Aurelia Vale had negotiated peace between two Alphas who wanted to tear each other's throats out.

Yet somehow, walking into the royal palace with an interview letter in her hand felt worse.

“Stop crushing it.”

Aurelia glanced down.

The cream-colored parchment in her fist had indeed suffered.

She loosened her grip.

The palace attendant beside the entrance pretended not to notice.

That made it worse.

“Perfect,” Aurelia muttered. “Nothing says competent treaty mediator like arriving with evidence that I attempted to strangle my invitation.”

The woman ahead of her turned.

For one horrifying second Aurelia thought she had spoken loudly enough to offend somebody important.

Instead, the stranger's mouth twitched.

“Could be worse.”

Aurelia raised an eyebrow.

“You could have strangled an actual councilor.”

Aurelia considered it.

“Interview first.”

The woman's laugh escaped before she disguised it as a cough.

Better.

Aurelia stepped through the open doors.

Then forgot about the paper entirely.

Silverkeep Palace was ridiculous.

There was no polite word for it.

Moon-white pillars rose toward a ceiling painted like a night sky. Silver branches twisted around chandeliers suspended so high Aurelia wondered who had been unfortunate enough to light them. Tall windows overlooked the capital, where slate rooftops dropped toward the forests surrounding Silverkeep.

Hundreds of people occupied the reception hall.

Alphas.

Lunas.

Council officials.

Pack representatives.

Military commanders.

Priestesses in silver robes.

And somewhere among all of them were the three senior mediators who would decide whether Aurelia Vale deserved a permanent position in the Royal Treaty Office.

That was why she was here.

Not the coronation celebrations.

Not the endless gossip about the new Alpha King.

Not the whispered speculation over which noblewoman would eventually stand beside him.

A job.

Aurelia repeated the thought as though her sanity depended on it.

A job.

Her wolf stirred beneath her skin.

Nyra had been restless since they entered the capital.

Too many Alphas.

Aurelia nearly smiled.

“That from the wolf who tried to bite Alpha Rolan during the Southbank negotiation?”

Nyra's irritation rippled through her.

Rolan had deserved it.

Aurelia couldn't argue with that.

She moved around a cluster of diplomats and searched for the registration table.

The palace had apparently decided the easiest way to conduct professional interviews during coronation season was to throw every important wolf in Varellia into one building and hope nobody declared war before dessert.

Aurelia spotted a small sign beneath the western staircase.

ROYAL ADMINISTRATIVE CANDIDATES.

Finally.

She had taken three steps when somebody backed directly into her.

Wine sloshed dangerously close to her sleeve.

“Oh!”

The young man spun around.

His eyes widened.

Aurelia looked at the wine.

He looked at the wine.

They both looked at her pale-grey dress.

One red drop clung to the cuff.

The man's face collapsed.

“I am going to be executed.”

Aurelia dabbed the spot with her napkin.

“For this?”

“You clearly haven't met palace laundry staff.”

“I haven't.”

“Terrifying people.”

“I negotiate territorial disputes.”

“They're worse.”

Aurelia laughed despite herself.

The stranger visibly relaxed.

“My apologies.” He lowered his voice. “Everyone keeps moving when I'm trying to stand still.”

“That tends to happen at receptions.”

“I knew I was doing something wrong.”

Before Aurelia could answer, a deep voice came from behind him.

“Rowan.”

The young man's shoulders dropped.

“There it is. The voice of disappointment.”

He turned.

Aurelia followed his gaze.

A broad-shouldered man in the dark uniform of the Royal Guard stood several paces away, expression flat.

“You were instructed to check the eastern doors.”

“I checked them.”

“You've been holding the same glass for twenty minutes.”

“Thorough inspection.”

The guard looked at Aurelia.

“My apologies for him.”

“Apparently the wine attacked first.”

Something almost resembling amusement passed through the man's eyes.

Rowan pressed a hand to his chest.

“Finally. A witness.”

The guard caught Rowan by the shoulder.

“Eastern doors.”

“I'm being oppressed.”

“You're being employed.”

Rowan allowed himself to be dragged away, giving Aurelia a solemn nod as though leaving for battle.

The exchange loosened something inside her.

For approximately three seconds.

Then she turned toward the registration table and saw the clock.

Her stomach dropped.

“Wonderful.”

She hurried.

The clerk barely glanced up when Aurelia reached him.

“Name?”

“Aurelia Vale. Western Coalition.”

His finger moved down the list.

