She Bathed in the Alpha King’s Chamber by Mistake—Now He Won’t Let Her Leave

Rosie has never learned to say no. Not to that last glass of wine during the servants’ celebration in the palace kitchens. Not to the furious housekeeper demanding someone deliver refreshments to a noble guest immediately. And definitely not when the other giggling maids dare her to confess, “I love you.” to the first lord she meets.

Because everyone knows boring Rosie would never. So when Rosie stumbles into a luxurious set of chambers and finds a bath already drawn, she thinks or rather, she stops thinking altogether. She climbs in. Enjoys herself immensely. And then a man finds her there. A mountain of muscle, powerful, a terrifying alpha.

He stares at the drunken maid lounging lazily in his bath and growls, “What are you doing?” Rosie blinks up at him, wine still buzzing in her veins. He looks furious. But he’s also the most handsome man she’s ever seen. So she smiles lazily, pats the water beside her, and tells him, “You should get in.” Chapter 1 Rosie realized, with the clarity that only comes when it’s far too late to be useful, that none of this would have happened if she’d just learned to say no.

It was a simple word, two letters, one syllable. Children managed it constantly. And yet Rosie could not seem to locate it in her vocabulary. If she could say no, she wouldn’t have accepted the second glass of wine, or the third. She definitely wouldn’t have accepted the fifth, that’s for sure. The problem was that saying no required disappointing people, and disappointing people made Rosie feel like she’d personally failed at life.

So when her friend Marta had thrown an arm around her shoulders and said, “Come on, Rosie. When’s the next time we’ll get to taste something this fine?” Well, what was Rosie supposed to do? Make Martha sad? Unthinkable. Also, the wine really was exceptionally good. Around her, the celebration continued in full swing. Anne was laughing so hard she’d slid partially off her stool.

It was summer and it was hot and somewhere above them in the great hall something important was happening. Visiting dignitaries, political alliances of some sort, which meant that down here in the wonderfully cool kitchens with the good wine they managed to steal and redistribute, the servants were holding their own celebration.

“To Princess Parisa,” Patrick announced suddenly, raising his cup. “Poor thing, marrying that terrifying bastard for the good of the kingdom.” “The visiting lord,” Martha stage whispered to Rosie. “Nobody’s seen him yet, but the rumors are dreadful.” “They say he had a man’s hand cut off for spilling wine,” Anne said.

“Well,” Rosie said charitably, “perhaps the princess loves him.” The kitchen erupted in laughter. So did Rosie for some reason. She was mid giggle. About what? She’d already forgotten when the door banged open. Miss Harrow, head housekeeper, stood in the doorway, face thunderous. “A visiting lord,” the housekeeper said in the voice of someone who had been containing her fury for the past hour and had just run out of container, “requested refreshments brought to his chambers an hour ago.

No one went.” Guilty silence. “Now, there will be consequences,” she continued, “if someone does not bring them immediately.” Every head in the kitchen swiveled as one toward Rosie. And Rosie, who was helpful and dependable, stood up. “West wing,” Miss Harrow said. “Third door on the left. Do not make this worse.

” “I won’t,” Rosie promised. She meant it very sincerely. “Rosie,” Martha called after her, giggling. “If the lord’s angry, just be yourself. You’re so cute, he’ll calm right down. Just tell him you love him, another voice called. The kitchen dissolved into laughter. Oh my gods, yes! Martha clutched at the table. Rosie, do it. I dare you.

Rosie would never, someone said still laughing. She doesn’t know how to be daring. Rosie stood in the doorway, tray in hand, and blinked at them. She’d never thought of herself as boring before. When was the last time she’d done something unexpected? The voices faded as she made her way through the corridors. West wing.

Third door on the left. She could do this. She was being daring. The chambers were empty. Also, enormous. And far too grand for a regular guest room. Rosie stood in the doorway and stared. It was so hot. The summer night had turned the palace into an oven, and she was flushed and dizzy, and there was a bath right there, already drawn, the water still and waiting.

Rosie looked at it. She had never in her life had a bath like that. They called you boring, a wine-warm voice in her head pointed out. No one thinks you’d ever dare anything. Well, Rosie said out loud, I will now. She unlaced her dress with fingers that fumbled only a little, stepped out of it. The air on her skin felt like permission.

The bath was right there. She was being daring. This was what brave people did. She got in. Oh. The water was perfect, cool enough to soothe. Rosie sank down and made a sound that was probably undignified, but she was alone, so it didn’t count. She closed her eyes. When she opened them next, a man stood in the doorway.

Well, more like filled the doorway, shoulders nearly brushing either side. He was the largest man Rosie had ever seen. An alpha, clearly. Enormous. Tall and broad and built like something architectural. Like someone had carved him out of a mountain. He could probably carry her with one arm. Rosie giggled at the thought, delighted.

This large man also happened to be the most beautiful man Rosie had ever seen in her entire life. And she couldn’t stop staring. Dark hair, slightly messy. Dark eyes, currently locked on her with an expression of complete and total shock. He looked very surprised. It was adorable. “Who are you?” he asked, voice deep and rough.

It wasn’t shouted. It was quiet and controlled and slightly strangled. Rosie giggled. “What?” he continued, almost a growl. “Are you doing in my bath?” He looked so tense, so very, very tense. Rosie could see it in the set of his shoulders. Very tense alpha, her wine-soaked brain supplied dreamily. He needed to relax.

Baths were very relaxing. Rosie, for one, was very relaxed. If this alpha were to get in the bath with her, he’d be relaxed, too. And naked. Which worked out perfectly in Rosie’s favor. “Well?” he demanded, and his voice had gone even lower. “I asked you a question.” Rosie opened her mouth, fully intending to say something helpful and appropriate.

What came out instead was “You should get in.” Chapter two. Luther had spent the better part of his adult life perfecting the art of being terrifying without actually doing anything. It was a skill more effective than violence in most situations, and considerably less messy. The threat of violence, held in perfect stillness, was often enough.

The man standing before him now was a testament to this principle. “The supply reports were inaccurate,” Lord Carrick was saying. “We’ve discovered discrepancies. Someone has been” “Stealing,” Luther supplied. His voice was flat. “Yes, Your Majesty.” “How much?” Luther asked. “Approximately 40% of the grain shipments intended for the northern garrisons.

But we have the man responsible.” Luther stood. The effect was immediate. Carrick took an involuntary step back. “50 lashes,” Luther said quietly. “Public. Tomorrow at dawn. Then exile.” The relief on Carrick’s face was palpable. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll see to it personally.” “See that you do. And Carrick, fix your inventory system.

If this happens again, we’ll be having a different conversation.” Lewis, his attendant, appeared at his elbow. “Your dinner with Princess Periza, it’s meant to begin in 20 minutes.” Luther’s hand paused fractionally over the parchment. “You should probably look less murderous.” “Sir,” the attendant added. Luther looked up slowly.

“I don’t look murderous.” “You always look murderous, sir. It’s your resting state.” Luther sighed. “This is a political arrangement, Louie. Nobody is under any illusions about romance.” The east dining room had been prepared with aggressive formality. Candles everywhere. Flowers. Luther stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, and waited almost an hour.

The princess did not arrive. “She sends her apologies,” Lewis said. “She’s unwell.” Luther’s face didn’t change. He caught his reflection in the darkened window glass. He looked like an alpha who’d won three wars before his 30th birthday. Who emptied rooms with his reputation. Of course she hadn’t come. He knew what he looked like, a weapon in human shape, not the kind of man a woman wanted to have dinner with.

