Page 4 of Royal Deception (Royals of the Underworld #2)

CLARY

I should’ve known better.

The sting of Rory’s rejection gnaws at me as I power down my laptop for the day.

I should’ve known better than to think I could be anything more than his assistant.

His glorified secretary. The one who keeps his schedule organized, his meetings running smoothly, his world spinning exactly the way he wants it. Because that’s all I am to him.

I press my lips together, swallowing the bitterness as I grab my bag. It’s ridiculous to let this get under my skin. It’s just business. It’s Rory Brannagan, and if anyone should be used to his particular brand of dismissal, it’s me.

Still, the frustration simmers beneath the surface as I make my way across town.

I need to shake it off, maybe find some way to clear my head.

That’s the whole reason I signed up for this yoga class in the first place.

I want to find some measure of peace, some semblance of control over the world around me.

The studio is warm and quiet when I step inside, the scents of lavender and eucalyptus hanging in the air. The soft melody of instrumental music drifts from the speakers in the corner, and I feel the tension beginning to work its way out of my shoulders.

I exhale slowly, scanning the room. Most of the mats are already claimed, their owners either stretching or scrolling on their phones. I hesitate, unsure where to set up, when a voice cuts through the gentle hum of conversation.

“You’re new.”

I turn to find a woman watching me, her green eyes sharp, looking me up and down.

Her curly red hair is pulled into a loose bun, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face.

She’s built like me—curvy, strong—but there’s something about the way she holds herself that feels different.

Measured. Like she’s aware of every inch of space she takes up.

“Yeah, it’s my first time,” I admit.

She nods once. “You can set up here.” She taps the empty spot beside her mat. “I’m Ana. Nice to meet you,” she adds, her words careful as though she’s rehearsed this before. She doesn’t offer a handshake, just gestures toward the mat again, waiting for me to follow her lead.

“Clary,” I say as I roll mine out beside hers.

Ana nods again, once, as if locking the information away. Then she turns her focus to adjusting the edges of her mat, smoothing it down carefully.

As the class starts, I do my best to follow along, but my body is not built for this.

My balance is off, my arms shake in downward dog, and when we transition into warrior pose, my thigh burns like I’ve been holding a squat for an eternity.

The instructor keeps reminding us to breathe, but I swear I forget how.

The soft, rhythmic chanting in the background isn’t helping.

It’s making me feel lightheaded, and between that and the incense, I’m starting to regret coming here at all.

I glance at Ana, who looks focused, but her eyes are narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

She doesn’t look relaxed as she follows the moves—she looks stiff, like she’s bracing for something.

When we shift into a seated twist, I hear the quietest sigh escape her, like she’s just waiting for this to be over.

It mirrors my own feelings on the entire thing.

By the time we reach the final pose—lying flat on our backs—I feel like I’ve run a marathon. The moment the instructor tells us we’re done, I sit up too fast, blinking against the haze of incense and dim lighting.

As I gather my mat, I glance over to see Ana frowning, shaking her head.

“I don’t think I’m at peace with my inner self yet,” I joke.

“Me neither.” She exhales sharply, tucking her mat under one arm. “This was my second time coming. I thought maybe I’d get used to it, but… I don’t know if yoga is for me.”

I giggle, a little relieved, and before I can second-guess myself, I extend an invitation. “I was going to grab some tea at that coffee place around the corner. Want to come?”

Ana pauses, carefully placing her things in her bag. “You’re asking me to hang out?”

The question catches me off guard, and for a split second, I wonder if I’m being weird. “Uh… yeah,” I say, forcing a lightness into my voice. “We can commiserate over the fact that we’re both terrible at what basically amounts to stretching.”

Ana bites her lip, then nods. “Alright. That sounds nice.”

I smile as she hefts her bag onto her shoulder, and together, we step out into the fading sunlight.

The coffee place is quiet, nearly devoid of life at this time of the evening. The scent of roasted beans lingers in the air, but I stick with an herbal tea, a lemon ginger blend, while Ana opts for a green tea, blowing on it as she settles into the chair across from me.

“This place is kinda cute,” she says, glancing around. “I don’t usually go to coffee shops in the evening.”

“Me neither,” I admit, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. “But after that yoga class, I felt like I needed a total reset.”

Ana lets out a soft laugh. “Right? I thought yoga was supposed to be peaceful. It just felt so awkward the whole time.”

“Me too. I kept worrying I’d fall over and knock into someone.”

She nods, dunking her tea bag absently. “I have terrible balance. I trip over my own feet more than I’d like to admit. It’s embarrassing.”

I smile. “I’m not graceful either. My boss jokes that I walk like I’m always on a mission.”

Ana tilts her head. “What do you do?”

