His Father's Mate

NAYA

The courtyard smells like late summer-sun-warmed roses and freshly trimmed hedges, with the faint scent of rain still lingering in the air. I smooth down the hem of my worn out dress, my fingers are trembling slightly as I stand at the edge of the shaded garden. I'm not usually called on like this, Princess Lira rarely wants my presence for anything that isn't an errand or chore, and never with such...unusual care.

"Come closer, Naya," Princess Lira says, her high-pitched voice smooth yet instills fear in me.

I step forward cautiously, my gaze flickering from her to the small set-up before me. A small picnic has been arranged under the sprawling willow tree at the center of the courtyard. There are cushions in deep shades of crimson and gold, scattered across the grass, surrounding a low table filled with delicious-looking pastries and a silver tea set. The aroma wafts into my nostrils and I begin to salivate.

The Princess lounges on one of the cushions, her golden hair casting the sunlight like a halo around her head. She looks every inch of magnificent, draped in a soft lilac gown that emphasizes her graceful yet curvy frame. Her sharp eyes lock onto me, a smile tugging at her lips.

"This is... beautiful, Your Highness," I manage, my voice is barely above a whisper. My heart is thudding loudly in my ears, threatening to break out of my chest.

She laughs lightly, waving a manicured hand with long, pointy nails. "Don't be shy, Naya. Sit with me."

The invitation catches me off guard. I hesitate, glancing at the other servants hovering near the edges of the garden. They avoid my gaze, their faces are carefully neutral. Something isn't right.

"I insist," she adds, her tone firmer now like she is scolding a child. "Today, you're my guest."

I walk towards the cushions, cautiously lowering myself on the one opposite the Princess, I am unsure yet compliant as I am meant to be.

I fold my hands in my lap, conscious of the stark contrast between the gorgeous dress of the Princess and my simple, patched clothes. Princess Lira moves slowly and delicately as she pours two glasses of tea, she reminds me of flowers dancing in the wind. She leans back and studies me like a predator evaluating its prey.

Her tone is surprisingly warm as she says, "Naya, you've served me well all these years, always quiet, always loyal. I've been considering it and I have decided that I should give you a reward."

I blink, uneasiness twisting in my stomach. "Your Highness, what do you mean by reward me?"

Although it doesn't reach her eyes, her smile gets bigger. "You have served as my handmaid for a very long time. I should give you the chance to climb above your status. It will be the right thing to do."

The heavy, charged words linger in the air. I look at the princess and trying to figure out what is brewing in her mind.

"I don't understand."

Lira puts down her teacup and leans forward, her face becoming more gentle and almost loving. She says, "The Draevenmoor Pack," as though that clarifies everything.

My breath catches. Our sworn adversaries are the Draevenmoor Pack. I get shivers just thinking about the name.

Lira goes on to say, "They've demanded a bride," her voice fading to a whisper. "A sacrifice for peace. Zareth, their Alpha, is adamant on getting married to the Princess of Varethorne in order to make a treaty."

I sense the blood dripping out of my face. "But, Your Highness, you are the princess."

Lira's laughter is soft, almost musical, but there's an edge to it-like silk hiding a blade. "Exactly. And as much as I adore my people, I can't fathom sacrificing my freedom for someone like Zareth." She tilts her head slightly, her expression unreadable, eyes glinting in the dim light. "Which is where you come in."

The ground seems to sway beneath me. "Me?" I barely manage to ask. Maybe my ears are finally betraying me.

"Yes, you." Lira lifts the lid of a small velvet box, in it are a set of diamond jewellery.

The necklace gleams in the light like frozen stars, the earrings are so delicate yet impossibly detailed, they look like shooting stars. She holds them out to me, her gaze and hands are steady. Mine are a shaky mess; both gaze and hands.

"These are yours," she says with a small smile. "A gift to mark your new role. You will take my place, Naya. You will be the princess of Varethorne-the bride of Draevenmoor's Alpha."

My fingers curl into the fabric of my dress, gripping the hem so tightly my knuckles ache. "But... I'm not a princess. I'm-"

"You're perfect," Lira cuts in, her voice is firm and insisting. "Who else could pull this off better than you? You've been by my side for years, Naya. You know how I walk and how I speak. With the right dress, the right jewels..." She lifts the diamonds just enough for the light to catch, making them shimmer between her fingers.

I shake my head, my pulse pounding in my ears. "Your Highness, this isn't-I mean, I can't-"

"You can," Lira snaps. She is like a blade, sharp and final. "And you will. Do you really think this is up for debate?"

