THE bustling crowd around the newly inaugurated Peirazo caught the eye of Veronica Montegmory from afar. In the carriage, she sat on the left of Nathaniel Ashmore, trembling with barely contained energy.
"Do you see the hoodlum, my dear?" Veronica pulled her hand away from the curtain blocking the window. "Well, I sure hope the clothes are worth this hubbub!" Her grin was sharp, eyes gleaming with a feverish light. "Otherwise, I shall be the most displeased."
Nathaniel, toying with the delicate fan in his hands, spared her a fleeting glance sideways. It was just enough to catch the too wide a grin on his friend's face. All teeth and extremely bright.
Swiftly, he looked to the front once more, laughter tickling at his chest. "Are you not, perhaps, too excitable, Veronica?" His voice was light and airy, long eyelashes fluttering as he glanced down on his lap. "What would happen if it is merely a tall reputation and not much to show, hm?"
Veronica chuckled at that, the laugh breezy. "Oh, Nathaniel, I said it just now! I shall be the most displeased." The Omega winked, head canted towards him, watching his reaction — or the lack thereof.
Nathaniel huffed softly, resting his elbow against the wall of the carriage and pressed the side of his face to his knuckles. "I cannot help but feel this will be quite disappointing."
"Such pessimism, my dear?"
"I merely speculate, Veronica."
At that, Veronica rolled her eyes, etiquette forgotten in the presence of her friend. "Oh, why don't you just say it! You would rather be anywhere but here to keep me company. Would it please you more to attend the monotonous tea party of Baroness Welsh?"
Nathaniel shifted, unable to forbear yet another exhale of exasperation. "Both the circumstances involve a crowd, I would rather be among a familiar and irksome crowd than an unfamiliar and irksome crowd." He snapped the fan open, batting his eyelashes at her coyly.
Veronica scoffed, rolling her shoulders, letting a thoughtful silence fill the void of her chatter. "Speaking of a tea party," suddenly, she perked, eyes alight as if she remembered something and leaned closer again, "have you heard, Mr. Elis has been betrothed to Ms. Verda?"
Even though the change in topic of conversation was abrupt, hearing a familiar name from her, he raised an eyebrow, interest piqued. "... Mr. Elis to Ms. Verda?" He paused, allowing himself half a moment to digest the news. "Ms. Verda, tall, tan complexion, hair like citrine, and if my memory does not fail me — an Alpha?"
Veronica nodded along with his sparse description, humming in between; up until the last question, to which she rolled her eyes. "What else would she be? An Omega of Mr. Elis' background would naturally be tied to someone equal to or higher than his own standing."
The certainty and matter of factness in her voice, for a brief second, had Nathaniel feeling a bit foolish for even asking before he caught himself.
Head angled to gaze at Veronica with his eyebrows knitted together and lips pulled down, he snorted. "Why, yes; I must ask, Veronica." The latter trilled in confusion, prompting him to add, albeit in a low voice. "Because" —Nathaniel's voice raised a notch, making him clear his throat as heat crawled up his neck— "because… I— I thought of something different."
Veronica raised an eyebrow, watched him feign a cough behind the cover of the fan. It painted quite a comical picture. "Would you take offense if I expressed confusion now?" She whispered, looking around the carriage almost superstitiously.
"Yes." Nathaniel flushed, pink colouring his cheeks as he fanned himself harder and looked anywhere but at her. "Yes, I would."
Veronica let out a snort, turning up her nose. "In any case, I am not that curious."
…
Lorcan watched in silence from where he stood to the side, fulfilling the role of a well-dressed marble statue admirably. His face remained impassive, lips pressed thin, and hands folded behind him as he tried to remain hidden in plain sight.
So far, he failed miserably, one too many times at that. But it was only a natural happenstance. Of course, the patrons perusing the couture on the display would be curious of its make, the process, fabrics, and everything in between.
Hardly could he find it in himself to be exasperated at that. The real reason for his displeasure lay in none other than the banes of his very existence called cameras.
The cameras — and their piercing flashes — gods be with him. Grant him tolerance, for should you give him strength; he would wreak havoc on each and every camera flashing around him.
