Chapter 20: Lukas

I stood by the window, watching Amelia as she prepared for the trial. Morning light caught in her copper hair, setting it ablaze against the dark fabric of the robe she wore. Her movements were careful, measured, betraying the nervousness she tried to hide. Three attendants hovered nearby, ready to assist with the formal attire I'd commissioned overnight, but she'd dismissed them to the corner of the room, preferring to manage alone. Independence. Stubbornness. Qualities that would serve a queen well, once properly directed.

'She's perfect,' Ares preened in my mind, his satisfaction rolling through our shared consciousness like thunder across distant mountains. 'Look how she stands. Already a Queen.'

Indeed, despite her evident unease, Amelia carried herself with an innate dignity that couldn't be taught. Even in my borrowed shirt yesterday, she'd possessed a natural grace that spoke of something beyond her servant life. No wonder Silver Lake had feared her enough to cast her out. They'd sensed what I now knew with certainty—she had been born for power.

'Athena knows,' Ares continued, strutting through my mind with unrestrained pride. 'She accepts us. Accepts her place beside us. Human half will learn too.'

I buttoned my formal shirt, the black fabric stark against my skin. My fingers worked methodically, a routine performed thousands of times over decades of rule. The weight of the silver cufflinks—wolf heads with sapphire eyes—settled against my wrists, a familiar pressure. I adjusted my collar, straightening lines that were already perfect, a king's habit of demanding flawlessness in all things.

Across the room, Amelia stepped into the dress laid out for her—a creation of midnight blue silk that whispered against her skin. The royal tailors had worked through the night, converting existing formal gowns to fit her smaller frame while preparing to create an entire wardrobe worthy of their new queen. This first dress was simple by royal standards but elegant in its restraint, designed to complement rather than overshadow her natural beauty.

She struggled briefly with the row of small buttons along her side, fingers trembling slightly. Pride kept her from asking the attendants for help, but I crossed the room in four long strides, brushing her hands away to fasten them myself.

"Thank you," she murmured, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. The green depths held wariness, but also something else—a reluctant curiosity, perhaps even the first whispers of acceptance.

"Turn," I commanded softly, stepping back to appreciate the sight before me.

The dress clung to her curves, accentuating the strength in her shoulders, the slender column of her throat where my mark stood out like a badge of ownership. The colour made her skin glow like polished ivory, her copper hair a dramatic contrast against the dark fabric. She slipped her feet into the shoes that had been provided—modest heels that added height without compromising her balance.

"Does this look okay?" she asked, smoothing nervous hands over her hips. "I've never worn anything like this."

Hunger stirred in my veins at the sight of her, this woman fate had chosen for me. My queen, my mate, still uncertain of her place but standing tall despite it all. The dress transformed her from the servant girl she'd been to the royalty she was born to be.

"You look perfect, little luna," I replied, my voice dropping to a register that made her pulse jump visibly in her throat. "Every inch the Queen you are."

I took her hand in mine, bringing her knuckles to my lips. The contact sent a jolt of awareness through the mate bond; her nervousness, her determination, and beneath it all, a reluctant anticipation for what was to come. Today the court would witness justice delivered to one who had dared harm what was mine.

"It's time," I said, offering her my arm.

She placed her hand in the crook of my elbow, her fingers light against the fabric of my jacket. The attendants opened the doors as we approached, bowing deeply as we passed. Guards snapped to attention in the corridor, their eyes widening slightly at the sight of Amelia transformed.

We walked in silence through the palace, servants and officials flattening themselves against walls as we passed. News of the trial had spread throughout the royal household, and curious eyes followed our progress, assessing the woman who had so suddenly become their Queen.

Amelia's grip tightened on my arm as we approached the massive doors to the throne room. Her breathing quickened, though her expression remained composed. Through the bond, I could feel Athena's presence strengthening, lending her human half courage.

"They're all staring," she whispered, so quietly only I could hear.

"Let them stare," I replied. "You outshine them all."

The throne room doors swung open at our approach, revealing the space beyond. Unlike the execution tribunal, this was a formal court session. Rows of benches had been arranged to accommodate the nobles, pack representatives, and officials who had assembled to witness Victoria's trial. All rose as we entered, hundreds of eyes fixing on us with expressions ranging from curiosity to calculation to outright shock.

"His Royal Majesty, Alpha King Lukas Volkov, and Her Royal Majesty, Luna Queen Amelia Volkov," the herald announced, his voice ringing through the vaulted chamber.

I felt her minute start at the name—Volkov, not Blackwood. Mine. Claimed. The announcement made it official in a way the mark on her throat had not. From this moment, she was no longer connected to Silver Lake in any way. She belonged to me, to the royal line, to the kingdom itself.

We proceeded down the center aisle, her steps matching mine perfectly. To anyone watching, she appeared the picture of regal confidence, head held high, expression serene. Only I could feel the tremor in her hand, the rapid flutter of her heartbeat.

'You've got this, little luna,' I sent through our bond, letting my confidence flow into her. 'Show them who you are.'

Her mental voice, when it came, was steadier than I'd expected. 'I will.'

The dais at the front of the room now held two thrones rather than one. Mine—massive and dark, carved with the ancient symbols of my lineage—stood beside a slightly smaller one, newly constructed overnight from pale wood inlaid with copper and emerald accents that echoed Amelia's colouring. A visual representation of our union, of the balance between darkness and light, power and grace.

I guided her to her throne, watching as she took in its details with barely concealed wonder. When she sat, I did as well, the rustle of fabric and murmur of whispers filling the room as the assembled crowd followed suit.

"Begin," I commanded, my voice carrying to every corner of the vast chamber.

Beside me, Amelia straightened her spine, hands resting on the carved arms of her throne. Through our bond, I felt her steeling herself for what was to come. Victoria would face justice today, and my Queen would witness it firsthand.