Chapter 1
one
PRESENT DAY
Five.
Four.
Three, two ? —
A crash of crystal ricochets through the princes’ private dining chamber, echoing into the vaulted corridor on the other side of the double doors. I round my shoulders, cringing with my whole body as the staid dinner I’ve been eavesdropping on comes to its inevitable conclusion:
Whichever famously beautiful, oh-so-eligible omega the advisers lined up for tonight? Has had enough .
As evidenced by the scrape of a heavy, antique dining chair and the sharp clack of high heels.
Heading right toward me.
Uh-oh.
I look around for a place to hide—which is silly, because this hallway is literally a tunnel of pale robin-egg wallpaper and patinaed gold wainscoting.
Which, by the way, is not easy to clean.
There’s only one place to go—so I wind up flattening myself into the space beside the doors, praying to disappear.
The clacking draws closer. My eyes widen, flitting across the opulent hall to land, for half a second, on my friend’s.
Before I can speak or scramble, Gracie snaps herself to her full alpha height and brushes at the front of her tasteful navy work dress. Manicured fingers curl around the tablet pressed against her chest, tight knuckles the only outward indication of any strain by the time the high heels—and their owner—burst through the high, arched doorway.
I duck to the floor, doing what I do best—remaining absolutely undetectable.
If any of the staff find out that Gracie let me listen in on this catastrophe, we’ll both be toast.
I just barely catch the wince on my friend’s dark features before the heiress de jour bursts out of the room with a parting, “ Hmph !”
Ever the professional, Gracie steps forward, smiling blandly. “Ready to depart, my lady?”
From my place halfway behind the door, I get a glimpse of the beautiful omega. She is elegance itself, her long black hair swept into some artful updo. As a beta, her chocolatey scent is just a subtle glimmer for me, but it seems perfectly fine—and the curves of her body are as lovely as her emerald cocktail dress.
Perfect , I think, the word wistful. She’s perfect for them .
Well. Sort of.
“How you work for this pack of mongrels is beyond me,” the heiress— or maybe this one is a princess? —snaps. “Have my car brought around immediately .”
“Of course, my lady.” Gracie nods, expression devoid of any emotion. “Right this way.”
She thrusts out a hand, gesturing in the opposite direction. To keep the woman from turning toward me .
Bless her .
As if I don’t already owe Gracie everything. She helped me get this job as a housekeeper in Maytown Manor and vouched for me when they reduced the staff to a skeleton crew six months ago.
According to her, the royal family decided to limit themselves to essential, trusted personnel when the princes temporarily moved to the royal family’s country house to embark on their search for a princess. With the national media clamoring for details about the “Crown Pack’s” prospects, Queen Selene also went out of her way to ensure that the maid assigned to her son’s pack’s private quarters was a beta—and “the sole of discretion.”
Namely, me.
A decision that seems more prudent each time I find myself cleaning their sheets.
Or tidying the remains of these disastrous dinners.
Gracie had the Maytown housekeeper place me with the prince and his packmates specifically because she knows I would never betray her by telling a soul what I witness here.
Of course, I didn’t disclose that this is far from my first summer here… or just how painful it’s been for me, watching the alpha I used to know date every eligible omega in the universe.
Or, more specifically, every beautiful, titled omega in the universe.
Which is somehow worse?
When all of this began, half of me was sure Prince Asher would recognize me the first time our eyes met. And all of me hoped he might.
That was stupid—because, of course, if he had, I would have been fired. The Crown Prince’s parting instructions for me were very clear: I wasn’t supposed to come back.
I didn’t really have a choice, but once I knew he didn’t realize who I am, I made myself a promise. I like to think I’ve kept it—and done my best never to take advantage of everything I see and know about the prince’s pack.
But, I have to admit, I may have developed a bit of an eavesdropping habit since they arrived six months ago…
Does it help that I feel really, really guilty about it?
Either way, it’s too late to turn back tonight; I heard the whole debacle. And, honestly? I didn’t even need to overhear to know what happened.
He happened.
Dair .
I pinch the naughty voice whispering the duke’s nickname and prepare to step out from behind the thick wooden slab. A deep, tortured groan interrupts me.
“Jesus, Dair,” a lower, steadier voice growls. “ Again? ”
Shuffling inside the dining room has me ducking back behind the door. God forbid one of them notices me here. Especially Dair.
I mean, His Grace .
That’s what I’m meant to call him, until their pack takes an omega to bond them and officially turns the others into princes—and I did call him that, even in my head.
Until that strange, cold night four months ago.
Shh, little dove.
Would you really say no to a duke?
The warmth of his body, the scent of his rich tartness, all tangled in the thorns of some expensive liquor. A dark shimmer shifting in his even darker eyes. And the toe-curling rasp of his American accent—roughing up words he never should have said. Most especially to me .