The words knock the breath from my lungs, leaving me frozen. The garden feels smaller, the air too thick, like the walls are pressing in.

Lira sighs, her tone softening, turning almost sweet. "Just think about it. No more scrubbing floors, no more hauling my gowns. You'll have a palace, your own servants. You will be treated like royalty."

"But it's a lie," I whisper with my throat tight, my voice barely above a whisper.

Lira lets out a soft, amused chuckle. "And? Does it really matter? Zareth won't care, not if the treaty holds. And let's be honest, Naya-this is the best offer you'll ever get."

I stare at the diamonds, my mind is racing. A part of me wants to reach out, to grasp the jewels and accept Princess Lira's offer. I've spent my whole life being invisible and ignored, barely treated better than the animals. This can be my chance to be someone.

But the cost...

"What if they find out?" I ask with my voice trembling.

"They won't," Lira says firmly. "You're smarter than you think, Naya. And if you play your part well, no one will ever know."

I glance around the courtyard, my eyes linger on the other servants. None of them will meet my eyes. They all know, I realize. They've set up this picnic, this illusion of generosity, to ease me into the trap.

My hands shake as I reach for the necklace, the diamonds are cool and heavy in my palm. "Why me?" I ask softly. "Why not someone else?"

Lira's smile is sharp. I have always envied her beauty, but now, she looks deceitful like she is leading me to my death. "Because you're expendable."

The words cut deep but they are familiar to me. I push out a breath, gathering myself.

I swallow hard, my fingers tightening around the necklace as if the pressure could keep my emotions in check. I know my place in the pack, know the invisible line between the omegas and everyone else. But hearing it said so bluntly, so cruelly, made it feel like a fresh wound.

"I see," I whisper, my voice so quiet it was almost lost in the rustling of the trees.

Lira leans back against the cushions, her posture is relaxed now that she has succeeded to sway me. "You're not a fool, Naya. You know what this means for you. You can stay here and waste away in the shadows, or you can seize this chance to be something more."

I lift my gaze, searching Lira's face for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt. There was none. Her expression is calm and composed, her eyes aee cold and calculating. She truly believed this was a kindness-a reward.

"Do I have a choice?" I ask finally, my voice steadier now.

Her lips curve into a smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course. You can always refuse, but..." She trails off, gesturing vaguely to the courtyard around us. "What kind of life would you return to? The same life you've always had. Scrubbing floors, fetching tea, enduring the scorn of anyone who feels like giving it. Is that really what you want?"

The question settles heavily on my chest. I think about the long days spent in silence, the aching in my hands from endless work, the looks of pity or disdain from those who consider themselves above me. Lira is offering me an escape, a way out of the cycle that had defined my existence for so long.

But it is a gilded cage, wasn't it? Trading one set of chains for another. Only these chains will be heavier, the stakes higher.

"What about my family?" I ask, desperation creeping into my tone. My parents are long gone so my aunt and cousins are the only ones I have left.

Lira tilts her head, feigning sympathy. "Your family will be taken care of. They'll live comfortably, free from the burdens of their omega status. You'll be giving them a better life as well."

It is a tempting thought, and she knows it. I can feel the pull of it, it is a clever manipulation, designed to weaken my resolve.

"And what if I fail?" I press, my voice firmer now. Confidence is taking root inside me.

"You won't," Lira says almost smugly. "But if you're so concerned, let me assure you-the Draevenmoor Pack won't break the treaty over something as trivial as that. If Zareth discovers the truth, he'll simply... adjust."

Adjust. The word hangs in the air, ominous and undefined.

My fingers tremble as I place the necklace back into its velvet box. "You're asking me to give up everything I know. My identity, my freedom. To live a lie, day in and day out, surrounded by enemies."

"I'm asking you to be brave," Lira corrects, her tone soft but insistent. "To rise above and take control of your destiny."

No, she's asking me to be the lamb going for the slaughter rather than her.

The words ring hollow in my ears, but they stirred something deep within me...

She leans forward, her eyes are locked onto mine. "This isn't just a burden, Naya. It's an opportunity. You could be someone important, someone powerful. You could change your fate."

She stands abruptly, brushing invisible dust from her gown. "Think it over," she says, her voice lighter now, almost casual. "But don't take too long. The Draevenmoor emissaries will be here in three days, and they'll expect a bride."

