“You think he’s really interested?” one of the younger alphas said, looking positively crushed. Jules could sympathize.
“Who knows,” another alpha said, her gaze on the dancing couple. “But Westcliff is thirty already. He can’t sleep around forever. He’s probably thinking of settling down soon.”
Another alpha scoffed. “Please. It has little to do with his age. If the rumors are true, the king will want him to marry and produce an heir.”
The first alpha shot him a startled look. “You really think the king will disown Prince Haydn and make Westcliff the heir?”
“It’s not just a rumor,” the Marchioness of Ferhum cut in. “I’ve heard from a reliable source that the paperwork has already been drawn up. It should be announced any day now.”
A murmur of unease rippled through the group. “But he’s a Xeus,” someone said. “We have never had a Xeus on the throne. People will not be happy.”
“Which probably explains why Westcliff is suddenly expressing interest in a noble, beautiful omega,” another alpha said. “He’ll need a picture-perfect mate on his arm to reassure the common folk that he’s a normal alpha rather than the beast he is.”
“Careful with your words, Sodenberg,” someone else said. “If he’s the next king, you’ll have to show respect.”
Sodenberg sneered. “Come on, I’m only saying aloud what everyone else is thinking. A beast has no place on the throne.”
“Westcliff is not like other Xeus alphas. I actually would have never guessed he was one if I didn’t know.”
The marchioness chuckled. “You foolish boy,” she said quietly, her sharp eyes watching Westcliff as he led Liam through the steps of the dance. “Westcliff is just better at pretending to be civilized. A beast will always remain a beast, no matter how well it fakes being tamed.”
Frowning, Jules turned away, trying to digest what he had just overheard.
He was still pondering it when the dance ended and Westcliff escorted Liam back to his group of admirers.
“Thank you for the dance, Liam,” he said with a slight bow, holding Liam’s gaze and ignoring everyone else. He smiled. “It was a pleasure.”
Liam blushed and nodded. “The pleasure is mine, Your Grace.”
Jules pursed his lips and looked after the duke’s retreating tall form. There was something about the interaction that made him uneasy. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but coupled with what he’d just heard people discussing, it made him very unsettled.
He needed to find out if the duke was truly interested in Liam or if there was something else motivating him.
Slowly, he followed Westcliff around the ballroom as the alpha made his way to the door, clearly intending to leave.
The duke, however, was detained by another alpha. “A word?” the other alpha said, clapping Westcliff on the back.
It took Jules a moment to place his face. It was the Earl of Terlaine, one of Liam’s legion of suitors. The only reason Jules even remembered his name was because the earl was uncommonly handsome—almost as handsome as Westcliff was.
Westcliff nodded and gestured for Terlaine to follow him. They stepped out of the ballroom into the garden. Jules followed them as inconspicuously as possible, glad that the loud music was masking his footsteps. In other circumstances, the alphas would have undoubtedly heard him. His scent would have betrayed him too if it hadn’t been nonexistent thanks to his suppressants. Jules crouched behind a large tree and strained his hearing.
“Is your interest in Liam Blake genuine, Devlin?” Terlaine said.
Jules could have kissed him for broaching the subject.
Smiling, he leaned forward and peeked through the gaps between the leaves.
“What is it to you?” Westcliff said calmly, lighting a cigarette. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but his expressionless face contradicted it. There was something hard and calculating in his gaze now. It was like looking at a different man. The charming duke who had been smiling at Liam a few minutes ago was nowhere to be seen.
Terlaine didn’t seem as unsettled by the switch in demeanor as Jules was. He probably knew Westcliff pretty well if he was addressing him by his first name.
“Because I’m interested in him,” Terlaine said. “And I wanted to know if your interest is serious. I don’t want to waste my time.”
Westcliff gave a soft snort. “You sell yourself too short, Michael.”
Terlaine smiled wryly. “No. I know my worth. But I’m not you. And I’m not about to become the heir to the throne.”
Westcliff sighed and took a long drag from his cigarette.
Jules stared at the cigarette between those finely shaped lips, the dark stubble on that firm jaw, and pondered how a man so handsome could look so unfeeling and cold.
“I am serious, I’m afraid,” Westcliff said at last, shrugging slightly. “The king is pressuring me to marry, and I’ve been told Blake is the most sought-after omega in the country, so it’ll make a good story.”