It was just as obvious by the pheremones that Edmund was a beta, a rare middle-of-the-pack who had been born into royalty and still had to claw his way up the ranks to prove his worth as a leader. He might project alpha, he might even top now and then, but he was a self-made King, not granted it by any right of birth or pack order.

That he did not fear to change was just proof of how well he'd earned his place here. He didn't care who knew he was a beta. He just was. And he was King. And that was that. Any who wished to fight him over the matter, to challenge his right, could do so, and they would end up the way the rest of them had, clawed to shreds with vicious teeth sunk in the neck and vowing either lifelong loyalty or certain death.

This Alphonse...was not the type to do such a thing. Edmund knew it before he even smelled it. He padded nearer, and the side of his neck brushed Al's mane. Gods, he was so big. He dripped of Alpha goldenness. It would be so easy to tackle him, tangle limbs together, nip at his neck and grind their lower halves together...

Instead, Edmund tugged back at the rag. He growled lightly, and he'd be grinning openly if his Panther-grin didn't look so much like a flash of teeth. "Sure you can win, little Lion?" he muttered, without letting go of the firm clench.