CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The kiss lingers on my lips like a brand, Knox's taste still flooding my senses. My wolf practically purrs with satisfaction, every nerve ending singing from the contact with our mate. The primal satisfaction radiating through my body makes me want to scream.
How can my body betray me like this?
Knox's thumb traces my cheek with devastating tenderness, his green eyes soft with an emotion that makes my chest ache. Before I can step away, before I can rebuild the walls that keep crumbling around him, he leans down for another kiss.
This one starts gentle—a soft brush of lips that should be easy to endure. But the moment our mouths connect, something ignites between us. The kiss deepens, his hand sliding to cup the back of my neck, and my treacherous body melts into him like I'm starving for his touch.
Being kissed by one's mate is inherently blissful—every werewolf knows this.
The Moon Goddess designed us to crave our other half, to find completion in their embrace.
But knowing the science behind it doesn't make the pleasure any less overwhelming, any less real.
A soft sound escapes my throat before I can stop it, and Knox's grip tightens in response.
This is wrong. Every nerve tingles with desire, my skin burning where he touches me, but the pleasure disgusts me more than any physical pain ever could. How could I lose myself like this? How could I forget that my mate is the son of my enemy?
Pain pricks at my chest like needles, sharp and accusing. This man's father ordered the massacre of everyone I loved, and here I am melting in his arms like some lovesick teenager. The betrayal of my own body feels worse than any wound.
Knox finally pulls away, leaving me trembling and breathless. His eyes search mine with concern, probably sensing the conflict raging inside me through our bond.
"Aubrey? Are you alright?"
Before I can formulate an answer that won't reveal my inner turmoil, Queen Grace's delighted gasp cuts through the moment.
"Oh my goodness, you're not wearing a ring!" Her eyes fix on my bare left hand with maternal horror. "We can't have the future Luna Queen walking around unmarked."
Without hesitation, she slips her own ring from her finger—an elegant band of twisted silver set with small diamonds that catch the candlelight like captured stars. The metal is still warm from her skin as she slides it onto my ring finger, her touch gentle and sure.
"There," she says with satisfaction, admiring how the ring looks on my hand. "Much better. Consider it a family heirloom—something to start your new life with."
The weight of the ring feels like both a blessing and a shackle.
Grace's face radiates such genuine joy, such excitement for our union, that guilt crashes over me in waves.
This woman—who's shown me nothing but kindness, who's spent hours teaching me royal protocols with infinite patience—has just given me a precious family heirloom.
And I'm planning to destroy everything she holds dear.
But Jax's warnings echo in my mind: "Never trust the image of the Queen." Even though Grace seems genuinely good, Jax insisted she wasn't. The contradiction tears at me—how can someone so warm and maternal be the monster Jax described?
"Thank you," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion I can't quite hide. "It's beautiful."
Grace pulls me into another one of her bone-crushing hugs, her rose and vanilla scent surrounding me like a warm blanket. "Welcome to the family, truly," she murmurs against my hair. "I've always wanted another daughter."
The words hit me like a physical blow. A daughter. The mother who raised me is dead, killed on the orders of this woman's husband, and now she's offering to fill that void. The twisted irony makes my throat close with unshed tears.
The next morning dawns bright and clear, castle servants bustling through the corridors with renewed energy. Word of our engagement has spread through the castle like wildfire, and it seems everyone has something to say about it.
"Your Highness!" A young kitchen maid stops me on my way to training, her face glowing with excitement. "Congratulations on your engagement! We're all so happy for you."
Her sincere enthusiasm makes my stomach churn with guilt. "Thank you," I manage, forcing a smile that feels like broken glass on my lips.
It continues throughout the morning—servants, guards, even minor nobles offering their blessings and well-wishes.
Each interaction chips away at my resolve, guilt gnawing at me like a persistent wound.
These people are innocent. They work hard, serve faithfully, live simple lives devoted to their kingdom and their royal family. Yet here I am, deceiving them all.
