Chapter 5 #2
I stomp to my suitcase and start pawing through options. The majority of my wardrobe consists of sparkly performance outfits, threadbare jeans, and the one “serious” dress I keep for funerals and lawsuits. There is no category for “summoned to the palace to explain your embarrassing omega problem.”
I hold up a sequined blazer. “Is this too much?”
“Yes,” Nolan says.
I hold up a black slip dress.
He hesitates. “Maybe with a cardigan.”
I put both back. “You’re no help at all.”
He’s silent, watching me struggle with my own disaster. Nolan has great advice on a lot of things, but fashion is not one of them.
I go back to digging through my bag and can’t help thinking about the fact that my entire life is now a viral meme, and it’s not even seven in the morning.
Somewhere, my mother is cackling.
The palace car is waiting in the circular drive outside the hotel.
Security guards keep paparazzi and fans away but I can’t get into the sleek black SUV quick enough.
I slide into the back seat with all the grace of a hungover gremlin.
Nolan gets in next to me, scanning the sidewalk with that “extraction team” energy he exudes.
The driver nods but doesn’t say a word. I dig my nails into my palms and wonder if you can get car-sick just from stress.
Raelynn files into the front seat and we’re off as quickly as possible. The city recedes, replaced by wooded hills and tidy little fences until it’s clear we’re suddenly on palace grounds. A ridiculous sprawl of gardens and fountains go on for a quarter mile ahead of us.
The car slows at a gatehouse where guards perform an extensive sweep of the car despite all of us being invited here and driven by their own people. One of them eyes me, then does a double take at Nolan. I watch the subtle up-nod they exchange. Do bodyguards have a secret language? Probably.
Then I see the patches. Ravenwood Shield Security. The same company Nolan works for that specializes in royal and celebrity security. I wonder if they know each other but don’t ask.
We’re eventually ushered through. The car glides up a long, cobbled drive to the front entrance.
I don’t know what I expected—some kind of old-money fortress, maybe, or at least a building with turrets.
But the place is modern as hell with huge windows and no visible security.
The air is so perfumed with blooming stuff that I can taste it in my throat.
I check my phone. Zero bar. Intentional, I assume.
Inside is incredible. Marble is everywhere.
In floors and pillars and statues. The ceilings are so high they could probably host their own weather systems. A woman in a tailored black suit greets us at the door and ushers us along to a waiting lounge, which is approximately the size of my entire childhood home and contains more gold leaf than the Vatican.
There are even pastries that look delicious, but I think I may vomit if I eat right now.
Nolan remains standing in the doorway, looking far more relax than normal. Probably because this entire place is filled with insane security.
We’re only alone for five minutes, but it’s enough for the dread to curdle into panic.
“If I throw up, you have to kill me,” I whisper.
Raelynn doesn’t reply, but Nolan’s eyes soften a millimeter. “Noted.”
I close my eyes and try to slow my breathing. I instantly regret it because now I’m remembering every embarrassing detail from the gala. The performance and quick retreat into a chair after. The swooning and the alpha scents. All of it.
I’m still trying to make my brain go numb when Raelynn sits next to me and looks at me like I’m a particularly gnarly spreadsheet.
“I’m happy you were able to find something suitable in your suitcase,” she comments.
I glance down at my “funeral or lawsuit” dress and try not to resent it. “What’s the plan here? Are they going to interrogate me?”
“I think they want to make it disappear,” Raelynn says, matter-of-fact. “Or at least control the narrative. Royals don’t get in the news unless they want to.”
“Joke’s on them. I was never in control of my own narrative to begin with.”
Raelynn clicks her tongue. “Try to be nice. It’s not just their reputation on the line.”
As if I need the reminder.
We don’t have to wait long. A second staffer—male, tall—appears and announces, “Their Highnesses will see you now.” He gives me a smile that’s either “I’m genuinely rooting for you” or “I know a dead woman walking when I see one.” I can’t tell which it is and that only sends my nerves skyrocketing higher.
I rise and follow Raelynn as we’re led out the room. Nolan falls in beside me and, for the briefest of moments, he holds my hand. Our fingers interlock and his scent and warm presence rush over me as if he is a fire. It’s reassuring and anchors me in place.
I give him a quick and rather shy smile. “Thank you.”
Nolan only nods. Then, as quickly as his fingers touched mine, they’re gone and we’re led down a corridor. Oil panting line the walls. It feels like each one is watching me and already developing an opinion of what’s to become of me.
The corridor ends at a set of double doors that, when revealed, lead to another much grander sitting room.
The king and queen stand in the middle and Prince Kellen is at a window on the far end.
His bodyguard is right next to him, always present the same way Nolan is with me.
Ocean and pine flushed by sandalwood overcomes me.
I nearly swoon again. Nolan presses a light hand to the small of my back, gentle and professional.
I breath deep and force my body to relax.
We meet the king and queen in the center of the room and bow in turn.
“At ease, please,” the king says, and gestures to a set of plush seats.
He and the queen sit. Raelynn and Nolan follow suit.
Kellen offers me the seat next to him, and for half a second I consider refusing, just to be a brat, but then I remember why I’m here.