“I work for a security firm as a personal assistant to the CEO,” I say choosing my words carefully.

Ana taps her chin. “I wish I did something like that. Helping people sounds… kind of nice.”

“What do you do?” I ask as I take a sip of the hot liquid, savoring the tangy ginger taste.

She hesitates. “I work for my father. Kind of. It feels more like I just exist to be a nuisance to him, though, sometimes.” She winces, as though she didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I’m not sure what to say to that.

“Oh, God, I know I can overshare,” Ana says, her cheeks turning red.

“I don’t mind,” I say honestly. “I get it. I feel like that to my boss from time to time. I want to do more for him, but I don’t know how to get him to take me seriously.”

She looks at me then, her sharp green eyes softening. “Yeah. Exactly that. It’s like, can you just tell me if I’m annoying you, and how, and we can just skip the silly dance where we pretend everything is fine?”

I chuckle, and a comfortable silence settles between us as we sip our tea. I think I’m beginning to like Ana. She’s easy to be around, even if she’s a bit awkward.

“You know, I took that yoga class because I wanted a way to have a little more control in my life,” I say, swirling the tea around in my cup.

“I don’t think I’ll be going back to the class, but I’d still like to find a way to find that same sense of peace.

Maybe you and I could go on daily walks? ” I offer.

Ana studies me for a moment, head tilted. “Walks?” she asks, blinking.

“Yeah, nothing crazy. We could just walk and talk.”

Ana considers it. “That actually sounds nice.” She quirks a smile. “As long as we don’t have to power walk.”

“Definitely not,” I say, a giggle escaping me.

“Alright, let’s do it,” Ana says as she grabs my phone to put her number into it.

The next day, my phone buzzes just as I step out of the shower, steam clinging to the air around me. I hurry to grab it, thinking it might be Ana texting to set up our first daily walk.

When I pick it up, Miranda Voss’s name flashes on the screen.

I hesitate for a second before answering. "Hey, Miranda."

“Hey, Clary! Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time,” she says, her tone warm. “I was just thinking about you and wanted to check in.”

“Oh,” I say, a little surprised. “Thank you.”

“Of course. We haven’t talked much since the baby shower, and I figured… well, I guess I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Are you free for lunch today?”

I nibble my lower lip, considering her offer. “Yeah,” I say finally. "Lunch sounds good."

“Great! There’s a little café downtown–Rosemary & Sage. Do you know it?"

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Yeah, the one near Twin Shores Hotel?” I ask.

“That’s the place,” Miranda confirms. “Meet me there at noon?”

I stare at my phone for a second longer, then sigh. If Miranda is checking in, she must still be thinking about the conversation we had a couple of months back—the one where she casually suggested I might be pregnant and blew my whole world apart.

I don’t know if I’m ready to face her again, but a part of me is curious why she wants to see me, so I head into the office and keep my head down until just before it’s time to go.

Grabbing my bag, I practically fly out the door and take a cab to Clover & Sage. Inside, the scent of freshly baked bread lingers in the air. Miranda is already seated at a small corner table, a cold brew in front of her. She smiles when she sees me, waving me over.

“Hello, Clary,” she says, gesturing for me to sit down. “You look lovely, as always.”

I almost laugh at that. “That makes one of us who thinks so.”

Miranda tilts her head, studying me for a beat. “You’re always lovely, dear. Now tell me. How are you truly doing?”

I exhale, pressing my hands flat against the table. "Honestly? I don’t know."

She hesitates, then leans in slightly. “I feel like I might’ve overstepped when we last talked. I shouldn’t have just thrown out the pregnancy thing like that. But…” She pauses, watching me carefully. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

I swallow hard, staring at the tea menu like it might offer me an escape. “Yeah. You were.”

Miranda doesn’t look surprised, but she also doesn’t rush to fill the silence. She gives me space, and for some reason, that makes it easier to keep talking.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I admit. “Things in my home life are… complicated, to say the least. And the father, well… I don’t know if I can tell him. It’s all such a mess.” A little sniffle escapes me. “You always seem to have everything together. How do you do it?”

“It’s not always been easy,” Miranda says, reaching out to place a warm hand on mine. “I had a lot of help when I was coming up. That’s why I wanted to see you today, dearie.”

I look up, wiping a stray tear from my eyes as Miranda smiles at me.

“You have so much potential. I’ve seen how hard you work, how organized you are, how determined. I want to nurture that in you. I’d like to become your mentor.”

I stare at Miranda, her hand still resting gently on mine, her words lingering in the air between us. A mentorship? I turn the idea over in my head, the offer feeling foreign.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I realize I haven’t said anything in what feels like an eternity. I open my mouth, but the words won’t come.

Finally, I manage a breath, but my voice is barely above a whisper.

“I… I don’t know…”