Although intuition is a tricky tool that can often be elusive, there are times when I simplyknowsomething in my bones. When Leisel caught pneumonia at five years old, I knew that if I didn’t get her help, she wouldn’t survive it. Likewise, when my mother went into labor, I had a soul-renting feeling that she wouldn’t come out of it.
Leisel nods, turning to give Greta an assessing look. Then she smiles. Greta takes that as her opportunity to usher Leisel back into her room and walks right into her closet.
I look back to Cara. “Where should we start?”
“With clothes,” she says at once. “Tonight’s dinner will be a small affair, but I’d still recommend you wear a dress. I’ll help you style your hair if you’ll allow me.” She pauses, looking at my face. “Normally I’d recommend a light layer of makeup, but I don’t see the need here. You’re a natural beauty.”
I blink. “Um. Thanks.”
Cara smiles indulgently. “I’m sensing you’re not used to compliments, are you?”
I shake my head. “Not particularly.”
She nods as though she understands perfectly. “Well, be prepared for that to change. I have a feeling you’ll get alotof compliments, especially from males.” Her smile widens. “It’ll drive your mate insane. I must admit, it’ll be interesting to watch our Alpha deal with it. He’s so stoic most of the time—” She cuts off with an embarrassed laugh. “Please excuse me. Sometimes I speak before thinking.”
I wave a hand at that. “We have that in common. What were you saying?”
She briefly glances at the grandfather clock in the room. “Can we talk while I prepare you? I’d hate to make you late for your first official meal here.”
I nod and follow her into my closet where she surveys the collection of clothing with pursed lips, looking between me and the impressive number of dresses. I accept her suggestion of a simple yet elegant forest-green dress, swiftly changing into it. The dress is quite beautiful; it’s made of sheer lace sewn over silk. The top half molds to my upper body, showcasing only a hint of my cleavage with a modest neckline held up by silk straps. The lace extends from the straps to cover my shoulders, creating a stark contrast between my pale skin peeking through the green woven threads. The skirt flares out, where the lace is studded with small white jewels, and stops about an inch above my knees. The material is foreign and luxurious, yet surprisingly comfortable and breathable. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I can’t hold back a small gasp; I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed the sight of my reflection.
After sitting me down in front of the sink in the bathroom, Cara begins to brush my hair while telling me bits and pieces about Camden, all of which intrigue me.
“He couldn’t have been older than nine when his mother died,” she says, weaving several intricate braids into my hair. “It hit him hard. Overnight, he went from a playful child to a serious solemn boy.” Her voice quiets. “He grew up too fast, after that. Greta was his caretaker—she saw first-hand how he changed.”
Seems like Camden and I do have something in common after all. We both had to become adults far too quickly. I recall his words to me in the forest,I’ve lost things very dear to me.Despite myself, I feel a twinge of empathy for him, but the feeling doesn’t last long. Regardless of my distaste for him, losing a parent as a child is something that fundamentally changes a person, which I know all too well.
“What about his father?” I question.
Cara’s bright smile falters for a moment. “The Dowager King abdicated his title and duties in the years after losing his mate. He passed on the responsibilities and crown to Camden. A wise choice for a wise monarch.”
Her answer is somewhat evasive which strikes me as intentional. She doesn’t tell me exactly why the previous king abdicated, only that he did. I want to push for more of an explanation, but I’d rather not risk Cara shutting down, so I resolve to find out more details on my own. Part of me also wants to point out the amount of suffering thewise monarchcaused, but I keep a lid on my anger, instead focusing on Cara’s words and learning as much as I can about the life I’ll now be living.
I sift through the many questions that have been floating through my head, wanting to take the opportunity to get some of them answered from a source I don’t despise. Thinking about the various titlesI’ve been called by, I ask Cara, “Shifters have been calling me Alpha female, Queen, future queen, and Greta just referred to me as Your Majesty. How does the rank and title system work? What does it all mean exactly?”
Cara’s smile returns. “Alpha female is technical terminology for anyone fated to an Alpha, or a female with an inner animal dominant enough to be Alpha. About forty percent of packs worldwide are headed by Alpha females. In terms of Queen and future queen, you’re currently queen-to-be; once you consummate your bond with Camden, you’ll hold the official position of queen and there’ll be an official coronation. In the meantime, you’ll likely be referred to as Queen because there’s no doubt you soon will be one. For titles, the Queen and King are referred to as Your Majesty, while the Prince and Princess are Your Royal Highness.”
I’m not sure how I feel about all of these formalities, but I remind myself this is a conversation for me to get some questions answered, not to pass judgment on answers. I can do that later.
“What do you mean by dominant inner animal?” I ask. “I’ve read that shifters can be dominant or submissive, but I don’t know much beyond that.”
Cara replies, “Dominant versus submissive refers to the power and strength of one’s animal and human, which is really up to the fates. The more dominant shifters are often in pack leadership or part of warrior ranks, while those with submissive animal counterparts are more commonly seen in positions of service. For example, I’m a submissive shifter—a certified people-pleaser—which is why I enjoy my job so much. Greta, on the other hand, is dominant, which comes in handy when keeping rowdy royal children in line.”
I hang onto each of her words with growing fascination, surprised to find that the complexity of a shifter’s nature is actually veryinteresting to me. “Can dominant shifters be mates to submissive ones?” I ask curiously. “It seems like that dynamic could be inherently unstable.”
Cara’s eyes twinkle. “Yes, submissive shifters can be mated to dominant ones. Greta and I are an excellent example of that. Her strong, outspoken presence is actually a great aid to my natural shyness. We complete each other in many ways.”
Oh.I hadn’t gotten the sense from either of them that they were intimate, let alone mated, so that takes me a bit by surprise. What’s also surprising is the significant age difference between them, though I imagine age gaps can’t be terribly uncommon in shifter culture.
“I’m sorry,” I say a bit awkwardly. “I didn’t know.”
Cara laughs. “It’s no trouble really. We don’t exactly advertise our status while working, but any shifter can tell just by scent.”
“How so?”
“When fated mates complete the bond, their scents mix. Marks also contribute before the bond is complete, as they embed a shifter's scent permanently in their mate's skin.”
Each piece of information she feeds me only deepens my appetite for more. I have to hope I’m not irritating her too much with my prodding.
