Chapter 6: The Princess's Gambit
The silence after Silas left was heavier than before. It pressed on Alaina’s chest, a physical weight.Crown Princess.Veronia. The words swirled in her head, meaningless and terrifying. The photo on the tablet screen—her own face, draped in jewels she didn’t remember, smiling up at a man with Julius’s steel-gray eyes but none of his warmth—that was what stuck.Caspian Vance.Cousin.
She didn’t trust them.Any of them.But the evidence was digital, impersonal.A news archive. She’d found it herself.The scent of lavender from the pillows was suddenly cloying. She pushed herself up on her elbows, ignoring the protest in her muscles, the dull, persistent throb low in her belly that had become her constant, humiliating companion.Heat. They called it a heat.It felt like a fever dream, a wrongness in her own skin.
The door opened again without a knock. Julius this time, carrying a silver tray with a sphygmomanometer and a small medical tablet.His presence filled the doorway, all controlled precision and sharp lines. He smelled of antiseptic soap and something else, something deeper and woody that made the throb inside her tighten.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, his voice that calm, bass note she was beginning to recognize.
“I was just thinking,” she muttered, her eyes flicking back to the empty space where the tablet had been.
“A dangerous pastime.” He set the tray down on a sleek side table and approached the bed.His movements were economical, practiced. He didn’t touch her yet.“Silas said you had questions. That you saw something that… troubled you.”
“Who’s Caspian Vance?”
The question landed in the room like a stone. Julius didn’t flinch, but his gaze sharpened, the steel in them turning to flint. A fraction of a second’s pause.“My cousin.”
“He was in a picture with me. At a gala.We looked… friendly.”
“He is a Lord of the Court. Was.Your social circle was necessarily political, Alaina. Your father’s court.” Julius picked up the blood pressure cuff.“May I?”
She ignored the request. “Were we friends?”
“You tolerated him.As did I.” The answer was too clean, too clipped. He unspooled the cuff.“Your blood pressure. It’s important to monitor, given the stress your body is under.”
“The stress of finding out I’m a princess, or the stress of being told I belong to four strangers?” she snapped, the fury a welcome flare in her chest.
A muscle ticked in his jaw.“Both.” He waited, the cuff poised. “Please.”
Reluctantly, she extended her arm. His fingers were cool and deft as they wrapped the fabric around her bicep.The touch was clinical, but it wasn’t. It sent a ripple through her, a contradiction that left her dizzy.Her body relaxed into it even as her mind recoiled. He pumped the bulb, the pressure squeezing. She watched his face, studied the silver at his temples, the impossible focus in his eyes as he watched the gauge.
“He’s not part of our pack,” Julius said finally, his attention seemingly on the falling needle. “He never was.”
“But he was there. In my life.”
“Many people were in your life.” He released the valve, the pressure easing.He noted the reading on his tablet, his brow furrowing slightly. “Your pressure is elevated. Alaina, you need to try to calm down.”
“How?” The word burst out of her, half-laugh, half-sob. “Tell me how to be calm.My body feels like it’s… burning itself alive for you.All of you. My head is full of blank spaces and ghosts.And now I’m a goddamn princess. Calm isn’t in the vocabulary.”
He put the equipment down slowly. Then he did something he hadn’t done before. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.He didn’t reach for her hand. He just sat there, a solid, quiet presence in the storm of her confusion.
“I can’t give you your memories back,” he said, his voice lower, stripped of its professional veneer. It was raw, and it scared her more than his doctor tone.“I would cut my own hands off if I could. But I can’t.What I can do is keep you safe.Keep you healthy. Everything else—the bond, the title, the life—it will come back, or it won’t. But you are alive. You are here.”
The throb in her core pulsed, hot and insistent, reacting to his nearness, to the slight edge of alpha command in his words. It infuriated her.She hated it.She hated him.
“I don’t want it to come back,” she whispered, staring at the velvet canopy above.“What if I didn’t like it? What if I didn’t like you?”
She heard his intake of breath, small and sharp. When he spoke again, the pain in his voice was undisguised. “Then we would have to live with that.”
The door burst open, shattering the fragile tension. Kael filled the frame, a dish towel slung over his broad shoulder, the scent of roasted garlic and thyme swirling in with him.“Jules, you’re monopolizing. It’s my turn to sit with the terrifying patient.” His eyes, warm and amber, landed on Alaina.“Hungry? Or are you still on the ‘I’d rather starve than eat my captor’s food’ diet?”