Luther left without looking back. His chambers were dark when he opened the door, and there was a girl in his bath. She was small, pretty, clearly unarmed, and she was looking at him. Looking at him with such genuine delighted surprise that Luther actually froze. “Oh,” she breathed. She looked pleased to see him.

Nobody looked at him like that. Ever. Luther frowned and glanced over his shoulder. There was nobody there. He looked back at the girl in his bath. “What in all the hells? Who are you?” he snapped, his voice dropping into the flat, commanding register that usually made people immediately confess everything. “And what are you doing in my chambers?” The girl sighed.

“You have a very nice voice,” she said dreamily. Luther’s brain stuttered. He tried again, putting actual alpha command into it this time. “I asked you a question,” he said. The effect was immediate, just not remotely the effect he’d expected. The girl’s breath caught. Her pupils dilated.

A flush spread across her cheeks that had nothing to do with the bathwater. Her scent sweetened into something very interested. “You should get in,” she said, her voice breathy. Luther’s mind broke. And then, the girl hiccuped, and Luther, whose sense of smell was considerably sharper than any humans, finally caught the full weight of her scent.

Wine, sweet and potent and thoroughly soaked into her system. A drunk girl. There was a very drunk, very naked girl in his bath asking him to get in. Luther closed his eyes briefly and tried to find reason in this situation. When he opened them, she was still there, completely at ease, like sitting naked in a strange man’s bath was a perfectly normal evening activity.

She had to be. The thought arrived with sudden, clarifying certainty. She had to be Perissa, the princess. Obviously, who else would dare? The stood up dinner suddenly made sense. She’d been nervous. She drunk too much to settle her nerves. And then she’d come here anyway, to his rooms, because because they were engaged.

“Princess,” he said carefully. She laughed. “I’m a princess?” she asked, sounding enormously pleased. “Are you not?” Luther asked. The girl drew herself up with tipsy dignity. “Absolutely, my lord. Your princess.” She tried to stand. Immediately began tilting sideways. Luther moved before he thought about it. Pure protective instinct.

His hand shooting out to catch her arm before she cracked her head on the tub. He stead.i.ed her carefully, keeping his eyes resolutely on her face, though his peripheral vision was providing entirely too much information, and reached for his cloak. He wrapped it around her with efficient movements. “Smells nice,” she mumbled into the fabric, “like you.

” Something possessive and primal stirred in Luther’s chest. She was wrapping herself in his scent, claiming it, claiming him in the way of wolves, even if she didn’t know what she was doing. His wolf purred with deep satisfaction. She was swaying too much to walk, so Luther simply picked her up and carried her to bed while he figured out what to do.

Should he take her back to her room? Surely she’d be embarrassed at being seen in this state. The princess wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against his chest with complete trust. And Luther’s breath stopped. She was warm and soft and curved in all the places currently pressed against him. And he could feel every single one of those places with acute, aching clarity.

Luther’s control was not infinite, and she was snuggling into him, making soft, contented sounds against his throat. He could feel his body responding, could feel the want rising, the urge to lay her down on his bed and peel away what little fabric remained, and learn every inch of her with his mouth. He wouldn’t, but gods, he wanted to.

She tilted her head up to look at him. There was a small mole at the corner of her mouth. He stared at it, wanted to trace it with his tongue. “You’re so warm,” she said, wonder in her voice. His body was cataloging every point of contact, the weight of her in his lap, the softness of her thighs across his, the way her breasts pressed against his chest.

The scent of her, wine and sweetness and arousal, because she was aroused. He could smell it. And that knowledge was destroying what remained of his restraint. “Why didn’t you come to dinner?” he asked. The words left his mouth before he’d decided to say them. She blinked at him. “Dinner?” “You were supposed to meet me for dinner,” he reminded her.

“You didn’t come.” Her expression shifted, the drunken happiness fading into something softer. “Oh,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.” She reached up and touched his face, her palm against his jaw, gentle and certain. “You’re lonely,” she whispered. Luther’s entire body went still. It wasn’t a question, just stated. “You were waiting,” she continued, her thumb moving softly against his cheek.

“And no one came.” She shifted in his lap. He barely suppressed a groan and wrapped both arms around his neck. “I’m sorry you were lonely.” Luther’s arms came up without his permission. He could feel every breath she took and underneath it all something certain and absolute telling him what he already knew. She was his.

This sweet drunk girl who looked at him without fear and with something that looked dangerously close to adoration. He wanted her. Gods, he wanted to keep her forever. “I think I love you a little bit.” She mumbled her words slurring together. “Isn’t that silly?” Then her eyes closed and she was asleep wrapped around him and trusting.

Luther sat frozen with a sleeping princess in his arms and felt his entire world realign. Chapter 3 Rosie surfaced from sleep gradually the way you do after the best rest of your life. Everything was warm. Everything smelled extraordinary. Then she registered that the warmth beside her was not a pillow. There was an enormous man asleep approximately 6 in away.

Even asleep he was almost aggressively beautiful. The memories arrived all at once. The wine, the dare, the bath. “I think I love you a little bit.” She’d said. Oh gods. Rosie stopped breathing. She moved with glacial precision her heart hammering. Off the bed, floor cold under her bare feet. She pulled on her dress without bothering with the laces properly.

His cloak was pulled on the floor. She picked it up and folded it because it was his and he’d lent it to her. One last look at him. She couldn’t help it. And then she was at the door into the corridor. Rosie walked fast. She made it back to the servants quarters without seeing anyone who mattered. “Right.” She thought. “It’s fine.

Nobody saw.” The memory of his arms around her rose unbidden. Her face went even hotter. She’d told him she loved him. The kitchens were busy with morning prep. Nobody looked at her twice. “Did you hear?” Marta’s voice carried from across the prep table. “The Alpha King got stood up last night.” “The Alpha King, Luther?” Ann’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“The princess’s fiance? She stood him up?” “Apparently the whole West Wing was cleared for him.” Marta said. Rosie tuned it out. West Wing. She’d been in the East Wing. Took a bath there even. That was lucky. 20 minutes later, two stewards appeared near the door. “The King is looking for someone.” the first steward said.

“Quite desperately, they say.” “Who?” the second one asked. “The princess.” “Apparently.” The first steward’s voice dropped conspiratorially. “She apparently went to his chambers last night.” “Alone.” “And fell asleep there, in his bed.” Rosie fumbled the pitcher. Caught it. “The princess?” The second steward’s voice was shocked.

“That doesn’t sound like her at all.” “Someone said she was drunk.” the first steward said. “Princess Parisa? Drunk?” “Stumbling like a sailor, apparently.” “And get this.” “The King found her.” The first steward lowered his voice. “In his bath.” “Naked.” The room lurched and Rosie had to hold back a wave of nausea.

West Wing, Rosie thought distantly. They said West Wing. I was in the East Wing. Third door on the left. Mrs. Harrow said East Wing. Or or had she said West? “Oh, no.” Rosie said very quietly. She’d gone to the Alpha King’s chambers. She’d gotten into the Alpha King’s bath. She’d asked the Alpha King to get in with her.

And he thought she was the princess. And he was looking for her. Rosie made a small sound that might have been a wimper. Then she ran. She made it to a small courtyard off the east corridor tucked behind the laundry buildings, pressed her back against the sun-warmed stone and tried to catch her breath. “There you are.” a voice said.

