Never Yours Alpha

CH 7 - Simon

SIMON POV

The lounge Rosalie chose was the kind of place Faerie used when it wanted to convince itself it was harmless, a space soaked in warm light filtered through crystal panels, soft couches arranged too close together to encourage proximity rather than comfort, and an air so saturated with floral sweetness that it dulled the edges of thought if one let it. It was designed for persuasion, not honesty, and the moment I stepped inside I understood why she had brought me here instead of anywhere public.

A servant appeared immediately, as if summoned by her intent rather than any sound, placing a tray between us with exaggerated care before retreating without a word. The porcelain cups were thin and elegant, traced with gold vines that caught the light, and the liquid inside them steamed gently, releasing a scent that made my jaw tighten before I even tasted it.

Fae coffee.

Which was to say, sugar dressed up as something useful.

Rosalie sat first, not fully back against the couch but forward, open, deliberately informal, crossing her legs slowly as if she had all the time in the world and intended to use it to make a point. Her dress rode up with the movement, tight and short enough to be unmistakably intentional, and she watched me closely, eyes sharp and curious, waiting to see how I would react.

“You’ll like it,” she said lightly. “Moonflower nectar, honey crystals, a touch of spice. Very popular here.”

I lifted the cup and took a sip, forcing myself not to grimace as the sweetness flooded my mouth, thick and cloying, coating my tongue like syrup with a faint bitterness underneath that felt ornamental rather than functional. It tasted like something designed to impress people who had no need to stay alert, and I had to swallow deliberately to keep my expression neutral.

“Delightful,” I said, setting the cup down carefully before instinct took over and I crushed it.

Rosalie laughed, clearly pleased, leaning back just enough to watch me without hiding her interest. “You’ve spent too much time in the human realm, Ambassador,” she said. “Have you lost your taste for fae pleasures?”

“I’ve learned that human coffee keeps me awake,” I replied, letting my gaze linger on her deliberately as I lifted the cup again, “and dulls restraint.”

Her eyes flickered, darkening, her tongue brushing her lower lip before she smiled. “That sounds more exhausting than enjoyable.”

“It can be both,” I said quietly. “Depending on who you’re sharing it with.”

She leaned forward then, forearms resting on the table, and this time she didn’t stop at suggestion. Her knee brushed mine and stayed there, warm and deliberate, the contact casual enough to deny if challenged but invasive enough to test how much I would tolerate. Maddox surged violently at the intrusion, a low, furious snarl reverberating under my ribs, and I had to lock my jaw and anchor myself in the role I was playing to keep my body from reacting the wrong way.

I didn’t move away.

“So,” Rosalie said, tilting her head, eyes dark with interest now, “what brings a man like you back to Faerie after so long among humans?”

I shrugged, playing Augustus with ease. “Duty. Curiosity. Nostalgia.”

“And stamina,” she added with a smile that suggested she already knew the answer.

I chuckled lowly, letting my arm rest along the back of the couch, close enough that she could feel the heat from my body without touching me, watching as she shifted toward me without thinking about it.

“The three lies men always choose first,” she said.

“And yet you’re still listening,” I replied.

“Not because I believe them,” she said, studying me openly now, “but because I want to see how long you’ll pretend they’re true.”

Good. She wasn’t stupid. That made this easier and far more dangerous.

“You seem very comfortable testing me,” I said, my tone lazy, controlled, “for someone who claimed to be looking for an earring.”

She laughed softly. “I’ve always enjoyed testing limits.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Her brows lifted. “Careful, Ambassador. People might think you’ve been asking about me.”

“Oh, I have,” I said easily. “It would be irresponsible not to, given your family ties.”

She accepted that with a pleased hum, lifting her cup and taking a slow sip, eyes never leaving mine. “And what did you learn?”

“That you’re very close to your aunt,” I replied. “And very invested in the future of this realm.”

“Someone has to be,” she said. “The Queen is… sentimental.”

That word didn’t belong anywhere near Queen Petunia, and the way Rosalie said it made that clear.

“Sentimental?” I echoed.

“She still believes bloodlines and tradition are enough to hold Faerie together,” Rosalie said dismissively. “It’s charming.”

“And you disagree.”

“Of course I do,” she said without hesitation. “Tradition is only useful when it serves those who know how to wield it.”

There it was, the truth beneath the silk.

I took another sip of the fae excuse for coffee, fighting the urge to spit it out, and leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice.

