The question stops me. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that choice is always constrained by something. Your upbringing, your biology, your circumstances. The bond constrains your choices, yes. But so did your father's expectations when you lived with him. So did social conventions, economic pressures, political realities." He pauses. "Perfect freedom doesn't exist. The question is whether the constraints you're living with now allow you to be more yourself or less yourself than the alternatives."
It's a philosophical answer to a practical problem, but it resonates in ways I didn't expect. The woman I was before—angry, empty, constantly fighting expectations that never fit—she wasn't free either. She was trapped by her own unfulfilled needs, by a world that had no place for what she actually was.
"I don't know if I'm more myself," I say slowly. "But I think I'm more... complete. Like I was missing pieces I didn't know I needed."
"Even knowing those pieces came from me? That I shaped you to need what I could provide?"
"Even knowing that." The admission should shame me, but it doesn't. "You didn't create the emptiness, Aratus. You just figured out how to fill it."
That afternoon, we receive word that the delegation has been spotted on the northern road. They'll arrive tomorrow, and with them will come the greatest test our relationship has faced yet.
"Are you ready?" he asks as we prepare for bed.
"No," I say honestly. "But I'm committed. Whatever happens tomorrow, we face it together."
"Together," he agrees, pulling me against him in the silk nest that's become our sanctuary.
Tomorrow, I'll have to convince seventeen skeptical lords that my choices are real and freely made. I'll have to look my father in the eye and explain why I'm choosing to stay with the man who systematically broke me down and rebuilt me.
But tonight, lying in Aratus's arms with our bond humming steadily between us, I know something I couldn't have known even a week ago: I'm not staying because I have to anymore. I'm staying because this impossible, complicated, sometimes painful relationship has become the foundation for becoming someone I actually like being.
Whether that's enough to satisfy a delegation demanding proof of free will remains to be seen.
CHAPTER 25
ARATUS
DAY 66
They arriveat dawn like an invading army, seventeen human lords with their banners flying and their fear disguised as righteousness.
I watch from the tower window as the delegation crosses the bridge to my palace, noting how Edgar Montgomery rides apart from the main group. Not leading them this time, but trapped among them—a father caught between love for his transformed daughter and pressure from peers who see her as a cautionary tale.
"Two successful bonds," I murmur to myself, thinking of Prince Kaelen's triumph with Rosalind Whitmore six months ago. The Thorn Court's claiming had been swift, brutal, and undeniably effective. Now the Frost Court has proven it can be done again. The human lords are no longer dealing with an isolated incident—they're facing a pattern.
Beside me, Elise stands with her hands resting on her still-flat stomach, though the healers confirmed what we've suspected for weeks. Her scent has been shifting, growing richerand more intoxicating in ways that make my protective instincts spike whenever she's out of my sight.
"They're terrified," she observes, watching the delegation with calculating eyes. "This isn't about me anymore. It's about what comes next."
Three months of ruling together have taught us both that politics rarely concerns itself with individual happiness. The lords below aren't here to rescue Edgar's daughter—they're here because two courts have now successfully claimed human omegas, and they're wondering which daughters will be next.
"Your father looks ill," I note, studying Edgar's slumped posture.
"He knows what they want him to say," Elise replies, her voice carrying the detachment she's learned to cultivate when discussing painful subjects. "Publicly denounce my choice. Call for stronger protections. Help them build a case that no human woman can truly consent to bonding."
The irony is bitter. Edgar has spent months coming to terms with what his daughter became, accepting that she chose to return to me despite having every opportunity to stay away. Now his fellow lords want him to pretend that acceptance was weakness.
"Your Majesty," Captain Lysander announces from the doorway. "The human delegation demands immediate audience under Article Seven of the Westron Accords."
Article Seven. The provision that allows human leadership to challenge any Fae action they deem contrary to human interests. They're not just questioning our bond—they're questioning whether any bond can be legitimate.
"Assemble the full court," I command. "If they want to make this about precedent, we'll give them the weight of precedent."
An hour later, the great hall has been transformed into a tribunal. My throne sits at the head with Elise's beside it—equalin height and prominence, a deliberate statement about her status that the delegation won't miss. The Frost Court nobility lines the walls, understanding that this isn't just about their king and queen but about the future of Fae-human relations.
The human delegation enters with military precision, Edgar Montgomery among them but clearly not leading. Lord Hartwell steps forward—a man whose reputation for diplomatic ruthlessness precedes him.
