CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

RICHARD

"It was a bitter mistake," his father, Alpha King Frederick Hargreave, snarled. "A betrayal that has cost our pack dearly. That wolf was never meant to be your mate."

Richard's father punctuated his struggle to call Richard's lover a "wolf" by slamming his fist on the table hard enough to rattle every dish, glass, and piece of cutlery. The king showed teeth, his alpha aura pulsing through the room like a pounding bass drum. Fury blazed in his eyes, making them glitter like emeralds holding fire in their center.

For years now, whenever Richard thought of his father, that was how he first imagined him. Furious. And if not angry, then brooding and resentful. Cynical. Domineering. Uncompromising. A king who demanded absolute loyalty and submission without a care for being worthy. A father who was little better.

This time it was too much for Richard to swallow. It wasn't simply the underhanded insult to Justin, Richard's mate, an omega wolf who was far kinder, sweeter, and better than Richard had any right to. No, his father had ordered him to his private chambers to end their love for good. Richard had always been an obedient son, a proper heir, and his father now repaid him with this…this knife in Richard's gut, cutting upward toward his heart.

Pirchet Aarden, the only other person in the dining chamber of the royal quarters, stood behind and to the right of the king's chair, smiling serenely. The newly appointed majinette dreamer reminded Richard of an overfed, over-spoiled, long-haired cat. Pirchet was fleshy, no older than his early thirties, and wore the finest fabrics with too much jewelry. His beard dangled to his chest, his hair cascaded past his shoulders, and he had rubies entwined in his mustachios. He looked quite absurd in Richard's never-humble opinion.

"The path to a soulmate is one of unforeseen twists through a forest of roses," Pirchet explained in the usual officious tone he used with everyone save the alpha king. "The flowers are beautiful, and yet the thorns prick."

"I could tell you something about a prick," Richard growled at the dreamer priest, who stood there with his hands clasped together in the voluminous folds of his ridiculously ornate robe. The bastard appeared entirely too tranquil. Richard turned back to his father's ferocious stare, struggling to find some way to stop this from happening. "We will lose face if I dismiss Justin and take another mate."

That was true, but Richard couldn't care less about egg on the royal face. What gutted him was how this would shatter Justin's heart. It would break him…and it might break Richard before it was all said and done.

Yet, he couldn't tell his father that. He'd be wasting his breath. His father would not care about love. To his father, a mate was a vessel to pour in your seed and generate offspring, preferably male ones. A womb for breeding and little more.

"I'm well aware we will lose face," the alpha king shot back, cracking every word like a pistol shot. "It will be done regardless. This is not only a royal command but the desire of the Goddess Herself. If you wish to continue as my heir, you will obey."

His father snatched up his glass and downed the wine inside. He flung the cup aside to shatter on the marble floor. To Richard, the sound of breaking glass seemed precisely perfect for everything going wrong.

Richard slowly pushed himself to his feet, leaning forward on the table, his stare cold on his father. The light in his father's lush private chambers was low. Too low for Richard's tastes. For all the room's opulence, the gloom turned it sinister.

"You want me to cast Justin aside as if he were nothing?" Richard's heart was punching against his ribcage. The lingering flavor of roast duck and garlic butter mushrooms now tasted of ashes in his mouth. "For over half a year, he's been my mate."

"In grievous error," Pirchet intoned. "My heart is heavy for you, but the previous majinette dreamer was corrupt beyond measure. She was, in fact, tainted by Satornal. She fooled us all until the truth was brought to light by Cerasa."

Satornal, known as the Devil She-Wolf. According to the Church of the Mother, Satornal was the evil deity who opposed Cerasa. And Cerasa, to most of the wolf-kin, was simply known as "The Goddess" or "The Mother Who Loves."

When they'd first told Richard the previous majinette had received a vision-dream of his soulmate—an omega wolf from the lowest rungs of the Hargreave Pack—he'd gone along…admittedly, with a few reservations. A majinette dreamer was essentially a religious matchmaker who had Goddess-given insight into wolfmates. As far as Richard knew, it had always seemed to work as intended. After all, she'd picked out a true omega wolf for him, a rare male who not only matched his sexual preference for men but could give him offspring. If there had been no truth to the mate visions, wouldn't the majinette have picked out a female "mate" for him, despite Richard being gay? After all, the line of succession must continue, omega males were rare, and Richard's sexual orientation was not widely known throughout Altaden.

