Page 19

NINETEEN

T he sharp buzz of his comm device sliced through Charov’s contentment like a knife. His eyes snapped open, instantly alert despite the drowsy warmth of the bed. He glanced at his wrist, and the simple message displayed there turned his blood to ice.

“The King has passed.”

His father. Gone.

Charov’s gaze shifted to Bess, her soft curves tangled in the sheets beside him, her face peaceful in sleep. Her wavy brown hair fanned across the pillow, one delicate hand curled near her face. Last night had been... transcendent. Now that joy felt like a distant memory, a dream from someone else’s life.

He eased from the bed with the silent grace that belied his massive frame. Every instinct screamed at him to wake her, to draw strength from the connection they had forged. But the raw, jagged grief rising in his chest was too private and primal. He couldn’t bear for her to see him like this – not yet.

Charov dressed silently, his movements mechanical. He allowed himself one final glance at Bess, memorizing how the early morning light gilded her skin. Then he slipped from her suite without a sound.

The corridors of the castle, usually alive with activity, were eerily silent as he strode toward his father’s chambers. Guards stood at attention, their eyes downcast and their faces grim. They parted without a word as he approached.

The door to his father’s chambers loomed before him. Charov squared his shoulders, drawing himself to his full height. He was Prince – no, King now. The title felt like a massive weight crushing down on his shoulders.

“My King,” the royal doctor bowed as Charov entered, but he barely registered the words.

His mother’s keening wail tore through the chamber. Queen Zyre sat beside the bed, her elegant frame folded over his father’s still form, her hands clutching his. Her grief was so naked and so raw that Charov had to look away for a moment.

The king lay on his bed, still and silent. His father’s once-powerful body seemed diminished, the vibrant force that had animated him completely vanished. Sawyr, the mighty Mavac Bear King, reduced to an empty vessel.

Charov’s knees nearly buckled. A roar built in his chest – his bear demanding release to howl its anguish – but he swallowed it down. Instead, he crossed to his mother and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Mother,” he whispered.

Queen Zyre looked up, her eyes red-rimmed, streaks of tears mapping her face. “He waited for you to find your mate. After you left yesterday, he told me he was ready. He said the kingdom would be safe with you and Bess.”

The mention of Bess sent a pang through Charov’s heart. “I should have been here.”

“No,” his mother said fiercely. “He didn’t want that. He wanted you to find joy with your mate.” Her voice broke. “He loved you so much, Charov.”

Charov moved to his father’s side. Tears he couldn’t control spilled down his face as he leaned down to press his forehead against his father’s.

“I will make you proud, Father,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I will protect what you built. I swear it.”

His bear rumbled inside him, mourning and determined all at once.

The Kingdom of Mavac Territory had lost its king. And the son had lost his loving father.

Later that afternoon, Charov swirled amber liquid in his crystal tumbler, watching the light fracture through the facets. The Royal Mavac whiskey – his father’s favorite – burned in his throat but did nothing to numb the hollow ache in his chest. He had long since lost count of how many he’d had.

“If you’re trying to drown yourself, I should remind you that bears are excellent swimmers,” Oberon said, leaning against the doorframe of Charov’s royal chambers.

Charov didn’t look up. “Not in the mood for jokes.”

Oberon crossed the room, his heavy footfalls echoing against the polished stone floor. He didn’t ask permission before pouring himself a drink and dropping into the chair opposite Charov.

“Your mate’s been asking about you.”

Charov’s bear stirred at the mention of Bess, clawing at his insides with urgent need. Go to her. She’s yours. She’ll comfort you. The image of Bess’s face flashed in his mind – those full lips that had yielded so sweetly to his, those expressive green eyes that had looked at him with want.

“She doesn’t need to see me like this.” Charov tossed back his drink in one swallow.

“That’s exactly what mates are for,” Oberon countered. “To see you at your worst and still want you.”

Charov slammed down his glass hard enough to crack the crystal. “Like my mother wanted my father?” His voice turned savage. “You’ve seen her. She’s a ghost walking around in my mother’s skin.”

He stood abruptly, prowling to the window overlooking the kingdom – his kingdom now. The weight of that reality pressed down on him like a mountain.

“I saw her face when the doctor told her there was nothing more to be done. I watched as every bit of light drained out of her when he died. That’s what happens when you let someone become your everything.”

His bear growled in protest, but Charov forced it down.

“So, what’s your brilliant plan?” Oberon asked, his voice dangerously quiet. “Push away your true mate because you’re afraid?”

Charov whirled, his eyes flashing. “I’m not afraid.”

“Bullshit.” Oberon stood to match him, never one to back down. “You’re terrified. The legendary Prince Charov, who jumps out of aircraft for fun, who faces down predators without blinking, is running scared from a curvy little human who has him completely bewitched.”

“I’m protecting myself,” Charov snarled. “And her.”

“No, you’re being a coward. Your father would?—”

Charov moved with shifter speed, slamming Oberon against the wall, his forearm pressed to Oberon’s throat. “Don’t tell me what my father would think.”

Oberon didn’t struggle. “Your father found his happiness with your mother. Decades of joy. Would you trade that away just to avoid the pain at the end?”