NINE
FAITH
Faith stumbled through the palace corridors on unsteady legs. The elegant black cocktail dress that had made her feel so confident hours earlier now clung to her trembling frame like a mockery. Every step carried her further from the kitchens, further from the violence she had just witnessed, but she couldn’t escape the images seared into her mind.
White fur streaked with black stripes. Massive paws pinning a smaller form. The sound of claws against stone. The raw, primal growl that had rumbled from Kovrak’s throat—not human, not civilized, but utterly wild.
Her breath came in short bursts as she pressed herself against the cool stone wall, needing its solid reality to ground her spinning thoughts. The scent of violence and fear still clung to her clothes, her skin, her very soul. But what lingered stronger was the image of transformation—Kovrak the handsome prince dissolving into something magnificent and terrifying.
Call Gerri,her mind whispered frantically.Demand to leave. Right now. Before this gets any more complicated.
She had known, intellectually, that Kovrak was a shifter. Known he was dangerous. Known this entire kingdom operatedon rules she barely understood. But knowing and seeing were entirely different beasts—quite literally.
It wasn’t just that he had fought. It was the power of it. The dominance that radiated from every movement and every calculated strike. He had been wild yet controlled, an apex predator defending his territory with lethal precision.
“What did you think would happen?” she whispered to herself, her voice echoing in the empty corridor. “That you’d never see him shift? Never witness what he really is?”
The truth hit her like a freight train. Being his mate—if she chose that path—wouldn’t always mean quiet mornings baking side by side, flour dusting their hands while they laughed over shared tasks. It would mean shifter politics and ancient traditions. Enemies who would strike without warning. Public scrutiny that could crush her. Violence when necessary to protect what mattered.
A crown. A predator mate.
Her chest tightened until breathing became a conscious effort. She had started to imagine a future with him this afternoon—tentative, fragile hopes blooming as they worked together in perfect harmony. But she hadn’t imaginedthatpart clearly enough. Hadn’t pictured what loving a white tiger prince would actually cost her.
“I came here to bake,” she said aloud, the words bouncing off the stone walls. “To save my bakery. To maybe have a little fun with a handsome prince for one week. Not to... not to become bound to someone who could tear a man apart with his sharp teeth.”
But even as the words left her lips, another truth surfaced. When Varrek had insinuated she was responsible for Merral’s collapse, when doubt had rippled through the crowd like poison, Kovrak hadn’t hesitated. He had stood up for her immediately,taken responsibility, declared his trust in her before an entire hall of his people.
He had defended her without question.
“And yet,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “to love him would mean standing beside a powerful white tiger king.”
The weight of that reality settled over her shoulders like a lead cloak. Her life would never be small or private again. She would be watched, judged, measured against standards she didn’t understand by people whose approval she may never earn.
Was she built for that kind of existence? The girl from New Jersey who had fought tooth and nail just to keep her little bakery afloat?
No,her practical mind insisted.Of course you’re not. You’re human. You don’t belong in this world of shifters and politics and royal bloodlines.
But her heart... her traitorous heart whispered something different entirely.
She felt something for him. Deep in her soul, in places she had never allowed anyone to touch before. Walking away now would hurt in ways she wasn’t prepared to examine too closely.
Yet staying might cost her everything she had worked for.
Her thoughts spiraled until she forced herself to stop, pressing her palms against the wall for stability. “No,” she said firmly. “You cannot unravel in hallways. You chose to stay for the week. Buck up and handle it.”
But then another image filled her mind—Merral’s face contorting in agony, foam at the corners of his mouth, his body convulsing as his throat closed. The memory hit her like a punch, sharp and awful in its clarity.
Even if the sabotage wasn’t her fault—even if she knew with absolute certainty that she would never deliberately harm anyone—she felt connected to it. Responsible somehow. If shehadn’t baked those desserts. If she hadn’t come here at all. If she had just stayed in New Jersey and let her bakery fail quietly...
Merral wouldn’t have been in danger. He wouldn’t have almost died tonight.
The guilt twisted in her stomach like a living thing, and she knew she couldn’t just hide in her suite and pretend none of this had happened.
Straightening her spine, Faith spotted a young servant girl hurrying past with fresh linens. She cleared her throat, proud when her voice emerged steady and controlled.
“Excuse me. I need to see Lord Merral. Please.”
The servant’s eyes widened slightly. “My lady, he’s in the medical wing. Are you certain?—“