Chapter 6 Kael
KAEL
Afew days had passed since I'd told Amara she was everything. The moment wouldn't leave my mind no matter what I did, even when I was kneading dough. The memory was stuck on a loop of how her lips had parted slightly and her brown eyes had widened.
Even the way her scent had wrapped around me, stronger and sweeter than ever before, had my dragon purring in remembrance.
Mine, my dragon whispered constantly now. Tell her. Claim her for us.
Soon, I once again promised it.
Of course I was running out of excuses for my dragon and running out of time.
The Valentine gala was approaching rapidly. It was a week and a half away, and I still hadn't told her the truth about who I was. Every morning she walked through that door, and every morning I chickened out. I'd open my mouth to say something, anything, and the words would die in my throat.
What if she walks away? What if she becomes like Sabrina?
That last thought made my stomach turn. Sabrina had seemed so genuine at first. The woman had been sweet as caramel apple pie and interested in me, not my last name.
Until she'd found out who I really was, and then everything had changed overnight.
Suddenly it was all about being seen at the right places, wearing the right things, positioning herself as the future Mrs. Solas.
The relationship had imploded spectacularly, and I'd sworn I'd never put myself in that position again.
Which was exactly why I was terrified to tell Amara the truth.
I was in the back of the bakery, pulling a tray of cinnamon nest buns from the oven when I heard the bell above the front door chime. Marco was out front handling the morning rush, so I didn't think much of it.
Until I heard her voice. "Is Kael available?"
My mother had dropped in, unexpectedly.
I set the tray down and stripped off my oven mitts, my heart already starting to race. Celestine Solas didn't just drop by the bakery unannounced. She was a busy woman, running Solas Holdings and managing my brothers and their various dramas. If she was here, it was important.
I pushed through the swinging door into the front of the shop and found her standing at the counter, looking elegant and completely out of place in her tailored navy suit.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek bun, and those green eyes that I'd inherited were assessing everything with the sharp intelligence that had made her one of the most respected businesswomen in Fernwood.
"Mom," I said. "What are you doing here?"
She smiled softly as she often did with me, her eyes twinkling. "Can't a mother visit her son at work?"
"You've been to the bakery exactly three times in the two years I've owned it," I pointed out.
"Well then, I'm overdue for a visit." She glanced around the shop, taking in the customers scattered at the small tables, the display case full of pastries, the warm lighting and cozy atmosphere. "It really is a lovely venture, Kael. You've built something really special here."
"Thanks," I said, still suspicious. "But you didn't come here to compliment my interior design choices."
She laughed softly. "No, I didn't. Can we talk? Somewhere private?"
I glanced around the bakery. The morning rush was winding down, and Marco had things well in hand.
"Let me grab my jacket," I said. "There's a park down the block. We can walk."
A few minutes later, we were strolling along the path that wound through Riverside Park.
The February air was cool and carrying the faint promise of something warmer on its way.
The bare tree branches overhead were just beginning to show the first tiny buds of early spring, and patches of snow still clung to the shadowed corners of the ground where the sunlight hadn't quite reached.
A few brave snowdrops had pushed through the frost along the edge of the path, white and delicate against the gray earth.
It was the kind of morning that usually settled something in me. Today, my stomach was in knots.
My mother tucked her hand into the crook of my arm as we walked, the gesture familiar and comforting. For a moment, neither of us spoke. We just walked, our breath misting faintly in the cool air.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"It's been three days since the fitting," she said. "Have you told her yet?"
My silence was answer enough.
Her expression softened, but there was steel underneath. "Kael."
"I know," I said quickly. "I know I need to tell her. I'm going to. I just need to find the right time."
A gust of cold wind moved through the trees, shaking loose a few dead leaves that had somehow clung on through the winter. My mother stopped walking, turning to face me fully.
"The right time was six months ago," she said, not unkindly. "The second best time is now. You have a week and a half until the Valentine gala, sweetheart. That's not a lot of time for her to process something like this."
I scrubbed a hand over my face, exhaustion and frustration warring inside me. "What if she's like Sabrina?"
The name hung in the air between us.
My mother's expression shifted, understanding and sympathy flooding her features. She was quiet for a long moment before speaking.
"I know what happened with Sabrina hurt you," she said gently. "I know how badly that ended. But Kael, this girl is not her."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." Her voice was firm now.
We started walking again, slower this time. A jogger passed us, breath puffing white in the cold air, headphones in and oblivious to our conversation. A dog barked somewhere in the distance.
"Sabrina found out who you were on the third date and immediately changed," my mother continued. "She started planning your wedding before you'd even said you loved her. She cared more about the Solas name than she ever cared about you."
The memories were bitter. Sabrina showing up at family events uninvited. Sabrina dropping hints to society pages. Sabrina throwing a fit when I'd suggested keeping things private. The final blowup when I'd ended things and she'd threatened to sell her story to anyone who would listen.
"Exactly," I said. "So how is this different? The second Amara finds out I'm a Solas, everything could change."
