Page 2 of Luna's Forgotten Vow

"Why?" I ask.

The older woman looks annoyed by the question. "You should be grateful?—"

I smile sweetly. "Well, why don't you go serve them yourself?"

She bristles, flushing with anger and she mutters something under her breath that sounds like 'put in your place tonight', but I don't catch the rest of it. "It is possible the Alpha names his mate tonight. She wants you near." She leers at my uniform that's stained with sauce and soup. "And presentable."

I nod, though my mind whirls. I knew he would make the announcement sooner or later, but not this soon. And he didn't mention a thing about it, or hint toward it for that matter.

Returning to my quarters, I swap my uniform for a short black dress and battle my frizz into something manageable. I wipe the soot off my face, reapply mascara, and push away the unease gnawing at me.

Ten minutes later, tray in hand, I weave through the hallways past affluent guests mingling, laughing at Goddess knows what.

The decorated hall soon comes into view and it is as grandiose as it is packed. Glassware clinks, champagne flutes rise high inthe air, laughter drowns out the soft music floating from the mezzanine. Expensive, rare stones catch the light on the necks of prestigious Lunas from far and wide, and golden cufflinks and brooches hooked to the suits of the wealthiest Alphas and Betas in the world gleam richly.

The air is thick with the scent of tasteful wine and tension, the latter having to do with the group standing on the other side of the hall.

Not once in the long, bloody history of our people have the North and South crossed each other's borders for anything else but war.

And yet, here they are, their presence bleeding unease and tension into every hushed whisper and curious, as well as hostile side glance. They don't sip the champagne. They don't engage in pleasantries. They watch. Cold, assessing, and vaguely amused, like we are something to be dissected and still found lacking.

The last thing I want is to walk in that direction, but I have no other choice.

No one else would dare go there, so they sent me, the supposed runt.

I start to make my way across, stealing glances at the dais in search of a particular blonde. I deflate when I don't find him.

He's probably busy with the guests?—

I bump into someone and to avoid spilling the drinks, I grip the tray so hard, it digs lines into my palms. "I'm so sorry—" I halt when my gaze meets honey brown ones and my stomach tightens for a whole different reason.

A small smile creeps onto my lips and if I wasn't holding the tray, I might have jumped right into his arms. I start to tell my boyfriend and mate that I missed him. "Ronan?—"

But he doesn't answer.

Doesn't move.

Doesn't actually acknowledge me at all.

His gaze locks onto mine for the briefest second—a flicker of recognition—before his expression smooths into cold indifference. Then, like I'm nothing, he dismisses me. Turns his head right.

That's when I see her.

The Northern woman perched on his arm, tall and stunning in a way that belongs on magazine covers, her golden silk gown hugging every perfect curve. She leans into him, laughing at something he murmurs, her hand curled possessively around his forearm.

He—They walk past me.

The tray wobbles in my hands and the music, as well as the crowd grow distant as I watch them go. I don't move for several seconds, standing there and wondering what the hell just happened.

It's not the first time Ronan and I have played this game where we act like we don't know each other in the public eye. Before his father died, we agreed to keep our bond a secret because he knew his father would force him into rejecting me and mate him to someone else.

But his father has been dead for three weeks now, and even if his ceremony hasn't been held, he's already taken up the mantle as Alpha.

I expected things would be different, and even if they weren't, he would usually smile a little and brush his fingers against mine in a silent apology.

I understood, I always did. But now, I don't.

All I can think of as I serve the guests is the woman's finger around his arm and her lips brushing against his cheek as she leaned in.

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