Page 13 of The Princess and the Pack

More than that, if the fables are to be believed, fated mates possess a magic unique to those who find each other. It is said they are able to feel the other’s emotions in the bond and communicate through them.

This most precious gift is bestowed upon them when an alpha marks their destined omega with a claiming bite.

While alphas and omegas can bond without a scent match, they can never experience a true unity of souls. I have yet to meet a Fate-blessed pair, but the stories I’ve read of the magic between them is the stuff of dreams.

How wonderful and unlikely a thing it would be to find one’s fated counterpart in this life—to have the capacity for such closeness and transparency through the mating bond.

What I wouldn’t give to be Cillian’s destined omega, though I already know it’s impossible. The prince is two years older than I am—his alpha senses having developed on his twenty-first birthday. Were we a scent match, he would have known from the moment we met last spring.

While disappointing, plenty of mated pairs find happiness without it. Based on our letters and the brief, physical intimacy we shared, I would say we’re off to a solid start. Where passion and desire live, so does the potential for love to blossom. I wouldn’t dare press my luck in wishing for anything beyond.

“Are you sure about this, Ivy?” Rose questions as she strokes my hair. “What if he is an awful, lying cretin like Father—orBlair?”

I roll my eyes, not keen on entertaining Rose’s ravings about her betrothed again. Apparently he has done some unspeakable thing. My sister refuses to elaborate, other than to say he is a liar and a menace.

While I don't want to imply she isn’t to be believed, Rose is quick to judge and harsh in the sentences she doles out to those she deems unworthy. Her temperament makes for an excellent ally to those whom she bestows the privilege of her high regard. Though that list is very short, to be sure.

I think I may be one of the few people in this world who has seen Rose for who she truly is: fierce in her love and convictions, but with a tender heart she hides behind a wall of sarcasm and vitriol.

“Rosie, this marriage is an inevitability—as is yours. Why shouldn’t I hope to find happiness within it?”

My sister offers me a placating look of sheer pity, and I hate her sincere belief in what she says next. “Happiness is an illusion, Ivy. It never lasts.”

“Poetry! A moving sentiment before I’m to be married,” I crow in an attempt to bring some levity to the conversation. “Thank you, dear bard. Please tell me another love story, if you would be so kind.”

“Point taken.” Rose chuckles. “My delusional, romantic sister doesn’t wish to hear any more truths tonight.”

Though we laugh, an unmissable heaviness settles between us. Our lives are veering off down different paths. After tomorrow, who’s to say if we’ll ever have another night such as this: existing in each other’s company, poking fun without a care in the world.

Soon, we will both be queens beholden to interests outside of our family and beloved home of Lucernia. Soon, we will cease to exist as simply Rose and Ivy.

“I’ll always be there for you, Little Sister,” Rose says as though she can hear my innermost thoughts. “An ocean would not stop me were you ever to need me. Nor would the threat of imprisonment keep me from flaying that pretty king alive if he hurt your heart.”

I’m broken by the tears evident in her voice, only made whole again when she hugs me tighter. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her—no lengths I wouldn’t go to protect my sister’s precious heart. “I know, Rosie, and I love you.”

Wrapped in the warm embrace of my most trusted companion, I drift away into a deep and restful sleep. There, the fairies guide my dreams toward the three alphas I can’t seem to escape.

“Are you ready, Ivy?“ Hawthorn smiles down at me and pats my hand tucked into the crook of his arm.

He has artfully kept the tears forming in his eyes at bay, and I couldn’t be more thankful for his restraint. If he were to shed even a single one, the thin veil of togetherness I’ve carefully crafted would evaporate. Weeping down the aisle isn’t how I want to remember this day, nor these final moments with my brother acting as my truest defender.

Hawthorn is the father we all deserved but were robbed of. At only eighteen, he was thrust onto the throne and into the role of parenting his seven younger siblings. A lesser person would have crumbled under the responsibilities he was saddled with by no fault or choice of his own, but my brother is the kindest, most loving alpha I have ever known. I can only imagine the emotions he must be experiencing now that the sister he raised will be outside the purview of his protection.

“Ready,” I reply with a gentle squeeze of his bicep. I wish I could do more to console him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. My brother is determined in his selflessness to appear as if he has no needs of his own. The best I can do for him now is to project the confidence I have in this union. When he notes my lack of reluctance, it will put his heart at ease.

Any lingering nerves I had about today were soothed when I awoke to surprises from my soon-to-be alpha. My sister informed me Prince Ciaran brought several gifts from the king to open at my leisure.

When I emerged from my bedchamber, I was greeted with the most stunning arrangement of flowers from the famed Namarian gardens. Soft shades of pale-pink roses, white peonies, and an array of greenery sat prettily in a vase on the drawing-room table. Beside it lay the most darling silk handkerchief with Ivy leaves painstakingly embroidered around the edges.

An ornately carved box was next, containing a golden tiara with pearls inlaid at the points. My lady’s maid told me it was worn by Cillian’s mother at her wedding to his father. While understated, its elegance couldn’t be denied. That Cillian wished me to wear it was an honor I gladly accepted.

Lastly, I took note of a small piece of parchment, one final message to cap our year-long correspondence. Though his words were few, a giddy anticipation took root in my heart.

I can’t wait to marry you, darling.

Yours eternally,

Cillian

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