THE ALPHA’S SECRET MATE
Part 2
I kept my eyes glued firmly to the coastal trade agreement on my desk.
My heart hammered a frantic, terrified rhythm against my ribs.
My breath hitched painfully in the back of my throat.
“I met someone last night,” Craig repeated.
His deep voice completely lacked the tender warmth he had shown me in the dark.
The devastating contrast made my chest ache with sudden, sharp grief.
I forced my trembling hands to remain perfectly steady.
I gripped my silver pen tight enough to turn my knuckles white.
“Did you?”
I kept my tone falsely pleasant.
“She vanished before dawn,” he continued.
He leaned his large hands heavily on the edge of my desk.
His massive physical proximity made my breath catch in my throat.
The potent scent of his Alpha aura flooded my senses.
“I need you to find her, Megan,” he demanded.
I swallowed the massive lump of panic rising in my throat.
I looked up into his intense, searching gray eyes.
“Find her?”
My voice came out as a weak echo.
“She wore a sweeping blue silk dress and a delicate silver filigree mask,” he commanded.
He described my exact outfit with agonizing precision.
He leaned closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“She is my true mate,” he stated with absolute, unshakable conviction.
My blood instantly ran ice cold in my veins.
My stomach plummeted into an endless, terrifying abyss.
“Access the official guest list immediately,” he ordered sharply.
“Compile a comprehensive roster of every single eligible woman in attendance.”
“I want you to personally interview every single candidate.”
“Report back to me the exact moment you find her.”
He did not wait for my verbal confirmation.
He turned on his heel and strode out of my small office.
The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him.
I stared blankly at the closed door in absolute, paralyzed shock.
The overwhelming reality of the situation crushed my lungs.
How could I possibly interrogate sixty-two different women?
How do I help him hunt for the very woman standing right in front of him without exposing my deadly secret?
Part 3
Megan stared at the list of names resting on her mahogany desk.
Sixty-two names glared back at her in crisp black ink.
Sixty-two eligible unmarried women had attended the autumn equinox masquerade.
Sixty-two women were categorically not the person Alpha King Craig sought.
The person the Alpha King sought was currently sitting at this very desk.
Megan pressed her palms against the cool wood.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
She tried to force air into her lungs.
The plan was supposed to be simple.
She would look for the mysterious masked woman.
She would fail to find her.
The Alpha King would eventually abandon the search.
A sharp rap on the door shattered the silence.
“Come in,” Megan called out.
Her voice sounded thin and strained.
Brian entered the office with a crisp folder tucked under his arm.
He offered a cheerful smile.
“Good morning, Megan.”
“I have taken the liberty of gathering the eligible young ladies from the ball.”
Megan felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.
“All of them?”
“Just the unmarried ones who fit His Majesty’s vague description.”
Brian flipped open his notebook.
He tapped his pen against the paper.
“Dark hair or possibly brown.”
“The king was not certain.”
“Blue dress or perhaps blue adjacent.”
“That describes approximately half the women at the ball.”
“I was going to say forty-three percent.”
Megan forced a dry chuckle.
“Half works too.”
“They are waiting in the corridor.”
Brian gestured toward the door.
Megan buried her face in her hands.
She dragged her fingers down her cheeks.
She was about to interrogate sixty-two women to help the Alpha King find his mystery conquest.
She was the mystery conquest.
No one could ever know.
The large office felt like an execution chamber.
Brian arranged two chairs behind the desk for them.
He placed a single chair on the opposite side for the candidates.
Megan poured a cup of tea from the silver pot.
She took a sip.
The warm liquid did nothing to settle her nerves.
She pulled a flask from her bottom drawer.
She added a generous splash of brandy to her cup.
She took another sip.
“Send in the first candidate.”
Megan braced her hands on the desk.
A petite blonde noblewoman entered the room first.
Clutching her silk skirts, the young lady went pale at the sight of the interrogation setup.
Lowering herself into the solitary chair seemed to take all her courage.
“My lady,” Megan began.
She kept her tone neutral.
“Where were you last night when the clock struck twelve?”
“And one to two hours later?”
Brian added.
He pointed his pen at the woman like a weapon.
“Heavens, was a crime committed?”
The blonde noblewoman gasped.
Her eyes widened in panic.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
“She did not answer the question.”
Brian leaned toward Megan.
“Write that down.”
Megan stifled a groan.
She massaged her temples.
“No crime was committed.”
“We are simply compiling a report.”
“I was dancing with Count Greg.”
The young woman sniffed.
“He stepped on my toes twice.”
Megan waved her hand.
“Thank you.”
“That will be all.”
A confident baroness swept into the room next.
Radiating total self-assurance, the woman did not wait for a single question.
Her elegant silk dress rustled with every step.
“You are looking for the king’s mystery woman,” the baroness announced.
Draping herself over the chair, a smirk played on her lips.
Crossing her legs added to her theatrical display.
“Everyone is talking about it.”
“It is so romantic.”
Megan tightened her grip on her pen.
“Is it?”
“Dark hair, blue dress, silver filigree mask.”
The baroness sighed.
A manicured finger tapped against her cheek.
“They looked quite taken with each other.”
“It was very sweet.”
“Sweet?”
Megan echoed.
The word tasted like ash.
The parade of candidates continued.
The Marquess’s daughter remembered nothing useful.
She took the opportunity to mention her availability for dinner at His Majesty’s convenience.
Another debutante insisted the mystery woman wore perfume smelling of moonlight and promises.
“Moonlight does not have a scent.”
Brian tapped his pen on his notebook.
“Well, it should.”
The debutante tilted her chin up.
By the twentieth interview, Megan felt her sanity fraying.
The office walls seemed to close in.
The scent of dozens of different floral perfumes mingled in the air.
The concoction gave her a blinding headache.
She wanted to fake her own death.
She considered fleeing to a neighboring kingdom.
“This is pointless,” Megan muttered during a brief pause.
She slouched in her chair.
“What if he never gives up?”
“What if he wants to keep searching forever?”
“Then we will search forever,” Brian replied.
