2

                                                                           THORNE

I was not a man easily caught off guard. As heir to the Silvercliff throne, I had been trained since birth to remain composed in any situation, to calculate every move three steps ahead, to never reveal my true thoughts.

Yet the moment my eyes met Princess Arianthe's, all my careful planning collapsed.

Mate.

The word thundered through my blood with primitive force. My wolf, always contained beneath layers of royal discipline, surged forward with a ferocity that nearly brought me to my knees.

Mine.

This was not part of the plan. I had come to the Moonvale kingdom with clear objectives: secure an alliance through marriage to Princess Isolde, the eldest Moonvale daughter, strengthen our position against the vampire hordes, and eventually unite our packs under Silvercliff rule. Simple. Strategic. Sensible.

Then I saw her.

Now, as I guided Princess Arianthe into the grand banquet hall, I was acutely aware of every inch where our bodies connected. Even through the fabric of her silver gown, her skin radiated a heat that called to something primal in me. My wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin, desperate to claim what it recognized as ours.

"Your Highness," she murmured as we approached the high table where both royal families would be seated, "you don't need to continue this charade. My sister Isolde is the one you're here to meet."

Her voice was soft but not weak, musical with an undercurrent of steel that revealed more strength than her sisters believed she possessed. It intrigued me almost as much as her scent, like moonflowers and mountain springs, with something else beneath it, something I couldn't quite identify.

"Is that what you think this is, Princess? A charade?" I kept my voice low, for her ears only.

She glanced up at me, those extraordinary eyes, a deeper, more violet blue than her sisters' icy azure, searching my face. "What else would it be? I am the wolfless princess. The disappointment. The broken one."

My wolf snarled at her words, at the hurt buried beneath them. How dare anyone make her believe such things? How dare they break her spirit this way?

With effort, I contained my rage. "And if I told you I sensed something different? Something... extraordinary?"

A flash of hope crossed her face before being ruthlessly suppressed. "Then I would say you're either lying or mistaken, Your Highness."

Before I could respond, we reached the head table. King Alaric Moonvale rose to greet us, his silver-blond hair, so like his daughters', gleaming in the candlelight. Behind him stood my father, King Doran Silvercliff, his expression carefully neutral as he observed my entrance with the youngest Moonvale princess instead of the eldest as expected.

"Prince Thorne," King Alaric boomed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, "I see you've met my youngest daughter."

"Indeed, Your Majesty." I inclined my head respectfully while keeping my hand firmly on Arianthe's. "Princess Arianthe was kind enough to allow me to escort her."

King Alaric's eyes flicked to his daughter, something unreadable passing between them before he turned back to me. "Well, we have arranged seating, of course. Isolde will be beside you, as befits her station as my heir."

I felt Arianthe tense beside me, a small tremor running through her delicate frame. My wolf growled, displeased at the thought of being separated from our mate, but I maintained my diplomatic smile.

"Of course, Your Majesty. Though perhaps Princess Arianthe might join us? I find I'm quite interested in hearing more about the Moonvale traditions from different perspectives."

A flash of surprise crossed King Alaric's face, quickly masked. "I suppose that could be arranged."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Isolde approaching, her crimson gown cutting through the crowd like spilled blood. Beautiful, yes, but in a calculated way that left me cold. Nothing like the natural radiance of her youngest sister.

"Father," Isolde purred, taking her place beside King Alaric. "Prince Thorne." Her eyes lingered on where my hand still held Arianthe's arm, a momentary hardness passing through her gaze.

"Princess Isolde," I greeted her with the required courtesy. "Your father has agreed that Princess Arianthe will join our conversation at dinner. I'm eager to learn more about all aspects of your kingdom."

Isolde's smile remained fixed, but I caught the dangerous flash in her eyes. "How... unconventional. Though I'm not sure what insights my sister could offer. She's rather... limited in her understanding of our ways."

Beside me, Arianthe stiffened, though her face remained impassive. Such control spoke of years enduring similar barbs.

