Chapter 4 Lev
FOUR
LEV
The accusation stung because it carried too much truth. Lev’s rebellious lifestyle had become so ingrained that responsibility felt foreign, like wearing clothes that didn’t fit properly.
“Why did you go through Gerri Wilder?” Lev asked, grasping for some understanding. “She’s a matchmaker, not a political consultant.”
Something flickered across his father’s face—an expression too complex to decipher. “Gerri has unique insights into what people need to reach their full potential.”
Lev studied his father’s face, searching for clues. The king’s political mind rarely made moves without multiple motivations, and this felt like more than reputation management.
“When do I meet this miracle worker?” Lev asked, resignation creeping into his voice.
“This afternoon. She’s arriving from Earth with her team.” King Rorick struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. “I suggest you prepare yourself for some uncomfortable truths.”
The king moved toward the door with obvious effort. Lev watched his father’s labored progress and felt something crack inside his chest—the first real fracture in the armor of indifference he’d spent years constructing.
“Father,” Lev called as the king reached the threshold. “Are you going to be all right?”
King Rorick paused, his hand resting on the doorframe. For a moment, his stern mask slipped, revealing the exhausted man beneath the crown.
“Yes, son, I’ll manage. Just don’t miss this afternoon meeting too.”
Lev pushed himself up from the chair, his muscles protesting the movement and his head pounding even more now.
The conversation with his father had left him feeling raw, exposed, and thoroughly irritated.
He stalked out of the guest suite and down the hall to his private chambers, and straight toward his walk-in closet, each step echoing his mounting frustration.
A reputation consultant. From Earth.
The very concept grated against every instinct he possessed. Someone who didn’t understand their culture, their traditions, their way of life, was supposed to transform him into acceptable king material? The absurdity would have been laughable if it weren’t so insulting.
His closet stretched before him like a museum of choices—formal dress uniforms with intricate golden threading, ceremonial jackets bearing the Marcan sun crest, and tailored suits that cost more than most pride members earned in a year.
Everything designed to project power, authority, and regal bearing.
Everything designed to make him into someone else.
Lev’s fingers traced the rich fabric of a midnight blue formal jacket, remembering how the weight of such garments always made him feel like he was drowning in expectations.
The starched collars, the ceremonial sashes, the polished buttons that caught light like tiny suns—all of it represented the cage that awaited him.
“Screw it,” he muttered, reaching instead for his favorite henley.
The soft cotton felt like freedom against his skin as he pulled it over his head.
The deep forest green brought out the gold flecks in his eyes, and the casual cut emphasized his broad shoulders without the suffocating formality of royal attire.
He grabbed his most comfortable jeans next and pulled them on with deliberate defiance.
If this human wants to meet the crown prince, she’s going to meet the real one.
His reflection in the full-length mirror showed exactly what he intended: a man comfortable in his own skin, unashamed of who he was beneath the crown.
The henley clung to his chest in ways that highlighted every line of muscle earned through years of combat training.
His golden hair fell in tousled waves that suggested he’d just rolled out of bed—which wasn’t far from the truth.
Let her try to polish this.
But even as he adjusted the collar of his shirt, darker thoughts crept through his defiance. His father’s labored breathing, the way the king had struggled to stand, the exhaustion etched into every line of his weathered face—all of it painted a picture Lev didn’t want to acknowledge.
The crown wasn’t just approaching; it was hurtling toward him like a meteor, ready to obliterate everything in his life.
And now I must prove I’m worthy on top of everything.
The Trial of the Sun loomed in his mind like a mountain he’d never wanted to climb.
Six days before he would have to demonstrate strength, wisdom, and loyalty to the pride.
Six days before he would have to convince the elders that a man who’d spent two decades avoiding responsibility could suddenly embrace it completely.
Why can’t they see I’m already strong enough?
His lion paced restlessly beneath his skin, radiating the kind of dominance that made other shifters step aside without conscious thought.
He’d protected the pride countless times when real danger threatened and had led hunting parties and border patrols with natural authority that needed no crown to validate it.
But apparently throwing epic parties and enjoying willing women makes me unfit to rule.
