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To the ones who wish on eyelashes, dandelions, and stars. The universe hears you. xx
“You aren’t daft, are you, Bartholomew?” I whisper. “You’re just lost.”
“Y-yes. Bartholomew Waddlesworth.” Dear Lord. Maybe I’m daft.
I grimace again. Dear Lord. If he thought that gorgeous woman wasn’t appealing, I can’t fathom what he wanted with me. Compared to her, I might as well be an end-table. Or an umbrella.
Poor baby
Little do they know; logic and duty aren’t the reason I won’t ever find my match. They’re the reason I already lost her.
Okay. Well. That’s… fucking adorable. Am I just supposed to go on with my life? Like knowing there’s a squirrel named Nigel wandering our grounds hasn’t made my entire year?
She has no jewelry. And, goddamn it, that’s wrong. She should be dripping in diamonds and aquamarines. My omega should always— Whoa. WHOA. Wait. What?
And holy shit. Holy. Shit. That’s our mate.
I suck in a deep breath, inhaling absolute heaven. And it smells like shortbread.
God fucking damn it. No, I argue with my Alpha, though it sort of sounds like a plea. No. It can’t be her. Because that would mean— That would mean I’ve already fucked this whole thing to hell and back. Yeah, he snorts, like I am the biggest idiot on Earth. Exactly, dipshit. The fuck did you think I was trying to tell you?
She inhales sharply as our palms meet. I understand why when an answering snap of electricity thunders through my veins. Crackling up my arm, right down to the quiet corner where my heart sits. Covered in ivy.
Dark, shining beams connect with my gaze. The voice inside me rises, higher and more frantic. I’m here, I’m here, I’m right here. And, this time, Dair answers her. “Hey,” he murmurs, low and urgent. “Hey, I see you. It’s okay. Stay with me, all right? Stay with me, baby.”
Cameras flash behind us, but there’s no time to worry about that shit. She’s getting away. And I haven’t even told her how sorry I am.
Ivy Addison. When we met, and Mrs. Kemp introduced her as Miss Addison, I stupidly assumed that was her first name. I’m a fucking numpty.
The others gape at me. A vicarious wave of anger rises in my chest as I grit, “None of you ever thought it was odd that she worked seven days a week? She never had a choice.”
“I—I scrub the floors every Sunday.” The horror of that simple statement washes through the room. This—her, on her hands and knees, scraping our dirt off our floors—is her reality. Her life. And I allowed it. Because I wouldn’t let myself look at her. See her. Because I was afraid of wanting anyone who wasn’t her.
I feel a twinge of disagreement—because, God, how could she have been here every day and not told me?—but it’s easy to stifle. Especially when Dair slowly strides over… …and drops to his knees, too.
His warm, strong fingers reach for the sudsy hand that held the scrub brush, squeezing carefully as his eyes search mine. His voice drops low. “If I can ever get you to forgive me for being a complete idiot, I hope you’ll let me show you how much I want to be your alpha.”
I bite down on the rage and urgency pounding through me. Telling my Alpha, no. She’s more important than whatever bullshit we need. And, frankly, after what I’ve put her through? I can go to hell.
This restless edginess… I’ve felt it for months. Since the day we got here. Near her. Which means my Alpha has been climbing my goddamn walls for this woman. And all those drunken nights, the endless need, the urge to fuck as hard and as much as humanly possible. The rage. My body was trying to tell me something important, and I basically shoved a wad of socks in its mouth and duct-taped it shut.
All this time, she wasn’t planning to use any of it to blackmail me or go viral. She was protecting me. Because the Omega lost inside her recognized her mate.
Shutting my eyes, I let the truth sting me again and again. She’s afraid of me. I hurt her feelings. Scared her. Made her feel worthless—like an object. I took advantage of her position. And I never apologized.
Our alphas will be mad, my Omega frets. They said to rest, eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They just want to court us, I correct gently. They aren’t our alphas. She flashes me an image of Bast licking into my mouth while his fingers plunged into my core. Then one of Dair’s shoulders heaving as he apologized. And Asher’s broad, bare chest… with that tattoo. His heart, wrapped in ivy.