Rosie spun around. The woman standing at the courtyard entrance was tall, elegant, and the kind of beautiful that had always known it was beautiful. Rosie had been told before that she and the princess looked alike. Looking at her now, she could see the echo, the hair, the eyes, the particular shape of the mouth.

Rosie had a mole at the corner of her mouth. The princess didn’t. “I know what you did.” Parisa said. Rosie’s mouth went dry. “Your highness, I “Last night.” the princess continued, her voice perfectly level. “You drank wine, quite a lot of it from what I understand.” “No, not a lot.” Rosie started. “And then.

” the princess continued, “You entered a lord’s chambers and you got into his bath.” The faintest hint of something that might have been disbelief crossed her face. “Except it wasn’t just a lord.” the princess said, taking a step closer. “It was the Alpha King, my intended.” Rosie made a small sound of distress. “Your highness.

” she attempted, falling to her knees. “It means.” the princess said, “that the Alpha King, the man I am supposed to marry, the man my father has spent six months negotiating an alliance with, believes that you, a servant girl, are a princess.” “Not just any princess, Princess Parisa, his fiance, me. And he is currently tearing this palace apart looking for said princess.

” “But I’m not.” Rosie started. “No.” the princess agreed, “You’re not. You’re a maid.” She made a pause. Rosie was shaking like a leaf. “You committed several crimes last night,” the princess said, counting them off on her elegant fingers. “Theft. That wine was from the royal cellars. Trespassing.

His chambers are restricted. Impersonation of a royal personage. He called you princess and you confirmed it. And potentially treason, depending on how my father chooses to interpret this.” Rosie had gone completely white. “I didn’t mean to impersonate anyone.” The princess raised one elegant hand. Rosie’s mouth closed. “Do you understand the political implications of this?” the princess asked.

“My father and King Luther’s council have been negotiating this marriage for months. It’s meant to secure our borders, open trade routes, prevent a war. And you” She stopped. “One drunk servant girl may have just destroyed all of it.” “I’m sorry,” Rosie whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t I never would have” “When the truth comes out,” the princess said, “there will be consequences.

” “What kind of consequences?” Rosie asked. “For you?” The princess’s voice went colder. “At minimum, you’ll never work in a noble house again.” Rosie’s breath caught. “More likely,” the princess continued, “my father will want to make an example of you. Six months in the work camps, possibly more. Impersonation of a royal is significantly worse. That’s prison.

” Rosie was shaking now. “And if my father is particularly angry,” the princess smirked, “What?” Rosie whispered. “He’ll declare this as treason,” the princess said simply. “They don’t send you to prison for treason.” The word hung in the warm morning air. Rosie understood. “Exile, if you’re lucky,” the princess continued, taking a step closer.

“Or most likely, hanging.” Rosie stifled a cry of pure anguish. “Please,” she heard herself say. “Please, have mercy. I didn’t mean I was just “I know,” the princess said, suddenly soothing. “I believe you. Unfortunately, what you meant doesn’t matter.” Rosie thought of prison, exile. She thought about the king’s face, how disappointed he’d be when he learned what she actually was.

“Well, I suppose,” the princess said, looking at her nails. “There might be another option.” Hope flared in Rosie’s chest, painful and bright. “Anything,” she heard herself say. The princess looked at her for a long moment, then smirked. “Good,” she said quietly. “So, here is what you’re going to do.” Chapter 4 Luther stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back, watching the courtyard darken as evening settled in.

He had not spent the entire day pacing his chambers like a caged wolf. He was a man who had commanded armies, who stared down enemy generals, and made decisions that affected thousands of lives. Now, he was nervous about one dinner. “Princess Perissa,” the attendant announced. Luther turned and stared at his tiny princess.

She was even prettier than he remembered. Small, delicate in a way that made every protective instinct he possessed sit up and pay attention. The fullness of her lips, the curve of her cheek, and there, at the corner of her mouth, the small, dark mole. “Princess,” he said quietly. She looked up, startled visibly.

A small jump, a sharp inhale, her eyes going wide, and then attempted a curtsy. It was the worst curtsy he had ever witnessed in his entire life. Wobbly, lopsided, clearly improvised. Luther found it completely charming. “Your highness,” she said breathlessly. Several attendants inhaled sharply. That was not the correct form of address.

She realized it, her face going scarlet. “Your majesty,” she corrected. “I’m so sorry. Oh gods, I’m so sorry.” “It’s quite all right, princess,” Luther said, consciously softening his voice. “You may address me by my first name, if you wish.” She stared at him, lips slightly parted, brown eyes enormous. “I,” she managed eventually.

“I shouldn’t, your majesty.” Luther stud.i.ed her. She was a nervous wreck. This was not Parisa from last night, the one who’d fallen asleep against him like he was the safest thing in the world. This girl looked like she was one loud noise away from bolting. But there was something else in her scent, something that smelled almost like fear.

Was she afraid of him? Of course she was. Everyone was afraid of him. “Are you all right, your majesty?” Parisa asked, looking up at him with concern. Luther blinked. “I’m sorry,” he asked. “You just” The princess frowned, then took a small step closer, her nervousness forgotten. “You looked upset. Sad, almost. Are you all right?” She could smell his dismay, he realized.

“I’m fine,” he said roughly. She looked at him for a long moment. Then, very carefully, she reached out and touched his arm, just her fingertips. Luther couldn’t breathe. She was just as kind as last night, just more shy. He would be careful with her, patient, gentle. “I’m glad you came,” he said, and offered her his arm.

Her fingers were small and warm against his sleeve. He could feel the slight tremor in them. He led her to the table and pulled out her chair. Slowly, he reminded himself. Patience. He took his own seat and tried not to notice how good she smelled, how the candlelight caught in her hair. She was looking at the table setting with an expression he couldn’t quite interpret.

Slightly lost, slightly overwhelmed, her eyes moving along the row of silverware like she was looking at something written in a foreign language. Is something wrong? He asked. No, she said immediately, sounding breathless. Luther decided to let it go. Would you like some wine? He asked, reaching for the bottle. Her eyes went very wide.

Your majesty, I’m so sorry, she said panicked. I didn’t mean to last night oh gods, last night I I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. She was spiraling. He could smell the panic rising. My lady, Luther said, but she wasn’t hearing him. Shouldn’t have been there at all. I should never have gotten in your bath. And then I fell asleep and you were so kind and I was so inappropriate and I He was around the table before he decided to move.

Caught her gently by the upper arms before she could hyperventilate herself into fainting. Please, he said quietly, bending slightly to meet her eyes. Please, do not be embarrassed. She looked up at him. This close, he could see the panic in her face. I was absolutely enchanted, he said. By our meeting, by you. You were He stopped, started again.

Truthfully, Perissa, I’ve been able to think of little else since. She blinked at him. Really? She asked, sounding almost hopeful. He couldn’t help it. His hand came up and cupped her cheek. How could I not be? He murmured. You were a vision last night. And this morning when I woke and you were gone, he stopped himself.

I have been counting the minutes until I could see you again. She leaned into his touch, just slightly. “Oh,” she breathed. “I I thought of you as well, Your Majesty.” She was very close. Close enough that he could see every detail of her face. The small mole at the corner of her mouth that he wanted to taste.

She was looking at him like he’d done something extraordinary. And underneath the nervousness, something else in her scent. Something warm and sweet and entirely unmistakable. Arousal. His mate was aroused. For him. Luther’s control, already strained, took significant damage. He did it before he could stop himself.