And, most damning of all, hadn't Richard believed himself in love with Justin?

Now the new majinette dreamer, this Pirchet Aarden toady, was telling him that Justin was not his soulmate. He claimed it had all been some political machination of a corrupt dreamer seeking to taint the royal Hargreave bloodline through the heir to the throne.

His father agreed. Yet, how could Richard overlook the fact that his father had held nothing but disdain for Justin from the beginning?

Richard leaned on the table, struggling to control his wolf, which paced his mind like a caged animal. He thought he might destroy a few crystal glasses himself. After all, was he not his father's child?

"Sit down," his father commanded. "You heard Pirchet. This is the will of a higher power. Even the strongest king must yield to the will of his Goddess."

A cynical half-smile curved Richard's lips, as sharp as a knife blade. "I'm certain it was a struggle for you, Father. You've hated Justin from the first time you heard his name."

"I didn't think you would be such a woman about this. Consider the omega a practice run." His father leaned on one elbow, smoothing a hand over his mouth and close-cut beard as he scowled. Glower aside, his father was fiercely handsome, even in his old age. Silver-haired, with a gray-streaked beard, high cheekbones, and striking, pitiless green eyes. "Thank the Goddess you didn't breed him. If that omega was with cub, it would be a nightmare for the line of succession."

Richard's face burned hot. The back of his neck burned even hotter. His body was betraying him. Of all the wolves and creatures on this planet, only his father could so easily rattle him, get under his skin like a splinter, and shake his usual cool confidence. Richard stood at the end of the table, refusing to sit. It was his petty act of defiance. His fury at being commanded to do this flared up inside. It was so intense that he struggled to speak. All the words that shot into his mind burst into flame and burned away before he could say them.

He realized one thing, however. He hated his father. It was not a thing that had explicitly occurred to him before. Not precisely and certainly not with this intensity, like an icy river spreading through every vein.

His father smiled. It was a cruel, knowing smile. "You're angry."

"Angry is too trivial a word," Richard managed to say, every syllable as cold as he felt inside.

"Be enraged, then. A furious alpha keeps the pack afraid, keeps the rebels in line." His father put both hands on the table and leaned toward Richard, his eyes flashing. "But you will obey me. You've been groomed to take the crown for almost thirty years. It would be a bitter shame for all that effort to go to waste. Defy me, and it will."

Richard ground his teeth so hard he felt pain twinge in his jaw. His father was many things, but he did not bluff. He would strip Richard of the title of heir apparent and give it to Richard's younger brother in a heartbeat. All he needed was a good enough reason.

Damn it all. He felt gutted. Hollowed out. Nothing but an empty shell. Yet, what could he do? If Brin Edwards, the previous majinette dreamer, had been corrupted and the Goddess's will subverted as the church now claimed, the fallout was as stark as it was simple. It meant Justin was not his true mate. Richard had been deceived and his heart betrayed.

He would have to cut Justin loose somehow without crushing him. If Richard didn't do as the king commanded, he risked tearing the pack apart. This couldn't be simple selfishness. Too many people counted on the Hargreave Pack for their lives and safety.

Richard had been waiting his entire life to take over the pack and do everything differently than his father. Even if Justin was only a pawn in some battle between deities, the omega could not stay. If Justin were seen as a concubine or the prince's secret lover, it would be disastrous for the pack and Richard's future rule. Tongues at the royal court flashed as quick and sharp as knives. The weight of leadership felt like an anchor around his neck, relentlessly pulling him under the waves no matter how hard he might struggle to swim.

He sat back down.

Part of him outright hated himself for submitting. That rebellious part wanted to overturn the table and raise a fist in defiance. To shift into his wolf, howl his challenge, and seize the pack by force. Perhaps even maul Pirchet for how smugly pious the majinette appeared.

The rest of him—the civilized part, the prince-raised-for-the-throne part of him—knew what had to be done. He was royalty. He was the crown prince. Hadn't they been schooled since they were cubs that all wolves served the will of Cerasa? Either they served the Goddess, or they did the bidding of Satornal, the Devil She-Wolf. The Church of the Mother was telling him bluntly that Justin was not his mate. Even royalty couldn't defy the Goddess.

