Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Penelope

S omething is going on, and I'm determined to get to the bottom of it. That sniveling lord's son, Marshel, is under guard in the north tower, and his family has fled the city. With warrants issued for their arrests and all their assets seized by the crown, I believe their future is as bleak as the turn in the weather.

Not that I feel any sympathy for their plight. Even before Marshal's propensity for gambling, the family had lived beyond their means for years and ran up debts with half the city, including my father, the king.

I sigh heavily as I slip into a shadowy corner of the dungeon passages to wait for two approaching guards to pass.

My black form-fitting leathers, while beneficial for the art of sneaking, are a sore point with Papa, who is waiting for me to start behaving like a real princess and wearing gowns.

That will never happen. Gowns are the highest order of impractical, hamper movement, and, further, weigh me down. Although I have trained while wearing them, out of necessity, it is not a garment I wear by choice.

As his only daughter and sole heir, I recognize that my life is doomed unless I can persuade a male cousin, of whom there are many, to step up into my place. Unfortunately, all my cousins prefer the high life and have no interest in the responsibility of managing a kingdom.

My father is still young. I pray many years will pass before this burden is handed down to me. My mother died in childbirth when I was born, and he has sworn no other will take her place, even to beget an heir.

The truth is, I don't hate my father—even if he does try to make me wear a gown and consider one of my many sensible suitors.

Nor does my father hate me and my rebellious ways. I am the image of my mother and, further, trained by the Raven Guild like she was. That is where the similarity stops, for my mama was an accomplished spymaster, working for the High King before she saved my father's life. Under Papa's relentless wooing, she agreed to be his wife. Then I came along, and her life was tragically cut short.

It is tough to grow up under the shadow of such an exceptional woman, and to know your birth led to her death.

It is little wonder Papa will consider no other wife when my late mother was so extraordinary.

"Aye, he's a sour bastard," the guard on the left mutters as they near my hiding place.

"Copped a fist to my face," his companion says. "And all I was doing was putting down fresh water."

"Don't have no business keeping barbarians here," the first says as they draw level with me. "‘Twill not end fucking well, mark my word. You know what they say about their kind."

"That they are kinky and take on many mates?" his companion asks.

My ears prick up. How did I not know about this?

"Well, that's true," the second says with a huff. "But I was thinking more about how they…"

They move out of earshot, and I do not catch what comes next. Damn it!

As their footsteps echo into the distance, I slip back into the passage and hasten along, my tread silent, toward the dungeon cells. They have a barbarian down here. What I want to know is why.

My father would tell me nothing, but I know it has something to do with Marshal.

I round the last corner and come to an abrupt halt as I nearly collide with Bert.

He has a bald head, a long, bushy beard, an enormous belly that challenges his guard's uniform, and stands, hands planted on hips. "I knew you'd be down here up to mischief," he says.

I purse my lips as I think. This is not the first time I have snuck down here looking for prisoners, so it's fair to say that Bert is on to me.

I brush a strand of red hair that has fallen out of my braid behind my ear and casually try to peer around his great bulk. "I heard there was a barbarian down here," I say. "Can I look at him?"

"No, you cannot fucking look at him. This is a dungeon, lass, not a circus."

"Where did he come from?" I try changing tact.

"You know I'm not supposed to tell you anything."

I smirk. "You know you will anyway." We have played this game often, and he always gives in. I had heard that Wes was on duty tonight, and he is always asleep on his post. Had I known Bert was here, I would not have bothered skulking at all.

"Fine, then, he was Marshal's prisoner," Bert says. "Your father has his mate up in the castle."

My eyes widen. "Why are they not together? Why is he a prisoner?"

"Well, he's a feisty bastard. So your father had no choice but to lock him up."

"I don't understand," I say, shaking my head.

"His mate is an omega," Bert says, making a rasping sound as he scratches at his beard.

My lips form a silent O. "I still don't see why this is my father's business."

