by Kaia Pierce
Omega’s Wedding
Kaia Pierce
Copyright © 2020 Kaia Pierce
All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or part, without the express written consent of the author.
A note from the author:
OMEGA’S WEDDING is Book 3 in the Royal Alphas series. It is its own self-contained story and enjoyable to read as a standalone novella. For the best overall experience, please consider adding book 1 to your reading list!
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Lucas
Chapter 2: Damon
Chapter 3: Lucas
Chapter 4: Damon
Chapter 5: A Meeting of Kings
Chapter 6: Lucas
Chapter 7: Damon
Chapter 8: Lucas
Chapter 9: Damon
Chapter 10: Lucas
Chapter 11: Damon
Chapter 12: Lucas
Chapter 13: Anastasia
Chapter 1: Lucas
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I yelled over the howling wind.
Henry turned around as he cast his boxers aside. Queen Helga, Henry’s mother, was standing behind him. She was completely naked.
I kept one hand on the car door as I steadied my boots against the icy asphalt. Our limo was parked in the snow at the edge of the woods. Charlotte was still inside, strapped into her carseat.
I glanced dubiously at the sky, which looked like it might dump snow on us at any second. “I know the Northern Kingdom has its traditions and all,” I continued, “but they can’t expect you to show up like the others in the snow.” You’re the king, for cripe’s sakes, I almost added, but it would have been unnecessary. Also, I didn’t want to sound like I was whining.
Henry walked over in the buff and handed me a stack of his neatly-folded clothes. “Disregarding this rule is a good way to start a war. We talked about this, remember?”
It was true; we had. One thing Henry had brought up again and again was that the Northern Kingdom was very old world European. While Henry helmed the Midwestern Kingdom, steering it clear through the 21st century towards the 22nd, the Northern Kingdom still observed the ancient shifter customs that predated the United States, the discovery of penicillin, and perhaps even the Bible.
This weird business with guests arriving in their wolf forms was one of those customs. Henry had explained it was symbolic of visitors arriving at the castle fortress without their weapons, as guests rather than conquerers. Of course, I was exempt from that rule. I wasn’t a shifter.
“I’ll be fine once I’m in my wolf,” Henry said, placing a quick kiss on my cold cheek.
“Don’t worry, Lucas. We’ll see you at the estate,” Queen Helga added, handing her own clothes off to our limo driver. Before walking away, she stooped to blow kisses at Charlotte through the window.
I stood back, shivering in my parka as I watched. Henry’s statuesque flesh had turned pink and raw from the cold, while Queen Helga’s skin took on the mottled-white of sheep’s milk.
They strode towards the trees together, leaving a series of human footprints in the snowbank. Then, I heard the first snap of bone as Henry initiated his shift. Within seconds, both Henry and his mother were jerking and twitching and shrinking down until their bodies finally took on the appearance of wolves.
They took off, tails bouncing aloft as they melted into the trees.
“We should continue on, sir,” the driver said from behind the queen’s piled clothes.
“Yeah. Of course,” I said faintly, distracted by my own thoughts.
Being a human, I felt a little left out. Even Charlotte would become a full-blown shifter one day. Henry had explained that the onset would happen around puberty, which meant I had a little over a decade with Charlotte before she’d begin shifting like her father and grandmother, who were currently romping through the snow in their wolf forms without us.
Back inside the limo, I set Henry’s clothes aside and placed my hand on Charlotte’s tiny knee. She was a robust six months, but her size was more like a ten-month-old. That was probably due to the fact that she was half-shifter. She wouldn’t even have existed without shifter magic. It was the same magic that had allowed me, a human male, to become pregnant with her.
I stared out the window as the driver took us back on the road. The town we were in looked exactly like my grandmother’s Christmas village. Maybe I should take those little cottages out of storage, I found myself thinking. Briefly, I wished my grandma was still alive to see just how much my life had changed in the past year.
I was a father. My boyfriend was a wolf shifter. Not only that, he was the king of all the wolf shifters in the Midwestern Kingdom, a territory that coincided with our human approximation of the Midwestern United States.
And we were on our way to a royal wedding, albeit separately.
My eyes were glued to the window as I drummed my fingers on my knees. As the mansions we passed grew steadily bigger and more overwhelming, so did my anxiety.
Sure, I was nervous. Other than Henry and Queen Helga, I’d never met another royal before. But it wasn’t King Alexander I was anxious to meet.
It was his mate, Damon.
Like me, Damon had given birth to his and King Alexander’s child. In the shifter world, male pregnancies were uncommon but not unheard of. Damon was also a commoner like me. That was where our similarities ended. As a new parent, I craved the company of another person who could understand what I was going through.
I hoped Damon Rasmussen could be that person.
At 11:30 a.m. on the dot, we finally passed the sign welcoming us to the “quaint” village of Aspen Ridge. Of course, there was nothing quaint about it. The village was a loose collection of sprawling country estates, the largest of which belonged to the royal family of the Northern Kingdom.
