CHAPTER 34
Maya
ONE MONTH LATER
My heart hammers against my ribs as I approach the ornate doors of the palace atrium. I smooth nonexistent wrinkles from my dress—a simple blue thing, nothing like the elaborate gowns I’ve grown accustomed to wearing. My palms are damp, and I wipe them discreetly against the fabric.
“His Majesty is waiting inside, my lady,” the guard stationed outside the door says, his expression carefully neutral. The palace staff still doesn’t quite know what to make of me—the Omega who helped overthrow a king, who refuses to be called “queen” despite sharing the new king’s bed.
“Thank you,” I reply, straightening my spine. “I’ll announce myself.”
The guard nods, stepping aside. I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
I push open the heavy door, the hinges silent despite their age and weight. Sunlight streams through tall windows, bathing the atrium in golden light. Potted plants create islands of greenery throughout the space, and at the center sits a smalltable set for lunch, crystal glasses catching the light like trapped stars.
Logan rises as I enter, setting aside what appears to be a state document. He’s dressed simply today—dark trousers and a white shirt open at the collar, no royal insignia or crown. Just a man waiting for a lunch companion. Just Logan.
His golden eyes find mine across the room, and a smile spreads across his face—genuine, warm, with none of the calculation I once associated with him. My heart does something complicated in my chest at the sight.
“You came,” he says as I approach, as if there had been some doubt.
“I said I would,” I reply, stopping before the table. “I keep my promises.”
“So you do.” He gestures to the chair opposite his. “Please, join me. The chef has prepared something special, though he wouldn’t tell me what.”
I take the offered seat, watching as Logan returns to his. There’s an awkwardness between us, a tension that wasn’t there before—or perhaps it was always there, just masked by crisis and danger. Now, in this moment of peace, we’re left to face the reality of who we are to each other.
“You look beautiful,” he says after a moment, his voice softer than I’m used to hearing it. “Blue suits you.”
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “You look well-rested. The crown agrees with you.”
A servant enters, breaking the moment, carrying a tray laden with covered dishes. He sets them on the table with practiced efficiency, then bows deeply. “Your Majesty. My lady. Chef has prepared a selection of summer delicacies for your enjoyment.”
“Thank you, Elias,” Logan says, his tone warm but dismissive. “That will be all for now.”
The servant bows again and withdraws, leaving us alone once more. Logan lifts one of the silver covers, revealing a dish I immediately recognize—fresh river trout with herbs. One of the few dishes my mother made regularly before selling me off to the Enclave, listed in my profile as among my favorite things. a“You remembered,” I say, surprised despite myself.
“I remember everything you’ve ever told me,” Logan replies, his golden eyes holding mine. “Every preference, every dislike, every dream.”
The intensity in his gaze makes something flutter in my chest. This is dangerous territory, too close to feelings I’m not ready to examine. I drop my eyes to the food, picking up my fork with a hand that isn’t quite steady.
“I believe we were supposed to be starting over,” I remind him, though my voice lacks the firmness I intended. “As if we’d just met.”
This game is a new one, based on my admission that they way things started for us tainted everything that came after.
Logan’s smile turns playful, a side of him I’ve rarely seen. “You’re absolutely right.” He sets down his utensils and rises from his chair, circling the table to stand before me. With exaggerated formality, he bows deeply.
“My lady, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I am Logan Corellian, recently appointed to the position of king through somewhat unorthodox means.” His eyes dance with mischief as he extends his hand. “And you are?”
Despite myself, I laugh, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly. “Maya Tantamount,” I reply, placing my hand in his. “Recently appointed to no position whatsoever, though I did help overthrow the previous king.”
“How fascinating,” Logan says, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that sends a shiver up my arm. “I find women who overthrow monarchies irresistibly attractive.”
“Do you now?” I raise an eyebrow, playing along despite the warmth spreading through me at his touch. “That must be a rather small dating pool, even for a king.”
“Quality over quantity,” he counters, returning to his seat with a grace that reminds me he was born to royalty, regardless of how he claimed the throne. “I’d rather have one revolutionary than a hundred simpering courtiers.”
“Careful,” I warn, though there’s no heat in it. “Flattery will get you nowhere with this particular revolutionary.”
