Starfarers, p.1
Shattered by His Alpha King, page 1
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Shattered by His Alpha King
Copyright 2024 Lilo Quie
Digital ISBN: 979-8-89320-072-0
Print ISBN: 979-8-89320-073-7
Published by Decadent Publishing LLC
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
About the Author
Omegas do not get to choose their station. Their gender is other. Their options are limited and Virion, born into a place of privilege, still has to contend with all the responsibility of bearing some alpha of his father’s choosing an heir. Fortunately for him, so far, his father has allowed him to turn away potential suitors. Until now.
Nemiah, first and only born son of the King of Drashil has recently taken the throne upon slaying his father in a bid for peace. In lieu of war, he wants to use his kind’s skills at mechanical prowess to take over the world by metal and machine in commerce. When he petitions the King Alluin of Liaberos to back him in peace for a share of the wealth to come, he is told he must have an heir to pass the knowledge down to before their agreement is complete. Nemiah has no mate, but as luck would have it, King Alluin’s omega son is quite fetching and has the most stubborn glint in his eyes.
I’ve taken a while to write this one as my first foray into more traditional fantasy. It’s been a roller coaster of uncertainty and trial, but I prevailed. Every book I write feels like a little dragon I have to best. But this one I feel I’ve made into a pet.
For questions and comments: Liloquie@liloquie.net
Shattered By His Alpha King
Reluctant Fae Princes
by
Lilo Quie
Chapter One
Virion
Virion blew a lingering breath against the drafty stained glass of his room before pushing the eaves open to grip onto the mullion for balance. There, the warm air from inside and his subtle breaths made trails of smoke, the condensate dissipating in the blink of an eye into the chilly morning. Usually, he went back to sleep after sunrise until midmorning, but the long creak of the drawbridge and marching guards drew his curiosity.
He enjoyed watching the sunrise; the goddess lifting her eyes to brighten the sky. Even if she never spoke to omegas, he liked to watch her.
Sitting there, wondering why defenses assembled, he cast his gaze skyward. A bloom of red in the eastern morning sky hinted of a foul evening to come. That, or the Drashil troops had stoked their forges to build more weapons of siege.
There were only two things certain in Virion’s life. The first was war: always present and never satisfying. The second was the fragility of his station. As an omega, he had no hope of holding his father’s throne, doomed to be a prince for the rest of his days or until a suitable alpha suitor had been found. And his days of grace on that front were growing very thin. Even if it wasn’t his fault that the only interested suitors were old, twice mated already, or in possession of a personality far less attractive than their faces, and that was saying something.
Having standards is a crime, I suppose!
According to his father, it was. He’d issued a decree that if Vir turned one more suitor away, they’d force him into service to the goddess as a celibate mage. He had power in spades for it, but celibacy wasn’t for him.
This had been three suitors ago.
An awful clanging noise had interrupted his thought that morning, the front gates announcing visitors they’d not expected. More? That was the way of things in war though. People constantly came to their kingdom with their hands cupped, hoping to receive a spill of their wealth that flowed like waters. For good reason, they stayed free of the war.
Their immense wealth made them a target, but none would strike them, for they held the secret to Vitalis. All sides needed their graces to continue on, and Liaberos, their kingdom, had and would withhold the healing waters from anyone who betrayed their trust.
Vir, as he liked to be called, coaxed himself from beneath several layers of many soft, hand-hewn quilts embroidered with the finest pale silver and lavender flowers. The window’s draft hit him once more. A long dressing gown spilled over his pale legs, feet padding over dark stone to locate his morning slippers and shuffle his way to the garderobe.
“Pilki!” Vir cried out, rubbing at an eye to rid it of crust and an errant lash. His maidservant was nowhere to be seen as he saw to his morning ablutions and retreated to his room once more in the early springtime chill. He was surprised his bottom hadn’t stuck frozen to the seat.
Nearly knocking his head into the inward swinging door, Vir stumbled back at the sight of his towheaded nursemaid, forty years his senior but as forgetful as she was cheerful. Fortunately, little was expected of Vir, and he expected little of her. “Good morning, Pilki.”
She turned bright, blue eyes toward him, her posture cowering and expression unreadable. “Good morning, my Blessed Prince.”
Blessed Prince… He hated the moniker. As an omega prince, he was the blessed one, one blessed to give life to a new generation. As his brother, Seidrik, a beta male like their father, was the Venerable Prince. His sister, the Virtuous Princess, even had a better title than he did. Even she wasn’t defined by her fertility. An omega was considered other. Male only in some features, but a rarity among their kind, born with differences that didn’t become apparent until he was several years old.
One day, he was deemed a princeling and being bathed by his maidservant Sivia, at the time, and the next, he was Blessed Prince and being stripped of his breeches in favor of flowing robes and clothes that were damn-near dresses.
