Unnatural - Alessandra Hazard Page 0,4

didn’t take long, but it was excruciating nonetheless. Haydn was forced to listen to his father’s angry tirade about how the wedding ceremony should have taken place in their kingdom and how humiliating—and dangerous—it was that they had to travel into enemy territory.

“Father, the Kadarians are hardly going to attack us in front of the Galactic Council representative,” Haydn said in his most patient voice, but of course his father ignored his words. As usual.

Haydn had never been more relieved to get off a plane. He loved his father and had looked up to him as a boy, but as an adult, he could tolerate him only in small doses. There were too many things he disagreed with him on, things he had to keep his mouth shut about, because King Stefan wasn’t interested in opinions besides his own.

As the helicopter took them from the airport to the Opal House, Haydn looked at the city with interest. He’d never been to Citra before. He had to admit the sleek, minimalist architecture of Kadar’s capital was very pleasing to the eye. The Opal House, the prime minister’s official residence, was a tall building in the center of the city. As the helicopter landed on its roof, Haydn took a deep breath, his heart beating fast.

Here goes nothing.

He hadn’t expected to recognize the beta the Kadarians had picked to represent their country.

But one look at the tall man who stood beside Prime Minister Taube was enough for Haydn to place him.

Senator Royce Cleghorn was one of the few Kadarian politicians who were well known even in Pelugia. In politics since a young age, he was the leader of the Liberal party, famous for his single-minded pursuit of his goals. He was rumored to be the current favorite to win the prime minister position next year. Haydn wasn’t sure how true those rumors were. The Kadarian political system was a confusing one. There used to be an elected president, but after their last president was removed from the position with a vote of no-confidence, the constitution had been rewritten, and the prime minister was now elected through a combination of a popular vote and the Senate voting. Haydn wasn’t sure of the particulars, but he had heard that Royce Cleghorn was immensely popular both in the Senate and among the general population, so unless something happened to destroy his reputation, Cleghorn was likely going to be the next Head of State.

When Cleghorn’s black eyes met his, Haydn barely stopped himself from tensing up. It was unexpectedly difficult to hold the politician’s gaze despite the man exuding the inoffensive, neutral scent of a beta. His own scent thickened, as it usually did when he was anxious, and Haydn could see a barely noticeable grimace cross Cleghorn’s face. He clearly didn’t care much for Haydn’s scent. In fact, Haydn could see something like dislike emanating off Cleghorn, dislike that made very little sense until Haydn remembered that the man’s lands were close to the border. Right. The owners of the border lands tended to dislike him. For a reason.

Pushing the uncomfortable thought away, Haydn told himself it was a good thing. If Cleghorn disliked him, their marriage would be on paper only, and Haydn wouldn’t have to share a bed with a stranger.

Not that Cleghorn was unattractive. Far from it. Royce Cleghorn was a very handsome man. Dark hair, dark eyes, a finely shaped mouth and a strong jaw. He was the type of beta Haydn usually hooked up with: tall and broad-shouldered, with a muscular chest and long, powerful legs. Theoretically, he wouldn’t mind having sex with him—except Cleghorn clearly didn’t share that opinion, his body language oddly aggressive.

Cleghorn gave him a stiff nod and clasped Haydn’s hand a little too hard.

Suppressing the urge to crush it back, Haydn met the other man’s gaze and smiled. He totally could be the better man.

Cleghorn’s black eyes narrowed a little.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Senator Cleghorn,” Haydn said in a calm voice, still smiling.

Something flickered in Cleghorn’s eyes. His jaw relaxed slightly, his broad shoulders losing some of their tension. “The pleasure is mine, Your Highness,” he said, letting go of his hand. He had a very deep voice.

Haydn cleared his throat a little and looked around the room.

Prime Minister Taube seemed shorter than he did on the news. He was speaking to Haydn’s father and a tall, regal man who smelled strange.

His confusion must have been obvious, because Cleghorn clarified quietly, “That’s the