"Well, that's between you and your father, lass," he says. "Don't go telling him how you got this information. I'm on a third warning after the last time you snuck down here."

I wave a dismissive hand, certain that Bert's job is not on the line, as I sidle up to his table, where I see a cup of ale. I lift it to my lips and take a sip. "Gods, that is weak," I say.

Bert chuckles. "Stop stealing my beer, lass." He liberates it from my hand and puts it back on the table. "Go on, just a quick look, then."

"Thank you." I rise to my tiptoes and plan to kiss his prickly cheek. The lighting is poor down here, but I swear the man blushes.

"Be off with you, lass," he says gruffly. "Fourth on the right."

I make my way down the stone passage until I reach the cell, where I peer in through the small, barred window in the sturdy wooden door.

"What the fuck do you want?"

The barbarian is clean, as is the cell and the bed where he lounges. There is even a lamp and blanket for his bed. He is also young and handsome. I have never met one of their kind before, but I have heard rumors that they have impressive prowess in the bedroom… and, more recently, courtesy of the passing guards, are kinky.

I'd also heard that they could be abrupt. This one is certainly abrasive. I cannot say that I blame him, given he has been separated from his mate and thrown into a cell.

"Well, I thought I might be able to help you," I say, pretending I'm bored with this conversation already. "But alas, if you like it here, then I will be on my way."

He rises from the bed and stalks over to the door. It's only now, as he draws closer, that I realize how absolutely huge he is.

I take an unsteady step back lest he reach through the bars. Not that he could do much when I have a dozen daggers about my person, and all of them sharp. Still, he doesn't know that. I don't want to get into a tussle with him either way.

He bends so he can peer at me through the bars and gives me an up-down look. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Who I am is not important," I say. "Now tell me why my father separated you from your mate and locked you in here?"

His lips tug up in a smirk.

Damn it. It is too late to take the words back.

"Well now, little princess, come to gawk at the barbarian prisoner so you can tell your fancy princess friends?" His smile drops, and his eyes bore into me. "Fuck off and leave me alone."

"Are all barbarians this rude?" I demand, not letting him intimidate me.

"Aye, happen we are when some bastard takes our mate from us."

"Why did he separate you?" I ask, stepping a little closer, deciding that he is not a savage beast about to lurch through the bars for me.

"It's all the fault of that fuckwit, Marshal. Snatching a mated lass." He turns away and begins to pace the confines of the cell.

I step closer still until I can peer through the bars at him. Goodness, he is a strapping male. His head barely skims the ceiling. "I still don't understand. If Marshal took your mate from you, why does my father have you in a cell?"

"Because your father will want to hand her off to some lordly alpha prick." His voice lowers to a growl. "I swear I will tear down every brick in this castle to get to her."

Goodness, I am near swooning on behalf of his mate. I've already determined that, somehow, I shall find a way to reunite them. Only, something is definitely not adding up. My father does not normally interfere in the ways of barbarian clans, even for an omega. Marshal would certainly benefit from the associated wealth in taking an omega as a wife, but, still, I cannot see him raiding a clan for one already mated. That would be foolhardy in every sense. I narrow my eyes. "There is more to the story."

The prisoner huffs out a breath, throws himself down on the narrow bed, and thrusts a hand behind his head. "Why don't you ask your father?"

"I would not be here asking you questions had my father told me anything," I point out. "And we do not always see eye to eye on his decisions. Was your mate not congenial to your claiming?" If I find out he took the woman by force, I will be opening the cell door and liberating him of his cock and balls.

"Damn straight, she was congenial." He sits forward and glares at me. There is no mistaking his deep affront. "We clansmen do not take a lass by force. Unlike that bastard Marshal."

"Why would Marshal take a barbarian omega and a mated one at that?" It is very dark down here, but I perceive his cheeks take on a red hue.

"It's a bit complicated."

"How complicated?"

"The lass is Hydornian."

My unladylike snort is all disdain.

"That is a very fucking judgmental snort," he says, "and you don't know a fucking thing."

