Chapter 25: Ivy

Chapter

Twenty-Five

IVY

I try not to make it too obvious I'm on edge as I follow another attendant through winding marble corridors toward the royal dining hall. The soft swish of my dress and the gentle chime of the beads on my veil echo off the pristine walls.

The attendant pauses before a set of towering white wooden doors. "Are you ready, honored guest?"

No.

I'm not ready at all.

But I nod anyway.

The doors swing open silently, and I have to bite back a gasp. The dining hall is unlike anything I've ever seen. Soaring white columns stretch up into darkness, joined by sheer curtains draped between them that catch the warm glow from hundreds of brass lanterns suspended on delicate chains.

It's like we're dining inside a cloud at sunset.

The table itself is a masterwork of white marble and carved ibises supporting it on their outstretched wings. It stretches the length of the hall, gleaming like still water, reflecting the light from crystal goblets and delicate place settings that put anything I've seen in Reinmich to shame. White flowers I don't recognize spill from ornate vases, their petals seeming to glow from within.

My heart races as I take hesitant steps into the opulent dining hall. The soft whisper of my dress against the marble floor seems deafening in the hushed silence that's fallen over the room.

All eyes are on me, and I fight the urge to bolt.

Then my alphas all rise in unison to acknowledge me along with the queen, and my fears settle into a nervous fluttering. Their white and gold uniforms are a far cry from their usual battle-worn gear.

Thane catches my eye first, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The crisp white jacket and shirt accentuate his broad shoulders and powerful build. He looks every inch the commanding officer he is. The gold epaulets on his shoulders gleam in the warm light, matching the intensity in his dark eyes as he watches me approach.

Wraith stands rigidly next to his brother, his massive frame somehow even more imposing in a uniform that wasn't made for an alpha quite as tall and muscular as he is. He's kept his white scarf firmly in place, the scars on his cheeks just barely visible over the edge, and I can see the tension radiating off him in waves. His blue eyes find mine, filled with both awe and anxiety.

Beside him, Valek stands with deceptive casualness in his loose posture. The silver scarf he put on earlier is still wrapped around his lower face, matching his eyes. His gaze is unusually warm as he watches me, but that glint of perpetual amusement is still there.

It isn't aimed at me, though.

It rarely is.

It's probably because Whiskey is in a proper uniform.

Whiskey fidgets with his collar, clearly uncomfortable in the formal attire. But he looks striking, even though it's far from his usual taste. The tailored jacket accentuates his bulky build, making him look even stronger than usual. His chestnut hair has been tamed into something resembling order, though a few stubborn strands have gotten loose.

And then there's Plague.

Hamsa .

He stands to the right of the queen, looking more regal than I've ever seen him. His royal uniform fits him perfectly, emphasizing his lean build and sharp angles. A white scarf adorned with delicate gold embroidery covers the lower half of his face, but the conflict warring in his gaze is still clear as day. It softens only when our gazes meet.

The queen's melodic voice breaks the silence. "Welcome, Ivy." She gestures gracefully to an empty high-backed marble chair at the other end of the table, between my alphas. "Please, join us."

I make my way to the indicated seat, hyper-aware of every step, every rustle of fabric. As I settle onto the plush velvet cushion on the impossibly comfortable chair, between Thane and Wraith, the queen's hands move to her veil.

"There's no need for such formality among family," she says, her voice warm as she removes the intricate covering. Her face is lined with age, but there's a timeless beauty to her features. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, and the same intelligent eyes Plague has.

She turns to her son, raising an eyebrow expectantly. He snaps out of whatever trance I've apparently cast over him and reaches up to unwrap his own scarf. He folds it neatly and places it to the left of his place setting.

"Valek, Wraith," the queen continues, her gaze sweeping over my other alphas. "You're welcome to remove your scarves as well. And your veil, dear," she adds, looking at me with a gentle smile.

Valek doesn't hesitate, unwrapping his scarf with a flourish. Everything he does has to be so… flashy. And much to my endless horror, I'm starting to find it charming.

I reach up to my own veil and unclasp it. The cool air hits my face, and I resist the urge to hide in my hair. Apparently, the veil was acting as a shield and keeping me grounded while everyone was staring at me. Without it, I feel strangely vulnerable in this place I certainly don't belong in.

Wraith, however, remains frozen. His blue eyes dart between the faces now exposed around the table. I can see his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the crisp white uniform.

