Page 5 of Mane Attraction
“You don’t have to leave so soon,” Lev said to Kira, though his tone lacked conviction. The last thing he wanted was to deal with his father’s lecture while entertaining company.
Kira’s eyes darted between Lev and the imposing figure of the king, clearly calculating her options. Survival instinct won. She gathered the sheet around herself and began collecting her scattered clothing with impressive speed.
“I should go,” she mumbled, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Thank you for... last night.”
She fled the room with the efficiency of someone who’d perfected hasty exits, leaving behind only the faint scent of her perfume and Lev’s rapidly evaporating good mood.
There went his morning plans.
Lev sat up, running a hand through his disheveled golden blonde hair. “Was it really necessary to scare off my guest? I had hopes for an encore performance.”
His father’s silence spoke volumes. King Rorick moved carefully to the sitting area, his cane tapping against the polished floor with each deliberate step. The sound grated against Lev’s nerves like claws on stone.
“Get dressed,” his father commanded without turning around. “We have matters to discuss.”
Lev swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed his discarded boxers, pulling them on with deliberate casualness. If his father wanted to play the disappointed monarch card, Levwould counter with indifference—a game they’d perfected over decades of mutual frustration.
“Let me guess,” Lev said, padding across the room to join his father. “Someone complained about the noise last night? Or maybe the elders are upset about my choice of dancing partners at the celebration?”
King Rorick lowered himself into one of the leather chairs with visible effort, his breathing slightly labored. The sight sent an unexpected spike of concern through Lev’s chest, though he kept his expression neutral.
“You missed the council meeting this morning.” His father’s voice carried the weight of absolute authority, but Lev caught the underlying exhaustion. “The one where we were supposed to discuss your succession timeline and set the date for your Trial of the Sun.”
Oh. That meeting.
Memory crashed back like a tidal wave. The formal gathering with the pride elders, the detailed discussion of ancient traditions and modern politics, the careful choreography required to transition power from one generation to the next. Lev had known about it for weeks.
“I... may have lost track of that,” Lev said, settling into the chair beside his father. “Did I miss anything important?”
The look King Rorick gave him could have melted steel. “Only the minor detail of determining when you’ll be tested for worthiness to rule our people.”
Guilt twisted in Lev’s stomach like a living thing. His father’s health had been declining for months, each episode more severe than the last. The pride needed stability, needed to know their future was secure. Instead, they had a crown prince who couldn’t be bothered to attend his own succession planning.
“I’m sorry,” Lev said, and meant it. “How are you feeling today? You look...”
“Like death warmed over?” King Rorick’s smile held no warmth. “My heart condition decided to remind me of its existence this morning. And the stress of covering for your absence certainly didn’t help matters.”
The words hit harder than any blow. Lev had spent years rebelling against his father’s expectations, but he’d never wanted to actually harm the man. Seeing the king’s obvious frailty drove home the urgency of the situation in ways that lectures and demands never could.
“I’ll do better,” Lev promised. “When is the Trial scheduled?”
“Six days from now.”
The timeline felt like a noose tightening around Lev’s throat. Six days before he had to transform from notorious playboy into worthy heir. Six days before he had to show the pride elders that he possessed the wisdom, maturity, and stability required for leadership.
Six days before he had to prove he’s someone he’d never been in public.
“That’s... soon,” Lev managed.
“Which is why I’ve taken additional measures to ensure your success.” His father’s expression shifted, revealing something that looked suspiciously like satisfaction. “I’ve arranged for assistance with your image rehabilitation.”
Lev’s blood chilled. “What?”
“I contacted Gerri Wilder. She’s found a reputation consultant to help prepare you for the Trial ahead—someone who specializes in transforming public perception.”
A reputation consultant.The phrase struck Lev like a physical assault. His father had hired someone to fix him, as if he were a broken piece of machinery rather than a living being with agency and pride.
“You hired a stranger to manage my life and my reputation?” Lev’s voice climbed with each word. “Father, I don’t need someoutsider meddling in my personal business. I can handle it myself.”