I shake my head, gritting my teeth as I work her along my length faster. “You are perfect. Gorgeous and so fucking sweet. I’ll always get you off, no matter how much it tortures me. You can have it anytime you want, and I’ll fucking crawl for the privilege of being the one to take care of you.”
I’m not sure what they’re so upset about. Especially since, according to Matilda, I’ll likely come crawling home within weeks. This is delusional! You’re not an omega; you’re a beta. Did you show them all your designation tests? Do they know you can’t take their precious knots? Even if you were an omega, do you really think you could be a mate for a pack of princes? And what? Become the queen? It’s insanity, Ivy!
Stfu bitch…
Baffled, I close my arms around her and start to purr. “Darling? Is something wrong?” She trembles slightly, shaking her head. “The room is beautiful, Ash,” she whispers. “But it doesn’t smell like you.” Her nervous gaze flits to my packmates. “Any of you.”
But, of course, Dair catches on first. The cocky, crooked grin he tries to hide is enough to make my nipples bead tighter. “Such a dirty princess,” he murmurs, eyes bright. “You want our cum in your nest?”
Are chairs always this cold? Or is it worse because I don’t have any underwear? Bast and Dair were delighted, but Asher took pity on me and promised to find some. The thought of that—the crown prince, scrambling to find slick-absorbing panties—has me biting back a giggle as a royal-blue-clad attendant sets a silver tea tray on the table beside me.
Ivy gasps as her eyes land on her horse. “Oh, Bast, she’s gorgeous. Is she yours? Or Asher’s? I can’t picture Dair riding a horse.” I smirk at the image, shaking my head while I wrap an arm around her waist. “No, angel. She’s yours.” Wide crystal eyes beam up at me as her mouth drops open. “M-mine?” I nod, smiling wider. “She’s a very sweet, pretty girl. I figured you two would get along.”
My omega turns an accusatory look at me. “Asher said there weren’t any animals on the property other than the horses!” I can’t help but grin, shrugging. “But you love animals.” Understanding lights her crystal irises. “So you—you brought these ducks here? As like…” “Your gift.” I nod. “I found a wildlife rescue and rehabilitation center and offered our grounds for healed animals in need of a new home. This morning, they brought a couple of duck families they had saved from a polluted pond. A hawk with only one eye. A few owls. And a bunch of squirrels.”
Her tastes play a big part in that. Turns out, buying perfume and pearls isn’t nearly as much fun as choosing duck families. It’s almost ironic how little she cares for wealth or glamour. The dress she’s wearing cost thousands of dollars, but I doubt she even knows. She has her first public event tomorrow, and the clothes for that are even more expensive—but when I showed her the ensemble this morning, she simply beamed up at me and thanked me for my help. My help—not the Chanel dress or its matching $10,000 purse. She barely even looked at those. But the fact that I went out of my way to
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NO KNOTS ALLOWED (PRINCESSES ONLY)
Jasmine Heard a rumor that *someone* convinced the heartless Duke of McAffry to find funding for a whole children’s hospital? That’s some iconic pussy power, babe. Ivy Did you honestly just type the words “pussy power”? Jasmine Did *you* honestly just fuck the monarchy into spending $52 million? Ivy I mean… *Technically* no? Jasmine So you’re saying the duke’s doing this without even getting laid? Like I said. Iconic.
They the best of friends
Our princess nods shyly, taking a few careful steps forward. “I brought you something,” she peeps, holding up a brown paper bag. “Can I come in?” Always. Forever. Anywhere.
There are few things I want to discuss less than another omega. Now that we have Ivy, I find it hard to remember that other women even exist. To me, they never really have. Even before I got Ivy back. It was always, only her. Wrapping my heart in ivy.
“Yes, even Bast,” I assure her, flexing a solid bit of dominance. “He doesn’t have to like you taking time for yourself, but he will respect it.” Ivy’s perfume swells, her lips falling halfway open on a quiet inhale. Turned on, I realize. She likes it when I flex my power. And, God, I want her.
“Banana bread. I know it’s your favorite.” Surprise and a thick wash of emotion fill my throat. “Is that why I suddenly started finding it on my breakfast tray when we moved into the manor? Were you having the cooks make it?” She shakes her head, her easy expression revealing how oblivious she is to the way her next statement strikes me. “Oh. No. I made that at home and brought it in for you. But this time, I had to use the fancy kitchen, so it might taste a little—mmmph.” A purr and a growl tangle in my lungs as I find her lips and part them with my tongue. Unable to stop myself.
