I reach forward to run my fingers through her hair, before deciding it’s been too long since I’ve cuddled her and pull her onto my lap. Leisel relaxes against me, opening her book over her skirt, and starts on the next chapter, which looks like the original version of Cinderella. It’s difficult for me not to be attached to Leisel at just about all times, and I’m starting to get the sense I’ll need to enjoy my moments with her when they come the longer I spend in the castle because I’ll likely get busier and busier.
I glance at Wyatt, who has deposited his stack of books on the floor and settled into one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. He meets my eyes with wide ones and says, “Where does she get the energy from?”
I laugh. “No idea, but when she wakes me up at five in the morning, I wish I could borrow some of it.”
Camden stands from the sofa and makes his way to the bar set up in the far corner of the room. He pours himself and Wyatt a few fingers of scotch in a beautiful crystal tumbler, and then calls out to me, “Wine?”
“White if you have it,” I respond.
I don’t know much about wines, but I do like the taste, and I absolutely love the rich history behind wine. It’s one of humanity's oldest inventions, passed down from era to era through various regions and trade routes.
Camden returns with a glass of wine for me, hands Wyatt his tumbler, and then settles beside me again, with a single cushion separating us. Leisel spares him a brief glance before returning her attention to the book, gently flipping it to the next page.
Wyatt, staring at her with total fascination, whispers, “Can she even hear us?”
I stifle a laugh. “Not when she’s reading. The rest of the world sort of falls away, and she gets into a zone of total focus. Honestly, I think that’s something she accidentally picked up from me.”
As if to punctuate my point, Leisel flips yet another page, totally oblivious to the conversation going on around her. I hold her a little closer, feeling my heart practically burst with love for this tiny witch that I’ve been responsible for since I learned the true meaning of responsibility. Leisel is my world—there’s no other way to characterize or explain my connection with her.
If I truly start angling to do work that would change the world as mythics know it, it would be with her in mind,forher. In fact, that’s the only way I could see myself getting over the barrier of being immersed in a world I was raised to hate; I’m only doing it so I can change it for the better for the sake of Leisel. For the sake of all children, really, including Mythic children, who should not live in such a poignantly segregated society.
For half an hour, we talk about light topics related to literature—mostly philosophy—while Leisel quietly reads away on my lap. Eventually, she starts to grow tired, slumping against me and yawning. As if summoned by Leisel’s fatigue, Greta enters the library and makes her way over to us.
“Apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty, but it’s the Princess’s bedtime.”
I gently push Leisel off my lap, stand, and take her hand, ready to take her upstairs and put her to bed.
Greta looks horrified by this development, as if a royal putting a child to bed is abominable. “Please, ma’am, I can take her. Enjoy your nightcap.”
Hesitant to let someone else put Leisel to bed, but also understanding that sheisat an age where me tucking her in every night is nolonger a necessity, I look at my sister. She smiles and lets go of my hand, walking over to Greta.
“Can you read me a story so I fall asleep?” Leisel asks her, as adorable as ever with her wide glimmering eyes.
Greta visibly softens. “Of course. Come along, now, Leisel.”
I watch for any hints of discomfort as they walk out, only relaxing a fraction when I see how easygoing Leisel’s demeanor is with Greta. I know I’m as attached to Leisel as she is to me—probably more since she was literally my lifeline at times—but it also might not be a terrible idea to test run how it goes with Greta because from what Camden told me about the rigorous duties that accompany the title of Queen, I’ll be swept up in quite a few tasks shortly.
A few days ago, I might’ve laughed at the idea of integrating into shifter culture; now, I’m truly starting to glimpse the power I could wield. Some of the most powerful figures across human history were women; Jeanne d’Arc, Katherine the Great, Cleopatra, Queen Victoria—all of them were warriors in their own way, and all brought about revolutionary change in their wakes. It means immense hard work and more hours than the day offers, both of which I’m willing to put in if it’ll build a better world.
Shifters seem to have a primitive view of diplomacy and foreign relations, probably rooted in the insular nature of packs. They conduct trade with other species on other continents, but they don’t actually intermingle very much, which is problem number one. I can testify that the insular nature of my village and life led me to make shifters out to be far more monstrous than they are; fundamentally, they aren’t very different from humans as people, which means monstrosity is a decision, not a nature. Camden’s wolf certainly looks like a monster, and he spent twenty minutes whining for attention and wagging his tail earlier.
Wyatt stands, stretching his arms above his head. “Well, I’m gonna drop these books off in your wing and head to bed. It’s been a long day.”
I give him a nod, and Camden murmurs a quiet goodnight.
Once Wyatt’s has left, it’s just Camden and me in a vast beautiful space empty of other living beings. The environment itself—surrounded by a treasure trove of knowledge and stories—is an aphrodisiac, and with Camden’s good behavior tonight, I start to feel myself grow warm in his presence. The sort of warmth that isn’t kind or cuddly, but sharp and lustful andverydifficult to ignore.
“Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?” Camden asks, his voice so low it’s practically a growl.
On cue, the warmth starts to travel to my nether regions, and I practically salivate at the idea of his lips on mine—which isnota reaction I would’ve foreseen. Sure, Camden is an attractive specimen that speaks to just how perfect the male form can be, but I don’t have the best record of liking his personality, with tonight being the first exception.
I open my mouth, intending to tell him what a bad idea that is. Instead, what comes out is, “So, why don’t you?”
Chapter Thirty-One
Idon’t mean to lead Camden on. I truly don’t. The words I intended to fall from my lips were that kissing wouldn’t be a good idea, so it’s disconcerting that what actually came out was a godsdamnedinvitation. It feels like I have no control over my body or even mywords, as if the bond between Camden and me is taking the wheel and leaving my free will in the backseat.
I mean, technically, my bodyisinterested in Camden. Who am I kidding? It’s fucking primed for him as if waiting for him to invade, but my brain is a lot more sensible, and would not give him the go-ahead to touch me unless it servedmypurposes. Regardless of how hot I think Camden is, or how a couple of times tonight I might’ve even remembered what having his mouth between my legs felt like last night, Iknowengaging sexually with him right now isn’t the way to go. If I have a shot of surviving here, let alone making a change, I need to focus on solidifying my position in the palace; not on getting down and dirty with Camden.
