Unnatural - Alessandra Hazard Page 0,3

press loves you—”

“A prince?” Royce cut him off, stiffening. “You mean Prince Haydn Schaefer?”

Taube blinked. “Of course! Do you know any other prince? The Schaefers have only one prince since King Stefan’s eldest son died.” He cocked his head to the side and studied him with shrewd eyes. “Is something the matter? Do you have any objections to Prince Haydn?”

Royce barely suppressed an instinctive growl, already regretting agreeing to this without asking who the other party was.

Haydn Schaefer. He was known by many names. His reputation preceded him, even in Kadar, maybe especially in Kadar. The Golden General. The Death Bringer.

And an alpha.

“No objections,” Royce ground out, because any objections to marrying the prince would sound ridiculous—and suspicious. Prince Haydn was a media darling. He was exceptionally handsome, athletic, and by all accounts, he possessed a brilliant mind for strategy. It was mostly thanks to his efforts the Pelugian army was able to secure six Kadarian counties in the past few years.

A beta wouldn’t have any objections to marrying such a fine specimen of an alpha.

The problem was, he was no beta.

But he couldn’t backtrack now. His political career would be ruined if he admitted that his presentation documents had been falsified—not to mention the legal trouble his mother would be in. No matter how angry he was with her, Royce had to protect her.

His mind racing, Royce looked down at his hands. He found his fingers clenched so hard his knuckles stood out white against his sun-bronzed skin. He breathed in deeply, forcing himself to relax.

It wasn’t necessarily a disaster. It would be a political marriage, a means for good publicity, and meant to convince the hesitating senators that the peace would be sustainable—and to ensure that the Pelugians wouldn’t stick a knife in their backs.

So in theory, the prince’s designation didn’t change anything.

Royce nearly laughed at himself. Who was he kidding? A marriage between two alphas was unheard of for a reason, and it wasn’t because alphas couldn’t want other alphas. Although Royce wasn’t one of them, there were alphas that were attracted to other alphas. It was very rare and taboo, but such things happened. The problem was, sustaining an alpha-alpha relationship was impossible. It was biologically difficult for two alphas to live together without trying to establish dominance over their partner, and such rare relationships tended to quickly turn violent, abusive, and toxic. Considering that the alpha in question was an enemy general responsible for countless deaths in his country and Royce already disliked the man before even meeting him, this was a disaster in waiting. And since he was pretending to be a beta, everyone would expect him to defer to his alpha husband—or at least the traditionalists would expect it. Not that Royce gave a fuck about their opinions.

As far as the traditionalists were concerned, an alpha was supposed to mate only an omega and keep the omega pregnant year in and year out. They would consider a marriage between a male alpha and a male beta a waste, since they couldn’t have children the traditional way.

“I’m surprised Prince Haydn requested a beta,” Royce said. “From everything I’ve heard of him, he sounds like a traditionalist.”

Taube shrugged. “I’ve heard rumors that he likes the challenge of betas and considers omegas too easy.”

Royce almost laughed. It was kind of ironic. If Haydn Schaefer liked a challenge, he was going to be in for a nice surprise—if they managed not to kill each other within a week.

“All right,” Royce said, getting to his feet. “When is the wedding?”

Taube smiled. “In two days.”

Chapter Two

Haydn stared at himself in the mirror, eyeing his new suit critically. The dark fabric hugged his broad shoulders and accentuated his trim waist. Few would probably guess how much effort he put into keeping himself in such shape. Haydn was naturally rather lean, but his intense training and years of war had shaped his physique into one most alphas were born with. He wondered idly if he would become leaner again if the war actually ended.

Shaking the errant thought off, Haydn ran a hand through his carefully styled hair and smiled at his own vanity. There was no use “prettying himself up” for this, as Devlin would say. This was just a political arrangement. His future spouse wasn’t going to care what he looked like.

A knock on the door made him flinch.

“Your Highness, His Majesty and the Queen are waiting for you in the plane.”

“Thank you, I’m coming.”

***

The flight to Citra, Kadar’s capital,