Desperate need simmers in her irises when she suddenly pulls back far enough to speak around the veins throbbing up Dair’s length. “Please, my lord,” she pants, glancing at Asher’s groin. “Please.” Well, fuck. What did I say about insulting a queen on her throne? Asher’s ragged groan confirms the prince is down for anything his princess desires. And if she wants to watch one of her alphas jack another off? It’s a good thing I’m so coordinated.
A steely glint glazes her gaze, offering a glimpse of the girl who fought her way to me. For me. “You matter, Dair.”
How fucking perfect is our girl? God. I love her.
He hums, his chest hitching into a purr immediately. Like the big, gooey softy he’s become. Asher and I might make fun of him if we weren’t just as marshmallowy over our omega.
It’s a question. Will she wear this and walk into a room full of world leaders dressed as our future princess? Or will she turn it down and do everything she can to maintain her freedom? I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I want her to do. On one hand, of course, I want her to be ours. On the other… I need her to be herself. My earth-bound angel. Our mate. She has to do whatever feels right to her. And I have to love her, no matter what.
But despite all of her wishes and daydreams, my mate struggles to believe she can actually have good things. Or, moreover, that she’s worthy of them. But she does. No one in the world could deserve more than Ivy. And no one else could possibly bring this pack together the way she has. My girl. My mate. Kind. Quietly dazzling. Unfailingly selfless. Our queen.
There are three men—three princes—on their knees. For me. And—oh lord—I don’t think I’m going to be able to protest.
Dark eyes glitter in the shadows. “Stay,” he says again, making the offer they’ve been hinting at all evening. “Be our mate. Bond with us.” “Please,” Asher adds, so quiet I know the word is just for me. Bast continues stroking my hair, his blue eyes burning with entreaty. “We can do it any way you want,” he says, speaking in a rush. “Big bonding ceremony. Privately, in your nest. Here and now. Next year. We’ll do whatever feels right to you. Because you’re what feels right to us. We don’t make sense without you. We never did. So…” He blows out a deep breath. “So stay,” he begs.
“Unbelievable!” she explodes, waving her hands over her head. “I swear to God, I did everything but hog-tie the girl and have her wheeled into your suite on a room-service cart! How the hell did you manage to screw this up? I couldn’t have made it any simpler!” Wait. What? Asher’s jaw flexes, his alpha energy climbing to a fever pitch. To her credit, Jasmine doesn’t flinch as he stares her down, demanding, “What are you talking about, Princess Ahmad?” Our car pulls up behind her, but Jasmine isn’t deterred. She slaps her thighs with both hands, expression exasperated. “You guys seriously never
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BABES WAS ON OUR TEAM THE WHOLE TIME!!!!!!
Asher’s brows are halfway to his hairline as I sputter, “So—she—you—” Jasmine fists her hands on her hips. “I’m basically your Fairy Frickin’ Godmother!” Holy shit. She really is.
“I—I know,” she warbles. “B-but I needed to fit my mom’s sewing table in the back of a car with me, and I was trying t-to—” Pain creases her forehead. “—surprise Bast. Get Asher’s approval. Make you…” I scent-mark her cheek with my own, murmuring against her temple. “Make me…?” “Proud,” she croaks, almost too quiet to hear. Fuck. Her heat’s about to start, and all she wanted was our approval. Our… love. She snuck out to surprise us, not to leave us behind.
“Stars?” Bast asks, half-grinning at the pattern. “Seriously?” They’re clearly sheets for a kid, leftover from my many summers here as an adolescent. When I see their quizzical looks, I clear my throat. “I had these when I was young. One of the housekeepers tried to get rid of them when I got older, but… the stars reminded me of Ivy and how she liked to make wishes. I couldn’t seem to get rid of them.” Bast’s shit-eating grin has me glowering. He snorts, “Oh, come on. That’s cute as hell.”
Our omega has been deliciously needy, often working through all of us two or three times before she passes out. Her sleep stretches have gotten a bit longer since Sunday, but not by much. Which is fine by me. Hell, bury me here.
