92: Theodore

The ballroom shimmered with an excess of wealth and pretense, crystal glasses catching light like trapped stars. I watched Emma from across the room, her dark waves cascading over bare shoulders, her green eyes meeting mine briefly before returning to the dignitaries surrounding her. The mark I'd left on her neck was visible, proudly displayed, and something primal in me stirred at the sight. My queen.

The Golden Compass Hotel had outdone itself for our celebration. Moonstone chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, casting an ethereal glow that made even the most weathered politicians look somewhat angelic. The scent of night-blooming jasmine drifted from elaborate arrangements, mingling with the more primal notes of wolf and Lycan, perfume and cologne, desire and ambition. Politics never stopped, even at a ball nominally held in celebration of love.

"Your Majesty," a voice said beside me, pulling my attention from Emma. "I've been hoping for a moment of your time."

I turned to find Lord Folke, one of the health ministers, bowing slightly. His silver hair was swept back in perfect waves, not a strand out of place, much like his policies. The man had always been meticulous to a fault.

"Lord Folke," I said, inclining my head. "I trust you're enjoying the evening?"

"Indeed, Your Majesty. A most splendid affair." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "And may I offer my congratulations again on your mating. The Queen is... quite a remarkable choice."

I caught the hesitation, the carefully neutral tone that betrayed his true thoughts. Lord Folke had been one of the more moderate voices on the council regarding werewolf integration, never openly hostile but staunchly protective of Lycan interests. I'd known him since I was a boy – he'd attended my father's council meetings for decades – but I'd never quite know where his true loyalties lay beyond self-interest.

"Thank you," I said, my voice deliberately warm to counter his coolness. "I couldn't agree more."

Across the room, Emma had attracted a small cluster of admirers. I recognized two werewolf Alphas among them – powerful pack leaders from the northern territories whose support would be crucial in the coming months. What surprised me was Emma's ease with them, the way she laughed at something one of them said, her hand briefly touching the other's arm in familiar greeting. Not the tentative gestures of someone newly introduced, but the comfortable interaction of old acquaintances.

"Your Majesty," Lord Folke said, reclaiming my attention, "I hoped we might discuss a matter of some urgency regarding the health council's budget allocations."

I raised an eyebrow. "Tonight, Lord Folke? Surely this is a conversation better suited for council chambers."

"Sometimes informal settings yield the most productive conversations," he replied smoothly. "And I understand that the Queen has taken a particular interest in healthcare reform."

So that was his game. He'd heard Emma's plans and was attempting to circumvent them by appealing to me directly, before she could fully establish her authority.

"I've been considering the proposal for the coming fiscal year," he continued, lowering his voice. "And while I appreciate Her Majesty's... passion for equitable care, I have serious concerns about the redistribution of resources away from the Royal City's facilities."

I sipped my wine, allowing the silence to stretch uncomfortably before responding. "What concerns specifically, Lord Folke?"

His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his glass. "The wait times at our emergency facilities are already unacceptable, Your Majesty. Diverting funds to build new clinics in the outlying territories would only exacerbate the problem. Our citizens deserve better."

"Our citizens," I repeated, emphasizing both words. "Do you mean all citizens of the kingdom, Lord Folke, or just those whose animals walk on two legs?"

A flush crept up his neck. "I simply mean that established facilities serving dense populations should take priority over scattered clinics serving fewer individuals. It's simple mathematics."

"Is it?" I asked. "Have you met the Queen personally yet, Lord Folke? I believe she might have some perspective on the mathematics of healthcare access."

"No, Your Majesty, I haven't had the pleasure." His tone suggested he wasn't eagerly awaiting such an introduction.

I was about to turn to locate Emma when I noticed her already approaching us, having somehow sensed the perfect moment to intervene. One of the many reasons we were so well-matched – she could read a room as easily as I could, perhaps better.

"I'll be back in just a moment," she had said to the Alphas she'd been speaking with, her smile genuine before she turned toward us. Her gown – a gold that made her eyes look like twin forests – whispered across the marble floor as she moved with grace.

"Lord Folke," she said, stepping to my side. "Delighted to meet you."

He bowed stiffly. "Your Majesty. The pleasure is mine."

The words were correct, but his body betrayed him – shoulders tight, jaw clenched, eyes flickering down to the mark on her neck before quickly returning to her face. He hadn't expected to confront her so soon.

I placed my hand at the small of Emma's back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric. "Lord Folke was just sharing some concerns about the health budget allocations. Perhaps you'd like to explore those concerns with the Queen, Lord Folke?"

Emma smiled, all warmth on the surface but with steel underneath that only I could detect. "Please, Lord Folke, I'd love to hear your concerns."