Episode 36 Queen of Heats… Er, Hearts #3
“How does the law do that?” Cleo asks, even though from her tone it’s clear that she already knows. But this is for the edification of the people who will watch later.
“It’s built into the law,” Thayer says squeezing my thigh. “Inheritance of lands and titles must be verified by a paternity test. On the surface it’s to keep heirs from squabbling over parcels, but really it’s to ensure that the right person with the right blood inherits.”
“And in the case of the crown,” I add, feeling worked up and hot. “That means that any child Bree bears will not be in line for the throne and any child I have with my pack will need to be tested to ensure Forsythe is the father.”
“We’ll all be the fathers,” Grieves growls.
“Damn right,” Court adds, fingers brushing my shoulder in support, then pressing harder, a flash of concern coming down this bond.
“It’ll affect all Bravonnian packs, but it was targeted to my sister and me. That is what I mean when I say my grandmother, the queen of Bravonne, has stopped thinking of what is best for our citizens.”
Cleo nods, her eyes latching onto the prince, and I have to bite back a snarl and a demand that she stop looking at my alpha. What the hell is wrong with me?
“I see. I’m sure those same Bravonne citizens are wondering what is being done about it.”
I look at Forsythe, waiting for him to answer, but he pauses, hesitating.
“I… can’t go into specifics. I don’t want to give anything away before things are in motion, but needless to say, it will be resolved in a way that is best for all of our citizens.
Alpha, Omega, Beta. Packed or unpacked. This law will be struck down. That I can promise you.”
And he really can. Even if the queen doesn’t abdicate, Elizabeth will be queen eventually, and she’ll toss that shit out as quick as she can.
But even before we started this interview the Lords who had supported the law were suddenly reconsidering their positions, pulling their support and there was talk of a repeal without a change in ruler.
“Let’s shift gears,” Cleo looks down at her notecards and a wrinkle appears in her brows, like she’s not pleased with what she’s reading. “There was an assassination attempt at the Bravonne Royal Ballet-”
Grieves growls at just the memory and my lower stomach goes liquid and then clenches. I shift in my chair, growing hotter by the second. And hornier too.
Cleo pauses, taking in all of us. “Do we have any more information about who was behind the attempt?”
I swallow and try to focus, turning my attention to Forsythe as he answers her question, but my brain is becoming increasingly foggy and instead of understanding his words, I focus on the movement of his mouth, the way his lips shape words, the flash of his white teeth in his beard.
God, I want to kiss him. Want to scrape my teeth over that full bottom lip and-
Snap out of it, Ren!
“We believe,” Forsythe is saying. “That the order for the attack may have come from the palace or someone high up in the government.”
Well, that registers.
“What?” It comes out as a whisper, but it’s enough to have all of them snapping their attention to me. “You think your grandmother put a hit out on me?”
I blurt the question before I can think better of it, because of this stupid, creeping brain fog. Thank god this interview isn’t live—I learned my lesson on the last one—so they can edit that out.
Forsythe frowns as he looks at me, scanning my expression as Thayer lifts me bodily from my chair and deposits me on his lap, wrapping his arms tight around me. He sucks in a sharp breath as soon as his skin touches mine.
My scent blooms in the air, from just this, having his arms around me, sitting in his lap.
“Sythe,” he rumbles and something in his tone has the prince snapping his attention back to me. “We need to wrap this up.”
I open my mouth to protest, but then stop short. We’ve said everything we need to. And I’m really starting to not feel well.
The prince looks back at Cleo. “We’re not sure exactly who issued the order,” he says, his tone brisk and efficient.
“But we do believe the threat to Florence’s life originated from within the palace.
” He repeats, being careful to not outright accuse his grandmother like I did, people will draw their own conclusions about who it might have been and why.
“Do you think it’s possible,” Cleo says, with a fair amount of glee in her voice. “That it was Isadora Aureline? Perhaps she thought she could take out her competition, like she tried to do in that game of capture the flag.”
“The investigation is ongoing,” Grieves replies, leaning forward to slide his palm down the back of my head tenderly. “Florence’s safety is our only priority at the moment.”
“Is that why you’re in the US? For her safety?”
“Yes,” Forsythe’s quick to reply, looking back at me with that same worried tinge to his expression. “Always. The safety of my omega, my pack, is always our top priority and we decided until things change in Bravonne, it wasn’t safe for us to be there.”
Cleo’s gaze lingers on me just a touch too long, likely taking in my flushed cheeks and the way I can’t sit still on Thayer’s lap. His fingers dig into my thighs trying to keep me from grinding over his rapidly stiffening cock.
“I see,” she says slowly. “And what are your plans going forward?”
“Take care of our mate,” Grieves is the first to reply.
“Work to ensure the safety of the Bravonnian people,” Thayer adds, but he’s looking at me, I can feel his blue eyes on the side of my face.
