Wesley tipped his chin up. “Shift.”
Master Bow quirked a brow. “You want to shift?”
“Yes.”
Bow nodded. “Did you succumb to a virus?”
He nodded.
“Many of our attendees have suffered—forgive me, that’s not the right word—they’ve shared the same affliction. I know that you are holding on to this hope that someday you will be human again. And I believe that is causing you suffering—but I must be completely candid with you. I’ve met many beasts at the Ball and beyond, and not one of them has ever been able to cure themselves of the monstrum plaga that turns them monster. This is your destiny, Wesley. You are not a mere duke. You are the Wolven King. And the sooner you accept that, the more likely it becomes that your wife will accept you as you are.”
“She’s horrified by me,” Wesley said. “Finds my actions in the woodlands repugnant. I never meant to hurt any of those fae. I wanted their magic so I could shift, and once I’d realized what I had done, I needed the magic.”
He had not encountered Phillipa until his meeting with the fae.
“After we are done with this chat, you’ll head down to the garden. I have the honor of assigning the seats at dinner. I decided to seat everyone with someone they had not had the pleasure of spending time with last night. You will be quite pleased with my decisions, I believe.”
“Claim her,” the wolven growled.
“Yes, you will. If you stop fighting with yourself about what you think you ought to be versus what you actually are.” Master Bow gave him a measured smile. The stylish man had a flair for the theatric, but even he couldn’t hide his worry that the wolven wouldn’t be able to pull this off.
Wesley wouldn’t let him down.
But to spend the rest of his life as a wolven? Could he accept that? The thing that had kept him fighting every day was that someday, he could be human again, and hold his wife in his arms.
You can hold her. She’s right here. She came to the Ball for a beast, and if nothing else, you are that.
He couldn’t afford to get lost in his thoughts. It was time for dinner.
Time to claim Phillipa.
There was an excitement in the air that hadn’t been there last night. Now that everyone knew what to expect, they were ready to accomplish whatever they came here for.
The ladies were dressed in the utmost finery, compliments to Master Bow. They stood in groups, chatting amongst themselves, some with monsters.
Tonight’s dinner was in the gardens. Lanterns hung in the trees, painting everything with a warm light. Wesley took a moment to admire the statues, to gain his composure. This was the first time he’d looked at them closely, and realized they were all in compromising positions.
His cock hardened, imagining himself and his beloved in those poses. Remembering his wedding night. He and Phillipa had just said goodnight to the last of their guests. For the first time, they were truly alone. Excitement built in his chest like he was there in his beautiful home all over again, and for the first time, the memory was not followed by despair. Desperation. He relished the desire, because by the end of the night, if he played his cards as well as the gentlebeasts in the Macao room last night, he could be seeing her in just her dressing gown, with her hair tumbling down her back…
“Wolven!” A familiar voice brought him back to the Ball. Martin the minotaur had his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. That grin on his face guaranteed he was up to no good. “Simon and I were just talking with the lovely Phillipa.”
Wesley growled, lowering his hands to the front of his breeches to cover any indiscretions.
“She tells us that she’s promised the first dance to you,” Martin said.
“Correct.”
“Very well.” Martin nodded. “I do remember her asking us last night for tips on how to kill you.”
“Misunderstanding.”
“Oh, no, I understood her quite clearly. She declared that you were a vile beast and asked about weapons. Technique. Normally, I’m a lover, not a fighter. But I also remember telling you about this. I’ll be keeping an eye on her, wolven. I pray you’ll be on your best behavior.”
Wesley huffed. “Do you want to waste the most important night at the Ball watching after me, or with the lady of your choice?”
“If the night goes well, I suppose I’ll do both.” Martin grinned. “And the night usually goes well. I just hope the lady doesn’t get the best of you.”
Phillipa had already taken her seat at the table, laughing at something the lady across from her said. Tonight, she acted as the woman he remembered. The one who easily made friends, who was interested in everything that the people around her had to say. For that reason alone, she’d made an excellent choice for a duchess. A lady of the people.
She turned when he pulled the seat out beside her.
“Wolven,” she said with a nod.
“Duchess,” he responded. “I’d prefer you called me Wesley.”
“Not yet, wolven.” She took a sip of her wine.
“But by the end of the night, you will.” He put the napkin in his lap. The dinner arrangements made him nervous. Every other time he’d attempted a formal arrangement, he’d become frustrated with the delicate utensils and went straight to beast mode.
He had to stop fighting it.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said. She wore the same red dress she had on in the library, but now gold ribbons had been added to her hair, possibly by Master Bow. The silver necklace was warm in his pocket, and if he wasn’t careful, it would singe his fur.
For now, it was the safer option.
He had a feeling his wife wasn’t the only one who wished to see him dead.
Phillipa’s cheeks pinked. “Thank you.”
The waiters came and brought the first course to them. White soup, as always. Some traditions followed him into this new world. He would try to find them comforting instead of threatening.
Phillipa picked up her spoon and took a delicate bite. Wesley eyed the spoon, pushing it with his paw. He looked further down the table, ladies and beasts lost in conversation. No one was paying attention to him.
“Is your family well?” he asked as he picked up the bowl.
“Yes, they’re very well. Wolven, what are you doing?”
He took a hearty sip of the soup, relishing the flavor so much he decided to take another sip, and another. Putting the empty bowl down, he turned to find an astonished Phillipa beside him.
“Eating my soup,” he said. “Can’t make the utensils work.”
Her gaze fell to his paws. He wanted to tell her although they might not work well with small human tools, he could think of other ways she would find them very useful.
But she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
He’d never felt less like the man who’d won her over.
“Did your sister have a successful Season?” he asked.
“Very successful.” Phillipa swallowed. “Bernadette is to be married to a count in Cornwall.”
“Wonderful news. Will the wedding be soon?” Wesley was thankful that she was willing to indulge him in this polite conversation, like things were normal.
She nodded. “I haven’t been much involved in the plans. I must admit, it’s been hard for me to plan a wedding when…have you been in touch with your family?”