Crown and Shackles: The Princes Mate (Story Updated)

Marked by Him, Betrayed by Her

After a long, brutal night of fighting instincts-half of which I couldn't even recall-I finally woke up. My body was heavy, my mind clouded with fragments of growls, snarls, and a fierce hunger I tried desperately to ignore. But the most immediate thing I felt was the strength of Logan's arms wrapped tightly around me, like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.

We were hidden away in a grand chamber fit for a prince-velvet drapes hung heavy over tall windows, casting deep shadows across the ornate tapestries and polished stone floors. The scent of burning cedarwood filled the air, but the real heat was the one coursing through my veins-and between us.

Logan was growling-low, possessive, and filled with warning-at something just beyond the thick oak door. His voice sent my wolf into a frenzy inside my head, claws scraping at the edges of my control. Then it hit me: it was my heat.

The dreaded, intoxicating heat.

In our world, a female wolf's heat is a wildfire no pack can ignore. It's the body's brutal, unyielding command to mate, to create, to survive. Even though Logan is my mate, the heat's pull was like a tempest, wild and overwhelming. The scent I gave off was uncontrollable-drawing every unmated male within miles, their instincts drowning their reason until all they wanted was to claim me.

That's why Logan and I had retreated here-to this royal sanctuary within the castle's walls. The grandeur and luxury around us did nothing to ease the wildness inside, but it offered shelter from the world outside-dangerous rivals, hungry pack members, and the chaos my heat invited.

I could feel Logan's own battle raging beneath his skin. His muscles coiled tight, his jaw clenched as if fighting a storm within. His wolf was snarling, desperate not just to protect me, but to claim me completely-his mate, his bonded mate. The scent of my heat was a siren call, stirring the beast in him that no oath or crown could fully tame.

I could feel Logan's turmoil thrumming beneath his skin, like a thunderstorm trapped in flesh. His muscles were wound tight, every line of his body drawn taut with restraint. His jaw was locked, eyes burning with a wild hunger he was trying-and failing-to leash. His wolf was close to the surface, not just protective, but possessive. Desperate. He didn't just want to guard me-he wanted to claim me. His mate. His bonded mate.

The scent of my heat hung between us like a fuse waiting to be lit. It stirred something primal in him, something no oath or crown could suppress. I could see it in his eyes-that battle between man and beast. And the beast was winning.

Then, a sharp knock on the door shattered the moment like glass.

"What the hell do you want?" Logan hissed, voice low and venomous. It made my wolf snarl inside me, wild with need and frustration.

That's when the burn started. A slow, agonizing fire that licked beneath my skin and spread like lightning. I writhed against the sheets, desperate to escape it-but it wasn't pain I could run from. It was him. My body ached for him, called for him, as if every nerve had learned his name.

"Logan..." I whispered, barely able to form the word.

I knew. I knew he could stop it. Only he could stop it. My heat was here-and I was spiraling fast.

Come on, Ally. Get it together. You have to fight it.

But how do you fight something that feels like fate?

"I... I apologize, Prince Logan. B-but... the k-king wishes to see you."

The voice was timid, cracking with fear.

I turned, my heart sinking as I recognized the speaker. It was only Rick-a boy no older than eight. A servant, a shadow in the palace halls. He stood trembling, head bowed, arms wrapped tightly around himself like he could vanish if he just tried hard enough.