oh, er…should I not bow back? Excuse me, I’m new to these customs.”
There was a slight pause as Orson seemed momentarily speechless.
“A Sir of your station need not bow to someone of mine,” Orson replied in a flat voice.
Milan opened his mouth, frowning. That sounded quite ridiculous. A man of his station? In the end, however, he decided that arguing was not a good idea at the time. No need to insult their culture in the first three minutes.
“Right. Of course,” Milan said and almost went to bow again for some reason, catching himself just in time.
This might turn out to be even harder than expected.
An awkward pause…and Orson began to introduce the rest of the staff, who bowed or curtsied as Milan greeted them. He managed to nod appropriately but forgot their names and stations as soon as he heard them. His racing heart was a drum that drowned everything else out until he finally stood in front of the Lord Alpha. Milan looked up and met the eyes of the man who was to be his husband.
At least a head taller, his hair was plentiful and of a dark brown, his eyes blue like the sky before true nightfall, face and shoulders broad and imposing. The man was beautiful.
“Lord Alpha Raphael Ledford,” Orson introduced. Raphael did not speak, only nodded his head slightly.
Although this was their first meeting, Milan had been given some information about Raphael. At thirty-one years of age, he was nine years older than Milan. He had been married before, although this had ended under mysterious circumstances five years prior. Milan knew that Raphael was responsible for a great estate and
that any children Milan had would inherit not only this but the title of ‘Lord’ or ‘Lady.’
Reputable sources were not the only font of information, however. There were plenty of rumours about the lord, said to be as cold as the mountain winds, to lack affection and expression since the divorce and bond-break of his last Omega husband. Some said that he was distrustful and did not like spending time with Omegas, thinking himself above them.
Milan shuddered to imagine all that as his future. Coming from an open, affectionate family in a social society, he dreaded to envision a life devoid of the human warmth he was so used to. However, Milan was an optimist by nature and had chosen to pay no heed to the rumours, instead keeping an open mind as to the true nature of the man before him now.
After all, Milan was sure there were more than a few unflattering rumours about him too.
Milan smiled widely at Raphael. “My Lord. I have awaited meeting you,” he said cheerfully.
Raphael frowned slightly in response, making it clear that such open shows of emotion were perhaps not appropriate in this culture. It dampened Milan’s expression, but he didn’t let it discourage him. It was the way of these people. It wasn’t personal.
“Welcome,” Raphael replied, his voice low and quiet, before turning away and striding into the manor.
Milan blinked, startled, and sent a questioning look towards Orson.
“Please, follow Lord Ledford. Your bags will be taken to your room.”
“Uh, right.” Before doing as suggested, however, Milan turned back to the crawler, smiling at Stephen. The old man had been a constant companion for much of the journey, the forced proximity building a friendship of sorts between them.
“Stephen. It has been a joy to spend these weeks with you. Thank you for all your help.” Milan grasped one of Stephen’s hands in thanks, making the man smile.
“It has been my pleasure. I hope you find a home here, Mister Pryor. It will be lucky to have you.”
Milan squeezed his hand. For a moment, a strange, sudden fear overtook him. Stephen was the last link to his land. Not because he was from the South, but because his departure meant that the journey was over. There was no turning back, now. This place marked his new life.
Stephen’s face softened. “It will be all right, Mister Pryor. Trust an old man’s instincts,” he said quietly.
Milan nodded, forcing himself to keep the tears at bay. “Thank you.”
With a last squeeze, their hands parted. Milan managed not to look over his shoulder one last time as he walked towards the manor. His new home.
Milan hadn’t quite known what to expect to find inside, but he paused to take in the immense entry hall. The room could only be described as grand, with a high ceiling from where a massive chandelier hung and glinting floors giving an impression of light despite the foggy day. With interest, Milan could see that the manor used steam technology, the sconces on the walls clearly electrical. Two curving staircases on either side of the room led to the second floor, some of which could be seen from the balcony that lined the furthest half of the room.
Despite its grandeur, however, there was something impersonal about the place. With such ample space, it seemed bare. The only decorations looked like relics of past family members. It almost looked recently stripped, and Milan wondered if Raphael wanted him to decorate. He would be sorely disappointed in Milan’s lack of skill in this area, but it would be a nice gesture.
Perhaps his husband-to-be was not cold—just subtle.
With a smile, Milan approached Raphael, who seemed to have been waiting for him. He opened his mouth to apologise for the delay, but Raphael spoke before he could.
“Melissa will take you to your rooms. She has been appointed to you, so any doubts can be handled by her. I will see you at dinner.”
With that, Raphael left through one of the side doors as if he had been counting down the seconds to leave. Milan felt the pit in his stomach grow heavier. Dinner was hours away, and he had hoped to spend some time with Raphael as there was only a week until their wedding. He’d had a long journey, however—Raphael was probably being considerate in letting Milan rest.
“Sir…” he heard from his side and turned to find a shy-looking Omega looking at him uncertainly.