He stacked a pile of notes.
He seemed entirely unbothered.
“His Majesty gets what he wants.”
Megan closed her eyes.
The memory of the Alpha King’s hands on her waist burned through her mind.
He was so gentle in the dark.
He was so commanding in the light.
She had tasted his desperation.
She had felt his raw power.
Now she was trapped in a nightmare of her own making.
She took another sip of her spiked tea.
She needed a stronger drink.
She needed a miracle.
The next morning brought a fresh wave of anxiety.
Megan arrived early to arrange the office for another round of interrogations.
She sorted the towering stack of files on her desk.
The air in the room suddenly shifted.
A heavy, magnetic pressure pressed against her skin.
It was the unmistakable aura of an Alpha.
Alpha King Craig stood in the doorway.
He looked every inch the untouchable monarch.
His tailored suit clung to his broad shoulders.
His expression was chiseled from ice.
He bore no resemblance to the man who had laughed against her lips in the moonlit garden.
“Your Majesty.”
Megan shot to her feet.
She bumped her knee against the desk drawer.
She ignored the sharp sting.
“I was not expecting you.”
“I hear the investigation is not going well.”
Craig stepped into the room.
His deep voice resonated in her chest.
“I thought I would help.”
Megan gripped the edge of her desk.
“How thoughtful.”
Craig tilted his head.
His piercing gray eyes studied her face.
“Really?”
“You do not seem very excited about my assistance.”
Megan noted the dark smudges beneath his eyes.
He had not slept well.
The realization tugged at her heart.
She forced her voice to remain steady.
“I simply hoped to spare Your Majesty the burden of this tedious process.”
“This is my mate we are talking about.”
Craig crossed his arms over his chest.
His muscles flexed beneath his jacket.
“Surely if anyone can sense her, it is me.”
“Should you not have sensed her by now?”
Megan muttered.
The words slipped out before she could catch them.
She was sitting right in front of him.
“What was that?”
Craig narrowed his eyes.
He took a step toward her.
The air grew thicker.
Megan plastered a bright, professional smile on her face.
“I said I am sure you will sense her in no time.”
Craig turned away.
His jaw tightened in annoyance.
He dismissed her entirely.
The rejection stung worse than a physical blow.
Megan swallowed the lump in her throat.
She gestured toward the door.
Brian ushered the next candidate into the room.
Lady Nguyen walked in.
The dark-haired noblewoman trembled slightly.
She kept her eyes glued to the floor.
Craig transformed instantly.
He offered Lady Nguyen a warm, devastating smile.
The young woman flushed crimson.
“Good day, my lady.”
“Did you and I happen to share a dance at the masquerade?”
“Maybe more?”
Lady Nguyen gasped.
Her hands flew to her cheeks.
“More, Your Majesty?”
Megan leaned forward.
“Your Majesty, I do not think it is wise to ask them point-blank if…”
“A kiss, perhaps?”
Craig continued.
He ignored Megan completely.
He stepped closer to the blushing candidate.
Lady Nguyen dissolved into a fit of nervous giggles.
She swayed on her feet.
She looked ready to faint.
Something inside Megan snapped.
The tight coil of tension in her chest sprang loose.
She stood abruptly.
She marched around the desk.
She grabbed Lady Nguyen by the elbow and marched her toward the exit.
“That will be all.”
“Thank you.”
Megan pushed the bewildered woman into the corridor.
She slammed the door shut.
She whirled around to face the Alpha King.
Craig scowled.
“You did not have to be so cold.”
“Excuse me?”
Megan planted her hands on her hips.
Her chest heaved.
“It would not hurt to smile.”
Craig gestured toward the closed door.
“The poor girl was terrified.”
“What did she ever do to you?”
Megan gaped at him.
The sheer audacity of his accusation left her speechless.
She took a step toward him.
“The girl was not terrified of me.”
“She was flustered because of you.”
“Every lady here will react the same way if you imply you kissed them.”
“You are the king.”
“They have eyes.”
Megan poked him in the chest.
She ignored the electric jolt that shot up her arm.
“Which is exactly what I would have told you if you had bothered to listen to me.”
Craig stared down at her finger.
He looked stunned.
“And how do you tell me I am being cold?”
“You are the coldest person I have ever met.”
Megan dropped her hand.
She paced across the room.
Her restraint was completely gone.
“Ever since I took this job, you ignore me.”
“You act like being in the same room with me is an insurmountable burden.”
“You treat me like furniture.”
Craig paled.
The color drained from his face.
“I am sure that is not true.”
“It is true.”
Megan stopped pacing.
She looked into his eyes.
The memory of his gentle touch crashed over her.
She remembered how he had asked for permission before kissing her.
She remembered how he had looked at her like she was the only woman in the world.
The contrast broke her heart.
“I apologize.”
Craig spoke quietly.
His broad shoulders slumped slightly.
“I did not mean to make you feel that way.”
“That was inappropriate of me.”
Megan shook her head.
She rubbed her arms.
She felt suddenly embarrassed by her outburst.
“No.”
“I am sorry.”
“I overstepped.”
“Megan.”
Craig stepped closer.
He reached out a hand.
He stopped inches from her arm.
“I did not realize I made you feel invisible.”
“You are just infinitely warmer to everyone else.”
She whispered.
She stared at his polished shoes.
“I do not understand.”
Craig let his hand fall to his side.
He sounded genuinely confused.
Megan sighed.
A heavy, exhausted breath escaped her lips.
The words tumbled out without permission.
“You seemed to like me just fine at the ball.”
The silence in the office became deafening.
Megan froze.
She realized exactly what she had said.
She bit her lip.
“The ball?”
Craig asked.
His tone was careful.
He tilted his head.
“Did we speak?”
“Very briefly.”
Megan lied.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
She took a step back.
“You were simply in a better mood than usual.”
Craig searched her face.
His gray eyes tracked every micro-expression.
A faint blush crept up his neck.
“I do not remember seeing you there.”
“I think I would have remembered.”
“Why?”
Megan challenged.
She crossed her arms defensively.
“I am nobody special.”