Heart thundering in his chest, Lorcan shifted in place, taken by nerves. He could feel countless eyes on himself. They watched his every move, one click after another a proof of his suspicion ringing true.
More than nerves from the inauguration, this was the nervousness of being captured every moment.
What if he faltered and slipped? What if they caught the sight of his marked throat under his clothes? What if his gloves failed and he managed to destroy everything in his vicinity?
No, Lorcan shook his head, trying to combat the dizzying thoughts clamouring in his mind. No, I can't let such a thing happen, I must be careful. Instinctively, he glanced down at his hands, eyes tracing the gloves for reassurance for the nth time today.
Shifting from one foot to the other, the Alpha perked up as one of his staff called him, the urgency in their voice making him frown. With a few long strides, he crossed the hall and reached the door, allowing himself to be pulled out of the room by the Beta.
"Whatever is happening?" Asked the Alpha, reaching the end of his patience. "What is so urgent for you to pull me away in this manner?"
Not that it was something bad, on the contrary, the designer was glad to be out of the hall full of those cameras.
The Beta dragged him down the hallways and pushed him back into the vanity room without so much as an example. Stumbling into the room, the Alpha winced, pain flaring in his belly akin to a raging fire. "Will I be receiving any courtesy of explanation, or must I allow myself to be toyed with silently?"
The make-up artist already present in the room made Lorcan sit before the mirror and began fussing with his appearance. A little powder here, a little liner there, a little rouge on his lips, some on his cheeks; she stopped once every few applications to assess his face with a critical gaze.
In such a situation, Lorcan knew not what to make of his hands and feet, until his assistant burst into the room, looking as though she had run a mile. "Chief!"
"Isla!" Flooded with relief, the Alpha cried out, earning himself a chiding glare from the make-up artist. "... There you are. Will I be told whatever is going on all of a sudden?"
Isla pushed into the room, winded and catching her breath, her plush cheeks flushed with exertion. "Chief that… Uh, an unexpected situation has occurred."
Lorcan jerked, alarmed enough to ignore the other Beta's warning hiss. "What situation?"
His mind raced, from any omega patrons' sudden heat to some unruly Alpha sneaking into the second floor. "What happened?" Mirroring Isla's urgency, the man shot up, waving off the make-up artist. "Tell me, Isla. What is the matter?"
Isla paused, seemingly catching up to his train of thought belatedly. "Oh, it is nothing of that sort, Young Master," the Beta waved, biting her lower lip anxiously, "the Marquess Ashmore's son and his friend are arriving" — she pulled out a pocket watch — "in a few minutes."
Oh.
Oh, that is all?
Lorcan sighed in relief, tension flooding out of his body as he sat back down, hand flying to his forehead as he drew in a rattling breath. "Is that all?" he snorted softly, raising his head to look at the standing woman, lips curled downward. "And to think you lot made such a fuss over it, for a moment I thought it was the Marquess himself."
"But—"
With a wave of his hand the Alpha cut her off, the other pressed hard against his aching chest, the Alpha ordered casually. "Send the staff to greet them, Alpha or Beta, it doesn't matter. Observe that utmost courtesy is maintained, give them no reason to complain."
"..."
His words were greeted by a tense silence, seeing the orders not immediately passed off to the other staff, Lorcan opened his eyes, head pounding. "What is the matter, Isla?"
"I am afraid sending any Betas would not suffice, Chief."
Exasperated and in pain, the designer swallowed the saliva gathering in his rapidly drying mouth and grunted. "Then send the Alphas. Isla."
Isla grimaced, hearing the dryness of his voice and moved to give him a glass of water, concern blooming on her face. "That would not be appropriate, Chief. We cannot send just any Alpha to greet him either."
Why could this Beta not come to the point sooner?!
Lorcan groaned softly, desperately downing the glass of water, and let out a gasp filled with warning. "Isla."
"Yes, my apologies, Young Master. The Marquess' son is, well, an omega. It is only appropriate that you go and personally give them a proper welcome."
Lorcan handed the glass back, suppressing the tremors in his finger as he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion.
"Isla," voice firm, he began, already walking past the woman, "why could you not lead with that?"