For the past five years, Larkin had been trying to forge an alliance with Valerion, to put an end to this endless, pointless war. They had sent letters, messengers, even a delegation to the Valerion court. Every overture had been ignored. Valerion would not even dignify them with a refusal.
It took Alaric sending a delegate to Valerion while they were attending a feast in a neighbouring kingdom – catching them off guard, cornering their king in a corridor – to force a conversation. Even then, Alaric had not believed they would agree.
"Watch," Alaric had said. "They will promise me their eldest son. And then they will send the second."
"You do not know that," Gideon had replied.
"I know it," Alaric had said. "Because I would do the same."
Gideon had not argued. His brother was the strategist, the politician, the one with the mind for games and deceptions. Gideon was a soldier. He led men into battle. He did not play chess with kingdoms.
The deal had been simple: Alaric would request the hand of the first prince of Valerion, the golden omega, the favoured son. He knew Valerion would never agree to that – their heir was too precious. They would accept but at the wedding they would offer the second son in his place. And if they offered the second son, then Gideon would marry him. The alliance would still stand, because the marriage contract would be signed and sealed before they realised the names had been swapped.
Alaric had also refused to attend the wedding. He would not set foot in Valerion, would not give them the satisfaction of seeing their king. He had sent Gideon instead, with instructions to act as the groom. The Valerion court, so used to seeing only blonde hair and green eyes, would not notice the difference. They all looked the same to each other, did they not? One tall, broad-shouldered alpha with grey eyes was much like another.
"How will they not know it is me and not you?" Gideon had asked.
Alaric had smiled. It was not a kind smile. "Because they do not look closely at anyone they consider beneath them. And to them, we are all barbarians. We all look alike."
Gideon had asked how he would be able to tell the difference between the two Valerion princes – the one they had requested and the one they might send. Alaric had laughed.
"You will know," he had said. "Trust me. You will know."
And just as his brother had predicted, Valerion had not kept their end of the bargain. The omega who had walked up to the altar had not been the golden first son. It had been the second son – smaller, stranger, with hair like fire and eyes of two different colours. Gideon had understood immediately when he saw Liora. Alaric had been right.
Valerion had truly thought they could outsmart Alaric. They had sent their unwanted prince, their embarrassment, their wrong-coloured bird, expecting Larkin to accept the substitute and never notice the difference. They had failed. Badly.
It was times like this that Gideon was glad he had never become king. He was not smart enough for these games. Ruling a dukedom was already tiring enough, with its petitions and disputes and endless demands on his time. Let Alaric play chess with kingdoms. Gideon would fight when he had to, marry when he was told, and try to keep his men alive.
"How do they not get tired of seeing the same thing all the time?" Darvis asked, shaking his head.
"Imagine having sex with someone who looks exactly like me," Jayden said, gagging theatrically. "I would die of boredom. I need variety."
"The prettiest person here has to be the second prince," Zachary said, lowering his voice. "Too bad you took him away, my lord."
"They will be so angry that you are taking away their prized jewel," Jayden added, grinning. "But Larkin only takes the best."
The men laughed, slapping each other on the shoulders. Gideon allowed himself a small smile. They were coarse, crude, and utterly loyal. He would trust them with his life.
Liora was beautiful. Gideon had not known what to expect – a sickly boy, perhaps, or a haughty one, or one so beaten down by neglect that he had no spirit left. Instead, he had found an omega with fire in his hair and steel in his spine.
Gideon had told himself, before the wedding, that he would treat whatever omega they sent with kindness. It was not their fault they had been forced into this marriage. They deserved happiness too. Perhaps they would never fall in love – love was a luxury in political marriages – but they could be friends. They could build a life together based on respect and trust.
He was not a man who cared much about looks. He had seen too much ugliness in the world to put stock in something as fleeting as beauty. Character mattered. Loyalty mattered. Kindness mattered.
But Liora was beautiful. Beautiful in a way that had stolen Gideon's breath for a single, treacherous moment when he had lifted that veil. Beautiful in a way that made him understand, for the first time, why so many people chose their partners based on appearances.
He shook the thought away. There would be time enough for such considerations later. For now, he had a marriage to secure, a journey to make, and a war to end.
"Enough chatter," Gideon said, pulling on his gloves. "Is the carriage ready?"
"Nearly, my lord," Zachary said. "The prince's boxes are loaded. Just waiting on – ah, here he comes now."
Gideon turned.
Liora was walking across the courtyard, his red hair bright against the grey stone, his mismatched eyes fixed on something in the distance. Beside him walked a young man with pale blonde hair and a nervous, hopeful expression. Caleb, Gideon presumed. The servant.
They carried a single wooden box between them, and their footsteps were hurried, almost running.
Gideon watched them approach. Liora's gaze met his for a moment, and something passed between them – gratitude, perhaps, or relief, or the beginning of something neither of them could name.
"Load that box," Gideon said to his men. "We leave within the quarter-hour."
He walked toward his new husband, offering his hand.
"Ready?" he asked.
Liora took his hand. His fingers were cold, but they did not tremble.
"Yes," he said. "Let us go"