Chapter 4: Chapter 4
The heavy oak door of the study clicked shut, muffling the distant strains of the feast. Theodore leaned back against its solid surface, the lingering phantom warmth of Elodie’s presence warring with the cold dread settling in his gut. The scent of aged leather and pipe smoke, usually a comfort, felt thick, oppressive.
“She’s…” Killian began, his voice unusually rough, his usual calm fractured. He stood by the towering bookshelves, fingers tracing the spine of a worn atlas. “In the garden. Late afternoon sun, she was near the west wall roses.” He turned, his dark eyes meeting Theo’s, fierce and certain. “She’s mine, Theo. My fated. I scented her.”
Theo pushed off the door, the weight on his shoulders intensifying. “I know.” The words were leaden.
Before he could elaborate, the study door flew open revealing Alastair, his usual grin strained, eyes wide. “Right, so, funny thing,” he announced, shutting the door swiftly behind him. He raked a hand through his tousled hair. “Grand Hall. Five minutes ago. That scent? The princess? Like honey and lightning and… ours?” He looked between Theo and Killian, his levity vanishing. “She’s mine too. Undeniably. Felt like getting hit by a runaway carriage made of bliss.”
Silence crashed down, thick as the dust on the highest shelves. Theo watched the understanding dawn on Killian’s face, mirroring his own earlier shock. He glanced towards the chair tucked near the fireplace where Jackson usually sat, currently empty. The unspoken question hung heavy: Was she Jackson’s too? Had fate woven their nascent pack together with a single, impossible thread?
“Sweet hells,” Alastair breathed, sinking into a worn armchair.
“The political ramifications…” Killian murmured, his gaze fixed on Theo. “Four alphas? One royal omega? It’s… unprecedented. Dangerous.”
“We tell no one,” Theo stated, his king’s voice cutting through the tension. “Not yet. Not until she and I are wed and there is no risk of her father whisking her away.” He grumbled furiously like the implication alone had him seething.
“She deserves to know, Theo,” Killian said softly, his empathy radiating. “My mother and fathers… their bond… it’s sacred. Hiding it feels like a betrayal of the gift.” He paused, his gaze steady but respectful. “But I wasn’t raised in these gilded cages. My parents’ pack was their strength, their joy. Royals…” He glanced at Alastair, then back to Theo. “You were taught it was weakness, shameful. So I defer.” He dipped his head slightly. “The decision is yours, my King.”
Theo stared at the intricate patterns in the rug, the scent of wildflowers and honey clinging to his memory, the king and the alpha warring within him. The quiet echoed, filled only by the crackle of the fire and the crushing weight of the impossible truth. Jackson’s absence felt suddenly profound.