Guilt crashes over me so hard I can barely breathe. "I should have been there. Should have?—"
"You were in heat," he interrupts gently. "There was nothing you could have done. Nothing anyone could have done."
But that's not the point. The point is that his brother died—the man who forced us to confront hard truths about our relationship, who called Aratus out for repeating his mistakes—and I was too lost in my own body to even know it happened.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, reaching for his hand. "I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have had to go through that alone."
"I wasn't alone. Kieran made sure the transition of power was handled properly. The court knows I'm king now." He pauses, studying my face. "We're king and queen now, if you want that."
The weight of responsibility settles on my chest like a physical thing. Queen. Not just his omega, not just his bonded mate, but co-ruler of an entire realm. The woman who four days ago couldn't think past her next orgasm is now supposed to help govern a court of ancient, powerful beings.
"I don't know how to be a queen," I admit, the words feeling small and inadequate.
"I'm still learning how to be a king," he replies. "We'll figure it out together."
The simple confidence in his voice doesn't match the complexity of what we're facing. "Will we? Yesterday you were letting me control the pace of our claiming, but ruling a court is different. You've had centuries of authority. I've had a lifetime of fighting authority. How do we make that work?"
It's the first real question of our new reality, and I can see him struggling with it. The alpha who spent months systematically breaking down my defenses, now trying to figure out how to share power with the woman he remade.
"I don't know," he says finally, and the honesty is both refreshing and terrifying. "I'm going to want to control things. It's my nature. And you're going to want to challenge things. It's yours."
"So we'll fight."
"Probably." The ghost of a smile crosses his face. "But maybe fighting is better than perfect submission?"
The reference to his brother's words makes my throat tight. Kieran saw this coming, saw the unsustainability of what Aratus had created. If we're going to honor his memory, it has to be by building something real.
A sharp knock interrupts us, followed by a servant's nervous voice. "Your Majesty? Forgive the intrusion, but there's urgent news."
Aratus sighs and calls for them to enter. The young man who steps through the door looks terrified to be in the presence of the new king, especially with his naked omega clearly visible in their nest of silk and furs.
"Speak," Aratus commands, his voice taking on the tone of absolute authority I remember from my early days here.
"Edgar Montgomery sends word, Your Majesty. He's... he's gathered a delegation. Seventeen human lords with their own guards and negotiators. They demand audience under the old treaties to discuss his daughter's situation." The messenger swallows hard. "They'll be here within the week."
My stomach drops. "A delegation?"
"They're challenging the legitimacy of our bond," Aratus says grimly after dismissing the messenger. "Questioning whether you consented freely."
The political implications hit me like an avalanche. Our relationship isn't just personal anymore—it's the foundation of the prophecy that's supposed to stabilize relations betweenworlds. If human nobility questions it, if they claim I was taken against my will...
"This is my fault," I say, guilt and panic warring in my chest. "I should have sent word to Father, should have explained somehow?—"
"What would you have told him?" Aratus asks, his voice sharp with frustration. "That you chose this after I broke you down systematically? That you're happy now after months of conditioning? That you stayed because leaving would kill you?"
The brutal honesty cuts deep because he's right. How do you explain to your father that you've found peace in captivity? That the man who destroyed who you were has become the center of your universe? That the bond has grown so strong that separation feels like death?
"I don't know," I admit, my voice small. "But I can't let him think you're holding me prisoner."
"Aren't I?"
The question stops me cold. "What do you mean?"
"You can't survive without me. The bond ensures that. So even if you stay by choice now, are you really free to choose?"
It's the heart of everything we've been avoiding—the fundamental question that makes this political crisis so dangerous. Can there be real consent when survival depends on compliance?
I sit up in the nest, pulling silk around me like armor. "I don't know if it matters anymore. Free or not, this is what I am now."
