CHAPTER 10

Blythe's POV

The morning after the wedding dawned cold and gray, as if the heavens themselves mourned the passing of my old life.

I stood before the grand mirror in my new chambers, the silk of my hastily made bridal gown whispering around my legs. I barely recognized the girl staring back at me—crowned, wedded, and yet... hollow.

I pressed my palms against the cold glass, searching my reflection for answers.

Had I done the right thing?

Behind me, the chamber doors creaked open. I didn't have to turn to know it was Vito. His scent—clean pine and rain—filled the room before his quiet footsteps reached me.

"You're awake early," he said, his voice gentle, hesitant.

"I couldn't sleep," I murmured. "I didn't even try."

A silence stretched between us, thick with everything we didn't know how to say.

Then he spoke, softer this time. "Blythe... we did what we had to do. You saved the throne."

I closed my eyes. Saved the throne. But at what cost?

A lifetime tied to a friend, not a mate.

A future built on desperation, not destiny.

Turning, I met his gaze. His blue eyes were kind and steady—just as they had always been. No blame. No regret. Only quiet acceptance.

"Thank you, Vito," I said, my voice breaking.

He stepped closer. "You don't have to thank me."

But I did.

Because without him, I would have lost everything.

A knock interrupted the fragile moment. Elder Moses entered, his robes billowing like storm clouds. His sharp eyes swept over us, lingering with approval.

"You must come," he said briskly. "The court awaits."

The words felt like a death sentence.

But I squared my shoulders. I had made my choice. Now, I had to live with it.

The throne room buzzed with tension. Courtiers in glittering silks lined the walls, their faces tight with shock and anger thinly veiled behind forced smiles.

The very air seemed to crackle with hostility.

I gripped Vito's hand as we entered. His thumb brushed mine reassuringly.

We crossed the marble floor together to where Elder Moses waited at the dais.

He gave a slight nod.

It was time.

I lifted my chin, channeling every ounce of strength my parents had once carried like armor.

"Princess Blythe," Elder Moses intoned, his voice echoing through the vast hall, "and Lord Vito have lawfully wed, securing this kingdom's bloodline and future."

A ripple of murmurs swept through the room—disbelief, outrage, thinly disguised contempt.

I saw Lord Hadrian—one of the most powerful nobles—narrow his eyes.

Draped in sapphires, Lady Verona pressed a hand to her chest in mock surprise.

They hadn't seen this coming.

They thought they had won.

They thought grief would make me weak.

They were wrong.

I stepped forward, my voice ringing clear:

"I stand not as a grieving daughter but as your queen."

A stunned silence followed.

Then, slowly, Elder Moses lowered himself to one knee.

One by one, the court followed—some grudgingly, some barely hiding their rage.

But they knelt.

Victory, hard-won and bittersweet, flooded my chest.

For a moment, it steadied the storm inside me.

Later, when the throne room had emptied, I sat alone on the steps of the dais, the weight of the crown heavy on my brow.

Vito stood quietly at a distance, giving me space.

Elder Moses approached, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You did well," he said. "They fear you now."

I gave a hollow laugh. "I don't want their fear."

"You need it," he corrected sharply. "Until you have your wolf, fear is your weapon."

My wolf.

Another pang.

On top of grief, marriage, and sudden rulership, the absence of my wolf gnawed at me.

I should have felt it by now.

He should have awakened.

Elder Moses watched me closely as if reading my thoughts.

"Your wolf will come when the time is right," he said, softer now. "But until then, you must be strong without him."

I nodded, though my heart screamed in protest.

How much longer could I keep pretending I was enough?

That night, I found myself wandering the palace halls alone.

The moonlight spilled through stained glass windows, painting the corridors in shades of sorrow.

I ended up in the royal gardens—my mother's favorite place.

The scent of night-blooming jasmine wrapped around me like a memory.

Sinking onto a stone bench, I tilted my face to the sky.

"I hope you're proud of me," I whispered to the stars.

"I'm trying... I'm trying so hard."

The night answered only with silence.

Footsteps crunched softly on the gravel behind me.

I didn't have to look to know it was Vito.

He sat beside me without a word, close but not touching.

Offering silent companionship.

We stayed there long, two young souls bound by duty, not desire.

Finally, he spoke. "Do you think... we'll be happy?"

I swallowed hard.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But maybe... we'll find a way."

He nodded, accepting the fragile hope I offered.

Somewhere deep inside, a small ember of gratitude flickered.

At least I wasn't completely alone.

And maybe—just maybe—this was enough for now.

Days turned into weeks.

We ruled together, Vito and I.

A marriage forged not of love but of survival.

Every morning, I wore the crown.

Every night, I wondered who had truly killed my parents.

The court played their games, whispering behind fans and closed doors.

They waited for me to stumble.

They underestimated me.

I learned.

I adapted.

Under Elder Moses' guidance, I weeded out the worst of the traitors.

I rebuilt alliances.

I made decisions that made enemies but also secured the throne.

Still, part of me hardened whenever I smiled at court or nodded at a nobleman's fake congratulations.

I wasn't the girl who dreamed of a fated mate anymore.

I was queen.

And Queens did not have the luxury of dreams.

Standing by the tower window one evening, I watched Vito train with the palace guards.

He moved with a grace and strength that surprised me.

He was growing into his role, just as I was.

We could grow into this marriage, too.

Friendship could turn into something more profound.

I wanted to believe that.

I needed to believe that.

Because the alternative—that I had trapped us both in a loveless union out of desperation—was too painful to face.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I whispered into the gathering dusk:

"I will find a way to honor this life I've chosen.

I will not let regret consume me."

And somewhere in the distance, the night wind seemed to carry a whispered promise:

You are stronger than you know.