The guards sized her up like she was livestock at a market. “She isn’t as pretty as the usual ones,” one said to the other. “And His Majesty sends even the gorgeous ones away. You’re wasting your time.
”
Viola’s cheeks burned. She wasn’t here for that. But the words died in her throat because she realized, with sickening clarity, that she actually was. Her stepmother’s cold instructions echoed in her mind: the King requires a new attendant.
You’ll serve him personally. Don’t embarrass the family. She understood now what that really meant. Noble families sent daughters to court for arrangements that had nothing to do with marriage.
They had handed her over to their monarch to be used and discarded. Well. She lifted her chin. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of watching her crumble.
“It’s all right,” she said, steadier than she felt. “If His Majesty doesn’t like me, I’ll leave instantly. ”
Before she could brace herself, they shoved her through the doors. The lock clicked behind her with terrible finality.
The antechamber was smaller than she’d expected, almost intimate, with rich fabrics draped over the windows casting everything in shadow. Her wolf stirred uneasily, recognizing alpha power before her human senses could. His scent saturated the air—wild, dark, dangerous. Every instinct screamed at her to lower her eyes, to submit.
She stayed still, not defiant, just waiting. “Who are you? ” The voice came from the shadows, deep and sharp as a blade. “I’m Viola, Your Majesty.
My family sent me to—”
“Leave,” the voice snapped. She hesitated. “I said leave. ”
Viola flinched and turned toward the door.
Then she froze. The king made a low, pained sound, followed by a stream of curses. Against every instinct screaming at her to run, she turned back. Her feet carried her forward, through the antechamber toward the adjoining room.
The living quarters beyond were dimly lit, a fire crackling in the hearth. And there—the king sat near the window, hand pressed against his temple, jaw clenched in obvious pain. He hadn’t heard her approach. “Are you all right?
” The words escaped before she could stop them. His head snapped up. Piercing gray eyes, furious, locked onto hers. That’s when she saw it.
The wheelchair. The fearsome Alpha King, the monster everyone had warned her about, the man who’d sent countless women fleeing—couldn’t walk. She stared, unable to hide her shock, and his expression turned to ice. Three days later, Viola was fairly certain the king wasn’t going to make her his mistress.
And that had nothing to do with the fact that he was in a wheelchair. It was the suspicious, wary looks he sent her as she cleaned his private chambers. He watched her like she might slip poison into his tea or set fire to his curtains the moment he blinked. She’d been relegated to cleaning duty.
The palace staff called it miraculous, because the king barely let anyone inside his rooms. Most servants were dismissed within days, sometimes hours. One maid had lasted exactly twenty minutes before fleeing in tears. But Viola had made it to day three.
She moved carefully through the antechamber, dusting shelves with meticulous attention. Every item had to be replaced in its exact position. The curtains had to be drawn precisely halfway. She’d learned these rules quickly, by observing the king’s growing tension whenever he was displeased.
Like right now. “Surely you must be done by now? ” His voice cut through the silence. “Almost, Your Majesty.
” She dusted faster. “How long does it take to dust a shelf? ”
“Not long at all, Your Majesty. Just being thorough.
”
“You’ve been thorough for the past ten minutes. ”
Her heart picked up speed. She could feel his eyes boring into her back. “Yes, my stepmother used to get frustrated with me all the time as well,” she heard herself saying, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.
“How long does it take you to make a bed, Viola? Shouldn’t have spent all day cleaning the floors, Viola. I’m just slow, I’m afraid. It’s because I’m clumsy.
Whenever I try to hurry, you can be sure I’ll break something, and then I’ll get even more nervous, and perhaps break another, and then—”
“All right,” the king interrupted. “I get it. Just clean in silence. ”
“Oh, I can absolutely be silent, Your Majesty.
” She hurried to agree. “Silent as a mouse. You won’t even notice I’m here, that I can assure you. ”
He gave her a look, sharp gray eyes fixing on her with the weight of command, and she snapped her lips shut, nodding quickly.
