Chapter 6 Kovrak
SIX
KOVRAK
Time splintered into pure instinct. Kovrak was already moving when Faith’s knees softened, her body swaying like a cut flower in the wind. His arms caught her waist just as her eyes rolled back, and he swept her against his chest before she could strike the unforgiving stone of the platform.
Her weight settled against him with startling delicacy—this woman who carried herself with such determined strength suddenly fragile as spun glass in his arms. The crowd gasped as one living entity, the sound rippling outward like disturbed water.
Too still. Too pale.
His heart hammered against his ribs with a violence that threatened to crack bone. His tiger roared through him, demanding action and protection—every instinct screaming that his mate was in danger and he had failed to shield her.
Thalen and Merral surged forward, their voices cutting through the rising murmur of alarm, but Kovrak barely registered their presence. The world had narrowed to the woman cradled against his chest, her face drained of color and her breathing too shallow.
He lowered to one knee without thought, gathering her closer as if he could transfer his strength directly into her body. His fingers brushed the silken strands of brown hair back from her face, revealing the sharp cheekbones that had captivated him from the first moment.
“Faith.” Her name escaped as barely a whisper, meant only for her unconscious ears.
The ceremony dissolved around them into anxious whispers and shuffling feet. The scent of alarm spread sharp and metallic through the crowd—his people sensing their prince undone, his legendary control cracking in full view of hundreds of witnesses.
Let them see, his tiger snarled. Let them understand what she means to us.
“Should I summon a healer?” Thalen’s voice cut through the haze, professional concern threading his tone.
Merral knelt beside them, his weathered fingers finding Faith’s wrist with practiced efficiency. “Her pulse is steady. Strong.”
Kovrak’s jaw locked tight. She was breathing. Her heartbeat against his palm where it rested on her ribs. That was all that mattered in this moment—not the staring crowd, not the political implications, not the whispers already spreading like wildfire through the gardens.
“I will take care of her,” he declared, his voice carrying across the platform with absolute authority. “No one else.”
The words rippled through the front rows like a stone dropped in still water. He watched understanding dawn on face after face—their prince caring more openly for this human woman than any of the carefully selected companions from twenty previous festivals.
He didn’t bother to hide it. Couldn’t. The mate bond wouldn’t allow him to focus on anything but Faith’s pallor, the way her lashes lay dark against her cheeks, and the protective fury building in his chest at her vulnerability.
The scrape of bootsteps across stone made his tiger’s ears prick forward. Kovrak didn’t need to look up to know who approached—Varrek’s presence carried its own particular brand of calculated menace.
“This is not a promising start to this year’s festival.”
Varrek’s voice held mild concern, but it projected perfectly across the hushed gardens. His green eyes drifted over Faith’s unconscious form with clinical assessment before settling on Kovrak with cool appraisal.
“The throne demands strength. Endurance.” A pause that felt deliberately weighted. “Our pride’s future cannot afford fragility.”
The words hung in the air like poison. Varrek’s gaze lingered on Faith’s delicate features, her human softness so different from the predatory grace of their kind.
“Perhaps tradition favored shifters for a reason.”
The word human remained unspoken, but it echoed in the sudden stillness nonetheless. Kovrak felt his tiger press against his ribs—not in rage, but in deadly warning. The beast recognized a challenge when it heard one.
Kovrak rose in one fluid motion, Faith secured against his chest, and turned to face Varrek directly. His voice emerged level and controlled, but it carried the weight of absolute command.
“No one will speak of our cultural guest with disrespect.”
He didn’t say fated mate. Not yet. But the claim pulsed beneath every word, and his pride was far from naive. They saw the way he held her, the protective fury radiating from his body, and the careful reverence in his touch.
Varrek’s mouth tilted in what might have been amusement, though his eyes remained calculating. “Of course, Your Highness. I meant no offense.”
But the damage was done. Kovrak could see it spreading through the crowd—some faces lighting with cautious hope as they recognized what he hadn’t said aloud, others creasing with doubt and uncertainty.
A human queen? A human enduring the brutal politics of shifter nobility?
Let them think what they wanted. He would not debate Faith’s worthiness while she lay unconscious in his arms.
“This ceremony is concluded,” Kovrak declared, his tone brooking no argument. His gaze swept the assembled crowd with regal authority. “Merral, see it finished.”
Before Varrek could reshape the moment into something else, before the whispers could crystallize into something dangerous, Kovrak turned his back on the crowd and strode toward the palace entrance.
He felt every stare against his spine like physical weight. Felt the press of speculation. They knew what this meant—their prince was finally consumed by something stronger than duty.
The sanctuary of Kovrak’s private chambers soon enveloped them in blessed silence, the chaos of the ceremony dissolving into memory as he crossed the threshold with Faith cradled against his chest. The heavy door sealed behind them as he kicked it shut, cutting away the hundreds of staring eyes and the poison of Varrek’s insinuations.
