Chapter 34
Maya
ONE MONTH LATER
My heart hammers against my ribs as I approach the ornate doors of the palace atrium. I smooth nonexistent wrinkles from my dress—a simple blue thing, nothing like the elaborate gowns I’ve grown accustomed to wearing. My palms are damp, and I wipe them discreetly against the fabric.
“His Majesty is waiting inside, my lady,” the guard stationed outside the door says, his expression carefully neutral. The palace staff still doesn’t quite know what to make of me—the Omega who helped overthrow a king, who refuses to be called “queen” despite sharing the new king’s bed.
“Thank you,” I reply, straightening my spine. “I’ll announce myself.”
The guard nods, stepping aside. I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
I push open the heavy door, the hinges silent despite their age and weight.
Sunlight streams through tall windows, bathing the atrium in golden light.
Potted plants create islands of greenery throughout the space, and at the center sits a small table set for lunch, crystal glasses catching the light like trapped stars.
Logan rises as I enter, setting aside what appears to be a state document. He’s dressed simply today—dark trousers and a white shirt open at the collar, no royal insignia or crown. Just a man waiting for a lunch companion. Just Logan.
His golden eyes find mine across the room, and a smile spreads across his face—genuine, warm, with none of the calculation I once associated with him. My heart does something complicated in my chest at the sight.
“You came,” he says as I approach, as if there had been some doubt.
“I said I would,” I reply, stopping before the table. “I keep my promises.”
“So you do.” He gestures to the chair opposite his. “Please, join me. The chef has prepared something special, though he wouldn’t tell me what.”
I take the offered seat, watching as Logan returns to his. There’s an awkwardness between us, a tension that wasn’t there before—or perhaps it was always there, just masked by crisis and danger. Now, in this moment of peace, we’re left to face the reality of who we are to each other.
“You look beautiful,” he says after a moment, his voice softer than I’m used to hearing it. “Blue suits you.”
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “You look well-rested. The crown agrees with you.”
A servant enters, breaking the moment, carrying a tray laden with covered dishes. He sets them on the table with practiced efficiency, then bows deeply. “Your Majesty. My lady. Chef has prepared a selection of summer delicacies for your enjoyment.”
“Thank you, Elias,” Logan says, his tone warm but dismissive. “That will be all for now.”
The servant bows again and withdraws, leaving us alone once more.
Logan lifts one of the silver covers, revealing a dish I immediately recognize—fresh river trout with herbs.
One of the few dishes my mother made regularly before selling me off to the Enclave, listed in my profile as among my favorite things.
a“You remembered,” I say, surprised despite myself.
“I remember everything you’ve ever told me,” Logan replies, his golden eyes holding mine. “Every preference, every dislike, every dream.”
The intensity in his gaze makes something flutter in my chest. This is dangerous territory, too close to feelings I’m not ready to examine. I drop my eyes to the food, picking up my fork with a hand that isn’t quite steady.
“I believe we were supposed to be starting over,” I remind him, though my voice lacks the firmness I intended. “As if we’d just met.”
This game is a new one, based on my admission that they way things started for us tainted everything that came after.
Logan’s smile turns playful, a side of him I’ve rarely seen. “You’re absolutely right.” He sets down his utensils and rises from his chair, circling the table to stand before me. With exaggerated formality, he bows deeply.
“My lady, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I am Logan Corellian, recently appointed to the position of king through somewhat unorthodox means.” His eyes dance with mischief as he extends his hand. “And you are?”
Despite myself, I laugh, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly. “Maya Tantamount,” I reply, placing my hand in his. “Recently appointed to no position whatsoever, though I did help overthrow the previous king.”
“How fascinating,” Logan says, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that sends a shiver up my arm. “I find women who overthrow monarchies irresistibly attractive.”
“Do you now?” I raise an eyebrow, playing along despite the warmth spreading through me at his touch. “That must be a rather small dating pool, even for a king.”
“Quality over quantity,” he counters, returning to his seat with a grace that reminds me he was born to royalty, regardless of how he claimed the throne. “I’d rather have one revolutionary than a hundred simpering courtiers.”
“Careful,” I warn, though there’s no heat in it. “Flattery will get you nowhere with this particular revolutionary.”
