Most people aren’t.
Still it’s clear she’s had some practice. Maybe once she heard we were going to be the pack this season, she took itupon herself to learn. If that is the case she must be an excellent student.
Not even Isadora is that elegant when she curtsies and she’s been raised right alongside us, attended comportment and etiquette classes to prepare her for this.
We wait for a moment, two, until she rises nimbly, and I inhale again when she’s facing us. Hands folded demurely in front of her like a lady, but her straightforward gaze gives her away. Most people we come across don’t stare us right in the eye.
Her eyes are… unusual. I see it as she gets closer to me, a combination of green and gold and brown. Bits of black and grey. And in her left eye, there’s a blue slice cutting through the swirl of color. Like a wedge of cake removed from the round.
Beautiful.
And a little off-putting when she gives you her full attention.
Or it could be that I’m feeling something else entirely.
I want to stare at her all day, just stand here for hours drinking in everything about her. Those big eyes, that pert little nose, the softly rounded chin. I suspect when she smiles those full pink lips, dimples pop on those sweet cheeks. An ache forms in my chest.
I want to see her smile more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.
And not the slightly strained, nervous one she’s giving to all of us now.
“Florence,” I say, holding out my hand. Eager to touch her, to soothe whatever anxiety she’s feeling. It's a huge part of being an alpha, the need to care for and protect what is ours. And for some reason, my alpha seems to feel that this omega is ours.
She hesitates, eyes moving over my pack and then flicking to the cameras before she takes a deep breath and forces hermouth wider. It still doesn’t reach her eyes, doesn’t make them crinkle or glint with humor.
“Your Highness,” she says, a crease forming in her brow as she slides her fingers into mine. A jolt travels along my spine, settles at the base, makes my cock ache in a way that it hasn’t in years.
Fuck.
Fuck.
This is worse than I thought it would be.
“Is that right?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, sending that honey blond hair sliding over her shoulder. “They gave us dossiers with some information and your title is… long.”
I smile at that. “It is a mouthful, yes.”
Her cheeks flush, and when Courtland snorts next to me, I realize how that might have sounded a lot like flirting. A lot like me talking about my cock being a mouthful, and suddenly, that’s all I can fucking think about. Sliding between those plush lips.
“You can call me Prince Forsythe,” I tell her. “Or Your Highness.” Even though I want nothing more than to hear her call me Sythe like my pack does.
She nods. “Right, yes, of course. Your Highness.” A dimple pops on her cheek. My heart skips a beat.
Next to me Court clears his throat, reaching for her hand to take it from me, and I have to swallow down a growl… at my own damn packmate. He gives her his best smile, a dimple forming as if in answer to hers. “I am Lord Courtland Ashbourne, and you are lovely.”
I expect her to giggle and flush under his attention, most do and I certainly wouldn’t think less of her for it. But instead her eyes narrow the slightest bit, her head tilts like a bird sighting something and then she pulls her hand from his and wipes it on her skirt, surreptitiously but I spot it. My whole pack does.
Court’s smile dims but stays in place. He’s had years of practice smiling when he would rather not, and he is by far the most adept. “You can call me My Lord or Lord Courtland.”
“Hmm,” she considers him. “I thinkpretty boyis more apt, but I will bow to propriety, my lord. You can call me Ren. Or Lady Florence. Orlovely, which is such a wonderful word.”
Court gives her his most winning smile, her wiping her hand on her skirt forgotten at her compliment. “You think I’m pretty?”
An undignified snort blended with a laugh falls from her, and she shakes her head. “I should hardly think that’s news to you, my lord.”
“You might be surprised,” Court murmurs as she turns her attention to Thayer.
“Professor,” she dips her chin to him as well, the very picture of etiquette.
