Plot Twist

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"The best protection any woman can have...is courage." 

-Elizabeth Cady Stanton 

Before I could gather my thoughts - more like requests, really - into some sort of coherent speech, someone cleared their throat. Automatically, both Mason and I turned and I felt like facepalming. As in if-I-ever-needed-to-facepalm-in-my-entire-life-it-would-be-now.

In all the mate madness, it seemed that one tiny, little, inconsequential detail had slipped my mind.

We were not alone.

I repeat: definitely not alone.

Oh, no, all that intimate, hair-touching and neck-nuzzling that had been going on a second ago? It was all done in front of about fifteen of Mason's advisors - all of which were still sitting at their lengthy table - very uncomfortable looks expressed on their faces.

This has got to be the most embarrassing thing I've ever done.

And that includes my fifth-grade talent show performance where I attempted to do an interpretative dance routine -choreographed by my own eleven-year old self, might I add - to Britney Spears' 'Womanizer'. About halfway through, my principal, Mr. Jefferson, stopped me, claiming the song was too inappropriate. Looking back, I'm pretty sure he was just trying to save me some embarrassment.

There was a lot of flailing and full-body rolls goin' on.

Still, like I said, nearly making out with the Alpha King in front of all these well-respected men definitely trumps my short-lived dance career.

Bringing myself out of my thoughts, I felt my cheeks heat up, and I squashed the urge to want to hide behind Mason. No, if I was a Queen now - even if the specifics of that situation still hadn't been hashed out yet - I needed to act like one. The least I could do was act like a somewhat mentally-competent human being.

Even if I'm really just an asshole in disguise.

Holding my head high, I looked over at the man who'd cleared his throat. He was an older, bald guy most likely nearing his late sixties, with a stout frame sitting poised in a chair and a thick, bushy mustache adorning his face. I noticed he was in a dark-blue military-looking uniform. Several medals hung near his left breast-pocket. If I had my guess, I would've said the guy was definitely some sort of General-of-blah-blah-blah-regime.

His expression was a mixture of extreme discomfort, relief - probably that we were done feeling each other up - pride, and a bit of fear. "Sir, I really do hate to interrupt your first meeting with your mate - which I offer my most sincere congratulations to, but I must inquire about the state of our conference. We still have many matters left at hand to discuss," the general-looking guy spoke with a gravely, rough british accent. Despite whatever fear shown on his face, his voice betrayed none of it.

Geez, am I the only one who seems to have noticed how proper everyone around here speaks? There's no way it's just the accent - it's got to be a royalty thing.

No offense, but if anybody tells me I'm going to have to speak like that and use words like 'inquire', I'm gonna have to pass on this whole Queen thing. Mate be damned - I'm not going to change who I am just because I suddenly met someone I'm interested in romantically.

No matter what title I have, I'm always going to be a narcissistic, cat-loving douchebag.

From beside me, Mason moved his hand to rest on the small of my back - a gesture that made my entire spine tingle - as he addressed the General, "The matters at hand can wait another few days. For now, I have a situation regarding my mate's family to resolve. Today's meeting is dismissed, gentlemen."