By afternoon, the castle buzzes with preparations for the binding ceremony. Florists arrive with elaborate arrangements, tailors rush through the corridors with armfuls of fabric, and the kitchen staff work overtime preparing for what promises to be the social event of the season.
I'm attempting to escape to my chambers for a moment of peace when Iris intercepts me in the corridor, practically bouncing with excitement.
"There you are!" She loops her arm through mine with familiar ease. "Mom and I have been looking for you everywhere. We need to discuss ceremony preparations—rituals, traditions, all the important details you'll need to know."
Before I can protest, she's steering me toward Queen Grace's private sitting room. The space is warm and feminine, decorated in soft blues and creams with fresh flowers scattered throughout. Grace looks up from her embroidery with a delighted smile.
"Perfect timing, dear. Sit, sit—we have so much to cover."
What follows is an intensive education in royal mating ceremonies. Grace and Iris take turns explaining ancient rituals, demonstrating proper curtseys, and coaching me through the complex choreography involved in a formal royal binding.
"The vows are the most important part," Grace explains, guiding my hands through an elegant gesture. "They're ancient words, passed down through generations of our bloodline."
"And the timing has to be perfect," Iris adds, demonstrating a graceful turn. "Everything flows together—the music, the procession, the ceremonial exchange."
I nod along, trying to absorb the intricate details while my mind churns with conflicting thoughts. The ceremony sounds beautiful, steeped in tradition and meaning. Under different circumstances, I might have been honored to participate in something so sacred.
The conversation eventually shifts, and Iris gets that mischievous glint in her eye that I've learned to be wary of.
"Speaking of the ceremony," she says with a grin that makes Grace roll her eyes, "how are things between you and Knox in... other areas?"
Grace swats her daughter with mock disapproval. "Iris, really!"
"What? It's a legitimate question!" Iris protests, her cheeks pink with laughter. "Physical compatibility is important in a mating."
Heat floods my face as vivid, steamy images flash through my mind—Knox's hands on my skin, the way he whispered my name, the overwhelming pleasure that consumed us both. The memories are so intense, so real, that for a moment I'm lost in them completely.
But then the pleasant images twist, morphing into something darker. The nightmare surfaces unbidden—blood-soaked grass, my brother's lifeless eyes, King Alexander's cold voice commanding death. The contrast is so jarring, so violent, that it steals my breath.
My face turns pale so quickly that both Grace and Iris notice immediately.
"Aubrey?" Grace's voice is filled with concern as she reaches for my hand. "You've gone quite white, dear. Are you feeling alright?"
Iris leans forward with alarm. "Did we say something wrong? I'm sorry if I was too forward—"
Both women are watching me with genuine worry, their maternal instincts clearly triggered by whatever they see in my expression. The concerned love in their gazes strikes something deep in my chest, cracking open walls I've spent years building.
For a moment—just a moment—I let myself imagine what it would be like if this were real.
If Grace really was becoming my mother-in-law, if Iris really was gaining a sister, if Knox really was the man I thought he was before that terrible memory surfaced.
The fantasy is so appealing, so tempting, that it terrifies me.
I wish that nightmare wasn't real, the thought whispers through my mind, desperate and longing.
"It wasn't," Aria's voice surfaces immediately, firm with conviction. "I've been trying to tell you—the timing, the way it surfaced right when you needed justification—"
"Stop," I cut her off sharply. "You're just saying that because you want it to be true. Because you want Knox."
Aria's presence retreats, but I can feel her frustration simmering beneath the surface. I push the thought away, refusing to let false hope take root. Wishful thinking won't change the truth of what I saw, what I remember.
I force my expression back to neutral, managing a weak smile for the two women still watching me with concern.
"I'm fine," I say, my voice steadier now. "Just... overwhelmed by everything. It's all happening so fast."
Grace's worried expression softens with understanding. "Of course it is, dear. We're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we, Iris?"
But I'm not fine. Because even if that small, traitorous part of me wishes the nightmare was fake, I can't afford to believe it. Too much depends on staying focused on my mission.