"Well, you best explain it to me promptly," I say. "I don't have a lot of time." I glance to the right, where Bert sups his beer. "They will be changing the guard soon. I need to be away before that happens."

"Fine. We grew up together, Freya and me. Her mother lived on the outskirts of Hydornia, close to Baxter village. She used to come and play with my sister. And then I went to war, serving under her father with Lor."

"Lor?"

"Freya's other mate. I don't see how you can help unless you can get word to Lor or my clan king. So why don't you take your fancy ass off and leave me to my misery?"

I get right up to the bars, forgetting that I am placing myself in a position of danger. "It's true, then, that barbarians take more than one mate?"

"And that is your takeaway from this," he says dryly.

I can see that getting a message to his other mate is pressing, but, also… "What do you call your mate's other mate? Something like mate brother?"

"We are all mated, lass," he says. "So he is my mate, too."

I feel a blush creep up my cheeks. "You are all intimate with one another?"

"In our case, yes. But that is really down to the people involved. If Lor and I were blood brothers, it would be downright unsavory for us to be rutting one another."

Rutting? Goodness, this is all very scandalous. Little wonder my father has locked him up lest he infect the people of Hydornia with his uncivilized ways… but now, we are both getting distracted. "Please continue with the story."

"Fine then. While Lor and I were serving in the war, we discovered that Marshal was set to wed Freya. He didn't want her , only her omega status and that through her, he would clear his debts. Worse, we had suspicions he was responsible for her father's death, a man Lor and I served under and had the deepest respect for. The lass didn't know she was going into a trap with a monster, so we took action."

I'm horrified to learn all this. No wonder Marshal is under arrest and his family on the run. "Ah, what action did you take?"

"We kidnapped her, for her own good, while she was visiting my sister in our village. Took her to the" —he adjusts his collar— "rutting cottage."

I raise both brows.

He shrugs again. "It's a quiet place outside the village where omegas go when they're in heat."

Goodness, I'm doubly scandalized by this—a rutting cottage. Just the words make me feel a little faint… and needy.

"She accepted us. We mated." He rises and begins pacing again. "She now carries our child, and yet your father still thinks of handing her off to some alpha. I'll go on a fucking rampage if I find any alpha has been sniffing around my woman. I need to get word to Lor."

I wave a hand to calm him down lest he rouse himself up to a temper again. "Fine. I shall seek out your mate's mate, this Lor."

"Just mate," he corrects, approaching the small, barred window. Only this time, I do not step back, and I see the vulnerability in his eyes. He cares for his mates, of that I have no doubt. "You will?"

Despite kidnapping a Hydornian woman, I believe him when he says she was congenial.

"Where is Lor now? How do I get word to him?"

"He will be coming," he says. "At least, I pray that he is." He swallows and swipes a hand down his face. "The last time I saw him, he was in a bad way. I told him to run, to get help. Then Marshal's thugs beat me down before they took me and Freya away. My clan will come if they know… if Lor got to them. He's a tough bastard, but still…"

I feel his sorrow and his earnestness wrap around me, along with the mournful weight of fear that he might have lost one of his mates.

"I am sorry that this has happened to you, and I will do whatever I can. I know a way out of the city and shall seek out Lor and… and if by some chance he did not make it, I shall seek your clan king in his stead."

"Why would you do this for me?" he asks, suspicion coloring his voice even as his eyes are hopeful.

"Why would I not?" I counter, already caught up in the romance of this adventure and all too willing to assist.

He nods once. "Aye." His lips tug up. "For a fancy lass in strange clothing, it seems you are alright."

"Princess, you need to go," Bert calls gruffly from the end of the corridor.

"I will get word to your mates," I promise. Turning, I race down the corridor and sneak into the alcove just in time as Wes arrives to take Bert's place on duty.

It is late and dark now, but tomorrow, and against my father's wishes, I shall pretend that I am going for a ride and seek out the barbarian's mate.