Episode 27 The Queen of Mean #2
He chuckles and crawls onto the bed and then right up to me, bracing his hands on either side of my hips as he brings his face close to mine. “I promise we won’t be gone too long, yeah?”
I shrug. “I’ll be okay.”
“‘Course you will, bubbles,” Grieves says, clapping a hand on Court’s shoulder and starting to drag him away. When Court protests, he adds, “We’ll never get out of here and do what we need to if you get started on her, Court. You know that.”
It's probably true.
“You’re sure?” Piers asks one more time, a brow arched.
“So sure.”
He nods and follows the two alphas helping to herd Court out the door.
“Try to get some more sleep, killer,” Thayer says, leaning in to brush a kiss over my cheek. “You’re going to need it.”
Before I can question why exactly that’s the case, he’s off the bed and out the door. I look up at the prince, lingering near me, like he’s reluctant to leave.
“If this wasn’t necessary, cor mea…”
I nod and pinch the fabric of the blanket between my fingers. “I know. I understand. You’ve been telling me your duty comes first, and I know that hasn’t been the case recently.”
He lets out a low growl before bending at the waist, cupping my jaw so I can’t look away from him.
“I want to be clear. What we’re doing today has nothing to do with my duty to the crown and everything to do with you.
It's necessary for us to be able to move forward with you as a pack. Otherwise I would never leave you, yeah?”
I want to believe him but can’t fully shake the importance of his duty to his country. And if I feel the weight of that, surely he does too.
“Florence,” he growls when I don’t immediately agree.
“Fine. Yes. I believe you.” But I’m not sure I do.
And he can see it too.
He leans forward with a sigh. “We’ll be back this evening. Try to relax as much as you can today. Thayer’s right that you’re going to need it.” His lips meet my forehead and then he’s stepping back, keeping his eyes on me as he leaves me alone.
I stay in bed for another hour, dozing but not really sleeping.
But when I hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, I can’t stay in bed.
They told me that they wouldn’t be back until this evening. So if one of my pack is here, something must have gone wrong during whatever it was that they were doing.
If we were bonded, I’d already be able to feel them, to know if they’re upset or just annoyed.
But we haven’t taken that step. I’m honestly not sure if I’m ready, even though my omega has been making a stink about it for days. Weeks. Ever since I woke up in the pool house sandwiched between Court and Piers.
I roll out of bed and don’t bother to check my appearance before hurrying out of my bedroom.
I draw up short when I enter the living room, fear cascading through me, which is ridiculous given that the person I find perched primly on the edge of the sofa is an eighty-year-old woman clutching the head of her cane in both hands.
She eyes me like a bug to be squashed as I dip into a polite curtsey, but nothing too deep. She doesn’t deserve that amount of respect.
“Your Majesty,” I say, keeping my voice even and polite. “How can I help you?”
The queen runs her eyes over me and I am acutely aware of how improper my outfit is.
Cotton sleeping shorts, a bralette, and a shirt of Grieves’ so old and worn it feels like butter against my skin.
Of course, it is only nine in the morning and I’m just getting out of bed, so I don’t see why it should be a problem.
But I suppose she’s been up since five and had a slew of servants help her dress before she set foot outside of her room. It would only be proper. The queen can’t be seen bleary-eyed and comfortable now can she?
“I would like to know what it would take,” she says.
“I’m not sure what you mean… Your majesty.” I do know what she means, but I’m not going to make this easy on her. Fuck that. I will Elizabeth Bennet this Lady Katherine De Bourgh bitch until I am blue in the face.
“Come now, girl, don’t be dense. What will it take to get you to leave, and to ensure you never darken our door again?”
The smile I give her is tight with anger. “My name is Florence, not ‘girl’. And there isn’t anything you could offer me that would make me simply give up my fated mates.”
“No?” She doesn’t sound convinced.
“No.” I shrug and fold my arms over my chest, dropping the illusion of deference I’d pulled on. “As long as they want me here, as long as there is a chance for us to stay together, for us to bond, I’m not going anywhere.”
She runs a calculating gaze over me, like she’s tallying up what she sees and is reaching her own conclusions about what I value.
“A million dollars.”
