POV Eva
Khalil is watching me.
I feel his gaze the moment I enter the breakfast room—a weight against my skin that makes the hair on my neck prickle. When I look up, he's smiling.
Pleasant. Warm. The same gentle prince who held me among the conservatory flowers.
But his eyes have changed.
The warmth that once radiated from him, that soothing presence that made me feel safe enough to breathe, has vanished completely.
In its place is something cold. Calculating. The amber depths hold no comfort now, only assessment.
When our gazes meet across the table, a chill runs down my spine.
He knows.
I'm certain of it now. He was the one in that corridor. He heard everything.
The question isn't whether Khalil knows my secrets. The question is what he plans to do with them.
"Eva!" Sebastian's golden voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. He's saved me a seat beside him, his smile bright as morning sunshine. "I was worried you'd sleep through breakfast. You looked exhausted last night."
"I didn't sleep well." The understatement of the century.
"I noticed." He pulls out my chair, ever the gentleman. "That's why I asked the kitchen to prepare your tea exactly how you like it. Two sugars, splash of cream, steeped precisely four minutes."
A cup appears before me, steam curling upward, prepared with perfect attention to detail. Sebastian watches my face with eager hope, waiting for approval.
"That's... incredibly thoughtful." My voice catches. "Thank you, Sebastian."
"I pay attention." His hand brushes mine as he settles into his own seat. "To the things that matter."
The guilt is suffocating.
This man, this kind, genuine, beautiful man, has done nothing but offer me warmth since he arrived. He saved me during the garden hunt. Held me through the night without demanding anything in return. Remembered how I take my tea.
And I've been deceiving him with every breath.
I force myself to take a sip, to smile, to make appropriate responses as breakfast conversation flows around me. But I can barely taste the tea. Can barely focus on Sebastian's words.
My attention keeps drifting to Khalil across the table, to the pleasant mask that hides something predatory.
He catches me looking and raises his glass in a small toast. The gesture is friendly. The smile is warm.
His eyes remain ice.
After breakfast, a servant appears at my elbow. "Your Highness, the Alpha King requests your presence in his study."
My stomach drops. "Now?"
"Immediately, Your Highness."
I make my excuses to Sebastian, avoiding Khalil's knowing gaze, and follow the servant through corridors that feel like a death march.
My father's study looms at the end of the hallway, door already open, his silhouette rigid against the morning light.
"Close the door." His voice is cold. "Sit."
I obey, settling into the chair across from his desk like a prisoner awaiting sentencing. He doesn't look at me immediately—just stares out the window, hands clasped behind his back.
"I'm tired of waiting, Evangeline."
"Father…"
"The courtship has dragged on long enough." He turns, ice-white eyes pinning me in place. "The pack council is growing impatient. They question my judgment in allowing you this much time to make a simple decision."
"It's not simple." The words escape before I can stop them. "You're asking me to choose a mate for life. That deserves consideration."
"What it deserves is resolution." He moves to his desk, settling into his chair with the authority of a king. "You will announce your choice within the week."
"A week?" Panic claws at my throat. "Father, that's not enough time."
"It's more than enough."
His hand slams against the desk, making me flinch.
"You've had weeks to evaluate these men. Weeks of dinners and dances and private audiences. If you haven't formed an opinion by now, you never will."
"And if I'm not ready to choose?"
"Then I will make the choice for you." His expression brooks no argument. "Soren seems the logical answer. Strong bloodline. Powerful pack. The Northern alliance would benefit us greatly."
My heart stutters. Soren. The father of my child. The logical choice, as my father says—but for reasons he doesn't know.
"There's something in the way he looks at you," my father continues, studying my face. "A genuine interest that the others lack. Matteo is too wild. Khalil is too soft. Sebastian is charming but insubstantial."
He waves dismissively. "Soren has the strength to complement your weakness."
My weakness. Always my weakness.
"One week, Evangeline." He turns back to the window, dismissing me. "Make your choice, or I make it for you. We're done here."
I flee.
The gardens swallow me whole, green sanctuary against the chaos consuming my life. I find a bench in the eastern corner, hidden by climbing roses, and collapse onto it with shaking legs.
One week. Seven days to announce a choice that will determine my entire future.
Seven days while Khalil watches with knowing eyes, waiting to destroy me. Seven days while the life inside me grows, evidence of sins that could tear apart alliances and start wars.
I don't know how long I sit there. Long enough for the sun to shift, for shadows to lengthen across the grass.
Then footsteps approach. Familiar. Steady.
Dominic settles onto the bench beside me without a word. He doesn't ask what's wrong, doesn't demand explanations. Just sits—a solid presence against the chaos, an anchor in the storm.
We remain in silence for several long minutes. The tension in my shoulders slowly eases, drawn out by his steady calm.
Then he reaches into his pocket and produces a small bundle wrapped in brown paper.
"What's this?" My voice is hoarse from unshed tears.
"Open it."
I unwrap the paper with trembling fingers. Inside are chocolates—small, dark, perfectly formed. The scent hits me immediately, dragging up memories of childhood.
"These are..." I stare at him, eyes widening. "Nic, these are impossible to find outside the capital. The shop that makes them closed years ago."
"The owner's daughter still makes small batches." A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "I tracked her down last year. She sends me a box every few months."
"You remembered." The tears I've been fighting finally spill over. "After all these years, you remembered my favorite chocolates."
"I remember everything about you, Eva." His voice is soft, rough with emotion he rarely shows. "Everything that matters."
I look at the chocolates in my hands—such a small gesture, yet more meaningful than all the expensive wines and elaborate picnics the princes have offered.
Dominic doesn't have wealth or status. He can't promise alliances or political advantages.
But he remembers how I scraped my knee chasing fireflies. He remembers the chocolates I loved as a child. He sees me—not the princess, not the political prize, just me.
"My father wants me to choose Soren." The words come out broken. "Within the week."
Dominic is quiet for a moment. "And what do you want?"
I look at him—really look. At the man who has protected me since childhood. Who stood beside me through every disappointment, every failure. Who looked at me with something deeper than duty just days ago.
"I want..." My voice trails off.
Logic demands I choose Soren. He's the father of my child. The strategic alliance. The answer that makes sense on every practical level.
But my heart keeps turning toward the man sitting beside me. The man who asks nothing in return. The man who brings me chocolate and remembers everything that matters.
The man I can never have.
"I don't know what I want," I whisper.
But that's a lie.
I know exactly what I want.
I just can't have it.