1. Ivy
H ad I known an hour ago I’d be crouched beneath a desk, hiding from my betrothed, I would have stayed in my quarters. But, as per usual, the urge to sate my constant curiosity never goes unpunished.
I’m going to be in so much trouble when they catch me. Sadly, it’s inevitable, as despite my penchant for eavesdropping, I lack the stealth necessary to master my preferred hobby. Though I possess the uncanny ability to know where I must be to garner the best gossip, I never seem to remain undetected for long.
So far this evening, I’ve been lucky, but it soon won’t matter if I can’t shift my position and stretch out my legs. The cramp seizing my calf aches so desperately that sweat beads at my brow. My silence through the pain is a true testament of my resolve not to be caught.
This must be what I deserve for breaking the unspoken rules of my station. I know better than to roam unaccompanied. Princesses are not to be out of their beds this late, much less in their nightclothes—spying on alphas in their private study.
When my instincts urged me to snoop here, I should have known my fiancé, Prince Cillian, and his maddening companion, Lord Oran Rafferty would soon arrive. My intention wasn’t to spy on any private conversations. I merely wanted to browse through the prince’s library in hopes of finding a shared interest—one I could use to entice him into conversation.
Had he paid even a speck of attention to me on this month-long visit, none of my rule breaking would have been necessary. I could’ve been asleep in my room, preparing for the long journey home my brother Aspen and I will embark on tomorrow.
The week it will take to sail back to our home country of Lucernia could have been spent reminiscing on fond memories made with the prince. Instead, I think I’ll fill the time dreaming up fake hexes to make all his beautiful, raven-colored hair fall out.
For all the years I’ve been engaged to the crown prince of Namara, I know so little about him. I had hoped by visiting him before our wedding, we could change that. I begged my oldest brother, Hawthorn, to allow us this visit. But after the calamitous event that was my oldest sister Rose meeting her betrothed, I’m surprised he agreed.
Years later, Hawthorn is still dealing with the fallout and Rose continues cursing her intended alpha with each breath she takes.
But regardless of all my maneuvering to bring us together, Cillian seems to be of the opposite mind. Rather than taking advantage of our short time together, he’s made every excuse not to spend a single second alone in my presence.
The fiery-locked fiend sitting beside him on the settee has also ensured his best friend was never subjected to my apparent unpleasantness. Yes, the clever Lord Rafferty is never without a creative reason up his sleeve to keep the prince away from me. My personal favorite? Yesterday, as we sat down to share a quiet breakfast, Oran came running into the dining hall shouting, “Bees!” Nothing more.
Cillian did not need further explanation as he was up in an instant, muttering something about an apparent allergy. I didn’t see either of them—or the invisible bees—again until dinner. By then, we were surrounded by others, and any hopes of a private conversation were dashed.
While the crown prince may oppose our match, I’m determined to build a happy life here in Namara. It’s not as if I would have chosen our situation either, especially when he clearly can’t stand to be in my presence. But what I want—what I truly desire—is not an option. So, rather than play the part of a petulant child, as my betrothed has done, I’m devoted to making our impending marriage tolerable.
If I can escape my current predicament unscathed, Cillian’s obstinance will be no match for my romanticism. I may be the one presenting as an omega come my twenty-first birthday, but I’ll court the living hell out of this alpha if I must. My aim is to have him so desperate for my attention that he won’t be able to stand a moment without it.
First, I must ensure I don’t get caught.
All I need to do is roll from beneath this desk so I can crawl to the door without being detected. Cillian will be none the wiser, and I will carry on with wooing my intended once we are wed next spring.
Just as I’m about to attempt my genius escape, I’m stopped dead in my tracks by the sound of my name.
“So, Princess Ivy ,” Oran says with caution, testing the sound in his mouth. He draws it out, letting it flow like silk across his tongue.
