CHAPTER 4: THE PLAN

RAEA’S POV

“I still don’t agree with this plan!” Rowan growled, pacing the length of my bedchamber for what must have been the hundredth time.

The guys and Lyra had just slipped back into my room to brief me on everything they’d spent the afternoon setting up. My bedchamber, usually a peaceful sanctuary of soft creams and gold accents, now felt like a war room. Shadows lengthened across the plush rug as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a dim, amber glow.

Lyra had handled her end of the mission flawlessly. She had scouted a highly exclusive, incredibly discreet hotel in the heart of the city and personally booked the room. She had coordinated every detail, down to securing a complimentary bottle of fine wine and calculating the exact window of time we’d need to get in, get the job done, and have the guys sneak me back across the palace borders.

Meanwhile, Rowan and the boys had spent their afternoon mapping out our escape. We had to move right after dinner, which was set to start in just a few minutes. They had calculated the optimal route to slip me past the outer wall, transport me to the hotel, and sneak me back into my quarters before midnight.

Midnight was the hard deadline. That was when my mother, despite my countless protests, riots, and theatrical eye-rolls, would inevitably walk into my room to kiss me goodnight. I knew, I know—only babies still get tucked in by their mothers, and trust me, I’ve fought it. But Queen or not, she refused to break the tradition, so I had eventually surrendered.

To guarantee absolute privacy, the boys had also cleared out the entire floor of the hotel where my room was located, making sure my designated door was the only accessible one. Rowan insisted the extreme precaution was to ensure absolutely no one could catch a glimpse of my face and recognize me.

Kai, on the other hand, had a completely different theory. “It’s because you might be a screamer, baby,” he had whispered with a wicked, teasing wink, “and we can’t have people recognizing the royal princess of Asteria that way.”

I had blushed so hard I thought my ears would melt off.

While the team was out running logistics, Pippa had stayed behind to prepare me. She had run a steaming bath, infusing the water with rich, sweet-smelling oils of vanilla and sandalwood that she claimed would make my skin irresistibly soft. While I soaked, she had sat on the edge of the tub, casually dropping a treasure trove of “wisdom” that I’m pretty sure wasn’t documented in any textbook. She detailed things I hadn’t even stumbled across in the scandalous romance novels I occasionally swiped from Eliana’s private bookshelf. She gave me tips, tricks, and highly graphic advice.

And, honestly? I was terrified. But I was also stubborn, and I was going to see this plan through to the absolute end.

To top it all off, Pippa had procured the outfit. It was currently laid out on my vanity: a set of sexy, midnight-black lace lingerie that was basically made of nothing, accompanied by an equally sheer, dangerously short black silk nightgown. My face had burned crimson the second I laid eyes on them, and trying them on under Pippa’s highly enthusiastic commentary had been an exercise in sheer embarrassment.

Now, I was dressed in a perfectly ordinary, high-necked nightgown, about to head down to what was guaranteed to be the most awkward dinner this royal family had ever shared. I silently prayed to Gretra, the goddess of luck, that the foreign ambassadors would not be joining us tonight.

“Rowan, I am not backing out of this, and you know it. So please, stop whining!” I teased, giving him a bright, playful beam.

He let out a heavy, defeated grunt.

“Alright,” I sighed, squaring my shoulders. “Let’s go tackle this dinner.”

Leaving my bedchamber, we walked the long, winding corridors toward the dining hall. And I do mean *hall*. The room was cavernous, dominated by a massive, polished mahogany table capable of seating at least forty guests. But despite its grand size, my father always insisted we sit clustered tightly at the very top. He sat at the head of the table, with my mom on his left and me on his right. Callista, my sharp, younger sister and the second-born princess of Asteria, sat to my left, while Eliana, our brilliant, bookworm youngest sister, sat directly opposite her.

The table was not overflowing with a wasteful, ridiculous spread. In Asteria, we didn’t believe in excess. The royal kitchens prepared only enough food to comfortably feed the palace staff and our family. My mother had strictly enforced that rule the moment she took the throne, ensuring no scrap went to waste.

“May Gretra see you through,” Pippa whispered quickly as we reached the heavy oak doors.

I offered her a quick smile, nodding to the guards. They bowed low and swung the doors open, and I swept gracefully into the hall. I made my way to my seat, offering a smooth, respectful curtsy to my parents before sitting down and staring intently at my plate.

From the corner of my eye, I could see my dad opening his mouth to initiate a conversation, but my mother quickly reached over, placing a hand over his and offering a subtle, warning shake of her head. I exhaled a quiet breath of relief.

I glanced across the table at my two sisters. They were already looking at me, then at our parents, and then back to me with highly suspicious eyes. I flashed them a small, tight smile and quickly executed a series of rapid hand signals beneath the edge of the table. It wasn’t standard sign language—it was a secret code the three of us had invented when we were little girls to communicate behind our tutors’ backs.

*I’ll explain everything later,* my hands promised.

They both gave me a subtle nod of understanding. We said our quick table prayers and began to eat. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and the conversation was nearly nonexistent. My dad tried a couple of times to draw me into some light small talk, but I kept my replies short and polite, directing my focus toward Callista or Eliana until he finally gave up and focused on his own plate.

An hour later, dinner was finally over. I excused myself, doing my absolute best not to sound overly eager as I bid them goodnight and resisted the urge to literally skip out of the hall.

The moment I made it back to my room, the operation went into overdrive. The boys stood guard outside the door, running their final, hushed security checks, while the girls transformed my chamber. Lyra was busy pulling on an identical, ordinary nightgown to mine, tucking her hair into a sleeping net to obscure her face in case anyone peeked in. Pippa was hovering over me, dusting light makeup over my cheeks and putting the finishing touches on my hair.

“Raea, you know you can still back out of this…” Lyra said, her voice laced with worry as she adjusted the nightgown.

I leveled a sharp, unyielding glare at her through the mirror.

She let out a heavy sigh. “Fine, okay. Just… please be careful. Tell him to take it slow. Tell him you’re still a virg—”

“Uh, absolutely not. Do *not* do that,” Pippa interrupted, waving a makeup brush dismissively. “Honestly, slow is boring. A little rough and fast is where the real fun is. Oh, and make sure he eats you out. Trust me, there is literally no better feeling in the world. And don’t bother telling him you’re a virgin—he’s going to figure that out on his own anyway.”

“Okay…” I breathed, my heart hammering against my ribs as I threw a dark, heavy hood over my shoulders to completely obscure my face. I grabbed the handle of my hidden escape door. “Well, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“Operation Help Me Lose My V-Card is officially a go!”

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