Az rubbed his eyes tiredly. It’d been days since he last had a peaceful night’s rest. Lord of Grimstone. He often found himself laughing at the title. He wasn’t lord of anything—at least not yet. His people didn’t seem to think so with their constant rebellion of him and stealing from him, no matter that he tried his best to ensure even the darkest parts of Grimstone got ridded of their poverty.
They didn’t warm up to him. They called him a freak. It was pathetic and he should have known Jessamine was lying the moment she started batting those long lashes of hers and speaking to him sweetly.
He left Dawn after the wedding and he’d been at Grimstone for a total of seven months now. And in that time she’d come to see him thrice, with her twin boys, Wren and Alder. They both had their mother's eyes, but that was where the resemblance ended. The rest was all Kier. From their red hair down to their angry growls whenever Az didn't give them what they wanted.
Of course, Jessamine had come to see how miserable he was and cackled at his misfortune, like every overbearing sister would. But he loved when she came around. He barely felt the loneliness of his home eating away at him. He held her sons and time flew by. Sure, they peed and drooled on him sometimes, but he’d taken any day over having dinner by himself in the empty hall and stumbling alone into his cold bed.
And when the time came to leave, Az sometimes found himself so close to asking her to stay. But he knew she couldn’t. She was queen now, and Kier didn’t like her out of sight for more than three days. The one time she stayed till the fifth, he’d shown up at Az’s door looking miserable as hell. Az didn’t get a wink of sleep that night from all the sounds they were making. That too and the fact that he had to watch the boys while they got busy.
Occasionally, his father visited too, but it was purely business. They didn’t have the best relationship. Bael had lived for so long with the guilt of his wife’s death, missing her, needing to avenge her, that he rarely ever paid Az any attention. It was all about training and being good enough to serve King Hunter. It helped, seeing as he did make it to the top of the elite and become captain, but that did nothing to fill the emptiness inside Az.
It had been there since he was a child who’d come to feel both his mother’s and father’s absence and gotten used to it, never asking for more, never demanding less. Never speaking, actually. Perhaps, it was out of fear of being told the truth—that he didn’t matter—or getting rejected. Perhaps, it was because it was the easiest was out. The safest. Or maybe he was just a coward.
And now, surrounded by strangers and enemies who expected nothing from him, it was easy to be himself. But then…he didn’t know that either. He didn’t know which version of himself was real. The jovial, kind man he was around Jessamine. The brooding workaholic he was around his father. Or the cold bastard he was with the people who chose to rebel against him, even if all he wanted was bring them peace.
“Sir?”
Az blinked, his gaze refocusing on the untouched plate of food before him. Raising his head, he noticed the young guard standing awkwardly by the entrance. Peg…he couldn’t be sure that was his name, but it sounded like Keg. He’d found him begging by the streets on one of the trips he made around the city. The Keg tried to steal from him, put up a good fight against his guards. It had been three months since then and the boy was doing well, training alongside the recruits and more importantly, he slept with a full stomach.
You would think that would be more than enough reason to make Peg warm up to Az, but the boy always kept his distance, like he was fucking scared of him. Like he ate children for sport.
Az stared at him blankly. “Have you had dinner?”
Keg’s eyes flicked to the plate and almost immediately, hunger shone in his eyes. But he lied. “I’m not hungry, sir.”
Az called for the maid to get an extra plate for him anyway. Keg fidgeted as he ate under Az’s scrutiny, but it had been so long since he had someone join him for dinner and any company was fine. “What did you want to tell me?” Az asked, pushing a cup of water towards the boy.
Keg coughed suddenly. “My, I forgot! We caught the thief!”
Az’s dark brow cocked. “Thief? Just one? Several sacks of food have gone missing. The gold to be shared in the villages have been halved. Not once have the guards successfully tracked down these miscreants. You mean tell me only one of them been caught?”