A beam of sunlight managed to break through the dreary clouds as the driver pulled off of the main road. When I looked out the window, I could see a gargantuan mansion in the distance, as grand as the palace at Versailles.
The surrounding property was blanketed in white snow. Even from the road, I could see a handful of sprinting wolves dotting the landscape. They were the size of ants from far away. I already knew Henry and Queen Helga weren’t among them. By my calculations, they still had to be somewhere in the forest, zigzagging through trees and chest-high snow.
The driver pulled up to a gatehouse and lowered the window. A burly security guard in a heavy black parka stepped out and peered into the car. “Who you got there, Jules?” he asked the driver.
Jules jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Princess Charlotte and Lucas Stewart, consort to His Majesty King Henry Araborn.”
The security guard nodded. “Nice. Go on ahead.”
We were driven through the gate and onto estate grounds. Charlotte cooed happily. My stomach churned.
Not much longer now, I thought as I jiggled my knee.
The looming house approached. Jules pulled up to a red carpet that had been rolled out before the oaken front door. Two palace attendants stood on either side of the carpet, waiting to receive guests.
When the limo stopped, one of the attendants bent forward and opened my door. Then, he extended a white-gloved hand.
“Welcome to Thornriel Estate, Mr. Stewart. Sir Damon is waiting for you,” he said.
I unbuckled Charlotte and carefully stepped out with her in my arms. She blinked dazedly at the house, its many shuttered windows reflected in her blue eyes. This morning, Queen Helga
had clipped a barrette to Charlotte’s fine, blonde hair and put her in a matching purple beanie and scarf set.
As her cheeks pinked immediately from the biting cold, I couldn’t help but think for the millionth time that I had I had the cutest daughter on earth.
“Follow me, sir,” the attendant said, striding forward. His companion stayed behind, posted at the end of the carpet while Jules drove away with the limo.
I refocused my attention ahead. The attendant striding along in front of me was dressed in a trench coat of black wool, accented with a black fur ruff.
I felt a pang of panic, wondering if it was a bad sign that the staff here dressed better than me.
He called him “Sir Damon,” I recalled nervously, shifting Charlotte from my right arm to my left.
My breath billowed out of my mouth as I was led up a short series of flagstone steps. The attendant opened the door and stood to the side. He bowed when I stepped over the threshold.
I was greeted by an enormous marble-floored atrium, large enough to stage a Broadway musical, audience included. Two grand staircases curved from either side of the room like an extended pair of arms. An ornate chandelier glittered three stories above our heads, looking almost as big as the moon.
“Follow me to the playroom, if you please,” the attendant continued, marching on towards the mouth of a wide passageway.
I kept up as best I could. But Charlotte was heavy, and my surroundings were...well, they were interesting.
The main corridor was basically a shrine to the entire Thornriel line. According to these walls, the Thornriels had maintained a collection of family portraits going back multiple centuries.
The oldest painting by far was near the middle of the corridor, on the right-hand wall. About the size of a tea tray, it was smaller than the others, and it was the only one that had been framed in glass. It looked like it might have been from the Middle Ages. The paper was yellowed parchment, cracked and torn in places, but the image on it was clear.
The main subject of the painting itself was a naked man wearing a crown. Strategically-placed tree branches preserved the king’s privacy as he presided over a trio of dancing wolves. One of them was depicted with human legs, clearly caught mid-shift.
“Erm...excuse me?” I called.
The attendant turned around and walked back. “Yes, Mr. Stewart?”
I gestured to the painting. “Can you tell me a little more about this one?”
“Ah. That’s a page from the Codex Lykanthro depicting King George’s sacrifice to save his people,” clearly delighted by my interest. “He was the first Thornriel king. This page of the codex was painted by a monk who was a close personal friend of ol’ King George.”
Instinctively, I backed away from what had to be a priceless family heirloom. “My god,” I whispered. This family was the oldest family I’d ever encountered. It made me feel so insignificant by comparison.
We walked on, passing several more paintings of various Thornriels over the years, until the attendant finally stopped in front of a door and knocked.
“Come in,” a male’s voice answered from inside.
The attendant stepped aside, gesturing me towards the door for the last time. Something hardened in the pit of my stomach.
This is it, I thought, my heart racing as I took my first step forward.
A colorful playroom came into view, decorated with enormous stuffed animals and padded furniture. A figure stood up from a white rocking chair and turned around to face me. He was holding a toddler boy.
That must be Johnny, I thought.
“Hi,” he said, smiling easily. “I’m Damon. You must be Lucas Stewart.”
Damon wore a maroon cable-knit sweater and brown trousers. His brown hair was combed neatly to one side.
He looks rich, I found myself thinking distantly.
Damon set Johnny down and extended his hand. Following his lead, I set Charlotte on the floor. She had only just begun standing on her own.
The babies studied each other cautiously as Damon and I shook hands above their heads.
“Hey, I think they like each other,” Damon remarked as a curious Johnny reached for Charlotte’s scarf.
