Page 35 of Asking Fur Trouble

“Duke Kynon has been everywhere this week,” one murmured. “Visited three villages personally to distribute food after that storm.”

“The people love him for it,” the other replied. “They’re saying he’s filling the void left by King Sawyr. No one’s seen much of King Charov except at the funeral.”

“Well, Duke Kynon has always been ambitious.”

Bess’s stomach tightened as she pretended not to listen. Why would Kynon make such a show of coming to see Charov, only to leave without actually speaking to him? And why announce his departure so publicly?

She glanced at Charov, who was now growling instructions to his military commander, his powerful presence commanding the room. His blue eyes flashed momentarily toward her, softening for just a heartbeat before returning to his work.

Something about Duke Kynon’s visit felt calculated, like he was setting a stage rather than making a genuine attempt at communication. Bess filed the information away—Charov had enough burdens without her adding baseless suspicions to his plate.

TWENTY-THREE

Charov leaned back in his chair and stretched his neck. The royal study still felt too big for him despite the two weeks he’d spent trying to fill his father’s considerable shoes. The antique oak desk before him groaned with paperwork, though significantly less than there had been this morning. He glanced at the mahogany clock on the wall, its ornate hands showing he had just enough time to clean up before dinner.

He rolled his shoulders and glanced at the empty chair beside his desk—Bess’s chair—where she’d sat for hours helping him wade through the endless documents requiring his royal attention.

His bear rumbled contentedly at the thought of her. She had transformed from the shy, reserved woman he’d first met into something remarkable. She stepped in exactly when he needed her and organized his chaos, privately and publicly, with quiet efficiency.

The study door burst open, shattering his moment of calm. Torborn, his normally composed royal assistant, stood in the doorway breathing heavily.

“Your Majesty, there’s?—”

“Don’t call me that when we’re alone.” Charov winced. “Makes me think my father’s standing behind me.”

“Apologies, but there’s a situation. The Nuele estate. Their annual ball—it started two hours ago.”

Charov’s brow furrowed. “What ball?”

“The one honoring the warriors who served under your father. The one you’re meant to be attending. Right now.”

Charov shot to his feet. “That’s impossible. There’s nothing on my schedule.”

“Duke Kynon’s messenger seemed quite... distressed when I informed him you weren’t preparing to attend. He claims a formal invitation was delivered last week.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Charov rifled through the papers on his desk, finding nothing. “Where’s Bess?”

Councilor Varden appeared in the doorway behind Torborn, his thin face pinched with disapproval. “This is precisely what happens when you rely on an outsider to manage royal affairs. The human clearly missed the invitation.”

A growl rumbled in Charov’s chest, his bear rising close to the surface. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Choose your next words with extreme care, Councilor.”

“Your Majesty, I simply mean?—”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Charov’s voice cut like ice. “Bess has done more in one week to organize this kingdom than you’ve done in a decade of advising my father. She’s the reason I’m not drowning right now.”

“But the invitation?—”

“Could have been misplaced by anyone during the chaos of my father’s death.” Charov’s fist came down on the desk. “I won’t hear another word against her. Am I understood?”

The movement in the doorway caught his attention. Bess stood there, her eyes wide, a stack of fresh papers clutched to her chest. Her lips were parted in surprise, and Charov wondered how much she had heard.

Their eyes locked across the room, and Charov felt something tighten in his chest—something that had nothing to do with missing balls or royal duties and everything to do with the woman who’d stepped into his life like she belonged there.

He watched as her face suddenly fell, her eyes instantly shimmering with unshed tears. His bear wanted to roar at the sight.

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice trembled as her fingers tightened on the stack of papers. “I must have misplaced the invitation. This is entirely my fault.”

Before Charov could speak, she continued, the words tumbling out in a familiar pattern of self-blame that made his jaw clench.

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