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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BELLE

T he faint sound of grinding woke me. It was a sharp rasping that scratched at the edges of my dreams. I blinked in the dim light of the room, trying to adjust to Avarix's shadows. The sound continued, steady and rhythmic, like stones scraping together.

Adom lay beside me, his broad form barely contained by the bed. His mane spilled over the pillow, catching the moonlight that filtered through the window. But it was his claws that held my attention.

He was grinding them together. It was the sharp tips rasping against one another. I reached out, resting my hand gently over his claws. The grinding stopped immediately.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

His expression was dark, as though he was caught in some private torment. “I’ve lived a nightmare my whole life.”

I tightened my hold on his hand, twining my fingers around his claws. I brought his hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckles. “I’m here now. I’ll chase the nightmares away.”

I expected him to laugh, or at least grin, at the notion of a tiny fae protecting this hulk of a man. He just stared at me, his eyes unguarded in a way that made my chest tighten. There was so much in his gaze—pain, hope, fear—that I couldn’t look away.

"Adom?"

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough and low. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Things will change once we’re wedded. Once we properly exchange our vows under the moon.”

“I am completely, incandescently happy with how things are right now.”

His claws twitched beneath my fingers. His lips almost formed a smile, but it didn't reach his golden eyes. He pulled me closer, his arm wrapping securely around my waist. I loved the feeling of safety he surrounded me with. Though he held me tightly, I couldn't deny I was falling.

Falling into him. Falling in love with him. Falling asleep inside the safety, protection and care he gifted to me.

When I woke in the morning light, the space beside me was empty. Adom's scent lingered on the sheets—wild and earthy—but there was no sign of him. I sat up, wondering if I’d dreamed the entire thing, if the Adom I’d seen in the middle of the night, so raw and unguarded, had been a figment of my imagination.

My thumb brushed the back of one of my knuckles. The warmth of his touch, the echo of his claws against my skin, was still there. It had been real.

The morning began with a whirlwind. I had no idea how they knew I was up, but as soon as I swung my legs out of the bed, a small army of servants invaded my room. They moved with practiced efficiency, their chatter a soft hum punctuated by the occasional clink of metal tools. Most of them were human—I could tell because they didn’t carry the musky undercurrent of fur or the floral scent of fae beneath their skin. A few bore the technological enhancements that many humans adorned themselves with.

One woman’s eyes were reflective glass. As she worked on my makeup, I saw my face in the mirrored surfaces. Her steady hands brushed color onto my cheeks and lips.

When she finished, I barely recognized myself. My lavender skin shone luminous. My hair was a cascade of carefully arranged waves, glinting like spun silk in the morning light. I felt like a doll, polished and painted.

Colson arrived to escort me out of the queen's chamber. He handed me a folded piece of parchment. “Your itinerary for the day, Your Highness.”

The title still sounded foreign to me, as though it belonged to someone else. Because it did. Charlotte didn't want to be a princess, much less a queen. I knew exactly what I wanted, and that was the prince. If I had to wear a crown and have people bow to me to get him, I suspected I could endure it.

I unfolded the parchment and scanned the neatly written script. My eyes snagged on one line: United Houses Luncheon .

The United Houses Luncheon was a spectacle I’d only ever read about in the glossy pages of my favorite fashion zine. Every three years, the matriarchs of the allied houses descended upon Pridehaven with their unmarried offspring in tow, determined to flaunt their wealth, forge alliances, and secure advantageous matches. It was a marriage mart, plain and simple, cloaked in the pretense of diplomacy and tradition.

The event coincided with the Convergence Games, where dignitaries and rulers came to the capital to watch the competitions, engage in meetings, and strengthen their alliances. But the luncheon? That was where the real battles were fought—not on the field, but in silken gowns, jeweled tiaras, and finely tailored coats.

For weeks afterward, the fashion pages would be filled with commentary, critiquing every choice of fabric, every cut, every bead and feather. The most daring ensembles were immortalized in sketches, while the less inspired choices were mercilessly mocked. As a child, I’d eagerly poured over those pages, dreaming of the day my designs might grace the spreads.

“It’s customary for the Lioness Queen to attend, but her majesty is otherwise engaged. She requests you attend in her stead.”

I opened my mouth. And closed it. I couldn't say what I wanted to say, which was that I'd never attended a fancy luncheon in all my life. My lunches were always taken in servants' quarters, where gossip and bawdy jokes rang around the room. I had no idea what do say or do in a room full of royals other than "Would you like your glass refilled?"

Colson gave a curt nod of approval before stepping back to let me continue on my way. But not before calling out six words that rooted my designer heels to the floor: “Your mother will join you shortly.”

As if summoned by his words, Queen Indira appeared, gliding toward me with a smile so tight it could have snapped. She looked immaculate, as always, but her eyes betrayed her—hard and cold, calculating beneath the veneer of civility.

“Any word?” I asked softly, my voice carrying just enough weight to show I cared, but not so much to expose my anxiety over Charlotte's return.

“No.”

That was all the fairy queen said. She showed no emotion, leaving me to wonder if she cared if her daughter had run and was hiding, never to be found. Or if something more sinister had happened to her.

The idea of Charlotte lost to the ether, or worse, was a bitter pill to swallow. She didn't deserve either fate. The poor girl just wanted to live her life on her terms. Personally, I was pretty happy with the terms of her life.

“I've decided you will continue this ruse until I achieve what I came for," the fairy queen was saying.

"And what is that, exactly?"

"None of your concern. Once you're married and I have what I want, then I do not care what becomes of you. You can stay with the beast or run like Charlotte."

“I'm not going to run."

"Of course you're not. You've had a taste of power."

I didn't bother explaining that I didn't care about the power. I just wanted the prince. I knew she wouldn't understand, let alone believe me.

The grand dining hall was a masterpiece of stone and light. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, its arched beams etched with intricate carvings of the moons and stars, as if the heavens themselves had been invited to dine. Long tables were laden with golden trays of delicacies I couldn’t name, their mingling aromas—spiced meats, honeyed fruits, and roasted roots—creating an intoxicating scent. But it wasn’t the grandeur that stole my breath.

It was the silence.

The moment I entered, all conversation ceased. Dozens of eyes turned toward me—sharp, assessing, predatory. I felt their weight like a physical force, pressing down on my shoulders, my chest. I struggled to maintain the composure I'd watched Queen Indira drill into her daughter.

Shifter eyes flashed first, their irises glinting like molten gold or silver in the light. Predatory and piercing, they scanned me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Their nostrils flared subtly, as if they were scenting the air, gauging my worth. I fought the urge to step back, to flee under the power of their animalistic scrutiny.

The fairies were no kinder. There were a few ember fae, though none had their wings out as Queen Indira had once accused. Shadow fae sat poised and still, their gazes narrowed, lips pressed into thin lines. Their disdain was palpable, a cold undercurrent that seeped into my bones. The sea fae were bejeweled and beautiful. Beside them, I felt dull, insufficient. An impostor.

Then there was the dragon. I hadn’t noticed her at first. Her human guise was flawless—until it wasn’t. She turned her head toward me, and the faintest shimmer of scales rippled over her neck. The glittering bronze wave caught the light and held it. When she exhaled, smoke curled from her nostrils.

With each step I took into the room, I waded out of my depth. Another foot forward and I'd be drowning. The doors closed behind me and, like sharks scenting blood, they pounced.