Craig met her gaze.
He parted his lips to argue.
A spark flared in the depths of his eyes.
He took a slow breath.
He prepared to close the distance between them.
The heavy oak door swung open.
A footman announced the next arrival.
“The Duchess Heather.”
The spell shattered.
Craig stepped back instantly.
The warm vulnerability vanished from his face.
His expression turned to stone.
A tall blonde woman swept into the room.
She oozed confidence.
Her polished beauty commanded attention.
Her silk gown shimmered in the morning light.
“Your Majesty.”
Heather dipped into a graceful curtsy.
She rose with a predatory smile.
“I heard you were looking for me.”
Craig frowned.
“Looking for you, my lady?”
“You are looking for the woman in the mask.”
Heather stepped closer to the king.
She placed a manicured hand on his arm.
She fluttered her eyelashes.
“The one you spent a magical night with at the ball.”
“I am happy to announce you have found her.
Craig felt his sanity slipping away.
He walked beside Duchess Heather through the frost-edged gardens.
He listened to her endless chatter about wedding venues.
He tried to remember why he had been so certain she was his mate.
He focused on the crunch of gravel beneath his boots.
“What do you think of a spring wedding?”
Heather asked.
She squeezed his arm possessively.
She leaned her weight against him.
“The gardens would be lovely then.”
Craig nodded automatically.
He had not officially proposed.
He had not even kissed her.
“Spring sounds fine.”
Heather beamed at him.
She was undeniably beautiful.
His mother would love her.
The royal court already adored her.
The problem lay with his wolf.
His inner beast remained completely silent.
There was no stir of interest.
There was no primal pull.
There was no instinct screaming ‘mine’ the way it had at the ball.
He had spent the entire week with Heather.
He had tried desperately to recapture the magic of that night.
He had questioned her story at first.
He could have sworn his masked conquest had dark hair.
Heather had a ready answer.
She claimed she wore a wig for the mystery of it all.
She claimed she left because she was unsure of his feelings.
Her answers made logical sense.
Nothing felt right in his soul.
“Dinner tonight?”
Heather asked.
She looked up at him with a coy smile.
She traced a circle on his sleeve.
Craig forced himself to focus on her face.
He suppressed a sigh.
“Yes.”
“Absolutely.”
He lifted her hand.
He pressed a brief kiss to her knuckles.
The gesture felt entirely hollow.
It tasted like an obligation.
Craig escaped to his private office an hour later.
He slammed the door behind him.
He paced the length of the room.
He wanted to punch the wall.
He needed to put his fist through something solid.
Perhaps there was no mystical connection at the ball.
Perhaps he had just been incredibly drunk.
His wolf might have reacted to the enchanted wine instead of a mate bond.
The thought devastated him.
He had been so certain.
He had believed he finally found a solution to his impossible obsession with Megan.
He had believed he found a mate he could actually claim.
Now the woman he was supposed to want felt like a complete stranger.
He paused by the window.
He stared out at the sprawling grounds.
The memory of Megan in the interrogation room flashed through his mind.
He remembered the fierce fire in her eyes.
He remembered the way she had pointed her finger at him.
She was right.
He had been cold to her.
He had deliberately ignored her for months.
The alternative was grabbing her by the waist and pulling her against his chest.
The alternative was kissing her until she forgot her husband existed.
Wanting his married secretary was driving him insane.
This morning, she had looked at him with dark eyes full of hurt.
She had asked what she had done to displease him.
He had wanted to tell her she was perfect.
He had wanted to confess he could not stop thinking about her.
Craig scrubbed his hands over his face.
He walked over to his mahogany desk.
He grabbed a crystal decanter of wolfsbane liquor.
He needed to drown his thoughts.
If the alcohol had sparked the bond at the ball, maybe the alcohol would spark it again with Heather.
He poured a generous measure into a glass.
He downed the amber liquid in one swallow.
It burned a fiery path down his throat.
He poured another.
By his fifth glass, the world softened around the edges.
He sat heavily in his leather chair.
He stared at the empty glass.
The heavy office door clicked open.
“Your Majesty, I apologize for troubling you without an appointment, but…”
Megan’s voice cut off abruptly.
She stood in the doorway.
She clutched a stack of folders.
She looked absolutely breathtaking.
“What are you doing?”
Megan asked slowly.
She took in the scene.
She noticed the half-empty decanter.
The afternoon sun still streamed brightly through the windows.
“I am doing my utmost best to get drunk before dinner,” Craig explained seriously.
He slurred his words slightly.
Megan blinked at him.
She stepped fully into the room.
She closed the door behind her.
“I want to see if my relationship has potential,” Craig added.
He pushed out his lower lip in a slight pout.
Megan stalked across the thick carpet.
Her heels clicked sharply against the floorboards.
“You do not need to be drunk for that.”
She snatched the glass from his hand.
“In fact, it is probably best if you are sober.”
Craig stared at her.
Her fingers had brushed his skin.
The brief contact sent a shockwave of heat racing up his arm.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
“You think so?”
“Obviously, Your Majesty.”
Megan set the glass on the far corner of the desk out of his reach.
She crossed her arms.
“Why would you even attempt something so foolish?”
A flush crept up her elegant neck.
Craig wanted to press his mouth against that exact spot.
He leaned back in his chair.
The alcohol loosened his tongue.
He abandoned his royal mask.
“Because it does not feel right.”
“Heather says she is the woman from the ball.”
“It does not feel like she is my mate.”
“I was so certain that night.”
“Now I feel absolutely nothing.”
He looked up at Megan.
He felt genuinely lost.
He felt completely adrift.
“Am I losing my mind?”
Megan’s expression softened instantly.
She moved around the large desk.
She stopped right beside his chair.
She reached out.
She placed her small hand on his forearm.
Craig felt her heat through his sleeve.
The sensation grounded him.
“Maybe give her a chance?”
Megan suggested gently.
Her voice wavered slightly.
“Maybe she is just being shy.”
Craig barely processed her words.
He stared at her mouth.
He watched her lips move.
“Who do you mean?”
He asked.
