Page 46 of Asking Fur Trouble

Charov pulled her closer to his side. “She certainly is. And she’s probably hungry, so if you’ll excuse us?—”

Once inside the restaurant, Bess slid into the booth, grateful for the momentary reprieve, while her mind raced with a single thought: Was this her future? Always on display and always being judged?

“You’re quiet.” Charov reached across the table, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “The food here will make it worth the fuss, I promise.”

Bess nodded as she gazed nervously around the restaurant. Every face seemed fixated on her, judging her curvy form in the Nova Auroran clothing that still felt foreign against her skin.

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Charov, would it be terrible if we went back to the castle for lunch instead? This is... a lot.”

His easy smile faltered, and his eyes clouded over. A muscle in his jaw twitched—the first sign of displeasure she had seen from him today. “Is there a problem with the restaurant?”

“No, the restaurant seems lovely.” Bess fidgeted with the strange metallic utensil beside her plate. “It’s just—everyone’s staring and whispering. On Earth, I was nobody. But here it feels like I’m under a microscope.”

Charov gently squeezed her hand. “What’s bothering you, truly?”

“The attention,” she admitted. “I’m not used to being the center of it.”

His shoulders tensed, and his voice dropped to a timber that sent shivers through her. “This is part of being with me, Bess. This public life—it’s what I have to do as king.” His thumb traced her palm, contradicting the firmness in his voice. “I need my future queen to be willing to play her part in it.”

Future queen. The words hung between them, unacknowledged yet impossible to ignore.

THIRTY-TWO

“Is this what it will always be like?” Bess asked, gesturing subtly at the crowd. “Always on display? Always being judged?”

Charov’s gaze sharpened, something primal flashing in those blue depths. “Yes. But they’ll love you once they know you.” His voice softened. “As I do.”

Heat crept up her neck at his words. For him, she could try.

“Okay,” she conceded. “We’ll stay.”

His smile was devastating—all white teeth and triumph. “Thank you, Bess.”

The food arrived in an elaborate display of colors and textures Bess couldn’t begin to identify, but her appetite had vanished. Throughout the meal, a parade of townspeople approached their table. Charov greeted each by name, asking after relatives, and discussing local concerns. His charisma was mesmerizing and his authority absolute.

And Bess sat forgotten, a prop in this performance of royalty.

“Your Majesty, about the north field irrigation?—”

“King Charov, my daughter would like to ask?—”

They barely acknowledged her presence, directing all questions and comments to Charov. He answered each with confidence and charm, occasionally touching her arm or shoulder as if to include her, but never actually bringing her into the conversations.

Bess sipped her sweet, unfamiliar drink and observed. The dynamic wasn’t so different from her old job, where her needs were secondary to everyone else’s. Only the setting had changed—the castle for her office and a king for her boss.

Yet when Charov’s hand found her thigh under the small table, squeezing gently in silent thanks for her patience, she realized the fundamental difference: her old boss had never looked at her with such heat, such possession, or such pride.

Maybe being on display wasn’t so bad if it meant being the woman who held the king’s attention when no one was watching.

Another thirty minutes had passed, and Bess continued to watch Charov command the room, his deep voice resonating with authority as he addressed yet another townsperson’s concerns.

The reality of the situation weighed down on her as the minutes kept passing by. This wasn’t just lunch. This was her potential future—a lifetime of public scrutiny and standing in Charov’s massive shadow while being expected to somehow shine beside him.

Could she really do this? Be a queen to these people who viewed her as an exotic Earth curiosity at best?

I could go back, Bess thought, imagining her tiny apartment on Earth. The predictable life of an insurance clerk. Another boss who took her for granted. The canceled dates and lonely dinners.

The very idea of returning made her chest constrict painfully. She glanced at Charov’s profile—the strong jaw, the intense concentration in those sapphire eyes as he listened to his subjects—and the truth hit her with sudden clarity.

---