The Alpha Wolf Prince’s Arranged

Marriage (The Omega’s Royal

Arrangement Book 1) Lorelei M. Hart &
Colbie Dunbar
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THE ALPHA WOLF PRINCE’S ARRANGED MARRIAGE

AN MM MPREG SHIFTER ROMANCE

THE OMEGA’S ROYAL ARRANGEMENT
BOOK 1

LORELEI M. HART
COLBIE DUNBAR

SURRENDERED PRESS
 CONTENTS
1. Cyril
2. Ty
3. Cyril
4. Ty
5. Cyril
6. Ty
7. Cyril
8. Ty
9. Cyril
10. Ty
11. Cyril
12. Ty
13. Cyril
14. Ty
15. Cyril
16. Ty
17. Cyril
18. Ty
19. Cyril
20. Ty
21. Cyril
22. Ty
23. Cyril
24. Ty
Epilogue
Keep In Touch
Surrendered Press

The Alpha Wolf Prince’s Arranged Marriage

Copyright © 2024 by Lorelei M. Hart & Colbie Dunbar
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
 1

CYRIL

Cyril, come to my study immediately. I must speak with you.

My father, King Harold, rarely issued ultimatums, and I clasped the phone tightly as I hurried through the darkened corridors.
They were not well lit, not because we lived in medieval times, but because we didn’t have the funds to pay a huge electricity
bill. Our family’s castle was drafty, and we couldn’t afford to heat however many rooms there were.
In the summer months, we opened up part of the castle to tourists. We hired local villagers to lead guided tours, and visitors
would ooh and ahh over the magnificent paintings, tapestries depicting past battles, suits of armor, and the great hall where our
ancestors held huge banquets.
But it was only spring, and I shivered as I jogged toward our family’s quarters. In the past, a king would command an audience
in the throne room, but it was gloomy and hard to heat, and was shuttered until tourists paid to sit on the ancient throne and have
their pics taken.
I worried my bottom lip as I reached Father’s study. He hadn’t been well this past winter. He’d been bedridden with colds and
flus, and I’d feared more than once he’d given up on life. Dealing with my omega dad’s death two years ago had aged him. But
he rallied, though he now left most of the running of the castle to me—along with some of our financial affairs.
“Where have you been?” I shut the door on the cold and warmed my hands by the fire as Father sat in his favorite chair, the
arms worn and tattered.
“There was a small leak in the roof over the main stairs, and Joe was fixing it.”
“Good. We have to keep on top of the repairs or the place will crumble around our ears.” Father didn’t add, “Our forebears
built this castle, and I will not allow it to decay while I am king,” because he didn’t have to. He’d repeated that sentence often
enough as I was growing up.
Being king of a small territory didn’t amount to much in the twentieth-first century. We had little power, no money, and couldn’t
raise a flag, let alone an army, if invaders advanced on us. But our citizens were mostly happy with their lot, though if our
coffers were full, we could fix potholes and build more schools and hospitals. In reality, it was the local government who
controlled the purse strings, while our role was mostly ceremonial.
Father picked up a letter from his lap and waved it, the paper creasing and crinkling as he flapped it.
“I received a letter from the bank.”
Gods, how we dreaded William, the bank manager, writing to us—or worse, phoning.
Father’s mouth was set in a straight line. I collapsed onto the couch, his grim expression signaling the situation was worse than
expected.
“He’s refusing to give us a second mortgage on the castle.”
“What?” I rubbed my eyes, hoping when I opened them, the world would look different and we wouldn’t be drowning in debt.
“But he okayed it last week.” My voice was stretched thin, reflecting my inner turmoil.
“Word came from above. No more loans to the has-been royal family.”
William and Father played poker together every Friday night. He would never use that language. His boss would, though, and
he’d threatened William’s job in the past if he was too lenient with us regarding our mortgage repayments.
The castle was my home. I’d been born here, and apart from when I was at college and at my first job after graduating, I’d
lived here all my life. After my omega dad’s death, I’d resigned and come home to help Father maintain the castle and bring in
as much money as possible in the summer. We’d even been used as a movie location, which paid well, but I hadn’t been able to
drum up any more business in the industry.
We were so lacking in money, the royal family website hadn’t been updated in years. The photo of me on the site was taken
when I was five with missing front teeth. You had to squint to see any resemblance to me now.
“We’re doomed.” I tugged at my hair, fearing I’d be bald if I continued yanking at it.
Father nodded and grabbed a letter from the coffee table.
“More bad news?” I steeled myself to discover we had to pack up and leave today.
Father made a face. “I wasn’t going to tell you about this.” He added he’d received the letter weeks ago and ignored it. “But
you have a right to know before I reject it.”
“Go on.”
He gave me the letter. The paper was thick, obviously expensive, with a family crest at the top. If we’d had money, we could
have purchased similar stationery. I skimmed over the handwritten missive, glanced at Father, who was standing by the
window, and read it a second time. A huge belly laugh bubbled up, and I snorted.
“The cheek of some people thinking I’d agree to this. The damned nerve.” I’d enjoy watching my father toss it in the fire.
“Yes.” Father’s monotone caught my attention, and my head snapped in his direction. I gulped, uncertainty grabbing my throat
and cutting off my air supply.
“Father?” I squeaked as I struggled to breathe. “Please tell me you’re not considering this.”
“Of course not.” His eyes glazed over with memories. Like me, he’d been born here, as had every king in our family for over
five hundred years. “Arranged marriages were the norm in past generations.”
Marriage. Not mating. As wolf shifters living and ruling over mostly humans, our ancestors had arranged relationships, ones
that suited both families. Humans called it marriage, and we’d gone along with the pomp and ceremony of a wedding.
“It would solve our financial problems, but I can’t ask that of you.”
I stormed out of the study and barged out of the huge double wooden doors at the castle entrance.
Shift? my wolf asked.
Yes.
Allowing my beast to take his fur and run in the woods would hopefully tamp down my rage at some rich industrialist offering
his omega son in marriage, and in exchange, he’d pay off our debts and invest vast sums to improve the territory’s
infrastructure.
I would come up with a way to save the castle and the remaining land. Father had sold off passels of real estate over the years,
but we still owned significant forest and farming land.
But my life wasn’t for sale.
 2

TY

I dove back into the pool, loving the feel of the warm water against my skin. One thing I could count on my father for was to
make sure everything he did was extra, and in this case, that extra was having his new lap pool at the perfect temperature.
It was warm enough to feel great against the skin, but not too hot that exercising was an issue. Not that anyone would call what
I was doing exercise. I’d always enjoyed swimming, but there were zero people on this planet who would call me good at it.
I swam the length of the pool while searching for the meaning of life. Not even life in general. Nope. Just my life. I was
floundering, and I needed to figure shit out. I was nearly thirty, and so far my biggest accomplishment was being the son of
Tyler William Stafford Lenard, the Third. And given I had nothing to do with who my parents were, it wasn’t much of one.
I’d done all the right things since graduating high school. I went to the best schools for both undergraduate and graduate studies.
I traveled the world. I volunteered at places where my skills and education could best help. Heck, I even took an unpaid
internship to get some practical experience that could be seen as “mine” and not something Daddy bought.
But when all was said and done, I had nothing to show for any of it except expensive pieces of paper and a job I didn’t enjoy. It
was an okay job, objectively speaking. The pay was great; I had the right skill set, and it wasn’t overly taxing. And as
ungrateful as it sounded to admit, I wanted more.
I reached the other side of the pool to see Ryland, my father’s assistant slash butler slash I wasn’t even sure. He had been by
my father’s side far more than my mother while she was still with us, making him a constant in my life.
“Ryland.” I treaded water, waiting for him to tell me why he was there.
“Your father wishes to speak with you,” he said with a simple nod, as if that somehow made it true. That had always been a
quirk of his, and as a small child, it confused me. As an adult, it did, too, I supposed. But at least now I was used to it.
“Is he in his office?”
The man shook his head. “He will be in his parlor.”
I promised him I’d be there after I got dressed.
My father wasn’t one to send for me like this, and when he did, there was always a reason. I just hoped today’s didn’t require
traveling like the last two. I didn’t hate being the family representative at red carpet events from time to time. I rather enjoyed
dressing up, and as I wasn’t a celebrity most people cared about, just a boring rich guy, I was a one picture and done kind of D-
lister.
It didn’t take me long to grab a quick shower and throw on some sweats. I found my father exactly where Ryland had said he
would be, in his parlor. What made it a parlor over a living room was anyone’s guess. It was nice and comfy, though, and a
thousand times better than meeting in his stuffy office.
“Hey, Dad, Ryland said you needed me?” I plonked myself on the big comfy leather armchair across from the one he was in.
“Yes, Ty. I needed to have a conversation about a dream I had last night.”
Every muscle in my body tightened at his words. Unlike me, who dreamed of silly things like being late for a class even though
I hadn’t been in school for years, my father had dreams of the future. Not all of his dreams came true, obviously. But there were
many that did, and my father could tell the difference.
He’d seen my mother pass a week before she did, and he knew there was nothing he could do about it, and that made me
incredibly sad. To live with the guilt of your one true love’s passing when the guilt was not yours was the correct definition of
horror. His “gift” was anything but, if you asked me.
“Do we need to? You know how I feel about your dreams.” I was one hundred percent on team “Pretend you don’t have them.”
Was that fair to my father? Not really, but I couldn’t help how I felt.
“I do know, and normally I respect your desire to know nothing about them.” Meaning there were a lot more of them than I
realized. “But this one is different, and I need to tell you before I do what I’m about to do next.”
“Ominous much?”
“Don’t.” He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. “I’m doing this because it must be done. I’ve seen your future husband.
He’s a great man, but you both need a push.”
“The fuck?” I leaped up. This wasn’t about a dream—not really. This was my father playing matchmaker. Freaking fabulous.
“I’m going home.”
Sure, “home” was a very unlived-in apartment in the city that I rarely used because here was so much better, but it was still
mine.
“Ty. Sit.” He barked out the order, something I hadn’t witnessed him doing in years.
I sat.
“That’s better, son. Now hear me out.” He told me I was destined to be a prince, and he was going to offer the royal family a
lump sum to settle a wedding contract.
“A dowry. You are going to offer a dowry for me, as in ancient times?” This could not be happening. Maybe I was the one who
was dreaming.
“Not a dowry. But they need money, and you need to meet your future life partner. This is the best option.”
It was a dowry, and it was up to me to accept it or accept it.
Fuck.
 3

CYRIL

Shifting improved my wolf’s mood, but not so much mine.

He hunted and fed while I fumed that Father would even consider agreeing to an arranged mating. He’d always expected me to
forge my destiny, but when I got older and he was frail, I was supposed to take his place. And while the castle was part of our
history, he’d never put our realm before my happiness.
Perhaps he was staring at his mortality and was trying to solve our financial problems and ensure I was taken care of before he
passed. But my father wasn’t at death’s door. He still walked miles every day and wrangled with our banker and contractors.
He took a nap every afternoon since my dad’s death, but at his age, I’d probably take two.
Not wanting to face my father after I’d taken my skin, I showered and drove into town. It was afternoon, and I rarely drank
coffee this late, but I needed something to counter the rage surging through my veins and seeping from my pores.
There was a long line at my favorite café. Maybe everyone was ragey today, but I’d bet their reasons were more mundane, such
as their boss telling them to redo a report, the cat pooped on the rug, or they’d argued with their significant other. As I eyed the
people around me, some on their phones and others tapping their feet impatiently, I considered conducting a poll and asking on
a scale of one to ten how outrageous arranged marriage was. Most were human, so I’d say marriage, not mating.
But as I waited to reach the counter, a guy with two takeout coffees bumped into me, and the hot liquid splashed over my white
tee. If I’d been human, the hot liquid would have seared my skin, leaving it red and blistered with third-degree burns and a
hospital visit in my future. But as a shifter, my skin healed immediately, and it was only an inconvenience.
The coffee was a chocolate crunch mocha. I could smell and see the remains on my shirt.
Already pissed off with life, I growled, and not a human snarl. I’d allowed my wolf to lash out at the guy.
“Hey, it was an accident,” he snapped, but he couldn’t hide the fear in his gaze. If he’d been a shifter, he would have replied
with a growl of his own, depending on his beast. But the coffee guy was human. Other people moved away as the asshat and I
faced one another.
“Maybe try that again and start with ‘I’m really sorry. Let me pay for your coffee.’”
“You brushed against me.” His nostrils flared, a signal he would not apologize. “So next time, watch what you’re doing.”
I dug my nails into my palms and welcomed the pain. It distracted me from wanting to punch the guy. While no one had
recognised me—or if they had, they had said nothing—if I bopped the guy’s nose, someone would take a pic and social media
would be overrun with comments about thuggish Prince Cyril.
But as I was struggling to contain my anger, my wolf perked up, intrigued by the guy’s scent.
Who gives a damn! I rarely spoke to my beast that way, but I was all about me, me, me since my “talk” with Father. He can
smell like coconuts and cocktails for all I care.
But my beast wasn’t putting up with my poor-me mood and told me to pay attention. I preferred to sulk and throw a tantrum at
the human who’d ruined my favorite T-shirt.
Scent him. My beast wasn’t messing around.
But I was preoccupied by the coffee on my shirt and how I’d have to soak it when I got home. The human sneered before
inspecting his coffee-splattered shoes and storming out the door.
Go after him. My wolf was threatening to take his fur in the coffee shop.
Gods, revealing the existence of shifters would be an unforgivable offence. Not only would I be on the king’s—my father—
shitlist, but I’d be hauled before the shifter council.
The hairs on my arms stood up and multiplied as dread gnawed at me while I begged my beast to stay where he was. Ignoring
my need for caffeine, I shoved the glass door with my shoulder and raced into the parking lot. Tearing toward the car, I counted
the seconds before my wolf took over.
Please, please, please, don’t take your fur.
I tore past an expensive-looking car with a driver. Who had a driver? Because of financial constraints, even Father didn’t
employ one. Instead, he lent our maintenance worker a suit and hat, and he drove the king to official functions.
The driver opened the door and, unlike earlier when the guy bumped me, my shifter reflexes ensured I zagged and avoided
being whacked. But another scent joined the spilled coffee that filled my nostrils. Enticing and intoxicating, it pushed the fear
of shifting in public out of my head and focused on the source as I leaped into my car.
“Fuck people,” a familiar voice yelled.
“Sir?”
Nobody called me sir, and I was a freaking prince. Him! His furrowed brow and the snarl on his lips weren’t as offensive as
when he bumped me.
Talk to him, my wolf insisted.
Why? He hates me.
I wasn’t about to throw myself at the human just because his scent captivated me. Besides, I wasn’t his favorite person, either.
Glancing up, I caught his eye as the driver closed the door. If our situations had been reversed, I’d have given him the finger.
But his reaction was far worse. His expressionless face turned away.
The sharp click of the door was the end of our “interaction,” and I stayed in my seat, my forearms covered in fur, a tail curling
over my lap as the car drove away. Resting my head on the steering wheel, I asked my wolf to fill me in on who the guy was
and why I’d reacted to his scent the way I did.
But he was peeved, saying I’d let him get away and he’d have to hunt him down.
He may be an ass, but we will not kill him. Though an image of me chasing the guy through the woods appeared, and a thought
popped into my head.
I’d like to eat him out, though.
 4

TY

Suck. Suck. Suck. Suck. Suck.

