Episode 8 #3
“That’s all?” Court says, blowing out a relieved breath. “Jesus, Piers. I thought you were going to drop another bombshell on us.”
“When?” Sythe asks, sounding as though the very thought of Ren interacting with the press pisses him off.
“Tomorrow. It's for a morning show. They’ve just started teasing it.”
Morning for her will be afternoon for us.
“Who is doing the interview?” I ask because this matters. I have to believe she wouldn’t just throw herself to the wolves, agree to an interview with an arsehole or someone who’s known for gotcha journalism, but a life in the public eye is new for her.
What if she just doesn’t know any better?
“Heather Howle.”
Court gives us a worried look. “Is that good or bad?”
I run a hand over my face. “Good, I think. She’s known for being fair and honest. From what I understand she does a fairly good job of sticking to the approved questions. If Ren has someone with her who is aware of how things should go, she’ll be fine.”
“You think Ren has a publicist?” Grieves asks, sarcastically. We all know she doesn’t.
I shake my head. “No, but she has friends, right? Haven’s alphas treat her like a little sister, they’ll protect her if it comes down to it.” God, I hope I’m right. It helps to settle something in my chest the slightest bit to believe that.
Someone out there is taking care of my omega, even if it isn’t me.
Yeah, it’s just as soothing a thought as it is a frustrating one.
I should be the one standing by her side for this. I should be reviewing the questions, figuring out what she’s comfortable talking about and then relaying that to Heather and the production crew along with a warning about what would happen if they overstepped in any way with my omega.
Any. Fucking. Way.
But as it is I have to trust that they’ll take care of her when I can’t. When we can’t.
“Do you think she’ll talk about us?” Court asks anxiously and the rest of us give him a look.
“What?” He snaps defensively. “She hasn’t wanted to so far.
What if this interview is a way for her to tell the world what we did to her, what if she’s tired of being the bad guy.
Fuck, I almost hope she does. Rips us apart and tells the truth about what we did to her. ”
God, I think I agree with him.
She deserves to tell her side of the story. What a relief that she finally will.
Forsythe’s brow wrinkles though. “That isn’t what we should hope for.
” He gives Grieves an exasperated look when the other alpha growls.
“What? You know that’s not what we should want.
We can’t afford to look like the villains here.
Did we make a mistake? Yes. But we didn’t know she was our mate when we sent her home. ”
“We knew,” Grieves snarls. “On some level we all knew who she was. We just weren’t brave enough to pick her. God, Sythe. One more night. One more fucking night and we would have confirmed everything we suspected at the scenting ceremony.”
“And we would have still needed to send her home!” Our prime roars, finally snapping.
“Her life was threatened! The lives of her family! We couldn’t keep her even if we knew she was ours.
We can’t risk her like that. Risk her life and her safety.
Bloody fucking hell! What about that don’t you understand?
If we kept her, something bad was going to happen. ”
“Something bad did happen,” Piers says quietly, but firmly.
Not in the least bit cowed by the prince’s outburst. “Something bad did happen, Sythe. She recognized you. Her omega recognized you. And now she’s dying.
Just like you feared would happen. Only, in this instance you have the ability to save her. ”
“In any instance we have the ability to save her,” Grieves says stubbornly. “Her and her goddamn family.”
Forsythe’s jaw ticks. And normally this is where I would step in, try to smooth ruffled feathers, and help us all come to an understanding, an agreement.
But I also need to push Forsythe a little, we need to get him to his breaking point.
Not in a bad way, just so he realizes that there is more than his duty.
He needs to be the one to choose her, not because the rest of us dragged him into it or forced his hand, but because he sees that she is more important than anything his grandmother might ask of him.
Florence deserves that.
We all deserve that.
For anyone else their pack comes first. Their omega above everything.
Forsythe was raised to believe that is not the case. Both his parents and his grandparents were only two person pairings. I know it was assumed that Forsythe and Elizabeth would do the same. Choose an omega of the opposite sex and ensure the Ashbourne line.