His brain had ceased functioning the moment she touched him.
“The Duchess, sire,” Megan whispered.
Her eyes darted down to his lips.
“Oh.”
Craig blinked.
He tried to focus on the conversation.
He failed.
“Right.”
“Yes.”
“The Duchess.”
He let out a long breath.
“Her mouth is not nearly as lovely as yours.”
Megan gasped softly.
She froze in place.
“You really think I should give her a chance?”
Craig asked.
He tilted his head.
He watched her chest rise and fall with rapid breaths.
Megan stared back at him.
Her lips parted.
“I…”
She started.
She stopped.
Her scent suddenly shifted in the air.
It sweetened.
It deepened into something intoxicating and undeniably aroused.
“You…”
Craig prompted.
He leaned toward her.
He followed the scent like a starving man.
She was right there.
She smelled like pure heaven.
“I…”
Megan closed her eyes tightly.
She shook her head.
“No.”
“No, I do not.”
Craig froze.
His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
“You do not?”
“I do not think you should give her a chance, Your Majesty.”
Megan opened her eyes.
They blazed with sudden, fierce intensity.
“I do not think the Duchess is your mystery lady.”
“In fact, I think you should forget about her altogether.”
“She does not deserve you.”
Megan took a shaky breath.
She leaned closer.
“You deserve to feel that spark, sire.”
“You deserve honesty.”
“You deserve to be happy.”
Craig surged upward.
He grabbed her waist.
He pulled her hard against his chest.
He crashed his mouth down onto hers.
One moment he was looking at her beautiful face.
The next moment his hand buried into her silky hair.
He swallowed her surprised gasp.
She tasted exactly like the woman from the ball.
Megan stiffened for a fraction of a second.
Then she melted against him.
She kissed him back with a desperate, hungry frenzy.
Her hands flew up to grip his shoulders.
She pulled him closer.
She tumbled into his lap as he sank back into the leather chair.
She straddled his thighs.
She fit against his body perfectly.
Every curve of her form aligned with his.
His inner wolf howled with absolute triumph.
He slid his hands up her back.
He crushed her against him.
He deepened the kiss.
“I should not be doing this,” a voice echoed in his mind.
Craig pulled back slightly.
He frowned in confusion.
Megan’s mouth was still crushed against his.
She had not spoken aloud.
“I cannot believe he is kissing me,” the voice rang out again.
It was her thought.
He could hear her thoughts.
The realization pierced through the alcoholic haze.
This phenomenon had happened before.
It had happened in the moonlit garden with the masked woman.
The mate bond allowed him to feel her emotions.
It allowed him to hear her loudest thoughts when they touched.
“Screw it.”
Her thought roared through his mind.
“I do not want to stop.”
Craig lost himself in the sensation.
He felt her overwhelming desire.
He felt her desperate need.
It matched his own perfectly.
He dragged his lips down to her jaw.
He tasted her salty skin.
“You should have said something,” he groaned against her neck.
“We could have been doing this for months.”
Megan’s hands slid into his thick hair.
She yanked hard.
The sharp tug sent a jolt of pure pleasure down his spine.
She tilted her head.
She pressed her lips to the sensitive spot just below his ear.
She scraped her teeth against his skin.
Craig gasped.
The masked woman had done the exact same thing to the exact same spot.
The missing puzzle piece finally snapped into place.
Heather was not the masked woman.
Megan was the masked woman.
His married secretary was his fated mate.
Megan pulled away abruptly.
She scrambled off his lap.
She stumbled backward.
She pressed the back of her hand against her swollen lips.
Her eyes were wide with terror.
“I should not have done that.”
Megan gasped for air.
She backed toward the door.
“I am sorry.”
“I must go.”
She spun around.
She grabbed the brass handle.
She yanked the door open and bolted into the corridor.
The heavy door slammed shut behind her.
The sound rattled the picture frames on the wall.
Craig sat frozen in his chair.
He stared at the empty space where she had been.
He ran a trembling hand through his hair.
He inhaled her lingering scent.
The woman he had searched for relentlessly was Megan.
And she had just run away from him as if he were a monster.
Megan was a complete and utter fool.
She sat at the small wooden desk in her cramped quarters.
She stared blankly at a jagged crack in the plaster wall.
She had meant to request a repair for that crack months ago.
Now it seemed like the least of her problems.
All she could see in her mind was the king.
She had kissed the Alpha King.
She had climbed into his lap in his private office.
She had kissed him like a starving woman offered a feast.
Her hands had buried into his thick hair.
She had pulled hard enough to make him groan in pleasure.
The memory sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through her veins.
She remembered the guttural sound he made when she kissed the sensitive spot below his ear.
She remembered the firm, desperate grip of his hands on her waist.
Gods, what had she been thinking?
She had not been thinking at all.
That was the core of the problem.
Her chamomile tea sat forgotten on the desk.
A thin film had formed over the cold liquid.
She wrapped her trembling hands around the ceramic cup anyway.
She needed something solid to anchor her spiraling thoughts.
She could never tell Craig the truth.
At worst, the royal council would punish her for lying about her marital status.
She would face imprisonment in the damp cells beneath the palace.
She might face permanent exile to the barren outer territories.
The legal penalty for deceiving the crown about a marriage was notoriously severe.
But at best, a far more terrifying outcome awaited her.
Her traitorous heart gave a stupid, hopeful leap at the thought.
At best, Craig would insist on marrying her anyway.
She could picture the scenario with agonizing clarity.
He would tell her he did not care about her fake husband.
He would dismiss the obscure prophecy as nonsense.
He would kiss her exactly as he had in his office.
He would stand beside her in the grand throne room.
He would proudly announce she would be his queen.
And then he would die.
The comforting warmth vanished from her body.
A cold dread settled in her stomach.
She gasped for air.
She could see the horrifying image playing out.
She envisioned Craig lying motionless on their opulent marriage bed.
His skin would look as pale as polished marble in the dawn light.
His beautiful dark eyes would remain closed forever.
His strong hand would grow colder by the minute.
It would feel exactly like her little brother’s hand had felt.
