Lizzie shrugs and turns to me, propping her hip on the banister. “Soon. As soon as I can manage. I’ve been in chats with Lord Crowhurst and Minister Redgrave. I’ll need as much support as I can get from the Lords. But there are still a disturbing number of old men who salivate over the thought of having omegas under their thumb in this way. It is frustrating beyond belief. Why? You want to be there when I tell her?”
I shift, suddenly uncomfortable. My shoes are making my feet ache, and my suit is too bloody tight, the collar of my shirt strangling me. I don’t want to be here anymore. No. I want to be five blocks away in a cozy apartment with my pack. With my omega. I want to say ‘fuck all this’ and just go to them.
“I do,” I admit eventually. “But more than that I want to make things right with Florence before she abdicates. I don’t want Ren to think the only reason I choose her is because Gramsis no longer a threat. I want her to know that I’m choosing her because she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, to us. That I lo-” I cut off the word. I haven’t said it yet to Florence, I won’t tell me sister before her.
Elizabeth grins at me. “Then you better get to work.”
The first thing I do is seek out my grandmother to bid her farewell.
I don’t want to be here any longer. I want to be with my pack.
She’s in the ballroom, dressed in a gown that looks too young for her advanced age, a crown perched on her head and a crowd of sycophants around her, just as she prefers.
Isadora perks up as I approach, like she thinks I might be there for her, only to deflate when I ignore her, moving instead to my grandmother’s side. I press a kiss to her cheek, while she beams as though she’s proud of me, but I know better. This is all for show.
“I’m off,” I tell her. That pride she’d been projecting falls, a flicker of her true feelings coming through before she smooths it away.
“So soon?”
I give her my polite smile, the one she’s hammered into me from a young age. “Indeed. My pack is waiting for me, as is my omega.”
The crowd around us titters at that, at my casual mention of Florence. The queen’s expression turns icy. Isadora pushes to my side, latching onto my arm before I can stop her. “Oh, I’m right here, my love,” she purrs, but there’s an edge of desperation in her tone.
I shake her off, forcibly, and step away from her. “The correct form of address is Your Highness,” I tell her. “I’m sure you remember.”
Heart thundering, I turn to my grandmother and dip into a bow. “Have a pleasant evening, Your Majesty.”
“Forsythe,” She calls out after me, stalling my steps. “A word, if you please.”
This is not a request, it’s an order. One I’m inclined to ignore, but I’ve also already angered her enough for the day, so I turn back with a solicitous smile on my face and bob my head. “Of course, grandmother.” I drop her title on purpose.
Her lips tighten before she turns and leads me out of the room, her back ramrod straight, her gait slightly off kilter.
As soon as we’re alone, tucked into a quiet room just off the ballroom, she spins toward me, face a mask of disdain and anger. “What, precisely, do you think you are doing, my boy? Claiming that girl as your omega.”
“That girl’sname is Florence. And I am only speaking the truth.Finally. She is my omega, my pack’s omega. My scent match, grandmother. Surely you can understand what that means.”
Her eyes, so like my own, narrow into a glare. “We agreed you would not pursue things with that chit.”
I’m not sure where she thinks we agreed on anything. It was more that she threatened the safety of my omega and I bowed to her wishes out of fear. But no more.
Grieves is right, we can protect her from anything that the queen throws our way. The more transparent we are, the more honest about our situation, the less power my grandmother has. That will be my goal, to leech as much of her power from this situation as I can.
“Things have changed,” I say, honestly. “I should have done this ages ago if I’m honest. Back on that bloody television show, I should have just ignored you and picked her.”
“Isadora is the correct choice,” she insists, thumping her cane on the ground to punctuate her point.
“No, she’s not. Not for me, and not for my pack.” When she just glares at me I try a different tact, softening my voice. “Surely you can see how it would look to the world if we didn’t choose our fated mate?”
“That information should have never come out. Stupid girl. She should have known better.”
“Yes,” I say drily. “She should have known better than to contract a rare disorder due toouractions. She is sick because of me. Because of us.”
The queen gives a sharp shake of her head. “Why she became ill is none of our concern, beyond that she is clearly weak and would make for a poor mate for a prince.” My lip curls back in a snarl at her words, my alpha displeased at hearing his mate described as weak. Florence isn’t weak. She’s the strongest person I know. “You will not choose her, Forsythe. She will not strengthen the throne, our family. You understand that, don't you?”
There’s a long pause, during which I come to terms with what will happen next, the disappointment I’m barreling toward.
“She’s our scent match. Our fated mate, the other half of my soul, my whole heart and you’re still asking us—asking me—to give her up?”
