Chapter 3 Faith #2
Faith pushed herself off the bed and walked back toward the walk-in closet, her reflection catching in the mirror as she passed.
Still her—brown hair slightly mussed, warm eyes wide with residual shock, sun-kissed skin that looked pale under the alien lighting.
But something felt different. The air here hummed with possibility in ways that made her nerve endings sing.
The midnight blue dress hung exactly where Liora had left it, the fabric catching light like captured starwater.
Faith stripped off her t-shirt and jeans—practical Earth clothes that suddenly felt like armor she no longer needed.
She grabbed the dress and slipped it over her head, the silk settling against her curves with the kind of precision that spoke of master tailoring.
The fabric hugged her waist, accentuated the swell of her hips, and made her legs look impossibly long.
It fit like Gerri had taken her measurements with surgical instruments rather than casual observation.
Faith’s stomach clenched as she remembered the older woman sitting in her bakery for hours watching Faith work.
She wasn’t just sizing up my baking skills. She was literally sizing me up.
The realization should have been unsettling.
Instead, it felt oddly flattering—like being chosen for something she hadn’t known she wanted.
Faith studied herself in the full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back.
This wasn’t the overworked bakery owner who counted pennies and worried about overdue payments.
This wasn’t the woman who’d let Chet chip away at her confidence for three years, making her second-guess every decision until she’d stopped trusting her own instincts.
This woman looked luminous. Dangerous. Like she belonged in palaces and could handle princes who turned into white tigers.
Where the hell did that come from?
Faith moved to the bathroom, which was roughly the size of her entire apartment back home.
Marble surfaces gleamed under soft lighting, and the mirror above the vanity was large enough to reflect her entire torso.
She applied makeup with hands that trembled only slightly—mascara to darken her lashes, lip gloss that caught the light, a touch of color to her cheeks that made her skin glow.
Her nerves weren’t just about protocol or baking desserts for alien royalty. They were about him. Prince Kovrak, with his ice-blue eyes and controlled stillness that suggested barely leashed power. A white tiger shifter who’d looked at her like she was something precious and dangerous all at once.
A sharp knock echoed through the suite, controlled and precise. Faith’s pulse jumped as she smoothed the dress one final time and walked to the door, her borrowed heels clicking against the polished floor.
Kovrak stood in the hallway, and Faith’s breath caught in her throat.
Gone was the casual authority he’d worn in the foyer.
Now he was dressed in dark formal attire that made him look like he could command armies—a tailored jacket that emphasized his broad shoulders, pants that showed off his powerful build, and a silver-threaded sash that caught the dying light from the windows.
His dark blonde hair was perfectly styled except for that rebellious swoop that fell across his forehead, softening the sharp angles of his face just enough to be devastating.
But it was his eyes that undid her completely. They raked over her slowly—not crudely, but with the kind of appreciation that made her skin flush with heat. Like she was something rare. Something he might devour if given permission.
“You look stunning in that dress,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re finding the wardrobe suitable.”
Suitable. As if the dress hadn’t been chosen specifically to make her look like she belonged at his side. As if Gerri hadn’t orchestrated every detail down to the color that made her eyes look like melted chocolate.
“Thank you.” Faith’s voice came out steadier than she felt. “Everything is so beautiful.”
He cleared his throat. “I will escort you to dinner now.”
The walk through the palace corridors beside Kovrak felt both endless and too short.
But several minutes later, they arrived at the private royal dining room on the lower level.
The dining room was smaller than she’d expected, intimate rather than grand.
A single table sat in the center, set for two with crystal glasses that caught candlelight and threw rainbows across the pale stone walls.
The atmosphere was carefully curated—less palace spectacle, more controlled conversation.
The kind of setting where secrets might be shared and boundaries might blur.
Kovrak pulled out her chair with the fluid grace of someone raised on protocol, his fingers brushing her shoulder as she settled into the seat.
The touch was brief but sent electricity shooting down her spine anyway.
He moved around the table to pour wine into her glass, the motion precise and controlled.
“A warning,” he said, settling into his own chair. “Sidaii wine is considerably stronger for humans than Earth varieties. You may want to pace yourself.”
“Noted.” Faith lifted the glass and took a careful sip. The wine was rich and complex, with undertones of fruit she couldn’t identify and a warmth that spread through her chest like liquid confidence. “It’s delicious.”
“Good.” His pale eyes held hers across the table, and for a moment, the careful politeness faltered. Something raw and hungry flickered in his gaze before he shuttered it behind princely composure. “I hope you find the food equally agreeable.”
Dinner arrived in courses that showcased Nova Aurora’s cuisine—flavors richer and more complex than anything on Earth, and spices that made her tongue tingle with unfamiliar heat. Their conversation started stiff and formal, dancing around the obvious questions neither of them seemed ready to ask.
Then Kovrak surprised her.
“Tell me about your bakery,” he said, cutting into what looked like perfectly seasoned meat. “What made you want to start your own business?”