“Not flattery,” Logan corrects, his expression turning serious. “Truth. You are the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known, Maya Tantamount. Brave, intelligent, compassionate despite everything you’ve endured.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. This isn’t the game anymore—this is Logan, stripped of pretense, speaking from the heart. It’s more disarming than any calculated charm could ever be.
“I thought we were starting over,” I say, my voice softer than intended. “As if we’d just met.”
“My apologies,” Logan says, though his eyes tell me he’s not sorry at all. “I find it difficult to pretend I don’t know how extraordinary you are, even if we’ve only just been introduced.”
I feel heat rise to my cheeks again. “You’re very forward, Your Majesty.”
“Logan,” he corrects gently. “Just Logan. At least when we’re alone.”
“Logan,” I repeat, the name feeling intimate on my tongue despite how many times I’ve said it before. “You still haven’t told me why you invited me to lunch. Surely a new king has more important matters than dining with a woman he’s supposedly just met.”
He smiles, cutting a piece of the trout with careful precision. “Perhaps I’m hoping to court you, Maya Tantamount. Would that be so surprising?”
“Court me?” I echo, something between amusement and alarm rising in my chest. “We’ve only just met, remember? A proper Omega would be scandalized by such a suggestion.”
“And are you a proper Omega?” Logan asks, his golden eyes holding mine across the table.
“Not by anyone’s definition,” I admit, finding it easier to be honest in this strange game we’re playing. “I find that I’m not very good at following the rules these days.”
“Thank the gods for that,” Logan says with feeling. “The world has quite enough proper Omegas. What it needs are more women like you—women who question, who challenge, who refuse to be less than they are.”
His words stir something in me, a warmth that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with being seen. Truly seen, for who I am rather than what I am.
“You’re a strange sort of Alpha,” I observe, deflecting with humor to hide how deeply his words have affected me. “Most would prefer an Omega who knows her place.”
“I’m not most Alphas,” Logan replies simply. “And I’ve never wanted someone who knows her place. I want someone who makes her own place. Who stands beside me, not behind me.”
The conversation is veering dangerously close to territory I’m not ready to explore. I focus on my food, taking a bite of the perfectly prepared trout to give myself a moment to regain composure.
“This is delicious,” I say after swallowing. “Please thank your chef for remembering my favorite.”
“I’ll be sure to—“ Logan begins, then catches himself with a rueful smile. “I mean, what a fortunate coincidence that the chef prepared your favorite dish on our first meeting. How could he possibly have known?”
I laugh despite myself, appreciating his commitment to our charade. “Indeed. Almost as if someone told him.”
“A mystery for the ages,” Logan agrees solemnly, though his eyes sparkle with humor.
We eat in companionable silence for a few moments, the awkwardness that marked the beginning of our meal gradually fading. It’s strange how easy it is to be with him like this, when so much complicated history lies between us.
“Tell me about yourself, Maya Tantamount,” Logan says eventually, refilling my water glass with a casual domesticity that feels oddly intimate. “What brings a woman like you to the palace?”
I consider my answer, weighing truth against the parameters of our pretense. “I’m interested in political reform,” I say finally. “Particularly regarding the treatment of Omegas in Melilla.”
“A worthy cause,” Logan nods, his expression thoughtful. “The previous king’s policies were... problematic, to say the least.”
“Monstrous would be a more accurate description,” I reply, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “The fertility clinics were nothing short of institutionalized rape and torture.”
Logan’s expression sobers completely, the playfulness of our earlier exchange giving way to genuine gravity. “You’re right,” he says quietly. “And I want you to know that as long as I sit on the throne, nothing like that will ever happen again. I swear it.”
The vehemence in his voice, the absolute conviction, catches me off guard. This isn’t part of our game—this is Logan, the king, making a solemn vow. And despite everything, I believe him.
“That’s good to hear,” I say, my voice softer than intended. “There are many who will hold you to that promise.”
“I’m counting on it,” he replies, his golden eyes holding mine. “
Something shifts between us in that moment—a recognition, perhaps, of the person beneath the role each of us plays. I see not just Logan the Alpha, Logan the king, but Logan the man—flawed, complicated, trying to be better than what came before him.
I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.