Page 6 of Mane Attraction
“Can you?” The king’s pale eyes bored into Lev’s. “Because your track record suggests otherwise. Missing today’s meeting is just the latest in a long list of disappointments.” His father paused for a moment. “Speaking of which, you really need to find a mate soon, and no woman will want to tie themselves to an irresponsible man.”
FOUR
LEV
The accusation stung because it carried too much truth. Lev’s rebellious lifestyle had become so ingrained that responsibility felt foreign, like wearing clothes that didn’t fit properly.
“Why did you go through Gerri Wilder?” Lev asked, grasping for some understanding. “She’s a matchmaker, not a political consultant.”
Something flickered across his father’s face—an expression too complex to decipher. “Gerri has unique insights into what people need to reach their full potential.”
Lev studied his father’s face, searching for clues. The king’s political mind rarely made moves without multiple motivations, and this felt like more than reputation management.
“When do I meet this miracle worker?” Lev asked, resignation creeping into his voice.
“This afternoon. She’s arriving from Earth with her team.” King Rorick struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. “I suggest you prepare yourself for some uncomfortable truths.”
The king moved toward the door with obvious effort. Lev watched his father’s labored progress and felt somethingcrack inside his chest—the first real fracture in the armor of indifference he’d spent years constructing.
“Father,” Lev called as the king reached the threshold. “Are you going to be all right?”
King Rorick paused, his hand resting on the doorframe. For a moment, his stern mask slipped, revealing the exhausted man beneath the crown.
“Yes, son, I’ll manage. Just don’t miss this afternoon meeting too.”
Lev pushed himself up from the chair, his muscles protesting the movement and his head pounding even more now. The conversation with his father had left him feeling raw, exposed, and thoroughly irritated. He stalked out of the guest suite and down the hall to his private chambers, and straight toward his walk-in closet, each step echoing his mounting frustration.
A reputation consultant. From Earth.
The very concept grated against every instinct he possessed. Someone who didn’t understand their culture, their traditions, their way of life, was supposed to transform him into acceptable king material? The absurdity would have been laughable if it weren’t so insulting.
His closet stretched before him like a museum of choices—formal dress uniforms with intricate golden threading, ceremonial jackets bearing the Marcan sun crest, and tailored suits that cost more than most pride members earned in a year. Everything designed to project power, authority, and regal bearing.
Everything designed to make him into someone else.
Lev’s fingers traced the rich fabric of a midnight blue formal jacket, remembering how the weight of such garments always made him feel like he was drowning in expectations. The starched collars, the ceremonial sashes, the polished buttonsthat caught light like tiny suns—all of it represented the cage that awaited him.
“Screw it,” he muttered, reaching instead for his favorite henley.
The soft cotton felt like freedom against his skin as he pulled it over his head. The deep forest green brought out the gold flecks in his eyes, and the casual cut emphasized his broad shoulders without the suffocating formality of royal attire. He grabbed his most comfortable jeans next and pulled them on with deliberate defiance.
If this human wants to meet the crown prince, she’s going to meet the real one.
His reflection in the full-length mirror showed exactly what he intended: a man comfortable in his own skin, unashamed of who he was beneath the crown. The henley clung to his chest in ways that highlighted every line of muscle earned through years of combat training. His golden hair fell in tousled waves that suggested he’d just rolled out of bed—which wasn’t far from the truth.
Let her try to polish this.
But even as he adjusted the collar of his shirt, darker thoughts crept through his defiance. His father’s labored breathing, the way the king had struggled to stand, the exhaustion etched into every line of his weathered face—all of it painted a picture Lev didn’t want to acknowledge.
The crown wasn’t just approaching; it was hurtling toward him like a meteor, ready to obliterate everything in his life.
And now I must prove I’m worthy on top of everything.
The Trial of the Sun loomed in his mind like a mountain he’d never wanted to climb. Six days before he would have to demonstrate strength, wisdom, and loyalty to the pride. Six days before he would have to convince the elders that a manwho’d spent two decades avoiding responsibility could suddenly embrace it completely.
Why can’t they see I’m already strong enough?
His lion paced restlessly beneath his skin, radiating the kind of dominance that made other shifters step aside without conscious thought. He’d protected the pride countless times when real danger threatened and had led hunting parties and border patrols with natural authority that needed no crown to validate it.
