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TWENTY-THREE

C harov leaned back in his chair and stretched his neck. The royal study still felt too big for him despite the two weeks he’d spent trying to fill his father’s considerable shoes. The antique oak desk before him groaned with paperwork, though significantly less than there had been this morning. He glanced at the mahogany clock on the wall, its ornate hands showing he had just enough time to clean up before dinner.

He rolled his shoulders and glanced at the empty chair beside his desk—Bess’s chair—where she’d sat for hours helping him wade through the endless documents requiring his royal attention.

His bear rumbled contentedly at the thought of her. She had transformed from the shy, reserved woman he’d first met into something remarkable. She stepped in exactly when he needed her and organized his chaos, privately and publicly, with quiet efficiency.

The study door burst open, shattering his moment of calm. Torborn, his normally composed royal assistant, stood in the doorway breathing heavily.

“Your Majesty, there’s?—”

“Don’t call me that when we’re alone.” Charov winced. “Makes me think my father’s standing behind me.”

“Apologies, but there’s a situation. The Nuele estate. Their annual ball—it started two hours ago.”

Charov’s brow furrowed. “What ball?”

“The one honoring the warriors who served under your father. The one you’re meant to be attending. Right now.”

Charov shot to his feet. “That’s impossible. There’s nothing on my schedule.”

“Duke Kynon’s messenger seemed quite... distressed when I informed him you weren’t preparing to attend. He claims a formal invitation was delivered last week.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Charov rifled through the papers on his desk, finding nothing. “Where’s Bess?”

Councilor Varden appeared in the doorway behind Torborn, his thin face pinched with disapproval. “This is precisely what happens when you rely on an outsider to manage royal affairs. The human clearly missed the invitation.”

A growl rumbled in Charov’s chest, his bear rising close to the surface. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Choose your next words with extreme care, Councilor.”

“Your Majesty, I simply mean?—”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Charov’s voice cut like ice. “Bess has done more in one week to organize this kingdom than you’ve done in a decade of advising my father. She’s the reason I’m not drowning right now.”

“But the invitation?—”

“Could have been misplaced by anyone during the chaos of my father’s death.” Charov’s fist came down on the desk. “I won’t hear another word against her. Am I understood?”

The movement in the doorway caught his attention. Bess stood there, her eyes wide, a stack of fresh papers clutched to her chest. Her lips were parted in surprise, and Charov wondered how much she had heard.

Their eyes locked across the room, and Charov felt something tighten in his chest—something that had nothing to do with missing balls or royal duties and everything to do with the woman who’d stepped into his life like she belonged there.

He watched as her face suddenly fell, her eyes instantly shimmering with unshed tears. His bear wanted to roar at the sight.

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice trembled as her fingers tightened on the stack of papers. “I must have misplaced the invitation. This is entirely my fault.”

Before Charov could speak, she continued, the words tumbling out in a familiar pattern of self-blame that made his jaw clench.

“I should have been more careful. I’ll make this right. I can organize a formal apology letter. I’ll work through the night to?—”

“Out.” Charov’s command cut through the room like a blade, directed at Torborn and Councilor Varden. “Now.”

The councilor opened his mouth to protest, but something in Charov’s eyes—perhaps the flash of blue fire that preceded his bear’s emergence—made him reconsider. The two men backed out, pulling the heavy door closed behind them.

Charov crossed the space between them in two long strides, taking the papers from her hands and setting them on a side table. He captured her trembling fingers between his much larger ones.

“Stop.”

Her mouth opened, another apology clearly ready to spill out.

“No.” He shook his head, his voice a low, commanding rumble. “You’re not doing this. Not with me.”

He tilted her chin up with one finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Listen to me, Bess. You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing.” He squeezed her hand gently. “If Kynon wanted me at his event, he should have confirmed directly with me.”

“But I was supposed to?—”

“You were supposed to help me, and you have.” His thumb traced gentle circles on her wrist, feeling her pulse jump beneath her skin. “More than anyone else in this entire castle. I’ve watched you work yourself to exhaustion for me—for this territory—without complaint.”

Her eyes widened at his words, a soft blush coloring her face. The sight sent heat surging through his veins.

“We’re going to attend this ball together,” he continued, stepping closer until he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. “We’ll make our apologies for missing the beginning, and then, my future queen, we’re going to dance.”

“Future Queen?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Charov’s lips curved into a predatory smile. “Did you think I’d let you go back to Earth?” His hand moved to cup her cheek. “I’ve been watching you, Bess. How naturally you’ve stepped into this role. How perfectly you fit at my side.”

His bear purred in agreement, and Charov leaned closer, his mouth a breath away from hers.

“Everyone will soon see what I already know—that you belong here. With me.”

His fingers tightened around Bess’s smaller hand. The contact sent a pulse of possessiveness through him.

“Tonight,” he said, his voice lowering to a register that made her pupils dilate, “we’re going to remind ourselves that life isn’t all paperwork and royal duties.”

He pulled her impossibly closer until the subtle floral scent of her skin filled his senses. Her curves pressed against him when she stumbled forward, sending a shot of heat straight to his core.

“Emesyn is waiting for you in your suite with several gown options,” he said, his voice low and possessive. “I want you dressed in something that makes every male at that ball choke on their envy when they see you walking in with me.”

Her eyes widened, and Charov felt his lips curl up. His bear liked shocking her, and liked watching color flood those perfect cheekbones.

“We’ve done nothing but work since my father died. Tonight, we remember how to live.” He released her hand only to slide his palm up her arm, savoring the shiver that followed his touch. “I’m going to show my future queen how to have fun Nova Aurora style.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He pressed a finger to her lips, fighting the urge to replace it with his mouth. “This isn’t a request. This is your mate telling you what’s going to happen.”

The words slipped out, but Charov didn’t regret them. Not when he saw the flash of heat in those eyes or the way her breathing quickened.

His bear pushed forward, demanding he claim what was his. Charov leaned in until his breath mingled with hers.

“No more hiding who I am from you. No more pretending I don’t feel this pull between us.” His thumb brushed her cheekbone. “From now on, we face everything together. No secrets. No holding back. You deserve all of me—the king, the man, the bear.”

Charov watched understanding bloom in her eyes, followed by something deeper that made his chest tight again.

“The kingdom is mine to protect, but you—” he growled, the sound vibrating between them, “—you are mine to cherish. My equal. My queen.”

He finally gave in to his bear’s demands, lowering his mouth to claim hers in a kiss that left no doubt about his intentions. When he pulled back, her eyes remained closed for a heartbeat longer.

“Now go,” he ordered, reluctantly putting space between them. “Get ready. I want to see Kynon’s face when we walk in and steal his spotlight.”