Breathe.
Just take a deep breath. You're fine. Overtired. Your mind is messing with you.
I inhale slowly, forcing air into my lungs until the tightness in my chest eases. When I open my eyes again, relief floods me. Normal. My reflection stares back with familiar brown eyes, no glow, no fire, no anything crazy trying to drive me into insanity..
See? No need to panic. Imagining things. Or so I tell myself. Still, my fingers linger against the cool glass a second longer than necessary, as if I expect my reflection to shift the moment I look away. My pulse refuses to settle completely, thudding hard in my ears, a quiet reminder that whatever happened earlier wasn't entirely in my head.
Emma is oddly quiet.
That alone should have terrified me more than the reflection—Emma was never quiet unless something was very, very wrong.
I turn away from the mirror and head back into the room, my heart still pounding a little too hard, when a sharp knock sounds at the door.
I open it to find Mayla standing there, Callen's mate, posture relaxed and confidence rolling off her like she owns the hallway.
"Uh…hey," I say, stepping aside.
"Hey back," she replies easily, already walking in like this is the most natural thing in the world.
That's when I noticed the bundle of clothes tucked neatly in her arms.
"So," she says, dropping onto the cream L-shaped sofa like she belongs there, "Kieran had these sent for you yesterday. It's only a few things." She waves a dismissive hand. "We'll do a proper shopping spree soon. Don't you worry."
I blink, suddenly unsure how I'm supposed to react to that. "You don't have to do that," I say quickly. "Cam and I can just… I don't know. Find a thrift store somewhere."
The look Mayla gives me is pure, unfiltered horror.
"A thrift store?" she repeats, like I just confessed to killing her cat.
She straightens, eyes narrowing dramatically. "First of all, there are exactly zero females around here I can hang out with, so this shopping spree is mostly for me. You get clothes, I get a day of doing something fun." Then her voice gets firmer, sharper. "Second, pointing at me, "our Queen Luna will not be shopping at a thrift store. Over. My. Dead. Body."
I stare at her, stunned. She stares back for a second before quickly lowering her gaze.
Apparently, I'm not allowed to argue with royal fashion law.
Confused, I frown slightly and ask, "What do you mean? I saw a lot of females yesterday."
A lot of them were eyeing Kieran, no matter how hard I tried not to notice. My chest tightens at the thought. "What about them?"
Mayla exhales through her nose, clearly choosing her words carefully. "No respectable females, I should say," she clarifies. "Most of the staff only come in during the mornings on their assigned days. Kitchen staff show up for breakfast and dinner, but lunch is usually handled by us. For the most part, we keep to ourselves. It's quieter that way. Safer." Her voice drops on that last word. "There aren't many people here we fully trust."
My stomach twists. Something about the way she says it makes my skin hair raise.
Testing the waters, I ask, "What about the females that…" I trail off, unsure how to finish without sounding pathetic. "…give the king extra attention?"
Her eyes widened instantly, lips parting in surprise. "You noticed that already?" she says, almost incredulous.
She stands from the sofa and starts toward the door, but panic spikes and I step in front of her, blocking her path without even realizing it.
"No, Mayla," I say quickly, my voice softer now. "Please. Tell me."
She studies my face for a long moment before sighing in resignation. "It's not my place to say, Sam. Kieran does have a past, a lengthy one, but that's something he needs to tell you himself." Then her expression sharpens, protective. "What is my place to say is - , since the moment I met him, I have never, ever, seen him look at another female the way he looks at you."
That helps. A little.
I wrap my arms around myself, grounding, and let out a slow breath. "Okay," I murmured. "Thank you."
Her sternness softens. "Come on," she says gently. "We're all having brunch in the dining room. Go change, I'll wait here."
As she turns away, I glance once more at the clothes laid out on the sofa, the luxury of them still foreign, still overwhelming. This life feels too big, too polished, like I might scuff it just by existing. But as much as I'm scared, I can't deny it anymore.
I don't want to run.
Not from him.
Not yet.