Chapter 32
thirty-two
EVERHART PACK GROUP CHAT
Ivy
Um… I have a question.
Bast
Is it “how did I get more beautiful since yesterday?”
Because I was wondering the same thing.
Dair
Kiss ass
Asher
What’s your question, goose?
Ivy
Do princesses wear panties?
Bast
I think my heart just stopped
Dair
Nope.
Never.
Asher
I can’t say I have much firsthand knowledge, but I presume they do.
Why do you ask, darling?
Ivy
I can’t find any in this closet…
And then I thought maybe that was on purpose
Bast
Well…
Are chairs always this cold?
Or is it worse because I don’t have any underwear?
Bast and Dair were delighted, but Asher took pity on me and promised to find some. The thought of that—the crown prince, scrambling to find slick-absorbing panties—has me biting back a giggle as a royal-blue-clad attendant sets a silver tea tray on the table beside me.
“Her Majesty will be along in a moment, Your Highness.”
He keeps his head bowed, his face averted. The way I was trained to.
It never struck me as silly until this moment. Why in the world should anyone avoid looking at someone else? At me ? I couldn’t even find my own underwear this morning!
“I’m Ivy,” I say, sticking my hand out.
He blinks at it, hesitating like he’s about to put his wrist in a bear trap. Still, I suspect he can’t really turn down a handshake from the princess.
Me .
“Duncan, Your Highness,” he replies, still not looking up from the Oriental rug and its various shades of soft blue.
For a second, I almost insist he use my first name—but then I remember how I used to feel when Bast asked that of me. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t be friendly.
“Nice to meet you, Duncan,” I tell him. “Thank you for carting this all the way up here.”
It couldn’t have been easy. This palace is grand and historic, meaning most wings don’t have elevators. And the polished tray must weigh thirty pounds on its own, with those thick, intricately carved legs.
Not to mention the priceless china laid on top of it.
And, you know, all the food and tea.
Duncan catches my grimace and offers a kind half-smile. “It’s no trouble, Your Highness. Is there anything else I might get for you?”
The faces of my alphas flash through my mind. I wish I could ask for them, but they literally spent the entire afternoon and evening attending to my every whim yesterday. I can’t ask them to come running back to me every time I get the least bit anxious…
Can I?
No , I decide. Certainly, that’s not proper royal behavior. And today is supposed to help me get a handle on what is .
Besides, it’s only been a few hours since I woke up with Bast. They decided to ease me into sleeping with all of them, not wanting to bring my heat on too suddenly. For some reason, when they asked who I wanted with me, my Omega chose the baron almost immediately.
I’m still surprised none of them got upset. They genuinely seemed happy that I listened to my instincts, just like they did up in the nest…
Asher slept in his own room, but returned to Omega Suite before we woke up. Bast and I found him reading his papers beside the blazing hearth. A picture that was so familiar, I nearly wept with relief.
At least something is normal.
Everything else most definitely isn’t. The fact that Dair brought me a breakfast tray only underscored how much things have changed in such a short amount of time.
Our prince joined me for tea and toast, insisting on holding me in his lap. While we ate, he explained the family crest on all their china. It’s a traditionally-shaped heart surrounded by a flaming crown. His voice got a bit gruff when he told me that, should we bond and form our own royal pack, we’ll get to design our own emblem, too.
I couldn’t breathe then, and the memory leaves me winded now.
Or maybe I’m fooling myself and this tightness boxing my lungs has less to do with becoming a princess and more to do with Asher’s mother, the queen.
She invited me to her personal parlor for this “girls only” luncheon. It strikes me as odd to call it a “luncheon” when it’s just the two of us; until Duncan retreats and I glance down at the tray again. Noticing its size… and the fact that there are three cups on it.
Three?
Sure enough, a moment later, Queen Selene sweeps into the room.
And she isn’t alone.
A wide smile graces Her Majesty’s ageless features as she takes in the short, frothy pink dress Bast selected for me this morning. Before I can determine whether she approves—or, God forbid, notices the lack of certain undergarments—Asher’s mother turns to the beautiful woman hovering behind her.
“Ivy, mon amie ,” she starts, waving to the glamorous person wrapped in sumptuous red silk. “Meet Princess Ahmad.”