Her stomach lurched violently.
She shoved the teacup away.
“The man who weds you will not see the next dawn.”
The fortune teller’s raspy voice echoed in the quiet room.
Megan could still feel the old woman’s grip.
The seer’s hand had felt cold, papery, and impossibly strong.
Megan pressed her hands against her eyes.
She could not let that happen to Craig.
She could not let the Alpha King die simply because she had fallen helplessly in love with him.
She took a long, shaky breath.
She forced herself to think rationally.
Perhaps his reaction was a fluke.
He had been drinking.
He was overcome by the potent wine, close proximity, and the strange shifter magic that allowed him to sense emotions.
He had not seemed entirely drunk, but he was certainly not sober.
That had to be the explanation.
It was mere physical attraction amplified by alcohol and the stress of the Duchess situation.
This disaster was manageable.
She would simply avoid him.
She would maintain a strict, professional distance.
She would keep him safe by staying away.
She gathered her scattered reports from the desk.
She marched out of her quarters.
She repeated the new plan with every step down the long corridor.
Professional.
Distant.
Safe.
She reached her office door the next morning.
She paused with her hand on the brass knob.
The familiar, intoxicating scent of pine and rain hit her senses.
Craig was already inside.
He stood up the moment she entered the room.
The wooden chair scraped loudly against the stone floor.
He looked completely flustered.
He looked incredibly hopeful.
She had never seen those two emotions on his chiseled face before.
Not in all her months of serving as his secretary.
The raw vulnerability in his eyes did terrible, devastating things to her fragile heart.
“Megan,” Craig said gently.
His deep voice washed over her like a warm embrace.
She clutched her thick stack of papers against her chest.
She wielded the files like a makeshift suit of armor.
“May I help you, Your Majesty?”
His hopeful expression crumbled instantly.
The light extinguished from his gray eyes.
Her icy, professional tone clearly hurt him.
The realization twisted like a serrated knife in her gut.
“Can we talk?”
Craig asked.
He took a cautious step forward.
“About what happened last night?”
“No.”
Megan shook her head sharply.
They absolutely could not discuss the kiss.
“It was nothing.”
She moved past him quickly.
She dumped the files onto her desk.
“It was just a mistake.”
“It was not nothing,” Craig protested fiercely.
Megan made the grave mistake of meeting his gaze.
His eyes looked devastatingly intense.
They burned with a mixture of anger and desperate longing.
He closed the distance between them.
He extended one hand toward her.
The gesture was tentative yet desperate.
“It was everything to me,” Craig confessed softly.
She could see the absolute truth etched into his features.
He meant every single word.
“You were drunk,” Megan countered weakly.
She backed away until her hips hit the edge of the desk.
“I was not that drunk.”
Craig took another step closer.
“I thought your masked woman from the ball was everything to you.”
Megan tried one last desperate deflection.
“You should find her.”
“I know that was you,” Craig stated.
He sounded almost offended that she would deny it.
Megan felt the blood drain rapidly from her face.
“No.”
“That is not true.”
“I can feel your emotions and thoughts when we touch.”
Craig interrupted her lie.
“I can hear you when we kiss.”
“I felt the exact same connection at the ball.”
“The same overwhelming pull.”
“It was you.”
He paused to let the words sink in.
“You are my mate, Megan.”
“Only you.”
“That is how I knew.”
Pure panic flooded through her veins.
It felt sharp, cold, and completely overwhelming.
It felt like plunging into a frozen lake.
Craig reached out and wrapped his long fingers around her trembling hand.
His touch felt warm, sure, and achingly gentle.
“Are you really so afraid of me?”
Craig asked softly.
He released her hand.
He slowly lifted his fingers to cup her cheek.
His thumb brushed across her cheekbone.
“You can really feel what I feel?”
Megan whispered.
She searched his face for any sign of deception.
“Yes,” Craig said simply.
“And you would feel my emotions too if I claimed you properly.”
“The mate bond works both ways.”
“It is just incomplete right now.”
“It is dormant.”
“But it is there, Megan.”
“I can feel it pulsing between us.”
“You are always so distant,” she protested weakly.
She leaned into his touch despite her best efforts.
“Only because it is nearly impossible not to reach for you.”
Craig stroked her cheek.
“I thought you were happily married.”
“I was trying not to want something I could not have.”
“I was trying not to make you uncomfortable with my intense desire for you.”
He dropped his hand.
He looked down at the floor.
“I am sorry for being so cold to you.”
“No, do not apologize.”
Megan shook her head frantically.
The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush.
“I should have been honest about the masquerade ball.”
“I just…”
Craig silenced her ramblings.
He captured her lips in a gentle, desperate kiss.
It was absolutely perfect.
Megan surrendered completely.
She kissed him back with helpless abandon.
All her carefully constructed emotional walls crumbled into dust.
For one stolen, beautiful moment, she let herself believe this could be real.
He tasted like hope.
He tasted like a future she desperately wanted.
But the cruel prophecy slammed back into her consciousness.
“The ancient curse roared in her ears.”
She saw the horrifying vision again.
She saw this beautiful, stubborn king lying lifeless.
She saw herself shaking his rigid shoulders.
“Wait.”
Megan tore her mouth away.
She gasped for air.
She pressed her hands against his broad chest.
“Your Majesty.”
“Please, Megan.”
Craig pleaded.
He tried to pull her back into his arms.
“Do not pull away from me.”
“Not now.”
“I am married.”
She blurted out the lie.
The words tasted like foul ash on her tongue.
Craig went completely still.
His entire body turned rigid.
His jaw clenched tightly.
He looked like he was physically forcing himself to breathe.
“I know.”
His voice sounded horribly strained.
“I know you are.”
He took a ragged breath.
“But you are my mate.”
“I cannot just ignore this bond.”
“I cannot pretend I do not feel this connection.”
He looked into her eyes with raw desperation.
“I want you to be mine, Megan.”
“I want you to be my mate.”
“I want you to be my wife.”
“I want you to be my queen.”
The passionate confession stole the remaining oxygen from her lungs.