“You must be Melissa?”
“Yes. I can show you to your rooms.” Her brown, wavy hair fell forwards slightly to frame her thin face as she bowed.
“All right, I am eager to see more of my new home.”
The room Melissa guided him to was truly beautiful. Large windows with heavy, deep-green drapes, an opulent bed in the middle, wooden, well-cared for furniture. Milan smiled as he saw that his luggage was already there.
“Is Raphael’s room beside this one?” Milan wondered.
“No. Lord Ledford resides in another wing.”
“Right.” Propriety, he guessed.
Melissa moved towards Milan’s bags, but he stopped her with an outstretched hand.
“Don’t worry about that. I can see to it myself.”
Melissa looked at him with wide eyes, and Milan watched with some amusement as she seemed to struggle between which was more inappropriate—protesting, or not letting Milan demean himself with such a task.
“Please, do not worry,” Milan assured her. “I look forward to getting acquainted with you—I think we will become good friends.”
Melissa only seemed more startled, blushing bright red, before bowing and leaving with a stuttered goodbye.
As the door shut, Milan felt his smile drain away. He looked around the room again.
His new home.
Without thinking any further, Milan turned to unpack.
**********
Milan dressed for dinner early, impatient to finally say more than two words to the man he was supposedly spending the rest of his life with. It was not just marriage that awaited him, but a biting bond. Not easily broken once created, the bond would unite them, mind and soul. Each person had a role and an advantage in the partnership. The Omega was capable of affecting the Alpha’s emotions, helping to calm and guide them. Alphas, on the other hand, brought stability to the Omega through touch.
The beginning of the bond was a very delicate stage which had to be nurtured through touch and company. This was known as far as history could remember. What was more recent to come out into the light, was that neglecting the bond would mean an unstable Alpha but, more worryingly, it would cause the decay of an Omega, eventually leading to death.
Not that this was something Milan had to be concerned about, of course. Those cases were incredibly rare. After the bond, it would take a strong will to counter the protective instinct of both Omega and Alpha in order to cause such malicious harm. It was simply all the waiting around that was making Milan’s mind go wild with uncertainty.
A knock on his bedroom door startled Milan out of his dark thoughts. He took a second to make sure he looked presentable and hadn’t winkled his attire—a deep-red suit and white cravat—with all his pacing. His hair, shorn close to his skin, needed little maintenance, and he had left his face untouched by the products some Omegas used to highlight their best features. Really, Milan thought, my plump lips and dark eyes speak for themselves.
Deeming himself presentable, he rushed to the door, startling Melissa as he yanked it open with enthusiasm.
“Dinner?” He smiled widely.
“Yes. The dining room is downstairs.”
Milan followed her eagerly, eventually stopping in front of a large, wooden door. He waited for her to move onwards, but Melissa’s knock on the door marked their final destination. He looked at her, confused, for there was noise coming from the other side—several voices talking over each other, and the sound of glasses clinking or being placed down.
Before Milan could even begin to conceive what awaited him, the door opened.
“Thank you, Melissa,” Raphael said quietly. He was still wearing his black suit, although without his overcoat, and cut an im
pressive figure, but Milan was too distracted with what could possibly be happening inside the room to be moved by Raphael’s appearance.
Milan barely noticed Melissa curtsying and leaving as Raphael stood aside, gesturing for Milan to enter. Milan did but stopped short at the sight of the dining table. Instead of an intimate dinner for two, the table was host to six Alphas, who ceased talking to look at Milan curiously. He was stunned out of all reaction. Surely, this could not be due to ignorance. To book what he guessed was a work dinner, to not even warn Milan ahead of time…that struck Milan more as malice than anything else.
Milan looked up at Raphael and, for a single moment, their eyes met. Milan did not know what he expected from him. Arrogance? A challenge? A sneer? All he got was a refusal to accept the consequences of his own actions as Raphael quickly looked away.
“My associates,” he began and introduced each Alpha in turn. Two men, four women. All pale and nearly indistinguishable, as far as Milan was concerned. He managed to nod and perhaps even smile, but each name was lost to him.
Finally, Raphael introduced him as his betrothed. Milan looked at him again, surprised by the acknowledgment, having half expected to be referred to as “Omega” or “the Omega from the South.”
The dinner was a blur. Milan sat stiff and straight in his chair, forcing himself to eat despite his stomach being a tight knot. He nodded and replied to questions about his travels and his impressions of the North. Milan lied diplomatically, despite the urge to say what he really thought of this cold land, and the cold man he was to marry.
When the last of the dessert was finished, the Alphas headed in unison to a small sitting room for drinks. Milan watched them leave for a moment before looking up at Raphael, who had stopped beside him.
“You must be tired. You may return to your room if you wish.” Despite the veneer of concern, it was a clear dismissal. Raphael didn’t even look at him as the pause between them stretched.
Honeythorn: Alpha/Omega Page 1