Why did I have to go and meet the hottest man in the entire world right after promising my father I would get married to some
random guy? Fine, not random, not even close. But still… this man, the one I was rude to in a moment of panic, had me wanting
to drop everything just to be with him. It made no sense, but really… what in my life recently did? Certainly not agreeing to
marry someone because my father had a dream.
I took out my phone and called Father. He got me into this, and he was going to need to figure out a way to get me out of it. I
had been so close to slamming my lips on the stranger’s mouth, and yet I was bound to some random prince or duke or
whatever his rank was. He was probably the black sheep and lived in the woods, communing with nature.
The phone rang once and went to voicemail. Knowing my dad, he could easily have been trying to answer the phone and
hanging up instead. He was great with nearly all technology, with a big exception being his phone. He had to buy the best and
fanciest gadget, even if the screen was too small for him to work effectively.
Call me. I tapped on my phone so hard that I nearly dropped the blasted thing.
The phone rang a few seconds later, only it wasn’t my father. It was Ryland.
“Is he ill?” I barked into the phone. It wasn’t fair. The poor guy had absolutely nothing to do with any of this.
“He’s in a meeting, but will be available shortly. Is there something I might help you with?” He was so calm compared to the
fury I’d thrown his way.
“I don’t know. I’m… Have you ever been in love, Ryland?” Not that anything I was experiencing was love. It was lust, freaking
out over the arranged mating and seeing something that wasn’t there. Love didn’t factor into this.
But it should. Wasn’t that the dream—the real one, not the kind my father had had? You meet someone, fall in love, begin a life
together, and live happily ever after. Only I was doing none of that.
“No, sir. I can’t say that I have.” Ryland’s voice sounded almost robotic, almost as if he didn’t want to give anything away. The
only time he was like this was when he was around my father’s business associates.
“Let’s pretend I don’t believe you.” Because I didn’t completely. “Is it worth it? Risking everything for potential love?”
“I’m not sure I follow, sir.”
“You know about the arrangement my father made for me? What if I met someone new? Wouldn’t it be better to follow that path
than to risk losing a chance at love by ignoring it?”
Sure, I could stalk the coffee place like a boss, and he’d have to come back eventually. Or maybe he was passing through town
and I’d missed my one chance with him. And the most likely option? He was an asshole, and just because he made me hard,
that didn’t mean he was worth any effort to find him.
“Of course, I know of the arrangement, sir. And you know your father wouldn’t have suggested it lightly. In this situation, I
wouldn’t entertain the notion that someone you met would be a better option.” The sound of a door opening echoed over the
phone. “And speaking of your father, he’s here. Would you like to speak to him?”
And because he worded it like that, the question wasn’t really a question. There was only one right answer, and I gave it to him
and thanked him for his time.
“Let me guess, you’re getting nervous about the changes ahead,” my father bellowed through the phone.
“Probably. But I need to shower and get ready for dinner.” And forget about the foolishness of even pretending I potentially
found true love with some random guy getting coffee. Ryland was right. My father wouldn’t have suggested this marriage if he
didn’t firmly believe that it was the best option. Just because I didn’t understand, didn’t make that any less true.
“Ty, if you want to talk about this, I’m here for you.” My father was an extremely busy man, and if I were to guess, someone
work-related was waiting for him. He’d never rush me off the line, though. Not when I was a kid and not now. He was a great
father.
“I know, Dad. I was out today and I met someone and there was chemistry, is all. It messed with my head.” And my dick, but
that wasn’t a conversation I wanted with my father. That was for sure.
“I see. And did this other person feel the same?”
“If he did, I wouldn’t know. The encounter wasn’t exactly what you would call… ideal?” I pushed the palm of my hand into my
left eye, a headache building behind it. “It’s probably just like you said. I’m getting cold feet. I trust you, Dad. I know you
wouldn’t have suggested this if it weren’t a great idea.”
“Not that it is a ‘great idea,’ Ty. But it is the right decision. I’m sure. That said, if you told me to back away and try to start
something with this new guy, I would respect that.” My father was officially the best.
“I’ll see how things go tonight.” I was meeting my betrothed for the first time. “And if he’s a dick, maybe I’ll borrow your
security team to find the guy I met today.” I was only half teasing.
“Nothing says I love you like having one of the top security teams hunting you down,” he said, barely containing his laughter.
“There are worse ways to get together.” I just hoped this arranged mating wasn’t one of them.
 5

CYRIL

I pressed my foot to the accelerator, hoping the local police were on a break or talking on the phone. Not only did I not want to
be mated or married to a rich stranger, but the asshat at the café was someone who was supposed to be part of my future.
How could that happen?
I had two choices; marry a human, not have to worry about money again, but never find happiness, or find coffee shop guy,
inform him he was my one and only, I was a wolf, he had to bond with me, and also be unhappy the rest of my life ‘cause he
was a dick.
Mate!
You said it. That word. I slowed at an intersection, tempted to run the red light. Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I
counted the seconds until the light changed.
There was a third choice. Leave home—the bank would repossess the castle because Father could never sell it—and be alone
for the rest of my life. Sighing, I steered the car toward the castle entrance and pulled up in the forecourt. Weeds were growing
through the gravel, and I kicked some with my heel. Not that it did any good. It didn’t ease my frustration, and the weeds had
suffered no damage.
Steeling myself for the conversation with Father, I strode into the castle and headed for the study. He wasn’t there. He’d be out
back, inspecting the vegetable garden and reminiscing about how when he was a boy, our family had employed a team of
gardeners.
Damn, where was the man when I needed to have a conversation that would change both our lives?
Joe appeared around a corner, peering at the castle ramparts, and told me Father was in the ballroom and had given him a list
of repairs.
“We can’t afford all this, Joe.” I returned the handwritten note that included having the tapestries cleaned, getting a landscaper
to do extensive work on the long driveway, and hiring extra domestic staff.
He shrugged. “King Harold said it was all taken care of.”
The pit of dread in my belly which formed when Father had mentioned an arranged marriage expanded, and I clutched my chest
before collapsing on an old bench. Unless William, the bank manager, had opened the vaults and allowed Father access, there
was only one place he’d get cash, especially enough cash to pay for everything on Joe’s list.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Huh? You’re always breathing. My wolf was intrigued.
It’s a technique to calm my nerves.
Is it working?
Nope!
I had to confront Father, return the money before Joe spent any, and do what? Pack my belongings and leave? That wasn’t an
option because I loved my father, even if he had offered me up on a platter to some rich guy’s son.
“I was looking for you.” Father emerged from the ballroom—which in the old days was called the great hall—a smile from ear
to ear as I wandered along a castle passageway.
I paused before speaking because he was wearing his crown, though it was a tad lopsided, and his ermine cloak, including the
moth-eaten holes, was slung over his shoulder.
“Going somewhere?”
“Nope. Preparing.”
He dragged me into the ballroom, the scene of post-coronation celebrations in centuries gone by. Words spilled from his lips as
though from a machine gun, and I caught maybe half of what he was saying as he bopped around like the Energizer Bunny. I
rescued the crown as it threatened to topple off his head.
“Father, sit.”
“No time.” He pulled out of my grasp and waltzed around the space. “We’re going to restore the castle to its former glory.”
“Father!” My harsh voice echoed around the vaulted ceiling. He froze. The enchantment on his face was replaced by fear.
“What have you done?”
The tension left his shoulders, and he took both my hands and twirled me around.
“We’ve organized everything.” He explained he’d spoken to Tyler William Stafford Lenard, the Third, and his son didn’t want
to be married to me, any more than I wanted to be with him. “Perhaps you and the son, Tyler, could come to an agreement
where you live separate lives, except for formal events.” He nodded at the crown.
I should have been ecstatic because I’d live a life of luxury and be able to chase after coffee shop guy. But it would strip my
existence of joy.
“Sounds as though you have it all worked out.”
He nodded. “This is for you, my son. When I’m gone, you won’t be destitute and you’ll be living here. I’ll look down from my
seat by the goddess and not worry about you.” He ruffled my hair.
“And the money? Is this a down payment… on me… on my willingness to go through with the marriage?”
“Dowry, Cyril.” He wrinkled his nose. “Down payment is an ugly word.”
And dowry wasn’t?
“Money might not bring happiness, but it gives us choices.”
I couldn’t argue with that as Father tapped his banking app and showed the cash in his account.
“That’s a lot of zeros.”
Father retrieved his crown, and his brow furrowed as he inspected the holes in his cloak. “I wonder if I can get a new one or if
I have to make do with repairs.” He bustled off, yelling over his shoulder that it would all work out.
My beast didn’t understand the intricacies of money or debt and was hoping I’d give him his fur and he’d chase down the
human from the café. But my life had been upended, and despite my intended husband not caring who I slept with, I meandered
around the castle, my belly roiling at the prospect of being married.
I climbed the narrow spiral stone stairs to a turret, standing at the arrow slit and studying my domain. It was as though Father
had put me in one of our suits of armor. Sure, I could move with difficulty, but it was so cumbersome, and I didn’t have the
energy. Instead, I wanted to collapse and allow myself to rust and wither as the wedding date loomed.
 6

TY

When the dinner to meet my betrothed was canceled because of whatever reason, I’d been relieved. I hadn’t been in the mood
to be social, and I was still thinking about the hottie from the coffee shop. I needed time to come to terms with the decision I’d
made, the one that had me marrying a stranger.
But now that my wedding day had arrived, I still hadn’t met him. It had been weeks and yet… not even the slightest chance
encounter or a planned one either. And most of that was on me. I was being pissy about the entire thing and requested that all
communications between us go through my assistant. And my assistant? They were told to make an excuse if the caller wanted a
meeting.
I wasn’t sure why I was being such a butt about it. That wasn’t true. I knew why, and it had nothing to do with the prince or the
wedding or even our parents. It was coffee shop guy. I couldn’t get him out of my head or out of my dreams.
When I closed my eyes, there he was. Only unlike our first encounter, the one that had gone horribly wrong, in my daydream
encounter, he would tell me how much he wanted me, and before I could answer, he would kiss me. And not just any kiss
either, it was one of those swoon-worthy movie kisses where my knees would buckle and it was all I could do to remember my
name.
Now when I went to bed, those little wanderings of my imagination got far more knotty. They always started the same. He
would be there at the coffee shop the next day, telling me he had been waiting for me for hours. Because I apparently got off on
him needing me that badly—a hot mess of baggage there to unpack that I planned to blissfully ignore.
“I was hoping you would be here,” I say. “Yesterday, I⁠—”
He holds his fingers up to my lips, silencing me. “Shhh, omega. We both know what you want...” He takes my hand and puts
it on the bulge in his pants. “What we both want.”
I stare at him. Unable to figure out what to do next, so I do what comes naturally, and I add pressure to his erection.
“That’s a good omega. Have you ever fucked someone up against an alley wall?”
I swallow. As much as I need him in me, my entrance so slick and ready, the thought of getting caught with him terrifies me
and for all the wrong reasons. Screw anyone who finds it distasteful or lewd. I only care that we would have to stop. When
he fucks me, I want it to end with his knot growing inside me, not with some prude screaming at us to get a room.
“Car.” It’s one word and means absolutely nothing in isolation, but he understands me. He scoops me up and takes me to
his vehicle.
Once inside, I’m fumbling with his slacks, trying to get his erection free so I can suck and then ride it.
From there, the scenario changed from day to day, but it always ended the same, with me coming and being sad that he wasn’t
there with me for real. It was a fucked-up cycle and one I needed to end. I was going to be married for goddess’s sake. I
couldn’t be orgasming to the fantasy of another man, one who I met once. A crappy meeting, at that.
“Why didn’t I push for a meeting with the prince?” I grumbled as I studied the two suits I could choose from for the event. “We
could have at least video chatted.”
If we had, maybe I might not still be thinking of the dude from the coffee shop nonstop, stroking myself to completion as I
thought of him, and already disliking the prince for no other reason than he wasn’t my mystery man. There were so many ways
this was fucked up that I couldn’t even list them all.
In a way, not talking to him or meeting him or looking him up online made this less real. It allowed my mind to day and night
dream about the coffee shop stranger without guilt. It was better this way. At least that’s what I had managed to convince
myself.
As far as I knew, my betrothed’s father couldn’t tell the future through dreams the way mine did. I was just a randomly picked
fiancé, one that might not be worthy of his time. Except I came with money, lots and lots of money. That made me worthy
enough.
The alarm on my phone blared. It was time to get ready. I wasn’t sure why I set the blasted thing. It wasn’t as if forgetting was
possible. This wasn’t an item on a grocery list or a chore. It was a freaking royal wedding.
I headed into the bathroom to shower. It wouldn’t be long before Ryland sent in the people he hired to be my “team” for the
day, the people who would make me look picture perfect for the paparazzi that I suspected wouldn’t be there. I didn’t mind.
I’d had teams before for my graduations, and for my mother’s funeral. Having them there was… fine. I didn’t see myself
looking any better than when I threw on clothing that had me feeling good and let my hair air dry. But this was my wedding, so
it made sense to have them here.
I stepped under the steamy water and tried to pretend this was just another day and not the one where I committed myself to
someone forever. And true, this wasn’t a day and age where divorce wasn’t permitted. Of course it was, but once you had a
crown in the mix, it wasn’t as simple as that. If you could describe divorce as simple.
I took my time, washing my hair twice for no other reason than to stall for a bit. And when I came out of the bathroom, my
father, Ryland, and three others were there.
“No loneliness for me today.” I forced a chuckle. “It’s time to do this thing.”
“Would you prefer doing this without your old man present?” my father asked.
“I’ll still have a room full of people.” I indicated the “team” Ryland had assembled just for me.
“True, but they won’t cry when they see you dressed up in your wedding best.” My father pulled me into a hug. “You’re going
to be the world’s best-looking groom.”
“I hope not.” I hugged him. “I want my new husband to be way hotter than me.”
Once I got dressed and looked dapper as ever, my father sent everyone else away. “You sure you want to do this? You don’t
have to. What if my dream was wrong?”
“Has that happened before?”
He shook his head.
“Then you have your answer.” I turned around slowly. “And besides, I look too good to head to the diner. This ensemble is
wedding good.”
“It’s Ty good, and that’s a million times better.”
Let’s hope I felt the same about my soon-to-be husband.
 7

