Page 19 of King of Pride and Talons

TEN

THORNE

The planning of the ball had begun. The feeling in the castle changed as quickly as a lightning strike from a general, steady day to one where every worker buzzed from corner to corner. The king was happy his staff were so quick on their feet. He trusted their efficiency and promptness to get what needed to be done in time to celebrate the new queen as twilight kissed the horizon.

There wasn't much for him to do once the declaration had been made. Samson sent the word out to the housekeepers to make way for potential guests and to change the linens in the king and queen’s quarters, then alerted the chef and her sous chefs about the royal feast.

He could see them out of the window of his office, bolting out to the private garden to gather freshly harvested exotic fruits and delicacies. He knew his personalized butcher would be notified, and would be sure to slaughter the leanest cut of lamb and venison that blessed the farmland.

Event planners would be called as would decorators. Servers for the event would be on duty as the festivities ran late into the night. Vale and his team of enforcers would maintain a no-nonsense level of security. Everything would run as smoothly as a kitten’s fur.

But in the meantime, Thorne was missing his mate. He was amazed by how much it physically pained him to be away from her. He had heard of heartache but thought it was all a metaphor. It hurt him to breathe.

He reassured himself, musing in his office chair, that it was all a temporary sensation. Soon enough, he would mark sweet Breya, and all of his yearnings would be satiated. His lion would be content. She would be his for the rest of his life, and all would be wonderful.

Still, his lion carped at him. It wasn’t one to appeal to rationality, so the king stood and made his way to the queen’s quarters, where his mate was being fitted for a gown.

He was stopped, though, by a man named Lyle, who stood outside the bedroom where Breya had been taken. He could hear her laughter inside, muffled but beautiful all the same.

“May I do anything for you, My King?"

Thorne was irked and spoke curtly to the tailor who had been working for him for over a decade.

“I’m here to see Breya. Take a break on the fitting."

There was no way that any of the royal staff was going to stand up against the king, but sometimes they knew better than to succumb to his whims. Lyle bowed his head, nudging gently with his suggestion.

"My King, I assure you that Breya is being pampered with the utmost care. I promise you that she is going to look every bit the part of your queen when she is ready. Please give us time to craft our masterpiece."

He considered barging into the room but thought twice about it. Her scent was crawling under the door, calling to him like a sneaky enchantment.

"You're right, Lyle. I look forward to seeing what you come up with."

Lyle bowed, and Thorne clapped him on the shoulder. Perhaps in his haste and swelling desire to mark Breya, he had been expectant. But the thought soon fluttered away, replaced by the urgency to make the announcement as well as the reminder that he was the king—he could do whatever he wanted.

Thorne spent the rest of the day readying himself. He wanted to look refined and handsome for Breya. He knew Lyle’s handiwork—he had hand-sewn many of the military uniforms and the royal capes and garb for the Bawold family. Whatever he was constructing in the queen’s quarters was sure to amplify Breya's already fetching, captivating features.

The king wore his traditional regalia for the occasion, a three-piece houndstooth suit with flecks of marigold and orange accents. The cape that tucked over his shoulders was the same blended shades with laced silver dangling around the ends of the fringe.

Everyone important was going to be there. All members of the Lion Council and other members of associated royal families. That meant Queen Cassia too. Thorne prepared himself to manage her disappointment, eternally maintaining the optics of a level-headed, bold ruler. It was true the majority of the time, but felt more potent that night. He was going to maintain the visage for the sake of his kingdom, and most of all, his future queen.

Twilight fell, staining the sky a dusty maroon. All the guests had arrived and were brought into the grand hall. The entire castle smelled of delectable and veracious meats and bread wafting through the hallways.

Thorne stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase, waiting for his mate. She was last to arrive, but that was tasteful and traditional. After all, the entire night was about her and the announcement the king was ready to make to his people.

At the very moment Thorne was beginning to feel antsy, Breya appeared at the top of the steps. He stopped his pacing, and his mouth gaped.

The witch was adorned in a dazzling ocean-blue evening gown, the A-line silhouette embellishing her bosom. It was sleeveless and cascaded downward with a flourish. Stitching in the shape of ivy snaked up the bodice and rested along her bust in an onyx black. It matched the shade of her hair, which streamed down her back and framed her face in perfectly spiraled curls. As she drew closer, he saw a powdery plum shade had been dabbed on her lips.

She was the perfect emblem of elegance and beauty. The king felt time stand still as something benevolent wreathed around his heart.

Breya was sublime in every way imaginable.

When she reached him, he took a bow. She snickered, and he held out his hand, palm to the ceiling.

“May I say, dear Breya, you are looking radiant tonight."

“You may,” she said softly.

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