The problem was, everything in him rebelled at the thought of hurting Julian. He didn’t really believe that it had been just meaningless sex for him. Or rather, Devlin didn’t want to believe that. Fuck, he really was a dick. He should have wanted Julian not to have feelings for him, instead of selfishly wanting him to be hung up on him. This was fucked-up. He was fucked-up. He couldn’t afford to feel this way. He had responsibilities he couldn’t walk away from.
Devlin sighed and got to his feet. All right. Clearly he wasn’t getting anywhere. He was thinking in circles again.
He needed a fresh perspective on the issue.
There was only one person in the palace that he trusted: Ilona. His childhood nanny still worked at the palace, having been promoted to Head of Staff, and she always seemed genuinely delighted when he visited her. As he’d grown older, he didn’t visit her as much as he used to in his childhood, but he was still fond of her and he trusted her. She had always been kind to him and didn’t seem as intimidated by his rank as the other servants were.
The corridors in the servants wing were empty at this hour—it wasn’t late enough for servants to be heading to their rooms yet—so Devlin didn’t encounter many of them on the way to Ilona’s office.
He had stopped by her door and raised his hand to knock when the noise in the room made him pause.
The door was cracked open, making its soundproof properties useless. Devlin could hear the sounds of intimacy: breathy moans and sounds of flesh moving against flesh.
He raised his eyebrows, honestly surprised. Ilona was still a very attractive woman, but he hadn’t known she was seeing someone. She’d never mentioned anyone and barely talked about her late husband.
Yet there was the unmistakable sound of kissing, wet and urgent.
Grimacing in discomfort, Devlin turned away. He’d come back later. Clearly it wasn’t a good time.
“Not here,” Ilona said breathlessly. “Stefan.”
Devlin stiffened and looked back at the door. Stefan?
It wasn’t a rare name, but as he focused on his senses, letting them sharpen, he recognized the king’s alpha scent. Ilona and Stefan? Since when? Devlin hadn’t even been aware that the king had trysts with omegas. It was well documented how little he thought of them. That said, the king was just sixty-four—a healthy middle-aged man in excellent shape. Of course he would have some trysts. Everyone knew he and the queen hadn’t slept in one bedroom in decades.
“Shut up,” Stefan bit out. “I don’t want to hear your voice or your—” He let out a guttural sound, and then there was the unmistakable rhythmic sound of a cock moving inside a slick hole. “All these decades, but you’re still poisoning my thoughts,” he gritted out, his voice thick with resentment. “What have you done to me, you little—” His voice cracked and turned into a groan, the slaps of flesh against flesh coming faster.
The omega didn’t reply, just breathed in hitched gasps and whimpers, the sounds muffled as if she was trying not to make any noise.
Devlin stood frozen, his mind reeling as he connected the dots—the oddities he had noticed as a child but had disregarded. Ilona, a simple maid, being assigned as his nanny. Ilona, a simple maid, knowing that he was the king’s son. Ilona, always being there for him and showing clear favoritism to him over Haydn—despite everyone else on the staff preferring Haydn. Ilona, who had apparently been the king’s mistress for decades. Ilona, who had green eyes, just like his.
Devlin almost laughed. He couldn’t believe how blind he had been. All these years, he had wondered about his mother, but he had searched for his own features in members of high society. He hadn’t even considered that the high-and-mighty king who despised omegas would lower himself to an omega maid—and legitimize their child.
The room was quiet now. They must have finished.
Devlin stared at the door for a moment before rapping on it with his knuckles and pushing it open.
He almost regretted it when Ilona let out a startled cry and jumped away from the king, straightening her clothes hurriedly, her face flushed. “Your G-grace!” she stammered, looking anywhere but at him.
Taking pity on her, Devlin shifted his gaze to Stefan.
The king was straightening his clothes unhurriedly, his arrogant face slightly flushed but set into a hard, haughty expression.
Devlin’s claws itched to come out. “Your Majesty,” he said with a smile. “What an unexpected surprise.”
Stefan pursed his lips, zipping his pants up. He said nothing, exchanging a look with Ilona.
The air in the room was so thick with tension it was palpable.
Devlin sat down in the armchair, pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
Normally, Stefan would have berated him for smoking indoors. Ilona would have chided him for smoking, period.