Her hand raised softly and cuffed the side of my face in the way only my mom would do to one of her boys. "Could being the operative word."
She then guided us toward a bench overlooking the river. The water moved slowly this morning, dark and glassy, reflecting the pale gray sky and the bare branches above. A thin skin of ice still clung to the edges of the bank where the current was weakest. We sat, and she turned to face me.
"Kael, this woman has been coming to your bakery every single morning for six months. Six months. She doesn't know you're from an old royal family. She doesn't know about the money or the family name or any of it. And she still shows up, every day, for you."
"For the pastries," I muttered.
"For you," she insisted. "Do you really think she's coming back day after day for a honey-ember tart? She's coming back because of the man who makes them. The man who remembers her order. The man who notices when she's had a rough day. The man who told her she was everything."
My throat tightened at the memory.
"Sabrina never saw you," my mother continued. "She saw a prince, a title, a stepping stone to the life she wanted. But this girl? Amara? She sees my sweet Kael."
A gust of wind moved across the river, rippling the surface. I watched the water for a long moment, turning over everything she was saying.
"And what if finding out about the rest of it ruins that?" I asked quietly. "What if she can't separate the two? What if she looks at me differently and I lose what we have?"
"What if you don't tell her and she finds out at the gala?" my mother countered. "In front of hundreds of people? How do you think that will make her feel? Ambushed? Humiliated? Like you were ashamed of her?"
The image made my stomach turn. Amara walking into that ballroom, probably already nervous in her new dress. Seeing me on stage with my family. The shock. The betrayal. The hurt in those bright brown eyes.
"I don't want to hurt her," I whispered.
"I know you don't. Which is exactly why you need to tell her now, in private, where she has space to feel whatever she needs to feel without an audience."
My mother reached over and took my hand, squeezing it gently.
"You promised me at the fitting that you'd tell her. I'm here to make sure you keep that promise."
"What if she walks away?"
The wind moved through the bare branches overhead, making a soft sound that settled into the quiet between us.
"Then at least you'll know you were honest with her.
That you gave her the choice. That you respected her enough to tell her the truth instead of letting her be blindsided.
" She squeezed my hand again. "But I think you're underestimating her.
And yourself. Six months of showing up, of building trust, of genuine connection?
That doesn't disappear because you have a last name she didn't know about. "
I wanted to believe that so badly it hurt. I needed to believe that Amara was different from the last person that had chipped at my self confidence.
"When should I tell her?" I asked.
"Tomorrow," my mother said firmly. "Or tonight if you can. Every day you wait is another day she could find out some other way. You need to be the one to tell her, Kael. On your terms and in private. Before the Valentine gala."
I nodded slowly, my heart hammering in my chest.
"And Kael?" She smiled. "After you tell her, assuming she doesn't run screaming, I'd very much like to meet her properly. Perhaps dinner at the house?"
The thought of Amara sitting at the Solas family dinner table made my dragon rumble with satisfaction and my human side panic in equal measure.
"One thing at a time," I managed to crack a smile.
She laughed and stood, smoothing her suit jacket against the chill. "Fair enough. But I have a good feeling about this, sweetheart. She's not Sabrina. Let her prove it."
We walked back to the bakery in companionable silence. The February morning had softened just slightly, the pale sun climbing higher and taking a little of the bite out of the cold air. By the time we reached the door, I felt steadier. Not less afraid, but more resolved.
My mother kissed my cheek before heading to her car. "Tomorrow, Kael. Promise me."
"I promise, mom."
I watched her leave and then went back inside. The bakery smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, warm and comforting against the cold outside. Marco looked up from the register.
"Everything okay, boss?"
"Yeah," I said. "Just some family stuff."
He studied me for a moment. "You look like you're about to walk into battle."
Close enough, I thought, rubbing at the back of my head.
"Something like that," I admitted.
Marco grinned. "Does it have to do with the librarian?"
I sighed. "When doesn't it?"
The grin on his face intensified. "For what it's worth? I think she's crazy about you. The real you. So whatever you're worried about, it's probably going to be fine."
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe my mother and Caspian and everyone else who seemed convinced this would work out.
But I'd believed Sabrina too and that had been a disaster.
The difference was, Sabrina had never made me feel the way Amara did. She had never looked at me like I was someone worth seeing. And she had most definitely never made my dragon purr and ask to claim someone.
My phone buzzed with a text from Caspian. Mom just arrived to the office looking satisfied. I'm guessing she terrorized you into doing the right thing?
I typed back. Something like that.
His response came quickly. Good. Now actually do it. Amara's not Sabrina. Stop letting that witch ruin your life three years later.
I pocketed my phone and stared out the bakery window at the street beyond. The morning light was thin and pale, the kind that came with February, when winter wasn't quite ready to let go but spring was already pushing at the edges.
Tomorrow, I told myself again.
Tomorrow I'd go to the library and tell Amara everything. Tomorrow I'd find out if she was truly the girl I'd been waiting for. The one who didn't care about my status.
The one who only wanted me.