I squeeze his arm gently, trying to reassure him without drawing too much attention. His muscles tense beneath my fingers, ready to snap at any moment. I know how much he hates standing out, how desperately he wants to blend in with the others. But the thought of eating with everyone else when he's so distressed by being unmasked is clearly overwhelming him.

To my surprise, Whiskey appears to be on his best behavior. He's sitting up straight, his usual cocky grin replaced by an expression of polite interest as he listens to the queen giving orders to the attendants. It's almost unnerving to see him so... composed. I catch Plague watching him warily from across the table, clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But it doesn't.

At least, not yet.

Then the heavy marble doors creak open, drawing everyone's attention.

Especially Plague's.

A tall alpha strides in, his boots clicking against the polished floor. His royal uniform matches Plague's, but he's bigger, sturdier. The resemblance to Plague is still unmistakable.

They're clearly brothers.

My alphas tense around me, hands inching toward weapons that aren't there. Even the queen holds her breath.

Then the alpha's serious expression cracks into a wide grin. He crosses the space between them in three long strides and wraps Plague in a crushing embrace. "Welcome home."

Plague returns the hug with equal force, and something in my chest aches at the raw emotion on his usually guarded face.

"Starting to feel real left out here." Whiskey leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Guess we're the only alphas without any bros, huh, Val?"

Valek's lips curl into that dangerous smile of his. "Speak for yourself." He reaches over and runs his fingers down Wraith's arm like he's petting a giant cat.

I brace myself for Wraith to clobber him. Wraith hates being touched without permission. But he only shoots Valek an irritated look and shifts away.

The lack of bloodshed almost catches me off guard.

When did that happen?

"Everyone," Plague straightens his jacket, composing himself. "This is my eldest brother, Prince Revi."

We all rise and bow, even Whiskey managing a proper show of respect. I keep my eyes lowered, hyper-aware of the proper etiquette drilled into me at the Center even though it doesn't come naturally at all.

"Please, there's no need for such formality." Revi's voice carries the same cultured accent as his brother's. "Any pack that's kept my troublesome little brother alive this long is practically family."

" Troublesome ?" Plague arches an eyebrow. "I seem to recall you were the one who fucked—" He freezes as the queen gives him a surprised stare. Guess he's been a Ghost and not a prince for a little too long. "I mean, messed everything up all the time. "

There's a moment of awkward silence.

But it's Whiskey, of course, who breaks it.

"Nice to meet you, Your Royal Highness," he says to Revi, and I brace myself for whatever inappropriate comment is about to follow. But to my shock, Whiskey just grins and adds, "Thanks for having us. Place is fancy as fuck."

I wince at the curse, but Revi surprises me by laughing. It's a warm, rich sound. "I'm glad you approve," he says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Though I must warn you, the 'fancy as fuck' only gets worse from here."

Whiskey's grin widens. "Bring it on. I could get used to this shit."

Plague looks mortified, but Revi just chuckles. If the queen is shocked, she doesn't show it.

"When the guards told us you had boarded the supply train, I thought it was a cruel joke," Revi murmurs, turning back to Plague. He looks at his brother like he's seeing a ghost. A literal one. "And yet here you are. I came as soon as I got word."

"It's good to see you again, brother," Plague says sincerely, but I don't miss the hint of guilt in his voice.

Or the hesitation.

I remember what he told me and Whiskey earlier. About not knowing what had happened to his father and brothers, if they were even still alive. I find myself overwhelmed with relief for him that at least Revi is still here, and by all appearances, he hasn't been holding Plague's absence against him nearly a fraction as much as Plague himself has.

But there are still so many questions left to be answered.

So much time they're going to have to make up for.

And then there's the war we left behind. It feels like another world here, and in many ways, it is. But could freedom really be so easy? And could I even enjoy it, knowing what's going on out there beyond these gilded walls?

I don't think I could.

And I don't think the Ghosts could, either.

"Revi," Plague says, walking over to stand next to me. "There's someone I'd like to introduce you to. Our omega, Ivy."

Revi's gaze drifts to me, and I'm not used to the kindness and warmth I find there. At least not from strange alphas I barely know. So far, everyone in Surhiira has been kind, but the only alphas I've encountered have been guards and servants. And even then, only briefly.

"Believe me when I say, it is a pleasure and an honor," he says, lowering his head in a reverent gesture and offering his hand.

I freeze, glancing over at Plague. He gives me a slight, reassuring nod, and I place my hand in Revi's, although I realize I have no clue what he's going to do. But I trust Plague.

