Cleo shifts, eyes catching fire. “What do you mean by that, your highness?”
The prince looks at me and I brace myself for a flicker of uncertainty, of doubt that this is the right path, but there is none. Just his unwavering warm gaze filled with determination. He looks back at Cleo and the camera positioned over her shoulder. “It’s no secret that for generations the Ashbournes haven’t formed packs. We’ve focused on preserving bloodline, on ensuring only Ashbourne blood sits on the throne and wears the crown. My sister and I, we both do not hold to that notion. She formed her pack well before I did, found her omega before I did as well. When I did the same, my grandmother wasn’t shy to share how displeased that made her. She told both of us repeatedly that an Ashbourne must sit on the throne and that packs don’t allow for that guarantee. I believe she startedworking on the Omega reform law years ago in order to ensure any heirs to the crown are blood born Ashbournes.”
“How does the law do that?” Cleo asks, even though from her tone it’s clear that she already knows. But this is for the edification of the people who will watch later.
“It’s built into the law,” Thayer says squeezing my thigh. “Inheritance of lands and titles must be verified by a paternity test. On the surface it’s to keep heirs from squabbling over parcels, but really it’s to ensure that the right person with the right blood inherits.”
“And in the case of the crown,” I add, feeling worked up and hot. “That means that any child Bree bears will not be in line for the throne and any child I have with my pack will need to be tested to ensure Forsythe is the father.”
“We’ll all be the fathers,” Grieves growls.
“Damn right,” Court adds, fingers brushing my shoulder in support, then pressing harder, a flash of concern coming down this bond.
“It’ll affect all Bravonnian packs, but it was targeted to my sister and me. That is what I mean when I say my grandmother, the queen of Bravonne, has stopped thinking of what is best for our citizens.”
Cleo nods, her eyes latching onto the prince, and I have to bite back a snarl and a demand that she stop looking at my alpha. What the hell is wrong with me?
“I see. I’m sure those same Bravonne citizens are wondering what is being done about it.”
I look at Forsythe, waiting for him to answer, but he pauses, hesitating. “I… can’t go into specifics. I don’t want to give anything away before things are in motion, but needless to say, it will be resolved in a way that is best forallof our citizens. Alpha, Omega, Beta. Packed or unpacked. This law will be struck down. That I can promise you.”
And he really can. Even if the queen doesn’t abdicate, Elizabeth will be queen eventually, and she’ll toss that shit out as quick as she can.
But even before we started this interview the Lords who had supported the law were suddenly reconsidering their positions, pulling their support and there was talk of a repeal without a change in ruler.
“Let’s shift gears,” Cleo looks down at her notecards and a wrinkle appears in her brows, like she’s not pleased with what she’s reading. “There was an assassination attempt at the Bravonne Royal Ballet-”
Grieves growls at just the memory and my lower stomach goes liquid and then clenches. I shift in my chair, growing hotter by the second. And hornier too.
Cleo pauses, taking in all of us. “Do we have any more information about who was behind the attempt?”
I swallow and try to focus, turning my attention to Forsythe as he answers her question, but my brain is becoming increasingly foggy and instead of understanding his words, I focus on the movement of his mouth, the way his lips shape words, the flash of his white teeth in his beard.
God, I want to kiss him. Want to scrape my teeth over that full bottom lip and-
Snap out of it, Ren!
“We believe,” Forsythe is saying. “That the order for the attack may have come from the palace or someone high up in the government.”
Well, that registers.
“What?” It comes out as a whisper, but it’s enough to have all of them snapping their attention to me. “You think your grandmother put a hit out on me?”
I blurt the question before I can think better of it, because of this stupid, creeping brain fog. Thank god this interview isn’tlive—I learned my lesson on the last one—so they can edit that out.
Forsythe frowns as he looks at me, scanning my expression as Thayer lifts me bodily from my chair and deposits me on his lap, wrapping his arms tight around me. He sucks in a sharp breath as soon as his skin touches mine.
My scent blooms in the air, from just this, having his arms around me, sitting in his lap.
“Sythe,” he rumbles and something in his tone has the prince snapping his attention back to me. “We need to wrap this up.”
I open my mouth to protest, but then stop short. We’ve said everything we need to. And I’m really starting to not feel well.
The prince looks back at Cleo. “We’re not sure exactly who issued the order,” he says, his tone brisk and efficient. “But we do believe the threat to Florence’s life originated from within the palace.” He repeats, being careful to not outright accuse his grandmother like I did, people will draw their own conclusions about who it might have been and why.
“Do you think it’s possible,” Cleo says, with a fair amount of glee in her voice. “That it was Isadora Aureline? Perhaps she thought she could take out her competition, like she tried to do in that game of capture the flag.”
“The investigation is ongoing,” Grieves replies, leaning forward to slide his palm down the back of my head tenderly. “Florence’s safety is our only priority at the moment.”
