Page 30 of Asking Fur Trouble

Charov didn’t look up. “Not in the mood for jokes.”

Oberon crossed the room, his heavy footfalls echoing against the polished stone floor. He didn’t ask permission before pouring himself a drink and dropping into the chair opposite Charov.

“Your mate’s been asking about you.”

Charov’s bear stirred at the mention of Bess, clawing at his insides with urgent need.Go to her. She’s yours. She’ll comfort you.The image of Bess’s face flashed in his mind – those full lips that had yielded so sweetly to his, those expressive green eyes that had looked at him with want.

“She doesn’t need to see me like this.” Charov tossed back his drink in one swallow.

“That’s exactly what mates are for,” Oberon countered. “To see you at your worst and still want you.”

Charov slammed down his glass hard enough to crack the crystal. “Like my mother wanted my father?” His voice turned savage. “You’ve seen her. She’s a ghost walking around in my mother’s skin.”

He stood abruptly, prowling to the window overlooking the kingdom – his kingdom now. The weight of that reality pressed down on him like a mountain.

“I saw her face when the doctor told her there was nothing more to be done. I watched as every bit of light drained out of her when he died. That’s what happens when you let someone become your everything.”

His bear growled in protest, but Charov forced it down.

“So, what’s your brilliant plan?” Oberon asked, his voice dangerously quiet. “Push away your true mate because you’re afraid?”

Charov whirled, his eyes flashing. “I’m not afraid.”

“Bullshit.” Oberon stood to match him, never one to back down. “You’re terrified. The legendary Prince Charov, who jumps out of aircraft for fun, who faces down predators without blinking, is running scared from a curvy little human who has him completely bewitched.”

“I’m protecting myself,” Charov snarled. “And her.”

“No, you’re being a coward. Your father would?—”

Charov moved with shifter speed, slamming Oberon against the wall, his forearm pressed to Oberon’s throat. “Don’t tell me what my father would think.”

Oberon didn’t struggle. “Your father found his happiness with your mother. Decades of joy. Would you trade that away just to avoid the pain at the end?”

TWENTY

The question hit Charov hard. His grip loosened.

“I was with Bess last night,” Charov said, stepping back. “She was...” Words failed him. How could he possibly describe the way she’d moved against him, the sounds she’d made, the way her eyes had held his as if seeing straight into his soul?

“She was everything,” he admitted finally, the fight draining out of him.

His bear growled with agreement:Mate. Ours.

“And that’s what scares you shitless.”

Charov ran his hands through his hair. “I watched as my mother lay wailing over my father’s lifeless body this morning. Like her world had ended.”

“And yet,” Oberon said quietly, “I bet if you asked her, she would say it was worth it. Every moment.”

The following afternoon, Charov sat rigid beside his mother, his massive frame dwarfing the ornate ceremonial chair. The great hall of the castle had been transformed for the viewing of his father’s body—the late King Sawyr lay in state on a raised dais, dressed in royal regalia, looking more peaceful than he had in months. The line of mourners stretched beyond the castle walls, a testament to his father’s legacy.

Hours blurred together as Charov accepted condolences with mechanical nods and murmured thanks. His bear chafed beneath his skin, wanting to roar its grief into the wilderness rather than maintain this veneer of controlled dignity. But the crown—though not yet physically placed on his head—already weighed on him, demanding his composure.

His mother occasionally squeezed his hand, her touch anchoring him to the present when his mind threatened to drift too far. Her eyes remained dry now, her grief transformed into something quiet and dignified that somehow felt even more devastating than her earlier wailing.

“Your Highness.” The royal chamberlain leaned close. “The Duke and Duchess Nuele have arrived.”

Charov nodded, straightening imperceptibly. The Nueles had been his parents’ closest advisors and friends. If anyone understood the burden he now faced, it would be them.

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