A relieved smile broke across my face. “Oh, thank god,” I began. “You know, I was pretty nervous—”
Suddenly, Charlotte’s hand reared back and flew forward, slapping Johnny’s cheek with a resounding crack!
Johnny shrieked. Charlotte screamed.
And I was mortified.
Chapter 2: Damon
A million seating arrangement configurations raced through my head.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry!” a distraught Lucas said as he promptly scooped up his daughter.
“Sorry, what? Oh—” I said distractedly, finally noticing Johnny’s wails. “No harm done. Let’s sit down and talk. The tea should be here soon.”
I could sense the confusion radiating from Lucas’s body as we settled into a matching pair of plush armchairs. Lucas still held Charlotte while Johnny climbed into my lap, whimpering.
“Are...are you okay, Sir Damon?” Lucas asked, more curious than concerned.
I glanced up and shook my head. “Just distracted. Wedding stress, you know,” I admitted with a guilty smile. “You’ll have to forgive me if I seem a bit flustered right now. I’ve got a lot on my mind. And just Damon is fine, by the way.”
Lucas visibly deflated, as if every bit of tension just left his body at the same time. “Damon. Got it,” he whispered with a relieved grin. “I was actually feeling pretty flustered myself. I was nervous about meeting you for the first time.”
I laughed, which seemed to put Damon at ease. “Didn’t King Henry tell you I’m a commoner, too? Or is my boyfriend the only gossip around here?”
Lucas’s shy grin turned into a smirk. As his dark blue eyes glittered adorably, I could see exactly how this curly-headed youth could win the heart of the Bachelor King.
“Henry told me a lot...among other things,” Lucas said, grinning with relief.
“Well...just remember that you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” I chuckled and shook my head. At that moment, one of the household staff knocked on the door and walked in, wheeling a tea service cart before him.
I gestured to the space between me and Lucas. “Right here’s fine. Thank you, Jeffrey,” I said as he left.
“So you’re a commoner?” Lucas asked once we’d been left alone.
I started pouring the tea. “Yes. I grew up in a trailer park, actually,” I said distractedly.
“Wow. You know, I was raised by my single grandmother myself. We didn’t have a lot of money, either,” I heard Lucas respond.
But I was already thinking about seating arrangements again.
“Has King Alex said anything to you about me and Henry?”
“Yes,” I said, shaking off the distraction. Then, I quickly amended, “but it’s been a hectic week. I think Alex told me you’re a human. Is that right?”
“I am.”
“So how did a human man get pregnant with a shifter’s child?” I passed him his cup by the saucer it was resting on.
“It’s a long story,” Lucas said grandly before dropping two sugar cubes into his tea.
Johnny crawled several feet away to some wooden blocks and began playing. Shortly, Charlotte followed suit, though her interest was consumed by a green plush giraffe. They weren’t exactly playing together, but rather adjacent to each other. Still, it was an improvement.
Lucas sighed. “Thank god they’re getting along.”
I sighed too, but not out of relief. I was trying to force myself to relax. Suddenly, I felt a sense of guilt sliding over me as I realized I wasn’t exactly bringing my A-game as a gracious host.
“I have to be honest with you, Lucas,” I said, lowering my cup. “I really did look forward to meeting you and talking about...about what we’ve been through.” I waved to our two babies on the floor. “But today has been the craziest day—
”
Lucas set down his cup, too. “Would it be easier if we postpone this for a more convenient time?”
“No!” I said. “I blocked out this hour specifically for us. For the kids, too. Let’s at least finish our tea and get acquainted before I have to whisk myself away to the next thing on my to-do list.”
Lucas smiled kindly. “Well, what kind of stuff is on your mind?”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “Gee, where do I start? The seating arrangements for our wedding took two weeks to finalize. Then, Lady Dorset caught her husband in bed with Lady Buchanan last night. The scandal’s split the nobles between two sides. Now half the seating chart is useless.”
Lucas nodded sympathetically and opened his mouth.
“On top of that,” I continued, “Princess Anastasia’s dress is missing, and she wants me to help her find it because she’s too busy overseeing the flower arrangements, plus the two she-bears we hired to babysit Johnny backed out and...ugh!” Feeling a migraine coming on, I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes.
“Just breathe,” Lucas said.
I exhaled loudly. “My apologies. I shouldn’t complain about wedding planning in front of my wedding guests. It just feels like it’s been non-stop chaos since the invitations went out.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Lucas’s earnest gaze slid sideways towards Johnny and Charlotte. “I could babysit Johnny if you’re comf—”
“Actually,” I said as the wheels began turning in my head, “maybe you could hunt down Anastasia’s dress for me?”
“Me?” Lucas sputtered.
I nodded. “It shouldn’t be too hard. The seamstress was the last person to have it, I think. I’ll point you the way, and it should be easy enough to track down from there.”
Lucas grinned. “If it would help you, then I’d be happy to.”
Suddenly, I felt like the weight of an elephant was lifted off my shoulders. “You’re a saint,” I said, raising my cup once again.
Lucas raised his too, and we delicately clinked rims.
