Chapter 4 Kovrak
FOUR
KOVRAK
Dawn light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Kovrak’s private chambers, casting long shadows across the polished marble floors.
Below in the main palace gardens, servants moved with practiced efficiency, arranging the final touches for the Opening Ceremony of the Festival of Twin Suns.
Royal blue and silver banners snapped in the morning breeze, their trim accents catching the light of both rising suns.
Everything appeared flawless and controlled, ready for the spectacle that would officially begin his twenty-first attempt at securing his future.
Kovrak stood motionless before the vast windows, already dressed in his ceremonial attire—blue jacket with silver threading that matched the banners, formal trousers that emphasized his powerful legs, and the ceremonial sash that marked him as heir apparent.
His reflection stared back from the glass, every line precise and controlled.
The exact opposite of what churned inside him.
What the hell is wrong with me?
For thirty-five years, he had been the master of his own emotions.
Discipline equaled survival. Control meant strength.
Merral had drilled those lessons into him until they became as natural as breathing.
Yet here he stood, watching servants arrange flowers and feeling his pulse race like some untested youth facing his first battle.
Faith.
Even thinking her name sent heat spiraling through him, making his tiger pace restlessly beneath his ribs. The creature had been eager since the moment their hands touched yesterday, prowling through his consciousness with single-minded focus.
Mine. Claim. Mark.
Sleep had been impossible. Every time Kovrak closed his eyes, he saw her in that midnight blue silk—the way it had hugged her curves, accentuated the swell of her hips, made her legs look impossibly long.
The memory of her across the candlelit table, listening to him with genuine interest rather than calculated strategy, hit him harder than any political maneuvering ever had.
Twenty years of festivals. Twenty years of women who saw the crown, not the man.
Not once had anyone asked about his childhood or acknowledged the weight he carried.
But Faith had looked at him like he mattered beyond his title, and that simple recognition had nearly undone two decades of careful emotional armor.
His tiger hadn’t cared about conversation during dinner.
It had wanted to sweep everything off that table, lift her onto the polished wood, and end twenty years of waiting in a single decisive act.
The urge had been so powerful that Kovrak’s hand had gripped his wine glass too hard and he thought Faith would notice. But thankfully, she didn’t.
Control yourself, Kovrak.
But control felt impossible when it came to Faith.
He’d walked back to her suite three separate times last night, stopping just outside her door with his hand raised to knock.
What would he have said? What excuse could he have given for appearing at her threshold late at night?
He couldn’t possibly have told her the truth.
Faith, I need you.
Because the truth terrified even him. Kovrak had built his entire existence around never needing anyone, never depending on something he couldn’t control. Yet Faith made him feel like an addict facing his first taste of salvation—desperate, unsteady, and completely out of his depth.
The mate bond.
That’s what his tiger recognized, what had his beast practically purring with satisfaction.
All those other women—competent, beautiful, politically advantageous—had never triggered this response because they weren’t his.
Faith was different. Faith was his, chosen by forces older than politics or law.
This might actually work.
The thought settled some of his restless energy.
Last night had been promising—different in ways that mattered.
Faith hadn’t simpered or calculated. She’d challenged him, questioned him, seen past the crown to the man underneath.
If they could build on that foundation, if he could convince her to stay. ..
The comm panel on his desk lit up with urgent blue light, shattering his tentative optimism. Liora’s voice came through the speakers, strained and hesitant.
“Your Highness, there’s... there’s a problem.”
Kovrak’s blood turned to ice. “Explain.”
“It’s Lady Faith. She wants to leave. She’s invoking the exit clause in her contract.”
The words hit him with physical force, stealing the breath from his lungs. For a moment, his mind simply refused to process what he’d heard. The ceremony began in an hour. The pride was gathering in the gardens below. Varrek would be watching, waiting for any sign of weakness to exploit.
And his mate—his fated mate, the woman who might be his salvation—was preparing to walk away before the first sun reached its apex.
“What happened?” The question came out harder than he intended, but panic was clawing at his chest.
