Chapter 233
Even kings are allowed to love
Uriel rubbed his temples as he sat back in the high-backed chair behind the council desk, eyes fixed on the endless stack of documents before him.
The parchment felt heavier tonight, as if the weight of the kingdom itself had seeped into every line of ink. Reports. Complaints. Requests for reassurance. Arguments between nobles who no longer trusted the ground beneath their feet now that magic and shifting had gone silent.
The palace was too quiet.
He exhaled slowly and leaned forward again, scanning another report about unrest near the eastern borders, arguments over old land claims between packs. Merchants refusing to travel at night. Guards requesting more men even though they all knew it was pointless.
Without their inner wolves, without magic, everyone felt smaller… Weaker and afraid.
Uriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is madness,” he muttered under his breath.
He had barely lifted his quill when the doors to the study opened softly. “My Lord.”
Uriel did not look up. “Leave it on the table,” he said, assuming it was another servant with tea he had not asked for. “I don’t need anything right now.”
The soft steps did not retreat.
Instead, he caught the faint sound of porcelain touching wood. Then a familiar scent drifted into the air. Light, sweet and warm, like spring flowers after rain.
Uriel’s hand paused mid-sentence.
“Beatrice,” he said, finally lifting his gaze.
She stood beside his desk, a delicate tray in her hands. Steam curled lazily from the teacup, carrying the scent straight to him. She smiled, gentle but stubborn in that way she had always been.
“You’ve been here all day,” she said. “You forgot to eat again.”
“I told you, you can ask the servants to bring these things,” Uriel replied, straightening in his chair. “You don’t need to trouble yourself.”
“I want to,” she said simply.
She stepped closer to set the tray down, leaning forward just a little too much as she did.
The neckline of her dress dipped, and before Uriel could stop himself, his eyes caught the brief glimpse of her cleavage. Heat rushed to his face.
Uriel swallowed and quickly looked back down at the papers, his heart suddenly beating far too loud in his ears. He could feel sweat gathering on his forehead, an entirely inappropriate reaction to something so small, so innocent.
‘Get yourself together.’
But the scent lingered. Sweet and unmistakably hers. It wrapped around him, distracting and warm, and suddenly the cramped study felt far too small.
Beatrice straightened, clearly unaware or pretending to be, and poured the tea with careful hands. “You’re tense,” she said lightly. “Your shoulders are practically up to your ears.”
“I’m fine,” Uriel said, though his voice came out rougher than intended.
She chuckled softly. “That’s a lie.”
He sighed and leaned back, finally giving in enough to take the cup. The warmth seeped into his palms. “You try running a kingdom when everyone suddenly loses their inner wolves and magic,” he said. “See how calm you feel.”
Her smile softened. “I know it’s difficult.”
“Difficult?” Uriel scoffed. “It’s chaos. Gavriel leaves without warning, and suddenly everything lands on my desk.” He gestured vaguely at the towering stacks of parchment. “He was always the one who handled things like this. He always put the kingdom first. Above everything else.”
There was no mistaking the frustration in his voice now.
Beatrice rested her hip lightly against the edge of the desk. “People change.”
“He didn’t used to,” Uriel replied. “No matter what happened, no matter who stood before him, the kingdom came first. Always.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “And now?”
Uriel hesitated. The image of Gavriel staring at Althea in his arms, eyes hollow with devotion and desperation, flashed through his mind.
“Now,” he said quietly, “there’s someone more important to him than the crown.”
Beatrice smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“It is when he leaves the rest of us drowning,” Uriel muttered.
She laughed softly, the sound lightening the room. “You sound jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“You are,” she teased. “Or maybe you’re just surprised.”
Uriel shot her a look, but she only laughed again.
“The great Alpha King Gavriel,” she continued, “undone by love. Who would have thought?”
Uriel leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “The kingdom is afraid, Beatrice. They don’t know what tomorrow will bring. They look to us for answers, and all I have are words.”
She reached out and gently adjusted the papers he had scattered, her fingers brushing close to his. That same warmth rushed through him again.
“You’re doing well,” she said softly. “Even if you don’t see it.”
He turned his head, meeting her gaze. For a moment, the noise of the world faded. No reports. No unrest. Just her standing there, eyes warm and steady.
Beatrice cleared her throat and straightened, breaking the moment. “Besides,” she added with a playful smile, “you’d probably do the same.”
Uriel frowned. “Do what?”
“Leave everything behind,” she said. “If you found someone worth it.”
He scoffed. “I don’t have time for such things.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what I asked.”
Uriel hesitated. His fingers tightened around the teacup. “There’s no one,” he said after a moment.
Beatrice leaned closer, her voice dropping just enough to make his pulse jump. “Are you sure? Not even someone you fancy a little?”
His throat went dry.
“You’re asking dangerous questions,” he said, attempting a half-smile that did not quite land.
She laughed, stepping back at last. “Just curious.”
Uriel watched her move, far too aware of every sway of her dress, every quiet breath. He cleared his throat. “You should go,” he said. “I have work to finish.”
She nodded, though her eyes lingered on him a moment longer than necessary. “Don’t stay up all night.”
“I probably will.”
She shook her head fondly and turned toward the door. Just before leaving, she glanced back. “Try not to be too hard on yourself,” she said. “Even kings are allowed to love.”
The door closed softly behind her.
Uriel sat there in silence, the scent of tea and flowers still hanging in the air. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling once more.
Love.
He exhaled slowly and picked up his quill again, though his thoughts were no longer on borders or treaties. And to his annoyance, no matter how hard he tried to focus, Beatrice’s smile kept finding its way back into his mind.