I don’t even have to see him to know the pack’s infamous playboy now wears his signature snarl, replying, “You were going to fuck her ? With what? A paper bag over her head?”
I grimace again. Dear Lord . If he thought that gorgeous woman wasn’t appealing, I can’t fathom what he wanted with me .
Compared to her, I might as well be an end-table. Or an umbrella.
A third voice answers in a mutter—and I know it must be Sebastian, the charming one. “ I thought she was quite attractive. Nine out of ten.”
“ Of course she was attractive,” the first—and most powerful—alpha spits back. “She was selected by a team of people who are paid to keep our optics pristine.”
I know that’s true. Gracie is on that team.
Dair doesn’t seem deterred by this information. He sounds indolent as he replies, “Well, find a new team, then.”
Sebastian sighs. “We’re running out of time, Dair. If we don’t choose an omega soon, Asher’s father will choose one for us.”
The king—Asher Leopold Everhart the Fourth—is the latest in a long line of Everhart kings and rumored to be the most dominant alpha in their family line… though not the most prolific. He and his omega only have one child.
Asher.
Ash .
Seriously, someone needs to come get this voice in my head. She’s lost it.
Anyway. Everhart alphas have ruled without forming packs for the last three generations, so it was shocking to most when Prince Asher made a pack with his two closest friends from the Royal Academy: our oh-so-charming Baron Sebastian Burns… and Dairragh Vreeland, the notorious Duke of McAffry.
It’s unusual, these days, for a pack to inherit the crown. It used to happen all the time in the olden days, when scent-matched alphas and omegas were considered the Holy Grail for royal procreation. Now, it’s more common for politics to make these sorts of decisions—and keeping track of one crown prince is a lot easier than having three .
Which, we technically won’t , until they’re bonded. Thanks to whichever lucky—or, perhaps, unlucky —omega they choose.
If they ever make it through one of these courting dinners.
I have faith in them. They may be a bit chaotic right now, but it should be better once they’re a true unit.
And three knots are better than one?
Or so they say.
I certainly don’t say that.
I don’t even have a way to know that.
I’m a beta, for one. But even if I could take a knot like an omega, the extent of my carnal knowledge consists of a handful of dorm room fumbles, whatever I’ve gleaned from listening to my cousins, and the nonsense I deal with cleaning up after the princes.
When I first started working in this section of the manor, I admit I was shocked. I’d never really been around single men before, so I wasn’t prepared for the way they spoke to each other. Nor was I prepared for what tidying up after them would entail.
I mean, the sheer number of condom wrappers alone …
My cheeks heat as my stomach drops and rolls around the bottom of my abdomen like a marble in a bowl. The spinning sensation isn’t new—it’s been happening for the last few months—but the strength of it has become somewhat concerning.
It isn’t real , I coach internally. Just medical anxiety. There’s nothing wrong with you.
To distract myself, I try to guess what the duke will say next. A small smile curls my lips when he proves me correct, gritting, “I don’t even want an omega.”
“Not this again.” Sebastian groans, the sound alarmingly passionate and masculine and— no, Ivy .
Asher’s alpha power slices through the bickering. His voice follows, back to its usual even keel. “Enough. Dair, you knew we would have to bond an omega. And no one is buying your blustering about not wanting one. Bast, you’ll have to arrange an apology for the girl. Send flowers or plan a tea or something.”
I hear the prince stand, shoving back from the table and clipping across the floor. He tends to do that, now. Striding with purpose and rarely ever slowing down.
He’s different . So different from ?—
“Now that our evening is officially ruined, I’ll be summoned any moment,” Asher sighs. “You two better make yourselves scarce.”
There’s a pang in my breast. I’ve heard the king go off on the crown prince too many times to count, but ever since this search process started, it’s been a lot worse.
My hands wring under my apron as a tide of anxiety engulfs my stomach. He must feel twice as sick as I do at the thought. I wonder if there’s anything I can do to help…
His steady footfall rounds the corner. I know, even before he notices me, that he’ll pretend he hasn’t.
That’s his way. I catch him every time—perhaps because I know better than most how quick his mind is. I don’t expect his expression to flicker. But his eyes… he never could keep them from wandering wherever they wanted to go. To whatever piqued his endless curiosity.
A mind for science , my mother used to murmur with a sad smile. What a pity he’s a prince .
I think those words in that same tone each time I find him holed up in his study, greeting the dawn after a sleepless night. Or pacing the grounds after a fight with his father.
Or… moments like these. Where he looks at me for just the smallest part of a second.
And I think maybe— maybe —this will be the time he sees me.
But then he turns away. Strides on. Off to slay the next dragon.
What a pity he’s a prince.