CYRIL

I hadn’t been able to sleep, and when my wolf asked to shift in the early hours of the morning, I gave him his fur, and he ran
through the woods. Not hunting, but with a frantic energy that was the opposite of my lethargy.
The arrangement was a done deal. The dowry was paid in full, the ballroom decorated, the caterers had arrived yesterday
afternoon, and the castle was buzzing with activity. When I crept out at three a.m. the building was ablaze with light, and
people were running back and forth carrying boxes and something that looked like an ice sculpture.
Thank gods I hadn’t been expected to arrange the wedding. I was the star attraction apparently, and the guest list reflected
bigwigs from not only the territory but other countries. I suspected that was my future father-in-law’s influence and not me
having the word “prince” in front of my name.
My father was ecstatic; he had a purpose other than keeping us out of bankruptcy, and it put a bounce in his step. He’d had a
phone tucked under his ear for weeks while he organized the wedding, while an assistant followed at his heels, copying
Father’s string of instructions.
We have to go home. I need to shower, and someone is coming to dress me.
You can’t dress yourself? My wolf snorted. Are you a baby?
He continued to insist we search for coffee guy, but it was too late, and when I explained we wouldn’t be mated to Tyler, he
shrugged off the commotion surrounding the ceremony, as a piece of paper was meaningless.
I was frustrated that I hadn’t met my husband-to-be. I’d begged Father to arrange a meeting and raged at the message from Tyler
the Fourth when he’d refused. Marriage shouldn’t be about silly rules and tradition for tradition’s sake. It was supposed to be
about two people.
Not that I was a typical groom. I didn’t intend to sneak off and have sex or elope, but my aim was to know the guy a little
beforehand. And to verify he’d keep his word about us maintaining separate lives.
Father forbid me from looking Tyler up online. I almost did, a few times, but studying his face staring at me, would have
confirmed my fate. Instead, I wanted to pretend.
This was an arranged marriage in the strictest sense, with both grooms not meeting until he walked down the aisle in our
magnificent ballroom. As much as I was dreading this arrangement—my bitten nails were evidence of how stressed I was—I
wanted the ceremony over with so I could return to relative obscurity.
Since the impending marriage announcement, paparazzi followed me, and I was the subject of gossip magazines. None from our
territory because of our small population, but I couldn’t go for a walk or grab a cup of coffee without someone putting a camera
in my face.
The stylists arrived, and they fussed over me, brushing non-existent lint off my suit, and dabbing concealer over a pimple on my
jaw. Rather than a rose in my buttonhole, one stylist stuffed a dried flower arrangement in the opening.
A glance out the window, and my belly roiled as limos crawled up the driveway, depositing their occupants at the castle
entrance. How had I gotten myself into this?
We can run away.
It’s too late. Father would have to repay the dowry, and when he couldn’t, Tyler the Third would claim the castle. Fuck, what a
mess. All of this because of money, power, and debt. Maybe I should have taken my beast’s advice and run. I wiped my damp
palms on a tissue and hoped when I met my groom, drops of sweat weren’t dripping off my nose.
A knock at the door told me it was time to make my way to the ballroom. Did I need to pee again?
Cross your legs. My beast had no sympathy for my nervous bladder.
The stylist placed a crown on my head. That hated headdress dug into my scalp, making me itch and would give me a headache.
Unlike my intended, I entered the ballroom through a side door. But I froze as I took in the row upon row of guests, many of
them draped in jewels and carrying swords. I gulped, and my hand shook as I fiddled with the flowers in my buttonhole and
pricked my finger.
What the fuck? Who put thorns on my chest? Was I about to fall asleep for a thousand years or had I been poisoned? My mind
zigzagged from one possibility to the next, each one more fantastical than the previous. I sucked the drop of blood as Father
appeared, his crown firmly on his head, and as he walked down the aisle, the guests bowed. He grinned and nodded at me as
his cape trailed behind him, sweeping over the carpet.
Another man appeared, about Father’s age. His posture, expression, and the cut of his suit suggested money and confidence. My
intended’s father and the man paying for this extravaganza. He held my gaze before taking his seat.
Loud music filled the ballroom, and my nose twitched as an enticing scent tickled my nostrils. My beast took note and asked to
shift.
Our mate is here somewhere.
I scented him too. Today was a great day after all. My mate was here! Excitement bubbled out of me, and I grinned. Not now. If
he’s a guest, we’ll see him at the reception.
Earlier I’d been dreading meeting my husband-to-be, but now I needed the ceremony to speed up like those old-timey films so I
could scan the guests for my mate.
A man dressed in a suit that matched mine, along with a buttonhole with the same dried flowers, appeared at the end of the
aisle. I lifted my gaze to his face. It was a confirmation of what my wolf and my nose had told me.
“Coffee guy.” My voice reverberated off the stone buttresses above me.
The guests tittered, and Father glowered. I didn’t give a damn. The grouchy, bad-tempered human who’d spilled coffee on me
was walking down the aisle, grinning.
When he reached me, he took both my hands. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
I blinked, hoping this wasn’t a dream and he would disappear. “Me either, but before we go through with this, you need to
apologize.”
“I’m sorry for being an ass.” He jerked his head at the celebrant. “Can we do this?”
“Get married? Sure. But I need to do something first.” I placed my lips on his, tasting him for the first time.
“You’re supposed to kiss after I pronounce you husband and husband,” the celebrant whispered.
 8

TY

The actual ceremony was a blur. That kiss… it stole my ability to brain. One moment with his lips and they took over my every
thought. I wanted nothing more than to taste them again and again. Had it not been for our need to follow through on the whole
getting-married component, I’d probably have spent the next hour exploring his mouth and ignoring the onlookers.
But it was a wedding, one that was going to end up in newspapers across the globe. I was marrying the crown prince. Skipping
the fancy shmancy ceremony to make out with him wasn’t the best plan, but not even remotely close to being the most tempting
one I could imagine.
There were “I dos” and “forevers” and a song by a ruler from a neighboring nation that went on forever. I appreciated the
thoughtfulness of wanting to perform for us on our special day, but if it had gone on any longer, I probably would’ve walked
over to our guests and snagged a seat. And of course, it ended with a speech-slash-lecture on how important the vows we just
made were. But quiz me on any details and I would come up blank.
Unless the quiz was about when I first got my boner, which was the second I saw him, and what I’d been thinking about trying
to get my cock to behave and not embarrass us both. The list of things I thought about to get rid of my erection were; cleaning
out the dumpster at the diner I passed on the way over, a puking cat, and my college Calc 3 final. Did it work? Not fully, and
the odds were good that even with my jacket on, there was going to be a picture of me sporting a woody on my wedding day.
I still couldn’t believe it was him. He was my husband and part of my father’s dream. Did my dad know I met him that day, and
if so, when did he, and did that play a part in this entire relationship? I had no inkling, but I’d absolutely be asking him.
“You may now kiss your husband.”
My husband. This man, the person that I had been inexplicably drawn to, was now officially my life partner. I closed the short
distance between us and waited for him to kiss me. I might want him more than my next breath, but he was more important, at
least to the photographers. He was the prince—the crown prince at that. He was the one exuding power.
That was one of the many tidbits I picked up under Ryland’s tutelage over the past few weeks. When the reality of my new
soon-to-be role set in, it hit me how woefully unprepared for being the prince’s consort I was. And just like countless times
throughout my life, it was Ryland to the rescue.
He might have been my father’s assistant, at least in title. But he was so much more than that. Ryland was like family to me. I
was going to miss both him and my father when I lived at the castle, figuring out my new role.
Cyril brushed his lips against mine, but the kiss was lacking passion. I questioned if my breath was the culprit when a thousand
flashes went off around us. And fine, it wasn’t a thousand, but it felt like it. We weren’t there enjoying our own sweet moment;
we were a full-on photo op for the gossip rags.
“I’ll get us away,” he mumbled against my lips, the lights still flickering nearby. “We should probably talk.”
And true to his word, the two of us ducked into a small room only ten minutes later when we were supposed to be heading to
take our formal pictures.
“How did you get us in here without them hot on our heels?” I was full-on impressed.
“Determination.” Cyril winked.
“Want to hear something silly?” He nodded. “I used to think because this was a small nation, you needn’t deal with the cameras
and reporters and the tabloids. Like it somehow made you immune to all of that, in my mind.”
My life hadn’t been completely without their attention. That wasn’t a thing when your father had as much money as mine did.
But it was not at all what I had expected or what my husband hinted at.
Husband. That was going to take some time getting used to, that was for sure.
“Not so much. Some times and places are better than others, like that specific day at the coffee shop.”
“I spent a lot of time going back and forth on whether I should get married after I bumped into you at the coffee shop.” I
replayed it in my head. “What I mean is,” I continued, “I was attracted to you that day, and I couldn’t get you out of my mind.” I
was feeling guilty on the ride over here because my heart wasn’t in it. “Does that make any sense?”
He cupped my cheek and ran his thumb across my cheekbone. “It makes more sense than you can imagine. If it weren’t for
tradition and the five thousand photo ops we had to be a part of today, I’d show you exactly how much it makes sense.” He
kissed me again and grabbed my hand.
“Can we leave now?” I pressed my forehead against his.
“We can leave this room, but not the reception.”
“I suspected as much.” I gave him a peck on the lips. “Best we go before my cock breaks through my zipper.”
“Same, Husband. Same.”
 9

CYRIL

“Where are we going?”

Ty and I held hands in the back of a stretch limo. We’d hardly let one another go since we said our I-dos. After wondering
where he was and what he was doing in the intervening weeks since the coffee shop incident, I needed skin-to-skin contact
with my mate… ummm, husband.
That he was human and I wasn’t was the tiniest glitch in this marriage.
Not tiny. My wolf was miffed.
True, but I’ll tell him before the honeymoon ends.
With his free hand, Ty offered me a cracker and cheese. There was also water and alcohol. I’d drunk a glass of champagne at
the reception but wanted to be clear-headed for our honeymoon, especially the first night, so I refused the glass of wine.
“You’ll see.”
I didn’t care where we were headed and had assumed we’d spend our first night as a married couple at the castle. During the
reception, I’d cast my mind back to whether my room was tidy, not wanting our first sexual encounter to be in my rumpled
sheets.
I wasn’t paying much attention to where we were, though I might have recognized a warehouse close to the airport. It was too
late for a flight out, as our residents didn’t want planes flying overhead at night.
We pulled up at a metal gate, and the driver wound down his window, presented a document, and they waved us through. And
the security guard saluted. I doubted that was for me, as Father had done away with most bowing and scraping and reserved it
for formal occasions.
As the car swerved left, I glimpsed a plane in an airport hangar. Other than the perimeter and building security lights, the
airport was in darkness until the limo pulled up at a small jet, with smiling uniformed staff waiting at the stairs.
“Before you ask, this is Father’s private plane, and your dad gave permission for us to take off tonight.”
“That was kind of him.” Father didn’t have the power to override the curfew, but I stayed silent, not wanting to spoil our first
evening with regulations.
They ushered us onto the plane, but it was like none I’d ever been on. Plush leather seats, each with a table, a sofa, and what
appeared to be a bedroom through an open door.
“Are we going to have sex on the plane?”
The crew’s brows shot up, but they were professional and didn’t snigger.
But my outburst did not faze Ty. “We could, but it might be more intimate to wait until we’re alone. The flight isn’t long.”
“It’ll be agony,” I gushed and lowered my voice. “I’m so hard.”
My husband gulped a mouthful of soda the flight attendant put in front of him. I giggled and shoulder-shimmied, pleased at my
power.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Ty pushed his chair back.
“Abso-freaking-lutely.”
We were sitting opposite one another, each of us in comfortable armchairs, with a table between us. I nudged his legs apart
with my foot just as the captain announced we were ready for takeoff and we should buckle up. My mate’s cock firmed as I
rubbed the sole of my foot over his crotch.
“You can’t do that.” Ty’s face crumpled, and he moaned before recovering and hissing, “It’s not allowed during takeoff or
landing.”
“You’re making that up.” As a prince of a once great realm in the twenty-first century, I wielded little power, but perhaps the
heir to an industrial dynasty might. “At least I think you are.”
“Wait,” he mouthed.
I’d been doing nothing but waiting since the day we met, but I lowered my leg and studied the lights sprinkled below us as the
plane climbed.
“What’s the use of a bed if we don’t use it?” The seatbelt sign had been turned off, and we’d eaten a late-night supper. I was
starving and had practically inhaled mine and Ty’s, not having eaten anything at the reception.
“Wow, you wolfed that down. You can have more.” He asked the flight attendant for another serving of smoked salmon
sandwiches.
Wolfed down? That intrigued my beast. Does he know about me?
No. I’ll explain later.
“We can.” He nodded toward the open bedroom door. “The cabin crew will hear our moans.” He crooked his finger at me, and
I leaned forward. “But when I suck your thick cock… it is thick, right?”
I gulped and mumbled, “Yes.”
“Okay then.” He smirked and poked the tip of tongue between his lips. “And while I’m doing that, my fingers will inch toward
your hole.”
I squirmed on the soft seat, wishing I could unzip my pants and jerk off or Ty could put his head between my legs and suck my
length.
“Do you like tongue in your hole?” He licked around his mouth.
Gods, he was killing me with the sexy talk.
“Yes, please.” I sounded as though I was ordering from a menu. One blow job along with fingers and tongue in my ass. And on
the side, copious amounts of his slick.
Gripping the armrest, I closed my eyes, willing myself not to come in my pants. Awkward! I steadied my breathing until my
heart slowed, and I peered out the window. We were flying over a long narrow strip of lights as the plane descended.
“Are we there?”
“Ummm. It’s a beach resort, and we have a private bungalow.” He quirked a brow. “Not long now before we get naked.”
When the door opened, a blast of warm balmy air hit me.
“I didn’t bring a swimsuit.” My human mate and I were about to have sex and I was worried about my clothes or lack of them.
“No need. We have our own pool, so we don’t need any.”
As we came down the stairs, sweat had my shirt sticking to my back. Just as well we wouldn’t need clothes for however long
we were staying here.
Ty put his hand on my crotch as we drove toward our resort.
“Can we ask the driver to hurry? Not sure I’m gonna make it.”
 10

TY

We were at a private bungalow at the beach, and I wasn’t sure what it looked like, where it was in relation to anything, or even
what color it was. My sole focus was on my husband and my need to get my mouth on him.
Husband. Never for a single second at that coffee house did I suspect that one day I’d be fumbling my way into a bungalow,
slicker than slick, harder than hard, and needier than needy with this man as my husband. And here I was, doing exactly that.
The door clicked closed seconds before he pressed my back against it, and Cyril’s lips brushed mine as he spoke, his body a
mere a fraction of an inch from mine. So close and not close enough. “I can’t wait to make you mine.”
“Then do it⁠—”
His lips slammed against mine, his body closing the short distance between us so that I could feel how hard he was for me.
This feeling, this pull, this desire went both ways, and that jacked up my need higher than I thought possible. My arms wrapped
around him, my fingers clenching the fabric covering his skin, my tongue diving into his mouth—exploring, tasting, encouraging
him.
I needed more. There was too much space between us. Our clothing, a barrier I needed gone, and stat. I fumbled with his shirt,
trying to get it off, and Cyril chuckled against my lips and scooped me into his arms.
“Patience.” He nipped at my bottom lip. “We’ll get rid of these soon enough.”
What he failed to understand was that my patience had left the building. The moment we kissed at our wedding, that was it. I
needed him inside of me, making us one for real. I didn’t pretend to understand this attraction, and I didn’t need to. I was going
to enjoy every last second of it.
Cyril set me down on a bed and worked on ridding me of my clothing, kissing each inch of me as he exposed my bare skin.
Kisses, licks, nibbles, and sucks had me bucking my hips and seeking more, my slick now uncomfortable in my boxer briefs.
His fingers finally reached my waistband, and I bucked into him.
“Patience.” He pressed a kiss at the start of my happy trail. “Patience.”
“Fuck patience. I need your cock in me now or I will explode.” In my pants. But I left that part off.
“Well, we can’t have you blowing up on our honeymoon, can we?” He unzipped my pants and tapped my hip. Once I raised it,
he slid them all the way off, taking my socks and shoes with them.
“My turn.” I sat up, reaching for his shirt, and he shook his head.
“I’ve got this. There’s an impending explosion I need to prevent.” Hot and funny and, from the speed at which he undressed,
very agile. This was going to be fun. Better than fun.
Cyril joined me on the bed, and I pulled him to me, kissing him with all the passion I was feeling. He sank into me, his front
pressed against mine. We stayed like that, kissing, grinding our bodies together, soaking in each other’s warmth until it was no
longer enough. I needed more.
I wrapped my legs around him, needing him closer. “Please,” I cried out.
He rolled to the side, and for a split second I thought I ruined everything, that I was too needy, too demanding. That fear flew
away as his hand wrapped around my cock, and he gave it a jerk.
“I want my mouth on you so badly.” His finger traveled down to my needy hole, circling it before sliding inside with ease. “But
I don’t think you can wait that long.”
He was right. I couldn’t.
“I need your cock.” No use playing coy. We both knew this was what we both wanted—both needed. Our bodies were shouting
as much.
“Then my cock you shall have.” He removed his fingers from me and licked them as if they were the most delicious treat.
I rolled over onto my hands and knees, unwilling to wait a second longer.
“Is that how it is?” He nipped at my ass and then crawled in behind me, tapping the inside of my thighs to get my legs spread
out more, opening me up to him.
I wiggled my ass in reply.
Cyril grabbed my hip in one hand and lined himself up with my entrance, circling it a few times before sliding inside of me
slower than I wanted, but as I tried to push back, he held my hip firmly in place.
“Get used to me first.” His silken words stole all the arguments forming in my head. “Gods, you feel amazing wrapped around
me.”
His hips slapped against my ass. The feeling of fullness was only matched by completeness. I’d never felt like this before, not
even close. It was as if our bodies were meant to be together, like we were two halves to a whole.
Slowly at first, he moved in and out of me, his fingers grasping onto my hips in a possessive, yet protective way. There was
this combination of sweet and animalistic that just did it for me. I pushed back again. This time he let me, never removing his
fingers from my body.
We moved together, increasing both speed and force with each trip. Back and forth, harder and harder, faster and faster. My
cock was hard and heavy below me, flapping with the motions, begging for attention, but I refrained from asking for it as long
as I could, not wanting this to be over too soon.
And then I couldn’t take it anymore, I needed the feel of his hand wrapped around my length, and I begged him for it, pleaded
with him to touch me already, and he did.
Cyril leaned over, his front pressed to my back, kissing me on my shoulder. “I’ve got you.”
He reached beneath us and found my needy cock, dancing his fingers along its length and then wrapping them around me and
giving me a jerk, then another, and as he was about to give me a third, I let go, allowing myself to feel it fully, no longer
attempting to hold back.
My orgasm shot through me, my body shaking beneath him, my cum shooting out onto the bed and coating his hand, while he
was still helping me ride the moment. And when I was done, my orgasm nearly complete, he held my hips again, his fingers
covered in my slick, and slammed into me. His orgasm followed almost instantly, his knot growing, sealing him to me.
His body shook, he cried out my name, and everything else in this world ceased to exist except for the two of us. We fell onto
the bed, still connected, a sweaty mess, and he pressed a sweet kiss to my shoulder and said something I wasn’t able to hear,
my body already falling asleep. I’d never been so content… so sated… so boneless… so complete.
 11

CYRIL

A warm breeze kissed my bare skin.

