Page 59 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

“Of course.” Another subtle sniff. “But you’ve been absent from… duties. And given the circumstances…”

“What circumstances?”

Theo’s eyes flick up to me, then back to Orion. “You haven’t marked her yet.”

Marked her?

I set it aside with everything else I don’t understand about whatever Orion is.

“That’s none of your concern,” Orion says, and there’s a warning in his voice now.

“With respect, my king…” The severe woman steps forward, spine straight as a rule. Her voice is clipped, formal. “…it is. You’ve been absent for two weeks. There are protocols. Expectations. Those who question whether…”

“I said it’s none of your concern.”

The younger man is practically vibrating with suppressed glee. He glances up at me again, at the shirt that’s clearly not mine, at my bare legs, at the general state of just rolled out of bed after a night of…

“So you two haven’t…” He catches himself. “I mean, you’re not mated yet…” He winces. “Marked. I mean marked.”

The woman elbows him. Hard.

Mated.

He said mated.

And then he corrected it to marked, but he definitely said mated first.

My brain seizes on the word, turns it over, tries to find meaning. It sounds significant. It sounds like something I should understand but don’t.

It joins the rest, and the rest is considerable.

“Our apologies for the intrusion.” Theo bows his head again, and this time he’s looking at me. “My lady.”

“My lady?” The words escape before I can stop them. “I’m not… we’re not…”

“The king’s chosen is always treated with respect.” The woman’s voice is formal, but her sharp eyes are assessing me. “It is tradition.”

“Chosen?” I’m lost. Completely lost. “I wasn’t… nobody chose me…”

“Perhaps some tea?” The younger one interjects, clearly trying to smooth things over. “To welcome you properly? It’s customary when the king takes a…”

Another elbow, harder this time.

“We should go.” Theo’s voice cuts through the awkwardness. “Apologies again for disturbing you.”

They’re filing toward the door when I hear it, low, sotto voce, not meant for my ears:

“The king’s been alone three centuries and this is who finally…”

Another elbow. A hissed reprimand. And then they’re gone, the door closing behind them.

Silence.

Orion stands very still at the bottom of the stairs. His shoulders are rigid. His hands are clenched at his sides.

I come down the stairs slowly. One step. Then another.

“Orion.”