Onyx was terrified.

He'd come into this arrangement expecting only salvation from his family and a cushy existence. All he had to do was bear pups, right? He could sit back as third consort, not worry about politics, and make use of his relative freedom for once. In fact, he much preferred it that way—little to no political relevance, no complicated succession line expectations. No eyes on him.

Falling in love had never been part of the equation. Onyx hated alphas. He'd expected to hate this one too. He didn't. He couldn't, and that scared him. After all, what chance did he have to capture the heir's heart? None. Not when Elvaan was perfect and Caellach was the cherished childhood friend. Onyx had nothing on them. He'd faked his way into the position, really.

So he'd stuck to his specialty and faked some more. Acted like his heart hadn't been racing when the bonding bite set in. Presented a front of sarcasm and detachment. Distanced himself from his rivals—his betters—and tried to lead the carefree life he'd hoped for.

He'd tried so hard.

"Damn me," he muttered under his breath. "Damn me and my designation. This is just deference. It's not love. It's not. It's not." He knew he wasn't being honest with himself, but maybe if he repeated it enough times, it'd be true.

Onyx opened the drawer where he kept the scented choker he'd been given on the day of the wedding. He lifted it to his nose, closed his eyes, and inhaled the comforting aroma of his alpha's scent.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Disgusted with himself, Onyx put away the choker and decided a walk in the gardens was in order. Not that he cared for the gardens, or the flowers, but he knew today there would be a council meeting and the gardens were furthest from that wing of the palace. And so he stormed out of his chambers, his frilled coat fluttering behind him. He needed space.

"It's not love," he repeated as he walked out into the cool night air. "Pull yourself together, Onyx. This is all pretend. Feelings don't matter. They don't matter."