POV Eva
The garden event is my father's latest performance of control disguised as tradition.
I stand beside him in the pavilion, surrounded by pack and curious onlookers, as he addresses the four princes assembled before us.
His voice carries across the manicured grounds with the authority of twelve generations.
"In ancient times, courtship was not a matter of conversation and dancing."
My father's ice-white gaze sweeps across Sebastian, Soren, Khalil, and Matteo. "It was a hunt. The she-wolf would hide, and the Alphas would seek her. Whoever found her first earned the right to court her properly."
Sebastian's golden eyes light with amusement. "A hunt? How delightfully primitive."
"Tradition has its place, Prince Vane." My father's tone brooks no argument. "My daughter will hide within the garden's boundaries. You four will seek her. The first to find her wins a private afternoon in her company."
I feel the weight of every gaze turning toward me—the princes assessing, the pack judging, my father expecting compliance.
Dominic stands at his usual post near the pavilion steps, and I catch his eyes for just a moment. His expression is carefully blank, but I know him well enough to read the tension in his shoulders.
"The boundaries extend to the forest edge," my father continues. "Beyond that is pack territory—off limits. You have one hour."
Matteo's dark eyes find mine, something knowing glittering in their depths. "And what does the prize think of being hunted?"
"The prize thinks she'd prefer to be asked her opinion." The words escape before I can stop them. "But since when has that mattered?"
My father's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Evangeline. Take your position."
I descend the pavilion steps without another word, feeling like a deer released into a field of wolves. The irony isn't lost on me—a wolfless princess, prey in a predator's game.
The gardens swallow me within minutes. I know these grounds better than anyone; I've walked them since childhood, memorizing every hidden corner and forgotten pathway.
My feet carry me toward the eastern edge, where a crumbling stone folly stands half-consumed by climbing roses.
The structure is ancient—older than the estate itself, some say. Vines have crawled through its broken windows, creating a natural curtain that conceals the interior while allowing glimpses of the grounds beyond.
I slip inside, pressing my back against cool stone, and wait.
From here, I can observe without being seen.
Sebastian appears first, wandering through the rose garden with an unhurried grace that suggests he's enjoying the game rather than playing to win.
He pauses to smell a bloom, calls out something teasing that I can't quite hear, then continues on with a laugh.
There's no urgency in his movements—just playful curiosity, like a child exploring rather than a predator stalking.
Could I build a life with him? A future filled with golden warmth and easy laughter? He would be kind, I think. Patient with my missing wolf. But kindness isn't enough to survive what's growing inside me.
Soren is his opposite—cold, methodical, his pale eyes scanning the grounds with mechanical precision. He moves in a grid pattern, eliminating sections systematically, missing nothing.
Even from this distance, I can feel the intensity radiating from him. The way he held me during our dance, the familiar press of his body against mine...
My stomach lurches, and I press a hand against the stone to steady myself.
Khalil wanders past the folly without glancing toward it, his gentle demeanor so convincing that I almost believe he's simply taking a stroll.
But I notice the way his nostrils flare slightly, how his head tilts as if listening for something beyond normal hearing. Deceptive, that one. Soft packaging wrapped around something sharper.
Then there's Matteo.
He doesn't search like the others. He prowls—dark and focused, moving through the gardens with predatory intent. His path seems random at first, but I realize with growing unease that he's circling. Getting closer.
As if he already knows where I am and is simply savoring the approach.
The nausea hits without warning.
One moment I'm cataloging Matteo's movements; the next, my vision swims and bile rises in my throat. Cold sweat breaks across my skin, dampening the silk of my dress.
I press both hands to my stomach, breathing through my nose, fighting the sickness with everything I have.
Not now. Please, not now.
But my body doesn't care about timing or propriety. Another wave rolls through me, stronger than the first, and I have to brace myself against the folly wall to keep from collapsing.
The roses blur into smears of red and green. The world tilts sideways.
"Found you!"
Sebastian's triumphant voice cuts through the haze. I hear his footsteps crunching on gravel, then stopping abruptly.
"Eva?" His tone shifts from playful to concerned in an instant. "Eva, what's wrong? You look… Goddess, you're white as a sheet."
I try to respond, to wave off his concern, but my legs buckle. Sebastian catches me before I hit the ground, his arms strong and steady around my waist.
"I'm fine," I manage. "Just... the heat..."
"You're freezing." His hand presses against my forehead, then my cheek. "And clammy. This isn't heat exhaustion."
He doesn't wait for permission—just lifts me into his arms like I weigh nothing, cradling me against his chest. "I'm taking you back. Now."
"Sebastian, I can walk…"
"You can barely stand." His golden eyes are worried, all trace of the playful prince gone. "Just let me help."
The journey back to the pavilion passes in a blur of nausea and embarrassment. I'm vaguely aware of faces turning toward us, of murmured concern rippling through the gathered crowd.
My father's expression is thunderous—whether at my weakness or the disruption to his precious tradition, I can't tell.
Then Dominic is there, pushing through the crowd with barely concealed urgency.
"I'll take her." His voice is tight, controlled. "Your Highness, let me escort the princess to her chambers. She needs rest and…"
"You'll do nothing of the sort." My father's cold command cuts through Dominic's words like a blade. "Prince Vane won the hunt. He has earned his prize."
Prize. The word hangs in the air between them, ugly and possessive.
Dominic's jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. "With respect, Alpha King, the princess is unwell. Her health should take priority over…"
"Are you questioning my judgment?" My father's wolf flashes behind his eyes—ice-white warning. "Know your place, bodyguard. You are staff, not pack. Prince Vane will attend to my daughter."
I watch Dominic's hands curl into fists at his sides. His eyes flash amber, his wolf surging against its chains, before he forces it back down.
The struggle plays across his features for one agonizing moment: duty warring with something fiercer, something that looks almost like rage.
"Of course, Alpha King." The words sound like they're being torn from his throat. "Forgive my overreach."
He steps back. Retreats. But not before his eyes find mine, and I see everything he's swallowing—the fury, the fear, the desperate need to protect me from forces he cannot fight.
Sebastian adjusts his grip on me, oblivious to the storm he's standing in the middle of. "Don't worry, Your Majesty. I'll make sure she's comfortable."
My father nods curtly. "See that you do."
As Sebastian carries me toward the estate, I look back over his shoulder. Dominic stands exactly where we left him, rigid as stone, watching us disappear with amber still bleeding through his dark eyes.
The distance between us has never felt greater.