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“Almost done?” Ren calls as the hair dryer shuts off. I turn off the water and wring out my long hair to jump start the drying process.
“I’ll be ready in five,” I promise her.
I smile as I study my reflection in the mirror. My platinum blonde hair is stick straight and hanging just past my shoulders. It’s hopeless to try to do anything with it, so I blow dry it and twist the strands up into a bun on top of my head.
Ren and I didn’t bring anything fancy to wear, mostly because we don’t own anything fancy and don’t have the budget to even attempt. It’s never bothered me before, but then again, I’ve never toured a castle or met a king before.
Oh well. Nothing for it now. I head out into the room, smiling when I see Ren in jeans and her nicest shirt.
“Think we’ll be underdressed?” she asks, reading my mind.
“Definitely,” I say with a laugh. “If anyone asks, we’ll just tell them it’s part of our plan to stand out and catch King Ryker’s eye,” I tell her. She grins.
“Deal.”
I hurry to get dressed, opting for my dark skinny jeans instead of my comfy ripped ones. Tossing on my cleanest v-neck t-shirt, I give myself a once-over in the mirror before slipping on my Converse shoes, and then we’re rushing out the hotel door and up the hill to the castle gates. The ceremony has already started, but there’s still a line.
Actually, there’s two lines. One is for the women who want to be considered to be Queen, and the other is for everyone who is just here for the ceremony.
We were right, we’re the least dressed up people here, but as we take our spots in line, a feeling settles over me. It’s like, for once in my life; I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
THREE
Ryker
This is hopeless.
I welcomed everyone to the castle for the ceremony three hours ago, and then I was escorted to this small side room with no more than two chairs and a fireplace. The set up is supposed to provide a more intimate setting for the long string of women I’m forced to make small talk with tonight.
“Give me a minute before the next one,” I tell Greg. He gives me a sympathetic smile and nods his head.
I’ve met at least eighty women, but none of them have been my fated mate. My wolf and I are both growing bored and tense from having to sit here with girl after girl who isn’t meant for us.
A snarl gets caught in my throat, but I cover it with a cough, warning my wolf to back down. He’s more disappointed than angry, but it all comes out the same when he growls.I know, I tell him.I’m disappointed too, but we still have to go through with this.
He groans dramatically, then flops over. The big baby.
I scrub a hand down my face, mentally preparing for more of the same shallow, power-hungry women I’ve dealt with all evening. It’s either that or women who were dressed up by their parents and shoved in my direction, even though they have no interest. I prefer the latter, but it’s all a waste of time since none of them have been my mate so far.
Try as I might to ignore my feelings of despair, they bubble up from a well deep in my being. Am I destined to do this every year? Spend an agonizing evening, followed by an agonizing week, with women who are only interested in the title of being queen? Maybe I should just pick somebody and get it over with, fated mate or not.
My wolf jumps up, howling at the thought of giving up on our mate.
I get it, I assure him.I’m not really giving up, I just…
I don’t know how to finish that thought, but luckily, I don’t have to. My wolf nods his head nudging at the inside of my chest in solidarity. He knows the unnamable emotions rattling around in my heart, because they are a part of him, too. We may be lonely without our mate, but at least we have each other.
“Only three more women,” Greg tells me. It’s his diplomatic way of telling me to get my shit together, and despite my loathing for this whole situation, I smirk at him.
“Bring it on,” I say in an exasperated tone.
Greg nods his head once, then opens the door, ushering in the next disappointment.
I’m not looking forward to having to choose the eight women who will stay. I can’t remember any of their names or faces, and I want to scream that none of this matters. That I don’t need the next five days because I already know none of the girls here will be my Queen.
A pretty girl in another ball gown sweeps in, and my wolf growls at her scent. She seems to have doused herself in perfume. My wolf and I both hate it.
“King Ryker,” she says in such a high-pitched voice that I want to cover my ears. Instead, I force a smile to my lips and pretend to listen as she tells me about herself.
