beast doesn’t deserve medical attention! It injured dozens of my security guards! It should be put down—”
“Send for a doctor,” Lord Ksar repeated.
Royce touched his earpiece. “Medics are already on the way.”
“It’s not necessary,” Stefan spat out. “I can tell what’s wrong with my nephew. Clearly he was poisoned. I recognize the drug—there’s only one thing that can turn a man into a beast. It’s called kerosvarin. It was outlawed in Pelugia hundreds of years ago, but its symptoms are obvious and unmistakable.”
Haydn frowned. He did recognize the name of the drug, but…
“You mean the drug that changes one’s genetic code?” Royce said.
Stefan sneered at him. “Yes. It’s one of the most invasive medical drugs to ever exist. It basically amplifies one’s designation traits, and alphas become little better than beasts. It has no cure. My nephew was poisoned by the Kadarians in this very house!” He looked at Lord Ksar. “I demand justice!”
Another murmur went through the gathered crowd, people’s unease obvious.
Haydn certainly shared the sentiment. Poisoned. As much as he’d hate to agree with his father, his words made sense. A Xeus alpha would never be able to shift into his beastly form out of his rut unless there was some foul play involved.
“Ridiculous!” Taube said with a harsh laugh. “We would never—”
“Has the duke eaten or drunk something since his arrival?” Lord Ksar said, ignoring Taube once again.
Haydn cleared his throat. “Yes. He drank a few glasses of wine. We were offered drinks by a male waiter.” He looked around, but of course it was impossible to find their glasses among the wreckage of broken glasses on the floor. “I don’t remember his face I’m afraid.”
Royce touched his wrist, frowning. Are you all right? his gaze said.
I’m fine, Haydn mouthed at him before returning his attention to the Galactic Council official. He seemed thoughtful.
“Gather all male waiters,” Lord Ksar said, the tone of his voice brooking no argument.
Taube set his jaw mulishly. “With all due respect, Your Lordship, but you don’t give orders here. I will not allow my staff to be put under suspicion for the sake of that animal.”
Haydn clenched his fists.
Royce heaved a sigh and raised his voice, addressing the Opal House’s steward. “Garrick, gather all male waiters.”
The steward swallowed, looking from Taube to Royce and back. Haydn felt a pang of sympathy for him. Being caught between a rock and a hard place was never easy. Taube was his boss now, but it was highly likely that Royce would win the next elections.
After a moment’s hesitation, the steward nodded and started speaking into his earpiece.
“You don’t give orders here, either, Senator,” Taube hissed, red in the face from anger and humiliation as he glared at Royce. “I’m still the prime minister.”
“You are,” Royce said calmly. “But the Opal House’s staff serves the State first and foremost. With all due respect, Your Excellency, but antagonizing the Galactic Council representative doesn’t serve Kadar’s best interests.”
Taube opened his mouth and then closed it, still looking beyond pissed as the steward gathered all the male waiters.
“I really don’t remember his face,” Haydn said, eyeing the few dozen men that stood beside the steward.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lord Ksar said, walking along the row of men. “I’ll recognize him. A guilty person’s thought pattern is rather obvious.”
Haydn shuddered, more than a little discomfited. It seemed the waiters shared his unease, their faces growing pale as the telepath slowly moved past them.
At last, the off-worlder stopped in front of one of the waiters and studied him.
His throat bobbing, the waiter dropped his gaze. “Please, I just—I did what I was ordered to do,” he said shakily. “Don’t—don’t mess with my brain! I’ll tell everything.”
Haydn sucked in a breath. Until now, he’d been hoping against hope that his father was wrong and it was all some kind of misunderstanding. So much for that.
“Talk,” Lord Ksar said, his voice cold as ice.
“I didn’t know it would be anything like that,” the waiter said quickly. “He said it was just something that would amplify Prince Haydn’s alpha hormones and hopefully make him clash with his husband in public—nothing too bad, just enough to make Pelugia look bad.”
Haydn’s stomach dropped. So it was his drink that had been spiked, not Devlin’s. But the question was, why hadn’t it affected him? He’d drunk it, too—not as much as Devlin, but enough. He didn’t feel any different, didn’t feel more aggressive at all.
“He?” Royce demanded. “Who? Who gave you the order?”
The waiter’s gaze flicked to Taube,