“What was that awful noise?” Vir didn’t pry over her state, assuming she’d tell him if it were something pertinent or that she needed to share. He didn’t mind listening to her woes.
She twisted her hands over a handkerchief as he shed his gown and spied his bathing tub. It sat empty and still chilled. He halted in his underclothes and stared at it before her throat cleared. “It appears, Bless’d,” she said, shortening his title, “that a battalion has arrived from Drashil.”
“Buying more Vitalis, I assume.” Vir waved a hand dismissively and gestured toward the tub. The parade had no need for him to march for show.
“Perhaps, Bless’d. But they come with foul news and your father requests your immediate presence.”
Vir’s nipples hardened as gooseflesh traveled his body from the cold. She’d not even stoked the fires for his bath. “I take it that means no bath, Pilki?”
“I am afraid so, Bless’d.” She tore away from her cowering spot behind him and into his walk-in closet, selecting for him a fetching pale silk robe in a beautiful shade of steel blue. Every seam of it embedded with tiny silver studs that weighted the collar in place and kept his sleeves in a low drape so they didn’t flutter about effeminately.
“Oh goddess, these are my ballroom robes. Fetch me something more fit for the council—” He waved his hand, but she shook her head.
“His Majesty said you were to be made presentable and alluring. This is your most beautiful set.” She handed him a pair of light silk pants he could tie into place, the saving grace of his waning masculinity. He was a corset and a pair of bloomers away from being called a princess by rights, and he hated it.
Once he tied his pants into place, he threw his arms out, waiting for Pilki to slide his robes on one sleeve at a time. Misery pooled in her pale eyes. “It isn’t all that good, Bless’d.”
“Another suitor?” Vir scoffed and rolled his shoulders as she wrapped him with the fine silk, tying each belt and fastening them into place with careful precision.
Pilki opened her mouth to say something, her eyes watering as a spark of magic popped over her lips, a warning spell if ever he saw one. “Can’t rightly say, Bless’d.”
For his father to have forbidden her to speak, it had to be something he knew Vir wouldn’t show up for. Not that he was expected to show for things anyway. His sister could canoodle with the high courts and go on embassy meetings. His brother learned the sword and brokered treaties.
Vir was an omega, good for nothing but sitting around and practicing his spellwork. And even then, when he excelled past his sister in his learning and scored b
“No, you can’t.” Pilki picked at his night braid and pulled the ribbon from his hair to let his tresses fall. As if shocked, she added, “Bless’d, my lord.”
Maybe being wed off wouldn’t be such a foul idea if it would stop everyone from addressing him by his anal capacity! He almost said something before taking a calming breath, blowing strands as fine as spider’s silk away from his face. Colorless as a diamond and kept long past his waist, with only a gentle crown of braids that marked him as omega. Every part of him had to be a shining example of what he was. “If he’s old or ugly this time, I’ll join the conservatory of magic.” From what he heard, his ass wouldn’t go wanting in those dormitories at night. Celibacy. Hah!
She tightened her hands in his hair, unspoken words hanging in the air.
“I know it’s not ideal, but I refuse to be stuck with an animal!” Vir rolled his eyes and stepped into well-tailored slippers, the bottoms stiffer but padded in ways that gave his step no sound. Quiet and observant as an omega should be. He set off down the hall and were it not for the awful echo of the hallways in his wing, he’d stomp around on purpose.
He didn’t receive the fanfare that his sister would have received upon entering the high court, but silence followed when the guards opened the doors for him and quietly announced the Blessed Prince.
Virion had long learned not to wince and glare in public. They wouldn’t announce his sister so. Oh yes, our magnificent Princess Tits has arrived! He wondered why everyone else didn’t get shitty monikers.
Few eyes turned his way, as they usually did. His hanging robes swayed about his feet as he approached his father’s table, taking a seat two spaces down from even his valet. One set of eyes focused on him, black as obsidian, with irises so blue it hurt to stare into them for too long. His cool gaze was set among skin so deathly gray it could have been cast of limestone. Drashili. Vir didn’t even need him to unmask his wings or see his horns to know he was alpha.
“Ah, my child.” King Alluin, father to Virion, raised a tanned arm and waved him over. Virion straightened once more, the display an uncoordinated gesture as he approached his father’s side for the most awkward of one-armed hugs. “How would you feel about the crowned Prince Drashil as your husband?”
Virion had never been asked to reject a potential partner face-to-face before. The male across the table shifted in his seat the barest of an inch, his face passive and as annoyed as Virion wanted to display.
The two had never officially crossed paths, as Vir was kept away from view of the general public, a dud son, as it were, a bargaining card best kept in the hand. Vir had seen the prince before, Nemiah Drashil, firstborn son of King Behran Drashil, the black sorcerer. Legend had it their kingdom was a land of death, as dark as their eyes and darker still than the inky hair that swept back over the prince’s head, framing his jawline in rich waves. A single thin lock had flown from place and rested casually over the crook of his bullish horns. The jutting prominence of them signified he was not only an alpha but a strong one.
