Chapter 2

2

CHARLOTTE

W ith a sharp jab to the ribs, my sister makes her displeasure at the way I'm enjoying the canapés clear. Far too elegant to shove finger food into her mouth at the rate I'm inhaling them, she sighs when I shrug at her, unrepentant.

The food here is amazing. It's so much better than home. Probably because my mother insists on everything being so bland and healthy, because goddess forbid, should anyone actually enjoy eating.

"Can you stop acting like a savage for one minute?" Elodie asks, before smoothing a perfectly pleasant smile back on her face as she scans the crowd. My sister dips her head gracefully in greeting to the scores of wealthy alphas and lunas. They're all here to get a good look at the prince, and to boast that they were important enough to be invited for his first official public engagement.

Elodie's fingers find my arm, and she goes completely still, staring eagerly at the ballroom entrance. "He's here."

Her voice has gone all breathless and awestruck, the tone she reserves for the few people in the world she deems above us. All of these people act like they're somehow smarter or more worthy, just because they have money.

"He's just a man, Elodie. Another shifter, just like you and me. He hasn't cured cancer."

Even if the prince hasn't grown up with everyone fawning over him the way they are now, I'm sure they'll ruin him quickly enough.

"Shh." Elodie pinches the skin between my fingers to get me to shut up, and I hiss at her, pulling my arm back and rubbing the red mark she's left behind.

My little sister has spent far too much time with my mother and grandmother, absorbing their entitled view of the world. Power and privilege are the only things that interest them. Helping others and using their position for good, not so much.

On the far side of the room, my father tips back a shot of whiskey and slips out of view. He's a fish out of water at these kinds of events, hiding in the background rather than rubbing shoulders with whoever can be used to our benefit, like my mother wishes he would.

My poor father. Although a powerful alpha himself, he's always known my mother settled. And she reminds him that she was intended for the king's firstborn son every chance she gets.

Now that the prince has returned, I'm sure she's making Dad's life unbearable. Never mind that Killian wasn't even born until she was a teenager.

My mother walks purposefully across the room to where we're standing, smiling and pretending she cares about the shifters who greet her, but I can see the cogs turning in her brain. She's scheming, and I want no part in it.

Laser focussed on the daughter she imagines taking her place and marrying into royalty, she swoops in and grabs Elodie's arm, nudging her closer to the door. With both of their backs to me, blocking my view, I'm content to melt into the background and let them do their thing. If it weren't for my grandmother's sharp gaze pinning me in place, I'd be joining my father in his hiding spot.

"He's going to live in the palace," Mum murmurs. "Which means he's going to stick around for a while. If he intends to disband the council, we need to act now to secure our position in the new regime."

Because we don't already have enough money.

I can see where this is going. My mother is not subtle. In fact, she's probably been schooling poor Elodie on this plan B of hers since the news started filtering through of his return. And of course, she wants to pimp out my sister to ensure someone in our family gets to join the royal family. If it's not Mum, Elodie is the next best option.

Rolling my eyes, I pick up another fancy looking puff pastry, and pop it into my mouth. Yum. I snatch another off the plate, too busy trying to figure out what the sauce is to pay attention, when the grand doors to the ballroom open. I sniff the food in my hand surreptitiously. Is it saffron?

Only when Elodie gasps, and a hushed silence falls over the room, do I lift my eyes from my tiny, tasty prize to see what all the fuss is about.

My wolf practically swoons when she sees the tall, dark-haired man filling the doorway, with Zoe Steel on his arm.

Judging by the contented sighs around me, so do all the other she-wolves in my vicinity.

A swooping feeling starts low in my belly, and the hairs stand up on the back of my neck as my wolf urges me forward.

Shaking my head, I take a step back, retreating further into the crowd, but my movement catches his attention, and he turns, eyes laser focussed on me.

Oh no.

My gaze locks with the man setting my blood on fire, and my world tilts on its axis.

Mine.