Revi merely lowers his head further and raises my hand slightly in his before letting it fall away. A gentle, elegant gesture of unmistakable reverence, despite the fact that he's a royal and I'm just a feral omega who doesn't even have a last name.

At least, not one my mother thought was worth passing on. Considering the circumstances that must have led her to the breeding center she had me in, I can't say I blame her for that.

But then, it hits me. In this place, I'm not some random stray. I'm the prince's mate. The prince of a country that clearly views my kind as more than just breeding stock.

It's all too surreal to process.

The kind of thing I never even allowed myself to imagine existed in this world. A world that's always— only —been filled with violence and turmoil for as long as I've been a part of it.

"Come, let us prepare for dinner," the queen says, gesturing for an attendant. "I'm certain our guests are hungry after their long trip."

"Yeah, the pastries on the train were great," says Whiskey, rolling his shoulders before being the first of all of us to sit back down. "But I could use some actual food after all the shit we just went through."

Revi smirks. "It must have been something serious if you were half-naked in the frigid mountains of the Outer Reaches."

Whiskey barks a laugh. "Bro, you have no idea."

I take my seat between Thane and Wraith and watch as Whiskey and Revi trade quips, their easy banter filling the dining hall as attendants pour wine into our glasses, which are all as opulent as everything else. The tension in my shoulders eases a fraction. The others seem to feel almost as lost as I am, but leave it to Whiskey to bulldoze through royal protocol with his usual charm.

"You know," Whiskey says to Revi. "You remind me of myself, if I was Surhiiran. You're like a fancy, princely version of me."

I see Plague stiffen out of the corner of my eye. His jaw clenches as he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear, "That's not what I needed to hear."

Valek, never one to let an opportunity for mischief pass, leans forward with a wicked glint in his silver eyes. "My, my," he whispers to me. "I've heard of daddy issues, but brother issues? That's a new one."

Plague's eyes narrow dangerously as he turns to glare at Valek. I don't even know how he heard that, but he clearly did.

"I thought I told you to behave," he hisses.

Valek blinks innocently, the picture of wounded dignity. "That was Whiskey," he says smoothly.

I hold my breath, waiting for Plague to explode. The tension radiating off him is palpable, his fingers white-knuckled around his fork as he eyes the queen warily. Fortunately, she doesn't seem to notice what's going on, absorbed in responding to an attendant who's asking her a question about dinner.

Plague relaxes, but only a little.

The doors open again and attendants sweep into the room, carrying elaborately decorated platters. The rich aroma of roasted meats and sweet spices fills the air as attendants glide silently around the table, loading our plates.

My mouth waters at the sight of perfectly seared cuts of meat, glistening with some kind of herb-infused sauce, nestled alongside colorful roasted vegetables arranged in intricate patterns.

I glance around, waiting for someone else to take the first bite. Whiskey, predictably, dives right in with enthusiasm, shoveling food into his mouth like he's afraid it's going to disappear.

"Holy fuck," he moans around a mouthful of meat.

"Shhh," Plague whispers to him. "Have some manners."

"You're the one who dropped the f-bomb first," Whiskey says with a snort, chasing the food down with a long swig of sparkling violet wine. "That's some good sh— stuff ."

But Wraith hasn't moved.

His massive frame is rigid in the chair beside me, tension radiating off him in waves. The white scarf covering the lower half of his face remains firmly in place, a stark contrast to the others who have removed theirs.

He must be starving.

But he doesn't want to take his scarf off.

Across the table, I notice Plague watching us with concern. He catches my eye and tilts his head slightly toward Wraith, a silent question.

I give a small shake of my head.

We can't push him.

The queen's melodic voice cuts through the quiet clinking of silverware. "Is everything to your liking?" she asks, her eyes sweeping over all of us before landing on Wraith. A small frown creases her brow as she notices his untouched plate.

"It's delicious, Your Majesty," Thane says smoothly, clearly trying to draw attention away from Wraith. "We're honored by your hospitality."

But the queen isn't so easily distracted. "You're not eating, my dear," she says to Wraith, her tone gentle but curious. "Is the food not to your taste? We can have the kitchen prepare something else if you prefer."

Wraith goes very still beside me. I can feel the tremor running through his body, the way his muscles coil like he's ready to bolt at any second. His breathing quickens, chest rising and falling in sharp, rapid bursts.

"He, uh... he's not feeling well," I lie quickly, hating myself for it but knowing it's necessary. "We've been through a lot. Can we have a minute?"