Brought his thumb down and grazed it very lightly across her lower lip. She made a sound. Soft, involuntary, breathy. A moan that went straight through him like lightning. Her lips parted under his thumb, and for one perfect moment, he felt the warmth of her breath against his skin. And imagined those lips around something else entirely.

Then her eyes flew open wide, mortified, and she clapped her own hand over her mouth. She jumped to her feet. “I should go.” Her face was scarlet. She smelled embarrassed and still maddeningly aroused. Luther straightened immediately, cursing himself. Too fast. Too forward. Even though her scent was telling him something very different from scared.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, trying to sound gentle. “No,” she said, looking around like she was searching for an escape route. “You do not wish to have dinner?” he asked carefully. “Oh,” she blinked. “Yes. No. I don’t What do you want? I mean, what?” She stopped, looked briefly, genuinely frustrated with herself.

“Perhaps just dessert,” he said quickly. “If you’re not hungry.” She paused. “Dessert?” she asked. And there was something in her voice that sounded almost like hope. “Yes,” Luther said, “dessert, if you’d like.” “I suppose,” she said carefully. “Maybe.” “Yes.” Relief flooded through him. She was staying. He gestured to the servants.

“Bring dessert, everything in the kitchens, now.” They brought an unreasonable amount of dessert. Cakes, pastries, small dishes of cream and glazed fruit, chocolate things, sugar things. He watched her eyes move across the selection. Watched something happen to her face. She reached for a small spoon with the confidence of someone on familiar ground for the first time all evening.

She tried the cake first, closed her eyes, made the same breathy pleased sound she’d made when he’d touched her lip. “Good?” he asked. His voice came out strained. “Mhm,” she said, which wasn’t a word, but communicated everything. He tried very hard not to imagine what other situations might produce those sounds, and failed completely.

The nervousness had dissolved. This was Parisa from last night, warm and real and unguarded. “This is wonderful,” she said softly. “You’re very kind.” “Kind.” She’d said it last night, too. She didn’t see the weapon, the threat. She just saw him, and she thought he was kind. He was going to marry this girl. He was going to court her properly, earn her trust, make her feel safe with him, and be patient, even though every instinct was screaming at him to claim her now.

She smiled at him over another spoonful of cake, and licked cream off her bottom lip, and Luther had to grip the arms of his chair to keep himself from moving. He cleared his throat. He was going to do this right. Even if it killed him. Chapter 5 Rosie was escorted back to the princess’s chambers in a state that could generously be described as dazed.

She was warm. Everything felt warm. She stepped inside and found the princess waiting, composed and sharp-eyed. The warmth evaporated immediately. “Well?” the princess asked. Rosie opened her mouth. “It went well,” she offered. The princess’s eyes narrowed. “Define well.” “He was very kind,” Rosie said, “and we had dessert and” “Has he ended the engagement?” the princess interrupted.

Rosie paused. “Hm, no.” “And has he shown any signs of disinterest?” the princess insisted. Rosie hesitated. “Not exactly.” “Not exactly?” the princess repeated, voice flat. “Let me be clear about your situation, Rosie. Your job, your only job, is to make him end this engagement.” “Yes,” Rosie said. “I know.” “My father will not accept a refusal from me,” the princess went on.

“It will be seen as disobed.i.ence, as endangering the alliance. The only acceptable outcome is for Luther to break it off himself. Do you understand?” “Yes, your highness,” Rosie nodded. “And yet the engagement is not only intact, but apparently strengthened.” The princess’s jaw was tight. “You need to actively discourage him.

Make him lose interest.” “I did address him by the wrong title,” Rosie offered weakly. The princess stared at her. “The goal,” she said with icy patience, “is for him to lose interest in a princess, not to accidentally reveal there isn’t one. If Luther figures out the deception, if he realizes you’re not me, he will have you executed on the spot.

Is that understood? “Yes,” Rosie said quickly. The princess went very still. “Are you attracted to him?” she asked, sounding appalled. “No,” Rosie said immediately. “Of course not. No. Why would I? No.” Her denial was entirely unconvincing. “Your scent,” the princess said flatly, “tells a very different story.

” “You smell like you’re about ready to fall into bed with him.” An image of her and Luther in his bed, of his hands on her bare skin, had Rosie make a small, strangled sound. The princess’s scowl deepened. “I’m sorry,” Rosie said quickly. “I’m sorry. I just “Let me explain something to you,” the princess interrupted.

“Luther is entertaining you because he believes you are the princess, a woman of status and education befitting a queen.” She took a step closer. “This man would not look twice at a maid. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Rosie nodded, her throat tight. “You are nobody playing at being somebody. And the moment the illusion breaks, you are nothing again.

” She paused. “You are a servant girl who got drunk and impersonated a princess. The only reason you aren’t already in a cell is because you are useful.” “Of course,” Rosie said. Her voice came out perfectly steady. The princess, almost as an afterthought, added, “I considered managing this situation myself, you understand? But I couldn’t risk my father hearing I hadn’t tried with the engagement.

If things go wrong, I need someone to blame.” She met Rosie’s eyes. “You, unfortunately, are ideal for this purpose. “Thank you for reminding me,” Rosie said suddenly, crushingly sad. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Rosie said quietly. “I’ll do my best.” The next day, Luther had arranged a in the gardens. Rosie was prepared by the princess’s maids who did her hair in an elaborate style.

Then they brought out the dress. It was beautiful, light green, the color of new leaves. “Arms up.” One of the maids said briskly. They got her into it with efficient movements. Then came the corset. It laced in the front and was unusually tight. “I can’t breathe.” Rosie started. “Well, you are considerably more gifted than her highness.

” One of the maids said delicately, looking at Rosie’s chest. Rosie went bright red. Her breasts were well, they were very present. “Isn’t this a bit much?” She managed. “It’s all we have.” Another maid said apologetically. “We don’t have time to have dresses made for you before today.” Rosie arrived at the gardens in a state of managed terror that she was attempting to wear as composure.

Luther was waiting for her. The sight of him in morning light did something thoroughly unhelpful to her heart rate. “Good morning, princess.” He said gently. She took his arm and they began to walk and she was excruciatingly aware of him beside her. The size of him, so much larger than her that it was almost absurd.

He could do whatever he wanted to her, she thought distantly. And she wouldn’t even protest. “Focus.” She scolded herself. “You need to discourage him.” But how? He was being so careful with her. The way he moderated his voice, the way he matched his pace to hers without comment. Her heart did something ridiculous.

“This is not going well.” She thought desperately. “Are you enjoying the gardens?” Luther asked. “Yes.” She managed. “They’re lovely.” She could barely breathe. “Not as lovely as you.” The king said. She made a small squeaking sound and stopped breathing altogether. They turned down a narrow path. The servants who’d been following fell back further, giving them privacy.

They were alone. Rosie’s breathing was getting shorter. “Are you all right, Your Highness?” Luther asked. His eyes dropped to her chest. Rosie went bright red. The corset was too tight, and it was too hot, and he was too close. “Yes,” she heard herself say from very far away. “Perfectly well.” Her vision was going spotty at the edges.

“Princess.” Luther’s voice sounded concerned. Her legs gave out. Suddenly, there was an arm around her waist, pulling her upright, holding her against a solid chest. “You smell divine,” she said faintly. Her vision was blurring. “My lady,” he said carefully, “I believe your corset is too tight.” She blinked at him.

“What?” He cleared his throat and called out for assistance, but they were too far down the path, out of earshot. “May I?” he asked quietly. She wasn’t sure what he was asking, but whatever it was, her answer was the same. “Yes,” she sighed. He moved her hands gently away from her chest.

