The Luna's Bodyguard [a mature werewolf romance]

Ch 24: The Cruel Prince

OPHELIA

By the time I stepped into the dining hall, my hair was completely unbound, all the hours of work Addy put into taming my silky tresses gone to ruin. The braids had a nice, wavy effect that I thought rather suited my scarlet ensemble, and surprisingly, my lipstick was heavy duty enough to survive. I looked like sin incarnate, and I walked like it too, holding my head high as I effectively gate-crashed the court of fangs that all the others had been terrified of appeasing. I drew comfort and strength from Fallon's towering presence, the warm skin of his arm as I held on, letting him turn me about the room.

Ruination was only a bad thing if one cared about being ruined. And I was from Carn Liath; I didn't give a flying fuck about their English propriety or stuffy traditions. As far as they knew, I was going to be their future Luna; they'd have to learn to suck up to me if they wanted to keep whatever petty power they'd clawed up for themselves up until this point.

Rather than give the Crown Alpha or his cruel son the satisfaction of eying them first, I took in the servants lined up against the walls. Witches, every single one of them, who'd taken over Omega duties of old, allowing all lycans — however weak — to feel a sense superiority. It was the arrangement that won the Crown Pack the support it needed to branch out into so many countries in the first place, securing itself an empire of old, one that profited off the exploitation of a lower class.

I was at the far corner of the stage, nearest the prince's throne, when my signet ring suddenly burned hot. That was when I noticed the wide eyed girl clutching a pitcher to her chest, looking so green it was a wonder I'd managed to recognise her at all.

Aurora. What the fuck was she doing here?

My nerves plummeted. I had to be dropping off the edge of a cliff. I had to be insane to see her standing right there, dressed in the servant clothes of the enemy. All of my hard work, drawing away her hunters, and for what?

Unless it had all been a ruse from the start. I inhaled sharply, forcing my eyes to glance over my sister as if she was anyone else, wishing I had the luxury of glaring at Fallon as he continued to lead me through the chamber. Was it all a ruse from the start? Had they known where Aurora was the entire time and entertained my delusion, feeding into the fantasy that I was making a noble sacrifice and keeping her safe by taking her place?

There was every chance she'd come looking for me, too. I would have done it, were the roles reversed, but then again, I was her bodyguard. Not a princess, or anybody's mate, but the Lost Luna's bodyguard, and now that she was here, purpose quickened my blood and renewed my fiercely protective rage. Fallon's thoughts brushed against mine, like a warm and steadying hand, but I yanked up steel walls around my mind. This could turn into a fight at any second, and Fallon, for all his sweet words in the hallway, would turn on me in an instant if it meant saving his sister.

The prince took a long draught from his goblet in my peripheral vision, all poise and seductive, arrogant grace. Aurora shook off her stupor, leaning forward to fill his cup. That was when the rug was ripped out from under me for the second time, as I afforded her — well, technically my — betrothed a cursory glance, that turned rather quickly into an intense stare down.

Nate sat on that throne. My Nate, the one who trembled in the wake of his possessive rage, professing that he hated the violence, for it reminded him of his father. The boy who got excited over the idea of going to charity shops with me to find old things with interesting stories and make them our own. The one who slow-danced with me and made me look into his hooded teal eyes every time I came apart in his arms, as if he was desperate for me to want him as much as he wanted me. As if someone had hurt him and he craved reassurance that he was loved and important.

No, I realised slowly, as the man on the throne smirked, his eyes raking up and down my body without care for what was proper. As if this was his first time laying eyes on me and he didn't know what it was like to have me in the sheets. This isn't Nate.

It was Ignatius Pendragon. And he looked utterly ravishing, every inch the cruel prince that rumour promised in even the furthest corners of the land. His dark hair artfully mussed, brushing the nape of a jet-black surcoat, and he sat with his legs wide, leaning forward on his knees like the rake that he was. It didn't escape me that his gaze dragged down from my hair to the apex of my legs, nostrils flaring, as if he could scent what I'd just done with Fallon.

A low rumble slipped through the prince's teeth, and the giant's forearm tensed, the muscle pushing back against my digging fingertips.

You lying bastard, I thought vehemently.

He blinked, like a cat, and I realised he'd heard me. There must have been just enough of our blood in each other's systems to kickstart the mate bond. It was probably how Fallon had managed to reach for my mind before.

The Crown Alpha started to laugh. It was a cruel, sharp sound, slicing through the air like a reaper's scythe, and my head snapped towards him, the spell of Nate's — Ignatius's — eyes splintering apart.

The Crown Alpha was lean and honed as a dagger, with a steely beard to match the cold, bluish slate of his eyes.

"You are right on time, Lady van Arsdale," he said, a wicked grin splitting his puckered mouth. It reminded me of tomato peel splitting as the fruit inside it rotted. "Ah, but we are to be family soon. Surely you will not object to my calling you Ophelia."

Thoughts? Predictions?

On a scale of one to Nate and Fallon, how screwed do you think Ophelia is going to be in the next chapter?

Love,
Lyra xxx