The Alpha prince’s true mate (Complete)

An invitation

*Linnie*

We only keep the shop open until half past two, which gives me an opportunity to catch a few winks before heading to the tavern. But when I open my bakery in Blackrock City, I'm going to keep the doors unlocked until sunset. Surely, Blackrock City folks have a more leisurely life and would make their purchases later in the afternoon.

I'll also have a delivery service for the fancy and the posh. I have all sorts of plans to ensure my business supports me and allows me to set aside funds for my old age. My da, bless his heart, will probably be working until the day he c***s up his toes. As for myself, I want to have a bit more fun before I go to my grave.

The bell above the door tinkles as it opens, and my heart lurches at the sight of Marsden strolling inside, removing his hat in one fluid motion. How is it that he encompasses both gracefulness and masculinity? After being caught in a compromising position the night before, I hadn't expected him to be so bold as to appear here when he knows my father will be about.

"My prince," I say as he nears the counter, although he has yet to look at me directly but seems more interested in the few loaves that remain on the shelves behind the glass.

"Are we going to be formal today, Miss Piletree?" he asks, bending slightly to study the pumpernickel.

"It's advisable." I lean over the counter slightly and whisper, "My father's in the kitchens."

"Then I shall be on my best behavior."

And his best obviously involves giving his attention to the baked dough. Irritated with his ignoring me, I heave a sigh. "Why are you here, Marsden?"

"I'm in need of bread for a picnic." He says.

"In winter? One doesn’t picnic in the cold. Are you daft?"

He peers up at me then. "Does one not?"

"No, one does not unless he wishes to catch his death." I tell him.

"I think one can. Perhaps I’ll show you sometime."

I wish he would. "I don’t think that would be wise."

Finally, he straightens. "We spent more time together when we were younger. Chasing after each other, fishing, climbing trees. I even taught you to ride a horse."

"All in innocence. We lose our innocence as we get older."

"Indeed we do. I enjoyed kissing you."

The heat suffuses my face. "You’d best not let my father hear you say that."

"Did you like kissing me?"

I shake my head, surprised when he suddenly looks devastated. "It ended too soon, but until then" I shrug. "I have no complaints."

He grins. "I think you enjoyed it more than I did."

"It was more involved than I expected it to be." I’d especially liked the lovely way he’d fondled my breast, wishing he’d had time to give attention to the other.

"Was it your first?" he asks.

I nod. "Yours?"

He shakes his head. "No."

Jealousy spears me. He is four years older. It's ridiculous to think he’d have had the patience to wait for me to grow up. "Was she pretty?"

"I don’t recall. I suppose I should but I was quite foxed at the time."

"Have you done more than kiss?"

He holds my gaze until I want to squirm. We’ve never had any difficulty discussing the most intimate of things but I'm beginning to wish I hadn’t asked.

"I have," he finally says quietly.

"What was it like?" I whisper.

"Awkward. I was clumsy and rather... quick. I doubt the entire exchange lasted as long as our kiss last night."

My eyes widen. "I thought copulating lasted all night."

"I suspect on occasion it could." He admits.

I bite my lip, "Not very ladylike of me to ask, I suppose. But then I'm not really a lady, am I?"

"I've always told you that you can ask me anything."

"As you can ask me."

"Good." He looks back down at the shelves. "Which is your favorite bread, as I need to purchase a loaf?"

"Sourdough." I grab one, wrap it in paper, and hand it to him. "I'll add it to your account."

He nods, "Very good."

"Afternoon, My prince."

I roll my eyes at my father's resounding voice echoing around us. He sounds less happy than he did the night before.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Piletree." Marsden holds up his purchase. "I needed some bread."

"I should think your cook would provide that."

"We have an abundance of guests arriving, and I didn’t wish to trouble her when my need is personal. And I almost forgot. I needed to deliver this." He reaches into his coat pocket, removes an ivory vellum envelope, and extends it toward me. "On behalf of my mother."

Why the devil would the Luna Princess send a missive? The she-wolf has never spoken to me except to chastise me when I was younger and had been tearing through the garden, Marsden hot on my heels. Taking it, I stare at it as though it were an unknown object. Miss Madeline Piletree is written in delicate script.

"You should open it," Marsden insists. "It might require a response."

"Yes, of course." With care, I unseal the envelope and remove another vellum piece, only this one is embossed with gold lettering, requesting my presence at the ball. "She can't be serious." I look up at him. "This is a prank."

"She's deadly serious. Her seamstress will be arriving in a couple of days to create your gown. I'll send a carriage for you the night of the ball."

"I can't go."

"Why not?" He asks.

I shake my head, "I'll stick out like a sore thumb."

"Too scared? Cowardly? Afraid?"

"This isn't the same as climbing a tree. And we're not children to taunt each other."

He grins, "It's exactly like it. You've always wanted to attend one of her balls; I know you have. It's my Christmas gift to you. Before you head off to your new life in Blackrock City. I'll let her know you've graciously accepted."

"You'll do no such thing."

"You should go to the ball," my father says.

Pivoting on my heel, I stare at him. "You can't think this is a good idea."

"You need to understand where you belong." He says softly.

"I know where I belong." But he's correct. Knowing I could never scale into societal heights doesn't make me want Marsden any less. So I give the Alpha Prince a curt nod. "Let your mother know I look forward to it."

"I shall look forward to our dance. Your first shall belong to me."

With that, he walks out of the shop. I trail my fingers over the raised lettering.

"Best to let him break your heart now while you're young enough to recover," my father says.

"Did it never occur to you that I might break his?" I say.

he shakes his head, "Not once. You need to understand, Madeline, that to his kind, you are merely a plaything."

Leaving me with that unsettling thought, he retreats to the kitchen. He doesn't understand that for some, being a plaything is better than being nothing at all.