Then he began unlacing her corset, which meant he was very close, which meant she could smell him properly and could feel the warmth of his hands near her rib cage. He worked carefully, his fingers deft on the laces. They came free just enough. She gasped a full deep breath. “Oh,” she said softly. “Better?” he asked, his voice rough. He relaced her corset, his fingers inches from her breasts, careful and gentle and entirely too distracting.

It was torture. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” she said, still holding onto his arm when he finally stepped back. “Don’t be,” he said. His voice was warm. “Are you all right now?” She nodded. He was looking at her intently, like he was about to kiss her. It was a bad idea, really. “Yes?” he asked softly, his lips inches from hers.

Rosie didn’t think twice. She pulled him to her and kissed him herself because she was only human and oh gods, the press of his body against hers, solid and warm. His scent, his big hands coming up to cup her face and his mouth, his tongue. This was her first kiss. She didn’t think she’d ever enjoy another one.

Nothing would ever compare to this. She allowed herself another second, then another. She pressed against him, wanting more, her hands roaming the plane of his chest. Then she pushed him away. “I should go,” she said immediately. The princess was waiting when Rosie returned. “The blushing,” she said, “it needs to stop.

All it is doing is enchanting him further. He looks positively smitten.” Rosie tried to suppress the way her heart responded to this information. She failed. “You think he’s smitten?” she asked, ridiculously hopeful. The princess looked like she wanted to jump off a cliff. Chapter 6 The plan was simple. Rosie had been repeating it to herself every morning for 5 days.

Make him not want to marry you. Simple, straightforward, entirely achievable by any reasonably competent person. Rosie was beginning to suspect she was not that person. The dress was Paris’s first idea. “Be demanding,” the princess had said. “Men despise feeling like a treasury with legs.” Rosie had practiced in her room that evening.

“I want new shoes,” she’d told her reflection, “and I am not sorry.” Luther had been in the garden when she arrived the next morning, reviewing a document. He looked up when she approached. “I would like,” she began, and then he tilted his head very slightly and the sentence she had prepared rearranged itself without her permission into “If it isn’t too much trouble, and please do say if it is because truly you shouldn’t feel obligated, but could I have shoes?” Rosie finished, lamely.

Luther smiled. “How many?” he asked. Within the hour, a procession of attendants arrived at her rooms carrying boxes filled with jewelry, 20 new dresses embroidered with gems, and 50 pairs of matching slippers with a note in handwriting that was surprisingly neat for a man whose hands could crush stone. “Wear whichever you like.

” Rosie sat surrounded by fabric that shimmered in the afternoon light and felt genuinely terrible about herself. “Did you at least seem demanding about it?” Parisa asked that evening. Her second approach had a certain elegant logic to it. “Display your accomplishments,” she had said, “or rather, your catastrophic lack of them.

” The opportunity presented itself when Luther asked if she played. He wanted to know her, had heard Princess Parisa adored playing the piano. So, she sat, placed her hands on the keys, and played. What followed could charitably be described as music in the same way a building fire could charitably be described as ambient lighting.

“I’ve never heard anything quite like that,” Luther said, clapping when she was done. Rosie gave him a look of profound suspicion. “You’re laughing at me,” she accused. He wasn’t. She had become, over the past days, frustratingly good at reading him, and there was no mockery in it. He crossed the room and sat beside her on the piano bench.

“You are enchanting,” he said quietly, “no matter what you do. You’ve completely bewitched me.” Rosie stared at the piano keys. “Oh, dear,” she thought, with considerable feeling. “He said I was enchanting,” she told Parisa that evening. The princess stared at the ceiling for a long moment and sighed. The jealousy experiment began, as many of Rosie’s worst experiences had, with her saying something she hadn’t meant to say.

She’d returned from a court gathering when she heard herself mention, very casually, that she was sure Luther hadn’t meant anything by his extended conversation with the noblewoman. Obviously. More accomplished women would naturally hold his attention more effectively. It was fine. She was fine. Parisa set down her cup.

“You sound jealous,” she said. Rosie opened her mouth, found no convincing counterargument available, and closed it again. “That’s good,” Parisa said. “Use it.” The logic, as explained, was straightforward. Jealousy was possessive. Possessive was demanding. Demanding was the opposite of appealing. “But I have no right to be jealous,” Rosie said. “I’m nobody.

He’s “Don’t think about what’s real,” Parisa interrupted. “Imagine he chose you. And then imagine him leaving, finding someone more appropriate. Because that,” she finished quietly, “is what happens to girls like you.” It was, Rosie thought, an extremely effective piece of coaching. Far too effective, really. Because she imagined it, all of it.

His attention moving away, his warmth withdrawing. By the time she arrived at that afternoon’s gathering, she was not performing anything at all. She stood near the window and watched Luther speak to someone across the room and felt immediate grief and despair. Her king found her within minutes. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she lied. “I just I know eventually you’ll She stopped, tried again. “I know this won’t last, she said finally. That’s all. Luther paused. Then he reached out and tipped her chin up with one finger and made her look at him. You are the only one, he said quietly. Since the night I found you, I have not looked at another woman.

I could not if I tried. You have completely undone me, and I find I have absolutely no interest in being put back together. Rosie kissed him. She didn’t decide to. It was more like gravity, the inevitable conclusion of proximity and the bond and six days of trying to push him away and failing. It escalated. His hands moved from her face to her waist and pulled her closer, and she made a sound that seemed to do something to him because his grip tightened and he backed her up three steps until she was pressed against the wall.

His hands were everywhere. She had fistfuls of his shirt. “Please,” she heard herself say, though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was asking for. His other hand was at her hip, holding her in place while he pressed closer, and she could feel him, all of him, solid and aroused and wanting her, and the knowledge of it made heat pool low and urgent.

The door opened. An attendant stood in the doorway, eyes firmly averted. “Your Majesty,” she said, “the princess is needed, urgently.” Luther, who appeared to be in significant physical discomfort, lowered her leg back to the ground. “Soon,” he said quietly, and it sounded like a vow. She walked back to the princess’s rooms in a state that could generously be called a daze.

“You are,” the princess said, “the single most useless saboteur in the history of this or any other kingdom.” “That does seem fair,” Rosie agreed. The princess stood. “There’s one more option,” she said finally. “What is it?” Rosie asked. The princess told her. Rosie regretted asking. Chapter seven. “A compromising situation,” the princess announced.

“You’ll be found with another man in a position that leaves no room for doubt.” The words took a moment to fully register. When they did, Rosie felt the blood drain from her face. “You want him to think I” She couldn’t finish the sentence. “Luther will be directed there at precisely the right moment,” the princess said as if she were discussing dinner arrangements. “He’ll see you.

The engagement becomes untenable. He ends it himself.” The image hit Rosie with physical force. Luther opening a door, the trust in his eyes, that warm, patient certainty he always looked at her with, turning to pain. “No,” she said. The word came out firmly. “Nothing will actually happen,” Parisa soothed. “We’ll time it carefully.

The man is already chosen. Someone discreet, cooperative, well compensated for his trouble. I wouldn’t ask you to actually” “I don’t care about that,” Rosie snapped. “I won’t do it.” “Rosie” “No.” She stood up. “You can’t” “You can’t ask me to do that to him. He doesn’t deserve” She felt physically ill. “I can’t,” she said desperately.

