The Ugly Dukeling

by Bex McLynn

  “I hated you for it, Trone.” Atrates tamped down his past hurt. “Thought it meant you had a direct line to both my father and my sire. Leaving me with none.”

  Trone looked up at Atrates. “Valment—the best that he’s been able—has been the best father I never had, Atty.” He smiled, but it was bitter and sad. “I was going to leave Naosim because trying to get us both synten was becoming near impossible. Then Valment introduced us to Cisnetta. She saved us, Atrates.”

  He heard the deep respect in his brother’s voice for both Valment and Cisnetta. Atrates could immediately envision Cisnetta agreeing to help two men who desperately needed bezeten, yet had run out of options. Valment, though. He struggled to see his sire playing a magical matchmaker.

  Then it struck him.

  By god. He should have known!

  Astonished, he gazed up when he heard Trone’s dry chuckle. “Thinking about your faulty synten?”

  “You mean the bum synten that Valment sent me?”

  “That I do.”

  “Because of Cisnetta?”

  “Because of Cisnetta.” Trone raised his brows. “Does it make sense now, Atty?”

  It bloody well did. The synten he’d been taking since he arrived in Mayren all came from his sire. A sire who apparently dabbled in the matching of mates.

  “Simmy and I,” Trone’s smile dropped to a fierce frown, “we’re not enough for her. She produces too much bezeten. Even with us both siphoning her, she’s always on the edge of frenesia.” He honed his gaze on Atrates. “She needs someone who can ease her completely. She needs a knight in shining armor to rescue her, Atty.”

  Yes, Atrates had a ravenous need for bezeten—making him perfect for her—yet he huffed in self-disgust at his imperfections. “I’m an ugly alien in black armatura.”

  He thought of Cobbs. I’m an ugly swan.

  Hell, he was her ugly swan. He’d demanded that she take him, and she had. She’d taken him—accepted him as a gift—and now he belonged to her.

  With a sigh, his brother snatched a folded leather portfolio from the desk and tossed it to him. Atrates reflexively caught it with one hand. An impulsive misgiving urged him to hurl it to the ground.

  Trone nodded toward the leather portfolio in his hands. “Well, not anymore, you’re not. Now you’re a bona fide Ugly Duke.”

  Cisnetta opened her eyes to darkness. She blinked several times, expecting the darkness to resolve into the light of morning.

  It remained dark.

  Disoriented, she propped herself up on her elbows and looked about, identifying her new room in the dowager manor. As the rightness of being there began to ground her, the memories of last night rushed at her.

  Atrates. Oh, did she remember what she and Atrates did in that room. Hell, in that very bed.

  And she also remembered orange flames, black ash, and white feathers. All those colors painted the actions of a man who rose to defend her home, her happiness, and her heart.

  A man who—she tilted her head to view him at a better angle—was currently hiding behind the curtains.

  The room wasn’t shrouded in total darkness. The curtains had been closed, and sunlight streamed around the edges of the heavy drapes. She could see that Atrates leaned against the wooden frame of the sill, perhaps looking out the window while she'd been sleeping the day away.

  She rose from the bed, crossed the room, then ducked under the curtain to join him.

  The brightness of the sun blazed into her eyes. She blinked, gradually adjusting her vision. She found Atrates—wearing nothing but loose sleep pants—leaning against the sill, as she’d suspected. He was using the sunlight to read a stack of papers bundled together in a leather portfolio.

  Paper and leather meant this was a Mayreni missive. A legal-looking one, at that.

  His eyes roved over the words. With his brow flat and his mouth a grim line, she couldn’t read his expression.

  “Atrates?” She laid a hand on his arm. “What is it?”

  “The duke died,” he said without raising his eyes, his flat tone matching his indecipherable expression.

  Cisnetta scanned the words. From what she gleaned, the document wasn’t the estate will. She tilted her head, frantically scanning the words again as wonderment cascaded over her.

  “Atrates, this is a Title of Nobility.”

  “I know.” He flipped a page. “But that is all I know. Reads like gibberish.”

