The Prince Let Me Die Now He Begs For My Love Chapter 02
In my previous life, I never knew Mr. W’s real identity.
I’d always assumed he was some rich young man from the Royal Pack, living under his family’s thumb.
For three years, we talked about everything.
I complained to him that my mother dragged me out of bed at dawn every morning.
As the Alpha’s publicly acknowledged daughter, I had to study Pack budgets, territorial affairs, and public etiquette, on top of my royal protocol courses.
My tutors demanded I smile constantly, never walk too quickly, and never eat too much in front of the cameras.
My wolf hated the restraints, but I didn’t dare disappoint my mother.
He would tell me about his troubles, too.
His parents rarely interfered in his private life, but they had impossibly high expectations for every decision he made.
The young men from collateral royal lines were always watching the heir’s position, waiting for him to slip up.
Even his marriage wasn’t entirely his own choice.
“My mother has chosen a poised young woman for me.”
“She’s perfect in every way, but I don’t like her.”
I felt an instant kinship.
“What a coincidence. My mother has a man picked out for me who’s as cold as an interrogator, and I don’t like him either.”
That time, his reply came quickly. The handwriting was more sweeping than usual, as if it carried a smile.
“In that case, would you consider me?”
“If you marry me, you can eat whatever you want, do whatever you want. With me here, the entire Royal—”
He had crossed out *Royal* so heavily it nearly tore the page.
Then he rewrote it as: “the entire household won’t dare to control you.”
Reading his letter, my heart pounded so hard that even my wolf grew restless.
I chewed on the end of my pen for a long time before finally writing back.
“Really?”
“If I marry you, can I really sleep until noon, not manage a thing, and just spend my days eating, drinking, and traveling?”
“If you dare lie to me, I’ll tie you up and use you as a punching bag.”
My handwriting was a crooked mess, far too ugly to send.
Every time I finished a draft, I’d give it to Evelyn to copy onto the proper stationery for me.
She always pretended to dote on me, never complaining about the extra work.
Only that one time did she roll her eyes.
“The mate of a high-status man has to manage the residence, the staff, and all public appearances. Who on earth gets to sleep until noon every day?”
“Your pen pal doesn’t even understand the basics. He’s clearly clueless about how the world works.”
“Only you would believe him.”
When she said that, she could never have imagined that the Mr. W she looked down on would one day become Asteria’s Alpha King.