Silence settled over the room again, broken only by the soft whisper of her cloth against wood and the occasional rustle of paper. Viola tried to focus on her task, but she couldn’t help stealing glances at him. Her wolf was constantly aware of his presence. The alpha’s power hummed beneath his skin, making her instincts skitter between wariness and something else—awareness.
He had strong forearms, she noticed. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing scarred skin and corded muscle. His hands moved across the parchment with practiced precision. “What?
” He snapped suddenly, not looking up. Viola froze. Heat flooded her face. When he turned toward her, visibly annoyed, she blurted, “Nothing.
Was just looking at your really strong forearms. I mean, not that they look, you know, too strong. They’re perfect. I mean, the right size.
”
The king sighed, a long, weary sound, and went back to his paperwork. Viola bit her lip hard enough to hurt and returned to cleaning with renewed determination. She would not speak again. She would not look at him again.
But she noticed the tension in his shoulders, the stiffness in his posture. Pain seemed to hover around him like a shadow, in the way he shifted in the wheelchair, as if his body wouldn’t let him rest. No wonder he was harsh. “Why were you cleaning your stepmother’s floors?
” He asked suddenly. Viola stared, surprised. “Your Majesty? ”
“Doesn’t your family own a dukedom?
” He still wasn’t looking at her. He’d remembered. She’d mentioned it only once, that first day, when he’d demanded to know her lineage. “They do, Your Majesty.
But after my father remarried, he—” She trailed off, uncertain how to explain without sounding pitiful. “He what? ” The king asked, impatient. He was looking at her now, papers forgotten.
“They needed help around the house, that’s all,” Viola said softly. The king’s head snapped up fully, his expression turning furious. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. “I don’t like liars,” he said, each word precise and cutting.
Viola went very still. She could feel her wolf instinct screaming at her to lower her eyes, to submit to the alpha’s displeasure. But she wasn’t lying. She hadn’t lied.
Still, she knew better than to snap back at an angry king. Her stepfamily had taught her well. When someone more powerful than you was angry, you stayed calm and waited for the storm to pass. “You will tell me everything,” the king continued, his voice hard as stone.
“Answer all my questions, always. Is that understood? ”
Viola nodded slowly, keeping her expression neutral. “Yes, Your Majesty.
”
“Your family owns a dukedom. Yet you claim they needed you to clean their floors? ” Now she understood. He thought she was being evasive, protecting them or making excuses.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said calmly. “They own a dukedom. They did not need me to clean. But after my father remarried, his new wife decided I should.
”
The king’s eyes narrowed. “Explain. ”
She swallowed hard and told him. Not everything—she couldn’t bear to lay out every humiliation—but enough.
How her stepmother had gradually transformed her from cherished daughter to servant. How her stepbrother and stepsister delighted in her degradation. How her father had grown distant, too weak or too willful to intervene. The king listened in silence.
When she finished, something flashed across his face, almost like shame. But the softness lasted only a moment. “I told you that window needs to be locked three times,” he said sharply. “You’ve only done it twice.
Start over. ”
Viola bit back a sigh. She’d locked it three times. She was certain.
But she crossed to the window and checked each lock carefully, testing them one by one while he watched. “Three times,” she confirmed quietly. “I saw you only do it twice. ”
“I must have checked it earlier, Your Majesty, before you—” She stopped.
“Are you arguing with me? ”
“No, Your Majesty. ” Viola unlocked and relocked each mechanism three times, slowly, deliberately, while he watched. When she finished, she turned back to him.
“Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave, Your Majesty? ”
He looked surprised by the question, as though unused to anyone offering rather than fleeing at the first opportunity. For a long moment, he simply stared at her. Then, quietly, “I apologize.
For calling you a liar. ”
Viola blinked in surprise. “Thank you, Your Majesty. ” She curtsied, careful and proper, the way her mother had taught her years ago, and left.
King Emrys didn’t enjoy the way Viola lingered in his mind. He rubbed a vicious hand over his weary, sleep-deprived eyes, trying to scrub away the memory. But it persisted—the soft touch of her gaze when she’d looked at him, not with pity or fear, but something gentler. Sadder.
How she’d unwillingly confessed her story, her voice barely above a whisper. Enough. He needed to move. Being confined to his wheelchair made his inner wolf restless, volatile.
