Epilogue Part One

A month passed like sand through trembling fingers.

But today, the crown would no longer hover like a promise above my head but would settle there with all its weight and glory. I stood before the ornate mirror in my chambers, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me, draped in royal finery and the heavy mantle of expectation.

The sentencing of Minister Krea, Minister Stavros, Minister Bennett, Lord Cassius, Alpha Benjamin Thorne, and Alpha Michael Barker had been swift but fair. Theo had insisted on transparent proceedings, allowing the kingdom to witness the consequences of betrayal and attempted harm to their new Queen. Their cells would hold them for many years to come—cold comfort for the nightmares that still occasionally jolted me awake, my skin crawling with phantom sensations of unwanted hands.

"You look lost in thought, Your Majesty," said my handmaiden, her fingers nimbly adjusting the fall of my gown. The title still startled me—a bird suddenly taking flight in my chest.

"Just remembering," I murmured, smoothing my hands over the sumptuous fabric of my dress.

The gown was a masterpiece of royal craftsmanship—deep purple cascading into midnight blue, the colours shifting like shadows beneath moonlight. It was no accident that the hues matched Aeson's eyes perfectly—Theo's magnificent Lycan form deserved acknowledgment on this day that bound us together in yet another sacred way. The bodice hugged my torso before flowing into a skirt that whispered against the marble floors. Golden thread embellished the bodice and hem in intricate patterns that told ancient stories of our kingdom—tales of unity between werewolves and Lycans that predated the divisions that Theo and I now worked to heal.

My feet were adorned with shoes of soft gold leather, crafted to be both regal and comfortable enough to withstand the hours of ceremony ahead. Around my neck hung a pendant of intertwined silver and gold—symbolic of our united bloodlines. Bracelets clinked softly at my wrists, and my ears bore the weight of teardrop gems that caught the light each time I moved my head.

"Your mother would be so proud," Christian said from the doorway, his usual mischievous smile replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

I turned, grateful for his presence. "Thank you, Chris. I wish she could be here."

He crossed the room and took my hands in his. "She is. Just not in the way we'd prefer." His eyes, so like Theo's, crinkled at the corners. "My brother is practically vibrating with anticipation. I've never seen him so... human."

I laughed, the sound easing some of the tension coiled in my stomach. "Is that a compliment or a criticism?"

"Both, naturally." He winked, then offered his arm. "May I escort the soon-to-be-crowned Queen to her coronation? Officially, I mean. Since you've been Queen in every way that matters since you and my brother marked each other."

I slipped my arm through his, drawing strength from his steady presence. "Lead on, Your Grace."

The corridors of the palace stretched before us like the throat of some magnificent beast, swallowing us in grandeur. Portraits of past rulers watched our progress with painted eyes that seemed to follow our movements. I wondered if they approved—a werewolf ascending to truly equal status beside a Lycan king. Centuries of tradition trembled at the foundations today.

"Nervous?" Chris asked, his voice low.

I considered lying but settled on honesty. "Terrified. What if I trip on my dress and face-plant in front of the entire nobility?"

His laugh echoed against the vaulted ceilings. "Then you'll be the most relatable monarch in our history. The people would love you even more."

We paused before the massive doors of the Grand Hall. Through the thick wood, I could hear the murmur of hundreds of voices, the occasional clink of ceremonial armor, the subtle notes of strings being tuned. My heart hammered against my ribs like a creature seeking escape.

"Ready?" Chris squeezed my arm.

I inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of beeswax candles, fresh flowers, and ancient stone. "As I'll ever be."

The doors swung open with theatrical slowness, and the herald's voice rolled through the hall like thunder: "Her Royal Highness, Emeline Maxwell, Alpha Queen of the United Realm, Guardian of the Ancient Pacts, Protector of All Packs."

A sea of faces turned toward me—an ocean of curiosity, assessment, and expectation. The hall itself seemed to hold its breath. Sunlight streamed through stained glass, painting the marble floor in jewel tones that shifted across my dress as I walked. Columns soared toward heaven, draped with garlands of white and purple flowers, their sweet scent hanging in the air like a benediction.

And there, at the end of the impossibly long aisle, stood Theo. My mate. My king. His eyes found mine across the distance, and the world contracted to that single point of connection. He wore formal robes of deep blue trimmed with gold, a crown of antique silver resting on his dark hair. Even from here, I could see the barely contained emotion in his stance—the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clasped and unclasped at his sides.

The archbishop stood beside him, ancient and dignified in ceremonial robes that seemed to consume his thin frame. His beard flowed like a silver river down his chest, and his eyes held the wisdom of countless coronations witnessed over his long life.

Elijah waited halfway down the aisle, his eyes bright with unshed tears. As Chris delivered me to him, the two men exchanged a nod laden with meaning. Elijah took my arm, his grip firm and reassuring.

"My baby sister," he whispered, voice thick. "Look at you."

"Don't make me cry before I even reach the dais," I warned, blinking rapidly.

His chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Wouldn't dream of it, Your Majesty."

Together, we continued the processional journey. Each step brought me closer to Theo, closer to the future we would build together. The nobility bowed as I passed—werewolves and Lycans alike showing deference to their new Queen. Some faces showed genuine joy, others careful neutrality, and a few—though they tried to hide it—thinly veiled disapproval. I cataloged them all, storing the information for later consideration.

When we reached the foot of the dais, Elijah kissed my cheek and placed my hand in Theo's waiting palm. The warmth of his skin against mine steadied me. His amber eyes held mine, communicating volumes without a single word.

The archbishop raised his gnarled hands, and silence fell like a heavy curtain.

"We gather today," he began, his voice surprisingly strong for one so ancient, "in witness of a new dawn. For centuries, our kingdom has stood divided though united—two peoples sharing one land but separated by custom, by tradition, by the very blood in our veins."

He gestured to Theo and me, standing hand in hand. "Before us stand the embodiment of change—a king born of the ancient Lycan line, and a queen who carries the blood of werewolves. Their union represents not merely an alliance, but a vision of what our realm might become."

The archbishop's eyes swept over the assembled crowd. "Change is not easy. It does not come without resistance, without pain, without sacrifice. We have seen this truth unfold in recent days, as those who feared the future attempted to prevent its arrival."

Murmurs rippled through the hall at the reference to the recently sentenced conspirators. I felt Theo's hand tighten briefly around mine.

"But the future comes regardless of our fears. It arrives on swift wings, carrying possibilities we cannot yet imagine." The archbishop's voice softened, becoming almost tender. "Today, we acknowledge this truth. We embrace the change that stands before us in human form."