Unnatural (The Wrong Alpha 1)

The reception—the ball, really—was held in the Opal House.

Haydn arrived with Devlin, who had been ordered by the king to stay for the event instead of returning to Pelugia as he had planned. Haydn knew Devlin didn’t really want to attend the reception, but he had as much choice in the matter as Haydn did: as a prominent Pelugian noble, Devlin had to accompany the king to such political gatherings, no matter how much he might hate them. Haydn was selfishly glad that his cousin was with him; he would hate to arrive alone and have everyone stare at him. Devlin’s stupidly handsome face was Haydn’s favorite thing about him: when he was with Devlin, he was never the main object of people’s gawking.

“You should probably put on a smile,” Devlin murmured. “People are taking pictures.”

Grimacing inwardly, Haydn followed his advice and put on a neutral smile as his eyes searched the crowd for his husband. He couldn’t see Royce anywhere, but he did see Lord Ksar’ngh’chaali speaking to Taube. Haydn looked around, frowning. Royce had left in the morning and should already be here. He had been part of the meeting with Lord Ksar’ngh’chaali, and the meeting was clearly over.

Haydn wondered how successful it was. Had they managed to choose the Lord Chancellor? Or had the meeting been a disaster?

He was also trying hard not to think about the fact that his father had been in the same room as Royce for hours. Had they talked? Was Royce—

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Devlin said. “I’ve never seen you being so needy. Take your mind off him for a bit and have fun. This is getting pathetic.”

Haydn scowled at him, his face warm. “Shut up. Go away.”

“That’s no way to talk to your favorite cousin.”

Haydn laughed. “You mean my only cousin?”

“You wound me, Hay-dn,” Devlin said, his white teeth flashing. “Fine. I’ll go find someone pretty and willing. It’s been ages since I got laid.”

“Ages? How long is that? A day? Two?”

Devlin just chuckled and walked away.

Left to his own devices, Haydn wandered around the ballroom, listening to people’s conversations with half an ear. It seemed Lord Ksar’ngh’chaali wasn’t pleased. Apparently, he had refused to pick the Lord Chancellor for their planet, stating that the candidate for the position must be chosen by elections. It seemed they were still stuck.

Haydn was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly jumped when his father materialized in front of him.

He swallowed as their eyes met.

Stefan’s lips curled into something ugly. Calling it a sneer would have been too kind. “Haydn,” he said, his neutral tone contradicting the withering look in his eyes.

Haydn bowed slightly. “Father.”

There was a strained silence.

Stefan’s nostrils flared, and Haydn was suddenly acutely aware of how much like Royce he smelled. He barely noticed it these days, but to someone he hadn’t seen in a while the change in his scent must have been glaringly obvious.

Especially after last night. And the night before.

His skin became warm at the thought. Royce’s scent really was clinging to him in ways it never had before, and truth be told, Haydn hadn’t tried very hard to erase it when he showered that morning. He liked smelling of his husband. Liked might actually be an understatement. He loved that no one would mistake their marriage for a marriage on paper once they got a whiff of his scent.

“You smell like his bitch,” Stefan said.

Haydn glanced around, pretending to be interested in the other guests. “There’s no need for such language, Father, but thank you.”

“Shame of my loins,” Stefan hissed out. “I have never thought I’d see a day when my son would become a Kadarian’s whore.”

Haydn’s fingers curled into fists and he shoved them into his pockets. He smiled. “I’m glad I can still surprise you. I’d hate to be predictable.”

“Your brother would have never—”

“Here you are,” a familiar voice said from behind as Royce laid his hand on his arm.

All the tension bled out of him. Haydn turned his head and smiled, this time genuinely. Royce’s dark eyes locked with his, and warmth spread through Haydn’s body. God, he wanted to kiss him.

As if reading his thoughts, Royce leaned in and brushed their mouths together. A shiver of delight shot up Haydn’s spine. He barely stopped himself from deepening the kiss needily. They were in public. His father was just a few steps away from them. He might be angry with his father, but he didn’t want him to have a stroke.

And yet he couldn’t stop a disappointed noise when Royce pulled back a little.

Royce stared at him for a moment, his gaze fixed and intent, before finally looking at Stefan. “Your Majesty. You must be so glad to see your son.” His voice could have frozen water; it completely lacked the warmth it held just a moment ago.