Peg absentmindedly shoved the cheek in his mouth. “Well, she called us all idiots for not being able to catch her. She also said if you ever took your head out of your royal ass, you would have realized sooner—” He stopped talking and paled when it dawned on him that he just called Az an idiot, indirectly. "Sorry."
But Az wasn’t mad. He was genuinely amused. Pushing up from his heavy sit, he asked Peg…or Keg, “Have her brought to the Great Hall.”
***********
Moira
A trap. She fell for a stupid trap and it was her fault because she had grown cocky. But what sort of fool left his gates open and expected his manor not to get raided? The new Lord Tyndall.
She struggled against the binds that held her, suffocating under the bag that covered her face. She couldn’t scream. The gag in her mouth prevented her even the slightest sounds, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t give them a bit of hell if they were going to kill her.
Maybe she should have taken the ships and travelled across. But she’d never been one who took help or relied on others. She was proud, much like her father. Obstinate. Somehow, she made it all the way to Ashbourne, and found that Kier had truly been a fair king. Ashbourne was a hellhole and on the first night, all of the gold she brought with her was stolen and she barely escaped being mugged or even worse at the hands of starved men.
Keeping her senses alert, she noted she was being herded in the left direction, and there were four men flanking her, shoving her forward roughly. “We’re going to get an earful for this one,” the one closest to her said. “A bloody cunt.”
Moira bristled, but she would rather he didn’t punch her in the gut again for stomping her feet into his.
Another sighed. “Can’t be worse than every other day. We’re out there, freezing our asses off and all he does is brood and yell.” A pause. “I swear nothing satisfies him. He’s a sadistic bastard.”
A chuckle. “Careful. Someone might hear. And he ain't exactly as terrible as that son of a whore. Ain’t no lord kind enough to pay us hefty wages like he does. Sure, he’s stiff as a board, but serving him ain’t that bad.”
“He’s trying to buy out our loyalty—”
“I don’t mind selling if he keeps stashing our pockets and feeding us. Hell, two months ago, I was thirsty enough to drink my own piss.” The group burst out in laughter. “What do you think he’ll do to her?”
Moira’s body stiffened at the mention of her and she listened attentively, hoping to glean what her punishment might. She blinked at the darkness as the man on her right snorted. “Give her a mop and dress to clean?”
Another roll of laughter sliced the air, but Moira relaxed a little. No mention of public whipping or dungeons. She could live with becoming a maid—only because she’d escape the next day. Today was supposed to be the last before she stole away to the docks and travelled with enough to start over somewhere new. Wealthy enough to buy her comfort. And she’d somehow gotten caught in a stupid trap that snagged her foot and left her dangling upside down.
It wasn’t too late. She might not have had a bath in days, but she was still pretty enough to charm a lord with her tears. And she was an expert, after all, at performances. Manipulations.
“I wouldn’t be so sure. He’s in a mood today. Someone must have pissed in his stew. It wouldn’t happen to be you, Raj, would it?”
Another hearty snicker, and she was suddenly shoved right. A few more steps and she was pushed to her knees, hands bound behind her back. Moira turned her head left and right as the footsteps drew back, until they disappeared entirely. For a moment, there was only silence, and a gentle scrape every now and then, like claws running along metal.
Moira’s heart raced and her palms began to sweat as she summoned tears to her eyes. Just as the first tear rolled down her cheek, the sack was pulled off her head. She squinted through the light that now blinded her, and the tears fell from her eyes anyway as they tried to adjust. Her gaze skimmed the hall. There weren’t many in attendance. Just a whole bunch of guards, tasteful furniture and slight decorations that weren’t too outlandish, yet, it spoke volumes of the house owner—he didn’t like shiny things. A minimalist, possibly.
However, when her eyes fell on the sole chair atop the raised platform and the man seated on it, she knew she was screwed.
She didn’t know what it was about his eyes that made her hate him. But if they had been warm before, almost a year ago, they were like a lake that had frosted over now. That too and…the year had been kinder to him. He’d never been terrible looking, on the contrary, but now, he was magnetic. His dark hair is shorter now, tumbling just below his shoulder in layers of varying length that framed his severe features.
