Alpha's Secret Mate

The ballroom glittered like a dream Aria could never touch.

Golden chandeliers bathed the room in soft, honeyed light. Silk drapes framed arched windows that overlooked the midnight forest. Long tables, adorned with snow-white linens and polished silver, were filled with food no omega servant could ever dream of tasting. Nobles in deep jewel tones and sharp-cut suits swept across the marble floor, laughter curling through the air like music.

And at the center of it all, he stood.

Alpha King Lucien Thorne.

Every story Aria had ever heard about him paled in comparison to the real thing. He was tall—easily over six feet—with a broad, commanding frame clad in sleek black tailored to his warrior’s build. His dark hair was swept back, a single rogue strand falling across his brow. A scar kissed the corner of one sharp cheekbone, only making his beauty more dangerous.

She had no right to look at him.

Aria crouched low behind a thick velvet curtain just beyond the archway, her heart rattling like a drum inside her chest. She wasn’t supposed to be here. This wing of the palace was forbidden tonight—off-limits to servants and omegas alike. But curiosity had dragged her feet where common sense had screamed for her to stop.

She told herself she just wanted a glimpse of the celebration. Of the gowns, the music, the elite. She even lied to herself and said she wanted to see the food, maybe sneak a few crumbs. But in truth, she had wanted to see him.

Lucien.

The man whispered about in corridors. The king born of a bloodline older than war itself.

And now he was throwing a banquet to celebrate his engagement.

The Frostfall princess stood at his side, regal and cold in a shimmering gown of silver-blue. Celine’s white-gold hair was swept into a crown-like braid, her lips curled in the smallest of smiles. She was beautiful in the way that made you feel inadequate. She looked like she belonged there, among the chandeliers and bloodlines and ancient power.

Aria knew her place.

She was a servant. An omega. She cleaned fireplaces and fetched wine. She’d never been kissed. Never been courted. And unlike Princess Celine, she would never be worthy of an Alpha like Lucien.

Her fingers clutched the edge of the curtain tighter, willing herself to stop staring. She needed to leave. If she was caught, she could lose more than just her job.

But then it hit her.

The scent.

Pine. Smoke. Storm.

It rolled over her senses, sharp and sudden. Her knees wobbled. Her lips parted. Her tray slipped slightly in her grasp. The air thickened around her, heavy and alive. Her wolf stirred inside her, sluggish but alert.

No.

Her breath caught. Her whole body tensed.

Because she knew what this was.

The mate bond.

A wave of something primal surged through her—pulling, tugging, anchoring her to something she couldn’t see. But her soul recognized it.

She looked up just in time to see him pause.

Lucien stilled.

Mid-conversation, mid-toast—his head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring subtly. His golden eyes narrowed, scanning the room slowly.

Aria shrank back into the curtain, heart pounding. She felt exposed. Her scent wasn’t strong—it couldn’t be. She was an omega. She suppressed it constantly. Masked it with soaps and smoke.

But that didn’t matter to the bond.

Her fingers trembled. Sweat gathered at her brow.

He couldn’t find her. Not like this. Not yet.

She hadn’t even shifted for the first time. She wasn’t ready. Her heat cycles were irregular, her wolf voice barely a whisper inside her. This couldn’t be happening.

The music kept playing, but Lucien’s eyes flicked toward the archway. Her breath locked in her throat.

And then—

Someone called his name. A Beta noble, she thought. Distracted, Lucien turned back toward his guests. The moment passed.

Aria ran.

She didn’t stop to think. She bolted down the corridor, past paintings of old Alpha Kings and marble busts lined like silent sentries. Her slippers barely made a sound on the floors as she weaved her way back toward the east wing, ducking behind stone columns and stacks of firewood.

The scent still clung to her.

She could feel it like a brand burned onto her skin—searing, unforgettable.

Lucien was her mate.

The Alpha King.

And he was already promised to another.

She burst into the scullery, the scent of lemon oil and dishwater grounding her. No one noticed her return. She slid behind a tall stack of crates filled with dry goods, collapsing onto the floor. Her heart was still racing. Her fingers wouldn’t stop shaking.

What was she supposed to do?

There were horror stories whispered among the servants. Omegas who'd caught the attention of Alphas too powerful. Omegas who’d gone missing. Some said they were hidden away. Some said they were killed to protect reputations, alliances, marriages.

Aria buried her face in her apron.

She didn’t want to die.

But worse—far worse—was the thought of never being chosen. Of feeling that bond snap into place only to be ignored. Discarded. Rejected.

The pain from that alone would be unbearable.

A rough voice snapped her out of it.

“Back from hiding, are you?”

Aria looked up to see Janira, the head omega, standing above her with a sour expression. Her hands were planted on her hips, her graying hair pulled into a severe knot.

“I—I was just—”

“Save it. Get back to the linens. Unless you want to be stripped of rations this week.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then move.”

Aria scrambled to her feet, the ache in her bones returning. The fire of the bond was still there, a slow burn beneath her skin. But she pushed it down. Masked it. Smothered it beneath duty.

She returned to folding sheets. Her hands moved without thought. Her eyes burned, but she didn’t cry.

Because there was no room for tears.

Not for girls like her.

And somewhere above her—in a ballroom lined with gold—Lucien Thorne stood beside the princess he would one day marry, unaware that the one thing he’d been destined to find was already running from him.

Already hiding.

Already his.