Though intriguing, the sensual reverence with which he speaks does little to take away from the terror coursing rapidly through my veins. I swear my heart is bruising as it pounds ferociously against my breast. Either my hiding spot is less concealed than I previously thought, or I’m about to be a secret witness to Cillian and Oran’s true thoughts of me.
I’m not sure which I prefer.
“What of her?” Cillian remarks. His tone speaks to his disinterest in me. Though unsurprised, I must say it stings to hear such indifference, given our situation.
“She’s leaving in the morning,” Oran returns, prodding further.
Cillian sighs—a frustrated sound I don’t know how to decipher. It’s clear he isn’t keen on playing into his companion’s game of push and pull. But he’s not willing to ignore him, either. “Why don’t you spit it out, Oran?”
Lord Rafferty lets out a sardonic laugh that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. The sound is dark, mocking, and far too alluring for my comfort.
A sound that tempting should be criminal, especially coming from lips as sensual as Oran’s.
Not that I’ve taken notice of Lord Rafferty’s mouth. Gods, no. It’s just that he’s an objectively gorgeous alpha, what with his striking red locks, those deep emerald eyes, and the sharp edge to his chiseled jaw. Certainly, the delicate smattering of freckles across his fair cheeks doesn’t detract from his handsomeness, either.
If I weren’t engaged to his best friend, perhaps I would pay more attention to the fullness of his lips and their lovely bow shape. But, as it is, I am betrothed to Cillian, who also happens to be a rather unfairly beautiful man.
Having only heard rumors of the crown prince’s otherworldly good looks prior to this trip, I considered myself skeptical. Surely no man could be stunning as they painted Cillian to be. But my cynicism was dashed the moment I laid eyes on my intended.
Prince Cillian is breathtaking, to be frank, with his impeccably cut jawline and piercing blue eyes. His effortlessly tousled, inky hair is a work of art in itself, and I’m rather infatuated with the darling way in which it curls near his forehead. On several occasions I’ve ached to press myself against the sheer breadth of him, just to feel his chiseled body on mine.
Truly, there is no one in all the western kingdoms more enchanted by the prince’s looks than me. Nor is there anyone more acutely aware of Lord Rafferty’s, if I’m honest.
Even with my natural proclivities to admire more than one alpha, my title dictates whom I can and cannot appreciate openly. I can’t wax poetic about the construction of each of their faces and how they radiate both beauty and pure masculinity all at once. I can’t lust after them unabashedly, nor make my interest known without fear of social backlash and the shame that would befall my siblings. No matter how disappointing it may be, such is not my lot in life.
“Testy, are we?” Oran teases, cutting through my haze of untimely lust.
The sound of glass hitting wood rings out through the otherwise silent study, and I stifle a squeak of surprise. The popping of a cork soon follows, and I can only assume the mere mention of me has driven my fiancé to drink.
Lovely .
“It’s just, the princess is quite stunning. Is she not?”
As the words leave Oran’s lips, I nearly tip forward and knock my head on the dark wooden desk. Shocking doesn’t begin to describe what I’ve heard.
Based on Oran’s apparent readiness to aid Cillian in escaping me this past month, I hadn’t expected such a compliment from him. He’s hardly looked at me since I arrived, let alone been stunned by my appearance.
Cillian sighs again, but the tone differs from before. It is almost whimsical, dreamy even. He doesn’t rush to speak, letting the liquid slosh in his glass as he ponders a response. Each second of prolonged silence from my prince is more agonizing than the last.
I can contend with the reality Cillian may not be head over heels for me yet, but if he doesn’t even find me remotely attractive, I’m not sure my plans to win him over will ever work. I don’t wish to marry a man displeased by the sight of me.
“Are you fucking mad?” the prince retorts with what sounds like offense.
I’ve never heard him speak so casually, let alone curse. Still, his obvious distaste sits heavily in my gut. I don’t want to give his words power over my emotions, certainly not after he disregarded me so cruelly, but I’m only human.