A beard lined his strong jaw, connecting to a neatly trimmed moustache that did nothing to hide the firm set of his lips. Lips that seemed to twitch with dark amusement. He leaned forward, a man in control, and though, Moira had the stronger blood between them, she inched back, blanching.
Az was Lord Tyndall? She’d been stealing from him? She hadn’t been interested enough in him to find out the rest of his name. Or what the full of ‘Az’ was. She didn’t even want to look at him then. He had been a stain she was trying to get rid of. And now, she was the one covered in dirt. Her hair disheveled and her body stunk of sweat from hiding out just outside, on the roof of the house closest to his manor as she took note of the guard shift.
The black slit in his green eyes seemed to expand. When he spoke, it was with a dark, sensual purr that stroked Moira’s skin in places that were secured in her tattered clothes. “Well, isn’t this quite the surprise.”
Her lips shook and sweat dripped down her back. “Az—”
He flashed his canines. “It is Lord Tyndall to you, thief.” The order made her wince, and she shut her eyes, swallowing. She forced out the words, even as her insides twisted with hate. Fear.
“Lord Tyndall.”
“Good,” he said, pleased as he reclined in his seat and crossed an ankle over his knee.
Moira’s knees began to shake. She really should have kept her mouth shut, but she was beyond pissed. “You don’t scare me,” she spat. “A title won’t change the fact that you’re nothing! No one. A low-blooded Beta!” It was the bitterness speaking. Pent up anger at everyone that wasn’t him.
But it barely made a dent on him. If anything, it made him even more amused. There was a smug smile lifting his lips that she wanted to slap off. “Says, the criminal. Do you know whose land you stand on?” When she said nothing, he continued, “Mine. Tell me why I shouldn’t have you whipped publicly to serve as a lesson to the rest of your kind.”
“My kind?” she echoed.
“Plunderers.”
Motherfucker, she thought, but she knew insulting him would get her nowhere. So, she began grasping at a history between them that was long dead. “Because I am your mate. And you’re not a cruel man.”
He chuckled and the sound chilled her blood. “You don’t say.” Jerking his gaze up, he motioned to the guards, and in a matter of seconds, they’d lifted her off the floor.
“Where are you taking me?!” Moira yelled, helpless, and when tears sprang to her eyes, they weren’t faked. “Az! Please! I’m sorry, okay?! I just needed it to fund my travels! I have nothing. No one! I didn’t know what else to do!”
The guards paused, waiting on Az’s command, and Moira found that she was banking on it as well. Waiting for that warmth that usually came whenever she was in distress.
But the cold didn’t yield as he sneered at her. “You think yourself too superior to work and earn your keep?”
The reply came easily. “I’m an Alpha’s daughter. I don’t…work. I don’t know how to. My hands are much too tender for tedious work.” Every time she said the word ‘work’, it came off her tongue like poison.
Lord Tyndall’s gaze rose to the guard on her right. “You submitted a request for a maid down at the garrison, yes?”
Garrison? Moira’s body went cold. Cleaning after the warriors, scrubbing their spit, piss and shit off the floors, washing their blood-stained tunics and their muddied pants and boots, spending her days and night in fear of being taken advantage of by them? She couldn’t live that way. And everyone knew there was no escape from there. She’d rather die than let them take her.
The guard paused. “Yes, but—”
Az waved. “Well then, take her from my sight.”
“No!” Moira wailed, thrashing against them. “I’ll return it! I swear, I’ll return every damned piece! Just…please! No! Don’t take me there!”
But Moira's pleas fell on deaf ears. Az was done with her. He stood from his seat, his green frock coat trailing behind him as he marched down the steps, heading towards a different door.
"I hate you!" she screamed at him.
Az stopped walking. Very slowly, he turned, and all of his amusement was gone, replaced by an anger and pain so deep, it was vitrolic. "It would seem we have something in common after all."