Page 35 of Savagely Mated (Shared Mates #1)

D arcy

I wake up with my limbs tangled in three massive masculine sets of arms and legs.

I am being held by three different angles.

Einar has me snugged against his body, because of course he is the most possessive, even in his sleep.

Kirin is on the other side of me, my head tucked under his chin.

And Rafe is just behind Kirin, somehow reaching out over the younger shifter to put a hand on me.

I’m not sure how we got to bed. I can only imagine the state of the lounge we were mating all over.

For a moment, in that blessed morning amnesia, I am content and complete. My story could end right here and now and I would consider it a happily ever after.

But then time keeps moving and my memory returns and my stirring makes my mates stir and suddenly I remember that’s not how anything works.

I am very much in trouble. I am to be brought before the king.

And possibly expelled from the academy afterward.

And maybe have to kill him. And could Rafe actually be the real king?

Real royal wolves have specific markings in their wolf form.

I know he’s shifted once around me, but I wasn’t looking at him. I was looking at Einar.

I peek over Kirin’s shoulder. Rafe is still asleep, his dark hair forming a sweet curtain over his face while he slumbers. What does a king look like, really? Can’t just be a matter of handsomeness, or they would all be kings.

“Breakfast,” Einar says, tapping my naked ass lightly. “You’ll need your strength.”

“So you want I should kill him just straight away?”

“Don’t do anything that could get you hurt. Nothing is in place. There will be no protection for you. Just go and do your best to come back.”

There’s something about the way he tells me to do my best to come back that makes it sound like there’s some possibility I might not. These men are still underestimating me. Nothing is going to keep me from my freedom—or from them.

“The director is going to take you. For obvious reasons, Kirin, Rafe, and I cannot be in the palace,” Einar continues.

“You can’t? Why not?”

They look at one another, and then back at me, and I feel a wave of something going through all of them, an unspoken thought they all share and understand, but which I am unable to access.

“What’s going on?”

“Eat your breakfast, Darcy,” Rafe says. He has that note in his voice he gets when I should probably listen to him.

A royal note of command? I am really starting to wonder if they weren’t kidding when they said he was the actual king.

I’ve seen the way Einar defers to him, and Einar doesn’t defer to anyone.

It seems too late, or the wrong time to bring that up now though.

There’s a certain sadness in the air. I don’t know why it is there, and I feel as though it would be weird to ask, but Kirin is certainly more subdued than usual, Einar more serious, and Rafe far more brooding.

I feel quite wonderful after what the four of us did—or rather, what the three of them did to me. I feel well and truly loved. I feel entirely claimed. I feel quite settled, actually, maybe even calm. That’s a unique feeling for me, so maybe it is giving me a false positive.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re going to the palace, to a king who knows you are wolf shifter female. He already believes…”

At that moment, the butler interrupts us. Madame Kier is here, and she has brought dresses. There is no time for conversation, even if any of the boys would dare bring up their terrorist connections and convictions in front of the director of the King’s Guard Academy.

“Stop arguing and put the dress on.”

It’s been almost quarter of an hour since I was swept out of the kitchen and into a bedroom to be readied for my royal audience.

Madame Kier is determined to ensure that I am appropriately attired for my audience with the king. She’s bought the contents of a very old and very out of date wardrobe with her. These gowns are very full and very silky and the skirts puff out widely.

“This will suit you,” she says, picking out an emerald green gown that I think looks almost dowdy.

It has a high neckline and what lace it has is very much covered underneath with modesty panels.

It reminds me of something she would wear.

I don’t know how to say that without being insulting, so I don’t.

“I like the red,” I say, pointing to another gown that at least has a lower neckline.

“I am sure you do, but you have enough fire without dressing in red as well. Trust me. You want the green.”

There is a certain urgency in her voice that bothers me.

Everyone is being so intense right now. I want to run away, but even I am not the type to shun a royal summons.

That would put me at odds with the one authority who can be felt everywhere in the city.

There is a limit to my rebellion… I think?