Derick kept pushing plates toward me. I'd take two bites, then forget the fork was in my hand. My mother's face kept appearing in my mind—not dead, but alive and afraid, calling for me. I'd shake my head and find Derick watching me with those worried eyes. Part of me wanted to scream at him to stop hovering, to leave me alone with this hollow ache that was mine to bear. But another part clung to his presence like a lifeline. We stayed in the apartment all day, the crown prince of the entire kingdom neglecting his duties to sit beside me while I stared at walls. I hated myself for needing this, for keeping him here, even as I couldn't bear the thought of him leaving.
When night came, Derick showed me to our new room. Moonlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a four-poster king-size bed draped in silver silk and emerald velvet. The mattress looked cloud-soft, piled with plush pillows that gleamed in the dim light. I traced my fingers along the intricate wolf carvings on the bedposts, feeling the smooth wood beneath my fingertips. Through an arched doorway, I glimpsed a marble bathroom with a claw-foot tub large enough for two. I wandered into the walk-in closet, Derick's footsteps quiet behind me. His side held tailored suits in midnight blues and charcoals, crisp shirts arranged by color, and leather shoes polished to a mirror shine. My side—my side—burst with dresses in jewel tones, delicate blouses, training gear in breathable fabrics, and silk nightgowns that whispered against my skin as I touched them. Rows of shoes lined the bottom: heels that could kill, boots made for running, slippers for quiet mornings. Above them, a glass case displayed glittering jewelry—silver mostly, with moonstones and emeralds that matched the room's palette.
I turned to Derick, my fingers still clutching the silk of a nightgown that probably cost more than everything I'd ever owned. "Is all this for me?" My voice came out smaller than I intended, like a child afraid of being told there'd been a mistake.
Derick wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my head. "Of course. My mother made sure you would have everything you need." Heat crawled up my neck as I imagined the Queen of the entire kingdom selecting lacy underwear for the girl who'd spent years wearing whatever wouldn't draw attention. What did royalty see when they looked at me? A charity case? A girl with nothing to her name but the clothes on her back and a dead mother?
I gulped down that thought and rifled through the clothes, fingers lingering on silk nightgowns before yanking back to grab plain boy shorts and a tank top. Something in me wanted to be worthy of this luxury, to slip into something that matched these surroundings, while another part recoiled at the very idea. Who was I trying to fool? I kept seeing the Queen's face from earlier—concern or disappointment? Sympathy or judgment? I'd fled that meeting like a scared animal, proving I didn't belong here, yet part of me still desperately wanted to. Their son's mate. Their future daughter-in-law. A broken girl in a crown too heavy to wear.
Derick thankfully didn't press me about drifting into my own thoughts. His eyes would flicker to my face whenever I resurfaced from the fog, but he'd just offer that slight half-smile—the one that barely lifted the corner of his mouth but softened his entire expression.
I watched as he changed into his pajamas—just a pair of black silk boxers that clung to the muscled ridges of his hips. Heat crawled up my neck as my eyes traced the defined lines of his abdomen, the broad planes of his chest. He caught me looking and I glanced away, my cheeks burning. The mattress dipped as he helped me into bed, tucking the downy comforter around me. It really was like sinking into a cloud, the sheets cool and silky against my bare legs.
After making sure I was comfortable, he padded around to the other side, his movements graceful despite his size. The bed shifted under his weight as he slid beneath the covers, one strong arm wrapping around my waist to pull me against the warmth of his chest. With a soft click, he turned off the bedside lamp, leaving only moonlight filtering through the curtains to paint silver shadows across our skin.
I nestled into the curve of Derick's body, his chest warm against my back, his steady heartbeat a gentle rhythm against my shoulder blade. His arm draped over my waist felt like a shield—heavy enough to anchor me, light enough to let me breathe. The silk sheets whispered against my skin as I exhaled, letting my muscles unclench one by one. For the first time in years, the darkness didn't feel like a threat. I closed my eyes, breathing in his pine-and-cinnamon scent, and let sleep pull me under like a gentle tide, clinging to the promise that tomorrow wouldn't have to carry today's weight.
The next morning I followed Derick through the grand palace foyer, the gleaming marble tiles reflecting soft morning light as we walked past gilded pillars and torch sconces flickering in the soft breeze. Each step echoed, a reminder of where I now belonged, and my heart fluttered with hope, like a delicate bird learning to fly in a bright, open sky.
As we approached Matt's compact apartment within the royal wings, the scents of breakfast enveloped me, warm and inviting. My stomach let out a soft rumble in anticipation, and a nervous excitement coursed through my veins. I'd spent years in the shadow of fear and pain, and now, here I was, stepping into a new chapter—one filled with laughter and the promise of friendship.
Derick opened the door, and I stepped inside, immediately greeted by the sight of a modest kitchen area illuminated by the morning sun streaming through arched windows. The small round table was set with blue-trimmed china, giving the place a cozy, welcoming atmosphere that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Matt stood at a cast-iron griddle, focused and humming a cheerful tune as he flipped golden omelets onto plates, the tantalizing aroma wafting through the air.
"Cassy, how do you like your eggs?" he asked, turning briefly to flash me a grin that radiated friendliness.
I hesitated in the doorway, torn between the inviting warmth of the kitchen and the urge to retreat back to safety. "Um, however you make them is fine with me," I finally managed, stepping forward despite the knot in my stomach. Matt laughed, a bright, infectious sound that both comforted and unsettled me—how could anyone be so at ease? He continued cooking, adding bacon to the sizzling pan with practiced flips. His silence about the newspaper article was both a relief and a weight. Would he bring it up later when I least expected it? Was he judging me behind that smile?
A door creaked open, and I tensed. A tall woman with spiky dark hair emerged, water still gleaming on the tips. Her tank top revealed toned arms, and her yoga pants hugged athletic legs. Her bright smile felt like an interrogation light as she looked directly at me.
"Welcome! I've been waiting to meet you!" she exclaimed, bouncing on her toes with a dazzling smile that lit up her entire face. When she stepped toward me, I flinched reflexively, but she just laughed and enveloped me in a warm bear hug that somehow melted my tension away. "Finally! Another girl to balance out all this testosterone!" She released me with a playful wink, then spun toward Derick with mock outrage. "Now you can stop monopolizing my mates time with your royal demands, Your Highness," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Derick—to my absolute shock—responded with a theatrical scoff that could've won him a drama award, rolling his eyes so dramatically I thought they might get stuck examining his own brain. Then he wrapped his arm around me like I was the last cookie in the jar that everyone wanted a bite of, tugging me closer with all the subtlety of a possessive toddler. A bubble of laughter tickled my throat, threatening to burst out in a most undignified snort at their sibling-like squabbling.
Matt broke up the tension by serving us breakfast on beautifully arranged plates. As he poured steaming tea from a porcelain pot into a matching cup, the whole scene felt oddly idyllic. I hesitated, savoring the view—the morning light dancing across the blue plates, the laughter blending with the sounds of sizzling bacon.
Once Nicki pushed a plate of buttered toast, scrambled eggs flecked with chives, and a carafe of fresh-squeezed orange juice toward me, I felt gratitude bloom within. "Thank you," I managed, savoring the surprising creaminess of the first forkful of egg, letting the flavors roll on my tongue.