Chapter 2 - Breakfast with a Predator
Carmel had spent her life learning how to disappear.
She lowered her voice in crowded rooms. She chose chairs near exits. She apologized when other people stepped on her feet.
By nine that morning, her face was on every phone in the hotel.
Draven’s security captain, Maeve Holt, stood near the fireplace with the photographed image enlarged on a tablet.
“The picture was taken at twelve twenty-six,” she said. “Before His Majesty returned.”
Carmel wrapped both hands around an untouched cup of tea.
“Was someone standing over me?”
Maeve’s expression softened without becoming dishonest.
“Yes.”
Draven stood beside the window, perfectly still.
That stillness frightened Carmel more than shouting would have.
“The corridor cameras?” he asked.
“Disabled for eleven minutes under a maintenance request.”
“Authorized by?”
“The summit logistics office.”
Isabella chaired the summit committee.
No one needed to say it.
A knock interrupted them.
Arden opened the door, and Vivien swept inside wearing a pale blue suit and the expression of a woman arriving to collect something misplaced.
“Carmel. Thank goodness.”
She crossed the room and seized Carmel’s wrist.
Carmel flinched.
Draven noticed.
“Let her go.”
Vivien released her immediately.
“Your Majesty, I’m so sorry. My sister sometimes becomes confused when she’s tired.”
“I’m not confused,” Carmel said.
The words surprised everyone, including her.
Vivien smiled tightly.
“Of course, sweetheart. Get your things.”
Carmel looked at her bag.
The familiar instinct rose: obey now, survive the lecture later.
Then she saw the photograph on Maeve’s tablet.
“Why did you give me an imperial key?”
Vivien’s smile slipped.
“I gave you what registration handed me.”
“You checked us in.”
“And apparently they made an error.”
Draven turned from the window.
“Did you report your sister as a thief?”
Vivien went pale.
“I explained that she sometimes takes things without understanding their value.”
Carmel stared at her.
“The emerald dress?” Vivien continued. “For example. It belongs to me.”
“You told me to wear it.”
“I allowed you to borrow it.”
“I repaired it first.”
An awkward silence followed.
Draven glanced at the folded gown.
“Did you pay her?”
Vivien laughed softly.
“She lives with us.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Carmel set down her tea.
“No.”
Vivien gave her a warning look so familiar that Carmel felt twelve years old again.
“Carmel,” she said gently, “you’re upsetting yourself.”
“No,” Carmel answered. “I think I’m upsetting you.”
Maeve lowered her tablet, hiding the smallest smile.
Draven moved to the table.
“Miss Dunlap will decide where she goes.”
Vivien looked between them, calculating.
Then her expression changed into concern.
“Your Majesty, she is an omega. She may mistake your attention for something it isn’t.”
Carmel’s face burned.
Draven’s answer was immediate.
“Then I will speak clearly.”
He looked at Carmel.
“You are a guest. You owe me no affection, no gratitude, and no explanation for refusing anything I offer.”
Vivien had no graceful response to that.
Arden supplied one.
“Captain Holt will escort you downstairs.”
When the door closed, Carmel realized she was shaking.
“I’ve never spoken to her like that.”
“What usually happens when you disagree?” Maeve asked.
Carmel stared into her tea.
“That depends on who’s watching.”
No one pushed her to say more.
A servant arrived with breakfast, soft boots, and several outfits on a rolling rack. Carmel chose a simple green sweater and dark trousers.
The clothes fit well enough that she almost cried.
She waited until the servant left before asking, “How much do I owe?”
“Nothing,” Draven said.
“I can work.”
“I believe you.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He sat across from her.
Up close, he looked less like the cold figure on royal portraits. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes and an old scar disappearing beneath his collar.
“Why were you smiling when I woke up?” she asked.
He looked surprised.
“Was I?”
“Yes.”
For a moment, he seemed to consider offering a polite answer.
Instead, he said, “I slept.”
Carmel glanced toward the sitting-room sofa.
“For three hours,” he continued. “Without a nightmare. That hasn’t happened in a very long time.”
“Because I was here?”
“I don’t know.”
The honesty unsettled her more than a practiced compliment could have.
Then his gaze caught on her wrist.
A narrow silver bracelet rested above her pulse, its surface worn nearly smooth.
“Where did you get that?”
“My mother.”
He leaned forward.
“May I see it?”
She hesitated, then extended her arm.
Draven did not touch her until she nodded.
He turned the bracelet gently.
Inside the band, hidden against her skin, was a tiny engraved branch.
His thumb stopped.
“That symbol,” he said, “belonged to a royal office that was abolished seventeen years ago.”
Carmel’s heartbeat stumbled.
“My mother died seventeen years ago.”
Draven looked up.
“What was her name?”
“Elena Dunlap.”
The cup in Arden’s hand struck its saucer.
May you like
Carmel turned.
The adviser’s face had gone white.