“I can’t do that to him. It’s cruel. It’s” “He doesn’t deserve that.” The princess was quiet for a moment. “Let me remind you of your situation,” she said finally. Rosie felt something cold settle in her stomach. “You have been impersonating a princess for weeks,” the princess continued. “You have deceived the king, his entire household, and most of this palace.

” “Because you asked me to,” Rosie protested. “And who would believe you?” the princess said. “What matters is how the story sounds. A scheming maid, a king manipulated.” She tilted her head. “Who would believe your version, Rosie?” “Your highness, please.” Rosie heard herself say. “Please, I’ll do anything else. Take any punishment you want.

Send me to prison. Exile me if you have to, but but not this. Don’t ask me to hurt him like this.” She couldn’t finish. Her throat closed around the words. “Rosie.” She said quietly. “You’re a maid. He is engaged to me, to Princess Parisa, not to you. He doesn’t know you exist.” She paused. “What exactly do you think is going to happen here?” Rosie opened her mouth, closed it.

“The deception must end.” The princess said. “There’s no version of this where it doesn’t. And when it does, and he discovers that he’s been courting a maid, what do you think he’ll feel then, Rosie?” Rosie opened her mouth to respond, but the princess continued, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “What’s your plan?” She asked.

“You think you’ll become his queen? Rule at his side?” She tilted her head. “Do you even know the name of the kingdom he rules?” Rosie froze. “The full name.” The princess pressed. “The one that will be in the treaties you’d be expected to negotiate. I Rosie started. “The ancestry? The princess continued relentlessly.

The line of succession? The political implications of your union with neighboring territories?” A pause, then “Do you even know where it is on a map?” Rosie’s mouth opened. “No, but But what?” The princess’s voice was almost gentle now. “You love him, so the rest doesn’t matter? Girls who marry kings are prepared for it from birth, Rosie.

They’re educated in governance, diplomacy, trade agreements, military strategy. She paused. You know nothing. You wouldn’t even know what you don’t know. I could learn, Rosie started desperately. The princess walked to a shelf, pulled down a book, and held it out. Can you even read this? Rosie looked at it. Her face went hot.

Can you? The princess asked again, quieter now. Rosie’s hands trembled. I love him, she whispered. That’s all good and well, the princess continued, but that doesn’t make you a queen. Rosie’s chest felt like it was caving in. At best, the princess said, when this ends, things resume as planned. He and I marry, the alliance proceeds.

A pause. And I cannot let that happen. Rosie looked at her. Why not? There is someone I love, the princess said. It isn’t him. It will never be him, no matter how patient he is. So, can you help me? she added. One last time? So, none of us has to live with a choice we can’t bear? Rosie looked down at her hands. All right, she whispered.

Chapter Eight. Luther was in his study when the servant arrived. One of the princess’s attendants. Your majesty, she said breathless. The princess, she asked me to fetch you. Luther was on his feet before she’d finished speaking. The east wing was quiet at this hour. He found the blue receiving room easily enough, pushed open the door, and his mind blanked.

Someone was touching his mate. The wrongness of it screamed through every nerve, and she looked frightened. He could see it in her face, smell it sharp and acrid in the air. She didn’t want this, which meant this man had He was across the room before he’d decided to move. Luther. His hand found the man’s throat.

Luther, Parisa cried again. He didn’t let go immediately. His vision had gone red at the edges. The man made a choked sound. Luther, please. Something in her voice cut through the rage. Not the words, the tone. Desperate, frightened. He went still. He released the man, stepped back. “Get out.” he said.

His voice was barely above a whisper. The man fled. Parisa was backed against the wall, her eyes red from crying, looking at him with an expression he’d spent weeks trying to make sure he never saw on her face. The rage evaporated, replaced by something that felt uncomfortably close to anguish. She was afraid of him. His mate was standing there afraid of him, and he’d spent weeks being careful and gentle and patient, specifically to avoid this. And here they were anyway.

And he had failed. He had to fix this. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly. She stared at him like she didn’t understand the question. “Did he hurt you?” Luther searched her face. “Did he force you to” “No.” she said quickly. “No, he didn’t.” He exhaled. “Then are you angry with me? Have I done something that” “No.” her voice broke slightly.

He didn’t understand. None of this made sense. He closed the remaining distance carefully and opened his arms. An offer, not a demand. Her face pressed against his chest, her hands fisted in his shirt, she was shaking. “I’m sorry.” she whispered into his chest. “I’m so sorry.” “You have nothing to apologize for.

” he said. She pulled back just enough to look up at him. “I cannot marry you.” she said. Luther frowned. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” she continued in a rush. “I tried to tell my father, but he wouldn’t listen, and I didn’t know what to do, and I He pulled back just enough to see her face properly. Why? He asked simply.

Did I frighten you? When I just now, when I grabbed him, did I? No, she said. No, it’s not that. She wasn’t making sense, but he could feel her distress through the bond, sharp and overwhelming. Then help me understand, he said. Please. Whatever it is, we can We can’t. She was crying harder now. There’s no fixing this.

He cupped her face gently. I’m not angry, he said quietly. I just need to understand what’s happening. She took a shuddering breath. There’s someone else, she whispered. The words didn’t register at first. Someone else? He repeated slowly. I’m sorry. She was looking at him like she was breaking. I should have told you from the beginning.

She couldn’t finish, just looked at him with those desperate eyes, asking him to understand, to accept it. Every fiber of him wanted to fight it. The wolf was snarling. The mate bond was screaming. She was his, his mate, his match, the person who’d patted his hand and told him he wasn’t lonely anymore. And now she was standing here asking him to let her go to someone else? Every instinct he possessed was roaring no.

He could convince her. He could remind her. He looked at her face, at the fear in it. “If I do that,” he thought, “if I force her or coerce her, then I am exactly what everyone says I am.” He knelt. Luther, who had never knelt for anything in his life, went down on one knee in front of a woman he loved. “You consume me,” he said, the truest thing he knew.

“Since the night I found you, there hasn’t been a moment I haven’t spent thinking of you, wanting to be near you. His voice cracked slightly. My only wish is to remain at your side, he continued, to make you happy, to be worthy of He stopped. Please, just give me the chance. She made a sound like something breaking.

Not the reaction he’d hoped for. You are so kind, she managed through tears, but I cannot be yours. There is someone else. I have already given my heart away. He looked at her face, at the fear. You truly do not wish to be mine, he asked. I cannot be, she whispered. There is a mate bond between us, he said quietly.

You must feel it. I know you do. He paused. If you truly choose otherwise, if you feel it and still choose someone else, then reject it. Formally. And I will not fight you. She stared at him. I She swallowed. I reject the mate bond, she whispered. It felt like dying. He’d been shot before, stabbed. None of it came close to this.

The warmth in his chest, the constant presence that had been humming there for weeks, went suddenly completely silent. Like a door slamming. His vision tunneled. He forced himself to stay standing. He took her hand, brought it to his lips one last time, let himself have that. I accept your rejection, he said.

He meant it. He hated it, but he loved her, and he respected her wishes. And so he meant it. He turned toward the door. He did not look back. Lewis was outside waiting. Your majesty? Not now, Luther said. He walked down the corridor past servants who pressed themselves against walls. The pain was getting worse. He made it to his chambers, barely.

His hands were shaking. No, not shaking, changing. The wolf clawing his way out. “What?” He gasped aloud. The shift took him whether he wanted it or not. He tried to fight it. He’d always been able to control it before. But the wolf tore free with a howl that was pure anguish. Chapter nine. 10 days later, Rosie was still in bed.

