She’d only packed the clothes Callum bought her.
Sonia searched through hangers, piles of sweaters and drawers for something from home, something that was hers.
Nothing.
That was likely an order of King Callum too!
Fuming, Sonia “dressed warm”, as Callum commanded her to do, in a pair of cords so dark brown they were nearly black. To this she added a wide, dark brown belt, low-heeled boots over thick socks and a bright-salmon, boat-necked sweater. The sweater was not one of Sonia’s colors but in the shop Regan had told her it was simply her and she had to buy it, so Sonia did.
She grabbed a long, thin but woolly, hot pink-colored knit scarf with fluffy dangling strands at the ends, wrapped it round and round her neck and let it hang down her front and then she stormed to the kitchen.
It was hard to keep fuming with Callista and Maraleena both so unceasingly cheerful and both so excited to share with Sonia the ways of their people.
And over a breakfast of porridge sweetened with what Callista called “golden syrup” (and it was delicious and it wasn’t huge and artery clogging), Sonia learned a lot.
For instance, she learned that when a man claimed his mate, he and his mate would hole up for weeks (even months) after the claiming, not to be seen or heard from until they emerged for the mating ceremony.
And she learned that once they emerged, they told everyone about everything as in everything about their claiming, down to the most intimate detail. Indeed, they’d do this often over the years trying to best each other’s claiming stories. And it wasn’t just the males who did it for both Maraleena and Callista shared theirs, in shocking detail (Sonia demurred, using being human as her excuse which luckily worked).
And she learned that the mating ceremony and ritual was like the humans’ wedding reception except they didn’t have any wedding dresses, tuxedos, champagne toasts, posed pictures or pre-arranged dancing. They went straight to what sounded like drunken debauchery with a big buffet of food that, as Callista assured her on a wink, “In the old days, dear, we don’t do that anymore,” led to the male actually mating with the female in front of everyone.
Now, apparently (and fortunately), at the end, the couple just stood (or swayed, depending how drunk they were) in front of everyone and restated the words, male: “Are you mine?” female: “Yes.” Then they went home with everyone shouting advice and encouragement and had sex again.
That was it!
“It’s a shame those rebel rascals had to spoil things for you and Cal. Ruined your whole claiming with their antics,” Callista muttered irately then added as an afterthought, “Oh, and the fact that he’s king.”
“What does that mean?” Sonia asked as she poured more coffee into all three of their mugs.
Callista gazed closely at Sonia, giving Sonia the (correct) impression that she hadn’t quite decided about her yet and replied, “Just that he’s like his father. Mac never rested on his laurels and Cal certainly doesn’t. Everyone knows no one could seize his rule. He’s the mightiest warrior in the kingdom. But there’s a great deal more to it and he takes it all seriously.”
“Like what?” Sonia asked, curious in spite of herself.
“Like a great deal, too much for now,” Callista answered but she did it on a genuine smile. “Now, dear, you need to get to your king.”
Sonia stifled her sigh, dashed milk (not skim but also not full fat, thank God) into her coffee and started to head to Callum’s study but stopped when Maraleena called out to her.
Sonia watched as Maraleena pulled down another sweep-lined, earth brown mug with turquoise interior and poured in coffee and milk.
She handed it to Sonia who took it in her free hand.
“For Cal,” she muttered and grinned. “He’ll like that you’re looking after him even though you chose for us to do the, um… bulk of it.”
Sonia nodded and smiled her gratitude to Maraleena but on the way to his study she had a mind to throw his coffee mug out the window. She liked the mug too much, so she didn’t.
He was sitting behind his big desk when she appeared in the door and his handsome, dark head came up instantly.
Somehow from yesterday to today his desk had become covered in strewn and stacked papers and files, mounds of post and an open laptop.
She gazed at the mess on his desk and couldn’t stop herself from asking in all jest, “Are you planning another war?”
He burst out laughing and her body jerked then stilled at the rich sound.
She’d made him grin. She’d made him smile. She’d made him chuckle. She’d heard him laugh, even at her. But she’d never purposefully made him laugh and doing it made her feel like she’d planted her flag at the top of world’s most treacherous mountain.
“No,” he replied after he got control of his humor. “This is what it normally looks like.”
“You need an assistant,” she informed him, walking forward trying to get control of herself and sound curt and not doing a very good job of it (because she wasn’t a curt-sounding person).