“Have lots of babies,” Court adds, gleefully, making a choked laugh spill out of me. “Like lots and lots of babies. Some Ashbourne blood, but most not.”
Forsythe growls at that. “Give Florence whatever she needs to be happy.”
Piers shrugs. “Yeah, what they said. That’s what’s in the future for us.”
“And right now, what our mate needs is for this interview to be over.” The words could be considered abrupt and they kind of are, but Forsythe is still watching me with the look of adoration and worry on his face.
Cleo’s gaze sharpens, flicking between all of us, lingering on me just a beat too long.
Something in her expression shifts, understanding dawns.
“Florence-” she starts but doesn’t finish the question.
Whatever she was about to ask dies on her tongue.
I don’t think I’m hiding it very well.
The heat curling through me, the way I keep shifting, the way I can’t seem to focus on anything for more than a second…
My scent only getting thicker and sweeter.
Heat.
I’m going into heat on national freaking television.
Jesus Christ. Is there no end to my embarrassment?
Cleo gives a sharp nod. “Of course. Thank you so much for sitting down with me today, I hope we can do it again sometime soon.”
“Cut,” Marshall says from somewhere behind the cameras, his voice low but firm. “We’ve got what we need.”
Cleo leans back, studying me openly now, concern threading through her expression. “I think we’re done here,” she says, softer this time. “Thank you.”
My pack pushes to their feet. “No, thank you for doing this,” Forsythe says, smoothing a hand down his suit jacket, while Thayer turns my body into his, wrapping my legs around his hips as he slips an arm under my ass. “It means a lot.”
“Anytime,” the female alpha says. “Now go take care of your omega.”
I nod frantically against Thayer’s chest, only to whine when Lulu stops our retreat. “We’ll release the interview tonight, and it will remain unedited as you requested, unless of course there are certain parts of it that you don’t want to air?”
There’s a moment where I crack open an eye to watch as Forsythe considers. “No, air everything.”
“But-” I start to protest, but we’re already moving again, exiting the studio. “You should have had them remove the part where I accused the queen of putting a hit out on me.”
“No need,” Forsythe says, as we come to a stop. There’s the sound of a button being pushed and then the ding of an elevator.
“No one is going to believe that,” I mumble against Thayer’s throat, nuzzling into my mating bite as much as I possibly can. My alpha’s hands tighten, almost imperceptibly as he carries me through the studio.
“Doesn’t matter if they do or not,” Forsythe mutters. “We planted a seed of doubt tonight, and that’s all that matters.” His hand smooths down my spine. “Can you look at me, cor mea?”
I let out a little whine, already knowing that the lights are going to be too bright.
“She’s burning up,” Thayer tells them. “We need to get her back to the Calloways’.”
Another whine, louder this time, because it sounds like they’re going to leave me with Haven and her pack.
“No, love. No. That’s not what Thay meant. He meant we need to get you back to your nest, so we can take care of you.”
My nest. Fuck I want it. I need it. But… my nest in the pool house… “It’s too small,” I wail into my alpha’s neck. “You won’t all fit.”
“Well, not all at once, but you’re very bendy, so we can probably manage most of us,” Court jokes, but cuts off on a pained oof when someone punches him. Probably Grieves.
“It is really small,” Piers murmurs almost like he doesn’t want me to hear.
“Should we go to a hotel instead?” My omega hates that idea and lets it be known with a loud whine.
“Shh, killer, shh. It's okay. What if we… expand your nest into your bedroom? Hmm? What if the closet and your bedroom become the nest? Just until we can get you a new bigger nest. Would that work, love?”
I want to argue, but I really can’t. I don’t have any other options. “I guess,” I say grudgingly. And then we’re moving again.
“I’m never doing another interview again,” I warn them as we slip into the car. Thayer keeps me on his lap, his hand slipping between us to release his cock.
“Why’s that, cor mea?”
“First I faint, then I go into heat,” I pant out as Thayer hooks his finger in the gusset of my panties and pulls it to the side, thrusting into me with no fanfare or foreplay. And it’s perfect. “What’ll happen next?” I moan, rolling my hips over his, taking him deeper. “I give birth?”
They chuckle like it’s a joke, but I’m not really joking. It's a genuine concern.
“For that to happen, you’d have to be pregnant, sunshine,” Piers says, softly, stroking his hand down my spine as Thayer grips my hips and rocks me on his knot.
“Maybe by the end of the week, she will be.”
A shiver works its way over my body. He’s not wrong. I might be pregnant by the end of my heat. And if you’d asked me a month ago if I would be ready to have a kid in a year, I would have laughed, but now… now I don’t hate the idea.
And if the way my bond is pulsing with love is any sign, my pack doesn’t hate it either.