"Very well, Father." His voice was ice. He reached for his glass, hoping the wine would calm him. "But I will be the one to tell Justin."

"What makes you think I haven't already had him shaved and exiled from the pack?"

The wine glass shattered in Richard's hand. The crunch and crackle of breaking glass seemed louder than a scream. Richard didn't even look at the shards piercing his flesh. He didn't look at the droplets of his blood opening like red roses on the white linen tablecloth.

"Such cruelty would be beneath even you, Father," Richard said, desperately praying that was true. "You are testing me."

"So what if I am?" His father watched him closely. His eyes were keen and judgmental, taking the measure of his son and heir. Perhaps he'd caught the scent of rebellion. "It is easy to be loyal when that loyalty is never challenged."

Richard slowly closed his fist. He didn't flinch at the jagged pain flaring in his hand as he drove the slivers deeper. "Don't test me, Father. There is a line. I am, after all, your son."

The king smirked. "Perhaps you are. But you are also as headstrong as your mother." It was not a compliment. "No doubt you wish I had died instead of her." He dared Richard to deny it. Richard kept his silence, and the king's smile widened. "You will have to wait your turn for the throne, pup."

"Are we through, Father? My appetite has fled." He looked at his hand and began picking shards of glass out of his flesh, ignoring the pulsing pain. "Even the wine has turned sour."

"No, we are not through." His father's tone was curt, but it was clear that his fury had waned. Why wouldn't it? Richard had submitted, after all. His father had everything he wanted. The king waved a hand at Pirchet. "Tell him."

Pirchet bowed low. "Our Goddess has revealed to me your true soulmate, My Prince. He is one worthy of your station and your highborn wolf blood. Prince Peter Rainier of the Rainier Pack in Seattle is your mate."

"How convenient," Richard sourly mused, recognizing the pack name. "One of the wealthiest wolf kingdoms in the Pacific Northwest. Our pack gets a marriage alliance out of your lickspittle's holy vision. The Goddess certainly works in mysterious ways."

His father"s glare was chilly, although he said nothing. His scent remained sharp, dangerous, but he reveled in his victory.

Pirchet's mouth made a moue of disappointment at Richard's words. "Your Highness, the Goddess has chosen you another omega wolf and blessed me with a vision of surpassing awe. She is ever generous, so I implore you: do not doubt, but feel joy in what she has in store for you, a wolf-son of the chosen people. Hold fast to your faith. The Goddess is inexplicable and multifarious. She tests our hearts, but only to make them stronger."

The king waved away the religious babble with a dismissive sweep of his hand. "If you weren't gay," his father said bitterly, "this would be easier. You should be on your knees thanking me that your mate isn't female."

"Thanking you and not the Goddess?" he asked with a lifted eyebrow and a sour twist to his smile. "That sounds positively sacrilegious. But you are correct, Father, about how fortunate this is for someone as gay as I am. Without an omega to take my royal seed, how would the Hargreave line gain the required offspring to continue our prestigious lineage?"

"Mockery ill-suits my heir. I have bent over backward to accommodate you and your follies. What you are has caused me no end of complications."

Richard slowly stood again. Blood ran down his hand and onto the ornate Persian rug. "Have my follies caused you problems, Father? Have my peccadilloes given the king a few sleepless nights? If my mate had been my true soulmate from the beginning, perhaps this wouldn't be an absolute cock-up for us all."

"It was not the Goddess who was wrong," Pirchet said before the king could reply—a rather bold move, even Richard had to admit. "Brin was a traitor and corrupt, a servant of darkness. She ruthlessly lied about her sanctified vision, paid off by the enemies of House Hargreave to corrupt your royal bloodline with someone unworthy. You and this omega wolf would've been miserable together had you wed, as are all who defy the will of the Goddess."

"That pet omega of yours was not worthy to be your concubine, much less bound to you in royal marriage," the king added when he ran out of patience listening to Pirchet's bleating. His father had always known how to twist the knife.

"His name is Justin Turner, Father. And he is not my pet."

"Not any longer. Command him to leave Altaden. I don't want the news media getting their fangs in him."

Richard had believed things were bad enough. Now his father wanted to cast Justin from the Hargreave Pack entirely. It was another blow that left him staggered.

