Page 1 of The Princess and the Pack

Had I known an hour ago I’d be crouched beneath a desk, hiding from my betrothed, I would have stayed in my quarters. But, as per usual, the urge to sate my constant curiosity never goes unpunished.

I’m going to be in so much trouble when they catch me. Sadly, it’s inevitable, as despite my penchant for eavesdropping, I lack the stealth necessary to master my preferred hobby. Though I possess the uncanny ability to know where I must be to garner the best gossip, I never seem to remain undetected for long.

So far this evening, I’ve been lucky, but it soon won’t matter if I can’t shift my position and stretch out my legs. The cramp seizing my calf aches so desperately that sweat beads at my brow. My silence through the pain is a true testament of my resolve not to be caught.

This must be what I deserve for breaking the unspoken rules of my station. I know better than to roam unaccompanied. Princesses arenotto be out of their beds this late, much less in their nightclothes—spying on alphas in their private study.

When my instincts urged me to snoop here, I should have known my fiancé, Prince Cillian, and his maddening companion, Lord Oran Rafferty would soon arrive. My intention wasn’t to spy on any private conversations. I merely wanted to browse through the prince’s library in hopes of finding a shared interest—one I could use to entice him into conversation.

Had he paid even a speck of attention to me on this month-long visit, none of my rule breaking would have been necessary. I could’ve been asleep in my room, preparing for the long journey home my brother Aspen and I will embark on tomorrow.

The week it will take to sail back to our home country of Lucernia could have been spent reminiscing on fond memories made with the prince. Instead, I think I’ll fill the time dreaming up fake hexes to make all his beautiful, raven-colored hair fall out.

For all the years I’ve been engaged to the crown prince of Namara, I know so little about him. I had hoped by visiting him before our wedding, we could change that. I begged my oldest brother, Hawthorn, to allow us this visit. But after the calamitous event that was my oldest sister Rose meeting her betrothed, I’m surprised he agreed.

Years later, Hawthorn isstilldealing with the fallout and Rose continues cursing her intended alpha with each breath she takes.

But regardless of all my maneuvering to bring us together, Cillian seems to be of the opposite mind. Rather than taking advantage of our short time together, he’s made every excuse not to spend a single second alone in my presence.

The fiery-locked fiend sitting beside him on the settee has also ensured his best friend was never subjected to my apparent unpleasantness. Yes, the clever Lord Rafferty is never without a creative reason up his sleeve to keep the prince away from me. My personal favorite? Yesterday, as we sat down to share a quiet breakfast, Oran came running into the dining hall shouting, “Bees!” Nothing more.

Cillian did not need further explanation as he was up in an instant, muttering something about an apparent allergy. I didn’t see either of them—or the invisible bees—again until dinner. By then, we were surrounded by others, and any hopes of a private conversation were dashed.

While the crown prince may oppose our match, I’m determined to build a happy life here in Namara. It’s not as if I would have chosen our situation either, especially when he clearly can’t stand to be in my presence. But what I want—what Itrulydesire—is not an option. So, rather than play the part of a petulant child, as my betrothed has done, I’m devoted to making our impending marriage tolerable.

If I can escape my current predicament unscathed, Cillian’s obstinance will be no match for my romanticism. I may be the one presenting as an omega come my twenty-first birthday, but I’ll court the living hell out of this alpha if I must. My aim is to have him so desperate for my attention that he won’t be able to stand a moment without it.

First, I must ensure I don’t get caught.

All I need to do is roll from beneath this desk so I can crawl to the door without being detected. Cillian will be none the wiser, and I will carry on with wooing my intended once we are wed next spring.

Just as I’m about to attempt my genius escape, I’m stopped dead in my tracks by the sound of my name.

“So,PrincessIvy,” Oran says with caution, testing the sound in his mouth. He draws it out, letting it flow like silk across his tongue.

Though intriguing, the sensual reverence with which he speaks does little to take away from the terror coursing rapidly through my veins. I swear my heart is bruising as it pounds ferociously against my breast. Either my hiding spot is less concealed than I previously thought, or I’m about to be a secret witness to Cillian and Oran’s true thoughts of me.

I’m not sure which I prefer.

“What of her?” Cillian remarks. His tone speaks to his disinterest in me. Though unsurprised, I must say it stings to hear such indifference, given our situation.

“She’s leaving in the morning,” Oran returns, prodding further.

Cillian sighs—a frustrated sound I don’t know how to decipher. It’s clear he isn’t keen on playing into his companion’s game of push and pull. But he’s not willing to ignore him, either. “Why don’t you spit it out, Oran?”

Lord Rafferty lets out a sardonic laugh that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. The sound is dark, mocking, and far too alluring for my comfort.

A sound that tempting should be criminal, especially coming from lips as sensual as Oran’s.

Not that I’ve taken notice of Lord Rafferty’s mouth. Gods, no. It’s just that he’s an objectively gorgeous alpha, what with his striking red locks, those deep emerald eyes, and the sharp edge to his chiseled jaw. Certainly, the delicate smattering of freckles across his fair cheeks doesn’t detract from his handsomeness, either.

If I weren’t engaged to his best friend, perhaps I would pay more attention to the fullness of his lips and their lovely bow shape. But, as it is, Iambetrothed to Cillian, who also happens to be a rather unfairly beautiful man.

Having only heard rumors of the crown prince’s otherworldly good looks prior to this trip, I considered myself skeptical. Surely no man could be stunning as they painted Cillian to be. But my cynicism was dashed the moment I laid eyes on my intended.

Prince Cillian is breathtaking, to be frank, with his impeccably cut jawline and piercing blue eyes. His effortlessly tousled, inky hair is a work of art in itself, and I’m rather infatuated with the darling way in which it curls near his forehead. On several occasions I’ve ached to press myself against the sheer breadth of him, just to feel his chiseled body on mine.

Truly, there is no one in all the western kingdoms more enchanted by the prince’s looks than me. Nor is there anyone more acutely aware of Lord Rafferty’s, if I’m honest.

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