  With shaking hands, she slid the document from his grip. “May I?”

  He let her take it. She stood in the morning sun with the curtain draped over her head and shoulders, and her heart pounded as she read the royal decree.

  She flipped through the pages three times, almost ripping a sheet, before gaping up at Atrates. “You’re the Duke of Andrake.”

  Atrates frowned. “I bloody thought so.”

  He’d remained still with his shoulder against the windowsill and his gaze locked on the surviving fields of magone. Unmoved. Unaffected.

  Cisnetta, dumbfounded by his response, flipped back through the pages. “It says here that Trone voluntarily submitted for paternity testing.”

  Atrates shrugged, lifting the shoulder that wasn’t pressed against the sill. Nothing more.

  “Trone isn’t the duke’s son?” She would need a moment for that news to fully register. “You knew?”

  “I never fucking cared, Ciss,” he snapped.

  She knew his ire wasn’t aimed with her. He appeared frustrated and disgusted at himself because something this life-changing had taken him by surprise.

  Well, she knew what followed: an adjustment period.

  So she neatly folded the papers back into the portfolio and pulled the curtains open, bathing the room in light. She ran her eyes over the room and her mind began creating lists. Her twitching hands spurred her to bustle to her secretary desk. She rolled back the top, picked up her new farsimi tablet, woke the device, and began entering her notes.

  Atrates’s shadow crossed her, hovering like a storm cloud. “What are you doing, Ciss?”

  “Inventory.” She tapped away. “And measurements. And preferences.”

  “All of that?”

  “All of it.” To her delight, within a few fingertaps, the device registered the dimensions of the room. “Now, I believe the bed suits us. But we need another chest of drawers. And perhaps consider remodeling the closet into a toilet.”

  “Ciss?” He drew her name out as he slid his rough hands under her chin, gently guiding her gaze up. “What are you going on about?”

  “Well, you’re staying here, aren’t you?”

  Despite her bravado to carry on, to give them something else to focus on, a small part of her doubted. Lovely words whispered last night could evaporate like morning dew when something as indomitable as the dawn arose.

  Atrates had become a duke, while she had remained a den whelpling. Did he intend to move into the ducal estate and leave her behind?

  He ran his magone-blue eyes over her, assessing and searching and breaching her optimism, seeking the truth. Well, let him look. She had nothing to hide. The truth wasn’t always ugly. Sometimes it sparkled like sunlight glistening on a lake.

  To her, Atrates’s magical transformation into a duke overnight changed nothing. She loved him last night. She loved him this morning. She needed him to know that he never needed to change. She loved him exactly as he was.

  Atrates’s gaze softened, but his voice rasped in his throat. “The bed does not suit, Cisnetta.”

  The bed? The bloody bed?

  She'd been gazing up at him with adoration in her eyes and her heart thrown open, yet he griped about the damned bed.

  “Doesn’t suit?” She shook her farsimi tablet at him, since he still palmed her chin. “But I already took the measurements. A larger—”

  He kissed her. Silenced her with a groan as his lips sealed over hers. He stole her argument and her breath as he deftly relieved her of her farsimi tablet and pulled her clos
er.

  He broke the kiss and his deep, notching voice quaked her to her core. “We should measure more than once.”

  She swallowed, her throat dry. “More than once?”

  “The Otar have flaws. So does our tech.” He flicked his eyes away. “You measured that kitchen garden plot over and over.”

  Ah. Now she understood. She’d obsessively measured that plot, wanting to get it right.

  She never doubted her feelings for Atrates, but it seemed that he needed her to demonstrate her affection. “It would be my pleasure to measure—”

  She slapped her hand over her mouth, suppressing her nervous giggle, and stared wide-eyed at him.

  Oh, she’d just said that, didn’t she?

  She mumbled behind her hand. “I ruined the moment.”

  He gently peeled her hand from her mouth and, in turn, pressed it against his sleep pants, letting her palm his hard, thick arousal. “What do you think?”

  “That I made you harder than you’ve ever been before?”