“For crying out loud.” Through the door, Miss Harrow’s voice was sharp with exasperation. “What did the girl expect? To play princess forever?” “Miss Harrow, please.” Ann’s voice now pleading. “Rosie’s going through a rough time. Her heart is broken.” Martha added desperately. Rosie listened to the distantly, like it was happening to someone else.

Like the voices were coming from very far away. In her mind, there was only one thought repeating endlessly. It hurts where she used to feel him. She’d felt him. For weeks, she’d felt him. This constant warm presence in her chest, humming and certain and there. A connection. A bond. She hadn’t known it was a bond.

Something beautiful and sacred that she’d destroyed with six words. She’d rejected it. Rejected him. Her mate. Her king. The man she loved. It was the right thing to do. The only thing that made sense. But he’d looked so hurt when she’d said it. Smelled like grief and pain and devastation even as he’d accepted it with quiet dignity.

And now there was just nothing. A void where he used to be. How could it be for the best when it hurt this much? She felt a hand on her shoulder, gentle, insistent. “Rosie, please.” Marta said softly. “Try to get up. It’ll do you good to work. Miss Harrow said if you don’t help with cleaning today, she’s kicking you out.

” Ann added. “Stop stressing her.” Marta hissed. “What? It’s true. She said that.” Rosie didn’t care. Fired, not fired. What did it matter? Here, there, working, not working. It was all the same. All of it was away from him. All of it was this void where he used to be. “Come on, Rosie.” Her friend said, and Rosie tried.

She spent the morning scrubbing floors in a distant hallway, still trapped in the same loop of despair. It hurts where she used to feel him. Then she heard shouting. “This is a catastrophe.” A voice boomed. She tensed, still kneeling on the floor with her brush. An Alpha’s aura, she could feel it from here, powerful and commanding.

“Your Majesty, we’re doing our best.” Someone stammered. For one wild, desperate second, she thought, “Luther?” But then she actually processed the voice, the scent. All wrong, not him. She deflated. Marta appeared at the end of the hallway. “Rosie, what are you still doing here? Let’s go.” Rosie slowly got to her feet.

“Your best?” The Alpha’s voice said. “It’s been 10 days. How have you not managed to bring him back after 10 days?” Marta was waving more urgently now. Rosie tried to move faster and knocked over her bucket. Marta groaned. “But your Majesty, we’ve sent our best people and “Father.” A familiar voice interrupted, cool and composed.

“Even his Majesty’s own people couldn’t bring him back. You can’t blame Captain Jenkins for wanting to spare his men’s lives. Rosie froze. That was Princess Perissa speaking to her father, the king. What are you doing? Marta mouthed silently. Rosie ignored her. He is one alpha alone, the king was saying. Rosie frowned.

One alpha? Who were they talking about? A feral alpha, Perissa said. And not just any alpha. King Luther was already quite formidable when he was lucid. The world tilted. Come on, let’s go. Marta whispered urgently. Be quiet! Rosie snapped, wrenching her arm away. Her heartbeat was hammering against her ribs. The princess is right, your majesty, a man’s voice said, the captain presumably.

Even Luther’s own blood couldn’t get him to calm down. Some men lost their lives trying to get him to see reason. Rosie’s breath stopped. What? Men lost their lives trying to get Luther to calm down? This is all your fault, daughter, the king snapped. I leave you alone for a few days, the engagement all but set, and I come back and apparently Luther’s gone completely feral and disappeared? Rosie was on her feet before she’d decided to move.

Wha- What are you doing? Marta asked, panicked. What is she doing? Miss Harrow’s voice came from around the corner. Rosie ignored them both, pushed open the door and burst into what appeared to be a study. Three people stared at her. Princess Perissa, an older man who could only be the king, and a guard captain in full armor.

What happened? Rosie asked desperately. What’s wrong with Luther? Is he hurt? The king gaped for a second, then What in the world is this? He pointed at Rosie like she was something offensive. Who let this creature in here? Your majesty, my apologies, Miss Harrow said, arriving and grabbing Rosie’s arm. This maid is unwell.

Get rid of her, the king snapped. Ms. Harrow tried to drag Rosie toward the door. She wrenched her arm free with a growl. Where is he? She demanded, looking at Parisa. What happened? Parisa looked uncomfortable. His Majesty, King Luther, has disappeared after losing control of his wolf, she explained cautiously.

Losing control? Rosie’s voice came out faint. How is that possible? Excuse me, but why are we discussing this with the insane maid? The king asked. He was ignored. We don’t know exactly, Parisa told Rosie. We found his room destroyed. Some guards who were in his way were harmed when he left the castle. He’s disappeared into the forest.

We’ve sent search parties, but Rosie gasped, her hand flying to her chest. Which forest? She asked desperately. When? Frankly, child, this is none of your concern, the king said coldly. Rosie turned on him with a glare that made him actually blink. You are speaking about my mate, she snapped. It is absolutely my concern.

The entire room froze. Parisa’s mouth fell open. The captain stared. Your mate? The king recovered first. Are you insane, child? King Luther is not your mate. Rosie raised her chin. Yes, he is, she said. He She deflated. Well, he was before I The words stuck in her throat. Because suddenly it all made horrible, devastating sense.

Luther losing control, going feral, disappearing into the forest. It was because of her. Because she’d broken the bond. What have I done? She whispered. It’s all my fault. Someone please remove the girl and send her to the asylum, the king sighed. No, Parisa stepped forward. No I think she’s right. The king scoffed.

What? You shared a bond with him? Parisa asked Rosie. Rosie nodded crying. Yes. Yes, I hadn’t realized what it was at first, but You foolish girl. Parisa’s voice was sharp. Breaking a mate bond is dangerous. Lethal to some. The pain of it. The king has gone insane with grief. You said I had to. Rosie cried. I didn’t know you two were mates.

Parisa. The king snapped. Why are you entertaining this foolish girl’s delusions? It’s not a delusion, father. Parisa’s voice was tired. I believe she’s right. The king looked between them with an expression of complete stupefaction. I will go to him. Rosie declared. The captain made a sound of disbelief. My girl, it’s too late.

He’s not himself. He’ll tear you apart. You should see the state of my men. Those who came back, that is. Something fierce and protective flared in Rosie’s chest. My mate would never hurt me. She said. I will find him. And I will bring him back. Your majesty. The captain said. We cannot allow the girl to With all due respect. Rosie snapped.

I’m not asking for permission. She turned and walked toward the door. Rosie. Parisa’s voice stopped her. Someone will escort you. The princess said quietly. Lend you a horse. Rosie nodded once and left. Chapter 10. The horse carried her deeper into the forest. Following the captain of the guard down a path that grew narrower and wilder with each passing minute.

Rosie barely noticed. All she could think about was Luther. Alone. In pain. Feral. Because of her. Because she’d broken their bond. Shattered something sacred and beautiful because she’d been too afraid, too convinced she wasn’t enough. And now he was lost somewhere in these woods, his humanity slipping away. “I’m coming,” she thought desperately.

“Please hold on.” The captain stopped his horse by a river, turning to look at her with grim concern. “This is as far as I go,” he said. “He was last seen near here, but miss “He won’t hurt me,” Rosie said, dismounting. The captain looked skeptical. Then Rosie caught something, just the faintest trace on the wind, his scent.

“You can go,” she told the captain. “It’s best I’m alone.” The captain hesitated, then nodded slowly. Rosie waited until the sound of hoofbeats faded completely. Then she followed the scent. She wasn’t a good tracker, had never been trained. Her wolf senses weren’t particularly impressive.