Alphas of Vir’s persuasion possessed pronged horns, while betas of both races held no adornments of head or wing. Only alphas and omegas could manifest wings, not that his father allowed him, much like his caged seabird.
“I cannot rightly say, Father. I’m not sure what answer I’m expected to give in this situation.” Virion cast his gaze over Nemiah once more, taking in his broad shoulders, lean stature, elegant neckline, and dark lips cast a purpling hue from blood. Those ethereal eyes met his own and drilled into him.
“It matters not. The deal has been made, Alluin—or should I say Father?” Nemiah flashed a white smile, his canines and bicuspids sharpened into fierce points that he licked with lascivious intent.
“Has an arrangement been made between Prince Nemiah and Saria?” Vir’s stomach clenched when the corners of Nemiah’s lips tilted upward as the flash of teeth passed.
“It appears, my betrothed, that we are arranged.” Nemiah’s gaze traced Vir’s body. No movement of those fierce eyes went unnoticed, each tick of motion undressing the Blessed Prince with cold calculation.
“This is…quite the surprise. I was under the impression that I had been bequeathed to the conservatory of mages, Father.” Vir swallowed and found his mouth suddenly dry. The Drashil prince was no hardship to look at, but his father always had a simmering hatred for the night fae.
The king reached a hand up to latch onto Vir’s shoulder, fingers clenching tight as he drew his son down. In a sharp whisper, hot breath and spittle invaded Vir’s ear like a plague despite his words being far more virulent. “What I said was that if you rejected once more, you’d be given to the conservatory. You, my child, have rejected thrice more since.”
Fuck. Vir tightened his shoulders and kept silent, unable to hold back the shivering breath of fear. “Father, please. I ca—” King Alluin pushed him away, his feet stumbling over themselves before he righted his stance.
“Omegas are hard to tame. One might as well attempt to keep a seabird caged. They’ll beat their wings over the bars and shit all over everything you give them.” King Alluin scoffed and Vir turned his gaze away. “Though, as far as omegas go, I am told they are a lovely specimen.”
“Him?” Nemiah’s voice held a chilled edge to it that made Virion’s skin prickle.
At least he gendered me correctly.
“They,” King Alluin said. The correction struck Vir to his core, stripping him of his masculinity in yet another way.
“I see. I suppose they are lovely.” That slithering voice held an edge of magic to it that made Vir want to listen. His gaze snapped back to King Alluin. “How do they match in thalmic power?”
“A six or seven, I believe,” King Alluin said. A flicker of uncertainty hardened in Nemiah’s eyes before he glanced toward Vir again. Doubt framed Nemiah’s face. A six was insultingly low.
Vir knew better than to correct his father, but he wondered if he was playing a game or had genuinely forgotten. Seidrik had been a twenty-one and Saria a seventeen. Both of those were considered more than adequate.
“I suppose I must take them to unite our households. It is a small price to pay.” Nemiah nodded, and Vir’s stomach knotted further. Though, something in Nemiah’s studious gaze held a thread of doubt at Alluin’s disparaging assessment.
“Now let me see this invention of yours. If it is as you say, we’ll strike the deal.” King Alluin waved and Nemiah’s grin grew. With a sly gesture, he curled slender fingers in Vir’s direction in a pointedly teasing display, as if to claim him with but a motion.
Pilki and two unfamiliar males of Drashili descent ushered him away from the table.
“I’m sorry, Blessed Prince. I truly am.” Pilki’s voice trembled. “We must pack your things. I’ve seen his work and Alluin will find no fault.”
“I am fortunate I have only my clothes and jewelry.” Vir’s gaze cast up to the buttresses of the walls, willing tears not to form in his eyes as the first good bit of news sank in. “If I’m to wed, I’ll have plenty of time to be packed while I’m cleansing.”
“No need to bring your clothes. The shadow of the mountain is much too cold for such silk,” a Drashili attendant said, sidestepping Pilki’s mothering attempts at snagging the hems of his shirt.
Hopefully, there’ll be proper trousers. Though he doubted it.
Chapter Two
Nemiah
Nemiah walked aside King Alluin of Liaberos with a long stride. The male’s golden hair and pale eyes held a stark contrast to his own. Such was the way of his kind, fae of the night, as he held the sun in his features. The fae of day.
“Your son didn’t seem too pleased about the arrangement.” Nemiah folded his hands behind his back.
“Not my son. My child. And no, they’re a pain, which I suppose is your problem. Their mother coddled them.” Alluin snorted and kept pace, his guards flanking him with overprotective ostentation. “If you manage to show me proof of this machine of yours.”