The beast prowled beneath his skin, demanding release. Staying still was torture. So he stood. His legs took his weight easily as he crossed the room in long, powerful strides.
The floorboards creaked beneath his boots, a sound he’d learned to hate because it meant someone might hear, might know. He wasn’t stuck in his wheelchair. Not anymore. He just needed them to think he still was, so he could finally expose them when they’d least expect it.
“No one is that gentle,” he muttered bitterly to the empty room. “Not when they’ve experienced betrayal. ”
A quiet knock sounded at the door. Emrys flung himself toward the wheelchair, landing in it just as the door opened.
He was breathless, wild-eyed, his heart hammering. But it was Flora, his sister. Relief crashed through him even as his hands gripped the armrests hard enough to hurt. “Where have you been?
” He almost barked. “I sent for you hours ago. ”
Flora crossed the room with her usual grace, extending her hand to him. “I’m sorry, brother.
I came as soon as I could. ”
He clasped her hand in his, pressing it to his forehead. “There are enemies all around me, Flora. I need you close.
”
She ran a comforting hand through his too-long hair. “We’ve been through this. Your enemy is dead. You must stop this.
You’re safe. I’m here. ”
He wanted to believe her. Gods, how he wanted to believe her.
But the doubt gnawed at him, relentless. The feeling of being out of control, of missing something vital, was suffocating. “Have you been losing track of time again? ” She asked gently.
He snapped away from her touch, wheeling backward. “The new servant girl. What’s her story? Why is she here?
”
“You mean Viola? She was a gift, I believe. ”
Emrys waved a hand impatiently. He already knew that.
“But what do her family have to gain by sending her here? ”
Flora’s expression softened into something unbearably sympathetic. “Nothing, Emrys. Only your favor.
You are the king. Your people wish to please you, that’s all. ”
Emrys pulled away, wheeling himself to the window. The lights of his kingdom spread out below, thousands of tiny flames against the darkness.
So much responsibility. So many lives depending on him to see the threats before they struck once more. “I don’t trust her,” he said quietly. Flora scoffed.
“She’s more mouse than wolf. ”
He sent a glare over his shoulder sharp enough to cut. Flora had the good sense to look chagrined. “What would you have me do, Your Majesty?
” she asked. Emrys flinched at the formal address from his own sister, but he recognized it for what it was—confirmation that she would help him. “Nothing elaborate. I don’t want to spook her.
If she’s caught up in a wider plot, then I will root it out before she has a chance to flee. ” His voice hardened. “They won’t escape this time, Flora. Not again.
”
Flora’s mouth twisted, but she said nothing more. With a dip of her head, she left him to his thoughts. Viola had discovered that the palace kitchen was her favorite place in the entire castle. It was warm, always smelling of fresh bread and herbs, and the head chef, a gruff man named Benedict, had actually engaged her in conversation this morning.
That felt like progress. She stood at the preparation counter, carefully arranging ingredients—honey, vanilla, cinnamon. “Three drizzles of honey clockwise,” she murmured to herself. “One spoonful of vanilla counterclockwise, two spoonfuls of cinnamon distributed evenly on top.
”
Benedict glanced over from his dough. “All that for porridge? ”
“The king is particular,” Viola said, reaching for the honeypot. “I noticed he barely touched it the first morning when I didn’t follow the order exactly.
Yesterday I got it right and he finished the entire bowl. ”
“Guess that’s why you’ve lasted this long. Most don’t make it past the first day. ”
Viola smiled as she worked.
Every movement was intentional. This was what the king had asked for. “You know,” a voice said beside her, “he really can’t tell which way you stir the honey. ”
Princess Flora stood at the counter, her appearance sudden and silent.
She wore an easy smile, but something assessing lurked in her gaze. “The only thing that actually matters is the cinnamon,” Flora continued. “These little details, they’re excessive. You could save yourself so much time.
”
“This is what he asked for, Your Highness. I don’t mind. ”
“But he’ll never know if you don’t. You could skip the fussy bits.