“I heard congratulations are in order,” I said casually. “The engagement.”

Her laughter was immediate, bright and sharp. “Oh yes. The only solution anyone could accept.”

“Princess Lily engaged at last,” I said. “A momentous occasion.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes. “It’s the only way anyone would believe she could reign Faerie.”

The words landed hard, and something inside me twisted violently.

“Because of her fragility?” I asked carefully.

She tilted her head, studying me. “That’s one way to put it.”

“What word would you use?”

Her smile was slow, unapologetic, and cruel. “Broken.”

The sound Maddox made inside me was not a growl but a roar, sudden and violent, slamming against my control hard enough that my vision sharpened at the edges and my hands curled into fists against my will. For a split second, I saw it clearly: the shift tearing through me right there, bone and muscle reshaping, the table shattered beneath my weight, Rosalie flung aside as irrelevant, and me crossing the palace in seconds to find Lily, to lift her easily onto my shoulder like the child she had once been, to tear a hole in Faerie itself and bring her back to my pack where no one would ever call her broken again.

Fuck the Queen.

Fuck the court.

Fuck their traditions.

It took everything I had to stay seated.

I leaned forward instead, close enough that Rosalie could feel the tension radiating off me, my voice steady only because I forced it to be. “An interesting way to describe someone who survived death.”

“Survival doesn’t always make you stronger,” Rosalie replied, her fingers sliding deliberately over my sleeve as she spoke, slow and possessive, as if Lily were already a thing rather than a person. “Sometimes it just makes you… damaged.”

“No,” I said quietly, every word measured, restrained with iron. “It makes you dangerous to underestimate.”

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered, lifting her cup again. “You sound almost protective.”

“I respect resilience,” I said, biting my tongue hard enough to taste blood. “It’s rare.”

“Lily needs a strong hand guiding her,” Rosalie said. “Someone the court can trust.”

“And the court trusts the Grints.”

“Enough,” she replied. “And with the right marriage, they’ll trust Lily too.”

The right marriage.

I let my fingers brush deliberately against hers as I reached for the sugar dish, a subtle touch that made her inhale sharply and lean in closer without realizing it.

“And does the broken princess trust this arrangement?” I asked softly.

Rosalie’s gaze dropped to our hands, then lifted again, something cold and satisfied flickering behind her eyes. “Lily doesn’t always understand what’s best for her.”

“That’s a convenient assumption.”

“It’s a necessary one,” she said. “Want has very little to do with ruling.”

“So consent isn’t a factor,” I said.

Her eyes held mine, unblinking. “Do you believe it ever is?”

The urge to shift hit me again, harder this time, and for a terrifying second I wasn’t sure I would win. My nails bit into my palm, my breath came slower, heavier, and all I could think was how easily I could end this farce by taking Lily and leaving, by refusing to let her be caged by people who saw her pain as weakness.

“You’re very honest,” I said finally.

“I find honesty refreshing,” Rosalie replied. “Especially with men who pretend to be something they’re not.”

I leaned in then, close enough that her breath hitched, close enough that she thought she’d won, my gaze dropping to her mouth before meeting her eyes again.

“And I think,” I murmured, “that you didn’t lose an earring.”

Her lips curved, satisfied. “Touché.”

She stood, stepping into my space without asking, her hand flattening against my chest as if the decision had already been made for both of us. Her touch was confident, proprietary, invasive.

“You look tense,” she murmured. “Human habits don’t suit fae men. Too much restraint.”

I let my hand close around her wrist, not gripping, not pushing her away, just enough contact to suggest interest, to suggest I was close to breaking.

“For someone so curious,” I said quietly, “you’re very confident.”

“Confidence is rewarded here.”

I leaned in just enough that she expected it, let her feel my breath, my proximity, my control slipping — and then I pulled back, releasing her wrist and stepping away.

“Normally,” I said smoothly, “I’d agree.”

She blinked, surprised.

“But I’m afraid the human coffee has ruined my stamina today,” I added lazily. “Tragic, really.”

For a heartbeat, she looked stunned.

Then amused.

“Another time,” she said lightly, though her eyes burned with promise. “I doubt you’ll be tired for long.”

I smiled, indulgent, exactly what she expected.

“I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.”

As I left the lounge, her gaze followed me, hungry and calculating, convinced she had the upper hand.

She was wrong.

And my little flower was running out of time.