"Father, I beg you," he said, his voice ragged and desperate, all trace of mockery gone. "Let him stay in the city. We're taking everything else from him. Don't expel him from the pack."

"Exile, not expulsion. If I remove him from the pack entirely, that gives me less leverage over him. This prevents him from joining another pack and blackmailing our family."

"Your father is wise, my prince," Pirchet said. "His solution is certainly for the best. If not for it, we would need to employ…harsher…penalties to ensure Justin Turner did not compromise House Hargreave."

Richard stared coldly at the majinette dreamer. He was barely able to believe the hint at violence, the soft-spoken threat coming from his man, and in the presence of Richard's father, King of Altaden, no less.

His father still watched Richard with narrowed eyes, so strikingly green in those care-worn wrinkles. When Richard did not shift into his wolf and tear out Pirchet's throat, the king nodded solemnly. "You will do your duty, my son. Your scent tells the truth of it, even if your tongue remains insolent."

Richard swept into a bow. Blood droplets splattered across his plate and gold-trimmed cutlery as he moved. "Don't worry your royal heart, Father. I am but a servant of the Goddess. I will do what is necessary for the pack."

The bitterness of his words hung in the air like the reek of vinegar. His father's stare was ice. Richard had pushed things as far as he dared. Any farther and he might find himself confined to the palace, a prisoner amidst opulence.

"See that you do," his father finally replied. "Go. Take your first true step to being a king."

Richard straightened, turned on his heel, and walked away. His hand throbbed. He ignored it. That pain was nothing. Worse pain was coming. His blood trickled down his hand, off his fingers, and left a trail behind him. Something for his father to remember him by.

He took a deep, steadying breath as he left the royal chambers. Now all he had to do was find Justin and break his heart.

* * *

JUSTIN

He looked amazing.

Justin couldn't help a huge grin as he stared at himself in the full-length mirror, turning to admire the fit of the dark blue Italian designer suit. Also, his hair looked immaculate, with his long, dark brown locks frosted with golden yellow. The palace stylist was an artist. Justin had glossy, fine hair that came to his shoulders, but tonight he was wearing it in a ponytail, clasped with an elaborate platinum ring with the pack's wolf crest etched into its gleaming surface.

It had been a gift from Richard. One of many. Richard loved giving him things.

"You look smashing, my lord," Bennard, Prince Richard's manservant, assured him. Bennard's words were followed by a scrutinizing glance over Justin from head to toe. He used a little brush to dust away some piece of lint on the shoulder of the jacket.

Justin would never get used to being called "lord." It didn't help that he wasn't nobility. Why, hello there, imposter syndrome, my old friend.

"Even the boots?" he asked as his self-confidence suddenly flailed and faltered.

Bennard stepped back, put a hand over his mouth, and peered at the boots. His usually smooth brow furrowed as he considered the question. "They are a bold choice, my lord. Yet, I believe they will make His Royal Highness smile."

Goddess, he hoped so. They were cowboy boots of Spanish leather and finely tooled. But the leather had been hand-dyed to appear tie-dye. The boots matched his silk necktie and pocket square in both color and pattern. Both had been custom-made by an Italian tailor who specialized in orders for royalty. The yellow even matched the dye in his hair, pulling the whole package together. He wanted to bring a zany splash of color to the suit, which fit like a glove and might cost over ten thousand dollars but didn't really reflect Justin's personality. He looked too much like a banker without some eccentric style to set him apart.

Also, the boots and the colors were just a little absurd…and in a place of so many protocols and rules, such a bold statement felt like a fresh breeze of rebellion and identity.

Big words. Also, he would never admit that aloud to anyone but Richard. Justin was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a rocking chair museum that Richard wouldn't like the ensemble. He didn't care about the opinions of courtiers and nobles or even the gossipy servants. None of that mattered compared to Richard's opinion. Tonight was going to be one of the most important nights of his life, and he was an anxious bundle of nerves. It didn't help that he desperately loved the prince. It was a hunger inside him that could only be sated when he was with his mate. The feeling was so strong that it sometimes frightened him. It was the least he could do to look nice for the wolf he loved and maybe bring a smile to his face.

