I was acutely aware of every mistake I could make—too much noise with the glass, reaching for the wrong plate, using the wrong fork. But Derick's hand never strayed far from mine, squeezing gently whenever I started to spiral. I tried to mimic the way the Queen used her utensils, the subtle flick of her wrist as she cut her salmon, the precise way she dabbed her lips after each bite.
When the main course arrived, I realized I had survived nearly an hour without humiliating myself. The roast was rare and bloody, the kind of meat that should have sent a shudder through me, but all I could feel was relief. I even managed to answer a question from the Queen about my training, stammering out something about self-defense and Nicki's formidable right hook. The table laughed—softly, politely, but genuinely. Even the King's lips curved upward for a split second.
When the meal ended, Queen Lisa reached across the table and clasped my hand in both of hers, her grip surprisingly strong. "You did beautifully," she whispered, her voice low enough that only Derick and I could hear. "Your mother would be proud."
I felt my chest tighten, the memory of my mother's face flickering behind my eyelids. I forced a smile, not trusting myself to speak.
I caught Natalia's eyes on me several times. Each time, her gaze slid over me like fingers checking furniture for dust. When the conversation drifted to etiquette, Natalia leaned in, her words soft enough for only me to hear. "Tomorrow at nine," she said, her breath perfumed with something expensive and vaguely floral. "Wear something... comfortable." Her eyes flicked to my dress, lingering on the water stain. "And bring a notebook. We'll start with the basics."
I swallowed. "Thank you," I said, though I wasn't sure what for.
She patted my hand like one might comfort a terminal patient. "You're welcome. The Queen has asked me to make you presentable by the gala next month." Her smile gleamed like a knife. "I do so enjoy impossible deadlines."
I wasn't sure if she meant for me to laugh, but I did anyway, if only to break the growing chill in my veins. Natalia's gaze lingered, a searching look that felt more diagnostic than derisive. Then she pivoted, her posture snapping back into place, removing me from her orbit as ruthlessly as a queen captures a pawn.
The dinner resumed, the table shifting its attention away from my initiation and back to the relentless business of court intrigue. Over coffee and tiny violet macarons, Councilor Alden launched into a conversation about the upcoming Autumn Summit, his voice smooth with the self-assurance of someone who wielded real power. The discussion swirled with topics I only half-grasped—border disputes, shifting alliances, the logistics of hosting a joint ball with the Western Pack—heavy stuff presented as light gossip.
Occasionally, Queen Lisa caught my eye, her smile a lifeline thrown across the table. Once, when she noticed me fidgeting with my napkin, she mimed a slow, calming breath. I tried to copy her, but it only made my chest feel tighter. Derick squeezed my thigh under the table, a silent message that I wasn't as invisible as I felt.
It wasn't until the meal ended and the Queen rose to dismiss us that I realized my hands were locked together so tightly my knuckles ached. The guests filed out in pairs and trios, their laughter echoing in the marble corridor. Natalia lingered at the door, waiting until everyone else had left before gliding over to me.
"Cassandra," she said, her voice low and even. "I look forward to our lessons."
I tried to smile. "Me too," I lied, knowing she could see straight through me.
She left with a rustle of blue silk, her exit as controlled as every other gesture. I watched her go, my stomach twisting into a knot that seemed to double back on itself with every step she took.
When the room finally emptied, Derick and I stood in the center of it, the table stretching out before us like a battlefield after the war. He turned to face me, concern written across his features.
"That was…" he started, then stopped, searching for the right word.
"A nightmare?" I offered, surprising myself.
He laughed, the sound warm and honest. "Yeah. But you did incredible."
I shook my head, the relief at his praise warring with my exhaustion. "I forgot half their names. I spilled water on my dress." I glanced down—sure enough, there was a faint, dark patch on the green silk. "And I think I already made an enemy."
Derick reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my temple. "Natalia was the one my parents chose to be my mate," he said, his voice neither apologetic nor defensive. "She's been groomed since childhood to become Luna." My stomach twisted with something I couldn't name—not quite jealousy, not quite fear. I glanced back at the doorway where she'd disappeared, wondering if I should feel victorious or guilty for displacing someone who'd spent her whole life preparing for a role I'd stumbled into overnight.
I looked up, startled. "You're joking."
He shook his head. "She's been training to be Luna since she was twelve."
I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it again. Part of me wanted to refuse outright—the woman had spent the entire lunch dissecting me with her eyes. But another voice whispered that I needed all the help I could get. I swallowed hard. "So she spent her whole life preparing for something I accidentally stole," I finally said, my voice catching. "And now you want her to teach me how to wear her crown?"
Derick's amber eyes locked with mine, molten gold flecks dancing in their depths. A wave of heat rolled through my body as his gaze intensified, making the fine hairs on my arms stand at attention. My throat constricted, and I swallowed hard enough that I could hear the click in my ears. "First of all," he said, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly register that always made my stomach flutter, "I don't want her to teach you anything." He stepped closer, the scent of pine and something uniquely him enveloping me. "My parents insisted, something about giving her a role for all the work she put in." My shoulders sagged in relief, tension melting like snow in spring. But a knot of unease still twisted in my gut.
"Secondly," Derick said, his voice dropping to a husky growl that vibrated against my skin. His body pressed closer, the heat of him radiating through my dress. My breath caught as his fingers slid up my neck into my hair, gripping gently at the roots. The pad of his thumb traced my bottom lip, his eyes following the movement with hungry intensity. His pupils expanded, swallowing the amber until only a thin ring of gold remained. "You didn't steal anything," he whispered, his breath hot against my mouth. "You're my fated mate." He tilted my face up, our lips a whisper apart. "And the only one who will ever feel what this does to me." He guided my hand to his chest, where his heart thundered against my palm.
I swallowed, my lips parting involuntarily as Derick closed the last of the distance between us. His mouth captured mine with hungry urgency, a low growl vibrating from his chest into mine. Heat bloomed where our bodies pressed together, his hands sliding possessively down my back to pull me closer, erasing any space between us as my fingers tangled in his hair.
A throat cleared behind us. "I do apologize for the intrusion, Your Highness," a servant said, his voice strained with formality. We sprang apart like guilty teenagers, my lipstick smudged across Derick's mouth in damning evidence. The young maid behind the servant had turned the color of summer cherries, her eyes fixed firmly on the polished marble floor as she clutched a silver tray against her chest like a shield. She scurried away in a flurry of starched uniform and mortification, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Heat crawled up my neck and bloomed across my cheeks. I quickly buried my face against the crisp linen of Derick's shirt, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him. His chest vibrated with barely contained laughter, and I tilted my chin up to glare at him through my lashes, fighting the smile that threatened to betray me.
Derick's fingers laced through mine, his thumb tracing small circles against my skin. "Come on," he murmured, his voice still carrying that husky edge that made my stomach flutter. "Let's go back to our room." Heat crawled up my neck and bloomed across my cheeks at the promise in those simple words. I nodded, suddenly unable to form a coherent sentence as he guided me through the grand doorway, his hand resting possessively at the small of my back, leaving a trail of warmth that seeped through the silk of my dress.