I opened one eye. The sliding doors leading to the pool were open, and the curtains were closed but billowing in the wind.
Winding my mind back to the middle of the night, we’d been skinny-dipping, and after our shower, we’d turned off the air-
conditioning, saying it was cool enough with just the doors open.
Ty’s arm rested on my hip, the tousled covers draped over the bottom of the mattress and trailing onto the floor. I pressed my
mouth to my husband’s shoulder, and he sighed but didn’t open his eyes.
Leaving him to sleep—he might be a tad sore after the multiple times we had sex last night—I wandered, naked and barefoot,
into the kitchen. The cool tiles underfoot reminded me once again that I wasn’t at home in our drafty castle. There the stone
floors were plenty cold, but unless I was standing beside a fire or in the shower, I was never naked.
It took ten minutes to figure out the fancy coffee machine, but eventually, it produced a cappuccino with froth that tasted like
dessert, and I strolled onto the terrace. Bougainvillea trailed over the high walls that gave our villa and pool privacy. Dipping
a toe in the water, it was warm, warmer than most baths.
The air was fragrant with the scent of tropical flowers. Their perfume must have scrambled my senses because I didn’t scent
my human husband creeping up behind me until he put a hand over my eyes and whispered, “Guess who?”
“Mmmm, that’s hard. Just like me whenever the sexy guy who yelled at me in the coffee shop comes close.”
“Will I ever live that down?” He slumped beside me, putting his head on my shoulder.
“That’s doubtful.” I kissed his messy hair. “Coffee?”
He took my coffee and guzzled the remaining drink. “Great coffee. Puts to shame what the café gives us.”
“Would you like more?”
“Oh, sire, I would.” He giggled.
“You make me sound like a horse that’s about to mate and produce a thoroughbred foal.”
Ty placed a hand on my cock, reminding me I hadn’t bothered to dress. “You can mount me any time, Husband.”
I pecked his lips, and after retrieving my mug, I went into the kitchen and made two coffees. Calling Ty my husband wasn’t a
lie; the law said he was. My wolf and I were both eager to mate with him, but perhaps our honeymoon wasn’t the best time to
tell him.
If he freaked, he might instruct his dad’s pilot to take off, leaving me to make my own way home. I pictured arriving at the
castle and being handed divorce papers and an eviction notice.
“What do you want to do today?” I handed Ty his coffee.
“Let me think. Have coffee, sex, eat… eat food to restore our strength before eating each other out. Afterward, maybe watch the
sunset at the beach and eat at one of the resort’s restaurants, or we could order dinner here, followed by more sex.”
“I like the way you think.” I grabbed a towel from a lounger and placed it over my lap.]
Ty pouted and peeked under the towel. “I was enjoying the view.”
“The sun, babe. I can’t allow my cock to get sunburned.” Placing my lips on his ear, I whispered, “There’d be no more sex if
my cock is red and angry.”
I giggled at his gaping mouth and wide eyes. He replaced the towel and patted it.
“Can’t have that happen, can we?” he cooed.
We didn’t emerge from the villa until just before sundown. Wandering onto the warm sand, we strolled along the water’s edge,
hand in hand.
For so many years, I’d been stressed about Father and our perilous financial situation. My omega dad had hidden so much of
that from me, allowing me to attend college and enjoy those four years as my peers did. But his death, coupled with our grief
and mounting debts, had weighed heavily on Father and I both.
Not only had I found my one and only mate, but the future was bright. I felt so light without the worry that had been my constant
companion.
“Wanna run to the point?” I asked.
“I was a sprinter at school.” Ty took off before I could say, “Go.”
Running on the damp sand was easy, and we splashed water on each other as the waves crashed at our feet. Ty was just in front
of me, but being competitive and not wanting him to win, I tackled him just as he was about to claim success.
We tumbled onto the sand, him protesting, me laughing.
“That’s so not fair.” His fingers dug into the sand, and he threatened to toss it at me.
“I’m sorry. You won.”
His face fell. “You gave in so easily. What gives?”
“Sand gets into every crevice.”
Ty rolled his eyes. “Should have thought of that before you tossed me to the ground.”
“We’ll have to shower together and remove every grain. It’ll be difficult, but I’m up for it.”
My husband inspected the bulge in my linen pants. “You already are.”
I hauled him to his feet, and we wandered back to the resort and ate seafood. During the meal, the maitre’d presented us with
champagne to celebrate our marriage.
“How did they know we just married?” I clinked glasses with my husband.
“We’re in the honeymoon villa. Kind of a big giveaway.”
We ate succulent lobster and fed one another huge-ass shrimp. Gods, it was heaven on a plate. My wolf turned his nose up at
the smell. He’d eat fish if he had to, but gagged at the salty aroma.
That’s why they’re seafood. They come from the sea.
Give me a river or lake instead.
The delicious food, the waves rolling in and out a few yards away, the sweet, heavy perfume of the shrubs and trees, and my
mate at my side lulled me into an almost meditative state.
I had to reveal my beast’s existence, or I’d look back on our honeymoon as a lie.
 12

TY

When I agreed to marry the prince, I had assumed it would be in name only. It was not. Something about Cyril felt so right, like
he was the second half of my being. I didn’t jump into bed with him on our first night out of obligation or to consummate the
marriage out of duty. I held off from jumping his bones on the plane because I felt like the night should be special.
And it was. When people in movies talked about how sex brought them closer, I never got it. A good time was a good time,
sure, and there was some added connection that comes with sex merely because you have seen the other person naked. It wasn’t
actual bonding.
Only with Cyril it was, and I finally understood. I was closer to my husband than I had ever been to anyone, even people I’d
known for years. And best of all, I loved every single thing I was learning about him.
“You’re thinking too hard for someone who’s naked.” My husband—gods, I loved the sound of that even when it was only in
my head—had just finished showering off the ocean water from his skin.
I looked down. “Oh, I guess I am naked. I hope I have some clean clothing left to put on.” It was a running joke between us
because we spent as little time as we could clothed. It was fabulous.
“Perfect.” His words surprised me. As far as I knew, we weren’t planning on going anywhere.
“Where are we going that we need clothes?”
“It’s a surprise.”
That was all he said, and ten minutes later, we were leaving our bungalow and climbing into our hired car. Unlike me, the
driver knew our destination. I didn’t have time to worry about it as Cyril’s lips kept me occupied.
A short ride later, we were pulling onto a dirt road. When Cyril announced we were here, he asked the driver to return in half
an hour.
“I guess we aren’t having an afternoon sexcapade in the great outdoors,” I teased. “Not with only thirty minutes.”
“I brought you out here to show you something… about myself.” He took my hand and led me through the trees. “Something I
probably should’ve mentioned long before now.”
Nothing about that sounded promising.
“Okay?” Had this been a movie, people would probably have been yelling at the screen for me to run. It was a classic serial
killer move to lead them somewhere isolated while pretending to be their friend.
And having that random vision of movie theater attendees hollering for me to run had me chuckling. “Sorry. I was just… never
mind. You look far too serious.” I settled my hand on his chest. “Whatever you need to show me will be fine.”
“I hope so.” He kissed my cheek. “Here goes.”
Cyril patted a boulder for me to sit on. “My family is not like your family.” He pulled his shirt off.
“I know. We aren’t royalty.” And I worried more than once that my being just a regular person, whatever the term for non-
royals was, might present a problem. I didn’t know etiquette or protocol or even my correct title.
“Fair, but I wasn’t talking about your bloodlines or my family’s lack of bank accounts, or even the relationships we have with
our parents. Maybe I better show you.” He was nervous, and I couldn’t figure out what could be making him feel this way.
“Yeah. Okay.” If that was what he needed, it was what he needed.
Cyril took off his clothing, letting it flutter to the ground. I’d seen this view often in the short time we’d been married when
he’d been so confident. But right now, there was no confidence. I saw a man who was nervous, and every instinct told me to
comfort him. But how?
“Please know I won’t hurt you.”
“Never once crossed my mind.” I got up, and his eyes went wide. Back down I sat.
“I was born this way. It’s not contagious. And I will answer all questions in a few minutes.”
I opened my mouth to comfort him when the man before me was suddenly a wolf. Not an itty-bitty wolf either. A huge-ass, this-
can’t-be-real sized wolf.
“You.” I held my hand out the way one does with a stray dog and instantly felt guilty about it. This was my husband, not a wild
animal. I didn’t understand the hows of it, but so be it. “You’re a wolf. A gorgeous wolf.”
I pushed myself off of the boulder and walked slowly toward him. “I know you have a lot to tell me, but can I touch you?”
He nodded, or at least a good facsimile of a nod, and I ran my fingers through his coat. It was thick and soft.
“Why don’t you change back and tell me everything?”
Human Cyril explained he wasn’t a werewolf. That was a huge thumbs-up from me. He was a shifter and had complete control
of his wolf. He told me a lot about shifters, as he referred to himself, before the driver returned. But the word that occupied
most of my headspace was when he called me “Mate.”
Wolves had mates—true mates—and Cyril was mine, which was why everything clicked with us so quickly. It was probably
also the reason none of this freaked me out.
There was a small parcel at our bungalow entrance when we arrived.
“Did you order anything?” he asked.
“Nope.” Inside the box was a statue of a man and a wolf.
“I take it your father knows about me.” Cyril took the wolf from my hand. “And that he’s not mad?”
“I have no idea. But the figurine is cute.” I wrapped my arms around my husband’s middle. “I think your wolf is cute, too. Does
he have a name? If not, can I call him Floofy?”
“No!”
“Duly noted.”
He kissed me far too briefly. “You’re amazing, Ty. Simply amazing.”
 13

CYRIL

“Don’t hate me.”

“I could never. Except for the day we met, and you were an ass and I both loathed and kinda loved you.”
Ty studied me, his eyes narrowing. “That was a lot.”
“But we’re past that now and married, so we’re all good.” I’d wrapped up our meeting, nuptials, and honeymoon in a big pink
bow.
“As I was saying…” His voice trailed away as he studied the garden from… not a window. Father’s great-great-grandfather
had added windows, but where Ty was standing was an old arrow slit where soldiers had fired arrows at an enemy.
“Why are these windows so narrow?”
I explained that centuries ago, it was too dangerous to have huge open spaces where an army could launch volleys of arrows.
“But also before they had glass, it was too damned cold.”
“Still is.” He wrapped both arms around himself and shivered.
I added more logs to the fire. Even with my father-in-law’s substantial investment in the castle, it was still cold. Unless he
added central heating to every room—and the cost would have been astronomical, even for a billionaire or whatever money-
aire he was—the castle still had areas where the temperature reminded me of the dungeons where I used to play hide-and-seek
with my friends.
“I hate the cold, which is why I chose the beach for our honeymoon.”
I came up behind him and ground my cock on his ass and nuzzled his throat. “And I’m so glad you did.”
Ty escaped my grasp and pulled on his red sweater and rubbed his hands together in front of the fire.
“I’m sorry, but I hate the castle.” He pinched his lips, and the color had drained from his cheeks.
“What?” He’d been so excited when we explored every inch of the building, and he’d stood at the top of my favorite tower,
imagining he was an ancient king commanding an army. I didn’t burst his bubble by saying no king would be in the turret if his
army was on the march—at least not one who had the respect of his troops.
“It’s romantic and has history oozing from the stones that make up this place.”
I rubbed a hand over the stone wall, but it didn’t speak to me, perhaps because I knew the castle’s history and it was part of
who I was.
“But the pipes rattle, and the wind whistling through the towers at night gives me the creeps.”
I collapsed into an armchair. Sure, the castle had its quirks, but I loved every inch, despite the cold and the wind that sounded
like a thousand voices discussing their day.
“Why are you only telling me this now?” That should have been a question asked in an even tone. Instead, my high-pitched
voice bounced off the stone walls, as though there were many of me.
Ty grabbed a cushion and shoved it over his face. “I knew this was a bad idea. Should have shut up and worn long underwear
year round.”
I couldn’t expect anyone other than Father and me to love the castle as we did. I was born here, and my first memories were of
me with my parents on the battlements.
“Where do you want to live?” I was already homesick, wanting to wrap my arms around the castle and say how much I loved
it.
“In our modern penthouse.”
The word “our” had me grinding my teeth. It suggested we’d share a modern space with my father-in-law. He kinda scared me.
Not that he was rude, but he was always so busy, so intense, as if by talking to me, he was missing out on making a new
business deal.
“With your father?” I couldn’t complain because we shared the castle with my father.
“No. He lives in another building. Not that he’s there much. By our I’m talking about yours and mine.”
I had a penthouse? Who knew? Not me. Ty had piqued my curiosity.
“Hmmm. Does it have hot water twenty-four hours a day?” Despite the upgrades, hot water in the castle was limited.
“Absolutely. And it’s warm in winter and cool in summer. With amazing views.”
I held up one hand. “You had me talking about the temperature.” But no penthouse could beat the views from the top of the
castle.
I wondered how Father would react to me moving out. He’d be here alone, rattling around in this huge space. But when I
mentioned it to him over dinner, he agreed we should move, and he’d use our bedroom for paying guests.
“Besides, you’ll be in town. It’s not as though you’re going to another country.” He reached across the table and grabbed my
hand.
“Never.” Ty would have to tie me up and drag me into his dad’s plane if he expected me to leave our territory.
The next day, Ty took me to check out the penthouse. I’d never been in a private elevator before, and I clutched my belly as we
left it behind near the first floor while we zoomed to the top of a very tall building.
“Wow!” We walked into what appeared to be the lobby of a hotel. I ignored the furniture and headed for the floor-to-ceiling
windows that looked out over the city.
“Pretty good. Not as great as the castle, but the view comes in a close second.”
There were two levels, with the main living area on the lower floor and the bedrooms upstairs. But Ty led me onto the balcony
outside our bedroom.
“A lap pool!” It was a long way from the pool in our honeymoon villa.
“It’s heated,” he told me. “So when we take a dip, we can remember our honeymoon.”
I pulled him close and kissed his head. “It’s a deal. We’ll make this penthouse our home on two conditions.”
“What’s that?”
“First, we have to stay at the castle on special occasions, and second, as a nod to my heritage, I get to wear my crown.”
“I wouldn’t want you to forget where you came from, sire.” He bowed low, and I grabbed his ass. “Is that princely behavior?”
“It’s your fault for having such a gorgeous butt.”
 14

