Page 29 of Asking Fur Trouble

“When it comes to you? Absolutely.” His lips curved into a smirk, but there was no mistaking the seriousness in his eyes. “You’re mine, Bess. My mate. My future queen. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you made the right choice.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, the raw intensity in his eyes making her feel both vulnerable and powerful at the same time. She leaned in, her lips brushing his in a soft, lingering kiss. “I think you’re off to a pretty good start.”

He growled low in his throat, his hand sliding up to cup the back of her head as he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her with a possessiveness that made her toes curl. When she finally pulled back, they were both breathless, their foreheads resting together.

They lay there for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside their room fading into insignificance. Bess’s mind drifted, her thoughts a jumble of emotions and sensations. Charov’s presence was overwhelming in the best possible way, his strength and passion a perfect counterbalance to her own quiet determination.

As the minutes stretched into hours, Bess felt her eyelids grow heavy, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with her. She nestled deeper into Charov’s embrace, her body relaxing against his. His hand stroked her back in slow, soothing circles.

“Sleep, Bess,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm.

She didn’t need to be told twice. With a contented sigh, she closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull her into the most peaceful sleep she’d had in a long time.

NINETEEN

The sharp buzz of his comm device sliced through Charov’s contentment like a knife. His eyes snapped open, instantly alert despite the drowsy warmth of the bed. He glanced at his wrist, and the simple message displayed there turned his blood to ice.

“The King has passed.”

His father. Gone.

Charov’s gaze shifted to Bess, her soft curves tangled in the sheets beside him, her face peaceful in sleep. Her wavy brown hair fanned across the pillow, one delicate hand curled near her face. Last night had been... transcendent. Now that joy felt like a distant memory, a dream from someone else’s life.

He eased from the bed with the silent grace that belied his massive frame. Every instinct screamed at him to wake her, to draw strength from the connection they had forged. But the raw, jagged grief rising in his chest was too private and primal. He couldn’t bear for her to see him like this – not yet.

Charov dressed silently, his movements mechanical. He allowed himself one final glance at Bess, memorizing how the early morning light gilded her skin. Then he slipped from her suite without a sound.

The corridors of the castle, usually alive with activity, were eerily silent as he strode toward his father’s chambers. Guards stood at attention, their eyes downcast and their faces grim. They parted without a word as he approached.

The door to his father’s chambers loomed before him. Charov squared his shoulders, drawing himself to his full height. He was Prince – no, King now. The title felt like a massive weight crushing down on his shoulders.

“My King,” the royal doctor bowed as Charov entered, but he barely registered the words.

His mother’s keening wail tore through the chamber. Queen Zyre sat beside the bed, her elegant frame folded over his father’s still form, her hands clutching his. Her grief was so naked and so raw that Charov had to look away for a moment.

The king lay on his bed, still and silent. His father’s once-powerful body seemed diminished, the vibrant force that had animated him completely vanished. Sawyr, the mighty Mavac Bear King, reduced to an empty vessel.

Charov’s knees nearly buckled. A roar built in his chest – his bear demanding release to howl its anguish – but he swallowed it down. Instead, he crossed to his mother and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Mother,” he whispered.

Queen Zyre looked up, her eyes red-rimmed, streaks of tears mapping her face. “He waited for you to find your mate. After you left yesterday, he told me he was ready. He said the kingdom would be safe with you and Bess.”

The mention of Bess sent a pang through Charov’s heart. “I should have been here.”

“No,” his mother said fiercely. “He didn’t want that. He wanted you to find joy with your mate.” Her voice broke. “He loved you so much, Charov.”

Charov moved to his father’s side. Tears he couldn’t control spilled down his face as he leaned down to press his forehead against his father’s.

“I will make you proud, Father,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I will protect what you built. I swear it.”

His bear rumbled inside him, mourning and determined all at once.

The Kingdom of Mavac Territory had lost its king. And the son had lost his loving father.

Later that afternoon, Charov swirled amber liquid in his crystal tumbler, watching the light fracture through the facets. The Royal Mavac whiskey – his father’s favorite – burned in his throat but did nothing to numb the hollow ache in his chest. He had long since lost count of how many he’d had.

“If you’re trying to drown yourself, I should remind you that bears are excellent swimmers,” Oberon said, leaning against the doorframe of Charov’s royal chambers.

---