Page 70 of The Princess and the Pack

“Please. Please just trust me.Please,” I beg. I don’t wait and see if she follows directions; I’m swift to move past her and cut my father off before he can get any closer.

I recognize the young woman on his arm as the same omega he wanted to shove my way at Ivy and Cillian’s wedding. She’s the daughter of one of the dickheads my father surrounds himself with. Lady Orla Fitzpatrick is persistent; I’ll give her that. This is not the first or even fourth time she’s attempted to catch my eye over the years.

In another lifetime, her pretty face might tempt me into a union that would suit my father. Maybe I’d agree to the match and make him proud of me for the first time in my fucking life. But no one, in any world, will have me so long as Ivy exists there too. I can’t stand the thought of her being hurt, even slightly, by my father’s stupid scheming.

“Ah, my son!” He plasters on a shit-eating grin. I’d like to punch it clean off his face. “You’re a hard man to see these days. So busy in your service to the king.”

He throws around my status so as to impress anyone within earshot, but I know better. He doesn’t care about me. Only what my proximity to Cillian means for his social capital.

“What do you want?” My tone is cold. I don’t bother greeting his companion. Best not to leave an inch of room for her to take.

Anger simmers like hot coals in the depths of his familiar green eyes. The hard set of his jaw is a sign he’s fighting to contain the verbal lashing to which I’m so accustomed. He’s never laid a hand on me, but his constant, biting words hurt enough on their own. “I’m sure you remember Lady Fitzpatrick. Her father and I were discussing what a good match you’d make.Oran and Orla—how sweet, is it not? I offered to?—”

“Enough,” I bite out, cutting him off before he can continue with his trickery.

Orla gasps, likely taken aback by my impertinence. But I don’t give a shite about her or her false honor. She knows good and well I have no interest in her or any of the other omegas at court. I’ve made it clear many times over when I rebuked their advances and declined meetings with their power-hungry fathers.

My father is trying to force my hand, doing this so publicly. He hopes I won’t make a scene, but he’s severely underestimated me and the lengths I’ll go to protect Ivy’s heart.

His face is red as a rose, anger boiling up within him until he bursts. “Watch your tone, you ungrateful little shite! How dare you insult me when I’m merely trying to help you.”

I laugh, though it lacks any humor. “Help me? By shoving another potential bride down my throat? I told you once, like I’ve told you a hundred times. I won’t marry anyoneyouchoose for me.”

Scoffing, that bastard steps toward me with unleashed rage in his eyes. His freckled cheeks are even redder, his teeth gritted. “Listen to me, boy. You’re a foolish fucking lad if you think?—”

“I beg your pardon!” my omega cries. Her dress swishes as she hurries to step beside me, her apple-cinnamon scent replaced with burnt sugar in her distress.

“Your Majesty,” my father sputters, wide-eyed and tripping over himself. He bows hastily as Lady Fitzpatrick curtsies. The abject horror on her face tells me she likely wishes she were anywhere but here.

Good.She needs to move to some other mark. Too bad for an ambitious climber like herself, Tiernan and I are both taken. She’ll have to settle for a lord with much less prestige. Not that Ivy cares about my station. I could be working in the kitchen—in the garden like Sloan—and she’d choose me.

“Who do you think you are to speak to him that way?” she demands.

My lip twitches, fighting a smile, as she huffs and puffs in defense of my honor.

“I—Your Majesty, forgive me. I was simply reminding my son of his duties to his family name. Lady Fitzpatrick here, well, her father and I thought?—”

“Thought what?” Ivy asks, her tone scathing. Before I can interject, her delicate hand slips into mine, lacing our fingers together in an unmissable, public claim. Her skin is so warm, so soft and sweet as it presses against mine. I don’t know what she’s doing—what she’s thinking—but it seems she’s not finished. “You thought you’d try and marry my scent-matched alpha off to someone else? Hmm?”

I freeze, squeezing her hand in warning. This is not the time or the place for such an admission. My father can’t be trusted. Neither can the prying eyes around the room that are presently glued to us.

“Certainly you’re mistaken, my queen. The king is your mate, is he not? I don’t think he would appreciate?—”

“Don’t presume to speak for the king,” she growls. “Oran ismine, as is the king. And you would do well to remember that, Lord Rafferty.”

My father’s gaping mouth and beet-red cheeks are enough to make me cackle. And I do, loudly and with abandon. I can’t fucking help it. This is too priceless a moment—too unbelievable that Ivy has this done for me.

For us.

I’m so fucking in love I could sing.

My teeth are aching to claim her here—now—as she’s claimed me. My cock hardens quickly in a desperate need to rut her senseless. “Let’s go, love,” I whisper, tugging her by the hand.

I don’t want to look at my father’s face for a second longer. I don’t want to seeanythingbut Ivy—bare and locked on my fucking knot.

“One more thing!” my mate shouts, frenzied in her defense of me. But if she doesn’t quit, I’ll come in my trousers and not her pretty cunt. That would be a damn shame.

“Ivy!” I growl, my scent now a raging inferno of fire and wild smoke. All because of her.

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