Then darkness claimed her completely, leaving the festival’s opening ceremony marked not by triumph, but by the uncertainty of a potential queen who couldn’t withstand the pressure of her own possible future.
SIX
KOVRAK
Time splintered into pure instinct. Kovrak was already moving when Faith’s knees softened, her body swaying like a cut flower in the wind. His arms caught her waist just as her eyes rolled back, and he swept her against his chest before she could strike the unforgiving stone of the platform.
Her weight settled against him with startling delicacy—this woman who carried herself with such determined strength suddenly fragile as spun glass in his arms. The crowd gasped as one living entity, the sound rippling outward like disturbed water.
Too still. Too pale.
His heart hammered against his ribs with a violence that threatened to crack bone. His tiger roared through him, demanding action and protection—every instinct screaming that his mate was in danger and he had failed to shield her.
Thalen and Merral surged forward, their voices cutting through the rising murmur of alarm, but Kovrak barely registered their presence. The world had narrowed to the woman cradled against his chest, her face drained of color and her breathing too shallow.
He lowered to one knee without thought, gathering her closer as if he could transfer his strength directly into her body. His fingers brushed the silken strands of brown hair back from her face, revealing the sharp cheekbones that had captivated him from the first moment.
“Faith.” Her name escaped as barely a whisper, meant only for her unconscious ears.
The ceremony dissolved around them into anxious whispers and shuffling feet. The scent of alarm spread sharp and metallic through the crowd—his people sensing their prince undone, his legendary control cracking in full view of hundreds of witnesses.
Let them see,his tiger snarled.Let them understand what she means to us.
“Should I summon a healer?” Thalen’s voice cut through the haze, professional concern threading his tone.
Merral knelt beside them, his weathered fingers finding Faith’s wrist with practiced efficiency. “Her pulse is steady. Strong.”
Kovrak’s jaw locked tight. She was breathing. Her heartbeat against his palm where it rested on her ribs. That was all that mattered in this moment—not the staring crowd, not the political implications, not the whispers already spreading like wildfire through the gardens.
“I will take care of her,” he declared, his voice carrying across the platform with absolute authority. “No one else.”
The words rippled through the front rows like a stone dropped in still water. He watched understanding dawn on face after face—their prince caring more openly for this human woman than any of the carefully selected companions from twenty previous festivals.
He didn’t bother to hide it. Couldn’t. The mate bond wouldn’t allow him to focus on anything but Faith’s pallor, the wayher lashes lay dark against her cheeks, and the protective fury building in his chest at her vulnerability.
The scrape of bootsteps across stone made his tiger’s ears prick forward. Kovrak didn’t need to look up to know who approached—Varrek’s presence carried its own particular brand of calculated menace.
“This is not a promising start to this year’s festival.”
Varrek’s voice held mild concern, but it projected perfectly across the hushed gardens. His green eyes drifted over Faith’s unconscious form with clinical assessment before settling on Kovrak with cool appraisal.
“The throne demands strength. Endurance.” A pause that felt deliberately weighted. “Our pride’s future cannot afford fragility.”
The words hung in the air like poison. Varrek’s gaze lingered on Faith’s delicate features, her human softness so different from the predatory grace of their kind.
“Perhaps tradition favored shifters for a reason.”
The wordhumanremained unspoken, but it echoed in the sudden stillness nonetheless. Kovrak felt his tiger press against his ribs—not in rage, but in deadly warning. The beast recognized a challenge when it heard one.
Kovrak rose in one fluid motion, Faith secured against his chest, and turned to face Varrek directly. His voice emerged level and controlled, but it carried the weight of absolute command.
“No one will speak of our cultural guest with disrespect.”
He didn’t sayfated mate. Not yet. But the claim pulsed beneath every word, and his pride was far from naive. They saw the way he held her, the protective fury radiating from his body, and the careful reverence in his touch.
Varrek’s mouth tilted in what might have been amusement, though his eyes remained calculating. “Of course, Your Highness. I meant no offense.”
But the damage was done. Kovrak could see it spreading through the crowd—some faces lighting with cautious hope as they recognized what he hadn’t said aloud, others creasing with doubt and uncertainty.