"On the contrary," I replied smoothly, "sometimes those who observe from different vantage points see what others miss."

My father chose that moment to step forward, his dark eyes, so like my own, assessing the situation with the tactical precision for which he was renowned.

"Let us be seated," King Doran suggested. "We have much to discuss tonight."

As the royal parties moved to their places, I guided Arianthe to the seat I had requested for her, directly across from me, with Isolde to my right. Not ideal, but the best I could manage without causing a diplomatic incident.

The first course arrived, silver trays bearing delicacies from both kingdoms, and conversation flowed around us like carefully choreographed dancers, everyone moving but no one truly engaging.

I watched Arianthe as she delicately picked at her food. Despite her composed exterior, I could sense her discomfort under her sisters' glares. The wolf inside me wanted to growl a warning at them, to protect what was mine, but I restrained myself. There were protocols to be observed, alliances to be forged. I couldn't afford to act on instinct alone.

But when Isolde "accidentally" spilled wine near Arianthe's plate, sending dark red droplets spattering across the tablecloth and nearly onto her silver gown, my patience frayed.

"Allow me," I said, moving faster than protocol would typically permit, catching the cup before more could spill and using my napkin to contain the damage. As I did, my hand brushed Arianthe's, and that electric sensation jolted through me again.

Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as she felt it too, that unmistakable connection that neither of us had expected. For a moment, the room around us seemed to fade, the chatter of diplomats and royalty becoming distant, unimportant noise.

"You feel it," I murmured, low enough that only she could hear.

She pulled her hand back as if burned, fear flashing across her features. "I don't know what you mean," she whispered, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

"You do," I insisted. "Your wolf recognizes mine."

"I have no wolf," she said, the words rehearsed, a mantra she had been forced to repeat until she believed it.

I leaned closer, ignoring the curious glances from those around us. "That's what they've told you. What if they're wrong?"

Hope and terror warred in her eyes, hope that she wasn't broken after all, terror of believing and being disappointed yet again.

"The ball begins after dinner," I said, changing tactics. "Save me a dance, Princess."

"There will be many seeking your attention tonight, Your Highness. More suitable partners than myself."

"Yet you're the only one I want."

The blush that colored her cheeks was more satisfying than any diplomatic victory I had ever achieved. It took considerable willpower to return to the political discussions around me, to focus on trade agreements and border security when all I wanted was to sweep her away from this den of vipers she called family.

Dinner progressed with excruciating slowness. I played my part, charming Isolde as expected, discussing territory with King Alaric, deferring appropriately to my father, all while keeping Arianthe in my peripheral vision. I noted how her sisters spoke around her, how the court largely ignored her presence, how she had perfected the art of making herself nearly invisible while sitting in plain sight.

It only fueled my determination. Whatever game fate was playing by making the forgotten princess my fated mate, I would turn it to my advantage.

When the final course was cleared and King Alaric announced the commencement of the ball, I rose with the others, my mind racing with possibilities. The original plan, to secure an alliance with the Moonvales through marriage to Isolde, could still work, though not in the way I had anticipated.

If Arianthe truly was my mate, if that dormant wolf I sensed within her could be awakened, she might prove more valuable than her elder sister ever could be.

As the royal party moved toward the ballroom, I maneuvered myself to walk beside her once more.

"Remember," I whispered as we entered the vast space, golden light from a thousand candles casting everything in warm radiance, "save me a dance, Princess. I have much to tell you."

Her eyes met mine, uncertainty and longing mingled in their depths. "Why me?" she asked simply. "What could you possibly want with the wolfless princess?"

I smiled, allowing a hint of my wolf to show in my eyes, enjoying the small gasp she gave in response.

"Perhaps I see what no one else has bothered to look for," I told her. "A wolf isn't just teeth and claws, Princess Arianthe. Sometimes it's patience. Sometimes it's survival against impossible odds. And sometimes..."

I leaned closer, my lips nearly brushing her ear.

"Sometimes it's sleeping, waiting for the right moment to wake."