Fenwick's jaw tightens. "Your Majesty." The title comes out forced. "The new food distribution protocols are... problematic."
"How so?" Elise's voice is perfectly controlled. Dangerously calm.
"They prioritize the lower districts over established hierarchies. Disrupt traditional resource allocation. Create unrealistic expectations among the peasantry."
I watch my omega transform into the queen who's earned every bit of respect she commands.
"The lower districts were starving," she says simply. "Traditional hierarchies don't matter if people die of hunger."
"But the cost?—"
"Is easily absorbed by reducing luxury imports for the nobility." Her smile is sharp enough to cut. "Unless you're arguing that imported wine is more important than children eating?"
The trap closes perfectly. Fenwick can't argue for luxury over survival without looking like exactly the kind of entitled noble everyone despises.
"Of course not, but?—"
"Then we're in agreement." She turns to the scribe. "Note that Lord Fenwick supports the new food protocols. Next item."
I have to bite back a grin. She's magnificent when she's destroying political opponents.
The rest of the session goes similarly. Every challenge met with cold logic. Every attempt to undermine her authority turned back on the challenger. By the end, the lords are treating her with the wary respect she's earned.
"Well done," I murmur as we leave the chamber.
"Fenwick's an idiot. He handed me everything I needed to demolish him."
"You're getting better at this."
"I had a good teacher." She glances at me sideways. "You taught me how to use power effectively."
"I taught you how to submit effectively. You figured out power on your own."
We reach our chambers, and I can smell the change in her scent. The combination of political victory and pregnancy hormones has her aroused again. Always aroused these days.
"Aratus." My name comes out breathless.
"I know." I back her against the door, hands framing her face. "I can smell how much you need me."
She whimpers at the words. "Please."
What happens next is hungry and desperate. Three months pregnant and she wants me more than ever. The omega biology driving her to constant need for her alpha's touch.
When we're both sated, she lies against me, already thinking ahead.
"The other courts," she says quietly. "Will their claimings be like ours was?"
"Each bond is different. Each omega requires different methods."
"But they all end the same way."
"With successful bonds. Yes." I stroke her hair. "Whatever it takes."
She's quiet for a long moment. "I used to think that was monstrous."
"And now?"
"Now I understand that sometimes monstrous is necessary." She looks up at me. "The prophecy has to be completed. Eight bonds or chaos."
