9. Breya

NINE

brEYA

B reya bit her lip as the king left the kitchen, recalling with great detail the way her fingernails had dragged down his back the night before. She'd never been so sexually satisfied in her entire life – outside of pleasing herself, of course. Even then, it wasn't as spellbinding as the skin-to-skin connection that came with giving control to someone beyond capable.

And damn, the king was more than beyond capable.

The witch felt flushed, her fingertips tracing along the valley between her breasts. She finished off her coffee and left the kitchen, her heart racing with a new brand of exhilaration.

The castle was gigantic. It was a castle, after all. Thorne had been pretty clear about allowing her the freedom to explore. But the truth was, it felt overwhelming. She knew about the palaces in the Wildwoods, and she imagined them in the way a child would envision fairy-tale folklore.

It was lavish and fantastical, more than sufficient to fill her time while the king saw to his duties. She became engulfed by the scope of the castle, and decided to return to her own quarters.

She had to ask a guard for help finding them, having been disoriented by her roaming. She was surprised to realize that her own quarters were near the king's, recognizing the corridor the guard directed her down from earlier that morning.

Light streamed in through the windows, trickling over the floor like tiny converging crystals. Breya could see the desert-desolate landscape, heat shimmering like clothes on a laundry line. Eventually, she stopped wandering and moved toward her room, the hallways beginning to feel like a complex maze.

She wished she could talk to her sister about what had transpired. Anya was always so savvy about navigating difficult situations.

But she wanted to see it all through without escaping into her sister's protective arms. Though it was convoluted, with the lust and infatuation likely clouding her judgment, she needed to figure it out on her own.

For the sake of her confidence. It was the damn king pining after her, not some schlub from the village.

She stepped into her room, surprised by a woman sitting on her bed. "Hello?" she called out tentatively, wondering if she had mistakenly opened the wrong door.

"Good morning, Breya." Breya relaxed when the woman turned and she realized it was Sarielle. "Can I help you find something comfortable to wear? Help you find something to pass the day?"

The desire to have someone to converse with bubbled up and took over Breya once she had dressed in a one-piece, mint green jogging suit. She slid her jaw back and forth as Sarielle preened her hair, tying it back with a silk handkerchief.

It made her miss her sister's advice even more acutely.

"Sarielle, what do you know about fated mates?"

With a brush in hand, Sarielle paused, but only for a fraction of a moment. She then returned to combing some unruly dead ends escaping the silk band. She was focused and polite as she spoke, but Breya began to worry that she had already asked too much.

"Fated mates. That is something every shifter longs for, but not something every shifter gets. It's as rare as a shooting star, but it certainly happens."

Breya watched her in the vanity mirror, scanning for any disingenuous reveals. But Sarielle betrayed nothing. Breya wondered if it had anything to do with her shifter nature.

"Do you have a mate?"

Sarielle shook her head matter-of-factly, still zeroed in on smoothing out the stubborn knots.

"I did. But he passed away. A long time ago. Ancient history."

"Can a lion's fated mate be a non-lion shifter? Like of a different kind?"

Sarielle still didn't falter. She took a step back from the mirror, admiring her work. "It's been known to happen. Just not very often."

Sarielle looked away from the reflection and walked in front of Breya to meet her gaze. "The king told me to show you around the grounds. I hope you are in the mood for a lot of walking."

Breya was intrigued, but still feared spilling the beans on her matehood with the king. She didn't know if she was required to keep it a secret, but she thought it would be more prudent to stay hush. She didn't want to start off on the wrong foot with any of the palace attendants – and more so, the king.

If you decide to stay, that is, her inner voice piped up.

Breya followed Sarielle through the private royal wing, which consisted of a library, an indoor swimming pool, multiple meeting rooms, a full gym, a kitchen and pantry, and supposedly the king's own study. They skipped that part, though, and ventured downstairs to the guest wing where there was yet another pool, more meeting rooms, and a public kitchen and dining room.

They barely made it down the spiral staircase before Sarielle's attention was taken by a rush of housekeepers and servants.

The ambiance beforehand had been leisurely, then abruptly changed to being hurried and unsettled. The guards who Breya had spoken to for directions suddenly started bowing as did what looked like a chef and a variety of lion shifters who were obviously part of the royal staff.

"What's going on?" Breya inquired.

Sarielle wasn't a stupid woman. They stood at the top of the stairs as multiple people passed by, panicked eyes taking a second to bow their heads at Breya as they dashed on.

"I really do not know," Sarielle muttered. "I'm sure though that it has something to do with you."

Breya was back to being bewildered. She felt awkward standing there, not knowing how to respond to multiple shifters who kept bowing or acknowledged her with intimidated fright. She had an idea, of course, but it all was happening so quickly.

Her heart battered around like a bee stuck in a hive.

"Your Majesty."

A man who looked to be in his late sixties beckoned toward the witch. When he drew in closer, she realized it was the same man who had come into the kitchen earlier that day. He was smiling in the same way she had found Sarielle smiling on the bed in the queen's quarters.

A smile that was cautious but practiced.

She stood there, speechless, her mouth hanging open.

"You must come with me at once. We have to get you fitted for a gown for tonight's ball. Come."