Page 34

THIRTY-FOUR

B ess stared at the ring nestled in the velvet box. It was breathtaking—an ancient-looking platinum band with an iridescent central blue diamond that seemed to capture the entire spectrum of Nova Aurora’s skies. Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard she wondered if Charov could hear it.

Say something , she screamed inside her head. Anything . But her brain felt like it had short-circuited.

She loved him. From the moment she held him in her arms as he cried out his grief in the woods. Maybe even before that when he held her against his chest as they were free-falling through the Nova Auroran clouds.

But marriage? Already? To become Queen of Mavac Territory?

Charov’s blue eyes studied her, his jaw tightening with each silent second. The confidence in his posture wavered just enough for her to notice, and it broke her heart a little.

“I—” she started, but what came next? Yes? No? Maybe? Can I have some time? Her thoughts tangled together in a hopeless knot.

A sharp electronic chirp cut through the tension. Charov’s comm device on his wrist flashed insistently. He ignored it, his gaze never leaving her face. The device chirped again, more urgently this time.

His jaw tightened impossibly further, the muscles in his neck flexing as he shoved the ring box back into his pocket with barely concealed frustration. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice thick with disappointment. “I should have known it was too soon.”

“No, Charov, it’s not that—” Bess reached for his arm, but he was already turning away slightly, checking his comm device.

Tell him you love him , her heart screamed. Tell him you’re just scared .

But his attention had shifted. His powerful frame went rigid, eyes narrowing at whatever message had come through.

Bess grasped his forearm, feeling the corded muscle beneath her fingers. “Charov, please, I need to explain?—”

He looked back at her, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes made him look younger, more like the carefree prince he’d been before the crown’s weight settled on his head.

“You don’t need to explain,” he said, his voice gentler than she expected. “I rushed you. I always rush everything.”

The comm device chirped a third time, more insistently. Charov glanced at it with a growl that made Bess’s skin tingle.

“I do need to take this,” he said, his thumb hovering over the answer button.

Charov tapped his comm device, his attention diverted from the devastating proposal. She watched his face transform from vulnerable to regal in an instant, the mask of kingship sliding into place.

“Speak,” he commanded, his voice deeper, more authoritative than moments before.

Bess stood awkwardly, her heart still thrumming with unspoken words, her fingers toying with the shimmering fabric of her dress. The secluded cove around them suddenly felt too quiet, the lapping of water against the shore too loud.

“Kynon Nuele requests your presence at his estate immediately,” Torborn’s voice crackled through the device. “He’s heard you’re in town and insists on a meeting.”

Charov’s free hand curled into a fist. “Now? Of all times?”

“He was most insistent, Your Majesty.”

Charov ended the call with a frustrated tap and turned to Bess, his blue eyes stormy. “We have to go.”

“Can’t it wait?” Bess asked, desperate for a chance to explain her hesitation, to tell him she wasn’t rejecting him—just overwhelmed.

“Not if I want to keep the respect of the territory’s most influential family.” His voice softened slightly as he took in her expression. “In our position, declining such an invitation would be seen as a slight. Politics,” he added with a grimace.

The journey to the Nuele estate on Charov’s sleek hovercraft gave Bess time to stew in regret. The same magnificent building that had hosted the ball now loomed before them, its crystalline architecture catching the afternoon light.

Nya Nuele greeted them in a sunlit parlor, her smile too wide, too perfect. She ushered Bess to a plush settee while servants poured fragrant purple tea into delicate cups.

“I’m so delighted you could join us,” Nya simpered, her jeweled fingers arranging pastries on a plate. “How are you finding Nova Aurora, dear? The culture shock must be immense.”

Bess nodded politely, but her attention remained fixed on the adjacent room where Charov had disappeared with Kynon. Through the partially open door, she caught fragments of their conversation.

“...growing petition,” Kynon was saying, his tone sympathetic yet somehow predatory. “These are turbulent times for the territory.”

Bess shifted on the settee, straining to hear more. Nya prattled on about fashion trends and social events, but Bess only half-listened, mumbling occasional responses.

“Your Majesty,” Kynon’s voice carried clearer now, “you’re still young. Do you truly want to be shackled by duty when there’s so much life to experience? The crown is a burden few are prepared to bear.”

Bess’s stomach clenched. Was Kynon suggesting what she thought he was?

“What exactly are you proposing, Kynon?” Charov’s voice had gone dangerously quiet.

“Simply that perhaps stepping aside voluntarily would be more... dignified. The petition has nearly enough signatures to force a hearing before King Alyx. I would, of course, be honored to shoulder the responsibility in your stead.”

Bess’s breath caught. This was a coup happening in real time, disguised as friendly concern. She waited for Charov’s roar of outrage, for his bear to emerge in righteous anger.

Instead, his voice came calm and measured. “It’s something to consider.”

The teacup nearly slipped from Bess’s fingers. Was he serious? After everything his father had wanted for him was Charov actually entertaining the idea of abandoning his birthright?

Bess finished the last sip of her purple tea with Nya Nuele, setting the delicate cup down with hands that trembled slightly. She’d been straining to hear more of the conversation happening behind those partially closed doors, but the men’s voices had lowered to indistinguishable murmurs.