The rain was a cold, drowning weight.
It soaked Jordan Schaefer to the skin as he crossed the courtyard, turning the path to the palace into a slog.
He was thinking of scalding water and silence when the butler, Dylas, showed up in the vaulted entrance hall.
"His Majesty requires you. His study. The moment you return."
Jordan looked down at the filthy tactical gear plastered to his body.
Leading his troops in vigorous physical training had made him as tired, cold, and dirty as the soldiers under his command, and he wasn't exactly in the mood for his father's shit.
"I'll see him after taking a shower. I stink. I'm not a sight for anyone's eyes, Dylas. Tell him twenty minutes."
Dylas didn't blink. "He said, 'Immediately,' Your Highness. He was quite clear."
The old butler wasn't going to budge. This must have been important.
The tone was final. Trouble, then.
Frowning, Jordan went, his boots leaving prints on the pale marble.
He knocked once on the study's door and entered.
"Your Majesty," he said respectfully, but not too respectfully. It was always a balancing act. If he was too respectful, his father started thinking he wasn't alpha enough. If he was too disrespectful, his father bristled, immediately suspicious that Jordan wanted to take his throne.
It was beyond annoying.
Not for the first time in his life, Jordan wished he had been born a beta.
Or an Omega.
He pushed the thought away. Such thoughts were pointless. And ridiculous.
He was an alpha. Alphas had it easy, compared to betas and especially omegas. Well, Orion Type Alphas had it worse than either betas or omegas, but Jordan wasn't one, so he had nothing to complain about.
King Kaiser glanced up from his screen, his gaze scraping over Jordan's mud-spattered form. "You're tracking in the weather."
"I was inspecting the forward battalions. You wanted to see me?"
"Sit."
Jordan sat.
Kaiser leaned back, steepling his fingers. "The Coalition representative concluded his visit. Our petition for full Alliance membership has been denied. They view our conflict with the South as a 'parochial civil war.' An embarrassment.
They see one planet, not two. We have a handful of months to unify under a single planetary regime, or they will revoke our associate status. We will lose access to the trade networks, the transit corridors, and Union protection. We'll be carrion."
The pronouncement rendered his entire war obsolete. Jordan's life, defined by border skirmishes and memorial services, was suddenly petty.
"Unify," he repeated, the word bitter in his mouth. "The peace accords have all failed. What's changed?"
"The price of failure," Kaiser said flatly. "The South's Prime Minister has, however, proposed a mechanism. A political marriage. A binding of the bloodlines."
A cold coil tightened in Jordan's gut.
"Naturally," King Kaiser continued, "My heir is not disposable. I offered your cousin, Devlin."
Jordan knew. Devlin was an Orion-Type Alpha.
To the galaxy, that meant he was feral, a thing of cautionary tales. The rejection was a foregone conclusion.
"Prime Minister Cruz declined, for obvious reasons," Kaiser said. "He finds the proposal insufficiently… potent. He insists the union carry the weight of true succession."
The king's eyes were fixed on him. "He wants a marriage between my heir and a sitting Senator of the South. I have agreed."
Jordan saw his future vanish. Argument was pointless.
"What senator?" Jordan said, forcing his voice to sound calm. "Have they already chosen?"
"That privilege remains with the South. I did, however, secure you a concession. You may specify the designation of your spouse. Alpha, beta, omega. A small sovereignty, but you are the Crown Prince. You will have this."
Jordan had never felt more grateful for his father's pride.
It was a useless concession though. The only one he'd get.
Kaiser looked skeptical, but nodded. "It's probably for the best," he said after a moment. "I don't think there are any omegas in the South Assembly. Even if there are, the fact that I can't think of any proves that they're not of any import. Omegas rarely are."
Jordan kept his expression blank. His father's disgusting prejudice against omegas was well documented, and he'd learned to ignore it, no matter how much he disagreed.
Jordan had always felt strange around omegas. They were so small. Vulnerable. Needy. They expected him to take care of them. He didn't like it.
He didn't find it attractive, no matter how good they smelled to his alpha senses when he was in rut. Having sex with omegas had always felt like something of a chore, vaguely unsatisfying and wrong. Something about it made his skin crawl. He couldn't imagine being married to an omega.
Jordan didn't hesitate. "A beta."
His father's eyebrow arched. "Most in your position would select an omega. They are… easy to manipulate."
"I am not most, Father. I prefer a counterpart. Not a comfort. A beta."
Kaiser regarded him for a long, silent moment, then gave a single, curt nod.
"A good choice. It will read as a coalition of minds, not glands. Very well. A beta senator." He turned his attention back to his screen, a clear dismissal. "You may go."
Jordan stood. The soaked wool of his uniform tugged at his skin.
"The inspection," the King asked, his eyes lingering on the dirt ground into the carpet. "The battalions are ready?"
Jordan manufactured a grin, which felt like pulling a muscle. "They are flawless."
He left, strides long until the study door sealed behind him.
The performance held down the corridor, past the guards, up the staircase. Only when the lock of his private chambers clicked home did the act collapse.
He stripped off the stinking tunic, the cold air hitting his skin. He braced his hands on the ornate dresser, head bowed.
"Dammit," he murmured, running a hand over his face.
Not that he had been hoping for a love match, but marrying a politician from the country they had been at war with forever hadn't been his idea of a marriage.
At least they would be a beta. That was something.