I had hoped we could grow to love each other if he found me even mildly appealing. But knowing the man I’m destined to spend my days with finds me repugnant? Agony, deep and clawing, slices through the more tender parts of my idealistic heart.
“Stunning.” The prince chuckles, twisting the knife even deeper. I’m aware my presence is unbeknownst to him, but he could temper the disgust in his voice. Surely, I’m not as unsightly as he makes me out to be. “You bite your tongue,” Cillian chimes in again. “Ivy is divine , brother. A goddess. My cock has been hard as stone for a month. And when I finally have her? I may just fucking die.”
My alpha’s companion laughs heartily now, amused by the prince’s outburst. I, on the other hand, can hardly breathe. Where I was fighting back tears just moments ago, raging desire now pulses between my thighs. Not even the agonizing cramp in my leg can stop the way my thighs press tightly together at Cillian’s fervent admiration and wanton intentions.
To be spoken about in such a manner should shock a lady of my standing, but I couldn’t care less about what is polite and proper when Cillian’s cock is the topic at hand. I’ve spent many nights in Namara attempting to expel such thoughts from my mind. But I would be a liar if I said I hadn’t imagined my betrothed and his striking, glacial eyes pinning me in place as he bared himself to me. I have needs just as any other soon-to-be omega does, and Cillian is pure fantasy fodder.
Knowing he wants me so carnally is truly a dream come true.
“Too right you are, brother,” Oran says, instantly cutting off his laughter. “So tell me then, you twat . Why in the hell couldn’t we have bedded her? It’s been agony having her here with her silky voice and perfect tits, driving me mad.”
Cillian growls, seemingly angered by Oran’s crass assessment. Shivers run down the length of my spine at the possessive sound—a delectable stamp of his claim over me. Not once have I felt something so visceral from the prince—never have I had such tangible proof of his affections.
“She is my intended, not some frivolous conquest!” Cillian fires back faster than I can process Oran’s vulgar, and frankly thrilling, outrage. “Do you think I haven’t been tempted to touch her? Each time she enters a room, I’m half a breath from rutting her until she’s dripping with my spend and swollen with my heir.”
It feels as though the room spins with the intensity of the need now pulsing at my center. The overwhelming and obvious emptiness inside me demands to be filled, and the wetness between my thighs only further proves my eagerness.
How they can utter such salacious, primal intentions aloud is beyond me, but I’m in no rush to stop them from revealing more. I’ve never in all my life felt so wanted, so powerful, as I do now, armed with the knowledge that both these alphas are nearly feral for me.
And contrary to all I’ve been told about what’s good and right, I burn at the thought of my body being shared between them.
As I remain crouched in a state of near delirium, the insistent cramp in my calf chooses this exact moment to make its presence unmissable. My leg buckles, giving way from beneath me. Before I can gather the presence of mind to catch myself, I tumble forward and smack my face against the hardwood.
Pain, sharp and searing, blooms on my cheek as an unmistakable, resounding thud rings out. I could delude myself into thinking the crackling sounds from the fireplace are loud enough to mask my fall, but the telltale silence from the once-bickering alphas speaks volumes.
My curious nature will yet again be my undoing. That much is certain when dense footfalls upon pale stone draw closer to my useless hiding spot.
I’m sure I’m quite a sight to behold: ruddy-cheeked, nearly panting, and toppled over in nothing more than a nightgown. Truly, I’m the picture of a well-mannered omega princess in all her wholesome glory.
The only question I now have is which of the alphas will witness this utter fall from grace first? Lord Oran Rafferty, who wants to bed me alongside his future king? Or Crown Prince Cillian McKenna, who intends to breed me as soon as he’s able?
The sight of red hair and devastating emerald eyes provides my answer. I’m not sure where my emotions lie, but I don’t miss how my heart flutters at Oran’s appraisal of me.
First, there’s mirth laced in the crinkling of his eyes and his poorly suppressed grin. He gazes at me as if he isn’t surprised that I’m the one in a crumpled heap on the cold floor. I’m sure he will be laughing about this for weeks to come—the princess he’s ignored for nearly a month is now so desperate for attention, she’s resorted to spying.
