Roman's pov
I motioned toward the bed. "This will be your chambers from now onwards. If you want you can rest and if there's anything you need don't hesitate to ask the maids or myself."
Her lips trembled as she nodded, eyes darting nervously around the room. She didn't speak. Not yet. But she studied everything. Every object. Every detail. Every corner of this room that was mine, and yet would now be hers in some strange, unimaginable way.
I kept my distance, but the moment her gaze flicked to me, I felt the pull again. The bond. The connection. Our connection. A human could not comprehend it… but I could.
And I would not allow her fear to drive her away—not now, not ever.
She was mine. My mate.
And the world—my world—would bend around her if I had to.
Even if it meant learning how to temper the beast inside me, if only to hold her without scaring her completely away.
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Aurora's pov
The moment Roman led me out of his private quarters, my stomach tightened in a mix of awe and terror.
The corridors of the palace were wide, lit by sconces that glimmered gold against dark stone walls. Shadows danced with each step we took, flickering like living things. I kept my hands folded in front of me, cloak tight around my shoulders, trying to make myself smaller, invisible.
But I was not invisible.
I knew it the instant we entered the main hall.
His people stopped.
Conversations died mid-word. Heads turned slowly, eyes glinting like polished amber in the torchlight. Silence stretched, heavy and sharp, as if the air itself had paused to acknowledge my presence.
I froze. My legs trembled. I swallowed hard.
They were… imposing. Every one of them. Broad-shouldered, lean and powerful, with a wildness in their eyes I had only glimpsed in Roman's own. Lycans in human form. Humans with Lycan instincts. And all of them staring at me.
A murmur ran through the crowd—soft, questioning, reverent.
Roman's hand brushed my back, subtle but firm, guiding me forward. I felt the heat of him, the pulse of his power, the invisible tether of the bond that pulled me toward him even when fear screamed to run.
"It's okay, they're not going to hurt you," he murmured, voice low in my ear. The vibration sent shivers down my spine.
I nodded mutely, cheeks burning.
The pack parted slightly, creating a path, but their eyes never left me. Some glanced at Roman, some back at me, as if measuring the impossible: their king's human mate.
One of the older males stepped forward broad, scarred, commanding presence and bowed his head slightly. His amber gaze flicked to me. "Alpha, luna," His voice was rough, respectful, almost reverent.
I swallowed again, unable to speak. My fingers gripped my cloak tighter. My heart raced as dozens of eyes followed me, scrutinizing, curious, and unafraid.
Another female, younger, with silver hair braided down her back, tilted her head at me, eyes wide. Her lips pressed together as if she wanted to say something, but she only nodded slightly.
The weight of their attention pressed down on me, and I felt my knees weaken. I wasn't meant for this world. I wasn't meant for them or him. And yet… there was something in the way Roman walked beside me, protective and unyielding, that made my fear coil tighter around a spark of wonder.
He stopped near a raised dais at the center of the hall, where a fire roared in a massive stone hearth. The pack instinctively gave space, forming a semi-circle around us. I felt their power, their loyalty, their respect for him—and suddenly, all their attention centered on me.
I felt exposed. Human. Vulnerable. But also… seen.
One of the younger males muttered under his breath, loud enough for me to catch: "She's… beautiful."
I flushed and looked down, ashamed, terrified, overwhelmed.
Roman's hand brushed my shoulder again, steadying me. "They mean no harm," he murmured. "They will respect you… if you allow it."
I wanted to look at him, to question him, to cry, to run—but instead I nodded. My chest heaved, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. The pack, the stronghold, the king himself—and me, a small human girl caught in the middle of it.
The murmurs settled, replaced by a low hum of acceptance. They watched, cautious but reverent.
I was here.
And I was his.
Even if I didn't understand what that meant yet.
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Morning light spilled through tall, arched windows, painting the hall in soft gold. The air was warm, fragrant with baked bread, roasted meat, and herbs I couldn't even name.
I blinked at the long table before me. Bowls of steaming porridge, platters of fresh fruit, honey dripping like molten gold, thick slices of bread still warm from the oven. Juices and teas filled delicate crystal glasses. My eyes darted from dish to dish as if I might wake up and it would all vanish.
Roman sat at one end of the table, his posture rigid, golden eyes calm but observing me carefully. He wore a simple tunic, yet every movement he made carried the command of a king.
"Sit," he said, voice low, not demanding but impossible to ignore.
I obeyed, sliding into the seat across from him, hands folded awkwardly in my lap. I couldn't stop staring at the food. In my village… the only things we had was bread, occasionally fresh eggs, and some cheese. That had been the sum of our luxuries. Here… this felt like a feast fit for royalty—or a god.
Roman noticed my wide eyes and the way my hands twitched nervously. "It's fresh," he said simply, voice soft, almost conversational. "We eat well here and so will you."
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "It… it looks incredible," I stammered, unable to hide my awe.
He allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Eat. Hunger has no patience, and fear will only make it worse."
I hesitated, glancing at the bowls of steaming porridge first, then a slice of bread dripping with honey. Carefully, I picked up a piece, my hands trembling slightly. I bit into it—and warmth, sweetness, and the softest texture I had ever tasted exploded in my mouth.
"Oh…" I breathed. My eyes widened even further. "This… this is… amazing!"
Roman watched silently, his gaze calm but intense. I could feel it, that same pull from the bond threading through the morning air, threading through him, threading through me.
"You like it," he said, voice low, almost teasing.
"I—yes! I've never… I've never eaten anything like this," I admitted, cheeks burning.
He leaned back slightly, watching me, his expression unreadable—but there was something in his eyes, some flicker of satisfaction that made my stomach tighten
"Food," he said, voice soft, "is not just for survival. It is comfort. It is strength. You will need both."
I looked down at my plate, at the spread before me, then back up at him. He seemed… untouchable, untamed, yet sitting here with me, sharing this simple human act, he felt… close. Almost… ordinary.
I dared a small smile. "Thank you… for letting me eat like this."
His golden gaze softened fractionally, and for the first time, I felt a hint of the man behind the king. "You are my mate," he said quietly. "You will have nothing less."
I felt a warmth spread through me—not from the food. Not entirely.
But from the simple, terrifying, and exhilarating truth: I was tied to him now. Bound to him. And somehow, I was beginning to understand that in this strange, luxurious, overwhelming world, that might… not be so terrible after all.