Justin closed his eyes and let out a long breath, trying to get a hold of himself. Sometimes everything felt surreal, as if this were all an impossible dream. A dream that had started when Brin Edwards arrived on his apartment doorstep in all her majinette finery and announced that the Goddess intended for Justin to marry Prince Richard Hargreave, the alpha heir to the pack.

At the time, he'd nearly slammed the door on her and ran off to hide under the bed until the crazy lady left him alone. Also, everything had gone very fuzzy and dizzy, and he'd had to sit down. Brin shouldered her way into his apartment and had him recover on his sagging couch. Then she went to make him tea in his own kitchen.

After a bizarre conversation that still seemed like some kind of acid trip or practical joke, Brin had brought him to the palace. He'd been so nervous that it felt as if his stomach were eating itself inside him. Justin must've told her that she was making a terrible mistake at least a hundred times. Brin was patient, but she'd finally snapped at him to stop saying that Cerasa, The Mother Who Loves, would make so careless an error about something so important.

Gradually, he'd even come to accept it. Knowing that the Goddess wanted this to happen had given him the courage to be courted by a handsome and powerful prince without being a tongue-tied, awkward, and stress-sweaty mess. Well, that wasn't exactly right. He'd still been a tongue-tied, awkward, and stress-sweaty mess, but at least he hadn't passed out from fear.

"Come, my lord," Bennard prodded gently. "It won't do to keep the prince waiting, especially when one looks as striking as you do right now."

The valet's words helped boost Justin's confidence enough that he was no longer considering cowering in a palace closet, terrified that Richard would always be so far out of his league. Justin loved the prince with every last part of himself, and sometimes even that became an issue, especially when he wanted to do something perfect for his mate. His feelings were so intense, they were almost painful, a delicious ache all the way deep down in his bones. And tonight? Tonight would be special. He had big news to share with Richard. News that would change everything forever.

Justin was pregnant. They would be starting a family together.

"We should make haste, my lord," Bennard prompted again after Justin merely stood in front of the mirror, still half-dazed by the enormity of what he had to tell his mate tonight. "The prince awaits us in the gardens."

Justin frowned, not sure he'd heard Bennard correctly. "The gardens? I thought we had reservations at No. 9 Park?"

"The prince asked to meet you in the gardens before your dinner excursion, my lord."

"Oh. Okay." As long as they were still going to the restaurant. Otherwise, his "big revelation" plans would be sunk. He wasn't good at planning on the fly.

They had a special VIP room at the restaurant on the thirtieth floor. The restaurant was gorgeous, delicious, and expensive—a place he never would've been allowed if not for his connection to pack royalty. He was ever aware of that undeniable truth. In fact, he'd almost chosen another place to share his big announcement with Richard—a place more in line with who he was as a person. At a park or on a hike or maybe a trip to a lake or a stroll along a stream. Somewhere an omega wolf might go. A place for a commoner who would never get reservations to exclusive five-star restaurants on his own and couldn't afford it even if he did. Somewhere beautiful and close to nature…

In the end, he'd decided to share the news tonight at the restaurant because it symbolized him accepting his new life and embracing this often-frightening royal world. His wolf might still be timid inside the palace, among all the guards and servants, courtiers and lords, but he was determined to be a good mate to Richard.

Richard deserved the best. And Richard would make an excellent father.

Justin smiled and put a hand on his abdomen. No swell there yet, of course. No one else knew except for his doctor and whoever had done the blood work at the lab. This was going to be a huge surprise. His due date was May 11th. On that day or thereabouts, Richard Hargreave would receive the most precious gift Justin could possibly give. He looked forward to seeing the joy light up Richard's eyes when he learned the news. It would be one of Justin's most cherished memories, he just knew it.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. After one last glance in the mirror, he turned to Bennard.

"Thanks for always making me look better than I look," he blurted and then laughed. "That sounded more intelligent in my head."

Bennard smiled kindly. "The sentiment is deeply appreciated, my lord."

The valet had to be in his mid-twenties, but his dignified "butler" air always made him seem far older. All the palace servants were very formal until you got to know them. Justin made it a habit to try and know them as people. Some of them didn't like it. Some of them were extremely gossipy. Some of them didn't like him, and their scent revealed as much—a reaction they couldn't easily hide behind an impassive, professional face. But he understood. If this hadn't happened to Justin, he too might resent how divine intervention randomly blessed him with future wealth, luxury, and power.