She desperately wanted to tell him the truth.
The confession hovered right on the tip of her tongue.
But she knew exactly how the scenario would play out.
He would insist the curse was a myth.
He would choose her despite the deadly risk.
The prophecy was undeniably real.
She knew it was real because she had witnessed her brother’s tragic fate.
Tyler had sat beside her in the musty fortune teller’s tent.
The old woman had placed her withered hand on Tyler’s young face.
She had predicted he would pass before his eighteenth birthday.
Tyler had laughed off the grim warning.
He had teased Megan about her own cursed love life.
Then he had died three weeks before he turned eighteen.
His death was quick, brutal, and exactly as predicted.
The seer’s words carried lethal weight.
If Megan married Craig, he would certainly die by dawn.
“I am sorry, Your Majesty.”
Megan forced herself to meet his pleading gaze.
“I made sacred vows to my husband.”
“I must respect them.”
Craig’s hopeful face crumpled in agony.
His hands fell uselessly to his sides.
“But surely that cannot be the end of it.”
His voice cracked with emotion.
“Please, there has to be a way.”
“I think it is best if I transfer to another position.”
Megan delivered the final, crushing blow.
“We should avoid any future encounters.”
Craig flinched as if she had physically struck him across the face.
Then, something inside him shifted.
His raw expression shuttered closed.
His face went carefully blank.
The familiar walls of ice and stone slammed back into place.
The vulnerable man vanished.
The untouchable Alpha King returned.
“If that is what you want.”
Craig stated in a hollow, mechanical voice.
It was the absolute opposite of what she wanted.
It was the only way to keep him breathing.
Megan nodded once.
She did not trust her voice to speak.
She walked briskly past him and left the office.
The metallic click of the door latch sounded horribly, agonizingly final.
An entire agonizing month had passed since Megan walked out of the Alpha King’s office with her heart in pieces.
It had been thirty grueling days of absolute misery.
Craig had retreated completely behind his impenetrable walls of ice.
He treated her with nothing but cold, distant professionalism on the rare occasions their paths crossed.
He never looked her in the eye.
He never lingered in her presence.
He acted as though she was merely another piece of palace furniture.
The stark contrast to his previous desperate affection slowly eroded Megan’s spirit.
She felt hollow inside.
She felt like a ghost haunting the palace corridors.
Megan stood in her dimly lit quarters on a Friday evening.
She methodically packed the last of her meager belongings into a worn leather trunk.
She folded her modest dresses.
She tucked her few books into the corners.
The small trunk and two battered satchels contained her entire life.
It was a pitiful collection to show for her years of dedicated service to the crown.
Tonight was the grand engagement ball.
Royal decree demanded the Alpha King announce his future queen to maintain his hold on the throne.
The court buzzed with rumors that he would finally propose to Duchess Heather.
Megan could not bear to witness the event.
She could not stand in the crowded ballroom and watch him pledge his life to another woman.
She had quietly secured a new position at a minor duke’s remote country estate.
The sprawling property sat three days ride from the bustling capital.
The distance felt necessary for her survival.
It was far enough to escape the endless gossip about the royal wedding.
It was far enough to ensure she would never have to see Craig smile at another woman the way he had once smiled at her.
She snapped the heavy brass latches on her trunk.
She stared at the scratched leather.
The finality of her departure crushed her lungs.
She was leaving everything behind.
She was leaving her career.
She was leaving the man she loved with her entire soul.
A sharp knock on the door startled her out of her miserable reverie.
Megan hurriedly wiped a stray tear from her cheek.
She straightened her posture.
“Come in.”
The wooden door creaked open.
Brian stepped into the small room.
He looked entirely out of place in her modest quarters.
His sharp suit and polished shoes contrasted sharply with her threadbare rug.
He surveyed the packed bags with a disappointed click of his tongue.
He shook his head slowly.
“You are really leaving, Megan.”
Brian crossed his arms over his chest.
“I must say, I am quite disappointed.”
“I have no reason to stay here.”
Megan forced a tight smile.
“My work is done.”
Brian raised an elegant eyebrow.
“You know, human women are fascinating creatures.”
“You do not possess the same innate drives as shifters.”
“You should have vastly more options in life.”
He shrugged his shoulders casually.
“You simply did not want to be forced into an arranged marriage.”
“So, you invented a fictional husband.”
“It is frowned upon by society, certainly.”
“But it hardly warrants some grand criminal trial.”
Relief crashed over Megan so intensely she felt lightheaded.
She grabbed the edge of her wooden desk to steady her swaying body.
The royal fixer knew her deepest secret.
He was not here to arrest her.
But the initial relief vanished in a sudden rush of confusion.
“Why are you helping me?”
Megan searched his calm face for answers.
“Why keep my secret?”
Brian looked genuinely surprised.
His eyebrows shot up toward his perfectly styled hairline.
“Oh, well, I thought the reason would have been rather obvious.”
He paused for dramatic effect.
“Because His Majesty explicitly asked me to help you, of course.”
The entire world ground to a screeching halt.
Megan forgot how to breathe.
“His Majesty?”
“He ordered me to thoroughly investigate your mysterious husband,” Brian explained smoothly.
“He was probably acting out of pure jealousy.”
“He would never admit that fact, naturally.”
“When I discovered the truth about your marital fiction…”
“You mean…”
Megan swallowed past the massive lump in her throat.
Her voice came out as a strained croak.
“You mean Craig knows about the lie?”
“Quite.”
Brian nodded confirming her worst fear.
“He concluded you probably wanted to avoid marrying anyone you did not wish to marry.”
“He assumed you wanted to avoid him specifically.”
“He believed you used the fake husband as a convenient excuse to reject him.”
Megan’s legs finally gave out.
She collapsed onto the edge of her lumpy mattress.
The springs groaned in protest.
“So he ordered me to quietly rectify the messy situation,” Brian continued.
He paced across the small room.
“He commanded me to legitimize your fictional union retroactively on paper.”
“I created a sealed legal certificate.”
“Then, well, we arranged a tragic battlefield death.”
