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FORTY-FIVE

T he royal officiant began the ceremony, but Bess barely registered the words. She was lost in the way Charov looked at her—like she was the only star in his sky.

When the time came for vows, Charov’s deep voice resonated through the gardens. “Before my people and my ancestors, I claim you, Bess Campos, as my queen, my mate, and my heart.” His fingers tightened around hers. “I vow to protect you, to honor you, to challenge you, and to adventure with you until my last breath.”

A single tear escaped despite her best efforts. Charov wiped it away with his thumb, the tender gesture belying the powerful intensity in his blue eyes.

“I choose you, Charov Mavac,” Bess said, her voice steadier than she had expected. “Not because fate decided, but because my heart knows you. I vow to support you, to stand beside you, to remind you to have fun when duty weighs heavy, and to love you—the king, the man, and the bear—for all of my days.”

When they exchanged rings—his a heavy band of Nova Auroran metal that gleamed like captured starlight, hers his grandmother’s ring—his hands trembled slightly. The mighty bear shifter was nervous. The realization made her heart swell.

“By the power vested in me,” the officiant proclaimed, “I now pronounce you husband and wife, King and Queen of Mavac Territory.”

Before the words had fully left the officiant’s mouth, Charov pulled Bess against his chest, one hand cupping her face with surprising gentleness while the other pressed possessively across her lower back.

“My queen,” he whispered against her lips.

“My bear,” she answered just before his mouth claimed hers.

The kiss was both a promise and a claiming. His lips moved against hers with authority, but when she responded with equal fervor, he growled his approval into her mouth. Through their bond, Bess felt his joy and desire twining with her own—a perfect harmony of emotions that left her breathless.

When they finally separated, his eyes had darkened to midnight, and Bess knew hers reflected the same hunger. The crowd erupted in cheers.

Before long, the grand doors of the royal ballroom swung open, and Bess felt Charov’s hand press possessively against her back as they entered. Though she had expected the grandeur, nothing had prepared her for the overwhelming spectacle that greeted them—crystal chandeliers dripping from ceilings that soared at impossible heights, tables laden with delicacies from both Earth and Nova Aurora, and hundreds of guests who rose to their feet as they entered.

“My queen,” his voice rumbled against her ear, “this is all for you.”

She swallowed hard, taking in the sea of faces staring at them with reverence. “Half of these people probably wanted you to marry a bear shifter princess six weeks ago.”

His laugh was low and heated against her neck. “But my bear wanted you. Only you.” His fingers traced possessive patterns against her back, each touch sending sparks through their bond.

“Your Majesties.” Queen Zyre approached, her black mourning dress exchanged for a deep purple gown that highlighted the strength in her shoulders. Though grief still outlined her eyes, there was a genuine smile on her face as she embraced Bess. “My son chose wisely.”

“He had some help,” Gerri piped up, appearing as if from nowhere. “Though I’ll say this match was one of my easier ones. These two practically screamed ‘compatible’ from the start.”

“We did not,” Bess protested, remembering their awkward first dinner.

“Oh please,” Gerri waved dismissively, her golden eyes sparkling with mischief. “I saw the way you looked at him when you thought no one was watching. And he was worse.”

Charov’s fingers tightened possessively on Bess’s waist. “I knew from the first moment.”

“Lies,” Bess countered, enjoying the heat that flared in his eyes at her challenge. “You thought I was a boring paper-pusher.”

“I thought you were my boring paper-pusher,” he corrected, his voice dropping to that register that caused her heart to race. Through their bond, she felt the primal satisfaction of the bear within him—pleased that his mate understood her worth now and wasn’t afraid to claim it.

The royal announcer tapped his staff three times, calling for attention. “King Charov and Queen Bess will now lead the first dance.”

Charov swept her onto the dance floor with unexpected grace, his massive frame moving with fluid precision. Music swelled around them—a Nova Auroran melody that seemed to sync with the pulse of their mate bond.

“Nervous?” he asked, his eyes darkening as he pulled her closer than royal protocol likely allowed.

“Terrified,” she admitted, feeling hundreds of eyes upon them. “Everyone’s staring.”

“At you,” he affirmed, spinning her in a move that made her wedding gown flare like captured starlight. “My beautiful queen.” His hand dipped slightly lower on her back, just skirting the edge of propriety. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to keep my hands honorably placed right now?”

Heat pooled in her belly. “Behave. We have hours of this reception ahead of us.”

“Hours,” he growled, the word a complaint. He leaned closer, his breath blazing hot against her ear. “When all I want is to take you to our chambers and show you exactly what being mated forever to a bear king means.”

A jolt of desire shot through her so intense that she missed a step, and he steadied her with a knowing smirk.

Their first dance soon ended, and the ballroom filled with applause, but all she could hear was his whispered promise in her ear:

“Our adventure begins now. And it will never end.”