Especially since almost eight months ago, Justin had been eeking out a living as a rideshare driver. He'd been part of the Hargreave Pack, living in Altaden and sworn to the king, but aside from witnessing a few official functions and the like, he'd been as removed from the palace as it was possible to be. Now he would soon be formally engaged to the prince…and far more importantly, he was carrying the prince's child. A truth that still didn't feel real.

A servant waited in the palace hall to escort him to the gardens. Justin had his own room in one of the palace's guest chambers. He didn't "officially" live in the prince's chambers yet, despite being Richard's Goddess-chosen mate. Could you imagine the scandal? Living with the prince was a violation of royal palace protocol, even if Justin had already spent plenty of nights in bed with Richard, experiencing more than his share of toe-curling, mind-blowing pleasure.

Still, protocol was protocol, and wolves in the palace were obsessed with it. The same way that the nobles of the pack were obsessed with rank, social position, and status, even over wealth. He didn't like it, but an omega wolf wasn't the kind of guy to change the way packs had operated for hundreds of years.

Justin trailed the servant through opulent halls filled with lush draperies, tapestries, artwork, and fancy wall sconces. These days, he barely noticed the exquisite luxury that had left him gaping when he'd first arrived at the palace. A flutter of unease stirred inside him. He supposed you could get used to anything, but he didn't want to become the kind of person who was blasé about this opulence, especially when so many weren't as lucky as he was.

The servant, a middle-aged man that Justin believed was named Vatris, stopped at the glass doors decorated with ornate frosted patterns. He bowed and held one of the doors open for Justin. "The prince awaits you at the fountain, Lord Turner."

"Thank you."

Lord Turner. At first, he'd imagined he heard scorn in the word whenever people used it. The chamberlain, who was obsessed with royal protocol more than anyone else, had explained the necessity of providing Justin a title of nobility, even if it was a mere formality. The Goddess had chosen Justin as the prince's mate; therefore, some title of respect must be bestowed upon him by the court. If the royal chamberlain hadn't looked particularly pleased about a nobody-omega like Justin thrust into the upper ranks of palace power, he could certainly sympathize. Even all these months later, he felt like a fish out of water. And wearing crazy cowboy boots in wild colors probably didn't endear him to the old guard.

Justin stepped through onto the veranda—or was it a terrace?—and a huge courtyard…or was it a backyard? He wasn't sure of the terms, but it was big and majestic, and the palace held all kinds of grand events here with colorful banners, bright sunshades, and strings of lanterns in the evenings. It was dusk, and the heat of the day was fading.

He followed a pathway winding across an immaculate lawn. He headed toward the formal gardens beyond a line of decorative hedges. Some of the hedges were trimmed into animal shapes. Mostly wolves. He supposed that made sense, but it did seem rather…expected. Why not something wild like a dragon or maybe even a huge platypus shrubbery?

Prince Richard stood at the fountain with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his suit trousers. His suit jacket was off and lying on the marble fountain's edge. Justin felt a smile slowly spread across his face as he crossed the carved paving stones in the fountain courtyard to the mate he loved. Damn, he would never get used to how handsome Richard looked. Tall, regal, strong, with broad shoulders and a powerful build, but elegantly handsome too. It downright made Justin's thighs quiver.

"Making wishes?" Justin teased as he moved closer to the fountain.

His mate must've been lost in thought. Even though Richard was a wolf shifter, he didn't seem to notice Justin until he spoke. Then he wheeled around quickly, like a predator detecting prey, and his face was shadowed heavily in the fading twilight.

Richard pulled his hands from his pockets and strode toward him. His green eyes—nearly the same green as the king's—shone with piercing intensity. Justin's steps faltered. He'd expected one of Richard's smiles—the special smiles he always seemed to have whenever Justin showed up—but instead, the prince seemed almost ferocious.

The prince reached him and, without a word, pulled Justin into his arms. His embrace was strong, nearly crushing.

Justin didn't have the chance to think or feel because Richard kissed him hard. His hands came up around the prince by purest reflex. He held on for dear life as Richard deepened the kiss, the passion in it nearly desperate.

When they finally came up for air, Justin had a huge smile on his face again, his fears vanquished by the kiss.

