97: Emma

"You still don't understand your place," he said, his eyes fixed on me with uncomfortable intensity. "A queen requires refinement, breeding. Your pack produces strong wolves, I'll grant you that, but you lack the necessary pedigree."

"And yet she's doing what everyone said couldn’t be done," Theo replied before I could speak. "Uniting our people rather than dividing them."

Barker’s laugh was cold. "United? You've merely given them false hope. This experiment will collapse, and history will vindicate me."

By the seventh day, exhaustion had settled into my bones. As we prepared for the trial, I stood before the mirror in our chambers, letting Elena help me dress in formal attire befitting my new station. The deep blue dress with silver accents felt foreign against my skin, designed for a queen rather than a pack Gamma.

"Are you ready for this?" she asked softly, arranging my hair with gentle fingers.

I met her eyes in the reflection. "I don't know what to feel," I admitted. "Part of me wants them punished severely for what they did. Another part wonders if harsh sentences will only deepen the divisions."

"Justice isn't about your feelings," she said, surprising me with her directness. "It's about maintaining order, showing consequences. Your compassion honours you, Em, but some acts must be answered firmly."

I nodded, understanding she spoke from experience as Elijah's mate. The weight of leadership sometimes required setting personal feelings aside.

The Royal Court Room stole my breath when we entered—a vast chamber of gleaming marble and ancient wood, where sunlight streamed through stained glass, casting pools of coloured light across the floor. Hundreds of seats rose in tiered semicircles around a central floor where seven chairs now waited for the accused. Above them loomed the judge's bench, curved like the crescent moon and formed from a single piece of pale stone that seemed to glow from within.

Theo guided me to our seats in the front row, where Elijah and Elena already waited. My brother squeezed my hand briefly, his eyes communicating what words couldn't—pride, concern, solidarity.

"The Royal Court of Lycan Justice is now in session," announced a court official, his voice resonating through the chamber. "The Honourable Judge Demetrius presiding."

An elderly Lycan entered from a side door, his movements measured and dignified. His robes, the deep purple of twilight, whispered against the marble floor as he took his place. His face bore the weight of centuries in its lines, yet his eyes were sharp as they surveyed the room.

"Bring in the accused," he commanded.

They entered in single file, each wearing simple grey clothing, their hands bound with silver chains. The sight of them—diminished from their former power, yet still holding themselves with varying degrees of dignity or defiance—sent an unexpected chill through me. These men and one woman had conspired to destroy my life, yet seeing them now as prisoners awaiting judgment stirred complicated emotions I hadn't anticipated.

They took their places in the seven chairs, facing the judge and the assembled court. Benjamin's eyes found mine immediately, his gaze unwavering and cold.

"The charges have been read and recorded," Judge Demetrius stated. "Before the court renders its verdict, we shall review the evidence gathered during interrogation. This footage is presented as testimony."

A large screen descended from the ceiling, and the lights dimmed. What followed was a carefully edited sequence of our interrogations—the most damning confessions, the most revealing moments from each conspirator. Seeing their words and expressions magnified before the entire court made my skin crawl. It was one thing to hear their justifications in the intimate setting of an interrogation room; it was another entirely to see them displayed for public judgment.

The court remained utterly silent as Minister Krea calmly explained the advantages of preventing a werewolf queen. As Bennett detailed the financial arrangements he'd made. As Stavros outlined with military precision how they'd coordinated my abduction.

When Benjamin appeared on screen, his voice echoing through the chamber as he spoke of "taking what Theo wants," I felt Theo's hand tighten around mine. Our private pain, our intimate violation, had become a public spectacle in service of justice.

After the footage ended, the judge addressed the jury—twelve Lycans and werewolves of various ages and stations, their faces solemn with the weight of their responsibility.

"You have seen the evidence," he said. "You have heard the accusations and the defenses. I ask you now to deliberate and return with your recommendations for sentencing."

The jury filed out, and a low murmur of conversation filled the court. Theo leaned close, his lips near my ear.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice pitched for me alone.

I nodded, though "all right" wasn't quite accurate. I felt hollowed out, scraped clean of emotion. "I just want it to be over," I whispered back.

The jury's deliberation took less than an hour. When they returned, the foreman—a middle-aged female werewolf with steel-gray hair—handed a sealed envelope to the judge. The room fell silent as he read its contents, his expression revealing nothing.

Finally, he looked up, surveying the accused one by one.

"Dr. Stone," he began. "This court recognizes the duress under which you acted, with your daughter's safety being threatened. Nevertheless, you participated in a grave crime against the crown. You are sentenced to ten years imprisonment."

Michael's shoulders slumped, but there was relief in his posture—his sentence was lighter than he'd feared.

"Minister Damien Bennett," the judge continued. "For plotting against the crown, conspiracy, kidnapping, and planning a coup, you are sentenced to seventy years imprisonment."

Bennett blanched, his financial calculations suddenly worthless in the face of seven decades behind bars.

"Minister Marcus Stavros. For your central role in this plot and your unrepentant stance, you are sentenced to lifetime imprisonment."

Stavros didn't flinch, his military bearing holding firm even now.

"Lord Cassius. For your betrayal of the crown in service to another, you are sentenced to seventy years imprisonment."

The aristocrat closed his eyes briefly, the first crack in his composed demeanor.

"Alpha Michael Barker. For your role in this conspiracy and the betrayal of your pack's honour, you are sentenced to sixty years imprisonment."

The Alpha's face contorted with dismay, the reality of his punishment sinking in.

"Minister Krea. For orchestrating this plot against the crown, conspiracy, kidnapping, and attempted forced marking of a member of the royal family, you are sentenced to ninety years imprisonment."

The former Minister of Foreign Affairs maintained her rigid posture, though a muscle jumped in her jaw.

Lastly, the judge turned to Benjamin Thorne. A hush fell over the courtroom.

"Alpha Benjamin Thorne. For high treason against the crown, attempted forced marking of the queen, and orchestrating this conspiracy, this court sentences you to lifetime imprisonment. Additionally, you are stripped of your Alpha status, effective immediately. Your pack will be reassigned to worthy leadership."

Benjamin's face darkened with fury, but the judge wasn't finished.

"Furthermore, as punishment for the severity of your crimes, you will receive ten strokes of the whip daily while wearing silver restraints to restrict healing."

A collective intake of breath swept through the courtroom. Even by Lycan standards, this was harsh—a punishment designed not just to constrain but to cause ongoing suffering.

"This court is adjourned." The judge brought down his gavel with finality, the sound like a thunderclap in the stunned silence.

As the prisoners were led away, Benjamin's eyes found mine one last time. There was no remorse there, only hatred and the promise that if he ever found freedom, he would come for me again. The doors closed behind them, and it was done.

I felt Theo's arm around my shoulders, steadying me. "It's over," he murmured against my hair.

But as we left the courtroom, surrounded by the protection of guards and family, I wasn't entirely sure that was true. Justice had been served, but the ripples of what had happened—and what it revealed about the deep divisions within the kingdom—would continue to spread.

Tonight, I would allow myself to feel relief. Tomorrow, we would begin the work of healing those divisions. Of becoming the queen this realm needed, not just the one it now had.