The next few weeks passed as a strange and nervous dream from which I could not awake.

Everything I did, I did with the ghost of that fateful kiss on my lips and the heavy paranoia of consequence that did not occur. I had no fear that Draco would oust me, of course – one could never accuse me of not knowing his character – but the weight of knowing that I'd done something terrible, unforgivable, something that would surely cut short this wonderful new life at Avebury Manor I had carved out for myself if anyone were to learn of it, was a black stain on my conscience all the same. I was a perpetual bundle of nerves.

It was made worse, of course, by the fact that we did not speak of it. The only sign that it had even happened came in the long, lingering silences that blanketed our moments alone. We both of us knew and knew better. Both wanting, both resisting.

Suitors came and suitors left. The earl seemed hellbent on finding Draco an alpha as soon as possible – for what reason, I could not quite imagine. He was only sixteen, and it was not so odd a thing for omegas to delay marriage into their twenties, even in those days.

Draco, at least, was putting up a fight. He seemed to have no compunction whatsoever to get married, and I could not say I blamed him. Even though a fair number of his suitors were charming, erudite, intelligent, and even genuinely taken by Draco's grace and poise, he turned them all down, sometimes politely and sometimes with cutting sarcasm.

But nothing could have prepared him – or me, or anyone – for the letter that came in late November, announcing the intended visit of His Grace the Duke of Cambridge, Thomas Marvolo of House Slytherin.

Though House Malfoy was a cadet branch of the Royal House of Slytherin, it remained unaccustomed to visitors of such a high esteem. Avebury Manor went into a flurry of preparation, and the question was on everyone's lips, right up till the day his carriage came rattling down the snow-dusted path.

"You know of his intentions, I hope," the earl said, his words a twisting gray mist in the cold November air.

Draco, standing besides him, did not answer.

For such an auspicious arrival, all the servants were lined up outside, despite the frightful chill of the new winter. The duke's carriage, I could see, was pulled by two lean, glossy horses whose night-black coats were a stark contrast to the snowscape.

"You have thus far been rather obstinate in our conversations concerning His Grace, Draco, so let me be clear."

The earl turned to his son and locked him with such a chilling glare that it put the November snow to shame.

"If he proposes to you," the earl said, "you will accept."

Draco remained silent. His eyes were fixed on the approaching carriage as if it was a harbinger of his own destruction.

"He is a duke, Draco," the earl continued. "There is a better than decent chance that he will be king of England one day. You'd best thank your lucky stars that he has even decided that you are worth his consideration."

The carriage rattled to a halt, and Mr. Snape stepped out of line to open the door, dropping into a deep bow.

Out stepped the Duke of Cambridge.

I confess that I did not know quite what to expect the Duke of Cambridge to look like, but I don't think I would have ever considered that he would be one of the most handsome men I'd ever met – and he was decidedly handsome, not beautiful like Draco, but strong and elegant in a very classical, patrician sort of way.

His hair was a deep chestnut brown, nearly black, and his eyes were sharp and quick. The features of his face were elegant and his limbs were long and well-proportioned. He wore a suit of pressed pinstripe and carried a mahogany walking stick with a weighted handle. He was, undeniably and unequivocally, a duke. An alpha. A king.

And his eyes landed immediately on me.

Before he'd stopped to get his bearings, before he'd looked to Draco or even to the earl, he looked at me, and his dark eyes burned into my skin. At once I was lost for breath.

"Your Grace," the earl said, stepping forward. "We are honored."

Finally, finally the duke's eyes left me and turned to His Lordship. I'm sure I sagged under the weight of my own relief.

"It's good to see you again, Lucius," he said, offering a thin hand which the earl took in a strong, steady grip. "It's been too long."

"Nearly a decade," the earl agreed.

"And this must be your son."

Draco tensed, but dropped into a deep, wordless bow. The duke returned it, more shallowly, and when Draco rose, the duke reached down, took his hand, and kissed the knuckle.

"The suitors whose hearts you have broken spoke at length about your sparkling wit and grace, but I dare say they left me woefully underprepared for your beauty."

My mouth went dry. I felt nauseous, and Draco seemed momentarily lost for words.

There was no denying it any longer; anything past this was just formality. The duke had plans to propose to Draco, and Draco would have to accept.

"You are too kind, Your Grace," Draco managed, voice hoarse, after a lapse of silence.

Another carriage rattled up behind the first – one for a few servants of the duke's, no doubt – and the earl, looking particularly pleased with himself, clapped his hands together loudly.