"Wow," he managed to say while breathing considerably faster, his heart pumping harder, and his body far warmer now. "You must really like my new boots."

The prince glanced down between them at the wild tie-dye-patterned cowboy boots that were cool because they were so cheesy. Instead of the expected laugh of delight or even a smile, Richard let him go and walked a few steps back to the fountain.

Unease spread through Justin, along with a low-burn feeling of shame for picking out such silly-looking boots, much less blowing so much money on them. Or rather, having the palace blow money on them. Now he felt like an absolute fool. Irresponsible, with bad taste and worse judgment.

"What…?" His voice caught in his throat like a fishhook. He cough-cleared it and pressed on, his heart rate now a slow, dreadful beat inside him. His lips still tingled from the fierce kiss, and that somehow made him feel worse. "What's wrong?"

He heard the plaintive whine in his voice and hated it but was unable to stop it.

"You did nothing wrong," Richard replied but didn't look at him.

"Then, what?" Suddenly, he noticed Richard's right hand was wrapped in a bandage. He rushed to the prince's side and gently took his big hand in both his small ones. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Richard stared down at his injured hand. His face was grim, his eyes impossible to read. "You don't need to concern yourself with it."

"Of course I'm going to worry about you getting hurt. What's going on?"

Richard slowly but irresistibly withdrew his hand from Justin's grip. Justin stood there, lowering his hands to his sides as he waited for Richard to answer. Richard pulling away hit Justin like a punch to the center of his chest. His disquiet deepened into something that threatened to drown him.

"I don't know how to do this without hurting you," Richard said. He laughed, but the sound was bitter and cold, sounding nothing like Justin's mate. "Perhaps it's best to make a clean cut."

Justin swallowed a scream of panic and frustration. He stood there, hearing the thud of his heart echoing in his head, his wolf cowering inside him as if it had just been kicked.

Richard met his eyes and continued. "We aren't mates, Justin. We aren't getting engaged. We won't be married. We are over."

The words the prince spoke seemed incomprehensible in Justin's mind, as if Richard were speaking another language. He simply stood and stared, feeling as if all the gears in his mind had broken.

Richard steadily looked Justin in the eyes. The prince's expression was stark, his eyes haunted with anger and shame. Maybe grief. Maybe there was some grief there for doing this to him.

Justin's mental paralysis broke all at once. In its absence, panic, sorrow, and self-revulsion crashed through him like a flash flood.

"It's because I don't fit in…" Justin's throat seized up. It clamped so tight that it hurt, and he could barely breathe. It all seemed so foolish now—the silly boots, the matching color frosting his hair, the entire stupid outfit. It screamed to the world that a wolf like him didn't have the right breeding to be a prince, much less an alpha mate. He had no dignity, no gravitas. His choices were gauche and ridiculous. He was a commoner and an omega. Second-class to the bone.

Richard reached out and grabbed Justin's shoulder. He squeezed but didn't pull Justin into his arms again. He didn't hug him or comfort him with an embrace.

"Listen to me, Justin. This isn't about you. You did nothing wrong. There was a horrible mistake."

Of course there'd been a mistake. Hadn't he suspected it from the start? Hadn't he always feared it, gnawing away at the back of his mind? After all, what chance did a skinny, quirky omega have with a handsome and wealthy alpha prince? Especially with a prince like Richard, the best man Justin had ever known.

Yet, it seemed so viciously cruel to take it all away from him now. Tonight. Before he'd even had the chance to share his news.

So viciously cruel.

"A mistake…?" He hated how dazed and stupid he sounded when he spoke. His hands were shaking. His voice was weak, but he had to say something. Richard was staring at him as if he expected words.

"The king…my father explained it all to me tonight. It's all a fucking mess." Richard stopped and ran his good hand through his short hair, making parts of it stand up in disarray.

Justin didn't reply. His mind was pitifully blank. The rest of him felt as hollow as a drum.

Richard looked at him again. The dismay on the handsome face that Justin had come to love so dearly was impossible to ignore, and yet it did nothing to lessen the agony inside him.

"The majinette dreamer was a traitor to the Goddess." Richard slashed a hand through the air in anger and dismissal. "The church claims she is sworn to the Devil She-Wolf."