”
“Perhaps,” Viola said carefully, “but he asked for it this way. ”
Flora watched as Viola reached for the tiny tasting spoon—another requirement. She was to taste every dish before serving. “What are you doing?
” Flora’s tone sharpened. “Testing it, Your Highness. The king asked me to taste his food. ”
“Viola.
” Flora straightened, urgency entering her voice. “You don’t need to do that. That’s paranoid and excessive. Honestly, it’s insulting to the kitchen staff.
”
Viola hesitated. Was it excessive? Benedict hadn’t seemed offended, and the king had been very clear about this rule. “I’ll cover for you,” Flora pressed.
“I’ll tell him I instructed you not to waste time. He won’t question me. ”
It would be easy to listen, to skip this step, to avoid awkwardness. But the king’s voice echoed in her memory: You will follow my instructions.
Always. “I appreciate the offer, Your Highness,” Viola said quietly, “but the king gave me specific orders. If he wanted me to skip the tasting, he would tell me himself. ”
“Viola, really—”
But Viola had already dipped the spoon and brought it to her lips.
The porridge was warm, sweet, perfectly balanced. “It’s good. I should get this to him before it goes cold. ”
The king accepted the breakfast without comment.
No criticism meant she’d done it right. When Viola returned to the kitchen, she found it empty except for Flora, who sat at the wooden prep table staring at nothing. “He wasn’t always like this,” Flora said without looking up. Viola paused.
Flora lifted her gaze. “I should explain myself. What just happened, when I urged you not to taste his food? It was a test.
Of your loyalty to him. ”
A test. She’d been tested without knowing it. “You passed, though,” Flora continued.
“And I’m so very glad you did. ”
Viola sat down across from her, her mind reeling. “Why did he need to test me? ”
Flora’s chest rose with a heavy breath.
“Because he’s consumed by paranoia. Six months ago, my brother was poisoned by his childhood best friend and Beta. Seamus. They grew up together, closer than brothers, and Seamus tried to kill him for the throne.
”
Viola’s hand flew to her mouth. “That’s awful. ”
“Seamus delivered the poisoned wine himself. Then at the last second, he couldn’t go through with it.
Knocked the glass away, saved Emrys’s life. But the damage was done. The poison had already started working. It paralyzed him.
Left him in that wheelchair. ” Flora’s hands clenched. “Seamus confessed. Said he wanted the throne.
He was executed for treason. ”
“Gods,” Viola breathed. “But Emrys can’t accept it. He’s convinced Seamus was working with someone else—that there’s a conspiracy, that the real enemy is still out there.
So now he tests everyone. Servants, nobles, even me. The trauma has made him see plots everywhere, even where there are none. ”
Viola’s heart twisted.
Not cruelty. Fear. “I understand why you tested me,” Viola said softly. “You can trust me, I promise.
”
Flora’s expression softened with relief. “I believe you. That’s why you passed. ”
After Flora left, Viola remained at the table.
The king hadn’t always been this way. He’d been betrayed by his best friend, left paralyzed, surrounded by people he couldn’t trust. Of course he was harsh. Of course he tested everyone.
Flora seemed worried about his paranoia, but all Viola felt was compassion. She knew what it felt like to be betrayed by the people who were supposed to love you. He needed patience, loyalty that didn’t waver, someone who wouldn’t give up on him. She would be that person.
Not because she pitied him, but because she understood what it meant to be hurt by people you trusted. Viola hummed as she dusted the shelves in the king’s office. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting everything gold. The king sat at his desk, papers spread before him.
He kept sending her annoyed glances, but she was lost in her task and her tune. Then she started singing. “Will you stop with the singing? ” Emrys snapped.
Viola startled, clutching the feather duster to her chest. “So sorry, Your Majesty. I find it helps me concentrate. You know when you have a task and your brain just kind of checks out?
Housework is a lot like that. ” She trailed off. “Not that you do much housework yourself, of course. ” Heat flooded her face.
“No, I can’t imagine you in an apron, feather duster in hand. ” She paused. “Actually, I can imagine that quite well. ”
The corner of his lip pulled up.
Just barely. Viola’s eyes widened. “Ha! Was that a smile?
