Chapter Thirty-Six

The castle was unusually quiet the following day with few servants hurrying around, a change from the usual hustle and bustle of staff. Wyatt was also nowhere to be found all day, though he did send me a written note this morning informing me that a shifter liaison was on its way to bring our potential treaty to the witches and invite them to Kinrith for negotiations, which means he got the high court on board very quickly. I didn’t mind the quiet, workless day; I spent the entirety of it with Leisel, trying to make up for all the time we’ve spent apart recently.

In the morning, a tutor came not only for Leisel but for me as well—Camden stuck to his promise of getting me a proper education. While my inclination to literature has allowed me to teach myself a great deal, I’m not omniscient. During Leisel’s morning lessons with her tutor, mine gave me a series of tests to better understand what areas I need improvement in. I was rather proud when he informed me that the only lessons he saw need to offer were shifter and mythic history, geography, separate worlds, and the general laws of nature all mythics abide by. In terms of most other educational skill sets, he informed me I was better than most. I suppose I have my parents to thank for that, as they drilled me rather pitilessly with studies when I was growing up and taught me the value of knowledge.

After a morning of studies, I took Leisel to the stables so we could ride our horses for the first time in too long, which both of us delighted in. Pack warriors followed us from a distance, of course, but this time I didn’t mind so much—I reveled in galloping across fields and spending time with my favorite small person.

It’s late in the evening, after I’ve read her to sleep—much to Greta’s protest, as “royals shouldn’t concern themselves with such trivial matters”—that I finally arrive in front of Camden’s chambers.

I don’t have to knock this time; the door swings open as soon as I step in front of it, revealing a disgruntled-looking Camden. I feel my eyebrows furrow as I look him over—he has dark circles under his eyes, and his face has a sunken, almost gaunt expression that makes me uneasy. Every time I’ve come to Camden’s chambers, it appears to elate him; this time, however, he looks haunted.

Without beckoning me to come in, he retreats back into the room, leaving the door open. I take the silent invitation, growing steadily more and more anxious as I close the door behind me and examine him where he stands in the corner of the room, appearing lost in thought.

Camden is not his usual self tonight at all. His expression is drawn, his posture is hunched, and he looks…miserable. This has an interesting effect on me; every morsel of my being pushes me to go to Camden, hug him, and offer him comfort from whatever makes him look so miserable. Fucking bond. As I’m not a slave to my instincts, I manage to stay in place in the entryway, but only just.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.

Cam blinks before turning his gaze to me, looking a little surprised, as if he forgot I was here. Considering the fact that every time we’ve shared a room before now his complete attention was on me, I understand that whatever’s going on must be very bad.

Camden swallows, the gesture looking like it pains him, before telling me, “My father died late last night.” The words come out gravelly and so full of pain, I can’t hold myself back from offering comfort.

I might not be a fan of shifters, but I do have a nurturing streak that came out when I essentially became Leisel’s mother; it’s hard for me to ignore people’s pain, even if they might deserve it. Before now, I was angry enough at Camden to forgo any kindness, but with how our relationship has developed recently, I can’t stop myself from crossing the room and snaking my arms around his shoulders, offering physical comfort I can sense he is in desperate need of. Camden’s arms come around my waist, clutching me tightly, his hands trembling from the force of his grief.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur in his ear.

He pulls away and says gruffly, “I don’t want your pity.”

“Good, because I have none when it comes to shifters. What I do have is empathy and compassion for this specific situation. You may have forgotten this, but my father died when I was thirteen. He was my closest friend, he taught me everything I know, and I never recovered from the loss. I don’t know what your relationship with yours was like, but I do know that no loss is easy.”

That deflates Camden’s ire. He takes my hand and leads me to the sofa, dropping down on the soft cushion before pulling me onto his lap. For once, I don’t fight, because I can sense how deeply he needs contact from me right now, and I just don’t have the heart to deny him.

When my dad died, my mom and I held each other through our grief—the contact helped me know I wasn’t alone. Until she died, too, and I was entirely alone. Nobody to hold me, nobody to reassure me…I know from experience that is a very, very dark place to be, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

I let Camden position me on his lap facing him with my legs on either side of his waist. I drape my arms around his shoulders and let him hold me, feeling the depth of his pain tug on my heart. I would’ve killed to be held like this after Mom passed, so I really can’t fault him from taking comfort or clinging to me.

He buries his head in my neck, holding me so close that our chests are pressed together. I don’t squirm or try to move, I simply let him take what he needs. After a few minutes, I reach my hands up to run them through his hair, my gestures soft and intended to be soothing.

“Why are you being so kind?” Camden asks against my skin. “You hated my father, and with good reason. He let humans die out, wouldn’t even reprimand rogue packs that targeted them.”