The queen's eyes narrow slightly, and I know she doesn't believe me. But before she can press further, Plague speaks up.

"You may go," he says, his voice carrying that careful neutrality I've come to recognize as a mask for deeper emotions.

I give Plague a grateful smile before quickly standing up. Maybe a little too quickly considering it's a royal dinner, but that's the furthest thing from my mind right now. Wraith follows, nearly knocking over the table in his rush to get away.

My heart races, too, as I grab Wraith's massive hand and pull him into the empty corridor, away from the oppressive weight of all those eyes. His hand engulfs mine, trembling slightly despite his iron grip.

"It's okay," I murmur as we move further down the corridor, though I'm not sure if I'm trying to reassure him or myself. "We're away from everyone now. You can breathe."

And so can I.

Holy shit, this dinner is… a lot.

He doesn't respond, but his chest heaves as he gulps in air like he's been drowning. I hate seeing him like this. My fierce, protective alpha reduced to a panicked animal by something as simple as a formal dinner. But I understand. After everything he's been through, after years of isolating himself, being thrust into the spotlight like this must be excruciating.

We round a corner and I spot an alcove tucked away behind a gauzy curtain. Perfect. I tug gently on Wraith's hand, guiding him into the small space. It's a tight fit with his bulk, but that seems to help. The close quarters ground him, give him something solid to lean against as he struggles to regain control.

I reach up, cupping his face in my hands. His skin is feverishly hot beneath my palms, a stark contrast to the cool silk of his scarf.

"Look at me," I say softly. "Focus on me. Nothing else matters right now, okay? Just us."

Slowly, his wild gaze locks onto mine. I can see him fighting to center himself, to push back the panic threatening to consume him. He wins that fight, his shoulders slumping slightly before he leans forward with a soft growl and presses his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering shut.

My brave, broken alpha.

"That's it," I encourage. "You're doing so well. Just breathe with me, okay?"

I exaggerate my own breathing, slow and steady, until he starts to match my rhythm. The tremors wracking his massive frame gradually subside, though tension still coils beneath the surface, ready to snap at any moment.

When I'm sure he's calmed enough to hear me, I ask gently, "Do you want me to bring you some food? You don't have to go back in there if it's too much."

Wraith leans back a little and his hands come up to cover mine where they still rest against his face. He shakes his head vehemently, then lets go to sign.

Stay with you. Protect.

My heart swells even as worry gnaws at my insides. Always so concerned with my safety, even when he's the one falling apart.

"I'm okay," I assure him. "Nothing's going to happen to me here. And I don't mind staying out here with you if that's what you need. We could find a quiet place to eat, just the two of us."

But Wraith is already shaking his head again, more forcefully this time. His hands move in sharp, agitated gestures.

No. You go. Be safe. Have fun.

I frown, not liking where this is going. "Wraith, I'm not leaving you out here alone. Either we both go back in, or we both stay out here. I'm fine with anything, as long as I'm with you." I take a deep breath. "Honestly, I'm having trouble, too. This dinner is… a lot, isn't it?"

He stares at me for a long moment, those intense blue eyes boring into mine. I can see the conflict raging behind them. The need to protect warring with his own fears.

He gives a long, hard sigh.

Then, with aching slowness, his hands move to the edges of his scarf.

My breath catches. "Are you sure?"

For you, he signs, and my heart breaks a little.

He nods once, a sharp jerk of his head, and tugs the silky fabric away from his face. The scarf catches slightly on one of his sharp teeth, tearing a little, and he stares down at it with clear misery.

"We'll get you a new one," I say gently, leaning in to kiss his scarred jaw. "I get the feeling they're not short on scarves."

He nods, relaxing slightly.

I lead him back toward the dining hall, our footsteps echoing off pristine marble walls. With each step, I can feel Wraith's grip tightening, see the way his jaw clenches. But he doesn't falter. Doesn't try to turn back.

I'm so proud of him, it's helping me forget how nervous I am.

We pause just outside, and I turn to face him. He's clearly having trouble looking me in the eyes, choosing to stare at the marble floor instead. Maybe all the mirrors and reflective surfaces are bothering him. He flinches as I reach up and cup his scarred face in my hands.

"I'm right here with you," I murmur. "We can leave anytime you need to, okay? Don't forget, I won't mind taking a break at all."

He nods jerkily, then leans down to press his forehead against mine. The familiar gesture grounds us both.

"Ready?" I ask softly.

Another nod, firmer this time.

I take a deep breath and push the doors open.