It was so absurd, so blunt, that a startled sound escaped her—not quite a laugh, but close.Julius stood up, his mask of clinical composure slipping back into place. “Her blood pressure is high. She needs quiet.”
“She needs a decent braised short rib,” Kael countered, walking in.“Comfort food.Fixes the soul. I brought broth.”
He held up a small porcelain cup.The smell was rich, savory. Her stomach growled, betraying her.Julius glanced from her to Kael, a silent communication passing between them. He gave a tight nod.“Fifteen minutes. Then she sleeps.”
“Yes, doctor.” Kael’s tone was lightly mocking, but there was an underlying respect. Julius paused at the door, looking back at Alaina. His gray eyes held hers for a long moment, a current of something unspoken—possession, regret, longing—crackling in the air.Then he was gone.
Kael pulled a chair close with his foot and sat, handing her the cup. “Sip.It’s just broth.No sedatives, I promise. Although if you try to throw it at me, I might reconsider.”
She took the cup.The warmth seeped into her palms. She took a cautious sip. The flavor was profound, deep, comforting in a way that felt instinctual.She couldn’t stop a small, grateful sigh.
Kael watched her, a satisfied glint in his eyes.“See? Not all monsters are chefs.”
“I haven’t decided what you are yet,” she said, but the edge was gone from her voice.
“Fair.” He leaned back, crossing his arms.The casual power in his frame was undeniable.“So. Silas dropped the royalty bomb.How’s that sitting?”
“Like a lead balloon.Caspian Vance. What’s his deal?”
Kael’s easy posture stiffened, just a fraction. His scent spiked, a flash of something protective and aggressive—cedar and sharp pepper. It faded quickly, but she’d caught it. “Caspian is a vulture in a bespoke suit.Jules’s family is… complicated.Old money, older ambitions. Caspian wanted the crown.Still does. You marrying us instead of him was a significant geopolitical affront.”
The broth settled heavily in her stomach.“So my accident…”
“Is being investigated.” His voice was gravel. “By us.By your father’s people.By everyone. Until we know, no one touches you. Especially not him.”
The complexity of it, the danger, was a cold wash over the confusing warmth of the heat.She was a piece in a game she couldn’t remember. The weight of the title settled deeper, more real now.It wasn’t just a fairy tale. It was a target.She finished the broth in silence, the flavors turning to ash in her mouth. Kael took the empty cup.“Get some sleep, Princess.The world’s still out there tomorrow. And frankly, you look like hell.”
He stood, and for a moment, his large hand hovered near her head, as if to brush her hair back. He stopped himself, fist curling at his side.“Ring the bell if you need anything. One of us is always awake.”
He left, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Darkness gathered in the corners of the room as the sun dipped below the skyline.The city lights began their nightly dance, tiny sparks against the deepening blue. The throbbing in her body was a constant rhythm now, a drumbeat of insistent need. She fought it, clenching her fists in the silk sheets.
But in the quiet dark, a memory surfaced—not an image, but a feeling. The solid weight of Julius’s hand on her forehead, checking for fever. The rough rumble of Kael’s laugh echoing in a sunlit kitchen.The scent of Silas’s old books. The safe, dark watchfulness of Ronan in a shadowed corner.They felt like home.
And that thought, more than the accident, more than the lost crown, terrified her.
And that thought, more than the accident, more than the lost crown, terrified her.
Morning arrived with the sharp scent of lemon cleaner and low, urgent voices in the hall. She pretended to sleep, listening through the cracked door. “The jet is prepped at Teterboro. Her father’s security detail lands tonight.” That was Silas, his usual calm fractured by a thread of strain.
“She can’t even sit up without getting dizzy, Julius. You’ve seen the scans.” Kael’s rebuttal was a guttural rumble.
“The risk of staying…” Ronan’s voice, rarely heard, was a blade of cold sound.
Alaina threw the covers back. The movement sent a lance of pain through her temples, but she gripped the bedside table and stood. Her legs held, just. She shuffled to the doorway, her silk pajamas whispering against her skin. The four of them turned as one, a wall of coordinated alarm. “Going somewhere?” she asked, her voice still rough with sleep but clear.
“Alaina.” Julius was at her side in three strides, his hand hovering near her elbow. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
“And you shouldn’t be planning my travel itinerary without me.” She looked past him to Silas. “You’re leaving? Running?”
“We are taking you home,” Silas corrected gently, adjusting his glasses. “To Veronia. It’s the most secure location. Your father is insisting.”
