Choose Your Alpha, Princess

chapter 17

POV Odette

Magnus’s crystal glass caught the chandelier light as he rose from his chair, commanding instant attention from everyone at the table. It was dinner that same evening, the day’s turmoil still breathing at the edges of the room.

"Tomorrow, preparations begin for Princess Odette's formal presentation to the court." His voice carried the weight of royal decree. "The rumors have already spread beyond our control. We cannot delay her public debut any longer."

"Father—"

"The nobility expects to meet their lost princess. Allied packs demand confirmation of your existence. This is not a request, daughter—it's a necessity."

I gripped my water glass, feeling the crystal edges bite into my palm.

"Of course, Your Majesty." The formal title felt like armor against the panic rising in my throat. "I'm honored to serve the crown's needs."

"Everything will be arranged to the highest standard," Nathaniel interjected smoothly. "The Nightfall Pack has extensive connections among the nobility. I'll ensure the princess makes the perfect impression."

Devon's fork clattered against his plate. "I'm her husband. If anyone should be helping with preparations—"

"You're the Alpha of a border pack," Nathaniel cut him off, voice sharp as winter ice. "What exactly do you know about court protocol? Which noble families require deeper bows? The proper forms of address for foreign dignitaries?"

"I know my wife—"

"Do you?" Nathaniel leaned forward, a predatory smile playing at his lips. "Because from what I've observed, you barely knew her when she lived under your roof."

Devon shot to his feet, chair scraping against marble. "You arrogant—"

"Sit down." Magnus didn't raise his voice, but Alpha power rippled through the words.

Devon remained standing, hands clenched into fists. "He has no right—"

"I have every right. She was promised to me before—"

"Enough!" I slammed my hand on the table, making the silverware jump. "I am not a prize to be fought over at my father's dinner table!"

Pain lanced through my abdomen—sharp, sudden, stealing my breath. I pressed my hand against my stomach, fighting to keep my expression neutral, but Nathaniel's eyes immediately sharpened with concern.

"The day has been long," I said quickly, standing before anyone could question my reaction. "I need to rest."

"I'll walk you to your room," Devon immediately moved toward me.

"Friendly reminder: the guest suite has been prepared for your comfort, Devon." I kept my voice steady despite the lingering ache. "I'm sure you can find it without escort."

His face fell, hurt flashing across his features. "Syrena—"

"Princess Odette needs her rest," Magnus interjected firmly. "We have extensive preparations ahead."

I fled before Devon could protest further, feeling three sets of eyes tracking my retreat.

* * *

The next two weeks became a battleground of proximity and possession.

When Nathaniel left for pack business, Devon filled the space with desperate familiarity. He appeared at breakfast with my favorite tea, remembered exactly how I liked my eggs, told stories that made me laugh despite everything between us.

"Remember when Elder Leon's toupee flew off during that windstorm?" Devon grinned over morning coffee.

"He chased it through the entire pack gathering," I laughed, the memory warming something I'd thought frozen. "You caught it just before it landed in the punch bowl."

"My finest moment as Alpha." His hand covered mine on the table. "We were good together, weren't we?"

"We were." I didn't pull away, but I didn't turn my hand to meet his either. "Until we weren't."

The moment Nathaniel returned, the very air shifted. He swept into the dining room still carrying the scent of travel, his presence immediately commanding the space Devon had carefully cultivated.

"Princess." He bowed formally, but his fingers brushed mine as he handed me a small wrapped box. "A gift from the Eastern territories. They're eager to meet you."

"She doesn't need gifts," Devon snapped from across the table.

"No, but she deserves them." Nathaniel's eyes never left mine. "Open it."

Inside lay a delicate gold bracelet set with moonstones—beautiful, expensive, and unmistakably a claim.

"It's lovely," I said carefully.

"Allow me." Nathaniel took the bracelet, his fingers circling my wrist with deliberate slowness as he fastened the clasp. Devon's growl rumbled low in his throat.

"Don't you have treaties to negotiate?" Devon's voice came out rough.

"All finished. I'm entirely at the princess's disposal now." Nathaniel's thumb traced over my pulse point before releasing my wrist. "The fitting is in an hour, correct?"

"What fitting?" Devon demanded.

"For my presentation gown," I said, pulling my hand back from both of them. "Which I need to prepare for."

They both stood to follow. I whirled on them, fed up with their constant circling.

"Alone. I'm going alone. Neither of you is invited to watch me be sewn into formal wear."

"But—"

Devon started.

"I could help—"

Nathaniel began simultaneously.

"What you could do is stop treating me like territory to be marked!" The words exploded from me. "I have enough pressure without you two having a pissing contest in every room I enter!"

I stormed out, leaving them both stunned into silence. Anger carried me down the hall and straight into the seamstress’s light and mirrors.

The seamstress worked with practiced efficiency, pinning and adjusting the elaborate gown. Midnight blue silk embroidered with silver moons—a clear statement of my royal bloodline.

"If I may, Your Highness," she murmured, tugging at the bodice, "the fit seems snugger than last week."

My breath caught. The fabric stretched noticeably across my midsection, no longer lying flat as designed.

"Perhaps some water retention," she suggested delicately. "It happens with stress."

"Yes," I agreed quickly. "The preparations have been overwhelming."

"Shall I let it out slightly? Just for comfort?"

"Please."

She made the adjustments, but her knowing glance said she wasn't fooled. She-wolves didn't retain water. She-wolves didn't bloat from stress.

She-wolves only changed shape for one reason.

That evening, I stood before my mirror, palms pressed against the subtle curve that hadn't been there two weeks ago. The life inside me grew stronger daily, soon impossible to hide.

Tomorrow, hundreds of nobles would scrutinize every detail of their lost princess. How many would notice what the seamstress had seen? How many would count backward from a swelling belly to a hotel room encounter with a man who wasn't my husband?

"Please," I whispered to the tiny life within me. "Just give me tomorrow. One more day before everything explodes."