"I don't understand." His words were barely a whisper. Inside his mind, his wolf curled up in a little ball in the deepest, darkest part of his thoughts, only its pain-filled eyes shining in the depths. "I don't…"

Richard shook his head and slowly rubbed the bridge of his nose. His scent was one of pain and grief. Justin yearned to throw himself into the bigger wolf's arms and comfort him…or take comfort from him…or both. But he couldn't.

There had been a mistake.

"Listen," Richard pressed on. "I don't have all the details. I will, though. Believe me. But tonight, my father revealed that Brin Edwards wasn't a true majinette dreamer. She intended to destroy our pack by deceiving us…deceiving me into joining with the wrong mate."

The wrong mate. The words cut him deeper than a scalpel and just as clean.

"Why?"

"I don't know why, damn it!"

The prince began to pace, his fists clenched, his face dark, looking as if he wanted to destroy something. Justin didn't fear that anger. He knew Richard would never hurt him, even now, even if the prince was more upset than Justin had ever seen him.

Richard halted and turned on Justin again. The prince reached for him, then stopped cold. His arms dropped back to his sides. He took a step away and leaned on one of the abstract sculptures along the marble fountain's basin.

"After Brin's betrayal was discovered, the church replaced our majinette dreamer with someone new." Richard gave a curt shake of his head, a muscle in his jaw bunching. "I don't like him. But who am I to stand in the way of the Goddess? This new majinette claims to have seen my true mate in a dream given by the Goddess. My father believes it." Those green eyes locked on Justin. "I'm so very sorry, Justin. You aren't my mate. This can't continue…and you can't stay at the palace any longer."

Justin's eyes blurred with tears and burned. The pressure behind his eyes hurt. He tried to keep the tears in, but they forced their way out anyway. Hot, wet tracks curved down his cheeks as he struggled not to sob.

The guilt and sorrow on Richard's face made him look wan and ragged as if the prince hadn't slept in a month. Again, he took a step toward Justin…and again, he stopped. He bared his teeth, the chords in his muscular neck standing out. But he remained out of reach.

"Justin. I'm so sorry."

Those words were no comfort, no matter how many times Richard said them. Part of Justin still felt staggered, completely blindsided by this. He'd dressed up special. He'd had his hair done to match his outfit. He looked as good as he could look for his prince, and only minutes ago, that had meant something. Only minutes ago, before he'd stepped out of the palace—the moment when his new life crumbled into nothing.

"I love you," Justin whispered.

He'd said those words hundreds of times to the prince. Richard had said those words to him even more. The words slipped out of his mouth of their own accord. He knew they wouldn't change things, but part of him still desperately prayed they would.

His words made the prince flinch as if he'd been struck. The pain in his eyes intensified. He was clenching his wounded fist so hard that Justin's keen wolf senses caught the scent of blood.

All at once, it seemed as if shutters slammed down on Richard's pain. The prince's face went cold and blank. He suddenly seemed like a stranger, distant and as impassive as a marble statue.

"There is a ride waiting to take you to a hotel," Prince Richard Hargreave told Justin, his voice agonizingly formal. "If it is any comfort, know that I will never forget you. But we all must do our duty to the pack and to our Goddess."

Those were empty, meaningless words when Justin had been desperate to hear his prince say, "I love you."

Somehow, Justin managed to leave the garden. His body moved the way it was expected to move, one foot in front of the other. He walked up the steps to the palace. The door handle turned. He stepped through. The climate-controlled interior was cool and pleasant. He shut the door behind him quietly. He'd never slammed a door in anger in his life. Right now, he didn't have the strength to start. So he shut it quietly. Because he was that kind of person.

In a daze, he walked through the palace halls to the wing with his guest rooms. Someone asked him if anything was wrong, but he only shook his head and didn't even look at them.

It felt as if he could sense his prince waiting back in the garden, almost as though he could sense Richard like a blip on some mental radar. The scent of the prince lingered on Justin's clothes from that last embrace. It had been their final kiss, and Justin had never even suspected. If he had, he never would've let Richard end the kiss…

The wrong mate. The man Justin loved had rejected him. Cut him loose. Did not love him back. Could not love him back. Not as a mate. All because the Goddess hadn't chosen for them to be together. Everything had been some twisted, horrible, hurtful lie.

He began to cry, but he did it quietly. Because that was the kind of person he was.