That was never going to be the case for either of the twins.
I’m not sure if they see choosing a pack rather than a partner as one of the few ways they could rebel against the constraints of their position or what. But they both started forming their packs when they were teenagers, before either of them had presented as alphas.
So I know in Forsythe’s eyes, he’s already stepped out of line by choosing us, and he feels the least he can do is put his family first, put the crown first.
It's about time he learned that shouldn’t be the case.
“Your grandmother is the one who told Isadora about Ren’s knee, mentioned what a shame it would be if she had her old injury flare up during one of the physical challenges.”
“How do you know that?”
“She told me.”
“My grandmother?”
“No, Isadora. She admitted to it this afternoon when she was here.”
Sythe swallows thickly and looks away from me, unable to hold my gaze, to see the truth there. Grieves growls, even as he shakes his head. “We suspected that to be the case.”
“True,” our prime nods. “But having it confirmed is…”
Hard. For him.
Not for the rest of us.
It's only hard for us because it hurts him. To think his grandmother cares so little for his happiness is maddening.
I want to storm through the palace, barge into her room and snarl at her that she can’t get away with plotting against our omega, making threats against her. But that won’t actually accomplish anything.
“We should have looked into it sooner,” Grieves says.
“As soon as we got back, we should have tried to figure out who was leaking information to the palace. I should have.” He swipes a hand down his face, the same weariness that I feel evident in him.
We might not be suffering from RMD, but we’re still suffering. “It's my bloody job.”
Court claps a hand on his shoulder. Hard, if the way Grieves winces is any indication. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You were busy, hiding the fact that Pixie is our mate from us.”
The other alpha growls at him, but Court just stares him down. Fuck. We might never come back from this.
“What are we going to do?” Piers asks, diverting attention away from the alpha tantrum that was on the verge of occurring.
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to do.”
“Not until we know what she says, at least,” Forsythe adds. “Once she’s given the interview we’ll have a better idea of what to put into a press release as our response.”
“Our response?” Court asks incredulously. “Our response should be to back up whatever she fucking tells them. You know she’s not going to lie about it, or if she does it’s not going to be to tear us down, but to keep herself safe.”
This is true. Never once, in the time we spent with her, did Florence lie or manipulate. She didn’t tell us about her knee, but was it really any of our business?
“We’ll have to release a response,” Sythe says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We can talk about what that is as soon as we hear what she has to say. I’m certain my grandmother will have an opinion on the matter.”
Grieves is already shaking his head. “No. We aren’t going to let your grandmother dictate how we respond to our own bloody mate’s comments about us.
I’ll put up with a lot of bullshit, but I’m not going to let them keep painting her as the villain in all this, when we know she’s the goddamn beam of sunshine that brightens up our miserable fucking lives. “
Forsythe stares at him for a long moment and then nods. “You’re right. Whatever our response is, we’ll keep separate from the monarchy’s.”
“And we’ll decide what it’s going to be together, right?” Piers presses.
Our prime nods. “Right. I won’t do anything without consulting you first. All of you.”
I blow out a breath and the rest of the pack relaxes. “Good,” Court nods, decisively. “That’s good. Progress I say. Not perfection.”
We all give him a questioning look and he shrugs. “It just means progress is better than nothing, right? We’re moving in the right direction as a pack, as her pack.”
Her pack. Florence’s pack.
My body has a visceral response to the idea of that. To the notion of being her pack. More so now than it ever has before, like it’s priming itself to be everything she needs and everything she wants.
I glance at Forsythe to find him staring out the window, hand tucked in his pockets and a furrow in his brow, as though he’s working on a complex math problem and can’t find the answer.
I want to shake him. To tell him it’s not that fucking hard.
Florence is ours. We are hers. The end.
But I know Forsythe and he needs to come to this conclusion on his own. He needs to weigh all the outcomes and realize she’s worth it.
He’ll get there.
I just hope it’s not too late when he does.