5: Emma

The night air dried the dampness on my cheeks, cooling my flushed skin. Below us, the city continued its nighttime rhythms, oblivious to our private drama. Inside the ballroom, the summit carried on, diplomats and dignitaries weaving their careful dances of words and power.

And somewhere in that glittering crowd, a king waited—a king who was also my mate, whether I was ready to accept that reality or not.

"I don't know if I can do this," I admitted, my voice steadier now.

"No one's asking you to dive in headfirst," Elijah said. "Maybe give him a chance, sis. Even if not on your own at first." He paused, considering. "We could always have a few drinks or get dinner with him, give you a chance to get to know him without it being too intense a situation."

It was such a normal suggestion for such an extraordinary circumstance that I almost laughed. Getting drinks with the King —as if he were just another potential mate to vet.

Yet the suggestion offered a lifeline, a middle path between rejection and acceptance. A way to honour both my wolf's certainty and my human caution.

I nodded against Elijah's shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of pack and family once more before straightening. "That sounds good."

The words were quiet but firm, a tentative step toward whatever future awaited. The mate bond hummed beneath my skin, neither rejected nor fully embraced. A beginning, not a commitment.

Elijah smiled, the expression warming his eyes. "That's all anyone can ask for—a chance."

"Elijah," I said, my voice still rough with emotion, "could you bring them back out here?" I wiped at my damp cheeks with the back of my hand, embarrassed by my breakdown yet somehow lighter for having let the tears fall. The night air had dried the wetness on my skin, leaving behind a tightness that matched the constriction in my chest, both uncomfortable, both necessary reminders that I was still here, still breathing, still capable of feeling after all this time.

My brother studied me for a moment, his eyes searching mine with the careful assessment he'd developed since becoming Alpha. "You sure, Em?"

I nodded, drawing a steadying breath that carried the distant scent of night-blooming flowers from the gardens below. "I'm sure. I need to…" I paused, gathering words that felt simultaneously too heavy and too fragile. "I need to at least try."

Elijah's expression softened. He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, his familiar scent, pine needles and leather, home and safety, enveloping me briefly. "That's my brave sister." 

His eyes glazed over slightly, focusing on something distant as he initiated the mind-link with Elena. This silent communication between mates had once filled me with envy; now it sent a ripple of apprehension through me. Would Theo expect such openness from me immediately? The thought of someone else in my mind, after Benjamin's intrusions, made my skin prickle with remembered fear.

I smoothed my hands down the silken fabric of my dress, a nervous gesture I'd never quite abandoned. The delicate material caught on the calluses of my palms—evidence of years spent training, fighting, building myself back into someone I recognized. Someone who wouldn't be broken again.

The balcony door opened with barely a whisper, and they appeared like apparitions conjured by thought—Elena first, her honey-blonde hair catching moonlight, followed by Theo's taller frame, his shoulders blocking the warm glow from the ballroom behind him. The scent of him—cedar and stone, honey and lightning—wrapped around me again, my wolf rising to meet it with eager recognition. I pressed my hands harder against my thighs, anchoring myself against the pull.

Elena's eyes, warm with concern, flicked between Theo and me before settling on Elijah. Some unspoken communication passed between them—not mind-linking, but the silent language of mates who've learned to read each other's smallest gestures.

"Could you give Theo and me a minute?" I asked, my voice steadier than I'd expected.

The corner of Elena's mouth lifted in a small smile as she reached for Elijah's hand. "Of course. We'll make sure you're not interrupted."

Elijah squeezed my shoulder gently. "Of course, sis." He brushed another kiss across my forehead—a protective gesture so familiar it made my throat tighten—before leading Elena back inside.

The door closed behind them with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden stillness. I remained by the balustrade, my fingers curled around the cool stone as I gathered courage to face him. The distant sounds of the city below—faint music, the occasional call of night birds, the whisper of breeze through ornamental trees—filled the space between us.

I turned finally, finding Theo exactly where he'd been standing, tall and imposing yet somehow radiating patience. His amber eyes watched me with an intensity that made my pulse quicken, but he made no move to approach. Even in stillness, there was a carefully contained energy about him, like a storm deciding whether to break.

"I'm sorry for freaking out," I said, the words tumbling out before I could polish them into something more dignified. "My last mating... it was really bad. I thought I'd processed it all, but my wolf recognizing my second chance out of the blue brought everything rushing back."