TY

I looked on the dresser at a collage of pictures of Cyril and me. It was a compilation of potential poses for our official royal
portraits. I didn’t understand the appeal of having a huge-ass painting of us in the castle’s hallway, but I was in the minority.
Even my father was giddy about it.
“Are you reconsidering our choice?” Cyril came up from behind, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin on my
shoulder. “We can change our minds last-minute.”
“I was more thinking about how surreal it was that I was standing there being all royal like it was no biggie.” I turned to face
him.
I had no idea that being married to Cyril came with a crown. But not once had I considered it until the day that my father-in-law
presented it to me. It still hadn’t been officially placed on my head in an official ceremony, but I’d worn it for the photos that
eventually became the collage and would wear it again for our painting session—or sessions. That part wasn’t clear.
“I think it looks dashing on you. Although, I’d rather it be on you without all that pesky clothing.” He nibbled on my bottom lip.
“I do believe that having a nude portrait of the prince and his consort in the great halls of the castle would be scandal-worthy.”
I smacked his ass playfully. “And we are needed at the castle in forty-five minutes. Maybe we should do like Pin the Tail on the
Donkey to pick the winner.”
“Or we could show the painter?” And that was what we ended up doing.
The castle was drafty, and I was glad the king had decided we should wear traditional clothing—traditional wool clothing. It
kept us from shivering, that was for sure.
“You two look lovely,” the painter, whose name was Regina, said, not for the first time. “This first part is going to be long. Let
me know if you need anything or want a break.”
“What if I have to sneeze?” I asked.
“It’s not a photograph, just don’t move around too much.”
And to my surprise, before Regina sketched anything, she took a bunch of photos. That helped me relax a bit. I wasn’t going to
ruin anything by smiling wrong or moving too much.
It took hours for us to get done and a few more hours the following day, but when Regina was finally ready to show us, I was
blown away.
“It looks like us, only… better?” That wasn’t really the word. We looked like us, but different. Not bad different, but different.
“You have no idea how stunningly attractive you are.” Cyril kissed my shoulder..
“Would you be interested in a private pose?” Regina asked, and my brain went straight to the gutter.
“We would love that.” Cyril squeezed my hand.
“We would?” I wasn’t opposed to nudes, but a snapshot was a far cry from a painting.
“You’ll need to wear your crown, though.” He winked at me, and I nodded, unsure how else to respond. This conversation was
a private one, and with Regina there, that wasn’t going to happen.
We waited for my father-in-law to come and approve the portrait while Regina cleaned up.
“This is one of your best pieces,” he praised Regina. “Did you schedule the private portrait yet?”
My face burned like it was two inches from a bonfire, and I willed the ground to open up and swallow me whole. He was the
last person who should be thinking of me naked—ever.
“We hadn’t decided to do one yet.” My mate wrapped his arm around me. “We’re going to discuss it tonight.”
“Maybe he should see the one I did with your father or perhaps your grandparents’.” It was when he mentioned grandparents
that it finally clicked that we weren’t talking about the same thing.
“I’d like that.” Because I was at the point of needing to know and past the point of it being acceptable to ask for clarification—
at least with Regina still in the room.
He led us to his living quarters and into a formal sitting room I hadn’t known existed. The walls were lined with paintings,
paintings that all had one thing in common: wolves.
“Come.” Cyril tugged on my hand and brought me over to a painting of two wolves in front of the thrones. “These are my
fathers. Aren't they gorgeous?”
Wolves. Why didn’t I think of wolves? Private because humans couldn’t know. Not because of being naked, although they were
technically naked.
A laugh tore through me
“What did I miss?” Cyril squinted as he looked at the painting in question.
“You missed the part where your mate thought that ‘private’ meant nudes. I thought you and Regina and eventually your dad
were talking about the two of us posing buck-ass naked for a portrait.” I buried my face into his chest, still cracking up.
“That explains the red cheeks.” He kissed the top of my head.
“I… As you can see, I was discussing this type of portrait. What do you think?” my father-in-law asked.
“I would love it. But I’m… I’m not a wolf, and all of these are wolves.”
I never considered my humanness a hindrance to me. And suddenly, my mate wasn’t going to be able to do something in line
with his traditions, and why? Because I had the wrong DNA.
“Mate, these are all portraits of mates. Ours will be no different.” I tilted my head to look up at him. “Actually, ours will be
even better than all of these. We have Regina, and she is a painting master. What do you say?”
“I say I want to wear the crown.” And I did, sitting on a throne with a gorgeous wolf by my side as what instantly became my
favorite painting was completed.
 15

CYRIL

Ready, Father?
I was downstairs waiting. As king, my father was always punctual, even when I expected he’d be bored during the event.
Today was a meeting with the mayor about an addition to the main hospital. Ty’s dad had given a sizable donation, and work
would start next week. Father was eager to ensure that the mayor’s last-minute objections wouldn’t delay the project.
The guy was quibbling about minor issues, and Father wanted me with him for moral support. He should have asked Ty
because he was a better negotiator, and his dad had made the hospital extension possible.
I dialed my father’s number, having not received an answer to my text. No response. Racing into the castle, the familiar echo of
my feet on the stone floor was a reminder of the years I’d spent doing exactly this in the castle’s hallways.
There was no response to my knock, so I charged into his suite.
“Father!”
He was slumped on the sofa, his ragged breathing reminding me of rattling pipes.
“Son, I’m not well, but I’ll be fine.” He winced and clutched his chest.
Fear slithered up my throat, threatening to choke me as I called the paramedics and covered my father with a blanket.
The next thirty minutes were a blur. I held Father’s hand as the paramedics wheeled him to the ambulance, promising I’d
follow in my car. Ty met me at the entrance, his face drained of color, and he gave me a hug.
The staff offered us a private room away from the public, but I told them we’d sit with other families waiting for news of their
loved ones. I loved my father, but he wouldn’t expect special treatment at the hospital because of his title.
Minutes became hours, and I was on a sugar-and-caffeine high from overindulging on bad coffee and sugary donuts.
When a doctor walked through the huge swinging doors, I entwined my fingers in my mate’s, hardly daring to breathe as I
feared bad news.
“The king suffered a minor heart attack.”
I focused on the word “minor,” not the scary ones: heart attack.
She reeled off how Father had to adjust his lifestyle. Less stress, more exercise, lose weight, eat a healthy diet, and lower his
blood pressure.
“I would advise him to reduce his work commitments.”
After detailing the medications he’d be taking and how long he’d be in the hospital, we were allowed in to see him for a few
minutes. He was drowsy and not making much sense, but I assured him I’d fill in for him until he had recovered.
Back at the penthouse, I spent a restless night, worried about Father and thinking about his commitments in the coming weeks.
“Did you get any sleep, babe?” Ty peered at me, his tousled hair falling over one eye, before heading to the bathroom.
“Not much.” But I hadn’t just been thinking about Father and the monarchy. “Ty, we should make this official.”
“Make what?” He poked his head out of the bathroom.
Father’s heart attack was a reminder of how precious life was and how short.
“We’re married, but we need to mate.”
He strolled out, leaving the towel that he’d wrapped around his hips on the floor. “But you told me shifters mate during sex. I’m
up for it.” I could see that. “But are you in the mood? After all that’s happened?”
I thought about it for a second. I needed Ty close to me, and what better way than being inside him? “Yes, I want this.”
Ty lay beside me and took me in his arms, his arousal pressed against my side as he nibbled my throat and yanked my PJ
bottoms down.
“How about I do all the work and you enjoy the ride?” He pushed me onto my back and straddled me. I bent my knees, making
the perfect backrest for him as desire stirred in my belly.
His ass brushed over my thighs, coating them in slick, as he swayed his hips, teasing and taunting me, while I gripped my hard
cock and pleaded with him to take me inside him.
“Patience.” His shit-eating grin was a sign he knew what he was doing, getting me hot and bothered before I fucked him. My
skin tingled in anticipation as Ty pressed his knees to my sides, and his ass hovered just above the tip. He lowered his butt, and
we both gasped as he eased me in, every damned inch of me.
“That’s so good.”
“Ummm, I agree. Let’s do it again, but much faster.”
His eyes smoldered, and I admired his sculpted abs. I could do fast, or slow, or anything in between. He heaved himself up,
and I studied my cock, covered in slick that dribbled down my shaft and into my thatch of dark hair.
“Do it,” I begged as I fingered his hole.
He fell on my cock, taking me deep inside him, and I gasped while grabbing his hips. Heat radiated from my pores as we
panted in unison and droplets of his sweat plopped onto my skin and trickled into my belly button.
Ty placed his hands on the mattress on either side of my body and loomed over me. He stuck out his tongue, and I pulled him
closer, suckling it. But he squirmed out of my grasp and sat upright, wriggling his butt, battering me with waves of desire.
And while I wanted to stay inside him, I longed to make him mine. I grabbed his hips, locking my eyes with his. He must have
understood because he gave an almost imperceptible nod. I helped him up and slammed his body down on mine.
“Yes. Yes!” There was a searing need inside me, and I had to claim him as my mate. I took hold of his cock, and he moaned as I
tugged and he fell onto me. Once. Twice. Three times.
Pumping Ty’s dick while he hoisted himself up, I slid into his channel as he lowered himself. He moaned, and his shallow
breaths signaled he was close. The smell of sex, sweat, and slick rolled off him, an intoxicating aroma that had me gritting my
teeth and thrusting into him.
My eyes feasted on my love when he moaned and his eyes closed. One final tug of his cock, and cum spurted over my chest and
face. “I love you,” he mumbled as I shoved my length into him.
Bucking my hips, I scrunched my eyes closed. My body jerked as an orgasm took hold of me, and cum surged into his channel.
Our panting punctuated the silence in the room, and I eased Ty onto my chest while my knot swelled. “Ready? This will hurt a
little.”
“Don’t care. I want to belong to you.”
My wolf extended his claws and raked them over his back as he held me, his body shuddering.
“My turn.” He sank his teeth into my shoulder, making our bond permanent and him my forever mate.
 16

TY

I loved living in the penthouse. It had all the amenities I was used to; the location was ideal for most places I went to, and it
was where Cyril and I were building our life together. But when Cyril stepped in for his father now instead of twenty-plus
years into the future, like we had assumed, my world was turned upside down.
In theory, it was only going to be temporary. People liked the stability of their royalty. Going back and forth wasn’t ideal. Still,
I wanted nothing more than for my father-in-law to make a full recovery, no matter how everything fell into place once he did.
I’d grown quite fond of him, and the mere thought of him suffering hurt. And my poor mate. He was working hard to be brave,
and maybe his father was fooled by his bravado, but I wasn’t. Even if Cyril didn’t take over some of his father’s duties, we’d
be moving into the castle. And if the situation were reversed, he’d want to do the same for me. That's how family worked.
“Ready for your last shower of bliss?” I stuck my head out of the bathroom door. “Unlimited hot water and a sexy mate who
plans to make you come. Sounds like a win-win to me.”
The castle had furniture and kitchen appliances, and even a television for our quarters. Fiscally, it didn’t harm me to keep the
place for when duty might call us to the city or when one of us needed a break from all things royal.
“Unlimited hot water with my mate working my cock? Count me in.” He set a box on the bed and got up. “Thanks for this.”
“This?”
“Yeah, all of this. You’re moving without question, showing understanding I’m not sure I could do if in your shoes.”
He pulled off his shirt and opened his jeans, sliding them over his hips. They glided to the floor, and he stepped out of them.
Damn, he was gorgeous, but it wasn’t his body that I was admiring the most. No, my eyes were laser-focused on the mating
mark I gave him. There was something so feral and possessive about it. I fucking loved it.
“You would have,” I finally said after he crossed the room to him. “Moved without question, I mean. You’d have supported me
in any way I needed.” I ran my finger along his mating mark. “It’s what mates do.”
“Husbands, too.” He gave my ass a playful smack. “I heard something about unlimited hot water and orgasms. I’d like to
officially request both.”
“I think I can manage that request, sir. Follow me.”
“Best you follow me, Ty. I’ll be too busy staring at your ass to avoid a trip-and-fall.”
Turned out I suffered from the same affliction, but my mate caught me as I fell.
We came, showered far too long for our skin’s good, and bathed each other. It was the perfect send-off from our penthouse. It
was just a place. Nothing more. And yet, saying goodbye, even if not for forever, it was stressful.
We were about to load the truck I’d rented when he got the call that he was needed for an unexpected meeting. I told him to go
ahead and I would make sure our belongings arrived. The only reason we had been doing the moving ourselves was because
Cyril wasn’t used to having money, and hiring a crew for something we could do ourselves was outside his comfort zone.
I called up a small moving company and hired a few guys for the day. At the price I paid, there was no problem getting them on
short notice. I wanted to have all our items moved and in our living quarters before Cyril was done with his meeting.
The move was extremely quick once they arrived and were given their instructions. And as they unloaded the truck at our new
home, one of them helped me unpack. Most of it was put away, and the boxes crushed and in recycling before Cyril came back
in, but the important items for our daily routines were ready.
“You didn’t have to do all of this.” He pulled me into his arms. “But thank you.”
I held him close, tilting my head to the side the way he liked. For whatever reason, he enjoyed pressing his nose where my neck
and shoulder met and inhaling deeply. He called it scenting me. I called it sexy as fuck.
“Want to tell me about your meeting?”
“Want to? Yes. But it’s the kind of meeting I can’t discuss without breaking the trust of another nation.” He slid his hand down
the length of my arm and intertwined our fingers. “Want to get ice cream?”
“In the kitchen?”
“In town. I feel like we both worked extremely hard today, and if we don’t get a trash can sundae as a reward, it will be a
travesty.” He brought our hands up and kissed mine.
“I should tell you that I hired help. At best, I deserve a soft-serve cone.”
“That is where you are wrong, my love. Knowing you were taking care of all the logistics of the move allowed my brain to be
in the present as I met with our guests.” He scented me again. This time, a shiver ran through me.
I hadn’t considered my role in that light before.
“I’m glad it helped.” I pulled him toward the door. “And you’re right. I need a trash can sundae with extra whipped cream.”
“You sure you deserve extra?” he teased, and I nodded. “I do too, mate. I do too.”
 17

