Page 33 of Asking Fur Trouble

Bess felt a flutter in her stomach at hearing Charov being called “King.” Though they’d shared his bed that second night after King Sawyr’s death, Charov had been sleeping in his royal study since, often working through the night.

“It feels strange,” Bess admitted, sinking into the velvet armchair and pouring the tea. “Being here without really knowing my place.”

Emesyn’s eyes widened. “But my lady, you’re to be our new queen.”

Bess stirred her tea, watching the swirling liquid. “I’m not entirely sure of that. We’ve barely spoken since... well, everything happened so quickly.”

“If I may be so bold,” Emesyn said, perching on the edge of her seat, “Gerri Wilder has a 100 percent success rate. Everyone knows this.”

“So I’ve heard,” Bess said. “But what does that actually mean?”

Emesyn’s face lit up. “Oh! Well, take King Alyx and Queen Bella—they rule all of Nova Aurora, you know. Gerri matched them ten years ago. Queen Bella was from Earth too! They’re deliriously happy.”

“Really?” Bess leaned forward.

“Absolutely! And there’s Chancellor Vorn and his mate Lexi—she found them as well. And my own sister’s best friend was matched with the Alpha of the Southern Territories.” Emesyn counted on her fingers. “Oh! And Prince Dravon of the Eastern Isles and his Earth mate Callie. They have twin cubs now.”

Bess’s mind whirled. “All happy?”

“Blissfully so.” Emesyn’s eyes softened. “When His Majesty looks at you... it’s the same way all those mates look at each other. When he thinks no one is watching.”

Heat climbed Bess’s neck. “He watches me like how?”

“Like you’re water in the desert.”

Bess nearly spilled her tea from embarrassment.

Emesyn giggled. “Oh, and when a shifter claims someone as their mate—especially an alpha like our king—it’s forever.”

Forever. The word echoed in Bess’s mind. One week ago, she was on Earth stuck in a terrible loop of self-induced misery, and now she was potentially weeks away from becoming queen of an alien shifter territory.

Yet somehow, that felt less terrifying than the thought of returning to Earth without Charov.

Bess woke up earlier than usual the next morning, restless energy pulsing through her veins. After dressing in a simple dress that complemented her eyes, she wandered the castle corridors with purpose. Three days had passed since she’d had any meaningful time with Charov. She understood his duties kept him busy, but the distance gnawed at her.

“Excuse me,” she stopped a passing staff member. “Where might I find King Charov this morning?”

“His Majesty is in the royal study, my lady. Has been since before dawn.”

TWENTY-TWO

Bess thanked him and made her way through the labyrinthine halls, her mind racing. He must be handling things well if he’s been able to manage on his own, she thought, ignoring the twinge of hurt that he hadn’t sought her company.

When she reached the ornate double doors of the study, two guards nodded and stepped aside. She pushed the heavy door open and froze at the threshold.

The spacious room was in complete disarray. Stacks of documents teetered precariously on every surface. Charov sat hunched at a massive desk, his broad shoulders tense, his dark hair disheveled as if he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly. Three different advisors stood around him, speaking over one another.

“The Northern provinces require immediate?—”

“—trade agreement expires at midnight?—”

“—funeral expenses have exceeded the?—”

Charov’s massive fist came down on the desk, silencing them. “Enough!” His voice held the deep growl of his bear. The advisors stepped back, exchanging nervous glances.

Bess’s heart clenched at the sight. This wasn’t a king in control—this was a man drowning.

“Your Majesty,” she said, stepping forward with confidence she didn’t know she possessed. “May I assist you?”

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