Page 59 of Asking Fur Trouble

His mate. His queen.

Charov’s decision solidified with crystal clarity. He would keep his throne. He would make Nova Aurora better. And he would do it with his true mate by his side – assuming she’d still have him after he rescued her and apologized for his stubborn pride.

First, though, he needed to get to Bess. Charov crept closer, the bear’s massive form impossibly silent for its size, blue eyes fixed on the estate. The mate bond pulled him forward like a physical tether.

I’m coming for you, mate. And Goddess help anyone who stands in my way.

The scent of Oberon—pine mixed with that distinct leather-and-gunmetal smell—reached his sensitive nostrils before he spotted him. His bodyguard crouched on the opposite side of the Nuele estate, concealed among the dense foliage, watching the mansion with predatory focus.

Charov approached, deliberately snapping a twig to alert Oberon to his presence. The bodyguard’s head whipped around, his hand instinctively moving to his weapon before recognition flashed in his eyes.

“Your Majesty,” Oberon whispered, relief evident in his voice.

Charov moved behind a broad tree trunk and shifted back to his human form. The transformation was quicker this time, fueled by urgency rather than rage. His skin felt raw, his muscles ached, but none of that mattered. Only Bess mattered.

Oberon pulled out clothing from a bag around his shoulder—a tailored charcoal suit that would pass royal inspection.

“The situation?” Charov demanded, dressing swiftly.

“They closed all the curtains ten minutes ago.” Oberon’s voice was tight. “Movement inside suggests multiple people, but I haven’t spotted Bess through any windows.” He hesitated. “Something’s wrong, Charov. My instincts are screaming.”

“Mine too.” Charov buttoned his jacket, every movement precise despite the tempest brewing inside him. “We need to get in there without revealing what we know.”

“A frontal approach might be best,” Oberon suggested. “They won’t expect it.”

Charov straightened his tie, his jaw a sharp line of determination. “I’ll handle this. Stay out of sight but close.”

FORTY-ONE

The walk to the front door seemed endless. Charov kept his pace measured, fighting every instinct that screamed at him to tear through doors and walls to find his mate. That wouldn’t help Bess, it would only put her in more danger.

He knocked on the ornate door, three precise raps. His heightened senses caught shuffling movements inside and hushed whispers. He forced his face into a mask of casual pleasantry, though his eyes remained winter cold.

The heavy door swung open, and Nya Nuele stood there, her smile too wide, her eyes too bright. “King Charov! What a delightful surprise.”

“Duchess Nuele.” Charov inclined his head with practiced regality. “I was in the area and thought I might check if Bess was still visiting you.”

A flicker of something—panic, calculation?—crossed her face before her smile reasserted itself. “Oh, I’m afraid you’ve just missed her, Your Majesty.”

Kynon appeared behind his wife, his hand possessively on her shoulder. “Indeed. She came to wish us well regarding the petition. Said she’d be returning to Earth, actually.” His smile didn’t reach his blue eyes. “Something about not being cut out for royal life.”

Charov’s bear roared silently, recognizing the blatant lie. His mate would never leave without speaking to him directly. She had promised him, and she kept her promises.

“How strange,” Charov remarked, his voice dangerously pleasant. “Bess and I had quite a different conversation just this morning.”

Kynon’s fingers tightened on Nya’s shoulder. “Women can be so fickle, Your Majesty.”

The dismissive comment made Charov’s blood boil, but he merely smiled, showing just enough teeth to remind them that he was, at heart, a predator.

“Actually,” Charov said, adjusting his cufflinks with deliberate nonchalance, “I’ve been wanting to discuss this petition business with you. Might I come in for some refreshments? Royal matters are best discussed over a good drink, don’t you think?”

The Nueles exchanged a look of barely concealed panic.

“This... isn’t the best time,” Nya began.

“We’re in the middle of—” Kynon started simultaneously.

“I insist.” Charov’s voice dropped an octave, his authority filling the space between them. “After all, if you’re going to be king, Kynon, you should start getting used to unexpected royal visits.”

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