”
“It was not,” Emrys said, his face straight again. But Viola felt triumphant. She’d cracked his hard exterior, and she was about to tell him exactly that when her foot caught on the rug. She stumbled forward, knocking correspondence from his desk.
Papers scattered everywhere. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. ” Viola dropped to her knees, frantically gathering them. “Don’t read those.
” Emrys’s voice was sharp, paranoia flaring. Viola dropped the papers immediately, eyes downcast. “Of course, Your Majesty. You need not worry.
” Her voice came out small. “I can’t read. ”
Emrys glared at her, mistrust radiating. But shame radiated from her—hunched shoulders, downcast eyes.
“My family didn’t find me important enough to invest in my education,” she said quietly. The simple honesty made something in his chest twist. He believed her. His shoulders relaxed.
“An education is one’s greatest weapon. ”
Viola sighed, showing her empty palms. “Alas, I am unarmed. ”
Emrys moved forward in his wheelchair, hooking a finger under her chin and lifting her gaze to his.
“Then I will teach you. ”
The palace library became Viola’s favorite place. She met Emrys there every evening, and at first the lessons were stilted, awkward. But slowly, she began to improve.
Tonight she approached with a stack of books, pretty ones with embossed covers. As she neared the table, her foot caught on her dress. She went down hard, books cascading around her. “Not again,” she groaned.
Emrys wheeled to her side, and she could have sworn she heard him trying not to laugh. “Are you all right? ”
Viola stared at the scattered books, horrified. “Oh, the books.
The beautiful books. ” She gathered them like precious jewels. “Never mind the books. Are you hurt?
”
She shook her head. Emrys picked up one near his wheel, a deep red tome, and frowned at the spine. “This is a book on accounting. ”
Viola turned completely pink.
Emrys stared at her. Then, for the first time since she’d known him, he laughed—deep, from his belly, so unexpected that Viola started laughing with him. The sound echoed through the library, bright and free. Autumn arrived, painting the trees amber and gold.
Viola had settled into a comfortable rhythm with the king. She knew when he wanted silence, when he’d tolerate her chatter, when her humming soothed him. One afternoon, she dusted while he worked. Without thinking, she began to hum.
She caught herself and turned sharply. “Sorry, Your Majesty. ”
He glanced up, voice gruff. “It’s all right.
Your voice isn’t totally unpleasant. ”
Viola suppressed a grin. Coming from him, that was poetry. She turned back, singing quietly.
When he didn’t object, her voice grew stronger. The library sessions continued as days grew shorter. Viola’s reading improved dramatically. She found herself looking forward to their evenings together more than she should.
Late one night, they read a children’s story about two young wolves triumphing over an evil king. Viola was acutely aware of how close they sat, the heat between them. She tried to focus on the words, but her mind wandered to his fingers, long and elegant despite the scars. Her cheeks heated.
“You were doing so well,” Emrys said, misreading her blush. “Keep going. ”
She read on, finishing with only two stumbles. When she reached the end, she turned to him with pride.
He smiled, but sadness lurked behind his expression. “Are you all right? ” Viola asked gently. He stared at the pages, fingers tracing the illustration.
Finally, he spoke. “It was a favorite of Seamus’s when we were boys. He always believed that good would win, that love conquers all. ” He shook his head.
“I wonder what he would think now. ”
Viola’s heart ached. Her hand trembled as she laid it on his arm. “Thank you for sharing that with me.
”
Their eyes met. The air shifted, charged with something new. Her breath caught. His gaze dropped to her lips for just a fraction of a second.
Just as she thought he might kiss her, he turned back to the book. The leaves turned crimson, then began to fall. Viola had been at the palace over two months now. One afternoon, Emrys was bent over his desk, writing frantically.
She sang a cheerful song as she worked. Then she paused, glancing over her shoulder. Emrys was absorbed in his work, not paying her notice, but he was singing along. Quietly, under his breath, his deep voice harmonizing unconsciously.
Viola’s heart soared. She continued with her chores, picking up the song. Emrys remained none the wiser, still humming along. She smiled from ear to ear.
