Chapter 16
Piper
I’m not expecting paparazzi photos of myself to be the first thing I see when we return to the manor estate, but then again, this is the Hale palace, and it has its own special gravity of drama. Today’s flavor: PR disaster.
We’ve barely shed the sand from our shoes before the perimeter is crawling with high-visibility vests—staffers, not press, though at this point, does it matter?
—and every window on the south wing is drawn tight.
The queen’s personal security detail stands in silent formation outside the palace doors.
Not good.
Inside the foyer we find the place mostly as we left it, with the exception of a ring of stone-faced men and women in navy suits. Kellen freezes, his hand barely off my lower back. Elliot narrows his eyes.
Nolan nudges my shoulder. “Remember to smile.”
The queen waits for us in the sunroom, and she is not alone. Her PR team flanks her.
“Prince Kellen.” She barely glances at me, but the PR team takes me in like a shark circling a seal.
Kellen matches her tone with zero joy. “Mother.”
What happened?
The queen surveys the four of us. “Let’s be efficient. Sit.”
We sit. Nolan parks himself just behind me, a personal blockade between me and any incoming hostility. Elliot flanks Kellen, which I doubt is lost to anyone in the room.
The queen lifts a single sheet of paper. “I’ll start with the obvious. Do you recognize this?” She holds it up like it’s a mug shot. I can see it upside-down: me, in hysterics, clinging to Kellen; Kellen’s arms tight around me, and Elliot’s hand on my waist; Nolan in the background.
Fuck. That’s not a selfie. That’s a million-dollar shot through a window with an insanely long-range camera. There’s no arguing context—anyone with half a brain will see the huddle and know exactly what it is.
We were supposed to be safe out there. Alone, except for a small amount of staff. But this shot was taken through a window facing the water during the thunderstorm.
Kellen tilts his chin. “There was a thunderstorm.”
“Thunderstorm,” the queen repeats. “And the three of you needed”—she glances at the page then back up—“to cocoon Ms. Sumner?”
This is worse than an interrogation. It feels more like a performance review with the threat of exile. Because it kind of is. The performance: the story Kellen and I have been portraying to the public.
Elliot leans in. “Piper’s not used to how quickly storms roll in on the coast. It startled her.”
The queen’s left eyebrow performs a small coup. “You, Mr. Blaine, have not coddled anyone in your employ in six years. Why start now?”
Nolan stirs. He’s been trying to disappear into the furniture, but the queen’s gaze pins him. “My job is to keep Miss Sumner safe, ma’am. That’s what I did.”
“Of course.” She turns the page over. “So what do we call this? Professional concern? Or is this a pack dynamic?”
Pack. She doesn’t whisper it; she lets the word bloom in the middle of the room, then waits to see if anyone flinches.
No one does, but I feel my pulse in my ears. Is she about to pull his entire PR stunt? Part of me wishes for that, so that the four of us can go ahead and live authentically. But I’m not foolish enough to believe that if that happens, Kellen will be made any kind of accessible.
“I can answer.” Although I’m not sure if I should. “They were comforting me. It wasn’t—” I gesture lamely. “It wasn’t a pack thing. I’m scared of thunderstorms, childish as it is. We’re not a pack, Your Majesty.”
The queen’s eyes cut through me. “Miss Sumner, you’re not the one being questioned.”
I snap my jaw closed. Heat floods my face like someone’s turned a dial, and the room narrows to a pinpoint with the queen’s face at the center. My pulse drums in my ears—thud-thud, thud-thud—nearly drowning out whatever she says next.
The queen folds her hands. “I want to remind you, Kellen, that the entirety of the Hale legacy depends on you not embarrassing us. Your choices reflect on the throne. I’m not interested in tabloid fodder, but I am interested in the truth of the nature of your bond with Mr. Blaine, and how it relates to Ms. Sumner. What does this photo suggest?”
Kellen doesn’t answer right away. The PR woman’s pen hovers over her notepad, unmoving.
The queen’s eyes narrow a fraction, her fingers tightening around the arm of her chair until the knuckles whiten.
Elliot’s breathing has gone so shallow I can barely detect the rise and fall of his chest. Nolan shifts his weight behind me—the barest whisper of expensive fabric—and the sound seems to echo in the suffocating silence.
Kellen finally answers. “Mother, I love Elliot. You know that, and that I have for years.”
A tremor. The queen’s mouth is a perfect, angry line.
“But no, we’re not bonded.” Kellen swallows the lie thickly. I understand. If we’re to announce our pack bond, we should do it on our own terms with control, not let some tabloid photo do it for us. “And no one else is bonded either.”