Theo moved then, not toward me but to the balustrade, positioning himself a few feet away. He leaned against the stone, his posture deliberately casual, non-threatening. The moonlight silvered the edges of his dark hair and caught in the platinum of his crown.

"You have nothing to apologise for," he said, his deep voice carrying that subtle accent that seemed to curl around each word. "You've been through a lot, and you're the one who was wronged, not the other way around."

I nodded slowly, my eyes dropping to my hands. They were trembling slightly, and I splayed them against the cool stone to still them. "Logically, I know that," I admitted. "But there's a difference between knowing something and feeling it."

"There is," he agreed, his voice gentle. "The mind heals differently than the heart."

The simple understanding in those words made me glance up at him. His profile was strong against the night sky, his eyes focused on the city below as if deliberately giving me space to observe him without the pressure of his gaze.

"What do you want to do, Emma?" he asked after a moment, his voice careful, tense with what I recognized as tightly controlled emotion. "About this." He gestured vaguely between us, the movement encompassing the invisible threads of the mate bond that hummed in the air.

The question hung between us, weighted with centuries of tradition, with biological imperatives, with political implications neither of us could ignore. But beneath all that, I heard the real question—not what should we do, but what did I want? When was the last time anyone had asked me that about something so fundamental?

"I want to try," I said softly, the words feeling both terrifying and liberating as they left my lips. "To try to get to know you and give you—this—a chance."

His shoulders relaxed fractionally, though his hands remained loosely clasped before him, his posture still careful. 

"But I know it's not going to be smooth," I continued, forcing myself to hold his gaze as he turned to face me. "And I don't want to make you wait for me to get comfortable. I don't know how long it'll take. Benjamin Thorne broke me, badly."

I hadn't meant to say his name, hadn't wanted to bring that ghost onto this balcony with us. But there it was, hanging in the air between us like poison.

Theo straightened then, his full height imposing even from several feet away. But it was his eyes that caught me—fierce with an emotion I couldn't immediately identify.

"Emeline Maxwell," he said, my full name rolling off his tongue with unexpected tenderness, "you're not broken. You're a survivor." He took a single step closer, slow and deliberate, giving me time to retreat if I needed to. "Yes, you're still healing, but you're building back stronger."

The words struck something deep within me, some hidden chamber of my heart that had remained locked even to myself. My wolf whined softly, pressing forward as if to meet his declaration.

I gave him a small smile, surprising myself with the genuine warmth I felt behind it. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a long time."

His answering smile transformed his face, softening the regal angles into something more approachable, more human. My breath caught slightly at the sight.

"Shall we get a drink?" he asked, the simple question offering a path forward—not a demand, not a declaration, just an invitation to take one small step.

I nodded, that tiny smile still playing on my lips. "I'd like that."

He offered me his arm, the gesture formal yet warm. I hesitated only briefly before placing my hand lightly on his forearm. The contact sent a shock of warmth through my palm, up my arm, settling somewhere behind my ribcage. My wolf surged forward again, her joy a bright counterpoint to my lingering human caution.

As Theo led me toward the balcony doors, I was acutely aware of the heat of him beside me, the subtle shift of muscle beneath my fingers, the scent of him wrapping around me like a promise. The bond between us thrummed with potential and complication in equal measure.

The doors opened at our approach, as if by magic, though I caught a glimpse of a royal attendant stepping discreetly aside. The ballroom beyond gleamed with golden light, the music swelling as we crossed the threshold. Conversations faltered as heads turned in our direction, curiosity and speculation rippling through the crowd like wind through tall grass.

My hand tightened involuntarily on Theo's arm. "Everyone's watching," I murmured, fighting the urge to withdraw into myself.

"Let them," he replied, his voice pitched low for my ears alone. "They'll see nothing more than their king escorting a distinguished guest to the bar."

I glanced up at him, catching the barest hint of mischief in his amber eyes. "Is that what I am? A distinguished guest?”

His gaze softened as it met mine. "You are whatever you choose to be, Emma. That's entirely up to you."

The simple declaration settled over me like a warm cloak. I straightened my shoulders, drawing on the strength I'd fought so hard to reclaim, and allowed Theodore Lykoudis, King of the Lycans and my second-chance mate, to guide me through the parting crowd toward the gleaming bar at the far end of the ballroom.

One step. Then another. The journey of a thousand miles, beginning right here, right now, with my hand on his arm and possibility stretching before us like an unmapped territory—beautiful, dangerous, and entirely our own to discover.