Page 15 of The Shifter's Queen

“If you ask me, I’ll answer you truthfully,” she encouraged.

He gave her a startled look before he grimaced and chuckled. “Normally I am the one reading other’s thoughts,” he grudgingly confessed.

She tilted her head, confused by his words before her lips twitched. “Then, I’m thankful that you can’t because it could be most embarrassing for me.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

She rose and gracefully closed the distance between them, her steps silent on the thick, woven carpet. Cupping his hands in hers, she felt the warmth of his skin against hers, and traced gentle circles with her thumbs on the backs of his hands. She inhaled deeply, feeling the tension leave her shoulders, and then answered truthfully, as she had promised.

“I know we have just met, but it feels as if I’ve known you all my life. Yesterday, in the garden, I didn’t see a king or a shifter, but a man who captured my heart and imagination with his wit, humor, and love for a garden that was as magical as he was. You gladly shared a meal with a humble, human girl who had stumbled into a place that obviously meant a great deal to you.” She looked up at him. Her voice wasn’t quite steady and she took a steadying breath before she continued. “Your kiss—.” A rosy blush rose to her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “I can still feel your lips upon mine. You make me believe in the stories that dance through my mind. But, more than that, you make me feel that you actually see me and could love me even though I’m but a simple?—”

His kiss, a sweet and unexpected interruption, silenced her words. A low moan escaped her lips as his warm hands slid around her waist, pulling her into his embrace. Her lips parted for him, soft and yielding the way a rosebud would open at the warmth of the sun, and his kiss deepened.

The kiss ended abruptly, leaving her with a sigh of regret and a longing for more. His eyes as he studied her face were intense and unwavering. They met hers as he gently held her face, making her feel as if he could see her deepest secrets. A troubled expression clouded his face, betraying the storm of emotions raging within him. Her touch was light, delicate, as she lifted her hand and covered his.

“What is it?”

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a brief moment of tranquility before reopening them and dropping his hands. The way he turned, his fingers flexing, sent a shiver down her spine, replacing curiosity with a knot of fear. Had she revealed her thoughts prematurely? Said too much?

“Is it because I’m a human and you are a shifter?” she murmured.

“Nay!” he denied, turning to face her. He grasped both of her hands and breathed out a deep sigh. “I have not been completely honest with you.”

“I… don’t understand,” she said.

Gently taking her arm, he led her back to the chair. She sank down as he stood in front of her. A spark of hope flickered within her when he didn't let go of her hands. He struggled to find the right words, his mouth opening and closing several times before he finally shook his head and looked down at her with an intense, serious expression.

“You’ve often said that what you felt is magic or magical. What would you say if I told you that there is magic involved? That I have been blessed or cursed, depending on how you see it, with a power that defies all logic?” he asked.

His grip tightened as he spoke, his hold firm but still gentle, as if he were afraid that his confession would terrify her and she would run. His eyes, pleading with a desperation that tugged at her heartstrings, begged for her understanding. Although he projected an image of strength and confidence, this king was haunted by the fear of rejection, a secret vulnerability that lurked beneath his proud façade.

“I would say that you have been blessed. That such a magic could only be entrusted to someone who is worthy of it and I could think of no one else more worthy than you,” she said, rising to her feet again. She pulled her hand free and placed it over his heart. “If you could see into my mind, you would not see fear, Or’Ang. You would see wonder and joy at knowing who you are in here.”

The shadows of uncertainty that had been clouding his features vanished as his relieved smile, bright and warm, spread across his face. Gently lifting her hand, he pressed his lips to her palm, leaving a soft kiss. She listened intently as he held her hand. He recounted a mesmerizing story about the death of the kingdom’s beloved king and queen, a young prince unprepared for the responsibilities entrusted to him, the odd friendship that would form an alliance, and an elderly panda who gave him an enchanted tome long ago that would change not only his life, but those of others and the kingdom.

Vivid images of three young men, one a king, one a knight, and one a human filled her mind, their faces etched in her memory, their stories swirling around her like a whirlwind until she felt as if she were a part of their amazing adventure. As his voice faded, her heart swelled with love for the lonely king who held a protected power, the weight of his responsibility heavy upon his shoulders. She took a step forward and, with a whisper of a smile, pressed a tender kiss to his lips.

“You are my brave king.”

“And you are my enchanted fairy queen.”

The tender moment was interrupted by the heavy thud of boots against the stone floor outside the door, echoing through the great hall outside. They turned in unison when the double doors burst open and Polar appeared. Dust caked the tall, burly shifter's face and coated his clothes. His eyes, heavy with grim intensity, swept over them both, preparing Elizabeth for the news he held about her father.

“I can walk, you blasted dodo birds. I’m not feeble.”

Her father’s voice, sharp with mock irritation, made Elizabeth gasp in shock. Polar's expression shifted to amusement, and he stepped out of the way, allowing her father to come into view. A joyful cry escaped Elizabeth's lips as she surged forward and embraced her father.

“Careful, girl. I’m not as steady as I’ve been trying to convince these featherheads,” Harold chuckled.

Elizabeth gently cradled her father's face in her hands, looking for any sign of hurt. He was sporting a black eye and a cut on his lower lip. She chuckled at his grumpy face, relieved he was safe and sound.

“How? The guards—” she asked, her words tumbling over each other.

“Bumbling idiots, foxes. They aren’t the brightest shifters,” Harold said with a grin.

“Where did you find him?” Or’Ang asked Polar.

Polar shook his head. “Charging like the crazy human he is after Lord Beasley with those two stubborn mules and that rickety cart of his,” he said.

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