Alpha Orion
Vega admitted.
Orion nodded once, digesting the information, “They made the right choice.”
Vega studied the Alpha carefully before he continued, “Everyone here believes you’re dead, I—I mean they're preparing for your funeral.”
Orion’s lips curved faintly. “Then let them—for now at least.”
Vega stiffened. “You intend to stay hidden?”
“Only until my mate sees me first,” Orion said. “I won’t let her hear it from anyone else.”
Vega inclined his head. “She’s in the western wing as we speak, awake, but refusing food or counsel.”