“Writing music?” Elliot asks.
I smile warmly. “Yeah. I’ll play it for you when it’s done.”
Nolan arches an eyebrow. “Promise?”
I nod. “Of course.” Nolan’s always been the first to get a look at new music for years now.
We pack up and head back to the house. I take the world’s fastest shower and change into something less sandpapery. When I come back to the main room, the three of them are sprawled across the couch with wet hair, board shorts, and a pile of towels. There’s an energy in the air—restless, expectant.
I sit on the floor, cross-legged, with my guitar in hand.
I play the song.
It’s about them. It’s about me, too, and the weird, unlikely thing we’ve built together. The words are honest, the melody bare-boned and sweet. I watch their faces as I play: Kellen’s eyes get shiny, Elliot’s jaw twitches like he’s trying not to smile, and even Nolan looks a little less intimidating than normal.
When I finish, there’s a silence.
Then Kellen says, “That’s the one. That’sthesong to be your new single. Not what Raelynn made you write.”
“Thanks,” I say.We’ll see about that.Raelynn won’t be happy the song isn’t pop, and she’ll be even less happy about my refusal to change that.
But then Elliot moves, fast and purposeful, and sits down behind me, arms around my waist. Kellen joins him by leaning over my shoulder. Even Nolan manages to wedge himself onto the other side, so I’m once again surrounded by my alphas.
Kellen kisses my shoulder. Elliot rests his chin on my head. Nolan squeezes my hand.
I’ve never felt so completely claimed.
Or so absolutely, terrifyingly happy.
CHAPTER 16
Piper
I’m not expectingpaparazzi photos of myself to be the first thing I see when we return to the manor estate, but then again, this is the Hale palace, and it has its own special gravity of drama. Today’s flavor: PR disaster.
We’ve barely shed the sand from our shoes before the perimeter is crawling with high-visibility vests—staffers, not press, though at this point, does it matter?—and every window on the south wing is drawn tight. The queen’s personal security detail stands in silent formation outside the palace doors.
Not good.
Inside the foyer we find the place mostly as we left it, with the exception of a ring of stone-faced men and women in navy suits. Kellen freezes, his hand barely off my lower back. Elliot narrows his eyes.
Nolan nudges my shoulder. “Remember to smile.”
The queen waits for us in the sunroom, and she is not alone. Her PR team flanks her.
“Prince Kellen.” She barely glances at me, but the PR team takes me in like a shark circling a seal.
Kellen matches her tone with zero joy. “Mother.”
What happened?
The queen surveys the four of us. “Let’s be efficient. Sit.”
We sit. Nolan parks himself just behind me, a personal blockade between me and any incoming hostility. Elliot flanks Kellen, which I doubt is lost to anyone in the room.
The queen lifts a single sheet of paper. “I’ll start with the obvious. Do you recognize this?” She holds it up like it’s a mug shot. I can see it upside-down: me, in hysterics, clinging to Kellen; Kellen’s arms tight around me, and Elliot’s hand on my waist; Nolan in the background.
Fuck.That’s not a selfie. That’s a million-dollar shot through a window with an insanely long-range camera. There’s no arguing context—anyone with half a brain will see the huddle and know exactly what it is.
