CHAPTER ELEVEN
AUbrEY
My eyes flutter open gently to the morning sunlight streaming through the gossamer curtains, painting the room in a soft golden glow.
I lift my hands to stretch when a scent hits me – cedar with hints of storm rain – making me freeze mid-motion.
My heart stutters as I quickly turn to the side, and there he is – my mate, lying in bed next to me.
My eyes widen in shock as I wonder when he got into the bed, and then the memories of last night come crashing back.
My hand flies to my lips as I remember his pressed against mine, the phantom sensation so vivid it feels like he's still kissing me.
Oh, heavens above! Did I really let him kiss me – and worse, kiss him back with such enthusiasm?
What the hell was I thinking? My cheeks burn with the memory of how I'd melted into that kiss; my fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.
I quickly scramble out of the bed, my heart thundering against my ribs.
The silk sheets rustle accusingly as I escape their warmth.
Now's not the time for self-recrimination.
I need to get out of here before he wakes up.
He already thinks I want us to claim the mate bond after that last desperate request. My eyes squeeze shut as the moment replays in my mind, mortification washing over me in waves.
How could I have been so bold as to ask him to sleep with me?
In a way, I'm grateful he rejected me. This could have been so much worse.
"No, it wouldn't have," Aria says, voice rich with conviction. "If anything, it would've been better if he had mated with us."
"How?" I argue back, padding down the marble hallway.
"Did you forget how your whole body lit up from just one kiss?" Aria's tone is smug. "It was perfect – imagine how amazing mating would be."
"That's because we're mates!" I argue back, my fingers curling into fists. "Of course, the kiss felt good. It's literally written in our DNA, Aria!"
"Exactly my point!" Her voice rises with frustration, echoing through my mind. "He's our mate. Kissing him, being with him – it's our right! He's not some random wolf off the street." The anger in her voice makes my skin prickle.
I release a soft sigh, my shoulders sagging as I try to find the right words.
She doesn't understand – it's not enough for me.
I need to want him, to crave him without the mate bond pulling strings like some cosmic puppeteer.
And beyond that... being intimate would only complicate my real purpose here, a thought that makes my stomach twist with guilt.
I push Aria to the back of my mind, her frustrated growl fading as I find myself standing in the palace kitchen.
The smell of fresh bread and brewing coffee fills the air, and my stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven't eaten.
I hadn't even noticed walking here, lost in my internal debate.
Maybe I can grab something quick before heading back to my room – hopefully, the kitchen's still serving, even though the guards' usual breakfast time has passed.
"Your Highness!" The head chef's voice rings out across the gleaming counters. She turns from the stove, wooden spoon in hand, her grey-streaked hair escaping its neat bun. "What are you doing here? Do you need me to prepare something special?"
The title hits me like a physical blow, making me wince.
I don't think I'll ever get used to being called 'Your Highness' – each time feels like another sharp reminder of my deception.
The guilt weighs heavily, knowing I plan to manipulate their prince's feelings if he ever develops any for me beyond the mate bond.
"Please, call me Aubrey," I say, trying to sound casual as I slide onto a worn wooden stool by the prep counter, but the chef lets out a horrified gasp that makes me jump.
"No, Your Highness! You can't sit there!"
My backside leaves the stool so fast you'd think it was on fire. "Oh, sorry," I stammer, heat creeping up my neck. "Where should I sit?"
"At the table with the royals."
I freeze, staring at her like she just suggested I eat my own shoe. The idea of going to the royal dining room makes no sense.
"Why?" I ask slowly, though I already have a sinking feeling about her answer.
"Because you're the crown princess," the chef says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You won't eat anywhere else."
"Oh." The sigh escapes me before I can stop it. Being mated to Knox is clearly going to change more than I bargained for. The thought of all this special treatment makes my skin itch.
I'm about to beg her to just serve me here when a familiar voice calls my name. I spin around to find Iris standing in the kitchen doorway, her long dark hair perfectly styled despite the early hour, wearing a casual but clearly expensive blue dress.
"Good morning, sister-in-law." She approaches with that easy grace I've come to associate with the royal family.
"Morning, Iris." She has asked me to drop the formalities when addressing her.
"Are you also late for breakfast?" She links her arm through mine, steering me out of the kitchen before I can protest. The gentle but firm grip tells me I don't have much choice in the matter.
I nod, resigned to my fate, as she adds, "Same, but you shouldn't have to go to the kitchen.
Mom won't make a big fuss about being on time, especially after the night you had.
" There's a knowing glint in her eye that makes me wonder exactly how much she knows about last night.
I shrug it off, choosing not to dwell on it.
We continue down the corridor toward the royal dining area, the ornate double doors coming into view.
But just as I'm about to turn my focus back to the breakfast ahead, a maid passes by.
Normally, they avoid eye contact, but this one surprises me with a warm, almost proud smile.
I blink, staring after her in confusion. What was that about?
Before I can process it, another maid does the same thing – this one actually straightening her posture as she passes, her smile radiating something close to admiration.
"Why the face?" Iris asks, noticing my confusion.
"The maids just smiled at me," I say with a forced laugh, trying to hide how unsettled I feel.
"And that's odd, why?" she says, still picking at it.
"Because that never happens." Not to me, not in ever.
"Really?" Iris's eyebrows rise in surprise. "You shouldn't be surprised. I bet you're going to be getting a lot of fans."
"Why?"
"Because word got out."
My stomach tightens. "About?"
"You being the crown prince's guard." Iris's voice fills with pride. "You know you're the only female in his detail, right?"
"Wait... the maids are happy about that? Not ashamed?" The words come out barely above a whisper.
Iris nods, squeezing my arm. "Of course they are. You're breaking barriers, showing what's possible."
I stop walking, my mind reeling as the reality of this hits me.
Everything here is so different from Jax Manor.
There, the mere suggestion of me learning self-defense was met with sneers and whispered disapproval.
Women were meant to be protected, not protectors.
But here... here they're proud of my strength.
The contrast is so stark it makes my throat tight. If I didn't know better, I'd think the oppression in Jax manor was deliberate. The thought sends a chill down my spine.
When we reach the royal dining room, its crystal chandeliers casting rainbow patterns across the polished wood table, a young maid approaches as she sets down a plate of fresh fruit. She leans close, her voice trembling with emotion.
"I just wanted to say," she whispers, "you inspire me so much. I've started training in secret. Maybe one day..." She straightens up, blushing furiously. "I want to be strong like you."
Tears prick at my eyes, and I have to blink rapidly to hold them back.
In Jax Manor, I was the odd one out, the defective she-wolf who couldn't accept her "proper place.
" Here, I'm accidentally becoming someone's role model.
The weight of that responsibility, even though I don't deserve it, makes my heart ache.
I try to focus on eating the elaborate breakfast spread before me, but my mind keeps drifting to all these changes. The acceptance, the admiration, the possibility of real change for other she-wolves – it's more than I ever dreamed possible.
Still lost in these thoughts, I make my way to the training grounds.
The morning air is crisp, and the familiar scent of leather and steel from the practice weapons helps center me.
I'm just starting my warm-up stretches when I hear it – Knox's voice calling my name, thick with an emotion I can't quite identify.
The sound sends ice through my veins, instantly evaporating all the warmth and hope of the morning. Something in his tone tells me this isn't about training, and suddenly, all I can think about is last night and the kiss we shared. The dread settling in my stomach feels like lead.