Special Delivery Winter - Aria Grace
1. Landon
“His Majesty commands the Master of the Household to invite Landon Richmond to a Winter Reception to be given by The King at Kenway Manor on Friday, the 18th December, at 7 p.m.”
Shock and dread swept over me as I stared down at the hefty, gold-trimmed royal invitation fluttering in my trembling hand. Rumors had been swirling in the press for weeks that our notorious playboy King Kenway, the last of his line, was finally getting serious about finding a husband — and what better time to announce his search for a match than this close to Christmas?
But what could the King possibly want with a no-name omega like me, and how did he even know who I was? Despite my name printed on the paper, I was sure there must’ve been some mistake. Maybe they’d gotten the wrong Landon Richmond, or maybe they’d printed my name by accident.
I never knew what to expect when I walked through Dad’s front door after work every day, but a formal invitation from the King of Gilmouth was never on the list of possibilities.
“What does it say?” my sickly father asked from his favorite reclining chair, his voice full of more energy than I’d heard in it for years. “I’ve been going crazy waiting to find out ever since one of the royal staff delivered it this morning.”
So, an actual employee of the crown had showed up at our doorstep to hand deliver the invitation. I couldn’t believe it. I lowered the paper to look Dad in the eye but couldn’t find words. Instead, I crossed our modest living room and handed the heavy card stock to him, still reeling at what I’d read.
His eyes widened as they raced over the invitation. “Oh my God, Landon,” he gasped and slowly raised a hand to his mouth to cover it. “This is incredible!” he hissed through his narrow fingers. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
I shrugged. “That King Kenway must’ve run out of one-nighters?”
A scowl appeared on my father’s face. “No, you bloody idiot! It means he’s looking for a husband and mate. And it could be you!”
I snorted. “Don’t hold your breath, Dad.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a nobody, for starters. And I’m not going to his stupid reception, anyway,” I said and snatched the invitation out of his hands.
His scowl turned to horror in an instant. “Landon Charles Richmond!” he scolded, and I cringed at the use of my middle name, taken from his ex-husband, my alpha father who I tried my best to forget existed; it was because of Charles’ reckless gambling and spending that we’d gone into debt, which only grew after Dad got sick.
“You can’t refuse a royal invitation!” Dad hissed.
“Why not? It’s an invitation, not a jury summons. Besides, King Kenway isn’t exactly Gilmouth’s most eligible bachelor. I’ve read about the way he chews people up and spits them out in the magazines,” I said and crumpled the invitation.
Dad stared wide-eyed at me like I’d just uttered the worst series of curse word imaginable. “Those aren’t magazines, they’re rumormongering rags! For God’s sake, Landon, think about what you’re refusing here. You could become the King’s Consort. You could have everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more. We’d never want for anything ever again.”
The only thing I wanted was for the absurd conversation to be over. “Yeah, except it’d come at the cost of marrying Heath Kenway, who’s probably one of the least likable kings Gilmouth has ever seen.”
“If both your parents died in a horrific plane crash like his did as a child, you’d probably have a chip on your shoulder too. But people change, you know. Maybe he'll surprise you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Sure, Dad, everyday people change, but kings? Doubtful. They don’t have to.”
“How could you possibly know that about him without giving him a chance to prove you wrong?”
“I’ve seen enough TV to know King Kenway’s no Prince Charming, and I’m not about to play Cinderella for him. I'm sure he’ll find a husband, but it’s not gonna be me,” I said and tossed the crumpled invite in the open trash can.
“Not if you don’t even try! Please, Landon. Do it for my sake,” Dad begged. “What do you have to lose other than a little time? Besides, you’ve always wanted to see the manor.”
“I’m supposed to wait tables at both jobs on Friday,” I said, desperate to find a way out, though I knew I’d already lost the fight; as soon as Dad trotted out