Page 9 of Royal Deception
4
CLARY
Ishould’ve known better.
The sting of Rory’s rejection gnaws at me as I power down my laptop for the day. I should’ve known better than to think I could be anything more than his assistant. His glorified secretary. The one who keeps his schedule organized, his meetings running smoothly, his world spinning exactly the way he wants it. Because that’s all I am to him.
I press my lips together, swallowing the bitterness as I grab my bag. It’s ridiculous to let this get under my skin. It’s just business. It’s Rory Brannagan, and if anyone should be used to his particular brand of dismissal, it’s me.
Still, the frustration simmers beneath the surface as I make my way across town. I need to shake it off, maybe find some way to clear my head. That’s the whole reason I signed up for this yoga class in the first place. I want to find some measure of peace, some semblance of control over the world around me.
The studio is warm and quiet when I step inside, the scents of lavender and eucalyptus hanging in the air. The soft melody of instrumental music drifts from the speakers in the corner, and I feel the tension beginning to work its way out of my shoulders.
I exhale slowly, scanning the room. Most of the mats are already claimed, their owners either stretching or scrolling on their phones. I hesitate, unsure where to set up, when a voice cuts through the gentle hum of conversation.
“You’re new.”
I turn to find a woman watching me, her green eyes sharp, looking me up and down. Her curly red hair is pulled into a loose bun, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face. She’s built like me—curvy, strong—but there’s something about the way she holds herself that feels different. Measured. Like she’s aware of every inch of space she takes up.
“Yeah, it’s my first time,” I admit.
She nods once. “You can set up here.” She taps the empty spot beside her mat. “I’m Ana. Nice to meet you,” she adds, her words careful as though she’s rehearsed this before. She doesn’t offer a handshake, just gestures toward the mat again, waiting for me to follow her lead.
“Clary,” I say as I roll mine out beside hers.
Ana nods again, once, as if locking the information away. Then she turns her focus to adjusting the edges of her mat, smoothing it down carefully.
As the class starts, I do my best to follow along, but my body is not built for this. My balance is off, my arms shake in downward dog, and when we transition into warrior pose, my thigh burns like I’ve been holding a squat for an eternity. The instructor keeps reminding us to breathe, but I swear I forget how. The soft, rhythmic chanting in the background isn’t helping. It’s making me feel lightheaded, and between that and the incense, I’m starting to regret coming here at all.
I glance at Ana, who looks focused, but her eyes are narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. She doesn’t look relaxed as she follows the moves—she looks stiff, like she’s bracing for something. When we shift into a seated twist, I hear the quietestsigh escape her, like she’s just waiting for this to be over. It mirrors my own feelings on the entire thing.
By the time we reach the final pose—lying flat on our backs—I feel like I’ve run a marathon. The moment the instructor tells us we’re done, I sit up too fast, blinking against the haze of incense and dim lighting.
As I gather my mat, I glance over to see Ana frowning, shaking her head.
“I don’t think I’m at peace with my inner self yet,” I joke.
“Me neither.” She exhales sharply, tucking her mat under one arm. “This was my second time coming. I thought maybe I’d get used to it, but… I don’t know if yoga is for me.”
I giggle, a little relieved, and before I can second-guess myself, I extend an invitation. “I was going to grab some tea at that coffee place around the corner. Want to come?”
Ana pauses, carefully placing her things in her bag. “You’re asking me to hang out?”
The question catches me off guard, and for a split second, I wonder if I’m being weird. “Uh… yeah,” I say, forcing a lightness into my voice. “We can commiserate over the fact that we’re both terrible at what basically amounts to stretching.”
Ana bites her lip, then nods. “Alright. That sounds nice.”
I smile as she hefts her bag onto her shoulder, and together, we step out into the fading sunlight.
The coffee place is quiet, nearly devoid of life at this time of the evening. The scent of roasted beans lingers in the air, but I stick with an herbal tea, a lemon ginger blend, while Ana opts for a green tea, blowing on it as she settles into the chair across from me.
“This place is kinda cute,” she says, glancing around. “I don’t usually go to coffee shops in the evening.”
“Me neither,” I admit, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. “But after that yoga class, I felt like I needed a total reset.”
Ana lets out a soft laugh. “Right? I thought yoga was supposed to be peaceful. It just felt so awkward the whole time.”
“Me too. I kept worrying I’d fall over and knock into someone.”