Next, I detect mischief and the barest hints of pride. Whether he is amused at my boldness for being out of my bed chambers this late, or envisioning how he can use this information to lord over me, I’m unsure.
Finally, a predator hovers over me, his weakened prey. The unmistakable hunger in his gaze reflects the brazen sentiments he spoke just a moment ago. I cannot, and do not, attempt to suppress my shudder at the licentious glee overtaking his handsome features.
“What. Do. We. Have. Here?” He punctuates each word purposefully, bending down to meet me at eye level.
Until now, I’ve dared not move, afraid my legs will again fail me. But I can’t deny my body’s insistent tug toward him. Like a moth called to flame, I will myself to come to a kneeling position before him.
Oran rewards my effort with a whisper of his fingertips across my face, touching where I fell victim to the sturdiness of Cillian’s desk. Goosebumps rise across my skin in a sweeping wave of lust and longing, begging for him to fulfill his filthy promises.
Oran tsks mockingly as he cups my chin and gently turns my face to better inspect my now throbbing temple. “Can’t have you hurting yourself so carelessly, love. Not when the night is just getting interesting.”
With his shockingly casual address, he throws all pretense of title and hierarchy out the window. If I were a stronger woman, I would fight the whimper begging to push past my quivering lips. I would simply ignore the way he has me desperate for more than just his hand on my face. But I’m dizzy, aching— needy —and this alpha looks at me as though I’m the goddess Cillian spoke of.
At the pitiful sound, Lord Rafferty’s eyes seem to widen, his nostrils flaring nearly imperceptibly. If I didn’t know better, I might think he was attempting to scent me. But such a thing wouldn’t be possible. Only my scent-matched alpha could ever perceive my true omega perfume.
Not that I’m perfuming for Oran. Definitely not.
The alpha before me shakes his head, seeming to banish a similar thought, and grasps my chin tighter.
“Care to explain yourself, then, Princess? How long have you been snooping about?” Oran teases.
I should speak. I should tell him he’s the one who needs to explain himself. After he and Cillian ignored me for weeks, neither has the right to say such outlandish, salacious things about me.
I should scold him for speaking to me like I’m some omega he can bed, rather than the future queen of his country. But each time I open my mouth, I’m mesmerized by the endless sea of green in his eyes.
Lord Oran Rafferty is a sight to behold, with his broad shoulders and sharp features. He has the plushest lips I’ve seen, and the overwhelming desire to feel them against all my most intimate parts has a blush rising hot in my cheeks.
I can’t feel such things for an alpha who isn’t my betrothed. It doesn’t matter that he is of high birth. I can’t have him.
We shouldn’t dare to open a door we could never enter. It would be irresponsible, albeit tempting. No manner of sensual delights would ever make the union of our bodies acceptable by any societal standards. Allowing myself to believe otherwise, even briefly, will only bring me hurt later.
Steeling my resolve to act the part of the proper princess at least once this evening, I shake my head to dispel all inappropriate thoughts of the emerald-eyed alpha before me.
“N-no. I was just—I mean, I didn’t. I-I heard nothing,” I lie, tripping over my tongue to absolve us of their sinful ramblings.
If I can convince him I don’t know his true intentions toward me—ones we could never act on—perhaps we can go on as we ought to: platonically and with mutual respect for each other.
Oran frowns, clearly unimpressed with my terrible attempt at lying. He releases my chin and takes hold of my hand before pulling us both to stand.
“No?” he asks with a quick quirk of his lips. “Shame, that.”
Giving my hand a squeeze, he releases me and motions toward a wide-eyed Cillian, who regards my presence with both shock and dismay.
“You—gods damn it, Ivy. What are you doing out of bed?” he growls.
