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I am staring at the Rogue King's hand—bleeding over a fancy whiskey glass—trying not to gag.

Am I supposed to drink this thing? I am a bloodthirsty werewolf, but drinking a full glass of some dirty Rogue’s blood in my human form seems excessive. Is that really the only way we can do this?

But I am not some weak girl, and I know I am doing it for the greater good. For my people —I think, like a mantra at this point. So, I pick up the glass filled with a crimson-red, thick fluid and gulp it down as if my life depended on it. Because it kind of does.

“I, the Royal Alpha Princess, pledge my loyalty to you, Rogue King, and your pack, with my life and my wolf form.”

The Rogue King smirks again and leans over the oak table to grab my reluctant hand with his.

“I accept your loyalty and welcome you and your wolf form into my pack,” he says, cutting my hand slightly with the same knife he used on himself.

It stings, but I know it will heal quickly.

I notice his son rolls his eyes at us, probably bored out of his mind, and I can’t blame him for that. This day is going painfully slow.

The next thing I know, I’m being led outside without a chance to say goodbye to anyone but my dad. It's a good thing I asked my maid to pack me. I don’t even know what they prepared for me. All I know is I’m going to some mythical raw land up north. It used to be so uninhabitable that everyone thought it was the best place to exile some convicts so they could slowly die, alone and hungry .

That went very well, as we can see now.

I steal one more hug from my dad, noticing he feels slightly different now that I’m officially part of Rogue Kingdom. As if my body instinctively recognizes we are from different packs, the same way it always did on the battlefields when we fought with the Rogues. It’s confusing.

I take a big breath at the exit, trying to tell myself I’m all ready and prepared to leave with the Rogues. What I see when I go into the warm summer evening outside our royal mansion is not what I was getting ready for.

I mean… I know my dad spread the rumor about some nerdy medieval convention nearby, but I thought it was just a precaution for the large quantity and rugged appearance of Rogues. Turns out Rogue Alpha Prince wasn’t joking about the horse riding. He really meant actual horses!

Here I thought the outdated, spoiled, white rich kid treatment I used to get, would never come in handy. Of course, I know horse riding.

They have one carriage, but it is small and clearly occupied by all the luggage my maids packed for me.

“Why can’t I just take my car?” I ask my dad quietly while smiling politely at everyone else, wondering how I’m supposed to be comfortable on the horse with that ridiculous princess dress I was made to wear today. Their lands are up northeast, many, many hours from here.

He sighs.

“I don’t think they have the infrastructure for that, or any gas stations. Or mechanics, for that matter,” he answers even more quietly than me.

“Remind me why I was chosen as a tribute?” I ask with my teeth clenched, the fake smile still holding, but I know the answer.

Maybe I am his favorite daughter, first child, and more-than-possible heir to the throne, but I’m also the only girl over eighteen years old. It wasn’t a choice. It’s a sacrifice.

“Come,” my true mate, future husband, Alpha Prince of the Rogues, tells me impatiently—completely ignoring my father, the Alpha King of all Alphas .

“Your Majesty,” I nod at my father to make up for it and go after the prick, trying not to think about the family I’m leaving behind.

Not to be overdramatic but who knows if I’ll ever see them again?

What I will see from now on, though, is the perfectly sculpted ass in the black leather pants in front of me. Where is his fur cape? Goddess, what did I do for this torture? How can I do what I must to survive and help my Kingdom when I have all these naughty thoughts about the man I hate?

I can’t even rebuke it for our mate bond. No. It is all me. I would be drooling over him anyway because he simply is that good-looking. Shit.

“Where’s my horse, Your Highness?” I ask when I realize he leads me to the only unoccupied animal in the field, clearly dressed for the prince.

It’s irritating that I feel like the second I forget to call him His Highness, he will hit me, or worse, but he never calls me ‘Your Highness’ when I have the same royal position as he has.

“You don’t need it,” he says and grabs his fur cape from some rogue, who quickly scatters away.

“What do you mean, Your Highness? Why did you ask me if I can ride then?” I can’t help myself and lower my head whenever I speak to him.

He ignores me, though, and just jumps on his horse like it is the easiest thing to do. Maybe it is when you are as tall as him.

I could swear he is way over six feet. Six-seven maybe?

“Come on,” he leans over with his hand stretched to me, like I am some damsel in distress.

Does he want to intimidate me, so I’ll be good for him? Of course, I’ll be good for him, he’s a fucking Rogue Prince!

“I want my own,” I say without thinking, because of the growing anger that consumes my working brain cells. Shit, I should be more compliant—

He snarls at me like the animal he is and catches my arm painfully, jerking me up to put me sideways in front of him .

“That was the last time you didn’t show me respect, little wolf girl.”

So, the degrading nickname his father gave me stuck. Cool, cool.

“Can I at least sit in a less derogatory way, like behind you, Your Highness?” I ask with a polite tone and proper title, because I think that’s what he meant about being disrespectful, but I don’t lower my head this time. No. I keep it high to look into his cold, navy-blue eyes.

I can feel the vibration of the primal growl he gives me.

“You had your chance,” he says, suddenly jerking me again, this time holding my thigh.

He is moving me swiftly so I straddle his hips, our fronts almost touching. I try to break away from him—to not let him treat me like some doll—but it’s all in vain. He’s too strong and too big of a prick. He just pulls me back to him.