I sigh. “I won’t pretend to like your father, just like I won’t pretend to be grateful we never ended up in a room together, but you cared about him, I can see that, and I can’t ignore your pain. Nobody deserves to grieve alone, not even you.”

His head still buried in my neck, Camden says, “I don’t—didn’t—like my father, per se, but I did respect him. He was not the fatherly type, but he was a very strong shifter and an even stronger ruler. He created the pyramid structure of packs that protects those on the lowest ranks—something nobody else had cared to do before. He was smart, a quick thinker, and very strategically inclined. I learned a great deal from him.”

I stay quiet, sensing that Camden just needs to be heard right now. Sometimes, that’s the best thing when stuck in grief, a listening ear. Not someone who offers unwanted advice, but someone who’s just willing to sit in your misery with you and offer company.

He goes on, “He was a shitty father, if I’m being honest. Wyatt and I were raised by our mother, and when she passed, the castle staff took over. I don’t know if he ever loved us.” He pauses. “But he did love my mother. She was his sun and moon. Her death nearly destroyed him—most shifters die if their mates do, but he held on. He knew shifters still needed him, so he did the impossible and survived. He’s the strongest, toughest man I’ve ever known. I don’t think shifters will see his like again anytime soon.”

“Sounds like he was an incredible ruler,” I say sincerely.

While I don’t think I would’ve liked Camden’s father as a person, if what he’s saying is true, he had the strength that few others do. A mate dying to any mythic being is usually a death sentence; just about all literature agrees on that. One would have to have a phenomenally strong soul to get through it. I also don’t love that the deceased King wasn’t anything resembling a father to his sons, but then again…monarchy tends to be hard on families. I’ve read countless recounts of how human monarchies tore families apart; why would shifters be any different?

Camden pulls back to stare into my eyes. The intensity of his gaze feels like a physical force weighing me down. He says, “I don’t deserve you, Sierra, but I’m fucking keeping you.”

I smile, a little sadly. “You don’t deserve me, but fate has her tricks. Lucky you, I guess.”

He nods slowly. “Yes. I am lucky. I hope you know there’s no reality that exists in which I’ll ever let you go, especially not now.”

“Careful, Cam, that sounds like a threat.”

“A promise,” he corrects.

No use in arguing the point now. “What do you need?” I ask.

“You,” he responds. “I’m still collecting on my condition tonight. You will be sharing my bed.”

I wasn’t going to argue before, since I’d already given my word, and I certainly won’t argue now. Camden stands, keeping me in his arms. My legs wrap tightly around his waist and my hands clutch his shoulders to steady myself. His hands move to blatantly cup my ass as he carries me out of the main room, into the hallway past it, and to the very last door which is already ajar.

I only have a moment to glimpse his room before he drops me on his bed. It’s rustic, decorated with dark wooden tones. The right wall of the room is made up entirely of windows, giving off a picturesque view of the land beyond the castle. It’s a bit cloudy tonight, so the sky is moonless, and the only light outside comes from the occasional orb of floating light, illuminating the gardens and polished lawns. On the left wall of the room lies a collection of book cases, all of them filled, and on the back wall there’s a fireplace with a chaise lounge in front of it. Camden’s bed is humongous, carved from wood with masterful designs that appear to depict a garden of vines. The mattress is soft, with plenty of give, and I bounce a few times after Cam drops me before stilling.

Camden wastes no time coming down on top of me, straddling my waist and pressing delicious, wet kisses to my neck. Even while the heat of his mouth tries to lull me into a trance, I manage to say, “Wait, Cam, is now really the best time to—”

He cuts me off with a searing kiss on my lips, infusing so much passion and desire into it my body goes limp and pliable beneath him.

When he pulls back, it’s to say, “Yes, now is the best time. I need you, Sierra. Don’t deny me.”

It feels faintly like he’s using my compassion against me, which he might be, but…his grief is very real. That much I’m sure of. If what he really needs is to blow off some steam right now, I guess I’m not entirely opposed to the idea. Still, trapped beneath him is not a good negotiating point, so I hook a leg over his waist and use a sparring move I learned when I was a kid to flip us over, ending with me on top, straddling his waist.

Camden looks surprised at this turn of events, blinking up at me. His eyes are no longer filled with grief—now, they’re brimming with lust and intrigue. I have to admit, I breathe a little easier seeing some of his sorrow alleviated, even if it is in favor of lust.

I’m about to tell him that we can fool around, but I’m not ready for sex yet, when my gaze is inexplicably pulled to the window, in time to see the clouds part just enough for the moon to become visible. Its beams spill onto the grounds below, bathing the gardens with an ethereal light. I blink to see that those moonbeams are red instead of silver. Im staring at a total lunar eclipse—a blood moon. As soon as those red-tinged moon beams pass through the glass of the window and hit my skin, something very strange happens; my body lights up with lust.