Chapter 1 - The Woman in the King’s Bed
The door handle turned.
Carmel Dunlap stopped breathing.
She was sitting in the Alpha King’s bed wearing a faded gray shirt, with her borrowed evening gown folded over a chair and absolutely no explanation that would sound believable before breakfast.
Draven Valerius rose from his seat beside the window.
“Stay there,” he said.
Carmel immediately threw back the blankets.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know this was your room. My sister gave me a key, and the number was blurred, and I thought—”
“You can explain after I close the door.”
He crossed the suite before Isabella Dupont could step inside.
Through the narrowing gap, Carmel saw a beautiful woman in winter-white silk holding a breakfast tray. Behind her stood two servants and a man carrying a small camera.
Isabella’s smile faltered.
“Your Majesty. I thought we might discuss last night’s proposal.”
“At seven in the morning?”
“You always rise early.”
“Apparently, other people do too.”
His gaze moved to the camera.
The photographer lowered it.
Isabella recovered quickly. “The summit committee requested a few informal photographs.”
“Of my bedroom?”
A silence settled outside.
Then Isabella’s eyes slipped past his shoulder.
She saw Carmel.
For one dangerous second, her expression lost every trace of sweetness.
“Oh,” she said. “I see.”
Draven stepped farther into the doorway.
“No,” he answered. “You don’t.”
He closed the door.
Carmel stood beside the bed, clutching her overnight bag.
“I should leave.”
“You should put on your shoes first.”
That almost made her laugh. Instead, her hands shook so badly that she dropped one.
Draven picked it up.
The most feared ruler on the continent crouched in front of her, holding a scuffed silver heel with a broken strap.
Carmel stared.
He examined the dried blood near the back.
“Who made you wear these?”
“No one made me.”
His eyes lifted.
She looked away.
“They were the only ones available.”
He set the shoe down without trying to put it on her foot.
“Would you prefer slippers?”
“I would prefer to stop causing problems.”
“You haven’t caused one yet.”
Someone knocked again.
This time, Draven opened the door to an older man carrying a leather folder.
“Lord Arden,” he said. “Tell her what you told me.”
The adviser glanced at Carmel, then deliberately addressed her with the same courtesy he had offered the king.
“Miss Dunlap, your guest card carried an imperial access credential.”
Carmel blinked.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means it could open this suite despite the name printed on the sleeve.”
“Then registration made a mistake.”
“Possibly,” Arden said.
Draven’s expression suggested he considered that unlikely.
Carmel pulled the sleeve from her bag. In daylight, the number was clearly 304.
Her stomach dropped.
“I asked the guards.”
“I know,” Draven said.
“They said this was my room.”
“They saw a valid credential and assumed you were expected. Their failure was not asking your name.”
“Are they being punished?”
Arden paused.
Draven studied her.
“You woke up in a stranger’s bed,” he said, “and you’re worried about the guards?”
“They were kind to me.”
“They have been reassigned while we investigate. They will have a chance to explain.”
Her shoulders loosened.
Arden handed the king a folded note.
Draven read it once.
His face changed.
“What?” Carmel asked.
“Your sister has reported you missing.”
Carmel went cold.
“She’s worried?”
“She told the summit director that you have a history of stealing invitations and approaching powerful men.”
The words landed with familiar precision.
Vivien had always known where to strike.
Carmel reached for her dress.
“I can fix this.”
“How?”
“I’ll apologize.”
“For what?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Draven waited.
Beyond the windows, snow drifted over the mountains. Inside the suite, a fire cracked softly in the hearth.
For the first time in years, someone had asked her a question without supplying the answer she was expected to give.
Finally, she whispered, “For embarrassing her.”
Draven looked toward Arden.
“Have breakfast brought here. Find Miss Dunlap suitable clothes, with her permission. And tell the summit director she is safe.”
Carmel lifted her chin.
“You can’t keep me here.”
Something unexpected moved through his expression.
Approval.
“No,” he said. “I can’t.”
He stepped away from the door.
“You may leave whenever you choose. But before you do, I would like you to know what you’re walking into.”
Arden’s phone vibrated.
He glanced down, then went still.
“What now?” Draven asked.
The adviser turned the screen.
A photograph filled it.
Carmel, asleep beneath the king’s blankets.
Taken from inside the room.
Beneath it was a message already spreading through the summit.
THE KING’S SECRET OMEGA.
Carmel covered her mouth.
Draven looked at the photograph, then at the locked bedroom door.
May you like
When he spoke, his voice was frighteningly quiet.
“Someone came in while you were sleeping.”
