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THIRTY-FIVE

W hen Charov finally emerged from the room with Kynon at his side, Bess saw something in his expression that sent a chill through her—a distance that hadn’t been there before. Even as they exchanged polite good-byes with the Nueles, Charov’s normally expressive face had turned to granite, his jaw set in hard lines.

The silence in the hovercraft was stifling as they soared back toward the castle, Nova Aurora’s rolling landscape blurring beneath them. Bess couldn’t bear it anymore.

“What did Kynon want?” she asked, twisting her fingers in her lap.

Charov’s powerful hands gripped the controls, his signet ring catching the light. For a moment, she thought he might not answer.

“He thinks I should step down willingly,” he finally said, his voice flat. “Give up my birthright.”

“And you’re considering it?”

“The man has a point.” His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, refusing to meet hers. “I still have a lot of life to live, more experiences to chase. Maybe the crown isn’t for me.”

Bess stared at his profile in disbelief. “But your father?—”

“Besides,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “Kynon and Nya are a strong couple, established in the community. While I...” His voice hardened. “I don’t even have a queen. The kingdom is unstable with just me. The one I truly want to be my queen didn’t even bother to answer after I proposed.”

The accusation stung, heating Bess’s cheeks. “That’s not fair. I was just?—”

“Scared? Overwhelmed?” Charov cut her off, his knuckles whitening on the controls. “I don’t need explanations, Bess. I’m a big boy. I just would appreciate it if you’d let me know if you’re deciding to leave Nova Aurora. That’s all I ask.”

Bess fought the tightness in her throat. “I promise I will talk to you before leaving, if that’s what I decide.”

The rest of the journey passed in suffocating silence. Bess watched his profile, the tightness in his strong jawline, the slight flare of his nostrils with each controlled breath. The bear shifter who had swept her off her feet now seemed unreachable, locked away behind walls of pride and hurt.

When they landed at the castle, Charov disembarked with fluid, powerful movements that reminded her just how physically imposing he was. He extended a hand to help her down—ever the gentleman, even when angry—but dropped it the moment her feet touched the ground.

“I’ll be in my study for the rest of the day,” he said, already turning away. “I need to be alone.”

Bess stood frozen, watching his broad shoulders disappear through the castle doors. The sting of rejection burned in her chest, hot tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. She had messed up royally, both figuratively and literally. The man who had offered her his heart, his kingdom, and his future had interpreted her silence as the ultimate rejection.

As she made her way back to her suite, Bess fought to keep her composure, nodding politely to servants who passed by. Only when her door closed behind her did she allow the first tear to fall, sliding down her cheek and landing on the intricate carpet beneath her feet.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she whispered, pressing her palms against her eyes. How could she have frozen like that? And now he was actually considering giving up his throne—his birthright and his father’s legacy—all because of her.

Bess paced her suite like a caged animal, her eyes now bright with determination. The thought of Charov giving up his throne because of her made her stomach knot with a mix of guilt and something fiercer, more protective. She had messed up by freezing during his proposal, but by the stars of Nova Aurora, she wasn’t going to let him throw away everything his father had worked for.

“The Nueles,” she muttered, tapping her fingers against her thigh as she walked. “Something’s not right there.”

Ever since the ball invitation debacle, an uneasy feeling had settled in her gut about that couple. Their polished smiles didn’t reach their eyes, and the way they’d positioned themselves to make her look incompetent. This petition Kynon mentioned couldn’t be a coincidence.

Bess pulled the silken bell rope beside her door, and within moments, Emesyn appeared.

“You needed something, Lady Bess?”

“Emesyn, I need your help.” Bess leaned in, lowering her voice although they were alone. “How connected are you with the other staff in the territory?”

Emesyn raised a knowing eyebrow. “Very. My cousin works in the Nuele household, and my brother-in-law handles deliveries for most of the noble families.”

“Perfect.” Bess’s heart raced with renewed purpose. “I need information about the Nueles—specifically about this petition against Charov and whether they orchestrated that invitation mix-up.”

The servant’s eyes widened. “You think they’re behind all this?”

“I’m not sure, but I intend to find out.” Bess reached for Emesyn’s hands, squeezing them gently. “Charov is actually considering stepping down. I can’t let that happen—not because of me, and certainly not for the benefit of those two vipers.”

Emesyn’s expression hardened with loyalty. “The king belongs on his throne. I’ll put the word out discreetly.”

“Thank you. And Emesyn?” Bess bit her lip. “Can you ask Torborn to look into who had access to Charov’s schedule before that ball? Someone deliberately removed that invitation.”

After Emesyn departed, Bess sank onto her bed, her mind racing. Had she been so focused on her own insecurities that she’d failed to see the political machinations happening around them? The paper-pusher in her wanted evidence, facts, a trail she could follow.

A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. She opened it to find Oberon filling the doorframe with his massive presence.

“His Majesty asked me to check if you require anything,” he rumbled, but his eyes held something more—concern, perhaps suspicion.

Bess straightened her spine. “Actually, yes. I need allies who care about Charov as much as I do.”

Oberon’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted. “Go on.”

“The Nueles are orchestrating a coup,” she said bluntly. “I need to prove it before Charov makes a terrible mistake.”

A slow, dangerous smile spread across the bear shifter’s face. “I knew there was a reason he chose you.” He stepped into her room, closing the door. “My cousin guards the territorial records office. If anyone’s gathering signatures for a petition, they’ll have filed initial paperwork there.”

Bess felt a flutter of hope. “Can your cousin check who initiated it?”

“Consider it done.” Oberon’s massive arms crossed over his chest. “What else?”

“We need to find out who tampered with Charov’s schedule before the ball.”

“The royal scheduler answers directly to Torborn,” Oberon nodded. “I’ll speak with him personally.”

Bess felt her confidence returning. She wasn’t just some Earth woman in over her head—she was a problem solver, a paper trail expert, and apparently, already thinking like a queen.