CYRIL

A door was opening and closing somewhere, maybe in my head because the creaking was so loud, and I winced at the pain of
every squeak.
My eyes snapped open. Did I leave the door to the turret open? Sure, it made a gods awful noise when left ajar, and the castle
was still drafty, even after all the updates and renovations, but it was too heavy for a blast of cold air to move back and forth.
I stretched out my hand, but the other side of the bed was cold. Had Ty driven to the penthouse for a hot shower? Unlikely, as
there was plenty of warm water here in the morning.
Wiping sleep from my eyes and putting on a robe, I staggered to the window and drew back the heavy floor-length drapes. This
was my father’s suite, as my old room was rented out for paying guests.
I blinked, still not used to the view from this angle, as my room was around the other side of the castle. My gaze rested on the
moat, but… but something was blocking my view. What the freaking heck was going on? The old drawbridge, which hadn’t
been lowered in decades, was grinding its way over the moat.
My grandfather had built a small bridge so we could come and go without having to use the drawbridge. I’d never seen it
lowered, except in old photos. Not bothering to get dressed, I raced along the hallway and down the stairs. The stone floors
were colder than usual, but I’d forgotten to wear slippers.
I leaped back at a crash, a huge shudder and clanging as wood and metal met concrete and asphalt, and I ground my teeth. A
group of people, all wearing shirts emblazoned with my father-in-law’s logo, stood on the castle side, while another handful
huddled on the other. Everyone clapped and cheered, and those wearing caps tossed them into the air.
“Well done, everyone.” Ty appeared, his cheeks smudged with what appeared to be grease. He high-fived everyone and
grinned as he glimpsed me.
“Ty, what’s going on? Someone could have been hurt. That old drawbridge has been purely decorative since before I was
born.”
“Not anymore.” He pecked my cheek. “My dad’s engineers fixed it. Now when we have guests or a wedding reception, they
can arrive and leave this way.” He took my arm and steered me through the huge entrance, winding our way to the kitchen,
which was bustling with staff making breakfast for our guests.
Ty dragged me to the old, recently repaired carriage house.
“Ta-da!”
Father’s carriage with the broken wheels, peeling paint, and threadbare seats gleamed with gold and silver, the crown on the
side glittering with what appeared to be diamonds. Surely they had to be fake.
“Open the door.” Ty rested his chin on my shoulder.
The smell of leather filled my nostrils as I climbed in and sank into the luxurious, soft seating.
Ty sat opposite me. “Thoughts?”
“You did this?”
He folded his arms and leaned back. “It was nothing.”
“Not nothing.”
He wiggled his head from side to side. “Okay, a little more than nothing, but I hoped it’d make you happy, so on the next
anniversary of your dad’s coronation, you and he can travel over the drawbridge and around the city in style.”
I ran my hands over the soft leather. “And you.”
“And me what?”
“You’ll be at my side.” I patted the seat and moved over. He might not have been royal born, but he was more than royal
adjacent. Not only were we married in the eyes of humans, but we were mated.
Draping an arm around his shoulders, I pulled him close. “You don’t know how significant this is.”
We’d discussed how being a prince was a burden. There were days, weeks, and months when I’d begged the universe to strip
me of my crown. But it was everything to Father. Now he was ill and unable to carry out the ceremonial duties and the
incessant handshaking that was his life, and I’d taken his place temporarily.
Now I stood taller when meeting a foreign dignitary. I’d proudly shown the new city mayor around the castle, giving him the
spiel about its origins, plus selling him on conducting functions in the staterooms.
The castle was steeped in history, and me with it. Ty could always dash to the penthouse for a sauna or a steam bath or cook a
meal in the modern kitchen. But the castle and its history was my family’s, and I couldn’t let it go.
“You’ll need a cape.” I opened the carriage door, and we got out and wandered, hand in hand, into the castle.
“I can have one made.”
“No need.” I opened a large door outside the kitchen, where old metal keys dangled from hooks. Choosing one, I led Ty down
the spiral stairs to the dungeons. He shivered. “Sorry, I should have told you to wear a coat.”
We bypassed the dungeons, which were now a tourist attraction, and the cellars where the chefs stored wine, oil, apples, and
dry goods. Using the key, I unlocked a door, and dust sprayed us as we both dragged it open.
Inside were our crowns and Father’s sceptre, plus the cloaks we wore on special occasions. I removed one from its hanger.
“This should be the right length for you.” I slipped it over my mate’s shoulders and clasped it at the front. “Perfect.”
Ty eyed himself in the cracked mirror. “Do you keep spares in case you spill ketchup on one?” He turned one way and the
other, and the cape swirled at his feet.
“We do have a few.” I pointed out my grandparents’ cloaks and their parents’ ones. “But this is very special.” I rubbed my
fingers over the soft cloak. The feel of the fabric and the aroma brought memories flooding back.
“This was my grandfather’s, and he would be proud that you’re wearing it.”
 18

TY

It surprised me how quickly I went from being uncomfortable in the castle to feeling like it was truly my home and where I
belonged. At first I tried to modernize everything, to make it more comfortable. I did it as a way to support my husband, my
mate, but it didn’t take long for me to see that he didn’t want that. He loved the castle as it was.
Was I still getting broken things fixed? Absolutely. But instead of replacing the broken with new, I searched long and hard to
find replacements that blended with what was already here. There were, of course, a few items that I upgraded, but I did my
best to keep that both to our quarters and to a minimum.
I installed an on-demand hot water heater for our quarters. If my mate was going to be taking on more royal responsibilities, he
deserved a long, hot shower in the morning and at night. To keep it in line with the ambiance of the castle, I had it built into a
reproduction of a period piece wardrobe similar to one in another part of the castle. There were many a night that my mate and
I unwound in the bath.
Tonight, however, it was only me standing under the hot water. Stabbing pains needled my back as if I’d just climbed a
mountain carrying a backpack full of bricks. It was so bad that my stomach ached, too. But the shower was helping—ish.
Cyril was in a meeting, and I was glad for it. He’d worry if he knew I wasn’t feeling well, and he had enough on his plate. My
wrinkled fingers told me it was time to get out.
I shut off the water and dried off as I decided if I should cave and call the on-call physician. I wasn’t a huge fan of going to the
doctor’s, and I had probably already held off longer than I should have.
I threw on my most comfy pajamas, grabbed the remote and my favorite blanket, and found the most comfortable position on the
couch. I was flicking through the channels when my mate came in.
“How was your—” I pushed myself to get up, and my stomach assumed I wanted everything from inside to come up. I bolted to
the bathroom so fast that I’d have made my former PE teachers proud. I barely reached the toilet in time, but I made it, and I
was calling that a win.
“Ty.” Cyril knelt down beside me. “How can I help you?”
“Wet washcloth?” Had it been anyone but Cyril, I’d have been dying of embarrassment that anyone saw me this way. But this
was my mate, the one who I could be myself with. Sure, I didn’t love that I was a pukey mess, but I also didn’t love being the
pukey mess.
He immediately rose and was back less than thirty seconds later with a wet washcloth, just like I asked.
“I should fetch a midwife,” he said.
“No. That’s sweet and all, but I can call my doctor.” While money was significantly better for the royal family, they still cut
corners where they could. But calling a midwife instead of a doctor for the stomach bug was an odd choice. “He can probably
send me something to kill this virus or whatever it is.”
“You can’t medicate your way out of a virus.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “And this isn’t a virus. Don’t you smell
it?”
“Yeah, sorry. Once I’m sure that I can stand without being right back down here, I’ll clean the toilet.” I leaned into his side.
“How about we get you upright and cleaned up?”
I managed to not only stand but to brush my teeth without getting sick again. It always struck me as funny that getting sick made
you feel better half the time.
“Bed or couch?” he asked.
“Couch. I was about to watch something epic.” I took his offered hand.
“And what was the epicness in question?” He gave my hand a squeeze, and we started making our way to the couch.
“I hadn’t picked anything yet. It was just the plan.”
“Speaking of plans. There’s something we need to talk about.” He grabbed the blanket, and I climbed back onto the sofa.
“Is your dad okay?” He wasn’t. Not objectively, but he had been heading in that direction.
“No. No. Not about that. About you.” He placed his hand on my belly. “You and the baby growing inside of you.”
“Baby? I’m not pregnant.” At least I didn’t think I was. It wasn’t as if we did anything to prevent pregnancy, though, so it was
possible.
“Didn’t you think it odd I mentioned the midwife?” He sat beside me, and I snuggled in close.
“Yes. But I thought it was to save money or something, and based on what you have said since then, I’m guessing you don’t
think that’s the case.”
“I know it’s not.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “I can scent the change in your body. You’re pregnant.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded.
“I’m going to be a dad?”
“The best dad.” He pressed a kiss to my lips. “I love you so much, and I already love our baby.”
“I love you too.”I wrapped my arms around him. “I know we weren’t planning this… it’s okay, though, right? Even with your
father and your responsibilities…”
“It is far better than okay… it’s everything.”
 19

CYRIL

Ty’s side of the bed was empty when I woke.

That wasn’t unusual, but it was accompanied by a retching from the bathroom. Listening to someone throw up used to have me
running in the opposite direction. But this was Ty. My husband and mate, who was carrying our baby, and I ran toward him,
taking a bottle of water from the nightstand.
He was sitting against the wall when I raced in. I wet a cloth and squatted beside him and wiped the sweat from his face. I
wished I could remove the nausea and discomfort as easily.
Ty leaned his head on my shoulder. “I hope our baby appreciates what I’m going through to bring them into the world.”
Draping an arm around his shoulders, I kissed his clammy brow. “They will.” I got Ty to his feet and carried him to bed. “Stay
there, and I’ll bring breakfast.” He made a face, and his cheeks were tinged with green. “Sorry. Toast?” A quick shake of my
mate’s head, and I backtracked again. “Tea.” A nod told me I finally got it right.
“I’ll be fine by eleven. You’re announcing those Save the Planet winners and presenting the awards.”
“Which I can do by myself.”
Both Ty and I were aware the public had become more interested in the monarchy after we were married. Ty was a brilliant
communicator, and he was a natural with older folks, kids, and everyone in between. Onlookers, passersby, and royal fans
began attending our functions just to chat with him or get a selfie.
He worried I’d be jealous; I was a blood prince, and the expectation was people would flock to see Father and me. But my
father was old school. He loved the attention when crowds cheered him, but he’d do that odd royal wave where the wrist
didn’t move and the hand moved like a fan. He kept himself aloof from the public, not because he thought he was better than
them, but his father had taught him that was how kings acted.
I was somewhere between Father and Ty. I didn’t have my mate’s natural charm; I was often lost for something to say unless I
could read a speech.
But I wasn’t jealous of Ty being more popular than me. Envious that I couldn’t copy him, perhaps. I adored the crowds flocking
around him. The monarchy had never been so popular.
“People will gossip.” He pulled the covers up to his chin. “They’ll say our marriage is on shaky ground.”
“Let them.” Not that it mattered, but shifters would dismiss it as a lie, and anyone who had seen us together and had witnessed
how affectionate we were would also ignore it.
“Maybe I could stay home.” He was so pale, and I worried he’d lost too much weight. His clothes hung off him, and his
cheekbones were so prominent, it gave him a gaunt appearance. Not that I’d tell him that.
When I returned with the tea, Ty had the nightstand drawer open. He was looking for the ginger candy I’d bought last week, as
ginger helped to relieve nausea. When I pointed out he’d eaten them all, he burst into tears.
Damn, I should have driven to the store last night and bought some. Or ordered boxes online. My heart hurt at seeing my mate
upset, and Ty’s meltdown was avoidable if I’d been paying attention.
“This is my fault,” I muttered.
“What was that?”
Ty’s hearing wasn’t good enough to pick up what I’d said.
“I should have anticipated your needs and bought more.” I returned my mate to the bed. “I need to step up. This is my baby,
too.”
Ty put a hand on either side of my face. “You’re doing everything. Kneeling beside me as I throw up, buying weird and
wonderful food when I ask for it, and staying awake with me in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep.”
I promised I’d have the candy delivered this morning, but a text informed me there was a snafu with today’s schedule. I
promised Ty I’d peek in on him before the awards. But as soon as I left our private suite and headed to the pubic areas of the
castle, my phone buzzed. It vibrated with texts, and my assistant, Anders, followed me, tapping on a tablet and murmuring about
various commitments. When I mentioned Ty wouldn’t be joining us at the awards, his hand froze as it hovered over the device.
“But people are expecting him.”
“He’s not well, Anders.” I hoped my clipped tone told him that was the end of the conversation, and I turned on my heel.
“Is he pre⁠—”
I cut him off with a glare, and we continued to my office. The next hour, I had my phone tucked under my ear as Anders and I
put out diplomatic fires. A mental note reminded me to check on Ty, but I didn’t have an opportunity to return to our suite. He
wasn’t answering the phone, and I told Anders I was going to check on him.
But as I tore out the door, my mate strolled into my office, suited up and wearing his favorite pink tie and sporting a big grin.
He’d covered the shadows under his eyes with concealer, but he didn’t fool me with his cheery greeting to Anders and the
other office staff.
“I refuse to let you and the awardees down.” He took my arm, and we wandered along the passageway leading to the great hall.
Staff opened the large wooden doors, and everyone stood as we walked toward the dais.
My mate sat while I made a speech, and the winners paraded before me. Ty and I shook their hands, and we posed for photos.
Two hours later and we were done, and Ty sagged against me as we returned to our suite. I undressed him and got him into bed.
“Thank you for doing that, but you should have stayed here. Everyone would have understood you were ill.”
“I have a confession.” He nibbled his bottom lip. “I did it for you as much as anyone else. We’re partners, and we’re in this
royal thing together.”
My heart. My mate got out of his morning-sickness bed because he wanted to be at my side. Gods, I loved him.
 20

TY

I envisioned pregnancy being pickles and ice cream, people telling me how I glowed, and getting to buy cute clothes that
announced to the world that I was growing a human. I was expecting every single Hallmark movie stereotype rolled into one.
My pregnancy was turning out to include none of that.
I was sick all the time. Forget morning sickness. I had all-day sickness. All-night too. And when I wasn’t puking, I felt like I
was about to be. It was to the point where I never left our quarters unless I had no choice. I needed to be near that bathroom
with nothing in between me and the door in case I needed to sprint.
And I sprinted often.
When I wasn’t dashing for the porcelain throne, I was wondering if I should be or sleeping. That was my life, and while I
wanted nothing more than to be a parent, this pregnancy shit was hard, both physically and emotionally.
Worrying if every change in my body that was unpleasant might mean something was wrong with the baby was nearly as
overpowering as the guilt I felt for not being by my mate’s side more. Cyril had taken on so many royal responsibilities, and he
deserved all of my support, and here I was, stealing his energy and spare time. I hated it. But I wasn’t sure what else to do
about it.
The midwife assured me that being sick was a good sign. It meant my hormones were doing their thing. I found that difficult to
believe. People worked through their entire pregnancy, and I couldn’t even manage a walk around the castle without a bucket in
hand.
I rolled over, unsure if I was done with my nap or simply preparing for part two. I blinked away my sleep and glanced at my
phone, which was propped up like a clock. It was nearly three. Cyril wasn’t expected back until closer to six. It wouldn’t be
unreasonable to go back to sleep.
My stomach disagreed, and I jumped out of bed and bolted to the bathroom. It was a false alarm, but while I was there, I opted
for a shower. There were days when standing under the water made it worse, and others where it was a slice of heaven. Sadly,
there was no way to tell until I was under the hot water.
Pregnancy was weird. Had all of this been symptoms of an illness, I’d seriously have been sure the end was near. But
somehow, once it was a pregnancy symptom, it was no big deal. And maybe that wasn’t fair. But all interactions and internet
searches indicated it was a cultural norm.
So flipping helpful.
Standing under the hot shower, I closed my eyes and leaned back against the shower wall. It was a good day, one where the
heat pouring down on me relaxed my muscles and had me feeling semi-normal again. It wouldn’t last long. It never did, but I
was grateful for the reprieve.
I was still feeling pretty okay when I was dried off, and I opted to put on real clothes, the kind you could leave your home in. It
was the first time in a while, and that was when it hit me how ridiculous I’d been letting this go on so long.
I grabbed my phone and called in to the doctor’s office to make an appointment. They originally wanted me to come in three
weeks, but my tears must’ve had the office manager taking pity on me, because next thing I knew, I had an appointment in half
an hour.
I hate to do this to you, but any chance you could take a break and drive me on an errand? I didn’t want to say what the
errand was in case he couldn’t get away.
I’ll be right there.
And he was, walking in and saying, “Tell me where you desire your chariot to—” He froze, his eyes on my face.
“What? Do I look bad?” I was feeling remarkably better than even an hour ago, but that didn’t mean I felt amazing.
“You look wrung out.” He hugged me loosely, as if I were fragile and could break.
“I feel that way. That’s why I was hoping you could drive me to the doctor’s.”
Relief filled his face, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’ve got you.”
I carried a garbage can with me in the car, happy that I didn’t need it. The nurse took us back right away, and the doctor
declared my issues stress-related. I wanted to call bullshit on his diagnosis. Stress didn’t make you puke. But then I thought
about the days that were worse than others and stress began to fit. He gave me some products and techniques to ease my tummy
issues and made us both promise to reduce the stress in my life.
We both agreed we would make that a priority. Even so, I was surprised when we got home and Cyril excused himself to go
see his father and discuss the situation. His father wasn’t great, by any means, but he was doing significantly better, a relief to
us all.
I shouldn’t have been at all surprised by my mate’s actions. Cyril was a fixer and the best mate I might have asked for. Of
course he would try to figure out a way to follow the doctor’s advice. It was who he was. Had I not been back to my running-
to-the-bathroom phase of this joy, I’d have gone with him.
He came back an hour later and sat on the edge of the bed next to me. “My father wishes you well and insists that I take a huge
step back from all things royal. And before you ask, yes, I argued with him... but he truly wants to see me happy, and I suspect
he wants to get back to more of his normal as well.”
“He doesn’t have to—” And my stomach was the end of that conversation.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Kaukaasialainen
tanssijatar
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Kaukaasialainen tanssijatar

Author: comte de Arthur Gobineau

Translator: Aarne Anttila

Release date: November 10, 2023 [eBook #72087]

Language: Finnish

Original publication: Hämeenlinna: Arvi A. Karisto Oy, 1921

Credits: Juhani Kärkkäinen and Tapio Riikonen

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK

KAUKAASIALAINEN TANSSIJATAR ***
KAUKAASIALAINEN TANSSIJATAR

Kirj.

