Lila typed the response, amazed at how easily the diplomatic language flowed. Growing up as Liam’s surrogate mother after their father’s death had taught her to juggle crises and responsibilities beyond her years. This felt like an extension of that—just with more fire-breathing constituents.
“Jarek wants to know if you approve of the funeral seating arrangements,” she continued, scrolling through messages. “And Nyra says the mourning flowers arrived, but they need to know if you want traditional obsidian arrangements or something more colorful.”
Draven’s pen paused. “What do you think?”
The question caught her off guard. “Me?”
“You’ve been making decisions for my kingdom for three days, and they’ve been good ones,” he replied, finally looking up at her with a smile. “Your instincts about my people and what they need—they’re better than mine right now.”
Heat bloomed in her chest.He trusts me. Not just with his grief but with his crown.
“Colorful flowers,” she said after a moment. “Your mother was warm and vibrant. The funeral should reflect who she was, not just tradition.”
“See? Perfect.” He returned to his journal with complete confidence in her judgment written across his features.
Lila typed the response to Nyra, then set the communicator aside and moved to sit beside him on the thick rug. “What are you writing about today?”
“The guilt.” His pen kept moving across the page in bold, decisive strokes. “About not being there when she died. About choosing to spend the night with you instead of checking on her one more time.”
“That’s not?—”
“I know it’s not rational,” he interrupted, but his tone was gentle rather than defensive. “You’ve taught me the difference between rational thoughts and trauma responses. This is trauma talking.”
Pride swelled in her chest.He’s actually listening. Learning. Growing.
“Keep writing,” she encouraged. “Let it out.”
The cabin fell into comfortable silence broken only by the scratch of his pen and the distant call of some Nova Aurora bird. Lila found herself studying him—his strong jaw, the way his black hair fell across his forehead when he concentrated, and the surprising vulnerability in his expression as he worked through his pain.
I could get used to this. Mornings like this, working together, building something real.
The communicator buzzed again, and she got up and glanced at the screen. Another message from Lyric, this one marked urgent.
“The Ice Mountain wolves are sending a delegation to the funeral,” she read aloud. “Lyric wants to know if you’re prepared for the political implications of whatever they’re planning afterwards.”
Draven’s hand stilled on the page. “Of course they’re planning something. Mother’s death creates a power vacuum they’ll want to exploit.”
“We’ll handle it,” Lila said automatically, then froze at her own words.
When did I start thinking of everything in terms of ‘we’?
But Draven’s answering smile lit up his entire face. “Yes, we will.”
The way he said it—like a promise, like a future—made her stomach flip with dangerous possibilities. Three days of caring for him and watching him trust her with his deepest pain and hiskingdom’s welfare, had shifted something fundamental in her perspective.
Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could be his queen.
“Come here,” he said, setting the journal aside and reaching for her with those large, capable hands.
She let him pull her closer until she straddled his lap, her hands resting on his broad shoulders. The position was intimate without being overtly sexual, though the heat in his eyes suggested his thoughts were heading in that direction.
“I need to tell you something,” he said, his voice dropping to that rumbling alpha tone that made her entire body respond. “These three days... watching you take care of me, handle my responsibilities, and stand by me when I fell apart?—”
“You didn’t fall apart,” she protested. “You finally let yourself grieve properly.”
“Because of you.” His hands settled on her hips, his thumbs tracing small circles that sent sparks of awareness through her. “You’ve shown me what it means to have a true partner. Someone who doesn’t just support me but can actually share the load.”
Lila’s heart hammered. “Draven?—”
