Hope

It’s finally just us.

The city hums around us—vendors calling out prices, the rustle of silk skirts and leather boots, the occasional bark of a guard or child. But for once, there’s no Papa, no advisors, no expectations breathing down our necks.

Just me and Tessa.

She exhales loud and dramatic, dragging her fingers down her face. “I swear, if one more crusty councilman comments on how rare a female Alpha is, I might lose it.”

I smile. “What would you do?”

“Rip out their tongues. Display them on the palace gates. Make a new tradition.”

“You sound like Papa.”

She groans. “Don’t say that. That’s not funny.”

We...