Here, in this space that belonged to him alone, the world contracted to essential truths: the woman in his arms, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the protective fury still coursing through his veins like molten steel.
He had never abandoned a ceremony before. Never concluded one barely begun. Twenty years of flawless protocol shattered in the space of a heartbeat because his mate needed him more than tradition demanded his presence.
The realization settled deeper with each step toward his bed, a bone-deep certainty that rewrote every priority he’d held sacred.
Kovrak lowered Faith onto the midnight-blue coverlet with the reverence reserved for something infinitely precious.
Her hair spilled across his pillow like dark silk, and the sight of her there—in his bed, surrounded by his scent, claimed by proximity if nothing else—struck him with unexpected force.
Mine.
His tiger rumbled approval at the rightness of it, the way she looked nestled among his things as if she’d always belonged there. Only after she was settled did the intimacy of his choice register fully. He should have carried her to her suite, should have summoned Liora to tend her properly.
But instinct had overridden logic, and his feet had carried him here without conscious thought. To his sanctuary. To the one place where he could guard her completely.
Did I push too hard this morning?
The question gnawed at him as he studied her pale features. Perhaps his honesty about the mating expectations had been too much, too soon. Perhaps introducing her to the pride as his companion had overwhelmed her with the weight of their scrutiny.
She had chosen to stay—but maybe the true cost of that choice was only now becoming clear. Maybe she would wake and decide this world demanded more than she was willing to give.
The thought clawed deeper than any of Varrek’s carefully aimed barbs. He couldn’t lose her. Not when he’d barely convinced her to stay hours earlier, not when his tiger had finally found its other half.
Kovrak moved to his bathroom with predatory grace, dampening a cloth in cool water before returning to her side. The bed dipped slightly under his weight as he settled beside her, close enough to catch her if she stirred but careful not to crowd.
He pressed the cloth gently to her brow, watching for any sign of awareness. Her skin felt warm beneath the cool fabric, no longer the alarming pallor that had sent panic racing through his system.
Her lashes fluttered at the sensation, dark crescents lifting to reveal those warm brown eyes he’d been drowning in since yesterday. Confusion clouded her gaze for a heartbeat before awareness settled in, sharp and immediate.
She stiffened slightly when she realized where she was—his bed, his chambers, his scent surrounding her like a claim. But the emotion that flickered across her face wasn’t fear or regret.
Embarrassment. As if fainting had somehow diminished her in his eyes.
Relief loosened something tight in his chest. She wasn’t pulling away. Wasn’t demanding to leave. The fire that had drawn him from the first moment still burned steady in her gaze.
“You fainted,” he said quietly. His thumb brushed once across her cheek before he caught himself. “You will rest today.”
She studied him with that penetrating intensity that seemed to see straight through his carefully maintained facade.
“I didn’t come here to lounge around.”
The stubborn certainty in her voice surprised rough laughter from him. There she was—his relentless, unbreakable mate, already planning her next move instead of wallowing in what had happened.
Definitely mine.
She pushed herself upright despite his instinctive protest, already speaking of kitchens and ovens and festival desserts with the focused intensity he was beginning to recognize as purely Faith.
She worried about lost time, about not having prepared something for opening day, about proving herself worthy of the commission.
He saw her strength then—not the fragility Varrek had implied, but the steel spine that had carried her through years of standing on her own. The determination that had built a bakery from nothing.
“You are relentless,” he murmured, something like pride warming his tone as he watched her gather herself with characteristic efficiency.
She lifted her chin, and there was challenge in the gesture—a reminder that she hadn’t been broken by what happened, only temporarily overwhelmed.
“Well, you promised to show me the kitchens today.”
He considered arguing, considered ordering her back beneath the covers where he could watch over her longer. But instead, he couldn’t help but admire her fire, this refusal to wilt under pressure.
She was a strong mate for him.
“Very well,” he conceded, already planning how to ensure she didn’t overexert herself. “But you will change first into something more comfortable. And so will I.”
Her brows lifted, and mischief sparked in those warm brown eyes—the first genuine lightness he’d seen today.
“What? Are you going to supervise?”
“No,” he corrected smoothly, letting his voice drop to that low register that made her pulse flutter visibly at her throat. “I’m going to assist. If you require an extra pair of hands, that is.”
Her laughter filled the room like sunlight breaking through storm clouds—bright and unbroken and utterly captivating. But she didn’t refuse his help, and didn’t pull away from the heat building between them.
As she rose from his bed, steady now and ready to claim her place in his kitchens, Kovrak knew with sudden, terrifying clarity that Varrek and his pride had already seen the truth written in every protective gesture.
He had chosen her. The first step toward claiming his crown and his future.
The question that would determine everything was whether she would choose him in return.