The injustice of it burned in his chest. He’d simply been living life to its fullest, savoring every moment of freedom before duty chained him to a throne.
Was that really so terrible? Was enjoying himself while he still could truly evidence of poor character?
And now his father wants him to find a mate too?
That particular requirement felt like the cruelest joke of all. Not only did he have to transform into a responsible king, but he was supposed to bind himself to one woman for eternity—to give up the variety and excitement that had made life bearable.
All my happiness, dissolving like sugar in rain.
Lev made his way downstairs, his bare feet silent on the cool marble steps.
The palace felt different in the morning light—less like a playground and more like a prison waiting to close its doors.
Portraits of previous kings watched him from the walls, their painted eyes seeming to judge his casual attire and find it lacking.
The dining room’s massive windows flooded the space with golden sunlight that caught the intricate patterns carved into the walls. The scent of fresh bread and roasted meat made his stomach growl, reminding him that he’d been too drunk last night to eat much at the celebration.
Benjamin sat at the long table, looking perfectly put-together despite the early hour.
His dark golden hair was neatly combed, his green eyes alert and amused as he worked his way through what appeared to be enough food for three people.
The sight of his best friend’s easy competence only highlighted Lev’s own disheveled state.
“Well, well,” Benjamin said, looking up with raised eyebrows. “The prodigal prince graces us with his presence at breakfast. Should I alert the historians?”
Lev dropped into the chair across from Benjamin with more force than necessary, causing the fine china to rattle. “Apparently I missed an important meeting with the elders this morning.”
“The succession planning meeting?” Benjamin’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. “The one you’ve known about for weeks?”
“That would be the one.” Lev reached for a piece of bread, tearing it apart with unnecessary violence. “My father was... displeased.”
“Displeased enough to visit the guest quarters personally?” Benjamin’s eyes sparkled with barely contained laughter. “I heard he interrupted your morning entertainment.”
Lev shot his friend a warning look, but Benjamin’s grin only widened. The man had an annoying talent for finding humor in Lev’s most embarrassing moments.
“It gets worse,” Lev continued, piling scrambled eggs onto his plate. “He’s hired a reputation consultant. Some human woman from Earth who’s supposed to transform me into acceptable king material before the Trial.”
Benjamin nearly choked on his coffee, coughing and sputtering as laughter overtook him. “A reputation consultant? For you?”
“I’m glad my impending doom amuses you so much.”
“Lev, they’d have better luck teaching a hurricane to be a gentle breeze.” Benjamin wiped tears from his eyes. “This poor woman has no idea what she’s walking into.”
“She’s arriving this afternoon,” Lev said grimly. “Along with her team, apparently.”
“A human woman,” Benjamin repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “Coming here to fix the crown prince of the Marcan pride.” He dissolved into fresh laughter. “This sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. You may never become king at this rate.”
Lev’s fork clattered against his plate as irritation flared. “I’m not hopeless, you know. Maybe she’ll point out some things I need to work on. I can listen and adapt when instructed.”
Benjamin’s laughter died abruptly, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. “That doesn’t sound like you at all. Your stubbornness will get the better of you in ten minutes with this human consultant.”
“Challenge accepted,” Lev said firmly. “I’ll prove that I can handle this little reputation cleanup. How hard can it really be? Act a little more mature, not party as hard, maybe attend meetings instead of missing them. Simple enough.”
Benjamin stood up, still shaking his head with amusement. “I can’t wait to watch this train wreck unfold.”
He clapped Lev on the shoulder as he passed, heading toward the door with the easy confidence of someone who didn’t have the weight of a kingdom pressing down on his shoulders.
Lev was left alone with his thoughts and a plate of food that suddenly tasted bitter.
Everyone doubts me.
But deep in his chest, where his lion’s heart beat strong and sure, Lev felt something different.
Not doubt—certainty. He might have spent two decades playing the irresponsible playboy, but that didn’t define who he truly was.
When real danger threatened, when the pride needed protection, when leadership was actually required, he’d never failed them.
They just can’t see past the parties and the women to the man underneath. I’ll prove them all wrong. Just wait.