Locke finally turns, and I can see the smug satisfaction playing at the corners of his mouth. “That’s not how it works here. Mated or not, you’re not married. No union ceremony. No official recognition. The courtiers will tear her reputation to shreds if word spreads that the king’s newly discovered heir is sharing a bed with her wolf before they’ve even claimed each other publicly.”
“That’s none of their business.” I reply, incredulous at the archaic rules governing this supposedly advanced realm. What kind of backwards thinking have we been thrust into?
“This is the Night Court,” he replies, each word dripping with saccharine sarcasm. “Everything is their business. Every whisper, every glance, every perceived impropriety becomes ammunition for their political games.”
Esme pulls her arm free with more force than necessary. “You’ve got to be kidding. That’s absolutely ridiculous.”
“Welcome to Vanir,” Locke says, his tone suggesting he’s already growing bored with our provincial shock. “Don’t worry. I’m sure your daddy will wave his royal hand and you’ll be playing house with your mutt in no time.”
The casual cruelty of his words ignites something feral in my chest. I take a deliberate step forward, my hands clenching into fists. I’m fucking done with the dog references. I’m a wolf, goddamn it. An alpha. I deserve basic respect, even in this twisted fairy tale realm.
Esme’s hand flies to my chest, her palm pressed flat against my thundering heart. “Sam,” she warns, her voice carrying that particular note that always cuts through my rage. “It’s not worth it.”
She turns to face Locke, her spine straight and her chin lifted with unmistakable authority. “Where’s my room, then?”
He gestures down the shadowed corridor to another elaborate door, this one adorned with silver instead of gold. “That one. Right across the hall. Close enough to hear each other breathing. You’ll survive the separation.”
“Come on, Sam,” she says, her voice softening as she addresses me. “Just settle in for now. Get cleaned up. Then come see me, okay?”
Every instinct I possess screams against leaving her side. My wolf paces frantically, whining at the thought of even temporary separation. But I force myself to nod, just once, the movement sharp and reluctant. “Fine.”
She squeezes my hand before she slips away, her touch lingering like a promise. Her footsteps echo down the hall, each one pulling at something vital in my chest, and Locke maintains his stoic silence as she passes. Good. Because I honestly don’tthink I could bear hearing his voice mock her again without breaking something, preferably his perfectly sculpted face.
I enter my assigned room without giving him the satisfaction of slamming the door, though it takes considerable restraint. What greets me inside makes me stop dead in my tracks, gaping in shock at the ridiculous opulence sprawled before me.
The bed alone looks like something torn from the pages of a fairy tale. Four massive posts carved with intricate twisting vines and blooming roses, sheets that shimmer with embedded magic, catching and reflecting light like captured starshine. The mattress appears softer than clouds, piled high with pillows in rich navy and silver. The furniture throughout the room is crafted from dark wood polished to mirror perfection, every surface gleaming with silver inlay and delicate detailing that speaks of master craftsmen. The walls are draped in sumptuous navy and gold tapestries, heavy curtains pulled aside to reveal tall arched windows that frame the slow fade of evening beyond the glass.
There’s a full bathroom attached that makes me question everything I thought I knew about luxury. It’s massive, tiled in gleaming black marble veined with emerald green, featuring a rain-style shower that looks like I’ll be bathing beneath a forest waterfall. When I test the taps, the water runs hot immediately, the steam rising in fragrant clouds scented with something faint and herbal, pine, maybe, or cedar. The whole place runs without pipes or flame, just water appearing like it’s been called up from the stones themselves. Magic, obviously. At this point, I’ve stopped trying to understand how anything works in this place.
A tray waits on the table near the window, steam rising from food that looks almost too beautiful to eat. The scents hit first, something rich and spiced, like slow-roasted meat glazed in sweetness I can’t name, bread that gleams faintly, and a bowl of dark fruit that seems to hum under its own light. There’s even aglass of amber liquid that smells sharp and warm, cider, maybe. I don’t know what half of it is, but hunger wins over caution. I eat until the edge of exhaustion dulls, until the strangeness feels almost normal.
By the time I reach the shower, the steam and warmth feel like another kind of opulence I haven’t earned. I scrub every inch of myself with almost violent intensity, like I’m trying to wash away the weight of this surreal day and all its devastating revelations. The hot water beats against my shoulders, loosening knots of tension I didn’t realize I’d been carrying.
When I emerge, clean and dressed in clothes that somehow appeared on the bed while I was showering—soft linen shirt in deep blue, perfectly fitted pants, and a pair of boots that actually accommodate my size—I find Locke still posted in the hallway like some kind of eternal sentinel.
He doesn’t even glance in my direction when I step out. “You smell better.”
I don’t answer, refusing to rise to his obvious bait despite the mocking smirk playing at his lips. Instead, I cross the few steps to Esme’s door and knock softly, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor.
Esme opens the door after a moment, and my breath catches in my throat. She’s barefoot, wearing a long sapphire-blue shift dress that clings to her curves and spills like liquid around her legs. Her hair is piled loosely on top of her head, secured with what looks like silver pins, though a few rebellious strands have escaped to curl down and brush against her smooth, dark cheeks. No makeup obscures her natural beauty. No armor hides her vulnerability. Just her, radiant and real and absolutely breathtaking.
She’s never looked more like the magic she was born to wield.
“Hey,” she says softly, reaching for my hand and pulling me into her sanctuary. I don’t miss the lingering look she givesLocke before closing the door firmly behind us, shutting out his watchful presence.
I step into a room that makes mine look positively modest by comparison. Everything here speaks of royalty and wonder, walls painted in deep purple and midnight blue, adorned with hand-painted constellations that seem to shimmer and move in the flickering light. A fireplace dominates one wall, flames dancing in impossible shades of silver and blue. The wardrobe is a work of art itself, carved with intricate crescent moons and blooming night flowers. Even the air itself seems enchanted, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and moonlight.
“This place is absolutely insane,” Esme says as she leans her back against the door, her eyes wide with wonder and disbelief.
“Not arguing with that assessment,” I reply with a huffed laugh, still taking in the magical opulence surrounding us.
“They have running water that’s actually hot. Showers with water pressure that defies physics. Electricity that isn’t quite electricity. Clothes that appear out of thin air.” She rattles off the impossibilities with growing excitement. “Do you think there are Brownies in Vanir? I mean, that’s the only rational explanation for the appearing and disappearing act.”
“Luxury meets lunacy, I guess. But you might be right about the Brownies theory. How else could things materialize and vanish without us ever seeing the people responsible?” I shrug, though privately I’m beginning to suspect the magic here operates on levels I can’t even begin to comprehend.
She grins at that, the expression lighting up her entire face before it slowly fades into something more serious. Her pale eyes sweep over me like she’s taking careful inventory of my emotional state. “You okay?”
“Define okay,” I say, unable to keep the unease from my voice.