“What?” I nearly choke on my tongue at the audacity.
She sniffs. “You heard me. I will give you a million dollars to leave my grandson. That is more than enough to give you a pleasant life, is it not? You could pay off your mother’s debts, send your little sister to the best schools.
” The mention of my family has the hair on the back of my neck prickling.
Hadn’t Forsythe told me part of the reason they’d sent me home from the show was because she’d threatened my family? Is that what she’s doing now?
Even if she is, my answer is the same. “No.”
“Two million.”
“No.”
“Three-”
“No! There is no amount of money that would be enough to make me give up my fated pack. It's pretty clear you don’t value those types of bonds as much as I do, but I am telling you no. No, there is nothing you could offer me to make me leave them. The only way that happens is if they tell me that is what they want.”
There’s a lengthy pause where we glare at each other, where she realizes I am not going anywhere, because my pack will never ask me to leave. Ever.
Not even her princely grandson.
“You will never be a princess,” she says this solemnly, like a vow, like she is making that promise to herself, like she expects that to wreck me.
“Oh no,” I say in mock sadness. “Whatever will I do with my wide collection of tiaras and ballgowns?” I snort.
“I’ve managed my entire life not being a princess, I’m sure I’ll be just fine without a title.
You on the other hand…” She stiffens meeting my gaze head on.
“Things aren’t looking great for you are they? ”
She sniffs, regally. “I have no idea what you mean.”
I laugh, short and sharp. “That little stunt you pulled with the Omega Welfare Act? People aren’t as dumb as you thought they were, are they?
They can all see this for what it is, not an act of a benevolent ruler, intent on keeping her people safe.
But a desperate grab for more power, more control. ”
“You should have more respect,” she snaps, her royal veneer cracking, just like Forsythe’s does when I push back a little too hard.
“I see no one in this room worthy of my respect.” I take one step toward her and am not at all surprised to find that she’s taller than me, even at her advanced age.
She is after all an alpha. One that hides behind a grandmotherly veneer, but an alpha, nonetheless.
“If you want my respect, you don’t get to just demand it.
You have to earn it. And nothing in your actions has proven to me that you are worthy.
You were born into a royal bloodline? Big fucking deal.
Show me where that means you’re a good person.
” I take a deep steadying breath, trying and failing to cool my fury at this woman.
“You are manipulative. You are uncaring. You have worked endlessly to ensure that your grandson remains under your thumb, even if that means he’s unhappy. ”
She opens her mouth like she might deny that, but I will not give her a chance.
I don’t want to hear her justifications for her actions.
“He found his fated mate and rather than celebrate it, embrace this wonderful, beautiful thing that is between us, he’s struggled to find a way to have me and keep you happy.
How is that right? You should be happy. You should be thrilled we found each other, and instead you’ve done everything you can to keep us apart. ”
“You think I should be happy?” she says, steel lacing her tone.
“You think I should rejoice that the fates have paired my grandson with someone so far beneath him? You aren’t even fit to shine his shoes, let alone walk next to him.
You are so obviously wrong for him, for this country.
Of course I could not celebrate it. If he’d been fated to any one of the Bravonnian nobles, I would have.
But you? A poor American. A failed dancer.
A bank teller? No. I could never celebrate that. And Bravonne will not either.”
I think she’s wrong about that. In the last few days, I’ve seen the true hearts of the Bravonnian people. While there are a fair number of them that believe the pack choosing Isadora over their fated mate is more romantic, more of them are rooting for fate to win.
But I don’t tell her that. Instead I lean in closer to her, letting every ounce of my fury and determination show on my face. “If that’s the case, then I suppose Bravonne isn’t the place for me after all.”
She grins like she thinks she’s won something, like she sees that as an admission of my leaving my pack. I’m quick to relieve her of that notion. “I guess, we’ll just have to go back to America. Build a life there. Me and my pack.”
“You’re a fool if you think Forsythe will leave his country for you.”
I scoff and shake my head. “And you’re a fool if you think he wouldn’t.”
There’s a long silence during which she looks down her nose at me, the gears of her brain whirring as she recalculates, finding her new angle. After a moment, she sighs and nods, as though she’s weary of me. Which she probably is.