Page 44 of Asking Fur Trouble

Queen Zyre sighed, her shoulders dropping just enough to reveal the burden she carried. “Some moments I forget, just for a heartbeat. I turn, expecting to see him there with that insufferable smirk he always wore when he proved me wrong.” Her fingers traced the arm of her chair. “Then I remember.”

Charov reached across to take her hand. His bear urged him to comfort and to protect. “I miss him too.”

“But this—” she nodded toward the ring box, “—this gives me joy, Charov. Your father would be ecstatic.”

“I’m not rushing this because of Father’s wishes,” Charov said firmly, his jaw setting in that stubborn way inherited directly from the man they were discussing. “Bess is my true mate. Every fiber of my being knows it.”

“She’s quite remarkable,” Zyre agreed, “but, darling, it’s been barely three weeks since she arrived. For humans, that’s?—”

“Fast,” Charov finished, his blue eyes intense. “But what would more time prove? My bear recognized her instantly. I’ve never felt more certain of anything.”

His mother’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “And that day at the royal viewing? When you couldn’t tear your eyes away from her? When you growled at Councilor Dern for standing too close to her?”

Charov’s cheeks heated. “He should know better than to encroach on another male’s mate.”

“She doesn’t wear your mark yet,” his mother reminded him gently. “Just remember, humans operate differently than we do. They don’t have the instinctual certainty our bears provide.”

Charov’s fingers tightened around the box. “So you think she’ll refuse my proposal?” The very thought made his bear rise in protest, claws scraping at his insides.

“I think,” Zyre said carefully, “that humans need time for their hearts to catch up to what our bears know instantly. It doesn’t mean the love isn’t there or won’t come—just that their path to certainty follows different terrain.”

She leaned forward, her expression serious. “I want you to know that the years I spent with your father were worth every moment of this pain, Charov. Every single second. I would endure this agony a thousand times over for just one more day with him.” Her eyes glistened. “But we must respect that Bess might need time to reach that same understanding about you.”

Charov’s bear grumbled, impatient and possessive. “Last night,” he said, his voice lowering to a husky timbre as memories of Bess’s soft curves pressed against him flashed through his mind, “she told me she doesn’t want to return to Earth. Said she can’t imagine her life without me in it now.”

Hope bloomed in his chest, fierce and demanding. “That has to mean something.”

“It means everything,” his mother agreed. “It means she’s on the path. But the question is whether she’s reached the destination yet.”

Charov pocketed the ring box with a decisive motion. His bear rumbled with delight at the way it felt against his thigh. He stood tall, shoulders squared in the sunbeam that sliced through the windows of his mother’s country home.

“I’ll make the proposal unforgettable,” he promised, an edge of determination hardening his voice. “Something so spectacular, she won’t even consider saying no.”

His bear prowled, already planning the claim, imagining Bess wearing his mark and his ring. The thought alone sent heat coursing through his veins.

Queen Zyre’s eyes twinkled with knowing amusement. “The gardens at sunset here would be lovely. Your father proposed to me there.”

“The gardens are too predictable.” Charov shook his head. “Bess deserves something as extraordinary as she is.”

His mother’s smile softened. “Before you go,” she said, her tone shifting to something more serious, “I heard about what happened at the Nuele ball.”

Charov’s jaw tightened. “A simple scheduling oversight.”

“That was fortunate you arrived when you did, even if late.” Queen Zyre’s fingers traced the arm of her chair absently. “The Nueles have been making quite an impression lately. Kynon has been hosting gatherings and making appearances in villages throughout the territory.”

“Let him.” Charov shrugged dismissively. His bear rumbled with indifference. “Planning banquets isn’t exactly how I intend to rule.”

The queen’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t be naive, my son. Our family has ruled for generations, but that doesn’t make it a guarantee.”

Charov’s bear bristled at the implication. “The people love us. They’ve thrived under Father’s rule, and they’ll thrive under mine.”

“The people ultimately decide who they want to govern them,” she countered firmly. “If they feel neglected or believe another could better serve them, they can petition for new leadership. It’s in our oldest laws.”

“That hasn’t happened in centuries.” His voice betrayed his irritation.

“Because your ancestors understood that crowns must be earned daily.” Her tone brooked no argument. “Your father spent half his weeks among the people—trading stories, solving disputes, and celebrating births. They loved him because he loved them first.”

Charov’s bear retreated slightly, chastened. He hadn’t considered that aspect of his father’s reign, too focused on the formal duties and paperwork. The realization made his chest tighten.

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