intimidating. Even now his father’s alpha pheromones were trying to subdue Cleghorn’s will, but, to Haydn’s astonishment, Cleghorn didn’t seem affected at all, his expression firm and unimpressed.
“Your husband?” Stefan said, sneering. “The Galactic Council official has left, and there are no reporters here anymore; there’s no need to keep up the act. We all know this so-called marriage is nothing but a farce.”
Cleghorn looked at the king steadily. “You’re being either naive or short-sighted if you think we can simply drop the ‘act’ now that Lord Ksar is gone. There is no act. For the peace to last, our people need to believe that we’re serious about the peace—and about this union. Your son is married to me. He is my husband, and he can’t leave Kadar so soon. It certainly would make it obvious to everyone that this marriage is nothing but a farce and render everything we’ve done today pointless.”
Haydn frowned thoughtfully. Cleghorn was right. He did need to stay for a while. But his father had never allowed anyone’s opinion to change his own, and Haydn doubted he was going to start now.
Stefan’s reddening face confirmed it. “You—”
“Father,” Haydn cut in, keeping his voice firm but respectful—the tone he’d perfected over the decades. He needed to help his father save face, or Stefan would never give in. “I agree with you: Senator Cleghorn’s point is valid. I will stay in Kadar for a short while and then come home. You and Mother should go ahead.”
For a moment, he thought his father would explode. But then Stefan took a deep breath and then let it out. “Fine,” he bit off. “We expect you home soon.” And grabbing his wife, he strode out of the room, not even bothering to say goodbye to Haydn.
Haydn sighed, watching his parents leave with mixed feelings. On one hand, he was relieved to be away from his father’s nagging, but he was also very conscious that he was now alone in a foreign country, among people who had no love for him; quite the opposite.
He turned back to Cleghorn, and they just stared at each other for a moment, wary and tense.
“Cleghorn—”
“Royce. You’re supposed to be my husband.”
“Royce,” Haydn said. “While I don’t appreciate you making choices and speaking for me without consulting me first, I admit your point was valid: I can’t leave right now.”
“But?”
“But I’m the crown prince,” Haydn said. “I can’t stay here long. I have duties I can’t abandon. My father expects me to return to them soon.”
Royce’s black eyes bored into him. “What would those duties be?”
“I’m the General of the Pelugian army, for one thing.”
“What would you need the army for if you really expect the peace to last?”
Haydn glared at him, his scent sharpening. “Are you implying Pelugia intends to double-cross Kadar?”
Royce gave him a steady look. “I’m implying nothing, Your Highness. I’m simply asking a question.”
“Haydn,” Haydn ground out. “Aren’t I supposed to be your husband? Or do you remember it only when it’s convenient for you?”
Royce’s nostrils flared. He stalked forward until they were nose to nose. They were exactly the same height, or perhaps Royce was slightly taller; it was hard to be certain when they were so close.
Haydn inhaled shakily, his heart pounding in his ears. Royce’s neutral scent was laced with something thicker, darker, something that made Haydn’s skin prickle with agitation.
“Haydn,” Royce said. “You are my husband. I didn’t forget it. You will come with me to Cleghorn. You will attend various events with me for good publicity. You will stay here in Kadar until people buy our marriage.”
Haydn wanted to tell him to fuck off. Not because of what Royce was saying, but because of that infuriating, high-handed tone. No one talked to him that way. How dare he.
He felt his own scent become thicker—a natural alpha reaction to being threatened—but Royce didn’t even flinch. He continued staring Haydn down, that smell of ozone and wet soil appearing in his scent again and becoming so oppressive it made Haydn shudder.
The moment stretched. The tension crackled like static electricity, caught between their two bodies.
All he could see were black eyes staring him down intently.
Haydn was the first to look away. “All right,” he said, unable to believe himself. If his father were here, if he saw his alpha son submitting to a beta’s will, he would disown him on the spot.
Royce’s scent became less overwhelming, but it didn’t quite shift back to his neutral scent, the sharp undertones lingering.
“Good,”