“How did you know my measurements?” Faith asked weakly.
“Gerri provided them in advance,” Liora said cheerfully, running her hands over a midnight-blue cocktail dress with obvious appreciation. “We’re quite efficient here.”
Efficient.Faith glanced at her pathetic suitcase sitting by the door—packed for a week-long business trip, not a royal court populated by tiger shifters. She’d brought chef coats,comfortable shoes, and exactly two dresses that now seemed laughably inadequate.
“I was thinking this one for dinner,” Liora suggested, holding up the midnight dress. “The color would be stunning on you.”
Faith stared at her t-shirt and jeans. Right. Probably not appropriate for dining with royalty. Especially royalty who could turn into apex predators.
“I’ll let you get settled,” Liora said, hanging the dress on a hook near the mirror. “But I’ll be back tomorrow morning to help you prepare for the week. Go over the details of the events and the expectations.”
Expectations.Because apparently baking desserts and being arm candy wasn’t complicated enough—now she had to navigate actual palace politics while pretending she wasn’t completely out of her depth.
Alone in the suite, Faith sank onto the edge of the massive bed and tried to process the last hour of her life. This morning she’d been a struggling baker in New Jersey, worried about lease payments and dwindling customers. Now she was sitting in an alien palace, preparing to have dinner with a prince who could literally turn into a white tiger.
Minutes passed before Faith could summon the will to move. The enormity of her situation pressed down like physical weight—tiger shifters, royal politics, and a prince whose touch had sent electricity coursing through her veins.
Get it together, Woodard. You’ve handled worse.
Though honestly, she wasn’t sure she had.
Faith pushed herself off the bed and walked back toward the walk-in closet, her reflection catching in the mirror as she passed. Still her—brown hair slightly mussed, warm eyes wide with residual shock, sun-kissed skin that looked pale under the alien lighting. But something felt different. The air herehummed with possibility in ways that made her nerve endings sing.
The midnight blue dress hung exactly where Liora had left it, the fabric catching light like captured starwater. Faith stripped off her t-shirt and jeans—practical Earth clothes that suddenly felt like armor she no longer needed. She grabbed the dress and slipped it over her head, the silk settling against her curves with the kind of precision that spoke of master tailoring.
The fabric hugged her waist, accentuated the swell of her hips, and made her legs look impossibly long. It fit like Gerri had taken her measurements with surgical instruments rather than casual observation. Faith’s stomach clenched as she remembered the older woman sitting in her bakery for hours watching Faith work.
She wasn’t just sizing up my baking skills. She was literally sizing me up.
The realization should have been unsettling. Instead, it felt oddly flattering—like being chosen for something she hadn’t known she wanted. Faith studied herself in the full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. This wasn’t the overworked bakery owner who counted pennies and worried about overdue payments. This wasn’t the woman who’d let Chet chip away at her confidence for three years, making her second-guess every decision until she’d stopped trusting her own instincts.
This woman looked luminous. Dangerous. Like she belonged in palaces and could handle princes who turned into white tigers.
Where the hell did that come from?
Faith moved to the bathroom, which was roughly the size of her entire apartment back home. Marble surfaces gleamed under soft lighting, and the mirror above the vanity was large enough to reflect her entire torso. She applied makeupwith hands that trembled only slightly—mascara to darken her lashes, lip gloss that caught the light, a touch of color to her cheeks that made her skin glow.
Her nerves weren’t just about protocol or baking desserts for alien royalty. They were about him. Prince Kovrak, with his ice-blue eyes and controlled stillness that suggested barely leashed power. A white tiger shifter who’d looked at her like she was something precious and dangerous all at once.
A sharp knock echoed through the suite, controlled and precise. Faith’s pulse jumped as she smoothed the dress one final time and walked to the door, her borrowed heels clicking against the polished floor.
Kovrak stood in the hallway, and Faith’s breath caught in her throat. Gone was the casual authority he’d worn in the foyer. Now he was dressed in dark formal attire that made him look like he could command armies—a tailored jacket that emphasized his broad shoulders, pants that showed off his powerful build, and a silver-threaded sash that caught the dying light from the windows. His dark blonde hair was perfectly styled except for that rebellious swoop that fell across his forehead, softening the sharp angles of his face just enough to be devastating.
But it was his eyes that undid her completely. They raked over her slowly—not crudely, but with the kind of appreciation that made her skin flush with heat. Like she was something rare. Something he might devour if given permission.
“You look stunning in that dress,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re finding the wardrobe suitable.”
Suitable.As if the dress hadn’t been chosen specifically to make her look like she belonged at his side. As if Gerri hadn’t orchestrated every detail down to the color that made her eyes look like melted chocolate.
“Thank you.” Faith’s voice came out steadier than she felt. “Everything is so beautiful.”
He cleared his throat. “I will escort you to dinner now.”
The walk through the palace corridors beside Kovrak felt both endless and too short. But several minutes later, they arrived at the private royal dining room on the lower level. The dining room was smaller than she’d expected, intimate rather than grand. A single table sat in the center, set for two with crystal glasses that caught candlelight and threw rainbows across the pale stone walls. The atmosphere was carefully curated—less palace spectacle, more controlled conversation. The kind of setting where secrets might be shared and boundaries might blur.
Kovrak pulled out her chair with the fluid grace of someone raised on protocol, his fingers brushing her shoulder as she settled into the seat. The touch was brief but sent electricity shooting down her spine anyway. He moved around the table to pour wine into her glass, the motion precise and controlled.
“A warning,” he said, settling into his own chair. “Sidaii wine is considerably stronger for humans than Earth varieties. You may want to pace yourself.”