A second ago, the only thing I wanted to sink my teeth into was that delicious treat, but now, I can't decide whether it's him or Zoe's arm I want to bite more.

"Fuck," I mutter.

The prince's lip twitches, and I frown. He couldn't have heard that.

My mother glares at me over her shoulder, and my grandmother's steely gaze swings toward me, disapproval at my choice of language painted all over her face. She takes these social events very seriously, regularly lecturing us on manners and decorum. It's no wonder my mother is the way she is.

"Language, Charlotte. Can you at least pretend to be a lady, for just five minutes? No man here wants a mate with a potty mouth." Mum's disappointment shines through as she chastises me in whispered words, her wolf flashing in her eyes.

I'm expected to toe the line. Behave, or else. If I ruin whatever she's plotting, I'll never hear the end of it. Arguing that I don't want the kind of man she thinks is a catch won't get me anywhere.

The prince's grey eyes flash to silver as he stares in our direction, and the crowd shrinks back.

"He's staring straight at you," my mother whispers to Elodie.

Struggling to swallow down my mouthful of food that now tastes like sawdust, I don't bother to correct her.

"He's coming over," she squeals and pokes my sister in the back, reminding her to correct her posture, and grins maniacally, as he gets closer.

All her elitist dreams are coming together.

Panic grips me. I need to get out of here. Now. It takes every ounce of willpower I have no to give in to the urge to run to him. My hands are sweaty, and my breathing laboured as I take one step back, then another.

All the while, Killian keeps me locked in his hypnotic gaze.

"You don't need me here for this. I'll find Dad and make sure he's not laying into the whiskey too hard," I mutter quietly, hoping there's too many other voices in here for Killian to make out my words.

My mother flaps a hand at me behind her back, the gesture meaning something between shut up and go away.

Relieved to be excused, I wait until an interruption from a senior alpha briefly tears the prince's attention away from me to make my move. It's just a brief moment, but it's enough, and when he looks back, I can see his confusion when I'm gone.

He stands taller, keeping a neutral expression, as he greets the sea of nameless faces, all clamouring to speak with him, but he never stops scanning the crowd over their heads.

With practised ease, I weave my way through the glamorous guests, doubling back on myself a few times and rubbing my palms subtly across table linen and the backs of chairs to ensure my scent lingers longer in random places.

As I pass my father, hiding in a corner as I expected, I snatch a glass of amber liquid from his hand and down it in one. I wink at the man Dad's speaking with, a friend of the family I've known since childhood, before leaning in to give my long-suffering Dad the hug he badly needs.

"Cressida's on a mission. I don't know what she's up to, but if you don't want to get sucked into it, I'd make yourself scarce."

With one last glance at the prince over my father's shoulder, I sigh.

Killian looks stiff and unfriendly, like he's barely tolerating being forced to interact with the likes of us.

Stern and imperious, if you had to pick the royal from a line up, you'd guess him, straight away. He has that air about him, all power and dominance. With short dark hair, and a smattering of silver at his temples, he looks like a real man among a sea of boys.

Of course, it would be him.

As the sister who was deemed unsuitable for grooming for a role like princess, I have to appreciate the irony of the situation.

Fate has a fucked-up sense of humour.

"I'm out. If she comes looking for me, tell her I'm practising my curtsy."

With a smirk, my dad squeezes my shoulders and presses a kiss to my cheek. "Go. I'll cover for you."

With a dull ache in my chest, I spin away from my dad and slip out the exit doors at the rear.

My wolf is not happy, and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep moving, as I dart across the patio. Kicking off my shoes and hiking up my dress, I jump over the railing without hesitation, and land in the bushes below.

I rub a hand over the scrapes down my arm and curse as I pluck a thorn from my foot. I'd shift, but I don't trust my wolf not to bring me straight back. She is desperate to meet him, to see his wolf, to complete the bond.

I can't let that happen.

With a final look around to make sure nobody is watching, I sprint across the grass, my long hair flowing behind me, as I run from the pompous, pretentious life I don't want, and the handsome man that I do.