He moved closer, close enough that she could smell the expensive cologne that couldn’t quite mask something darker underneath. “You see, once I kill him in our public challenge in two days, I’ll mate you myself. Secure both the crown and the pride’s approval in one elegant stroke.”
Faith’s stomach lurched, bile rising in her throat. “I’d rather die first.”
“Now, now,” Varrek chided, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face with fingers that felt like ice against her skin. “You’re already quite popular with the people after your little heroics during the fire. That popularity will elevate my rule beautifully. Kovrak may be strong in body, but he’s weak in mind—too soft, too sentimental to win a true fight.”
He leaned down, pressing a possessive kiss to her bound hand that made her skin crawl. “I look forward to learning you soon, Faith. I suspect you’ll find me a much more... decisive mate than our current prince.”
After he left, locking the door with that same deliberate precision, nausea and fury warred inside Faith’s chest. She turned to Liora, whose face had gone pale as moonlight.
“He’s never fought fair,” Liora whispered, her voice shaking. “Even as children, Varrek would stack the odds. Poison, distractions, ambushes—anything to win. I’m afraid he’s already planning something terrible for Kovrak.”
As the hours crawled by and rescue didn’t materialize, Faith was forced to confront the terrifying possibility that Kovrak wouldn’t find her until this alleged public challenge. The joy of their bond completion felt fragile now, stolen, like something that might dissolve into memory alone.
Yet even as defeat threatened to settle in her bones, one thought burned clear and fierce: Liora would make it home safely. If Faith had to bargain, burn, or break for it, her friend would survive this.
“I don’t feel too hopeful,” Liora admitted as the light outside their window began to fade.
Faith spent the next few hours plotting how she might convince Varrek to release Liora, crafting arguments and bargains in her mind. But her hopes shattered when the door opened again and Varrek returned with that same predatory calm.
“You’ve been speaking too much,” he declared, moving directly to Liora’s bed. “Plotting against me, no doubt.”
“Leave her alone!” Faith snarled, pulling against her restraints hard enough to draw blood from her wrists. “She’s done nothing to you!”
“Soon enough, you’ll learn to obey me without question,” Varrek said, unlocking Liora’s chains with efficient movements. The smaller woman tried to resist, but his grip was iron as he dragged her to her feet.
“You can go to hell,” Faith spat, every word dripping with venom.
Varrek’s smile turned cold. “Bad girl.”
The syringe appeared from his pocket like a magician’s trick, and Faith’s world tilted sideways as he approached. “No—wait?—“
The needle bit deep, and darkness rushed up to claim her with merciless efficiency. The last thing she heard was Liora’s terrified cry echoing down the corridor as Varrek dragged her away.
Kovrak,she tried one final time as consciousness fled.Save us.
Then the world went black, and Faith could only pray that when she woke up again, they’d both be safe.
EIGHTEEN
KOVRAK
The final morning of the festival broke like a wound across the horizon—gray clouds strangling the twin suns until their light bled pale and sickly through the palace windows. Kovrak stood motionless before the towering glass, his reflection a study in controlled violence. Shoulders carved from stone, jaw locked tight enough to shatter teeth, and ice-blue eyes that held the cold fury of a predator waiting to kill his intended target.
This was not the bright, hopeful dawn he had envisioned two days ago, when Faith’s acceptance of his mate mark had filled his chest with incandescent joy. That perfect morning felt like a memory from another man’s life now.
“You need to conserve some strength for what lies ahead,” Merral said quietly from behind him, though his voice carried the weight of a man who had spent two sleepless nights watching his nephew pace like a caged beast.
Kovrak’s laugh was a harsh rasp. “What strength? I haven’t slept more than an hour since she was taken.”
For forty-eight hours, he had stalked the palace corridors with the restless energy of a predator denied its territory. Every shadow conjured visions of what Faith might be enduring—torture, isolation, or worse. The mate bond lay muted beneath his skin like a severed nerve, wrapped in something chemical and wrong that made his tiger snarl with rage.
He had reached for her a hundred times, only to feel that unnatural suppression pressing back like damp cloth over flame. The not knowing had nearly driven him feral.
“We searched every structure within fifty miles,” Thalen said, his broad frame filling the doorway. Dark circles shadowed his blue eyes, testament to his own sleepless vigil. “Varrek’s hidden them well.”
“Yes, too well.” Merral’s voice cut sharp. “This is all political theater.”
Theater. The word made Kovrak’s hands curl into fists. Last night’s phone call replayed with brutal clarity—Varrek’s voice maddeningly calm, smug with orchestration as he delivered his ultimatum.