A Visiting Royal

**BLANCA**
After serving Max his breakfast, he presented me with another bundle of clothing and a pair of slip-on work shoes that fit like a dream. They were brown leather with a soft pillowy sole inside that caressed my feet. The outfit he'd garnered me was a sky blue button up dress with fitted half sleeves and a plunging neckline. The skirt came to about three inches above the knee and was cinched at the waist so that each time I turned, the skirt fanned out gracefully. Little white flowers were threaded throughout the garment and although it was incredibly simple, I felt beautiful in it. Not wanting to ruin it with whatever chores I'd be assigned today, I promised myself to take extra care with it throughout the day.
Exiting the bathroom fully dressed, my eyes snag on the Alpha and the tray sitting on the table. He left a half portion of every single thing on his plate. There is half an egg, half a slice of buttered toast, half a cup of strawberries, and two slices of crispy bacon.
*Maybe he doesn't eat much in the mornings?*
Now, he stands in front of the mirror, no longer in his robe from before, but dressed in what I can only assume are fighting leathers. They are black, sleeveless, skin tight, and they leave his glorious muscles on full display. Every ripple and every current of his strength is highlighted in those clothes and again I feel a pulse of pleasure behind the folds of my sex. My breath catches, my gaze locking on the winding ink that wraps around his biceps and triceps, then stretches across his chest and back. Some of it even climbs up the back of his neck and I'm suddenly feeling very restless as I watch him secure his boots. There is a throbbing at my center that I have *never* experienced before meeting this man. An urging to be touched and filled. Almost like an itch that I might need to scratch before too long. Suddenly, I wonder, is it just him that makes me this way? Or might this be my reaction to *any* male as magnificently sculpted as he is. Biting my lip on a shudder of heat, the Alpha inhales sharply and his back goes rigid with tension.
Meeting my eyes in the mirror, he smiles wickedly, the deep dimples of his cheeks much more apparent in the bright of the day. His golden eyes trace over the front of my dress and then down over the swell of my hips, before settling back on my face. "Your bruises are gone," he says calmly, almost in surprise. "Your lip is healed too. The knots from the stones look like they've gone down as well. Strange. I thought Shiftless healed nearly as slowly as humans do."
"That has always been my understanding as well, Alpha. I don't have any idea why they've gone, but I'm glad they have."
He chuckles, turning around to face me and gesturing toward the tray. "I left half of my breakfast for you. Make sure and eat it all. I don't have any idea how the slaves and omegas are fed in the packhouse. I just know they don't dine with the rest of us."
I nod. "Thank you so much Alpha, you are incredibly generous for someone who hates me as much as you do." I take a seat, biting into the deliciously buttered toast first and groaning before I can stop myself.
Max shudders, his eyes glowing a feral yellow before ebbing back down to gold. "Eat quietly please. I don't need to hear your little noises every time you taste something," he says harshly.
"I-I'm sorry Alpha. It won't happen again," I promise. Although, when I bite into the crisp, hickory flavored bacon, I almost *break* that promise. *Goddess! How long has it been since I've tasted food like this?* I don't even remember my own mother feeding me this way when I still lived at home. My mother liked to cook porridge for breakfast and she *never* fixed us lunch. Dinner mostly consisted of canned beans with an occasional slice of pork.
"Whomever it is that cooks for you has a truly talented hand," I gush in compliment as I finish the last of the meal.
Standing, I collect the tray and head for the open doorway to deposit the wares back where I found them.
"Where the fuck are you going?" Max's stern voice cracks like a whip and suddenly he's right behind me.
"I'm sorry, Alpha. I thought-"
"You are *not* a slave of *thought*, Blanca. You are a slave of..." he trails off as his arms come around me. The sudden heat from his skin coupled with the *vibrating* energy that surrounds him chases the breath right from my lungs. One arm reaches up to take the trembling tray from my hands and the other ghosts itself across my middle so lightly that for a moment I almost fall forward. His hand opens and his fingers splay as if to steady me, resting just a touch beneath my belly button. "You are *my* slave," he whispers huskily, his lips close enough to my ear that I hear an almost inaudible groan vibrate somewhere behind me. Then he takes a sharp breath and steps away from me, leaving the heat from his open palm as a reminder of what I'll never truly have. *His warmth.*
"Y-your slave," I repeat, my eyes closing momentarily. "Yes, Alpha," I breathe.
When I open my eyes again Max is scowling at me and I'm forced to ignore all of the things I *thought* I was feeling, just so that I don't break down in tears.
"You are *never* to simply wander around my house as if it is yours. Do not get comfortable here. Not ever," he says on the end of a sneer and finally my anger sparks.
"I was only trying to show my gratitude by returning the tray to its original location," I spit through clenched teeth. "Not *make myself at home!*"
To my surprise Max chuckles, losing his anger from moments ago almost too easily. "Careful Shiftless," he teases. "You are speaking to your Alpha. Your *master*. And the next time you give me a reason to spank you"-his eyes heat as he tilts his head to the side to inspect my ass-"I might decide to do it."
A spirited growl erupts from my chest and it's all I can do not to scream. Someone ought to throw a few stones *his* way.
Slow, calculated footsteps sound on the other side of the wall and I jerk to attention.
Before this newcomer can even knock, Max says, "It's open Jared. Come in."
Jared. Beta Jared. That's right... it's branding time. *Shoot.*
I really should tell him about the silver poisoning. *But that would mean you no longer want to die, Blanca.*
*Well, brain. Silver sickness is not exactly a swift death.*
The doorknob turns easily and Jared saunters into the room looking fresh and daringly handsome. He is *also* wearing his fighting leathers and although he's not quite as *massively bulked* with muscle as Max is, he's definitely pretty ripped and I can't help but lick my lips a little at the sight of him. A spark of gold brilliance swirls in the depths of Max's gaze before he's glaring my way and before I have a chance to respond to that look, Jared steps between us.
"Good morning, Mistress Blanca," Jared simpers, stepping forward to take my hand. "I trust you slept well."
"Oh. Yes, I-I did," I answer him shyly, my fingers trembling a bit in his steady hand.
He brings my wrist up toward his mouth, preparing to kiss the top of my hand and my eyes bulge in surprise. *Oh my...*
A flash of movement catches my attention and then all of a sudden-
*WHACK!*
"Ouch! Shit!!" Jared screeches, shaking his arm miserably and studying the large red welt forming on his forearm. "What the *fuck* did you do that for, asshole?"
I stifle a giggle with a hand over my mouth as I observe Max smiling his wide dimpled grin. Leaning in close to Jared, he says, "It's *Alpha* Max, dickhead."
Max chuckles, passing in front of him and sending me a strange look that *almost* looks like a secret warning. I flinch, confused. *What did I do now???*
"You must have had a better night than you let on," Jared accuses, flexing his sinfully cut forearm to watch the welt heal and disappear almost instantly. "Acting like a jealous prick over something as virginal as a formal kiss on the hand."
*Jealous? No. No way.*
Max doesn't even acknowledge me as I study him. The shy burn of a blush staining my cheeks.
"Jealousy has nothing to do with it," Max informs him with a straight face. "She's a goddamned slave, Jared. Not a visiting royal. There's no reason to greet her. She's to be commanded, not charmed."
And just like that, my day feels ruined. Racing past Max, I stomp out into the hall. Letting my hair fall forward like a curtain, I cover my face. So that neither one of them gains the satisfaction of watching me cry.