The Rightful King

Robbie | 003

Robbie was all for having a chance to meet and court the King until some officials came to talk to him.

Naturally, he had to be prepped for this sort of thing. His parents were Betas, as were his six older siblings. The only reason he hadn't been married off at the ripe age of seventeen was because he had managed to find a job at the local library, and convinced his parents he could pull his own weight and choose his mate for himself. And so far, in this drab little backwoods' town, no one was even remotely appealing.

"It would be in your best interest not to anger the King." The Beta, some important coordinator for the Palace, had said while looking around his living room in distaste, like she'd never stepped foot in a one-story, lower-class house before.

"What do you mean by that, exactly?" He asked warily, tapping his hand against his knee. He was supposed to leave for the Palace in three days, along with the other fourteen Suitors. So far, they had asked him invasive questions about his nonexistent sex life, checked him for STIs, inquired about his heat cycle (also something that he hadn't experienced yet), and now this? He knew what the Beta was implying, and yet he still hoped.

"If he wants something, do not refuse him." She hadn't elaborated further than that, not that she needed to. Robbie understood perfectly well.

Robbie's mouth felt dry, mind stuffed with cotton, fuzzy and slow under piercing green eyes. He had been travelling most of the day, then had been plucked and prodded, all of his imperfections pointed out before they were covered under makeup and cloth like he was some doll. Dressed in frilly skirts and fluttery makeup, yet he still fell completely and utterly flat in comparison to the god sitting before him.

The King was the picture of ease, sitting on the small couch, dainty hands resting in his lap. He looked comfortable, watching him through his unsettling eyes. Robbie felt like a specimen under a microscope, laid out bare for the other Omega to see. Then the King was inclining his head towards the couch across from his own, separated by a table that only held a few lit candles. "Please sit, Ms. Quarrels."

Robbie nodded in lieu of a verbal response, moving to do as asked. He sat down tentatively, adjusting the skirts he was unaccustomed to wearing. He felt silly, wanting nothing more than to shy away from his gaze, because surely someone like him shouldn't be in the King's presence. He was beautiful, intimidatingly so. The King leaned forward, extending his hand out towards him. "My name is Scott, as I'm sure you know. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Distantly, his brain finally realized that the King wanted to shake hands with him, which somehow seemed wildly inappropriate. He felt like he should be groveling at the Omega's feet, thankful to even be in his mere presence. Vaguely, he imagined those expensive leather shoes digging into his chest, those sinful lips curved up into a mean, condescending smirk above him. This made crimson bleed into his cheeks, because seriously, where did that thought come from? "I-It's nice to meet you too." He all but squeaked, silently cursing himself. Shouldn't he have addressed him with some sort of title? Still, he reached out and shook the man's hand. They were soft and warm, and his grip was steady.

"Are you okay?" The King asked as he pulled his hand away, sitting back against the plush cushions once again. He exuded a natural confidence, and though Robbie knew that the King could command a room by simply being there, had seen the man through a television or phone screen his entire life, yet nothing could prepare for him actually being in his company.

"I'm sorry." He managed to get out, even though he didn't know what he was apologizing for, "I'm just surprised that you know my name." He explained, and it wasn't entirely a lie. King Scott seemed much too important to know anything about Robbie, let alone what he called himself.