The first frost came with deep cold. The palace grew darker earlier, and Viola worried about the king working too late. She’d taken to bringing him tea most nights. Tonight the palace was quiet when she knocked.
“Come in. ”
He was working by candlelight, dark circles shadowing his eyes. “I thought you might like some tea,” Viola said. When Emrys smiled—really smiled—his eyes crinkled.
He moved papers aside for her to set down the cup. He held up a sheet of paper, showing her. She read it aloud slowly. Most came easily now, though one word stumped her.
“It’s a village on the border,” Emrys explained patiently. “Their harvest was poor. I’m sending supplies to help them through winter. ”
Viola studied his profile in the candlelight—his sharp jaw, how his expression softened when he spoke of his people.
Over these months, she’d watched him work himself to exhaustion for his kingdom. She’d seen him make difficult decisions, heard him worry about families he’d never met but felt responsible for. She’d glimpsed who he really was beneath his tough exterior. Someone who cared so deeply it hurt.
Someone who carried the weight of a kingdom and refused to let anyone suffer if he could prevent it. Her heartbeat pounded loud in the quiet room. She realized, with startling clarity, that somewhere in these months of lessons and laughter, of songs and small kindnesses, she’d fallen completely in love with him. Emrys paced his personal chamber, rubbing his face with both hands.
He looked disheveled, distressed, his room in disarray with the bed unmade and several books strewn across the floor. He’d been like this for hours, unable to settle, unable to think straight. He clutched his heart. The pain drove him to his knees.
His eyes flashed silver, his wolf rising to the surface, before returning to their natural gray. “She can’t be. ” His voice came out rough, disbelieving. He shook his head as if arguing with something inside himself.
“She can’t be my mate. ”
As the words left his mouth, another wave of pain seized his chest. Denying the truth of their mate bond caused him physical agony, his wolf snarling and clawing at him from within. He thought about the night before.
Viola bringing him tea as he worked late, the soft concern in her eyes, the gentle way she’d smiled at him. Her thoughtfulness warmed something in him he’d thought frozen beyond repair. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he crossed the room and looked out the window at his kingdom spread below. “She’s so good,” he said to the empty room.
“But someone so full of goodness is easily manipulated. ”
An old memory surfaced unbidden—him and Seamus working late into the night, devising battle plans. The work had been serious, life and death, but Seamus had always been able to make him smile. The memory shifted, morphing into something that hadn’t happened yet.
A dream of the future. Instead of Seamus by his side, Viola was his Luna. She was beloved by his people. She would soften his image, balance his harshness with her gentle warmth.
He saw them tending to the less fortunate together. A child in Viola’s arms. Their child. A feral growl tore from his throat, shattering the vision.
Because the fantasy easily twisted into something darker. Viola in the throne room, his crown on her head, a bloody knife in her hand, his body at her feet. Just like Seamus. “That isn’t Viola,” he said violently, shaking his head.
“That isn’t her. ”
But how could he be sure? How could he ever be certain? Emrys sank back onto his bed and stared up at the canopy above him.
His future felt like it stood on a forked road. One path led to Viola, to warmth and laughter, to someone who saw him, truly saw him. The other path stretched out alone into darkness. And he knew, with a certainty that terrified him, that if he didn’t choose her, he would be alone forever.
His wolf would accept no other mate. But the risk. Gods, the risk. He closed his eyes, exhaustion finally catching up to him.
“One more test,” he whispered to the empty room. “Just one more. ”
It was late, the palace wrapped in darkness. Viola knocked on the king’s office door, cup of tea in hand.
It had become their routine, a small ritual that felt precious to her. But tonight, there was no answer. She chewed her bottom lip, uncertain. She always waited for permission to enter.
But concern pierced through her hesitation. What if something had happened? Ever so slowly, she opened the door and peeked inside. Relief flooded through her when she saw Emrys dozing by the fire, his head tilted, a blanket draped over his lap.
He worked so hard, pushed himself to exhaustion. Of course he’d fallen asleep at his desk. Viola entered quietly. As she neared, she took in his profile—strong features softened in sleep, tension finally gone from his jaw.