I sit, hands folded, posture so rigid it hurts.
Well, all right, then.
The king is older than he looks on the news, but his eyes are bright and the suit is flawless. The queen is regal in a way that seems physically impossible. I noticed these things at the gala, but here, without crowds of people and press, it’s even more pronounced.
The queen opens. “Ms. Sumner, thank you for coming on such short notice.”
I nod. “Of course. Thank you for the invitation.”
She doesn’t smile. “I trust you are feeling recovered from last night’s episode?”
All eyes are on me. Even Kellen’s bodyguard’s. No, especially his.
“Much better, thank you.” How much do they already know? Did Raelynn tell them I’m an omega? Did Kellen? “It was a, uh, low blood sugar thing. I sometimes get too wrapped up in performances and forget to eat.”
Kellen gives me a sidelong look that’s almost a smile. The queen does not.
“Let us address the matter directly.” The king’s voice kinder than expected, but I know he’d protect his son with no regard for others if necessary. “There is considerable public interest in your … interaction with our son.”
I stare at the carpet. “I’m sorry if it caused any embarrassment.”
“There is no embarrassment,” the Queen says. “We simply wish to contain unwarranted speculation and protect all parties from unnecessary intrusion.”
Raelynn clears her throat. “Ms. Sumner has no desire to create a scandal. This is all a misunderstanding on the press’s part. You know how they are. They snap a wild photo and build their own narrative so they make money.”
The king looks at Raelynn, then at me. “Do you agree?”
I should just say yes, but I can’t bring myself to lie to actual monarchs, even if I’m not one of their subjects. “Honestly, I wish I could tell you I staged it for attention, but I didn’t. It was a complete surprise. And if I could take it back, I would.”
Kellen leans forward. “I don’t think it’s as bad as everyone says. In fact, the charity received triple the usual donations after the gala. Social media is obsessed with our ‘meet cute.’”
I shoot him a look. “Our what?”
The queen’s lips twitch, which is probably the royal equivalent of a belly laugh.
The bodyguard behind Kellen doesn’t smile. He looks like he wants to punch something.
The queen turns her gaze on me. “The public has already decided there is a romantic connection between you and my son. Attempting to deny it will only increase scrutiny. There is a tradition, you know, of such things being handled discreetly.”
I blink. “Such things?”
She waves a hand, diamond rings flashing. “Relationships of convenience. For image.”
I glance at Kellen, who is suddenly very interested in his own shoes.
“Oh,” I say. “You want us to fake date.”
Nolan shifts his weight but says nothing.
“It is a proven strategy,” the queen continues. “If the narrative is that you and Kellen are courting, interest will die down after a few weeks. It will be replaced by the next news cycle.”
Not if everyone else in this room and beyond discovers I’m an omega. Or that we’re scent-matched with each other and our respective bodyguards. Then it’s game over.
Raelynn clears her throat. “We’re not opposed to managing the story.”
I might be. But clearly that doesn’t matter.
The king raises a hand. “Of course, if you are uncomfortable, we will find another solution.”
I look at Kellen. He meets my eyes, and something electric passes between us—that same rebellious spark I glimpsed at the gala when he veered off his rehearsed royal script and actually smiled like a real person.
His eyes, deep blue with flecks of gray at the edges, hold mine without wavering, as a silent conspiracy forms between us.
It feels like a rebellion against the carefully orchestrated chaos surrounding our lives.
“I don’t mind,” Kellen finally says. “If you’re okay with it. If it leads to press losing interest rather than doubling-down when we protest.”
I’m about to say, “Hell no, are you insane?” But then I remember that the only alternative is months of speculation, with every date I do go on analyzed and compared to this.
But then I wonder, if Prince Kellen is a known alpha, will people assume I’m an omega?
Or will they simply think Kellen is breaking his own family’s tradition of females being omega? All the royal line bullshit.
Sadly, I may have walked into this too far to stop now.
I take a settling breath. “Fine, but if we’re doing this, I get to write the soundtrack.”
“Obviously,” Raelynn cuts in, “what Piper means is that, to make this mutually beneficial, it will be known that Kellen is a muse of sorts. That must be allowed.”
The queen and king share a look, but it’s Kellen who says, “Deal.” He’s smiling now.
His bodyguard is still notably not.
Where Nolan was able to still keep eyes on danger, Kellen’s bodyguard has eyes only for me—and now they’re narrowed. In anger?
Raelynn sighs, like a weight has been lifted off her, and I realize she was probably more nervous about this than I was. Until now, I didn’t think that was possible.
The queen stands. “Thank you, Ms. Sumner. We will have our staff coordinate with your management for details. You can stay here at the palace or in Kellen’s estate if you wish since you are so far from home. The grounds are far more secure that than hotel.”
Kellen’s eyes widen, but it’s actually his own security guard who speaks up. “Ma’am, I think it best to keep them together in the estate. It’s a ways off from the palace and main press draw, but still far more secure.”
The queen nods. “Great input, Elliot. Thank you.”
Elliot. The man who is both staring daggers at me and wanting me to move in with the prince.
Good lord. What have I walked into?
And why is it suspiciously almost pack-shaped?