Duke Charming | Craig

One

"Chanel Leroy?"

I felt their presence long before I peeked over the counter to greet them. It's hard to miss it with my senses, and the only way of describing it is the feeling you get when a police car is driving behind you.

It's a presence that demands respect, and I, an omega, was in no position to deny them that.

Straightening up from behind the counter, I smiled my brightest smile, quickly raking my thoughts on what is the proper way of addressing a duke.

"Your grace." Yep, I'm 99% sure that's how it's done. "I was not expecting to see someone of status in my bistro today, otherwise I would've greeted you at the door."

That was not a lie.

Ever since opening this bistro and catering business in Direfair, I hardly expected anyone to stop by and see what it's about. Damn, was I wrong. It took three customers on the first day to spread the word – Direfair really isn't that big – and the next thing I know, I'm putting up 'We're hiring' signs.

And speaking of...

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end when I sensed my team poking their heads out from the kitchen, too curious for their own good to see whom I'm addressing as 'your grace' this early in the morning.

Even Bonnie, my waitress, stood gaping from where she was pouring one of our regulars a cup of coffee. She jolted and cursed when Angus yelped, gasping when she saw she had poured scalding coffee all over his lap.

Yep, I think it's safe to say my staff wasn't used to seeing a duke in our midst.

The duke in question, tall, dark, and handsome with piercing blue eyes, breathed a laugh and planted his hands on the countertop. "Please, there's no need for formalities. I'm running errands, you see. Just call me Rheon."

My muscles relaxed a bit when I couldn't sense any hostility from him. He is the alpha of the Craven Pride pack after all. He should be looking down on an omega like me, not telling me to call him by his name.

But I maintained my smile, hoping he couldn't sense that I'm just like him, only a few ranks down and ironically rather broken. A broken werewolf. A factory mistake. Sold in stores at an 80% discount.

"Only if you call me Nel," I said brightly. My team's hushed speculations on why the duke of Craven Pride is in our bistro, didn't slip my peak hearing. Even I was dying to know at this point. "So, what brings you to Nellie's Bistro, Rheon? Table for one?"

As if. I imagined he had an army of staff preparing breakfast buffets for them at the castle every day.

"I'd like to, but I'm running on a schedule today – fiancées am I right?" He chuckled at his own joke before skipping to business. "I probably don't need to inform you of the wedding at the end of this week."

"Not at all," I said in a beat, shaking my head. "Trust me, everyone in town is talking about it. If it wasn't such a private event, I'd bet it would've been even bigger than Kate and William's wedding."

Although I knew the true reason why they kept it small – it was werewolves only.

"Well, it wouldn't be as extravagant if we didn't have a caterer keeping the guests fed," Rheon mentioned casually, staring at me as though he was waiting for the hint to sink in.

Of course, it didn't happen right away. Because I laughed as if he just told the funniest joke of the century. Why on earth would an entire castle not have enough staff to cater for a wedding? And if not, I'd assume they'd hire a team of professionals who are used to catering for high-end celebrities and royalty.