She could see a gentleness in him now that hadn’t been there months ago. Her eyes flared silver just for a moment as her wolf stirred and whispered: Mate. The word should have frightened her. Too soon, too fast, too much.
But Viola had learned patience, and she would wait as long as he needed. Gently, she placed the teacup beside him. His dinner plate sat there too, and she reached to tidy it away. Then she faltered.
A beautiful gold pocket watch lay on the table, catching the firelight. Gorgeous. Priceless. Definitely a family heirloom.
She glanced at Emrys, still sleeping, and sighed quietly. Had he been lost in memories tonight? She hoped they were happy ones. Her eyes filled with tears.
She just wanted him to be happy. She brushed away the tears and stacked the used plates, careful not to disturb the pocket watch. With the table tidied, Viola turned to leave. But she paused.
His blanket was slipping off his lap. Her heart thundered. She set down the plates and edged nearer. The closer she got, the more her blood heated, the more she longed to touch him.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the blanket to his shoulders. Leaning over him, she paused. This close, she could see the faint scars on his hands, the exhaustion etched into his features. “You’re so brave, Emrys,” Viola whispered, the fire crackling softly.
“You’ve kept going despite everything. It’s one of the things that makes you a great ruler. ” Her voice hitched, growing quieter. “It’s one of the reasons why I’m falling in love with you.
”
Tenderly, she stroked his fingers where they rested on the wheelchair arm. “Wheelchair or not,” she said softly, “you’re the strongest man I’ve ever known. ”
When she went to withdraw, Emrys’s hand shot out and caught her wrist. His eyes opened—fully awake, fully alert.
“You love me? ”
Viola’s heart stopped. Mortification crashed over her. “Your Majesty, I thought you were asleep.
”
“You love me? ” Emrys repeated, his grip tightening slightly, insistent. “I shouldn’t have said—it was inappropriate. ” Viola tried to pull away, desperate to flee.
In her haste, counterbalanced by Emrys still holding her wrist, she stumbled and landed in his lap. “Viola,” Emrys said. “Look at me. ”
She forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Did you mean it? ” Emrys asked quietly. She could lie. But as she looked into his gray eyes, she found she couldn’t.
“Yes. ”
“Why? ” The question came out almost helpless. “I’ve been nothing but harsh to you.
Suspicious. Demanding. ”
“Because I know you,” Viola interrupted, finding her courage. “I know how much you care about your people, how hard you work, how lonely you are.
How brave you are, every single day, choosing to keep going despite everything. ”
Emrys stared at her, something cracking in his expression. “You don’t have to say anything,” Viola said quickly. “I know it’s too soon.
I know you might not—”
“I love you too,” Emrys said. The words hung between them. Viola’s breath caught. Emrys’s free hand cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone.
“I love you too, Viola. I’ve been telling myself it was too fast, too dangerous, that I couldn’t trust it. ” His gray eyes held hers, vulnerable. “But my wolf knows.
Has known for weeks. You’re my mate. ”
Tears spilled down Viola’s cheeks. “Your mate?
”
“My mate,” Emrys confirmed, resting his forehead against hers. They stayed like that, eyes closed, breathing each other’s air. When he pulled back, his voice trembled. “Marry me?
”
Viola’s eyes snapped open. An elated giggle escaped, pure joy bubbling up. Emrys growled, but there was warmth in it. “You’re laughing at me?
”
“Only because I’m so happy I don’t know what else to do,” Viola said, beaming through tears. A genuine grin spread across Emrys’s face. “Is that a yes? ”
“Of course it is,” Viola breathed.
He kissed her then—softly at first, almost reverently. But when she responded, winding her arms around his neck, the kiss deepened. Contentment settled over her like a blanket. This was what she’d dreamed of, being held, being loved, being chosen.
But even as she breathed in his scent, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind. This is so fast. She loved him, she knew that with certainty. But was three months enough time?
Did he truly love her, or was he clinging to one of the few people he felt he could trust? He said you’re his mate, she reminded herself. That’s not something you can fake. But the doubt remained, small but persistent.
