Chapter 60: You Don’t Need Six Guards

Naya had spent too many consecutive days within the palace walls, the stone corridors and formal gardens beginning to feel smaller with each passing afternoon.

“I want to see the lower pack district,” she told Serena. “Not for an inspection. Just to see how people actually live.”

“The King will insist on guards,” Serena said.

“I’m capable of protecting myself.”

“I know,” Serena said. “That’s why I’m worried about what you’ll do when they tell you no.”

Ronan, overhearing from the doorway, didn’t tell her no. “She should go,” he said. “But not without protection.”

Naya braced herself for an escort of six armed guards trailing her through the market like a parade.

Instead, Ronan assigned one man.

Tavian Reed arrived shortly after, respectful but noticeably less rigid than the palace guards Naya had grown used to. Ronan gave him simple instructions.

“Keep her safe.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Tavian said.

“And don’t tell him everything I do,” Naya added.

Tavian paused. “That wasn’t included in my instructions.”

Ronan looked at Naya. “It should have been.”

Tavian’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, though he kept it carefully contained.

They left the palace shortly after, Naya walking between Serena and Tavian through streets that felt entirely different from anything she’d seen within the royal grounds. Wolf-shifters carried baskets of goods through the market, children darted between stalls with speed no ordinary child could match, and a butcher called out over freshly hunted game laid across his table.

Pack members stepped aside as they passed, some bowing formally, others simply touching two fingers to their chest in quiet acknowledgment. A training yard near the market square held a cluster of young wolves practicing controlled partial shifts, their mentors calling out corrections between rounds.

“What’s that gesture mean?” Naya asked, nodding toward a woman who’d touched her fingers to her chest as they passed.

“Respect without formality,” Tavian explained. “Bowing is for court. That’s for everyone else.”

An older woman near a fruit stall paused as Naya passed, studying her for a long moment.

“That’s the King’s new Queen,” the woman said to her neighbor, though loud enough for Naya to hear.

Naya braced herself, old instincts flaring, bracing for suspicion or hostility.

Instead, the woman approached her directly. “You redirected the food shipments last season. To this district.”

“I helped,” Naya said carefully.

“My grandson stopped going hungry because of it,” the woman said, her voice steady and plain, nothing performative in it at all.

Naya felt something settle deep in her chest, unexpected and heavy. She’d signed that revision in a council chamber weeks ago, numbers on a page, a correction to an unfair allocation system. She hadn’t imagined it landing here, in an actual grandmother’s actual gratitude over a market stall.

Tavian watched her reaction quietly. “This is why some of us wanted you to see the city.”

“Who’s ‘some of us’?” Naya asked.

“People who serve the crown,” he said simply.

A commotion broke out near the edge of the market before Naya could respond further, a young wolf shifting unexpectedly amid a cluster of startled shoppers. People scattered, and Naya moved instinctively toward the boy, half-shifted and trembling, eyes wide with panic.

Tavian caught her arm gently. “Wait.”

He approached the boy slowly, lowering himself to the ground at the wolf’s level, his voice dropping into something low and steady. Naya watched, holding her breath, as the boy’s panicked stance gradually eased, his shoulders lowering, the wildness in his eyes settling into something calmer.

“How did you know what to do?” Naya asked once the boy had fully calmed, his mother rushing forward to gather him up.

“Fear makes a wolf hear everything as a threat,” Tavian said. “Loud noise, sudden movement, a stranger too close. You have to give it something quieter to focus on.”

Naya understood that feeling more than she wanted to admit aloud, and Tavian, perceptive enough not to press, said nothing further about it.

When they returned to the palace, Ronan was already waiting near the entrance, his expression carefully composed.

“Did everything go smoothly?” he asked Tavian.

“Mostly,” Tavian said.

Ronan’s eyes shifted to Naya. “Mostly?”

“It was nothing,” Naya said.

Tavian explained calmly what had happened, the young wolf’s unexpected shift, the way it had resolved without incident. Ronan didn’t look angry that Naya had moved toward the commotion rather than away from it. He simply asked, once Tavian finished, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

He turned to Tavian. “Thank you.”

Naya noticed the exchange, the ease between the two men, trust settling naturally without any need for explanation. Ronan clearly trusted Tavian, and Tavian’s respect for Ronan ran just as deep, nothing strained or performative about either direction.

Later, once Serena and Tavian had both excused themselves, Naya found Ronan alone in their private sitting room.

“You were worried,” she said, settling into the chair across from him.

“You’re my wife.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Fine. I was worried.”

She smiled, satisfied. “Do you regret letting me go?”

“No.” A pause. “I regret not going with you.”

“You would’ve complained about the crowds.”

“I would’ve complained about Tavian.”

“Why?” Naya asked, genuinely curious.

Ronan’s expression shifted, something faintly, playfully irritated crossing it. “He got to spend the entire afternoon with you.”

Naya laughed, recognizing the jealousy immediately for what it was, warm rather than controlling. She stepped closer, settling herself in front of him. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“How certain are you?” he asked.

She answered by kissing him instead, letting the certainty speak for itself, and Ronan pulled her closer without another word, the quiet contentment of the evening settling around them both.

She thought, pulling back slightly to rest her forehead against his, about the old woman at the market stall, about the boy who’d calmed beneath Tavian’s steady voice, about a city full of people whose lives her decisions actually touched. It settled into her differently than any council victory had. This was what the work was actually for.