Liora’s voice grew smaller. “I was reviewing festival expectations with her this morning, explaining her role as your companion. I mentioned... I mentioned mate duties. I assumed you had explained the full implications during dinner last night.”
Shit.
Kovrak closed his eyes, his jaw clenching as the magnitude of his mistake crashed over him.
He’d chosen comfort over honesty, seduced by Faith’s laugh and the way candlelight had caught in her hair.
He’d wanted to ease her into the truth, give her time to adjust before revealing the full scope of what this week meant.
Gerri had likely made the same calculation—tell Faith everything upfront and she never would have signed that contract. Now the truth was surfacing in the worst possible way, without context or preparation.
“I’ll be right there,” Kovrak said, his voice deadly calm. “Don’t let her leave.”
He cut the connection and moved toward his chamber doors, each step deliberate despite the urgency clawing at his insides.
I need to get to her now.
The corridors of the palace blurred past as he moved with barely restrained speed—not quite running, but close enough that servants pressed themselves against the walls to let him pass.
Twenty years of failed festivals. Last year’s humiliation when he’d attended alone. Varrek circling like a predator, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The weight of his people’s expectations, their need for stability and continuity.
But as Kovrak’s boots echoed against marble floors, he realized something that should have terrified him: losing the throne felt secondary to losing Faith.
The crown mattered, yes. His duty to his people was sacred.
But the thought of watching her walk through that portal, of never seeing her smile or hearing her laugh again, made his chest feel like it was caving in.
She’s mine and I’m not losing her.
The thought pulsed through him with every heartbeat, his tiger’s certainty bleeding into his human consciousness.
The open door of Faith’s suite greeted Kovrak like a punch to the gut, confirming his worst fear—she was moments from vanishing, taking his future with her.
His chest constricted as he absorbed the scene before him: Faith standing rigid by the doorframe, her suitcase gripped in white-knuckled hands, while Liora hovered nearby with the desperate energy of someone trying to defuse a bomb.
Faith’s fury radiated from every line of her body.
Not tears or hysterics—something far more dangerous.
The kind of cold, controlled anger that meant she’d already made her decision and was simply executing it.
Her warm brown eyes had turned to flint, and the sight made his tiger pace frantically beneath his skin.
I’m losing her before I’ve even had her.
“Liora.” Kovrak’s voice cut through the tension without accusation. “Thank you for your assistance. I’ll handle this.”
The young woman’s relief was palpable as she retreated, casting worried glances between them. Kovrak stepped into the suite and closed the door with deliberate care, the soft click echoing like a judge’s gavel in the suddenly intimate space.
Faith rounded on him immediately, her suitcase hitting the marble floor with a sharp thud.
“I want answers. Real ones this time.”
Her directness hit him like a physical strike. No preamble, no politeness. Just raw demand wrapped in barely leashed fury.
“I did not agree to be actively courted for mating.” Each word came out precise and sharp.
“I did not agree to be judged by your pride as a potential mate and future queen. I did not agree to be part of some royal ultimatum where I’m engaged by the end of the week and become queen of an alien planet. ”
She took a step closer, her chin lifting in challenge.
“That is not my dream. I’m not going to be used for your goals or ambitions. I came here to bake desserts and serve as a cultural centerpiece for your festival. Nothing more.”
The words flayed him open, each accusation landing with surgical precision. His tiger snarled, wanting to somehow convince her to stay through sheer force of will. But Kovrak held himself utterly still, recognizing that this moment balanced on the edge of a blade.
Twenty years of diplomatic training, of managing crises and navigating political storms, and none of it had prepared him for this. For watching his mate prepare to walk away because he’d been too much of a coward to tell her the truth.
“You’re right.” The admission cost him, but he forced it out. “I should have told you everything last night. I was wrong to withhold the full scope of the expectations.”
Faith’s eyes flashed. “Expectations? Try demands. Liora told me I’m supposed to be courted this week, evaluated by your people, and mated by festival’s end. How is that different from being sold?”