I can’t let this hang in the air. “Why does it matter as long as Kellen’s happy?”
The queen turns to me. “Because the heir to the throne does not get to rewrite history just because they’re bored of it. Prince Kellen’s pack will be chosen from royalty.”
Which distinctly does not include me, making this entire PR-relationship wholly foolish on the Palace’s part. It’s designed to end in short order.
I’ve got news for them on that. This relationship isn’t going anywhere.
I want to scoff, but I’m not totally disrespectful. “Is that really how it works now? Because the last Omega Selection Day, three royal alphas took a commoner omega front of everyone.”
The PR woman behind the queen makes a noise, a small, strangled giggle. She’s immediately elbowed into silence.
The queen fixes me with a look I imagine she saves for errant prime ministers. “You think this is funny, Ms. Sumner?”
“No, ma’am.” My voice cracks.
“Then perhaps you’ll do us the courtesy of remembering your station.
Everhart Pack are nobility and high society, not proper royalty like our family.
” She turns her gaze to Nolan. “And you. You were meant to provide order, not chaos. If I see so much as a whisper of scandal again, your badge will be in my fireplace.”
Nolan meets her stare. “Yes, ma’am.”
My fingers curl into fists, nails biting into my palms. Heat flares up my neck as I shift forward in my seat, putting my body between Nolan and the queen without even thinking. “Nolan was hired by me, not you. Years ago, mind you.”
Kellen shoots me a warning glare.
The queen lifts her chin. “Be that as it may, he’s working within my household, and both he and Mr. Blaine are employed by the same company. I’ll have them both removed if need be.”
Over my dead body.
The queen stands and smooths her skirt. “This little social experiment is over. Effective immediately, you will all behave as the Palace expects you to. I want no further incidents while we are in accord with one another, Ms. Sumner. Am I clear?”
No one answers. It’s not really a question.
She strides from the room, PR team in tow, leaving behind a vacuum and the faint tang of perfume.
Kellen lets out a heavy breath. “Well, that return home went well.”
Nolan’s voice is a low rumble behind me. “She’ll double surveillance under the guise of protection, but we’ll be watched. We’ll need to be more careful.”
Kellen runs his thumb over my knuckles. “I’m sorry, Piper. This isn’t what I wanted for you.”
I shake my head. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
He grins. “Then you wouldn’t be you.”
The air still crackles with something dangerous, but the queen’s perfume has faded.
All that remains is Elliot’s steady breathing and Nolan’s warm presence at my back.
Kellen’s hands tremble. I don’t blame him.
His mother is intimidating. But when our eyes meet, his lips quirk up at one corner—that same crooked smile he gave me during the thunderstorm.
I feel just as safe here now amongst threats as I did in my pack’s arms during the storm. It will have to carry us through.
But all I keep thinking is: What if we did let this story go? Maybe burning it all down to have space to rebuild is the right way forward.
I clear my throat. “So, on a scale of one to banishment, where are we right now?”
Kellen barks a sudden laugh. “I have no idea. Seems like she’s got a lot riding on this public relationship.”
Elliot softens, but the result is his posture only relaxing by millimeters. “She won’t do anything dramatic. PR will spin it as a misunderstanding.”
“Yeah, but—” I start, then think better of it. “Sorry. I should’ve let you do the talking, Kellen.”
He finally looks up, and his eyes are somewhere between fond and exasperated. “You’re not wrong, Piper. But you did overstep.”
I nod, the shame a little brighter than expected. “I know. But you saw her—she wants to act like we’re some weird little experiment, not people. I had to say something.”
Kellen squeezes my hand harder. “I get it. But you have to understand the rules are different here. I’m not just their kid, I’m the next in line. If they think we’re a liability—”
“They’ll cut us off,” I finish, jaw tight.
Elliot glances at Nolan. They have a wordless exchange that results in Nolan leaning in and saying, “Let’s be honest. The queen was never going to be okay with this.
Not with you, and definitely not with me and Elliot in the mix.
” He looks at me, brown eyes weirdly gentle.
“You didn’t cause this, Piper. You’re just the only one willing to say what everyone’s already thinking. ”
I snort. “Is that a compliment, or are you about to order me to shut up again?”
He grins. “You’re a brat, but I like it.”
There’s a long silence, the kind you can only have with people who know every flaw you’re trying to hide.
“I won’t let them break this up,” Kellen murmurs. “Not even if they try.”
Elliot’s hand finds Kellen’s knee. “Me neither.”