Wolfe's pulled back with visible effort, his eyes flashing with something dangerous before he saw who had intruded.
I followed his gaze.
Standing beside us was one of the old Fae Kings of Vaelthorne.
He looked to be in his late sixties in mortal years so he could have been over a thousand years old.
The sexual haze cleared from Wolfe’s eyes and he smiled, greeting the king with a firm hand shake.
“Your Grace, thank you for coming,” Wolfe said.
“The pleasure is all mine, my dear boy.” The king was the second person I’d heard refer to Wolfe in such a warm familial manner.
“King Archemii, this is Elariya.” His gaze shifted to mine briefly before he finished. “My mate.”
The pride in his voice was unmistakable. It thrummed through the air between us, settling around my shoulders like a mantle.
“Elariya, this is King Archemii,” Wolfe’s smile widened. “He’s ruler of the kingdom of Heulyn and one of my father’s closest friends.”
I acknowledged him with a vibrant smile and bowed. “Your Grace, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Only days ago, I said similar words to Prince Maelor. This time felt right.Truer.
“And you, my dear.” He glanced from me to Wolfe. “She is most lovely, young Nightblade. Your parents would have been exceedingly proud.”
My spirits lifted on hearing that. I'd braced myself for cruel whispers and thinly veiled judgment, for the weight of a thousand eyes finding me lacking—the half human, half mage girl who'd somehow ensnared a Nightblade. But his words settled over me like a balm, easing the knot of anxiety that had coiled tight in my chest.
“You remember how your mother adored the Ravenwood realm,” King Archemii added, glancing at me with awe.
“I do. And thank you.” Wolfe nodded and returned his focus to me. “I think my parents would have been exceedingly proud too.”
The sharp blast of a ceremonial trumpet split the hall.
The music and conversation stilled completely.
A herald stepped forward on the balcony of the royal circle, clad in midnight blue velvet trimmed with gold brocade. “Presenting,” he called, the words ringing clear and resonant. “His Highness Wolfe Nightblade of Galaythia, and his chosen mate, Lady Elariya.”
All eyes turned toward us. King Archemii bowed first, then stepped aside with a graceful sweep of his hand. Wolfe inclined his head in return.
As we advanced toward the royal circle, the crowd lowered in unison.
It happened in waves — a ripple spreading outward from our path like stones cast into still water. Heads lowered. Spines bent. Hands pressed to hearts in gestures of respect and deference.
Not just for him.
For us. For what we represented in this moment.
Wolfe’s presence beside me was steady and grounding. His hand settled at the small of my back, guiding me forward into what felt like the first steps of my new life.
When we reached the royal circle, the hall erupted in cheers.
This was the celebration we never got to have after the wedding.
An older male dressed in the same regal attire as Wolfe, detached himself from the royal circle and stepped toward us.
Although I didn’t know his face, something almost like recognition pulled on my insides. It was more of a feeling or a vibe. A bad one.
He didn’t wear a crown but he carried himself like a king. He was tall and silver threaded through dark hair that framed a face that bore similarities to Wolfe’s.
Even before Wolfe’s posture shifted beside me, I knew who the male was.
