His Highness Is Crazy

I paced the room so hard I was basically wearing a groove in the marble.

“So the real Elena died last night. Strangled. By her own mate. And now I’m supposed to save this walking red flag?”

Bree’s voice floated up, soft and confused.

(What do you mean the real Elena? You’re you. I feel it in our soul. And our mate isn’t a killer—he saved us.)

“Bree, sweetie, you wouldn’t get it.” I spun toward the empty air where Roundy usually hovered. “Roundy! Answer me!”

The blue orb flickered into existence, already looking exhausted.

{Yes, original Elena is very dead. And yes, I almost forgot, you have a royal therapy session in exactly one hour.}

I stopped dead. “One hour? And you're just telling me now?Can I opt out? Like, fake a stomach ache? Explosive diarrhea? Anything?”

{Sure. Opt out and die. Your choice.}

I flopped face-first onto the bed and wailed into the pillow. “Is this my life now??”

Reddit. I needed Reddit.

I rolled over, grabbed the phone, thumbs flying.

r/AskCrazy

How do I save a psycho?

Top comment (2 seconds later):

Easy. Do whatever makes YOU happy with him. Happiness is contagious.

Reply directly under it:

This. Feed him your vibe and watch him catch it.

I sat up slowly. A grin spread across my face.

Do what makes me happy.

I know exactly what to do.

Roundy materialized again, looking like he already had a headache.

{No. Whatever you’re thinking, no.}

“Roundy, babe, trust me. I’m smarter than I look.”

{Says the girl with an active Reddit account at nine in the morning.}

I was already halfway to the bathroom, cackling.

Shower. Hair. The least murderous-looking dress I could find (soft lavender, because apparently Elena owned nothing fun). I checked the mirror, gave myself finger guns, then snuck out the door like a ninja on a mission.

No family. No awkward sister stares. I needed every brain cell for the king of crazy.

“Roundy,” I whispered in the hallway, “which way to the throne room or whatever?”

{Figure it out, genius.}

Rude.

Bree piped up, shy but sure.

(I know the way.)

“You’re an angel, Bree. Lead on.”

A warm little tug pulled behind my ribs—like a golden thread showing me left, right, down a stupidly long corridor lined with wolf statues that all looked judgmental.

We reached the palace proper and my jaw dropped.

Chandeliers made of actual diamonds. Floors so shiny I could see my own terrified reflection. The psycho lived like this?

A guard in fancy armor bowed. “Miss Elena. His Majesty has been waiting.”

Cool. Cool cool cool. I can do this.

They sat me in an antechamber for ten whole minutes—probably on purpose, to make me sweat. My palms were basically waterfalls.

Then the double doors creaked open and a deep voice boomed:

“His Majesty King Kael Draven.”

He walked in and the air just… stopped.

Tall. Stupidly tall. Silver hair catching the light. Shoulders that could carry a whole kingdom (or crush it). And his eyes.

His eyes were the exact violet as mine.

He stopped a few feet away, head tilted, staring at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle that was suddenly talking back.

Roundy whispered, voice tiny.

{…Why is he looking at you like that?}

I swallowed hard.

Why is he looking at me weirdly?

He finally looks away, thank the ramen gods.

“Your Majesty, please take a seat. Let’s start.”

I plaster on my best professional smile (the one I practiced in the mirror for job interviews I never got).

Kael sits. I sit across from him, knees together, spine straight, looking like I know what I’m doing.

{Stop smiling like you’re selling toothpaste and ask questions already.}

(Mate has our eyes.)

I know, Bree, we’re literally twinning. Violet-eye squad.

{Bree shut up. Elena, be serious.}

Okay okay okay. What do I even ask?

{How he feels today, duh.}

I clear my throat like I’m about to give a TED Talk.

“Your Majesty—”

“Call me Kael,” he interrupts, voice low and lazy. “Titles make everything awkward.”

(Mate’s voice is hot.)

We’re on the same wavelength, Bree.

{Focus, both of you!}

“Right. Okay, Kael… how do you feel today?”

I flip open the fancy leather notebook I found on the desk, pen poised like I’m actually qualified.

Roundy hisses in my head.

{Write something. Pretend to take notes. Describe his complexion or whatever.}

I scribble: hot, hot, stupidly hot, why is he staring, send help.

Kael leans back, arms crossed, lips twitching. “I feel particularly good today, Elena. Thank you for asking.”

(Mate spoke to us again.)

My heart does a weird little flip-flop. Traitor.

{Will both of you shut up? Why is he standing up? Why is he walking over here?}

I freeze. Pen hovering. Eyes wide.

He stops right beside my chair, leans down just enough that I can smell pine and smoke and danger.

“Elena,” he says, dragging my name out like he’s tasting it. “Do you feel it?”

Feel what?? The urge to bolt? The fact my soul just left my body?

Bree? Any ideas?

(No clue.)

Roundy? Roundy don’t you dare ghost me right now, I swear I’ll break character and start screaming.

{He means temperature, you absolute donut. His temp is running high.}

Oh. Temperature. Right. Medical. Professional.

I clear my throat so hard I nearly choke.

“Yes, Kael. Your temperature is… uh… XX degrees. Pretty hot. We should probably call a doctor.”

Silence.

Then he laughs.

Not a polite chuckle. A full, head-thrown-back, shoulders-shaking, I-can’t-breathe laugh that echoes off the walls like a madman who just heard the best joke of his life.

I sit there clutching my fake notes, smile frozen, brain buffering.

His craziness is pretty serious.