CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The morning sun glints off the polished brass of my finest carriage as I inspect it one last time. Midnight blue paint gleams like liquid starlight, the royal crest shining in gold on both doors. Even the black stallions—identical and proud in silver bridles—seem to sense the gravity of today.
Aubrey's formal introduction as future Luna Queen must take place in the traditional ceremonial council hall, not within the castle's informal rooms. It's an ancient rite—every Luna in our bloodline has been presented to the kingdom's leaders on these sacred grounds.
Everything has to be perfect.
Even if things between Aubrey and me are anything but.
"Planning to blind the council with all that shine?" Noah's amused voice cuts through my inspection. He approaches with Astor, both wearing the formal attire required for official council business. "Or are you trying to impress a certain future Luna?"
I shoot him a warning look, but there's no real heat behind it. "The Crown Prince's mate deserves to arrive in style for her first official appearance. It's about respect."
"Respect," Astor repeats with barely concealed amusement, his massive frame dwarfing even the ornate carriage. "Right. Has nothing to do with the fact that you've been wound tighter than a spring all morning."
The observation hits closer to home than I'd like. I have been on edge since leaving my chambers, the memory of last night's unanswered questions gnawing at me. The way Aubrey deflected, the lingering sense that she was hiding something important.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lie smoothly, adjusting an already perfect bridle strap.
Noah pushes his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose, fixing me with that look that says he sees right through my bullshit.
"Knox, you've polished that carriage three times this morning.
Either you're nervous about the council meeting—which you've attended hundreds of times—or you're overcompensating for something else. "
Something like finding your mate in the forbidden territory at midnight, clearly lying about why she was there, then using intimacy to distract you from asking harder questions.
The memory of last night sits heavy in my chest—not just the passionate encounter, but the hollow feeling afterward. Knowing she was hiding something, sensing deception through our bond even as her body responded to mine with devastating honesty.
"The council meeting is important," I say finally, which isn't exactly a lie. "Aubrey deserves to make a strong first impression."
Astor's knowing look suggests he's not buying my explanation any more than Noah is, but thankfully neither pushes further. Sometimes the benefits of royal rank include not having to explain yourself to your friends.
I settle into the plush carriage seat across from Aubrey, acutely aware of the careful distance she maintains.
"Nervous?" I ask as the carriage begins to move, wheels rolling smoothly over cobblestone.
"A little," she admits, hands folded carefully in her lap. "I want to represent our partnership well."
Our partnership. Not 'us' or 'our relationship'—partnership. The clinical term makes something clench in my chest, but I push the reaction down. Maybe that's all this can be right now, given whatever she's hiding from me.
"You will," I assure her, settling back against the opposite seat. "The council respects strength and intelligence. You have both in abundance."
A ghost of a genuine smile crosses her face at that. "You sound very confident for someone who's seen me trip over my own feet during training."
The observation draws a real laugh from me, the first natural interaction we've had since this morning. "That was one time, and you'd been sparring for three straight hours. Even our best warriors stumble when exhausted."
"Still embarrassing," she murmurs, but there's warmth in her voice now. A crack in the formal facade we've both been maintaining.
I lean forward slightly, studying her face in the changing light. "Aubrey, about last night—"
Her entire body goes rigid, the careful warmth vanishing like smoke. "What about it?"
The defensive edge in her tone confirms what I already suspected—whatever drove her to that lake, it wasn't simple restlessness. But pushing now, in the confined space of a carriage minutes before her first council appearance, would be cruel.
"Nothing," I say instead, settling back against the seat. "Just... I'm glad you're feeling better today."
Relief flickers across her features so quickly I almost miss it. Almost.
The rest of the journey passes in polite conversation about the council structure, the advisors she'll meet, and the protocols she should expect.
All necessary information is delivered with careful professionalism.
By the time we reach our destination, we've successfully recreated the dynamic of a political alliance rather than a mated pair.
The council building rises before us—an imposing structure of white stone and soaring columns that speak to the kingdom's prosperity and power.
"Ready?" I ask as the carriage rolls to a stop.
Aubrey takes a deep breath, and I watch her transform before my eyes. Gone is the uncertain woman who was apologizing for nervousness just moments ago. In her place sits a future queen, spine straight, chin raised, eyes clear with determination.
"Ready," she confirms, and this time her smile reaches her eyes.
I step out first, then turn to offer my hand. For a heartbeat, she hesitates, and that small pause cuts deeper than any outright rejection could. It's the hesitation of someone who doesn't want to take what's offered, someone who's forcing herself to play a role.
Does walking in hand-in-hand with me really feel like a burden?
But then her fingers settle into mine, warm and steady, and the familiar spark of contact shoots up my arm. Whatever distance she's maintaining, whatever walls she's built between us, the mate bond doesn't care. It recognizes its match and responds accordingly.
"Together," I murmur as we approach the imposing entrance, squeezing her hand gently.
"Together," she agrees, but something in her tone makes the word sound more like a strategy than a promise.
As we climb the marble steps toward the council chamber, I'm acutely aware of the picture we present—the Crown Prince and his chosen Luna, united in purpose and power.
To outside observers, we probably look perfect: matched in our formal attire, moving with synchronized grace, radiating the kind of partnership that kingdoms are built on.
If only they knew how carefully orchestrated this performance feels.