Chapter 16: You Don’t Own Me

Naya woke to a cold and untouched side of the bed. Ronan hadn’t just risen early. He hadn’t come to bed at all.

She told herself it was a relief. Good. Let him hide in his study. And yet by midday she’d caught herself asking three different servants where he was, which she flatly denied when Mira pointed it out.

"That sounds like something Kael would say," Naya muttered.

"It does," Mira agreed, not looking up from the wardrobe.

"Have you been talking to him?"

"That’s not important."

"Neither is where Ronan is," Naya said, folding her arms, though they both knew that wasn’t true.

A servant arrived that afternoon with a message. His Majesty commanded her presence at a seasonal gathering in the eastern territory. Naya’s first instinct was to refuse, and she nearly did, right up until Mira reminded her, quietly, that she was still the King’s wife, whether it suited either of them or not.

She dressed simply and went down to find Ronan waiting at the bottom of the stairs, composed as always, as though he hadn’t spent the previous night threatening to dig up every secret she owned.

"You’re late," he said.

"No. You just arrived early."

His jaw tightened. "Don’t start."

"Start what?"

He didn’t answer. She walked past him toward the door instead. "Let’s get this over with."

Outside, there was no royal escort, only a single carriage waiting. Naya stopped cold.

"Where’s everyone else?"

"They’ll meet us at the eastern gate," a guard explained.

"I’m not getting in there alone with him," she said.

"You’re my wife," Ronan said.

"That hasn’t stopped you from threatening me."

For a long moment neither moved, and then, surprisingly, he stepped aside and let her go first. The door closed behind them, and the carriage began to move, and for a few minutes the silence between them was almost bearable.

Then Naya couldn’t hold it anymore. "Are you going to interrogate me again today, or was once enough for the week?"

"Don’t provoke me," Ronan warned.

"Why? Will you accuse me of stealing something else?" Her voice rose despite herself. "You put your hands around my throat over a necklace I didn’t steal. You humiliated me in front of your council. And you sit there acting betrayed because I don’t trust you?"

Ronan looked away first, and for the first time since she’d met him, Naya saw something other than anger cross his face. Something closer to guilt.

"I’ve protected you," he said finally.

She laughed, sharp and disbelieving. "You allowed your council to humiliate me and only stepped in after they’d already made their opinion of me clear."

"I chose to keep you here," he said, quieter now, like the words meant more to him than they did to her.

"Congratulations. I appreciate you not killing me."

"That’s not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

He didn’t answer, and Naya leaned back against the seat. "That’s what I thought. You’ve protected what you think belongs to you. There’s a difference."

"You’re wrong," he said, but his jaw stayed locked and he didn’t explain why, and before either of them could say anything else, the carriage stopped. The escort had arrived. The conversation ended unfinished, but Naya knew she’d gotten past something in him, even if only for a moment.

The eastern territory was full of life, music drifting between market stalls, children weaving through the crowd. Ronan was pulled away almost immediately by local leaders, and Naya found herself among ordinary pack members for the first time since arriving at the palace. She spoke with mothers and merchants, asked questions, actually enjoyed herself.

A young Alpha named Darian approached, charming and clearly interested. "I wasn’t expecting the King’s wife to actually speak with us," he said.

"Should I be offended?"

"Not at all. I assumed Ronan would keep you locked away somewhere."

"Some days I assume the same," she said, and he laughed, and across the gathering, Ronan noticed.

When Darian offered to show her around, Naya caught Ronan watching and smiled. "I’d like that."

They walked and talked, nothing improper, but Darian’s interest was plain, and Ronan appeared beside them before long. "That’s enough," he said. "She has duties. With me."

Once Darian had gone, Naya rounded on him. "You were jealous."

"I don’t get jealous."

"You looked like you wanted to kill him."

"Perhaps I did."

"Why, Ronan?"

He had no answer, and instead walked away, telling her only to stay close.

Later, in a meeting with local leaders, a visiting noble remarked that the King was fortunate his replacement bride was proving useful. The room went still. Naya had already begun composing her response when Ronan spoke first.

"My wife," he said, quiet and cold, "is not a replacement. I suggest you remember who you’re speaking about." The noble paled and apologized, and Ronan continued the meeting as though nothing had happened, but Naya couldn’t stop turning his words over. Not mine. Not she belongs to me. Something else. Something that frightened her more.

The storm caught them on the way home. The roads turned to mud, and the group was forced to stop at a small lodge with too few rooms. Naya and Ronan ended up sharing one again, bickering the entire time, until they were standing close enough that neither seemed to remember what they’d been arguing about. A knock at the door broke it before it became anything.

When the roads proved too damaged even for horses to manage safely as a group, they continued on a single mount, Naya seated in front of Ronan, his arms braced on either side of her as he took the reins. She stiffened at the warmth of him against her back.

"Relax," he said.

"Don’t tell me to relax."

"You’ll fall."

"Then let me fall."

His arm tightened around her. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I’m holding you," he said, low enough that it did something strange to her chest, and she looked away before he could see it.

When the rain stopped but the cold didn’t, she tried to hide her shivering and failed. Ronan stopped the horse and wrapped his own cloak around her shoulders without asking.

"I don’t need your kindness," she said.

"It’s not kindness."

"Then what is it?"

"Responsibility," he said, though his eyes lingered on the cloak, on her wrapped in something that belonged to him, longer than the word alone explained.

They reached the palace late, and Kael was waiting, his eyes moving from Naya to the cloak to Ronan and back again, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Interesting," he said.

"We’re not," Naya and Ronan said at the same time, which only made Kael’s smile widen before he wandered off, delighted with himself.

Left alone in the courtyard, neither of them knew what to say. Finally Ronan told her to go to bed, and when she snapped at him to stop ordering her around, something close to a smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"Goodnight, Naya," he said.

She froze. He hadn’t ordered her. He’d never said it to her before at all.

"Goodnight," she said, and walked toward the palace without looking back, though she could feel his eyes on her the whole way. For the first time since arriving at his court, she didn’t feel like Elara’s replacement, or a debt owed, or a prisoner kept out of obligation.

She felt seen.

Behind her, Ronan stood in the courtyard long after she’d disappeared, still holding the cloak, still turning over the thought of another man’s hands on her, and the fury it had put in his chest. For the first time, he didn’t see Naya Ripley as a replacement bride sent to settle his family’s debt.

He saw her as his wife.

And that terrified him more than anything her family had ever done to his.