The Luna's Bodyguard [a mature werewolf romance]

Ch 25: Fate

OPHELIA'S POV

The Crown Alpha snapped his fingers, ushering forward an old crone, who melted out of the shadows on the wall. She was all skin, like a newborn pug or a raisin left too long in the sun, with a hooked nose and milky eyes that floated like twin moons beneath her ebony cowl. She leaned heavily on a staff, clutching a book in the other.

Not just any book. A grimoire. With three interconnecting circles on the front.

I frowned, a nameless itch spreading through my mind. Where had I seen that before?

Ignatius paled, so slightly I doubted anybody else would notice. His unease was disguised by the bored, mocking air he affected, as he waved for another refill on the wine. "I knew you were old, father, but perhaps a hearing check is in order. I believe the doorman announced her as Aurora."

"It is you who should check yourself, son," Alpha Reginald growled, letting an unspoken threat hang in the air. "A prince should know who they've been balls deep in."

My back stiffened as the court tittered, but my anxiety had little to do with their disdain. There was only one exit, and that was the doors we came through, but the hallway was lined with guards. And then there were the stained glass windows, but I wasn't sure I was willing to risk Aurora's life with a five storey drop.

Think, Ophelia. Think!

"Oh, don't act so offended," Alpha Reginald sneered. "You've taken the scarlet letter to a new level with that lingerie you call a dress. Not to mention the scent of two males twining with your own. Truly, was becoming the Crown Luna not enough? Did you have to fuck the Lathurna heir, too?"

I froze, my brain stalling as my head snapped towards him. "Excuse me?"

Reginald chuckled. "Didn't they tell you, girl? It's obvious they're the ones who found you and brought you back, which I actually commend," he said dryly, as if it wasn't often he commended anything Nate did. "You've been keeping royal company, Ophelia. Fallon is the last Lathurna prince. His mother and father used to sit in these very thrones, before I took what was mine and slit their throats for refusing to bow. Can't you tell from the blood spots in the tapestries?"

Jesus Christ, he was right. The tapestries behind him were speckled with something dark and brown. Fallon went rigid beside me, radiating fury, and I felt like I was going to throw up on his behalf.

"I think he makes a better bodyguard than a prince, don't you?" Alpha Reginald said with a smirk. "It's good you've become acquainted. He can keep you company when Ignatius tires of your marriage bed."

He didn't know either of us were mates. He couldn't. But — "What the hell are you talking about?" I asked. "I'm a bastard, remember?"

The game was up. He knew who I was. So why continue with this farce of a betrothal?

He gestured to the old witch with the grimoire. "This is Minuit; she's one of the three Fates."

I stared at him blankly. Which was probably stupid; you weren't supposed to make eye contact with an Alpha, let alone the Crown Alpha. "What's that?"

He snorted. "Every third generation, three witches are born who will determine the course of the future by weaving its threads. Minuit is one such person. I will let her explain."

The old witch sighed, a long, rasping sound that reminded me of a gale rattling pine needles from their branches. "His Grace elected to tie your soul to his son's," she said. "Your blood runs true, Ophelia. You are no bastard, despite what your step-mother spelled everyone to think. You will bear Ignatius many healthy heirs."