J. A. de Gobineau

Ranskankielestä suomentanut

Aarne Anttila

Kolmen markan romaaneja 8.

Hämeenlinnassa, Arvi A. Karisto Oy, 1921.

SISÄLLYS:

J.A. de Gobineau
I. Madame Marronin hotellissa
II. Orjakauppa-yhtiö
III. Kaimakamin morsian
IV. Kuvernöörin luona
 V. Tataarien kunnia
VI. Tanssijattaren kohtalo

J.A. de Gobineau

Joseph Arthur De Gobineau, kreivi, valtiomies ja kirjailija, syntyi

heinäkuun 14 päivänä 1816 Ville-d'Avrayssa Pariisin lähistöllä. Hän
aloitti julkisen valtiomies-uransa ulkoasiainministeri Tocquevillen
kabinettipäällikkönä. Sen jälkeen hän toimi lähetystön sihteerinä
Bernissä, Hannoverissa, Frankfurtissa. V. 1855 hänet määrättiin
Ranskan lähetystöön Persiaan, sitten keisarilliseksi komisarioksi
Ranskan kalastuslaitokseen Newfoundlandiin; sieltä hän palasi vielä
Persiaan, siirrettiin lähettilääksi Ateenaan, sitten Rio de Janeiroon ja
lopuksi Tukholmaan, josta toimesta sai eron v. 1877. Gobineau kuoli
1882.

Tämä "kiertolais"-elämä ei suinkaan ole ollut vailla merkitystä

Gobineaun kirjalliselle tuotannolle. Matkoillaan hän hankki
omakohtaisilla huomioilla aineksia kansatieteellisiin ja rotufilosofisiin
teoksiinsa: Essai sur l’inégalité des races humaines (Tutkimus
ihmisrotujen erilaisuudesta, 1853-55), Religions et les Philosophies
dans l'Asie centrale (Keski-Aasian uskonnot ja filosofiat, ilm. 1865) ja
La Renaissance (Uudennus, 1873), jotka varsinaisesti ovat
perustaneet hänen maineensa.

Gobineau ja hänen — varsinkin Saksassa kannatusta saavuttanut

oppisuuntansa, "gobinismi", lähtevät musta-, kelta- ja valkoihoisten
alkuperäisestä ja jyrkästä rotueroavaisuudesta. Näistä ovat
viimemainitut, arjalaiset, ehdottomasti korkeimmalla.
Kansainvaellukset ja sekoitus ovat muunnelleet puhdasta tyyppiä,
mutta germaaneissa virtaa arjalainen veri jotenkin puhtaana ja
Pohjolassa tapaa tämän valiorodun kaikkein jaloimmat edustajat.
Germaaneilla on vielä loistava historiallinen tehtävä ja tulevaisuus
edessään. Yhteiskunnallisesti on gobinismi ylimysmielinen ja
juutalaisvastainen, taiteellisesti se on sukua Wagnerin ja Nietzschen
ajatustavalle ja teorioille.

Gobineaun kaunokirjallisissakin teoksissa ilmenee hänen

kansatieteellinen harrastuksensa. Paitsi sitä, että hän mielellään
valitsee aiheensa kaukaisista maista, liittää hän niihin runsaasti
kuvauksia vieraiden kansojen omituisista tavoista ja ajatuksista.
Tämän huomaa lukija myös nyt julkaistusta novellista
Kaukaasialainen tanssijatar, joka nimellä Danseuse de Shamakha
sisältyy v. 1876 ilmestyneeseen novellikokoelmaan Nouvelles
asiatiques.

Suomentaja.
I

Madame Marronin hotellissa

Don Juan Moreno y Rodil oli Segovian jääkärien luutnantti, kun

hänen rykmenttinsä sekaantui sotilas-salaliittoon, jonka toimeenpano
epäonnistui. Kaksi majuria, kolme kapteenia ja joukko kersantteja
vangittiin ja ammuttiin. Sankarimme pääsi sentään pakoon ja hänen
onnistui harhailtuaan pari kuukautta mitä kurjimmassa kunnossa
Ranskassa hankkia itselleen upseerinvaltakirja Venäjän
palvelukseen joidenkin tuttavuussuhteiden perustuksella. Hän sai
pian käskyn lähteä joukkojensa luo Kaukaasiaan, jossa niihin
aikoihin reilu ja huoleton sotiminen oli jokapäiväistä leipää.

Luutnantti Moreno astui Marseillessa laivaan. Hän oli jo

luonteeltaankin harvinaisen vakava, ja hänen karkoituksensa, surkea
tilansa ja ennenkaikkea se syvä murhe, jonka aiheutti hellästi
rakastetun neitosen jättäminen vähintäin vuosiksi, vahvistivat hänen
luonnollista taipumustaan siinä määrin, että tuskin kenessäkään voi
huomata vähemmän halua elämän ilojen tavoitteluun.

Vaivaloisen matkan jälkeen tuli laiva, jossa hän kulki, perille ja

laski ankkuriin Mustanmeren rannalla sijaitsevan Potin kaupungin
edustalle. Poti oli siihen aikaan Kaukaasian Euroopan-puolisen osan
pääsatama.

Osaksi hiekkaisesta, osaksi liejuisesta suokasveja työntävästä

rannikosta alkain ulottui puolittain vedessä kasvava metsä
loppumattomiin sisämaahan päin, pitkin leveän virran rantoja, jonka
mutkikas juoksu oli täynnä kallioita, liejukasoja ja ajelehtivia
puunrunkoja. Se oli Phasis, muinaisajan "kultainen virta", jota
nykyjään nimitetään Rioniksi. Tämän rehevän kasvullisuuden
keskessä menestyy erinomaisesti kuumetauti, jonka vallitessa kaikki
liikuntakykyiset olennot kärsivät, samalla kun kasvikunta rehoittaa
sitä paremmin. Kuumetauti on ottanut Aieteen ja auringonlasten
valtikan ja hallitsee rajoittamattomana herrana. Talot, jotka on
rakennettu keskelle seisovaa vettä, leikattujen puiden suurien
runkojen väliin, ovat tulvain varalta yhdistetyt toisiinsa paaluilla ja
jättiläismäisillä hirsiportailla. Raskaat, paanujen peittämät katot
ulottavat kilpikonnanmuotoisia, tiiviitä tasojaan kauas ulos ja
suojelevat siten, mikäli mahdollista, miltei simpukankuorilta
näyttävien majojen ahtaita ikkunoita tiheiltä sadekuuroilta.

Morenoon näiden outojen olojen näkeminen vaikutti omituisesti.

Laivalla tiedettiin, että hän oli venäläinen upseeri, ja sellaiseksi hänet
ilmoitettiin maihinastuttuaankin. Niin sattui, että hän eräällä jotenkin
leveällä kadulla, jossa hän neuvotonna harhaili, näki pitkäkasvuisen,
oljenkarvaisen, leveänenäisen miehen tulevan luokseen, jonka
toisiaan lähellä olevat silmät tuijottivat ilmaan ja jonka ylähuulta
koristivat harvat ja piikkimäiset kissanviikset. Tämä nuori mies ei
ollut kaunis, mutta reipas ja voimakas ja ulkonäöltään avomielinen ja
ystävällinen. Hänellä oli yllään insinöörijoukkojen univormu ja
sitäpaitsi hopeiset olkapunokset, jotka annetaan vain silloin, jos on
oppiaikanaan kunnostautunut. Paljoakaan välittämättä Don Juanin
muodollisen pidättyvästä tervehdyksestä ryhtyi nuorukainen
puhelemaan seuraavaan tapaan ranskaksi:

"Juuri sain tietää, että eräs Imereti-rakuunain upseeri on saapunut

Potiin ja aikoo joukkojensa luo Bakuun. Te olette se upseeri. Olen
toverina mielelläni käytettävänänne ja matkalla samaan suuntaan
kuin tekin. Jos haluatte, matkustamme yhdessä ja tehdäksemme
lähempää tuttavuutta pyydän saada kunnian tarjota teille tuolla
Grand Hotel de Colchidessa lasin samppanjaa. Ellen muuten erehdy,
ei päivällisaikaankaan ole pitkälti. Olen kutsunut myös muutamia
ystäviäni ja te suonette minulle ilon saada esitellä teidät heille."

Kaiken tämän hän sanoi harvinaisen miellyttävästi sillä

ilmeikkäällä tavalla, josta venäläiset näyttävät perineen osan,
senjälkeen kun ranskalaiset, sen varsinaiset keksijät, ovat sen
kadottaneet.

Espanjalainen maanpakolainen tarttui vastaantulijaa käteen ja

lausui:
"Nimeni on Juan Moreno."

"Minua sanotaan Assanoffiksi. Oikeastaan on nimeni Murad,

Hassan Beyn poika. Olen venäläinen, oikeastaan tataari Shervanin
maakunnasta ja, jos haluatte, muhamettilainen lisäksi, siihen
suuntaan kuin herra Voltaire voisi olla, tuo suuri mies, jonka teoksia
mielelläni luen, jos ei suorastaan Paul de Kock ole esillä."

Senjälkeen Assanoff pisti kätensä Morenon kainaloon ja vei hänet

joen toiselle puolelle. Siellä huomasi jo pitkän matkan päästä ison
matalan talon tai pitkän huonerivin, jonka etupäädyssä
taivaansinisellä laudalla loisteli valkoisin kirjaimin kirjoitus: "Grand
Hotel de Colchide, hoitaja Jules Marron (vanhempi)", kaikki
ranskaksi.

Astuessaan hotellin saliin, jossa pöytä oli katettuna, tapasivat

molemmat upseerit toverinsa jo kokoontuneina juomassa pienin
kulauksin ohrapaloviinaansa ja syömässä kaviaaria ja kuivattua
kalaa ruokahalua kiihoittaakseen. Toveruksista ansaitsevat ainakin
muutamat lähemmän maininnan: kaksi ranskalaista
kauppamatkustajaa, joista toinen oli tullut Kaukaasiaan ostamaan
silkkimatojen ruokaa, toinen puunkuorta; edelleen eräs unkarilainen,
hyvin vähäpuheinen matkailija, ja saksilainen nuoranpunoja, joka
aikoi saavuttaa onnensa Persiassa.

Kaikki nämä ovat vain statisteja, joilla ei ole mitään tekemistä

tarinamme kanssa. Enemmän täytyy meidän mainita seuraavista.
Ensiksi ilmestyi madame Marron vanhempi, jonka oli määrä hoitaa
juhlassa emännyyttä.

Tämä lihavahko nainen, joka varmaan oli jo yli neljänkymmenen,

ei ollut tämän rajan sivuutettuaan ollenkaan halukas luopumaan
viehättämistempuista ainakaan päättäen niistä harvinaisen
viekoittelevista silmäniskuista, jotka lakkaamatta sinkoilivat. Madame
Marron vanhemmalla oli vielä loistava väri ja hänen
persoonallisuudellaan kokonaisuudessaan viehätysvoima, joka
parhaassa tapauksessa oli keskitasoa vähän korkeampi ja jota hän
perin anteliaasti koetti saada näkyville. Hänellä oli pitkät mustat
kiharat, jotka suurin kiemuroin valuivat poskille ja erittäin
viehättävästi ulottuivat vyötäisille asti. Hän osasi keskustella eloisasti
ja ymmärsi koristella puhettaan somin sananparsin ja vilkastuttaa
sitä Marseillen-murteellaan. Liike kävi, kuten jo kuulimme, herra
Marron vanhemman nimellä, mutta eivät edes madame Marronin
lähimmät uskotut tienneet puolisosta muuta sanoa, kuin etteivät
koskaan olleet häntä tunteneet eivätkä olleet kenenkään muun
kuulleet puhuvan hänestä kuin hänen rouvansa, joka aika-ajoin ja
silloin tällöin oli toivovinaan, että hän vihdoinkin pian tulisi esiin.
Paljon tunnetumpi oli se tosiasia, että Potissa sijaitsevan Grand
Hotel de Colchiden kaunis emäntä oli Leokadian nimellä kauan aikaa
ollut Tiflisissä puheen aiheena. Hän oli ollut siellä muotiompelijatar,
ja koko Kaukaasian armeija, jalkaväki, ratsuväki, tykistö,
insinöörijoukot, sillanrakentajat (kaikkia niitä oli yllin kyllin!) olivat
vastustuksetta taipuneet hänen viehätysvoimansa edessä.

"Tiedän varsin hyvin", sanoi Assanoff Morenolle lyhyesti

kertoessaan näistä asioista, "tiedän varsin hyvin, Leokadia ei ole
nuori eikä erikoisen kauniskaan. Mutta mitäpä tehdä Potissa? Piru
on täällä vielä ilkeämpi kuin muualla, ja ajatelkaahan — ranskatar.
Ranskatar Potissa! Mitenkä voisi vastustaa?"

Sen jälkeen hän esitteli toverinsa eräälle tavattoman

pitkäkasvuiselle, voimakkaalle, vaalealle miehelle, jolla oli
harmahtavat silmät, paksut huulet ja huomattavan hyväntuulinen
kasvojen ilme. Hän oli venäläinen. Jättiläinen hymyili. Hänellä oli
huonohko, mutta mukava matkapuku, joka heti ilmaisi omistajansa
selvän tarkoituksen välttää kaikkia hankaluuksia. Gregor Ivanitsh
Wialg oli rikas tilanomistaja, jonkunlainen aatelismies ja samalla
lahkolainen. Hän kuului erääseen paljon parjattuja, vaan
kristikunnassa yhä uudelleen esiintyviä veljeskuntia, joita suuremmat
seurakunnat toisinaan tulella ja miekalla hävittävät, mutta jotka
kaikesta huolimatta, niinkuin eräät ruoholajit, huomaamatta levittävät
muutamia siemeniä ja niin jälleen työntävät vesaa. Hän oli sanalla
sanoen duhobortsi eli "hengen vihollinen". Venäjän hallitus ja
Venäjän papisto ovat tähän uskonlahkoon nähden, johon Wialg
kuului, vihamielisellä kannalla, ja kun he pääsivät jonkun sen
jäsenen jäljille valtakunnan sisämaakunnissa, niin tuomitsivat he
hänet, jos ei tosin kuolemaan, kuten keskiaikana, niin ainakin
maanpakolaisuuteen Kaukaasiaan.

