The first brush of his skin against hers sent a jolt through Sylvie, and suddenly Elaine’s voice was inside her head, sharp and hateful. “She’s mocking me. Always so superior. ”
But Elaine’s lips hadn’t moved.
It happened again with Edmund. His hand cupped her cheek with practiced tenderness while his true thoughts rang out like a bell. “I’ve come too far to have Sylvie doubting at the last moment. Just a few more hours and her fortune will be mine.
”
Sylvie stumbled backward, her hand flying to her mouth. She was supposed to be mated to this man in under an hour. Instead, she found herself on a terrifying new edge of reality—she could hear minds. Her sister’s voice echoed through her skull moments later.
“You won’t be so high and mighty when Edmund leaves you. ”
“What did you say? ” Sylvie gasped. “I didn’t say anything,” Elaine insisted, her face a mask of hurt confusion.
But Sylvie knew what she’d heard. She tore free of Edmund’s grip near the garden entrance and, without thinking, seized the cloak of the ragged beggar the guards had tried to throw out. She pressed her lips to his. The kiss was a desperate act of defiance, a way to prove she would rather bind herself to poverty than to a man who wanted her fortune.
When she pulled back, she saw sharp gray eyes looking at her with surprise, and something that looked terribly close to amusement. Edmund yanked her away. “You want to humble me with your little display? ” he snarled, draging her back toward the throne room.
“Now you’ll face the consequences. ”
King Caspian, his face hidden behind a silver wolf mask, listened as Edmund demanded justice under an old law: a betrothed who betrayed their intended must either honor the original commitment or bind themselves to the one they chose instead. Sylvie didn’t hesitate. “I choose the beggar.
”
“The beggar has a name,” the man said quietly. “Reeve. ”
“Reeve, then,” she said, lifting her chin. The king’s gaze lingered on them both.
“And do you consent, sir? ”
“Yes, Your Highness. ”
That night, Sylvie followed her new husband down a dark forest path, leaves crunching beneath her feet. He’d draped his worn cloak over her shoulders when he noticed her shivering, a small kindness that made something flutter in her chest.
They arrived at a tiny cabin with a sagging porch and holes in the thatched roof. Inside, there was one crooked table, a single chair, a cold hearth, and a narrow cot. “I apologize for it being not much,” Reeve said, watching her face closely. Sylvie knew the look.
He thought she was wealthy. He was waiting to see if she’d reveal her fortune. “Actually,” she said, squaring her shoulders, “I should inform you that I’m no longer a noble woman. I cannot inherit unless I marry a man of noble birth.
So I’m afraid I’ve lost all my money by choosing you. ”
She watched for disappointment. Instead, something else flickered in his eyes. “Then why didn’t you marry a man of noble birth?
”
“My fiancé was only after my inheritance,” she replied. “I see. So I suppose you’ll be asking for a separation? ”
“That was never my intention,” she said.
But if he wanted out, he’d have to say it himself. “Not at all, dear wife,” he said, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “As you can see, my roof is full of holes. There’s not much to eat, and barely enough wood to last the night.
”
“I’m sure with my assistance we will manage. ”
He went to start a fire. When he turned back and took her hand to help her warm herself, the bond between them flared like a banked fire suddenly stirred. For Sylvie, his thoughts stayed hidden, which she couldn’t explain.
But Reeve’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “Do you have magic? ” he asked. “What?
”
“Magic. Other than the obvious ability to shift. ”
“Did you hope I’d magically make your problems go away? ”
“No,” he said, looking confused.
“Of course not. ”
They sized each other up, both wary, both hiding their true selves. The mating bond pulsed between them, demanding something neither was willing to give. “Fine,” he said.
“But don’t expect to live here for free. If I have two mouths to feed, I expect you to pitch in. ”
“Fine,” she shot back. “But don’t expect me to share your bed.
It’s too small. I’m taking it. ”
The weeks that followed were grueling. Sylvie scrubbed pig pens for three copper coins and patched the roof until her fingers bled.
While she worked, she heard people’s true thoughts—cruel, petty judgments they’d never speak aloud. The farmer thought her soft. The baker pitied her. Only Reeve’s mind remained closed to her, a frustrating mystery.
His visits to the palace began soon after. First one day, then three, then five. He always returned with coin, but never explained what he did there. “What are you really doing at the palace, Reeve?
” she asked one night. “Does it matter? The money keeps us fed. ”
“It matters if you’re doing something dangerous.
”
“It’s neither. ”
The distance grew between them as the bond grew more insistent. When he returned after a three-day absence, Sylvie stood trembling in the cabin, her dress loose around her shoulders, her nerves frayed raw. “All done,” he said after unhooking her dress, his voice hoarse.
She turned, and his gaze dropped to her bare shoulder. “Anything else you need? ” he asked tightly. “No.
”
He left for the woodpile. When he came back days later, exhausted and bloodshot, they circled each other like wild animals. Her pride, born of days of hearing strangers’ meanest thoughts, made her lash out. “Perhaps you should try earning that bounty for the rogues in the northern hills,” she snapped.
“You want me to hunt them? ”
“Why not? We could use the coins. ”
His face turned unreadable.
“So that’s what you want, Sylvie? For me to leave? ”
The words caught in her throat. She wanted to say no.