With that, she turns and walks away, leaving me alone in the courtyard.

The servants begin clearing the picnic, their movements are brisk, as if they couldn't bear to linger any longer. I remained on the cushion, staring at the box in front of me.

My mind swirls with conflicting thoughts-fear, anger, curiosity, and something I couldn't quite name.

Three days. That is all I have to decide.

Will I trade my life as an omega for the role of a princess?

Do I dare step into the unknown and risk everything for a chance at something more?

As the sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the courtyard, my heart slows into a tempo; I already know what my choice will be.

NAYA

I close the door to my chamber, shutting out the noises of the other servants settling up for the night. The room is small and familiar, the one spot in this castle that has ever truly been mine. I go around the area on autopilot, pouring water into the basin for my bath, slipping out of my dress, and falling into the lukewarm water.

Lira's words loop in my thoughts, over and again.

You will become the princess of Varethorne. The spouse of Draevenmoor's Alpha.

I let my fingertips skim across the water's surface, watching the ripples distort my reflection. A few hours before, the idea had seemed absurd-impossible. But now? The more I think about it, the more I understand she's correct. What do I have to lose?

All my life, I've been nothing more than a shadow in the corridors of this castle, an omega scraping by on the outskirts of nobility. A servant. A nobody. But if I say yes-if I take Lira's place-I become something more. A princess. A wife to an alpha. A lady with power.

I step out of the bath, dry my skin, and dress my bed. Sleep should come easy, but my thoughts are too busy, my heart too restless. I see myself wrapped in silks and diamonds, flowing around the castle with the same easy elegance as Lira. I imagine servants kneeling as I pass, murmuring my name in respect.

A smile pulls at my lips.

A ball. I picture one in my mind-the big hall lit with chandeliers, the air thick with the perfume of wine and flowers, music booming as noblemen and ladies swirl around the floor. Without thinking, I step into the fantasy, humming softly under my breath. I take a step, then another, letting the imagined melody guide me. My skirts whirl as I turn, my bare feet murmuring on the stone.

For once, I don't feel little. I don't feel unseen.

But as I turn, movement catches my sight from the window.

Lira.

She stands near the water, her body seeming ghostly against the moonlight.

Something about her posture-shoulders stiff, fists clasped-tells me she isn't simply out for air. She's waiting. For me.

I don't let myself hesitate. I drape a shawl over my nightdress and sneak outdoors, the chilly night air cutting at my skin as I make my way to her. She doesn't turn as I approach, but I know she hears me.

"I'll do it," I answer gently.

Lira exhales, her shoulders relaxing. She doesn't look at me right away, simply stares at the lake, the moon's reflection rippling across its surface. "I thought you would."

I gaze at her, scanning her face. Relief flickers there, but so does something else-something illegible. It nearly seems like remorse.

She eventually turns to me, flashing a faint grin. "Get some sleep, Naya. Your suitor arrives tomorrow."

Tomorrow. The word sends a thrill through me. There's no turning back now.

Morning arrives too swiftly. I blink out of sleep, my throat is dry and my dream is already fading away from memory.

When I wake, I expect to be treated as I always have-expected to get my own meal, to stand aside when nobility passes, to be just another nameless servant in the palace's ceaseless routine.

But from the minute I open my eyes, everything is changed.

Maids enter my chamber before I even get up, their arms full with silks and lace. The same ladies who tend to Lira now move with great precision around me, running a warm bath, laying out cosmetics and jewels as if I were their princess.

They don't ask if I slept well. They don't whisper useless chatter as they do when I'm merely another female in the servants' quarters.

They treat me like nobility.

I hardly have time to digest it before they rush me toward the vanity, putting my hair into an intricate style, applying delicate color into my lips and cheeks. The gown they slide me into is unlike anything I have ever worn-heavy, luxurious, the needlework delicate but rich with detail. The veil follows, sliding over my shoulders like mist.

When I glimpse my reflection in the mirror, I scarcely recognize myself.

A princess glances back at me.

There's a knock at the door.

The maids stand aside as the Alpha arrives. Lira's father. My new father, if I am to pretend to be her.

He stares at me, and for the first time in my life, he genuinely sees me.

His stare is impenetrable, his face harsh, but there's something almost... appreciative in his eyes. "Thank you for your sacrifice," he adds simply.

The words sink in my chest like a weight. A sacrifice. That's what I am to them.

A pawn in their game.

I drop my gaze. "It is an honor, Your Majesty."

