Page 8 of The Princess and the Pack

This bone-deep sensation of true and unending bliss is what the fables tell of when it comes to a bond such as the one we share. Finding a scent-matched mate in an arrangement such as ours is so rare and wonderful—it could only be the work of the fate weaving fairies of lore. That they would deign to bestow me with such a gift is humbling, to say the least.

Ivy may not recognize me as such just yet, but she will. Just as she will recognize Oran and Sloan in the same way. I’m more certain now than I’ve ever been in my resolve to break away from the oppressive traditions of our station.

Settling into the silence of the night, I lose track of how long we lie in each other’s arms. With nothing but the sounds of our shared breath, her sweetened scent, and the gentle stroking of my fingers through her silken hair, I thank the gods for bringing her here to me.

“I’m sorry about tonight, Princess. But if I’m honest, I can’t regret it. Not even for a second,” I tell her, unsure if she’s even awake. “I’ll be thinking about it—about you—while you’re gone. I doubt I’ll do much else until you’re back.”

Ivy’s smile spreads slowly against my chest. It’s a soft, gentle thing that fills my heart with unending joy. To know I put it there on her perfect, plush lips? There’s nothing in the world so grand as that.

“I’ll think of you too, Prince,” she admits bashfully.

I sigh a breath of relief upon that final promise, knowing this next year without her will be the most agonizing of my life.

Her chest rises and falls upon mine, heart beating a steady rhythm as she slips into a deep sleep. I’d love to stay this way for all eternity, but it would cause a scandal if her lady’s maid—or worse, her brother—caught us like this. I’ll have to slip away once the sun rises to avoid any whispers of impropriety.

When she’s back, we’ll have plenty of time to lie tangled together for hours on end. We have to make it a year—just one year of agony for a lifetime of bliss. Ivy has already irrevocably changed me, and I can hardly wait to see how she will continue to leave her mark on my heart for the better.

Rain is coming down in buckets while Cillian says his goodbyes to our sweet little omega—the sky itself protesting the departure of Namara’s future queen. It knows, as I do, she’s made for this place—for us.

For a month, I watched her from the shadows. I saw how she brought life back into the halls of Castle Ancaire. Her smile and tender way of speaking to every staff member she came across reminded me of when Cillian’s mother, Aoife, was alive. She, like Ivy, was a ray of light that shone brightly on all those lucky enough to be around her.

I almost spoke to the princess many times. I nearly joined her on so many of her daily walks through the gardens I tend, all so I could be nearer to her beauty. Every one of my instincts screamed at me to call out her name and see how she’d respond to me—to press her up against a tree and let her feel the weight of my wanting.

But I’m no fool. I was aware of what being close would do to me. I kept my distance, near enough to keep watch but never quite so much as to touch or speak. Because I knew if we spoke, if ever she asked for even a tiny part of me, I’d give her everything. And though her delicious spiced-apple scent tells me we’re destined for each other, Ivy isn’t yet ready for whateverythingentails.

At least, that’s what I thought until last night. I could hardly believe my eyes when I walked into that study. Cillian made us swear we wouldn’t do anything untoward, and yet there she was pressed between them; perfectly mussed and pink-cheeked with pleasure.

Conflicting emotions tore through me then. Pride, that my packmates were taking to pleasing our omega together like ducks to water. Jealousy, knowing their lips had been on hers—their hands had touched her skin—while I remained a stranger to our mate.

Even now, she doesn’t know me beyond the alpha who intruded on something deeply private. I regret that my lack of sense made her run, but how else was she meant to react when she was so beautifully bare and vulnerable? Were it possible, I’d go back, smack myself ’round the head, and walk out the door.

As a commoner, I’m well versed in the ways of packs where my princess, and her other two mates, are not. Having been brought up this way, it’s no shocking thing for me to accept she’ll be ours—allof ours—someday soon. As Ivy’s only alpha who’s familiar with this way of life, I should have done the selfless thing of making myself scarce for the sake of our omega’s comfort.

Still, our Ivy’s breathless moans and quiet whimpering were too tempting a siren song for me to ignore. She is stunning, my mate—ethereal in a way I’ve only heard about in the fables my mother and fathers used to read to me. Tales of omega goddesses here on earth and the alphas who were made to worship at their feet ran constantly through my mind as I watched her from afar.

I want nothing more than to show Ivy I can be precisely the kind of alpha she needs. I may not have much to offer her in terms of wealth and titles like my packmates, but what I can give her is a safe place in my arms and all the love and devotion she could ever desire.

I’m determined not to step a foot back inside until I’ve seen Cillian get her safely into the carriage and she’s out of my sight. Fucking hell, I’m tempted to walk the half day to port behind her to ensure she’s safe and well.

Foolishly, I still hold hope the prince will ask her to stay for good. Nevermind this waiting shite. She belongs in Namara.

I’m sure the staff would welcome it. With the king’s declining health and the absence of a queen, they would rejoice at having her cheerful presence around. I would do just about anything to have her stay.

“What are you doing out here, Sloan?” A voice rings out from behind me, shaking me from my useless wishing. “Trying to catch your death?”

I chuckle and turn, meeting familiar ice-blue eyes. Prince Ciaran McKenna, second-born son to the throne, walks toward me with a mischievous smile on his face. He nods at where his brother now escorts Ivy to her carriage.

“Does Cillian know you’ve got eyes for his missus?” he teases, jabbing his elbow playfully into my ribs.

Droplets of rain cling to his long locks, making them curl on the ends. It’s the only part of the prince’s appearance that differs from either of his brothers. Were it not for Ciaran’s insistence on keeping his hair nearly to his waist, I’d venture to say most would never be able to tell them apart. Though the McKenna triplets are identical, they couldn’t be more different from each other.

“Does he know you’ve got eyes for her brother?” I reply with my own crooked grin.

Ciaran’s jaw drops open, readying to deny it, but he should know better than anyone: nothing goes unnoticed by me on these castle grounds. Especially not when he chooses to conduct his secret dalliances in my gardens.

Still, I don’t want him taking my words as a threat. Growing up around the castle, he, Cillian, and Callan became like younger brothers to me, and I’d never utter a word that would cause him any hurt.

“Easy, Highness,” I reassure him. “What you do in your private life is of no concern to me.”

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