With my heightened hearing I notice that someone gasps, and I could swear it’s my mother, witnessing my humiliation from the balcony. The one who taught me how to be a strong, independent woman.

I can’t even look in her direction, too ashamed of my position and the future it holds.

“Something wrong?” asks the Rogue Prince with a smirk.

“No. Your Highness.”

He tightens the arm he has wrapped around my waist, crushing me to his hard torso and probably hard dick, which fortunately is separated from me with many layers of clothing.

I hesitate before finally stealing a glance at my mom—who is held tightly by my brothers—and my heart almost breaks.

“Hold on,” he says with his husky voice that I am already growing to like, much to my dismay—and jerks the reins with his free hand.

The horse starts moving violently. My only choice is to wrap my arms around his torso, feeling his naked, warm skin on his back, under the fur cape he has attached with all the leather straps and metal clasps .

I don’t know what to do with my head—so close to him that I don’t have a natural choice other than nestling it on the top of his chest, which seems way too intimate. So, I tip my chin up to look at his face and black, semi-long hair instead, trying with all my mind not to think about sex.

It’s pure hell with the mate-bond pull to him I feel when our bodies are so close, me straddling him, horse’s movements hopping us up and down, up and down…

I know he knows I’m staring at him, but a long time passes before he finally lowers his eyes to mine. At the same time, he squeezes my waist, and I let out an involuntary gasp.

“We’ll have our fun tonight, don’t worry,” he says with a weird glint in his gaze.

I search his eyes because I truly don’t know what he might mean. Fun? Not the wedding, that’s for sure. The sex, maybe? I hope so. Because all my other ideas of his understanding of ‘fun’ end up with me hurting, bleeding, and barely alive.

Well, we cannot exclude the possibility of the same image after sex, too.

I shudder at the thought and lower my gaze, putting my head on his chest after all.

It dawns on me that some of the old tales we tell our pups describe this foul smell that rogues are supposed to have, warning us of the feral beasts they become.

I inhale his intoxicating smell. It calms me. Fresh air, dark green forest, everything that an actual werewolf should smell like, confirming, despite the name—they are no longer true stinking rogues. He is a future king of a real kingdom, not some degenerate behind the border.

Under all that werewolf, alpha-blooded smell, there is one scent luring me in that I couldn’t pinpoint before.

Lemons.

I wrap my arms around him tighter despite all the knives between us. I’m basically hugging him, but I don’t care what he thinks about it because I simply need it right now.

And I have a right to use his body as I please the same way he will want to use mine later tonight, right? Either way, if he didn’t want to hug me, he should have given me my own damn horse.

“You are thinking too loud,” he says, making me stiffen.

What does he mean? Can he hear me, like true mates sometimes can? No, that’s impossible if we are not mated, marked, and officially claimed. It was just a saying. He doesn’t even know I am his mate.

It is for the best. Now that I can think calmly, something tells me he would not be glad about it. He could even kill me. Who knows, maybe he doesn’t want to have a weakness like that. He’s definitely one of those guys, and I definitely need to keep an eye on this and make sure our mate bond stays a secret. Yes, he would kill me. I can feel it in my bones.

“So, you met your mate?” he suddenly asks me, freaking me out even more.

“Yes, Your Highness, but our fathers already started negotiations at that point, and all my other sisters are too young for you.”

The best way of lying is to stay as close to the truth as possible—and technically—there’s no lie in what I just said.

“You are too young for me, too. Thank God you are not a virgin, at least. I don’t need a kid to teach.”

So, it’s true that rogues worship the God of Night, not the Moon Goddess. He sounded almost like a normal human with that ‘thank god’ comment, which is funny considering he’s probably never met a normal human before.

I keep my head on his chest, so I can’t look at his features to try and guess if he’s being serious about my age right now. He probably is.

“How old are you? Your Highness,” I add quickly.

“Tell me about him,” he asks, completely ignoring my question.

Suddenly, I realize we are starting to tail the others, our horse—his horse, riding slower and slower. Did he purposely slow down so we could talk? I furrow my brows.

“Well, he is very… hot.” It’s the only nice truth about the Rogue Prince that I could think of right now, and I don’t want to lie when I don’t have to.

“Hotter than me?” he says cockily, not aware he is asking about himself.

I tip my head up again, looking at his eyes. Is he jealous? I shouldn’t be surprised. Rogue or not, he is an alpha werewolf, after all, and we can be very possessive and territorial—and I am supposed to become his wife. Why were they so adamant about arranging our marriage? Did they really think that would secure compliance on my father’s side? The fear for my safety?

“Is he?” He looks down at me and slows our horse even more.

I can’t read his eyes. They are too cold and calculating.

“No, Your Highness,” technically I don’t lie; he isn’t hotter than himself.

“I bet he is some tall alpha prick,” he says with a slight smirk, looking back at the road.

I snort with laughter at his on-point guess.

“You are mine, though,” he says suddenly, looking back at me, and my laugh instantly dies.

I look for something in his eyes, not even sure what, but I don’t find it. He doesn’t know how right he is. No matter if I like it or not.

“I am, Your Highness, completely yours,” I say with a sour taste in my mouth.

It feels and sounds like I’m lying, but unfortunately, I’m not.