Page 32

THIRTY-TWO

“I s this what it will always be like?” Bess asked, gesturing subtly at the crowd. “Always on display? Always being judged?”

Charov’s gaze sharpened, something primal flashing in those blue depths. “Yes. But they’ll love you once they know you.” His voice softened. “As I do.”

Heat crept up her neck at his words. For him, she could try.

“Okay,” she conceded. “We’ll stay.”

His smile was devastating—all white teeth and triumph. “Thank you, Bess.”

The food arrived in an elaborate display of colors and textures Bess couldn’t begin to identify, but her appetite had vanished. Throughout the meal, a parade of townspeople approached their table. Charov greeted each by name, asking after relatives, and discussing local concerns. His charisma was mesmerizing and his authority absolute.

And Bess sat forgotten, a prop in this performance of royalty.

“Your Majesty, about the north field irrigation?—”

“King Charov, my daughter would like to ask?—”

They barely acknowledged her presence, directing all questions and comments to Charov. He answered each with confidence and charm, occasionally touching her arm or shoulder as if to include her, but never actually bringing her into the conversations.

Bess sipped her sweet, unfamiliar drink and observed. The dynamic wasn’t so different from her old job, where her needs were secondary to everyone else’s. Only the setting had changed—the castle for her office and a king for her boss.

Yet when Charov’s hand found her thigh under the small table, squeezing gently in silent thanks for her patience, she realized the fundamental difference: her old boss had never looked at her with such heat, such possession, or such pride.

Maybe being on display wasn’t so bad if it meant being the woman who held the king’s attention when no one was watching.

Another thirty minutes had passed, and Bess continued to watch Charov command the room, his deep voice resonating with authority as he addressed yet another townsperson’s concerns.

The reality of the situation weighed down on her as the minutes kept passing by. This wasn’t just lunch. This was her potential future—a lifetime of public scrutiny and standing in Charov’s massive shadow while being expected to somehow shine beside him.

Could she really do this? Be a queen to these people who viewed her as an exotic Earth curiosity at best?

I could go back , Bess thought, imagining her tiny apartment on Earth. The predictable life of an insurance clerk. Another boss who took her for granted. The canceled dates and lonely dinners.

The very idea of returning made her chest constrict painfully. She glanced at Charov’s profile—the strong jaw, the intense concentration in those sapphire eyes as he listened to his subjects—and the truth hit her with sudden clarity.

I love him.

The realization wasn’t a thunderbolt but rather the final piece clicking into a puzzle she hadn’t known she was solving. Somehow, between his bear-shifting heroics and late nights helping him with paperwork, between his devastating kisses and the vulnerability he had shown her, she had fallen completely, irrevocably in love with this alien king.

Charov turned to her suddenly, as if sensing her epiphany. “What do you think, Bess?”

She blinked, having missed the question entirely. “I’m sorry?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. “Madame Ellara asked if you’d like to join the women’s council meeting next week. They’re eager to meet Earth’s contribution to our royal lineage.”

The elderly woman smiled expectantly, but Bess saw the assessment behind her kind eyes.

Can this outsider handle our traditions? Is she worthy of our king?

Instead of shrinking from the scrutiny as she might have earlier, Bess felt something unexpected unfurl inside her—a steely determination she had always possessed but rarely acknowledged.

“I’d be honored,” she replied, her voice steady. “I’m eager to learn more about Mavac Territory’s customs. On Earth, I managed complex systems and helped people navigate difficulties. I hope those skills might be useful here too.”

Charov’s hand found hers on the table, squeezing it with surprising tenderness. Pride glimmered in his eyes.

The woman nodded approvingly. “Well said, my dear. We meet at midday on the seventh bell.”

As the woman departed, Charov leaned in. “That was perfect,” he murmured.

“I meant it,” Bess whispered back. “If I’m going to be here with you, I want to contribute. I’m not just decorative, you know.”

His eyes darkened, roving over her appreciatively. “No, you’re certainly not just decorative, though I do enjoy the view.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Be serious.”

“I am serious.” His hand slid to her thigh, possessive and warm. “You’ve already proven invaluable to me—organizing my study, handling my schedule, and mediating between me and my advisors. You have strengths I’ve never seen in anyone on this planet.”

His praise washed over her, bolstering her confidence. Maybe she could do this after all. For him. For herself. For them both.

“I just need time to adjust,” she admitted. “Back on Earth, I was invisible. Here, I feel like everyone’s watching and waiting for me to fail.”

Charov’s jaw tightened. “Anyone who expects you to fail will answer to me.”