Chapter 15

“You will break your spine! Relinquish at least one to me.”

“They are practically weightless,” Leon lied smoothly, flashing a wolfish grin. “Frankly, I could likely carry you atop this load without breaking a sweat.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Come now. Climb aboard and test the theory.”

Elwin glanced frantically toward the glass panes. “Lower your voice! The staff will hear you.”

“Let them gossip. Did I voice anything inappropriate?” Leon teased, chuckling as he hauled the massive sacks toward the waiting carriage. He hurled the dense bundles into the storage compartment with terrifying ease, stepping into the cab and politely gesturing toward the plush, forward-facing bench.

Feeling thoroughly outmaneuvered, Elwin sank onto the cushions as the carriage jolted into motion.

Opposite him, Leon gazed lazily out the window, looking every inch the aristocratic tourist embarking on a grand rural tour. The stark contrast of his sun-bronzed throat against the crisp white of his open-collared shirt projected a dangerously frivolous air, underscored by a terrifying aura of absolute, unfettered freedom.

The frantic servants’ gossip insisted the man had traveled far beyond the borders of Savar. Tracing the sharp lines of the Alpha’s profile, Elwin found himself consumed by a sudden, dangerous curiosity. What alien landscapes had those amber eyes witnessed, and what violent secrets lurked beneath that infuriatingly breezy facade?

A far more pressing question burned the back of his tongue. He desperately needed to know why the Alpha had been prowling the darkened second-floor corridor the previous midnight. Yet, interrogating the man risked resurrecting the explosive aftermath—the memory of standing pinned by the window, violently hauled into that searing, immovable chest.

His courage failed him. He swallowed the inquiry.

“What exactly were you discussing with Eleanor earlier?”

As Elwin deployed the vastly safer topic, Leon instantly squared his shoulders, looking suspiciously like a predator whose prey had finally stepped onto the trap.

“Miss Eleanor appeared to be wrestling with a rather dense natural philosophy module. She merely asked for clarification on a few archaic concepts.”

“Did she? Natural philosophy has always been her weakest discipline. She far prefers the rigid logic of astronomy and geography.”

“We all harbor academic prejudices,” Leon mused. “As a boy, I habitually fled into the maze garden whenever my poetry tutor arrived.”

“I share your disdain for the poetic arts,” Elwin agreed automatically. No matter how ruthlessly he drilled the verses into his memory, the abstract emotional nuances buried between the lines had always mockingly eluded his hyper-logical mind.

He nodded in commiseration, but a second later, the sheer absurdity of Leon’s casual anecdote struck him like a physical blow.

Wait. Did he just confess to hiding in a maze garden?

Leon’s aesthetic screamed exorbitant wealth, but estates sprawling enough to sustain complex, manicured hedge mazes were a staggering rarity. If this vagabond actually hailed from the densely packed capital, a private maze implied a level of opulence that bordered on the grotesque. Furthermore, the casual drop of “poetry tutor” suggested an entire battalion of specialized, live-in academic instructors—an expense unthinkable for even the wealthiest mercantile families preparing a son for standard public school.

Elwin’s mind reeled as he constructed a terrifying new hypothesis: this wandering rake belonged to an aristocratic bloodline of terrifying wealth and fanatical educational standards.

Leon’s deep baritone violently scattered the deduction.

“In any case, your sister possesses a luminous intellect. Her raw hunger for knowledge is genuinely inspiring.”

Praise for Eleanor was the one currency Elwin accepted without hesitation. A brilliant smile eclipsed his suspicion. “Yes. She truly is…”

I plan to send her to university.

The treasonous declaration nearly breached his lips, but he clamped his jaw shut, swallowing the dangerous ambition. Eleanor’s brilliance was undeniable, and as a standard female, breaching the iron gates of academia was marginally less impossible than it was for an Omega. It was a tangible, achievable dream. The catastrophe lay entirely in their financial ruin.

Even if he abandoned the crumbling manor to carve out a brutal new existence in an alien city, he remained fiercely confident in his ability to survive. Yet, mere survival would never generate the immense capital required to fund his sister’s elite tertiary education.

If she is to secure a future, I must retain control of this estate.

This agonizing truth had been the rotten core of his ambition from the very beginning. He had not engineered this degraded marriage plot out of some pathetic, lingering desire to play the pampered lord. Had simple wealth been his objective, he could have surrendered to any number of vile, lucrative propositions years ago. He had slaughtered his own dreams of independence purely out of duty. As the acting patriarch, he was obligated to shield his orphaned sister from the world’s cruelty and elevate her to her rightful station.

And to finance that ascension…

“Ah. We have arrived.”

Jolted violently from his morbid calculations, Elwin realized the chassis had ceased vibrating. Leon moved with terrifying, predatory efficiency, vaulting from the cab and casually hefting the crushing payload onto his shoulder.

As their boots hit the hard-packed dirt of the farming village, the local chief broke into an ecstatic sprint.

“Young Master Elwin! Praise the heavens, you have returned!”

The chief had clearly abandoned his plow mid-furrow, sprinting up with dirt still smeared thickly across his coarse tunic. He seized Elwin’s hands, his weathered face flushing with genuine, incandescent joy.

“Chief, it is wonderful to see you,” Elwin greeted warmly. “I deeply apologize for descending upon you unannounced during the peak harvest frenzy.”

“Nonsense! Our doors are forever open to our young master. My only shame is that, amid this chaos, we cannot offer you a proper aristocratic reception.”

