Chapter 12 Lev
TWELVE
LEV
The memory of last night crashed over him like a tidal wave.
His father was dead. King Rorick Marcan, the most formidable lion shifter Lev had ever known, was gone.
The man who’d spent decades preparing his son for leadership had died while Lev was playing house with his reputation consultant, too caught up in wine and her intoxicating presence to even carry his communicator.
“The viewing,” Lev croaked, his voice raw from a night of drowning his sorrows in expensive liquor. “What time—”
“In an hour,” Xelene said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “I’ll escort you as your girlfriend. We’re still maintaining the charade, remember?”
Charade.
If only she knew there was nothing fake about the connection between them, nothing artificial about the way his lion had recognized her the moment she’d walked into his father’s office. The mate bond thrummed between them even now, a constant ache he couldn’t ignore.
Lev wanted nothing more than to reach for her, to pull her against his chest and let her steady presence anchor him through the storm of grief threatening to tear him apart.
He wanted to tell her the truth—that she wasn’t just his hired consultant but his destined mate, the other half of his soul that he’d been unconsciously searching for through years of meaningless encounters.
Instead, he forced himself to sit up, biting back a groan as the room tilted dangerously. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to function today.”
Xelene’s green eyes assessed him with professional detachment, though he caught a flicker of something softer beneath the surface.
She pulled out his questionnaire from her purse, the paper slightly wrinkled from being folded.
“According to this delightfully honest assessment you filled out, you’ve been drunk five hundred and forty-seven times.
That’s quite a track record for someone your age. ”
Despite everything, Lev almost smiled. “I made that number up. Couldn’t actually remember the real count.”
“I did the math based on your other answers.” Her lips curved in what might have been amusement. “The actual number is probably closer to eight hundred, maybe more.”
“Probably more.” He rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the pounding headache. “Doesn’t make this morning any easier though.”
Without a word, Xelene moved to his walk-in closet with the efficiency of someone who’d taken charge of countless crisis situations.
She emerged with his ceremonial jacket and trousers—formal attire befitting a crown prince attending his father’s viewing.
The sight of the rich navy fabric with its gold threading and pride insignia made Lev’s stomach twist.
“Get dressed,” she said, laying the clothes on his bed with careful precision. “I’ll get you water and aspirin.”
“Thank you.” The words came out rougher than he’d intended, weighted with more gratitude than simple hangover assistance warranted.
She paused at the door, those perceptive green eyes studying his face. “Five minutes, Lev. Then we leave.”
After she disappeared into the hallway, Lev forced himself to stand on unsteady legs. The charcoal button-down and dark jeans he’d passed out in reeked of alcohol and desperation. He stripped them off with mechanical movements, his mind still struggling to process the magnitude of what lay ahead.
The throne was his now—not someday in the distant future, but immediately, as soon as he could prove himself worthy through the Trial of the Sun. And that trial was only five days away.
Lev pulled on the ceremonial jacket and trousers, his hands shaking slightly as he fastened the belt. The weight of the formal jacket settled across his shoulders like a mantle of responsibility he’d never wanted.
Once in the bathroom, looking in the mirror, he confronted the face of the Marcan Lion Pride Dominion’s new king-in-waiting.
The man staring back at him looked like hell.
Bloodshot eyes and hair sticking up at odd angles from a night of tossing restlessly between drinking and unconsciousness.
But beneath the evidence of his breakdown, Lev recognized something else—the strong jaw and piercing blue eyes that marked him unmistakably as his father’s son.
What a selfish idiot you’ve been, he thought, attempting to tame his golden hair. Father was trying to prepare you, and you were too busy chasing freedom to see the vultures circling.
Because that’s what Councilor Christoph and his ambitious son Crispin were—political vultures waiting for Lev to stumble so they could challenge him and seize power for their own bloodline.
His father had been a brilliant strategist; he’d known the threats to Lev’s claim better than anyone.
The urgency behind finding Lev a mate, behind pushing for the Trial of the Sun, behind hiring Gerri Wilder—it all made sense now.
King Rorick had been running out of time, and Lev had been too stubborn to listen.
When Lev emerged from his chambers, Xelene waited in the hallway with a glass of water and two white pills. She looked every inch the composed professional, but Lev caught the way her gaze lingered on his face, searching for signs of how well he was holding together.
“Much better,” she said, offering him the aspirin. “You look like a prince instead of a vagrant.”
Lev knocked back the pills with half the glass of water, grateful for the cool liquid soothing his parched throat. “That’s something, I suppose.”
“It’s time.” She gestured toward the main corridor.
They walked in silence through the castle’s familiar halls, Lev’s formal boots echoing against floors that had witnessed generations of Marcan rulers.
Portraits of his ancestors lined the walls—kings and queens who’d led the pride through wars, prosperity, and political upheaval. Soon, his own portrait would join them.
If you don’t screw this up completely, he reminded himself.
The royal futuristic carriage waited in the drive, its black exterior gleaming under Nova Aurora’s morning suns.
Lev helped Xelene inside, noting how she moved with natural grace despite the emotional weight of the day.
The driver soon pulled away from the castle, heading toward the pride’s ceremonial grounds where his father’s body lay in state.
As the familiar landscape rolled past the windows—golden savannas stretching toward distant mountains and the pink ocean glimmering on the horizon—Lev felt the full weight of his inheritance settling around him like chains.
This wasn’t just about becoming king anymore.
It was about honoring his father’s legacy, protecting the pride from those who would exploit any weakness, and proving he was worthy of the crown that would soon rest on his head.
Xelene’s hand found his in the space between their seats, her fingers intertwining with his.
For a moment, Lev wondered if she was maintaining their cover even in the privacy of the royal futuristic carriage, but when he glanced at her face, he saw something genuine in her expression—compassion, understanding, a desire to offer comfort in the only way she knew how.
“You don’t have to do this alone today,” she said quietly, her thumb brushing across his knuckles.
The simple touch sent heat racing through him, the mate bond responding to her nearness with an intensity that stole his breath. No woman had ever offered him comfort like this—pure and honest emotional support when he needed it most.
She doesn’t even know what she’s doing to me, Lev realized, his chest tightening with a complex mix of gratitude and longing. She has no idea she’s my fated mate, and she’s still trying to take care of me.
“Thank you again,” he managed.
The ceremonial grounds soon appeared ahead, their ancient stone structures rising from the earth like monuments to shifter tradition. Lev’s stomach clenched as the royal vehicle slowed, approaching the place where he would say goodbye to his father and step into a future he’d spent years avoiding.