The word ‘home’ meant nothing. It was a blank space. A strategic location. A fresh wave of that smothering exclusion washed over her, hotter than the heat simmering in her blood. “So I get no say? I’m just cargo you’re shipping back to a father I don’t remember? After you just dropped the ‘princess’ bomb yesterday?” She shrugged off Julius’s tentative touch. “What’s the emergency? Is Caspian Vance at the door?”
A charged silence met the name. Ronan’s eyes, dark and unreadable, tracked to the penthouse’s main entrance as if assessing its strength.
“There are… political considerations. Safety protocols,” Julius said, his clinical tone returning. “Your continued absence is becoming a narrative. It makes you vulnerable.”
“I feel plenty vulnerable right here!” Her shout surprised them, surprised her. It echoed off the marble floors. The ache in her core spiked, responding to her anger, to their combined, focused attention. It was maddening. She hated the flush she knew was climbing her neck. “You answer every question I ask, but you’re deciding everything. You’re a committee. I’m a… a patient. A asset.”
Kael ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Princess, you can barely walk a straight line.”
“Then help me walk!” The plea tore out of her, stripped bare. She was breathing hard, clinging to the doorframe. “You want me to remember? To believe any of this? Stop treating me like a broken vase you need to glue back together before the guests arrive. Give me a damn minute to breathe in this new reality.”
She saw the look that passed between them—a silent, rapid negotiation. Julius’s tight nod. Silas’s reluctant sigh. Ronan’s almost imperceptible shrug.
“Two days,” Silas said, stepping forward. “We delay departure for forty-eight hours. We use the time to monitor your stability, to let you… acclimate.” He held up a hand before she could speak. “Conditionally. You may leave the bed, but only with supervision. No arguments on that point. The dizziness is neurological, not optional.”
It was a concession. A small one, but it felt like a victory. She nodded, the fight draining out of her, leaving her trembling. Julius guided her back to the bed, his touch firm now, uncompromising. “And we are bringing in reinforcement,” he said.
“Another alpha?” she asked, bitterness coating her tongue.
“A physiotherapist. Leo. From the hospital. You liked him.”
A vague impression surfaced: a man with a easy smile who’d made her squeeze a stress ball during her coma. Who’d talked about baseball stats instead of her neural pathways.
Leo arrived that afternoon. He was all lean limbs and cheerful chaos, his medical kit covered in faded band stickers. He smelled of coffee and spearmint gum, utterly, blessedly neutral. “Alright, your highness,” he said, dropping the kit with a thump. “I hear you’re trying to skip out on my legendary rehab sessions. We can’t have that.”
He was, unmistakably, a beta. The relief was so profound it felt like tears. Here was a person who looked at her and saw only a patient, not a bond, not a prize. Not a primal need.
“They hired you?” she asked as he helped her sit on the edge of the bed, his hands professional and unassuming.
“Permanently, apparently. Traveling physio to the crown princess of Veronia. My mom’s gonna lose her mind.” He winked, setting up a stability ball. “Your Dr. Vance is very persuasive. And your… other associates? Intimidating as hell. Now, feet flat on the floor. Let’s see if you remember how to find your center of gravity without tipping into one of them.”
She laughed. It was short and surprised, but it was real. For the next hour, he guided her through gentle, exhausting exercises. He talked incessantly about nothing—the Mets’ losing streak, the best sandwich in Brooklyn, his disastrous dating life. He treated her like a person. A grumpy, uncoordinated person, but just a person.
When Julius came in to observe, Leo didn’t defer. “Doc, you’re blocking the light. And your anxiety is stressing my client. Shoo.”
To her astonishment, Julius retreated to the doorway, a faint, stunned expression on his usually implacable face.
Later, slumped and sweaty but feeling the first ghost of muscle memory, she looked at Leo as he packed his gear. “You’re really coming? To Veronia?”
“Yep. Got the premium security clearance and everything.” He popped his gum. “Someone’s gotta make sure you do your exercises. And frankly, this gig pays way better than the hospital. Plus, I figure you could use a friend who isn’t desperately in love with you. No offense to the intense guys’ club out there.”
No one had said that word out loud. Love. It hung in the air, immense and terrifying. Leo shouldered his bag. “Same time tomorrow. Try not to fall out of bed tonight.”
He left, and the room felt emptier, quieter. The scents of her alphas seeped back in, filling the space he’d occupied with his normalcy. She was furious at the arrangement, at the surveillance disguised as care. But for the first time, she had an ally. However purchased, however temporary, it was a thread of something that felt real. She gripped the edge of the mattress, her knuckles white. Tomorrow, she would try to stand without holding on.