She pushed it down, willing herself to simply feel the moment. Everything would be all right. It had to be. Emrys found himself smiling in the palace kitchen as Benedict presented him with a small dish, steam rising in delicate spirals.
Emrys dipped a spoon into it and brought it to his mouth. “It’s delicious,” he praised. “Viola will love it. ”
The chef smiled warmly and continued packing parcels of food into a wicker basket.
Emrys watched, eager to show Viola how much last night had meant to him. He’d tested her before, leaving valuables around while pretending to sleep. But she’d simply adjusted his blanket and confessed her love, thinking him unconscious. She’d passed every test without even knowing they were tests.
And now it was time to let go of old fears and finally be happy with the woman he loved. “Brother! ” Flora entered the kitchen, offering her hand with a full smile. “I hear congratulations are in order.
”
Emrys smiled. “I never thought it was possible to trust again after Seamus. But Viola changed that. ”
Flora’s attention drifted to the growing pile of food.
“She does seem perfect, doesn’t she? ” she said, giving him a careful smile. Emrys bristled. Why was she looking at him like something was wrong?
Like there was something he should have seen by now? Some of his good mood faded. “What is it? ”
Flora hesitated.
“I just don’t want to see you hurt when she’s disappointed. ”
“Disappointed? ”
“It’s just… Viola’s happy now. ” Flora bit her lip.
“But how will she feel in a month, a year, when your wolves can never run together? When she truly realizes how limited you are? ”
Emrys gritted his teeth. “She’s always known me in this chair, Flora.
She doesn’t mind it. We have all of our lives to figure it out. We’re thinking of a spring wedding. ”
Flora gave a dry laugh.
“Well, she certainly hasn’t wasted any time,” she muttered. Emrys narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by that? ”
Flora walked around the kitchen table.
All traces of Emrys’s good humor vanished. “Nothing at all, brother. It’s only happened so fast, is all. I’m happy you’ve dropped this silly business about her being some pawn planted by her family.
They clearly have nothing to gain. ” She paused. “Nor is she trying to claim vengeance, I don’t think. ”
Emrys felt his chest tighten.
“Vengeance? ”
Flora shrugged casually. “It was terrible the way her family treated her, wasn’t it? Casting her aside like nothing.
As Luna, she’ll have the power to enact revenge, do anything she likes. One might have done anything to get that kind of leverage. For revenge, you know, even marry someone they didn’t truly love. ” Flora glanced at Emrys, who had lost the ability to breathe.
“Oh, but not your Viola. I’m sure it has nothing to do with that. ” She chuckled and shook her head. “It seems Seamus’s betrayal affected me more than I thought.
Silly me. Someone as perfect as Viola would never harbor such an agenda. ”
Flora moved toward the door. “Have a nice picnic.
”
And on that, his sister left. Emrys stared at the picnic basket, frozen. Old emotions rose like a tidal wave. “Would you like the basket taken to the veranda, Your Majesty?
” Benedict asked. Emrys’s voice came out cold. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite. ”
He examined his memories of last night.
Viola’s gentle confession when she thought he was sleeping. What if she’d laid a trap, knowing he was awake? No, that was ridiculous. She’d been genuine.
Hadn’t she? Flora’s voice rang in his mind. She seems perfect. Emrys’s jaw clenched.
He had to know. Had to be absolutely certain before he bound himself to her forever. One more test. Just one last time.
Viola sat alone in her bedroom, brushing her hair in the mirror when a knock at her door startled her from her reverie. “The king requests you in the throne room, my lady,” a female attendant said. Viola smoothed her dress and left her room with growing excitement. She hadn’t seen him all day.
She entered the throne room, her eyes immediately searching for Emrys in his wheelchair. But she found only a tall figure examining a tapestry on the far wall. She was about to leave when the man turned, his voice affecting an overly confident tone. “My lady,” he greeted.
Reluctantly, Viola moved fully into the room and gave him a small curtsy. “Forgive me, my lord, but I’m looking for His Majesty the King. ”
“Nonsense,” the man said, striding closer with easy confidence. “My cousin can wait.
” He smiled, broad and brilliant, and Viola stood still in shock because that’s what he said—
