It should have terrified her. The fact that it didn’t—that was what truly scared her.
By late afternoon, trays of cooling desserts lined the counters like edible jewels—vibrant, fragrant, and beautiful. Faith felt the deep, bone-level satisfaction of creation, of proving something not with words but with skill.
“This is the most enjoyable afternoon I’ve had in years,” Kovrak admitted, surveying their work with quiet pride. “I prefer flour on my hands to council meetings.”
His smile was devastating in its genuineness, and Faith felt herself smile back before she could guard against it.
“We should clean up,” he suggested. “My servants will arrange the samples in the main dining hall while we prepare for the feast.”
As she washed her hands beside him at the deep basin, Faith realized how natural it had felt to have him there. Not overseeing or directing, but participating.
A true partner.
Those words lingered as she dried her hands. She could get used to this—someone choosing to stand beside her instead of ahead of her.
EIGHT
KOVRAK
The dining hall blazed with opulent grandeur beneath a constellation of suspended crystal lanterns, each one catching and fracturing light into prismatic rainbows that danced across the vaulted ceiling. Royal blue and silver banners hung in majestic sweeps along the stone walls, their silk surfaces rippling with every current of air that moved through the vast space. The colors of his lineage—colors that had flown over this kingdom for three centuries—seemed to pulse with life tonight, as if sensing the weight of what this evening might bring.
Long banquet tables stretched across the polished marble floor in precise formation, their surfaces gleaming under the warm glow of countless candles. His people moved between the tables like restless predators in formal attire, their excitement barely contained beneath layers of court etiquette. This feast traditionally set the tone for the entire festival week—a celebration of unity, strength, and the promise of their continued prosperity under Auryx rule.
Kovrak stood near the front of the hall beside Thalen, both men resplendent in their formal ceremonial dress. His blue jacket bore intricate silver threading that caught the light withevery subtle movement, while silver-edged epaulettes marked his rank with unmistakable authority. The weight of tradition pressed against his shoulders, yet beneath that practiced composure, his tiger prowled with restless energy.
The formal gathering had not yet begun, but whispers already traveled through the assembled pride like wind through tall grass. Some carried the bitter aftertaste of morning doubt—the human fainting… the ceremony cut short… such fragility—but others had shifted entirely in tone. Servants had arranged Faith’s desserts along a separate display table near the front of the hall, and his people could not stop staring.
Too beautiful to eat… what artistry… such delicate detail…
The fragments of conversation reached his enhanced hearing, and pride flared fierce in his chest. They would see her strengths tonight. Her brilliance. Her innovation. Not the collapse that had marked the morning, but the creativity that defined her.
“You look like you’re awaiting a battle report,” Thalen observed, his voice pitched low.
“In a way, I am.” Kovrak’s gaze drifted toward the entrance doors, anticipation coiling tight in his gut. “I helped her prepare the desserts this afternoon.”
Thalen’s head snapped toward him with military precision. “You did what?”
A quiet satisfaction settled through Kovrak’s chest. “I measured flour. Stirred batter. Cracked eggs with embarrassing incompetence.” His mouth curved slightly at the memory of Faith’s delighted laughter. “It was… enlightening.”
He had not expected to enjoy the experience as much as he did. He had anticipated awkwardness, perhaps mild boredom. But the simple act of creating something beside her had felt more fulfilling than any royal duty he had ever performed.
“Watching her work—there is intention in every movement. Vision. Innovation.” His voice carried a note of reverence that surprised even him. “She sees possibilities where others see only ingredients. We could use more of that perspective in our kingdom.”
Thalen’s mouth curved into a knowing grin that made Kovrak’s jaw tighten defensively. “She has completely compromised you already, hasn’t she? You’ve fallen hard, Your Highness.”
Kovrak did not bother denying it. Twenty years of carefully vetted candidates—minus last year’s deliberate absence—had yielded nothing but polite interest and forgettable encounters that never ignited into anything remotely significant. Faith was none of that tepid mediocrity. She unsettled him, challenged his assumptions, intrigued him in ways that made his tiger pace with anticipation. More than that, she matched him. Made him want more than mere survival for his kingdom—made him crave vitality, innovation, and happiness.
The massive oak doors swung open with ceremonial weight, and conversation softened to a reverent hush as Faith stepped into the hall.
Every coherent thought fled Kovrak’s mind.
The black cocktail dress clung to her curves with devastating simplicity, the fabric flowing like liquid shadow against her luminous skin. The neckline revealed just enough to make his blood heat while maintaining perfect elegance, and the way the material traced her silhouette made his hands itch with the need to touch, to claim, to mark.
His tiger surged forward inside him, pressing against the cage of his ribs with primal demand. For one reckless heartbeat, he imagined abandoning the feast entirely—lifting her into his arms and retreating to his chambers where no pride watchedand no politics intruded. Where he could claim her properly and end twenty years of waiting.
“Make it through dinner before you claim her, Your Highness,” Thalen murmured, barely contained amusement threading through his voice.
Kovrak shot him a glare that could have melted steel, which only made his friend’s grin widen with insufferable satisfaction.