"Just pick one with nice tits and be done with it," Poe adds, examining his knife with feigned interest.
"It's not that simple." Logan's voice carries the weight of his position. “My father has an obsession with Alpha-Omega pairings. He expects me to take this seriously.”
Ares sets down his weights with a heavy clank. "You're the most qualified to be named heir. Everyone knows Ander is too reckless and the others lack your military experience. The people respect you."
"All the more reason to choose carefully." Logan lifts another scent sample, this one making his pupils dilate slightly before he moves on.
Jealousy coils in my stomach like a poisonous snake. Useless, dangerous emotion. I've spent years compartmentalizing these feelings, locking them away where they can't interfere with my duty. Yet they persist, surfacing at the worst moments.
"What about this one?" Ares crosses the room to peer over Logan's shoulder. "Her test scores are impressive."
"Too assertive," Logan replies. "Father would see it as a weakness if I chose an Omega who might challenge me."
I shift my weight, maintaining my position by the window. My suppressants are working perfectly. Poe and Ares don’t suspect what I am. None of them know how personal this selection process feels, how each scent sample Logan discards brings both relief and renewed tension.
"This selection is taking forever," Poe groans. "At least narrow it down to a shortlist so we can all move on with our lives."
Logan ignores him, continuing to sort through profiles with methodical precision. I've always admired his thoroughness, even when it drives the others to distraction.
My gaze follows his hands as he reaches for a file near the bottom of the stack. Something changes in his posture as he opens it — a subtle straightening of his spine, a new focus in his eyes.
The profile reveals a young woman with striking purple hair, her expression more guarded than the practiced smiles in the other photographs. Logan's fingers trace the edge of her picture, lingering there longer than with any of the others.
He lifts the scent sample to his nose, inhaling deeply. Once. Twice. His eyes close momentarily.
Something cold settles in my chest. I recognize that look. I’ve seen it before when he's found something that truly interests him.
"Find something promising?" Ares asks, noticing Logan's changed demeanor.
Logan doesn't answer immediately. He studies the profile information, his expression unreadable to anyone who hasn'tspent years learning his every micro-expression. But I have, and I see the spark of genuine interest.
"Maybe," he finally says, setting the file aside. Not on the rejection pile, but in a separate stack of its own.
I swallow hard, forcing down the bitter taste of jealousy. This is how it was always going to be. Logan needs a female Omega, needs heirs. The pack requires completion.
My feelings don't matter. They never have.
I am his commander of guards. His protector. His friend.
Nothing more.
And soon, there will be an Omega in our pack. Maybe this purple-haired slag who caught his attention, maybe another one just like her. And I will continue as I always have: watching, protecting, hiding.
It's what I do best.
EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO
I straighten the documents on Logan's desk for the third time, aligning their edges with almost mathematical precision. The apartment feels too quiet without him. Without any of them. Poe's gone to the training yard, Ares to some mission he didn’t bother to describe, and Logan's back-to-back meetings that are likely to run well into the night.
The silence lets my thoughts drift to dangerous territory. To the way Logan's eyes crinkle when he laughs. To how his hand feels when it brushes mine as I pass him reports. To all the ways I've memorized his movements, his habits, his preferences.
I snap back to attention when the apartment door opens without the customary knock. My hand instinctively moves to my weapon before I recognize the visitor.
"Prince Ander." I straighten immediately, bowing my head slightly. "I wasn't informed you'd be visiting today."
Logan's older brother strolls in like he owns the place. Considering he is on the very short list of princes who might be named heir to the throne, I’m sure he thinks he already does. His eyes scan the room with casual disinterest before landing on me.
"Is my brother here?" he asks, though I suspect he already knows the answer.