“Do not fuss over protocol,” Elwin insisted, gesturing to the towering Alpha behind him. “The winter freeze approaches rapidly. I have secured a new, fortified strain of wheat seedlings. Distribute them evenly among the village households for immediate planting.”

“Such precious bounty…” The chief’s eyes widened, shimmering with unshed tears. “The village is still singing hymns over the miraculous seed potatoes you provided last spring. The elders swear the new yield practically doubled our winter reserves.”

Elwin opened his mouth to deliver his standard, pragmatic reassurance—If the village thrives, the estate prospers—but the hollow words died on his tongue. He could not guarantee he would even be standing on this soil when this winter crop was finally reaped.

Sensing the sudden, stifling shift in the young lord’s aura, the chief pivoted his attention, eyeing the colossal, dirt-smudged giant looming in the background.

“Forgive my rudeness, but… who might this imposing gentleman be?”

Elwin froze, panic seizing his throat. How was he supposed to categorize this rogue? Introducing Leon as the intimate boarding-school companion of the incoming, usurping count felt grotesquely insensitive. The village elders had reportedly wept actual tears upon learning the cruel Omega inheritance laws would sever Elwin from the title. Summoning the specter of his replacement was an intolerable cruelty.

“This is Mr. Leon,” Elwin forced out, his voice rigid. “He is a… a personal friend of mine.”

The agonizingly vague introduction miraculously shattered the tension.

“A close friend of our young master!” The chief beamed, bowing deeply. “And what a staggeringly fine-looking lord you are! We rarely see such magnificent stock in these dirt roads. You possess the very grace of a royal prince.”

The grace of a prince? This conniving brute?

Elwin fought a violent urge to gag, but Leon merely threw his head back and laughed, radiating pure, insufferable charm. “You flatter me, Chief! Though, I must confess, I hear the comparison quite often.”

“Please, surrender those heavy burdens to our boys,” the chief insisted, waving over a pair of muscular farmhands. “We lack refined delicacies, but my good wife has just pulled a tray of sweet oatmeal cakes from the hearth. You simply must honor us by partaking before you depart.”

Ushered toward a weather-beaten log bench beside the central well, the two men were quickly swarmed by a procession of village women bearing steaming platters of rustic, oven-fresh cakes.

It was a deeply ingrained, sacred ritual. The impoverished tenants invariably sought to repay their beloved young lord with whatever meager luxuries they possessed, and Elwin always accepted their offerings with aggressive gratitude. Today, however, the presence of his aristocratic shadow sparked a flare of anxiety. These rustic, coarse-grained desserts were a far cry from capital patisserie. Would an Alpha accustomed to navigating private maze gardens sneer at peasant fare?

Elwin cast a nervous sideways glance, only to find Leon radiating an aura of absolute, easygoing delight. The knot in his chest loosened.

“Riding the coattails of your esteemed young master has earned me a magnificent feast.” Leon bit into the dense cake, chewing with visible relish. “The wild honey you bake with is incredibly fragrant. A masterpiece.”

Though the Alpha was praising a simple village woman’s handiwork, the genuine compliment struck Elwin with the force of a personal triumph, blooming a strange, terrifying warmth deep within his ribs.

Acknowledging the merciless demands of the harvest clock, the chief bowed apologetically and scrambled back toward the distant fields. The abrupt departure left Elwin and Leon stranded on the lonely log bench, shoulder to shoulder, silently devouring the sweet, nutty confections.

A subtle rustling caught Elwin’s attention.

A ragged gaggle of village children was loitering suspiciously near the perimeter. Assuming the urchins were eyeing the remaining pastries, Elwin offered an inviting smile. Bolstered by the gesture, the tiny horde broke rank and trotted forward, their small hands awkwardly concealing hidden treasures behind their backs.

“Heavens, you have all shot up like weeds since my last inspection,” Elwin coaxed gently. “Have you come to steal my cake?”

“No! We’re fine.”

“Mama specifically swore vengeance if we touched the young master’s plate.”

The boldest of the group shuffled his dirty boots. “Um. Do you remember when you taught us the alphabet last month? Well, we practiced…”

During a previous inspection, Elwin had painstakingly drilled the children on the spelling of their own names, gifting them a handful of precious notebook scraps. The tiny horde had chirped out solemn oaths to study, and miraculously, they had honored the pact. Elwin held out his hands, and the children instantly dissolved into a violent scuffle, shoving crumpled, dirt-smudged parchment into his lap.

Jack. Tommy. Nancy.

Tracing the violently crooked, desperately enthusiastic charcoal strokes, Elwin unleashed a torrent of extravagant praise. The children glowed, their filthy cheeks flushing a brilliant, triumphant crimson.

He remained transfixed, watching the giggling horde scatter back toward the muddy alleys, until the heavy, suffocating weight of an unblinking stare dragged his attention sideways.

Leon was observing him. The Alpha’s gaze was entirely stripped of its usual mocking levity, replaced by a profound, forensic intensity that stripped Elwin to the bone.

Elwin shifted uncomfortably. “Do you have something pressing to add?”

“Ah… no,” Leon murmured, his voice thick, his features completely slack. For a fleeting second, the terrifying rogue looked hopelessly, irrevocably dazed. Just as suddenly, the iron mask slammed back into place. The wicked, easygoing smile resurrected itself. “You are simply a profoundly interesting nobleman, Sir Elwin.”

Elwin stared, hopelessly marooned in a sea of confusion. Was that a genuine compliment, or a masterfully veiled insult? What possible diplomatic response existed for such a bizarre declaration?

As a dozen frantic questions collided in his skull, a single, icy drop of water ruptured the tension, shattering directly against the crown of his head.