Page 31

THIRTY-ONE

B ess traced her fingers through the crystalline water that cascaded down the rock face behind Charov’s family cottage. The droplets sparkled like diamonds under Nova Aurora’s dual suns, creating miniature rainbows that danced across the surface. She wandered through the elaborate gardens while Charov spoke with his mother, finding solace in the exotic flora that reminded her how far from Earth she truly was.

Footsteps crunched on the stone path behind her. She turned to find Charov approaching, his broad shoulders blocking the sunlight, creating a halo effect around his silhouette. Her heart skipped—something about him seemed different, more intense than when they had arrived.

“There you are,” he beamed as he closed the distance between them. “Thank you for coming with me today. I know my mother can be... overwhelming.”

“She’s lovely.” Bess smoothed her dress, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. “Is everything okay?”

Charov’s hand slipped into his pocket, then back out. “Everything’s perfect. But I’m starving. Are you hungry? There’s a place in town I want to show you.”

“I could eat.” Her stomach chose that moment to growl audibly.

“Your body speaks the truth.” His lips quirked up in a smile that transformed his serious face. He reached for her hand, engulfing it in his. “Let’s go.”

The silver hovercraft hummed beneath them as they sped toward town. The countryside blurred around them in streaks of purple and gold, alien yet increasingly familiar.

“Hold on tight,” he called over to her, accelerating through a curve that made her squeal.

When they pulled into the town square, Bess instantly sensed the difference. Unlike their previous outings, heads turned immediately. Conversations halted mid-sentence. A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd.

“The King!”

“It’s King Charov!”

“Who’s the woman with him?”

Charov dismounted with practiced grace, then lifted Bess off the hovercraft with hands that spanned her waist. He set her down but kept one possessive arm around her.

“Your Majesty!” A stout man bowed deeply. “What an honor! Please, my restaurant is at your disposal.”

Three more merchants appeared, each offering their establishments. Charov handled it with diplomatic charm, but his grip on Bess tightened.

“Mikal’s place has the best honeyfruit pie on the planet,” he told her, loud enough for others to hear. “We’ll dine there.”

They couldn’t take five steps without someone approaching—mothers with children, elderly couples, and young men who looked at Charov with awe. Each wanted a moment with their new king, and by extension, with Bess.

“And this must be your future queen!” A woman with tanned skin pressed Bess’s hands between hers. “Such lovely coloring! Those eyes—are all Earth women so exotic?”

Bess’s smile remained fixed as anxiety bubbled beneath. On Earth, she had been just another average citizen. Here, strangers scrutinized her every feature and her every movement.

“She’s even more beautiful than rumors suggested,” someone else commented, examining her as if she were livestock at auction.

Charov pulled her closer to his side. “She certainly is. And she’s probably hungry, so if you’ll excuse us?—”

Once inside the restaurant, Bess slid into the booth, grateful for the momentary reprieve, while her mind raced with a single thought: Was this her future? Always on display and always being judged?

“You’re quiet.” Charov reached across the table, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “The food here will make it worth the fuss, I promise.”

Bess nodded as she gazed nervously around the restaurant. Every face seemed fixated on her, judging her curvy form in the Nova Auroran clothing that still felt foreign against her skin.

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Charov, would it be terrible if we went back to the castle for lunch instead? This is... a lot.”

His easy smile faltered, and his eyes clouded over. A muscle in his jaw twitched—the first sign of displeasure she had seen from him today. “Is there a problem with the restaurant?”

“No, the restaurant seems lovely.” Bess fidgeted with the strange metallic utensil beside her plate. “It’s just—everyone’s staring and whispering. On Earth, I was nobody. But here it feels like I’m under a microscope.”

Charov gently squeezed her hand. “What’s bothering you, truly?”

“The attention,” she admitted. “I’m not used to being the center of it.”

His shoulders tensed, and his voice dropped to a timber that sent shivers through her. “This is part of being with me, Bess. This public life—it’s what I have to do as king.” His thumb traced her palm, contradicting the firmness in his voice. “I need my future queen to be willing to play her part in it.”

Future queen. The words hung between them, unacknowledged yet impossible to ignore.