  He stepped closer to her, keeping her palm against his cock. He lowered his crown to hers, groaning in carnal appetite as he thrust himself into her hand.

  “This is all new to me, Ciss,” he whispered, his hesitant admission at odds with the possessive confidence of his actions. “Laughter has always been at my expense.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t you dare stop. What you give me—” He swallowed and he gave her hand a squeeze. “No one else has ever given to me. You give, Cisnetta. You give and you give.”

  He kept rambling at her, his voice shaking with lust and reverence as he picked her up and took her to the bed. He continued to voice his gratitude and astonishment as he undressed her, pressing hot kisses to her already overheated skin.

  When he covered her, sheltering her with his body, he trembled in her arms as he thrust into her. His deep voice devolved into Otaric notches that struck like metal on metal. She knew enough Otaric to understand that he was praising the tight, slick grasp of her body. That he didn’t deserve to sink himself into bliss as he fervently ran his hands over her skin.

  With a guttural groan, he whispered new words into her shoulder. “And you take. Good god, you accept all of me.”

  As Atrates loved her, she held him close and her heart soared.

  Finally, he was beginning to understand. No change was needed. Simply an even exchange.

  And They Lived Happily Ever...

  “Cobbs!” Atrates bellowed as he stomped toward the lake.

  Bloody fucking fowl. That cob had done it again. He’d nabbed his son.

  He pointed at his nemesis for the past decade as he barreled forward.

  “I might not be able to defeather you,” that pardon was courtesy of Cisnetta, “but I’ve got a taxidermist on retainer, you honking codpiece. I’ll hail an airship and have him here in a trice.”

  His plan was foolproof, enabling him to keep his word to Cisnetta. Not a single feather would be plucked from her precious hell-fowl. If fortune favored him, Cobbs would be a stuffed dust collector on his desk by dinner.

  Cobbs, who had Atrates’s roly-poly son corralled with a fluffy bank of cygnets, leveled him with a bland expression.

  The swan was calling his bluff.

  Years ago, when Cisnetta had whispered to Atrates that he was going to be a father, his heart had swelled with love. Then panic followed as he prayed for the wellbeing of his wife and child. Finally, a glimmer of hope flared within him. That if Cisnetta had someone else to cuddle, her devotion to Cobbs surely would fade.

  But the opposite had happened.

  With the hatching of Cobbs’s cygnets, Cisnetta had bonded with all the tiny feather dusters. And when Erpel—named after Cisnetta’s father—had been born, Cobbs had adopted him into his bank.

  Of all the things on Gisth, Erpel was a dukeling waddling amongst baby swans.

  As Atrates scooped up his son and got a lungful of the toddler’s precious scent, he knew that his ranting was nothing but bluster.

  Erpel curled into the cradle of his arms while pointing one chubby, dirty finger and babbling, “‘Obbs. ‘Obbs.”

  “Is that how it is?” Atrates solemnly asked his son as he pressed a kiss to his crown. “You’re a fan of the fowl as well?”

  Then his son chattered in an endearing mixture of Mayreni and Otaric, uttering nonsense about Cobbs’s superior qualities.

  Atrates just shook his head. Erpel was indeed his mother’s child.

  Speaking of which—he could smell her. The pure scent of his wife hovered in the air, not dispersing with the breeze. She was near, and like an infatuated pup, he found himself gazing about, combing the area for her.

  Splashing from the lake drew his attention. He turned, catching Cisnetta as she broke the surface of the water.

  Every time he saw her, everything about him would fade as his focus condensed onto her.

  Every. Damn. Time.

  “I’ve got it!” she sputtered as water dripped down her face.

  She held her hand triumphantly overhead as she shook water from her eyes.

  As Atrates stared in confusion at the colorful cube in his wife’s hand, Erpel’s giggles provided him with clarity.

  He gently jostled his son. “Tossing blocks again, Erpel?”

  Erpel squealed in glee. Of course he was tossing blocks into the lake again, because either his mother or Cobbs would retrieve them.

