Mine.The thought blazed through him with territorial heat.
“Kovrak—“ she started, but he silenced her the only way that mattered.
He kissed her. Right there in the center of the square, beneath the twin suns, with every member of his pride watching. No hesitation. No measured calculation. Just raw claiming and twenty years of restraint shattering like glass.
For a heartbeat, Faith went still against him. Then her hands fisted in his shirt and she kissed him back with equal fervor, claiming his mouth just as publicly as he claimed hers. The mate bond roared between them, and his tiger purred with savage satisfaction.
Applause erupted around them—not polite, ceremonial clapping, but genuine enthusiasm. Then hoots and hollers filled the air, pride members shouting approval that rang off the stone buildings surrounding the square.
Victory.
The word pulsed through him as they broke apart, Faith’s cheeks flushed, and her lips swollen from his kiss. This felt right.
“Well,” Faith breathed, her voice slightly unsteady. “That was certainly a statement.”
“Yes, it certainly was,” he replied, his voice rough.
The crowd’s energy buzzed with excitement, and Kovrak found himself grinning. He offered Faith his arm with ceremonial gallantry.
“Shall we try your masterpiece?”
Her answering smile could have powered the palace. “Lead the way, Your Highness.”
But as they approached the display table where her five-tiered creation stood gleaming in the afternoon light, the warmth in Kovrak’s chest curdled into something cold and sharp. Varrek stood too close to Faith’s cake, his green eyes calculating as he spoke in low, cutting tones to a cluster of pride members whose expressions had shifted from admiration to visible unease.
Kovrak’s enhanced hearing caught every poisonous word.
“—a dilution of sacred ingredients,” Varrek was saying, his voice carrying just enough to reach nearby listeners. “Starfruit glaze mixed with Earth sugar? It’s an insult to generations of Nova Auroran tradition.”
Elder Kessa frowned, uncertainty creeping into her weathered features. “But the craftsmanship?—“
“Pretty enough,” Varrek conceded with dismissive elegance. “But can a human outsider truly comprehend the weight of our legacy? The reverence required?” His gaze flicked meaningfully toward where Kovrak and Faith approached. “Or are we so desperate for novelty that we’ll accept any offering, no matter how inappropriate?”
The words hit like calculated blows, each one designed to twist celebration into accusation. Kovrak’s tiger snarled beneath his skin as Varrek continued his verbal assault.
“And did you witness that display on the dance floor?” Varrek’s tone carried mock concern. “Such... public desperation. A prince should command respect, not beg for it with theatrical romance.”
Heat flooded Kovrak’s veins. How dare he twist what had been genuine into something calculating?
“Our prince’s visible devotion signals weakness,” Varrek pressed on, his voice gaining strength as more pride members gathered to listen. “Choosing her—a human baker from Earth, a nobody with no political value—will fracture the traditions that have sustained us for generations.”
Something primal and protective surged through Kovrak’s blood at the calculated cruelty in Varrek’s voice. The insult to Faith’s worth, to their bond, to everything they’d built in just three days.
Kovrak stepped forward, his presence commanding immediate attention. The cluster of pride members fell silent, sensing the dangerous shift in energy.
“Measure your accusations carefully, Varrek.” His voice carried the edge of steel. “And apologize to Faith. Now.”
Varrek turned slowly, that predatory smile spreading across his sharp features. “Apologize? For speaking truth? For caring about our people’s future?”
“Apologize,” Kovrak repeated, his tone dropping into the register that made lesser shifters submit automatically. “Or explain why you feel entitled to insult my fated mate and our traditions in the same breath.”
The wordsfated matesent a ripple through the gathered crowd.
Varrek’s green eyes glittered with satisfaction, as though Kovrak had just played directly into his hands. “Your fated mate? How convenient. And here I thought she was merely a cultural guest.”
The mockery in his tone was the final straw, but before Kovrak could respond, Varrek shoved him. Hard. Deliberate provocation designed to force a reaction in full view of the pride.
The restraint Kovrak had maintained for decades snapped like an overstretched rope.