“These unfortunate things happen in times of war.”
“Craig knows I was never truly married?”
Megan whispered.
She stared at the floorboards in utter shock.
Brian nodded calmly again.
“That is entirely correct.”
“And he still ordered you to help me?”
Megan asked.
Another firm nod.
“Indeed.”
“And he assumed I lied simply to avoid marrying him?”
Megan grimaced.
The physical pain in her chest felt agonizing.
“Precisely.”
Brian confirmed cheerfully.
Megan shut her eyes tightly.
Her chest felt like a collapsing cavern.
“Brian.”
Her voice shook uncontrollably.
“I need you to confirm this horrifying fact one last time.”
“The Alpha King believes I fabricated an entire marriage because I was so desperate not to marry him?”
The full horror of the misunderstanding crashed over her like a tidal wave.
Craig thought she had rejected his mate bond.
He thought she had been desperate to escape him.
And yet, he had still used his power to protect her from the law.
He had given her freedom.
She wanted to curl into a ball and weep for a year.
“Well,” Brian said gently.
“I understand it is difficult saying no to a powerful king.”
“He understands it too.”
“Though I must admit he was rather deeply hurt about the whole affair.”
Megan shot up from the bed.
She began pacing the narrow floor.
Her mind raced with a thousand different thoughts.
She tried to imagine Craig’s devastated face when Brian delivered the news.
She tried to fathom the depth of his selfless love.
“At least you are officially free, Megan.”
Brian noted.
A pleased tone crept into his smooth voice.
“Not only were you legally married, but you are now officially a tragically young widow.”
“You do not need to marry again if you do not want to.”
“You do not need to justify your fake husband’s permanent absence anymore.”
She barely heard his pragmatic words.
Her mind was entirely consumed with Craig.
“Though I suppose that was the quickest marriage in recorded history,” Brian mused aloud.
He examined his immaculate fingernails.
“You only technically married the man yesterday on paper.”
“And he did not even survive to see the next dawn.”
Megan froze mid-step.
Her heart skipped a painful beat.
“What did you just say?”
She asked.
Her voice sounded completely strangled.
Brian looked up from his hands.
He smiled innocently.
“It almost sounds like the plot of a dramatic novel, does it not?”
“The first man you wed does not even see the next dawn.”
“The man you wed will not see the next dawn.”
Megan repeated the exact wording of the ancient prophecy in her mind.
It did not say the man she loved.
It did not say every man she ever married.
It explicitly stated the man she wed would not see the next dawn.
On a miraculous technicality, that was exactly what had just transpired.
The marriage certificate was real.
It was witnessed, sealed, and legally binding.
By the break of dawn, her paper husband had been officially declared dead.
Could it truly be that unbelievably simple?
Her brother’s prophecy had taken his life in a literal sense.
Tyler had died horribly and exactly as the seer predicted.
There was no possible way her curse ended on a bureaucratic technicality.
Was there?
“Anyway, Megan,” Brian said.
He smoothed his tailored jacket.
“Your carriage awaits in the courtyard.”
He paused at the open door.
He looked back at her frozen form.
She stood perfectly still in the center of the room.
Her mouth hung open in shock.
“Unless, of course, you would like to say a proper goodbye to His Majesty before you depart.”
“Yes.”
Megan gasped.
Life suddenly flooded back into her limbs.
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Brian examined his nails again with studied casualness.
“Well, he is probably at his grand engagement ball by now.”
“His engagement ball?”
She repeated like a slow-witted child.
She knew about the ball.
Of course, she knew about the ball.
She had been dreading it all week.
But now there was a desperate, fleeting chance they could be together.
The curse might be broken.
“The ball, yes,” Brian nodded.
“He is announcing his future queen tonight.”
“The woman he is going to marry.”
“Where are you going?”
Brian called out as Megan sprinted past him.
She yanked the door open and bolted down the stone corridor.
For the first time in her entire life, Megan felt genuine, soaring hope.
She could not lose him.
Not tonight.
Not when she had just realized she might actually be able to claim her mate without killing him.
Megan sprinted through the sprawling palace corridors.
Her heavy traveling dress hampered her frantic steps.
She gathered handfuls of the thick fabric.
She hoisted the skirts above her knees.
She ignored the shocked gasps of passing servants.
She rounded a corner so fast she nearly collided with a marble statue.
Her lungs burned with every ragged breath.
Her legs ached from the physical exertion.
She did not slow down.
She burst through the massive gilded doors leading to the grand ballroom.
Music, laughter, and the warm glow of a thousand floating candles hit her all at once.
The cavernous room was packed tight with nobles dressed in their finest silks.
She ignored the glittering crowd entirely.
Her frantic eyes scanned the massive space.
She spotted him immediately.
Craig stood on the raised dais at the far end of the ballroom.
He wore formal black attire that accentuated his broad shoulders.
He held a crystal glass of champagne in one hand.
He looked devastatingly handsome.
He looked like her true king.
“And this is why,” Craig’s deep voice carried effortlessly across the silent ballroom.
“I would like to thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate my engagement.”
Megan’s heart plummeted to her toes.
She pushed aggressively through the dense crowd.
She did not care who she elbowed aside.
“So without further ado,” Craig continued.
He raised his glass slightly.
“I would like to announce that I…”
“No!”
Megan screamed at the top of her lungs.
The melodic orchestra ground to an abrupt, screeching halt.
Craig froze midway through his sentence.
His mouth hung open.
Every single head in the massive room turned to stare at her.
Megan stood completely alone in the center of the ballroom.
She wore dusty traveling clothes.
Her hair had escaped its pins and cascaded wildly around her face.
She breathed hard.
Her chest heaved with every pant.
“I mean…”
Megan stammered into the deafening silence.
“I…”
Craig’s eyes locked onto hers across the sea of nobles.
He frowned slightly.
A fierce war between profound confusion and lingering hurt played across his chiseled features.
“Do not marry her.”
Megan took a bold step forward.
Her voice cracked with raw emotion.
“Whoever you are going to marry, do not.”
“Who on earth is this creature?”