  This time, it appeared to have been Cisnetta’s go.

  She waded in the water, gradually emerging as she neared the shore. Their game of fetch must have been impromptu, because she wasn’t wearing a swimming garment, but a summer dress that now clung to her enticing curves.

  He particularly admired the swell of her rounding belly, where she carried a future addition to their family.

  Possessiveness and desire rose within Atrates.

  He side-eyed his son. “Well played, young sir.”

  Cisnetta gingerly stepped ashore. Although their lives had been entwined for a decade, she’d never ceased in amazing him. She was a drenched duchess with a child’s block in her hand and a glorious smile on her face.

  “Did you see how far, Atrates?” The pride and playfulness in her voice had his chest clenching and his belly heating. She reached out and tickled their son. “Mighty good throw, Erie.”

  Atrates huffed. “He’ll never stop this, you know, if you continue to carry on like you do.”

  “It’s no matter,” she said in a sing-song voice as she kept grinning at Erpel. “He’s just playing, not being mean.”

  Atrates grumped. As always, Cisnetta had the better view of things.

  Cisnetta gazed up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Would you like to join us?”

  “Join you?” Atrates frowned as Cobbs paced impatiently before the lake’s edge, casting glances not at Cisnetta, but at the cube in her hand.

  “It’s Cobbs’s turn, but I’m sure he’d not mind you hopping the queue.”

  Like hell that swan wouldn’t mind.

  “And,” Cisnetta’s bright eyes and playful smile turned heated and flirtatious, “you’d get all wet, or perhaps, remove some clothing first?”

  He gazed down at her, his heart thrumming. “Just to fetch a cube?”

  She arched a brow as she fingered the colorful block. “To best Cobbs in fetching a cube.”

  “Ciss,” he stretched her name out in warning as she wrapped an arm around their son and pulled the tyke to her.

  “I have no doubts, Atrates.” She winked at him.

  Ah, but he’d been learning over the years, about the marvelous quirks of nuance and subtlety.

  “Doubts about what?” He couldn’t help the growl that rumbled in his throat.

  She tossed the cube far out into the crystal clear lake. With a honking battlecry, Cobbs took chase.

  Fuck that bird.

  Atrates pulled his wife close—being mindful of their son on her hip and the babe in her belly—as he cradled her nape an
d gazed into her eyes. “What doubts, Cisnetta?”

  She bit her lip. “That the winner sleeps next to me tonight.”

  Atrates, speechless, gaped at her.

  “‘Obbs!” Erpel cheered.

  Like hell Cobbs was taking his spot.

  He crashed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply as his gratitude for her rolled over him. After all these years, she still played with him. She gave him such joy.

  “If that swan’s in my bed, he’d better be stuffed into the pillows,” Atrates snarled as he dove into the lake.

  Dearest Reader

  Thank you, so much, for reading The Ugly Dukeling. I had a blast playing with the elements of this well-loved fable and giving Cisnetta and Atrates their Happily Every After with a science fiction romance twist.

  If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review. One or two lines make all the difference and are greatly appreciated.

  Thank you!

  All the best,

  Bex

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  If you’d like an introduction to my SFR series, Tell No Tales is a free collection of deleted scenes from The Ladyships. Current newsletter subscribers may download the story as well.

  bexmclynn.com/tell-no-tales

  Acknowledgments

  This was such a fun story to write and I am grateful that I have wonderful folks to thank.

  Chris - Thank you for your honest read and for keeping this story on-point.

  Honey and Emmy - If we hadn’t gone on a retreat, I never would have finished on-time or had so much fun writing. Thank you!

  Kathryn, Tammy, Janet, Kitty - You are all beta reader extraordinaries. Thank you for the fast turnaround and for your insightful read of this story.

  Cosmic Fairy Tale Collaboration - Thank you, everyone, for giving me such an amazing “first time” collaboration experience. Regine Abel, Emmy Chandler, Tracy Lauren, Amanda Milo, Honey Phillips, Tiffany Robert, and Susan Trombley—I had a blast!