"Hengen viholliset" uskovat, että ihmisen terve, hyvä, viaton,

rauhallinen osa on liha. Liha itsessään ei tunne mitään huonoa
viettiä, mitään luonnonvastaista pyrkimystä. Ravinnonotto,
lisääntyminen, rauha ovat sen tehtävät. Jumala on ne sille antanut ja
johtaa ne aina viettien avulla jälleen sen mieleen. Niin kauan kun se
ei ole turmeltunut, hakee se aivan puhdasta ja yksinkertaista
tilaisuutta saadakseen tyydytystä, joka on siis samaa kuin vaellus
taivaallisen oikeuden teillä, ja mitä tyydytetympi se on, sitä lähemmä
se tulee jumaluutta. Ihmisen turmelee juuri henki. Henki lähtee
paholaisesta. Se on ihmiskunnan kehitykselle ja säilymiselle
kokonaan hyödytön. Se yksin herättää intohimot, keksii oletetut
tarpeet ja oletetut velvollisuudet, jotka vastoin oikeutta ja järjestystä
estävät lihan kutsumusta, ja tuo loputtomasti pahaa mukanaan.
Henki on synnyttänyt maailman taipumuksen ristiriitaan ja taisteluun,
kunnianhimoon ja vihaan. Hengestä lähtevät myös murhat, sillä liha
elää vain säilyäkseen eikä suinkaan hävittääkseen ja hävitäkseen.
Henki on hulluuden, teeskentelyn ja kaikenlaisten
säännöttömyyksien ja siis myöskin väärinkäytösten ja hurjastelujen
isä, jotka tavallisesti pannaan lihan syyksi, tuon kunnon toverin, joka
juuri viattomuutensa tähden on niin helposti harhaan viekoteltavissa,
ja sentähden on todellisesti uskonnollisten ja todellisesti
valistuneiden ihmisten velvollisuus puolustaa poikaparkaa ja pitää
hengen viettelyksiä voimainsa mukaan siitä kaukana. Tästä kaikesta
seuraa, ettei saa enää olla mitään positiivista uskontoa, jotta ei
kukaan kävisi suvaitsemattomaksi ja vainoavaksi, ei avioliittoa, ettei
voisi tapahtua aviorikoksia, ei mitään pakkoa minkäänlaista
taipumusta vastaan, jotta jokainen lihan kapina sillä tavoin
täydellisesti torjuttaisiin, ja viimein, että kaikki järjen kehittäminen on
periaatteellisesti hyljättävä vihattavana pyrkimyksenä, joka vie vain
synnillisyyden voittoon eikä koskaan ole toiminut muuksi kuin
paholaisen hyväksi.

"Hengen viholliset", jotka täten halveksivat kaikkia järjen toiminnan

tuloksia, eivät pidä arvossa edes teollisuutta ja rajoittuvat siis
kaikkein välttämättömimmän valmistamiseen ja yksinkertaisimpiin
tuotantotapoihin. Sitä vastoin he pitävät auraa tavattoman korkeassa
arvossa ja osoittautuvat kokeneiksi maanviljelijöiksi ja
mallikelpoisiksi karjanhoitajiksi. Talonpoikaistalot, joita he ovat
perustaneet Kaukaasiaan, ovat kauniita, hyvin hoidettuja ja tuottavia,
ja joskin olisi klassillista ja runollista verrata siellä vallitsevia tapoja
niihin, jotka muinoin olivat yleiset Syyrian jumalattaren temppelissä,
niin voi kuitenkin huoletta väittää, että duhobortsit tavoissaan,
töissään ja toimissaan ovat paljon yläpuolella Amerikan
mormooneja.

"Ette voi löytää rakastettavampaa ihmistä", sanoi Assanoff

ystävälleen osoittaen terveen ihmisjärjen vastustajaa, "parempaa,
hauskempaa, miellyttävämpää miestä ei yleensä ole olemassa! Olen
asunut hänen naapurinaan lähellä vuoristoa, ja kuinka hyvin olen
silloin viihtynyt, kuinka hyödyllistä se on ollut minulle, sitä ei voi
sanoakaan, sitä te ette voi uskoa. Hei, Gregor Ivanitsh, vanha
hupsu, senkin vekkuli! Annahan kun syleilen sinua! Matkustatkos
huomenna kanssamme?"

"Kyllä, herra luutnantti, toivottavasti. En tiedä ainakaan, miksi

minun ei sopisi huomenna matkustaa kanssanne. Mutta Bakuunko
asti. E—e, ei puhettakaan! Minä jään Shemahaan!"
 "Se on perin kurja pesä", vastasi Assanoff muiden vieraiden
kanssa istuessaan pöytään ja lautasliinaansa avaten.

"Ette tiedä, mitä puhutte", vastasi lahkolainen antaessaan

jättiläismäisen lusikallisen soppaa kadota suuhunsa, sillä madame
Marron vanhempi kestitsi vieraitaan arvon mukaan ja pieni
abshahilais-tyttö oli juuri asettanut täyden lautasen Gregor Ivanitshin
eteen.

Leokadia, joka tunsi Kaukaasian perinpohjin, arveli olevan

tarpeellista sekaantua keskusteluun.

"Olkaa vaiti", huusi hän luoden Gregor Ivanitshiin katseen, joka

ilmaisi syvää suuttumusta, "tiedän hyvin, minkä hengen lapsia olette
ja mihin viittailette. Mutta minä en siedä kerta kaikkiaan, että minun
pöydässäni ja herra Marron vanhemman kunnioitettavassa talossa
puhutaan sellaista, että kuormarenkikin punastuu."

Leokadia tuli itse tulipunaiseksi osoittaakseen, että hänen

häveliäisyytensä ei suinkaan ollut pienempi kuin kuormarengin,
jonka hyveellisyyden määrää hän juuri oli kuvannut.

"No, no, ei mitään kateutta", vastasi Assanoff tyynnyttävin

kädenliikkein. "Teidän kokemuksenne näyttää keksivän käärmeitä,
joita minun viattomuuteni ei aavistakaan. Olkaa aivan huoletta! Minä
pysyn horjumattoman uskollisesti valoissani. Selitähän Gregor
Ivanitsh, mitä oikeastaan tarkoitat! Olen utelias mies."

"Onhan kyllinkin tunnettua", vastasi uudelleen duhobortsi ja kaatoi

itselleen jättiläismäisen lasin kashetiviiniä, "että Shemahan kaupunki
on kuuluisa, mitä nautintojen valinnan hienouteen tulee. Se oli
muinoin riippumattomien tataariruhtinaiden asuinpaikka ja siellä
pidettiin yllä tanssijatarkoulua, jota ihailtiin kaikkialla ja joka oli
tunnettu Persiassakin. Luonnollisesti virtasi väkeä joukoittain tälle
ilahduttavalle seudulle nauttiakseen niin monien kauniiden neitosten
näkemisestä ja esityksistä. Mutta sallimus ei tahtonut, että
muhamettilaiset iän kaiken yksin omistaisivat sellaisen aarteen.
Meidän keisarilliset joukkomme valtasivat Shemahan niinkuin monta
muutakin alkuasukas-ruhtinaan hallituskaupunkia. Vääräuskoiset
puolustautuivat kaikin voimin, ja kun he olivat häviämäisillään,
joutuivat he aivan raivoihinsa. Jotta venäläisetkään eivät saisi
maistaa heidän onneaan, päättivät he, että tanssijattaret oli kaikki
murhattava."

"Tässä on taas yksi niitä julkeuksia, jotka useammin esiintyessään

toden totta voisivat ajaa minut uskontosi helmaan", pisti Assanoff
väliin.

"Mutta verilöylyn täydellisestä toimeenpanosta ei sentään tullut

mitään."

"Ei, hyvä kyllä!"

"Samalla hetkellä, kun teurastus alkoi, valloittivat venäläiset

rykmentit väkirynnäköllä kaupungin. Näky oli kauhistuttava:
ammottava muurinaukko päästi sotilaat virtaamaan sisään, ja heidän
oli ensi töikseen pistettävä kuoliaaksi raivokkaat puolustajat, jotka
eivät väistyneet hiuskarvan vertaa. Suureksi ihmeekseen tapasivat
meidän miehemme siellä ja täällä nuorten tyttöjen ruumiita, jotka
punaisissa ja sinisissä, kulta- ja hopeakuteisissa harsopuvuissaan ja
jalokivissään makasivat kivityksellä verta vuotaen. Tunkeutuessaan
kauemmaksi kaduille he huomasivat suurin joukoin sellaisia uhreja,
jotka vielä elivät, ja joita muhamettilaiset sapeliniskuin tappoivat. Nyt
he syöksyivät kahta rohkeammin kahakkaan, ja sitten ilmeni
vastarinnan murtumisen jälkeen, että noista ihailtavista olennoista,
jotka olivat kohottaneet Shemahan maineen taivaisiin, noin
neljännes oli pelastettu."

"Jos ei tarina olisi päättynyt ainakin puolittain onnellisesti",

huudahti Assanoff, "niin en olisi voinut syödä edelleen. Sen käänteen
vuoksi, jonka olet asialle antanut, voinen sentään kestää
jälkiruokaan asti. Madame, oletteko niin rakastettava, että annatte
minulle samppanjaa?"

Liike, jonka tämä pyyntö sai aikaan, katkaisi keskustelun hetkeksi.

Kun oli juotu malja Kaukaasiaan vasta tulleen upseerin terveydeksi
— jonka ehdotuksen madame Marron vanhempi esitti niin
rakastettavasti, että se olisi syystä kyllä tehnyt rauhattomaksi
omituisen insinööri-upseerimme, jos hän muuten olisi välittänyt
sellaisista vähäpätöisyyksistä — pääsi joku vieraista taas
keskustelun alkuun.

"Muutamia viikkoja sitten", sanoi hän, "tulin Shemahaan ja olen

saanut kuulla, että arvossapidetyin sikäläinen tanssijatar on joku
Umm Djehan. Hän panee kaikkien päät pyörälle."

"Umm Djehan", huomautti nyt 'hengen vihollinen', "on aivan

viheliäinen naikkonen, oikukas, tyhmä olento. Hän tanssii huonosti,
ja hänestä puhutaan vain sietämättömän luonteensa ja hillittömän
oikullisuutensa tähden. Muuten hän ei ole edes kaunis, ei
vähääkään!"

"Minusta näyttää, ystäväiseni", huusi Assanoff, "ettei meillä ole

mitään syytä olla tyytyväisiä mainittuun nuoreen olentoon".
 "Siinä mielessä, kuin näytte käsittävän", jatkoi ensimmäinen
puhuja, "ei Umm Djehan ainakaan suuria merkitse. Olen kuitenkin
tavannut erään eläkkeellä olevan jalkaväenupseerin, joka on
tuntenut hänet nuoruudesta aikain. Se kaunotar kuuluu erääseen nyt
hävinneeseen lesgiläiseen heimoon, ja pian saatte kuulla, etteivät
hänen maanmiehensä juuri ole lempeiden kirjoissa. Kun tyttö oli
kolmen tai neljän vanha, ottivat sotamiehet hänet huomaansa
palavan vuoristokylän raunioiden keskeltä hänen äitinsä vierestä,
joka makasi kuolleena tikarilla murhaamansa upseerin yli
ojentuneena. Eräs kenraalinleski otti hänet luokseen ja aikoi antaa
hänelle eurooppalaisen kasvatuksen. Hän sai erittäin hellää kohtelua
ja hyviä vaatteita, aivan niinkuin talon molemmat omat tyttäret.
Hänellä oli sama kasvattajatar, joka opetti neitejä, ja hän oppi
pikemmin ja nopeammin kuin nämä venäjää, saksaa ja ranskaa.
Mutta yksi hänen lempileikkejään oli kastaa kissanpoikia kiehuvaan
veteen. Hän oli kymmenvuotias yrittäessään porrasaskelmalla miltei
kuristaa kotiopettajattarensa, kunnon mademoiselle Martinetin
sentähden, että tämä viikkoa aiemmin oli sanonut häntä pikku
tyhmyriksi, ja sai ainakin sen aikaan, että toisen oivallinen,
kastanjanruskea tukkalaite meni ainaiseksi ihan pilalle. Puolen
vuoden kuluttua seurasi vielä parempaa. Hänen mieleensä juolahti,
tai oikeastaan hän ei ollut koskaan unohtanutkaan, että hänen
hyväntekijättärensä nuorempi tytär oli vuosi takaperin sysännyt
häntä leikkiessä. Umm Djehan oli siitä kaatunut ja kolhaissut
kuhmun otsaansa. Hän katsoi velvollisuudekseen pyyhkiä pois
tämän häväisyn ja leikkasi hyvin tähdätyllä ja voimakkaalla
partaveitsen pistolla pientä toveriaan poskeen — onneksi ei
kauemma, sillä hänen tarkoituksensa oli pistää toiselta silmä puhki.
Tästä viime tempusta kenraalitar sai kyllikseen: hän karkoitti
pedonalun pois kodistaan ja sydämestään erään muhamettilaisen
rouvan huomaan.

"Neljäntoista vanhana Umm Djehan karkasi Derbentista,

kasvatusäitinsä kotoa. Kahteen vuoteen ei tietty, miten hänen oli
käynyt. Ja nyt hän kuuluu tanssijatarjoukkoon, ja rouva Furugh el
Hösnet eli Kauneudenloiste opettaa, johtaa ja pitää silmällä häntä.
Muuten on Gregor Ivanitsh oikeassa. Monikin on koettanut vietellä
Umm Djehania, mutta kenenkään ei ole onnistunut."

Assanoff piti tätä tarinaa niin ihmeellisenä, että hän halusi

Morenolle ilmaista ihastuksensa. Mutta se oli turhaa lemmenvaivaa.
Espanjalainen ei ottanut vähääkään osaa näihin — kuten hän sanoi
— karkurin kujeisiin. Kun hän sentähden pysyi vaiteliaana, piti
insinööri häntä jörönä toverina ja välitti yhä vähemmän hänestä, mitä
enemmän samppanja sytytti hänen omaa mielikuvitustaan
kirkkaaseen liekkiin.

Aterian päätyttyä vetäytyivät ranskalaiset ja unkarilainen

huoneisiinsa, samoin Moreno. Assanoff puolestaan alkoi parin muun
vieraan ja madame Marron vanhemman kanssa pelata korttia
"hengen vihollisen" tuijotellessa heitä epävarmemmiksi muuttuvin
katsein ja juodessa paloviinaa. Nämä erilaiset huvitukset kestivät niin
kauan, kunnes pelaajat hypähtivät läheisestä raskaasta
kolahduksesta kovasti säikähtäen seisomaan: Gregor Ivanitsh oli
romahtanut pitkälleen. Assanoff oli sillä aikaa menettänyt rahansa.
Kello oli lyönyt juuri kaksi. Kaikki menivät maata, ja herra Marron
vanhemman pitämä Grand Hotel de Colchide nukkui pian mitä
raskaimmassa unessa.
II

ORJAKAUPPA-YHTIÖ

Kello oli tuskin viisi, kun hotellin palvelija kolkutti Morenon

makuuhuoneen ovelle ilmoittaen, että lähtöhetki oli käsissä. Vähäistä
myöhemmin näyttäytyi Assanoff käytävässä. Sotilasviitta oli
kerrassaan huolimattomasti hartioille heitettynä, ja perin rypistynyt
punainen silkkipaita oli hyvin rempallaan kaulasta ja valkoinen lakki
törröllään paksun, kiharaisen tukan päällä, johon mikään
kampaustaito ei ollut tuonut järjestystä. Hänen kasvonsa olivat
ruokottomat, kalpeat ja venähtäneet, silmät punertavat. Hän otti Don
Juanin vastaan valtavasti haukotellen ja oikoen käsivarsiaan pitkin
pituuttaan.

"No, vanha ystävä", huusi hän, "meidän on siis lähdettävä.

Nousetteko te mielellänne näin varhain lomalla ollessanne ja ehkä
palveluksessakin? Hei, Gregor! Pässinpää! Tuoppas pullo
samppanjaa, jotta pääsemme liikkeelle, tai piru minut periköön, ellen
murskaa luitasi!"

"Ei pisaraakaan samppanjaa", sanoi Moreno, "meidän on

lähdettävä. Ette muista, kuinka pontevasti meitä eilen kehoitettiin