He nods, happy, then extends a hand. "Come. It is time."

I take a breath, steadying myself, then let him lead me around the castle.

The hallways feel strange now-too vast, too chilly, too alien. Every step I take feels heavier than the last.

The ballroom doors loom ahead, already open, exposing a sea of faces within. Nobles from both Varethorne and Draevenmoor fill the chamber, their murmurs a quiet hum beneath the flickering candles. Outside the large windows, dawn is breaking and the sun shines with a soft glow.

I force myself to stand tall. This is what I agreed to. This is my new role.

I step inside.

My glance wanders across the throng, looking for him. The man I am intended to marry. The Alpha of Draevenmoor.

Then I see him.

But it's not Alpha Zareth.

Standing by his side is another male, younger, clothed in regal clothes that fit him too precisely to be an ordinary attendant. He looks so much like Zareth-but while the Alpha is broad and intimidating, this guy is leaner, his features sharper, his demeanour quieter yet no less dominating.

My breath catches. He is watching me.

His stare is steady, unflinching.

I know he shouldn't be able to see me through the veil. But nevertheless, I feel it-feel his eyes meeting mine as if the thin cloth between us doesn't exist.

The air in the ballroom tightens, the world reducing to just this instant.

Him.

Me.

And whatever comes next.

NAYA

The grand hall of Varethorne is alive with murmurs, filled with the scent of roasted meats, honeyed pastries, and spiced wine. Servants glide between tables, their trays piled high, offering food to both Varethorne and Draevenmoor nobles. Laughter and hushed conversations ripple through the crowd, but beneath it all, there's an unspoken tension like a pulled string. I feel out of place; I am supposed to be serving delicacies to the guests but sitting on a gilded stool, adorned like a trophy for the winner to take home. I feel suffocated under the web-thin veil like someone will snatch it off and yell 'fraudster!'

At the front of the hall, on an elevated dais, Alpha Drunei, Varethorne's Alpha stands tall. His presence alone is imposing, his silver-streaked hair glinting under the chandelier's glow. His gaze sweeps over the assembled packs before he raises his goblet.

"Tonight," he begins, his voice rich and measured, "we do what no generation before us has dared to attempt. Tonight, we forge unity where there was once bloodshed. Varethorne and Draevenmoor-two great packs, bound by war, now bound by peace."

The hall erupts in polite applause. I keep my hands folded in my lap, my pulse erratic beneath my veil. I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, pressing down on my very breath.

The dancers take their place in the centre of the hall as a melodic tune arises from the four corners of the room as if it is played by invisible musicians, their movements fluid, silk skirts swirling as they begin a performance meant to honour the guests. The music rises, a rhythmic beat echoing through the chamber, reverberating in my teeth and bones.

And then-without warning-hands seize mine.

I barely have time to react before I am pulled into the middle of the dancers. A gasp catches in my throat as they twirl around me, their steps precise and barely skimming the polished floor, their energy surrounding me like a storm. Their arms extend, forming a circle around me, and in perfect synchronization, they drop to their knees and bow.

My breath shudders.

This isn't part of the ceremony.

Alpha Drunei strides toward me, his expression unreadable. He extends his hand, and though my fingers tremble, I place mine in his palm.

He lifts his chin and speaks with quiet authority.

"Dear Princess of Varethorne, you have been chosen to bear the honour of uniting our packs. In doing so, you will leave behind your old life and take on a new one-one of duty, strength, and sacrifice."

Sacrifice. The word lingers in my chest like an ache.

Alpha Drunei turns toward the towering figure at the other end of the hall. The man I am to marry.

Alpha Zareth.

He stands motionless, watching. His posture is rigid, unreadable. Beneath my veil, I swallow hard, forcing my breath to steady.

Then, Alpha Drunei starts walking towards him, taking me along. Each step is heavy, the rows of anklets feel like anchors weighing me down. The guests part like a sea, giving us a path to pass. I avoid rising my gaze from the marble floor in case anyone will sense that I'm an impersonator. Instead, I keep my eyes on the henna swirls on my feet as my heart thuds frantically in my ribcage.

Soon, we are a step away from Alpha Zareth and my fake father places my hand in his, officially handing me over to the enemy.

"Do you accept this union?" My fake father's grip tightens ever so slightly as his gaze turns to me, daring me to refuse.

The air is thicker than honey, all eyes are on me, their breaths are bated.

I swallow hard.

"I do." I only recognise the sound of my voice, not realising when I whisper the words.