Fire burns hot in the depths of his ice-blue irises. But his mock anger does little to mask the dark ownership laced in his tone. I don’t fight the shiver settling over me as his unspoken claim caresses each inch of my bare skin.
He takes in my shameful lack of appropriate attire with hungry eyes and a rigid set to his jaw, and I notice how his gaze dips to my breasts. There he lingers for only a breath before turning away with a scowl. It’s as if he can’t decide whether he should admire my form or curse himself for being tempted by impropriety.
Grinning like the cat who got the cream, I realize I enjoy this side of Cillian—this hidden possessiveness he has for me. I revel in the idea that I’ve tortured him with my presence alone.
Though I don’t understand the choice to keep his distance all this time, the ruffled parts of my ego are gently smoothed over by the obvious desire in his eyes. I’m settled in the knowledge of our shared attraction. Love has grown from less, and I can now see a path toward building a future together.
Given Cillian’s panting breaths and the way his fists clench at his sides, I can only assume this alpha is so very near the limits of his control. Pushing him over the edge is a tempting notion here in this private room with no one to disturb us. Just how exactly would the prince respond if I finally pressed my body against his, as I’ve so longed to do?
Before I can test the strength of his resolve, Oran steps forward, shielding me from his prince’s impending unraveling. Something akin to pride sparks within my chest at this alpha’s readiness to protect me from being devoured by his companion. Such valiance surely requires a reward.
Perhaps I should press myself against his back, rub his scent upon my skin, and show him how desperate I am to wear it like a brand.
Though only scent-matched mates can fully perceive each other’s distinct aromas, I know in my bones that Oran’s unique alpha signature is as intense and consuming as the hue of his fiery locks. If only I were twenty-one—with all my omega senses developed—I could test my theory.
“Come now, Highness,” Oran intones in his low, steady voice. “What harm can come to the princess with her betrothed and his most trusted companion near?”
Though I can’t see his face, I hear the sly grin snaking across his lips. This alpha is devious, testing the limits of his friend’s patience, and I’m in no mind to stop him by doing the sensible thing of going back to bed.
“ Oran ,” the prince warns.
“ Cillian ,” Lord Rafferty retorts, mimicking the severe edge of his tone.
A silent conversation passes between them amidst the pauses in their alpha posturing. Cillian clearly wants me to leave, despite his earlier admissions. Oran, it seems, would rather I stay. Though they both may have their reasons, I also want a say in the matter.
Now that I’ve been caught, I have no plans to leave. I can spend this last night with my intended before my journey home tomorrow. I won’t see Cillian again for an entire year, after all—not until our wedding day—and it would be a shame to let such an opportunity pass.
So unless the prince is prepared to remove me from his study by force, I plan on making the most of my last night in Namara.
“I think I’ll sit awhile,” I announce, cutting the tension building between us all.
I don’t give either alpha a chance to reply before I push past both of their imposing bodies and settle myself in the middle of the settee at Cillian’s back. I do my best to put forth a brave face—one that shows I won’t be so easily deterred from the mission at hand.
Should they choose to join me? All the better. Otherwise, they know where to find the door.
“Cheeky,” Oran says, a proud grin on his face. He claps his hand on his companion’s shoulder before joining me on my right.
The settee has plenty of room to leave a respectable amount of space between us, but Oran sits so close that his thigh rests against mine. The heat from his body is a dangerous temptation—one I should turn away from. But something vital in my chest tells me escaping this man is impossible.
“Fucking hell,” Cillian sighs, taking in the sight of us together.
His shoulders slump in defeat, and try as I may to hide my smile, I preen at his acquiescence. I’m giddy as can be when he seats himself on my left, just as closely as his companion has.
I don’t know what lies ahead for the evening but pressed between these two alphas, I’m certain I won’t be disappointed.
“So tell us, Princess,” Oran drawls, toying with the ends of my hair. His delicate touch and warm breath on my neck are sensual— forbidden . But I can’t find it in me to pull away. “Have you ever let anyone taste that sweet little cunt of yours?”