An elderly lady whispered loudly.
“Quiet.”
Her companion hissed sharply.
“What are you doing here, Megan?”
Craig asked cautiously.
He lowered his champagne glass.
“I came to thank you,” she said loudly.
She took another determined step forward.
The crowd parted around her like the Red Sea.
“I came to thank you for what you did for me.”
“And to tell you that I…”
She hesitated for a fraction of a second.
This was the point of no return.
“To tell you that I love you.”
A collective, dramatic gasp echoed across the vast room.
Megan clenched her trembling hands into tight fists.
“I was hoping you might reconsider your engagement,” she continued bravely.
She held his gaze.
“For a bit.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
Craig repeated slowly.
His face remained an unreadable mask.
“Perhaps you would consider delaying it,” Megan said.
She climbed the carpeted steps to the raised dais.
“And giving us another chance.”
“But you…”
The icy facade finally cracked.
Raw vulnerability bled into his voice.
“You said…”
“I lied.”
Megan stated simply.
Frenzied whispers rippled through the gathered crowd.
“She lied!”
Someone exclaimed in shock.
“Wait, what did she lie about?”
Another voice asked in confusion.
“I know you know I lied.”
Megan spoke quickly.
She reached the top of the dais.
She stood mere inches from him.
“But you should know I did not lie because I did not want you.”
“I lied to protect you.”
“There was this prophecy I had been told when I was young.”
“I did not want to believe it.”
“But my brother’s prophecy came true.”
“He died exactly as predicted.”
“I was so terrified that if I married you, you would die too.”
“She is not explaining this very clearly,” a lord muttered in the crowd.
“I am very confused.”
A duchess fanned herself rapidly.
“She thought she could not be with the king because a prophecy said he would die,” a younger woman explained impatiently.
“Do keep up.”
“You could have just told me that.”
Craig’s voice turned rough with thick emotion.
“Instead of making me believe that you did not want me.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
Megan reached out and grabbed his large hand.
“But just like you felt you had to be cold towards me.”
“You thought you would not be able to resist what is between us.”
“I thought if I told you the truth and you did not believe me, I would not be able to resist either.”
“And I refused to risk your life.”
Craig’s harsh expression completely softened.
“Are you saying you feel the exact same way I do?”
Megan squeezed his hand tightly.
She stared deep into his beautiful dark eyes.
“Do not get married.”
She whispered pleadingly.
A spark of pure amusement flickered across his face.
“Oh, I plan to get married.”
He stated firmly.
Megan’s hopeful face fell instantly.
“To you, Megan.”
Craig pulled her closer.
“I will marry you.”
He smiled down at her.
It was a real, genuine smile.
It was that rare, brilliant expression that transformed his entire face into something radiant.
And then he kissed her.
His large hands framed her face.
He kissed her in front of everyone.
He kissed her in front of the entire court.
He kissed her in front of the snobby nobles and the rigid council members.
The entire ballroom erupted into deafening applause.
Fear does not always disappear overnight.
The morning after their royal wedding, Megan woke with her heart lodged firmly in her throat.
Bright sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the master chambers.
Craig lay beside her perfectly still.
His face looked incredibly peaceful.
He looked far too still.
Blind panic clawed viciously at her chest.
She reached for him with violently trembling fingers.
She pressed her palm flat against his bare chest.
His heart beat steadily and strongly beneath her hand.
The profound relief crashed over her so intensely she immediately burst into tears.
“Megan?”
Craig’s eyes snapped open.
Deep concern flooded across their shared mate bond.
“What is wrong?”
“You are alive.”
She gasped out a wet laugh.
She half-sobbed against his chest.
“I woke up.”
“You were so still.”
“I thought…”
He pulled her tightly into his strong arms.
His hand stroked her tangled hair soothingly.
“I am right here, my love.”
“The prophecy was fulfilled, remember?”
“I know.”
She buried her face in his warm neck.
“I just…”
“My brother.”
“When we found Tyler, he looked like he was sleeping at first.”
“And then…”
“I am not your brother.”
Craig tipped her chin up to meet his gaze.
“We had three different royal seers confirm it.”
“The prophecy was completely real, but it is definitively done.”
“Your paper husband did not see the dawn after your wedding.”
“You are safe.”
“I am safe.”
She could feel his vibrant life force through the bond.
He was alive, whole, and utterly certain.
“I am sorry.”
She whispered against his skin.
“I know it is completely irrational.”
“It is not irrational.”
He kissed her forehead tenderly.
“You watched your brother die from a prophecy.”
“Of course you are terrified.”
“But I am still here.”
“I am still breathing.”
“And I am still completely obsessed with my beautiful wife.”
She laughed a wet, joyous sound.
“Your wife.”
She tasted the delightful novelty of the word.
“My wife.”
“My mate.”
“My queen.”
He punctuated every single word with a soft kiss.
“And I am not going anywhere.”
Through their unbroken bond, she felt his profound love wash over her.
It felt steady, certain, and completely real.
“I love you.”
He murmured.
“I know.”
She smiled brightly.
“I can feel it.”
“I cannot believe I ever thought you were cold.”
“I was incredibly cold.”
He admitted.
“I had to be.”
“You were driving me absolutely insane with desire.”
He rolled gracefully on top of her.
He kissed her thoroughly.
“Now that you are completely mine, there is no more restraint.”
“There is no more distance.”
She felt absolutely everything he felt.
She felt his deep love.
She felt his profound contentment.
She felt his bone-deep satisfaction.
“To think we almost lost each other because of my fear.”
Megan sighed happily.
“Well, that and I still cannot believe Duchess Heather tried to pretend she was me.”
Craig groaned loudly.
“The woman wore a ridiculous wig.”
“She was overly determined to be queen.”
He shook his head.
“She was very much not my mate.”
He stated firmly.
“That prestigious position was already taken.”
Megan smiled up at her true mate.
There would be no more hiding.
There would be no more fear.
There would be no more deadly prophecies.
There was just Craig.
He was alive, warm, and entirely hers forever.
THE END
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Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. If you would like to share your story, please send it to [email protected].