"Do you accept this offering of Peace, Alpha Zareth?" My fake father asks him.

For a brief moment, I expect him to realise he is being tricked into marrying the wrong woman; a lowly Omega instead of royal blood but he does not realise the foul play, he falls right into the trap.

"I do."

The moment our fingers touch, a shiver runs through me. His grip is firm, his skin rough with the years of battle. He studies me through the veil, his piercing gaze unsettling. Applause bursts in the room but I barely hear it, my new husband is saying something but it fades into the background.

But I am not looking at him.

I am looking at the man standing just behind him.

The younger one.

His dark hair is neatly tied at the nape of his neck, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp angles of his face. He is striking-intense in a way that is different from his father and other men, in fact. There is something calculated in his stare, something I don't understand.

And the most unnerving part?

He is looking right at me.

A slow, deliberate gaze.

A strange, dizzying warmth unfurls in my chest, spreading through my limbs. My breath hitches.

But he can't see me. Not through the veil.

I feel suddenly unsteady, my balance wavering as the sounds around me blur into a muffled hum. The warmth of the room is stifling, suffocating. The scent of wine, perfume, and burning candles is overwhelming.

My vision wavers.

Something isn't right.

A strange dizziness coils around me, making my limbs heavy. My knees buckle, my fingers twitch as I try to grasp onto something-anything-but all I feel is the slow pull of gravity. And the last thing I hear before darkness takes me is a voice-low, commanding, and impossibly close.

"She's fainting."

My lids flutter, I see a piercing pair of eyes; watching, waiting.

Then-nothing.

~

A cold sensation seeps into my skin. Not ice, but something sharper.

I drift somewhere between consciousness and sleep, my mind floating in fragments of sound. Voices. Distant and distorted.

"She shouldn't have collapsed like that."

"Was she ill?"

"No, she was fine this morning."

Footsteps. A rustling of fabric. The scent of something familiar-lavender and firewood.

I try to move, but my body is sluggish, my limbs refusing to respond. Panic claws at my throat.

Where am I?

My breath hitches.

Then, a voice, closer this time. Deep. Measured.

"She's waking up."

The first thing I notice is the quiet.

The weightless, unnatural kind, like the world is holding its breath. The air is thick with the scent of something unfamiliar-clean linen, burning resin, and something sharper, like steel left too long in the sun. My limbs feel heavy, my body foreign, as though I've been stitched back into myself incorrectly.

I force my eyes open.

A room. Dimly lit by lanterns, their glow casting restless shadows over silk-covered walls.

A memory claws its way back-I fell. I remember the voices, the shock in my father's tone, the anger in Alpha Zareth's. But then, darkness.

For a moment, the world tilts. The ceiling above me is carved stone, and soft candlelight flickers along the walls. I'm lying on something plush-far too luxurious to be my own bed.

The veil is gone.

I shift, my muscles weak, and that's when I see him. A man sits at the far end, his frame cut sharp against the flickering light. He is still, too still, like a beast waiting for a reason to move. My breath catches. His presence is vast, like something stretching beyond the limits of his skin. He's the owner of the voice I heard.

I recognise him as the younger man who had been standing beside Alpha Zareth. His eyes flick to mine the moment I stir. His gaze-steady, unrelenting-sends a pulse through me. A pulse that does not belong to fear. I fight it down.

He's seated in a chair across the room, watching me with a contemplative expression.

"You fainted," he says matter-of-factly.

I blink, my throat parched.

He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. "Do you feel unwell?"

I struggle to find my voice. "I..." I hesitate, my mind sluggish. "Where am I?"

"In a guest chamber," he replies smoothly. "You collapsed during the ceremony."

Embarrassment burns through me. I failed. I humiliated myself in front of both packs.

I push myself upright, though my limbs protest the movement. "I should-"

"Rest," he interrupts, standing. "You won't be of much use if you collapse again."

His tone isn't unkind, but there's an edge to it, like he's weighing my every reaction.

I study him carefully. His resemblance to Alpha Zareth is undeniable-the same sharp features, the same quiet authority.

And then, realization dawns.

"You're his son," I murmur.

His lips curl slightly, though it's not quite a smile. "Perceptive."

I straighten, my pulse picking up. "Then... you must be..."

"Kael," he finishes for me.

Kael. The name rolls through my mind, settling there like a whisper of something inevitable.

Alpha Zareth's son.

And for some reason, he was watching me like he already knew something I didn't.