My chest tightens, even though I knew this was coming. Knew she would regard Florence as a threat to her plans. “She hasn’t even-”
“She must be removed before,” my grandmother snaps, cutting off my protest. “She is unsuitable. Emotionally unstable. Politically disastrous. And worst of all,” Her eyes narrow. “She isbeloved.”
The word lands like a blow.
“You saw the polls,” She continues. I haven’t but I can imagine what they say. “The public is already growing attached to her. That cannot continue.”
Frustration makes my heart thunder, my chest and jaw tight. My alpha is telling me to fight this, to fight her. To choose love over duty, but I don’t have that fucking luxury. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
She’s just being herself. Her adorable, sweet, bright, fiery, sassy self.
“That is irrelevant,” my grandmother says coldly. “You will cut her before the scenting ceremony.”
“And if I don’t?”
Her gaze sharpens. “Then I will make sure she regrets ever stepping foot on this show.”
My blood goes cold. My alpha roars louder. Red tints my vision. “Do. Not. Threaten. Her.”
“Then don’t force my hand, dear boy,” she replies smoothly, unruffled by my anger. “And do not test me, Forsythe. You are not Elizabeth. You do not have the luxury of rebellion. Send her home before the scenting ceremony,” my grandmother repeats, lips pressed into a tight little line that shows her displeasure. It's as familiar to me as my own face. “Keep her around until then, have your fun with her, if you must, but she can’t be allowed to attend the ceremony.”
Have your fun with her.The words make disgust curl in my belly, make me push back harder than I normally would.
“I don’t understand why we need to do this at all.”
“It’s not for you to understand. It is your duty to obey.”
I grit my teeth around the words that want to spill from me. It's all I’ve ever done… obey. Duty. Rules and regulations. Been polite and polished and everything she’s ever asked of me I’ve done. With two blaring exceptions: Grieves and Piers. She’s still punishing me for having them be a part of my pack. Never mind that there was never any choice in the matter.
The pack bond with Grieves snapped into place at the same time as Thayer and Courtland’s. And Piers… Well, he was bitten in before I even considered my grandmother might have a problem with it.
And even then… we’ve hidden him from the world by her own fucking decree.
“If you do not eliminate Florence Karlin before the scenting ceremony, I will have the production crew manufacture a reason to send her home. And I can assure you whatever we come up with will paint her as a villain.” She gives me a pitying smile.“Wouldn’t it be better to send her home as a heartbroken, beloved omega? Wouldn’t that besaferfor her?”
I swallow thickly. It would. People can be cruel. They can be weirdly obsessive and overly protective of public figures. Of celebrities. My pack happens to be both. If my grandmother manages to paint Florence as some kind of manipulative monster, there’s a very real chance the backlash could be dangerous to her, catastrophic to her life.
We wouldn’t be with her to protect her.
And she doesn’t have the funds to hire security to keep herself safe.
Before I realize it, I’m giving a jerky nod of agreement. “Yes. I’m sure it would be.”
My grandmother beams at me, like she’s proud that I’ve agreed with her. There's a pulse of warmth in my chest at pleasing her. The same one I got as a child when I finally got something right.
You’d think, being a thirty-year old man, I would have outgrown this. But no, it's still there, that need to have her look at me just like this. Like I’m everything she’s ever wanted in a grandson.
The problem is she knows it and as such, has weaponized her approval. Only pulling it out as a manipulation to get her way.
Of course my knowing that doesn’t change things. It should, but it doesn’t.
“Good boy,” she says. And I have no doubt if we’d been in the same room she would have patted my hand or my arm like I’m a beloved dog.
It makes all that warmth I’d just been feeling sputter to a fizzing death.
The screen goes blank, the queen cutting the call without saying goodbye. Why would she? She conveyed what she needed to, and I’d agreed to her demands.
Florence will need to leave before the scenting ceremony.