Not a polite inquiry. A real question, delivered with the kind of focus that suggested he actually cared about the answer. Faith found herself relaxing despite the formal setting, the wine and his genuine interest loosening the knots in her chest.
“Creative control,” she said simply. “I worked at a premier restaurant for years—good money, steady hours, all the security I thought I wanted. But they never gave me credit for my recipes. Everything I created became theirs, and I was just the baker who executed someone else’s vision.”
Kovrak’s jaw tightened. “That’s theft.”
“Legally, it wasn’t. I signed contracts that gave them ownership of anything I developed on company time.
But it felt like theft.” Faith took another sip of wine, the warmth making it easier to voice things she’d never said aloud.
“My mother thought I was being impractical when I left. Said I should be grateful for the steady paycheck and stop chasing fantasies. My ex-boyfriend agreed with her.”
“They were wrong.” The certainty in his voice made her chest flutter. “Building something yourself requires courage. Most people don’t have it.”
When was the last time someone had called her brave instead of reckless? When had anyone looked at her dreams and seen strength instead of foolishness?
“What about you?” Faith asked, deflecting before the compliment could settle too deeply. “What’s it like being a prince?”
Kovrak’s expression shifted, becoming more guarded.
“Heavy expectations. Little room for error.” He paused, seeming to weigh his words.
“I lost my parents when I was eight. My uncle Merral raised me after that, but he’s.
.. traditional. Duty before desire. Order before comfort.
It was necessary training, but it didn’t leave much space for being a child. ”
Faith’s heart clenched unexpectedly. Behind the controlled authority and perfect posture was a man who’d learned to carry the world before he’d learned to carry himself. “I’m sorry. That must have been incredibly difficult.”
“It was what it was.” But something in his voice suggested it had been more than that.
The conversation continued through the remaining courses, layers of politeness peeling away as the wine worked its magic.
Faith found herself cataloging details—the way his eyes softened when he talked about his few memories of his parents, how his hands moved with unconscious grace, and the precise way he spoke that suggested words were weapons he’d learned to wield carefully.
Then she asked the question that changed everything.
“Why haven’t you married yet? You seem like a great catch.”
Kovrak’s posture tightened, his wine glass freezing halfway to his lips. The easy warmth that had been building between them cooled by several degrees.
“I have not found the right woman,” he said carefully.
But Faith caught the evasion, the way his gaze shifted slightly left. There was more to the story.
“Twenty years of royal festivals,” he continued, his voice taking on a bitter edge. “Twenty years of women who wanted the crown, not the man wearing it.”
Faith’s chest tightened. “And you can’t become king until you marry?”
“Until I mate and propose, yes.” The admission came out flat and resigned. “Ancient pride law. A leader without a visible future is considered unstable.”
Mate. The word hit her like ice water, carrying implications she wasn’t ready to examine.
Her pulse kicked up as she remembered the electric shock of their handshake, the way his eyes had darkened when he’d looked at her.
The careful way Gerri had avoided mentioning certain details about this arrangement.
“So this week...” Faith’s voice came out smaller than intended.
“This week cannot fail the way the others did.” Kovrak’s pale eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, she saw something raw and desperate. “My people are losing patience. My rivals are circling. If I don’t secure my future soon...”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but Faith heard the unspoken consequences anyway. Political upheaval. Challenges to his authority. Everything he’d worked for crumbling because he couldn’t find a woman who wanted him for himself rather than his title.
Is this a trial run for her?
The question lodged in her throat, too dangerous to voice. She shouldn’t care about the romance implications. She was here to do a job and secure her future—not to get swept into some love story where she played the role of salvation for a lonely prince.
But the wine had warmed her blood, and his gaze was doing things to her pulse that she couldn’t seem to control. Every instinct she’d honed over years of protecting herself was screaming warnings, but they were drowned out by something deeper—a pull she didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore.
As dinner wound down, Faith claimed exhaustion before the night could stretch any further into dangerous territory. She needed space to think, to process what she’d learned and what it might mean for the week ahead.
Kovrak escorted her back to her suite, walking close enough that she could feel his heat radiating through the space between them. The restraint felt deliberate—like everything else about him.
Once at her door, he paused, his eyes studying her face with a piercing intensity that made her breath catch.
“Tomorrow is the opening ceremony,” he said, his voice carrying quiet authority. “You will stand beside me for that event.”
A statement, not a command. But weighted with meaning that made her pulse flutter.
“And afterward,” he added, something almost like warmth creeping into his tone, “I will show you the kitchens.”
There it was—the reminder that she had a job to do beyond being decorative arm candy. Professional obligations that didn’t require her to navigate the minefield of royal romance or tiger shifter politics.
“Goodnight, Prince Kovrak.”
His eyes darkened slightly at the formality. “Just Kovrak,” he said quietly. “Goodnight, Faith.”
She slipped inside her suite and closed the door, pressing her back against the solid wood.
What in the world—or galaxy—was that contract she signed really about?