She was submissive-natured, not built for hunting or fighting. But she’d been aching for this scent for 10 days, starving for it. She couldn’t lose track of him now if she tried. The scent was different, though. They were right about that. Luther was not himself. There was something darker in it, more aggressive, more animal. And underneath all of it, threaded through the wilderness, pain, raw, devastating pain.

Rosie’s eyes burned with tears. “I’m coming,” she thought again. She followed the scent through dense undergrowth, around ancient trees. Her dress was ruined. She didn’t care. “What if he’s lost for good?” The thought arrived with cold clarity. She stopped walking, stood in the middle of the darkening forest and made herself a promise.

“Then I’ll shift and join him. He won’t be alone. Wherever he goes, I’ll be there.” A growl rumbled through the trees. Rosie’s wolf told her to freeze, to be quiet. She obeyed. Heard movement, heavy footsteps, branches snapping, the scent getting stronger. She turned slowly. He emerged from behind the trees, enormous, the largest wolf she’d ever seen, dark fur, nearly black, massive shoulders.

His eyes were glowing faintly in the dimming light, wild and unfocused. And he was growling, low and continuous. But it was him. She knew it was him. Luther, she breathed. The wolf’s ears twitched, but there was no recognition in his eyes, just that continuous growl. It’s me, Rosie said, her voice shaking. His lips pulled back, bearing teeth.

He prowled forward, muscles coiled. Then he pounced. Rosie hit the ground hard. The wolf was above her, massive and terrifying, teeth bared inches from her throat, growling so loudly she could feel it vibrate through her bones. For one terrible moment, she thought the captain had been right, that she’d lost him completely.

Then she looked into his eyes, and very slowly, moving with careful precision, she did what her wolf was telling her to do. She tilted her head back and bared her throat. You don’t have to be lonely anymore, she whispered. I’m here. The growl changed, became questioning, confused. Then he sank his teeth into her neck.

Rosie gasped at the sharp pain, just for a second, and then the bond snapped back into place, and she felt everything. His pain, his despair, the grief that had driven him past the edge of control. It crashed over her in waves. Her vision went white. When it cleared, she wasn’t looking at a wolf anymore. She was looking at a man, her man, her king, naked and pressed against her.

His hand braced beside her head, his face inches from hers. His eyes were still glowing faintly, more gold than human, and he was frowning like he was trying very hard to think through fog. “Luther,” she breathed, raising a shaking hand to his cheek. He leaned into the touch, nuzzled against her palm like he was starving for contact.

“Princess?” he asked eventually. His voice was rough from disuse, confused. She cupped his face with both hands, centering him, because she could feel his confusion through the bond. How hard it was for him to think clearly. “I’m not a princess,” she whispered sadly. He blinked, frowned deeper. “What?” He nuzzled into her neck, inhaling deeply, and made a sound of pure relief.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Claim me,” he growled against her throat. “Claim me back.” She met his eyes. Her body was screaming at her to do it. “I can’t,” she said. He froze. She felt the despair slam through him, sharp and immediate. She grabbed his face, forced him to look at her. “I’m not who you think I am,” she tried to explain.

Luther’s eyes flashed. “Forget that other man,” he growled, too feral to be rational. You’re mine. You belong to me.” He pressed her hand to his chest, right over his heart. She could feel it racing. “There is no other man,” Rosie said softly. “There is only you.” Luther stilled, clearly didn’t understand. “But,” he started.

“I’m not the princess,” Rosie said, feeling very small and exposed. “I’m just me, Rosie.” Luther searched her face. “I’m a maid, she explained, her voice breaking. I clean floors. That’s all I am. There was a moment of silence. Rosie thought, at least he’s saved. That’s what matters. Perhaps he’ll let me stay near him.

Even when he finds a proper queen. I don’t Luther frowned. What about You said there was somebody else. There wasn’t, Rosie said quickly. Perissa, the real princess, she loves another. That’s why I pretended to be her. Because she needed She stopped. I’m sorry, she whispered. I wanted so badly to be your princess.

Because I love you. But I’m nobody. I clean floors. That’s all. Luther stared at her like he was trying to parse her words. Then he smiled and her breath stopped because she’d never seen him smile like that. There is no other, he asked hopefully. Only me? I don’t think you understand, Rosie said. I can’t even read properly.

I don’t care what you can or can’t do, Luther interrupted. I know what you are. My mate. My equal. The woman I love. He leaned closer. Now claim me. Make me yours as you are mine. Rosie stared at him, stunned. Please, he said. And she felt his need through the bond. The aching void that had been tearing him apart for 10 days, begging to be filled.

She moved slowly, her gaze never leaving his as she shifted up and pressed her lips to his neck. He groaned. Please, he said again. She bit down. The bond ignited. She felt everything. His relief. His love. His wolf settling with deep satisfaction. And then his mouth was on hers and his hands were everywhere.

And the forest around them faded and there was only him. Only the way he held her and touched her. Epilogue. Rosie sank carefully into the lukewarm bath with a groan of relief. “Better?” Luther asked, steadying her with gentle hands as she settled against him. “Much.” She breathed. Summer heat made everything worse when you were eight months pregnant and approximately the size of a small house.

His hands moved to her shoulders, massaging with the careful pressure he’d perfected over the past year. She leaned back against his chest with a contented sigh. “I seem to recall,” he murmured against her ear, “a similar bath, though you were considerably smaller and considerably more drunk.” “I was very drunk,” Rosie conceded, “and you were very patient about finding me in your bath uninvited.

” “I was completely undone,” he corrected. “I believe my exact thought was, I’m going to marry this girl and I don’t care what it takes.” “You thought that while I was naked in your bath asking you to get in with me?” “I thought that approximately 30 seconds after you told me I had a nice voice.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Everything after that was just confirming what I already knew.” Rosie smiled, one hand resting on her belly where their child was currently performing what felt like acrobatics. “Your heir is very active today.” Luther’s hand joined hers, spanning the width of her stomach with reverent care. “Parisa sent word she’ll arrive next week,” Rosie said.

“She wants to be here for the birth.” “Good.” Luther’s approval was genuine. The alliance between their kingdoms had strengthened considerably, helped by the fact that Parisa had personally trained Rosie, vouched for her, and helped smooth her transition into queenship. “I still can’t believe I’m going to be a mother,” Rosie said quietly.

“A year ago I was scrubbing floors. A year ago you were already my mate, Luther corrected. You just didn’t know it yet. Their child kicked firmly against Luther’s palm. He laughed, delighted. Strong, he said approvingly. Like their father, Rosie smiled. Who is supposed to be in a council meeting right now? They can wait, he murmured against her skin.

My mate is in a bath. I have priorities. She laughed and he caught the sound with his mouth. And they stayed there until the water went completely cold. Thank you so much for listening. I hope you enjoyed this story. I’ve written quite a lot of stories here, one every week, and some of you sometimes ask if there will be a part two or if we’ll spend more time with certain characters.

When I write these stories, I always create them as complete standalones. So each one has its own beginning, journey, and ending. But if you ever find yourself wishing you could stay a little longer in a story or with a character you loved, you can visit my Patreon. Over there, I share bonus chapters, extra character POVs, and sometimes unreleased scenes.

Of course, you can always simply enjoy the stories here on YouTube. Patreon is just an extra for those who’d like a little more. Thank you again for listening. And I’ll see you very soon for the next story. Lilly.