“My queen,” Elder Corwin approached with measured dignity, his weathered face creased with satisfaction. “The pride grows stronger each day under your joint leadership. Your influence has brought a harmony we have not known for decades.”
Kovrak’s large hand settled possessively at the small of Faith’s back, his ice-blue eyes tracking every person who approached his pregnant mate with the intensity of a predator assessing potential threats. Even after a year of marriage, his protective instincts burned fierce and unyielding.
“She has that effect,” Kovrak said, his voice carrying the quiet authority that made conversations still and heads turn. “My queen has a gift for bringing out the best in people.”
Faith felt heat rise in her cheeks at the pride in his tone, the mate bond pulsing with his fierce love and admiration. Through their connection, she sensed his constant awareness of her, his tiger’s satisfaction at her rounded form carrying their cubs, and his need to shield her from any potential stress or danger.
The past year had reshaped her in ways that felt both extraordinary and deeply natural. Her days balanced theintricate dance of royal duties—council meetings where her voice now carried weight, diplomatic functions where her presence brought warmth to formal proceedings—with early mornings spent in flour-dusted bliss, creating innovative desserts as she grew more accustomed to Nova Aurora’s exotic ingredients and the recipes she was building with them.
More than once during those council meetings, the elders had spoken softly of Kovrak’s parents, of the harmony and strength they had once brought to the pride. When they compared the balance she and Kovrak achieved to that legendary partnership, Faith saw the quiet emotion those comparisons stirred in her husband. Through the bond, she felt it like a healed scar glowing warm instead of aching—not grief but grateful remembrance.
“Your parents would be proud,” she had whispered to him after one such meeting, and the way his throat had worked, the way his arms had tightened around her, told her everything about how deeply those words affected him.
What still filled her days with the most profound joy was the small bakery Kovrak had surprised her with six months ago—a stunning space built in the heart of town, designed with her exact specifications though she’d never voiced them. State-of-the-art ovens, equipment that surpassed her wildest Earth dreams, and every exotic ingredient Nova Aurora could offer, all arranged with meticulous care.
“You built this for me,” she had breathed when he’d led her through the gleaming space, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I built this for us,” he’d corrected, pulling her against his chest. “For your dreams to be transformed into something bigger here. Something shared.”
Liora’s unexpected decision to become her business partner had blossomed into something sacred—a shared creative joy that filled corners of Faith’s soul she hadn’t realized were emptyback on Earth. With Liora’s mother and grandmother working beside them, the bakery hummed with generational warmth, teasing banter, flour-covered hugs, and a feminine camaraderie that felt like being gently held by the life she had always needed.
“Speaking of the bakery,” Liora said now, her expression shifting to barely contained mischief, “we may have a small situation with tomorrow’s special orders.”
Faith raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘small situation.’”
“Well, apparently word has spread about your honey-starfruit tarts, and we’ve received requests from three neighboring territories. Thalen may have accidentally started a diplomatic incident by suggesting our desserts are superior to anything the mountain clans can produce.”
Thalen’s expression remained stoically neutral, though Faith caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I merely stated facts.”
Kovrak’s low chuckle rumbled through his chest. “My mate’s creations have become a point of territorial pride. I should be concerned about the political implications.”
“Should be,” Faith teased, rising on her toes to brush a kiss against his jaw, “but you’re not.”
“Not even slightly,” he confirmed, his arm tightening around her waist. “Let them come. They can taste what perfection looks like.”
The possessive satisfaction in his tone sent heat through her veins. Even heavy with pregnancy, even surrounded by hundreds of their people, Kovrak still looked at her like she was something rare he couldn’t quite believe was his.
“Your Majesties,” Merral approached with formal bearing, though his eyes held warmth. “The pride awaits your opening address.”
Faith felt Kovrak’s body tense slightly beside her, his alpha instincts shifting into protective overdrive as he prepared toguide his pregnant mate into the public eye. His hand moved to cradle her elbow with infinite care.
“Ready, my queen?” His voice was pitched low.
Faith looked out over the sea of expectant faces—their people, their pride, their chosen family—and felt nothing but fierce joy and unshakeable certainty.
“With you? Always.”
As Faith stepped onto the festival stage beside Kovrak, her silk gown rustling against the polished wood, the ghost of another moment crashed through her consciousness with startling vividness—twelve months ago, standing in this exact spot, knees buckling beneath royal blue fabric as hundreds of eyes assessed her worthiness. The memory should have paralyzed her, but instead it anchored her. Where once she had felt the crushing weight of scrutiny and belonging nowhere, now the same platform felt solid and welcoming beneath her feet, the sea of upturned faces below radiating warmth rather than judgment.
These were her people now. Not subjects to win over, but family who had already claimed her.
Her fingers tightened around Kovrak’s as he stepped forward to address the crowd. The twins responded to his deep tones with a flutter of movement that made Faith’s breath catch—tiny feet pressing against her ribs as though they, too, recognized their father’s voice.
“One year ago,” Kovrak began, his ice-blue gaze sweeping across the gathered pride, “we celebrated not just tradition, but transformation. Today we honor?—”
The sensation struck without warning. Heat, liquid, and unmistakable—pooling between her thighs and soaking through silk as realization crystallized with dizzying clarity. Her grip on Kovrak’s hand became desperate, her fingers digging into hispalm as panic surged through her veins faster than logic could catch it.
No. Not here. Not now.