"Let's get you inside, Your Grace," he said. "After a day of travel in this frightful weather, I'm sure you'd be glad for a chance to thaw by a fireplace."

The earl, the duke, Draco, and Mr. Snape started inside, and as soon as the door closed behind them, the servants broke out into excited whispering about the duke and his intentions for Draco and how they might be serving a future monarch.

I was not so eager and did not join in the enthusiasm. Instead, I went over to the duke's servants' carriage to help unload his things, but reeled back in sudden shock when—

"Mr. Pettigrew!"

He had just climbed out of the second carriage, bundled up against the cold. When he saw me, he smirked.

"Mr. Potter," he returned, and there was venom in his voice.

"What are you – you're working for the duke?"

"I'm his valet, in fact," Mr. Pettigrew answered, straightening. "He searched me out specifically when he learned that I'd been let go."

He spoke as if the words were meant to wound me, though I couldn't imagine how they might. Despite my confusion at his apparent malice, I smiled.

"I'm happy for you," I said, because I was. "It was unkind of His Lordship to let you go. I'm glad you were able to find work again – and with a duke, no less. That's quite a promotion."

Mr. Pettigrew frowned, as though he was disappointed that I wasn't more upset.

"You should get inside," he said after a moment. "I know where to take his bags."

I frowned, wanting to ask him what was wrong, but the servants had all set to emptying the carriage and it was getting rather cold. I pushed my way inside, rubbing my hands together and wondering if Mr. Pettigrew blamed me for his dismissal. I suppose I couldn't blame him if he did.

By then, the earl, his son, and his illustrious guest had gathered in the sitting room. The duke and the earl were on opposite sides of a loveseat while Draco was perched uncomfortably on an armchair. I crossed toward the fireplace, gathering a few pieces of firewood from the bucket by the wall and adding them to the fire.

The earl finished saying something about their plans for Christmas, and then the duke changed the subject: "Your valet?"

I looked reactively over my shoulder before I turned forward again.

"Yes," the earl said. "Harry Potter."

"An alpha," the duke observed. "I hear that alphas make excellent valets."

"Well, he's certainly an improvement over Mr. Pettigrew. I heard you took him up!"

I brushed the dust from my hands and rose to my feet in time to see the duke sneering.

"Yes," he said. "Obsequious little beta, though competent enough in his duties. Still, I think I'd replace him in an instant if I could find an alpha to take the position."

"I fear I shall have to jealously guard Mr. Potter from you," the earl said. "You're quite right in your observation – an alpha is a far superior valet. Mr. Potter, why don't you pour us all some brandy?"

"Yes, My Lord," I said, moving towards the liquor cabinet in the corner.

"Still, alphas are so very rare in the lower classes," said the duke. "You don't often get breeding good enough to let them crop up. I say, Mr. Potter, was your father an alpha?"

I hesitated mid-pour – but only for a moment. I regained my bearings and continued.

"I couldn't say, Your Grace," I answered. "My father died shortly after I was born, along with my mother. I never knew them."

I filled the last glass, set them all on a small tray, and carried the drinks back over. To my surprise – and a rather creeping sense of deep-seated dread – the duke was smiling widely, almost manically. The sight of it made me very nervous, especially when it widened as I handed him his brandy.

"Is that so," he said, rolling the snifter between his fingers. "You don't know anything about your family at all, then?"

I had no idea why he was so interested in me, though if the expression on his face was any indication, I had a feeling I would rather not know.

"I know that their names were James and Lily," I said, doing my best to act as if the duke's scrutiny didn't bother me in a very visceral way; and indeed, under his questioning and careful visual dissection, I was both emotionally and physically unsettled. "I know that they died when I was a baby. I know my mother had red hair. But apart from that…"

I shrugged.

The duke's smile had grown even wider, and he took a long, silent pull of his brandy, though his dark eyes didn't leave me for an instant.

"I didn't know you were an orphan," the earl said.

"I was raised with my aunt and uncle, My Lord."

Draco, I noticed, was giving me a sad, sympathetic smile, and it warmed me better than the fire could. We'd spent the last few weeks avoiding each other as much as possible, and seeing that soft smile again was a breath of fresh air.

"And you don't know anything about them," the duke said, quietly, thoughtfully. "You don't know anything at all."

I looked back at him, the warmth from my angel's smile was tempered by uneasiness from duke's manic smirk.

"No, Your Grace."

He finished off his brandy, and his dark eyes didn't leave me once.