Stopped.

Then moved back up.

Aurelia noticed.

“What?”

The clerk's expression became carefully neutral.

“Nothing.”

“That wasn't a nothing face.”

“I don't have a nothing face.”

“You absolutely do.”

His eyes finally met hers.

“You've been moved.”

Aurelia went still.

“Moved where?”

“Final assessment group.”

She blinked.

“That isn't possible.”

Apparently the clerk had discovered his nothing face after all.

“It says final assessment.”

“I haven't completed the preliminary panel.”

“I only read lists.”

“And I negotiate with unreasonable people. We all have burdens.”

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

He turned the register so she could see.

Her name sat there.

Aurelia Vale — Final Assessment. Royal Review Authorized.

Her unease sharpened.

“Who authorized that?”

The clerk tapped the final column.

Blank.

Aurelia frowned.

There should have been a signature.

Every advancement required one.

“Is this some kind of administrative error?”

“Possibly.”

“Can you check?”

“I can ask.”

“When?”

His expression turned apologetic.

That was answer enough.

Aurelia exhaled through her nose.

Of course.

She had spent six years building a career precisely because she hated owing her future to anyone else's generosity. Now an invisible hand had pushed her into the final round before she'd earned her place there.

She hated it.

Nyra suddenly went silent.

Not calm.

Silent.

Aurelia's fingers froze against the register.

The air had changed.

No one announced anything.

No horns sounded.

Yet conversation began dying across the hall.

One voice.

Then five.

Then fifty.

The silence moved like wind through grass.

Aurelia slowly turned.

The large doors at the opposite end of the ballroom had opened.

Royal guards entered first.

Then the King.

She had seen paintings of Lucian Draven.

Everyone had.

They were wrong.

The portraits made him beautiful.

The real man was something less convenient.

He was tall, but height wasn't what made the room bend around him. It was stillness. Other Alphas entered rooms by expanding themselves, dominance spilling everywhere as though they needed the world to remember what they were.

Lucian Draven didn't appear to need reminding.

Dark formal clothes fitted broad shoulders without ornament except for the silver royal crest near his collar. Black hair swept away from a face composed enough to make Aurelia suspect smiling was taxed at court.

His attention remained on the elderly Councilor walking beside him.

“…the eastern delegates accepted the boundary proposal,” Lucian was saying.

His voice carried without effort.

The Councilor nodded. “With conditions, Your Majesty.”

“What conditions?”

“Red Hollow wants independent—”

Lucian stopped.

Not walking.

Speaking.

Everything.

His head turned.

Straight toward Aurelia.

Her breath vanished.

Nyra surged so violently Aurelia caught the edge of the registration table.

What—

Her wolf pushed forward.

Not frightened.

Not angry.

Aurelia's senses sharpened in a single unbearable rush.

Cedar.

Winter air.

Something darker beneath it.

Her heartbeat struck hard

Once.

Twice.

Lucian stood across a hall filled with hundreds of people.

Yet Aurelia could hear his breath.

Could feel something tugging beneath her ribs.

No.

Absolutely not.

She had an interview.

A carefully organized life.

A mother who would faint for dramatic purposes if this became what Aurelia thought it was becoming.

The King stared at her.

Someone beside him spoke.

Lucian didn't react.

Nyra pressed one word through Aurelia with such certainty that her knees almost weakened.

Mate.

Aurelia gripped the table harder.

No.

Across the room, Lucian's eyes flashed silver.

The raw power of his wolf swept through the hall.

Several lower-ranking wolves bowed instinctively.

Aurelia didn't.

She couldn't move.

Lucian handed the document in his hand to the nearest Councilor without looking away from her.

Then the Alpha King of Varellia began walking directly toward Aurelia.

The crowd divided.

One step.

Then another.

People turned to stare at her.

Whispers started before he had crossed half the room.

Aurelia's pulse hammered.

This wasn't happening.

Not here.

Not now.

Not to her.

Lucian stopped in front of the registration table.

Up close, the controlled King looked considerably less controlled.

His jaw was tight.

Silver still burned around his pupils.

His gaze moved over her face as though he were searching for something he had lost before knowing it existed.

Aurelia's mouth had gone dry.

He spoke quietly.

“What is your name?”

There were hundreds of wolves in the hall.

Aurelia felt every one of them listening.

She lifted her chin.

“Aurelia Vale.”

Lucian went completely still.

And somewhere behind his silver eyes, his wolf answered hers.

Mate.