She wanted to beg him to choose her, to love her for herself. But fear won. “What I want doesn’t seem to matter much to you, does it? ”
Without a word, he gathered his things and left.
Four days passed with no sign of him. The bond turned into a dull, constant ache. At the market, the baker told her that a traveler had been found torn to pieces at the northern crossroads—tall, dark-haired. Sylvie fell to her knees.
She was certain Reeve was dead, certain she had sent him to his grave with her cruel words. She collapsed in the cabin, sobbing. She loved him. She loved him, and she had wasted their time on lies and pride.
The door creaked open. A shadow fell across her. Reeve stood there, haggard and alive. A fresh cut marked his cheek, but he was there.
“I got your bounty,” he said, tossing a pouch on the table. “You idiot,” she choked out. “I thought you were dead. ”
“I’m not.
”
She screamed at him, relief and fury tangled together. “I didn’t think you’d actually go! ”
He blinked, then stepped closer. “You were worried about me.
”
“Of course I was! ”
Something broke in both of them at once. His kiss was wild and unrestrained, and she clawed at him like he might disappear. The bond surged between them, fierce and tender at the same time.
He carried her to the bed, and they came together with the force of inevitability. For the first time, the distance between them vanished. Three blissful days followed. It was morning when the guards arrived demanding the beggar report to the palace.
Reeve laughed, kissed her, and promised to be back soon. Sylvie was still smiling when the next knock came. She swung the door open expecting her husband. Elaine stood on the doorstep, red-eyed and desperate.
“Sylvie, I need to speak with you. ”
Sylvie tried to close the door, but Elaine’s foot stopped it. She let her in, arms crossed. Elaine’s anger rose quickly.
She was starving for an inheritance she thought she deserved. And when her fingers brushed Sylvie’s arm, her true thoughts spilled out like poison: “Wait till your husband kicks you out when he finds you haven’t inherited. You’ll know humiliation then. ”
Sylvie recoiled.
“Not only did I inherit,” she said coldly, “but my husband doesn’t know, and he loves me anyway. ”
Elaine’s eyes widened. “Edmund was right—you can read minds. ”
Then the calculation set in.
“If you don’t give me what I’m due, I’ll tell your husband how you lied and hid your fortune. Either he’ll hate you for lying, or he’ll show his true colors. Either way, you’ll lose him. ”
Sylvie’s heart seized.
She agreed to meet at the old mill at sundown, signed papers, gave Elaine half her inheritance. When she returned home, breathless and desperate to confess everything to Reeve, she found the cabin dark and empty. He was gone. The next morning, palace guards arrived.
“King Caspian requests your presence. ”
Sylvie walked the endless marble length of the throne room. The king wore his silver wolf mask, just as he always did. He rose and announced that he wished to take her as his queen.
“Your Majesty, I’m already mated. ”
“I am ruler of these lands,” he said. “If I wish it, your current bond can be annulled. I will not force you.
But consider what I offer: wealth, power, the chance to serve a kingdom with your gift. What does your beggar husband offer that could possibly compare? ”
Sylvie lifted her chin. “He is no beggar in my eyes.
He is my husband and my mate. I would give up a kingdom for a life with the man I love. ”
But just then, a commanding voice cut through the room. “Enough.
”
At the entrance stood another man in royal finery, wearing a mask identical to the king’s. The king on the throne removed his mask, dropped to one knee, and bowed. “Bow before your true king. ”
The new king approached where Sylvie knelt in shock.
He knelt to her level. “Look at me, Sylvie. ”
Slowly, she raised her head. Through the holes of the mask, she saw gray eyes—eyes she knew better than her own reflection.
He removed the mask. Reeve. Her husband. Her mate.
Her king. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice pitched for her alone. “I should have told you sooner. The mask allows me to move among my people unrecognized.
Sometimes as a courtier. Sometimes as a beggar. ”
She wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. He confessed everything: he could read minds too, had done so since birth.
Everyone who was kind to him wanted something. No one loved him for himself, so he disappeared, time and again, disguised as a nobody, waiting to see if anyone could love a man without a crown. “When you kissed me that day, a beggar you’d just met, I dared to hope you might be different. ”
Sylvie raised her hand and slapped him.
He deserved it. She slapped him again. He allowed it, but caught her wrist gently. “You were testing me too,” he said quietly.
“You know what it’s like hearing others’ thoughts—all the dark, selfish impulses that cross even the kindest minds. How rare it is to hear genuine, selfless love. ”
She understood. They were mirrors of each other.
Two people who could hear every secret except each other’s. “I can’t read your mind,” he said. “You’re the only person whose thoughts remain hidden from me. I believe it’s because you were meant to be mine.
Just as I can’t read yours, you can’t read mine. ”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. All this time, they’d been pushing each other away out of fear, when what they both wanted was to be pulled closer. Reeve knelt before her again, heedless of his royal dignity.
“Can you forgive me, Sylvie? Can you trust me again? Will you be my queen? ”
She looked down at him—a king on his knees, his eyes full of the same vulnerability she felt.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I forgive you, if you’ll forgive me. ”
He rose and kissed her as the court erupted in cheers. Sylvie heard nothing but the beating of his heart against her own, and the sweet, perfect silence of his thoughts.
A silence that meant, from now on, she would have to trust in his love, and he in hers. The way it was always meant to be.
